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[Transcriber notes: Fred. is always treated as an abbreviation in this
book.

Some quotation marks were left out of the printing. Preserved as
printed.

Numerous mispellings. These were retained as printed.

Italicized text surrounded by "_" . Small capped text converted to
all caps.]




                        BLUE-STOCKING HALL.

        "From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive:
        They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
        They are the books, the arts, the academes,
        That show, contain, and nourish all the world."
                                        LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.


                         IN THREE VOLUMES.

                              VOL. I.

                              LONDON:
               HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
                               1827.




               J. B. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.




                              PREFACE.


    GENTLE READER,

An Author who is only making a _début_, should be particularly
careful not to offend against established rules; otherwise you and
I might be spared the plague of a Preface; but as I am heartily
desirous to conciliate your regard, I will not forfeit any portion
of your esteem at my onset, by the slightest contempt of Court.
I will therefore say a few words in the way of introduction to
Blue-stocking Hall, though I may find it difficult to tell you more
than you will easily find out for yourself, if you take the trouble
of reading the following Letters, which sufficiently explain
their own story. They are selected from a correspondence which is
supposed to have been spread over a period of four years.

As to my motives (for I observe that most prefaces talk of
_motives_) for publishing the letters which I have been at the
pains to collect, they are such as we may in charity suppose
to operate upon the mind of a criminal, when by the expiatory
tribute of his "last speech and dying words," he endeavours, in
a recantation of his own errors, to prevent others from falling
into similar ones. Besides, we are generally eager to make as many
proselytes as we can to any opinion which we have newly adopted;
and as my prejudices upon some subjects were very strong before I
visited Blue-stocking Hall, I am induced, through abundance of the
milk of human kindness, to wish that if my reader entertains any
prejudices against ladies stigmatized as _Bas Bleus_, as I myself
once did, he may, like me, become a convert to another and a fairer
belief respecting them.




                        BLUE-STOCKING HALL.




                             LETTER I.

            CHARLES FALKLAND TO ARTHUR HOWARD.


    My Dear Howard,                               _Dover_.

Perhaps you and I are at this moment similarly situated, and
similarly employed. I am seated at a window which opens on the
sea, waiting for a summons to the steam-packet which is to waft me
over to Calais--while you are, probably, expecting that which is
to convey you to Ireland. When I reach France I shall certainly
send you a bill of health from time to time; but as few things are
less satisfactory than letters _from the road_, I shall reserve my
share in the performance of our parting covenant till I am quietly
settled at Geneva.

You do not require descriptions of either places or people; because
innumerable diaries, journals, and sketch-books, tell you as much
as you want to know of all the scenes which it is your intention
ere long to visit; and as to men and women, no second-hand account
can supply the place of actual acquaintance with the few of
either sex that deserve to occupy thoughts or pen. What you _do_
desire, and what I have engaged to furnish, is a history of my own
employments, pursuits, and impressions; but leisure is necessary
for collecting and arranging; and, till I can satisfy myself by
sending you such details as I hope may _interest_, you must be
content to receive only certificates of whole bones.

Now _you_ are to be set down quietly in less than a week at the end
of your journey; and before I set sail I shall take the liberty of
repeating the terms of our epistolary contract, by way of flapper
to your memory, and leaving you no possible excuse for violating
the treaty ratified at Cambridge on Monday evening, ere a mutual
_Vale_ dismissed us on our several adventures.

You see that I have _first_ registered my own part in our
engagement, and generously bound myself, before I proceed to tie
you down.--Now for _your_ undertaking. Remember, that when you
reach the wilds of Kerry, you are under a heavy bond to devote a
part of every day regularly to the task which I have assigned you
of narrating, in minute detail, every circumstance connected with
the external situation, personal appearance, mind, manners, and
habits of your aunt and her family. Aye, there I see you at this
instant in a full roar of laughter: so be it.--I am case-hardened;
and have so long endured your merriment with becoming philosophy,
that I am not to be subdued by a little louder ridicule than you
are accustomed to level at my _romance_. Well, I will confess (now
that I am a few miles distant from that taunting smile), that my
notions are somewhat odd, quaint, old fashioned, or romantic if
you will; and in return for this concession, I only ask that you
will bear with me, and indulge your friend's peculiarities, as they
are at least harmlessly eccentric. The bias of my mind is to be
traced without difficulty to the circumstances of my early life,
so different from your own, that it would be very extraordinary if
much dissimilarity were not discoverable in our ways of thinking.
My boyish years were passed in the seclusion of almost perfect
solitude, with a mother, whose image lives indelibly engraven on
my heart. A child of feeble frame, I was unable in early life to
bear the "peltings of the pitiless storm," and from every wind that
would have visited my infant form too roughly, did the tenderest
of maternal affections shroud, without enervating, my childhood.
My widowed mother was every thing to me--my friend, my tutor, my
protectress, my play-fellow--my all on earth. In losing her at
sixteen, I was left a mere wreck upon the ocean of life; and, while
"Memory holds her seat," never shall I forget the sweet expression
of her elegant and feminine countenance, as it spoke the language
of love, kindness, or pity; nor shall I ever lose the recollection
of that fine understanding which sparkled through her eye, in the
brightest scintillations of intellectual energy, and acuteness.
She was my _Gamaliel_, and no wonder if her lessons, her thoughts,
her sentiments, have left traces upon my mind not easily to be
obliterated. When I entered Cambridge, I felt no affection for any
living creature. Relations I had none, that were not too remote to
fill the chasm which death had created in my heart. My guardian,
though an excellent man, only put me painfully in mind of my
bereavement, when he attempted to condole or advise; and I turned
from him, not with disrespect, but in disgust with all created
things.

The natural elasticity of youth, and your society, gradually
reclaimed me from a state which, had it continued, must have ended
in madness, or idiotcy; and I am able now, at the termination of
our collegiate career, to think gratefully of prolonged existence,
and look back with thankfulness.

Perhaps you have just laid down my letter to exclaim, "Poor
Falkland! surely the man is bewildered, or he would not tell me
now, as if for the first time, what I have known these six years."
Now, my good fellow, be not so hasty in declaring me _non compos_.
You know the general outline of my story, and you are acquainted
sufficiently with what you call my romance of character, to find
in it a constant fund of amusement when we are together; but you
do not know more than this! You are _not_ aware that the tree
has adopted its decided inclination from that bias which the twig
received. Nothing, I feel, can ever make me a man of fashion.
Nothing, I _hope_, will loosen the ties which, all unseen as
they are, bind me to the memory of her by whose judgment, were she
living, I should desire to be directed in all things to which
her admirable sense would permit her to apply those reasoning
powers which never dogmatized, nor lost themselves in the mazes of
imagination.--I admired my mother's taste as much as I reverenced
her virtues--I respected her talents; and since her death have not
met with any one capable of interesting me who did not resemble, in
some degree, the character which faithful memory attaches to her
much-loved image.

Different as has been your path from mine, your affectionate
heart has been my best solace; and though you have been trained
in the school of modern luxury, which is so little conversant
with Nature, the generous impulses of your breast have not been
sacrificed, and you are not _yet_ spoiled by what is called The
World. For being what you are, you are, I firmly believe, indebted
in part to original structure; and perhaps, in some degree, to
that friendship which has united us both at school, and at the
University.--Somewhat older, and much graver than you, I have
always been permitted to take the lead, and exercise an influence
over your pleasures and pursuits, which, though frequently
counteracted, has, notwithstanding, communicated an individuality
to one and the other, that distinguishes you essentially from the
heartless specimens of human mechanism that pass for men of _ton_.

You know what pleasant day-dreams occupy my fancy--I anticipate
nothing less than your _radical reform_, from all the follies
which sometimes obscure your good sense; and I look for this
change, not as the result of a Hohenlohe miracle, wrought upon
you through the intercession of the Irish priesthood, but as the
natural effect of living domesticated with such a family as I
conceive to be now about to welcome you at Glenalta. I know your
charming aunt and cousins only through their letters to you; but
by "these presents," I feel that I cannot be mistaken in the
attributes with which I have invested them: and, laugh as you like,
you know that my castles are all built with materials from the
county of Kerry, in Ireland; and I only say, if it be enthusiasm
to love and venerate a set of people whom I have never seen--yes,
and fully to intend, if life be spared me, to make a pilgrimage in
quest of your relations, inspired by as much zeal as ever actuated
the followers of Mahomet in their pious journeys to Mecca, why, let
me cry with Falstaff, "God help the wicked." A sort of internal
evidence quite incommunicable to any one else, assures me, that my
fate is linked with that of the Douglas family; and I can give you
no better reason for this belief, than the improbability that so
much sympathy as draws me towards Glenalta, should be thrown away.

However baseless you may consider the fabric of my visions, you
can at least imagine that, while they possess my mind, they are
not a little interesting; and therefore I conclude, as I began, by
entreating that you will feed my Quixotism with journals containing
the most accurate and minute accounts of all that is said and
done, planned and projected, at that Ultima Thule, as you call it,
whither you are bending your steps.

The gun is fired as a signal for sailing--I see an army of
carpet-bags and portmanteaus in full march, and must say--farewell!
God bless you, my dear Howard.

                                     Your affectionate
                                          CHARLES FALKLAND.




                             LETTER II.

              MISS DOUGLAS TO MISS SANDFORD.


    Dearest Julia,                         _Glenalta_.

Your letter, which I received yesterday, reproaches me with
silence, and I plead guilty to the charge, though you are very
wrong in supposing that my failure in punctuality proceeds from
weariness of communion with you. I have very few correspondents,
and amongst these few I rejoice to say, that there is not one, to
whom I write from any other motive than because I love and value
every species of intercourse with those who are really dear to my
heart. I know that it is only necessary to tell you, that I have
been much engaged, to be certain of your forgiveness; but I should
not satisfy myself if I did not say how I have been occupied.

Shut out as we are from the gay world, and living for weeks
together without any interruption to our pursuits, even _you_ may
perhaps wonder that time is not a burthen on our hands. Yet this is
not the case; but on the contrary, the day appears scarcely set in
before it has arrived at its close. Is this always the effect of
full employment, or is it peculiar to the little circle at Glenalta
to wish that the sun would stand still, and give more of his
company?--I am too little acquainted with people and places beyond
my own home to answer the question; and you are not here to do it
for me; so now I will proceed with the causes of my long silence.

Our dear friend, and invaluable neighbour, Mr. Otway, has been ill:
thank heaven, he is quite recovered now.--This dear friend and your
aunt are, I think, the only people on earth who for the last twelve
years could have poured the balm of comfort into the desolate
spirit of my beloved mother--the latter in becoming a tender parent
to you and your sisters has had too much care connected with her
immediate duties to admit of her being often with us; but what she,
under different circumstances, _might_ have been, Mr. Otway has
been; and what can we ever do sufficiently to prove our gratitude,
as well as our affection? During his illness, which continued
for three months, we shared, not only the task of nursing him
with unremitting assiduity, but endeavoured to supply his place
by undertaking the labours which, for a series of years, he has
imposed upon himself. We took care of his schools, we visited his
sick poor, we distributed his benefactions, became his deputies
on the roads and in the fields; and resolved that, on his return
to his gardens and plantations, he should find all things meeting
him with that pleasant welcome which even the inanimate world is
enabled to testify, when the hand of diligent affection has taught
every shrub and flower to glow with its own emotions!--I know
nothing more touching than such a reception, which needs no words
to convince the object of our solicitude, how constantly the heart
has been occupied in an endeavour to please by the cultivation of
whatever might confer enjoyment; and the suppression of all that
would be productive of pain.

Though one of the actors in the scene, I will confess to you,
that the success of our efforts was complete. There was no
arrangement--no display that appeared to solicit thanks for our
faithful stewardship; but I never shall forget the happiness of
seeing tears, _not_ of grief, stealing from my mother's eyes, while
our dear friend, leaning upon her arm on one side, and Frederick's
on the other--Charlotte, Fanny, and I, bringing up the rear--took
his first walk upon the terrace which commands that panorama of
loveliness and expanse which you admired so much in your visit at
Glenalta, to which my mind frequently recurs as the most joyful
period of my existence. In addition to all the blessings of my
daily life, I had then the enlivening influence of your presence.
The landscape was the same, but you were the sunshine: and while
you were here, all seemed "gold and green."--When will you come
again, I wonder!--Well, what a wanderer I am! continually
deviating from my path, my narrative advances but slowly,--and you
are yet to learn, that besides our extra employments at his farm,
we have been as busy as bees preparing for the accommodation of my
Cousin Arthur Howard, who is expected here to-morrow evening.

People who live in towns, or even in what is called _civilized_
parts of the country, have little idea how we poor pill-garlicks
labour to perform what they accomplish as if by the stroke of
a magical wand. A few words are pronounced in the shape of an
order, to one of your fashionable upholsterers, and lo! sophas,
ottomans, tables, arm-chairs, and all the elegant etceteras of
modern furniture rise up like an exhalation, and are found in their
exact places, as if a fairy had arranged them. While country folks,
like us, have to wish, and to wait, for many a long day before we
can obtain even an imperfect representation of a new luxury. I do
not complain of this; for I really believe, that we gain by every
difficulty, and enjoy our humble acquisitions, after going through
much trouble to obtain them, a thousand times more than the rich
and fashionable do their superfluities, which it is only to desire,
and to possess; but I state the fact to account for the employment
of time and pains in filling up a comfortable bed-chamber and
dressing-room for Arthur Howard, whose approach I dread, not
because I have any reason to be afraid of him, but because I
feel how entirely out of his natural (or perhaps I should rather
say _artificial_) element, he will find himself in this peaceful
retreat.

I believe I told you in my last letter, that Arthur has been
very delicate for some months past, and apprehensions have been
entertained that if the change of air to a softer climate than
that of Buckinghamshire were not resorted to, his lungs might soon
become affected. Poor fellow! He is an only son; and as my aunt
could not make up her mind to going abroad with him herself, and
she would not consent to let him go to the Continent without her,
though in the company of his friend Mr. Falkland, matters have
been compromised by accepting mamma's invitation to the _Island
of mists_; and truly it would delight us all to cherish this young
cousin at Glenalta, if it were not for the painful feeling that he
considers it a heavy penance to come amongst his Irish relations.
The performance of duty is, however, so agreeable in itself, that
if we find our cares successful, and are enabled to return the
invalid in good health to his mother and sisters, we shall be
amply recompensed. It is but to think of the grateful love which
would warm our own hearts (were Frederick similarly circumstanced)
towards any friend who might be instrumental in his recovery,
to enter _con amore_ into the feelings of Arthur's family, and
sing a _Te Deum_ if we are permitted to excite them. Sickness, in
producing a powerful sense of our mortality, often awakens the
heart to the _realities_ of happiness, by shewing us the utter
futility of pleasures on which we had thoughtlessly relied, till
evil days came upon us, and our helpless dependence was brought
experimentally home to our conviction.

I sometimes flatter myself with a hope that mamma's enchanting
influence, Frederick's sweet disposition, and the cheerful aid of
the three _handmaids_, may operate a change in Arthur's mind, and
reclaim a fine understanding from the blighting effects of cold and
selfish fashion. You see that I am castle-building--may it not be
in the air!

I am desired by mamma, to say that your dear aunt shall soon hear
from her; and you shall have a letter ere long to tell you what
progress we make in acquaintance with our guest, who is a perfect
stranger amongst the juniors of our house, and only remembered as a
little boy by my mother.

So much have I had to say of our _hospital_ concerns, that I
have not told you a word of a surprise which Frederick and I are
preparing for this precious Author of our being.--There is a little
solitary spot not far removed from this, the most sequestered,
wild, and lovely glen that Nature I believe ever formed. For years
after we came to Glenalta, my sisters and I never saw or heard of
it, mamma never having mentioned its existence; and its distance
placing it without the bounds of our allotted walks while we were
children. Frederick was the first who made me acquainted with this
tiny Paradise of beauty and seclusion, the story of which I must
reserve for my next letter.

Our fond and united loves attend your circle from all here, and
particularly your

                                   Faithful and affectionate Friend,
                                             EMILY DOUGLAS.




                            LETTER III.

            ARTHUR HOWARD TO CHARLES FALKLAND.


    My Dear Falkland,                   _Glenalta_.

Your letter from Dover has travelled many a mile in quest of
me; first into Buckinghamshire, then to Grosvenor-square,
"tried" Cambridge, and _non est inventus_ being the return made
at each of these places, it has followed me into the wilds of
Kerry in Ireland. Here I am actually at Glenalta, and as I mean
faithfully to perform my promise, and execute the task which you
have so solemnly _spread out_ before me, in such detail that I
am not likely to forget the engagement, I shall _begin from the
beginning_, for the following cogent reasons: first, that I may
be correct by not trusting to memory; secondly, that I may not be
overwhelmed by an inconvenient accumulation of materials, thirdly
and lastly, because to vent my spleen in a letter is next to the
relief of doing so in a _viva voce_ unburthening, disemboguing, or
whatever else you choose to call this pouring out of my vexations.

After a journey through a horrible country, as naked as if it
was but just born, and as comfortless as if it had never been
inhabited, I reached at last my haven of rest yesterday evening at
six o'clock. You must not expect me to name places which I cannot
spell, nor jolt over such roads as I have escaped again with you.
This would indeed be "thrice to slay the slain," for I am in a
state of mummy this morning. If David had known the county of
Kerry, I should believe that it rose upon his mind, when he wrote
of the judges that were overthrown in stony places. As I approached
within a mile of my journey's end I should possibly have been put
into good humour, if my temper had not been previously so ruffled
as to counteract the influence of pleasanter impressions. Candour
obliges me to confess, that nothing in nature can exceed the
scenery of this spot when _once you are at it_; but in my present
feelings I doubt whether I would go to Heaven itself, if there
were no better road thither than that by which I have achieved my
safe landing at Glenalta. Part of my way lay through a morass,
technically called _bog_ in this country, which brought to my
recollection every frightful engulfment that I ever heard or read
of. The vast American swamps, the Indian jungles, aye, even "that
great Lerborian bog 'twixt Damietta and the sea," so finely touched
by Milton, appeared safe and smooth to my imagination in comparison
with the dark abysses that seemed to yawn upon me from either
side of my gloomy and monotonous path. No, it is not in human
nature to recover a man's equilibrium after what I have suffered
in less than a week; and therefore the features of this _cul de
sac_, which has nothing beyond it but the waves of the Atlantic,
will stand but a bad chance of being sketched in any other than
_distemper_ colouring, if I must _fix_ my first impressions. Your
orders, however, concur with my bile, and thus duty and inclination
happily coincide, which is somewhat uncommon. Well, "through mud
and mire, brake and brier," I at last beheld the termination of
my woes, and drove up in a post chaise, which I firmly believe sat
for its picture to Miss Edgeworth, and found myself in front of a
verandah, which, in any other place and any other at time, might
have seemed a bower of enchantment; but my eyes were jaundiced,
my bones were weary, and every thought was steeped in vinegar, so
cross, cold, sour, and discontented did I feel, as the lubberly
brute, called post-boy by a strange misnomer, trundled off his
jaded horse, and thumping up like a sack against the hall door,
gave a knock which might have been heard in Labrador. I expected
to have been met and smothered on the threshold by my aunt and
cousins, but a servant only made his appearance, and the step was
let down; Lewis had descended, and I was fairly on my feet, and
trying to pump up a smile upon my countenance, lest its previous
expression should stamp my character irretrievably, ere in two
minutes I found myself affectionately greeted and as affectionately
dismissed to my apartments, for I have got a _suite_ allotted to
me, and as I was preparing to obey, and retire, my aunt, with
one of the sweetest voices I ever heard, begged that I would not
hurry myself. "Frederick my love," added she, "I depend upon your
shewing dear Arthur his room, and I need not remind you that as
he is an invalid, he must not be asked to do any thing in the
least distressing, or requiring effort. Arthur, you will I hope
feel yourself _at home_, and that charming little word comprises
all that I can offer you, and so _much_, that I should weaken its
force, if I attempted by any addition to render it more impressive."

When I was dressed, I went down stairs, and opening a door that
lay on my right hand, found myself in a snug library and alone.
Supposing this to be the room in which we were to muster before
dinner, I took up some books which lay on the table, and what
should I discover? why, positively that I have got amongst a
batch of _Blues_. Full ten minutes elapsed before my rapid survey
was interrupted; and in that short period I found the initials
of Emily and Charlotte annexed to the name of Douglas, in at
least a dozen volumes, one of which was Sallust, a second Virgil,
a third Sowerby on Minerals, a fourth some one, I forget who,
upon Botany, and so on. I absolutely felt my cheeks glow with
shame and indignation. What! set down in a nook of the county of
Kerry, in Ireland, without a creature to speak to, who I suppose
ever saw "a good man's feast," though I dare say they are not
without "bells that call to church;" and to find myself not only
shut out from the world, but screwed in a vice as it were, with
all manner of pedantry, and required to talk science all day
to a set of _precieuses ridicules_! it was too much for _my_
constitution I assure you; and with the celerity of lightning I
resolved to construct an apology, as quickly as possible, for my
speedy departure. The _manner_ of disengaging myself from the
noose still remains to be determined, but it is quite plain that
at Blue-Stocking Hall, which is a much more appropriate name than
Glenalta, I cannot stay.

My aunt's letters never threw light upon the accomplishments
of her daughters, and as one does not take much interest in
the occupations of the elders in a family, her own literary
propensities would not have annoyed me at all, particularly, too,
as I might probably find able assistance in Frederick whenever I
had a mind to laugh at learned ladies. But to my narrative,--the
first who entered the room was Fanny, the youngest of the family.
She is about fifteen, strikingly pretty, with almost the funniest
expression of countenance that I ever saw, and thank Heaven, of
an age to be treated as a child. _She_ will, I see, be my sheet
anchor while I am obliged to tarry on this coast. My aunt and her
_Aspasias_ followed before I had time to utter a sentence, and
Frederick brought up the rear. In the moment of his entrance, the
servant who was at his heels, announced dinner, and while we were
crossing the hall, my aunt said, "You were in the library while
we were waiting your arrival in the drawing-room, so we missed
the pleasure of your company, my dear boy, for I know not how
long. Arthur, I know how disagreeable it is to be watched with
too great anxiety, so to day you shall eat and drink as you find
that you _can_ do; and if there is any thing that you are in the
habit of taking, or any thing that you would like to try, I can
promise you the aid of three of the kindest nurses that ever took
care of an invalid. They have had great experience, and will be
delighted to be useful to you." I thanked her, secretly resolving
to give my fair cousins as little trouble as possible, and down
we sat to dinner, which was not a bit like what I supposed it
would have been, but actually _got up_ in excellent style. We had
two nice little courses of capital materials that might have done
credit to the London market; admirably dressed, served up quite
in a civilized manner, and, would you believe it, not a word of
_azure_ during the repast. Don't fancy me, however, the block-head
to cry roast-meat before I am out of the wood. Indigo itself could
scarcely have found opportunity to display its tints in the midst
of all the inquiries for mother, sisters, uncles, aunts, that
happily filled the intervals of carving and eating. In all my life
I never felt so much indebted to my relations before; and when the
ladies got up to leave the room, not a word had escaped their lips
which was not delivered in their vernacular language; and by the
bye, I will tell you what appears to me very extraordinary, that
not one of this family speaks with that horrible accent, vulgarly
called _brogue_. No, positively they all express themselves
remarkably well, and what is also strange enough, they are very
elegant, and modern in their appearance. In short, I should not be
ashamed of the _coup d'[oe]il_ of the house and its inhabitants,
were it not for this cursed _blue_ which will burst upon me in a
torrent to-morrow, and be no doubt the more impetuous in its flow,
for having been dammed up during so many hours.

When left alone with Fred. who seems a very honest sort of fellow,
I found that he was a sportsman, I suppose in a coarse way; but
still here is a resource, and he tells me that he has excellent
greyhounds and setters; that game abounds in these mountains;
and that there is good fun to be had at small cost of labour.
_Tant mieux_ for an invalid. We sat for an hour without drinking
much wine, from which I am under orders to abstain till this
plaguy chest of mine is well, and to which my companion seemed
to have no natural propensity. We then joined the party in the
drawing-room, and there I found Emily writing music, Charlotte
tuning a harp,--yes, a very fine one too, Fanny rolling a ball for
a beautiful little spaniel, and her mother smiling at its gambols.

There was nothing appalling here, but the evening was young;
however, here was a _new_ resource, and with grateful alacrity I
hastened to beg for a soft strain of Erin. Certainly I am lost
in astonishment. Do you know that these girls sing like syrens?
Nothing can be in finer harmony than their voices, and some of the
simple Irish airs which were sung this evening, have so completely
taken possession of my mind, that I shall dream of nothing else.
Why will women be so absurd as to mistake the true feminine
character, and, despising the sceptre which nature has placed in
their hands, relinquish a legitimate and undisputed empire, to
engage in the silly project of conquest over regions which will
never submit to their arms?

Were it not for the farrago of Latin, Greek, botany, chemistry,
and the devil knows what, with which my ears are to be assailed,
how readily should I bear testimony to the charms which sweet
music and good manners possess; and when I consider (and I really
speak impartially), the fund upon which the Douglas girls might
fairly _trade_, I am at a loss to perceive the motive for all this
nonsense of learning. If they were ugly or old, or surrounded
by professors, there might be some reason for experimenting in
literary lore, and hoisting a blue flag; but young, pleasing,
singularly elegant, with heavenly voices, what is it that the
fools would be at? I suppose that my poor aunt, whose affliction
I fancy made her a recluse for several years, has insisted upon
making scholars of the sisterhood, because Fred's tutor, who of
course was some antiquated piece of furniture, had time to spare,
and probably knew about as much of life and manners, as Noah did
in the Ark. If this be the case, I shall soon find out all about
the matter, and my visit here may be a blessing, as I shall take
the very first opportunity that offers of opening aunty's eyes
to the impolicy of her conduct, by assuring her that men of the
_present_ day dread a _blue_ more than a scorpion, which argument,
I believe, never failed yet with a _mamma_; and as to the poor
girls, it will be easy to work upon their minds without being
ungallant. To be sure they cannot unlearn all that old domine
has crammed into their noddles, but if they are frightened into
a careful concealment, there is not much harm done; for if after
they are married, they can put their boys through the Latin grammar
and Selecta, the employment will not be disagreeable to them, the
children may benefit, and if they should settle in Ireland, I mean
in the country, no body need be the wiser for their latinity.
Fanny is young enough to snatch from contagion, and with her merry
phiz, she ought not to drudge over _Hic hæc hoc_. I could not help
thinking of Marmontel's description (is it not?) of _Agathe_ in
the _Misanthrope_, when I looked at her, "_La plus jolie espiegle
que l'Amour eut jamais formé_," and as I applied these words, I
resolved to save her if possible.

Well, tea, coffee, and milk-cakes, as good of their kinds as you
ever tasted, succeeded by the harp and piano-forte, left me no
time for a game of chess to which Frederick had challenged me on
entering the room. At ten o'clock a tray made its appearance with
some really fine fruit, and the best milk I ever tasted; nothing
could be more easy, cheerful, and pleasant than our little party;
and so entirely were books left out of the evening's amusement,
that what I had seen before dinner was never remembered till I
reached my own room; we were as gay as larks, and even danced some
quadrille figures. Here again surprise is no word to express what
I felt at seeing my cousins acquit themselves with a grace that
would actually be quite _distingué_ at Almack's. A little _fashion_
might be added, but nothing can be better than the flexibility and
perfect ear which accompany every movement of these mountaineers.
So far so good, but old Solon used to say "the end is not come
yet," and I felt all the prudence of suspended judgment conveyed
in his _laconicism_, when on the removal of the tray, Frederick
placed a large book before his mother, and having rung the bell, I
found myself presently engaged,--yes, actually engaged in family
prayers with no less than six domestics and an old non-descript
with grey hair, who hobbled in leaning upon a stick, and for whose
accommodation Fanny placed a cushion; all ranged along the end
of the room: it was a complete _take in_, and I never felt more
awkwardly in all my life. However there was no escaping, and I had
nothing for it but submission. My aunt, to do her justice, gave us
a short prayer, and I cannot say that there was any _cant_ in it;
but conceive the bad taste of following this part of the ceremony
by reading a chapter in the New Testament, and during the time,
sitting "hail fellows well met" in the midst of the servants, who
took to their seats as naturally as if they had been born to five
thousand a year each.

