Ralph the Heir by Anthony Trollope

Page 1 of 325

RALPH THE HEIR

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

With Illustrations by F. A. Fraser

First published serially in _Saint Paul's Magazine_ in 1870-1 and in book form in 1871

[Illustration: He drank his sherry and soda-water, and lit his pipe, and lay there on the lawn, as though he were quite at home . . . (Chapter III.)]

CONTENTS

I. SIR THOMAS. II. POPHAM VILLA. III. WHAT HAPPENED ON THE LAWN AT POPHAM VILLA. IV. MARY BONNER. V. MR. NEEFIT AND HIS FAMILY. VI. MRS. NEEFIT'S LITTLE DINNER. VII. YOU ARE ONE OF US NOW. VIII. RALPH NEWTON'S TROUBLES. IX. ONTARIO MOGGS. X. SIR THOMAS IN HIS CHAMBERS. XI. NEWTON PRIORY. XII. MRS. BROWNLOW. XIII. MR. NEEFIT IS DISTURBED. XIV. THE REV. GREGORY NEWTON. XV. CLARISSA WAITS. XVI. THE CHESHIRE CHEESE. XVII. RALPH NEWTON'S DOUBTS. XVIII. WE WON'T SELL BROWNRIGGS. XIX. POLLY'S ANSWER. XX. THE CONSERVATIVES OF PERCYCROSS. XXI. THE LIBERALS OF PERCYCROSS. XXII. RALPH NEWTON'S DECISION. XXIII. "I'LL BE A HYPOCRITE IF YOU CHOOSE." XXIV. "I FIND I MUST." XXV. "MR. GRIFFENBOTTOM." XXVI. MOGGS, PURITY, AND THE RIGHTS OF LABOUR. XXVII. THE MOONBEAM. XXVIII. THE NEW HEIR COUNTS HIS CHICKENS. XXIX. THE ELECTION. XXX. "MISS MARY IS IN LUCK." XXXI. IT IS ALL SETTLED. XXXII. SIR THOMAS AT HOME. XXXIII. "TELL ME AND I'LL TELL YOU." XXXIV. ALONE IN THE HOUSE. XXXV. "SHE'LL ACCEPT YOU, OF COURSE." XXXVI. NEEFIT MEANS TO STICK TO IT. XXXVII. "HE MUST MARRY HER." XXXVIII. FOR TWO REASONS. XXXIX. HORSELEECHES. XL. WHAT SIR THOMAS THOUGHT ABOUT IT. XLI. A BROKEN HEART. XLII. NOT BROKEN-HEARTED. XLIII. ONCE MORE. XLIV. THE PETITION. XLV. "NEVER GIVE A THING UP." XLVI. MR. NEEFIT AGAIN. XLVII. THE WAY WHICH SHOWS THAT THEY MEAN IT. XLVIII. MR. MOGGS WALKS TOWARDS EDGEWARE. XLIX. AMONG THE PICTURES. L. ANOTHER FAILURE. LI. MUSIC HAS CHARMS. LII. GUS EARDHAM. LIII. THE END OF POLLY NEEFIT. LIV. MY MARY. LV. COOKHAM. LVI. RALPH NEWTON IS BOWLED AWAY. LVIII. CLARISSA'S FATE. LVIII. CONCLUSION.

CHAPTER I.

SIR THOMAS.

There are men who cannot communicate themselves to others, as there are also men who not only can do so, but cannot do otherwise. And it is hard to say which is the better man of the two. We do not specially respect him who wears his heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at, who carries a crystal window to his bosom so that all can see the work that is going on within it, who cannot keep any affair of his own private, who gushes out in love and friendship to every chance acquaintance; but then, again, there is but little love given to him who is always wary, always silent as to his own belongings, who buttons himself in a suit of close reserve which he never loosens. Respect such a one may gain, but hardly love. It is natural to us to like to know the affairs of our friends; and natural also, I think, to like to talk of our own to those whom we trust. Perhaps, after all that may be said of the weakness of the gushing and indiscreet babbler, it is pleasanter to live with such a one than with the self-constrained reticent man of iron, whose conversation among his most intimate friends is solely of politics, of science, of literature, or of some other subject equally outside the privacies of our inner life.

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