LIB RAR.Y OF THE UNIVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS 8-33 PEN OWEN. VOL. I. London : Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square. PEN OWEN. IN THREE VOLUMES. WHy so ! THIS GALLANT WILL COMMAND Tilt: SUN ! VOL. I. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH AND T. CADELL, LONDON. MDCCCXXIL PEN OWEN VOL. I. PEN OWEN. CHAPTER I. " He must be a genius, Caleb!" *' Mcnj be — may be, brother Griffith." *' Must be, sir!" *^ We are but weak, short-sighted mortals, Griffith, — and must not — " " Psha — speak for yourself, brother Caleb, — the boy, I repeat, must be a genius." '' Well, well — if he must, he must, I can't help it." « Help it— why— " ' " Let him be any thing, my good brother, but one of your thing-o-my-alogists or ologists." " Pooh, Caleb, you are ignorant of the use or a])plication of terms." B 2 PEN OWEN, ^« Like enow, like enow, Griffith ; but I know bis uncle Wintletrap was one of the crew, and YOU—" '^ Hold, Caleb ! Of me, you may think or speak as you shall see fit, in your plentiful lack of judgment, but of Doctor Wintletrap — '* «^ What of him?'' " He was indeed a philosopher." " Didn't I say so ; its all one and same thing —a fellow—" " Aye, Caleb, a fellow of eveiy learned body, sect and society, from Drontheim to Bologna." " All of a kidney — all hang together, I dare swear ; fellows like himself, kicked out of society at home, and sent packing to these outlandish parts 1" - *« Caleb, Caleb— thou art little better than an old dunce !" '* Dunce in your teeth — but no — I forgive you — I dare say, you are quite right— you are more learned in these matters than I can pretend to be — but for the soul of me, I never could understand their use." u Use !~psha, Caleb." *' I'm not saying it to anger you, brother TEN OWEN. 5 Griffith— you know I am not — it's all my igno- rance, no doubt ; I am sure it is ; but it was this plaguy Doctor Wintletrap who first set your wits a wool-gathering after these boxes of dead bones and painted porringers." «' Vases, vases, Caleb — Egyptian, Etruscan." ^' Never mind their names, Griffith ; I can't remember them. There they stand to speak for -themselves,— call 'em what ye will, they are still nothing but pots, pans, and coffins after all." <« Insuffi^rable ! why that very mummy you are pointing at is three thousand years old." ^« More the shame — more the shame, Griffith; what have you to do, — routing out men's rot- ten bones, and disturbing their ashes after Chris- tian burial, — ye're worse than the resurrection men." " Blessed ignorance!" *^ None of your taunts, Griffith, though I may bless my ignorance of such unnatural gim- cracks. Why what have you got by all these stuf- fed salamanders and pickled porpoises^ I should like to know ?" " Got by them! — thou worshipper of Plu- tus/' B 3 ,6 PEN OWEN. '' Brother, brother, I worship none but to whom worship is due, not a parcel of heathen- ish Gods, who stand there and are valued only, as I heard that old fool Wintletrap tell you, like their neighbours the tea pots, because they have lost their noses. Would you have me be- lieve this is any thing but arrant nonsense ? Why they'd be all thrown together as rubble, and not fetch a shilling a waggon load in the mar- ket." ^' Market ! — your eternal criterion." ^' My what, Griffith?" ^* Poh ! —money getting." *^ Better than money losing or money squan- dering. Why, the Lord protect you, my good brother, I'll be bound to turn a thousand pound upon 'Change, whilst you philosophers, as ye call yourselves, are haggling about a green half- penny, (Heaven defend me), or scrambling like school boys for a great black beetle!" " My Scarab, by all that's sacred ! — why thou Solomon." " No nic-names, GrifF, — no nic-names." " No Griffs, Brother Caleb, no Griffs, if you please ; you know I will not be called Griff." " Don't call me Solomon then." PEN OWEN. 7 ** I — I called thee any thing hit Solomon." " Then there's an end of it, brother Griffith. I thought you did.'' '* Then listen to reason, Caleb. Doctor Wintletrap was, in truth, a diamond of the first water — " ** Dirty water, dirty water, Griffith,— foul mouth, foul hands, foul linen, foul — " ** Zounds, you are enough to tire the patience of Job!" ^* Job, sure enough, was a most patient man. I did not think you knew any thing about him, Griffith." *« With all his patience, he could not have stood this." "This ! why Griffith, he stood the devil, as you might have read, if you ever read about him at all." " Zounds ! here are twenty devils." '* Hey ! what ! where ! what d'ye mean, Grif- fith?" ^< No matter, no matter ; the devil never dreamed of so injrenious a mode of torture; but look ye, sir, since your comprehension is only accessible to plain facts — " 8 pi:n OWEN. *' Stop a little, Griffith, — you confound me — say that again — " *^ Bah ! — was there, let me ask you, a scheme, a project, a speculation in any one branch of philosophy, in statistics, political economy, or finance, in mechanics, in chemistry, geology, physiology, mineralogy — " ** There again at your plaguy alogies and ologies — " " Hold your tongue, sir ; I will be heard ; and after that, answer me, — was there a single one of these, during the whole of his splendid scientific career, in which he bore not some part or share ?" ** May be so, may be so, Griffith ; but it was the losing share, I'm sure, for the sum total was something worse than nothing; he lived for six months on the jail allowance, and died without sixpence to purchase his shroud." ** What of that ! great men do not always meet with their desert," ** If he was a great man, Griffith, he met hisy at least to my mind." « Your mind; Caleb !" PEN OWEN. •* Aye, for bamboozling his credulous credi- tors, and paying them with philosophy and gooser}^, instead of pounds, shillings, and pence !" " I see your drift, sir ; but I despise it." '« Why, odds jny life, brother Griffith, if he was the greatest conjuror of ye all, what has that to do with the boy ; he didn't conjure /zzwzr"' '^Conjuror! Must I repeat to you, that you know not what you talk about ?" *^ You needn't repeat any thing of the sort ; I do know what I am talking about, — I am talking about the boy's success in life." " Success in life ! why you would treat the heir of all the OWENS, as if he were to be a manufacturer of buttons, or a sugar- baker." '^ I could name something worse than either ; but I don't wish to make you angry ; with a little common sense, — I have known a man — " *' Common sense ; I should like to know how f a long looked for harvest, do you come like a nippnig unseason- able frost, to cut off the blossom in the bud, and — " ^' Nay, nay, brother Griffith — dear Griffith, you mistake me, indeed you do ; it's all my ig- norance, and I dare say your out of the way plans are just what they should be, if I could only comprehend them ; but when you talk of doing without common sense and bringing up a boy, who has his way to make in the world, upon genius, I can't for the life of me understand what you would be at." ** Not know what I mean by genius ?" '* I know it's something out of the common line ; because, with all your learning, you have never been able to make it clear to my mind. It may be like that pig in a bottle (pointing to A line of shelves filled with the rare and sportive productions of nature) with five legs in place of four, or — " " Pish, Caleb, I'm a fool to sit disputing with you ; as I have often said, we do not fight with the same weapons." PEN OWEN. IS «« Vm sure, Griffith, I don't wish to fight nt all, and much lest with a brother." <« In a word, tW boy is my own, and I have a right to dispose of hSm as I please." " To be sure you haye, Griffith ; you may pickle him with the pig there, or teach him to walk on all fours, like that great man beast that sits grinning in my face, like Grim Groudy in the story book. I only thought it right and proper, and dutiful, as the boy's natural blood relation, to offer my counsel and advice, that, 'till he can choose for himself, he be put in the right way to get on in the vrorld, as others have done before him." " With Cocker pinned to his breast as his vade 7?iecum" *< And no bad pin-afore either, brother Grif- fith. If it had stuck to your's, it would have paid better, to my mind, than all your snap- dragons and butterflies." ^* And have made me a drudge like thyself— as if the blood of CwM Owen were stagnant in thy veins !" ^' Griff, Griff, have a care ;. I'll not be twitted on that head, my blood is yours, and asnobl^, and as ancient, and as pure, and as hot, and — '* 14 PEN OWEN. " Hubaboo, hubaboo ! what the devil have I said or done to set it boiling in this manner ? Here have you been heaping red hot coals upon my head for the last half hour, and are now the first to cry out fire !" "Didn't you talk of my blood !" *' And is it not my own ?" '^ What has that to do with the question ?" *^ Every thing ; would I disparage that which is my pride, my boast, my — " " You spoke of my drudging it, or staining it, or something to that purpose ; and no man living, no, not yourself Griffith, shall dare to say the one or the other in my presence." '^ 'Sdeath brother, I only said I despised trade; and no man living shall prevent my say- ing before your face or behind your back, that the blood of the Owens is degraded by contact with it." *■' And where, Sir, would it have been wUh- out it ? Answer me that." <'No matter \ I would rather it flowed through a kennel than a 'compting house." ^' It hadn't a kennel left to flow in, sir." " Hey day ! who is it that disparages our blood now ! But a truce, a truce, good Caleb, PEN OWEN. 15 we shall never agree upon this subject : I hate and abhor your men of business, who calculate talent by the yard, and pare down men of wit and science to their own pocket rule and com- pass." '* Better, perhaps, than those scapegraces and spendthrifts — I call no names, and I name no persons, — who weigh and measure nothing, but set their wits at work to undo what wiser heads have done before them. But it won't do, Griffith, it won't do ; things will go on in the old way, in spiteof your nincompoop gimcracks, or periwinkle professors." " Mighty well, my matter of fact brother ; so we are all nincompoops, in your refined phraseology, because we ^ re not optimists ?" " I know nothing of them, they may be nin- compoops too for aught I know." ** You would, forsooth, set us down as knaves or fools, because we do not believe this to be the best of all possible worlds." " No such thing, Griffith ; I know that it is not the best of all possible worlds, and you ought to know it too j and for my part, I think it grows harder and wickeder every day." " Fl-ihy — you do not comprehend me." 16 PEN OWEN. " That's true enough, Griffith ; but I shan't think the worse of you for denying'' this naughty world, to be the best possible." ^ ^' Why then, blame usy who wish to mend it ? " Because I never knew any good come of your state-menders or religion-menders. They all make more holes than they stop., — Brother, brother, the strait road is quite broad enough." " Aye, aye, Caleb, broad enough for thee and thy plodding brethren — for ever dog-trot in a straight line — the high turnpike — where, if gold mines were to lie to the right or the left, you would still jog on, without turning your eyes or your steps to explore them." '^ Like enow, Griffith, like enow, and the less chance, I trow, of mistaking a bog for a mine, which, if my recollection serves me, you have done before now." This was an unfortunate hit, or, as the ini- tiated in the noble science of self-defence would term it, a '' knock-down blow;" for be it known unto all whom it may concern, that Mr. Griffith Owen had, a few years previous to the interesting dialogue which the reader has thus prematurely been permitted to overhear, sunk several thousand pounds in exploring an'Irish bog in the neigh- PEN OWEN. 17 bourhood of Carrickfergus, where tradition (and tradition alone), had deposited the treasure of a native prince, who had flourished in such remote antiquity that tradition herself had forgotten his very name. But although a knock-down blow is a very serious thing, and may occasion a temporary sus- pension of sport to the thousands of well-dress- ed and fashionable amateurs congregated upon certain high and solemn occasions, it by no means follows that the sport is thereby spoiled, or the entertainment closed. Those of my readers whose unpolished or unfinished education has precluded them from scenes which would have been duly appreciated and relished by those mas- ters of civil life, the Romans, in the most polished period of their history, may derive some com- fort from the assurance that, generally speaking, the breath-expelling blow, in these Circensian games, operates only as an incitement to fresh activity, and to new efforts to return the compli- ment to the adversary on, or as nearly on, the same terms, as possible. It is true that the in- creased action of the irritable nerves, when Ma- ture has replenished her patient (or, in other words, when the l)ottle-holder has duly primed VOL. I. e 18 PEN OWENc him), is not always accompanied with a propor- tionate share of skill and judgment, and that blows hit at random sometimes fail to take ef- fect upon the part intended. This was pretty much the case in the instance before us — the blow of Mr. Caleb Owen (with whom the reader will become better acquainted as we proceed,) took effect upon a very sensitive part of his brother Griffith's constitution, and calling up blood enough into his face to supply a plethoric habit of body with the means of im- mediate strangulation^ his breath seemed as ef- fectually stopped as if the words had been anti- cipated by a blow, secundum artem* In like manner he was, for some seconds, without the ability to return it. Indeed he had a difficulty to encounter, which the reader may or may not have discovered by what has already occurred, namely, that Mr, Caleb Owen, being a simple matter of fact person, was secure from any attack in the immediate direction of that which so effec- tually brought down his antagonist. There was an appearance of wit in it, which, in sober truth, is on no account chargeable upon the good man, and which contributed to the perplexity as well as annoyance of his brother. He simply met PEN OWEN. 19 with the fact as it happened to lie in his way, and Mr. Griffith Owen having laid himself open, by an ill-chosen illustration of his argument, he could not fail to pick it up, as his memory re- echoed the allusion. There was, however, a certain peculiarity of temperament common to both, which brought the powers of these two brothers very nearly upon a level, although in all other respects the Anti- podes are not more diametrically opposed, than were their several dispositions, pursuits, and opi- nions. They were both of high Welch extraction, and thespeculativeand philosophical career of the one, and a certain dry methodical routine of life pursued by the other, were equally ineffectual in checking that divine impulse which moves heroic minds to right themselves, whenever they feel, or fancy they feel, offended. They were most loving and affectionate brothers, but each loved after his own peculiar fashion ; and so frequent w^as the collision occasioned by the very opposite views they took upon every possible question of foreign or domestic policy, — that is, on their own concerns and those of their neighbours, — that a stranger might have been justified in doubting the existence of any thing in the shape of fra- c 2 20 PEN OWEN. ternal attachment; but he would have judged wrong, — I speak from a perfect knowledge of the fact, — and although it might naturally be supposed that the evident and unquestioned superiority of Mr. Griffith Owen over his less enlightened brother, had in the course of five and forty years (or thereabouts) so firmly es- tablished his authority, as to leave him upon all occasions master of the field, it is astonish- ing upon what equal terms they met, when once warmed by the exercise of their several weapons. Anger is a ready menstruum for the solution of all distinctions and the most opposed quali- ties. The philosopher ( if he ever can be angry), and the peasant, are scarcely distinguish- able when the fermenting process is in action ; and with all my respect forthe honourable family in whose service my humble abilities as a bio- grapher are engaged, it is not to be denied that the effects of Mr. Griffith Owen's indignation, and their re-action upon his no less irritable brother, might upon the present occasion have produced a domestic war as fierce and fiery as if provoked by a mere Saxon of yesterday, inca- pable of tracing a distinct pedigree higher than Hengist or HoRSA. PEN OWEN. 21 Fortune, however, who in some disguise or other, has, from the days of old Homer down to our own, constantly interposed to snatch those who are destined to live in history from im- pending destruction, here stepped in, to check the march of the contending parties as they ad- vanced to action. Just as Mr. Griffith Owen's indignation had sent up a competent supply of matter to the tip of his tongue (having already dis- charged all those ready-made missiles which, in the language of invective, supply the place of reason and argument), he was checked on a sudden by the abrupt entrance of a little old woman in a mob cap and black hood, the fire of whose eyes, though quenched in some degree by the intervention of a huge pair of spectacles, ap- peared to illuminate her whole visage, and to concentrate its rays on the extremity of a most portentous projection, intended by nature for a nose, but by some strange artificial contact in its advances towards maturity, curved and twisted into something more like a Scotch mull, both in its form and contents. In a state of nearly equal irritation, this formidable person- age, rujaning up to him, screamed in a key shrill c 3 22 PEN OWEN. enough to drown even his objurgatory exclama- tions, and to arrest them in their mid career : *' Why here's a commence ! — Was ever the like of it seen in this varsal world — the deuce a bit of nurse Clotworthy, and I dare to say ye ha' never been a'ter her." The conscience stricken Griffith started back as if he had seen a ghost ! " There now," continued the terrific vision, " as sure as pease is pease a' knows no more of her than the child unborn." " Unborn !" cried Caleb, gently touching her arm ; she withdrew it with a contemptuous jerk, whilst she still continued to address his brother, whose eyes were traversing the apartment in every direction. " Ye'll be the death — ^es, ye will — ye'll be the death o' your own flesh and blood. Why, listen, — do listen, — there — there now, if the little angel be'nt roaring like twenty divels." '•' Odds my life, Caleb," cried Griffith, in a subdued tone, which marked the oblivion of his anger and the cause of it together, — " where, where is the paper ?" Nothing, however, could pacify the old mid- wife, for such I presume the reader has already 15 PEN OWEN. 23 iliscovercd her to be. She screametl, or, by this time from increased hoarseness, roared on, *^ It's the unnaturalist, cruellest, barbarest — " " Peace, you old beldame," exclaimed Grif- fith, in a vain attempt to outroar her — then turn- ing towards Caleb, his imploring eyes besought him to look for the paper; when both darting down at the same moment in brotherly sympathy, their heads came in violent contact, and for the first time in their lives, perhaps, were equally illuminated. The old woman, whose violent and extravagant gesticulations had brought her within the immediate focus of attraction, shared in the common fate, but still maintained her rela tive position at the ear of Griffith. — Scrambling on the floor, for carpet there was none, they scratched up and turned every scrap of paper that presented itself in the scanty interstices left by matted jars, fractured retorts, parts and portions of pipkins and bells, orreries and popguns, diving bells and patent ploughshares, air-pumps, foreign journals, galvanic batteries, and mouse-traps, accompanied by a running symphony prophetically denouncing the conse- quences attendant upon such a sacrilege in the very precincts of her tutelary lady, Lucina. c 4? ^ PEN OWEN. At length a joyful exclamation, whicli, with A corresponding action, threw the unfortunate sibyl to the further extremity of the room, an- nounced the recovery of the precious relic, for such it really was. Having taken every twist and turn of the late interesting discourse in the hands of the philosopher, parts of it had been severed during the more animated prosecution of the argument; and what remained would have puzzled the brain of Caleb to decypher. Aided, however, by a lively imagination, it was at once rendered intelligible to a man of general science, who, amongst the variety of his pursuits, cannot be supposed to have neglected the art of guessing, in his antiquarian researches. Now, for the better understanding a scene in which the actors were at least as much perplexed as the dullest of my readers is likely to be, it may be just necessary to state, that Mr. Griffith Owen was a most profound system -monger, and had for seven previous months of his invaluable time, been occupied in ascertaining the necessary requisites of a nurse, from the collective sources opened by Locke, Rousseau, Tytler, &c. &c. Combining these in an individual whom he had at length discoveredjjhe had engaged her, without ad« 18 TEN OWEN. 25 mittinghisgood lady, or the usual authorities upon such occasions, into his counsels. This person had recently arrived in Bristol, (for there, gentle reader, for the present you are deposited,) from the hills above Crickhowel, and had of course transmitted her address to Mr. Griffith Owen. This scrap of paper, therefore, was of no less importance to him, than eventually to ourselves ; for he had established the fact in his own mind, that the brightest genius might be perverted in the hands of an ignorant nurse ; and if so fatal an accident had befallen our hero, (for such it will already be perceived the precious babe must in due course become^) it is probable he would have been lost in the crowd of ordinary beings^ and certainly have been left to find another his- torian. Who then can blame the caution in- duced by so strong a sense of duty as that which determined Griffith to insist upon going himself for this important personage, when the necessity for her presence at her post should require it. He had pertinaciously maintained this determi- nation, and when the birth of a male child (the object of all his desire and ambition for a certain period) was announced just one hour previous to this precise moment of our narrative, he was 26 PEN OWEN. rushing out of his study, when met by hitj bro- ther Caleb, who came simply to inquire how things were going with the good lady in the straw. Whether there be a stronger interest in relating our good fortune than in following it up ; or, whether the love of discussion is para- mount to all other love in philosophic minds ; or, whether it be really true that great wits have an inherent claim to treacherous memories, it is not for me to say ; much less could it be ex- pected that our good midwife, with all her qualifications and endowments, should, in the affitation of the moment, when the life of her precious charge was at stake, take upon her to analyze the abstractions of a philosophical genius ! If her reproaches, therefore, were rather unce- remonious, they cannot altogether be considered either unnat ural or unj ust. Mr. Griffith felt this, and was in consequence proportionably annoyed, and indignant. He dismissed her with one more solitary but pithy prayer for her ultimate destiny, which she did not fail to re-echo ( like such phenomena in Ireland) with considerable additions, whilst he seized the paper,and rushing out of the house, having oiily forgotten his hat. PEN OWEN. 27 began treading the streets of this ancient city, as Archimeiies may be supposed to have done those of the more ancient Syracuse, upon an in- finitely less important occasion. He pursued his way through lanes and cross-cuts, at the risk of his own neck, to say nothing of the va- rious properties which lay exposed on stalls and barrows on either side of his course, in the hope of more quickly reaching his point of destination. But, unlike the philosopher of old, who at least had solved his problem before he proclaimed it, our modern genius speculated as he ran, and met with so many obstacles, what with turnings to the left, which should have been made to the right, and culs-desac which he chose to convert into thoroughfares, that he lost another full hour before he could fairly exclaim with his great ar- chetype, '^ I have found it — I have found it." " What !" I hear some fastidious reader de- mand (of which class, by the way, I beg leave once for all to declare I desire to have as few as possible), — " What ! and is all this fuss and stir about a new-born babe, a thing of clouts and swaddling clothes ? Methinks the man must be in his dotage to swell and swagger about phi- losophy and metaphyoics and modes^ in which^ 28 ' TEN OWEN. aller all, lie appears but a smatterei*, and to go and quarrel with and bespatter his brother, and all about the genius and qualities of a babe of an hour old. — A likely story truly !" All I ask in return is a litde patience, Mr. Philosopher, for such I know you to be from your talent at hyper- criticism, whether in pantaloons or petticoats. It may have been your good or ill-fortune (I do not mean to commit myself to any opinion upon so important a question), never to have met with a thorough-paced speculator or projector ; but I am willing to appeal to, aye, and to abide the verdict of any twelve discreet men in your own immediate neighbourhood, whether they have not known many a proper and goodly person of this description, who has not only decided the future destiny of his children before they were born, but has actually expended their fortunes before he had fixed upon the precise mode of making them. Besides, it is to berecollected (and 1 throw myself upon my more candid readers,) that I am now stating plain matters of fact, to which my veracity as a legitimate historian stands alto- gether pledged ; and which, if they were of ordi- nary or every day occurrence, would be neither worth the trouble of my recording, nor of their PEN OWEN. 29 perusal. Moreover, there is neither discrimina- tion nor novelty in the objection which brother Caleb, with no pretensions to critical acumen, has already made in as forcible terms as his small vocabulary would admit, and with as little temper as the sourest critic could desire. But I am fighting shadows, whilst I ought to be duly aware of the more substantial difliculties which environ a writer in every department of litera- ture in this (justly styled) " enlightened era of the nineteenth century." We live in a microscopic age ; and the mean- est object, the minutest detail, is considered a treasure equally by the poet and the patriot ; although it may occasionally lead the one to be a little too poetical, and render the former some- what prosaic. This felicitous discovery may claim its legitimate exercise in that peculiar species of history which is now submitted to the judgment of the world; and to evince at once the correctness of this opinion, and my fixed deter- mination to be guided by it, I beg leave to state, from my notes taken at the precise moment by an authorized short-hand writer, (a class of men standing foremost in the rank of modern litera- ture, and alvvays provided with the best places). M) PEN OWEN. that the child wlio has made some noise in this our first chapter^ and who incontestably made much more in the nursery previous to the ar- rival of nurse Clotvvorthy, was at length, by means too well known to my readers of both sexes (provided they are not philosophers,) to need any minute description, reconciled to the world, and soothed into silent acquiescence in the various arrangements proposed and carried into effect by that good old lady and her clustering gossips. Alternately between eating and sleeping, (the great leading functions chalked out by dame Nature for the next few years of his life,) he gave color to the fond hopes entertained by his father, by exhibiting a genius unparalleled, according to every leading authority^resent,in those pur- suits which lay immediately open to his yoiing ambition. ( -I ) CHAPTER II. It is a maxim of an obsolete author, but one who is supposed to have known something of what he wrote about, that a poet, in order to in- gratiate himself with his readers, should rush pell-mell with them " in medias res" as he terms it, which being rendered in the more refined language of our country, means the core and pith, or more literally, the middle of his story. The soundness of the advice, it is not my pro- vince to discuss ; but the authority being nearly two thousand years of age, I hold myself entitled to plead it before any modern court of criticism, which may feel itself entitled to question the right I have exercised of thus drawing you, my fair and gentle readers, at once into the very focus, as it were, of my history. I have placed you behind a screen, where, without breach of manners or impeachment of your delicacy, you 32 PEN OWEN. have become acquainted with three important personages, who are destined to make a consi- derable figure in the course of tlie following pages. Some snarler may affirm (for such men will affirm any thing to the disparagement of their neighbours), that an historian is no poet, and that consequently the Horatian statute does not apply to the case before the court. To this, I answer, he knows nothing at all about the mat- ter. Some have asserted that Herodotus and even Livy himself (of whom I profess to have no knowledge but on hearsay), have more poetry than is to be found in half the professed poets of succeeding ages ; but I suspect this to be an observation made for some sinisterpurposeby the very snarlers themselves, and I will never be a party to a system, which thrives only by picking holes in an old coat, or preventing a new one from sitting easy on a man's shoulders. I will only put this question to the worthies : Are not Fielding and Smollett, and the Scot^ as much poets (if these men know the force of the term) as Dryden, Pope, or that other Scot, ■-* If that other be. And be not He ! PEN OWEN. 33 It is true that the authority, obsolete as I be- fore observed, on which I make my stand, pre- supposes a certain prescience or fore-knowledge in the reader or auditor of the history to be handled ; but this could only remain in force as a dogma, whilst the art of invention, or poetry proper as I may call it, was in its infancy ; and in an age when genius was only permitted to play about the light kindled as far back as the first birth of the muse, and before she could, well see. Besides, I think it may be predicated of many of my readers (without offence to the. generality) that they are, by this time at least, to the full as well (if not better) acquainted with, Mr. Griffith and Mr. Caleb Owen, as with any of the actors in the courts of Sparta, Thebes, or Argos, or those unfortunate nymphs and swainsr whom the bard of love has thought proper to metamorphose into '* beasts of the field, and fishes of the sea." All this being premised, and taken for granted, I may now safely conduct my patient friends out of the corner they have hitherto been permitted to occupy, and gratify their curiosity, which I calculate to be at its height just at this VOL. I. D 34 PEN OWEN. precise moment of time, by informing them who and what thesie worthy brothers are, and what were the previous circumstances which occa- sioned the confusion in which we find them in- volved; but this is a long story, and must be told in my own way, for who is to control me ? — The reviewers ; — psha, I don't care a rush for them. I could write my own review if I chose, but I disdain it, and leave my history to take its chance among the best and most sincere of all re- viewers.— Who ? — Look in the glass, myfair cate- chiser; and I mean no great compliment after all. Be it known, then, that Mr. Griffith Owen, dhd his brother Caleb, were the sons of a Welsh gentlemian, descended through a long line of ancestors, from one of the oldest families in the land *wher^ old families grow. Mr. Geoffrey ap Hbel ap Rice ap Asser ap Owen, (for that was the gentleman's name, although for brevity's sake we shall in future subtract three -fourths of these patronymics, upon an understanding that they are always to be ww- derstood,) had, in defiance of the hereditary abhorrence entertained through all ages by his family, for commerce in every shape, been in- PEN OWEN. 35 duced, or more correctly speaking, was com- pelled to realise a very handsome independence in a house of business in Bristol. The paternal acres of this sole and last representative of all the Owens, having gradually made unto them- selves wings of the various materials furnished by dowers, portions, foreclosed mortgages, and docked entails, took their final flight from Cwm Owen castle, under the signs manual of that gentleman and his father, on the twenty- first anniversary of the birth of the former. His father died soon after this concluding settlement of the estate, and Geoffrey, of course, inherited the whole of his interest in it, which could boast at least of one advantage, not always insured to inheritances, namely, that it was wholly unin- cumbered. The capital sum of fifteen hundred pounds sterling, the residuum of the final process, was all that the representative of an infinite line of ancestry had now left to support the family honors. The transfer of the castle of Cwm Owen, with the few acres which the former pos- sessors had left still attached to it, was about to be made to a very honest citizen and dealer iu hardware, one who had lived long enough in D 2 36 TEN OWEN. the city of Bristol to qualify himself to live out of it for the remainder of his life. There were, however, many palliating circum- stances, although of a negative nature, to lighten the effect of this sad blow upon Mr. Geoffrey Owen. Fh'st and foremost, that gentleman was not likely to be misled by his imagination, or to bewilder himself in the mazes of profound or speculative meditation, upon the strange reverses of his family. He was fortunately an exception (I say fortunately, observe, only under the pe- culiar circumstances of the case) to the general tone and feeling which are so strongly charac- teristic of his countrymen in general, and more particularly of his own ancestors. His heredi- tary pride appears to have subsided gradually, in the exact ratio of his diminished means to feed it. Those local feelings of attachment, which are in general apt to cling more closely to a man the further the object of them recedes from his grasp, lost much of their influence upon his mind, probably by the dilapidated state of his mansion, and the no inconsiderable degree of personal inconvenience he had long experienced from the rival contention of the rats within, and PEN OWEN. 37 the elements without^ to disturb his quiet posses- sion of it; to which may be added, the total absence of all that could directly appeal to his sensibili- ties ; grey-headed seneschals or weeping domes- tics, turned adrift with nothing but a staiF and scrip to seek refuge among strangers ; venerable nurses with old nursery tales, and foster parents wailing and mourning over the decayed magni- ficence of their earlier days, through half a dozen generations ! — There were none of those over- powering accompaniments to awaken in the undone chief those torturing sympathies which form essential ingredients for the pathetic, both in true and feigned histories ; and for the best of all possible reasons, because nothing beyond a barefooted drudging maid of all work, and a day labourer occasionally hired to tether a single cow, who had the range of the homestead, whereon grass appeared to grow, were admitted to be sharers in the reduced or rather extin- guished hospitalities of Cwm Owen for the last two generations. The misery (and misery enough unquestionably there was,) which had prevailed in the dilapidated mansion of late years, had nothing in it of the splendid or the interesting. How to live upon the least possible D 3 38 PEN OWEN. food without absolute starvation, and how to keep the wind and rain out with the least pos- sible expenditure of money, might supply many strange and curious expedients in detail ; but would, I fear, afford but scanty materials for the entertainment of the sentimental reader. Had I haply been born a poet in deed_, something might have been done even in this way ; but alas ! we know that poets are not to be manu- factured, and I must surrender such subjects, which I hereby do, to those great modern geniuses who find, ifnot** tongues or sermons," poetry at least, in stocks and stones, and make their dismounted muse discover *' good in every thing." In the immediate precincts of Cwm Owen castle, indeed, there were several of those pa- tient anmals who have lately been surprised to find themselves in the precincts of the muses, attracted by the thistles which grew in profusion under its walls, but none that I have been able to discover (however worthy of a lyrical bard) that possessed any hereditary claim to the tears and sympathy of Mr. Geoffrey Owen, had he been either poetically or sentimentally inclined, which, as I before insinuated, I have PEN OWEN. 39 reason to think he \yas not. This gentleman was, from all I have been able to learn, a plain, sen- sible, straight forward sort of being, who finding himself at twenty-one, when most others are considered of age to take possession of their estates, only just qualified, by his arrival at years of discretion, to cut off his own succession, began, when left to himself by his father^s death, to look about him for the means to sustain life without an estate, which experience had shewn him was with difficulty to be done even with it. But my zeal in the service of the reader is outstripping my discretion. For the purpose of observing that lucidus ordo, which is the very life and soul of history, it is ne- cessary that we should take a retrospective view of the family of the Owens for several generations previous to the epoch at which we have so hastily and prematurely arrived. — Nay, start not, my good reader — it is not possible to give the history of any man, that is, of any man whose history is worth giving, and whose pedigree is a national concern, without going back half a dozen ages at least. You may, however, trust to my moderation. I am not one of those who, conscious of my own power, am disposed to use D 4? 