When the interview recorded in the last chapter had concluded, both parties were pleased; but the pleasure of the one was far more durable than that of the other. Nick Muggins enjoyed but a negative delight in having escaped an imminent and threatening peril. But afterwards he began to reflect; for he could think, seeing that he had nothing else to do.

It is worth notice, that many apparently stupid, ignorant and obtuse cubs, whose employment is monotonous and mechanical, possess a certain degree of shrewdness, and exhibit occasionally symptoms of reflection and observation to which more cultivated and educated minds are strangers. Curious it is also to see the gaping wonderment with which those, whose wisdom is from books, regard those who happen to have any power or capacity of thought without the assistance of books. Gentle reader, when you are next requested to write some wise sentence in a lady’s album, write the following: “books are more indebted to wisdom, than wisdom is to books.”

Nick, we have said, began to think; and the farther he was removed from Robert Darnley’s cane with the less delight did he contemplate his escape. It came also into his mind that, although this young gentleman had withheld the threatened infliction, yet there were other troubles awaiting him, and other dangers threatening him. Drowning mariners, it has been said, seldom calculate upon the consequence of their vows. Nor did Muggins calculate upon the probable consequences of the confession which he had made to escape an impending castigation.

He had escaped the cane of Robert Darnley, but he had thereby exposed himself to the danger of a similar visitation from the hand of Lord Spoonbill. There was also some probability, and no slight one, that he might in addition to other calamities suffer the loss of his place. People in office do not like to lose their places, for it makes them very ill-humoured and provokes them to all manner of absurdities. Nick also thought that if his place should be taken from him in consequence of this his unfaithfulness, Lord Spoonbill would be also exposed, and Lord Spoonbill being exposed would be mightily angry with Nick, and, being angry with him, would not make him any remuneration for his loss. Moreover Nick thought that Lord Spoonbill would call him a fool for having divulged the secret, and Nick did not like to be called a fool. Who does? So, in order to avoid being called a fool, Nick meditated playing the rogue.

We by no means approve of this conduct, and we record it not as an example, but as a caution; and we would seriously recommend all persons in public offices to be as honest as they possibly can; or if this political morality appears too rigid and savours of puritanical strictness, we would advise them to be as honest as they conveniently can.

The scheme of roguery which the letter-carrier devised, was destined to be effected by means of epistolary correspondence with the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill; but fortunately for the rogue, as even rogues are sometimes fortunate, the trouble of writing was saved him by the personal appearance of Lord Spoonbill himself at the town of M——, where Nick Muggins dwelt, and from which he carried the letters to Smatterton and Neverden. It was a great pleasure to Muggins to be saved the trouble of writing, for that operation was attended with much labour and difficulty to him, seeing that he had many doubts as to the shapes of letters and the meaning of words.

Muggins had not been at home many minutes before Lord Spoonbill presented himself to the astonished eyes of the unfaithful letter-carrier. His lordship was wonderfully condescending to honor so humble a roof by his presence; but it was not the first time that he had paid a visit to Mr Muggins in his own house. The object, or more properly speaking the nature of the object, of his visit was guessed at, and the spirit of Nick’s knavery was kindled within him, and he was prepared to say or do aught that his lordship might dictate or propose, for the purpose of furthering the hereditary legislator’s right honorable pursuit.

Nick’s residence is not indeed a matter of much importance to the world, nor does its locality or aspect bear powerfully on the development of our catastrophe, or greatly assist the progress of our narrative. But we describe it, because we may thereby give our readers a more complete and impressive idea of the great condescension of Lord Spoonbill in visiting so obscure an abode.

The town of M—— was situated on the banks of a river. The streets were long and narrow, and the houses high and dingy. The ground on which the town was built was uneven, and the materials with which it was paved were execrable. This is spoken of the best parts of the town, of those streets which stood on the higher ground. The inferior part was not paved at all, and was approachable only by an almost abrupt descent through a lane or narrow street, in which the houses nearly met at the top. The ground on which a passenger must walk was of a nature so miscellaneous as almost to defy description, and quite to puzzle analysis. Black mud, as everlasting as the perennial snows which rest on the summits of inaccessible mountains, decayed vegetables of every season of the year, refuse fish, unpicked bones of every conceivable variety of animals, deceased cats and dogs and rats in every possible degree of decomposition, broken bricks and tiles, and shreds of earthen vessels of all variety of domestic application, sticks, stones, old shoes, tin kettles and superannuated old saucepans, formed the dead stock of the street. And the live stock was by no means calculated to give to the spectator a high idea of the dignity of human nature. The fair sex in these regions appeared by no means to any great advantage; nature had done little for them and art less. In their voices there was less melody than loudness, and in their language more energy than elegance. They expressed their feelings without circumlocution, and resented indignities with hand as well as tongue. In the air which they breathed there might be enough to discompose and irritate, for the decomposition of sprats is by no means fragrant; and when an atmosphere is constantly burdened with the effluvia of soap, tallow, and train oil, it is not calculated to soothe the irritated nerves.

