The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 11Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 11
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Families -- Fiction
"Well, my young Athenian," said he, after congratulating me on the result
of the negotiations, and endeavoring again in vain to bear at least some
share in my father's losses, "well, I see I cannot press this further;
but at least I can press on you any little interest I may have in
obtaining some appointment for yourself in one of the public offices.
Trevanion could of course be more useful; but I can understand that he is
not the kind of man you would like to apply to."
"Shall I own to you, my dear Sir Sedley, that I have no taste for
official employment? I am too fond of my liberty. Since I have been at
my uncle's old Tower, I account for half my character by the Borderer's
blood that is in me. I doubt if I am meant for the life of cities; and I
have odd floating notions in my head that will serve to amuse me when I
get home, and may settle into schemes. And now to change the subject:
may I ask what kind of person has succeeded me as Mr. Trevanion's
secretary?"
"Why, he has got a broad-shouldered, stooping fellow, in spectacles and
cotton stockings, who has written upon 'Rent,' I believe,--an imaginative
treatise in his case, I fear, for rent is a thing he could never have
received, and not often been trusted to pay. However, he is one of your
political economists, and wants Trevanion to sell his pictures, as
"unproductive capital.' Less mild than Pope's Narcissa, 'to make a
wash,' he would certainly 'stew a child.' Besides this official
secretary, Trevanion trusts, however, a good deal to a clever, good-
looking young gentleman who is a great favorite with him."
"What is his name?"
"His name? Oh! Gower,--a natural son, I believe, of one of the Gower
family."
Here two of Sir Sedley's fellow fine gentlemen lounged in, and my visit
ended.
CHAPTER VII.
"I Swear," cried my uncle, "that it shall be so." And with a big frown
and a truculent air he seized the fatal instrument.
"Indeed, brother, it must not," said my father, laying one pale, scholar-
like hand mildly on Captain Roland's brown, bellicose, and bony fist, and
with the other, outstretched, protecting the menaced, palpitating victim.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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