ers; of a remarkable talent for the management of all business,
whether private or public; a perfect enthusiast for the House of Vipont,
and aided by a marchioness in all respects worthy of him,--he might be
said to be the culminating flower of the venerable stem. But the
present lord, succeeding to the title as a mere child, was a melancholy
contrast, not only to his grandsire, but to the general character of his
progenitors. Before his time, every Head of the House had done something
for it; even the most frivolous had contributed one had collected the
pictures, another the statues, a third the medals, a fourth had amassed
the famous Vipont library; while others had at least married heiresses,
or augmented, through ducal lines, the splendour of the interminable
cousinhood. The present Marquess was literally nil. The pith of the
Viponts was not in him. He looked well; he dressed well: if life were
only the dumb show of a tableau, he would have been a paragon of a
Marquess. But he was like the watches we give to little children, with
a pretty gilt dial-plate, and no works in them. He was thoroughly inert;
there was no winding him up: he could not manage his property; he could
not answer his letters,--very few of them could he even read through.
Politics did not interest him, nor literature, nor field-sports. He
shot, it is true, but mechanically; wondering, perhaps, why he did
shoot. He attended races, because the House of Vipont kept a racing
stud. He bet on his own horses, but if they lost showed no vexation.
Admirers (no Marquess of Montfort could be wholly without them)
said, "What fine temper! what good breeding!" it was nothing but
constitutional apathy. No one could call him a bad man: he was not a
profligate, an oppressor, a miser, a spendthrift; he would not have
taken the trouble to be a bad man on any account. Those who beheld his
character at a distance would have called him an exemplary man. The
more conspicuous duties of his station--subscriptions, charities, the
maintenance of grand establishments, the encouragement of the fine
arts--were virtues admirably performed for him by others. But the phlegm
or nullity of his being was not, after all, so complete as I have made
it, perhaps, appear. He had one susceptibility which is more common with
women than with men,--the susceptibility to pique. His _amour propre_
was unforgiving: pique that, and he could do a rash thing, a foolish
thing, a spiteful thing; pique