Stimulus of an agreeable diversified nature certainly prevents our taking note of time while present, and therefore it may be said to glide away rapidly; but when remembered, every circumstance which produced a change of pleasure, serves to distinguish one portion from another, and thus to afford a sense of progress, which the dullness of monotony is incapable of producing, just as a single acre of ground, animated by trees, houses, and living creatures, fills a much greater extent in imagination, when we recollect the landscape, than is occupied by a wide expanse of ocean, though the latter, when looked upon, appeared a boundless prospect; still, however, in the midst of this sunshine of the heart, I always bear in mind that its locality is the secret of its charm. You would not agree with me, but I am assured that the sort of thing that delights where one feels no responsibility, would cease to fascinate in the moment that the surrounding world came to call one to account for one's country cousins: and these dear souls, perhaps, might make one blush at the west end. I ought not to say so from any thing that I have seen here; but the whole course of our thoughts and feelings is so subject to join the tide of opinion, that I hardly dare to assert how far my present impressions, vivid as they are, would stand the test of a Bond-street jury.
As Mrs. Malaprop says, however, "let us not have any retrospections as to the future" Viva, viva. I am so much better, that I hardly remember how I came here in the high road to Charon's ferry.
I am longing to hear from you. Don't forget to let me know about Stanhope, as Mr. Otway will be anxious to learn whether you and he cement.
Adieu, dear Falkland. Am I not the very pine-apple, and quintessence of letter-writers? Huzza!
Yours, ever affectionately,
Arthur Howard.
LETTER VIII.
Miss Douglas to Miss Sandford.
My dearest Julia,
Glenalta.
Unfortunately for me, I promised to write again without entering into any covenant with you; and were I prevented from performing my vow for half a year to come, I suppose that you would be a little female Shylock and insist upon your bond, before you put pen to paper. I do not know whether I shall do more wisely in refraining from all apology for my silence, or in attempting to account for it. If you have been able to settle into a regular track of daily employment since your return to Checkley, you will be able to comprehend how the day should often find us defaulters at its close, in at least half the amount of what we had to do at its commencement; but if the whirl of travelling be still in operation, you may wonder how people, who are stationary, should not have too much time, rather than too little, on hand. I will therefore keep on the safe side, and make no excuse, lest it should not be considered a valid one, till I know how far you can understand our habits of life; but as I am very certain of your heart, I will proceed to tell you, as I promised in my last letter, of the surprise which Frederick and I have prepared lately for our dearest mother.
On Wednesday next Arthur is to take a long ride with Mr. George Bentley, and Frederick, and I mean to take advantage of our cousin's absence to introduce mamma to the retreat, for so we have named the spot which is consecrated by our rural labours to this idol of our daily worship. Surely such worship cannot be idolatry, for through the finest mortal, as the most beautiful natural, object, we may pay homage to the God that created it. But do we really offer this tribute, or does not too much love—does not too large a share of adoration rest in the channel without reaching the source, like the worship of our poor Roman Catholic, which is certainly given to the pictures and images, that adorn their altars rather than to the Divinity which they represent? This is a question which my conscience so often asks itself, that I believe the true answer would come against me; and yet with the half convicted sense of being a sinner, the sin of loving my mother beyond due bounds, borrows so much of her character from its object, that it appears like virtue, and so deludes.
Fred. and I talked the matter over yesterday evening, as we stole away to our hallowed bower.
When you were at Glenalta, I never told you of the discovery which my brother and I had made, because to have mentioned, without shewing you, a gem so worthy of your admiration, as I shall presently describe, would hardly have been kind. Your curiosity and feeling would have been awakened, and I should have feared to gratify them lest we might have disturbed the solitary genius of the place, who was at that time, a daily visitant at its rustic shrine. When first we came here, as I told you in my last letter, Nanny and Mr. Oliphant were alternately our walking companions. Mamma was weak both in body and spirits; and though she made exertion to be gay when we were with her, it is only long since that period that I have been fully sensible how much we owed her for efforts that were beyond her strength. As the mind requires to unbend after intense meditation, so her spirit asked repose after over excitement, and she used to glide along the shrubbery, meet her donkey at its wicket gate, and, following the winding pathway of our glen, ascend, as we imagined the mountain that lies beyond St. Colman's rock, to breathe the "unchartered air of heaven," in full security of not being interrupted; but, as she never went accompanied by any one, we still only conjectured whither she directed her daily ride: and her sorrow was too sensitive, even to our young eyes, to permit of our asking many questions. We had been at Glenalta for three years, before Frederick and I, who were then allowed to visit our poor people at a distance, and explore our glens alone, found ourselves one day about three miles from home, and along the course of the same rivulet which sports so gracefully near our moss-house, at the most enchanting spot that I ever beheld. It is a tiny dell, shut out, or rather shut in, from all the world besides. A Liliputian lawn of the softest green, and not more than a few yards in circumference, serves as a pedestal to one single tree, the only one of its kind in the whole scene. This tree is a beach of surpassing beauty, which casts its delicate branches in a sweeping curve round the little area which it occupies, forming an umbrella of shade, except in one part, where a natural opening invites underneath its lovely archway.