40 • PEN OWEN. it despotically. I promise therefore to be as concise and terse as I can be, consistently with my duty to you, to the family for whom I am concerned, and to myself. I should not, perhaps, dare to afford such a pledge, did not my ob- scurity (preserved among other minor consi- derations on this very ground) free me from all bodily fear and apprehension of one of those dread champions of heraldic honours, who de- nied the patent of gentility to a suitor, because his family was plebeian until the war of the two roses ! — a fact, as Miss Edgeworth would say, — and a fact, upon my honour. Without further exordium, then, proceed we to examine the documents by which we are enabled to shew that the hero of this history, whatever may be his future fortunes, must ever be entitled to respect and honour, at least among those of his countrymen who have not fallen from their allegiance to genealogy, consonants, and goat's milk. From the days of Noah down to the period of Henry VII. of England, we have the genealo- gical tree of the Owens of Cwm Owen, in a clear uninterrupted series, with such marginal scholia as %yere furnished, by the family bards. PEN OWEN. 41 and a long descent of learned dervvydds^ or druids. The reader will, no doubt, dtdy appre- ciate my tenderness in omitting in detail this portion of the family history, which would indeed occupy more volumes than have been allowed to histories of this nature, as my worthy bookseller informs me, since the days of Gran- dison; but I must be permitted to extract a few materials from the aforenamed marginal notices for the edification and delight of all true lovers of antiquarian research. Puny critics and ca- villing sceptics have been found in all ages to object to the authenticity of detailed memoirs respecting heroes and legislators, whom they pretend to suppose lived antecedent to all record; but here we have authorities, the ge- nuineness of which not one of the family of the Owens, in whose archives they have constantly been kept, ever entertained the smallest doubt, and whose judgment upon such a document must be considered conclusive. When I say that the record from the flood is unbroken and uninterrupted, it is to distin- guish it from the more general notices concern- ing the family from the period of the creation to that general overthrow of the race of man, and 42 PEN OWEN. the scattered fragments of their history, which go far to establish it, as consisting of pre- adamite Magnates. The manner in which these hints are thrown out^ especially in reference to the latter hypothesis, leads us to conclude that no existing documents were found sufficiently authoritative to warrant the character of ascer- tained biography ; so that they are not positively insisted on, and may rank with those more modern records of history which, for want of precise information, we usually term ff^bulous. When, however, the real history commences, we are sufficiently repaid for all antecedent obscurity. The apparent absurdities of the Egyptian and Pagan mythology are reconciled, according to the strictest rules of historical ac- curacy, with plain matters ^f fact^ which at once sweep away from the face of the earth the theo- ries of false philosophy, and the guesses of doat- ing antiquarianism. For instance, Minos of Crete, Menu (he of the Yedas), and Noah, are herein proved to be one and the same person, and no other than Menu Teirgwaedd, a Welchman, whose origin is accurately traced in the Triads of Caradoc of Nantgarvan ! — That rogue Cadmus, who had PEN OWEN. 43 long been suspected of having no Phenician blood in his veins, turns out to be an adventurer from the banks of the Clywd, who stole hi& alphabet ready-made from a Welch gwydd or cwyz (emphatically called by Taliesin Bum Gwydd yngwarthan), at the very moment when he was manufacturing a basket, in order to ti'y the experiment of a metempsychosis upon the person of this Clywdmouth or Cadmus himself, who escaped in a coracle with his literary trea- tises to the shores of Greece. The long disputed identity of Thoth Trismegistus, with various contending characters of antiquity, is herein finally established in the person of Hu Gadarn, a native Cambrian, who with a handful of his hardy countrymen made a circuit of the world, founded the Egyptian priesthood — established the Brachmans in India — and taking Thrace in their way back to Wales, left Orpheus, a most respectable harper of Aberystwith, in full pos- session of the priestly, kingly, and prophetic offices united in his own person. The antique stock of British heroes we find also identified with the main builders of Babel, who were in fact the original Titans and Cabiri, Avhich at once accounts to us for the obscurity and fabu- 44- PEN OWEN". lous mybticism in which those sly rogues, the Egyptians and Greeks, so long continued to envelope their origin. But at length the new light breaks in upon us. The Owen table has dispersed the clouds and mists of antiquity, and how much toil, and labour — how many ponderous tomes and well-larded folios might have been spared through all the intervening generations, had not modesty or pride (for I do not exactly know to which we ought to attribute it), stood in the way of its revelation to mankind. The exploits of those two extraor- dinary personages, whom we have been taught to admire from our boyish days under the names of Bacchus and Hercules, may lose some of their poetical accompaniments, but appear infinitely more natural in "the modest clothing of veritable history, being neither more nor less than the one a disbanded captain, who had brought the art of wrestling to a state of per- fection unknown to the rest of the world, and travelled with a jolly publican of Caerleon, who first mixed his waters after the flood, and dis- covered the mysterious art of concocting leek broth, and the manufacture of metheglin. The precise place of Eurydice's descent is PEN OWEN- 45 '" proved to be a slough on the summit of Cader Idris, whence Gwydd Owen or Orpheus, who, as before observed, was an admirable performer on the Welch harp, attempted to extricate her, and was abused for his pains by three derwydds, or cynical priests, who lived hard by, arid had shut her up for some of their vile purposes. These are, as usual, pressed into the Greek my- thology as a three headed dog! — and sad dogs they certainly were. But to expose the blun- dering plagiarisms of those whom we have been habituated to revere under the character of ancients, we can prove that they actu- ally converted a well known Welch judge, a cotemporary of Abraham, into the river Styx ; and a cabbage plot of the Owens in Cardigan- shire, into the garden of the Hesperides — a fact so precisely indicated in the family chart, as to leave no room for discussion upon the question. Hesperus, or the evening star, turns out to be an old priest of the name of Merddin, as the names duly etymologized may be brought to attest ; whilst the Apollo of the Orphic hymns, (which, by the by, are shewn to be genuine old British ballads,) is genealogically traced to an amateur fiddler, who held a considerable property near Pen- maiimawr, and was cotemporary with Semiramis, 46 PEN OWEN. who was herself not without Cambrian blood in her veins. This latter is established in a long note, with undoubted testimony to the fact, of that lady having run off with Nin Owen, a poor re- lation of the family, who sacrilegiously corrupted the patronymic into Ninus, after he had made a settlement in Mesopotamia. — A very dis- tinguished female of the family whose name was Ola, Olwen, Owen, Oven, or Ovenus, is admit- ted, upon evidence drawn even from the spurious records of vulgar history, to be the Venus whom some emigrants, heated by the violence of their passion, raised into a goddess, and report- ed to have sprung from the sea, as being a native of the British Isles, but who ran away with Mac Evor, Mac Vor, or Mavor, commonly called Mars, an aboriginal prince of the wild Irish. In a note, supposed to have been in- serted about the period of the Jewish Exodus, it is more than insinuated that Noah himself was the first progenitor (after the flood) of the Owen family, and that the name upon some later occasion had been (which was very usual, as is well known to every learned etymologist) either anagrammatized, or by some blundering Greek reversed in the order of reading, accord- ing to his move modern fashion of transcribing it. PEN OWEN. 47 Tliere is certainly a great appearance of pro- bability in this hypothesis, as "wc, not being of the family stocky may be disposed to rank it under this designation. For if we allow a similar latitude to the learned Jacob Bryant, (which I, for one, most assuredly do,) there is little difficulty in identifying n^E (or Noe) with fiEN (or Owen), being merely the transposition of the same letters, necessary and allowable to all who desire to come to any decision upon dis- puted derivations ! It is to be hoped that the learned society, recently established in the prin- cipality for furthering discoveries of this nature, may employ their valuable time with effect, in authenticating this important claim of our hero's family, and in elucidating all the obscurities which have been artfully, and no doubt pur- posely, thrown in the way of the history of their native country, by the inventors of hierogly- phics in Egypt, and the pilfering jugglers in the stage plays of Eleusyna ! May the joint labours of these learned descendants of their illustrious fathers, be at length effectual to ascertain, whe- ther (according to a late learned hypothesis,) the pillars of Seth were really used for ballast in the Ark, and if so, whether they at present lie 48 PEN OWEN. buried on the banks of the Euphrates, or were, as has been asserted, cruelly employed by the pea- sant architect in the construction of Pont y prid over the immortal TafF ! I can only add, that the invaluable documents entrusted to my care shall be open to the very learned body in em- bryo ; and that the Ante-Noahic memoranda, as well as other authentic records in my possession, are perfectly at their service. But the fascination of these interesting documents mustnot withdraw me from more important duties. From the 532*^ roll^ however, ending about the commencement of the reign of Henry. VII., it is necessary for the purposes of a much more important history, (I mean that of our hero himself,) that I should extract, in a regular order and series, the gener- ations of the Owens of Cwm Owen. In the fourth year of the aforesaid Henry, we find Tudor Owen in full and quiet possession of the castle of his ancestors at Cwm Owen, con- sisting of a demesne of five thousand good and substantial Welch acres. Having returned from the wars, in which he had the command of a company under Richmond, his maternal rela- tion, he retired to his estate, followed by all those of his tenantry who had borne arms in the PEN OWF.N. 4.9 same cause with him. Among these were many younger sons, (especially officers), who having made Uttle by fighting, though they would have made nothing by staying at home, were hospi- tably retained by tlieir chieftain in the castle of his fathers. The army, especially in those days, was not a school of economy, and as Tudor Owen had expended all that his loyalty could realize in the shape of money, tluring a long period of the war of the two roses, he trusted to his dirty acres to supply what might in future be necessary for his own support, and that of his multitudinous followers and retainers. At the age of forty-five, having duly considered the im- portance of a family heir, and having previously consulted the pedigrees of all the neighbour- ing chieftains who had female branches to dispose of, he at length chose the daughter of a castellan, whose antiquity was his principal claim to such an honor, and wedded a girl who had no fortune indeed, but who brought with her seven high-minded unportioned brothers, and cousins without number, to support her in her new dignities. The boundaries of the €astle were enlarged,the accommodations ampli- fied, and the union of the trees was necessarily VOL. I, E 50 PEN OM EN. succeeiletl by arrangements for the extension and fructification of all its branches ; in plainer terms, and without a figure, cousins and brothers, and brothers' wives, and wives' cousins ad infi- nitum^ were necessarily accommodated in the castle of the chief, of whom it was always pre- dicated, that if there was "room in the heart, there must be room in the house.** This was in the natural course and order of things, and ap- peared 'prima facie ; but there was a sub-cur- rent which ran passibus cequist but was not so clearly perceived, and which, in the long run, contributed not a little to undermine, not only the castle, but the castle demesnes. The reader will perceive that I am somewhat inclined to tropes and figures, and I could, if necessary, prove that these can only be the product of a poetical imagination, which might afford hopes of variety in his future entertainment ; but it is not necessary ; and I shall only say, once for all (which is a very general excuse for all the coxcombs and pedants of the present day,) that it is my way ; and if I have not yet gained more credit with him than such wretched things as these are, I may as well lay down my pen, and put all I have already written into the fire ; PEN OWEN. 51 but 1 will do no such thing, having many and urgent reasons against it. I beg leave, therefore, in order to satisfy all tastes, to state, without either trope or figure, what might easily have been un- derstood before, that such revelry and junket- ting, and eating and drinking, and tournaying and tilting, cannot go on without money, and that all the beeves and beverage being consumed at home, things not bred and made at home must be paid for in other gear, which, I believe, from all I have been able to collect, was much the same in the period I am treating of as at the present moment. But I am always for referring to facts, and it is a melancholy one that Owen ap Owen his son, when he succeeded to his father, early in the reign of Henry VIII., was compelled to alienate a large portion of the estate of Cwm Owen, in order to live upon the remainder. Warned by his father's extravagance, the heir began by re- trenching all supei*fluities, and setting his affairs in order ; in return for which he was stigmatized as Owen the Niggard, and was held in intuitive abhorrence by his cousins, even to the tenth ge- neration, as a degenerate and rotten graft upon the Owena* stock. The very reputation of his e2 LIBRARY 52 PEN OWEN. mother was at one time called in question ; but the reflection that she had never stepped beyond the precincts of Cwm Owen after her marriage, and that if she had incurred the misfortune of a fall, it could only have been upon one of the branches of the family tree, her fair character was restored, and not a word more was whis- pered against her. Whether frugality is a plant which does not thrive amongst a high-minded people, or whether abstinence is destructive of a Cambrian constitution, I cannot take upon me to say ; but so far is certain, from the authentic record, that Owen ap Owen had scarcely performed the duty of supplying an heir to the property, when he took leave of his property and his life at one and the same moment, not without suspicion of poison, which in those days was constantly ex- cited by the premature or unexpected exit of a great man, or an obnoxious character. A glorious minority under the tutelage of his grandmother, who resolved wholly to retrieve the Owen celebrity for hospitality which had been called in question during the life of her un- gracious son, restored her grandson Madoc, when he arrived at one-ahd- twenty, exactly to PEN OWEN. 5S the point from which his father had previously started ; that is, with half the original property, and a huge debt incurred by the expense of bringing him up to man's estate, in a manner fitting and becoming the heir of all the Owens. Thus carefully educated, it is not to be supposed he would fall into the error of his father. He possessed no such sordid spirit ; he kept his gates open, and his table spread, to all comers ; and when he died, in the reign of Elizabeth, the last bag in the strong box of the castle was emptied, to defray the expense of his magnifi- cent obsequies, at which half the principality was sumptuously regaled. • Money, as I have had occasion to observe more than once already, must be had, or things are at a stand. Long accumulated incumbrances must be paid off; and when land is surety for the debt, the cre- ditors possess advantages which they are seldom slow in realising. The Owens Avere, fortunately, never without direct heirs (as far, at least, as I have been able to ascertain, and my opportu- nities, as the reader may premise, have not been few or limited), and the hot-bed of hospitality, under Madoc ap Rice ap Owen, was most prolificirin its supply of mouths to eater upon the E 3 54- PKN OWEN. aforesaid lands of Cwm Owen. No less than six sons and seven daughters were united with the immediate heir, Kenneth Owen, when he succeeded upon the death of his father. A fresh alienation became indispensable, which, with the former slices cut off by his predecessors, reduced the original demesne of 5000 acres to 1500. But I fear to grow tedious to such of my readers as delight not in details, so gratify- ing to the thorough-bred antiquarian, and must, therefore, endeavour to epitomize the remainder of the descent of Pendarves Owen, premising that I reserve all my tediousness to bestow upon readers of every description, when I come down to my immediate favourite, the hero of this his- tory, for whom I have already undergone so much literary toil and labour. Hewys, or Hugh Owen, then, (I cannot de- cipher which) I find supporting the royal cause during the great Rebellion, and retiring after the Restoration upon two-thirds of his original inheritance. Griffith Owen, surnamed the Fal- coner, from the character of his pursuits, frit- tered away his income and his time in a manner which sets all inquiry at defiance ; which, together with the rage tor electioneering, which seized P£N OWEN. IS upon hih tsuccessor Glendower, carried off, at one fell swoop, tlie greater part of the remaining lands of Cwm Owen. Soured and disappointed at the folly of his fatlier, his successor concen- trated and embodied his feelings of disappoint- ment, and directed them all against the then existing govcrnmentj which probably had never heard of him; and very nearly reduced him to a state of perpetual incarceration, after the final fnilure of the unfortunate adventurer in the year forty-five. Luckily, he had a son, and luckily too, that son had told twenty-one years ; so, fol- lowing the example of his prudent forefather, he took ofFanother slice of the Abyssinian milch cow, and left her, as we have already had oc- casion to observe, to the father of Geoffrey Owen, with scarcely any thing on her bones. The skeleton, indeed, was not worth the keeping, for the castle itself was in a state of dilapidation, and the score or two acres which were its scant accompaniment, exhibited little to cover its nakedness. The sffort, therefore, was not so great as might have been imagined, by whicii the heir of Cwm Owen, in the person of (icoffrey, the grandfather of our future hero^, parted for ever E 4 56 PEN OWEN. from the worn-out remnant of his ancestorial mantle. The final transfer of this final remnant was made to a Bristol shopkeeper, as previously intimated, retiring from business, and Geoffrey had now only seriously to consider, how his hum- ble funds might be applied so as to afford some permanent means of support. This might have puzzled a man of a speculative turn of mind, who would have found a sufficient number of expe- dients in half an hour to employ him in retracing and unravelling them to their original source m nuhibus. Not so, Geoffrey ; — he discovered, with- out much reflection, that the measures adopted by the family of the Cwm Owens, through the greater part of their generations, were sufficiently illus- trative of the means by which a fine property may be reduced to nothing ; and, turning his eyes at the moment towards the little snug tie- wigged trader of Bristol, in a three-cornered hat, and a snuff-coloured coat and dittos, who was in the act of viewing his recent purchase, he saw also an illustration of the means by which an estate may be raised out of nothing. It is not my business to discuss or pursue any nice abstract question in philosophy or meta- physics, which may arise in the progress of this 18 PEN OWEN. 57 history. I only record facts, and though it may be said that nothing can come of nothing, I have the means of proving, beyond the possibility of cavil or dispute, that Peter Pellett, the new lord of Cwm Owen, did literally begin the world with nothing, nay worse than nothing, having been born in the poor-house of the parish of Keynsham (between Bath and Bristol,) and bred up on the eleemosynary contributions of the parishioners of that place, until he was able to do in the world (as it is called) for himself. The little citizen bowed with as much humility to Mr. Geoffrey Owen, as if he had been selling a saucepan, instead of buying a castle; so habitual were the manners to which he stood indebted for the goods of fortune. The latter, in following up the suggestion which the peculiar circumstances of his situation had prompted, addressed Mr. Peter Pellet — " You appear to be a very for- tunate man, sir, by your successful industry to have become the purchaser of this castle." " Castle, quotha ! — yes, yes, — I ask ye par- tlon — it was called a castle in the pertic'lars of sale, and that were my main objection." " Objection — How's that sir ?" " Why, I never sec'd a castle that warn't a 58 PEN oW£N". jail— I ask ye pardon — and so tliinks I, a'ter all lv*e toiled and laboured — and owed no man a fardeii — its but a bad job to buy oneself into jail, that's a good 'un — aynt it — but la— they laughed at me, and said e'ery man's house was a castle in this country : so I made no more ado but bought it out and out, as the saying is — I ask ye pardon." ** My pardon ! For what sir ?" ** Oh ! that's my way — I beg ye — I mean that's my way, all as 1 may say in the way of business. It takes hugely — Two customers to- gether — can't answer both — ask pardon of one — serve the other. Why, sir, it tells in a sight of ways ; make a small mistake in a bill — beg your pardon, sir — man tells a little bit of a lie, saving your presence, must beg your pardon, sir. Its all one, always handy — so got into it, and so can't get out of it — that's good-^an't it ?" « Thou art a humorist Mr. Pellett." " Anan ! — Oh humorist, well enough at home that is — to wife and brats — he ! he ! ask ye par- don — that won't do in trade — be in good humour with all— you're an ass, says a testy fellow—beg your pardon, sir^ — I'll knock you down, sirrah — PEN OWEN. 5ft bow the lower; ask pardon again, and he begins to cheapen." ** Thou art at least a politician," smiled Geoffrey. ** Ask ye pardon — never more out in your life — never knew a politician make a fortin in my born life — always steered clear of them there things. Vote for my friend Mr. Kingsman, says one — beg your pardon, sir, I can't promise. Vote for Mr. Crop, says another — beg pardon, don't mean to vote at all." " So you surrender your privilege on the score of prudence." " Why — lauk never voted but once for a parliament-man, and got enough of it then — never vote again. Why, sir, I ask — I mean, I got a large commission for the Russey market —house failed — fobbed off with two and sixpence in the pound — and lost a venter to Boney's Haris, by giving offence to Alderman Tother- side — which neighbour Twostringit took up, and made seven hundred pounds hard cash by." " Rather hard upon you, Mr. Pellctt, as you voted so conscientiously." '* Aye, aye, that's all gammon — what's con- science got to do with voting for a parliament- 60 PEN OWEN. nian ? — Never see him again, ten to one — never get nothing out of him a'terwards, unless so be when he's served his seven years — out of his time, as we call it — hey ! good — weigh him in his balance again." " Well, sir, what I would ask of you," said Mr. Geoffrey Owen, interrupting his loquacity, *' supposing a man like myself were to enter into business, what is the first step." '' The first step — into a good business, to be sure — ^hey !" " Tm not disposed to trifle. Mister Pellett ; I ask you a serious question, and desire you to inform me what measures it would be necessary for me to take in order to become a man of business." *^ You ! he, he ! that's a good one — ask ye pardon, thou'lt make an odd figure behind a counter 1" " A counter, sirrah !" ejaculated Geoffrey. " Why, how wilt carry on business with- out a counter, I should like to know — that's a good un, an't it ! — thee'stnot up to business, I take it." " It 15 on that account I apply to you — you, sir, are now in pobsession of the last re- PEN OWEN. 61 maining property of an antient family, the castle of my forefathers."' " Four fathers ! — that's a good one, an't it ! — now this comes of being of a great old family." " What, sir!" '^ What I why, to ha' four fathers, when I remember it was a joke agen me, as I had ne'er an one." '^ Very likely, Mr. Pcllett — I speak of those from whom this castle came down to me." " Odds boddikins, I wonder it hadn't come down upon them long ago — he! he !— Itsatumble down piece o' rubbish, and I dare to say, when we comes to overhaul the timbers, they'll be — " ^' D— n the timbers, sir, speak to the point, and answer my plain question, how a man like yourself (eyeing the hardwareman somewhat too superciliously) could rise from — from small beginnings into comparative affluence." " Nothing to be done without a counter, I •can tell thee, or without sticking to it — aye, sticking to it — I ask ye pardon." " Psha — with what capital did you start in business, man ?" " Capital ! — come that's a good one — hey J C2 PEN OWEN. I ask ye pardon— thank God, 1 hadn't a brass sixpence to cross myself with — should'nt have been here now, buying castles, as thee call st *em — no, no — never knew any body do good in business as begun with any thing." " Why, confound the man ! — how could you get a house, a shop, a hovel, without money I" " Don't ye be angry — ask ye pardon — got first into a good shop.'' *^ But how — how — that's what I want to know." ^^ How ! — Why by sweeping my way." *' Sweeping! — what?" " The shop, to be sure." *^ Take your own way, sir." *' And so I did, and the best way — so on 1 goes from sweeping to tramping." « Tramping!" ** To be sure — tramping a'ter master's cus- tomers wi' parcels and such like — and doings little odds and ends of 'omissions." *' Well sir, you seem to have taken your de- grees.'* " Degrees ! there's no getting on in any other guess manner ; so after that, I got on to scrap- ing.'' PEN OWKN. (j;1 " Making up your capital, I presume." " Lord love ye, no such a thing — never thought of capital — always running in thy head — ask ye pardon — scraping my master's door, and putting the best leg foremost, as we have it ;'* which the honest trader illustrated by making a series of very profound flexions of the body. " And pray, sir," asked the almost exhausted Mr. Geoffrey Owen, " what did that do foi you ?" ** Do ! made friends." <* How ?" ** By booing and civility." *• Servility, thou meanest — " "Ye; civility, I mean." " Your advances were slow at least." ** Slow — should like to see thee get on as fast — ask ye pardon, I began to climb like smoke." '♦ Climb ! creep, you would say." " I would say no such thing, for I should lie — ask ye pardon — I climbed to the garret — first housed, then lodged, then fed as shopman." ** That was a jump indeed," observed Geoffrey rather contemptuously. " Nothing to the next." ♦* What higher than the garret ?" ^4 PEN OWEN. "Higher — a mile — hop, step — and as we has it — from the off side to the near side of the counter." " In what manner ?" «' My own manner, to be sure — master liked my manner — missis liked my manner — custo- mers liked my manner — so they put me on my prefarment, and I riz to be foreman.'* ^' And how did'st thou rise above the coun- ter ?" " Above the counter ! that's a good un, an't jt i — Why, Lord love ye, I could'nt rise higher. Its the nonplush, as we has it — where the dick- ons would'st thee ha' me go? — There I stuck, for nobody could move me, 'till I growed to it, like a nailed Brummegem; and its the awkwardest thing in life to me to go^without it." " I mean to ask, how didst thou rise from the situation of a foreman, to that of master ? For such I presume thou wert." «' Popped into master's shoes." " By what means ?" " He died one day — ^popt to his widow — she jumped at it — carried on the concern, and pock- eted the old boy's savings as well as my own. He 1 he 1 that's a good un^ an't it ?" PEN' OWKX. G5 '^ For thee — a very good one, iVicnd ; — 1 sef» I shall make no progress in thy school/* " No ! — don't look cut out for it; can't give ye much encouragement — can't bend thee body enough — too upright." " I fear so indeed," groaned Geoffrey. " You maun creep first before you can climb, as we say ; besides, too rich, too rich ; I beg pardon, he !" " Dost thou mean to insult my poverty, sir?" '^ Oh lud, not I ; ask yo pardon ; say 'gain too rich." " Why sir, I have not fifteen hundred pounds in the world." '' Fifteen hundred ! too much, too much ; why ye can't begin sweeping, with such a sum in your pocket." " Sweeping ! why thou dar'st not imagine — " " Oh ! not I — beg pardon, dont imagine any such thing; only, if don't begin by sweeping, can't climb after my manner, that's all; and, good lack ! All men's not made for all things, as I heard the famous Zekel Platterface, at RedclifFe church say — you lia'nt the manner, the figure, the — " VOL. I. F ^6 PEN OWEN. " Dost laugh at me, sirrah !" " Laugh ! not I; the Lord love ye, — it's no laughing matter, I can tell ye. Wouldn't say nothing to disparage ye ; 'tisn't thee fault — nater made us as we be, — can't all rise to the top ;— : ben't all born to fortin." '« I wish you good morning, sir," said Mr. Geoffiey, more ruffled than he was wont to be by a conversation, which it must nevertheless be admitted required some patience, and unques- tionably ended very little to the purpose. He had but a vague notion of business, and had confounded a retailer of small wares with the wholesale merchants of the city, concerning whose respectability he had almost been taught to feel like other men, who could not boast a clear descent from Noah. He turned, therefore, upon his heel, rather abruptly, from the little bowing trader, but relapsing into his former train of reflections, which were somewhat apt to run in a circle, he unfortunately stopped before he was out of the reach of the shrill croak of citizen Pellett. That worthy personage was just resuming the task which Geoffrey had interrupted, of giving instructions to a Bristol builder, who had accompanied him from town PEX OWFN. .67 to assist in improving, as he unfortunately termed it, the castle of Cvvni Owen. Something had been suggested wliich he was answering: "Don't mind that, don't mind thatatall : — a fig for all orders ; shut up shop, — done with orders." After a pause, in which the taste of the builder seemed to have started some objec- tion to Mr.Pellett's reform, he went on : " Fid- dle, nonsense—what d'ye call that here thing yonder ?" The answer produced tlie exclama- tion — "A moat! — Like enow, I'm sure its a moat in my eye — good — he ! he ! — I askye — no ! I say, fill him up — fill him up — all but a bit for a fish-pond, under the new bow-winder." After another pause, he exclaimed, in angry response — " Not taste — fash I — will be a bow- winder — what's character to do wi' it — a'nt I character enough — left off business — can pay for it — won't be fobbed off— and some of that cross crankum work, like the bars of our gaol, painted green all over — and, look ye there, now, I'll liave all that here green wood as grows over them tumble down round houses cut off smack smooth. Don't tell me — can pay for't — will have F 2 68 PEN OWEN. it — I'll have that here half o' that there crazy castle pulled down, and the other neatly white- washed, and then it'll look something like." " Like what !" groaned Geoffrey Owen, and speeded forward out of hearmg. ( 69 ) CHAPTER III. JViR. Geoffrey Owen, among other agreeable reflections, when retiring in no very pleasant humour from his interview with the new posses- sor of Cwm Owen, was fearfully reminded that he had no place to retire to, not even a chair on which to sit down, and resolve where to sit next. He started, and by the motion of his foot seemed to be shaking off the last dust of the old pro- l>erty which cleaved to him, and hurried on to a small public house, at a short distance, still kept by an old tenant of the family ; where shut- ting himself up in the only sitting room which the place afforded, he endeavoured to resume the chain of thought to which he had lioped his interview with Mr. Pellett might have added a few useful links. Trade, if such were the means to be pursued, and he was as ignorant as a child of any other, he considered, now to be wholly out F 3 70 PEN OWKN. of the question — yet, he wisely felt that he had neither the talents, nor the education to qualify him for any profession. What then was to be done ? " That's the question," said he, just as a hack chaise drew up to the door of the alehouse, the horses sweating, the boy grumbling, and the whole equipage completely enveloped in mud ; out jumped a little dapper man in a bob wig and a black coat, who might have been sworn to as an attorney, even if he had not declared himself by drawing after him a blue stuff damask bag nearly as large as himself. He looked at his watch, and told the post boy he must make the horses eat their corn in ten minutes. " I must be at Cardiff by four o'clock." ** The thing's unpossible, sir;" grumbled the boy, " we be comed two and twenty miles over them there da — " ** No swearing, or grumbling you dog; it must be so — it's a case of life and death— so not a word." " What ooi measter say to his horses — " ** Never mind what he says to his horses, they can say nothing to him you know, sirrah." '*' No, your honor, but moy conscience." PKN OWEN. 71 *• Oh ! if nobody tells till that speak, we shall have no tales told ; here you grumbling dog, here's a salve for that.'* *^ Thank your honor, that be all true enow; and if so be the beastes won't eat their corn in ten minutes, that's their fort and none o' mine ; so moy conscience is satisfied.'* *^ Well^ well, off with you," and in two steps lawyer Flaw was in the elbow chair by the kit- chen fire ; he called to the landlord for a tankard of ale, which having emptied, he again applied to his watch, and fidgetted about the room, as if he supposed he could thereby operate upon the minute hand of the cuckoo clock, which dealt out time in the retail of seconds, sixty to the mi- nute, each of which the lawyer seemed to think an hour. " Plague take the horses." «^ Ot's blut ! ye seem in a woundy hurry, Master Flav/,"[exclaimed the landlord, who had hoped the lawyer would find time to take a snack at least. " Yes, yes ; hurry enough, and be too late after all." " Why and what can it argify whether you be at Cardiff an hour later or an hour sooner. F 4 72 PKN OWKN. Look ye, youVe as bad as chuck there, who thinks hur's robbed or murdered too, if hur*s five minutes a*ter hur time." ** What's your time, Boniface, to mine? You follow ; I'm forced to run before it. What can this devil of a post-boy be about ! Why holloa there." " Od's life ! what time did ye start, Master Flaw?" " What signifies when I started ; two hours ago." " Look ye, Master Flaw, (grinning to shew his wit,) an ye'd started two hours before, ye*d be before your time now !' " *Pricked by a hob-nail ! (muttered lawyer Flaw) — Hey ! — for the best of all possible reasons, because I couldn't — detained there — detained here, and every where I think — shall lose my ap- pointment now ! Why holloa you sluggard, it's two minutes and six seconds past the time." And well might it be ; for though the post boy had salved his conscience as far as the horses were concerned, his own stomach was no party to the transaction ; and in order to sooth this vora- cious companion, lie was bestowing upon it, asa share oftbe bribe,certain portions of toasted cheese 17 VES OWEN. 73 and lambs wool in the tap, whither the ostler, chambermaid5waiter and bootSj(all of whom were personified by a plump red elbowed wench in a striped boddice and petticoat, unhosed and un- shod,) had conducted him, unperceived by the inipatient lawyer, through the side entrance. At this moment Mr. Flaw perceived mine host of the leak and gridiron, who had turned away in contempt from his guest, deliver to his wife sundry little parcels of paper, which bore the appearance of bank notes. Whisking round, he exclaimed, " Why, Jenkin, man, hast thou mo- ney — ecod I'll make your fortune; if you have fifteen hundred pounds in the world, I'll be the making of you." "'Fifteen hundred pounds. Master Flaw, od's life, no, no, if hur had, ye sbuld'nt see the Green Griffin dangling and rusting at Cow- bridge without a landlord, look ye." *' What have you got — these are notes." " Small uns, small uns, look ye." " More's the pity, more's the pity ; with fifteen hundred pounds in my hands at this moment, I could build up a man." '* I have fifteen hundred pounds !" " Who !" exclainieil the lawyer, starting and 74 PEN OWEN. looking round ; for the voice was dearly not in the room. «< Sure the devil/' cried Flaw. " Don't ye say so, master lawyer," exclaimed the landlady, who clearly evinced symptoms of ^,larm in her own countenance at the exclama- tion of so knowing a gentleman. She was not aware that any person was in the house except the present company ; and began to be afraid the lawyer had his followers. '^ Don't ye be fritted now, be quiet — hur'll see to the horses hursel," — and out darted my landlady to expe- dite the departure of her guest. *' Fritted, nonsense ! what voice was that, Jenkin Maw ?" The landlord gave a significant wink, and pointed to the door of the little parlour, which was only separated from the kitchen by a very slight partition. " Who is it," whispered the lawyer. '* 'Tis the young squire, look ye." " What squire ?" " What squire ! Why the squire, odd** blut 1" Now the lawyer unfortunately knew many squires ; but if he had guessed 'till doomsday, PEN OWEN. 75 he would never have suspected the bankrupt heir of Cwni Owen, of havhig fifteen hundred pounds to spare. In order, however, to lose no time, or rather not to miss the opportunity, for time was permitted to stand still for the lawyer's own convenience, he again raised his voice, and affecting still to speak to the landlord, though he stood with his face towards the door of the parlour. — " It would be a good day's work for the best man in Glamorganshire, who had fifteen hundred pounds at command, and would be willing to advance it." The manoeuvre suc- ceeded — the parlour door opened, and Mr. Geoffrey Owen, walking up to the lawyer, re- peated aloud the words he had uttered in his soliloquy, *^ I have fifteen hundred pounds!" " "Will you advance it r" " For what purpose ?" *^ Will you make your fortune i** " Can you doubt it ?" «' Will you go this instant to Cardiff with me f " The business was settled in the twinkling of an eye, though neither party had answered a single question put to him. The chaise drove up to the door, in consequence of the good landlady's remonstrances, who began to think 76 PEN OWEN. her fears realised, when she beheld a third per- son added to the groiipe. She soon, however, recognized the squire, who, with the lawyer and the blue bag, were seated in an instant, and the crack of the post-boy's whip rapidly set the whole machinery in motion ; and he being himself duly primed for the expedition, expressed no doubt that his horses were equally disposed to get on cheerfully to the end of their journey. During the drive Mr. Flaw made Mr. Geoffrey Owen master of the business to which he hoped to induce him to become a party, and which, to save the pros and cons which naturally arise in a discussion where one man wants fifteen hun- dred pounds and would induce another to part with fifteen hundred pounds, it will only be necessary to inform the reader, that a gen- tleman^ who had embarked a considerable property in some neighbouring iron-works, owing to a partial stagnation of trade, was at this moment labouring under some pecuniary diffi- culties, which, without prompt assistance, would overthrow all his speculations, and eventually bring destruction on himself and his family. An estate in a neighbouring county had been mort- gaged for the purpose of extending the works before mentioned : and the critical situation of PEN OWEX. 77 affairs had induced the mortoirec to threaten to o o foreclose, if the sums due to him were not re- funded by a certain day. Mr. Gwynn, the gentleman in question, however, had for several weeks previous to the fatal day of account, collected the whole sum necessary for the dis- charge of the debt, with the exception of about fifteen hundred pounds, which he considered a sum too trifling to be the occasion of any anxiety, and doubted not that in a few days it might be obtained without difficulty; but he was unfortunately mistaken in his calculations. The rumour of his embarrassments had been carefully circulated by the mortgagee, who had been his very particular friend, and there- fore naturally wished to prove him as much in the wrong as possible, in order to justify his own desertion of him. Strange as it may ap- pear to the philanthropist in his closet, the world, with all its benevolence, is very apt to withhold its assistance, not from those to whom it would be of no service, but almost invariably from those whom it might save from perdition. The nearer an unfortunate devil approaches to his ruin, the further do those who by their aid might redeem him, retire from him. Tliis is 78 PEN OWF.N. very curious, but it is very common, and I have not time to investigate the cause of this phena- m^ion ; suffice it to say, that Mr. Gwynn had an experimental proof of it ; and he wlio a few months before might have raised fifty thousand pounds upon his personal security, vv^as now in a fair way of being overwhelmed for want of fifteen hundred pounds on any security what- ever. Lawyer Flaw, who had been employed st& one of his agents, had scoured the country in vain, and was returning in the forlorn hope of raising the money at most usurious in-terest from the sordid savings of an old smuggler, a dealer in marine stores, and a vender of patent medicines at Cardiff, when fortune, in one of her freaks, placed a paper partition only between the said lawyer and Mr. Geoffrey Owen, who was perhaps the single in- dividual in the whole country who was not by this time in possession of the secret of Mr. Gwynn's embarrassments. He listened with all possible attention to the lawyer's communications, and ever and anon fek his side pocket to ascertain whether the book containing his ft>rt«ne was still safe and secure. It is true he had imbibed certain prejudices re^ PEX owr.N. 9i specting the profession of the law, which, if they did not goto the full extent of those entertained by my landlady at the Leak and Gridiron, cer- tainly induced doubts as to the safety of sueh a a sum as fifteen hundred pounds shut up within so narrow a space as a post-chaise, and in such close contact with a lawyer. In the present case, this illiberal prejudice was of some use to Mr. Geoffrey, for in truth lawyer Flaw (from a feeling of friend- ship, no doubt, to his employer, and the incli- nation to gain credit for the same) had, for some time, been endeavouring to convince his com- panion that it would be adviseable to close the transaction^ as one of a merely confidential na- ture between themselves ; that Geoffrey should advance the money and receive Flaw's note of hand, bearing lawful interest from the date there- of. I have before said that our friend Geoffrey was not of a speculative turn of mind ; he could go very well before the wind, but if you pro- posed tacking, the vessel (his mind, observe me,) would certainly have missed stays. Now he remembered that the lawyer had said that the advance of fifteen hundred pounds would be the making of him who should be able and willing to produce it. When the law- 80 pi:n owtrn. yer, therefore, in a speech that extended at least from the third to the ninth mile stone, had turned the subject in so many ways, and so completely bothered the whole question, that any clever man might have fallen, like the Indian bird we read of, into the charmer's mouth, as a refuge from the difficulty of extricating him- self from his fascinations ; he made no single im- pression upon our friend Geoffi-ey's mind. This may be accounted for in two ways : first, from his aforesaid dread of a lawyer, and his anxiety to watch the treasure of which he thought himself an inadequate guard ; and secondly, because his ideas revolved in a circle, from which they never deviated, or could be diverted. I do not pretend to say which of these considera- tions operated upon him ; but when the lawyer coughed, and wiped his mouth in concluding a very learned and somewhat intricate address, Geoffrey was just at the point of the business, where it had been first started. The whole might have been contained in a nut-shell. He simply adverted to the fact, and demanded of Mr. Flaw, what were the advantages to be derived from ad- vancing the money. " Advantages ! why surely, my dear sir, five PEN OWEN. SI per cent, interest — safe as the bank of England — payable half yearly, in times like these, are advantages '* " Which cannot amount to making a man's fortune," interrupted Geoffrey. ** Not precisely that, to be sure." " But I am sure you said so." " I might say something like it, but you see, my dear sir, I will put the case again ; we will suppose A the borrower, and B — '* *^ I don't care sixpence about A and B, Mr. Flaw ; I don't want to go to my A B C at my age ; only tell me how is a man to make his for- tune by lending his money at five per cent." " Why, my dear sir, you would'nt lend your money usuriously, contra statutum anno Dom — " "I don't want to lend my money at all," retort- ed Geoffrey, folding his great coat double over his side pocket. " I will trouble you to set me down at the Cardiff Arms." *' Bless me, my good Mr. Owen, it does not follow, that because we haven't hit ofl* an ar- rangement at a heat, that something may not still be done." In short, the lawyer, who had pozed half a dozen dashers in half the distance, was fairly VOL. I. G &S PEN OAVEN. thrown out by the matter of fact tenaclousness of his companion, and finding that he could not make the best bargain, resolved to make the best in his power. — Changing his tone, therefore, he began by suggesting (as if the idea had struck him on the moment), that perhaps the whole business might be better arranged by a meeting between Mr. Gwynn and Mr. Geoffrey Owen himself. " It is curious," saiil he, "this did not occur to me before.'