To pass through such a region as this could not have been mightily agreeable to the refined senses of Lord Spoonbill. But not only did he pass through it, but he sought out in one of its meanest habitations the carrier of the Smatterton and Neverden letter-bags. All this however he did patiently undergo for love of Penelope Primrose.

“Muggins,” said his lordship, “have you left a letter at Neverden within this day or two for Mr Darnley?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the carrier.

“And did you see Mr Darnley when you delivered the letter?”

“Oh, yes, my lord, I see Mr Robert himself. And please, my lord, I am almost afraid that you and I will be found out.”

“Found out, you rascal! what do you mean?”

“Why, I means, my lord, please your lordship, that one of them letters as I give your lordship is been picked up, and Mr Robert Darnley showed it to me and axed whether I knowed nothing about it. And he said he’d kill me if I did not tell him, and so I told him that I didn’t know nothing where it come from. And so, my lord, I’m quite afeard to go again to Neverden, only I don’t know what to do just to get a bit of bread.”

At this information the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill was perplexed.

“Why, Muggins, if that is the case,” said his lordship, “you had better get away.”

“Yes, my lord, but what will become of me if I give up my place?”

“Oh, leave that to me!” said his lordship, “and I will take care you shall be no loser.”

This was the point to which the crafty one wished to bring his right honorable friend. Suffice it then to say that Lord Spoonbill, fancying that he should place discovery out of the reach of probability, made the rogue a very handsome present, and gave him letters whereby he might find employment in London, which would more than compensate for the loss of his place in the country.

Then did Lord Spoonbill under cover of night’s darkness find his way to Smatterton castle, pleasing himself with the thought that his well-formed scheme was now likely to take effect, and that Mr Robert Darnley, after the warning of the anonymous letter, would not be very hasty to renew his acquaintance with Miss Primrose. It was of course supposed by our readers, and intended to be so supposed, that the anonymous letter above alluded to was sent, if not by Lord Spoonbill himself, at least by his instigation, and for the purpose of forwarding his designs. And, that the merit of the communication may not be ascribed to a wrong personage, it is right to inform the world that the writer of the same letter was Colonel Crop. By this gallant officer Lord Spoonbill was now accompanied to Smatterton castle.

Colonel Crop was an excellent travelling companion, for he never disturbed the train of his fellow-traveller’s thoughts by any impertinent prating. The dexterous economy which the colonel exercised over his words and actions was quite surprising. He could make a little go a great way. If for instance any friend, and many such there were, invited the gallant colonel to dinner, it would seem that thereby an occupation were afforded him for an hour or two previously for the purpose of dressing. But the ingenious time-consumer managed to make a whole morning’s work of it. Equally economical was he of words. For if his Right Honorable friend Lord Spoonbill should talk to him for a whole hour together, the colonel would think it quite sufficient to reply to the long harangue by simply saying: “’Pon honor! you don’t say so.”

With this lively companion did Lord Spoonbill journey towards Smatterton; and as his lordship wished to be left to his own thoughts, his friend was not unwilling to indulge him; and thus did the hereditary legislator enjoy the pleasure of silently congratulating himself on the dexterity with which he had managed this affair; and more especially was he delighted at the fortunate circumstance of having removed Nick Muggins far away from the danger of being tempted or terrified into confession of his unfaithfulness.

It did not enter, nor was it likely to enter into the mind of Lord Spoonbill, that Nick Muggins had already impeached, and that Robert Darnley was in possession of all the facts of the case. There was something else also in the transactions of that day unknown to and unsuspected by his lordship. That other matter to which we here allude, was the visit which Robert Darnley had paid to Mr and Miss Primrose.

At the close of the preceding chapter we related that Mr Darnley and the letter-carrier parted after their interview, and we have accompanied Nick back to his home, and have narrated what took place there. We may now therefore return to Robert Darnley, and accompany him also in his visit to Smatterton.

