"What, am I poor of late? 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Must fall out with men too. What the declined is, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; And not a man, for being simply man, Hath any honour; but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, favour, Prizes of accident as oft as merit." Shakspeare. Late in September, some thirty years ago, Henry Trevethlan lay dying in the state-bedchamber of Trevethlan Castle; in Cornwall. It was a large and lofty apartment, indifferently lighted by Gothic casements As soon as he found himself seriously ill, Mr. Trevethlan had solemnly charged his medical attendant to warn him of the first approach of danger; and immediately that the announcement was made, he caused himself to be removed from the smaller but more commodious apartment which he usually occupied, to the dreary greatness of the state-chamber, taking no heed of the remonstrance that the change would probably hasten his dissolution. "Pshaw!" said he. "What matter a few days? The Trevethlans always die in the state-rooms." Accordingly their present representative was duly observing the custom. Four days had elapsed since his removal, and he had sunk so rapidly, that it was now doubtful whether as many more hours remained to him; but his mental faculties were still clear and unclouded. His son and daughter watched mournfully by his bedside. "Helen," he said, "Helen Trevethlan, I wish to speak with your brother. Leave us for a while." The girl rose silently, and glided out of the room. As soon as she had closed the door, the dying man turned feebly upon his pillows, fixed his still bright eyes upon his son, and spoke in low but distinct accents: "Randolph, I leave you a beggar and a Trevethlan! May my curse cling to you, if ever you suffer poverty to tamper with pride. Employment "Oh, my father," said the young man, in deep and earnest tones, "never shall our name be degraded while it belongs to me. But may I not strive to restore it to splendour? Must Trevethlan ever be de "What would you, sir?" exclaimed the father. "Hands! would you dig? There speaks your peasant mother. Head! learning! profession! What portrait has its face turned to the wall in yonder gallery? Mr. Justice Trevethlan, attaint of corruption. Heart! arms! Ay, but not in peace. No Trevethlan wears a sword to adorn a levee. And now, sir, the source of your commission would make it a disgrace." "My father," Randolph again said, "to no patron will I be indebted for advancement. On myself alone I rely. May I not exert the powers I derive from nature? I thought not of the army: a uniform has no temptations for me. But, gazing on the back of that picture, might I not hope to "Shall a Trevethlan descend among the paltry Chiquanous?" said the dying man, with great bitterness. "Shall that name be mingled with the low trickery of the modern forum; exposed to the risk of failure, and to the mockery of upstart talent? Shall Esther Pendarrel smile at the rude eloquence of her rejected suitor's heir, and exult over the unretrieved ruin of his house? No, sir. Think it not. Starve, sir, here in Trevethlan Castle." "But my father," the young man urged, "if means could be found whereby all such risk should be avoided; if success might restore our house, while failure could not degrade it; might I not venture on a career so guarded?" "How, sir, is such a course practicable?" "By permitting me, my father, for a time to wear a mask," answered Randolph. Mr. Trevethlan made no answer to this proposition for a considerable time; and his son might see by the varying expression of his sharpened features, the struggle which agitated his mind. At length he spoke, in tones milder and more parental than he had used previously. "Randolph, I consent. I have watched you well, and, in spite of the taunts which break from my soured heart, I believe you are worthy of your name." "Father," said the son, "my life must show my gratitude: it shall be passed, as if you still beheld it." Again there was a long silence in the gloomy chamber. Then the dying man spoke anew, in accents still tenderer than his last. "Randolph, I mentioned Esther Pendarrel. You know her not by sight. She was once, or I fancied she was, very dear to me. She coquetted with me, discarded me, and wedded my kinsman. I never forgave her; and, except on one provision, I now forbid all future intercourse with her or hers. But I have sometimes thought I was not so indifferent to her, as she, in her contempt, pretended. If it were so, she has avenged me on herself, and has my pardon. You know my dying will. As I have consented to the temporary obscuration of our race, so do you promise, with the qualification I mentioned, to have no friendly relations with the family of Philip Pendarrel." Rashly and wrongfully the son gave the pledge wrongfully and deliberately required Trevethlan Castle was an extensive pile of Tudor architecture, situate on a bold headland projecting into the sea