The stream, which near Glenalta is comparatively tame, though sweetly fanciful, assumes a bolder aspect at the retreat, and dashes over fragments of broken rock, which are richly clothed with fern and ivy, and start from masses of holly, and other brushwood, that grow luxuriantly down at each side, to the verge of our mountain brook, which makes a circuit round the beech, so as to render the velvet cushion on which it stands almost a little island. As the bleak heath-covered hill rises in every direction, you could fancy yourself to have reached a fertile oasis in the midst of a desert. Nothing of animated life appeared in view except two young goats that had ventured down the precipice, and the silence was only broken by the rush of waters. Frederick and I stood quite transfixed; but when our first exclamations of wonder and delight had subsided, we determined on exploring farther, and passing round the tree we scrambled to the other side, and found a rude seat of stone, over which a tuft of alders and mountain-ash had formed a roof impenetrable to the sun. A variety of the beautiful orchis, cowslip, and primrose tribes intermixed with wild violets of the most brillant purple, enameled the ground, and the softest moss lined every part of this sylvan niche with refreshing verdure. We sat down in a perfect ecstacy, then pulled bundles of flowers, drank at the stream, and were indulging in all the luxury of our good fortune, when something white struck my eye, clung into the root of an old hazle which stood a little below us. I pointed it out to Frederick, who immediately jumped down the rock, and found a bit of paper rolled round a pencil. It was torn, and had been injured by wet, having evidently lain for a long time in its concealment. The holly which grows so abundantly all over the rocks, had furnished its evergreen protection so as to save the paper from melting away, and the weight of the pencil, round which it was tightly wrapped, had contributed with the tangled roots, to prevent its being carried away by the wind. We eagerly unfolded our mysterious prize, and with some difficulty decyphered, at last completely, and in mamma's hand-writing, the following lines:
We gazed on each other, and the truth flashed upon our hearts in the same instant. Frederick and I, by a movement imparted from within, darted towards the tree together, and on examination found a part of the once varnished surface, raised into irregular carbuncles, where the bark had closed with time over some letters no longer legible. With much pains, we satisfied ourselves that the initials H. A. C. D. had been interwoven, and cut in the bark from the external face of which, these letters had been carried inward by the process of annual growth. It immediately occurred to us, that our beloved parents had made this a favourite haunt in happier days; and that the undying memory of some faithful mourner had sought again these now almost obliterated characters. Such mourner could have been no other than the dear surviving guardian of our youth; and our tears flowed without restraint, as we read again and again, the stanzas of which we had become accidentally possessed. The first movement of our minds was, as you may suppose, to restore them directly to their author; and it was not without considerable reasoning between ourselves, that either could convince the other of its being better to suppress the verses, and say nothing of the retreat. From mamma's never having communicated any hint relative to this little hermit-cell, it was obvious that she did not wish us to discover its situation; then, the pencilled lines had been lost for some time. She had made no inquiry about them; her memory was able in all probability, to supply them again; and in giving up what manifestly appeared to be mamma's own composition, such explanation might have ensued as would have opened all her wounds afresh, and destroyed ever afterwards the pleasure which she appeared to feel in visiting the sequestered spot which we had discovered. Upon mature deliberation then we agreed to hush up our little adventure, and keep the tender effusion that we had found, till some natural opportunity might occur of giving it back again to its owner.
Time has rolled on, and the gradual influence of its healing power is happily illustrated in the improved condition of our precious charge, (for I consider her as a blessing conferred upon her children, henceforward placed peculiarly in their care); and a moment having arrived in which Frederick agreed with me that we might venture to commence our little scheme, we set to work in the beginning of November, just at the time when the change of weather, and the death of faithful Dapple, that sole companion of our pilgrim's progress, conspired to prevent the discovery of our plan. Poor Tom Collins and his son, who live not far from the scene of our operations, were necessarily let into the secret, for they were manual contributors to the execution of our project; and had this not been the case, I should have still rewarded the former by a confidence, the distinguishing nature of which he knows how to appreciate, in return for a trait of feeling so unlike one's abstract notion of a peasant, and so delicate, that I must tell the anecdote of him, before I proceed with our works at the retreat. One day preparatory to our design, Frederick and I watched an opportunity when mamma was obliged to drive on business to a little town in our neighbourhood, and paid a visit to our favourite spot. We were sitting talking over past, present, and future, when a slight rustling amongst the leaves, announced the approach of some one; and presently poor Tom Collins, on tip-toe, and his finger, in sign of caution, placed upon his lip, stood before us. "Och, then," said he, "its I that am after running to stop your honours from coming down at all, at all, into my misthess's nook. I does be keeping the childer always from this place till the sun does be setting, and then I knows there 'ont be any danger in life of seeing her honour, for becaase she only comes of a morning."
"And Tom," answered I, "why are you so uneasy from the fear of seeing mamma?"
"Och, then, miss, my heart, I'll tell ye, and I never tould it afore, nor wouldn't now, only becaase I never seed any one of quality like, here, only her honour's self; and now if I don't tell, why may be she'd be fretted to think that you and Masther Fred. would find her out in her nook; and I knows very well, that she wouldn't like it, for when it plased God to take my poor boy Darby away from me, I'd covet to be all day moping if I could, down in that very bottom. Why, then, sure enough, it was there I was one Midsummer day, lying down flat on the ground beyont the big holly stump, and thinking heavy enough of Darby, becaase of all days in the year, 'twas his own birth day, when I heard a whispering like, under the baach-tree, so I gets up fair and softly, without making as much stir as a baatle among the laaves; why then mavourneen, what would I see but my misthess on her two knees, upon the could ground, looking up and praying like. Well, there I stood, and I seed her crying like droppings from the ivy beyant; and I heerd the words axing the Lord to make yees good childer, and mark yees to Glory. And then she'd ax Him to make her a good mother, and to keep and to help her all the days of her life; and sure, be the same token, God listened to her prayer, for she's the best of ladies. After that she'd get up, and talk to the tree all as one as if it was a Christian, about my maasther, for I heerd her say, Hinnery, and so I knew well enough who she'd be spaiking of, being that I'd be often that way talking myself to the air, as I may say, about Darby. Well, my heart grew so big, that I thought it would fairly jump out o'me; so with that, I slinged away; and seeing poor Dapple another day fastened behind the rock above, I says to myself, to be sure says I, she's moping there like myself, and so I never would come again till night fall; but when I have time, I does be above, not far off, only she can't see me, be raison I'd like, if any thing would be for going down the clift, to stop 'em till she'd be clear and clane out o' the place for the day. So that's all about it; and she don't be coming so often now, tho' in the main-time 'tis constant at her prayers or writing on a bit of a paper, or reading out of a little book that she does be, whenever she'll come to the lag below."