* "It occurred to me from the beginning,*' replied Geoffrey. *' Indeed ! then why, my dear sir, did you not mention it — it would have saved much time and nil the -" *< That's of no consequence, Mr. Flaw — we could not have anived here sooner — and i never enter iavto long discussions.'* So, rattling into the town of CWdifl^ all for- tber conversation ceased between tlie travellers. They alighted at tiie inn, where they found Mr. Gwynn most anxiously awaitmg the arriv:al of the lawyer, who, after whispering in Ins ear a few woids, introduced Mr. Geoffrey Owen to that gentleman as one who w^b 4ioth able and PEN OWF.X. 89 willing to assist liirn with the sum necessary Tor his service. The parties immediately proceeded to business, which was not, however, quite so rapidly settled as appeared consistent v/ith the notions of lawyer Flaw. He had practically benefited from the old observation, that business begun in haste, is business to do over again; and in this way counsellor Doublefee and himself had carried on a joint concern for some years with admirable success, and no little emolument. After a variety of preliminary conversation, each of the parties appeared to be as shy of entering directly upon the subject, as if it had been pro- posed to draw lots which of them should be flogged or transported. The hand of the clock was at the hour of five, and by twelve o'clock that night, the fate of Mr. Gwynn was to be de- cided. Yet the hand kept advancing towards six, without one single point of importance having been ascertained. Mr. Geoffrey, indeed, had admitted (and, if we might judge from appear- ances, began to repent him of the admission) that he had fifteen hundred pounds about him — and lawyer Flaw had enlarged upon the mutual good fortune of the parties in the happy coin- cidence which had brought them together. Still G 2 8^ FEN OIVEX^ both appeared to stand upon the defensive, and to be ready to ward off the first blow that was struck. At length the lawyer, who was seldom at a loss when an expedient was necessary, look- hig at the clock, exclaimed, " Bless my soul, gentlemen, have you dined 1" To which receiving a negative from both parties, the bell was rung, the bill of fare produced, and a beef-steak ordered without delay. "Nothing in this country Cobserved the lawyer, with a facetious look at Mr» Gwynn), nothing to be done without eating — aye, and drinking too — its the rosin to the bow — there is no fiddling without it. While dinner is getting ready, I will just step down to the office and get sorrse papers which may be necessary." ^* Do so," said Mr. Gwynn, who, it must be confessed, appeared to be as well pleased as Geoffrey at the retreat of the lawyer. " I hate a lawyer, Mr. Gwynn," said our friend Geoffrey, the moment he bad turned his back. " Nay, sir," said Mr. Gwynn, ** they are a necessary evil ; we ean't do without thern^" " Honest men may, I think, sir." '' Ilowf" T'EN OWLN. 9l$ ^ ^^ \\y fairly stating their own case, and com- ing to the point at once." '* Aye; but how is business to be earned on ?" " Why — what have you or I to do with a lawyer — if we can arrange matters between our- selves, I should like to know, Mr. Gwynn I — To be sure, he has talked and talked, and argued and pleaded for fourteen long miles ; and I sup- pose you must pay him for it. That's all very well for his business ; but I can't see any thing it has to do with your's or mine." ^* He has told you, sir," said Mr. Gwynn, with an inquiring look. " Yes," replied Geoffrey, "in about five minutes he told me all that was necessary for me to know ; and after that I never attended to a word he said." ** Then, sir, you are aware of the urgency of this business." " I am, sir ; and shall be happy if I can be of so essential a service to you as he represents I may be, provided my money be secured to me, for I have no hesitation in telling you, that this fifteen hundred pounds is the whole of my possessions in this world." G 3 86 PExN OWEN. " The security is undeniable, and shall be proved so to your satisfaction ; but believe me, sir, an obligation of this nature, and under such circumstances, is one that I shall not slightly in- cur." " Your agent talked of the advantages which might be derived from this transaction, but when I heard your story—" '^ Nay sir, it is to those advantages that I would speak. You are my guardian angel ; fifteen hundred pounds to me, at this moment, are worth more than ten times the sum at any other period of my life. It will save me from disgrace, and my family from eventual ruin. My speculations are not of any vague nature ; they are founded upon sure and certain princi- ples ; but if broken in upon at such a moment as the present, which they must be without your intervaition, for I acknowledge I am now with- out any other resource, it cannot and will not re- turn five shillings in the pound to the creditors, and must utterly destroy the whole concern." Geoffrey was a matter of fact man, but this steadiness of the head was sometimes a little ruf- fled by the pulsations of the heart. It was a warm one, when rudely or when tenderly appealed lo. F£N OWEN. 83? He could not sec the agitation of Mr. Gwynn, without something like a corresponding feeling; and stretching across the table, he squeezed the hand of that gentleman, and without utter- ing a word, unloosed all the fastenings and coverings and flaps which had been multiplied round his pocket-book to guard it from the lawyer, and taking out notes to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds, enclosed them in the hand, which he now pressed the closer, as a sort of warning no doubt, at the same time whispering, " The devil take the lawyer now." " This is too mucli, Mr. Owen, you know little of me.'* Here he was interrupted by something that in a woman would have shewn itself at the eyes, but which, in this gentleman, proceeded no further than the mouth, which, strange to say, perfectly disqualified him from going on with the sentence he had begun. " Say nothing about it, Mr. Gwynn," replied Geoffrey, whose utterance was more 4;remulouB than it had been in any part of his conversation with the lawyer, " say nothing about it; if I were to lose it, it would leave me in a little worse situation than I am; but I know I shall gain by it, foi* 1 am a christian, Mr. G^vynn, and I feel G i' 88 TEN OWEN. that I am repaid already. But you are mis- taken, sir, in saying I don't know you. I have known you long, and have known you through the report of those who ought to be ashamed of themselves for yielding the satisfaction to almost a stranger, which they might have en- joyed themselves." " Sir, you astonish me," cried Mr. Gwynn ; ** why have we not known each other better. I am overpowered — and incapable of expressing a hundredth part of what I feel at my heart in this trying moment; but I must collect myself, to . speak to the point. — In the arrangement I proposed to my lawyer — " " No more of the lawyer, if we are to be friends," cried Geoffrey. *' Well, then, my good and kind benefactor, the arrangement I proposed for the person who should extricate me from my present embar- rassment, including of course the legal interest of the debt for the few months it may be neces- sary to remain one, is a sort of co-partnership in these iron-works, in which I hold eleven of the sixteen shares of which the concern con- sists. I did propose, in return for the advantage ©f this loan, that one of my shares should be PEN OWEN. 89 made over — not us security, but in perpetuity, to the person." '* Nay, Mr. Gvvynn, I cannot take advan- tage of your distresses." ** It was not in the contemplation of meeting with such a man as you, my best friend, that I entertained such a proposition — no; the arrange- ment must stand upon other grounds. Arc you — pardon the question, if it is an impertinent one — are you too proud to embark in what may certainly be fairly called trade ! — Is the respect ibr your ancient race " " My ancient race, Mr. Gwynn t — what has it done for me ! — Has it not, like the race of locusts or caterpillars, consumed the wJiole of the possessions that ought to have been mine ! — No, sir,I am not above trade, nor any line of life in which my honor and honesty may not be compromised." ** Nobly said, my good sir — and no sooner said than done — you must share in the good fortune which your timely aid will, beyond a doubt, secure to me and mine. I will explain my plans more fully hereafter." " Sir," said Geoffrey, *' I scarcely know what to answer." 90 TEN OWEN. " You have only to answer, Yes, and do as I would have you. The money you have thus liberally advanced for my necessities shall be secured beyond the reach of speculations ; but when every thing is clear and obvious to you, you may embark it in the general concern, and claim that independent interest in it to which you are so fully entitled." Never surely did a kind action recoil more favourably upon the actor than in the present instance; nor was it possible for a man whose head in the morning was racked for the means of husbanding a small fortune, so as to eke it out into a pittance for the remainder of his life, so pleasantly cured in the afternoon, by depositing it according — not indeed to any rule of Cocker, or Dilworth — ^but to that golden rule which is to be found in a larger and thicker volume than either of the treatises of the afore- said authors* The conversation had just arrived at this in- teresting point, in which Mr. Geoffrey Owen might have been embarrassed to express all that he felt he ought to say, when the bustling lawyer and the beef-steak entered severally, at the two doors of the apartment. PEN OWEN. 91^ '* Aye, now," exclaimed he, " this is as it should be — I couldn't get back before (looking significantly at Mr. Gwynn) — torn to pieces with business — Mr. Flaw here, Mr. Flaw there — such an arrear of toil, if one is but absent for a day. Shall I help you, Mr. Owen — pray — gravy! — a capital steak — here, landlord — a bottle of the old port you know, number 9, (winking at Boniface) — particular friend of mine — a happy thought, gentlemen, this dinner — its the finest clearer for business — here— a glass of wine, Mr. Owen — Sir — your very good liealth." In short, Mr. Flaw did the honors of the table, and spoke for all three *, for neither of the gentlemen seemed disposed to take any share of the department from him. This appeared to him quite natural, and in the ordinary course of business. When the cloth was removed, and the waiter . withdrawn, the lawyer began to push about the bottle — proposed two or three facetious toasts — enlarged upon the merits of his friend, mine host, and his peculium, or inner cellar of choice be- verage for favoured guests. — At length, consider- ing the favourable opportunity arrived, when 95 PEN OWEN. the door of the heart is supposed to be left ajar by the influx of the generous juice of the grape, he arose from the table, and taking up the blue bag, more than once alluded to in the course of this history, carefully selected divers pack- ages of parchment and papers, duly docketed and neatly bound with red tape. Having wiped his spectacles— filled out another glass of wine •—drawn his chair close to tlie table — disposed his packets in regular order — filled his pen with ink, hemmed three times in note of preparation for an intended statement of the case — and duly rubbed his hands, he thus began : *' It is necessary, my dear sirs, in taking a view of the case before us, to consider, in their due form and order, the several heads under which the law doth recognise transactions of this nature. — Now, gentlemen, hem ! — we must treat the question before us, I should humbly opine, as one of annuity granted either out of corporeal or incorporeal hereditaments — ^and must rest it upon the final terms, conditions, and covenants which A. the lender and B. the borrower may find to be most satisfactory severally to the par- ties interested. It is necessary, gentlemen — hcra ]■ — it is necessary that a due and clear dis- pr.N ow^^^ ^8 tinction be made between what we call an annuity and a rent-charge — though, as Black- stone, if I recollect right, admits that they are too often confounded." ** So much the better for the law of the case, Mr. Flaw," smiled Mr. Geoffrey. ** Good — very good — always a joke at the expense of the law — well,well — we retort in our own way — but ye can't do without us, ye know ye can't (with a knowing wink at Mr. Gwynn) — well, gentlemen, as I was saying — indeed, Mr. Owen, you must not give way to your wit upon this occasion — Ha ! ha I pray help yourself to another glass — you see, gentlemen, there is this palpable distinction between a rent-charge and an annuity, as I was before observing, the one being imposed upon and issuing out of lands, the other being a yearly sum chargeable solely upon the person of the grantor — you may smile, gentlemen — but you must not interrupt the court. Time advances (looking at the clock), and we have a world of business to do in a very short time." " Time enough, Mr. Flaw, and to spare," retorted Mr. Geoffrey. *' Bless my soul, Mr. Owon, you ere not .ivvai'e of ilio forms that " 94 PEN OWEN. «^ Nor have I the least wish to become ac- quainted with them." "Why,hovVj my good Mr. Owen^ is business to be carried on without them ?" " Better, I conceive, than with them." " Sir, I maintain it is impossible — utterly impossible — how is the transfer to be made — how are the securities to be ascertained — ^how are the deeds to be drawn — the — " " There is no occasion for them." " No occasion for deeds, transfers, securities •—why, sir, I was to blame — the port has over- done its duty — this second bottle has ruined us — the landlord has put brandy or opium — or — the devil knows what, into his cursed mixture — surely, surely, you'll be advised before you take such a step." " What, Mr. Flaw — by the lawyer of the other party ?" ^' Yes, sir— I'll stake my reputation to a thousand pounds.*' ^* A valuable consideration for such a depo- sit, Mr. Flaw," said Mr. Gwynn, to whom Geoffrey Owen had communicated the by- proposition in the post-QhaJse. <' Gentlemen — 1 must say, this is extraordinary 2* PEN OWE?*/ 9S conduct, in you especially? Mr.Gwynn ; I cnn only attribute it to this infernal mixture, which has certainly disturbed your intellect. — Do you mean, sir, to advance the sum required ?" ad- dressing himself to Mr. Owen. " That question is decided, sir — it is no longer in my own power." '* Not in your power — do you retract, sir ?" ^* By no means,'* answered Geoffrey — " I mean to say, it is no longer in my possession — Mr. Gwyim has the money." *' Has the money! good, (said the lawyer, with a significant smile to his employer) — good, what a pity then that the business had not been settled before dinner." <' It was, Mr. Flaw." " What ! — you are trifling with me, sir." " Upon my word, sir, I am not. — Mr. Gwynn will inform you that he has signed and sealed fasting, so that we may he allowed to dis- trust our intellects a little now." '* Signed and sealed — " " Signed, sealed, and registered ! — " « Why, where are the papers — by George, gentlemen, 'twill nevei' hold good in law — let JKie see — you have l»een too hasty — what, in my 96 PEN OM'EN. absence —come, come, let me try if I can rectify it — time wears apace»" " Why, my good sir," cried Geoffrey, " your speech, if we may judge from the opening, and your references, if we may judge by their bulk, (pointing to aforesaid neatly bound documents on the table), would have lasted till to-morrow noon." " Aye, but that makes all the difference — the delays of law are the security of the client." ** I prefer the security I have already got, Mr. Flaw," said Geoffrey. ** Why, sir, it will hold good in no court — no sir — in no court in " " Yes, Mr. Flaw — in one court, where, hpw- ever, I believe, your practice is not very consider- able—so that you perceive I have reason to be satisiied,or, which is the same thing,I am satisfied — and I believe Mr. Gwynn is satisfied; and therefore nothing remams but to send for the agent of the other party — pay the money, and — ^'■ '* Yes," said Mr. Gwynn, " we have nothing further to do, than to require the attendance of Mr. Corbett's man of business — which I shall be obliged to Mr. Flaw to-- '' " I, sir — I'll see you — Vl\ have no hand in *1 PEN OWEN. 97 such a precious piece of business — I foresee my services will be soon wanted — in the mean time, I wash my hands of it, gentlemen — I wash my hands of it (collecting his books and papers, and thrusting them into the bag) — mark me, I de- clare you have acted without — and in opposi- tion to my advice, counsel, and opinion." " We agree," exclaimed Geoffrey (rubbing his hands with most provoking good humour), «* you are perfectly right — the note of hand you proposed — " " Psha ! sir, I cannot stop to — to — to — I disclaim the whole transaction — 'tis idiotcy, madness — and you. Mister Gwynn — you, sir, will rue the day when you betook yourself from the shadow of my wing, as I may say — but I am torn and worried with other business, in which my opinion, my counsel, and my judg- ment will be better appreciated." " If you put your own price upon them." " None of your reflections, Mr. Geoffrey Owen — none of your reflections upon the prac- tice of a professional " * " Not upon the note of hand ?" ** No, sir — not upon — good evening, gentle- men — mind — mark, I repeat, you'll live to VOL, f. H 98 PEN OWEN. repent this usage." What followed was indis- tinctly heard, as, with the action suited to the word, he pulled the door of the room after him with a sound like the report of artillery. — Mr. Gwynn and Mr. Geoffrey Owen resumed their seats — and came to an understanding in a few minutes — when they dispatched a messenger to the agent employed by the creditor of the former gentleman^and before twelve o'clock every thing was settled and arranged to the com- plete satisfaction of all parties, — except lawyer Flaw. ( 99 ) CFIAPTER IV. At an early hour the next morning, Mr. Geoffrey accompanied his happy companion to his house in the neighbourhood, whom he in- troduced, as his best friend — a friend in need — to his smiling wife — and a daughter who^ if not as beautiful as a heroine in romance, was as pretty a girl as any within the picturesque vale oftheTaff. It is scarcely necessary to add, that a friend- ship thus commenced, ripened very rapidly into a warm and lasting union of interests. The spe- culations of Mr. Gwynn were successful even beyond his utmost hopes, and in a few years he was considered (in spite of lawyer Flaw's denunciations and prognostics) one of the largest capitalists in the county of Glamorgan. It is not to be supposed that his gratitude towards his friend Owen diminished, as the increasing benefit of his interference displayed itself, H 2 100 PEN OWEN. although there have been instances in this best of all possible worlds, of men, in the heyday of prosperity and fortune, kicking most furiously against the ladder by which their young am- bition had been taught to climb. Geoffrey had every reason, and every disposition, to bear a very different testimony to the conduct of Mr. Gwynn. His share in the extensive works carried on under the eye of Mr. Gwynn, afforded him an ample independence, to which was added, a considerable marriage portion on his union with Miss Grace Gwynn, which took place about four years after the scene we have lately witnessed at Cardiff. Many years afterwards, when time, who pays no respect to persons, and very little to things, had given to Mr. iGwynn many signifi- cant hints that he had other business to think of, and other accounts to settle, than those of his iron works, (which hints, by the by, are gene- rally not so well taken as intended,) he resigned the concern into the hands of his two sons and a ' nephew, leaving Geoffrey at the head of the firm. The latter, however, being now himself advanced in life, and averse to act with new allies, contented himself with the agency of the concern, and sitting down on a small estate. PEN OWEN. 101 wliich he had purchased in the neighbour- hood of Bristol, began to enjoy that ease of mind, which freedom from the details of busi- ness, and a competency equal to the rational enjoyments of life, are so well calculated to afford. His wife, an amiable and excellent woman, though somewhat too proud, perhaps, of the antiquity of her husband's family, (on which account offence had been taken by certain of her Bristol connexions,) died a few years after his retire- ment. She left two sons, one fourteen years of age, the second a year younger. The eldest, Griffith, who had been indulged by the mother rather more than was quite consistent with her duty and affection for him, had early contracted habits of indolence and self-indulgence, which baffled the efforts of his instructors to bring him under any regulated system of education. He was destined to redeem the disgrace entailed upon the family by his father's dereliction of principle in becoming even subsidiary to a trad- ing concern — and although the fortunes of the Cwm Owen race could have been restored by no other means short of a miracle, these were to be kept as much as possible out of sight — and the heir H 3 102 PEN OWEN. to be insulated from all suspicion of any concern whatever with the dirty works in Glamorgan- shire. — Both boys were, however, placed together at a school about seven miles from their home — and to do Geoffrey justice, he directed that no distinction should be made in the mode of their education. — The result, however, was very dif- ferent upon the disposition of the two lads — Caleb, the younger, was always regular in his duty — prepared with his lesson — and punctual in his attendance in school — Griffith never in time — substituted one lesson for another, and was always out of the way when called for ; — there was, however, no defect of intellect — nor any deficiency of parts; — at times he would carry off all the prizes given in the school; — at others, no inducement or correction was strong enough to rouse him to exertion. Caleb, on the con- trary, never was known to obtain a prize — ^and it is said* he never tried lor one — he was very justly what the master called a good regular boy — but his brother Griffith, in an evil hour, over- heard the pedagogue observe to a friend that " the boy was a genius" — and that " his eccentricities must be winked at, in order that this gift might PEN OWEN. 103 not be injured by too close pruning." From that fatal period, Griffith found a plea for all sorts of irregularity ; and the checks applied by the master, having the effect of water sprinkled on a flame, kept him perpetually on the alert to do something singular, or to say something ridi- culous. — He is reported, within a week of the above proclamation of his genius, to have sown mustard and cress in the learned proclaimer's cauliflower wig, to try the effect of animal heat upon vegetation, on which account he narrowly escaped a flogging (being considered by the pedagogue too much of a practical and personal joke even for a flight of genius), but was ac- quitted on the interference of some judicious friends, who considered his fault venial, as a pre- cocious indication of his love for experimental philosophy. — He was at another time found guilty of tying up one of the hinder legs of his master's pad, in order to ascertain whether nature had not taken unnecessary trouble in making quadrupeds, when tripeds would (as he had proved to his own satisfaction on paper) fully have answered the purpose — an experiment which nearly proved fatal to the schoolmaster, who, having litde knowledge of H 4 104 PEN OWEN. horseflesh, mounted the animal without looking, as a jockey would have done, at the parts of his horse — and finding it immovable, began to dig in his spurs, and belabour the poor animal, who at last plunging forward in despair, lodged the unwigged and unseated rider in a fish-pond, which lay conveniently at hand. In short, Griffith's mind was perpetually at work to undo all that experience had put her seal upon, and to do every thing that was to be done by any means rather than those which had hitherto been employed for the purpose. — He neglected all his regular studies for the purpose of devour- ing manuals of chemistry and 'vade-mecums of natural history. He sold a princeps editio of Horace to purchase " The Wonders of the Mi- croscope" — and nearly incurred expulsion for purloining "Wiseman's conjuring Cap" from an old woman who was reputed a witch in the neighbourhood. At length, when the period arrived for the two brothers to leave school, Caleb had gained all that was necessary to qua- lify him to succeed his father in business; Griffith little or nothing of that which had been provided for him, and was destined to carry him through Oxford; — the finishing polish to his education, 14 PEN OWEN. 105 which had in fact been scarcely begun. He had not been idle indeed, but his own researches had formed his head into something which may be likened unto the laboratory of the royal in- stitution, after an experimental lecture — where a variety of materials sufficient for future use may be left — but which are so scattered, dispersed, and mixed with exploded carcases, that the sub- operator has scarcely time to arrange them against the next exhibition. Now Griffith, unfortunately, had no sub-operator — he had deranged his craniological laboratory in such a manner, that it would have been no easy matter to form any arrangement of the materials, were even a Davy himself at hand — to superintend, class, and arrange the heterogeneous melange, Griffith was removed to the university at the age of nineteen, where he was distinguished as an odd genius, who did nothing — whilst in fact he was more sedulously emploved than half the reading men of his college. He had conciliated one of the librarians of the Bodleian, and feasted upon many a chained volume, which had for cen- turies ceased to hold communion with readers of any description — and the Ashmolean Museiun, if not presenting the very best collections that 106 PEN OWEN. Europe or even England affords, off'ered to his view a treasure on which he devoutly bestowed a considerable portion of his time. The circle of his acquaintance was large, and he courted the favour of the professors in the various branches of science. He was a stranger alone to his own tutor — and absent only from the lectures of his own house. The professor of astronomy declared in all companies that he had the enterprising spirit of a Galileo — the chemical chair spoke of him as a rising Lavoisier. In mineralogy and geology, he was considered an aspiring genius — and the reader of the class of natural philosophy felt himself pozed by the extraordinary and eccentric inquiries of this unfledged tyro — whilst his college tutor summed up the whole by declaring him to be the arrant- est blockhead of his standing in the university. With these contradictory testimonials, Griffith returned to the paternal roof without having taken a degree — which was abhorrent from a mind self-trained to condemn every thing that implied order or regularity — and his genius now began to expand itself with less restraint than the discipline of a scholastic education had hitherto permitted. Geoffrey Owen was a most indulgent 13 PEN OWEN. 107 father, and the heir was licensed in all his whims by that worthy gentleman, who very wisely inferred, that this activity of mind and pursuit in a young man who, by a decree to which he had sworn obedience, was predestined to do nothing, would exclude that evil companion, called by the more polished members of society emmi^ and illustrated by the wise man as the root of all evil. It is true, he is reported to have expressed something more than astonishment at finding a spare room, which he had offered to a friend, filled with stoves, alembics,, and retorts — and once lost that evenness of temper for which he was remai'kable,upon finding partofahuman subject, half a horse, and some fragments of an hippo- potamus, from the South Seas, scattered about the state dining-room, previous to an experi- ment for ascertaining the comparative merits of each, as the basis of improved spermaceti. A transfer of the manufactory to an old laundry, however, restored peace ; and with the exception of a trial in hydraulics, which had nearly occa- sioned a second deluge as a new date for the re-edification of the family genealogy, the worthy Geoffrey had little to complain of during the remainder of his life. — He was gathered to his 108 PEN OWEN. fathers befoi-e his son had reached his twenty- seventh year, who, though never deficient in due attention and even affection to his parents, where the paramount claims of science did not supersede his duty towards them, could hardly be prevailed upon to forego an experiment^ founded on some certain indications derived from an ancient manu- script on the manufacture of cerecloths, said to have been preserved in th€ family by a branch of the Owens, contemporary with the first disco- verer of the Pissasphaltum ; and it was not with- out a severe struggle on the part of his brother Caleb, and other ignorant and unscientific rela- iives, that the good old gentleman was rolled up in the usual allowance of flannel — instead of being deposited in his son's museum, to be here- after purchased by some brother virtuoso as a preserved mummy from the caves of Saccara ! ( 109 ) CHAPTER V. The young squire's house now became the temple of science, and the resort of all who had any project to propose — any experiment to make — or had become adepts in the art of modern alchemy — or, to speak plainer, who had discovered the means of extracting gold from the pockets of those who esteemed it no more than the dross and rubbish with which the cru- cibles of a former age had been supplied. Before he had arrived at the age of thirty, he had set afloat seven advertising venders of spe- cifics — eleven projectors, whose schemes for liquidating the national debt and discovering the longitude were considered, in succession, not only feasible but infallible — and no less than thirty po- litical economists, who had discovered the means of spreading universal plenty over the land, by a process which should cost nothing, but the first expense of setting their several wheels in motion. 110 PEN OWEN. — This of course was to be defrayed by the patron, who would have contributed, no doubt, had lie lived at so late a period, to that astonishing and profound speculation of his illustrious name-sake in the north, who has discovered that nothing is wanting to the peace and independence of so- ciety, but the suppression of Christianity, and a reform in the mode of creating men's hearts. We have all heard of bigots and tyrants who would enforce their own peculiar form of wor- ship at the point of the sword — but to suppress all religious sentiment by a legislative decree is a novelty in tyranny, which has been reserved for the enlightened period of the nineteenth century, under the reign of philanthropy and universal benevolence ! — In short, Mr. Owen (not he of Lanark, but of Cwm Owen,) was perhaps one of the most active men of his day — he scarcely allowed himself the necessary periods of rest and refection — he may be said to have run himself fairly out of breath in the pursuit of literary and philosophical improvement — and in this sort of flight the cares of his house- hold were of course of too ordinary a nature to be noticed, even in a pause or a parenthesis, so that the ample fortune amassed by the prudent in- PEN OWEN. Ill dustry of his father (an alien from the hereditary spirit of the family) was rapidly declining to- wards that gulph which had swallowed up its predecessor in the right line. He arrived at the age of forty without ever once having turned his thoughts to matrimony — and pro- bably would have left the world without any direct heirs to transmit his name and genius to a future age, had he not encountered a lady where he was searching for a sacred utensil, said to have belonged to the emperor Ves- pasian, at a particular crisis in his reign, \vhen his son Titus received a rap on the knuckles from his imperial father, as we who are learned in ancient history all very well remember. The possessor had cemanded a true antiquarian price for this rare piece of antiquity — and the lady appeared to be negotiating for it with that insinuating address which the sternest trader is not always able to resist, when Griffith burst into the sanctum out of breath, holding a letter in his hand which he had that morning received in the country, the contents of which had occasioned him, at the risk of his neck, to gallop to the repository of this antique treasure. This was in one of the 112 PEN OWEN. darkest and most obscure alleys of the busy and bustling city of Bristol. Now, as histories are not intended to amuse so much as to instruct (which may be learned from many of the pub- lications of the present day), I think it fair and just, when the opportunity presents itself, to assist my readers with the result of my own ex- perience and industry, so as effectually to guard them against the vile arts and deceptive manoeu- vres of dishonest men, who prey upon the fail- ings of mankind, especially those who ride hobby-horses. Be it known then, that the ;^>ssessor of the Vespasian treasure acted the part of broker alone upon the present occasion, andwas contented with a certain per-centage upon the sale from its real owner, a philosopher, anti- quarian, and bosom friend of Mr. Griffith Owen, •who, like a trooper at Astley's, rode many (hobby ) horses at one and the same time, although per- haps not quite so skilfully. This person had purchased the article in question out of an old smelting-house in the neighbourhood, where in its original form, from long use, it had suffered so much as to be declared unfit for further service. — Wishing to turn it to the best account,and knowing his man, not by hearsay, but by long experience, PEN OWEN. 113 he had sent an express to his clear friend Mr. Owen, to inform him of the news, which, he add- ed, had that moment reached him; and as this philosophical gentleman had a female depend- ant, whose portion was rather scanty, arismg solely out of the discretionary bounty of her patron, she was directed to take her station and be ready to contend for the prize, should the competitor appear, as he entertained no doubt he would, in the person of that gentleman* " That vase is mine !" exclaimed Griffith, when he had recovered breath sufficient to speak. *^ It is mine, Mr. Vamp — a friend has secured it for me.'* " Madam," said Mr. Vamp, simpering and bowing to the lady, '* what am I to say ?" " I will give you the money, sir," replied she. ^^ Money, — sir ! — Madam ! (cried Griffith) permit me — what possible use can you have for this—" « This what, sir r '* This — piece of antiquity." " Use, sir ! — we seldom refer to the use of that which we regard merely as a matter of taste." VOL, I. I 114 PEN OWEN. . " Taste, Madam — taste, what has this— my dear madam, pardon me — I am not unknown to this gentleman — I have a museum — I have cabinets of anatomy, ornithology, mineralogy, geology — I have a hortus siccus, that might raise aDryander from the grave — and such wardrobes from Otaheite, Owhyhee, and the Sandwiches, as would astonish even a Cook or a Solander* ■ — There is not an animal, vegetable, or mineral, from the poles to the equator, in either hemi- sphere, of which I have not dried specimens ad infinitum, I have an Herculaneum dining parlour — a vestibule furnished from Palmyra — and a complete set of Lares and Penates from Numa to Constantine — I have bottled specimens of embryos — calves with two heads, and statues tvith none — ^^torsos without number — and three Herculean feet, which are traced to a statue known to have existed in the times of the Titans at Ceuta-r-I have, I have — '' " But, my good sir (answered the lady, with well-dressed features of surprise), what has this catalogue of your possessions to do with the question ? — Your riches shew that you need no more, whilst I, an humble collector, with only a half-formed museum — ^and incipient cabinets" — 15 PEN OWEN. 115 '* Half-formed museum ! — why, madam, are you really a collector ?" ** What should prevent it, sk ?" '* Oh then, madam, you'll pardon me-^all delicacy is at an end — collectors, whatever their sex, age, or degree, stand upon a footing of equality. — The vase is mine, sir — name your price," (turning to honest Mr. Vamp). ^^ Madam," said the keeper of the treasui'^, <*what am I todo ?'