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TREMAINE

OR

THE MAN OF REFINEMENT.

CHAP. I.

AN ARRIVAL IN SOLitude.

"Oh! Jupiter! how weary are my spirits!"

SHAKSPEARE.

It was the middle of August; the great gates of Belmont were thrown open by the obsequious porter at the lodge; a barouche and four, well appointed, drove in at a gallop, and rapidly neared the hall, the steps of which were lined with servants; and every thing denoted the arrival of a man of consequence, at his seat in the country.

It was TREMAINE; a name known in the political world for talents and integrity; in the fashion

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able, as an ornament of the higher circles; and in the female, as belonging to a man whom all prudent mothers wished to obtain for their daughters, and many a daughter for herself. He was in truth a person of great polish, refined taste, and high reputation.

He was alone, and alighted from his carriage with a jaded look, and the air of a person little pleased with himself; yet he had come the whole way from London without stop or accident, through a fine country, and in delightful weather.

To the salutations of his servants of the upper class, he replied as if he received their attentions kindly, but was too much self-absorbed to think about them. At the same time he complained of fatigue, said the roads were execrable, and the weather hot.

Now the roads had been very good, and the weather temperate. His housekeeper, a respectable woman who had lived with his mother, and with whom he usually interchanged a few words of kindness on his arrival at home, lingered behind the rest. "I have no orders for you, Watson," he said, "but that dinner should be served at eight." The housekeeper slowly moved off, wondering, if not hurt, at the reserve of a master, whose affability had always been uniform to his servants, and flattering to herself.

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"And how to pass the time till then?" continued he to himself; "how to find here what London cannot afford?" (and he paced the room in serious musing); "these are questions after all: yes! after all" (and he laid stress upon the words, "not easily settled. Yet serenity" (throwing up the sash, which opened upon a diversified country) "seems to live in these woods; and equally" (turning to the interior of the apartment) "in these rooms."

The pictures of his grand and great grandfathers, their wives, and a train of uncles and aunts, some in hunting coats, with dogs and fowling-pieces, some in full suits of velvet, some with distaffs, and some with crooks, caught his eye as he said this. They seemed all to partake of the general quiet. All the little cares and vexations of life were over with them; if indeed they had ever had any; so composed was their air, and so placidly did they appear to look upon their descendant.

"After life's fitful fever, they sleep well," said Tremaine, as he moved slowly along, and contemplated them one after the other. "Without dying, I will endeavour to do so too; and here will be the best chance for it. And yet," continued he, after a pause, and returning to the prospect, "there are not wanting persons who think woods and fields dulness, and a palace in the country a prison."

He paused again, but added, "thank God! I am

Once more, and I have done. With the spread of luxury, there is a spread of infidelity; I say luxury, because God forbid it should arise from instruction. The efforts indeed of infidelity have been well met by the exertions of our best and highest rank of instructors; by a Watson, a Paley, a Tomline, and a Porteus; and, last in order, not least in merit, by a Rennel. Yet scepticism has again laid hold of us; and if there are more saints among us than formerly, there are also more infidels; most of all, perhaps, persons who never inquire. How should it be otherwise, when all-absorbing ambition or all-absorbing pleasure, attended by a dissipation which is nothing less than frantic, consume our youth, and harden their hearts!

With all these convictions, perhaps no apology is necessary for relating a story which, though it is simple and domestic even (I fear) to tameness, displays, in practical colouring, the evils I have imagined; while, at the same time, it endeavours to supply an antidote to them. To be sure, this antidote is offered under a dress which may appear extraordinary, and little suited to the gravity of many of the subjects discussed. I can only say, it was the dress in which the subjects were presented to me; and I was not willing to separate them from the narrative from a feeling that the lighter and more tender parts might enliven or interest the

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

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mind, while they would not derogate from the deeper points brought forward for investigation.-How I came by the story itself, is of no consequence.

It remains to explain why I have been ambitious to address this work to you, Sir. Simply because I believe you agree with me on almost every one of the subjects discussed: for it is my pride as well as pleasure to think I may apply to you a sentiment uttered, on a very different occasion, to very different persons," tibi eadem quæ mihi, bona malaque esse intellexî." In a word, without glancing at your high public character, which might well deem itself above the patronage of a mere private story, no name I might have fixed upon could be more appropriate to a work, the object of which is to recommend good sense, proper moderation, and sound Theology, in opposition to all extremes, whether of ambition, refinement, or dangerous scepticism.

To return to the work itself,—if it detach but one man, or one woman, from the headlong career which most are pursuing, and induce them to look for a while into themselves, as God and nature intended them to do, its end will be answered.

I am, Sir,

With unfeigned esteem,

Your very

faithful servant,

THE AUTHOR.

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