The eloquence of Demosthenes could not have worked upon our hearts like this simple story. I seized instinctively upon the rough hand of honest Tom, and Frederick did so likewise. We were too full to utter a word, but we each of us resolved that this trait should have its recording angel, and that, however tears might bedew the remembrance of it, they should never blot out the registry. Of this we said nothing, for it would have been a species of sacrilege to sully the purity of such genuine feeling, by making it an apparent cause of any temporal benefit. Oh what a withering breath is praise, and how sickly do the motives of action become, when flattery, that simoon of the heart, has passed over them! We now communicated our embryo purpose to Tom, and told him that we intended proceeding to work on the following day, as it was not likely, that during the winter season, my mother would visit her seat again. Pride and joy took possession of his countenance, as we developed our plan; and had we presented him with a purse of gold, I do not think that the expression of his face could have indicated such happiness as the feeling of being thus distinguished by our confidence, inspired.
I must now describe what we have done: Mr. Oliphant has been let into our councils, and his excellent taste has assisted us not a little; but dear Phil., Charlotte, Fanny, and Arthur are as ignorant as mamma, of our necromancy. A beautiful rustic temple has taken place of the stone seat. It is lined with reeds, interleaved in a sort of basket-matting, which fits close to the inside; and the front is supported by pillars of twisted elm, which are surmounted by capitals of remarkably fine cones from the stone-pine. These supporters are covered with clematis, honeysuckle, and roses. A circular seat, equal in softness to any Ottoman divan, is raised to a convenient height, and covered with the same reed-matting which I have mentioned. The paving is of snow-white pebbles, which Collins' little girls have collected for me on the strand, and the whole Glen has been decorated by every thing either fragrant or beautiful, which was not out of character with its wildness. I have trained a number of Alpine plants over the rocks, and taught the lovely water-lily to unfold its flowers upon a tiny basin, which Frederick has scooped out, lower down the stream. We have secured this bower from trespassers, and made a serpentine path through the tangled brush-wood, to permit the dear sovereign of these sylvan dominions to descend the hill without fatigue, and admit of her being brought by Dapple the second, up to the door of her rural palace. When this was completed, we set to work at Tom Collins' abode, which is now raised and enlarged into a thoroughly comfortable habitation. A nice cabbage-garden is inclosed at the back, and the front is thickly planted with a double hedge of quicks and privet, separating a little space from the moor, which is filled with sweet, but common flowers. The family have been set to spin, and are already clothed in their own manufacture. Frederick has given poor Tom a cow, to which I have added half a dozen sheep; and such a scene of contentment above, and of beauty below, it would be difficult to equal: at least so we think; and when we contemplate the entire as a creation of our own, Frederick and I certainly do confess to some degree of self-complacency. But as far as I have hitherto narrated, only relates to the body of our exertions. I must now describe the soul of them. In the back part of our rustic temple, is a door so completely concealed by the matting of reeds, as not to be discernible to ordinary observers. This door, upon being opened, discovers a little cell of just sufficient size to admit of one person's sitting in it without inconvenience. Its furniture consists of a small pedestal of delicate workmanship in white marble, upon which Frederick has placed the exquisite urn that you may remember, of alabaster, found at Pompeïa. It belonged to my father, and has been kept in a closet, hidden from every eye since the time of his death. Upon the front of the pedestal which supports it, we have had engraved the following lines:—
Immediately behind the urn, which with its pedestal is let into a niche, is a pretty little arched window of stained glass; and at the opposite extremity of our Anchorite's cell stands a slab of Kerry marble, which rests upon a simple cabinet of the beautiful black oak of the bog which our island furnishes from its ebony stores. When opened, a flat box of polished beech-wood presents itself, and this serves as a solid portfolio, preserving from damp an exquisite drawing in pencil, by Frederick, of the large tree to which you have been already introduced. Underneath the tree, mamma's lines which we found, are neatly transcribed; and the old pencil, with its original paper wrapped round it, as when first discovered in its hiding place, and a pocket Bible, in the first page of which, after the name of Caroline Douglas, are written these words; "The prayer of the righteous availeth much," complete the furniture of this rustic sanctuary.
When Frederick and I went this morning at early dawn, to see that all was finished according to our design, we found Tom Collins already there, leaning against one of the pillars, in an attitude of contemplation. He started from his reverie as we approached, and twirling his old hat in his hands, resting first upon one foot, then upon the other, he said, after the usual salutation, "Miss, dear, I was thinking that you would'nt refuse me, if you plase, just to let me be standing overright there beyant the big baach, when my mistress will be coming—I'll engage I'll not let her see a bit o'me, any more than if I was a sperret, nor I'ont brathe a word good, or bad, only to set my two looking eyes upon her, when she'll see the place you done for her." Could such a request fail of being granted?
This romantic mountaineer is full of the finest sensibilities, and not perverted, as so much of acute feeling often is, to the purposes of discontent and ingratitude. Tom is a good husband, a good son, and a good father. Yet he knows not a letter in the alphabet.
"What shameful ignorance," I hear you exclaim! Ignorance of letters it surely is, but not shameful. You, in England, can be sure of giving your poor a religious education. We cannot! but some of our peasants act the Bible, which their priests will not allow them to read; and what benefit would these derive from the pennyworth of sedition or impurity which they might be permitted to purchase, and instructed to peruse? With what fresh delight have I sometimes returned to this dear desert, after having visited some of the districts said to be civilized when compared with our neighbourhood!—Oh it is a great mistake to imagine that reading is a cure for every evil, unless the Bible be allowed to offer its blessed promises, and hold forth its bright meed of reward for patience in adversity, and resignation under privations, which all other learning is calculated to reveal in the strongest light, without affording any means to remedy. The will of God has made inequality the very essence of every social scheme. No spread of knowledge can improve the lot of him who must till the ground in the sweat of his brow, if that knowledge be not of a nature to make him better, and therefore happier; and I never pass by our smith's forge, which is the parish coffee-house, without hearing expressions, and seeing looks that mark a murmuring spirit.