* " To do, sir — you know your duty,'' replied the lady, with a toss of her head. — " I had, be- fore this gentleman entered the shop, agreed to your price.'* " Name it, sir — name it," exclaimed Griffith. " The lady agreed to pay seventy guineas for it." " Seventy — I'll double the sum — there now,'* taking out his pocket-book — ^< The vase is mine, you will recollect, Mr. Vamp," coolly observed the lady. " What, madam — when I am ready," cried Griffith, " to pay down double.'* '' Surely, sir, it must be optional with me, whether I shall part with that which is my own property." I 2 116 PEN OWEN^ « What is this/' roared poor Griffith.*— <^ Do you mean to say (turning to that excellent actor, Mr. Vamp) this lady is actually the purchaser — the proprietor — the owner of the vase ?" *^ I really, sir, do not see — unless the lady is disposed to relinquish the bargain, what further I can do." " You will, Mr. Vamp," said the lady, " be careful of the sacred deposit — and I will call for it in my carriage an hour hence — be sure you do not trust it out of your sight." " Why, madam, madam I" (exclaimed the tortured Griffith) — *' you will not be deaf to my intreaties — there is nothing in the vast collection I have described to you — nothing I possess in books, prints, natural history, physiology, anti- quities, or mineralogy, that I am not ready to exchange with you for this — this most inva- luable—" <^ Invaluable to me it is, sir — and it is not in my power to put you in possession of that which is dearer to me than all you have to offer.*' '* But, madam, listen to me — if not in ex- change — let me at least know, if there is PEN OWEN. ni any price which will tempt you to transfer this—" ** You forget, my good sir, that the same zeal which animates you — is equally alive in me." " Hey — what — is it possible — a woman h — " " And why not, sir." '« Will you not part with it — my dear good My !" " I grieve to refuse you, sir — but, under the present circumstances, it is out of my power — " *' Madam — answer me one question — are you married or single ?" *« The question is rather extraordinary, I must confess, sir — but Mr. Vamp is perfectly acquainted with my family, and with my situa- tion — it will at least be more delicate to spare me the trouble of cross-examination from a perfect stranger." — So saying, she reneAved her injunctions to Mr. Vamp — and, slightly curtsey- ing to Griffith, left the shop. Owen followed her with his eyes till she had turned the corner of the alley, and was fairly out of sight— he sighed aloud — and murmured something which was not intended to be heard —and therefore ought not to be wantonly ex« I 3 118 PEN OWEN* posed to every idle reader who might, from his or her ignorance of all the facts of -the case, set down Mr. Griffith Owen as an ungallant man, which was by no means the case — as will^ I think, be hereafter sufficiently proved. He reverted again to the precious vase — turned it in all directions — rubbed it — held it to the light — smelled to it — ejaculated something about taste, and then groaned in spirit. ** Who is this — ^lady ?" — at length demanded he of the obsequious Mr. Vamp. " The lady, sir 1 — is Miss Amarantha Phil- pot—" .;;^^f Amarantha Philpot I What is she — where does she live — how does she live — who are her friends — what is her family ?" '* Indeed, sir, I cannot answer all your ques- tions ; but I believe she is a connection of Dr. Wintletrap." <' Of Dr. Wintletrap — why didn't you say so before — 'twas he who sent me here — hey, then, all's safe — '' and off ran Griffith — leaving his gloves and pocket-book behind him — which in his haste he had totally forgotten. Having found Dr. Wintletrap at home, he hastily interrogated PEN OWEN. 119 him respecting the lady — detailed the misery of his situation, and the hopelessness, without the good doctor's interference, of ever becoming possessed of this treasure of treasures. The doctor, who was not an inferior actor to his deputies. Miss Amarantha and Mr. Vamp, tegan by expressing his astonishment at his relation's having made the discovery, and conr eluded by some reflections upon the fidelity of the shopkeeper. Griffith was on his antiqua- rian hobby, or he would have discovered that the supposed vendor could have no reason for being unfaithful, as he would naturally have been disposed to make as much of the treasure (had it really been his,) as the competition was likely to produce — nay, we even who are in the secret might be puzzled to know why, as he was to have a per-centage, he did not make the best bargain he could. The fact is, that MissPhilpot, perceiving how the bait had been swallowed, satisfied honest Mr. Vamp in a whisper, that the plan of operations was changed, by which he should be no loser. She saw in an instant that the avidity of the imprudent antiquarian might be turned to a much better account, than selling an old smclting-pot for a Vespasian vase> I 4 120 PEN OWEN. and laid her plans accordingly. A negotiation was set on foot, in which the serS^ices of Dr. Wintletrap were engaged as plenipotentiary, with full powers to act for his friend Griffith — who, scorning to shackle him, gave a carte hlanche, to be filled up at the discretion of his ambassador. It would be tedious to detail all the arts practised on the part of each of the high contracting parties, especially as the reader, being a little in the secret, is already aware that the learned doctor had the game in his own hand, and played it so as to secure the stakes in his family. — Mr.Owen and the Lady amateur were at length brought together — the latter per- severed in her part to admiration — she was playful — she was learned — she was an antiqua- rian — a mineralogist — a chemist — a singer — a dancer, in succession — invariably good humour- ed—and yielding upon aU occasions, save and except alone on the important article of the Ves- pasian utensil. Here was her palladium, and h^d the soul of Sinon himself animated the body of our friend Griffith, she would have baffled him at his own weapons. At the end of three weeks, Griffith found himself upon the terms of old friendship with Amarantha. He scarcely ever PEN OWEN. 121 left her side. He was at her breakfast table, — lounged away the greater part of the morning with her — dined with her at his friend the Doctor's — escorted her home at night, and dreamed of her and her vase, 'till they became inseparable in his imagination, and at length identified. — He could not live without the vase — his reputation as a collector was at stake — his zeal as an antiquarian amounted to torture. For some weeks longer he courted the sacred utensil personified, under the fair but rather antiquated form of Miss Philpot. He would have preferred the relique to the lady, had they been capable of separation ; but failing in this, the only expedient left was to marry both. Having arrived at this safe and satisfactory conclusion, he lost no time in throw- ing himself at her feet. The lady affected a pro- per degree of surprise, in which she admirably performed her part, having been prepared for it by at least a fortnight's rehearsal, and as ladies always do, upon such occasions, threw her lovely eyes upon *' the ground !" I beg to follow the phrase of all preceding historians, without being able exactly to convey to the reader what I mean. When a lover throws liiniself at his i'air 122 PEN OWEN. one's feet, I conclude it is necessary she should throw something there likewise, and therefore, her chief weapon being her eyes, the phrase might be intended to shew that she is willing to lay down her arms, by throwing them on the ground ; but this appears to be too figurative for an expression which occurs in every day transactions, and as I am not aware of any process by which eyes can be thrown down or taken up again, without carrying the body corporate with them, I conclude it is a delicate mode of implying, that when the gentle- man throws himself at her feet, the lady performs the same evolution ; although I cannot but sus- pect that more accidents would occur, if this were the case, than love-making in general produces. Whatever difficulty presents itself in this inquiry, I must, however, leave the ingenious reader to solve — all I mean to express, and which I wished to do in the best and most accepted forms of language, is, that Miss Amarantha Philpot looked as modest and bewitching as she could, and having by degrees allowed the first confu- sion of so unexpected a declaration to wear ofl^ melted and softened in proportion as the lover became ardent and pressing, and was, although covered with blushes, compelled to yield to the PEN OWEN. 123 irresistible assurance that GriiBlh Owen could not exist beyond Thursday (this being Satur- day,) in the ensuing week, without calling her — his own. It has been insinuated that, in the close of the above sentence, the lover paused af- ter the pronoun personal, and mentally applying it possessively, concluded by throwing his eyes at or into the vase, which stood conveniently upon a pier table, in a direct line with the lady. As Griffith had no time to enter into confessions before his marriage, and was not likely to do soj for his own sake, after it, we have no means of ascertaining the fact, which I believe rests upon no better foundation than the possibility that such might have been the case ; — a ground, however, upon which, it must be admitted, many a more exalted character has been as- persed, and will continue to be sacrificed, as long as men make their own malevolent dispositions the criterion of judging and arraigning the mo- tives of better men than themselves. I have not the newspaper at hand — and though I consider dates of great importance in historical reading, I trust, upon the present oc- casion, the reader will be satisfied with my assurance, that on the very Thursday abov€ 124 FEN OWEN. mentioned, Mr. Griffith Owen led to the altar <* the accomplished Miss Amaranth a Philpot, a near connexion of the learned Withering Wintletrap, LL.D. and A.S.S. of this city," as it stands recorded upon the file of Farley's Journal at the Bush, even unto this hour. Accompanied by the vase, the bridegroom stepped into the carriage, and was actually directing the post-boys to drive on, when Dr. Wintletrap, with a silver favour, as large and as white as his favourite nautilus, in his little three-cornered hat, called out, *^ My stars, Mr. Owen, you have forgotten the bride ;" — and forthwith wedged in the blooming Amarantha, with some difficulty, owing to her seat being previously occupied by her better half. But this little contre^temps was overlooked in the festivities of the day — and never was a ceremony concluded with more satisfaction to ^11 parties. This effect was produced indeed through means not alto- gether according to the statutes of Cupid — and unattended by any of those flutterings which the torch of Hymen is said to occasion on its near ap- proximation to its tributaries — but this is all trash, and I verily believe no more than a mere heathenish fiction. The nonsense of romance PEN OWEN. 125 Was not likely to lead such honest people astray — and those disappointments which the more sensitive part of mankind experience from any misconceived or unlooked-for disposition or turn of mind in those to whom they are inevi- tably tied for life, were altogether unknown, either to the antiquarian bridegroom or his antique bride — I mean the lady — not the vase. The bride was, by her own account, in her thirtieth year — and the register of her birth not being at hand, the fact was not to be con- troverted by those unmarried ladies^ her neigh- bours, who avowed their conviction of her being, at least for the last ten years, of precisely the same age. ( 126 ) CHAPTER VI. For some time no pledge of their mutual hap- piness presented itself to the imagination, and I am inclined to believe, as has been reported, to the wishes of this happy pair. — To use the plainer language of history, no heir appeared to prolong the line of the Owens — nor was it ever thought of even by those most concerned on the occasion. In the mean time, the strict habits of economy in which Mrs. Amarantha Owen had been bred up, under the arrangements of her worthy protector Dr. Wintletrap, enabled her to reform the household of her husband — and to protract the hour of absolute ruin, which seemed to threaten it, when she entered upon her office. She found, indeed, all her efforts necessary, whilst the unabated zeal of Griffith for the cause of general science continued to eat up, at one end of the account, all that could be saved at the other. TEN OWEX. 127 Would it had fallen to my lot to conclude my history in this place : and then, like those who have gone before me, I might be fairly entitled to that delicious ante-colophon of all veritable histories, that Mr. Griffidi Owen and Amaran- tha his wife, were happy ever after^ and lived to a good old age. This, however, is denied to me, and being doomed to descend a generation lower, I am compelled to say, that so far from living happy ever after, these good people at the end of fifteen months began to feel thatallwasnot as it should be ; the gentleman had grown tired of the Vespasian vase, or in his cooler moments suspected some parts of its private history — and the lady, though really a has bleu, and conver- sant with the names of all the leading sciences, as treated in the Athenaeum of Griffith, found the united concern of superintending fossils and but- cher^s bills, stuffed birds, larded turkies, pastry, and the pantologies, more than equivalent to the surrender of her liberty, and the enjoyment of comparative independence. Creditors became clamorous, and mortgagees {odium mortale, fated enemies to the Owens) importunate. In short, without taking upon us to assign the cognomen which the boors of Cwm Owen might have at- 128 PEN OWENi tached to Griffith, had such things still remained in vogue, he followed the steps of his renowned ancestors, like a true and legitimate descendant from the Owen stock. He mighthavebeen called, Owen the thoughtless-— Owen the universalist— or Owen the bankrupt; for in less than ten years from the death of his worthy father, and three after his marriage with the accomplished Ama- rantha, he broke up the foundation on which Geoffrey Owen had proposed to re-edify the dy- nasty of the Owens, without the least prospect, (except in speculation,) of ever realising another. In a few words, the whole property was brought to the hammer, and the purchaser received as a bonus (which he afterwards transferred as a bar- gain to a vender of curiosities in Whitechapel,) " the whole of that fine collection," as described in the journals of the day, " which the taste and indefatigable exertions of Mr. Griffith Owen had brought together at Weston House," &c. &c. With a few thousand pounds, and a rent-charge upon his late property, of about two hundred pounds per annum, the happy pair retired to lodgings in the College Green, at Bristol, where their pursuits, if on a less extended scale, were by no means of a less speculative nature, than in PF.N OWEN. 12fi their previous prosperity. Like other great men, Griffith did not fall alone. The leeches of science, as they dropped off from the only sub- ject on wliom they were permitted to fatten, subsisted no longer than the remnant they had been able to retain lasted, and one of the fullest and last to drop was Dr. Wintletrap, the uncle of Mrs. Amarantha Owen. Having embarked his all in the concluding speculation of his patron, which was of a more promising nature than usual, he might, if it had succeeded, have enriched himself, but certainly not have saved his friend. Mrs. Owen was too sensitively affected to behold the sufferings of her beloved uncle, and he died in prison, at the very moment he had touched upon the discovery of the Elexir vitcc, which he entertained no doubt would have satisfied all his creditors, had he lived but to compose it. GrilHth, with a perfect confidence in his own natural powers, determined now to turn them to their fullest account ; to restore the equilibrium of his fortunes, which appeared indeed to havelost their balance for ever, and to re-instate himself in power and affluence beyond all former prece- dent. It may be asked by those, who feel them- selves in a similar predicament, how he set to VOL. I. K 130 PEN OWES'. work, for the purpose of atchieving this mighty revolution. But, as it is my duty to speak the truth, I in my conscience am bound to express my conviction that he had no fixed plan — not even a resting place from which to start, for many days after he had arrived at the above, to him, satisfactory and conclusive determination. Subsequently, indeed, lie embarked in a variety of concerns, such as the manufacture of paper from soldier's watch coats ; — of sugar, from par- snips ; — of Brussels lace, from whale-bone ; — besides many bye arrangements with continental projectors; none of which, as far as I have been able to ascertain, added in any considerable degree to the funds of Griffith Owen. But I do not pledge myself to the fact, as he still, up to the period of the commencement of my labours, occupied the identical apartments in College Green to which he had removed on his first reverse of fortune. There had, indeed, been an offer made to him by his brother Caleb (with whom he had kept up little intercourse during his high philoso- phical career), but it was of a nature at which all his feelings revolted, and which ran counter to every preconceived notion of the philosopher. It was simply that he should embark the remnant PEN OWEN. 131 of his fortune in the iron works, m which he, Caleb, was ready to make an advantageous opening for iiim. He admitted, however, the kindness of the intention, and made every ac- knowledgment to his brother which the occasion demanded. At the same time he enlarged upon the prospects which opened before him, and prognosticated the speedy return of more splen- did days, when he should be ready and able to assist his brother, should he ever have occasion for his services. At this period an event happened, for which none of the parties concerned appeared to be in the least prepared, and which, strange to say, our philosopher had not even speculated upon. This was nothing less than a declaration on the part of Mrs. Amarantha Owen, that she was in that state in which " ladies wish to be who love their lords,'* and in which, it is supposed, they cannot be without them. Whether she wished it from the love she bore to her lord and master, it is no business of ours to inquire. The said lord expressed little more than his astonishment at first — till having reflected for some days upon the new situation in which the birth of a child would place him, the subject became, like every K 2 132 PEN OWEN-. thing else which found its way to his imagliiap- tion, a matter of profound speculation. His door was shuteven againstprojectors — andAmarantha^ who had been for a long period *left to her own resources for amusement^ was now never suffered to be absent from his sight. Buchan lay on his right hand — the Paedotrophia on his left — Ches- selden and Bell were consulted on conformation, and he was master of Underwood before the quickening of the infant embryo. — Repossessed himself of every prognostic which the history of medicine or the history of the world afforded — and as he had been tempted to pickle his worthy father as a test of one discovery, so did he se- riously ruminate upon the Caesarian operation (whilst he smiled upon his purposed victim during its suggestion,) as an experiment so suc- cessfully originating in the production of a hero. The good lady, however, who prudently thought of herself as well as of her child, de- clined all artificial interference — and had not Griffith reflected also upon the danger in time, he might have been hanged for a murder, whilst he was simply speculating upon an heir. SuiOfice it to say, all things proceeded in due order, and the birth of a son was an- PEN OWEN. 133 nounced to Mr. Griffith Owen just as his bro- ther Caleb had called to make his friendly inquiries after his sister-in-law. — Griffith had rushed into the chamber of his wife, without reflecting or caring about the consequences, and having been duly turned out by the female attendants, after a single peep at his heir, he insisted that he alone should set off to procure the attendance of the nurse, whom (as has been before noticed; ) he had at no small pains and cost brought from Crick howeli to Bristol. He ran to his laboratory for her address, and having by some extraordinary accident found it where he expected, was searching for his hat, when perceiving his brother Caleb coolly perusing " A Treatise on the Miliary Fever," as if he understood it, he rushed into his arms, and gave vent to the joy he experienced on the fulfilment of his speculations. " I said it would be a boy — and all — every thing depended upon it." " I sincerely wish you joy, brother,'' said the kind-hearted Caleb ; ^' but you talk as if a man child had never been born into the world before." *< Not such a child — under such circum- K 3 134 PEN OWEN. stances^sucli prognostics— all, all of which are Confirmed by its being a boy — a boy — " This rhapsody was interrnpted by Caleb, who really began to suspect that the intellects of the philosopher were somewhat disposed to wander — and having prevailed upon him to sit down, the conversation commenced, to which we have been witness at the commencement of our his- tory, and which, having continued for the greater part of an hour, would probably have termi- nated in a bloody encounter, but for the sudden apparition of the enraged midwife, who^ like some rtiighty enchanter's dragon, mounted at the tail of a canto in romance (partaking in truth more of the dragon than the enchantress), parted the combatants, and sent each severally oti thfeit way in search of new adventures. ( 135 ) CHAPTER VII. Having thus humbly followed the example of Goldsmith's dramatic hero, whose practical wit carried his lady mother a long journey round about, and at last set her fairly down on the very spot from which she started, I shall pro- ceed to the regular scries of events which marked the progress of that illustrious child, whom we have ventured to name Pen Owen — even before the regular ceremony of his baptism — but as this is an instance of our skill in fore- seeing what is to happen, ere time is permitted to unfold it — so shall I proceed to verify my anticipation, by shewing, as a plain matter of fact, how and wherefore this name was bestowed upon the offspring of Mr. Griffith and Mrs. Amarantha Owen. There is a time appointed for all things, and that which is esteemed most proper and orderly was the precise period fixed upon by Mrs. Owen for the baptism of her infant. K 4? I 36 PEN OWEN. Had it been left to Griffith, there is no saying what might have been the arrangements, or rather derangements, connected with the ceremony. This, however, was deemed by the female council above stairs, strictly within the department of the lady ; and as there was no particular speculation about the time, which could affect any of the thousand and one plans revolving in succession round the ventricles of the philosopher's brain, no interference with this high authority was attempted. The weightier matter, however, of a name was considered and re-considered with Shandean scrupulousness. The family tree was referred to — and the euphonic changes rung upon every family appellation, from Ham to Geoffi'eyOwen, without any decision being pronounced previous to the eve of the ceremony. Caleb was thought worthy of being called into consultation upon this weighty matter, as he still possessed, in spite of the rust of trade and his simplicity of character, sufficient family pride to think a name of some importance to the heir of all the Owens. Pendragon would not be understood ; Owen was too short, but had its advantages, from ittJ PEN OWEN. 137 mystical allusion to the original head of the family already alluded to. " Owen ap Owen quasi Owen ap Noah would do, but it doesn't run off well," ob- served Griffith — "these modern levellers, too, have so confounded our patronymic distinc- tions, that they hardly know the difference between ap Rice and ap-pothecary." *' You must make haste and fix upon one," observed Caleb, rubbing his hands, " for you know the boy is to be christened to-morrow." " Some name or names he must have, most assuredly — but what !'* " As I [am to be his god-father, brother, suppose he were to take my name," said Caleb, looking complacently in his brother's face. « What !— Caleb !" *< Why not !" " Was there ever such a name in the family before the contamination of its blood with those presbyterians the Gwynns ?" "It was our grandfather's by the mother's side, Griffith," observed Caleb. « Psha, what of that ! What right had his family to be sectaries, merely to stigmatize the Owens with a string of puritanical nicnames ?" 138 PEN OWEN. i OAVF.N. not long in ascertaining that her childish sym- pathies were not to be shaken ofF^by the yonng woman. The question was debated for several months ; and the result may be easily antici- pated. One fine summer morning, Lucy was missed at the breakfast table ; and about the same time the family tutor at Oldysleigh Grange, having discovered that George's bed had not been slept in, the preceding night, hurried to Sir Luke's study to be the first bearer of the happy in- telligence^ that Master George had been guilty of the enormity of sleeping out of the house. The truth, however, was not suspected until the inquiries of the Annesleys began to excite the apprehension of the parties concerned. Ex- presses were sent off in different directions, but returned without having been able to trace the runaways. A week ehpsed, and no tidings had reached the distracted Annesleys, who, however, were fully implicated in all the guilt of the young people. The baronet swore a mighty oath, that he would be revenged upon those pedling gentry who had encouraged his boy in rebellion, in order to entrap him into a marriage with their daughter, to whom he applied an epithet too- PEN OWEN. 163 slrong and indecent to be recorded in these pure pages. At length a letter arrived from London, written jointly by the young culprits, acknow- ledging their marriage, professing penitence {not on account of their marriage), and praying for pardon. Sir Luke, without hesitation, returned an answer breathing vengeance against his son, and giving him one week to decide whether he would resign the girl, (which he was at liberty to do, as the marriage could not be valid in law,) or be banished for ever from the paternal roof without a sixpence. The high-spirited boy dis- dained the base and selfish alternative proposed by his father, and all negociation was broken off — the baronet calling heaven to witness, in terms neither necessary nor very edifying to re- peat, that the rebellious changeling should never again darken the doors of Oldysleigh Grange. The oath was too fliithfully registered ! A similar appeal from the young exiles was made to the Annesleys, who, from the apprehension of giving colour to the imputa- tions of Sir Luke, in having connived at their elopement, refused either to receive them or to M 2 1'64« PEN OWF^. hold communication with them. They felt that they could at any time recall the sen- tence of banishment ; and hoping that the ba- ronet would at some time relent, conceived the temporary distress the delinquents were likely to suffer, a just retribution for the inconsiderate folly of which they had been guilty. The mother, however, could not endure the thought of their being utterly destitute, and thrown upon a world which they knew only by report. Enclosing, therefore, a bank bill, she assured them, in as strong and severe a tone as her pitying feelings could assume, that it was the last she would ever send them — ^judging, poor woman, that it would support them until the day of reconciliation. Little did she think that she spoke a fatal truth, when she meant only an innocent deception. But vain are the anticipations of man — that day never arrived. A few months afterwards a friend of the Oldysworth family in London, who had, from the mere impulse of humanity, supplied the young couple with themeans of subsistence, wrote to inform Sir Luke that in proceeding to the Mediterranean, where his son had looked forward to an establishment, the ship which was convey- 19 PEN OWEN. 1€5 ing them had gone to the bottom, and that every soul on board had perished. Tiie baronet felt some compunction, it is said, upon the receipt of this intelligence ; but having now no other claim upon his affections, he cen- tered all his hopes, and bestowed the little which he perhaps felt due, although never elicited, of what is called paternal love for his second son, uj)on his eldest and now only hope. Sir Luke, in a few years had as effectually banished his child from his recollection, as he had originally done from his roof; butmisfortune is a key which forces open many a hard and hitherto impenetrable conscience. The miserable possessor of lands and heritages, — bereft of all that could render them of any value to him by the death of his heir, — no sooner felt the for- lornness of his state, than a retrospect of his past life burst upon his mind, and awakened recol- lections, bitter as they were uncontrollable. The heart of Caleb Owen instinctively sug- gested the means of consolation to be derived even from this very depth of human infliction, but it would have puzzled him to render his own convictions available to another. His simple sympathy, however, did much, and his friend, MS 166 PEN OWEN. Mr. Mapletoft, the clergyman of the parish, of whom we have already spoken, and whom he sought as an ally, did the rest. What was past, was irremediable ; and sincere repentance was a foundation upon which he hoped to build up a new and better disposition of mind. Thebaronet was no longer the same inflated being, in whose presence tenants trembled and menials crouched. — He was marked as a melancholy man^ but the consolations of religion, which — like his child, he had formerly rejected in the pride of his heart, — prevented him from being a desponding one. ( 367 ) CHxVPTEll IX. Caleb Owen passed much of liis time in the company of Sir Luke. He reconciled him to the Annesleys, who had removed to a small estate, which had descended to them, in the neigh- bouring county of Dorsetshire, and had, as we have seen, persuaded him to unbend towards the clergyman of the parish, whom, in his flush of prosperity, he could scarcely be taught to treat other than as a sort of better taught and better clothed menial. Mr. Mapletoft, however, was skilled in human nature, and knew the world by experience. He had been an army chaplain for several years, be- fore he obtained preferment, and had visited most of the courts of Europe as tutor to a young nobleman, to whose patronage he was indebted for the living he now held. But he turned not his knowledge of his fellow man to M 4 1C8 PEN OWEN. that account which might accord only with his own calculations of interest. He probed not the weak points of his neighbour to expose, but if possible, to heal them. He was a man who in short, he was a man who believed what he preached — and acted so as to satisfy others of the sincerity and efficacy of his faith. Such a one was not capable of resenting any previous ill-will which the baronet might have shewn towards him, at a moment when his services were likely to be beneficial to him. A Bristol divine, named Martin Loup (one of the church established there), had been for several years tutor in the Oldysworth family, and had by his subserviency, which he sanctified with the title of christian humility, wormed himself into the good graces of Sir Luke. This pious divine had proved Mr. Mapletoft to be a bad minister, because he adorned him- self in the " filthy rags " of benevolence, and recommended the same clothing to others. He easily satisfied Sir Luke on this head, who con- sidered religion, like law, necessary only to those who lived by professing it; and his household found it a much easier task to acknowledge them- selves sinners in general to their ghostly confessor, TEN OWEN. 169 tiian to put any restraint upon those vicious pro- pensities, which tempted them to transgress the ordinances of moral law. The baronet was easily induced to believe that the vicar was a " dumb dog;" because he had used no invective against the squire, although he would not yield to his decision in the case of his own tithes; and was happy to find that by a new interpretation of religious duties, he was not the worse chris- tian for having on the aforesaid occasion called the parson a dog, with an epithet so very similar in sound to that appropriated by the divine, that a single letter only need be changed to give it a full sound and correspondence. To this man, had the baronet entrusted for several years the education of his sons, and his heir had long embraced the opi- nions of his tutor, happy to find he might com- promise with his conscience for the enjoyment of every gratification which presented itself to his appetite, by a systematical adoption of certain tenets as articles of implicit faith (which he never unsettled by too closely investigating) and by occupying a front seat in his director's chapel, or at a village bible society. Poor George, the younger boy, had early in- 170 TEN OWEN. currcd the hatred of his worthy tutor, by an unlucky turn for mimicry, which had nearly reconverted the household, and undone the la- bour of many a tedious harangue of the indefa- tio^able divine. The brothers were alienated by this schism in the family, no less than by the opposition of their characters ; and the peda- gogue, magnifying every little peccadillo of his younger charge into a crime of magnitude, the father, had he even been drawn towards him by any natural feelings, would have been jus- tified in reprobating him for the reported vici- ousness of his character. When the projected flight of George had first taken possession of his mind, he made his elder brother his confidant, under a most solemn pledge of secresy, and, with the exception of adding Martin Loup to his private council, he most solemnly kept his word. By the confidential advice of that evangelical divine, George, who was kept short of pocket money, in order to check his 'oicious propen- sities, was supplied from the purse of his generous brother, on this occasion, with the means of escaping and carrying off his mistress. The priest, who from a hiding place, had seen PEN OWEN. 171 the parties fairly off at nine o'clock on the pre- ceding night, took especial care not to discover that his younger charge had not slept at home, till, as we have seen, the baronet had taken his breakfast on the following morning. Whether this was for the kind purpose of guarding the young pair against the possibility of being overtaken ; or from the more pious motive of giving them their full swing of folly, as a materiel for future repentance, I do not take upon me to say. The reader, there- fore, may decide, as he thinks proper, upon this point of casuistry. All intrigues, whether in politics or morals, are subject to sudden reverses, and Martin Loup, good easy man, when he had looked to fatten upon the worthy baronet's credulity for many a long year to come, lost his hold, and was shaken from his seat in a single instant. Either his zeal outstripped his policy, or he relied too implicitly upon the firmness of his own grasp, when he insinuated, in the most de- licate manner possible^ and with a suavity pecu- liai'ly his own, that some doubt might be enter- tained, whether, in prudcncey a qualification in the immber and construction of those aids to 172 PEN OWEN. polished phraseology, to which, by a slip of the tongue, he applied the broad term of profane swearing, might not be adviseable in his pa- tron. He did not mean to denounce this dis- position to energetic illustration as an evil work, but as having, perhaps, a tendency to scandalize the righteous over much, in the eyes of those who still clung to the flesh pots of Egypt, and could not shake off the idle notions of the nursery. It was necessary to avoid giving offence to over tender consciences. "In the same manner," continued the conscientious preacher, who did not perceive the prognostics of a coming storm in the contemplation of his own eloquence, ** in the same manner we claim, as an act of obe- dience to the ministerial authority on the part of the lower classes, that they should abstain from shewing themselves * given to much drink,' in public" '~ The baronet upon this occasion, eyed his confessor with a look of ineffable contempt, and asking him if he was serious, commanded him to leave his house and family that instant, for that d — him if he did'nt prefer the dumb dog, as he called the vicar, with all his sins upon his head, — to the impudent,— insolent, — barking PEN OWEN. 173 piippv — who took upon himself to dictate to a man of ten thousand a year, in a ring fence ! Sir Luke was always a man of his word, when pledged by his passions, and thus in a moment terminated a consiexion which had subsisted for several years, and he forbade his name ever to be mentioned in his presence. This event happened several years previous to the date of our history, and it is, I be- lieve, pretty well ascertained that Sir Luke, except an occasional attendance at church for the sake of variety, was never known to shew any disposition to ascertain whether the vicar, with his filthy rags, or the tutor, without a rag to his discipline, was the fittest and properest per- son to shew him the way to heaven. The religious faith of the baronet, therefore, as I think has been sufficiently shewn, was not in that condition which admitted of its being made a source of consolation in the hour of suf- fering and privation. Martin Loup, had he yet been a retainer in the household, would per- haps have laboured to convince him that he had been pre-ordained to evil, and that neither prayers nor penitence could avail him. Mr. Mapletoft bade him look up with humble confi- 171 PEN OWEN. ilence to the God ofMercy, — to repent him of his sins, and — to reform his life. ~ He was succcessful, — not indeed by a sudden note of conversion — not by dogmatically fixing the precise moment when the sinner was loosed from the hold of Satan — not in watching the operation of the spirit, as if it were the exhibition of a panacea, — or in founding an irreversible decree upon a fallible symptom of hysterics^ or a qualm of conscience. He opened the volume of truth, and explained the covenant of peace — in the simplicity of chris- tian truth, and in accordance with those feelings of the soul which were implanted in man for its due reception. He announced the glad tidings to his humbled parishioner, to whom they were almost as new as to the shepherds of Bethlehem, — in the words of the angelic revelation, — and devoutly urged as a truth, which all the sophisms of metaphysical theology could not alter, that in our duty towards the Almighty, and love for our neighbour, that glory was fulfilled which was to the Most High, and that peace and GOOD-WILL towards the creatures of his hand, illustrated, by the strict performance of our duty, and the benevolent application of the means we PEN OWKN. 175 possessed to the wants of others. He no more extolled the merit of good works than those who deny their necessity ; but he insisted that although no work of that fallen and fallible creature man could avail to redeem him from the penalty of transgression ; yet that the atonement made for his sins would be equally unavailing, if he fulfilled not the conditions imposed by him who made it ; — that by his own best works no one can be saved ; but that without them, no one was entitled by tlie covenant to hope for salvation. The effect was as might be hoped from such a mode of proceeding. Sir Luke was a man of the world, full of prejudices, and the pampered child of fortune ; but his suf- ferings under his present heavy dispensation, and the conviction of his bereaved state being the consequence of his own hasty and criminal con- duct, shewed that his conscience had indeed slept, but was not dead within him. The ha- bitual violence of his temper was now so far subdued, that he did not interrupt his friendly consoler, in laying the foundation of his princi- ples in his heart. The conviction which fol- lowed the arguments adopted for building up the house of faith within, applying to the rea- 176 PEN OWEN. son, and not to the passions of the recipient, soon began to exhibit themselves in the chas- tened and subdued habits of the baronet. Here was no miracle — no subject for " pub- lished convictions," or " testimonies to sudden awakenings." It was the call for repen- tance on a sinner who, chastened for the wisest purpose, became