Now my good friend, _you_ stand up for these exhibitions; but to
see the gentry of the country thus brought on a level with their
footmen; and to see a girl of Fanny's appearance fly to help
old Lawrence, whose stick slipped as he was about to retire, I
must ever think revolting to common sense, and I went to my room
determined to hasten my departure as much as possible. Of course I
conclude that my antediluvian relations go through this religious
mummery twice a day; and though you know that I am not of the
infidel school, I hate piety in such clothing as I find it dressed
in here; and as I equally dislike old fashions and _new_ lights,
I shall get rid of the one and the other as fast as I can. I must
not offend people, however, who are kindly inclined to me, and
therefore you may address one letter at least to this place. Good
night, and believe me, in a confounded cross humour,

                                           Truly yours
                                             ARTHUR HOWARD.

P.S. I mean to send you my next packet on this day week.




                             LETTER IV.

             MRS. DOUGLAS TO MRS. E. SANDFORD.


    My dearly loved Friend,

And are you really once more in your own Derbyshire, enjoying the
blessing of rest after all your wanderings? My heart flies to bid
you welcome at Checkley, where your presence, I doubt not, was
long desired and affectionately greeted, though not perhaps with
such energy as is conveyed in our Irish "Cead Millagh farthagh."
But how doubly blessed is your return, and how largely has a
merciful Providence repaid your labours, and compensated for every
privation that you have endured, by restoring the sweet Agnes to
perfect health! You are a mother, in almost every sense of that
comprehensive title, to three dear and doubly orphaned girls, who
now employ your whole attention; and though you have been spared
those anxieties, incident to the relation of parent, which belong
exclusively to the tender years of infancy, you can sympathize in
all the solicitude to which the unfoldings of youth give birth; and
thus a new bond has arisen to link our souls together.

Now that the peril is past, that which was toil while actually
present, becomes pleasure when viewed in the distance; and thus it
is that the great Dispenser of Good rewards the patient performance
of duty.

You longed to be at home, and you are safely lodged within its
delightful retreat; while your girls like bees have been collecting
honey from every flower to enrich their hive, and no longer
indebted to "books and swains alone," for their knowledge of the
world, can talk of Switzerland, and Italy, and France with all the
many who have visited their shores. _My_ holidays are yet to come;
but do not be frightened; I am not thinking of the Continent--I am
only running forward with my mind's eye to the happy accomplishment
of our mutual wishes in the meeting at this dear spot of which your
promise holds out the exhilarating prospect. My children seem
to feel that months are years, till August comes and brings the
Sandfords to Glenalta.

But dearest Elizabeth, I am not answering your question: "Will you
help me with your experience in this weighty task which I have
undertaken, and give me your advice upon the important subject of
female education, as I proceed in an endeavour to fulfil the part
which I have engaged to act?" Yes surely, my friend, I will gladly
afford you every aid in my power to bestow, but you will not expect
more than I can give. You must not look to me for that which I have
never found myself, namely a plan or system by which I could work
under the guidance of another mind without exercising at every
moment whatever penetration the Almighty had conferred upon my own.
This, whatever be its measure, has been employed night and day in
scrutinizing the individual varieties that presented themselves in
the several dispositions of my children.

You know the little history of their infant years, and that they
were ever with me. You know also of the frightful chasm in my
life, which succeeded. I dare not even now look back upon that
period, nor is it necessary; for you have nothing to do with the
first years of childhood: but till this moment I never told you of
the _heart-sting_ by which I was roused from that torpor which had
diffused a species of Upas shade over my character for some years.

While I was buried in my cottage near Linton, in Devonshire, I
was attacked by low fever which threatened my life. It was not
contagious, and therefore I was not debarred from seeing my
children. Frederick, the eldest, was then twelve years old, and one
day when he and his little sisters came to kiss and say farewell
before they took their walk, I perceived my dear boy's cheek wet as
it touched mine, and almost in the same instant that the tiny group
hurried from my room I found a scrap of paper lying on the pillow
upon which my head was reclined. I opened and read the following
artless effusion addressed


                    "_To my beloved Mamma._

            And wilt _thou also_ fall asleep?
            And must we never cease to weep?
            And can'st thou breathe a long farewell
            To those whose little bosoms swell
            With love, that would thy sorrows cheer,
            With grief, that finds no solace here?
            Oh take us to the realms of light,
            Or stay awhile thy spirit's flight
            Tho' angels beckon: hear our prayer,
            Nor leave thy children to despair!"

This first lisping of an almost infant muse produced an electric
effect, and seemed the proximate instrument to inspire a degree of
resolution which till then had been denied to my prayers; for God
does his work in our hearts by secondary means and not by miracles.
From that hour my mind appeared gradually to receive strength. I
began to feel that solitude was too selfish an enjoyment; that I
had _active_ duties which claimed a share of my thoughts. I prayed
earnestly, I exerted myself unceasingly, recovered health, and then
determined on the great sacrifice of re-visiting Glenalta. The
anguish, which that effort cost me, it would be as impossible for
me to express, as it would be painful to you to conceive. Enough
of this! Your request for assistance in your new character has led
me back through a labyrinth of past time, and my pen has almost
unconsciously pursued the train.

The excellent tutor who was procured for me by my invaluable
friend Edward Otway, seemed as if formed expressly for my purpose.
I could not have borne the society of any mortal who expected
to be made a companion, nor could I have allowed my children to
associate with a person who did not deserve to be made a friend.
Mr. Oliphant, old enough to be my father, yet cheerful enough to
be the play-fellow of my children when he was not their teacher,
religious, benevolent, learned, simple in his manners, enthusiastic
both in acquiring and imparting knowledge, and never desiring
other company than that of his pupils and his books, was the man
whom I found at Lisfarne under the roof of my friend, and waiting
the arrival of my family at Glenalta. A few dreadful struggles
over, we commenced upon the "noiseless tenor of our way." I read
every volume of which I had ever heard upon education, and found
instruction in a short paper upon the subject, written by the late
Mrs. Barbauld, whose pen was called upon to direct the conduct of
a father and mother who found themselves the parents of a darling
only son, and possessed of such affluence as to induce them to give
a _carte blanche_ for whatever might be suggested as most likely to
succeed in making this object of their common affection all that
they fondly desired to see him.

Her letter in reply to their solicitations for advice, was
published many years ago in a periodical work entitled "The
Inquirer," and contains more strong good sense in a few pages than
I have ever met with in the many ponderous quartos which maternal
anxiety induced me to wade through. Mrs. Barbauld tells her friends
_to be_ themselves in daily life, in all their habits of speaking
and acting, _that_ which they desire to impress upon their son. The
quantity of Greek and Latin, logic, and mathematics, which he might
attain in the progress of his studies, or the place in which such
knowledge should be acquired, she wisely leaves in a great measure
to other advisers; and resting on what is surely of far higher
consequence in the human compound, namely the principles, the
sentiments, the opinions which it is desirable should actuate the
conduct of the future man, she admirably remarks that the _moral
atmosphere_ by which youth is surrounded, is the real teacher--not
the tutor or governess who lays down precepts in the closet.

We are told in holy writ, that "the children of this world are
wiser in their generation than the children of light," and we may
fairly draw a similar comparison between the young and the more
advanced of our fellow creatures upon earth. The whole _strength_
of a child lies in his sagacity, which accounts for all the
acuteness employed by young people in observing looks and actions,
and in developing the secret motives of those in whose conduct
they are interested. In low minds this acuteness degenerates into
cunning, but in all children there is a quickness of intellect,
a readiness in deducing effects from causes, and marking
inconsistencies between theory and practice, which ought to
operate as a powerful incentive with those who undertake the care
of youth, to make singleness of heart and a broad bold integrity
the rule of every act in life. It is in vain that we talk of the
beauty of truth, while we employ dissimulation in our intercourse
with society; or descant on the advantages of occupation, while
our own days are passed in idleness and sloth. _Words_ go for very
little, whilst it is what we are _doing_ that secretly determines
the bias of our children either to imitate or avoid. Powerfully
impressed with this leading truth, I endeavoured to act upon my
conviction. My rules were simple, few, and determined. I avoided
as much as possible the multiplication of _decrees_, and, where it
was practicable, rather sought to shew my little flock the path in
which I wished them to walk by accompanying their steps, than to
point out by prohibition that which was to be avoided. The success
with which a merciful Providence has blessed my humble efforts
is not granted to all in the same _degree_; but all must try for
the goal, though it may not be given to reach it in every case.
The original structure of the human mind is after all the great
thing, and our best endeavours can but improve or restrain; but
will never _create_. That belongs to higher influence. You know my
feelings, and how much I prize one unselfish movement of the heart
above all the intellect that ever adorned the greatest philosopher;
and therefore it is that I have tried with such incessant care
to cultivate the affections of my children. Here again nature
must co-operate; for there are characters so phlegmatic, so cold,
so inclined to contradiction, that no kindness will warm them
into confidence and love. But though we do not make sufficient
allowance for the vast variety of constitutional temperament, and
too frequently expect equal results from different soils, which
will always disappoint our hopes; a careful study of the materials
upon which we are to act, and a judicious application of culture
according to the _grain_ and _character_ of those materials, will
seldom fail of repaying our labours by such harvest as it is
reasonable to anticipate.

I have, you see, only attempted here to give you a loose sketch of
my ground plan. You must ask specific questions, to which you shall
have the best replies in my power to give: but if I go on tacking
my thoughts together _generally_ upon the subject of education, I
may be giving you what you do not want. Tell me, then, all your
difficulties as they arise, and as far as my experience can remove
them you may rely upon my inclination to assist your virtuous
resolution of supplying a parent's place to your poor brother's
orphans.

The many volumes devoted to the subject of education are frequently
written by people who have, like the spider, spun out the web of
their theories from within, and then applied those tissues to
creatures of their own imagination, fitting and conforming the one
to the other as nicely as Cinderella's slipper was found to suit
the princess for whose foot it had been made. Such books remind me
of a fine contrivance which should be devised with mathematical
precision by one wholly unacquainted with practical operations.
The machine is set going, and the influence of friction alone,
upon which our philosopher had never calculated in his closet, is
sufficient to overset the entire speculation.

I must now employ the remainder of my paper in mentioning the
arrival of my nephew Arthur Howard. His health is far from being
robust: but I flatter myself _already_ that our balmy breezes from
the sea, and fragrant gales from the heath-covered mountains, which
nearly surround this little glen, have been of use to him. Nothing
could be more delightful to my heart than his perfect recovery,
if I might hope that, with renewed health, he were to inhale
amongst us some better notions (for I cannot dignify his nonsense
with the title of _opinions_) than the silly society of his poor
mother, and those vapid votaries of fashion with whom her hours
are passed, have infused into his youthful mind. Arthur is not
more than twenty, and has so good an understanding, combined with
a remarkably open, candid nature, that I cannot bear to think of
his being misled by vanity and folly. He is very engaging, though
in the high road to be spoiled, if we cannot, by some necromancy,
contrive to make him love our peaceful pleasures at Glenalta.

It is to me a source of great amusement as well as delight to be
a silent observer of the group by which I am encircled. I had
prepared my dear Frederick and his sisters to find their cousin
frank and amiable, but sadly led astray by the tyranny of fashion;
and it is really more interesting than I can express, to behold the
sweet assiduities of these beloved children in administering to his
wants, endeavouring to promote his amusement, and softening his
prejudices by the most endearing kindness, and gentle, judicious
opposition. So nice is the tact which singleness of heart, and
affection inspire, that I have not had once to animadvert upon
any part of their manners towards our young guest since he came
amongst us, and as all their innocent projects for his reformation,
and delicate remarks upon the progress or failure of their little
schemes are imparted with the glow of confiding sympathy to me, I
am charmed with the discoveries which I am thus enabled to make in
the dispositions of my children, through circumstances calculated
to place them in new lights to my view.

My mind undergoes variety of emotion in considering Arthur, whose
conflicts of spirit I can clearly penetrate. Sometimes diverted
beyond measure by his rising indignation, I can scarcely preserve
my gravity when I see his choler ready to burst into furious
invective against the many pursuits in which my girls are occupied
_so new_ to him; then checked ere it has exploded by some sprightly
sally on their part, or by his own evidently growing attachment
to their pleasant society. Emily reasons with him, Charlotte
expostulates, and Fanny banters so playfully with her cousin,
that her merriment seems always with a magic touch to restore his
temper to its equipoise. Arthur you know has been bred up in the
school of _the world_, and holds all its doctrines with tenacity.
Accomplishments make up all his idea of female education. To sing,
play on the harp and piano-forte, speak French, and know enough of
Italian to quote a line from Metastasio, are the utmost extent to
which he would permit a woman's lore to extend. Any thing more
than this, every degree of literary information beyond the poems of
Lord Byron or an Album, is voted _blue_, and Arthur's eloquence is
in continual exercise upon the absurdity, inutility, and vulgarity
of _learning in a lady_. His tirades are met with such perfect good
humour, and he is so frequently indebted to those resources in
his cousins which he affects to despise for varying the pleasures
of his day, that I prophesy a change in his opinions, but it will
not be wrought all at once. We must patiently endure some more
reproach, ere our young man of fashion will declare himself a
convert, but such is the charm of _mind over matter_, that I think
we shall conquer in the end.

My dears all unite in most affectionate loves to you and yours with
my Elizabeth's

                                     Attached friend,
                                          CAROLINE DOUGLAS.

Mr. Oliphant returns from his northern trip next week.




                             LETTER V.

            ARTHUR HOWARD TO CHARLES FALKLAND.


    My dear Falkland,

Here comes the day for sealing my promised packet, which you will
find to contain the last week's register of matters and things
as time glides on at Glenalta.--Well; shall I begin by giving
you this day's impression, or travel, like a crab, backwards, in
order to get forward? As the latter will be in the Irish style,
and also conformable to my promise, I suppose that I must give it
the preference. To return then--I made up my budget on Wednesday
night, went to bed, tossed about rather feverishly for an hour or
two, partly from this plaguy cough, which was, I conclude, excited
by my journey, and partly, no doubt, from the irritation of my
temper. Sleep, however, that "sweet restorer," as _our_ poet so
beautifully calls it, came ere long to my aid, and my eyes were
closed until they opened at once upon Lewis, and the most brilliant
sunshine I ever beheld!

"Lewis, I will get up before the family are stirring--I want to
look about me, and see something of this place before breakfast."
"Lord, sir," replied my squire, "the people of this house I believe
live without sleep, at least if I may judge by what I have seen as
yet. I was up myself at half past six, and the young ladies were
coming then from the sea when I went down stairs. They are off upon
some other prank now, for I saw two of them on donkies, and Mr.
Frederick is, I know not where, but certainly not in his room, for
the door and windows of it are wide open."

I jumped up, and at eight o'clock sallied forth in quest of
adventures. The Glen, in which my aunt's dwelling is situated,
is most assuredly quite lovely; and this time of the year is so
charming in itself, that it is provoking that all things here
should not be in harmony. Just conceive a set of Blue Stockings
in a scene fit for nothing but love-music and romance,--faith it
is mortifying; not that I am near so angry as I was when I last
wrote. No; they are all very prudent, I must own; but the accursed
thing is _there_, and only waiting for an opportunity to overwhelm
me;--but to my diary.

I had not gone ten yards from the hall door, along a winding
pathway that leads through a wood to the sea, when, fascinated
by the beauty of every thing around me, I thought that I would
run back for my sketch-book, and try if I could not at least take
_notes_ of the view near the house, particularly as I shall leave
it so soon, before I joined the family party. Just as I regained my
own room, I met pretty Fan, looking like a rose-bud. "Fred. and I
have been searching every where for you, Arthur, to give you your
little _dose_ of milk warm from the cow, which I am determined
shall cure your cough, and make you as fat as my Flora." So saying,
off she skipped, desiring me to wait for her return, and in a few
seconds she came back in the character of Hebe, bearing a goblet
of high-frothed milk instead of nectar, not for Jupiter, but your
humble servant. Never having been paid such an attention in all my
life before, I felt rather at a nonplus. Not a line from Scott,
Byron, or any of our British bards!--no, not even the "Thought
upon new milk," at which you and I have laughed in the Rolliad,
came to my relief. Not intimate enough to be thus served by a
princess of the castle, without returning _some_ acknowledgment,
and nothing either chivalric or poetical starting to my _rescue_,
I was completely _at fault_, and looked, perhaps for the first
time, something like Simon Pure. Fanny, however, did not seem to
observe any thing but the main point of whether the draught were
honestly dregged to the very bottom.--"Drink it all; the conserve
of roses, I dare say, will reward the last gulp,--there, that is a
dear boy--it will do you good;" and away flitted my nymph of the
mountain, saying, as she sped along, that she would come and walk
with me in a moment. Scarcely had I lost sight of her, before she
was back again; and all animation, with youth, health, and good
humour, she ran up to me and said--"Old Lawrence does not treat me
so formally as you do; _he_ does not look surprised when I offer
him a glass of milk; but smiles kindly, with a 'bless you, missy,'
as my reward."

"What," answered I, "have you been meting out your favors this
morning to a set of pensioners, amongst whom I have the honour
to be classed? If that be the case, _my_ gratitude might be
taken from the general tribute, and hardly missed."--"Oh, then,
I see how it is," replied my little coz, "you are offended at me
for having taken care of a helpless old man in company with a
smart and fashionable young one; but you will not be angry when
I tell you, that this dear old soul is the precious mother's
foster-father." "And pray, my amiable Fan, what is the meaning of
_foster_-father, for in my life I never happened to hear of such a
relation."--"Well, you astonish me, Arthur; I find that you have a
great deal to learn. Old Lawrence, or Lorry, as you will soon be
taught to call him, was husband to mamma's nurse. Nanny is dead,
and much did we grieve for her; but it is a great consolation
for her loss, that we are enabled to make her excellent and aged
partner so happy and comfortable as he is at Glenalta. Remember,
too, that the blessed sun does not shine less brightly upon you,
dear Arthur, because it warms our poor old man: and when you think
of this, you will never grudge him a share of Drimindhu's milk."

"And who, may I ask, is Drimindhu?" rejoined I. "A favourite cow.
Our Kerry cows are beautiful, and not unlike those of Alderney; but
Drim is my own property, and her milk is better than any other;
at least, _I_ think so, or I would not give it to you and Lorry.
Have your sisters _pets_ of this kind at Selby?" "No, indeed, _my_
sisters know very little of cows; and I question whether they
ever heard that it is these animals which supply us with milk.
Louisa and Adelaide live for a great part of every year in town,
and when they go down into Buckinghamshire, or to Brighton, or
elsewhere, they ride and drive, but never take any part in domestic
affairs."--"Well, then," answered Fanny, "I am sorry for it--they
lose a very great pleasure by not cultivating a love for the
country and its pursuits. The act of loving is so delightful, that
it always seems like the soul's sunshine; and I never understand
the character of the Deity so well as when I think of Him as a God
of Love."

Though I could not refrain from smiling, I felt for the time that
Fanny's view of things was very contagious. The splendor of a May
morning, the freshness of Nature, and the concert of singing birds,
had put me into a disposition to be pleased, and the simplicity of
this dear little girl had all the stimulating effect of novelty on
my senses.

At this moment, turning round a wooded knoll which we had been
skirting while thus engaged in a sort of conversation so unlike
what I had ever been accustomed to, a group of three donkies
appeared in view. "Here they come," exclaimed Fanny; and, darting
with the fleetness of a greyhound, she flew to meet her sisters,
who were attended by a peasant-boy, carrying a basket before
him. Nothing could be more picturesque than the scene, and it
was much heightened by the approach of these rustic equestrians.
While I was moving towards them, a fine pointer passed me by at
full speed, and a tap on my shoulder announced Frederick, who came
running across the grass to join the party. A few moments brought
us together, and, to my amazement, the brother and sisters met with
as much demonstration of gladness at sight of each other as Louisa,
Adelaide, and I could have mustered after a year's separation.
The effect was pleasant; and, if _sincere_, this affection which
the people here discover towards each other has something very
_comfortable_ in it; but it is only calculated for this sort of
place, and, like hospitality, naturally flies into these recesses
of the earth, where the objects are scarce upon which one's
practice can be exercised. Politeness is necessary to a _certain_
degree in the world, and even _that_ may be overdone; but beyond
this how little of the heart does one see brought into play, and
indeed on a great theatre the thing would be impracticable, if it
were not such a bore as to render an attempt to love every one that
a man meets as absurd as it is impossible. But I digress.--Large
coarse straw hats shaded my pretty cousins from the sun, which
shone brightly. The eldest has a peculiar expression, made up
of the intellectual and pensive, which is singularly agreeable,
though her features are not regular enough for what requires no
periphrasis to describe, but is at once called beauty. Charlotte
is very pleasing also; her countenance is less strongly marked
than Emily's by reflection, but it is quick as lightning--and full
of sensibility; while Fanny's face exhibits a mixture of all the
varied characteristics of both her sisters', or may perhaps be more
properly denominated a mirror, in which every movement of _their_
minds that makes it way to the surface, is shadowed with fidelity.

All were in a hurry to get home lest my aunt should be kept
waiting a moment; and so quick were the subsequent operations,
that Frederick has assisted the two damsels from their donkies,
the riding costume was _doffed_, as if by magic; and ere it
seemed possible to have gone through half the preliminary work of
preparation for breakfast, a bell tingled, and hastily pocketing
my sketch-book, I quitted my station near the house, where I had
lingered to make a memorandum of the spot, and was met at the door
by Fred. who stopped my entrance, saying, "Arthur, my mother fears
it may not be agreeable to you to attend family prayers; and,
as you are an invalid, I am desired to say, that you are not to
consider yourself bound to our hours, or observances; therefore, my
dear fellow, as you have of course said your own prayers, do not
think it necessary to join us; but Lewis has been asked, and as it
is pleasant to be _sure_ of religious instruction for the servants,
I came to mention the circumstance, lest you should want your
_valet_."

Now the fact was, that though you know I _do_ say my prayers
generally, and think the practice a right one, I had not knelt down
on that morning. The stimulus of a new place, the vexation of the
preceding evening, and a sort of restless curiosity to look about
me, and make my observations while I had an opportunity of being
alone; all excited me to quit my room as fast as I could, and I did
so without a syllable of devotion: behold me, then, again caught in
the trap; and having blundered out something of being "very happy,
&c. &c." Frederick led the way, and in a small room where there was
no appearance of eatables, I found Mrs. Douglas and her daughters.

My aunt, who is about forty, is a heavenly looking being, without
being handsome in the _common_ sense of the word. Her character of
countenance, manner, dress, is entirely and exclusively _her own_,
without conveying in any thing the idea of eccentric. Her smile is
lovely, and seems to warm into life and serenity whatever it rests
upon.

    "At length her sorrows drew a line of care
    Across her brow, and sketch'd her story there.
    Years of internal suffering dried the stream
    That lent her youthful eye its liquid beam;
    A mild composure to its glance succeeds,
    The gayest look still spoke of widow's weeds."

The exquisite lines, written by I know not whom, from which I
have made this extract, seem to have been drawn for my aunt. The
portraiture is perfect; but I must not forget that we are all
_fasting_. I was received with "welcome, _my_ Arthur," which I do
not know _why_, gave me a lump in my throat--a mixed sensation
of pain and pleasure, which I have very seldom experienced. The
servants, neatly dressed, and decorously arranged, lined the room.
Fanny placed old Lawrence's cushion, and a psalm, which was read by
Frederick, was succeeded by a prayer from his mother, pronounced
with such a thrilling pathos, that I felt it "_knock_ at my heart,"
as our friend Russell said one day of an Irish melody. I admire
not only my aunt's selection, but since she _must_ have family
devotion, her judgment in limiting the time which it occupies to
so short a period. Nobody seems either tired or inattentive; but
the petition is so simple, so energetic, and so reasonable in point
of duration, that really one cannot say much against the practice,
after all: custom, too, familiarizes one in a day or two to
kneeling down among the servants, so that on the whole I have no
right to complain; and as I shall not describe our _genuflections_
again, you may fancy me performing my matins and vespers with
monastic regularity. The Roman Catholic servants here attend as
punctually as the Protestants, and of their own free will, as
my aunt dreads hypocrisy, and therefore deprecates the idea of
_compelling_ her household to a mere lip-worship; but _her_ prayers
include all who require divine assistance, of whatever kind; and
the people seem to feel that she is truth itself.

Well, we went to breakfast, and a very nice one it was. The soil
of this country and its humid atmosphere appear favourable to
grass, and all the dairy department is much better managed than
in England, at least as to the excellence of the milk, cream, and
butter, when brought upon the table; for I do not profess to be
acquainted, as yet, with the manipulations which they undergo.

"My children, have you been fortunate in your ramble this morning?
What plants have you brought me?" asked Mrs. Douglas. I now
expected a first dissertation upon stamens and pistils--felt myself
starching my countenance involuntarily into a most repellent
expression, and was hastening to swallow a bit of toast that I
might turn to Frederick while the Linnæan lecture continued, when
Emily quickly, but joyously answered, "Oh, I am delighted to tell
you, that we found every thing you want except the club-moss."

Much pleased, as well as surprised, I ventured now to hint about
the botanical books which I had glanced at, adding, "I thought
that you were all learned in botany as well as the whole circle of
sciences." A hearty laugh went round the table, and Emily replied,
"We know a few plants, and it is very amusing to go in search of
them in our mountain walks."--"And pray," I asked, "have they not
all long Latin teeth-breaking names? I dare say you know some
scientific title for club-moss." "I _do_ know another name," said
Emily, "but the English is always the easiest and pleasantest,
when one does not want to be precise." "Then, Emmy, we may set
about our recipe to-day, I think," half whispered little Fan.
Growing bold, now that I had broken the ice, I proceeded to say,
"So then you are _doctors_, too. Upon my word, it is somewhat
formidable to come into the midst of an academy in this unprepared
manner. You should all put on wigs, and write treatises; and you
should inform your friends what course is necessary to be read
before they come to examination."

What answer I should have received to this sally, I cannot tell,
for in the moment of uttering it, the door opened, and my aunt's
dear friend, Mr. Otway, made his appearance. The vivid joy with
which he was greeted was quite unlike any thing that I had ever
seen, before my acquaintance here; but it was neither noisy nor
overwhelming, and though certainly very _unfashionable_, I could
not for the life of me help feeling how very delightful it must be
to excite so much lively emotion of a pleasurable kind by one's
presence. Mr. Otway's presence was welcomed with rapture by the
whole group, though in the expression of each _bien venu_ there
was something individually characteristic. My aunt's reception of
a person for whom she feels affection, is touchingly kind; and
while the bright glow of hospitality lights up her whole manner
and appearance, the gleam is accompanied by a sort of tender
melancholy, which would evidently conceal itself were it possible,
but which, when interpreted, seems to say, "there _was_ a time when
you would have been doubly welcome, for then I was not alone."

Her smile brings that beautiful image in Ossian to my mind, which
you and I have admired, "It was like a sun-beam on the dark side
of a wave." Fanny's exclamation, upon Mr. Otway's entrance, was,
"Oh, dearest _Phil._ can this indeed be you?" To expound this
extraordinary salutation would have been difficult when first I
heard it; but I am now enabled to say, that this gay assembly
christened him "The Philosopher," because of his extensive
knowledge, to which all the family are in the habit of appealing
as to a great bank of deposit; and it appears, that no letter of
credit drawn upon it has ever been dishonored. _Phil._ then, is
short-hand for philosopher, and my ear is now familiar with this
playful abbreviation.

The first effervescence over, I was presented to, and met with
a cordial shake of the hand by Mr. Otway, to whom I must now
introduce you. He is about five-and-fifty, tall, and striking in
his appearance, with a fine forehead, remarkably intelligent eyes,
and splendid teeth. His manners are easy and polished: and though
the first _coup d'[oe]il_ was a little in the Robinson Crusoe
style, yet, when he put off a large and shaggy looking cloak, laid
by a prodigious staff, like that of a watchman, which he held in
his hand, and got rid of a cap, the laps of which were folded
over his cheeks when he first came in, I perceived that he was a
remarkably well-looking man; perhaps I should say _distingué_ most
decidedly, and thereby hangs a tale, for my evil genius was at
hand, and I got into a scrape on account of him ere an hour elapsed
after his introduction; but not to anticipate, it seems that a long
illness had confined him for some time, and this was the first
visit that he had made on foot, which was the reason of his being
unusually muffled, and also of the more than common happiness
expressed at sight of him. He sat only a few minutes, but promised
to dine on the following day; and immediately after his departure
my aunt, addressing herself to me, said, "Arthur, my love, we are
a home-spun set of people here, very unlike the world to which you
are accustomed, and instead of passing our mornings in amusement,
we go to our several occupations till two o'clock, at which hour
you will always find luncheon in the breakfast-parlour, and your
cousins ready to ride or walk; but as you must not be expected to
drop all at once into our old-fashioned ways, Frederick and Emily
shall be your companions to-day, Charlotte and Fanny to-morrow. In
this manner, you will be acquainted with our walks, and introduced
to our sunny bowers. When Fred.'s next examinations are over, he
will be a free man; and in the mean time you will, I know, bear
with our stupidity."--So saying, she pressed my hand, and left the
room, followed by the younger girls.