The other day I asked an aged peasant, who lives on the lands of Lisfarne, about fairies; "Did you ever see the Luracawn," said I, "of which people say, that it is a sort of fairy that lives always by the sea-side, and carries a purse such as we often find on the strand with strings to it?"
"No, miss, I never did myself; but in ould times they used to be seen plenty enough."
"Then," answered I, "perhaps the truth may be, that the people now are grown too wise to believe the stories which were swallowed in old times."
The old man replied, "Miss, there's a great dael o' larning that is'nt knowledge, and there's more of it than is good, I can assure you. The people now gets hould o'books, and cares very little about their parents, who were better folk than many o'them that are going now a' days."
"Then you don't approve of learning Andrew."—"Why, miss, you might as well say I don't approve o'my fellow craitures. There's two kinds o'one as of the other.—Good men and good books, bad men and bad books. I likes the two first, and I don't like the two last, and when people gets hould o'larning, the're vastly fonder o'the bad than the good."
Really these people astonish me by the clearness of their views and the acuteness of their observations. But before I close this long letter, I must say a word of Arthur Howard, who is a great favourite already at Glenalta. Had he been born under a happier star than that which presided at his birth, he would be a charming young man, and great improvements may yet be effected, for he is young and full of generous feeling as of quick tact. The contrarieties which nature and art sometimes display in their contest for pre-eminence in his actions, would divert us excessively, if there were not so much to love and regard in the compound, that vexation must ever be a predominating sentiment when he obeys an unworthy impulse. Selfishness is, I believe, the leading vice of fashionable people; and it must be very difficult to throw off the habits in which education has taught us that comfort (that aldermanic little word, as many use it) consists.
The first thought in what is called the world, appears to be, "is such or such a thing for my pleasure, my interest, my convenience;" and the last is, "whether the matter in question be useful, or agreeable to other people?" I am now speaking of the school, not the scholar, for though Arthur has necessarily adopted some of the folly in the midst of which he has lived, moved, and had his being, it is astonishing how little the natural tendencies of his heart are obscured. He came here, as I told you, with very strong prejudices, but I perceive with delight that they are fading away; and, I believe, that he thinks less hardly than he did when he first came amongst us, of female improvement. How could he bask in the sunshine of mamma's sweet smile, and enjoy the constant variety of her unrivalled powers in conversation, without feeling how compatible are the charms of high cultivation with all that is excellent in private life—all that is fascinating in female softness?
As I listened eagerly to a dialogue the other day, in which she was engaged, shedding light and animation upon every subject which came before her, I could not help thinking, that were amusement the only object and end of existence, cultivation of mind would appear, in my opinion, to be an indispensable requisite in the art of attaining it. The gay world, I suppose has its charms, and may attract for a season. Change of place, and change of faces, may please perhaps for a time, but this cannot last for ever, and when the period arrives in which people must rely upon the resources of home, what an immeasurable distance must there be between the full mind and the empty one! The very playfulness of a superior person is so exhilarating that I never grow weary of it; but of all the tiresome companionships on earth, it is that of animal spirits in perennial flow, that bear no treasure on the tide. How well Pope has expressed what I mean! "For lively Dulness ever loves a joke."
I must reserve space for a concluding word after our visit at the Retreat. Till then adieu.
Well, dear Julia, I feel the repose of my own room most welcome after the excitement of this day. The sun shone in full splendor on our project. Last night Frederick and I spoke to mamma of some trifling alterations that we had been making for the comfort of Tom Collins and his family, whose little dwelling had suffered much from the winter storms.
"Yes, my loves," said she, "I am rejoiced that your activity has anticipated me. Since the death of my poor Dapple, I have not gone so far as Tom's house, and have been intending a visit to the mountain, till you have made me ashamed by this lesson on procrastination. The truth is, that my present steed is so unlike his predecessor in gait and humour, that he and I are not such friends as to make me quite at home in his company; and I hate to have Paddy running after me. My morning rambles were always solitary, and I should not be at ease now in going alone, till I am more accustomed to my new Neddy, or his temper becomes more amiable; but all this is no excuse for not having employed other eyes to see that the Collins' were not unroofed. I wonder why Tom did not come."
"We happened to see him," said Frederick, "which probably prevented his applying to you, as Emily and I did the needful; but if to-morrow should be a fine day, suppose that I drive you and Em. in the pony car, before breakfast, and we will shew you how we have patched up these poor people for the present."
Mamma consented, and this morning early we sat out; but my tears suffocate me at the bare remembrance of my mother's emotion. She was amazed and delighted with our improvements. The garden, the hedge, the clean house, and clean people, all appeared the effect of enchantment. Tom, his wife, and children, grinned with broad uncontrolled rapture, and overwhelmed the little party with blessings. When we had praised, and been praised (such praise warms the heart without enervating its powers), Frederick took mamma's arm, and said, "You must come, dearest mother, to look at a dell which Emily and I discovered some time ago, the sweetest spot that you ever beheld." A faint blush overspread her cheek, and I perceived a thrill run through her frame. She hesitated, then hinted that the banks were steep, and that we should be late for breakfast; but we coaxed, and she evidently not desiring to say how well she was acquainted with the scene which she was about to visit, suffered herself to be led forward, I walking behind with a palpitating heart, down the narrow descent, and poor Tom following at a discreet distance. As we proceeded, I observed mamma gaze to the right and the left with amazement; but when our rustic temple burst upon her eye, the expression of her countenance became painfully inquisitive. The mysterious door was opened, Frederick pushed her gently in, closed the wicker-work, and waited with me in the outer inclosure. We heard her sob aloud, and in a few moments she was in our arms.
