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    RANK AND TALENT;

    A NOVEL.

    BY THE

    AUTHOR OF "TRUCKLEBOROUGH-HALL."


    When once he's made a Lord,
    Who'll be so saucy as to think he can
    Be impotent in wisdom?

    COOK.

    Why, Sir, 'tis neither satire nor moral, but the mere passage
    of an history; yet there are a sort of discontented creatures,
    that bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest
    the doings of any man to their base malicious appliment.

    MARSTON.


    IN THREE VOLUMES.
    VOL. II.


    LONDON:
    HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
    1829.




RANK AND TALENT.




CHAPTER I.

  "Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this!"

  SHAKSPEARE.


The season commenced in London much as usual. New faces were prepared,
and old ones repaired, for exhibition. All the world was weary of
the country; the ocean was monotonous; and the game all killed.
Equipages came in one after another. Saloons were lighted up; and every
successive night the noise of wheels and brilliancy of town-mansions
increased. Cards were handed about; and in the distribution our
queer friend, old John Martindale, was not forgotten. Many a saucy,
lace-bedizened lacquey sneered at the humble-looking residence of a
man whom nobility of the first rank condescended to notice. The report
was quickly spread abroad, that old Mr. Martindale had discovered a
daughter of the days of his imprudence. Many romantic tales were told
of the discovery; and many a wonder-exciting paragraph was inserted in
the newspapers, but nobody knew their authors. Brigland may be a famous
place for gossip, but London is infamous. Country-made lies and wonders
are nothing to be compared with those manufactured, swallowed, printed,
and circulated in London.

Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers
who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not
read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the
world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and
of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that
Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon
Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history
of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together
a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects
to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of
simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale
and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of
one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate
any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved,
however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what
might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With
this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select
one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have
been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on
their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He
took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a
cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than
to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:

"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her
rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of
C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same
question ten times. Lady D.--I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent
woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor
little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson!
Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives
a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that
was his wife's doing."

This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater
length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length
terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of
higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of
Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale
was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his
inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher
rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to
use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims
on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In
good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by
some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the
liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old
gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring
gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough
in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to
be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a
state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He
knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland
Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal
studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest
and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta,
the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily
accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of
the Abbey in the first instance, and the habits which it had created
destroyed all means and power of independence on the part of Philip,
and he was thus left at the mercy of his feeders for the time being. He
was, therefore, under an unavoidable necessity of complying with the
invitation.

A great, large, noisy, tumultuous, promiscuous, crowding, crushing,
perfumed, feathered, flowered, painted, gabbling, sneering,
idle, gossiping, rest-breaking, horse-killing, pannel-breaking,
supper-scrambling evening-party is much better imagined than described,
for the description is not worth the time of writing or reading it. It
was very presumptuous of Sir Gilbert Sampson thus to ape his betters.
Pity it is that no sumptuary laws are passed in this legislating age
to prevent all persons of inferior rank from imitating so closely the
manners of the higher orders. It should be ordained that all those who
can remember by what means and at what time their wealth was acquired
should be considered as people of yesterday, and be prohibited from
having any party beyond a certain number. We do not, however, assert
that the soap-boiler's evening-party was extraordinarily large, or
at all equalling some parties which are collected at the mansions of
higher people; but it was as large as it possibly could be, and Miss
Sampson had contrived to send out the invitations, so that the number
of carriages was great in proportion to the party.

Miss Sampsom among the splendid was the most splendid; and had there
been no looking-glasses in the rooms for the good people to enjoy the
sight of their own dear selves, her splendor would have fixed the gaze
of every eye in the apartments. Miss Sampson addressed Colonel Rivolta
in Italian; but the Colonel, either from politeness or because he
could not understand her, requested permission to use the language of
the country in which he was residing; for it was his opinion that it
was most suitable that the Italians should speak English in England,
and that the English should speak Italian in Italy. Miss Sampson was
going to say that the Italian language was as familiar to her as the
English, but she thought that was going too far. Signora Rivolta was
much astonished at the magnificence of the house, and at the number and
decorations of the guests. Fancying that she must be in an assemblage
of English nobility of the highest rank, and wishing to be familiar
with their names, she interrogated Miss Sampson, who was disposed to
be very communicative, as to the names, rank, title and honors of
several individuals to whom she directed Miss Sampson's attention.
Some of these Miss Sampson did not know, and therefore could not tell
their names; and unfortunately some of them she did know, and therefore
would not tell their names; lest being urged to be more descriptive and
particular, she should betray to the Signora that her visitors were not
all of them persons of rank. It is very true, and we are ashamed almost
to acknowledge the truth, that there are to be found most serious
manifestations and displays of the pride of rank even among those who
have no rank to be proud of. And Miss Sampson was more pleased with
her _papa's_ knighthood, the only thing that made him ridiculous, than
with his commercial success and his own natural good sense and good
understanding. But still Miss Sampson was a good-humored, kind-hearted
creature: