Pelham — Volume 03Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
History
Pelham — Volume 03
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Adventure stories; English fiction -- 19th century; Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
I think I may, without much loss to the reader, pass in silence over my
voyage, the next day, to Dover. (Horrible reminiscence!) I may also spare
him an exact detail of all the inns and impositions between that sea-port
and London; nor will it be absolutely necessary to the plot of this
history, to linger over every mile-stone between the metropolis and
Glenmorris Castle, where my uncle and my mother were impatiently awaiting
the arrival of the candidate to be.
It was a fine bright evening when my carriage entered the park. I had not
seen the place for years; and I felt my heart swell with something like
family pride, as I gazed on the magnificent extent of hill and plain that
opened upon me, as I passed the ancient and ivy-covered lodge. Large
groups of trees, scattered on either side, seemed, in their own
antiquity, the witness of that of the family which had given them
existence. The sun set on the waters which lay gathered in a lake at the
foot of the hill, breaking the waves into unnumbered sapphires, and
tinging the dark firs that overspread the margin, with a rich and golden
light, that put me excessively in mind of the Duke of--'s livery.
When I descended at the gate, the servants, who stood arranged in an
order so long that it almost startled me, received me with a visible
gladness and animation, which shewed me, at one glance, the old fashioned
tastes of their master. Who, in these days, ever inspires his servants
with a single sentiment of regard or interest for himself or his whole
race? That tribe one never, indeed, considers as possessing a life
separate from their services to us: beyond that purpose of existence, we
know not even if they exist. As Providence made the stars for the benefit
of earth, so it made servants for the use of gentlemen; and, as neither
stars nor servants appear except when we want them, so I suppose they are
in a sort of suspense from being, except at those important and happy
moments.
To return--for if I have any fault, it is too great a love for abstruse
speculation and reflection--I was formally ushered through a great hall,
hung round with huge antlers and rusty armour, through a lesser one,
supported by large stone columns, and without any other adornment than
the arms of the family; then through an anti-room, covered with tapestry,
representing the gallantries of King Solomon to the Queen of Sheba; and
lastly, into the apartment honoured by the august presence of Lord
Glenmorris. That personage was dividing the sofa with three spaniels and
a setter; he rose hastily when I was announced, and then checking the
first impulse which hurried him, perhaps, into an unseemly warmth of
salutation, held out his hand with a pompous air of kindly protection,
and while he pressed mine, surveyed me from head to foot to see how far
my appearance justified his condescension.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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