humbled in the dust, and first beholding the beauty of holiness, was steadily supported in his approaches towards it — and finally entered into covenant with it. ( ivr ) . CHAPTER X. JfiREMY Bentmam, that profound and mighty unintelligible reformer, would call the greater part of our last chapter rank " Church of Eng- landism ;" but I would not for the world have my readers suppose, that in these liberal times I have a particular, or more popularly speaking, a bigotted attachment to any one peculiar set of principles or opinions. All men have a right to judge for them- selves, whether they have judgment or not ; and every man ought, in order to prevent any force upon the conscience, to form his code of morals and religion for himself ! Wiio shall dare touch this sacred principle of a free people and a liberal age ? What is freedom, if we are not free to choose evil as well as good^-error as well as truth ? Where there is no choice, there can be no election, and where VOL. I. N ITS TEN OWEN. there is no election there can be no liberty • g. E. D. The only liberty I personally claim, is to expose pride and hypocrisy, wherever and under whatever form I may happen to discover them. The contempt and bitterness entertained by a professing christian towards those whom he considers in a state of reprobation, because they are not of his sect, afford the most perfect illustration of the character, handed down to us on sacred testimony, of a Pharisee ; and it is the last that can find a shelter or a sanction under the christian dispensation. An old quaint writer (one, however, of infinite point and humour,) describes a genuine puritan <' as a diseased piece of apocrypha. Bind him to the bible, and he corrupts the whole text." In a word, the most offensive, as well as the most common garb that pride assumes, is hu- mility ! — A dissembler baits his craft with it, and is pretty sure of his small fry; — his cunning is not visible to the eye, — but only to the judg- ment. Thus we historians may occasionally betray a leaning towards one side or the other, as the facts to be recorded influence our judgment, or VV.X OWEN. 179' operate upon our feelings. But I beg it may be understood, once for all, that it is my wish not to appear to be too consistent in my opinions, from the fear and apprehension of being set down as a bigot; nor too much attached to the rude notions of our forefathers, on politics, morals, social habits, laws, or institutes, lest I should lose my hold upon my readers as a philosopher. The Rev. Richard Mapletoft, vicar of Oldys- leigh, has no particular claim upon our interest, but what is purely personal — I mean, I have never heard any thing extraordinary, or what is called interesting, in his early history, beyond his having been a boy born with a very happy disposition of mind — who neither disgraced nor distinguished himself at school — had his emula- tion excited at college, and evinced that he pos- sessed a certain portion of talents by taking a very honorable degree. Perhaps, indeed, his travels might afford much insight into the private his- tory of the cabinets of Europe ; but as I under- stand he has some intention of givinij them to the public in his own way, the reader may be pleased to dispense even with a general outline of his route. Much might also be culled out of his military campaigns ; but the public has of N 2 180 PEN OWEN. late been somewhat glutted with romances of this nature, and I have advised my friend to introduce all that he has to say on this head, in an appendix to his travels. Mr. Mapletoft had married the widow of an officer who was killed in the same action with the brave Abercrombie in Egypt. He had no children; but Mrs. Mapletoft had adopted a little girl at the request of her former husband, who now supplied the place of a daughter, and was as much beloved by her protectors as if she had been what she actually supposed herself to be, until she arrived at an age to be informed of the truth. Mrs. Mapletoft had given the child her own maiden name of Craig, and christened her by that of her early benefactor Captain Ellice, her former husband. EUice Craig was a beautiful child, with a fine animated countenance, lively black eyes, and of a temper which, tor want of an expression among earth-born epithets, we generally hear termed heavenly. With this child had our hero. Pen Owen,been brought up, more as one of the family than as a mere pupil, under the roof of Mr. Mapletoft — for whilst his father, Griffith, was speculating upon an education for him, and his PEN OWEN. 181 uncle Caleb spending five days out of the seven at Bristol, in order to raise a fortune for liim, he wa.s thrown for the greater part of his time, as I have before observed, upon strangers, who soon be- came his warmest friends, and the most disin- terested of benefactors. Ell ice Craig was not a sharer in his Latin exercises ; but, with this exception, they had all their pursuits and plea- sures in common ; and if she were desired to step across the green, or to run about for exer- cise, she would have conceived it a moral, if not a physical impossibility to do either the one or the other, unless little Pen were at hand to accompany her. Pen Owen had reached his twelfth birth- day, and EUice had passed her tenth, before any interruption to this tender union of interests liad occurred ; for Griffith was at that advanced period as undetermined in his plans, as at the hour of the boy*s birth; and Caleb, who thought him well-placed under the superintendance of such a preceptor and friend as Mapletoft, never interfered with his brother*s specula- tions, or even laughed, as he was wont to do on other occasions, at the procrastination of his plans. > N 3 1S2 TEN OWEN. About this period, however, the two brothers having dined together, had been sitting for some time silent over their wine : the one, as usual, wandering in imagination on the realization of some reigning project, — the other very nearly asleep, — when a note was abruptly delivered by the servant to Caleb, from Oldysleigh, which, he said, required an imme- diate answer. Adjusting his spectacles to his nose, and opening the note with that sort of precision which marks a man of business, and one at the same time unused to any other sort of correspond- ence, he started on a sudden, and roused the attention of his brother, by loudly ejaculating, *' What's to be done with the boy ?" '' What boy?" " Why, your boy, — Pen." " Pendarves!" " Well — Pendarves-^here's Mapletoft's girl is seized with the measles." " What's that to the boy ?" ** Nothing — only he may catch them too." " I've my doubts," said Griffith, half-closing his eyes — pursing up his mouth — bending his body forward, and leaning his two elbows on the corresponding arms of his chair, *' I've my PEN OWEN. 183 doubts whether in the long disputed points oF infection and contagion — " " The deuce take thy doubts, brother Grif- fith — here's a fact — the girl is ill, and the boy ought to be removed — but my friend tells me liere, that Pen — " *' Pendarves 1" '* Pen-devil — heaven forgive me ! — there's not a moment to be lost — he says the boy cannot be torn from the child, and that he will inevi- tably catch the infection." " There, brother — there — patience — the ques- tion I say is, whether infection or contagion — " ** Don't contagion me — nonsense — -"ex- claimed Caleb J rising. *' Wilt stop to talk learned rigmarole, which doesn't signify three doits, whilst the life of your child is threat- ened .'» " Who threatened it .'*" demanded the absent philosopher. " Who — why, I tell you, Pendarves will catch the measles, through his own obstinacy, and I am half mad." *^ Pendarves — the measles ! — Well, and what of that— there's my friend Dr. Fidget's spe- cific." N 4) Ibi TEN OWEN. ** Dr. Bedevil's broomstick ! — Would you murder your child with your speculations. Here, David, order my horses to the door^ as fast as they can be brought — I must take mea- sures, since you will not exert your authority." ^« Authority !" «^ Aye, authority — the boy must be torn from the sick room, if he will not leave it by fair means." " Fair means— why the deuce don't they whip him ?" " Whipping won't do with him, I promise you." '* What,— is the dog so hardened ?" *^ No; but he is of an age to be reasoned into his duty— not whipped — " " A child reasoned into duty — a baby's rattle, brother, would do better. — Why, what has a child, whose education is not yet begun, to do with reason ? — Stop *till he's educated — then, indeed, me duce " <^ Me-fiddle — what, do'st think him still in swaddling-clothes ?" *^ Not far from it, good brother — let me see — what is his age ?'* '* Age— why twelve — going on thirteen !—" PEN OWEN. 185 " Twelve — impossible !" " True as gospel, however, or I can't reckon, Griffith." " Pendarves twelve years old !" " Last thirteenth of November, Griffith." '* Why — that's three years older than he ought to be — my system was to commence at nine." " Then he has gained three years and a fraction, brother.** ^' Three years — I'm undone — the whole thread is ravelled — why^ in the name of common sense, your own beloved standard and gauge of all things — why the deuce did you not tell me this before .?" " I could not tell ye before it happened.'* *' What!" '' That he was twelve years old." " But you could have told me when he was nine — that was precisely the starting point — nine, says — " ** So I would, hadst thou asked me. But who ever thought, Griffith, of telling a father that his son was nine years old ?" *' Tm undone — no aid supplied to his ge- nius!" 186 PEN OWEN. « What of that, brother Griffith—it's all in your own way." *^ Psha ! — he should have been furnished with materials to — " " lliat's done, sure enough !" said Caleb. '< Done— how." " By me—" said Caleb. " You — you fiirnish materials for teaching the young ideas how to shoot." *' Aye, aye — that among the rest— be shall bring down his bird with any lad of his years," chuckled Caleb. '^ Psha, brother, one can't make you under- stand plain English." " Aye, but he can — and Latin too — why, he knows more than I did, when I left Dr. Pros — " ^* How's this !" exclaimed Griffith, with dis- tended eyes. " How is it ? — why, the boy is a good scholar for his years." <^ What !— a scholar." " Yes; neighbour Mapletoft has acted as a father by him." " And what right — what right, Mr. Caleb Owen, had Mr. Maple — what's his name— to be fatlier to my son ?" 18 PEN OWEN. 187 *' Right ! — why, any man has a right to do what he's asked to do, provided it be just and lawful — and as you neglected the boy — '* " Neglected ! — Have I for this toiled and sweated by the lamp, night after night, and year after year ? — Are these" — pointing to a shelf which groaned under MSS. of all forms and dimensions, — *' are these, I ask, proofs of my neglect ?" ^^ Proofs poz, brother — had you toiled and lamped less, you would have done more — and the true state of the case is, the boy must have been a dunce, if it had not been for me." <« A dunce—" *' Aye, a dunce, if he had not found friends able and willing to do something better than set their wits a wool-gathering among books and lamps, and such like nonsense." Here he was broken in upon by a strength of expression, which, from a dehcacy peculiar to myself, I withhold for the sake of my more fas- tidious readers — as likewise a scene which, be- fore Caleb's horses arrived at the door, had assumed something of the nature of those con- cussions which the stubbornness of the native rocks of our worthy brethren oppose to the ob- 188 TEN OWEN. trusive waves hurled against them during a sharp southerly gale— where, in fact, little in- jury in either instance is to be apprehended by the conflicting parties — it is only in the case of an interloper, in the shape of a crazy bark — or a more crazy mediator, — that wrecks or broken heads are incurred. The consequence of this accidental conversa- tion, however, did not, as was generally the case in those wliich passed between the worthy brothers, end in absolutely confirming each in their opinion of the other's inveterate obsti- nacy, and in strengthening the sentiments each had previously entertained. — Griffith began to reflect upon the age of his son, as a plain matter of fact, worthy of being taken into im- mediate consideration; and Caleb, borrowing something of his brother's speculative turn of mind, could not help reflecting that he himself, 'till called upon in the course of the conversation just related, had forgotten the age of his nephew ; or which is nearly the same thing, had not re- collected that habits have more than begun to fix themselves in the mind by the age at which he had arrived. The tenaciousness of the boy in resisting PEN OWEN. 189 the efforts of one, whom it was his pride in general to obey — and his resolution to share the danger of his little play-mate, EUice Craig, led him to look forward to probable conse- quences, should the present order of things be suffered to continue. On his approach to the vicarage, however, these speculations, like those of his brother, began to yield to feelings of a stronger nature — and when he was told by the apothecary, on his entering the parlour, that the boy had shewn evident symptoms of having contracted the disorder, he readily assented to the earnest intreaties of Pen, to be permitted to continue in his present quarters. I could, if I would, in order to fill up the period necessary for the convalescence and per- fect recovery of our young friends, enter into tlie mode of treatment which was followed by such clear evidences of its efficacy ; — but as I am not aware of tlie apothecary, though a very excellent man, being either a speculator or a conjuror, the reader may rest satisfied with my well authenticated report, that at the end of about a fortnight, the two patients were seen running after one of their play-mates, a large Newfound- land spaniel, in apparently as rude health, and 190 PKN owrK. as boisterous f^pirits, as if they bad never seen the interior of a sick chamber. ~ It was thus that Caleb beheld them on a Satur- day afternoon, after a dusty ride from Bristol. The boy was desired to be at the villa at dinner — which probably he would have refused, had he been at liberty, as Ellice Craig was not, as usual, to make one of the party. This was, how- ever, a passing feeling of resentment, which he qualified by an appointment for an evening ramble with her — and by the time he arrived at the villa he was able, with an unclouded countenance, to tender to his dear uncle Caleb those affectionate expressions of pleasure at seeing him, which sprang from the feelings of his heart. Caleb had matured his speculations during the last ten days, and had come to a resolution, of which, as he was unused to the process, the reader may doubt the policy and prudence, however he maybe disposed to justify the obser- vations which led to it. The truth is, and must be told, if the reader has not already discovered it, that Caleb was a warm-hearted good sort of man; but was as ignorant of the nature of metaphysical inquiries, I had almost said, as PEN OWEN. 15 K of the name. Any thing abstract had with him the appearance of mysticism — and when he stood up in manful fight against the aberra- tions of liis brother's mind, he looked only to the results, and concluded that these being con- stantly unsuccessful, the machinery by which they were manufactured must be crazy and good for nothing. The particular mode of manu- facture, he knew nothing about; and when he ranged all the blunders of the ill-starred Griffith under the head of speculations, he limited the term to his own business-like construction of it, and the balance of profit and loss decided the question. It is not very likely, then, without the occur- rence of some miraculous light (which he was not likely to encounter, as he set at nought the whole phalanx of the Bristol illuminati), that he should have fathomed the human mind, or penetrated into the human character very deeply. He had good sound common sense — he was a devout man, and, I repeat, a good one — he, therefore, could discriminate very accurately all that appeared upon the broad open path of society — and he rarely failed to attribute virtue to any one whom he knew to be habituated to 192 PKN OWEN. benevolent actions; and constantly called him rogue who, upon clear evidence, was guilty of dishonesty, although that rogue might make, saving his rogueship, the pleasantest companion in the world. When he perceived, as he thought, the possible future consequence of his nephew's having identified himself with his playfellow, Ellice Craig, the notion was not suggested by any deep insight into the nature of love, but from the plain matter of fact, of the same thing having occurred in the family of one of his friends, and the certainty, according to every rule of arith- metic, that the same sums, if duly cast up, would always give the same total. So far he might be right ; but when he took upon him to originate measures of prevention, he had to rely upon his own judgment — and there I think it possible he may have erred. ^ When, therefore, after having swallowed two or three glasses of wine, he began to address a boy of little more than twelve years of age, upon the probable consequences of an im- prudent connexion in early life, as a motive for removing him from his present situation, he forgot, or, I should rather say, he did not know 19 PEN OWEN. l9fJ that he was thrusting notions into the head of the boy, which probably might never have been produced there unless this judicious process had impregnated it with them. Instead of removing him from the danger, which might have been done in the natural course of things, as a ne- cessary advance in his education, he took the pains to point out a danger of which his atten- tive auditor had never dreamed, and which, when made known, convinced the boy — it was rather to be courted than avoided. " What harm^ my dear uncle, can there be in loving my dear Ellice ?" " Harm ! my child ! why, the greatest pos- sible—you may fall in love with her." ^^ Fall in love, uncle ! I'm quite sure I can never love her better than I do now — and yet I feel no danger." " But, my dear Pen — it's a different thing al together — it " " Then there is nothing to fear, I have loved my dear Ellice for so many years." *' Pish, boy — the harm's to come — if you fall in love with her, I tell you, then — " « What then !" " Don't repeat my words, you little obstinate VOL. I. o 194 PEN OWEN. dog-' — " cried the vexed Caleb, who was at a loss how to answer his childish interrogator. ** I only asked what then, my dear uncle Caleb." " Then — why you may be fool enough to marry her." " Marry her ! sure I can't do that yet, uncle — it's only grown up men that marry — there's time enough for that." " Time enough — you don't think you're to stand still, d'ye ? — you'll be a man by and by — " " And will it do me any harm to marry then, uncle ?" f( J never married." *^ Aye— but my father did." '' Your father was a — psha — no matter— you're a child, and know nothing about mar- riage — I tell you it is a bad business." '^ Is it, uncle ? — why, I'm sui'e, my dear, dear Papa and Mama Mapletoft ^re as happy as the day is long." " Pish, boy— that's not the thing." " Why, they are married." " Yes— they are married, to be sure — ^but still—" ** Then what's the harm of marrying, if it PEN OWEN. 195 makes people as happy as the day is long, uncle Caleb ?" ^' Imprudence in a choice." — Now poor Caleb thought himself safely landed — " Falling in love with an improper object — there, boy." *^ That can't happen to me, my dear good uncle. Ellice Craig is the properest and dear- est creature in the world.'* «' Imprudence in a choice," repeated Caleb, still grasping the idea by which he hoped to be saved — " chusing a girl without money !'* <^ Ah ! now, uncle, you are laughing at me, I see — what can money have to do with love ?" " Money-7-you can do nothing without it, child; it is the main- spring of life — it is — in short, — it is every thing — buys every thing — *' " It won't buy love, surely, uncle !'* " Yes, yes, but it will, I tell you— it will buy every thing under the sun." «' I don't want money, then.'* *' Why — you little troublesome urchin ?" ** Because I have got every thing I want without it ; and I'm sure I would not sell Ellice's love for all the money in the world.*' '^ You're a child — a babe — a nincompoop o 2 196 PEN OWEN. boy — I tell you, people can't marry without money/' *« Why, I've often heard dear Mama Maple- toft declare, she hadn't a penny in the world when good Mr. Mapletoft married her." <« What's that to the purpose ?" " Pat — my dear uncle," said the shrewd boy, who, as he warmed in his subject, found his ad- vantage, and closed with his adversary. " Pat— devil !— I tell you what. Pen, I won't talk with you — you're an obstinate, self-willed- impudent — " Here exhausted in argument, and at a loss for words, he dismissed the boy, with the infor- mation that on the Monday following he should carry him off to his father's house, for the ex- press purpose of removing him from the dan- ger — "Aye," he added, "there, you young whipper-snapper, you'll be safe enough." Desperate, indeed, must the state of affairs have appeared to honest Caleb, when he resolved to place the boy under his father's roof. The fact, however, is, that he had previously arranged the niatter with Mr. Griffith Owen ; and al- though the latter would not give up an iota of his own plans (upon which, nevertheless, he had TEN OWEN. 197 arrived at no definite conclusion) ^ Caleb had agreed to be at the whole expence of carrying them into eflPect. Could the good man really and clearly have communicated to the lad^ in set and intelligible terms, all that he had confusedly got together in his own head, he would have told him what it would have been as well he had not thought about for some years to come ; but as he sub- mitted himself to the cross-examinations of a child (more perplexing sometimes, between our- selves, gentle reader, than the subtlest andpertest of the long-robed practitioners at Westminster), he left much tp the imagination which had never entered even into his own calculations. — He had pointed out a closet full of sugar-plums and bons honSi by desiring the boy not to open it — and Pen retired with a conviction of having gained a victory, not only by beating the enemy at his own weapons, but by carrying off a booty he had never contemplated. Laden with these spoils, he ran to his better half, and shared them all with her, as he would have done had they really been the contents of a bonhonniere. Good uncle Caleb had made a o 3 19S TEN OWEN. peep-hole for them, and they themselves found an opening for stronger light. Long before the projected removal of our hero, mutual vows were exchanged between Pen and his little wife, and an oath, as big as them- selves, taken upon a broken sixpence (a custom which they had picked from another source of judicious Instruction), that nothing should ever prevent their loving each other dearly, and marrying when they came to a marriageable age, whenever that might happen — a period which they did not pretend to anticipate, as Caleb, in his well-judged communications, either forgot or did not think proper to mention it. ( 199 ) CHAPTER XL Now, having presented my hero under circum- stances which may well silence the scruples of the most sentimental reader, — having exhibited in his person, the influence of love over his des- tiny before he had fairly entered his teens, — and having afforded a sample of what may be expected from so determined a hero in his more advanced career, we must for the present follow the example of uncle Caleb, in separating the young people, and in preparing and qualifying the boy for the Toga virilis. One instance of improving upon aprudentmea- sure must be noticed in illustration of our friend Caleb's character. In the course of the drive between Oldysleigh and the city of Bristol, having duly exasperated his nephew, by bestow- ing every epithet which has any relation to folly and weakness, upon the strong burst of his feel- o 4 200 PEN oWen. ings at parting with his early friend, he peremp- torily informed him, that he had seen Oldysleigh for the last time, and must never think of re- turning to it. Considering the moment chosen for the com- munication of this consolatory arrangement, some allowance may be made for the unfortunate object of it^ who, in return, swore (though not aloud,) that he would take the first opportunity of falsifying his uncle's predictions. If the uncle congratulated himself upon the firmness he had exhibited (for it really almost broke his heart to assume it), the nephew was no less charmed by the remedy it had suggested ; and the father, who had speculated on the scene during the whole morning, was no less pleased than surprized at finding his son and Caleb upon the most amicable terms, on entering the house. After the first salutations were over, the phi- losopher began to examine the boy, whom he found to be a sound Latin scholar for his years, and with a good foundation laid, for his pro- gress in Greek literature. The general run of fathers would have rejoiced to have had a son capable of acquitting himself with so much PEN OWEN. 201 credit ; but Griffith Owen, who hat! prefigured a tabula rasa for his own experiments, grieved to find that a pedant, as he chose to call Mr. Mapletoft, had been scribbling upon it, and making impressions which he feared all his future labours might never effectually expunge. He was resolved, however, to do his best, and for this purpose fixed his eye upon one Saur- craut, a scientific companion, with whom he had lately become acquainted in the literary circles of Bristol. This gentleman was of German extraction, but was himself born in England. He had received a good education, and was possessed of talents, if the natural indolence of cha- racter, which had become habitual by long in- dulgence, had permitted him to give them free scope. — That he had failed to make a dis- tinguished figure in life was a consequence easy to be conceived from these premises — but attri- buting his failure to a want of discernment in the public, and to a certain fatality which he supposed to hang about him, he became a sort of wanderer among the sciences, without a fixed preference for any, and could never be persuaded thai there were two sides to 202 PliN OWEN. any one circumstance or possession in life. Black was his only colour, and if the bright side of an object presented itself to his view, his mind, by some atrabiliary process, for which I do not pretend to account, possessed an intuitive faculty of changing it to his favourite hue. It turned every thing sour, as thunder does small beer. He was not so much a misanthrope, as the self-condemned victim of every man's en- mity. He felt assured that the whole world (a very small portion of which had ever heard his name) were compacted and combined in their efforts to persecute and annoy him^ This may be said to be a species of mental aberration ; but the same may be predicated of all those whims by which a man is distinguished in society as an eccentric character. Saurcraut had early imbibed certain notions, and finding them confirmed, in some few instances, they gathered sufficient strength to overbear his judg- ment, and to settle themselves into a creed, which he never after had the power to abandon. — The very influence they had obtained over his conduct, made good the theory his imagination iiad built up. He became a peevish, disagree- able companion, and those friends who were FKN OWEN. 203 interested in him by connection, or family ties, dropped off one by one, till he was left an in- sulated being in the world, literally the victim of his own wretched conclusions, and their effect upon his habits. Griffith Owen became acquainted with this man at an advanced period of life, in one of his restless wanderings to the scientific society of Bristol. The attention of our projector was first arrested by his general taciturnity — and his disjointed, but pointed sarcasms — which, having their source, as I have before observed, in the bili- ous secretions of this ascetic philosopher, carried with them a sort of epigrammatic sting, which Griffith chose to attribute to a source still more profound. Besides, he evidently disdained to walk in any beaten path, a recommendation of no mean value in the eyes of our friend — and from his first interview (which happily oc- curred on the very evening when the discovery of his son's age was first made,) he resolved, if possible, to secure his important aid in the future education of Pen, As even the most rapid evolutions of Grif- fith's mind, however, were subjected to the process of analysis — and as, of course, many 204' TEN OWEN. other subjects had obtruded themselves upon his attention in the interval, he liad only despatched a note, the morning of his son's expected arrival, to request Saurcraut to dine ■with him on that day — reserving to himself the time and mode of introducing his intended request to the great man. The travellers, therefore, were scarcely seated, when the distinguished personage appeared, to answer the invitation. He moved his head in token of salutation to Caleb and his protege — then eyed them with a sullen sort of scrutiny, before he took the proffered chair. Caleb stared with unaffected astonishment at his uncouth figure, bending under a load of flesh, which seemed to confound all the de- tails of dress — and might have puzzled a skilful anatomist, even without it, to ascer- tain the exact distribution of parts. His sto- mach (for delicacy's sake,) was scarcely dis- tinguishable from his knees — and a triple chin, which lay folded on his chest, might be deemed debateable ground, to be definitively claimed neither by the upper nor the middle region. His head, preposterously large, had, no doubt, from PEN OWEN. 205 all that was fermenting within, assisted the growth and vegetation of a volume of grizzly black hair, whose luxuriance had apparently never been checked by the artificial aid of brush or comb. Every feature was large in propor- tion, with the exception of a pair of cat-green eyes — which, buried deep in their sockets, would have been scarcely perceptible had not their rapid and perpetual motion from side to side — as if to guard against approach from any quarter — fixed the attention of every one who came within their influence. The first impression might have been that of a hon vivant^ from the crimson hue of his complexion, and the rotundity of his contour, had not a nearer view banished the suspicion, and convinced the beholder that jollity was the last excess of which such a countenance could be suspected of being guilty. The little linen that appeared seemed ashamed to expose its doubtful tints to public view, and a seedy worn-out suit, of what ap- peared to have originally been intended for black, completed the general appearance of this formidable personage. It is not surprising, therefore, that poor Caleb should be struck with his appearance — and less 20G PEN OWEN. SO that he should feel a sort of horror at the intimation which was conveyed by an inquiry of the servant, as he entered the room, — that he was to make one of the party at dinner. The master of the house was absent at the moment of his entre, and the benevolence of Caleb having tempered his astonishment, he felt called upon to say something by way of entertaining his brother's guest. ^' A very fine day, sir^ this has been !" " You found it so, I suppose," — ^laconically replied Saurcraut. " I did, indeed — didn't you, sir ^" « No!" '' Bless me, how's that — I'm sure the sun has shone out so — " « Bah!" " Bah ! — I don't exactly understand you, sir." ^' Not likely you should," retorted Saurcraut, begriming his nose with snuff. " This is very odd, my good sir — why, then, I suppose the sun did not shine." " It did shine — upon the fools who looked upon it." " Fools — body o' me," exclaimed the startled PEN OWEN. 207 Caleb — ^* and upon the wise too, methinks — the sun makes no distinctions." ** It shined not upon me — " " O ! I take you now — you have been shut up all day." " Bah !" " By illness, sir ?" kindly enquired Caleb — who began to suspect his companion was not quite in his sober senses. <« No— by myself." " Confined, sir?" asked Caleb, still in the tone of sympathy. ** D'ye take me for a maniac ?" Caleb, astonished at the coincidence of the question with his own suspicions, started, but meekly replied, " I mean by illness, my good sir — you look — " " Like a demon, you would say." ^' Not I, indeed," replied the receding Caleb, << Like what, then !" <* Like !— " Poor Caleb's forte did not lie in illustration — and a simile was out of the question — he therefore repeated ** Like — like — " ** Aye— like what !'* 208, PEN OWEN. Recollecting himself, '* I did not venture to say you were like any thing, sir." " Not venture — to say — like a monster !'^ '^ Indeed, my good sir — I neither said nor intended any such thing." «^ Bah!" Caleb's fears were now confirmed, and he began to doubt the sanity even of his brother, in having brought and left him in such company. He had been told, however, and (rather unfor- tunately, and very unlike himself, whose me- mory was by no means applicative) recollected at the moment, that to evince any thing like suspicion before men labouring under mental derangement is sure to produce increased irritation, so assuming one of his most benign- ant smiles, he addressed his companion again, in a lighter tone : " No indeed, my good sir — I only asked out of kindness, thinking it odd you didn't see the sun to-day." '* I have eyes in my head." *' That's the very reason I fear'd you had been kept within doors by indisposition." " By indisposition — to the world." 19 PEN OWFN. 209 '' To the world !" " Isn*t it English ?" '' Oh dear — yes — very good English — but I didn't exactly comprehend " " How should you ?" " Not my mother tongue !" « The sense!" " No — that's very true — not exactly, but — " wishing to divert the conversation, or drop it if possible, he was about to propose ringing the bell to enquire if Mr. Griffith was ready for dinner, and for that purpose rose from his seat, and with a complacent eye always directed to- wards the philosopher, advanced to ring the bell — as he did so, he gently murmured some- thing about dinner, *' To my mind" he added, but having paused for a word, his learned com- panion sharply interrupted him : " What doj/oM know of mind ?" The question, so like one of his brother's, staggered honest Caleb, and arrested his hand upon the bell-rope ; but he felt compelled to answer. " Mind ! — Oh yes — I know all about it." " All about it !" exclaimed Saurcraut; *^ out with it then, in God's name." VOL. I. p 210 PEN OWEN. *^ Out with my mind/' (checking himself at the unfortunate selection of words) '^ out with what, sir/' <* Your metaphysics," accenting strongly the ultimate and penultimate syllables. Caleb stared, and almost staggered. He looked first at his opponent, then at little Pen, who enjoyed the scene, and fully entered into the points which had puzzled his uncle. As the latter appeared to make an appeal to the boy, who was, I am very sorry to say, natu- rally prone to mischief, and had stuffed his pocket- handkerchief in his mouth during part of the conversation, he now whispered his uncle, that the poor gentleman called for his physics ! This decided the question in Caleb's mind, but still preserving his caution, he bowed with much urbanity to Saurcraut, and taking his ne- phew by the hand, retreated towards the door. He kept his eye fixed on the object of his terror, till he had fairly placed both Pen and himself on the outside ; — then, stretching his head through the half closed aperture, assured his patient, whose surprise had thrown his features into a stare hideous enough to confirm his madness with Caleb, that he should be satisfied in a minute, 13 PEN OWEN. 211' hastily closed the door, and turned the key on the outside. Running straight to his brother^s study, :hei entreated him to afford immediate aid to the unfortunate fat gentleman in the parlour. Grif- fith stared, and demanded what he meant ? " Mean ! why the poor devil has a fit on him, and took me for a doctor." " Yes,'* added Pen, " he insisted upon having his physic without delay." " Odds, my life !" exclaimed Griffith, «*this is unfortunate — no, no — not that either — now, for a4;rial" — and running to a large chest, which contained apothecaries' hall in epitome, dis- charged the contents of several phials into one large measuring glass, and descending with all expedition to the parlour, was much annoyed; and alarmed at finding the door fastened. His brother Caleb, who had walked off widi the boy in order to ensure his safety, was not at hand to ex{)lain. Griffith called to the supposed invalid, but received no answer from the incarcerated phi- losopher, who considered the whole iis a .plu- med itated insult, which his offended pride would not condescend to notice. Any body in p 2 212 PEN OWKN. the house, with the exception of the master, would have perceived that the key, being on the outside, a very obvious mode of admission pre- sented itself. His thoughts, however, were principally directed to the inside of the room, and his whole attention on the outside was occu- pied in comparing the ingredients of the mixture he held in his hand, and its probable effects on epilepsy, apoplexy, or simple syncope, which- ever the case might turn out to be. All this was the business of a few seconds, in a mind constructed like that of our friend Griffith, and he had receded from the door, to the head of the kitchen stairs, in order to summon further aid in breaking it open, as the silence within contributed to increase the supposed urgency of the case. His vehement exclamations soon brought up a little slovenly tea-boy (as the Irish significantly designate the order) followed by a dirty maid with a mop in her hand, and a woman, who acted as cook in this strange establishment, with a face to which she appeared to have drawn all the redness and heat of her own fire. This united phalanx rushed up the narrow staircase in confusion, and obeying the injunctions of PEN OWEN. 213 their master, brought their several forces to bear in one united effort against the door, which being of frail texture, yielded without resis- tance, and threw the whole corps sprawling on the floor before the petrified Saurcraut. In an attitude of horror, surprise, and indigna- tion, the philosopher threw himself back in his chair, with his legs under him, to avoid the mop, which was projected some distance before the housemaid, by the force of her fall. Griffith, rushing in at the breach, made di- rectly up to his patient, whose contracted posi- tion, and countenance convulsed with anger, confirmed all that Caleb had stated. Attempting to force the nauseous contents of his glass, down the throat of his victim, he encountered an op- position for which he was not prepared, and Saurcraut, being the more powerful »man of the two, saved his stomach indeed from the drench, but received it over his eyes, nose, and his whole body coiporate — externally. Finding the resistance so strong, which he attributed to the increased muscular action oc- casioned by the paroxysm, Griffith called upon his auxiliaries to hold the patient down in the V 3 214 TEN OWEN. chair, 'till he returned with his lancets, and cup- ping glasses. The- wretched victim, who could only attri- bute tp wanton and premeditated insult the ^^hole of this organized conspiracy, now found his v&ice 5 but being only able to articulate a string of unconnected oaths, the alarmed junto redoubled their efforts to retain him in their grasp. By a dexterous and sudden jerk, how^- ever, he despatched the cook and her female coadjutor, and giving the tea-boy a kick which sent him in the direction of the door, he rushed forward, and oversetting the approaching operator, with all his cupping glasses, lan- cets, and scarificators, which lay " spolia apima^^ on the field of battle, he strode over the bodies of his scattered enemies, and roar- ing vengeance, made^ood his retreat from the house. ( 215 ) CHAPTER XII. Like the great question which is constantly agitated among poHticians of a higher quality, whether this or that war be just or not just, necessary or not necessary, the social war with which our last ^chapter concluded, will be dis- cussed and canvassed according to the political bearings and prejudices, entertained by the several sorts of readers, who may take up the business in their closets, or their drawing-rooms. But although it may sometimes answer a very good purpose to annoy an adversary, or to raise an opinion of our own judgment, it is, upon the whole, rather useless to dwell and declaim upon past and irrevocable events. It is wiser, take my word for it, to look forward to the means of getting out of a scrape, than to trouble ourselves and our friends by looking back, to ascertain how we got into it. In the case immediately p 4? 216 Pi:N OWEN. before us, we have a right to infer>.from the rela- tive position of the belligerents, that the fate of the campaign is decided, and that too, like others which have preceded it — by a single battle. Our attention, therefore, is more par- ticularly invited to a consideration of the results and the probable basis of future pacification. The uti possidetis, perhaps, would be objected to by the philosopher Saurcraut, from a very obvious cause ; and there might be some diffi- culty in adjusting terms relative to the status quo ante bellum, when we consider what he carried off the field, and what he left on it. It would bea difficult matter, indeed, to estimate the extent of the indemnity to be demanded on either side, although the case is not altogether without due precedents. The hostile move- ments of the two leading powers can be attri- buted to a breach of faith on neither side ; for, although they became principals, they were brought into the field by a third power, which (with parallels also in the history of more potent states) left them in the lurch to carry on the war, without knowing why or wherefore. Caleb might, to be sure, have been justly called upon to subsidise — or at least to in- PEN OWEN. 217 demnify his brother Griffith — but then he might demur, in consequence of the forced alHance hito which the said Griffith had thrown him with the other beHigerent, Saurcraut, as the war arose out of a misunderstanding between them — and further, because he withdrew before the commencement ofhostiHties, which he might conscientiously assert he neither proposed nor anticipated. It will be perceived, that the question becomes more complicated as we advance; and this is invariably the case with all questions of a similar nature — and hence the wise conclusion, that it is easier to get into a war than to get out of it. — Making, therefore, the best of a bad business, we must leave the blushes of the cook-maid to heighten, at the view of the joint, burnt to a cinder on her return to the kitchen — the house- maid to lament over her instrument of office; which had been defiled with the miraculous mixture from Griffith's laboratory — and the tea-boy to make up his account with his master, for having neglected to put the spigot into the faucet on being summoned into the field, and thus wasted the supplies in his immediate de- partment. ''2 IB PEN OWEN. To balance the account between the prin- • cipals, we have only to observe, that if Professor Saurcraut had reason to complain of loss of dinner, Griffith Owen was not much better off^ •his dinner having been spoiled. — If the former 'had sustained an injury in his rusty black habi- liments, by the surcharge of villanous medicine, the pains and labour, together with the whole of said medicine, had been lost upon the other. — 'If the one had just cause to be surprised and 'offended — ^the other had no less cause for com- plaint, in having his meditated benefits turned ^nlo an offence ; and if Griffith Owen mistook the professor for a madman, — the conviction liwas to the full as strong on the mind of the other, * Thus matters stood pretty equally balanced between them ; but Caleb, who could be sus- pected of no such aberration, quickly established •himself on the open high road, which led him and his giggling charge to the Bush tavern, Hvhere they coolly discussed the contents of a tureen of soup, and a hot beef-steak, without referring to the late transaction further than as it called forth an occasional ejaculation from honest Caleb of "Poor man! — I wonder they don't take better care of him ! " PEN OWEN. 219 In the evening, after having duly reconnoi- tred the state of the camp in College Green, he ventured with his nephew to enter his brother's (juarters, when, to his surprise, he found him surrounded by manuscripts — and writing like one of his own clerks — on the eve of the new year. " Body o' me, brother — what have you done with the madman?' " What madman ?" " Why, that crazy porpoise of a gentleman who dined with you." " Dined ! — no one dined with me — I have had no dinner." ** No dinner — why, where's the sick man ?" " Oh, Dr. Saurcraut — indeed I know not ; he refused my preiscription , and wouldn't be bled." ** Pray let me ask, Griffith, now he is safely gone — what could induce you to invite a man in his situation, to your house ?" " I didn't know he was to be ill." *' 111 ! why he's mad as a March hare, Grif- fith." ^' Fiddle !" '* Fiddle ! — why he did nothing but bah, 220 PEN OWEN. ball, like an old broken-winded bellwether, till he wandered into some nonsense about being shut up in himself, and never seeing the sun.'' " You didn't comprehend him, brother/' " Not I, in truth." " He is one of the first men in his line." '* In what line may I ask, brother ?" " In — in — his own line." *' I'm sure it's a crooked one then." ** He's aphilosopher, Caleb 5 he's out of your line." *' Truly is he — thank my stars. — Have you ordered him to be shut up again ?" « Shut up !" " Yes — he told me as much, in his way — that he had been shut out from the world — which is, I suppose, a roundabout way of tell- ing me — " " You mistake these things, Caleb — he is far above the world." " The more's the pity." « What !" " That he should be rich, and yet be unable to enjoy himself." " Rich ! he's as poor as a rat." PEN OWEN. 221 " How is he then above the world ?" " His mind I speak of." " Oh !— " cried Caleb, " he is out of that- poor man !'* " He has more learning than a whole univer- sity, Caleb." " Aye, that it is has driven him mad." " I tell you, he is no more mad than you are. I invited him to my house — caressed — courted him, in spite of the roughness of the husk — to apply the rich kernel to my own purposes." " What, is he in the army ! — some bad wound, I suppose — " ** Psha, brother — you mistake 1 tell you he is a scholar and a philosopher." ** And a colonel too ?" " Zounds— he is no colonel — I spoke of his core." *« "What corps does he belong to?" *« Why the devil! Caleb, you are bent upon tormenting me : is it not enough that this unfortunate fit should have diverted him from my service but — " *' Your service ! — why you weren't going to hire him ?" '* To solicit him, I was, brother." 222 PEN OWEN. « To what ?" *« What why to take charge of the edu- cation of my boy." " Of me!'* exclaimed Pen, starting from his chair. " Of my nephew !" cried Caleb, looking towards the door. *' Who else ! It would have been the making of the boy." " The making him a mad one then," roared Caleb, who could stand it no longer; and starting on his legs— seized the arm of his brother, and said in a subdued tone, *^ Grif- fith, Griffith, — you are not well — take advice — you have looked heated for some time — don't be angry — I assure you, I think you have taken tjooJfittle e^^ercisG lately— ^you will be better for advice. Shall Pen step for Dr. " *« Look ye, brother," said Griffith, shaking off Caleb's hand ; " you either intend to pro- voke and irritate me, or you are playing the fool without knowing it." ic I — hands off, Griffith — odds, my life, is it thus you treat my cares for you — follow your own way — but don't lay a finger on me — not a finger. Griff." PEN OWF.N. 2S$ « Grilf!— Stand ofFor— " «' Stand still, or—" Here he stuck, and could get no furtlief ;* and it would have been an even bet, which' of the twain had been suffocated with his anger' first, had not poor Pen thrown down a glass retort, filled with the precious product of at week's labour, and in catching at it, to break its fall, scattered its caustic contents on the back of an unfortunate turnspit, who had- retired from his drudgery below stairs, to his master's fire-side. On feeling the sting of the application, the* poor animal set up a yell, as if a score of re'd-^ fisted Welsh cookmaids had been pursuing him through his native village. Caleb's attention was immediately directed to the suffering animal; Griffith's rage turned upon the boy, who would have fallen a victim to his ire, had not his active life at Oldysleigh enabled him to leap over the table of MSS., and secure his retreat on the other side ; not, however, without giving a new direction to the inflamed passions of his gasping father, by carrying along with the tail of his coat, a dozen loose sheets, at least, of his learned labours. 224 PEN OWEN. In the midst of this confusion, in which the attention of all parties was fully t)ccupied, what was their surprise at the unexpected intrusion of Saurcraut, who had gained admission unheard, during the heat of the aiFray. The action was as suddenly suspended. — Caleb left the dog to assuage his own agonies (which he was attempting to do by rolling himself among the MSS. of the philosopher), and staring, with a countenance which might have been taken by Le Brun as a much better model of terror, than any he has condescended to copy, — chattered between his teeth, " For God's sake ! — the keeper ! — the keeper !" — when at the moment perceiving a strange face within the shade of the door, he gained courage, and called in a louder, and more peremptory tone to the man, to secure his prisoner. To his inexpressible delight, the stranger stalked for- ward, but passing by Saurcraut, without any further invitation, except the direction of that gentleman's finger, seized Griffith Owen as his prisoner, and produced his warrant for so doing. *' That's not your man," exclaimed the now again terrified Caleb, — running to his brother's aid, to whom their common danger PEN OWEN. 225 had instantaneously reconciled him. — " That's not your man. — See, see, how he grins: — seize him, sir ! For the love of heaven, seize him 1" '' Here's my warrant, sir, and this here's my man, as I take it," said the sheriff's officer, (as he turned out to be) looking to Saurcraut, who signified by a ghastly grin that he was correct ; when calling to Griffith to surrender, he was violently repelled by that gentleman, whose temper, we have had occasion more than once to observe, was none of the softest when too rudely called into action. He began to swear most volubly — and having armed himself with a large discharging rod, belonging to an electri- fying machine which stood close behind him, and the only weapon at hand, menaced with his venojeance the first man who should advance a single step. The officer, who being only a mercenary, and who felt he had the law as an ally, simply an- swered, as he retreated before the formidable and unknown weapon of Griffith, »« Remember the consequences." His admonition was unheard or unheeded by the person to whom it was directed. Saurcraut, however, who was more interested, and whose VOL. I. Q 2i}6 PEN OWEN. bile bad now increased to an overflow, urged tbe retreating caitiff forward, who, pressing with this twofold weight upon Griffith, forced him to give way a few paces. He, however, stepped on the insulated stool of the machine, to give himself the advantage of higher ground, and was pre- paring to discharge the whole weight of bis weapon upon the enemy, who now grappled with him — when lo ! — to the utter horror and dismay of Caleb, who bad retreated to tbe door to facilitate his escape, and was only detained by his love of Pen, whom he wished to make the partner of his flight — the whole of {be com- batants, as if by a stroke from heaven, lay flat and motionless extended upon the floor ! ! In order to account rationally for an event, which might have astonished a far more enlight- ened personage than_Caleb, we must recollect the situation of the unfortunate boy, who, like Helen, lay -perdue — although he had provoked the war, and indeed been the whole and sole cause of it, from the beginning to the present critical moment. When hostilities took a new turn, upon the arrival of Saurcraut and his auxiliary, he bad risen from his crouching posture behind 19 rnN owEN^. 227 a voltaic battery and the aforesaid machine, which was one of extraordinary power, and formed for the purpose of comparing the forces of the two instruments. The impression upon his mind was very different from that made upon Caleb by the passing scene : the one was overpowered by mistaking the motives of action ; the other was charmed with the mistake which he perceived, and half suffocated with laughter at the delightful confusion it created. He was enough of a philosopher to know that the machine, upon the wheel of which his hand rested, could add nothing to what was going forward without being charged, and that the whirling of it would as assuredly charge it. With a little of the confusion to which he had an hereditary claim from his worthy father, he did not exactly know how to apply the force collected against the parties in question — not that he was so undutiful as to include for a moment his father in his proposed machinations, whom he considered, if he consi- dered at all, as a mere conductor for his purpose. To work he went — charge — charge — charge — but no effect followed ; when just as the machine was indeed fully charged, fortune, as if to en- 228 PEN OWEif. courage a new tyro in phiiosopiiy, impelled Griffith in his retreat to mount the fatal stool — whence thinking to bestow the instrument with more effect upon his antagonists, he threw back his arm to return with redoubled force, when the rod coming in contact with the main con- ductor, the shock was so powerfid as to level friend and foe, and suspend their faculties for several minutes. Caleb thought the end of the world had come upon them, and uttering an ejaculation of horror, rushed out of the house. Pen, who dreaded bringing the house about his own ears by the discovery of his machinations, also made good his retreat, and joining his uncle in the street, joined him also in wondering at the miraculous events which had just taken place. Caleb kept intuitively ^very turning and path to which he had been accustomed for years, interrupted only by occasional starts, and an ejaculation now and then of — " Terrible, indeed ! — Tremendous miracle !" Having, however, somewhat recovered his self-possession, by the time he arrived at his own door, he rang the bell — scraped his shoes —waited for the servant's arrival, and observed PEN OWEN. 229 ail the prescribed forms of his usual routine — when, as if by a violence alien to his character, he turned himself round, and began to retrace his steps — '« Where are you going, uncle," cried Pen. " Back again," was his only reply ; and with tlie utmost exactness he retrod every step he had previously taken. The boy, who dreaded no- thing so much as an eclaircissement, stepped before him on the threshold of the door when they arrived at his father's, and turning upon him, looked him full in the face, with such an assumed countenance of terror, that the image was caught by Caleb, and his first impressions returned upon him with all their force. " Oh ! uncle, uncle — you wouldn't venture back into that terrible chamber !" " Hey ! — what 1" returned Caleb. ** You wouldn't encounter — " *' Oh! that devil of a madman — what could he have brought in his pocket !" exclaimed Caleb, whose ideas of superhuman agency had yielded to something more rational, when he perceived his brother's house standing just where it did before. S 3 230 PEN OWEN. « For heaven's sake, uncle, let us go from this dreadful place." " Aye, aye — dreadful enough— but, no^ no ! — stand out of the way — I forgot— my poor brother may be even now in need of assistance — out of the way, sirrah — your father may be dying or dead, for ought we know" — and so saying, he rushed into the house — where all was silent, indeed, as the chamber of death. The study of Griffith retained all the marks of the late tourhillon — but the active agents were gone. Caleb applied himself to the bell, but no one answered the summons — he searched all the rooms, but could find nothing to reveal the mysterious circumstances of this general desertion. Again, some confused notions of superstition invaded his mind, and he sat down in his brother's chair, overwhelmed by his emotions. *^ My poor Griffith — why did I take offence at your oddities — what had I to do with your mad doctors — and your rich colonels ? — Thou wert always a wiser and a better man than I." Then starting up, he again applied himself to the bell, and as his ideas always travelled in a PEN OWEN. 231 circle, again went in tlie same order into every chamber he had previously explored. The night was dark, and lie had no means of obtaining a light. The fire was nearly extinguished, and he had mechanically poked it out. Pen began to be as much surprised as his uncle; for although he could very well account for the sudden prostration of the company, he had no clue to solve the mystery of their re- moval from the scene of action. He strove, however^ to comfort his uncle ; but as it was necessary to withhold all that he really knew, and as he was utterly incapacitated from offering any conjectural consolation as a counterbalance, he was soon silenced. Plaving waited more than an hour in this unpleasant situation, they heard somebody at the street door, and Caleb called aloud to know who was there. '* Oh my stars, '^ exclaimed a voice, " art thee there, Maister Caleb — why I've been half over the town a'ter ye — ye had left your house, and nobody knew where to find ye. Oh deary me, here's such a com- mence." " Speak, woman," cried the impatient Caleb, who discovered it was one of the drudges be - o 4) 232 PEN OWEN. longing to his brother's establishment. «* Speak, I say — d'ye know any thing of my poor bro- ther ?" " Lord love ye —yes, to be sure, and that's what I wanted wi'ye — they're going to lock him up." " Lock him up — you mean that devilish Dr. Madman." " I say as it's my poor master." ** Where — where — Fve looked in every room in the house." *« rfacks ye mought look long enough — it's in no house." *' No house ! — how's he locked up then ?" " Why in Bridewell — at least a wud be if — " " What !" *' As sure as eyes is eyes, I see'd them going to pack him off, for want of something — some- thing—" " What — why don't you say what?" '' I can't think o' the name they calls it." « What sort of thing?" " I never see'd nothing like it." " Odds wounds, woman — can't you say what's wanting?" " Why no— else I'd tell ye — but I know it's riiN OWEN. 233 ycerself that's wanted — though that ben't the name on't." " Why didn't you say so before — you foohsh old where am I to find him?'* " La ! — why at the mayor's to be sure." " Plague take thy stupidity. — Lord forgive me^" exclaimed Caleb, as he rushed past her, and hui'ried forward to the justice room. Little further need be said. The reader must have been quicker-sighted than Caleb, especially if he be, which I hope and trust he is, a man of the world. Professor Saurcraut had^ very natu- rally for a man of his temperament, taken Grif- fith Owen for a practical joker, instead of a practical philosopher; and when he escaped from the combined forces in the full flow of his angry passions, at being made, as he supposed, a laughing stock, had hastened to a magistrate, where, in the distorting language of passion, he swore the peace against the innocent Griffith and his whole household. He charged them with having drawn him into a snare, for the purpose of committing an assault upon his person — at the same time displaying the pickle in which Griffith had enveloped his person. 234" PEN OWEN. The law took cognizance of the offence, and a warrant was made out for the apprehen- sion of the parties. What followed is known to the reader, with the exception only of one circumstance, namely, that upon the prostrate parties, in the second campaign, having recovered their legs , the battle would probably have been renewed, had not a corps de reseive, in the shape of two catchpoles, who had been stationed at the door as a measure of precaution, rushed in, and secured the person of Griffith Owen, together with the whole of his household troops. They were immediately carried before the mayor, where the vindictive spirit of Saurcraut, and the boiling indignation of Griffith, equally incapable of explaining the nature, quality, or origin of the offence, left the magistrate in doubt what steps to take to satisfy, or do justice to the several parties. At length, coming to the wise resolution of examining the witnesses separately, and shutting the principals up in two separate apartments, enough was elicited from the do- mestics to ascertain that the whole had arisen from some misunderstanding, and that all that PEN OWEN. 235 was necessary to clear it up, was to give the parties time to cool. Griffith was summoned, but when bail was required for his future appearance, he flew into a new rage, and expended at least fifteen shil- lings worth of gentlemanly oaths^ in confirm- ation of his resolution to do nothing which had the appearance of compromising with *' that infernal quack miscreant. Dr. Saurcraut." The professor, equally strenuous in his own cause, swore that he would admit of no bail; but the magistrate reminded him that the affair was out of his hands now, and that he must abide by the laws of his country. Griffith was again applied to for bail, and several persons })resent, to whom it was not likely a man of so much notoriety should be un- known, offered themselves for the purpose; but he only repeated his determination to submit to nothing derogatory to his character, or indica- tive of his admission that there was any ground for his opponent's charge. The mayor expressed his regrets, but assured him, if he still persisted, he should be com- pelled to conmiit him. Griffith, by this time, had bhut the court and the world out altogether, 236 J'l^N OWEN. and, in his prospective view of^the case, was pleading his own cause, removed by certiorari to the courts at Westminster, before the lord chief justice of England. The magistrate, in consideration of his fa- mily, laboured to save him from the disgrace he thus wantonly incurred, and despatching one of the female servants for his brother Caleb, called on some other business, which had been postponed in consequence of this extraordinary transaction. Now it so hap- pened on this fatal day that Caleb, as we have seen, and as I believe I am authorised to say, for the first time in his life, had deviated from his usual routine in one single particular, punctual as we observed him to be in every other ; and having turned from his own door without entering it, and without specifying to his servant the precise place to which he was going, which was his constant custom, he was not to be found when wanted — a thing never heard of before among those who were best acquainted with the habits of Caleb Owen. The time occupied in the pursuit, which was ultimately successful, only by the irregular move- ments of the cook wench, she having stepped PEN OWEN. 237 in to put on her best bonnet, in which the tip- staves above mentioned would not, in the first instance, allow her to adorn her fair person, stumbled upon the very being of whom she had been in search, and in the only place where, she was satisfied, he certainly was not. Caleb, out of breath, appeared in the justice room, just as the sitting was breaking up, and running up to his brother, caught him in his arms, exclaiming to the mayor, '* Bail him, bail him, to any amount ; here's my security for heaven's sake, Mr. Mayor." "Mr. Caleb Owen," replied the mayor, ^'you? brother is already bailed, and might have been so an hour ago, by several gentlemen present." " God bless them — God bless them, Mr, Mayor." Griffith, with tears in his eyes at the sincere expressions of interest on the part of Caleb> grasped his hand, and assured him that all was well, and that '' he would trounce that scoun- drel," pointing to Saurcraut, who stood like an angry demon compelled to attend the summons of some potent magician, personated, on the pre- sent occasion, by a shrewd, sarcastic looking 238 PKN OWEN. fellow, with a lank head of hair, a leer m his eye, and a pen behind his ear. It may be necessary to explain the scene which passed in our temporary absence from the court, so far as to inform the reader that the little man who was thus putting the pro- fessor to the torture, was a hungry attorney, who plied about the minor courts, and who, foreseeing much sport and some profit, if the business was not suffered to evaporate, had whispered Griffith that the real mode of pro- ceeding was to retort the charge, and file a cross bill, as it were, against Saurcraut for assaulting and battering him — which chiming in with the feelings of Griffith, he proceeded immediately to act upon the advice. Being assured that his opponent was compelled now to find bail also, he readily accepted the offers made in his favour, and was leaving the court as his brother entered, full fraught with the hope of sufficiently avenging himself for the exposure to which he had been subjected, and chuckling under the impression that professor Saurcraut would sleep in a lock-up house, for want of sureties. { 239 ) CHAPTER XIII. The brothers, on their return home, began to talk over the several incidents of the day, which had indeed proved a most eventful one — and rarely had they ever sat down, with less dis- position to disputatious discussion, than on the present occasion. Caleb had not recovered from the alarm which the situation of his bro- ther had occasioned ; and Griffith could not, without emotion, reflect upon the fraternal in- terest and anxiety he had witnessed in Caleb in the course of the late transaction. Every thing bespoke peace of a long continuance between friends, connected by a common interest^ and common feeling. " It is a delightful thing, brother Griffith, for brethren to dwell together in unity." '' One forms no friendship or connexion in life, Caleb, so binding or so sacred." 240 PEN OWEN- " None, my clear Griffith — it is the balsam ofHfe." " The elixir vita, Caleb." « Wasn't that the thing that killed your poor friend, Dr. Wintletrap, brother Griffith ?" asked Caleb, with a look of conciliatory bene- volence. ^^ Errors excepted, as you would say, brother Caleb — it was the not having it, that may be said to have killed him." " Aye, aye— just the same thing." «« As light is to darkness, Caleb !" " Brother, you know I don't profess much knowledge in these things — I'm none of your philosophers, Griffith !" " No, Caleb, no — we all know that." ^^ And yet, my dear Griffith — " ^« Yet what, my dear Caleb ?" ^* I found out this mad Doctor Thingembob long before your philosophy did." " Psha, Caleb — I knew the fellow well enough." « Knew him, Griffith !" " Aye — saw through him — " *' Through him ! — how then could you ever think of putting that dear boy under his care," PEN OWEN. 24 1 (nodding towards Pen, who lay back, half asleep m his chair). " Merely an experiment, Caleb." *• An experiment! — why, body o* me, bro- ther, you wouldn't make experiments upon your own child !'* « Why not ?" " Why not — why not — because I think it would be an unnatural sort of thing — that's all." " The most natural thinff in the world, Caleb ; I have made them often upon my- self." " So you have, brother — and that should be a warning." " A warning — as how, prythee, Caleb." " As how !— why, has it succeeded with you ?» «•' Or how should I be where I am, Caleb." *' And where the devil — heaven forgive me — where are you, brother Griffith," looking round and surveying, with a groan, the meanly fur- nished apartment, making no allowance what- ever for the treasures and litterings of philo- sophy — *' where are you, I should like to know, my brother ?" VOL. I. R 242 PEN OWEN, ^* Where your imagination cannot reach me, Caleb !" ** Why, havn't I eyes ! — don't I see you — in a miserable hired apartment, instead of your poor father's substantial house — in want of ten pounds, when you could have commanded hun- dreds." " Zounds, Caleb, where are you driving ?" *' I'm driving at nothing, Griffith — I'm speaking plain truths, to prove " *' Your ignorance of circumstances." « Notofyour's—." " Your ignorance altogether, Caleb." " Not so ignorant, brother Griffith, as to take a mad quack doctor, as I heard you yourself call him at the mayor's" — but suddenly checking himself — " Yes, yes, brother, I forgot, give me your hand — I shall never forget seeing you at the mayor's — I wouldn't say any thing unkind to you for the world, you know — no, no 1 — You saw all right, I'll be sworn — " " Well, well, Caleb — I meant no offence- only you shouldn't laugh at my philosophy, — it is at least an innocent pursuit." " An angel might follow the business, Grif- fith, for any thing I know to the contrary — PEN OWEN. 245 I'm sure I'll never say any thing against it again." " Thank you, Caleb, thank you — I take this very kind." " This is as it should be; let's say no more ; but Griffith !— " " My dear Caleb !" '* How did you [contrive, with your phi- losophy, to knock down that devil of a doctor, and the devil's follower, all at a blow as it were." " Well thought of! — Now you recall the circumstance to my recollection, I really am puzzled to make it out." '* Make it out — why," (with his eyes starting out of his head,) " how in the name of mercy happened it?" " The devil take me," began Griffidi. " Fie, fie, Griffith," interrupted Caleb, " be- ware — " '« The devil take me," repeated Griffith, " if I know how the shock was given." Young Pen's ears began to tingle; and though now wide awake, he assumed the posture of sound sleep. << The shock— Griffith !" R 2 244 PEN OWEN. " Yes — there was no one to charge the ma- chine." ^« Mum,*' sighed the culprit in the corner. " And yet it must have been charged," con» tinued the philosopher, who now totally disre- garding his brother's inquiries, began to reason with himself aloud. — " Charged and discharged without hands ! Hey — what ! suppose — I have it — there must be some sympathy — some affi- nity, some chain of connexion between the voltaic battery and " ** There it is," exclaimed the boy Pen, start- ing from his aflPected slumber, and delighted at the idea of his father's suspicions having taken a wrong direction. '' There it is sir," pointing to the chain, which had been, in the afternoon's scuffle, entangled among the plates of the gal- vanic apparatus. *« What dioyou know of the business^ sirrah?" demanded the father. The question was awkwardly worded for the boy's fears ; but boldly answering that he saw a blue flame run along the wire just before the explosion, Griffith jumped up, and in a trans- port of joy clasped the boy, for the first time in his life, closely to his breast. PEN OWEN. 2i5 '* A philosopher in the cradle ! a miraculous youth — an admirable Creighton — an Ingen- houtz — a Muschenbroek." " A what !" exclaimed Caleb. '' A beatification of Boza !" " Mad, — mad, by this good light,*' cried Caleb aloud ; " why call the boy by such devilish names — aren't ye afraid, Griffith ? Let go the boy." " We've met to part no more, Caleb — the boy has elicited a spark which shews what he is made of — I told you so Caleb — I told you so years ago, but you wouldn't believe me." *' Believe what? you're stark staring mad, that I believe — but — " " Did I not declare to you the boy would— must be a genius." " But what has genius to do with all this rigmarole of nicknames ?" " Nicknames ! vile slander, they are titles of honour.'* " Not in this country, I'm sure." " In every country of the civilized world, brother — I defy you to make me angry now — thwart, teaze, perplex me, — all your shafts fall short, and cannot touch me — I love the boy — R 3 246 PEN OAVEK. I love you — I love every body--rm impene- trable as marble — my hopes are realized — the boy will be immortalized.'* " Why, what the dickens has he done," cried Caleb, ** to rob you of your wits ?" *^ Done ! — every thing — look ye there, bro- ther Caleb.'' " What's that,— an old jack-chain r* " A jack-chain ! — " '• Yes, a d — d dirty jack-chain — heaven for- give me — but you'd make a parson swear." "It will chain him, Caleb, to the car of fame, and blazon the name of Pen Owen in characters of gold." " What — it's the old fudge of gold-finding, is it? — Much joy to you, brother, — come, come, the boy shan't be lost in this wild goose scheme, come along Pen, come along, I say, 'tis late — you mustn't stay to be bit — troop boy — troop." " The boy shall not stir a step, by " ^« What [" *' Not an inch — " (ringing the bell with great violence.) '* Not go home to my house !" " Never shall he stir from mine," (here the 15 PEN OWEN. 24;7 servant entering, he ordered a bed to be pre- pared for his son.) *^ Have a care, Griffith !" " I have nothing to care for now, Caleb." ** I will discard you both.'* ** Discard yourself — silly one." '^ Aye cut you off — I'll abandon you to your own cursed ways, heaven forgive me. — Nay, nay, but the boy will go with me.** ** Not he, be assured brother." ** I say he must.** " By the majesty of science, never !" " Then for ever — '* " For ever.'* *^ Pen, my boy — would'st refuse thy uncle — thine own dear uncle ?** *' Silence boy," exclaimed Griffith. " On your allegiance and duty, answer not — stir not.** '^ Very well, Mister Griffith Owen — if you repent not this, may I be — *' " And if I do, may I be-—'* ^ " Oh !'* screamed the boy — off flew the uncle — and down sat Griffith in his armchair, — ruffled indeed by what had just passed ; but quickly lost in admiration at the wonderful instance of the 11 4? 24:8 riiN owen. boy's genius, displayed — in saving^ himself from an apprehended flogging ! If the reader should share, in some measure, the surprise of poor Caleb, we confess ourselves at a loss how to reconcile the sudden impression made upon the philosopher's mind, other than as one of those instances of the eccentric mode of reasoning, which appears to be the essential characteristic of a speculating philosopher. We have observed, that in the early developement of this gentleman's mind, he had a strong pro- pensity to account for such phenomena as pre- sented themselves to his view, in any way rather than that which appeared to be the natural one. Tliat he should, therefore, sometimes bewilder himself, is naturally to be inferred, and that he occasionally lost himself, hath already, I should imagine, been proved to^the satisfaction of the reader. Instead, therefore, of cross-examining the culprit Pen, which in a few minutes would have convinced him of his error, (for the boy had observed enough to save him from absolute falsehood, though certainly guilty, as even full grown philosophers sometimes are, of exaggera- tion,) I say, instead of this plain and simple mode of proceeding, that he should, quick as PEN OWEN. 249 the electric spark itself, have engendered a chimera in his mind, is, however absurd, any thing but inconsistent with his general character. He forbade the boy to speak upon the important subject to any one, which, for a very obvious reason, was considered as no very severe pro- hibition, and having dismissed him for the night, with every mark of admiration and aiFection, ordered his argand to be trimmed, and was soon lost to the world, and safe lodged in one of his own creation. " What a tedious day !" — I hear some yawning reader exclaim, laying down the book, *' I thought we never should have come to the close of it. Does this very ingenious editor mean to give us a daily journal of proceedings, through the life of his hero ? Good heaven, sir — the boy is only yet twelve years old — and let me see, — two hun- dred and forty- nine pages ?" A truce, a truce, gentle reader, I cry you mercy, — the boy shall grow faster in future I promise you, without your being compelled to witness the progress, and by the aid of that magic, — the only remnant of the black art, preserved by the august body to which I have the honour to belong, — you shall shortly see — 250 PEN OWEN. (in the true terms of the art), *whalyou shall see^ — for it would take as long in telling you iiohat now, as to go on with the history — so to sleep, to sleep, gentle reader, and slumber until I wake you to new interests, and new objects. In sober truth, it would be a tedious process, if not a dangerous one, to follow a speculative philosopher through all his whims, fancies, and expedients, in the education of a presumed genius. We shall, therefore, merely touch on those prominent parts which may be necessary to keep up the thread of the history, without entering into any of the bye ways, or paren- theses as it were, in which our friend Griffith was daily involved. Upon consulting my common place book, I find it noted, that little Pen was for four months succeeding the eventful scene we have just wit- nessed, constantly confined to the house without the possibility of escape, never being out of the presence of his affectionate father, who had made him read and transcribe all that ever had been written upon the subject of electricity, from Cavallo downwards, and all that the foreign or British journals could supply upon the discove- ries in galvanism. PEN OWEN. 251 How far either the teacher or the pupil were the wiser at the end of that period, it is not for me to say ; but certainly the former had not accurately ascertained that the self-acting voltaic battery, could charge and discharge its neigh- bouring machine, (every attempt to repeat the experiment, strange to relate, having failed;) and the latter was in such a state of languor and lassitude, for want of his usual exercise, that his uncle, when heat length beheld the boy, declared he was in a galloping consumption. I cannot resist the temptation of inform- ing my readers, how the two brothers became reconciled, after the desperate resolution taken by both on their last separation. Caleb's resentment lasted long enough to support an absence of several days from the boy, who, he thought, might have been justified in revolting from his father's decision, and he was, indeed, angry with him for not doing so. At the end of a week, however, he thought less of the cause of his irritation than the effect, and before a fortnight had passed away, he heartily wished for a reconciliation with his brother. But as no overtures had been made on his part, and ab, considering his employment, 252 PEN OWEN. there was little chance of any such" being made, poor Caleb's pride— which was quite consistent nevertheless with his general humility — pre- vented him from taking any direct measures for his pmpose. The longer it was delayed, the more awkward became his situation ; and he was known several times, during this period of suspense, to deviate from his accustomed walk, and to frequent the fields about Clifton, in the hopes of meeting his brother or his nephew. Fortune might have befriended him, had she been left to herself; but Griffith had secured the door against her, and Caleb was compelled daily to return despondingly to his own solitary fire-side. Being unable to bear this state of suspense and privation any longer, necessity, the mother of invention, suggested to the unexercised ima- gination of Caleb the happy expedient of a note — and after three days more of actual labour, he atchieved and despatched the following : ^* DEAR NEPHEW, " I have been thinking I must have left my green shagreen spectacle case upon the table when I was last in College Green, for it is 13 PEN OWEN. 253 to be found neither high nor low at home. — Do, — that's a good boy, — look for it, as it was the gift of a very dear friend. You may, per- haps, find it, and bring it to your loving uncle. " Caleb Owen." Now, there was more ingenuity in the note than the reader may be disposed to give the writer credit for. It was intended by the subtle inditer, to bring down two birds, with one stone — for the said shagreen spectacle case had been a present from his brother Griffith, in happier days. This was a marvellous proof of his pe- netration into character ; but he forgot that Griffith [X)ssessed two characters, and was a philosopher — as well as a brother. The aim was well taken to hit the mark, had it stood singly ; but the moment was not favourable, and the brother, on the arrival of the important note, was completely covered by the philosopher, and the shot fell off without penetrating beyond the surface, where it was just felt enough, to cause a momentary irritation. The boy opened the note before his father had noticed its arrival — but at length fallino- under his eye, in the middle of a problem — the solution of which had long puzzled him, and was 254 PEN OWEN. beginning to shew day-light, as he thought, in a diagram, at which the boy had been for some liours at work — he snatched it out of his hand, and reading it hastily, with a ^^ Psha — the devil take the shagreen case — can't he get another," he resumed the nearly broken chain of his in- vestigation. The servant, however, persisting in his de- mand for an answer — as Mr. Caleb had directed him, — Griffith, in a rage, dismissed him from his presence, and crumpling lip the diagram, threw it into the fire, whilst, with returning calmness, he spread the unfortunate note before his pupil. He desired the boy, impatiently, to go on with the demonstration. '* It's my uncle's note, sir," said the boy. " Then, where's the diagram ?" " Behind the fire, I believe, sir." '* Believe — then why — thou blockhead, why did you not save it ?" " You didn't tell me," said the boy. " Tell you — could you suppose — but no matter — " And no matter is it to us what followed. We have seen sufficient to shew, that the ill- timed overture of poor Caleb was moi-e likely to PEN OWEN. 255 en gender a new war, than to effect a pacifica- tion. The return of the messenger was also productive of similar effects upon the irritable nerves of Caleb — indeed, the recoil occasioned a deeper wound. A verbal communication, — unlike a bag of money, or a basket of fruit, — is sure to be conveyed, especially if it be of a provoking quality, not only without dimi- nution or subtraction, but with considerable increase and addition. The servant, who felt himself personally insulted on the occasion, declared that " both father and son had turned him out of the room, — swore that Caleb was an old fool — and that he and his shagreen spectacle case might go to the devil." Whether the truth would admit of this liberal paraphrase, we must leave to the reader's can- dour ; but in the form now presented, I think it will be admitted to be a sufficient provocation to re-kindle the angry feelings of Caleb, and to keep them up, for a few weeks longer. It was not, indeed, until some months after the unfortunate transaction of professor Saurcraut's assault, that the brothers again met, which was indeed in court, when the cause, arising out of that eventful day, came on to be heard before 256 PEN OWEN. the city sessions. On this occasion, Caleb's evi- dence, which was given in all the simplicity of truth, set the whole affair in the clearest light ; and reason having re-assumed the seat which passion had usurped in the breast of each of the principals, the matter ended, as might be sup- posed, by a general oblivion, Griffith agreeing to pay such costs as had been ingeniously in- curred under the able direction of his lawyer. This debt Caleb immediately insisted upon dis- charging ; and the long alienation of the brothers rendered their reconciliation the more tender and affecting. Caleb was no sooner out of court, than he dragged his brother, almost by force, to the house in College Green, in order to see his beloved nephew, from whom he had been so long separated. But when he beheld him, starting back, he uttered an exclamation of horror at the sight of his pale and emaciated face — " Why, what in the name of heaven is the matter with the boy !" " Matter, Caleb," said his brother, calmly — " what should be the matter with him ?