Here I pause. The sweetness of the feeling reciprocally called forth, would baffle my little powers of language to describe. Is it not Cora, in the play of Pizarro, who talks of three bright moments in her life? No moment in any one's life ever surpassed this expansion of hearts linked by a tie so pure end so affectionate as binds our's to each other. We sat till breakfast was forgotten. We looked, and looked again, and when the first swell of painful pleasure had given way to more tranquil sensations, we architects became garrulous, and in the vanity of success, hurrying our beloved mother from flower to flower, shrub to shrub, rock to rivulet, that we might not lose one atom, or one item of applause; and at length so completely communicated the contagion of gladness to her who had inspired the emotion in ourselves, that she entered zealously into the idea of surprising the rest of our party, adding, "I will first come here alone with our dear friend of Lisfarne, after which we will revisit this beloved retreat in a body, and enjoy in common the pleasures which you have created." We were now turning our steps towards Glenalta, when the sight of poor Tom wiping his eyes in the sleeve of his coat, as he leaned against the beech-tree, arrested mamma's attention. She went up, shook him warmly by the hand, and without a word uttered on either side, we separated.
I am promised a conveyance of this pamphlet rather than letter by that excellent creature George Bentley, and I am particularly pleased with the power of sending you so voluminous a packet by private hand at present, because I may not be able to write for some time again. We are all going to Killarney. Arthur is an enthusiast about our Glen scenery, and I enjoy exceedingly the delight of shewing him that gem of purest water. Some anxiety, however, is always wisely mingled in our cup, which mamma's promise to accompany us, would have rendered too intoxicating, and this anxiety is relating to dearest Fred. whose College examinations must precede our excursion. He and Mr. Oliphant leave us on Thursday next, and will only be absent during five or six days. I cannot sleep from feverish solicitude, though I believe that my Fred. is very well prepared; but we have so managed this charming trip to Killarney, that it will either crown our victory, should such happiness be in store, or divert our melancholy, should the dear fellow be doomed to suffer a disappointment. Phil. and Mr. Bentley are to be of our party. Do you know that Arthur is quite a surprising botanist already; and as I am his Linnæa, I am as proud as a peacock of my pupil. He can now walk without leading strings, and is grown so expert that our rambles are become trials of rival skill. Well, I must bid my dear friends adieu. With many loves from Charlotte and Fanny to Bertha and Agnes; and all our loves to your dearly loved aunt, believe me, Julia's most affectionate,
Emily Douglas.
LETTER IX.
Charles Falkland to Arthur Howard.
My dear Howard,
Rome.
You are, indeed, a prince of letter writers, and the delight which you have afforded me is inexpressible. Two of your admirable journals reached me at Pisa, and the last treasure I have received since I came here in company with—whom do you think? Why, actually, Mr. Richard Oliphant, young Stanhope, and I are dwelling under the same roof, and enthusiastically employed in exploring the wonders both within and without this enchanting city. Stanhope has given Mr. Otway a detailed account of our meeting, in consequence of a letter from Lisfarne, after your arrival at Glenalta; and I will therefore not take up your time, nor my own, in repetition, but proceed to say how greatly pleased I am with my new acquaintances. Their grand object was Rome, and I determined to quit Pisa much sooner than was my original design, that I might enjoy such excellent society. Here then we are together, and, should no unforeseen circumstances prevent the completion of our arrangements, I think it likely that we shall not separate hastily, but visit Florence, and Naples, see Pæstum, go to Venice, and pass the winter at Paris in company with each other. If you join us there what a coterie shall we form. I feel now as if I were in the midst of the Douglas group. I can see the very countenances, and already make my selections, even in that society where all are so much to my taste, that it seems at first view difficult to prefer, without doing injustice. From Stanhope I receive the most satisfactory answers to every question which your volume suggests; and, oh! what happiness it is to know that in any favoured spot of earth such purity and peace are to be found as bless that little valley of Glenalta with their presence. In any situation the contemplation of such a family would possess charms for me beyond the power of any other pleasure to excite; but if it required to be heightened through contrast, surely that contrast is to be met with on the Continent! Yes, to a sober mind, there is something horrible in the metamorphosis produced in the minds of some with whom you and I are acquainted. Letters are so frequently opened at the foreign post-offices, and so often lost, that I shall be prudent, and not send names out to the winds; however, you will have no difficulty in recognizing F—— and L—— by their initials; and, though you are still a wild sort of being yourself, you will be sorry to hear that they are immersed in every thing at Paris which they used to withstand so vigorously at Cambridge. We ranked them there amongst the élite, for genius, good taste, and polished habits. Alas! how are the mighty fallen? The facilitie afforded in Paris to the commission of every vice, are, perhaps hardly greater than those which London offers to tempt unwary youth; but there is all the difference in the world between the manner of doing the thing in the two capitals. Notwithstanding the daily intercourse between England and France, there is still such a body of national virtue and good feeling unshaken in the former country, that the most profligate can hardly sin with absolute impunity, and vice is scarcely bold enough to throw off the veil which, however flimsy, still protects some purer eyes from beholding corruption in all its deformity. Have you ever felt, when you lingered at a ball till day-light, and the bright beams of a newly risen sun shone with open freshness on the expiring lamps, the pale faces, and the tinsel finery of the last night's pageant; a sort of undefined sensation of shame at being thus caught by the truth-telling hour of waking seriousness, in the midst of a scene so unsuited to the time? If you have, I may avail myself of the similitude to describe the difference which I feel between England and the Continent. I say Continent at large, for the great towns are alike in this; ours is a daylight dance, while here is the nightly revel. With us the clear sunshine of opinion, if it cannot prevent excess, at least exhibits its faded form and haggard countenance, pronouncing on their ugliness, and inducing their concealment. Cross the channel, and a new order of things presents itself. Decorum is busy indeed, but it is to deceive, and while the fascination of gaiety and ease presents an opiate to circumspection, the good taste which borrows an external clothing of propriety in which to dress the votaries of pleasure, finishes the delusion, and many young men are not aware of the counterfeit till they are fast bound in the spell like Telemachus in the island of