"Shall we walk or ride to-day?" said Emily. "We are your attendant
knights," answered Frederick, "and wait your decision." "Oh,
oh!" quoth I, "Sir Charles Grandison upon our hands:" I did not,
however, say so _aloud_; I thought it better to feel my way a
little, and only replied, "Certainly."--Emily, with perfect ease,
rejoined, that she thought we might perhaps do both, and, turning
to her brother, added, "Suppose that we take him first through the
Glen, then round the coppice to Lisfarne Wood; and after luncheon,
if Arthur is not tired, we may ride up the mountain, and shew him
the bay." Matters were arranged in a moment, and forth we sallied,
Frederick presenting one arm to his sister and the other to me.
"Pooh! what a piece of ceremony you are," said I. "How so?" eagerly
asked Emily; "Fred. is so affectionate, that he _cannot_ be formal:
his heart always serves with him in the place of etiquette, by
suggesting all that the most genuine politeness could dictate: his
attentions are not confined to strangers; but, unlike those of cold
mannerists, are bestowed upon the people whom he loves best."

This savoured of a _sting_, and I felt my colour rising; but in
a second I found that none could have been designed; indeed, how
should it, for they knew nothing of my conduct with my sisters, and
therefore could never have intended a stab in the dark. "Plague
on these _retirements_," thought I to myself, "where there is no
standard for good manners but people's own crude notions of what
is right and wrong! This ponderous machinery of morals, brought to
bear upon every trifle, is as difficult to be at ease with, as the
heavy cross-stitch, long-backed chairs of antiquity which are just
suited to such _buckram_, and it is a pity that the furniture at
Glenalta is not in _keeping_ with these straight-laced puritans who
are its inhabitants."--Thoughts are rapid, and these flew over my
mind so fleetly as not to be fashioned into any sort of utterable
form, when the gay cheerfulness of my companions dispelled the
passing cloud, and we took a delightful walk, which was enlivened
by a great deal of pleasant conversation. We talked of Killarney,
which they tell me I must visit when I cease to _bark_. We planned
some boating parties, which, by the bye, will be just the thing,
and kill two birds with one stone; for the physicians, my mother
tells me in her last letter, desire me to go upon the water, and
as I like it excessively I shall have the credit of being a very
docile patient. They tell me that there are some curious remnants
of antiquity, which I am to see; and, in short, we cut out work
enough to occupy some time, which, if I can spin out in this back
settlement of mankind, _tant mieux_.

Well, but now for my scrape, and a _devil_ of a one I can tell you
it was. While we were jogging on as merrily as possible, Fred.
made a hop, step, and jump into the bottom of a ditch, "Emily,
what is this?" as he snapped at something growing near the bottom.
I do believe, answered she, that it is a leaf of the parnassia;
but to make _sure_, we will keep it for dear Phil. This unlucky
Phil. was my stumbling block. "By the bye," I said, "he is a very
fine looking man of his age," and totally forgetting where I was,
Old Nick put it into my head to add, "pray, is he one of aunt's
aspirants?" If I had fired a pistol at Emily, she could not have
been more amazed. For a second she stood motionless, and then
burst into tears. I begged a thousand pardons, and asked how I had
offended, while Frederick, exactly as if he had been her lover,
pressed her hand with the most affectionate solicitude, and leading
his sister towards the bank, we were all seated by a sort of tacit
consent in a moment. A silence while you could reckon ten, ensued,
and I felt foolish enough, as well as vexed, at such a _contre
tems_ in the midst of our good humour. Again I mentally cursed
botanists, philosophers, and _precieuses_, though I must own they
were not to blame upon the present occasion, when it was my own
confounded folly in forgetting what a _Ninette à la Cour_ I had to
deal with that produced this vexatious _kick up_. But while I was
biting my lip, and thinking what I should say _next_, Emily brushed
off her tears, and seizing my hand in the kindest manner, gently
implored my forgiveness, as if _she_ had been the offender, and
with as much _naïveté_ and tenderness, as if she had never read a
word of Greek or Latin in her life, said with energy, "Arthur, will
you pardon me. I know that you could never have meant the least
degree of unkindness; I was very foolish not to recollect in the
instant when you spoke, that you were only jesting; but I am so
jealous for my beloved mother, and feel such love and respect for
her valued friend, that unaccustomed to any other sentiments than
those of reverence and affection, I was quite unprepared for your
joke, which I know you will not repeat: say that you forgive me." I
felt really grateful for this good-natured address, because I had
certainly distressed her, and I therefore said very sincerely that
I was sorry for having inadvertently touched a chord that vibrated
so sensitively, adding, "but you do me only justice in believing
that nothing was further from my intentions than to wound your
feelings. I live in a world where such things are said every day
with impunity, and in fact (if you will not be angry with me for
_explaining_) I meant simply to say, that Mr. Otway and my aunt
seem well suited to each other. She is still a very attractive
woman, and he seems to feel that she is so. Now dear Emily is not
this 'the very head and front of mine offending?'" "I will try and
not again expose myself," said Emily, "by giving way to impulses
which should be under better control; it is very wrong, as well as
silly I know, to judge all things and people by the same standard;
and therefore I ought to have remembered, that the gay circle of
fashion in which you live, must of necessity be governed both in
habits and opinions by a rule as different as possible from any
that guides our simple hearts in the Kerry mountains. Now then,
here is my bargain,--I will not be angry any more, and you will
not draw conclusions, till you are better acquainted at Glenalta.
When you are, you will not be inclined to repeat the _treason_; you
will then see clearly how much you mistake the characters of the
persons who surround you: when the subject may be more interesting
than it can be while you are a mere stranger here, I will give you
a sketch of Mr. Otway's history; till then, you are to be a _calm
observer_."

All this was said with an air that partook of playful and serious;
and while it conveyed the most cheerful pardon to me, intimated
as clearly, that the error I had committed was not a slight one.
Frederick gave an encouraging look at his sister, and merrily
turning to me, finished, by saying, "We shall all be intimate by
and by, and see each other as we really are; till then, we must
obey our little mistress." Frederick and Emily appear quite devoted
to one another. We recovered our fracas very speedily; and after
a walk through some of the most beautiful scenery I ever saw,
returned home. Just as we were leaving a coppice that joins with
the shrubbery grounds, a poor woman without shoes or stockings, and
one of the most grotesque figures I ever beheld, popped upon her
knees while we were crossing a stream; recollecting suddenly that
I was now in the island of saints, I expected to hear an _ave_ at
least from this poor disciple of St. Patrick; but with uplifted
hands, streaming eyes, and county of Kerry _whine_, she invoked the
"'blessed Virgin' to shower down her best gifts on Emily's head"
"Oh Miss, _mavourneen_, Jem is well again, and going to work; and
I made bould to come over the mountain with a bit o' fish and a
little hen for ye." "Eileen, I thank you heartily," said Emily,
"and am very glad to hear that your husband is better; but where
are your shoes and stockings?" "Honey, I left 'em at home, a fear
I'd be wearing 'em out too soon; but the flax you gave me is a'most
spun, and when I gets the price of it, I'll have another pair of
stockings, and then, plase God, I'll not come to your honor any
more bare-footed."

How strange is this sort of thing! and yet this creature, scarcely
human, had a kind of natural grace about her which I believe to
be the offspring of enthusiasm: she was not at all abashed by my
presence, but tripped lightly along with us, as if assured that
she was welcome to Emily, who seemed her principal object, though
turning to Fred. presently, she exclaimed "Och, then Maisther
Frederick, how low my poor Jem was the last day that your honor
comed to see him! sure he called to little Tade, and tould him to
bring down the priest, and not tell me, a fear I'd be fretted; and
sure enough, Father Clancy come to us afore night fall, and said a
dail over him in gibberish like, that Jem did'nt know a word of;
why then, ever since, he's growing better every day; God bless
Father Clancy, and the physicks that I gets from Miss Emly."

I was much amused: this was worthy a place in Miss Edgeworth's
Absentee; but we were now opening a little wicket into the
shrubbery, and Eileen stopping, told Emily that she would go
round, it not being fit for "the likes of her to come in front of
the house." Emily's answer was, "you should come this way my good
Eileen, if it was the shortest, but you shall go round by those
trees, because you will get rid of your load directly by doing so,
and I will go with you to keep Carlo from barking at you." How new
to me is all this attention to the feelings of mere peasants; and
yet my mother's family are all zealous reformists, and of course
talk much of the people. The reason no doubt of all this is to be
found in the total ignorance of the world which prevails here. We
had now come within a few paces of the verandah, when Fanny, with a
delighted face, flew up to her brother and me, "Pray do look! the
warm sunshine of this day is bringing out my _grubs_, and I shall
have butterflies before the usual time." "Aye, Fan, said Frederick,
but you will not prevail on this day's warmth to last, and your
early butterflies may be killed by frost, if you force them out
before their time." This was a new idea, and abated Fanny's joy,
who now ran off to consult her mother and Emily upon this matter of
importance. I find my obedience to your commands, will involve me
in quires of paper, so if you do not desire a stationer's bill of
large amount to be brought in to you, upon your return, you must
let me _skip_ now and then, after giving you these _peeps_ into
character.

Imagine now a nice luncheon furnished with fine apples that have
outlived the winter, milk, honey, and sandwiches. Suppose us all
met, and an arrangement entered upon, for the mountain ride.
Charlotte, Fanny, Fred. and I, mounted, and my aunt setting out in
a little donkey cart with Emily, upon some of their inventions. We
took a charming ride, and I certainly feel this air quite a balsam
in itself. These dear little girls; think of their having prepared
Iceland moss, and made up the finest stuff you ever tasted for a
cold, which they have left in my room. At every turn I find some
mark of kind attention, and all this without fuss, or the slightest
demand upon my gratitude.

Brother and sisters were gay and agreeable during our excursion.

Frederick is a very fine fellow, with excellent abilities and noble
spirits; and in short, what with sunshine, soft air, fine views,
and good society, I came back to Glenalta in monstrous good humour,
notwithstanding that I was put in mind of my morning's annoyance
by the sight of _Phil._ driving up to the door in a gig just as we
reached home. The bell rang, (for I do assure you that we do things
here _secundum artem_, and dress for dinner), and we separated
after greeting Mr. Otway _en passant_. A very good repast, at which
Eileen's fish made a figure, as also some extraordinary sea-kale
which is a matter of rivalry between the houses of Glenalta and
Lisfarne, Emily trying one mode of culture and Mr. Otway another,
came to an end in due season without the least _stagnation_, such
as one so often witnesses in the country.

Mr. Otway is decidedly a very superior man, his conversation
displays extensive information, and, what is singular enough,
though I am given to understand that Killarney is _now_ the limit
of his excursions from home, there is nothing awkward about him.
He is accounted by all, except this family, a great oddity, for he
does not mix in society with the neighbourhood, and is given to
solitary walks and musing, which people, less cultivated than he
is, do not understand. He is not an idler however, as they tell me
that his life is a continued series of active beneficence.

When the dessert was put upon the table, and the servants gone,
we drew our chairs very snugly round a blazing billet, which the
evenings are just chilly enough still to render as comfortable as
it is a social sight; and just as we had formed a crescent about
the fire, that sly-boots, little Fan, looking over at me, with the
most innocent archness imaginable, made an appeal, for which I was
not quite prepared, and addressing herself to Mr. Otway, suddenly
asked him, "What is the meaning, dear Phil. of calling people
Blue-stockings, whose stockings are really white?"

Mr. Otway smiled, and answered, "Blue-stockings, my Fan, is a
vulgar slang for learned ladies."

"Why not for learned gentlemen too?" replied Fanny.

"That is more than I can tell you, unless for the reason, that
those who have given this nickname to your sex, are of the other
themselves, and there are not many men who like ridicule, when it
is brought home."

"Then I am to understand that the appellation Blue Stocking implies
a taunt."

"Certainly, a learned lady is the terror of all ignorant men, and
to cover their own idleness, or incapacity, they never fail to
under-value what they do not possess, particularly if they find
knowledge and ability in those, whom, _as females_, they consider
their inferiors; but you ought to apply to your cousin, who can
give you the latest _edition_. I am an old square-toes you know,
and words change their meaning every day. Howard, _unde derivatur_,
modern Blue-stockings if you please?"

I felt a little awkwardly, but answered, "Mr. Stillingfleet,
I believe, is the origin. At least his Blue-stockings at Mrs.
Montagu's _soirées_ are the only parentage that I have heard of for
the term, and you have defined it."

"Well," said Fanny, "this is odd enough, for it appears that
a gentleman wore the blue-stockings, which are transferred to
the ladies; but now Phil. I want to know why learned ladies are
disliked. I always thought that people were esteemed in proportion
to their knowledge, if they made a right use of it."

"_There_," answered Mr. Otway, "you have yourself told the whole
secret; _if they make a right use of it_. Now it has happened
that some ladies have made a _wrong_ use of their talents and
attainments, and thus have drawn reproach upon the whole sex to
which they appertain."

"What _is_ this wrong use which which has been so heavily punished,
may I enquire," interposed Charlotte, while my aunt, Emily, and
Frederick, seemed quite delighted with this curious catechism.

"The word _display_, includes the whole charge," said Mr. Otway.
"Some women have foolishly destroyed the ease of society by an
unseasonable introduction of their acquirements, and a pedantic
exhibition of the variety and extent of them in pompous expression,
unsuited to mixed companies, and uncalled for by the occasion."

"But why visit the faults of a few on the whole sisterhood,"
interrupted Fanny, with eagerness, "Mr. Otway?"

"Because men are very uncandid in their judgments, and find it
easier to get rid of a vexation by annihilating the cause, than by
regulating the effects."

Emily here begged to know "whether men were never vain-glorious,
and if they were, why they too were not nicknamed."

"In fact," said Mr. Otway, "dunces and fools hate in men, as well
as women, whatever they cannot understand or appreciate; and the
terms Bookworm, Philosopher, Quid-nunc, &c. are frequently employed
to designate persons of superior erudition; but men are simply
avoided as _bores_; women are contemned as rivals."

At this moment I chanced to look at Fanny, and saw a tear gliding
down her cheek. In the instant of being observed, she started
up, and throwing her affectionate arms around Mr. Otway's neck
exclaimed, "Oh never, never, will I call you Phil. again, which
is the short name with us for philosopher. Why did you not tell
me before that it was a term of derision? I love you as our dear
friend, and I thought it the most delightful thing possible, to
know so much as you do, and to be so like the Encyclopedia as you
are."

It was not in nature to resist this sally. We all laughed heartily,
though I saw a responding tear glitter in my aunt's eye, and Mr.
Otway impressing a parental kiss on Fanny's cheek, explained in a
few words, assuring her that however he might feel undeserving of
the title which she had bestowed upon him, yet, as being her gift,
it was so valuable that he would not exchange the appellation of
_Phil._ for the most beautiful name in the English language.

Fanny's gaiety was immediately restored, and as the conversation
hit my fancy very much, I was glad that Mr. Otway resumed it by
saying, "the reason why display of a little learning is not so
common amongst men as women, is not that they are less subject to
vanity than the latter, but because _their_ vanity is differently
directed. Learning being the business of _all_ educated men, there
is nothing on which to plume themselves in knowing a little Greek,
Latin, and mathematics. Every school-boy does the same, and it is
only pre-eminence in these studies which renders a man remarkable.
Now _real_ knowledge, extensive learning, and powerful intellect,
of the highest class, preclude boasting for two reasons, first
because I believe that it may be asserted of such minds, that they
are most sensible to the great truths of religion, which, above all
monitors with whose influence we are acquainted, inspires genuine
humility; and secondly, because it is the nature of knowledge to
render those who have made the greatest progress in its attainment
most keenly alive to the deficiencies of all human intellect. 'A
little learning is a dangerous thing,' and flippancy is ever the
offspring of superficial information."

"Now unfortunately some of the female sex having just tasted of
the Pierian springs, have become stimulated to intoxication,
without proceeding to the sobering draught recommended by the poet.
Then, as a woman's education does not _usually_ comprehend either
classical or scientific literature, a very slight proficiency in
either will make a great shew, just as a solitary candle will do
in a dark place; but there are silly people to be found in every
country as of every age, and _both_ sexes." "Pray then," said
Emily, "would not the abuse of learning be remedied in a manner
_kind_ as well as efficient, by making knowledge fashionable,
rather than by condemning half the creation to ignorance? If girls
were _generally_ allowed to acquire more information than it is
customary to teach them, there would be an end of what you call
blue-stockings, and women would not boast of a little reading any
more than they do of drawing or music."

"You are perfectly right, Emily," answered Mr. Otway, "the best
gifts may be abused, and the improper use of any good that
we possess can never be considered as a sound argument for
relinquishing it. Neither do men argue in this way when the
question relates to money, power, rank, or any of those advantages
which they _desire_ to achieve. Now, my own opinion is, that much
of the unhappiness of married life, as well as the insipidity of
mixed society, results from the present style of female education.
Accomplishments are ornamental, yet they are only the acanthus
that decorates the pillar, not the pillar itself. The most empty
mind, the worst regulated temper, may be the portion of a young
lady who plays and sings like a professor, who draws and models,
who can take casts, and sculpture marble. All these things,
however pretty, occupy neither the highest nor the best powers of
the human mind; and, generally speaking, they are pursuits which
_suppose_ exhibition. There are few who cultivate them on their
_own account_; and thousands arrive at excellence in several
branches of polite education without natural taste, merely to
attain certain ends, and when they are compassed, the scaffolding
is thrown aside altogether; the fingers are given a holyday, and
the unfurnished understanding stands confessed in all its vacuity.
If the vessel be not valuable from what it contains, it naturally
follows that the external fashion will determine its estimation;
and thus a short-lived grace comes to be the pearl of price; and
when the bloom of youth is past, there is no fund to support the
long evening of life. A sleepy animalized existence at _home_, or
a perpetual search after excitement abroad, succeeds. Both sexes
degenerate, society grows more vapid, and more vulgar, every day,
till reduced to its coarse elements of mere sensual attraction,
folly ends in vice, and things are worse and worse, till some
new impetus arises to change the entire system. If companionship
be the charm of social intercourse, why should not both sexes
cultivate those qualities and attainments which, besides being most
intrinsically excellent, promise durability?"

"Arthur," said my Aunt, "you must represent _the world_, and reply
to Mr. Otway." "Well then, with deference to his opinion," said
I, "let it be remembered that there is no necessary connection
between the amiable qualities of heart which we admire in woman,
and book knowledge. On the contrary, I should say that reading is
a selfish pleasure; shut up in a library, surrounded by grammars
and lexicons, people are not likely to improve their tempers
half so much as in the endeavour to please by proficiency in
music, dancing, drawing, sculpture, and all the list of elegant
accomplishments which every mother in the fashionable world
procures with the utmost anxiety for her daughters. In fact, the
_establishment_ of a girl who has no fortune, absolutely depends
upon her power of attraction; and when you reflect that men seek
society to unbend their thoughts, and to get rid of the studies, as
well as the cares which oppress them in the several walks of busy
occupation, whether in the field, or the closet, the senate, or the
court, I cannot help feeling that matters are very happily adjusted
in the division of labour, which the general sense of mankind has
adopted, and that women have no business whatsoever with any thing
but the _agrémens_ of life, and should leave to us the whole toil
of reading and thinking."

"Well I am sure," said Fanny, "the motive is so kind that the
arrangement _ought_ to be a good one. What do you think, Mamma?"
"My love," answered her Mother, "I shall lie by and be a listener.
The argument is in very good hands, and I shall keep my opinion in
reserve, for a _single combat_ with Arthur, when he is inclined 'to
fight the battle o'er again.'"

"We will take Emily's judgment upon this question," said Mr. Otway:
"Emily, what think _you_ of the gallantry which Fanny conceives
to be deserving of such praise?" "Indeed," ingenuously answered
Emily, "a kind motive, I should say with Fan, is so sweet, that
it inclines one to find fault with great moderation; but, however
amiable the desire to save our sex all trouble, I must own that I
do not at all admire the expedient, nor think that it seems to be a
judicious one. Reading is a great pleasure to me, and if books were
denied me, I should feel a void in my life which I do not believe
it would be easy to fill; besides, the day is so long, if one rises
early that I do not see why there should not be time for many
things as well as music and drawing."

"Come, come," said Mr. Otway, "it is not generous to profit by the
simplicity of our panegyrists. If the motive for denying, or, at
least, _grudging_ to women the advantages of a sound and a literary
education, be analyzed, I fear that it will turn out but little
creditable to our sex, and the proof that it is so, may rest on
the circumstance that the cleverest and really best informed men
are those who encourage female ambition to soar above the common
standard. _These_ men delight in superior talents, and cultivation
wherever they find them. They are not afraid of rivalry, and their
minds are too large to take pleasure in any supremacy which is
produced by exclusion. The lazy, and the tyrannical, would fence
in their privileges, and not permit to women a participation in
what they choose to call their inherent rights; the former to save
themselves the trouble of acquiring knowledge, and the latter
because they would depress and enslave the sex to which they
would allot no higher calling than that of administering to their
amusement? Is not this a _true bill_?" I could not deny that there
was some force in the statement, but urged the _general_ voice as
being considered the best criterion of what is good in itself, and
then advanced the necessity of making some difference between two
sets of beings destined to such dissimilar offices. "Men are born
to action. They live in public, they preside in the councils of
nations; they provide for the families that look up to them for
protection; they labour in the field with their hands, and in the
closet with their brains. When the toil of life is suspended, they
desire relaxation, and to be gratified by the charms of beauty,
grace, sweet music, and good manners."

"And these are all compatible with much higher and more dignified
powers, and purposes," rejoined my antagonist. "Some writer,
whose name I forget, has said, 'tell me your amusements, and I'll
tell you what you are.' There is a great deal of wisdom in the
idea, and it holds good in forming an estimate both of nations
and individuals. The love of gain, the dread of poverty, desire
of fame; in short, a thousand motives may, and do, constrain men
to engage in pursuits which make the _business_ of life. A set
of shoemakers, or a privy council, merely _as such_, are brought
to a level with each other, the one party as tradesmen, the
other as ministers, and the only difference that we perceive in
contemplating the _body_, in either case, resides in the superior
or inferior skill of the workman or the statesman, compared with
his fellows; but when the low occupation of the one, or the high
employment of the other, is brought to its close, and the _man_
retires from his labours to unbend in the enjoyment of the social
hour, it is _then_ that we find of what materials he is made."

"We will suppose first of the humble artizan, that one takes the
fruit of his toil to the public-house, where it is spent in company
with the idle and the vicious; that from thence he proceeds to the
pugilistic ring, and gambles away the remainder of his earnings,
while his mind is brutalized by the nature of the sport, and his
wife and children are left to starve. _Here_ you have no hesitation
in condemning such an appropriation of time and money; nor do I
believe that you would find any greater difficulty in bestowing
your praise upon the industrious father who, gathering his children
round the evening fire, can participate with the goodly partner
of his cares in the task of rearing a young family to virtuous
principles and prudent habits as his best happiness. Trust me, my
young friend, that in the higher classes of society we may trace
as much variety of character as in the humbler walks; and vice is
both as vulgar, and unholy, when varnished over by fashion, as it
is in those situations that present its deformity to view unveiled
by the gloss of rank and fortune. Why should recreation be found
only in the inanity of sloth, or the stimulus of dissipation? Is
such recreation worthy of a rational creature? I do not mean to
say that music and merriment are not very agreeable, but are these
less pleasing because they are not the _sole_ resources? Here are
my dear little nurses, whose kindness during a long and painful
illness I shall never forget. Do you think that I dreaded poison in
my cup, because Emily can translate Lucian, and Charlotte is not
perplexed by a quotation from Virgil?"

"Pray, pray, dear Phil." exclaimed Fanny, "say nothing about Greek
and Latin, lest Arthur, adopting the language of fashion, should
call the peaceable inhabitants of Glenalta, Blue-stockings."
"Indeed but I will," quoth Phil. "and, as I design to enlist Howard
as the champion of his cousins, I think it fair to tell him all
that he will have to defend."

Here was a pretty loop-hole for a civil speech, such as I did not
neglect, but declared my readiness to enter the lists, provided
that I was not to be considered a Don Quixote, prepared cap-à-pé,
to fight the battles of every distressed _Blue_, who might chance
to be attacked by an uncourteous enemy. "But, my good Sir," said
I, "since we have gone so far in this discussion, let me soberly
and seriously ask what is the _use_ of learning in a woman? Is
she handsomer, more lively, more attractive, for having her head
crammed with strange languages? If I am to be a champion, I must
begin my service by what may appear perhaps rather ungallant,
though I hope that the present company will acquit me of any design
to do otherwise than afford my _best_ service, provided that you
succeed in converting me from opinions which I have been brought up
in a belief are founded in nature and good sense."

"My dear fellow," replied Mr. Otway, "do not profane the names
of nature and good sense by identifying the one or the other
with fashion. I would appeal to your understanding, and if that
is not convinced of error, I would leave you to the prejudices
which you have imbibed. Let us then now fairly meet each other.
You ask, will women be made more beautiful, more lively, more
attractive, by being more instructed? Perhaps I may encounter a
laugh, if I answer yes; first, I always consider intelligence as
the greatest beautifier of a face, which, if handsome, is lit up
by an additional ray in every new exercise of the mental powers;
and if ugly is at least prevented from being stupid by cultivation.
But this will not satisfy you, because I assume the very thing
that you deny; so I will ask you, have men _a right_ to consider
women as objects merely of gratification to their eyes and ears?
Are not women endowed with sense and feeling; with high powers of
intellectual energy, and immortal spirits like men? Were these
gifts, think you, conferred for nothing but to be employed in the
arts of catching butterflies? No, no--

    'Domestic bliss, that like a harmless dove
    Can centre in a little nest,
    All that desire would fly for through the world,'

is improved by all that gives variety and interest to the social
union of two souls destined to find the principal portion of their
happiness _at home_. The merely fashionable accomplishments can
last only for a season, and that very season which least requires
their aid, for youth and sprightliness are so full of elasticity
and joy, that were music, painting, &c. banished from the world,
there is a halcyon hour in the life of all, in which their
aids would not be missed, because they are not wanted; but the
summer-fly, which gaily flits in the warmth of a meridian beam,
ought not to be our model. Life, like every four and twenty hours,
has its morning and evening, then its night. Do not start, I am
not going to give you a homily; I would only call an intelligent
mind to a quiet investigation of truth, and farther ask, when time
steals the bloom from beauty's cheek, and the song, which once
charmed the ear has died away--when the fairy fingers have lost the
ease,

    'Which marks security to please?'

When the nymph is changed into the matron, and the sylphid form of
eighteen is transformed into the "mother of many children," pray
what becomes of companionship which had rested its sole support
on the evanescent perfections of youth, the very nature of which
is to pass away like a morning dream? Would it not be wiser first
to consider the human species as formed for a world beyond this,
in which it is appointed 'to fret our little hour,' and to make a
vital sense of our _ultimate_ destination, the _primum mobile_ in
every scheme of existence? This is the grand, the principal, the
master-link of all earthly union, because it does not end here, but
binds the faster as terrestrial things wax nearer to a close. Upon
this broad base would not rational creatures, who are expressly
fashioned for each others' society in this world, naturally be
led to cultivate in common the greatest degree of intellectual
perfection? Do you believe that the ditinguishing, the ennobling
boon of reason is granted to _both_ sexes, to be only exercised by
a very limited number of _one_ sex, and lavished in thoughtless
waste by all the rest? Never entertain such an idea of the Creator,
who has made nothing without its end, purpose, and design. I do
not expect you to become a convert in the twinkling of an eye, but
I feel as if we should one day have you added to our ranks, a
staunch partisan of better views than those which you have learned
to advocate."

"Before you conclude," said I, "your introductory lecture upon
_Bluism_, you must hear my creed, such as I brought it to Glenalta.
Do not suppose that I think it possible for a society to be held
together without the bond of religion. Whatever errors I might have
been inclined to fall into, had I been left to myself, I have a
friend, and that a youthful one too, who has kept such a _watch_
upon my sayings, doings, and thinkings, as to preserve me at least
from the _grosser_ mistakes to which young men are liable who have
no Mentor to guide their course. I am thoroughly convinced that
religion is necessary in every community that aims at being well
ordered, and that women ought to be considered as peculiarly its
guardians; they are the nurses of young ideas, the first shoots of
which are directed by female solicitude, and it would never do to
have our _ladies_ turn infidels."

"Very well," said Mr. Otway, "here are some strong admissions.
You believe in the absolute necessity of religion in a well
constituted state, and you are right; for if all the restraints
which religion superadds to those arising out of mere moral fitness
and utility, be quite inadequate to render men virtuous, _a
fortiori_, they would not be better for increased latitude to do
evil."

