regard this marriage as unfortunate. It not only lasted long
enough to justify itself in a beautiful and touching epilogue, but
it gave to the world the scientific work and what (while time was)
were of far greater value, the delightful qualities of Fleeming
Jenkin. The Kentish-Welsh family, facile, extravagant, generous to
a fault and far from brilliant, had given the father, an extreme
example of its humble virtues. On the other side, the wild, cruel,
proud, and somewhat blackguard stock of the Scotch Campbell-
Jacksons, had put forth, in the person of the mother all its force
and courage.

The marriage fell in evil days. In 1823, the bubble of the Golden
Aunt's inheritance had burst. She died holding the hand of the
nephew she had so wantonly deceived; at the last she drew him down
and seemed to bless him, surely with some remorseful feeling; for
when the will was opened, there was not found so much as the
mention of his name. He was deeply in debt; in debt even to the
estate of his deceiver, so that he had to sell a piece of land to
clear himself. 'My dear boy,' he said to Charles, 'there will be
nothing left for you. I am a ruined man.' And here follows for me
the strangest part of this story. From the death of the
treacherous aunt, Charles Jenkin, senior, had still some nine years
to live; it was perhaps too late for him to turn to saving, and
perhaps his affairs were past restoration. But his family at least
had all this while to prepare; they were still young men, and knew
what they had to look for at their father's death; and yet when
that happened in September, 1831, the heir was still apathetically
waiting. Poor John, the days of his whips and spurs, and Yeomanry
dinners, were quite over; and with that incredible softness of the
Jenkin nature, he settled down for the rest of a long life, into