This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens
and David Widger
"I don't know that," said my father.
What is it my father does not know? My father does not know that"happiness is our being's end and aim."
And pertinent to what does my father reply, by words so sceptical,to an assertion so seldom disputed?
Reader, Mr. Trevanion has been half an hour seated in our littledrawing-room. He has received two cups of tea from my mother's fairhand; he has made himself at home. With Mr. Trevanion has come anotherfriend of my father's, whom he has not seen since he left college,—SirSedley Beaudesert.
Now, you must understand that it is a warm night, a little after nineo'clock,—a night between departing summer and approaching autumn. Thewindows are open; we have a balcony, which my mother has taken care tofill with flowers; the air, though we are in London, is sweet and fresh;the street quiet, except that an occasional carriage or hackneycabriolet rolls rapidly by; a few stealthy passengers pass to and fronoiselessly on their way homeward. We are on classic ground,—near thatold and venerable Museum, the dark monastic pile which the taste of theage had spared then,—and the quiet of the temple seems to hallow theprecincts. Captain Roland is seated by the fire-place, and though thereis no fire, he is shading his face with a hand-screen; my father and Mr.Trevanion have drawn their chairs close to each other in the middle ofthe room; Sir Sedley Beaudesert leans against the wall near the window,and behind my mother, who looks prettier and more pleased than usualsince her Austin has his old friends about him; and I, leaning my elbowon the table and my chin upon my hand, am gazing with great admirationon Sir Sedley Beaudesert.
Oh, rare specimen of a race fast decaying,—specimen of the true finegentleman, ere the word "dandy" was known, and before "exquisite" becamea noun substantive,—let me here pause to describe thee! Sir SedleyBeaudesert was the contemporary of Trevanion and my father; but withoutaffecting to be young, he still seemed so. Dress, tone, look, manner,—all were young; yet all had a certain dignity which does not belong toyouth. At the age of five and twenty he had won what would have beenfame to a French marquis of the old regime; namely, the reputation ofbeing "the most charming man of his day,"—the most popular of our sex,the most favored, my dear lady-reader, by yours. It is a mistake, Ibelieve, to suppose that it does not require talent to become thefashion,—at all events, Sir Sedley was the fashion, and he had talent.
He had travelled much, he had read much,—especially in memoirs,history, and belles-lettres,—he made verses with grace anda certain originality of easy wit and courtly sentiment, he converseddelightfully, he was polished and urbane in manner, he was brave andhonorable in conduct; in words he could flatter, in deeds he wassincere.
Sir Sedley Beaudesert had never married. Whatever his years, he wasstill young enough in looks to be married for love. He was high-born,he was rich, he was, as I have said, popular; yet on his fair featuresthere was an expression of melancholy, and on that forehead—pure fromthe lines of ambition, and free from the weight of study—there was theshadow of unmistakable regret.
"I don't know that," said my father; "I have never yet found in life oneman who made happiness his end and aim. One wants to gain a fortune,another to spend it; one to get a place, another to build a name: butthey all