** " Why, you have starved him !" « Psha!" PEN OWEN. 257 " I say tlie boy's starved — look in his face — come here, my darling Pen — tell me what they have done to you ?" Caleb, whose regularity of life, had precluded any particular observation upon the effects of confinement, want of exercise, and so forth, could find no sufficient cause for the pallid looks of the boy— but starvation. '' Oh ! I have been a cruel brother, and an unnatural uncle — what had I to do with this nonsense, or that whim, or vagary — why didn't ye send him to me, if you wanted my assist- ance — it was unkind — indeed it was, Griffith — it was very unkind." " What !" exclaimed Griffith. ^' Not to let me know your wants." " Wants ! I have no wants at present." " At present ! Aye, then you have applied elsewhere — it was unkind, Griffith — ^you ought to have known me. Why it has cost me more, to keep up my ill-humour, than it would, to have laid down half my fortune/' " You speak riddles, Caleb." '« W^ill you unriddle them, brother — will you tell me, why you didn't apply to me, rather than let this poor innocent want bread ?" VOL. I. s 25* PEN OWEK. «'Psba! Caleb." « Indeed, uncle, I never wanted bread/' said tbe boy. " What, then you had nothing but bread ? Oh nie, it's hard fare for a growing boy " " Why Caleb, you are madder than ever," exclaimed the brother, " the boy has had every thing he could want — and is, moreover, so im- proved — " " Improved !" ejaculated Caleb, still horror- struck with the boy's looks, " improved, why he's but a shadow of himself." As usual, the conversation began in discussion, progressed to a dispute, and ended in a quarrel. The cooling process, however, was expedited, owing to the readier concession of Caleb, upon a question of such interest. Having, at length, convinced his brother that the boy was really sinking under his new system, a compromise was effected, and the study of mineralogy was, for the present, substituted for his late pursuits ; by the terms of which, the boy was allowed daily, to mount a poney Caleb purchased for him, and to explore the neighbouring country for speci- mens. Pen being now amply supplied with pocket PEN OWEN. 259 money by his affectionate uncle, purchased of Mr. Vamp, already mentioned in this history, a large stock of such materials as were necessary for his purpose, and producing certain portions on his return home every evening, not only satisfied Griffith ofhis great progress in his new pursuit, but astonished him by the success with which his daily researches were crowned, espe- cially in the discovery of specimens — which had never been known, previously, to exist in that neighbourhood. Had he once thought of accompanying him, he might, perhaps, have ascertained his error, and the imposition practised on him ; but this would have been too much, in the ordinary course of things, for the suggestion of a mind like his. Pen therefore spent, for a few months, a most happy and idle life, — for he had no sooner regained his liberty, than the prohi- bition of his uncle naturally gave rise to a wish to revisit the happy retreat of Oldysleigh ; and thither, by the end of the first week, the poney would have ambled, without bridle or rider, as naturally as if he had been a part of Caleb him- self, the very prince of high-way Menj of course I do not allude to that obsolete class, whose ex- 2 GO PEN OWEN. ploits, we of the present generation, know only as matter of history; but the more regular, sober description of persons, who can tell you every turf and every stone between two given points, and would yet be at a loss to say, whether there be forest or morass on the other side of the hedges. Pen daily saw, romped with, and kissed his little wife, Ellice Craig ; and the worthy Maple- tofts, riot being aware of any interdict to their childish friendship, encouraged rather than checked the fondness of the children. It is true, after a certain time, he was somewhat surprised at finding Pen at the breakfast-table every day, and at Oldysleigh all day long ; and without suspecting the truth, began to reflect, with some asperity, upon the neglect thus evinced by Caleb with respect to the education of his nephew. He therefore thought himself called upon, to make some inquiries of the boy, (this being winter time, during which Caleb Owen never visited the country), and taking him into his study one morning, asked him whether these were his holidays, and what was the general plan of his studies ; when Pen informed him, that his father had undertaken his education, and 18 PEN OWEN. 261 explained his system, as far as it could be col- lected from the measures ahcady adopted. The worthy vicar was shocked to perceive the consequences which had aheady appeared, and which threatened the issue of such a mode of discipline. Pen then candidly acknowledged, that he had been almost tempted to run away from his father's house, and was only withheld by those motives, which this good man himself had early instilled into his mind ; and further added the innocent deception he had practised, for the purpose of daily visiting the only spot, in which he thought he should ever find hap- piness. Mr. Mapletoft smiled at his enthusiasm and inexperience, but reproved him for having prac- tised the deception ; — shewing him the danger of disi'egarding the means, even where the most desirable end is to be obtained. He proved to him also the impolicy of it, since, even should he connive at it, which a sense of duty to his uncle forbade, it would be impossible long to conceal his plans ; and that a resort to stronger measures would be justified, in order to prevent a repetition of his fault. Pen admitted the justice of all these friendly s S 262 PEN OWEN. observations, but^ like many others who receive good advice, thought he might mend it, so as better to suit his own particular purposes ; and having, on this occasion, a privy counsellor of more congenial habits, he soon found in Ellice Craig a very able coadjutor, in assisting him throuo'h his difficulties, and full as zealous in the cause as even dear Mr. Mapletoft himself. They agreed, indeed, perfectly with that worthy gentleman, that Pen might be found out,^ — and that probably he might be prevented from mine- ralizing in his favourite country. It was, there- fore, settled, that he should desist from his present mode of carrying on the war ; but it was carried unanimously (having been duly proposed and seconded) that once a week, at least, he should be permitted to make out, directly or indirectly, a visit to Oldysleigh ; nay, so peremptory was the decision upon this head, that it was finally agreed, if Mr. Mapletoft should interfere with the arrangement, still a congress, by fair means or foul, once in seven days, should be achieved between the high contracting parties. Now it is possible that all this might have been carried without any secret associations, or illegal oaths, had not the ingenious policy of the still 19 PEN OWJiX. ^63 higher powers (Mr. Caleb Owen and his own cabinet council), put it into the heads of these young mad-caps, that there was something necessary to be concealed. They would both probably have gone boldly, to Papa and Mama Mapletoft, and requested them to contrive a holy- day once a week for their favorites ; but under the impression of a mysterious warning, and dreading a refusal, and a recurrence ofsuch puzzling poli- tics, they took the shortest way to their object, by resolving to see each other in spite of all obstacles. Upon Pen's return home on this day, he found, to his utter horror and dismay, that for- midable personage, Professor Saurcraut, in close and amicable conversation with his father; and after waiting some time in the adjoining room, in the hope of the gentleman's departure, the reader may easily surmise his further discomfi- ture, on discovering that he was to make one of the party at dinner. To the study, the two philosophers, whose quarrels, it is to be presumed, like those of lovers, contributed to bring them together with redoubled ardour, adjourned after dinner, and the conference at a late hour was closed by an si 264 PEN OWEN. affectionate shake of the hand^ and (to Pen's ears) the ominous declaration of Saurcraut, — that he would not fail to be with his young friend by nine o'clock on the succeeding morning. I will not relate, for it would be mere repe- tition, the interference and the consequences of it, on the part of uncle Caleb, against the measure of submitting his poor boy to this mad philosopher, which he still persisted in affirming him to be. The boy, restrained by what he had been taught to believe his first duty to his father, did not dare to take part with his uncle, beyond a simple remonstrance in the first in- stance,— and his neutrality, as is generally the case, was condemned by each as a separate act of disobedience to himself. For nine months the brothers never met, and poor Pen was drilled over the surface of the sci- ences, to the utter demolition of every sound idea or notion which had pre-existed in his mind ; when a very natural consequence — indeed two, considering what immediately followed — piit a temporary stop to the plans of Griffith Owen, and his connexion with the profound cynic. The perseverance of Griffith, in his new scheme of education, is only to be attributetl to PEN OWEN. 265 ilie congenial disposition of his colleague, who, as unsteady in his pursuits as himself, presented some speculative innovation at every step they took ; and poor Pen, could his mind have been seen, through a window in his breast, (for which there is as good authority, as for the better half of Griffith Owen's speculations,) I take upon me to sav, it would have resembled nothinfj more vividly than that leaf of a blotting book now before me, upon which, gentle reader, I have regularly blotted every page of the fore- going history. Professor Saurcraut, who loved good eating, at least as well as he did any particular science, and much better than he did any particular in- dividual (one only excepted), had compelled Griffith to dispense various dainties, and to add supernumerary luxuries to his establishment, which, the moment they were named by his friend, he considered to be necessaries ; and as he had never taken upon him the drudgery of accounts, since Mrs. Amarantha had originally assumed the control of the household, it may well be supposed, that upon a contracted in- come, — annually growing smaller, — a sudden accession of claims upon it, must produce the 266 FEN OWEX. certain inevitable consequence of going near to annihilate it. Now, a lamp may burn a long time without replenishing, supposing that there is any oil left to supply it ; but it requires no philosophy to be aware, that if the oil be consumed — the light will go out. The fact is, Griffith's lamp would have been extinguished many years before^ had not Caleb poured it in — in mea- sured quantities indeed, — but still sufficient for the purpose, to keep it alive : it would burn dimly at times, but this the philosopher never observed ; and the longer the interval between any of those family dissentions, which we have so frequently witnessed, the greater the appear- ance of the philosopher being left — wholly in the dark ! In the present instance, however, the interval having been of a more extended duration than usual — and Caleb having resolutely refused to bestow any oil upon the ne'w consumer (or, as Griffith would have called him, less appropri- ately, perhaps, the new light) — the question of light or no light came to a rapid decision. Leaving all metaphor, which has, nevertheless, I trust, enlightened the reader as nmch as it TEN OWEN. 267 has delightctl mej^~one gloomy clay the lump actually did go out — and at the same moment, by an unforeseen combination of circumstances, the bailifts came in — and for the second time, Griffith Owen, — without having die most distant notion of what was happening — found himself driven from what he considered his own free- hold. ( 268 ) CHAPTER XIV. The first consequence of the revolution re- corded in our last chapter^ was the ready for- giveness of all real, or supposed injuries, on the part of Caleb ; the second, the retreat of Mr. Professor Saurcraut, who saved himself out of the terms of capitulation, by exhibiting the sa- gacity of a rat; so that, upon signing the treaty, the two reconciled brothers had not a single ground upon which to debate or dispute. At least, so it appeared upon the face of things ; but alas ! few there are, who know enough of the versatility of the human character, to decide such questions upon the superficial indications of probability. Caleb had no sooner paid off his brother's incumbrances, and made him clear of the world, than a battle royal ensued, upon the renewed proposition of a partnership in the iron trade. PEN OWEN. 269 An alienation of many weeks took place, during which poor Pen, who appeared to be inevitably and inseparably allied to his father's fortunes, was now confined in a close lodging up two pair of stairs, where Griffith had settled him- self, and where the boy twice escaped suffocation from the failure of a chemical experiment, the materials for which had cost the philosopher, his last guinea. Again Caleb's heart opened, and he proposed to his brother, that he should inha- bit thevillaat Oldysleigh, and that Pen should be sent to a public school. It is not likely that two propositions, embraced in one interview, should pass without a contro- versy. They were met at once by a flat refusal, the one, on the ground that it was unbecoming an elder brother and representative of all the Owens, to be dependant upon a younger, who was, besides, a trader; the other, that of all his determinations, none was so decided as that which he had taken against a public school — he himself never having been at one^nor having ever met with a real man of science, who had been. Pen was now about fourteen, that is, after he had passed under the ordeal of Saurcraut, and 270 TEN OWFK. Iiad escaped martyrdom under a course of che- mistry. Between this period and his fifteenth birth- day, he had been sent to Westmorland, to fag mathematics under a hard-headed north- ern teacher; but his father having heard of a man who had discovered a royal road to the same, by which he pledged himself to perfect a scholar in half the usual period, he was with- drawn, after four months residence in the north, and placed on the confines of Devonshire and Cornwall. During the three succeeding years, he passed undei' the hands of seven private tutors, selected by Griffith, and willingly paid for by Caleb, as it brought his dear boy within his own immediate reach. But this was not all; four distinct schools, in different parts of the king- dom, had, during this time, been successively tried — and these changes and counter-changes, occasioned by no imputable misconduct on the part of tutors or pedagogues — arose simply from the temptations held forth to the imagination of Griffith, by advertisements in the newspapers, or on the cover of some literary journal. The intervals between each of the plans aforesaid, PEN OWF.N. 271 were allowed to pass away as the young man chose, and in some instances, he was left whole months to his own discretion. Whether this directed him on the road to Oldysleigh or not, the reader may determine, in his own imagination. Thus far I feel it, how- ever, my duty to inform him, lest he should be infected with the same disease as Griffith, that in proportion as Pen grew to be a young man, his little wife, Ellice, grew to be a young woman, — and that she was most unquestionably less warm in her expressions and less free in hev manner — than formerly. Pen, still recurring to the original and sage interdict of his uncle, began to comprehend the mystery which had so puzzled him before, — a proof, no doubt, of the high advantages he had gained at eighteen, by the irregular and extra- ordinary education, which the speculations of his father had afforded him. Now I would by no means have the reader infer that the attachment between our young friend Pen Owen, and Ellice Craig, had suffered any diminution in its progress ; so far from itj I verily believe it had '< grown with their growth, and strengthened with their strength;'' 272 PEN OWEN. but they liatl, on some account or other, become more reserved towards each other, and it ap- peared as if— the more they loved, the less able or less disposed were they — to express it. Uncle Caleb, of whose penetration into the character and motives of mankind, we have had many remarkable instances, drew from his observations on this subject, the most consolatory conclusions, and sincerely congratulated him- self upon the measures of precaution, which he had so early taken, in order to break off an im- prudent connexion — ere it had taken too deep a root. He observed, that so far from affording him any ground of suspicion, the young people ap- peared rather to avoid, than court occasion of conversation ; and the satisfaction he felt in again enjoying the society of his friends, the Ma- pletofts, and their orphan daughter, was so great that he almost fell in love with the fasci- nating girl himself. Indeed, if vanity had formed an ingredient in his character, considering cer- tain others which made up the essential part of it, he might very well have been misled; for although Ell ice Craig acted upon the reserve with her old playfellow Pen, she had redoubled PEN OWEN. 273 her attentions to his uncle, and moreover, be- stowed upon him the most tender caresses and affectionate attentions. Sir Luke Oldysworth, in the society of the Mapletofts, and other neighbouring families, whose habits of life had formerly been considered not sufficiently aristocratical for the baronet, found resources, the existence of which he had never suspected. He had, in the course of a few years, dis- ciplined his mind, so as to reflect upon his past errors, and their melancholy consequences, with regret — unaccompanied by remorse; for he had deeply and sincerely repented of them. An occasional fit of intemperance upon a serious provocation, would shew the impossibility of utterly eradicating bad habits ; but if we were to compare, numerically, the recurrence of these fits, with those of a similar nature (though arising from a very opposite source,) in uncle Caleb, the latter would have had it hollow against him. — I speak only of occasions on which he came in contact with his brother Griffith ; for it was a peculiarity in Caleb's temper, that he was never known to be in a passion with any one, unless he loved him ; always excepting a church VOL. I.s T 274 PKN OWEK. methodist, whom — for some reason best known to himself — for he was a sincere and pious chris- tian, as I have more than once observed — he hated as much^ as be Qonld be said to hate-^any thing. With a mind thus regulated^ Sir Luke was desirous to settle every thing connected with the property-i— in which he had now only a life interest — consistently with the dignity of the family, and th(? principles of justice. He deter- mined, therefore, to address himself to the heir at law, (a very distant connexion, with whom he had never bitherto held any intercourse) stating to him how matters stood, and his desire to cultivate the acq^uaintance of those, who were to succped to so large, and respectable a property, upon his death, Griffith Owen b^d b^en passing a fe\N^ day.^ with C^leb at Oldysleigh, in consequence of having Just received intelligence of the total failure of a scl^^me for prieking oysters to gene- rat;e pearls, in which for several years he had been embarked, and had just sunk the whole of the last advance of his generous brother.. He happened tq be present at the conversation in wbich Sir Luke — who now always consulted PEN OWEN. 275 Mr. Mapletoft and his neighbour Caleb upon his affairs — communicated his intentions ; and having just exhausted speculation in assigning to a legitimate cause, the death of the bed of oysters, which his pricking scheme had thus de- stroyed for the market, and having nearly con- verted them into a cargo of manure — his atten- tion was caught, and arrested by some observa- tions of the worthy baronet, who in the course of conversation had observed, that two generations back-, there had been an intermarriage, between his family, and the Owens of Penptwphwlly. Griffith was in less than six seconds in the very core, and sap of his genealogical tree. — Here was an opportunity of redemption, and in the true legitimate way, — of all the family honors; and entertaining no doubt of being able to prove himself heir at law to the Oldysleigh estates, he watched his opportunity of throwing in some impediment, to the present proceedings, in order to afford time to make out his claim to the satisfaction of others. After, therefore, Caleb and Mapletoft haa heartily agreed with the baronet upon the prin- ciple and the propriety of the plan he had in view, Griffith interposed his opinion (without T 2 276 PEN OWEN. having been consulted), and observed that ** Speculations of this nature required to be duly analyzed before they were adopted — hasty measures were to be avoided." " Body o' me," cried Caleb, smiling, " why, Griffith is turning over a new leaf/* " It is the leaf of experience,*' brother Caleb. '' Well, I must own you've had enough of that. — But now, gentlemen" (turning with a satisfied look at his own penetration), '* I would bet a trifle, my brother is thinking of something else, all this while: — " " Not a bit of it, Caleb— I advise—" " Not as you act, Griffith." '* Psha, Caleb — be quiet — a fool's advice may sometimes be taken, with benefit — and — " "Well, now," exclaimed Caleb, " if that is not the modestest, and wisest thing you ever said." " Modestest — why, sure." " To call yourself a fool — I'm sure that's too modest — for you are none, and — " " Zounds, brother, I called myself no fool, — I would have said — " " Aye, but you did say—" "I tell you, Caleb, you are a ; but I TEX OWEN. ^77 beg pardon, Sir Luke— my good brother is apt to draw hasty inferences." *« Hasty what, Griffith ?" " You don't know that you draw them. — So prithee, Caleb, be quiet — I would have said, that if a fool may sometimes counsel " right — I, who do not profess much knowledge in bu- siness — *' " That's the thing again, and true — true as gospel," interrupted Caleb. " I am addressing myself to Sir Luke and to Mr. Maple — Mapletoft, brother; and I would only say — unused as I am to business, I think I have experience enough to know, that tilings done in haste are rarely done well." " That," says Caleb, turning to the two gentlemen, in a tone of patronage and self- gratulation at the same time, " that is the wisest observation I iiave heard from my brother for many a day — and what is more extraordinary, it is business-like." " Nothing can be more so," observed Mapletoft. '* It is unobjectionable," said the baronet. ** I will not write 'till next week." The ponit of delay being gained, Griffith T 3 278 PEN OWEN. hurried his brother off the field, lest he should prose himself and his companions into a reversal of the order; and having secured-the door of the apartment into which he had pushed Calebs upon their arrival at home^ he threw himself into an ^rm chair, and exclaimed with a voice of joy, ** The die is cast — our fate is decided, and fortune is again the friend to the Owens." ** Why, what ails thee, Griffith — what hast found — hey !" « A mine.'' ** An Irish one !" " No, no, Caleb — an English one — a gold mine — a — > — " " An English gold mine — fiddle faddle, brother — another of your wild speculations 1" ** Speculations — fetch me the family tree, I'll shew you something shall make you spe- culate with a feather in your tail." " A feather in my tail, Griffith — ^why now, I verily believe thou art mad." " Fetch the folio, Caleb — and I'll make you mad too." *^ Why,--you won't bite." *« I don't know but I may." " Nay, nay, Griffith, be composed — take I>EN OWEN. ^279 something-^ here's Stoughton'a drops— or Daf- fy*s elixir.'* " Throw physic to the dogs^ Caleb.** *' To the dogs — pearls to swine — Oh ! the waste and profusion of mad men ! — that I should live to see my dear brother thus — nay, nay, be composed — I have heard all how and about the oysters — though I said nothing.** ^' Confound the oysters.** '^ Don't mind them— I'll make all good, t will, indeed, Griffith." " It is I, who shall make all good, brother Caleb — ha'st no eyes — no ears — no sense alive about you 1" ** No ; — indeed I begin to fear you haVe bit me, without my knowing it — I don't know whe- ther I stand upon my head, or my heels !'* " I don't wonder at it, Caleb — 'tis enough to turn any man's senses." " Lack-a-day, what will become of us !'* " Become of us — buy up the ^vhole (it the Cwm Owen estates — pay the people off — give them double the value— apply for the dormant peerage — restore the castle of our fathers f Here Caleb could stand it no longer — but sidling towards the bell, gave it such a twist, T 4 280 PEN OWEN. that down came rope and all upon his head — certainly the weakest part of our poor friend — yet neither the accident, nor the countenance of the sufferer, could check the wrath of Griffith, who, starting from his chair, seized his unfor- tunate brother by both hands, and with a coun- tenance, that would really have justified a less sensitively apprehensive mind than Caleb's, of the utter insanity of the man — muttered between his chattering teeth — '* *' Fool — dolt, will you betray me !" Caleb — the milk of whose kindness was, as we well know, apt to turn sour in a convulsion of his other elements — started back, on feeling himself bodily seized as it were — extricated him- self with force, contrasting at the same time the suppressed tone of his brother, and vociferating as loudly as he could, *^ Til be d — d — heaven forgive me — if I don't have you secured — would you commit murder ?" The servants were now thundering at the locked door, and trying to force it open, when hearing the latter exclamation, they concluded, of course, that some housebreaker had made his way to their master's room. Griffith specu- lating upon the consequences of an explana- TEN OWEN. 281 tioii before such witnesses, suddenly clianged countenance, and holding up his hands in the posture of intreaty, requested Caleb to send the servants away, as the interests of the whole family depended upon the present moment. Caleb — who when roused would resist a lion, would not have had the power to check a lamb, if he had baa'd in his face — was in his brother's arms before the appeal was finished. He ran to the door, and turning the key^ said to the ser- vants, " that he didn't want them — it didn't signify," but when, in answer to some questions from the inquisitive race, who wished to pene- trate more particularly into the nature of the uproar, he was going on — " it was only my brother and I" — Griffith, afraid to trust him further, told them his brother had been threatening a vagrant at the window," and again shutting the door, resumed his specula- tions with more calmness — but not with less conviction of their ultimate success. It was not, however, without another contest, — occasioned by a repeated misapprehension of the terms employed in communicating the mighty hopes of the one party to the other, — that Caleb was in full possession of Griffith's meaning, and 282 TEN owKn. purpose. He was no sooner acquainted with it, than he began to suspect that Griffith was more seriously mad, than even at the moment of the extraordinary ebullitions which had previously displayed themselves. In any thing connected with business, Caleb was at home, and having at length obtained a hearing, endeavoured to prove — what was certainly true — that the Owens of Penptwphwlly, which he pronounced (and it may well astonish the reader) with perfect facility, had branched off from the Cwm Owen Owens, somewhere about the reign of Elizabeth, and that the lady who had been transplanted from that stock, — even could a nearer con- nexion have been traced — was only grafted on the Oldysworths, and could not possibly afford any title or shadow of claim to the Owens. All that Caleb obtained in return for this very rational explanation — which exhibited his talents in the most favourable point of view — was a denunciation against matter of fact, straight forward people in general, and Caleb in parti- cular, followed by the retreat of the offended party to his own room, with the folio (so often referred to in this history) under his arm, and a declaration; upon oath, of the validity of his PEN OWEN. 283 claim upon the property with the unpro- nounceable name ! Whether, after two day's seclusion, he was satisfied that Caleb was right, or whether, in turning his eye round the apartment in vacancy, his imagination had caught some new impression, I do not take upon me to say. At the end of that period, the folio was found open upon the table of his dressing-room, and the servant announced at breakfast — that Mr. Griffith Owen had walked off to Bristol, at six o'clock in the morning. In a few days afterwards, Sir Luke, with the approbation of Caleb and Mapletoft, despatched his letter to the heir at law. Pen passed his time agreeably enough to himself, and with perfect satisfaction to his uncle, who thought his education, which had cost so much labour, exercise, and expense, was of course now at an end. Nothing he conceived was further necessary, than to reap and enjoy the fruits of it. He did not, indeed, attempt to estimate the nature and quality of his acquisitions, independent of their cost; and the reader may reasonably entertain a doubt, whether they were such as might be deemed sufficient, to ballast the mind of a very 284- TEN OWEN. volatile young man of eighteen. It is, however, but justice to say, that setting aside those consi- derations which combined to satisTy uncle Caleb that his education was necessarily completed. Pen Owen was rather an extraordinary sort of person ; for taking into our calculation all that had hitherto been done to overset and bewilder his mind, it is marvellous that he should have been able to walk into a drawing- room without alarming the company, — and still more so, that he should be received with smiles and affection, by every individual who composed it. Yet so it was — and, in truth, he was a lad of considerable natural powers, though certainly — no genius. The strange want of system, in which his father — under a succession of change- ful and heterogeneous schemes, changeful as the wind, or what is still more variable, the fancies of a projector — h^d given a sort of wild- ness to his fancy, whilst it afforded little check to his passions. Severe discipUne at one fit, and a total relaxation at another; — deep and intense application enforced for a month, and listless idleness in the next — had afforded any thing and every thing but what a wise man looks to, as PEN OWEN. 285 the object of a regular education. Nevertheless, as the young man advanced towards manhood, a natural quickness of perception led him to per- ceive the tortuous irregularity of his father's mind, and to appreciate and admire the amiable tendency of his uncle's mixed character; and as the one was certainly more attractive than the other, he may be supposed to have extracted something of the better parts of it, during the period of his intercourse with him. All that was substantially good among the component parts of his education, was derived from his previous studies, under Mr. Mapletoft ; which being regularly laid, and founded in moral and religious principle, was never alto- gether dislodged, even by the superincumbent mass of layers, and strata, accumulated in raising the superstructure. It is not, however, to be supposed, that a youth could escape altogether harmless from such an ordeal. His character was so far affected by the absence of system or consistency, in the formation of his mind, that he appeared to be the creature of the moment upon all occasions, and the slave of the passion which happened to be in the as- cendant, when an appeal was made to it. He 286 TEN OWEN. could fix himself to nothing, and was in the same company, even as a lad, commended by the fox hunter as the boldest leaper; by" the farmer, as the best judge of manures; by the ladies, as the best bred, and by the learned even, as the best read young man — for twenty miles round. These were country judges, we must admit, but there was an ease and a confidence about him which enabled him to display all that he pos- sessed, aided by the captivation of a very hand- some person, and an air to which a continual succession of new characters and new pursuits, had given a sort of animation, that might have imposed upon those, who, in the metropolis itself, set up for supreme judges in all matters that are cognizable to the jurisprudence of mind. In short, he was master of all the materials to form a very self-sufficient, superficial sort of young gentleman ; and if he should happen to turn out, to be something better than this, it must be attributed to any thing rather than design on the part of his philosophical parent. Pen Owen had become a great favourite with Sir Luke, who would willingly have adopted him as his heir, could the strict laws of entail have been dispensed with, in favour of his 1 ^ PEN OWEN. 287 wishes. His animation, ami the various quali- fications he possessed, appeared to the baronet in a light, that deducted much from his share of the general contempt, expressed every where (except in the presence of neighbour Caleb) of Griffith Owen's speculations, and in particular his mode of educating his son. He really considered him a very delightful young man, and would have surrendered half his fortune whilst Viwiuix — to ensure such an heir to the whole after his death. The habits of the old gentleman had been so confirmed, and his society so limited for several years past, that he almost repented of the step he had been induced to take, in in- viting Mr. Frank Wettenhall — the young heir at law — to the Grange. He naturally wished to become personally acquainted with his cha- racter, of which report spoke most favourably ; and felt it also due to the future represen- tative of the Oldysworths, that he should be received and acknowledged in due form ; but a new face — new society—and new opinions, gave him no small apprehension, as the period of his arrival approached, and he regretted he 288 PEN OWEN. had not postponed the invitation to another year. He recollected, however, that he was an old man, and the command of "years preca- rious and uncertain — and made up his mind by degrees to await the event. ( J89 ) CHAPTER XV. It was on a fine summer's afternoon, when Sir Luke was enjoying an unusual flow of good spirits, surrounded by his friends the Mapletofts, Ellice Craig, Caleb, and Pen Owen, and filling out his first glass after dinner — that the wheels of a carriage were distinctly heard approaching the great entrance of the house. I do verily believe the intrusion of the best friend we have in the world, would create an unpleasant sensation at the particular moment, when we have just made up our resolution, to enjoy ourselves upon some regular fixed plan — in which he happens never to have occurred to our mind. Sir Luke started, and spilt the wine as it ap^ proached his lips, and the whole company seemed to catch the feeling. VOL. I. u 290 PKN owi:n. " It must be Mr. WHtenliall, Sir Luke," said Mapletoft. *« It's an awkward moment/- sighed the baronet. " It may be — my brother," said Caleb, in a tone intended to convey comfort. <' Perhaps it is," returned Sir Luke, without much altering the tone of expression. " Mr. Francis Wettenhall," proclaimed the butler, throwing open the folding doors of the dining parlour, at the same time making way for a fine young man, in an elegant travelling undress, and with a countenance of inexpres- sible sweetness. " I fear. Sir Luke," — the baronet had risen to receive him — ^' I fear that, owing to a delay I could neither foresee or prevent, I am arrived at a very unseasonable hour." ** Nay," replied the baronet, who had suffi- ciently recovered himself, and withal was agree- ably surprised by the manners and address of the young man—" Nay, my good sir ; no hour is. unseasonable among friends — and such we are,. I hope, or shall be shortly." " Sir Luke, you do me infinite honour; but really this looks so much like an intrusion — " PEN OWEN. 291 ^' An intrusion/' repealed his host, with a suppressed sigh, " no, no, surely not — we are not so ceremonious in the country — say, my good sir, have you dined ?" " It was my intention to have been in time for your " *' Say not a word more. — Delves, set a side table, and order something to be got ready im- mediately. — Now," turning towards the still standing guests, <^ allow me to present the future licir " Here was a momentary pause — for the exer- tion which the old baronet had made, to do what was right, had hurried him on, beyond his real speed, and faltering at the word heir, he rapidly named the several individuals — and filling himself a glass of wine, drank to Mr. Wettenhall's health. — That gentleman, after a short pause, looking at his boots, requested, in the most delicate manner, permission to retire to change his travelling dress. The company, on his departure, sat looking upon each other for a few seconds in silence ; for though none of them had ever been at court, with the exception of the baronet, no one cared to offer an opinion upon the stranger, 'till some u 2 '292 PEN OWEN. Other should give the tone, as it were, to what was to be thought of him — so gregarious a being is man. " Upon my word" (at length observed the ba- ronet), " a fine, well-spoken young gentleman." — A general assent was immediately given — and Mr. Mapletoft, whose word was law with the majority of his audience, confirmed the ob- servation by speaking of him as modest and well-mannered, as far as he could judge of him. He remarked also, his very prepossessing ap- pearance. " And very handsome, I declare," added Mrs. Mapletoft. " Don't you think so EUice, my dear?'' *' I'm no judge, madam, but I certainl}' have seen handsomer ;" which observation she made as general as possible, by looking at every body round the table — excepting our friend Pen. , " He's not so gaod looking, for example, as myboy there," said Caleb, smirking and smiling^ as he gazed upon him. The comment was too close upon the text, and Pen, hastening to divert its direction, ex- claimed, " Fie, uncle," and very properly blushed up to the eyes. PEN OWEN. 293 '' It's a good Hrsl appearance," observed llie baronet, who now seemed disposed to banish, as nuich as possible, all that had been disagreeable in the affair, and to take the sunny side — '' rather trying, before so many strangers.