Calypso. The French language too, now so universal, is a potent ingredient in the intoxicating cup. It acts as a mask, and since I left England, I have met with numbers of my countrymen, aye, and countrywomen also, who say things at Paris in the idiom of another tongue, which could never find utterance in their own, though no infringement of decency in conduct would be tolerated publicly in good society abroad. All this renders foreign travelling a very insidious poison, and happy are those who can enjoy the benefits derivable from extensive acquaintance with men and manners, without risk of confounding the boundaries which separate vice from virtue. In short, no man is safe, upon whom the grand tour produces other effect than to send him back with increased thankfulness to the British Isles, as (waving adieu to the shores he has quitted) he borrows the words of the poet to say, "these are my visits;" and, turning to the white cliffs of Albion, finishes the line with "but thou art my home." It would be stupid, however, as well as ungrateful to deny the witchery, by way of securing either one's self, or one's friends against its allurements. This device, which my worthy guardian, I believe, in the honesty of his heart employed as a bastion of strength to fortify my weakness, will never, in any case, survive the first shot that experience levels against it. It is in vain to call the Syren's song discord, to say that nectar is but extract of wormwood, and Ambrosia but a mess of Spartan pottage. The first sound, and the first taste, disabuse the ignorant, adding the stimulus of surprise to what was but too attractive without it. No, let us fairly acknowledge the magic, and then try our best to repel its influence. You know that I shall keep all my scenery, whether moral or physical, for fireside talk, perhaps at Glenalta, and not so much as a moon-beam on the Coliseum will you have in the way of description, already exhausted by abler limners than I am; but I cannot avoid adding my testimony to the charms of foreign society. It is not that it is wiser or better; it is not that you have better cheer, or one half so good accommodation as at home. No, the whole necromancy exits in one monosyllable—ease. In England ease is practised; in France it springs naturally from every one with whom you converse. In England people are remembering to forget themselves; in France they do really forget themselves, and in this simple circumstance resides the whole secret of being at ease. In England people run to shew you how freely they can walk, never considering that ease, that grand desideratum, is as much banished by over exertion to be gay, as by the torpor of mauvaise honte. In France there is neither a jerking activity, nor a leaden stupor, but people convey the idea, while you are in their company, of being pleased, interested, and animated, by the subject of conversation. There is no acted egotism, no effort at making display; and the effect of an evening passed in a Parisian society is that of gaiety without fatigue. You have, perhaps, not heard a single sentence that you desire to treasure; but there has been no strain upon your animal spirits. You have spoken naturally what really presented itself to be said, instead of fishing for a theme, and having to recollect at every turn whether you were going to speak to a man or a woman. In fine, conversation, however trifling, flows on the Continent, while with us it resembles pints of water, chucked one after another into a pump. You work the handle, and up comes your pint, but there is no more till you make a new deposit, and a fresh exertion. It is unnecessary to add that I speak of mixed society, and of its average state in the two countries. Come to the sincere intercourse of mind and heart, when the affectations of fashion are in abeyance, or I should more justly say where they have never existed, and who would go to any climate of the earth from that in which our happy stars have placed us, to enjoy "the feast of reason and the flow of soul!" Ireland and Scotland, remember, are always included in this preference. But we do not understand society, even imitating the French, as we prove, alas, that we can do continually, in their faults, while we cannot throw off our whalebone and buckram. In France there is much less of gossip than in England; the King, the Court, the national prosperity, or distress, the political relations of Europe, philosophy, sentiment, all find their way broken down to a convenient circulable medium into company. You hear many false positions in each several department, but you have likewise a great deal of good sense and discrimination; and at all events you have common property in the subjects which are treated in a French circle, as if they really interested the assembly. Perhaps at the moment of reading this passage of my letter, you recollect what pops into my memory in the moment of writing it; I mean a paragraph upon which you and I commented together, in one of the letters of Madame du Deffand, where she describes to Horace Walpole the "grand succes" of a soirée at her house, from the introduction of some paltry New-year or Easter gifts. There is no inconsistency here. Whether it be the army, the navy, the funds, Cuvier's last work, La Place's talents, the Jardin des Plantes, the fashionable actor or musician; the last song, epigram, bon-mot cap, bonnet or pin-cushion; the thing is talked of with animation, and apparent interest; and it is the want of this that renders common place society in England so insufferably dull, as often to suggest the idea that the several members who compose it prepare for meeting, by committing to memory a set of vapidly disjointed questions, and answers; a very catechism of inanity upon the least amusing topics which it is possible to select, and invariably such as no stranger can participate in from the strict confinement of their locality. Here, men, women, old, young, handsome or ugly; all who can speak the language, take a part according to their several measures of ability in the general conversation. All look happy, and, from being at perfect ease themselves, possess the power of imparting this indispensable charm, this essential essence of society, to every one with whom they hold companionship. Why cannot we seize upon this talent, and convert it to our own use, grateful as we must ever feel for its enlivening influence? Our deficiencies in colloquial power have long been matter of observation; and it is a trite remark, that the English cannot converse; but as it is admitted that every ingredient requisite for conversation of the most brilliant kind is to be found in our island, it would seem that we only want the method of combining, in which our neighbours excel. Your charming circle in Ireland have caught the happy art, and vainly should we look around for many such specimens as Glenalta exhibits of its perfection; but why cannot we all go into company determined to trade freely upon our capitals, be they large or small, avoiding on the one hand that broad-cast sincerity which I am afraid I must call selfishness, that refuses to take interest in any concern which does not come home to the narrow enclosure of individual loss and gain, pain, or pleasure; and on the other, that conventional adoption of trifles incapable of amusing in any community, except a paradise of fools, with which we are in the habit of performing the mechanism of society, fatiguing our friends, and doing penance ourselves?