"You _next_ admit that the most valuable of all things here,
because that which best secures peace on earth and happiness in
heaven, it is _peculiarly_ the province of the female part of
creation to protect with care, and distribute with zeal. Here is a
high trust--here is a mighty office, and it would naturally follow
from your acquiescence in reposing such confidence in a certain set
of people, that you must admit the propriety of rendering them fit
depositories for the sacred trust by some suitable preparation. Be
assured, my young friend, that a fashionable education will not
achieve this end. But you must not mistake me. I do not mean to
assert that there is any necromancy in learning _this_ language or
the other. I would only be understood to say that during the early
years of childhood there is time enough for much more than is
usually taught to girls from five to fifteen; and while the memory
is retentive, the curiosity fresh, and all the faculties ready for
action, it is a pity that food for the mind should not be provided
of a more substantial kind than is generally supplied. In learning
the dead, we attain the principles of living languages; we become
able to trace our own mother tongue to its source; we enlarge the
field of knowledge and of comparison; we search the Scriptures
with effect, because we are enabled to search them minutely; and
why should these advantages be denied to one half of the creation?
Woman's empire is peculiarly to be found in her _Home_. Whatever
adds dignity to her dominion, and variety to her pleasures in the
scene of them, I must ever maintain to be the best safeguard of
national virtue. Barbarism and excessive refinement are extremes
of a widely-extended series, and like all other extremes come
to meet at last. The selfishness of the former, exercises the
pre-eminence of animal strength in compelling the weaker sex to
endure the fatigue of cultivating the ground, and performing
every servile occupation, in order that the stronger may enjoy,
without interruption, the coarse and sensual gratifications which
constitute their happiness; while the equally selfish, but more
elegant sons of modern luxury, exert a tyranny not less despotic,
in reducing the female mind to that dull level best suited to
their own inglorious apathy and sloth. The matter can never rest
here. Providence has formed the sexes for each other; and the
mutual attraction is too powerful to be resisted. To regulate the
nature of this attraction is all that moral improvement can effect;
and I see with grief a mighty change in progress. Our young men
are (I speak not of all) cold, careless, rude, and covetous; our
youthful females are bred up as if for the stage, and as, with
all 'the means and appliances to boot,' the opera and the theatre
will always supply more finished specimens of singing, dancing,
and acting, than can be found elsewhere. We accordingly see that
many of our present generation of men are not ashamed of seeking
the companion of their lives, the wife of their bosoms, and the
mother of their future offspring, on the boards of Drury Lane
or Covent Garden: thus destroying whatever gives sweetness to
domestic retirement. An actress _may_ possess more worth than many
of the audience who gaze upon her through their glasses from the
surrounding boxes, but the charm of modesty can _hardly_ belong to
her who lives in perpetual exhibition; nor can the woman, whose
sole profession is the study of fictitious and, generally speaking,
unamiable characters, be expected to have much time for cultivating
her own character to the profit of an immortal soul."

"But, Sir, you speak of the theatre. Our young women of fashion
are not players; and supposing that they were, and that we must
all select our partners in the school of Thespis, would the study
of Homer and Simonides, of Virgil and Horace, be a remedy for the
evils of which you complain?"

"No, my dear Howard. I attach no magic to these authors. On the
contrary, there may be an overweening attachment to the ancients,
and there are still a few scholars of the old school who value
_every_ thing that comes to them in Greek or Latin cloathing,
and encumber their pages with quotations which have nothing to
recommend them beyond the mere learning which they exhibit. But,
returning to our argument, I deny your premises. You assert that
our young women of fashion are not actresses: I maintain that they
are."

"Aye, 'all the world's a stage,' now-a-days. Nature--beautiful,
refreshing Nature--is dismissed from what is technically called
'good society.' Too many of our youth of _one_ sex are become
horse-jockies, and pugilists--idle at school, dissipated at the
University, and ignorant of most things, except what contributes
to animal ease and luxury, they issue from the academic groves
in full-fledged folly, knowing little indeed of learning, either
ancient or modern, but well skilled in sauces and French wines.
They are well read in the last edition of Dr. Kitchener, they are
connoisseurs in eating and drinking, they can break their heads
in the fancy ring, and their hearts in a rowing match. But, alas!
how comparatively small the number of those who commence the
business of life well furnished with useful knowledge, learning,
taste, discretion! with all those qualities in short which ought
to distinguish man from the inferior creation! How often are we
disappointed when we cast our eyes around, in this polished age of
the world, in quest of the materials which are to supply our future
strength in every department of the State! A youth governed by
religious principle, his head stored with science and literature,
while his heart expands to _all_ the social ties of generous
affection, is the _only_ character to whom the interests of his
fellow-men may be fearlessly consigned; because he alone feels what
they truly are: and he only who has learned himself to bow with
respect to the wisdom of experience, and conform to the discipline
of moral rule may be trusted to watch over the happiness of others.
Yet such a being as this is a _rara avis in terris_, while the
degenerate race, which I before described, crowd our streets and
highways; and hope one day, through the influence of rank, to take
their seats upon our parliamentary benches, where they will vote
away our liberties, or relax them to license, just as interest
guides, or party governs. Believe me, my young friend, 'there is
something rotten in the state of Denmark;' and in turning our eyes
towards the other sex, the eye finds nothing on which to rest with
more complacency, except amongst the few who have sense enough to
perceive and courage sufficient to resist the tide of fashionable
folly. In what is called _the world_, it would seem that there is
a _guillotine_ established, to which every intellectual energy is
fitted by lopping off every germ that buds beyond the narrow limits
assigned as the modern standard. The heart is forced to undergo a
like operation; and all the young affections, timid respect, and
blushing reserve, which would seem to be the indigenous growth of
the female mind, are destroyed with as much zeal as the gardener
employs in restraining the luxuriance of his espaliers. Dressed to
a common model, both in mind and body, you pass from one automaton
to another, in a London drawing-room, without being conscious
that you change your place unless by the variety of glare in the
colours that surround you. These _effigies_ neither see, feel,
hear, nor understand, except as machines may appear to do. Likings,
dislikings, looks, words, and actions, all are artificial; and
natural disposition is only displayed when it is too late to
regulate its movements. Marriage, like the fifth act of a play,
brings matters to a conclusion, and our young ladies drive off from
the theatre to exhibit at home the materials which _really_ compose
their characters. It may be that vanity, only changing its diet, is
still fed to repletion; but should circumstances deny what habit
and education have taught to be the only good, disappointment will
have its revenge, a hecatomb of domestic victims must expiate the
crime of all who withhold the accustomed tribute that had been paid
to the attractions of youth."

I could not restrain a sigh. The portrait was sketched with
animation, and the features of it were familiar to me. Our _Phil._
proceeded:

"I do not _insist_ upon any of the acquirements which excite
such general terror. I see no specific for the evils which I
have prescribed in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chemistry, Botany, or
Mathematics. My only object is to deprecate ridicule, and to
ask for a little portion of that liberality which even descends
to _cant_ at the present day, in favour of all women of whatever
country, who are seeking mental improvement. Let us only have
an end of nick-names, which terrify the timorous; and, with the
enlightened policy which is beginning to operate in our financial
and commercial relations, let us renounce our narrow ideas of
monopoly, and open the way to a free trade of mind, unincumbered by
the taxes which retard its progress. Let us look a little higher
than Mrs. Montagu's formal _soirées_, and the quaint cerulean hosen
of Mr. Stillingfleet.

    Fortunata la calza d'azzura e d'oro
    Cosi dilett' al Febo e l'Aonio coro."

"Apollo and the Aonian choir do not seem to have made any
exclusions here. The blue and gold which are thus eulogized in
Ariosto, may be permitted to decorate the softer sex; and we have
no right to laugh them out of a costume which the gods themselves
proclaimed as the livery in common of all their votaries. But you
have been a patient listener to my inaugural lecture, and it
is time to give you a writ of ease. You must breakfast with me
to-morrow, and we shall find plenty of matter for more chat upon
the world and its ways."

"Oh dear Phil.," exclaimed Fanny, "how delightful it will be, if
Arthur, under your tuition, ceases to be woman-hater."

A burst of merriment at my expense, was the consequence. When I
protested that nothing could possibly be farther from my character,
and that I had rather the credit of being a _lady's_ man; her reply
was, "well it may be so, but if you wish to continue so vile a
system as Phil. has been describing, you would sacrifice one half
of the species to indulge the whims of the other."

Our little party now broke up; and after a very short interval we
found ourselves re-assembled in the drawing-room. It was agreed
upon that Mr. Otway's late illness rendered it imprudent for him
to risk the effects of evening air; and the whole family who
seemed actuated by one principle in renouncing _self_, immediately
declared their intention to amuse their guest and relinquish the
afternoon's ramble. We passed the evening, I cannot tell you how
pleasantly. My aunt is a charming person, and I cry _peccavi_.
Though her appearance is singularly striking, and the expression of
her face quite heavenly, dignity is the natural character of both.
Gentle as a lamb, there is no weakness about her. The mother shines
pre-eminently in all her conduct, and after one hour's observation
of her manners towards Mr. Otway, I felt as ready to contradict
my own suspicion which had wounded Emily's feelings as she could
possibly be herself.

You and I have often argued the point of second marriages, of which
I was always the advocate; more, I confess because we see them
every day in the first circles, than from thinking much upon the
subject one way or the other; but though I hardly as yet know why,
it would grieve me, were my aunt to marry again.

We had music, chess, and conversation, which never flagged, but
I cannot detail any more of this day's history. Phil. staid to
prayers, in which he joined with the appearance of genuine piety;
and I retired to my room, shall I own it, in a state of mind very
new, and by no means disagreeable. I felt excited without delirium,
such as succeeds the whirl of dissipation in town. My mind seemed
full, my heart glowed, and a sort of _reality_ appeared connected
with every thing around me at Glenalta, quite unlike what I have
ever experienced before. Do you know that I was inclined two
or three times this evening to turn hermit, and live in Kerry.
However, the fit will not last. The arrival of a stranger is always
met with something like a flourish of trumpets, which quickly
subsides, to say nothing of old Oliphant's return, which will tie a
log about our necks in a day or two.

As you _will_ have exact accounts of all that we say, as well as
do, I find that I must resume my narrative in another letter. This
has swelled to an unconscionable bulk. Good night. In my next
you may expect a description of _C[oe]lebs_ and his breakfast
at Lisfarne, whither I must go alone as the cousinhood seemed
determined on giving a welcome to old Squaretoes, the tutor, _en
masse_. How primitive! Vale.

                                     Ever your affectionate friend,
                                             ARTHUR HOWARD.




LETTER VI.

THE SAME TO THE SAME.


    My dear Falkland,

    "Early to bed and early to rise,
    Is the way to be healthy and wealthy and wise."

If this be true, as the old spelling books have it, and as I saw
confirmed to day, by the authority of a village schoolmaster, who
had a large class operating upon the above sapient apophthegm,
which served as a copy in the school, and which I have adopted
for the heading of my letter instead of an extract from some "old
play," I may come out at last a goodly example of rosy cheeks, full
pockets, and well-stored pericranium, for here I am living a life
worthy of Hygeia herself. I was up at six o'clock this morning, and
according to an arrangement with Emily, had an hour's walk with her
before I set out for Lisfarne. When we were retiring last night,
I heard her whisper to Frederick that she meant to visit "Susan"
in the morning, and on inquiry, I found that the said Susan is a
poor woman residing in the mountain, for whom some present had been
prepared. Now, it occurred to me that before I saw Mr. Otway at
his own house, and particularly as I was to encounter him _alone_,
I should like to hear the sketch of his history, which Emily had
promised me at a future day, so following her to the foot of the
stairs, I told her how entirely I repented my error, and requested
her perfect forgiveness, proposing that she should seal my pardon
by allowing me to be her mountain beau; and moreover, that she
should come to our morning's walk prepared to gratify my curiosity.
My petition was granted; a brilliant sun-rise invited us to perform
our mutual engagement, and we had not made much way in the rugged
ascent towards Susan Lambert's wild abode, followed by Paddy, the
running footman upon such occasions, who trotted after us with a
large basket, well stuffed with I knew not what, when I reminded
Emily of her task, and she gave me the narrative, which I shall try
to convey as briefly as I can of Phil's Life and Character.

"Mr. Otway," said Emily, "was the dear friend of my father, and so
devotedly were they attached to each other, that even at school
they were always called Pylades and Orestes. At the University
they lived together; and the same day saw them both embark in the
same profession. For the character of that loved parent who was
taken from us, before his children were of an age to appreciate
his various excellences, his splendid talents, exquisite taste,
and uncommon attainments, I must refer you to his friend, who, it
is probable will one day describe your uncle, and tell you that he
was indeed 'a man whose like we ne'er shall look upon again.' I
could not hope to do justice to the portrait, and will therefore
not attempt to draw his resemblance. My father and mother, who
seemed to have been peculiarly formed for each other, met in early
life, and became mutually attached, as one might naturally suppose
that two such gifted beings would be. Pecuniary circumstances alone
prevented their union; but while their happiness was retarded,
their affection was tried in the furnace, and came out purified.
Mr. Otway was the sole guardian of their secret, and the only
support of their long deferred hopes. After years of devoted
constancy, they were rewarded at last by such domestic felicity
as I have heard from Mr. Otway falls to the lot of very few on
earth, and was too perfect for continuance in a world designed by
its Great Creator to serve only as a vestibule to more abiding
mansions. The friends were separated by the tide of events,
but never ceased to correspond. Once, and I believe but once,
imagining that he had found a resemblance of my mother, Mr. Otway's
affections were engaged, and he resigned himself to the fascination
of such an attachment as only minds of lofty pitch are capable of
feeling at once noble, disinterested, and devoted. The lady whom he
loved was rich, while, he at _that_ time, was a younger brother,
and but slenderly provided for. The dread of being suspected of
mercenary motives, sealed his lips; and a man of fortune making his
appearance, the object of his thoughts proved how little worthy she
was of such a being, by marrying this more opulent suitor after a
very short acquaintance. So dreadful was the shock which our dear
friend's sensitive nature sustained upon this unexpected event,
that his life nearly fell a sacrifice to the conflicts which he
endured. My father and mother were now his staff and solace in the
hour of trial; and their tender solicitude, aided by time, restored
to comparative peace that generous spirit which had nearly sunk
under the pressure of disappointment. He travelled, and ere the
expiration of many years, was recalled to England, by the death of
his elder brother, which event was followed at no great distance
of time by that of Mr. Stanhope, the husband of her who had so
cruelly trifled with his happiness. Mrs. Stanhope was the mother
of an only child, and the noble character of our friend overcoming
every selfish retrospect, cast off the memory of past wrongs, and
he stepped forward to offer the aid of his best services to the
widow and the orphan, without, however, I believe, even for a
moment, entertaining the remotest idea of renewing his suit. His
lot had been cast; he had retired from what is called the world,
and though so far from becoming a misanthrope that all his fine
qualities appeared to expand when he obtained the means of making
others happy; yet he never seemed to calculate upon any change
in his own situation. Though delicacy and feeling prevented him
from ever uttering a harsh sentiment, his friends were of opinion
that he had arrived at a full conviction of having misplaced his
affections in early life; and that conviction once attained, he
never sought to hazard a new experiment.

But the care of young Stanhope became a favourite object, and no
assistance which the most efficient friendship could bestow was
withheld from the boy's mother. Lisfarne was part of the property
which devolved to this invaluable neighbour of ours by his
brother's bequest; and the retired beauty of the scenery determined
him to make this his asylum. His next object was to induce the
beloved companions of youth, who had shared the gladness of his
brightest, and dispelled the clouds of his darkest days, to come
and live in his immediate vicinity. He purchased Glenalta for my
father, and by his good taste and activity, transformed its rude
wilds into the little paradise which you see. Here resided the
happiest family which, I believe, ever existed; but I cannot talk
of home, I must proceed with the story which I promised you:--Mr.
Otway received a letter from a Solicitor in London, to say that
the interests of his young ward (not that he was _legally_ so)
required his immediate attendance in town. It was to him a most
disagreeable undertaking. A recluse through long habit, and devoted
to the society of Glenalta; active in the discharge of such
multiplied duties at Lisfarne, as could ill spare his vigilant eye
and beneficent heart, it was great pain to set out upon a journey
without understanding its object, and plunge anew into scenes which
he had abjured in idea for ever. But dear Phil. only hesitates till
he has satisfied himself concerning what is right to be done, and
there is no farther pause--he proceeds to execution. To London he
went, and never shall I forget how much we longed for his return;
and what blazing fires of heath _telegraphed_ his approach upon our
neighbouring hills. On reaching town, he only waited to refresh
himself before he set forward to the Solicitor's, from whom his
summons had issued, and the mystery was soon unravelled. Mrs.
Stanhope had married a young fortune-hunter, and was endeavouring
to prevail upon her son, then a child of fourteen, to make a
settlement on his pennyless stepfather. Relying on the influence of
her former attractions, she had prepared a _scene_, and desiring
her Attorney carefully to abstain from giving Mr. Otway the least
intimation of her new tie, she burst upon him in the moment of
his entrance at Mr. Scriven's house, dressed in fashionable
attire, which had succeeded in all the gay colouring of a London
milliner's shop, to the garb of sorrow in which he had seen her
arrayed in _one_ personal interview after her husband's death. The
only time of their meeting had been upon that occasion, when he
begged permission to consider himself as guardian to her child,
thus proving that, though he had ceased to _love_, he still felt
the kindest and most sacred interest in her fate. Disgusted now
beyond the power of controlling his feelings, he put a speedy
termination to a conference, the manner, as well as the matter
of which had excited his utmost indignation; and assuring her
that if any undue advantage was taken by her influence over the
minor, a suit should be immediately commenced against her and her
husband, he took a hasty leave. Frightened by these menaces, the
lady retired, and soon announced her departure to the Continent,
where, about two years ago, she died of a broken heart. Mr. Otway's
business completed, he quickly returned to his favourite retreat,
and loved to wander alone along the beach which surrounds a part of
his demesne. My dear father once caught him upon a rocky promontory
with pencil and paper in his hand. The question of 'what is that?
Has Otway secrets with _me_?' was answered by 'it is a worthless
scrap; take it, but Henry touch not that chord again--it jars upon
my ear, and spoils all harmony.' I will now read you the lines
which my father obtained by this surprise. It is the only poetry
which even mamma has ever seen of her friend's writing.--Here
Emily read to me the following stanzas:--


   _On first seeing Stella in a coloured dress after her second
                           marriage._

    "Stella! thy beauty rested on the shade
      Of sorrow's lonely night, like that fair flower,[A]
    Queen of the dark, whose tender glories fade
      In the gay radiance of a noon-tide hour.

    "That flower supreme in loveliness--and pure
      As the pale Cynthian beam thro' which unveiled
    It blooms--as if unwilling to endure
      The gaze by which such beauties are assailed.

    "And in the solitude of Nature's sleep,
      Unfolds such treasures to the midnight gloom,
    As gem the vault of Heaven in silence deep
      When widowed wanderer seeks the mouldering tomb.

    "Yes! like the velvet-soft, and snowy star,
      Wrapped in thy sable garb, it erst was thine,
    With unassuming lustre, spreading far,
      In mild and chastened majesty to shine.

    "Each stranger footstep that approached the fane,
      Eager to view, yet fearful to intrude;
    Seemed to partake the dread of giving pain,
      By glance unhallowed, or by finger rude.

    "And has Aurora chased the sable cloud,
      And, even jealous of a twilight grey,
    Dispelled with sudden touch that mourning shroud,
      And with her saffron robe unfurled the day?

    "Alas! the graceful Cactus now no more,
      Queen of the dark, asserts her silver reign,
    Her empire nought on earth can e'er restore,
      With other faded flowers she strews the plain."

[Footnote A: The Cactus Grandiflora, or Night-blowing Cereus.]

"These lines," continued Emily, "first taught my parents the nature
and extent of those feelings which had outlived the blights of
early hope. They appear to prove that, however shipwrecked had
been his own happiness, Mr. Otway had respected a perfect freedom
of choice, and, though Mr. Stanhope differed widely from him,
he had tutored his unselfish soul to consider this rival as the
successful candidate in an election, the honourable fairness of
which he had no right to question. It would seem that, in the
depth of his heart, Mrs. Stanhope's pardon had been sealed, and
when the death of her husband released her from her first vows,
a romantic mixture of affection, which borrowed a reflected glow
from the memory of brighter days, and that high and delicate
respect of which the most refined and exalted minds alone are
capable, spread round the consecrated image a mantle of fond
protective kindness, akin perhaps to love, as pity is said to be,
but so beautifully tempered, that it would never have passed the
sacred boundary of friendship pure as angels might have breathed.
The unseen bonds which had silently preserved connection between
our friend and a woman whom I can never believe to have been at any
time deserving such attachment as he bestowed, was rudely severed
by Mrs. Stanhope's late conduct; and, for some time, the impression
which such levity as was discovered in her second ill-assorted
marriage made upon a mind almost morbidly sensitive, threatened to
impair the benevolence of a character formed to shed on all around
an atmosphere of happiness; but a strong sense of religion, which
is the pole-star of his every action, gained its second victory;
and time gave him back, once more unshorn of his beams, to be the
life and animation of that little society who enjoy the blessing of
his presence. I must hurry you through the remaining part of my
_memoir_, not only because we are arriving at Susan's cabin, but
also because it is so interwoven with the sorrows of Glenalta, that
I fear to trust myself with a theme too fresh in recollection to
bear the light; suffice it to say, that Heaven has given us such a
friend in Mr. Otway, as no measure of gratitude can ever repay."

Emily paused, and I expressed my warm interest in her narrative,
and thankfulness for the eloquent sketch which she had thrown off;
but as my evil genius never even _dozes_ in the county of Kerry,
what should I unfortunately add, but "Phil. indeed is a treasure,
and I rejoice for you all in such a tower of strength as his
friendship affords to my aunt and her family. Frederick too is, I
dare say, his object, and will inherit his possessions."

Emily blushed scarlet; her eyes were instantly suffused with
tears, and she seemed ready to choke; but, recovering herself in
an instant, with a little effort she said, "Arthur, I _will_ not
attribute any thing of this sort to motives unworthy of you; I am
determined to set down to the mode of your own education whatever
may appear like want of feeling. You are mistaken in your surmises;
but, while it pleases God to continue to us the happiness which we
now enjoy, let us not embitter life by dreadful anticipations."

We reached the hut to which we were bound, and I had no time for
reply: I could only remark, in my own mind, on the difficulty of
accommodating the ways of the world to the peculiarities of these
simple folks; yet, at the same time, no doubt it is a pleasanter
sensation to be "_Alcibiade ou le Moi_," rather than cherished for
the sake of one's money.--On entering the cabin, alias cottage, we
found a boy of about twelve years old nursing a weeping infant,
and vainly endeavouring with one hand to scrape together a few
expiring embers, while a poor woman, apparently in the extremity
of weakness, lay in a corner, upon a miserable bed. "Susan, how do
you do?" was answered faintly by, "very ill, dear miss." "Where is
Nancy?" "Gone to the fair to buy a bit of flannel for the child,
and her father is gone with her to sell our _slip_ of a pig."

"Arthur," said Emily, throwing off shawl and bonnet in an instant,
"here is work to be done, and we must not be idle. You have taken
Frederick's place this morning, and will kindly, I am sure, perform
his duty: fly and bring me a good bundle of dry heath, or any
thing else that you can find of which we can make a fire. Paddy,
bring me a pitcher of water directly; and you, Tommy, give me
your little sister, and settle the turf in a moment." So saying,
she took the child, and soon set the poor thing at rest with some
milk, which the basket contained, while I, glad to make the _amende
honorable_ by my alacrity, went off as if quicksilver were in my
heels, to rummage up whatever combustible the mountain afforded.
I was successful, and got credit for my speed. You never saw any
thing like the magic of Emily's operations: as if she had been
a peasant born, she broke up the sticks which I had gathered,
and, blowing with her breath, for the cabin was unfurnished with
bellows, she had a blazing fire in five minutes. Then, with a
neatness and dexterity which would have done honor to a Welch
inn, she washed an old sauce-pan, and put some meal into it to
make gruel; hushed the baby to sleep, and, after laying it by the
poor mother, and giving the latter a little weak wine and water,
she desired Paddy to remain and stir the gruel till her return;
then, taking my arm, hurried down the hill, and crossing a field
which we had not come through before, tripped lightly up to a
half-ruined gate, which was fastened by a twig to an old post, and
disengaging this rustic band, lifted the frame, and we were in the
adjoining space before I perceived that my fair cousin, to avoid
interrupting our conversation, had performed the office of pioneer,
which, according to all the laws of chivalry, should have fallen
to my portion. I was going to apologize, when Emily pointed to a
path, and turning into another herself, bid me fly, or I should be
late at Lisfarne. We shook hands, and separated; and as I walked
on alone, I could not help moralizing on the novelties which daily
present themselves to my view. Lighting a fire, boiling gruel,
sweeping up a cabin-hearth, and singing lullaby to a squalid infant
in a dirty dress; and all this done and executed as if custom had
rendered the whole business perfectly familiar, by a young lady of
family and education; a scholar too, well read in Greek, Latin,
Italian, French,--skilled in botany, chemistry, and I know not how
much more; in short, a _Blue_ to all intents and purposes. It is
certainly neither more nor less than an anomaly which as yet I am
unable to account for.

The Douglas girls are totally divested of affectation. Whatever
they say or do, is said and done without the slightest reference to
_effect_ farther than this, that the best tact seems to regulate
every word and action. The desire to impart pleasure makes them
sure to please, and the dread of giving pain must, I think, render
it impossible that they should wound one's feelings. Beyond this
limit my cousins know no art. I fancy that I see a half-suppressed
smile curling on your lip, as you exclaim, _mentally_ at least,
"What a revolution! Why here is Howard talking sense like a doctor
of the _Sorbonne_!"

I confess to some very sober thoughts as I jogged on to Lisfarne;
but as I was alone, I had nothing else to do except to muse and
moralize; however, no triumph. I enter a caveat against any manner
of rejoicing. I have not read my recantation, having a just dread
of hasty judgments, and also of old Oliphant: he is the Mordecai
sitting in my gate, and another week at Glenalta may bring out a
very different story.

In four-and-twenty hours Kill-joy will have arrived, and then comes
Sunday, as if at one blow to crush one's spirits to annihilation.

These were my lucubrations _en chemin faisant_, and just as I
reached the hall-door at Lisfarne, the nine-o'clock bell ushered
me in with _eclat_, though as little _hinging_ upon my _entrée_,
as the thunder and lightning which happened to synchronise with
the poor Jew's carousal over a pork steak at Genoa. I was met
at the threshold by Mr. Otway, who smiled a delightful welcome,
and, taking me by both hands, accosted me with, "My dear Howard,
I am heartily glad to see you at Lisfarne, and not the less so,
because you are _punctual_. You should have had your breakfast
at _any_ hour; but I love to see young people recollective." I
did not think it exactly _honest_ to appropriate this compliment
of the old school to myself, as I certainly never deserved it in
all my life, and therefore expressed my happiness at not having
kept him waiting; but _handed_ over to Emily the whole merit of
Cindarillaship in this my first visit at Lisfarne.

"Emily is a charming creature," answered mine host, "but that
is nothing wonderful at Glenalta, where such a mother presides.
Howard, you have the good fortune to reckon amongst your nearest
relations, a little group whose virtues would save the universe
from destruction, were the divine vengeance to over-take a guilty
world, as in days of yore.--How do you like your aunt and cousin?"
"Extremely, were I to judge by what I have seen; but we are new to
each other, and they are very kind in excusing all the blunders
which a man wholly unused to retirement is liable to make in a
circle where a much higher standard of moral feeling prevails than
that which governs what we call 'the world.'"

Mr. Otway looked benignly at me, saying, "Come, we must not get
into a discussion now; you deserve your breakfast, and shall not
be interrupted." And a capital breakfast we had.

A beautiful Newfoundland dog lay at his master's feet; a fine
tortoise-shell cat purred upon the back of his arm-chair; and the
windows were presently assailed by an army of supplicants in the
shape of the finest pea-fowls that I ever saw.

"See what it is, Arthur, to be an old batchelor! I am obliged to
keep my affections from becoming stagnant, you find, by practising
them upon all these birds and beasts which you perceive are my
companions as well as pensioners." After feeding the numerous
host, we sallied from the breakfast-parlour, and Phil. escorted me
to his study, a most comfortable apartment, and well lined with
books. He has a beautiful collection of the classics, all the best
modern works of science, and a rich assortment of history and
_Belles Lettres_. While I was glancing over this, he pointed to
a compartment in the far end of the room, desiring me to examine
its contents. "There I keep my novels, reviews, and magazines; for
you know, that 'all work and no play would make Jack a dull boy;'
and as I suppose that you do not intend to read yourself into a
consumption while you stay at Glenalta, I give you a letter of
credit on whatever amusement these shelves can supply." In this
Poets' Corner I found Scott's works, both in prose and verse;
several other modern novels of good name; and all the early poems
of Lord Byron. "I perceive," said I, "Mr. Otway, that you have
not yet completed your set of Byron's works; you have not got Don
Juan, nor--" "Nor never shall, my young friend," answered the sage
of Lisfarne. "I cannot prevent people who have money to buy and
inclination to peruse, from reading these works; but they shall
not find them in _my_ library." "Then, sir, you are, I presume, of
opinion that one cannot separate the poison from the poetry, and
avoid imbibing the one, while we enjoy the exquisite beauty of the
other."

"No, my dear boy; these are idle notions. Wherever vice is an
ingredient in any compound so mingled as to seize upon the
passions, or delight the imagination, the draught will always be
injurious more or less. Even those minds of finer mould than we
commonly meet with, will not escape, though they hate the contact,
they cannot shun its defilement; and that which is impure, must
sully whatever it touches." "Well, I should have supposed that good
taste would protect a man of refined education. In fact, such a
man rejects whatever is coarse, and simply vicious: he reads Lord
Byron, not _because_ of his occasional deviations from religion and
morality; but in _spite_ of them he admires the splendid genius who
of all modern writers best understands, if I may so express myself,
the metaphysics of the human heart, while every man of feeling must
lament the shipwreck of such talents. The broad-cast pollution
which is necessary to season a mess for vulgar palates, _must_
be pernicious in the highest degree; but I confess I have never
felt in the same way of those _polished_ compositions which are
only read by people of superior attainment, and who are fortified
against evil by knowledge of the world."

"Alas, Howard, these are nice distinctions, and lead but to
delusion. Our morals are much like a taper lit at each extremity,
they are consuming at both ends. You talk of coarse messes,
seasoned to the taste of vulgar appetite: believe me, it is a
melancholy fact, that there are cooks who undertake to cater
for nicer stomachs, and who know how to insinuate their poisons
with such skill as to secure the custom of all who are not proof
against their temptation. That number, I fear, is small; and as to
the difference between vice well and ill dressed, you will find
that it is about the same with that which distinguishes Tilburina
stark mad in white satin, from her confidante stark mad in white
linen. Amongst the mal-contents of the present day, you hear the
complaint continually repeated, that there is one law for the rich,
and another for the poor: the charge is unfounded, and, generally
speaking, _known_ to be so by the men who bring it forward. It
will neither do to have two sets of laws, nor of _morals_, in any
country. The tendency of all ranks in the community is to imitate
those who are placed above them; and this aspiring inclination is
to be traced from the lowest grade in society, till having reached
the throne, you can rise no higher. The self-same rule applies to
religion. I was glad to hear you say yesterday at Glenalta that
you felt the absolute necessity of its influence in a state for
the preservation of order and virtue; and that you considered
women as the natural guardians of its altars. This is all right;
but you are egregiously mistaken if you suppose that women will,
generally speaking, take pains to nurture and cherish what is
despised by the other sex. There are a few, and very few, such
beings as your aunt, who appear to have dropped into our planet
from some happier sphere, and who adjust their principles of action
to a model of abstract perfection, with which common-place mortals
are unacquainted. Such beings only think of how to please God; but
the mass of men and women dress themselves daily in the mirror of
each other's approbation, and act reciprocally on each others'
characters. Let one sex degenerate, it matters not which, you will
find the other follow in the downward course."

"But, my dear sir, these authors whom you decry, do not _create_
vice, they only _exhibit_ it; and though I do not advocate the
practice, yet after all it would seem that men need not be
much worse for _reading_, than for hearing and seeing what is
exceptionable. If infidelity and immorality were only propagated
by books, your argument against such writers as Lord Byron would
be unanswerable. But allow me to say, that the Bible itself,
in the strongest terms, insists on the depravity of the human
species, and offers the most flagrant illustrations in proof of
human delinquency. The hardness of heart, and unbelief of man,
are frequently held up to view in Holy Writ; and what does a
Rochefaucauld in prose, or a Byron in verse, do more than represent
things as they _are_?"

"If you consider the matter for a moment," replied my opponent,
"I fancy that you will be at no loss to discover some striking
differences which will sufficiently answer your question. The
evil tendency of such writers as Rochefaucauld, and all the class
of satirists, who represent man as a debased and hypocritical
animal, does not proceed from the truth of the picture, but from
the manner of the painter. The scriptures indulge us in no 'lying
vanities;' they speak of the human race as born in sin and the
children of wrath; and Conscience, when we attend to her voice,
confirms the humiliating charge, with uncompromising fidelity. But
while the Bible, and those who preach its doctrines, point out the
disease, they likewise present the antidote. If they proclaim the
deformity of the natural man, it is to shew how the crooked may
be made straight; if they expose his weakness, it is to impart
strength; if they display his corruption, it is but to invite him
to wash in those waters which cleanse from all impurity. But such
moralists as you support, if moralists they can be called without
absurdity, would seem intent on excusing vice. The effect of their
books is, as it were to _legalize_ iniquity, by representing it as
invincible, and to destroy all sense of shame by laying bare its
concealments. Whatever produces this result by means of a pungent
and sententious brevity, is doubly injurious; for the authority
of a maxim is thus combined with the stimulus of evil: the form
is thus rendered portable and adhesive; and truths conveyed in
an epigrammatic shape at once flattering to our sagacity in an
appeal to its accuteness, and soothing to our faults by pronouncing
them to be universal, are not likely to be viewed as subjects for
serious lamentation; and the danger is, that the generality of men
will contemplate the moral sketches with feelings similar to those
commonly inspired by a spirited cariacature; namely, a desire that
the object of ridicule may continue to exist, rather than not be so
strikingly pourtrayed. As to Lord Byron, who stands pre-eminent,
like Milton's Satan, at the head of all the mischief-workers of the
present time, his poison is of another kind: slow and penetrating,
it is inhaled in the breeze, and absorbed into the circulation; its
effects are of the morbid class; it seduces, it insinuates, and,
like opium too freely used, destroys every healthful function of
the mind, and substitutes the distempered energy of an over-wrought
imagination for the wholesome exercise of reason and the sweet
charities of the heart. His beautiful poetry, and an inexhaustible
source of talents, rare as they were brilliant, operate as
cords which draw all mankind after him in bonds of submission.
Descriptions of nature or character, external to ourselves, however
happy in their delineation, interest but feebly in comparison with
what you justly call the '_metaphysics_' of sentiment. This is the
most fascinating of all possible studies; it requires no labour,
it asks no preparation; and all people, whatever their pretensions
in other respects, conceive themselves qualified for the school
of mental analysis which Byron has instituted and endowed. A
bad husband, a bad son, a bad father, has but to retire to some
'rose-leaf couch, where, nursing his dainty loves and slothful
sympathies,' he may find, in a volume of this too-attractive bard,
an apology for every sin of temper, every violation of duty; nay,
so contagious is the influence of this Byron-mania, that our young
men _cultivate_ the failings of their chief, and seem to fancy that
in becoming imitators of Childe Harold's eccentricities, they may
slide into his unrivalled genius. Selfishness and egotism are to
be found in the fallows of many a mind; but where are our youth to
learn Lord Byron's recipe for compounding them?"

Though not convinced, I was excited, and ventured again into the
field, by asking Mr. Otway whether good does not grow out of evil?
"Surely," said I, "Truth, like a lazy corporation, would rely upon
its charter, and have nothing to do but fatten on its revenues,
were it not for opposition.

    'Si Lyra non lyrasset,
    Lutherus non Saltasset.'

"The publication of wrong principles stirs up our slumbering
virtue; and besides, is it not useful to _see_ exactly what we
should avoid, that we may have no doubts regarding what we ought
to follow? If I had not been the advocate of Lord Byron as a poet,
I should not have had the pleasure of hearing your excellent
remarks." "No, no, young man; a specious sophistry is not sound
argument. I cannot allow you to misapply a scripture rule. Though
Providence has decreed that all things should work together for
good, it offers us no latitude to do evil that good may come of
it. _Our_ duty is defined; we must perform our part as well as we
can, and keep ourselves unspotted from the world, leaving events
in which we have no power given us of interference to the wisdom
of Him whose ways are not as our ways. We learn much better from
positive than from negative precepts: do you remember the pretty
little French song--

    'Jongeant à ce qu'il faut qu'on oublie,
    On s'en souvient.'

"The mind of man is easily corrupted, and clings with tenacity to
what it were better to forget. Believe me, that whatever we desire
to keep a stranger from the heart should not be familiarized to the
imagination. Vice is so alluring, that all the penalties appended
to its indulgence by the laws of God and man, are found unequal to
its suppression; but if the charms of wit and humour be employed
to palliate its criminality, and trifle with its punishment, we
may anticipate the conclusion, and expect to see the day when its
progress will be unresisted. Do not fancy that there is any class
of men exempt from the danger of infection. The stately quarto,
like a whited sepulchre, may hide its contents under a splendid
covering, but death and destruction are its inmates: rank and
wealth confer no privilege, and afford no amulet to preserve from
the contamination of immorality, alike fatal in its effects to high
and low--rich and poor; but though I would guard you from giving
yourself up to such a pilot through Parnassus as Lord Byron, I love
poetry too well myself to withhold its enjoyment from my young
friends. I am an old bachelor, but I hope that you will not find
me a severe ascetic; all things in their season--buds in spring,
blossoms in summer, and the fruit to crown our autumn board.
Youth is the natural period in which Hope and Fancy delight to
weave their golden tissues, and life is too changeful a scene to
make it necessary that we should voluntarily abridge its harmless
gratifications. We must not, however, sit here all day, while
such a brilliant sun is inviting us to walk; I have a great deal
to shew you, and we shall have many opportunities, I hope, for
conversation."

We were soon in the fields. After seeing a great deal of well-kept
and tastefully disposed pleasure-ground immediately contiguous
to the house, excellent kitchen garden, and admirable farm-yard,
stables, &c. we visited an inclosure, called here the _paddock_,
where were at least a dozen old horses, which were turned to graze
as superannuated pensioners. "When any of these my old and faithful
servants," said Phil., "can enjoy life no longer, I have him
despatched by a friendly bullet." "But, sir, you might get money
for these; they do not seem by any means past their labour." "Not
_quite_, perhaps, but they have worked diligently, and shall now
have a holyday while they live." From the paddock we proceeded to a
line of neat cottages, furnished each with a strip of garden at the
back, and ornamented in front by a little rustic paling, thickened
into a fence impervious to pigs and dogs, by privet, sweet brier,
and roses. "Here are some of your tenants' houses, Mr. Otway, I
suppose." "Why not exactly tenants in the _usual_ sense: these are
poor people, who, like my old horses, have seen their best days in
my service, and it is fair that _they_ too should rest from their
labours."

Showers of blessings were shed from these humble dwellings as
we passed along, which were repaid by kind greetings from their
benefactor. With one poor soul who sat in an arm-chair made of
straw at her door, and who was blind, the good Phil. shook hands,
and said aloud, "Mr. Howard, this is Kate Sullivan, the Queen of
_Pastime Row_, which is the name given by your cousin Fanny to
this line of houses." Old Kate appeared to feel as much delighted
by this distinguishing compliment, as an autocrat of the proudest
empire could be in seeing all the nations of the earth paying
homage to his supremacy.

"God bless Miss Fanny, and all the misses of the Glynn," cried old
_Cathleen_; "they are the Lord's own children; and glory, honour,
and praise be to his holy name; he will make a wide gap for 'em
whenever they are going into heaven; and _Maaster_ Arthur, my
heart (for 'tis I that very well has a right to know that you're
he, and nobody else), if his honour would'nt be after telling you
the _maining_ of Miss Fanny's _concait_, why, sir, 'tis, that she's
a pleasant, funny craiture in herself, and she have a _double aim_
in _wording_ the houses; for _pastime_ they say is all as one as
games, and sport-like; and it _mains_ too, that (God be praised for
all things) _we_ are going down the hill, as I may say, and past
our time for being any good-for."

I charmed this old soul as much by laughing heartily, and entering
with spirit into Fanny's humour, as if I had presented her with
fifty pounds. She called an aged man from the next door to hobble
out and join in the merriment, which I dare say ran before it
stopped, like an electric stream through every conductor of the
whole series. As we walked on, "I perceive," said I, "that her
majesty of _pastime_, is a Protestant, by her assurance that my
cousins are all travelling the high road to heaven." "You are
mistaken my dear fellow,--Kate has an _ave_ for every bead in her
_paddreen_, which is the Hibernian version of Corona, or Coronach;
and blind as she is, is conveyed by one of my paddock horses
annually on the eve of St. John, to a holy well, not far distant
from Lisfarne. This little journey is all the work that the queen
and her cattle are able to accomplish; and the same beast, that
'roan barbary' which came up to welcome us at the gate, has drawn
Kate and her truckle for so many years, that were True-penny to
die, I believe that blind as is his mistress, she would find out
that she had lost him, and be uneasy till the priest was sent for,
to _shrive_ and anoint her, in the full persuasion that _her_ hour
was also come."

"Well, you really do surprise me, but to confess the truth, you
deal in nothing but miracles in this county of Kerry. In less
than a week I have seen some strange things, which had any one
presumed, ere I beheld them, to say were existing realities, I
should have laughed as the king of Pegu is said to have done when
he heard of nations being governed without a monarch. I have seen
_Blue-stockings_ without pedantry, refinement that has never
been learned in the world of fashion, religion free from cant,
retirement unaccompanied by _ennui_; and now, as my list goes on
increasing like the story of the house that Jack built, here is the
Roman Catholic creed divested of bigotry; in the shape of an old
woman too, who fully expects, though a Papist herself, to meet a
Protestant family in the skies."

"Aye, my boy, and I hope that you will soon cease to wonder at
any of these things. The poor people of this island are brim-full
of intelligence and feeling; qualities which are of _adjective_
character, and increase the measure of good or bad exactly as they
happen to be associated. Were our peasantry fairly dealt with, the
tables would speedily be turned, and instead of that cold-hearted
sarcasm which would seem to be 'the badge and sufferance of all
their kind,' you would see their accusers glad to steal away, and
hide their diminished heads."

"But, sir, this is peculiarly the age of reason, and you will soon
be able to bring your assertion to the proof. All the world is mad
now upon the subject of education, and I suppose the light of
modern liberality, which scorns the narrow principle of a churlish
exclusion, has with the eagle eye of truth, borne down and pierced
the shades of prejudice that may have hung upon your sea-girt Isle.
Have you not schools at Lisfarne, and Glenalta? and if you will let
me ask one question allied to the last, _may_ I venture to enquire
why you, whom I should imagine of all men, the last to countenance
ignorance and superstition, should abet them both by sending old
Kate upon her pilgrimage of folly, instead of endeavouring to
open her mind to the sun of knowledge?" Otway smiled, and taking
me by the hand, jocosely said, "why, Arthur, thou art fit for a
senator; we must have you in the House of Commons; you are an
orator:" then, resuming his usual expression of features, "you
will despise me perhaps," added he, "if I tell you that I am not
bitten with the fashionable school mania to the extent which you
deem requisite to constitute a _liberal_. I have two schools,--one
of them, and by far the most numerously attended, is for works of
industry exclusively. To the other I only admit such children
as by a previous discipline in moral conduct, and regularity
of demeanor, earn the reward of being taught to read. To this
promotion there are two conditions annexed, which form a _sine qua
non_ of admission. The first is, that the scriptures without note
or comment, should be read daily, the master selecting, according
to my instruction, such parts as are best adapted to the age and
capacity of his pupils; the second, that each child should bring
a penny per week, to create a fund for winter clothing, books, or
whatever occasion may require. In this way I endeavour to prevent
the abuse of letters, by preparing the soil for their introduction.
Respect for learning is increased, when it costs something to
obtain it; and I find a test of sincerity is established to a
certain degree by this small pecuniary condition, as people never
pay for what they do not really desire to possess. Though the money
thus collected returns whence it came, it goes back in another
form. Like the dew, it rises in imperceptible vapour, and falls in
palpable, and refreshing showers. It requires a slight degree of
self-denial, _even_ to allot a penny per week in this manner; and
there is a feeling of independence connected with every benefit
which exercises individual frugality in its acquisition, while
gratitude is still kept alive towards the fostering hands which
deal out the fund so husbanded for general good. Then again, by not
offering gratuitous teaching, I prevent many from coming, who would
not turn their learning to good account, while I may always provide
for an exception to my rule in supplying a worthy object who is too
poor to _qualify_, with means of contributing the appointed mite."

"Then, sir, I conclude that you think education may be spread too
widely."

"Certainly; in _this_ country we cannot interfere with the
religion of the _Mass_. If I could plant a Bible in every cottage,
I would teach all men, women, and children to read it; but the
accomplishment of reading considered, without reference to
religious instruction, is about as necessary and suitable to a poor
labouring man, as a gold snuff box would be; and it is to me quite
astonishing, that so many sober minds should give into the opposite
absurdity which prevails at present, with a _rage_ equal to that in
the medical world for white mustard seed. We never think of silk
gowns or fine cloth for the poor; we do not dream of serving up
venison and turtle for them at a charity dinner; and, when sick, we
do not order them the South of France, or prescribe hock, ice, and
all the expensive delicacies become necessary to the luxury of our
opulent higher classes. All things should _be in keeping_. A man
who works for a shilling a day, eats his potatoes, and lies down
to be refreshed by sleep for the morrow's labour, has no need of
literature. It will neither make him happier nor better, unless you
could secure the _use_ of his acquirement in increased knowledge of
the word of God. Our Irish Priests will not permit this. I do not
mean to be hard upon them; they are a needy class, usually taken
from the lowest conditions of life, and depending for subsistence
on the measure of their influence with the people. To keep the
minds of their flocks in absolute subjugation to their authority,
is essential to their very existence; and they are fearfully aware,
that free access to the Bible would quickly destroy their power, by
undermining its foundation."

"At least," said I, "though the men cannot leave their spades, why
not teach the women? _They_ could instruct the children, and the
next generation would reap the profit."

"Pooh, my dear Arthur, you are a young theorist, and float with
the fashionable tide. Whatever be the situation of one sex must
be shared by the other. A pair of diamond earrings would be about
as appropriate an appendage to the head of poor Susan, whom you
visited this morning, as the History of England, or a Treatise
on Political Economy would be in her hands. The thing is not
wanted--it is out of place. The sordid cares of life leave little
time for bodily rest or mental repose; and unless, as I said
before, you can be sure of planting the one thing needful, every
moment which could be stolen from household toil, and devoted to
books, would be employed on the trash which is placed through the
licentious _liberality_ of the press, within the grasp of all
who desire to quaff at the feculent stream. Music is a pleasing
resource, drawing is another, but you do not conceive these to be
requisite for the well-being of our cottagers. How are reading,
writing, arithmetic, and geometry, more allied to the happiness
of an agricultural labourer than the former? Remember _always_
that my argument only applies when the Bible is excluded or
made subservient to the base purposes of secular advancement by
hypocrites, who employ it as a stepping-stone to the favour of
their superiors. Physicians do not read law, lawyers do not read
physic, nor either of them military tactics--and why? Because they
do not want a species of knowledge out of their department. The
same rule may be generally applied. A poor cottager has nothing
to do with letters, unless he be made better and happier by
acquaintance with them; and should his attention be directed to the
tirades of Messrs. Shiel and O'Connell, to the demoralizing details
of practical vice with which our newspapers unfortunately abound;
to the ethics of Mr. Cobbett or the religion of Mr. Carlile,
instead of to the Sacred Volume, I think that you must agree with
me in doubting the growth of virtue and contentment as the result
of such studies."

I felt shaken, I must own, but replied, "The tide of public opinion
is so forcible, that we are often drawn along with it before we
are aware how far it will lead us. I confess that I have joined
a hue and cry in favour of universal education, without thinking
much about the matter. Experience, undoubtedly, must confirm or
contradict the utility of its unlimited extension, and I shall be
happy to hear your farther sentiments upon the subject, if you are
not tired of my questions."

"Indeed, my dear Howard, you shall ever find me ready and willing
to discuss this and every other topic upon which I am capable of
offering an opinion; but we must not pass the day of your first
visit to Lisfarne, _at school_. We must have a little recreation
this morning, or I should despair of your coming again to see old
C[oe]lebs in his cell. I want to take you a walk along the sea
shore, and, as the day is fine, I am going, with your permission,
to send one of my young _footpads_ over to Glenalta, to say that
you will dine here; and should Oliphant arrive, as I think he
probably will by this evening's coach, you will not regret being
absent at the meeting, as you are a stranger to the good man."

The name of Oliphant caused a sudden revulsion, and produced a
complete _bouleversement_ in all my pleasurable sensations. A
stripling mountaineer was despatched, who flew like an arrow
across the fields with Mr. Otway's message, and behold us arm in
arm skirting the wood, and, ere long, approaching a bold headland
which stood beautifully out into the bay. As we jogged on together,
I felt growing more and more at ease with mine host, and at last
ventured to give a vent to my _Oliphantphobia_, by saying, "How
I dread this tiresome piece of parchment divinity that we are
expecting! Adieu now to the cheerfulness of Glenalta. This old
bookworm is, I suppose, my aunt's domestic sense-carrier, and will
disapprove of every thing but black letter lore in the mornings,
and snuffling canticles for our evening diversion."

"I think," said Phil. "that having found yourself deceived in so
many preconceptions respecting Glenalta, you ought not to condemn
poor Domine without benefit of clergy. Suspend your judgment. If
you do not like him, you will differ widely from your family, but
let him have fair play; I will not bespeak your favour, nor stand
sponsor to your taste."

We walked on, stopped now and then to look at the views, and, at
length turning into a zig-zag path, arrived by a short circuit at
a little spot of exquisite beauty. It was an arch-way rather than
cavern in the rock, extending inwards no farther than to form a
bower of stone, if you will admit such a description. Lined with
ivy, which actually grows like a tissue fitted to the irregular
surface, and almost buried in arbutus, it seemed as if the very
Genius of Contemplation had selected this natural alcove for her
favourite haunt. I stood wonder-struck by the scene, innumerable
sea-birds wheeling round us, and uttering their plaintive wailings
to the wind. Rocks, ocean, solitude wherever the eye could reach,
while the sun-beams dancing on the calm surface of the "green one,"
seemed to say, "you shall not indulge melancholy here."

Mr. Otway appeared much pleased with my silent rapture, and, after
a little pause, took me to a seat covered with the same luxuriant
drapery which hung upon the rocky walls, and which, without any
apparent assistance from art, formed a bench entirely round the
cave.

When we were seated, Mr. Otway, with a sigh which seemed to break
from his heart, told me that this rude temple, hewn by nature from
the wild mass of stone under the shelter of which we were now
conversing, was sacred to my uncle.

"Here have I sat for hours with Henry Douglas, the friend, the
companion of my youth; and listened with unwearied delight to
the flow of mind which poured its exhaustless treasure from his
lips; sometimes expanding its stream to the amplitude of ocean,
then narrowing its pellucid waves within confines of unrivalled
fertility; and again, (if you will allow me to pursue the image,)
still farther contracting its limits to dissport occasionally amid
the enchantments of rock and bower, scattering its spray in bright
fantastic sparkles all around. You are to consider an introduction
to this hallowed spot, which I have consecrated to his memory, as
a distinguishing mark of the regard with which I wish to treat his
nephew, and an earnest of that friendship, which if you desire to
cultivate, I shall be happy to bestow on one so nearly allied to
the man who, of all others, I most loved upon earth." There was a
solemn tenderness in his manner which thrilled me; and I thanked
him heartily, expressing as well as I could, how gratefully I felt
inclined to profit by his kindness, adding, "I do not believe that
I ever saw my uncle Henry: if I did, it must have been in early
childhood, for I have no remembrance of him, but have often heard
of him as a person rarely gifted."--"Yes,--had you ever seen him,
he could never have been forgotten! there was an illumination in
his very countenance which irresistibly seized upon the attention.
The play of intelligence upon his features was like the summer
lightning, 'as bright and harmless too;' and, in him were combined
'the wisdom of the serpent, with the innocence of the dove.' My
dear departed Douglas possessed the most brilliant talents. Imagine
these rising majestically from a solid plinth of boldest structure
in religion and morals, while Fancy in her most tasteful mood
had wreathed the light acanthus round his brow, and you may form
some idea of the man who, in our youthful days, was always called
the 'Corinthian pillar' of that little band in whose society he
passed his hours of recreation. He was at once the most profound
reasoner, the acutest critic, the soundest arbiter, and the
kindest friend. The peculiar sensitiveness of his character never
impaired its strength; and a remarkable accuracy of observation
with which heaven had endowed him, acting in concert with an
uncompromising integrity, imparted the influence of truth itself,
to the decisions of his judgment. He saw whatever subject was
presented to his understanding, in all its different bearings, with
quickness bordering on intuition; and was enabled by the variety
of his knowledge, to enter into the minutest details, without
diminishing the force of outline in any question that offered
itself for discussion. As might be easily supposed, this assemblage
of qualities, at once the most solid and attractive that I ever
knew, was little comprehended by the generality of mankind. That
noble independence which disdains the tricking arts of popularity,
and _dares_ to walk alone, was miscalled pride. The elegant
retirement of a mind replete with resources, and too refined to
consider as society what was not congenial companionship, was,
with equal departure from just discrimination, styled misanthropy,
while sensibility, which with magic touch can raise aërial hosts
of imagery; and straying over the sacred expanse of time gone by,
and yet to come, sighs to the memory of the past, or o'er the
uncertainty of the future: this was _selfishness_, according to
vulgar interpretation. But vice and folly are compelled to pay the
reluctant homage of an involuntary respect at the shrine of virtue,
and collective excellence is always sure to receive its tribute,
however incapable the mass of mankind may prove to appreciate the
individual beauties of a character which they do not understand.
_Such_ tribute was paid in large proportion to my friend; and while
kindred merit sought his acquaintance with enthusiasm, the _little
world_ were forced to gaze at him with reverence, and look up with
veneration. He is gone! and I never visit this spot, associated
peculiarly with his image, unaccompanied by the recollection of
that epitaph at the Leasowes, the only beautiful testimony of
surviving affection which I remember to have seen, and which seems
as if written for Douglas, and for him alone.

    Heu quanto minus est
    Cum reliquis versari,
    Quàm tui meminisse!"

Mr. Otway paused, and I felt deeply affected by the impressive
manner in which these eloquent lines were repeated. After a short
silence, I told him how greatly I felt indebted for the animated
sketch which he had just given me of a relation whom I had never
till then heard so particularly described. "At Glenalta," said I,
"there is no allusion ever made to my uncle, and I think, that I
have already discovered, even at this distance of time from his
death, that even the name of Henry cannot be pronounced without
causing an inward convulsion of feeling in my aunt. At first I
thought it impossible, but on reading a paragraph to her in the
newspaper yesterday, I perceived a recurrence of such an expression
in her countenance, as determined me to avoid producing it again,
at least by a repetition of the same sound which gave rise to her
present agitation."

"This, my young friend," answered the admirable Otway, "is true
to nature. In those horrible and overwhelming moments of recent
disseverment, when the grave has just closed upon all that lived
in our fondest affections,--when the affrighted spirit glances
round upon the desert wilderness, and the tremendous solitude
is only interrupted by images of despair,--then, _names_ arrest
not the attention. The throbbing heart is wrapped in present
anguish, and the dull ear is dead to sounds; even the shade of the
beloved might float upon the mourner's vision, and not surprise;
but when the first agony of bereavement has settled into the
waking consciousness of our loss, when the astonishment of death
has subsided, when the phantoms of an amazed and distempered
imagination no longer haunt the brain and people our dreams, then
it is that the lonely heart sits in silent abandonment, and even
'the willow that waves in the wind,' terrifies like a ghost of
other times; associations rise, names startle, and in proportion
as distance from the event diminishes the natural _right_ to
sympathy which great misfortunes claim in the first moments of
their visitation, the delicate mind shrinks within itself fearful
of repulse, and would hide its feelings even from the eye of day,
lest it might seem to solicit a participation in those thoughts,
which are too sacred to be shared. Caroline Douglas is not to be
judged of by common-place criteria. When she and the partner of
her affections took up their abode at Glenalta, they presented a
picture of human felicity of which while 'memory holds her seat,'
I shall never lose the most lively impression. Young, and united
by the most perfect attachment, grounded upon an intimate and
mutual acquaintance with disposition, character, sentiments, and
opinions, the highest eulogium which it was possible to pass on
either, might be comprised in one short sentence; they were formed
for each other. Never did I behold two people knit together in
bonds of love so tender, and friendship so rational. Every thought
appeared to be held in common; and when they were conversing, it
seemed as if the lips of one only gave utterance to that which in
the same instant had started into life within the breast of the
other. So perfect was the harmony of their souls, that every idea
which arose in either mind, was caught by the other at a glance,
improved and beautified ere it was reflected back again. In short,
it was impossible that any one whose lot was not already cast,
should enjoy the privilege of their intimacy, without becoming
enamoured of a state capable of producing such celestial happiness
as they were permitted to taste; while in proportion as the mind
was disposed to offer a tribute of _abstract_ homage at the altar
of hymen, the dread of risking individual experiment would
as naturally arise, lest mistaking an exception for the rule,
disappointment should ensue as the fruit of imitation. But there
are very few who marry upon the principles which governed their
union; and to expect similar results from discordant motives, is to
look for grapes on thorns, and figs on thistles. My friends were
mutually attracted by esteem, as well as affection. They did not
join their destinies upon the ground of external vanity, or the
sordid views of worldly aggrandisement. Their's was not a marriage
of two estates; they knew what to desire: they were aware of what
they wanted, and were contented with what they possessed. How often
have I heard them talk of riches and poverty, in this place where
you and I are now sitting! how often heard them agree that a larger
share of fortune's favour might render them less dependent perhaps,
upon each other for happiness, and consequently, diminish the sum
of it; thus would they render privation a subject for gratitude,
through the love that they bore to each other."