After he had ascertained from Muggins the truth of the matter concerning the suppressed letter, he no longer heeded the anonymous communication which he had received; and instead of passing through the park as he had designed, he proceeded immediately to the rectory.

He was most happy in the thought that now all doubts and perplexities were removed from his mind, and he was much better able and far more willing to believe that Penelope still remained pure, honorable, and affectionate, than to give credence to the foul calumnies which had been circulated concerning her. There are individuals in the world of whom it is, ordinarily speaking, almost impossible to think ill. Such was the character of Penelope Primrose to those well acquainted with her. But the elder Mr Darnley being a mightily pompous and grand sort of man, looked at almost every one from an awful distance. Discrimination of character was by no means his forte. He thought that the whole mass of mankind was divisible into two classes, the good and the bad. He considered that the good must do as he did, and think as he thought; and that the bad were those that opposed him. It was his notion that it required only a simple volition for the good to become bad and for the bad to become good. And when he heard that Miss Primrose had transgressed, he forthwith believed the tale and renounced her.

But to say nothing of the affection which the younger Darnley entertained for the lady, and the pleasing hopes with which for so long a period he had been accustomed to think of her, he could not think it possible for a mind like hers ever to descend to the meanness with which she had been charged. He did think it possible that, in consequence of a supposed neglect on his part, and by means of ingenious assiduities on the part of another, that her regards might be transferred from him; but even that he would not believe without positive evidence. Many a faithful heart had been broken, and many an honest man has been hanged, by circumstantial evidence.

The meeting of the lovers was silent. They might have been previously studying speeches; but these were forgotten on both sides. And in their silence their looks explained to each other how much they had respectively suffered from the villany of him who had interrupted their correspondence. After a long and silent embrace, and gazing again and again at those features which he had so loved to think of at a mighty distance, Darnley at length was able to speak, and he said: “And you have not forgotten me!” How cold these words do look on paper. But from the living lips which spoke them, and from the energetic tenderness with which they were uttered, and from the thought of that mental suffering and that withering of heart which had been occasioned by the fear of forgetfulness, and above all from the circumstance that these were the first words which Penelope had heard from those lips for so long, so very long a period, they came to her ear and heart with a thrilling power, and awakened her from her silent trance to the expression of that feeling which had almost subdued her.

“Forget!” she was attempting to echo her lover’s words, but emotion was too strong for the utterance of words, and she finished her answer by falling on his neck and weeping audibly.

Might it not have done Lord Spoonbill good to have witnessed this scene? Surely it might have taught him how little prospect there was of the success of his designs; and he might, had he possessed the ordinary feelings of humanity, have thought that the coronet must be brilliant indeed which could tempt Penelope to renounce her lover.

But Lord Spoonbill saw it not, and suspected it not; if he had, it certainly would have saved him a great deal of trouble.

The lovers, when they did recover themselves sufficiently to speak composedly and collectedly, had volumes of talk for each other, and Darnley was interested and moved by the narrative of Penelope’s excursion to London, and the narrow escape which she had from a profession so ill adapted to the character and complexion of her mind. But in all the conversation Darnley did not mention to Penelope the anonymous letter which he had that morning received, nor did he say a word concerning the confession of the letter-carrier. As to the anonymous letter, he would not insult her even by alluding to the existence of evil reports; and as to the suppressed letters, he feared lest the impetuosity of the young lady’s father might be productive of mischief. He thought it at all events most desirable, at least so long as they might remain in the neighbourhood of Smatterton castle, to let Penelope suppose that the loss of the letters was accidental.

There may be some persons who think that under present circumstances it was the duty of Robert Darnley to send Lord Spoonbill a challenge, or to bestow upon his lordship that chastisement with which Nick Muggins had been threatened. That Lord Spoonbill deserved a bodily castigation, we will readily concede; but as to duelling, we conceive it to be a very silly and useless practice, and we are not sorry that we are not compelled to relate of the younger Darnley that his inclination prompted him to adopt that very equivocal mode of demonstrating himself to be a gentleman, or man of courage.

Very pleasantly passed the two or three hours which Robert Darnley allowed himself to spend at Smatterton parsonage; very awkwardly passed the dinner hour on his return to Neverden parsonage; for the Rev. Mr Darnley would not speak to his son, and poor Mrs Darnley and the young ladies were afraid to speak when the rector was silent.