Stanhope is a very fine young man, full of fire and enterprize, yet gentle and rational. He has a great deal of taste, and is very fond of the classics. We are going presently, armed with a pocket Horace, to visit Soracte, accompanied by Oliphant, who is exactly the sort of man to whose care Mr. Otway may fearlessly confide his charge. He has very good manners, plain, and unassuming, and possesses that fortunate mixture of sobriety and cheerfulness, which peculiarity befits the character of a tutor, securing at once the double tribute of respect and affection.
How I long for your next letter, which will tell me of your expedition to Killarney, and, oh that I could transport myself into the midst of you!
Before I close my letter, I must express the joy of a true friend, at finding that you are so happy with your relations. Dear Arthur, I knew that your mind would undergo a revolution. It is only in progress at present, but I anticipate more decision in all your views of people and things. You have too much sense, and your feelings are too fine, to admit of your being hood-winked. You must not drop into the crowd and suffer yourself to be borne upon its tide, without the slightest sympathy in the folly, and, shall I add, the vulgarity that surround you. Yes, do not start, and suppose that I have lost my senses. I repeat the word; there is infinite vulgarity in mere fashion. Something very poor and mean, in never daring to think for oneself, and in sacrificing every inclination and faculty to the tyranny of arbitrary control; but you will speedily rise into the consequence of a rational creature. You will take your station amongst intellectual beings, and, giving reins to the real bent of your character, find that fulness of mind, which absolutely excludes ennui. I cannot express how much I am interested by the conversations which you have given me. A volume of description would not have conveyed a tithe of what you have imparted in the way of information, by bringing me thus into the midst of the circle. I see the whole mental map before me, and though it would be unreasonable to think that you can have time for such details in future, I cannot set you entirely free; but would fain hope that, coupled with the "incidents" which are all that you promise, henceforward I may still find a few of those graphic touches which make me present in that unrivalled group with whom your good fortune has bound you up.
To Mr. Otway I feel that I may desire to be presented with gratitude for the pleasure of which he has thought me worthy, in an introduction to my agreeable colleagues; but how shall I contrive to make my bow at Glenalta? If you can find a happy moment in which to say with a good grace, "Charles Falkland, Mrs. Douglas," you will be more than ever the cherished friend of,
Your affectionate,
C. F——.
P. S. Whenever you visit the city of the Seven Hills, be sure and come hither provided with "Rome in the nineteenth Century." It is a tribute which I for one, most willingly pay, to declare this work of a female pen to be by a thousand degrees the best vade mecum with which you can furnish yourself.
LETTER X.
Miss Howard to Arthur Howard, Esq.
Dear Arthur,
London.
I am so completely obsedée with all that I have to accomplish, that really you must be very thankful for a letter on any terms at present. The fact is that la Madre is put into a flutterment by news which we have just had from that old quiz, Mr. Ingoldsby, of the India House, who says poz, that our ancient uncle is coming home as rich as Croesus. What is bringing him, we know not. No matter for the cause, the effect is that Ingot (as I always call him) came here last week express with the intelligence, since when I could not command five minutes, or you should have had the on dit on the wings of the wind. At first I felt transformed into a begum, and transported with joy. Shawls, gems, and jewels, dazzled my senses. I dreamt of lacs of rupees, snuffed otto in every breeze, and read envy, malice, and all uncharitableness, in every female face throughout the metropolitan world.
Such was the bright vision of half an hour, when, on the per contra side of the question a grisly band rose upon my disordered imagination, and I terrified myself with the bare idea, that vielle-cour is becoming religious, to such a degree that I had hardly spirits left for Lady Anne Legrave's "At Home," to which I was obliged to go in the evening. I told my fears to mamma and Adelaide. The former said that she would hope the best; but, if the worst comes to the worst, we must, she says, of course indulge the whim as long as it lasts. Ingot does not expect him for several months, so that we may take time by the forelock. Then it may be only a rumour, and he may be snug at Calcutta; but to make sure, we shall take a few good books down to Selby, and, per favour of the Morleys and Arundels, and a few more of the "Praise God Barebones" community, we shall get up a nice vocabulary, and with the help of a fawn-coloured bonnet, which I shall certainly borrow from Deborah Prim the grocer, that "demurest of the tabby kind," who is of the society called Friends, I do not despair of acting my part à merveille.
Mamma is rather cross upon the matter, I think, and foresees trouble; but she is always a bit of a Cassandra; and besides, she lost horribly the other night at ecarté; but for heavens sake don't say that I told you so.
Adelaide, some how or other too, does not enter into the thing con amore, and is not as much alive as one might expect upon a point of such magnitude, for though we have at present nothing to go upon but Ingot's testimony, and our own surmises, the return of the old lad is a serious sort of concern. If he is in good humour, and neither sick, nor pious, we are Nabobs and Nabobesses at once. C'est tout dit. If, on the other hand, he has got the liver (as the Indians say so vulgarly), or has any crotchet in his head, connected with new-light fantasies, I do assure you that we may have much vexation in prospect; and unless you just put yourself in training, and help me out, I do not promise myself any effective assistance. Our poor mother is, as I said before, in an acid vein, and will require Cheltenham certainly, when we leave town; and as to Adelaide, she has other fish to fry, and till the cookery is performed or the finny race, sent swimming again from the net (vous comprenez); I shall not be able to enlist her in my pantomime. Apropos, Lord George was with us last night, and protests that his mother shall give a masquerade at which he will perform the part of our old Rajah, and I shall rehearse my new character, dressed as a quaker, carrying a basket of tracts on my arm, and, followed by half a dozen of his sister, Lady Somerville's children, who are perfect cherubs, and are to enact my school. You can't fancy any thing more spirituel. It was quite a scene, and we were decidedly the attraction of the evening. I was evidently prima donna, and felt so couleur de rose with every thing, and every body, that, forgetful of a quarrel which I had with Ady. in the morning, I caught Lord Crayton by the arm, and, under pretence of asking his advice how to prepare for uncle's arrival, gave him such a teeth-watering account of the old boy's investments in the 3 per cent. Consols, that milord stuck, for the rest of the evening, like bird-lime to my pensive sister, and almost overturned poor Sir Leonard Twig to beau mamma down stairs; since when, he has never missed a day in visiting, riding with our coterie in the park; and in short I shall not be surprized if, before your return from the land of darkness, you see a paragraph in the Morning Post: but what should bring the Morning Post into the wilderness? I give myself immense credit for remembering ever since I performed the Druidical priestess at Lady Penguin's, and learned my evening's task for the occasion, that Annan is the Druid's name for your island of saints, and that it was held to be the dominions of night. It is so à propos!