"What a picture of earthly bliss," said I, "have you drawn, and
what a separation was that of two beings so united!"

"Aye, it was indeed a picture worth going any distance to gaze
upon! It was a lesson never to be forgotten. Minds like those
which I have been attempting to describe, possess the art of
harmonizing every thing with which they come in contact in unison
with themselves. True refinement inheres _within_, and no more
derives its character from outward trappings, than heaven's gift
of symmetry owes its fair proportions to the fringes with which
fashion encumbers its beauty. In a cottage where luxury never
visited, inborn elegance fixed her abode. A favorite author of
mine says, that if death were considered stripped of the dreadful
paraphernalia which generally attends its mournful presence, half
its horrors would be annihilated. Of poverty, we may say the same.
Vulgar people bring the machinery of life in all its ugliness
and indelicacy before you. It is not whether your tables are of
mahogany or deal; your dishes of china or delft which distinguishes
_refinement_ from its opposite. It is the soul that presides at
the banquet. All this was so instinctively understood, by these
pattern specimens of human nature, that dignity and ease, polish
and simplicity, were the never-failing companions of their humble
home. It is a theme which makes me forgetful of time. We will now
bend our steps towards Lisfarne."

As we rose, he continued:--

"Over the misery which succeeded, I must, like Timanthes of
old, draw a veil, for it was too painful to contemplate, even
in painting. Douglas was snatched in the prime of life from the
beloved of his bosom, from whom to part was the only anguish
which religion had not yet taught him to endure with heavenly
resignation. Even this bitter draught he learned at length to drink
with Christian fortitude. No language could describe the scene of
sorrow that I witnessed afterwards; but years have rolled away;
the dear survivor lives to be a blessing still; and while with
cheerfulness she can now mingle in the innocent gaieties of her
children, her heart is set on heaven where she hopes for re-union
with the only loved of earth."

Here ended a recital which I felt deeply interesting, partly
perhaps because the actors in this sad tale were my nearest
relations, and partly too on account of the noble characters which
it pourtrayed. Falkland, I am growing serious in this place, and
shall lose my spirits if I stay much longer here.

As we turned from the _sacred_ promontory, Mr. Otway playfully
shook my elbow, and, by a sudden change in the modulation of his
voice, made me feel that we were not to dwell any longer on the
topic which had occupied the preceeding hour. At his request I gave
him a history of my _life and adventures_. We talked of you, and
I so completely _fired_ him by my subject, that he has taken your
address, and means immediately to write to young Stanhope who, with
his tutor, (a nephew, by the bye of Oliphant's) is to be at Pisa
about the time of your arrival there, to make your acquaintance
with all suitable activity. Mr. Otway gives a good character of his
ward, so that probably you may find him worth knowing; but if not
for his own sake, you will I am assured _fly to the meeting_ for
the sake of your romance; and consider the youth as a link in that
mysterious _concatenation_, by which your fate _or_ your fancy is
bound to Glenalta.

Before we re-entered the house, Mr. Otway desired me to follow him
down a winding-path, at the end of which I found myself within a
nice little enclosure, sheltered by a hawthorn hedge which was
bursting into a sheet of fragrant blossoms. "This is my botanic
garden," said my companion, "and I must not forget to send Fanny
some plants which I promised her. Here, Howard, help me to take
these to the gardener, and he shall send them over to my little
pupil."

"I will take them myself in the evening," said I, "and shall have
the benefit of appearing very learned, if you will tell me their
names. Emily has extracted a promise from me in our walk from the
mountain this morning, to put myself under her tuition while I
remain in these flowery regions, so the sooner I begin my task the
better."

"You are very right," replied 'mine host;' "knowledge is never a
burthen; and when the news of London is once told, and the stimulus
of novelty wears off, we shall then feel the full value of such
pursuits as at once sustain social communion, exercise common
curiosity, and employ the powers of the understanding."

"You told me this morning, Mr. Otway, that you think the mania
for education is outrunning its natural progress; and that it is
the fashion at present to overleap the barrier of prudence in a
premature and forced extension of learning. May I not urge your
zeal in favour of female cultivation as somewhat inconsistent
with this theory? Setting all jocularity aside, and banishing
_nicknames_, as you call them, from our inquiry, will you tell me
if utility be the measure by which you ascertain and determine
the question of what possible use is education, beyond the polite
limits of fashionable acquirement amongst the higher orders, and
the necessary qualifications for a housewife in the lower classes?
Can women keep schools for our youth? Can women occupy professors'
chairs? Are women called upon to write works of science? In short,
do women ever _want_ all this lore? and if not, might not their
time be more valuably employed in cultivating the delightful arts
of pleasing? I confess to you," added I, "that I have a little
scheme of trying to save Fanny, who is as yet a child, and a very
engaging one too, from going through the ordeal which her sisters
have passed. They are sweet girls, and certainly have contributed
to soften my prejudices exceedingly against learned ladies. Still,
however, it is a pity not to spare Fanny the trouble as well as the
hazard of becoming one. _You_ are so looked up to at Glenalta, that
if you are on the opposition benches I may despair of a majority,
so pray answer me seriously."

"I will, indeed," answered Phil, "though I cannot help laughing at
your pity and intended kindness, for which, however the _motive_
may secure your pardon, my little Fan would certainly not thank
you as gratefully as you expect. To answer your question will in
no wise perplex me. Utility is a test by which I am very well
satisfied to abide; and, if we try the matter at present in debate
by that rule, I think I shall be able to convince you, that unless
in _our_ sex education is to lower its tone, or be neglected, there
can be no doubt of the advantage which would be gained by the solid
instruction of the female world. You grant that it is to women we
ought to look for all that is most valuable in first impressions.
Boys rarely quit their homes before ten years of age, and girls,
not generally speaking, till they marry. It seems then to require
no argument to prove, that upon a mother's being fond of her home,
and satisfied with the pleasures of her domestic fire-side, must
depend an _inclination_ to give up society abroad for the good
of her family; at least you will grant, without difficulty that,
though a sense of duty may do much with the truly conscientious,
the union of duty and inclination will work double tides--so far we
must be agreed. Now the question which remains is, _how_ the love
of home may be produced, and here I should have no hesitation in
saying, by a marriage, in which the greatest portion of sympathy
can be found, and, consequently, the greatest number of common
pursuits. The amusements of young men at the present day--I mean
the majority are such as no female can join in--hunting, shooting,
horse-racing, pugilism, rowing matches, are diversions exclusively
appertaining to the mass of our male population of the gentry
class. Now we will, if you please, suppose two families:--the first
shall be composed of a Gentleman, who has been bred at one of the
great schools without making a figure in scholarship of any kind,
and who, having passed through the University in a manner equally
undistinguished, and vapoured at balls, concerts, and parties, lost
his money at play, and gone the rounds of fashionable dissipation,
marries at length to repair his fortune and improve his interest;
and a young Lady who plays on the harp and piano forte, draws a
little, dances and dresses according to the last French receipt.
This happy pair set up an establishment. If rich, they live in a
whirl of company, sometimes at home, but more frequently abroad.
When children come, they are committed to the care of servants and
the nursery governess, till a time arrives for sending the boys to
school, and exchanging the humble services of the infant teacher
for the _Ma'amoiselle_, who, more like a dancing dog than a human
being, takes charge of the girls, and becomes the guardian of
their religion, morals, and manners! Perhaps you interrupt me, ere
my conclusion be drawn, to observe that this representation only
applies to what are called the higher circles. Very well--be it
so; you shall have the advantage of a second statement upon _your_
side before I contrast it with _my_ view of the subject. Let us
suppose a Gentleman of a thousand a year, or a Professional man,
the former may, or may not, have profited more by his school and
collegiate course than the man of fashion. The latter is obliged
to plod his weary way through law or physic for his daily bread.
These Gentlemen marry, and, according to the present modes of
female education, are not likely to be much happier than our former
Benedick; for a young Lady, now-a-days, whose fortune is no more
than a thousand pounds, learns exactly the same things which are
taught to the daughters of a Duke; and it depends upon original
genius whether her accomplishments be more or less shining than
those of her more splendid models. But music and drawing, however
well performed, can enter but a little way into the happiness of a
fire-side in the country, or that of a Barrister or Physician in
town, when compared with the comforts which _might_ result from a
different order of things. Take a peep now into a _menage_, such as
I wish were not too often to be found only in an air-built castle."

"Imagine a well-educated man, who, not stopping at the animal
qualifications of eating, drinking, boxing, and fox-hunting, has
cultivated his mind, and acquired a taste for literature, will
not such a man be likely to enjoy more happiness at home, if he
has a companion capable of participating in his most rational
gratifications? Will a sensible man admire an amiable woman
less, because in addition to whatever personal qualities may
have endeared her to his affections, she is possessed of solidly
useful knowledge which she is capable of imparting to her
offspring? Surely not; to maintain the contrary, would be to pass
the severest censure on our sex. A woman is neither less pretty,
less elegant, less kind, nor less accomplished of _necessity_,
because she has read and loves reading; and, considering her _own_
happiness, can there be any question respecting the advantage of
books as a source of amusement as well as usefulness, above all
the lighter acquirements above enumerated? The former pass away
with the careless gaiety of youth. The rising generation steps
close upon the heels of that which has immediately preceded it;
and as novelty is the very essence of fashion, the singing which
has been heard, and the dancing which has been seen for a few
successive winters cease to charm, and newer attractions occupy
the stage. How much would the respect of children towards their
mothers be increased, were women, generally speaking, capable of
taking part in the instruction of a family, attending to their
interests, exercising a sound judgment on their progress, and
accompanying their pursuits! Reflect upon the numbers who are left
widows to guide sons, as well as daughters, through the thorny
paths of life? Is it of no importance that a woman, whom it has
pleased God to make the solitary guardian of a youthful progeny,
should place her affections on higher objects than dress, cards,
theatres? Is it of no use that she should be able to direct the
eternal interests of her children, and watch, as a careful nurse,
over their temporal welfare? And will she be less the object of
veneration and love, because every hour of the day presents some
variety of cheerful companionship, where utility and pleasure go
hand in hand, and knowledge is delightful, because associated with
maternal tenderness? Believe not such untruths, my dear Howard, and
if you ever marry, beware of those idle butterflies who, having
skimmed through a summer's day, flutter their fading wings and are
forgotten. Such women are, indeed, but children of a larger growth,
and totally unfit for the responsibility which devolves upon them.
But do not suppose that by a sweeping clause, as false as it would
be uncharitable, I mean to include the _entire_ world of fashion
in the denunciation which I have pronounced against modern modes
and manners. There are some beautiful exceptions, which not only
have escaped contagion, but which illustrate my position by being
themselves amongst its brightest examples. It is the _general_
evil of which I complain, and unless women will stand their _own_
friends, and resist the tyranny of opinion which, if it proceed
much farther in its present course, bids fair to deprive them of
those faculties which Heaven has bountifully bestowed, they may
rest assured that their power will daily decline; both sexes will
degenerate, and the rude supremacy of physical strength will be at
last resorted to, to complete female subjugation, and bring the
civilized world again to a state of barbarism from which it will
slowly emerge."

Just as I was going to reply, a servant announced Mr. Bentley.
A young man entered the room, and we were ere long summoned to
dinner. Nothing could be more agreeable than the trio. You see that
I include myself in the compliment to our good humour, ease, and
festivity. Phil. is an extraordinary man, and I am much _taken_
with him. He is a perfect Encyclopedia, as little Fanny called him,
and literally seems to know every thing; but so absolutely is he
divested of the pomps and ceremony of literature, that it is only
by the fulness of your own mind, and the number of new ideas that
you find in your brain, that you discover the superiority of him
from whom you have derived such accession to your thoughts. We ate,
drank, and were merry.

Bentley is a very sensible young man, and a near neigbour of Mr.
Otway's.

I suppose that I must tell you what we talked of. Well, I am
patiently going through my task of _minute_ narrative in the
beginning; but by the time that you are acquainted with the
characters around me, through these my _masterly_ sketches you
must prepare to take your leave of such reports. I shall write
regularly, and mention whatever incidents may occur; but to hold
on in this method, of repeating every word that is uttered, would
be more than flesh and blood are equal to. Besides, should money
fall short, you may take advantage of me, and make a book out of
these my voluminous materials. Thus forestalling, for all you can
possibly tell, my intentions of giving so many sapient observations
as I have committed to paper, one day myself to the world.

Well, but you want to know who Bentley is, and what we talked
about. As to who a young man, living in the county of Kerry in
Ireland, may be, I am not quite ready to answer though _faute
d'autres sujets_, I shall inquire more concerning him; perhaps
somewhat more determined in my design so to do, from having
remarked a scarlet blush pass over his cheek at dinner when
Charlotte's name was mentioned.

In these back settlements there is nothing to do, but exercise the
skill of a calm observer; and I expect to be quite _au fait_ as a
critic in every thing appertaining to countenance, by the time that
I return to the world. As to conversation we had a great deal of
one sort or other. Some politics, some anecdote, some I know not
what, pleasant enough, but nothing striking. I remember only two
remarks that I shall take the trouble of exporting to Pisa. We
were speaking of Scott's Novels (for I take the liberty of calling
them his, notwithstanding all the denials which are cited to prove
the contrary[A]) and I instanced these and some other works of
fiction which are justly celebrated, and of recent publication, to
support my opinion, that the present genius of literature stands
upon a lofty pedestal in comparison with former times, adding
"what can be a stronger argument in favour of modern wisdom than
that _such_ books are the recreation of our contemporaries?" A
stranger just set down in England might naturally say, if this be
_amusement_, what are the _serious_ studies in this country? And
if, as some writer has said, "tell me your diversions, and I'll
tell you what you are," carry any weight, we may fairly claim to
high pre-eminence."

[Footnote A: The authorship of the Novels has been avowed by Sir
Walter Scott since this letter was written.]

"And deserve it too," answered Phil., "if we do not push the
argument too far. The present day furnishes us some admirable
samples in the department of fiction; but I question much if you
will not find, that novels, with a large portion of existing men,
and women, make the _business_, as well as the relaxation of their
reading hours. The novels of our time are like letters of marque.
They are _armés en flute_ for war or merchandize, _alias_ for
instruction or entertainment; and if people will not read any thing
more serious we must be happy that there _is_ a method of riveting
attention by cloathing good sense in the light drapery of fiction.
Thousands are led on to better things than they are promised by
a pleasant tale; and I rejoice to perceive a growing sense of
accountableness in the writers who supply the present rage for
new publications. I see a consciousness arising amongst novelists
and the editors of reviews and magazines that the morbid diseases
induced by _mental_ opium eating (if you will allow me the image)
threaten paralysis and, would inevitably lead to dissolution of all
intellectual energy, if not arrested in their progress. Several
are usefully employed in applying alterations, and endeavouring to
bring about a more healthful action of the rational powers. Let
us earnestly desire a blessing on every effort of this nature,
and give our best individual support even to story, when, like
the useful wedge, it is successful in sliding in, what would not
find its way into the hands of half mankind unaided by such an
instrument." The remark struck me as valid, and I had the grace to
say so. Led on from one topic to another, in which this excellent
man discovered so much knowledge of life as perfectly to amaze me,
I turned to young Bentley, and said, "I have often heard people
obtain credit for extraordinary acquaintance with the world, and
wherever this has been the case, such skill has been attributed to
travelling, and a widely spreading communion with various classes
of men; but it sometimes strikes me as matter of surprise to find
the acutest sense of all that is doing on the great theatre, in
a retired corner of the earth, apparently shut out from all the
bustle, vice, and folly, that pervade the world."

Bentley replied, "I know not to whom you may apply for information
on _this_ head, more appropriately than to my good friend of
Lisfarne, who contrives to know mankind so well without going
amongst them. Let us ask him how he manages to find them out?"

"Were it really the case," answered Phil. "that I am better
informed than my neighbours in the science which you ascribe to me;
a point which I utterly dissent from, I should be apt perhaps to
take credit for my skill as resulting from the very reason that,
according to your view, might excuse its deficiency, namely, to
those retired habits which lead me to study a few, rather than
glance my eye over a multitude. It is with men as with books. You
may skim over too great a number to read any with profit. With some
few exceptions, the characters of which mankind is made up, are
easily classified; and if you master a score of distinct specimens
from each tribe with care and accuracy, you will find the sum of
your knowledge considerably to exceed that which has been gleaned
from a larger surface, where less attention has been brought to
the task of investigation. A certain impatience of decision leads
people frequently to pronounce upon as anomalies, what a severer
scrutiny would prove to be well understood, and belonging to
accredited divisions of human character."

"I seldom meet with a _real_ non-descript, though appearances may
puzzle me for a time, and though I have not been in a crowd for
many years, I meet in succession with individuals of all sorts, and
perhaps am enabled to form a more discriminating judgment of each
single figure as it passes before me than I could do were my mind
distracted by many objects together. The whole being made up of
parts, one may give a shrewd guess at the collective effect from
acquaintance with the separate atoms."

"From what you say," said I, "a man ought to live _out_ of the
world, to judge rightly of those men who compose it."--"No, my
young friend, not quite so _terse_. There is no more _necessary_
connection between knowledge of the world and retirement, than
between naval tactics and an old gentleman sitting by his fireside
in Hampshire; yet it so happened, that the present system of
breaking the line, which was of such astonishing importance to
us in the last war, was the invention of a man unconnected with
naval affairs, and who, marshalling a parcel of cherry-stones
after dinner upon his table, proved to a practical understanding
how the object could be achieved, and what a Clarke projected, was
accomplished by a Rodney."

"_In_ the world or _out_ of the world sagacity may find materials
upon which to work, and it will depend on the acuteness of that
sagacity to arrive at eminence in the knowledge of man.--Where this
is furnished, I should believe retirement, I do not mean solitude,
to be more favorable to sound discrimination than a busy scene,
because more likely to secure against precipitancy of judgment.
On the whole, we may see, and hear, a great deal too much with
our _outward_ senses. The principal defect of the present day is
want of reflection. The provision, the apparatus for conveying
instruction to the mind is superb, but exactly in proportion to
these "tricking facilities" is the deficiency of original thinking.
When books were few, and purchased with difficulty, they were
intensely studied. The mind was forced to be in some sort its
own library. The treasures of learning were committed to memory,
and the intellect traded upon its internal resources; the capital
was frequently turned, and mental riches crowned exertion; but
the multiplication of _means_ often retards the _end_, and the
understanding is encumbered with help."

"But pray, sir, if we gain more in expansion than we lose in depth,
is not the balance on our side? Now that the press is teeming
with instruction brought down to the level of _all_ capacities,
are we not advancing by rapid strides to a full developement of
the reasoning faculty, and approaching that happy termination of
ignorance so devoutly to be wished for?"

"I do not agree with you, Howard. If you desire my opinion, it must
be given in the negative. I am an old-fashioned fellow, and many of
my notions are desperately heretical in these days of display. I
cannot help prefering substance to shadows, and depth to surface.
I love real improvements, not mere changes. In some instances
we _are_ improving. The exact sciences are making progress, and
so are those arts which depend upon the application of their
principles. Chemistry, mechanics, &c. advance, and there is a
disposition to reward the talent that is exhibited in forwarding
them to perfection; but I maintain that the system of school and
collegiate education for our youth requires reform. The best part
of life, as regards some of our mental powers, is frittered away
in learning badly two dead languages, to the neglect of better
things at school; and at the Universities much might be done to
effect a better order of things than prevails in any of them. Then,
with respect to the prevailing taste in literature, it is too
much devoted to _stimulus_. We have too many new books, and too
many young authors. Some expatiating in the labyrinths of moral
paradox--others in the wild regions of uncontrolled imagination;
and so on. Whatever is _new_, is devoured with avidity, and so
great is the quantity, so pulp-like the quality, of this literary
pabulum, that the digestive organs are destroyed, and the mind is
seldom exercised for itself."

As Phil. finished the last sentence, his old servant opened the
door, and in ran Frederick, followed by the redoubtable Domine. A
general commotion ensued. Much shaking of hands, inquiries after
health, friends, and all the etceteras which are hurried over in
the first ten minutes after meeting succeeded, I was presented;
and while Mr. Otway was engaged with Oliphant, and Fred. was
interchanging civilities with Mr. Bentley, I sat examining the
object of my fearful anticipations. Imprimis, he has no wig, but
a fine expansive front with a clean bald pate. His hair "a sable
silvered," scantily _set_, but curling naturally in a _fringe_
round the back of his head, and a countenance full of benevolence,
and sparkling with affection.

Yes, it is a true bill. Here are more fruits of Prophecy and
Prejudice, quoth you!--I will give up _anticipating_.--It will save
me a great deal of plague in future, not to think of people till
they cross my path, and are actually before my eyes.

Before we set out on the return to Glenalta, I was as easy as
an old shoe with Oliphant; but all his quaint practice and
methodistical habits are hanging over _in terrorem_.

On the following day, which was Saturday, we met as usual at
breakfast, and immediately afterwards, I was called by the girls
and Frederick to come and see the treasures of which their tutor
had been the escort. On entering the Library, I saw a valuable
addition to the book-shelves; Clarke's Bible, handsomely, but
unshewily bound, for my aunt; the Flora and Pomona Londinensis for
Emily; a capital Biographical Dictionary for Charlotte; a fine
Herodotus for Fred; and Withering's Botany for Fan. Besides these
were writing-desks, drawing-books, pencils, port-folios, and a
parcel containing the Pirates, Kenilworth, Quentin Durward, and the
Inheritance, as food for the "Evening hour." In short, Domine must
have been literally built up in the _stack_ which brought him, as
tightly as poor Rose de Beverley in the dungeon wall; and to have
seen the good man _deterré_ from such a mass of matter must have
been diverting enough.

These various objects of acquisition were all gifts of Mr. Otway,
who had made his own remarks upon the wants and wishes of his
neighbours, and written to Oliphant accordingly, to come laden
with whatever he thought most likely to gratify the family group.
It is impossible to form an idea of the advantages in _one_ respect
which people living in these outposts of mankind possess over the
civilized world. If my mother and sisters require a packet of
books, or any thing else, from town, Gibson is ordered to write,
the things come per next mail. Turner, my mother's maid, opens
the store, and the contents are spread upon tables, where perhaps
they lie for days before they are observed, and when looked at,
are either to be returned, or if retained, it is ten to one if
they produce the slightest degree of animation. Here the minds
of the little party are so alive and fresh, that one catches the
contagion; and I found myself bustling through wrapping papers and
twine with an eagerness which I certainly never experienced upon
the arrival of a similar importation at Selby.

"We have been so long _wishing_ for these," said Emily, "that they
are quite a mine of happiness."

"Yes," answered Charlotte, "and how magical are our dear Phil.'s
guesses, for he always discovers what one _wants_ most." "And I,"
added Fanny, "am just expiring to be off to Lisfarne, with a budget
of thanks to our necromancer."

We all dispersed after this library scene; the young people to shew
Mr. Oliphant puppies, kittens, young pheasants, and sundry other
live stock, which had either grown or been acquired during his
absence, and I, after promising to walk with my aunt in an hour
or two, filed off to my room to fold up this enormous volume. On
looking over my journal before doing so, I perceived an omission:
you desired me to tell you more of the _tastes_ of my fair friends
in dress, furniture, _etcetera_, I thought that I had given you a
_coup d'[oe]il_ which might have sufficed; but if you must have
more, learn now, and for ever after hold your peace, that you may
walk from top to bottom of this house without hitching your skirts
in any of the fopperies of a modern _boudoir_. There is no danger
of being entangled amongst a nest of spider-tables covered with
china, or of overturning a chiffoniere burthened with flower-pots.
There are no scraps of japan, nor _odds_ and _ends_ of any sort to
molest a visitor, and interrupt conversation. Glenalta is furnished
with simplicity and convenience: the general _character_, is that
of chaste uniformity, without any thing of the _drab_ of quakerism.
A few good pictures ornament the walls both of drawing-room and
parlour. Some handsome busts in bronze give a finish to the
bookcases of the library; and the hall, which is light and airy,
has a very good appearance as you enter the house. The furniture is
solid, and there is every real comfort of polished life to be found
in its place without any exhibition of finery or _nick-knackery_,
if I may coin a word for the occasion.--Altogether the best idea
I can convey of my aunt's dwelling, is by telling you what it
is _not_: it is _not_ a _shew_-house--it is _not_ a fashionable
house, neither has it the cold, raw, uninhabited look of an English
provincial residence; but it is strictly clean, bright, _easy_
looking, and has an air of unpretending elegance.

Now, as to dress, hang me if I know the names of any manufacture;
but I told you before, that the cousins have very pretty figures,
beautiful hair, and are always perfectly _presentable_. They do
not wear the gaudy colouring of the French school, nor are they
squeezed as if in a vice, to look like wasps, without any visible
connecting link to unite the upper and lower parts of the body.
There is a natural grace and gentility in every movement; and the
_effect_ is pleasing to the eye from the _repose_ which it meets
with, equally remote from _excitement_ on the one hand, and torpor
on the other.

What can I tell you more particular? And had I not better say Adieu
at once, than add to this mighty mass of paper by further general
description?

                                         Your affectionate friend,
                                             ARTHUR HOWARD.




                            LETTER VII.

                FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.


    My dear Falkland,

My last despatch, you will remember, was sealed just after it had
been arranged that I should accompany my aunt in a walk. At the
appointed hour I tapped at her door, to put her in mind of our
assignation; and was not sorry to have a _tête à tête_ in prospect,
thinking that I might take advantage of this opportunity to edge
in a little word of counsel, that might be of use, at _least_ in
Fanny's, though Emily and Charlotte might be beyond my reach in
effecting a change in _their_ destiny.

My sweet aunt (for she is really quite delightful) was speedily
equipped, and we set out upon our rambles. As soon as we had
cleared the house, and were not in danger of being overheard, I
expressed my gratitude for her kindness in asking me to Glenalta;
spoke of the pleasure which I already felt in its society, and my
admiration, as well as surprise, at finding my cousins every thing
that could be wished. My aunt smiled. "Then," said she, "you had
heard, I suppose, but an unflattering account of us, and expected
to see a very _outrè_ sort of a family." "I expected," answered
I, "to find, as I _have_ found, very superior attainments; but
you know, dearest lady, the prejudice which universally subsists
against _Blue-Stockings_; and though you have succeeded so
admirably in the result of your system, and may therefore triumph,
as 'those who win may laugh,' yet you must allow the experiment
to have been a bold one." "And why so, my dear Arthur? I should
not have felt at all inclined to make bold experiments, and am not
conscious how I have done so. You must explain yourself." "Well
then, I will; and hope that I may venture to do so without running
any risk of offending you." "Certainly, I cannot be offended,
having requested you to tell me what you mean; and I, on my part,
shall not only thank you for your observations, but shall be
ready, with the most perfect candour, to satisfy you as far as I
can, respecting my conduct."