between the Lizard and Marazion. The state apartments stretched along the cliff, and commanded a fine view of Mount's Bay and the surrounding uplands; while the other buildings of the castle, strengthened at intervals by lofty towers, enclosed an irregular court-yard. The remains of walls and ruined turrets, sweeping inland, marked the circuit of what had once been the base-court—a spacious area, where Owen Trevethlan mustered his vassals to pursue But the days of feudal violence and civil dudgeon were long gone by; and instead of the clang of arms and the tramp of soldiers, the base-court of Trevethlan Castle now echoed no sound more military than the occasional crack of a fowling-piece; and its silence was more generally broken by the mower sharpening his scythe, or the gardener trailing a roller. Sooth to say, even these peaceful noises had been very rare for a long time previous to the opening And two or three windows, looking from the first floor on this still blooming garden, presented no less striking a contrast to the rest of the castle, than the garden itself afforded to the remainder of the great court. Nor did the interior of the building belie its external aspect. The state bed-chamber was a sample of all the rest. In many of the rooms the dust had been undisturbed for nearly thirty years. But two were exceptions to the general neglect: one, the gallery to which Mr. Trevethlan referred, where hung the portraits of the family, The last Mrs. Trevethlan—a new Griselda—had been treated with civil neglect by her husband, and died under the weight of her position, after bearing him the son and daughter already introduced. She was the child of a small tenant upon the estate; and Mr. Trevethlan, having attained the only object of his marriage, checked some presumption of her family with marked disdain. The maternal care and early education of his children devolved upon Mrs. And whatever family pride might be acquired in this gallery was chastened in the other apartment exempted from the general desolation. This was the library, the especial domain of Polydore Riches, the chaplain of the castle. Riches held a fellowship at Cambridge, but had incurred, no matter how, the dislike of his superiors; being somewhat timid and retiring, he thereupon gave up residence, and accepted Mr. Trevethlan's offer of his chaplaincy and the curacy of the hamlet. And when that Polydore had now resided nearly thirty years at the castle, and was more than fifty in age. But time sat light upon him, and he looked much younger. From Mrs. Griffith he received as pupils his patron's children, and the library took the place "Lonely," he exclaimed one day, when Randolph, then sixteen, inquired if he did not feel so in the solitude of the castle, "lonely with a library like this! Lonely in the society of those around me! Of Park, first beholding the Niger! Of Columbus, seeing the light from the poop of his ship! Of Watt, contemplating one of our Cornish engines! Of Newton, ob 'to airy nothing A local habitation and a name!' Of Bacon, writing 'Thus thought Francis of Verulam!' Lonely amidst the triumphs of enterprise, art and science; of history, poetry and philosophy! Lonely, where whatever science has discovered, and art applied, and enterprise accomplished; what history has recorded, and poetry exalted, and philosophy ordered, is visibly presented! Where power, skill, and understanding, memory, fancy, and wisdom have written their greatest names, their mightiest deeds, their noblest thoughts! No, Randolph Trevethlan, there is no loneliness in such society as this." It was his own feeling, perhaps, that Randolph expressed in the inquiry which extracted this speech from the chaplain. For to the buoyancy of youth, the castle Yet the establishment had gradually declined to the lowest point. An old porter, named Jeffrey, who occupied the entrance lodge to the inner court, and cultivated a small kitchen garden, was the only male domestic: his wife, and two or three maid-servants performed all the other offices of the castle. People often wondered that Mr. Griffith did not leave such a falling house. But Mr. Griffith was not a rat. Nor let it be supposed that this devotion was entirely due to the place. Proud and reserved as had been its recent master, he was far from being wholly unamiable; even his children, to whom he behaved with uniform harshness, regarded him with as much affection as awe; and his dependents, whom he treated with almost as constant kindness, served him with real attachment. Well did Griffith recollect the day, although it was five and thirty years past, and he was scarcely twenty at the time, when Mr. Trevethlan galloped into the court-yard with his horse in a foam, on his return from Pendarrel, ordered his carriage, paced impatiently up and down the great hall while it was being prepared, and departed to London without uttering another word. Well, too, did the steward remember his father's grief, as missive after missive came |