Well, but I was talking of Crayton and Adelaide. If indeed a London newspaper should meet your eyes while you are suffering ostracism, (I got such credit for that stroke last night) I verily think it not improbable, that you will stumble ere long, upon, "It is rumoured in the higher circles, that Viscount Crayton is shortly to lead to the Hymeneal altar the lovely Miss A. Howard." What more you may see here-after, I cannot give you a hint of till you come.
Poor Lionel Strangeways bores me to death with his petits soins. Sir Stephen (that odious name always sets me sneezing) haunts Grosvenor-square; and Annesley with whom you used to be so lié, and who, begging your pardon, is neither more nor less than bête, worries me to dance wherever I meet him.
Adelaide, Crayton, Lord George, and I, made a parti quarré, in the park yesterday, when we met him quite en polisson. He had no servant, looked bourgeois; and though I am not ill-natured as you know, I was obliged to sham blindness, and to pass by without even a nod. This may cure him, and release me from a blister. If he were not nephew to the Duke of Elsbury, there would be no bearing him; but every one knows the relationship, and therefore one is safe in acknowledging him, though he is so horribly disagreeable. Directly after I gave him the go by, I recollected that perhaps he had heard from you since your letter to us of the 5th, and I might have asked how your cough is, but I did not think of it in time.
The match between Lady J. Marston and Mr. Harrop, ditto between Miss Percy and Lord Anfield are off, positively off faute d'argent. The old Countess held out for £2,000 a-year settlement, and Harrop was tied up by his former marriage. It is whispered that a Scotch coronet hove in sight just before poor H. got his congé; but I don't pledge myself for the truth of this codicil to the story.—I was interrupted here by Lord George and Mr. Cambray, and have been laughing till I am weary at the best thing in the world. I told you in a former part of this letter, that I was in particularly good spirits last night, and made a sally, in speaking of your banishment. Lord George's "bravissimo" was the signal of applause, but poor Sir Hargrove Miles did not know the meaning of ostracism, and asked some one (I believe young Felton), who, in a funny mood, told him that I was talking of oysters. There was a laugh, and some ridiculous things were said which I did not hear, but Sir Hargrove looked cloudy, and your Marplot friend, Annesley, dreading a meeting in the morning, explained like a goose, and put him into good humour by allowing him to turn the joke against me. Poor Sir H. has accordingly been representing me to-day up and down the whole length of Bond-street as a Blue, and were it not that Lord George is my chevalier, and that nuncle is coming home with a heavy purse, it would not be so pleasant. As things are, I can afford a blue banner, or, as Lord George says, "We may hoist the blue Peter now if we like." He is very witty, and I assure you that our society is considered quite haut ton—quite French.
I did not intend to have written six lines, and you see how I have run on. Do, my dear, return to us as quickly as possible: you ought to be at your post when the old fellow lands on English ground. You will of course be his principal look out, and ought certainly to toad him a little, especially as he will probably be very bilious after the voyage. Mamma thinks it likely that the new light and the bile will be extinguished together, and proposes being ready at an hour's notice to whisk him off to Leamington; but should we find that there is any thing so fixed in his religious derangement as not to give way immediately to the waters, she says that the worst which can happen is our leaving him for a time, and going to the continent. He will probably come home after so long an absence with his heart in his hand, and be as generous as a prince. If so, we shall get plenty of money to take us abroad, and thus fare the better for any little twist that he may have got from received opinions, I do not say from fashionable ways of thinking; for I observe, that East Indians are never people of ton: they are expensive and luxurious, but want the je ne sais quoi, that inexplicable odeur de la bonne société which marks the select few in a London circle.
My uncle, in all likelihood, will purchase a magnificent seat, have a splendid establishment; and as a little time will remove any quaint prejudices which he may have contracted, he may keep a first-rate table, and see the best company if he is properly managed. The great bore will be to watch him so vigilantly as to prevent his marrying. I am sure that I know at least six regular sieges that will be commenced against the citadel of his purse, besides whatever masked batteries may be prepared to take him by surprise. It must be our care to be his videttes, and keep a strict guard upon the motions of the enemy, giving him notice upon every approach of danger.
Well, I must go and dress: I hate the Opera, but we are forced to join a party of Lady Mildmay's, and Lord Clayton will not let us be off. Adio mio Caro. Say something civil to the goodies of the Glen. What sickly stuff is pastoral life! I yawn as I write the word. Heaven defend me from your Arcadias! I absolutely shudder at the notion of a golden age, cool grots, and mountain nymphs. That milk diet, too, is a sleepy, corpulent sort of thing. You will loose your air de noblesse, and we shall have to put you in training, and fine you down like a jockey before you are fit to be seen.
Come quickly. Bon repos. You are retiring to your slumbers, no doubt.
Your mother and Ady said something, I suppose—loves, and so forth, but I'm not sure.
Yours, ever,
L. Howard.