"Dear aunt, then," said I, "the great object to which a girl's
prospects should tend from infancy to maturity is marriage; and
every prudent mother, I need not say to you, is perpetually intent
upon this termination of all her cares and anxiety. To marry a
daughter _well_ is no easy matter now-a-days, and often requires a
vast deal of address to bring about the event. Beauty, though very
captivating, will not do without money, and young men have learned
to be philosophers; they can see and admire, but, like the Baron
of Moubray, they must know how 'to love and to ride away,' unless
they would entail ruin on their posterity. Almost every man's
circumstances are dipped more or less, either by his own folly or
that of his predecessors; and most men look to a fortunate marriage
some time or other in their lives, for the purpose of paying off
charges on their property, and clearing a load of debt. Now, girls
of large fortune, may certainly take some liberties; for even
were they old, ugly, or _Blue_, thousands _will_ tell, and they
may generally command a choice amongst the other sex; but young
women, even of such personal attraction as my cousins ought 'to be
with caution bold.' I do assure you, that were you at this moment
suddenly removed to London, I would not, for any consideration
that I can name, that Emily and Charlotte were discovered to know
a syllable of Greek, Latin, botany, chemistry, or any of the arts
and sciences: it is unheard of in town, except to be laughed at, or
avoided; and as your girls have pretensions that might secure their
being courted in the best society, it would mortify any one who
loves them to witness a complete failure in their _debut_, through
a want of that circumspection which mothers, _so_ inferior to you,
know how to exercise. Dear little Fan is young and volatile; there
is more danger of her betraying herself than of her sisters' being
giddy. Much might be done still with your elder girls, who are so
reasonable and so docile, that they would probably take a hint
immediately; but it is quite a _sin_ not to snatch Fanny from
perdition, by allowing what _azure_ she has already contracted, to
fade away as quickly as possible. Elegant and accomplished, pretty
and pleasing, my cousins are formed for the world, and would shine
in it: but Greek, Latin, chemistry, _etcetera_, are like forgery,
never to be forgiven."

Here I paused, and my aunt calmly replied, "I fear, my dear boy,
that I shall make matters worse rather than better by my answer to
your advice; but, notwithstanding, I must run the risk, and boldly
hazard the loss of your esteem, by detailing some opinions of
mine, which do not harmonize at all with your's. First, then, you
will stare at me perhaps when I tell you, that I am very far from
thinking marriage necessary to the happiness of my children, though
should I live to see them find such partners as I think worthy of
them, I should rejoice, inasmuch as, under _certain_ circumstances,
I look upon marriage as the happiest lot of life in this chequered
scene; but, Arthur, rank and fortune are only _accidents_, and
make no part of the _essence_ in my creed of such requisites as
constitute felicity in domestic union. My dear girls will not be
rich, but they will have enough to make them independent. If they
marry, I think I may venture to say, that it will not be through
worldly motives of aggrandizement; and should they remain single,
they will, I trust in the Almighty, be both useful and contented."

I certainly _did_ stare. What! a mother, and disregard the
establishment of daughters! My aunt continued: "According to your
ideas, a woman is merely an appendage, and, I dare say, frequently
considered a very troublesome one to her fortune, the acquisition
of which seems to be, even under favourable circumstances of youth
and beauty thrown into the scale, the _principal_ object, and where
these may be wanting, the _sole_ incentive which leads a man of
fashion to permit a young lady the honour of bearing his name.
Now in a country where the blessing of freedom has never been
known, where parents possess absolute power over their children,
and masters over their slaves, I can perceive a reason for such
an order of things; but I confess myself so ignorant as not to
comprehend why liberty and affluence _here_ should be sacrificed
without any valuable consideration. It would be better to subscribe
a part of one's property to the necessities of a needy gentleman
than be obliged to give up the whole, and tie oneself to him for
ever. May I ask you how women are compensated in your scheme for
the relinquishment of independence?" "Bless me, dear aunt, the
question is so extraordinary, that really I feel at a loss to
believe that you can ask it: _compensated_?--Why, by being married;
by being promoted to a state in society of more consideration than
they previously occupied; by being provided for, established, and,
finally, as the acme of all female hope and ambition, taken out of
the never-ending defile of recruits through which a man has to make
his way at every ball, concert, or theatre in town."

"Well," said Mrs. Douglas, "I am not a little amazed that these
_recruits_, as you call them, should be ready to place themselves
under the control of officers so little disposed to regard them
with tenderness; but, as this is a serious subject in which the
happiness of mankind at large is concerned, we will treat it
gravely. Providence has so ordered the affairs of earth, that
marriage will always be a primary object of concern with _both_
sexes; for remember, that the idea of _wife_, involves that of
_husband_; and to supply each _aspirant_ of either sex, you must
find a disengaged individual of the other. Now if it appear that
the mass of human beings are intended by their Creator for the
state of matrimony, and that their own wishes generally coincide
with the original purpose of creation, would it not seem a
reasonable consequence that a condition which almost all men and
women anticipate, should be rendered as desirable, as suitable, as
happy, and as wise as a reflecting choice can make it?" "Surely,"
said I, "and _there_ lies the difference between an improvident
silly mother, or one who is governed by a prudent knowledge of
the world, and clear views of her childrens' advantage. Women
are, you will confess, great fools when they allow their girls
to flirt with younger sons who have nothing; military men, whose
fortunes are on their backs, and all the idle host who furnish
a drawing-room and excel in a quadrille. Maternal solicitude
ought unquestionably to be directed to a good settlement, liberal
pin-money--if _possible_ a distinguished connection; and in short,
all the circumstances which constitute what every one admits to be
a _good match_. How painful must it be to read a paragraph in the
public papers announcing that on such a day Mr. Such-an-one, whom
nobody knows, was married by some clergyman whose name was never
heard of, in a parish church not to be found in any map, to Miss
Douglas of Glenalta! If I am doomed to suffer such disgrace, I
shall set out directly for Greece, or some other distant quarter to
which my countrymen do not flock in the crowds that one is certain
to meet in France and Italy, _there_ to remain till the event is
forgotten, and the unfortunate actors in it, are consigned to
well-merited oblivion. Forgive me if I am warm; I do not mean to
be disrespectful, but my energies rise in proportion to the hourly
increase of love and admiration which I feel towards relations so
near and so deserving."

"Arthur, I am not angry," rejoined my aunt, "but I must oppose,
though I may fail to convince you; I can never desire to see my
dear girls, who have been loved, valued, and considered as rational
creatures in their own home, become a part of the _retinue_ of a
man of fashion; and therefore I neither intend to introduce them
upon a theatre where success is failure according to my notion of
things, nor attempt to infuse a new class of doctrines upon the
nature of happiness into their guiltless hearts. Let us go on in
our accustomed routine, and if there ever was a case to which we
may apply the maxim 'If ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise,'
you will admit its force upon that in question, for _so_ happy are
my dear children at Glenalta, that visionary dreams of joy seem
not to pass beyond its well-known boundary. When the mind is full
of resource, it is wonderfully independent, and suffers none of
that _ennui_ which is the disease of vacancy. From the birth of
my children to the present time, they have never heard that there
was an _effect_ to be produced by any thing they learned except
the natural consequences that grow out of virtue and occupation.
Marriage may, or may not, be their portion; should it be so, the
characters of their husbands may probably differ, as their own do,
from each other; and thus far I meet your views, that I should
be sorry to see any child of mine marry so imprudently as to
plunge into the sordid cares of life without consideration. Should
misfortune bring poverty, and the Almighty try his creatures by
affliction, how beautiful is it _then_ to behold the exertions
which the finest minds are capable of making when sustained by
religious submission, and encouraged by fond affection; but to
_place_ ourselves _willingly_ in situations which our strength may
not prove sufficient to admit of our filling conscientiously, is
to presume upon our own powers, and is therefore dangerous. You
see then, my dear boy, that as far as my opinion may have weight,
you are not to expect any accession to your worldly pride from
the Douglas family, who are very unambitious people; and, though
I trust that they will never 'disgrace you,' I fear that you must
be contented to love them for their _own_ sakes, and not for any
flattering unction to be derived through their future destiny.
No, I hardly think it likely that Emily, Charlotte, or Fanny,
will ever contribute their aid to a high-sounding paragraph in
the newspapers; but I shall indeed be disappointed if they are
satisfied with less than sense and affection, if they marry."

"My dear aunt, you mistake me: as much sense as you like; and you
cannot imagine that I could be such a barbarian as to fancy that
any man who married one of my cousins should be so deficient in
good taste as not to love her as well as men generally love their
wives. Remember, that the happiest home of infancy must, in the
course of nature, dissolve; and then what becomes of a luckless
sisterhood of old maids, who, having suffered the spring and summer
to pass by unheeded, in vain deplore their idle improvidence, and
fret away the gloomy remnant of their days on earth in sourness and
solitude?" "A dismal picture, indeed," replied my aunt, "I must
try if I cannot draw one less dispiriting. In the first place you
acknowledge that, according to _your_ scheme, sense and affection,
though not _principals_, are useful _accessories_, and are to be
taken as make-weights into the scale of happiness. Now my idea is,
that this is to expect too much, and more than experience will
realize, unless in some instance perhaps of extraordinary exception
upon which we have no right to calculate. If you marry for rank,
you _obtain_ it, and should be satisfied with your bargain; if for
fortune, you have gained your object, and must not complain: the
contract is fair, though you receive only that for which you make
your agreement; and it is quite unjust to suppose that perfections
which you never sought, and qualities of which you never went in
search, will be added to heap up your measure."

"The happiest home of early life must in nature's course dissolve,
you say: agreed; but, the affrighting scene of unavailing misery
which you have painted, is not the necessary consequence of such
an event. _I_ can imagine three sisters who may not have been
tempted to quit the paternal roof by meeting such congeniality of
character as they deemed essential to happiness, living together as
kindly in the decline, as in the meridian of life. I can imagine
them to look abroad without envy, and at home without disgust.
If excluded from some enjoyments which belong to another mode of
existence, they are spared also many of the evils which attach to
it, and with this advantage, that while the former are precarious,
the latter are inevitable. The brightest anticipations founded on
the most apparently stable foundation, may _possibly_ deceive, but
the physical suffering, and the anxious care which are inseparable
from the maternal relation, are penalties from which there is no
exemption. No bill of indemnity can set aside a mother's pangs;
and be assured, that were women endowed with the gift of oracular
foresight, and like the ancient Sybils capable of peeping into
the cup of futurity, very few would have courage to taste the
bitter draught which marriage too frequently mingles to allure by
promises, and poison by disappointment. The fondest affection, the
kindest support, and all the inestimable charms of sympathetic
companionship, may indeed render the conjugal union an antepast
of heaven; but such contracts of folly and avarice, as are but too
often sealed in what you call the world, represent as truly a state
of severest punishment; and between these extremes, a single lot
is far to be preferred to the compromise which matrimony in its
average of calculation _usually_ exhibits. The great purposes of
life are, however, fulfilled at the expense of individual ease,
and many a spirit learns in the school of adversity, those blessed
lessons of humility and dependence upon a Heavenly Father, that pay
with such peace 'as the world can neither give nor take away' for
the infliction of an earthly husband."

"Well, my ears," said I, "are unaccustomed to such language. I
confess it is no less new than surprising; yet that I may know the
full extent of your deviation from modern creeds, perhaps you will
describe the sort of helpmate to whose guardianship _you_ would
entrust a daughter?"

"Most willingly, Arthur. The peculiar temperament of each
individual stamps an impress of its own upon the mind, and,
according to the variety of taste, will be our selection of
such qualities in a friend, as harmonize with its distinctive
character. Marriage has been eloquently described as 'the queen
of friendships,' and yet the monarch fares less well than any of
her subjects; and while the choice of a companion who is only to
travel in our society for a few short miles upon the continent, is
governed by kindred feeling and pursuits, the journey which is to
end but with life, is undertaken upon the most flimsy ground of
temporary whim or expediency. Is this rational, is it consistent
conduct?"

"Then may I ask, my dear aunt, do you conceive it really necessary
that two people must have learned the same arts, have studied
the same sciences, and read the same books; spoken in the same
languages, thought the same thoughts, and been in fact, like Helen
and Hermia, 'a double cherry seeming parted, but yet a union in
partition;' to make a reasonably happy, suitable jog-trot couple in
the holy bands of wedlock?"

"Not entirely, though perhaps the more of such similarity the
better; but Arthur, you asked for a description, and you shall
have one. After the great leading bond of sympathy upon religion
and moral conduct, the _grain_ of character is most essential to
happiness in married life. There is a fineness of texture in some
minds which cannot endure contact with what is coarse, any more
than cambrick will bear being united to sail-cloth. The unequal
tissue will give way, and the more delicate fabric will be torn to
atoms. The mere matters of acquirement may differ without injury
to affection, an interchange may take place, which shall borrow
sweetness from its source; and even that which possessed no charms
to invite its acquisition, may become delightful, if taught by, or
studied for the sake of a being whom we love. I knew a lady whose
husband was a barrister; they adored each other, but they were
poor, and professional industry could not be dispensed with. Their
mornings were necessarily passed in the performance of separate
duties; but when the business of the day was over, and the evening
hearth burned brightly as they sat together, a doubt would arise
whether the most enchanting of all gratifications, each others'
society, was not a luxury too great for _them_. The doubt ended
in certainty, that law reading ought to supersede the charms of
conversation, and what was the result? that affection was too
powerful to be selfish, or rather _self_ was extended to a second
and a dearer object. The wife determined to convert a solitary and
painful duty, into a social delight; she insisted on joining in
her husband's study, and several of the driest and most difficult
books were read aloud to each other in succession. The experiment
answered to admiration. They were engaged _together_, and this was
enough to make them happy. What was distasteful to one, and at
first unintelligible to the other, became amusement; and in the
morning's walk, were often discussed the cases which had occupied
the previous afternoon. Memory was improved by this exercise: a
little time enabled the lady still farther to share the fatigues
of a beloved partner in noting his briefs, and assisting in other
professional cares, rewarded by the delight of knowing that her
presence was necessary to the happiness of him who formed her own.
Arthur, such is what _I_ call affection, and such is my idea of
companionship in wedded love."

My heart glowed, and I could not speak; I gazed on my aunt: her
cheek was slightly flushed, and her eyes had acquired the deep
and clear expression which brought to my mind that exquisite
description in the Prisoner of Chillon.

    "The eye of most transparent light
    That almost made the dungeon bright."

We both paused: when, recovering from a momentry lapse of thought,
she continued: "I knew another wife whose husband was employed for
several years in various diplomatic trusts of high importance. He
was an invalid, and frequently incapaciated from taking part in
public affairs; but the faithful friend of his bosom who was a most
admirable linguist, wrote his letters in five different tongues,
and was supposed to be a native in them all. Can you match these
instances of connubial tenderness and confidence in the frigid
annals of fashion? Turn, my Arthur, from the heartless trammels,
and dare to be free."

"Such women," said I, "as you have represented, would soon
revolutionize the world, and bring about a mighty change in the
motives that influence marriage; but instances like these occur at
intervals, just to shew us of what your sex is _capable_, and that
is all."

"Alas, Arthur," replied my aunt, "women rarely discover objects
amongst men worthy of exciting powerful affection, and none but
slaves will bestow the semblance where the reality does not
exist. Men and women act and re-act reciprocally on each other's
characters, and though exceptions may appear, you will find it
easy in general to decide upon one sex, by the merits or demerits
of the other, allowing for those differences between them which
distinguishes each from its opposite."

"How then," said I, "is a new order of things to be effected? _One_
swallow does not make a summer.

"The change would be achieved with-out any difficulty, my child,
would each individual only throw off the artificial shackles which
are imposed by opinion upon the heart and understanding. Nature
is so lovely, truth so captivating, that one would _imagine_ it no
hard matter to disengage the mind from the bondage of a factitious
yoke, and I return to their gentle empire. Yet this is all that we
are called upon to do, and that only with _ourselves_. If our early
years were passed in laying up store for futurity in practising the
affections within the circle of those whom God has given to be our
nearest and dearest ties, in cultivating intellect, and acquiring
useful knowledge, we should need no farther security against the
mistakes of after life. Religion, virtue, wisdom, and good taste,
would be our guides as well as our protectors."

"Aunt, 'almost thou persuadest me;' but you named religion, and
before we conclude I must say a word upon that part of the subject."

At this instant who should appear at the entrance of a moss-house,
in which my aunt and I had been seated for the last half hour, but
Oliphant, Charlotte, and Fanny? They had taken a round of the wood,
and were returning when this _contre tems_ took place. I blushed
immoderately. It was such a topic to be caught in the act of
discussing; but my confusion did not last long.

What a blessing is _tact_! That monosyllable contains a volume. My
aunt saw, I suppose, exactly all that was passing across my mind--

"_Caciata del core fuge nel volto_,"--and, instantly seizing on
Charlotte's hand, she said, "My love, I want you and Fanny to run
home and send the little car to me. I am a wee bit tired; I will
keep Mr. Oliphant and Arthur here, till Paddy and poney arrive."

Like lightning, the nymph disappeared, and, quietly turning to me
as if our dialogue had suffered no interruption, "I am so glad that
just as we wanted Mr. Oliphant, he has come to our aid," said my
aunt. "He will be quite at home in answering your last question."

She then in a moment playfully informed Domine of our single
combat, "which," added she "was fairly fought, and rather
favourably to my side at the close, till Arthur rallying his
forces, to make a powerful stand, entrenched himself under an
authority to which, were it against me, I should implicitly submit;
but I will now place _you_ in my stead; and, as I am sure that
Arthur was _going_ to say (no _young_ ladies being present) that
female inferiority is supported by that volume, from which there is
no appeal at Glenalta, I am not without hope that you will drive my
nephew from this last fastness."

"I accept the challenge," said Oliphant, "and thank you for the
post which you allot to me, as the laurel of victory already
circles round my brow; but I must hear my adversary state his case."

Thus forced into a tilting match with the tutor, I laughed,
and assured him that I had never presumed upon encountering so
formidable an enemy; but as it would be a tacit confession that
my cause was weak, were I to remain silent, "I must own," said I,
"that Mrs. Douglas precisely hit upon what I was going to urge,
namely, that however modern manners, to which my aunt discovers
so little gratitude, have _raised_ women to the pedestal on which
they stand, the Bible tells a different tale; and were it even
true that female pride had got a fall through fashion's fiat, would
not such depreciation be exact conformity with holy writ?"

"Were it so," answered the _giant_ of learning, "Mrs. Douglas
would neither lament nor contend against her fate, but the Bible
is peculiarly her sanctuary of refuge, from which, when driven to
its sacred shelter by the taunts of the world, she might proudly
exclaim, 'it was not thus, when we came from the hands of God.'"

"No, my dear sir, man was created in God's own image; 'male and
female created he them.' Eve (the meaning of which word is life)
was formed after, and _out of_ man. She was not given to him as
property, but given 'to be with him,' as a companion, because he
would have been a cheerless, as also a useless animal without
her. The original Hebrew implies no superiority, nor inferiority.
Adam and Eve were the counterparts of each other. Eve was bone
of bone, flesh of flesh, to her husband, _both_ endowed with
immortality, _both_ invested with rule over all creatures of the
earth. The word woman is from the Hebrew _Ish_, signifying man,
which, when simply altered by two letters to _Ishau_, literally
means she-man. _Andris_ is the female form of _Aner_, man, in the
Greek; and in Arabic we have _Imrat_, she-man, from _Imree_, man.
Every man should consider woman as a part of himself; and when,
as a punishment for her disobedience, the heavy denunciation was
issued that Eve should be subject to her _husband_, it was not
required by their Maker that she should resign any part of that
understanding, any prerogative of heart or intellect, which had
originally been bestowed, when she was formed his equal in power.
Both man and woman were deprived of immortality. Death came into
the world with sin, and with _these_, woman's legal bondage to
her _husband_; but beyond this limit you cannot proceed. On the
contrary, though the brutal habits of eastern tyranny debased the
sex, to which inferior bodily strength had been from the first
communicated, yet was it exalted in the moment of depression by Him
who called it into being, and inflicted the curse. The woman was to
bruise the serpent's head. She was the first destroyer, and was
permitted to be the first in the chain of restoration, by being the
appointed medium, the _sole_ earthly parent of the Saviour. When
Abraham was entitled Father of the faithful, Sarah received like
honour, and was named their Mother; and when our blessed Lord came
upon earth, from one end to the other of his ministry, there is
not a syllable to be found derogatory of the female sex. He loved
Mary as a sister; and upon various occasions distinguished certain
women by particular expressions of affectionate approbation. There
is no authority in the Bible from Genesis to Revelation for the
opinion that you hold; and with respect to punishment inflicted by
Deity for transgression, a generous feeling would naturally suggest
the desire of lightening rather than aggravating its infliction,
especially when we reflect that the only difference between the
culprits lay in the measure of delinquency. Adam and his sons have
no cause of triumph; and I never read the story of the fall without
considering with humiliation the first proof afforded of a lowered
nature in our common progenitor, when to save himself from the
principal condemnation, he selfishly consigned his partner to the
wrath of offended divinity. When our Saviour arose from the dead,
it was to his faithful female followers that he first revealed
himself; and, as a concluding remark, permit me to observe, that
if, as we are assured unequivocally, women are equal inheritors of
the skies, it ill befits us to refuse them their rights on earth.
No, sir, depend upon it, when men cannot support themselves, except
by asserting that power which the laws have conferred upon them,
they are _hard run_, and the edifice is tottering when it requires
a buttress. The nobler animals are all _quiescent_. The lion
reposes in his strength, and knowing how much he can command, is
slow at making exhibition of his force; but "man, proud man!"

    "Dressed in a little brief authority,
    Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
    As make the angels weep."

"I remember, sir," said I, "to have seen once, in the library of a
gentleman, who, by the bye, was a most complete domestic despot, an
odd sort of a book, entitled "Rights of Women."

"Are you acquainted with, and an approver of that work?"--"No,
young gentleman, that is a book which has long ago found its
resting-place amid dust and cobwebs. When new, it was a wretched
thing, and is now forgotten; but you found it, as the mineralogists
express themselves, _in situ_, when you discovered a stray copy on
the shelves of a tyrant. The brawlers about liberty are generally
fond of keeping it all to themselves. The French revolution, which
was before your time, set many heads distracted, and loosened
the whole frame-work of our morals; but we are sobered, and have
consigned to oblivion the grosser absurbities of that disjointed
period.

"Women have real and substantial rights, natural as well as civil,
which no one attempts to dispute; and they are fools when they part
with them, unless to secure a greater good than they relinquish;
but marriage is the rock upon which multitudes make shipwreck,
because from the present constitution of things, that solemn act
of life is performed with less consideration than people commonly
employ in the purchase of a field. Men, after a career of folly,
begin to look about them, and think it wise to _settle_, before
time has thinned their locks and scattered silver over the flowing
honours of youth. Women sigh for what are called establishments;
and happiness slides out of a scheme in which no provision has been
made for its entertainment. Take an old man's advice, Mr. Howard,
be as deliberate in your selection as you please, and I hope that
you will not marry till you know your own mind; but when you _do_
become a Benedick, let your Beatrice be the friend of your bosom,
the companion of your life, and a partner in all your pains,
pleasures, and pursuits."

I was not prepared to contradict, for the truth is, that Domine
told me more in half a dozen sentences than I ever heard before.
However, not to appear as if I had suddenly lost _my speech_, I
gently hinted, "that Solomon was usually thought a wise man, upon
the authority of the Scriptures; and he declares that, in his
search after wisdom, he had never found _one_ woman to reward his
pains."

"Truly, that is not very wonderful," said Oliphant. "When the men,
who possessed all the advantages that superior power bestowed,
made so little use of it towards the cultivation of knowledge
and virtue, that Solomon complains of not finding a man of worth
in _a thousand_, no wonder that amongst the weaker sex, who were
kept in the lowest state of slavery and degradation, he should
not discover any who, deprived of the benefit of education, and
shut out from the light of truth, had broken her bonds, and soared
above the horrible debasement to which females were condemned by
their rulers. The Christian Religion, of which that Bible that
you lately quoted as authority for the servitude of women, is the
sacred repository, is in fact the charter of female liberty; and
in proportion as the Sun of Righteousness shines with more or less
refulgence in any land, in such proportion is woman respected."

"Pray then, Mr. Oliphant, how comes it that the sense of mankind
has always been taking a contrary course? A boy is hardly out of
his nurse's arms, before he hears of his superiority over his
sisters. When he goes to school, the first grammar that his lisping
tongue is turned to repeat, tells him that his sex is most worthy.
In the _world_, one hears women only estimated by their beauty,
or their wealth; and in families we see them nothing better than
the wrecks of a former day, little loved by their husbands, or
respected by their children."

"_Hinc illæ lachrymæ_," answered my opponent, "in _one_ sense
the male sex is decidedly superior--I mean in strength; and were
this employed in supporting the weak, instead of oppressing them,
the female world would not be disposed to grudge men a supremacy
of which they would themselves enjoy the happy fruits. But as to
your nursery nonsense, an elder son is always told that he is as
much above his younger brothers, as his sisters; and so he is,
by the laws of primogeniture, which give him the estate. Yet I
suppose that there are few such blockheads as to believe, that
because a man happens to come into the world before his brethren,
he is therefore invested with a patent of superior intellectual
endowment. On the contrary, it often happens, that elder sons,
satisfied with the gifts of fortune, take little trouble with their
minds, and are, in point of cultivation, at the _tail_ instead
of the _head_ of their Houses. Grammar rules prove nothing. They
were made by _men_, and according to vulgar estimates of physical
force; and as _to the world_, the most convincing proof in my eyes
of its degeneracy in our day, is to be found in the impertinent
neglect of women, so frequently observable in the _soi-disant_ men
of fashion. To sum up the argument: the sexes differ from each
other, but _difference_ implies nothing of better or worse, taller
or shorter, wiser or less wise. They are _different_, and each
beautifully adapted by the eternal Creator to fulfil the purposes
for which it was designed. The man stronger, more active--made to
encounter danger, and endure fatigue. The woman more delicate,
more refined, formed to sooth by her tenderness, to watch over the
helpless, comfort the unfortunate, and be the balm of human kind.
In mental capacity Nature has dealt with impartial bounty, and the
most splendid talents are to be found in that sex, which I grieve
to add, too rarely exercise their powers. Rely upon it, that men
are not less manly for sharing their privileges, nor women less
feminine for profiting by the boon. The age of Chivalry is gone,
and it would be well to restore it.

"Look, my dear young gentleman, around you at Glenalta. Is
Frederick less likely to attain the gold medal at his University,
or is he less ardent in pursuit of game in the fields, because he
loves his mother and sisters, and would be unwilling to enjoy any
gratification in which they were not partakers? Turn your eyes
upon the dear gentle trio of your fair cousins, and tell me are
they less pleasing, less modest, less artless, and happy, because,
with minds well stored, they can always find resources at home,
for which others are vainly seeking abroad? Are they less elegant
because they are independent, or less delicate because they neither
shriek at a wasp, nor faint at the sight of a spider?"--

I was going to say something, I hardly know what, when a party
appeared in sight, that at a little distance might have passed
for a group of gipsies; Paddy and the poney car, led the van.
Frederick, the three girls, Phil., and young Bentley brought up
the rear. We were together in the next moment, and in the midst
of salutations, I could not help remarking the anxiety of all
the young people about my aunt, whose expression of fatigue had
brought them back to offer aid, and satisfy themselves that she
was not ill. Frederick settled the cushions, and dispatched Paddy,
saying, that he must himself drive the little car, lest it should
go too fast. Fanny had brought a small basket, in which was a phial
of hartshorn, and a glass having been also produced, away ran
Charlotte to the stream which tumbles through this rocky glen, to
procure water,--all without _fuss_, or effort.

Yes, there is no question of it--what Oliphant says is true enough.
These people are not at all the worse for any thing that they have
said, done, learned, or acquired. My aunt was unusually gay, to
convince her children that nothing ailed her; and we all returned
home, laughing and talking as merrily as possible. Bentley was
asked to stay and dine, which Phil. had promised also to do, and so
sped Saturday away as smoothly as if it _rolled_ on _casters_.

In the evening we walked. I took my first lesson in botany from
Emily. We planned a trip to Killarney, for July, if my aunt makes
no objection, and finished the _revels_ with music.

What would you think, if I tell you, that Domine took the bass in
several glees, and has a remarkably fine sonorous voice. Our guests
departed. The bell rang. Servants were assembled, and the usual
prayer was read, with no other circumstance of change, than the
substitution of Mr. Oliphant, in quality of domestic chaplain, for
my aunt.

Just as we were about to separate, Fanny called me, and whispered,
"Don't go yet to your room. We are going to hold a conference for
a few minutes in the study, and you must assist at our council." I
accordingly lagged behind, and after Mr. Oliphant and my aunt had
severally retired, _we_ five mustered in the Library. Emily opened
the proceedings, by saying, "Arthur, my brother, sisters and I,
have set our hearts upon accomplishing a project which Frederick
and I devised in our walk this evening. It is to prevail with our
beloved mother to accompany us to Killarney. It is _many_ years
since she has been there, and I know that she will not revisit
that heavenly spot without the deepest emotion. Yet we cannot
help flattering ourselves with its being of such a nature as not
to amount to pain; and it will be counteracted by the pleasure of
beholding our rapture at seeing her make one in our excursion.
Phil. is in our secret, and _now_ so are you. We are going to
write a petition. She shall not have it to-night, because it might
agitate her; and it shall only be signed by her children, because
if such happiness as her compliance would impart, should be in
store for us, it is of that sacred character which we could not
bear to owe even to the dearest friends; and if, on the other hand,
as I am afraid may prove the case, we are asking too much, we
will not involve any one else in the pain of a refusal. Now good
night--wish us success, and meet us in the moss-house at eight in
the morning to learn our fate."