*' " A better than I should have made," cried Pen, " though—" " Though you are an impudent fellow, Pen," retorted Caleb, whose consequence in the family had almost induced a disposition, to be witty. *' Though you are pleased to say so, sir — but really and truly, I do not know a more em- barrassing situation ; indeed I should say it re- <]uired some brass — " " Brass !" cried Caleb, " yes, yes, enough of that ; but I hope," smiling at the barotiet, - — ** it will be long enough before he touches it." " Nay, Pen," cried Mr.Mapletoft, with some- thing like an air of rebuke, " that*s not quitfe fair." " On my soul, sir." ** Your soul. Pen !" ** My dear sir, you embarrass me. — I mean to say, that though my dear uncle would call, and has called me often, an impudent fellow, u 3 21)4 PEN OWEN. I could no more have summoned brass enough to— » <« I really am surprised, my good boy/' inter- rupted the vicar, " that you should express such a sentiment." '^ I always must express what I feel." '< Then you will, sir, be guilty of great im- prudence." " I shall be honest, at least ; and if I mistake not — be consistent with the principles I have heard you often express." *' I never laid down any principle, sir, that could justify an expression injurious to the cha- racter of another." *' Injurious ! upon my soul — " *' Your soul again staked." *^ Nay my dear, dear Mr. Mapletoft, if you won't let me swear to my innocence — " ** I'd rather have the word of an honest man, than his oath, at any time ; those who are so lavish of solemn asseverations upon every passing trifle, shew the value they set upon them, by bestowing them thus liberally." ** If I must not swear to it, then, I most se- riously declare, I meant nothing more than — " when the door opening, the object of the dis- PEN OWEN. 295 ousbion re-entered and sat down at tlie side table, leaving the company, to find some other topic, for conversation. After several very interesting details on parish business, and the local politics of Oldysleigh, which, the reader may be disposed to agree with me, arc as well omitted altogether, the attention of the company was attracted by a curricle, which rapidly passing by an angle of the park f)aling, within view of the window, seemed to be carried along in a cloud of dust : ** Who is that i" -asked Ellice Craig, ^' Black Jack, I believe," answered Pen. " Who?" demanded the baronet. " Major Irwin, sir," replied our hero, " whom the villagers have honoured with this nic-name." " I know nothing of him," said Sir Luke, rather with a mortified air : * ' he may be black or white for aught I care — but of this I am sure, he is not a well-bred man." ** He is an odd one, certainly,'* observed Mrs. Mapletoft ; "he has acted towards the whole neighbourhood with the same neglect.'* " Of course, madam," said Sir Luke, with a prouder air, than he now often assumed, u 4 296 PliN OWEN. <* he v/ould not single me out for his incivi- lily." " I rather think,'' said the vicar; " we have all decided too hastily upon this man's conduct. He returned our visits, but declines all society. Ho appears to be a man of retired habits." " Very retired indeed,'' said Mrs. Mapletoft, with an air which shewed that she considered her- self as the mistress of the ceremonies within the precincts of the parish, where existed no rival lady paramount. " He's a nabob," observed Pen ; " and they say such men sometimes have — bad nights." ** Again, Pen ! have you no charity for your neighbours?" « Fie, Pen," smiled Caleb, " that's just the same as the brass " " No, no, no, Mr. Owen," interrupted Maple- toft — *' it is like something worse." *^ Oh 1" cried Caleb, perceiving his mistake, ** I quite forgot — " " No you didn't, dear good uncle Caleb," interrupted Ellice Craig — closing her little white hand upon his mouth, which he kissing — really forgot what he was going to say. ** I assure you, sir," said Pen, immediately PEN OWEN. 297 taking up the coiivorsatioiij *' I meant to insi- nuate nothing against tlie poor gentleman, only nabobs and iavvycrs arc always considered fair game for us — small wits." " No, Vm sure he meant no harm," observed Caleb, " either against the Black Major, or — " " Or the lawyer," said poor Mapletoit, in a loud tone of voice, in order to arrest the blun- dering explanations of Caleb. But in avoiding Sylia, the good vicar fell into Charybdis, with- out even perceiving the eddy ; for repeating again the word lawyer, with a sort of facetious smile and a nod, to give it more significance, he was not aware that young Wettenhall, having left the side-table, and advanced towards the company, stood exactly in front of the speaker, whose features had scarcely relaxed into their wonted expression, when he requested, with an air of frank modesty, " that he might not stand in the way of a joke — even at his own ex- pense." " Sir — sir^ at 7/our expense?" cried Maple- toft, who in his extreme sensitiveness mistook the application of WettenhalPs words, and floundering deeper in his own error, intended to make a desperate plunge out of it, by adding;, 298 PEN OWEN. '^ ii lawyer — only a lawyer, sir, who is gene- rally supposed, you know, to be a bit of a rogue." " I am perfectly aware of it, and 1 only regret that you should appear to feel, what I really do not feel for myself." " For yourself, sir," exclaimed the tortured Mapletoft. ^* Yes, sir ; for if a concurrence of circum- stances — which no man can more deeply lament than I do — had not interfered with my original destination in life — I should have been a lawyer myself." Mapletoft was relieved by the explanation, and the whole party sat easier on their seats at finding themselves relieved from the embarrass- ment into which Caleb's blunder had involved them. Sir Luke good humouredly observed, that " no man was the worse for having a joke passed on him." Mapletoft added more gravely, '' that sometimes the most serious subjects were susceptible of ridicule and ribaldry." Young Wettenhall finding a pause— which none of the company appearing disposed to break, and which was doubly irksome to a stranger — ventured to put an end to it, by asking who the gentleman TEN OWEN. 299 was that had occasioned t!ie foregoing animad- versions. " He's a new settler, my good sir," answered Sir Luke, " lately returned, we understand, from India. He has converted a cottage, which is within view of the drawing-room windows, into a sort of cockney or eastern villa — a thing made up of verandas and fret work, that astranger might mistake for an aviary, or a whig wham. Whether he is indisposed to society, or, as my young friend Pen Owen suspects — " *'Not I upon my soul, sir," interrupted Pen, "I know nothing of him." ** Well, then, whether, as small wits," con- tinued Sir Luke good humouredly, "imagine, that being a nabob, his conscience is too sen- sitive for society or not, I cannot take upon me to determine ; all I know is, that he has hitherto declined mine, and as I now find, the acquain- tance of the neighbourhood. Why he is called Black Jack, by the small wits — hey Pen — I do not pretend to know." " I understand you, my good sir," said Pen. ^* Yes ; but I don't understand the wit." ^* The wit I must leave others to discover," retorted Pen ; " but the occasion is perfectly 300 PKN OWEN. intelligHjle, lor tlio poor man is very plain in his countenance, and a tropical climate has baked it into a sort of brown pie-crust." " There may bo good meat under it," said Mapletoft, smiling. ^' But he won't let us cut it open," added Pen, laughing at his own conceit. " Cut open what ?" inquired Caleb. *< Nothing, my good uncle," replied his ne- phew, dreadihg some new explosion; when perceiving him about to persevere. Sir Luke very opportunely broke in upon the subject, by asking young Wettenhall, " What n-ews he brought with him from town ?" " I am," answered the young man, " so little of a politician, beyond the general feeling of at- tachment to my country, and am so slightly ac- quainted with what is going forward in the great wdrld, that I fear I am seldom a welcome guest in the country." ** You are, here, I promise you, Mr. Francis Wettenhall," observed the baronet, filling his new guest's glass, " and it isn't your not being a politician that's likely to stand in your "Way with us — it is one bone of contention removed." " Your lime has rather been devoted to PEN OWKN. 301 books, I presume," said Mr. Mapletoft, ad- dressing the young man. " Indeed, sir, I find my chief resource in them — and in the society of my superiors." " You speak modestly, sir — ^you mean learned society." " I fear I should be out of my element there. — No, sir, I speak of those, in general, whose experience and information upon various sub- jects, amuse, while they enlighten my mind." *' You have some favourite pursuit, I con- clude, sir." " Indeed I should be puzzled to say what it is." " The classics, perhaps." " They ate a fascinating study, sir." " The sciences," asked Pen. " I have but a superficial acquaintance with them." " I have forgotten, Mr. Wettenhall," said the baronet, " whether your good father mentioned in his last letter, your having been educated at a public school." " I had not that good fortune, Sir Luke." " Good fortune !— you seem to have done very well without it." 302 PEN OWEN. " You were at Oxford, 1 think, sir," said Mapleloft. « I am a Cantab." PEN OWEN. oi" the weather, or the arrival of the post. I would not, however, wish lb appear a niggard of my laboiu's in the service qF the public, and to shew that I do actually possess matter, as well as the ability, if it wefe still; in fashion, to be as tedious as my predecessors, I can solemnly assure my readers, that for several weeks — the wind continued in the north-west with slight breezes, and uninterrupted fine weather; and that during the same period only three letters arrived — such wretched correspondents were our friends — ^at Oldysleigh, two of which were to the new-comer, and the third to Caleb — informing him that his brother Griffith had drawn upon him for a good round sum, and was actually in Paris — having made his way through the Ne- therlands — for the purpose of uniting with an enlightened member of the Institute — in ex- tracting sugar from old linen ! ! * Mr. Frank Wettenhall gained ground every day in the good graces of the party at Oldys- leigh. Sir Luke really felt proud of him, and * The Journals of Europe have noticed our philosophical friend, though without naming him, as appears by the following extract, from the newspapers of tlie isth and 19th of February 1S20 ; ** It is asserted, in letters from Paris, that a celebrated chemist has found out a method of converting rags into sugar ! ! ! " PKN OWEN. .^05 made him the constant companion of his rides and walks. He was anxious to give every publi- city to the attachment, and, from a sort of pride which revolted at the notion of having an heir thrust upon him — lost no opportunity of shewing that he was one, whom he would have chosen out of ten thousand. Whether there is a disposition to jealousy even in the most liberal minds at the idea of another assuming a right of sharing a privilege which we consider all our own — or whether it was from a less justifiable motive, I do not take upon me to say ; but it is a fact, which occa- sioned much comment, that Pen Owen appeared rather to recede from the attentions paid to him by Wettenhall — and that he constantly declined accompanying Sir Luke, as he had been wont to do — if that gentleman was of the party. It is natural that I should feel anxious to acquit a man, whom I am bound in duty to support as the hero of my history, of any mean or petty feelings ; but I scorn to be guilty of a sophistry which might injure the morals of my readers, without doing any essential benefit to the child of my adoption. One palliative circumstance may, however, VOL. I, X 306 PEN OWEN, be pressed into the service, and as a lovet's jealousy is of a very different quality from that of a worldling — it must be confessed that the fine animated black eyes and ingenuous cha- racter of Ellice Craig, certainly did appear to have attracted the attention of the young heir,, in a manner sufficient — all circumstances con- sidered — to give some uneasiness to poor Pen Owen. This, indeed, in a few weeks more, began to be generally observed by the parties most interested in the question, and the intro- duction of a man whose amiable manners and personal appearance spoke highly in his fa- vour, seemed by his arrival in this little district of peace, to have unconsciously thrown down the apple of discord. Sir Luke, though not a very observant man, soon perceived the partiality of the young squire for the orphan, which involved him in a train of reflections, to solve which he had not the aid of the privy councillors who for many years had assisted to determine his plans, and fix his reso^ lutions. He considered Ellice Craig, indeed, almost as a daughter ; but he still retained too much of his family pride, to entertain, for a moment, the idea of sufi^ering the heir of the PEN OWEN. 307 Oldysworths, to unite himself with an orphan, without connexions, and probably of illegitimate birth; for it was more than insinuated that she was a natural daughter of Mrs. Mapletoft's first husband, previous to his marriage with her. A thousand contending feelings were awakened in his breast, which for years had Iain dormant in it. All the associations connected with the fate of his younger son arose to his recollection, vivid as at the moment of their occurrence; the lengthened chain of suffering, now almost obscured by time and habitual resignation, was taken up link by link, and the recurrence of circumstances so similar — startled and alarmed him. The suspicion that the Mapletofts were desirous of providing for their orphan child, prevented his seeking their counsel ; and Caleb Owen's ignorance of the world, and simplicity of character, precluded him from being thought of as an adviser. The worthy baronet, therefore, was in a situation, to a mind for many years calm and unruffled by external circumstances, and mainly directed by the affectionate influence of friends — truly pitiable. He was as a child afloat upon the waves, without the knowledge or means of safety or protection. X 2 308 PEN OWENc The Mapletofts, though flattered by the atten- tions of the heir presumptive to their beloved child, had acted as much as possible on the reserve, being resolved to afford no encourage- ment to his evident passion, unless sanctioned by the baronet, whose objection on the score of family connexions, however, they had never anticipated. They had perfect confidence in a reform — ^^which such alas is the weakness of our nature — was sincere and steady too— until en- countered by his ruling passion, that seldom, if ever, is wholly eradicated from the human breast. But the most unhappy of the party (with the exception of Pen himself) was EUice Craig, who, feeling the advantages possessed by her now professed admirer, and knowing the influence of riches, dreaded alike the solicitude of her foster parents for her welfare, and the avowed determination of the baronet to make every sacrifi:ce to the happiness of his cherished representative. It must be remarked, however, that this determination was expressed before the baronet was aware that any sacrifice would be required. In the mean time, whilst each party was irresolute how to act, the principal actor was TEN OWEN. 309 at liberty to forward his own views, and as tio one was authorised to interfere, young Wetten- hall enjoyed uninterrupted opportunities of cul- tivating the society of the lovely Ellice. Pen Owen, who had not from nature or education derived any great power of control over his feelings, was no longer able to submit himself to the timid counsels of Ellice, although she had hitherto restrained him, by an assurance of never being the wife of any but himself. Like all those persons who act from passion, rather than reason, he did not stop to reflect upon the best mode of throwing off his reserve, and avowing his sentiments, which he now though it dis- graceful to conceal. One morning, when Ellice had been taking a solitary stroll in one of the park woods, she perceived, upon emerging from it, a noble buck tossing his antlers, in all the graces of well assured beauty, just in front of her path. Accustomed to the sight of these animals from her infancy, she felt little alarm, and waving her handkerchief at him, tried to motion him away ; but instead of obeying her gentle admo- nition, he appeared to take it very much amiss, find rapidly tearingup the earth with his elegantly x3 510 PEN OWEN. formed hoofs— as if still studying the graces- she quickly perceived that he was studying some- thing of a less gallant nature, and turning quickly upon her heel, made a dart at a gate which was at a small distance behind her, over which she would have fallen — had not the open arms of the agitated Wettenhall been prepared to receive her. Pen, who from an opposite direction per- ceived her danger, had sped like an arrow from a bow to her aid, just saw her disappear over the gate, which he leapt in an instant^ and found her smiling — in the close embrace of his rival. Now, as poor Pen's conduct is to be severely arraigned upon the occasion, as has already been anticipated, yet the smile of Ell ice Craig ought to be taken into the opposite scale, of provoca- tion, for though this smile might have been intended for the approaching, as well as the proximate lover, nevertheless the actual dis- play of that token, which is acknowledged throughout the world as the test of satisfaC' tion— at a moment when her fair form was encircled by the arms of another — must be ad- mitted to be rather calculated to irritate a lover, 18 PEN OWEN. 311 who considered no one entitled to have his arms, so placed except himself. Besides, those arms were positively opened for the purpose, as he gracefully leapt the gate. Without, however, attempting to justify his imprudence, Ave may pity him, for the impulse which prompted him to snatch the prize out of the clutches of him, who had first made it ; but what shall we say — when, pushing off his rival with the other hand, he in a menacing tone demanded, *« By what right Mr. Wettenhall had presumed to aid the lady ?" A flush of indignation appeared to heighten the expression of his rival's fine features, which, however, subsiding as quickly, he replied ^' That humanity alone, would, he hoped, appear a suf- ficient justification — independentlyof the interest he must naturally take, in every thing that con- cerned Miss Craig." " And what the devil right or interest have you, sir, in Miss Craig?" exclaimed the hero. '*That, my dear sir," mildly answered Wet- tenhall, " must rather depend upon Miss Craig herself, than either upon you or myself." "Then, sir, I will speak for Miss Craig — '* *"* Nay, nay, my dear Pen — ^^be advised— be x 4^ 312 PEN OWEN. calm," exclaimed the agitated girl, interrupting him. " Peace, peace, my angel !" cried Pen. ^< Now is the moment for — " What he would have said, it is not in our power to record, for at this moment a gentleman with a gun in his hand, made his e7itre over the same gate ; not indeed with the grace of Pen, but with sufficient agility to startle the party, to whom he appeared to have dropt from the clouds. If there had been time for critical examination, they might perhaps have con- cluded that he had rather risen, than dropt — since his appearance was any thing certainly — but angelic. He was a man of the middling size, and, as far as figure was concerned, of a manly and well-proportioned make; but his face had — at least at the present moment — an expression in it, which, although evidently intended for a smile, sat awkwardly upon a set of non-descript features, to which such a mood seemed to be the invasion of a stranger. His eyes \Vere dark and penetrating ; his nose nearly flattened on his face — either by nature in a perverse mood — or by art in a mischievous one — and his complexion, to use Pen's illustra- TEN OM'EN. 313 tion, somewhat like an ill-baked pie-ciiist — for he was no other than Black Jack, ov in more proper terms, Major Irwin, who had been the subject of a recent discussion in Sir Luke's dining parlour. When this gentleman, however, explained the object of his intrusion, which was no other than the identical floating muslin flag of distress, which had attracted her two other knights to the gate — and when in a silver-toned voice, as little in character with his external appearance as the smile already recorded, he had expressed what he felt on perceiving the lady's danger — Black Jack certainly appeared less black, or rather I should say, not black at all, to those of the party, who were sufficiently disengaged from their own feelings^ to bestow a thought upon the intruder, after the first surprise of his ap- pearance, was over; Ellice Craig, however, found words, in a tone not inferior to his own — though perhaps an octave or two higher — to express her sense of the kindness and interest, he had shewn in her danger. Young Wetten- hall too, felt called upon to say something, as Pen stood sullen, like an angry lion guarding his prey from an intruder. *« I am sure, sir," 314? PEN OWEN. said he, addressing the major, " the friends of this young lady will feel most grateful for the interest — " '* AreyoUj sir," fiercely demanded Pen, " the representative of Mr. and Mrs. Mapletoft ?" *^ Pray, pray, my dear Pen," cried Ellice. " Indeed, sir," replied Wettenhall, addressing Pen, " you appear to misconceive my motives, and—" * I hnoiso your motives, sir." " Then I am sure your candour will give a fair interpretation to my conduct. Mr. and Mrs. Mapletoft are equally your friends and mine ; and had you preferred to express what you^ sir, equally with myself, know they must feel upon such an occasion, I should not have presumed officiously to interpose a word. I felt something was due to this gentleman," looking up to the major — who, by the direction and expression of his eyes, appeared just r^ady to enter the lists ds a third pretender to the prize. ^^ Indeed, sir," answered the major, " the at- traction of the object is sufficient to deprive any exertion in its favour, of the character of merit, even had I — " • " Merit ! no, surely," replied Wettenhall, PEjS OWEN. 315 with more passion than he had exhibited before, *' there is little merit, in obeying the finest im- pulses of our nature." ** Impulses, sir — " exclaimed Pen, " and what business " " Indeed," said Ellice, disengaging herself from his arms, " indeed, Mr. Owen, you are wrong" — and turning with a most bewitching smile towards the major, expressed to him her thankfulness for the solicitude he had evinced, curtsied to the other gentleman, and was with- drawing alone — when Pen seizing her arm, placed it within his own, and turning a haughty look of defiance upon his rival, marched off the field, like another Alexander, after he had de- cided the fate of an empire ! Young Wettenhall appeared shocked — and for a moment uncertain how to act, but re- straining his feelings, he walked on, in the opposite direction, preceded by the major — who had left the party, in whose politics, whatever he might think of them, he had evidently no inclination, to take a share. Not proceeding so fast as Wettenhall, he was soon overtaken by that gentleman — and good-breeding on either side, demanded that something should be said. 316 PKN OWEN. as long as they remained in a track through the woodj wliich admitted of no turning to the right hand or the left. <^ A fine young woman, Miss Mapletoft, sir," observed the major. " An angel, sir," replied the young man ; " but not Miss Mapletoft—" '* Not Miss Mapletoft ! — I thought you spoke of her as a daughter of — " " The adopted daughter, sir — " answered Wettenhall. <' The adopted daughter ! *^ Yes — an orphan — or some distant con- nexion. I am not acquainted with her history.'* " You seem sir," said the major, with a pecu- liar sort of expression, '^ not to be^ uninterested in her fate." Wettenhall blushed. ** She is poor, I conclude,^' added the major, " Her friends cannot be rich It would be a meritorious act," he continued, " if her mind be equal to her exterior form, to raise her to a situation in which — " " It might, certainly," answered the young man^ *' You are that man, sir," said the major, very 19 PEN OWEN. 317 eniphallcally, '• if I am not mistaken in suppos- ing you the heir of Sir Luke Oldysworth." '•' This is a singular observation, sir." " Is it not a just one ?" *' I have never considered it, sir." " Then why have you paid attentions to that sweet girl — without having fully made up your mind upon the subject ?" " I must confess, sir," replied Wettenhall, ^^ whatever may be my respect for a stranger, for such — although I am aware T am addressing Major Irwin — you are still to me, I cannot sub- mit to interrogatories." " Interrogatories ! sir ; would you not answer me, if I demanded whether the sun shone at noon-day, or whether you had a head upon your shoulders ?" Wettenhall, who now concluded his compa- nion's retired life to proceed from a cracked brain, smilingly answered, " Surely I should, sir, with- out much hesitation." '' Then why, sir, let me ask, should you resent an interrogatory put to you, upon a subject just as plain and self-evident — if it were in your power to answer it as explicitly ?" " Were I disposed to discuss such a question, ;^1S I'EN OWF.N. sir, I might say it was not quite so self-evident that—" <^ That the peace and happiness jof an amiable girl, might be involved and sacrificed, before you had decided whether it was in your power to redeem them." *' I said no such thing, sir." " That's what I complain of—" '' That I do not acknowledge myself a villain, sir ?" " That you have not decided the important question — whether you are, or are not." " Upon my word, sir, I can neither submit, whatever may be my opinion of your misfor- tunes — " '^ Misfortunes !" ^« I mean, sir, whatever may be my disposition to pass over what is already said, I neither can nor will submit to be catechised, not only by an authority which has no cognizance of my actions, but by one who is ignorant either of my character or my views in life." " Not quite so much as you may suppose, young man — my eye searches deeper than you are aware" — and so saying, the parties separated at right angles, at the first opening of the w^ood, PEN OWF-K. 319 to all appearance equally unsatisfied with each other. It must be admitted, tliat the black major has not done much, upon his first introduction to our readers^ to warrant a very high opinion either of his penetration or his civility ; for it would have appeared to any ordinary eye, that Pen was the most proper object of a lecture on the passions— and that the temperate deportment of his rival, under very trying circumstances, was rather a ground for admiration, than a topic of animadversion. It is evident, therefore, that Black Jack, as he was called, was at least 4in odd-tempered man, and that his neighbours had apparently no great loss in his seclusion, from their society. Fame has as many ears as mouths ; and though only four persons were entrusted with the events of this morning, scarcely an indivi- dual in the parish was ignorant of it, by the evening. It is true, there had been some dislo- cation in the details^ which having to pass from ear to mouth in so many instances, may be na- turally supposed to have undergone some transmutatory process ; and the oftener the ac- count was repeated, the greater would probably be, the variation. 320 PEN OWEN. Poor uncle Caleb was coiifidentially informed that his nephew had horsewhipped young Wet- tenhall, and run away with Ellice Craig— -the Mapletofts were assured that young Wettenhali had rescued Ellice from the arms of Black Jack, who was carrying her off, heaven knows where ; whilst the poor baronet was horrified by a communication from his man Delves — that Mr. Wettenhali was reported to have been severely wounded in a duel with Major Irwin. If it be asked how these delusions could operate for any time upon the several parties concerned, it will turn out to have arisen from those strange coincidences, which appear mar- vellous till they are traced to their very natural, and sometimes, very ordinary sources. In the first place, then, it had been customary,' for many years past, for the three families to spend part of every evening — if not assembled at dinner — at the house of one, or other of them. On the day in question, the meeting was to take place at the vicarage, where several of the neighbours, not of consequence enough to find a place in our society, were also invited. Pen had dined with his uncle, and of course said nothing about the adventure — Wettenhali with the baronet ; and PEN OWEN. :521 Ellice Craig at home — iieitlier ofwlioii) telt any disposition to communicate the events of the morning. When the families were assembled in the drawing-room of the vicarage, none of the three aforesaid individuals — so essential to our history — were present, which was the more re- markable, as such a circumstance had never been known to occur before. The stranger guests arrived full primed with the reports in circulation, and perceiving this hiatus in the usual circle, began first to whisper their suspicions, 'till gradually amalgamating with the parties more immediately interested, several little groupes were formed — and whilst one approached the ear of the hostess — another took the button of the baronet — and a third, not being aware of the touchwood he was about to fire — opened upon poor Caleb. Having been made acquainted with this edition of the report, prepared for him — he began capering about the room like a madman, and was quickly joined — if not by a chorus worthy of the leader — at least of sufficient strength, to set the whole society in commotion. It will be recollected that the hasty and simultaneous communications, were made without any reference to dates, which would have VOL. I. Y 322 PEN OWEN. undone the effect of them in a great measure ; whilst a quiet comparison of notes would have gone far to overthrow them altogether, since the circumstances varied in their application to each of the individuals, to whom the several reports referred. The Mapletofts, who had not been informed of the danger of their child until her rescue was effected, had only to seek her in her chamber, in order wholly to relieve their minds ; hut Caleb arrested them in their advance to- wards the door,^^ roaring out that it was in vain to search for Ellice, for that she was gone off — whilst the baronet, whose native violence seemed to have found a new birth, absolutely collared Caleb, in the midst of his agony, swearing, that if there was law in England, that villain Pen Owen should hang upon the highest tree in it. Here was confusion doubly confounded, hr new matter and new horrors seemed to burst at every moment, upon the conflicting passions of the parties embroiled. It was most happy for all concerned that some indifferent spectators were present, to act as wool-packs or ftather-bedij, between the fire of the several PEN OWEN. 323 friends, thus momentarily converted into ene- mies. The baronet was forcibly separated from Caleb, whose wrath was not likely to be quelled by the rough handling of the baronet. He re- torted Sir Luke's insult, which, nevertheless, he did not understand — by applauding his boy for horse -whipping the heir ; whilst Mapletoft interfering — as being the only temperate, though not the least anxious, man of the party — en- treated an explanation of the words, which had been uttered, in the first ebullition of his wrath. " Explain ! explain ! Mr. Mapletoft. Are you not ashamed," exclaimed the spluttering Caleb, *' to have inveigled my poor dear boy into a runaway match with your — your—" " My what, sir ?" demanded the vicar, sternly. " Confound her! — heaven forgive me — I don't know what to call her — oh dear! what will become of me — she's an angel too." ** I will hunt the fellow down," roared th^ struggling baronet. — " Unhand me, gentlemen, I will see justice done." *' Leave him alone — body o' me, I fear no Y 2 324 I'KN OWEN. baronet," exclaimed Caleb ; " the blood of the Owens " Just to interrupt the exposure of our good friend's weak point— which lay buried under so much humility — the door opened, and the two young men entered the room ! Who has ever seen the effect of the peda- gogue's march into school, when the joint efforts of three or four hundred boys, to produce as much uproar as can possibly be extracted from lusty, young, and vigorous lungs, are suddenly suspended I — who that, after a furious canonnade, has experienced that strange sensation of numbness which seems to suspend the faculties; or, above every thing else — for he is my man — who has ever seen — a ghost ! — He, and he only^ can truly picture to him- self the impression made upon the beholders — by the sudden vision of the two young men ! After a pause of some seconds, during the first apparition of these two spirits (for their identity was doubted by more than one of the party), they did not — as in duty bound by every law and precedent in necromancy— wait PEN OWEN. 325 lo be questioned — but with a look of astonish- ment demanded an explanation of the scene before them. After a few questions, and a little cross-examination of witnesses — the whole indignation of the now re-united families — was turned upon the intrusive tale-bearers, who with one voice, were declared unworthy of the sitting, and departed by an unanimous decree. The last departing gossip, whose Paduasoyy or Gros de Naples^ had rustled from one side to the other, as expressive of the dignity of the offended wearer (being no other than the lawyer's lady), had nearly vanished, when turning exultingly round — scarcely articulate with rage — she prophetically screamed, "Ye havn't produced Miss Craig yet — good Mistress —Ma— pie— toft." She was scarcely attended to, in the profusion of regrets expressed for hasty expressions — of kind hugs — renewed oaths of fidelity — and that vast tide of affectionate feelings, which in its reflux overbears those who — from whatever cause — have been hurried into action, against old prejudices — or taken occasion, to quarrel with old friends. 326 PEN OWEN. Then — as there is an analogy in all the works of nature — comes a calm, almost a stag- nation — the due equilibrium being restored ; in society, it is the duty — as it is the impulse of every good-natured being, to make a little stir, in order to get matters to flow again. — So thought that very good-natured being, Mrs. Mapletoft — who, after animadverting upon the ridiculous manner, in which the banished gos- sips had fabricated a story, out of such flimsy materials (for the young men had explained the transaction of the morning in their own way), just recollected the strange speech of Mrs. Qui- tarn on leaving the room. " Foolish woman," said she, taking up her candle and proceeding to satisfy herself however, that EUice was in her own chamber, towards which she directed her steps faster, than she had at first intended. Whether this arose from reflecting upon the singular circumstance of her protracted absence, or whether there really be such a quality in the mind, as presentiment, I cannot tell; but when she entered the room-^ no Ellice was to be found ! She was disposed to scream, but thought better of it, as Ellice Craig might exist in other *1 PKN OWEN. 52/ places — besides her cliamber ; yet with rather more speed than she ascended, she raivdown stairs — and with rather less composure than she had left the room— she returned to it. Smiling through her fears, which she would not ac- knowledge to herself, she merely said, " EUice is not up stairs/* — and requested the young men— just to look for her in the garden — and bring her iw. Pen and Wettenhall jostled each other out of the room — for they were equally quick al reading countenances ; and poor Mrs. Maple- toft had squatted on the carpet — not exactly perceiving, that there was some imperfection in her eye-sight at the moment — which had induced her to believe, she had a chair under her. The alarm was communicated to the more quick-sighted — that is, her husband and the baronet, who hurried her to the sofa, and immediately left the room. " Stop, stop, my good friends,'* said Caleb, " here's a remedy" — applying a bottle of salts he had taken from the table, to the nostrils of the almost fainting lady. Her sufferings he attributed solely to the accident. This good man was always 328 PEN OWEN. active, when his benevolence was excited. — He was on his knees before her, holding her wrist in his hand, because he had associated the idea of remedy — with this incipient pro- ceeding of a medical man. Perceiving that she had not fainted, he with the most benevolent look and in the mildest tone, asked — " Was it directly on the bone !" — adding, " It's an ugly accident, sometimes." Poor Mrs. Mapletoft, who was thinking of more serious evils, heard not his question, but sighed out, *' Gone I" *' That can't be, surely madam," cried Caleb — getting upon his legs. ^' Lost ! — torn from me !" exclaimed the now weeping lady. " The thing's impossible," said Caleb, looking upon the carpet however — as if not quite sure of his assertion. At this moment the reconnoitring party returned, and with dismay in their looks declared, that Ellice Craig, was no where to be found. Mrs. Mapletoft was carried in a state of insen- sibility to her bed-room, by her scarcely less suf- VKN OWEN. 329 fcring husband. Caleb perfectly comprehended what had happened, when put into the form of words, and followed his nephew«-raving against he knew not whom. The servants of all the three establishments were sent forward in every direction, to discover, if possible, the lost sheep. In vain— not a trace could be found, not a clue discovered; and at four o'clock in the morning, the scouring parties were all re- assembled at the vicarage, with faces of horror and disappointment. Young Wettenhall declared his determina- tion, to explore every inch of the road to Gloster ; and Pen— in a fever of agony— broke from his weeping uncle, and mounting his horse, took the opposite direction towards Bristol. The baronet was unable to adopt active measures in person, but Caleb vowed to make the home circuit with Mapletoft, and by day- break they were pursuing their active researches into every by-place and corner of the parish. Even the forbidden ground of Major Irwin, was unceremoniously invaded ; but when that gentle- man was informed of the cause— he received Mr. Maplctoft with every mark of sympathy, and es- YOL, I. Z 330 I'EN OWEN. teem — repeated the scene which had occurred the preceding day, and if there was any thing to condemn in the manner of his communication, it certainly was an evident disposition — to throw suspicion upon young Wettenhall." This, however, was lost upon the ingenuous Mapletoft, who, as he swept it away from his mind, as the error of a misanthropic disposition, proceeded from cottage to cottage, and hunted the very bushes — calling, ever and anon, upon his beloved child Ellice ! Hours flew — days multiplied, and even a week passed — without tidings of any of the absentees. The young men returned not — wrote not; one only report reached them at the end of that period, attested by a gentleman of the neighbourhood — who returning from Marlborough to Bath, three days after that, on which Ellice Craig was missing — insisted upon it, *' if ever he had seen Mr. Pen Owen in his life, he had passed him in a carriage with a lady — hurrying on, as fast as four horses could carry them — towards London." —This appeared to be highly improbable, and might be altogether a mistake ; but we cannot PKN OWEN. 331 take upon us to say any thing, upon so delicate a question, which goes to the full extent of involvino' the character of one — in whom we are necessarily, most deeply interested. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. ^ LoKDox : Printed by A.& R. Spottiswoodc, New- Street- Square. h -^ /