I went to my room quite unable to speak--I was suffocating, and,
_shall_ I confess to Falkland (but proclaim it not in Gath) tears,
such as I never shed before in all my life, coursed each other down
my "innocent nose." It is too much. Unmanned at a short turn, and
by what? a set of children laying schemes to have their mother's
company in a party of pleasure! Well, I know not what is to come
next, but this place will be the ruin of me, if this is the way
in which I go on resigning my understanding. Positively I shall
be absolutely unfit for society, and look when I go back to town
precisely as if I had been spending a couple of months with Noah in
the ark, and had just stepped out on Mount Ararat. I took myself to
task; shook myself; scolded myself; chewed the cud of the last ball
at Almack's; ditto at Lady Arabella Huntley's; placed myself in the
midst of that group with whom I passed my last London evening at
Lady Murray's after the Opera; but it would not do.

When the mind gets one of these _wrenches_, it is in vain to
attempt setting matters to rights again in a hurry. I found, after
toiling to give a new bent to my reflections, that they would
still return with elastic force to the place whence they set out;
and I therefore gave vent to them in the new course which they
had channelled for themselves. While in this mood, I could not
help thinking, that if we measure life by the exercise of our
faculties, and the warmth of our feelings, instead of by such
evidences of existence as might apply to stocks and stones as well
as to sentient beings, I have only _lived_ in your society, and
since I came to Glenalta. A mournful chill stole over my heart as
I involuntarily asked myself, "Is my mother like _this_ mother,
or are my sisters like my cousins?" These questions led me to one
still more immediately painful--"Do I resemble Frederick?" The
inquiry was accompanied by a feeling of such bitterness, that I
fear it must have been answered in the negative, to each of my
self-addressed queries. Alas! thought I, of what light materials
are we formed! tossed about by every wind, and seizing on the
contagion of every new situation! Well, one week has worked a
strange _jumble_ of my tastes and opinions, but all will be
_stratified_ in regular order, according to received notions, by a
corresponding term, when I revisit Selby or Grosvenor Square. This
consolation seemed a _quietus_, for I fell asleep, and undisturbed
by farther moralizing, rose refreshed and full of spring, in due
season to keep my engagement.

What a vein of lovely weather! and what an influence does it exert
over our souls. The morning appeared as if determined to cheat me
into good humour with all the wearisome business of Sunday in "a
pious family" (oh that quaint expression) in the country. Nature
looked as if she had just stepped, in the luxuriance of youth and
beauty, that moment from her bath. A dew-drop glistened on every
blade of grass, and fragrance breathed around from every flower. I
set out with that invigorating sensation of hilarity which I have
always found an early walk on a fine day to produce. I believe,
that besides the animal gratification arising from sunshine,
perfumes, and the bracing quality of fresh air, we are insensibly
pleased with ourselves, when we have started from the enervating
effects of drowsy slumbers, and snatched a portion of time from
Lethe's wave.

I was in the humour to analyze, and I think that I was more
complacent in my feelings towards _myself_ than usual. If so, it
is not hard to account for the _balminess_ of charity towards
all things else--the key-note is ever to be found within our own
breasts, and it regulates the whole strain.

Half-musing, half-poetizing, I reached the moss-house, and was
ruminating on the sparkling stream that dashes over the rock,
amongst its tangled brush-wood, when with light feet, my nymphs and
their brother hastened round the wood, and appeared at the seat of
Congress.

After a joyous "good morrow," they told me that "mamma" had not
been awake when they left the house to attend the Sunday School,
and therefore they had no good news to impart to me; and only came
to the place of appointment, lest I should wait and accuse them of
a failure in punctuality.

The words "Sunday School," acted as a "killing frost" to all the
tender leaves and buds with which Fanny had wreathed my morning
walk, and looking I dare say like an icicle, I said, "And are you
_really_ enlisted amongst those troops of godly women dressed in
grey, and looking like flocks of Solon geese, who paddle from
house to house on the Sabbath, and make that which was given us for
an anniversary of repose, the most tiresome and laborious day of
all the weekly seven?" My companions laughed, and Frederick bade me
not be alarmed, assuring me that there were no Solon geese in the
poultry-yard of Glenalta.

"We do not belong," said Emily, "to a _train-band_ of any
description; and a very short portion of Sunday is sufficient
for our little task. But few children assemble at our school, as
Protestants are thinly scattered in Kerry; and, as it is a rule
here, never to teach to read where the Bible is not received, the
number of our scholars is very limited. This would be subject of
grief to mamma, were it not her fixed opinion, supported by the
experience and strong sense of our friend Mr. Otway, and the worthy
tutor, that in _this_ country matters are not ripe for the quantity
of education forced upon the people, and that a more gradual
process is for the advantage of every part of the community; but
were it otherwise, our individual labours would still be light.
Charlotte, Fanny, and I, go before breakfast to hear the children
read a chapter, repeat a collect, and answer a few questions, more
as _pioneers_ to Mr. Oliphant, than as teachers. This occupies
only one hour, and we do no more. Domine, as you call him, and the
Curate of our parish, who is a very good clergy-man, examine after
church, and this finishes the school-work of the day."

"Bless me!" said I, "I am very glad to hear these things, but must
own that your account is most unexpected. The ladies whom I have
heard called 'pious,' at our post town in Buckinghamshire, sit up,
I imagine, all Saturday night, and starve all Sunday. They defile
along in troops, looking sour enough to curdle milk into whey by
their presence, and are always to be seen loaded with tracts, and
carrying bags which are filled with other implements of the trade.
These saintly damsels are, I firmly believe, a set of whale-boned
exclusionists, who deny salvation to all who are not within their
pale, and able to answer their _qui va là?_ by the signs and
countersigns of their free masonry."

"Arthur," replied Emily, "though your anger diverts, I must
scold you for being too severe. Why should you judge so hardly
upon hearsay testimony of people whom it is your boast not to be
acquainted with? Surely starving, without food or rest by day,
and sleep at night, cannot be matter of _amusement_; and if your
picture be not greatly exaggerated, we may at least hope that the
motives are pure, which dictate so much self-denial."

"Not a bit of it, I assure you," answered I. "I promise you that
these folks are self-sufficient, as they are generally weak; and
have as much pride, vanity, and dogmatism, in their own _plain_
way, as their neighbours. They set up to be teachers, when they
would be much better employed in learning; and both men and women
of the new light get into the cant, and are sworn in to the
confederacies to serve very secular purposes. See how they nestle
into the houses of the great, marry the best fortunes, and while
they preach a religious republic, always take care if they can, to
secure the dictatorship."

"We know nothing here of these abuses," said Emily; "I have
heard of noble characters who devote all their time, money, and
influence, to the high purposes of reclaiming the vicious, and
teaching the Word of God to the ignorant. But if we lived in a
less refined spot than this, we should not even then be likely to
join any of the societies to which you allude, composed of such
as are technically, and most improperly called, when with design
to convey a _taunt_, 'good people.' Mamma dislikes _liveries_,
whether of dress or manners. She disapproves of bazaars, working
parties, and all religious exhibitions and excitements: in short,
of all demonstrations of what she calls a _gregarious_ spirit of
piety; though she makes it a point never to express an opinion in
the presence of any one who could wrest it to the unworthy purpose
of throwing either ridicule or reproach on numbers of excellent
persons of both sexes who differ from her in theory as well as
practice."

"I perceive," said I, with delight, "that my aunt does not consider
dancing a sin."--"No, so far from it," answered Frederick, "that
when the Sandfords were with us, we were very gay, and I hope
shall be so again when they return in the autumn. My mother loves
that piety should rear her altar in the heart, and does not
rest so much as some well meaning people are inclined to do, on
petty observances of a merely external kind. She cannot endure
_mannerism_, and her feelings are very strong upon the injury which
true religion sustains through want of judgment in her votaries.
The tithe of mint, anise, and cummin, occupies many, perhaps not
to the entire _exclusion_ of weightier matters; but _little_
things can be understood, and grasped by minds totally incapable
of enlarged views; and unfortunately these are often mistaken for
vital principles, when they are no more than sign-posts. For this
reason, the peculiar language which has become so common, is never
used here; and though Sunday at Glenalta is a very sacred day, I
hope that you will not find it more dull than other days."

As Fred. ceased to speak, who should enter our council chamber but
my aunt. "What! all my dears assembled in committee?" "Yes, dearest
mother," said Frederick, springing forward to meet her, "and with
Arthur in the chair, we have passed a resolution, that you will
make us the happiest group in Christendom, if you will grant the
boon implored in this petition." So saying, he slipped a paper into
her hand, and taking two of his sisters, leaving Fanny to grace
my arm, he added, "we must not take our sovereign by surprise.
She must have time to _dwell_ upon the prayer of her subjects. So
we will make a tour of St. Colman's rock, and be back like true
liegemen, to assist her in returning home." Off he hurried us, and
this was done to spare his mother that emotion which is always
felt when we know that what passes within the heart is seen and
comprehended by others. It is astonishing! These young people study
every look, and can follow the windings, however sinuous, of every
thought, when affection is the lamp to guide their way.

We took the round of St. Colman, a great white rock, about which,
there is a legend, that perhaps I may tell you at some other time,
and found my aunt seated where we left her: probably pondering
upon past happiness, and present gratitude, for blessings still
continued. Her _own_ sweet smile rested on her countenance, but
a tear had recently fallen on her cheek. She did not wait to be
addressed, but extending a hand to Fred. and his eldest sister,
told them by a beaming, but silent look, that she complied with
their entreaty. Fred. seized her in his arms in extacy, and having
given one emphatic kiss, which bore a world of thanks upon its
impress, he dashed out of the moss-house, unable to control the
feeling of his manly heart. He is a fine creature. Emily and
Charlotte glided away without uttering a word, and Fanny sobbed
aloud. Her mother kissed her, and taking my arm, with a tremulous
voice that seemed to struggle against display of those inward
conflicts which caused it to falter, said to me, "dear Arthur, you
are unused to scenes like this in fashionable life, yet they are
very sweet. Like Cornelia, I have my jewels, and they are precious
gems; but we shall be late, and Mr. Oliphant will wonder what has
become of his congregation." I felt again the plaguy _choke_, which
is an endemic, I suppose of these bogs, for I have scarcely ever
experienced a fit of the disease till I came here. I could not help
giving a gentle _squeeze_ to the hand that leaned upon my arm. "You
are the happiest set I ever saw," said I. A suppressed sigh met
my ear, and Fanny, jumping into the middle of the walk, to arrest
our progress, broke a chain which would have led to sorrow. "Oh!
mamma, stop: Arthur, don't put down your right foot for your life.
There, now he's safe poor thing," and in an instant, a frightful
frog, which had been hurt by some unlucky foot that had come down
too weightily on the reptile's leg, was gently deposited, first on
her hand, and then laid quietly on the grass under the shade of a
Lauristinus. "I will return after breakfast," muttered Fan. "and if
I find that you are not likely to recover, poor little wretch, you
shall be put out of your pain by old Lorry." How my sisters would
stare in wild amaze, were I to tell them of such an act! "Pray,"
said I, "Fanny, do you cherish in this manner, all the vile vermin
that chance brings into your path?" "To be sure; every creature can
live its short hour in pleasure or in pain; and the less pretty
and likely to excite sympathy, the more I feel to be its friend:
it is so pleasant to be kind to any thing that is unfortunate.
These little traits let you into whole regions of character, and
therefore it is that I relate them. You are very near the end of
my _sketches_, and must then be contented with letters that sum
up events; but I will not relax the labours of my _pencil_, to
commence upon those of my _pen_, till you have Sunday sent down the
stream of time, with the years before the flood."

Oliphant, who had not any _starch_ whatever in his features, met
us at the verandah, without his hat, and looking as benign as the
sky that he seemed to have stood admiring, before we reached the
door. He helped my aunt to take off her shawl, and then presenting
his arm, led the way towards the little room which serves as
a chapel, where the only addition to the usual orisons, was a
short and emphatic prayer for a blessing upon the employments and
instruction, whether public or private, of this day. Breakfast
ended, we soon set out to church, which is full a mile distant;
but the fineness of the weather tempted most of the party to walk.
My aunt and Emily accompanied Mr. Otway in his carriage; and young
Bentley, who is on a visit at Lisfarne, joined _us_.

Arrived at the parish church, upon the side of a bleak and barren
hill, I looked with amazement at the poverty of all around, not
that there was an absence of decency, or even comfort; but the
bare white-washed walls, the simple uncarved pulpit, unfringed
cushions, with the absence of monumental decoration, music, and
all the paraphernalia of church worship on our civilized side of
the channel, struck me most unfavourably as I entered the family
pew; but these things were soon forgotten, and the service was
admirably performed. It so happened, that a gentleman who was on
his way to some other part of the country, and whose talents as
as a preacher stand deservedly high, had halted the day before at
our parson's house, and was prevailed upon to take the pulpit.
Mr. Oliphant, whose voice is well modulated, and whose devotion
communicates a kindred feeling to his auditors, read the lessons,
and prepared the mind, by the simple energy of his manner, for the
powerful impression which awaited it. The sermon was upon prayer,
and described the efficacy of supplication for divine mercy and
assistance. The preacher, who perhaps I may never see again, has
left an indelible impression upon my mind. He was tall, thin, and
pale, with a wonderful benevolence of aspect. A holy calm sat
upon all his features, which the serene but clear light of his
eye distinguished completely from the dulness of vanity. There
was nothing monotonous in the repose of his appearance; and when
he opened his lips, the effect was of music spoken. To the finest
voice I ever heard, he added the perfection of its adaptation to
every variety of meaning which his matter was designed to convey,
and while every inflection seemed to be suited to the words which
it uttered with such correspondence of expression, that had _they_
been removed echo would still have given back all they could
have imparted; _study_ was the last idea that suggested itself
in listening to this eloquent being. All his tones, each look,
each emphasis, appeared to be the spontaneous drapery in which a
bright understanding clothed the feelings of his heart. I never
was so transfixed in my life, and the apostolic sacredness of his
figure harmonized so entirely with the simplicity of that lowly
building divested of even the common-place decoration usual in
English country churches, that for some time I was untrue to our
beloved _Gothic_, and actually began to fancy that I had never till
yesterday been amongst the faithful worshippers of God in His own
Temple.

When the sermon was finished, the preacher remained in his pulpit,
apparently desirous of allowing the congregation to disperse before
his departure; and we saw no more of him.

The family of Glenalta had heard frequently of his extraordinary
powers, but till now had never had an opportunity of judging for
themselves. As we walked home, our talk by the wayside naturally
enough took its hue from the scene which we had just quitted, and
I asked Mr. Oliphant whether Mr. Leighton, whose performance had
excited such general admiration, held the opinions distinctively
denominated Calvinistic? "No, I should imagine not; but cannot
speak positively, as I am not personally acquainted with him."
Young Bentley, who was a little behind us, stepped up, and said, "I
believe that I may answer with _certainty_; for an uncle of mine,
who lives in the north, is very intimate with Mr. Leighton, and
once asked him the question, from having heard some reports which
were circulated touching the doctrines that he inculcated; and he
entered upon that occasion into a full statement of his sentiments,
which, to sum up briefly, may I fancy be comprised in two words,
Gospel truth. He professed the most perfect charity for those who
sincerely differ from him; and likewise the deepest admiration
for holiness both of life and character, in some of those writers
who held the peculiar tenets that mark Calvin's creed: but he
unequivocally declared that he did not adopt the Genevan opinions,
while he as unhesitatingly asserted his belief in evangelical
piety as the only vital religion." "Pray," said I, "tell me what
you mean; for with _us_ evangelical preachers are synonymous
with Calvinists." "Aye," said Mr. Oliphant, "and probably with
Methodists too: there is nothing so easy as a _name_ by which
people are in the habit of representing things not understood
or inquired into? I once knew a young man who, being met in the
street by another who had known him at the university, was suddenly
asked, 'Why, Dick, when did you turn Calvinist?' My young friend
stared, and the other flippantly added, 'I heard that you never
dance now, and therefore suppose you to be one of the new light.'
In this way, idleness and folly make sad confusion; but to answer
_your_ question, as to differences between certain opinions, I
will put a volume into your hands, whenever you please, which will
give you in detail the points upon which Calvin dissented from the
Lutheran doctrines, and formed a sect now known by his name. Very
many individuals are called Calvinists in the unthinking manner
which I have described, without being in reality such; and many who
incontrovertibly held Calvin's opinions, and others who do hold
them at the present day, have been, and are, men whose virtues
ought to excite our deepest veneration, and inspire an earnest
desire of imitation; however we may consider them mistaken in their
explanation of those parts of the Bible which _appear_ to sanction
their doctrines. A pure evangelical faith embraces all that seems
necessary to salvation, namely, the most perfect self-abasement
before God, together with a lively sense of human unworthiness,
full implicit confidence in the free gift of atoning mercy as the
only way to everlasting glory, and an earnest desire, by increasing
holiness and obedience, to prove ourselves the children of God.
These principles, with the addition of a clear sense that we must
_adopt_ them, and become, through the divine spirit infused into
our souls, awakened from the delusive securities of natural pride,
and humbled by an abiding consciousness of our sins and infirmity,
constitute a summary of the Christian system, and comprise all that
is essentially evangelical."

"I observed nothing," said I, "of peculiar phraseology in Mr.
Leighton's discourse, and certainly never heard any language more
entirely free than is his from that _twang_ which I have hitherto
considered as a characteristic of the ultras in religion." "Now, my
young friend," replied Domine, "are you not falling yourself into
the error which you reprobate? Why use those words, which designate
a sect of fashionable fault-finders, who rail against a religion
which they do not take the trouble to investigate, just as plainly
as the terms that you are desirous to abolish, mark what you call
the new light fraternity?"

I told him that I stood corrected, and he shook my hand, saying, "I
thank you for so kindly excusing me in thus abruptly calling you
to order;" and then continued--"Mr. Leighton is a person of such
character, that my conclusion respecting his not being a Calvinist
was drawn entirely from the absence of those expressions generally
belonging to the school." "But, sir," said Mr. Bentley, "I have
heard several sermons preached by men whose principles I discovered
at a _short turn_ now and then to be really Calvinistic, though
they were free from every peculiarity of phrase, and so guarded
as to doctrine, that for a long time I have resisted the idea of
their being any other than evangelical ministers of the gospel,
such as you described it to be." "Aye," answered Oliphant, "that
is the very point to which I would draw your attention. It is, in
my opinion, not right to consider any tenet of a particular creed
essential to salvation, and yet _suppress_ it. Either the _decretum
horribile_ is, or is not, a vital article: If not, there is no
Calvinism, and if it be, no man who believes in its importance
as a pillar of faith is justified by motives of _expediency_ in
leaving out subjects so essential in _their_ view of the Christian
system. A practical evil which I have known to proceed from what is
commonly called a _judicious_ style of preaching is, that many are
taken in to become members of a congregation before they are aware
of the tenets of their instructor. Much confusion of mind sometimes
results. Weak understandings are perplexed, and the effect is,
that people who are not capable of drawing nice distinctions, at
last slide gradually, without any exercise of their own will or
understanding, into the opinions very different from those of
which they _imagine_ themselves to be the advocates. But, my dear
Mr. Howard, we should each in his own sphere, be it narrow or
extended, rejoice in all the good that exists, though it may vary
in its livery; and, so far from cultivating a spirit of ridicule,
endeavour to draw the bonds of charity together, so as to include
all the _sincere_ and pains-taking of the Christian community,
within its ample scope."

We were now arrived at the house, and separated into little
parties. My aunt and her daughters disappeared, Mr. Oliphant and
young Bentley went off to the school, and Fred. and I took a
long and delightful walk _tête-à-tête_ by the sea side. We had a
great deal of conversation that informed me of many particulars
respecting my family, with which I had never till then been made
acquainted. On returning home, as we passed a cabin door, I saw
Fanny busily distributing bread and money, the former from a large
basket held by the same boy who attends the donkies, and the
latter from a small leather bag which she carried slung upon her
arm. "What are you doing here?" was answered by "nothing but our
Sunday-work;" which, being interpreted, meant a weekly donation
presented by these amiable girls to a few old people who cannot
work, and who esteem the gift tenfold for being communicated by
the hands of their young mistresses. This is a _striking_ feature
in the poor of this island. In England, a shilling is a shilling
provided it come legitimately from the mint, no matter who is the
donor; but here sentiment, which with us is confined to the higher
classes, is to be found in the most miserable habitations.

Charlotte, who was within the hut, joined our party, and told us
that a poor man had just been expressing to her feelings which
certainly are not common in any rank of life. She had said,
"_Tim._, why are you not walking to-day; it is too fine weather
to stay in the house?" and his answer was, "The finer the day, my
dear miss, the more I'd covet not to be looking at it; ever since
I buried _her_, I'd rather be to myself, and Sunday brings all the
people out." What an artless expression of faithful affection! This
man's wife, who is the "_her_" to be comprehended, he supposes, by
every one, because there is no other to confound with the image in
his own breast, has been dead for six years; and yet Memory is true
to her trust. There is something very endearing in this tenderness,
and we feel in good humour with our species, when an instance
like what I have mentioned occurs, to prove that some of our best
movements can spring from an uncultivated soil.

At dinner, after dinner, and all the evening, I am compelled in
honesty to say, that not a moment passed heavily. We laughed and
talked as usual. The interval between dinner and tea was spent in
walking; that between tea and nine o'clock in listening to some of
Handel's finest songs, very sweetly performed; and e'er "the close
of the silent eve," the family group were once more assembled; and
after prayers, and a short but impressive sermon, sent to their
rest with an emphatic blessing.

You have now the panorama of Glenalta, and you are placed upon
a platform in the midst, from which, turning yourself round the
scene, you can form a just idea of every object which it includes
within the circuit.

Thus have I brought (I believe with fidelity) the first part of my
epistolary labours to a conclusion. From this time forth you will
know all the _ground-plan_, and be enabled to allot its own place
to each occurrence as it may chance to arise. As to the general
impression made upon my mind, I own to you that I never was so
happy anywhere as since I came to this lone and lovely spot; and
I am powerfully struck with the truth of a remark which you once
made to me, and which at that time though I had a vague idea of
your being right, I had no actual experience that permitted me to
confirm; namely, that _society_ in its true sense consists not in
the number of those _persons_ with whom one converses, but in the
number of ideas excited in one's own mind. Glenalta completely
illustrates this observation. A family of five individuals, with
the addition of two intimate friends, have furnished such variety
and excitement in the flow of my thoughts, that I appear to have
lived in a crowd; and through a long duration of time I was
thinking of this circumstance before I got up this morning as a
contradiction to the common notion, that when we are most happy
time seems the fleetest; but I see how it is--both remarks are
strictly true.

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:

    Inscribed upon thy polished rind,
      That name was once engraved,
    Which, traced upon my heart I find,
      The wreck that grief has saved.

    Nor ruthless time, nor cankering care,
      Hath swept that sacred line;
    The perfect record lingers there,
      Carved on the faithful shrine.

    Yes, and within thy beechen breast,
      Sweet sympathy conceals
    The characters that once confessed,
      Thy bark no more reveals.

    Thy glossy fane now furrowed o'er,
      Protects from wandering gaze
    That name adored, which never more
      Thy jealous love betrays.

    Thy roughened form,--my time-worn cheek,
      Alike refuse to tell
    The signs that idlers vainly seek
      Within this leafy dell.

    But when the axe hath laid thee low,
      And bowed thy graceful head;
    And _me_, life's latest mortal foe,
      Shall number with the dead;

    Then in our bosoms' inmost seat,
      The self same image found,
    Reveals to view its deep retreat,
      Fast in the heart-strings bound.

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:--

    Bless'd refuge of a sad and broken heart,
    Soft soothing solitude, thy balm impart;
    Come with thy gentle train, thy peaceful rest,
    Thy tender stillness to this grief-worn breast.
    With thee, how sweet to climb the craggy way,
    And o'er these rocky cliffs in silence stray,
    In Nature's temple to expand the soul,
    While tears distil refreshing as they roll,
    What fond deceit the present to beguile,
    And bid the shades of past delight to smile.
    Call back the dreams of youth, and hope, and love,
    And 'mid the dear aërial phantoms rove.
    But hush! too sharp that pang, my heart gives o'er,
    Invoke the memory of thy bliss no more!
    Raise up to heaven thy soul, quit earth, and fly,
    Go seek thy refuge in yon azure sky;
    Ask mercy's aid to shed celestial light
    Upon the dismal gloom of sorrow's night,
    And God's own spirits of the mountain air,
    Shall waft on high the deep unuttered prayer,
    While filial love shall consecrate the scene,
    That gave a mother's tears for hope serene.

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 Cr[oe]sus. 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.




                             LETTER XI.

               GENERAL DOUGLAS TO MR. OTWAY.


    My dear old Friend,                            _Calcutta_.

Were I less acquainted than I am with what was once Edward Otway, I
could not dare to address a line with any hope of being remembered
after the lapse which has occurred since last I wrote to you. I
almost dread to look back and mark the time; I fear too that I
should not advance a very satisfactory apology in declaring that I
have been equally silent to all the European world. I am in this
dilemma. I will therefore make no effort at defence or explanation,
but proceed to tell you my present object in applying to you. A
short time ago I wrote to my old friend Ingoldsby, one of the
East India Directors to the like effect; but it may be prudent
to provide against casualties, and therefore be it known to you,
that with a constitution much shattered through vicissitudes of
climate, and a mind _somewhat_ jaundiced by disappointment, I am
turning my face towards England, which I hope to reach in about
six months after you receive this announcement of my design. Though
I speak of disappointment I am not _poor_; on the contrary I have
amassed more money than enough to secure all the luxuries, as well
as comforts of life, for my remaining term; but I have lived in
banishment from all that ought to have been dear to me; I have lost
my health, seen little but wickedness in my early intercourse with
mankind, and, now arrived at a premature old age, I look on the
past without pleasure, and to the future divested of hope. I have
for some time been determined to return, but found my pecuniary
circumstances in much need of winding up; and having learned,
through sad experience, to distrust the people in whose rectitude
I had principally confided, I resolved on an arduous undertaking,
which was no other than to go myself first to Delhi, and thence
across the country to Bombay, hoping not only to settle my affairs
in the best manner, but to retrieve my health by change of air
and scene. The first object I have in a great measure achieved,
but my liver is deranged, my digestive powers are so impaired
that I almost despair of cure, and my spirits are _gone_. Here
is a sorry picture; but to business. If this should find you in
England, I wish your own taste to be employed, and if you are in
Ireland, that of any friend on whose judgment you can rely, in
the purchase of a snug demesne, well wooded, well watered, and
having a handsome, commodious house, in an airy situation, into
which I may step as soon as possible after landing. As well as I
recollect my own impressions, I liked Hampshire, Staffordshire,
and Warwickshire, better than any other parts of the country,
and I have no objection to go as far as forty or fifty thousand
pounds; it must be fee simple property, and in a rich, cultivated
district. Order whatever furniture you think suitable, and let me
find a travelling carriage, five or six good horses, and a few
servants to begin with.--Dear Otway forgive me if I am giving
you a great deal of trouble; but Ingoldsby is a fixture in town,
and I know so little of my relations, that I am hardly aware to
whom I could give these commissions. The Howards, I conclude, are
flourishing, for I believe that when my poor brother took the
name he got a pretty estate. Of the Douglas family I have lost
sight, and as I have long enjoyed the privilege (no small one I
promise you) of being considered an oddity, I mean to preserve the
character, and choose for myself amongst the people I may meet
with. I _hate_ consanguinity. It is a cursed plague to have a set
of needy folks continually pressing about one, whose claims are
supported by relationship, and whose cares are generally directed
by self-interest. I have lived too long, and seen too much to be
bamboozled, though I do not mean to be uncivil. Poor Henry might
have made a fortune had he taken my advice, and come out to India
according to my suggestion; he was my favourite brother, and I
should have found both pride and pleasure in providing handsomely
for him; but so absurd a marriage as his naturally alienates a
prudent man. Poor fellow! I never answered his letters, and looked
on him as my son; for he was several years my junior, and _felt_
his resistance to my advice. I never saw his wife, nor any of
his children, who have all been born since I came from Europe,
and though I _do_ feel sorry that he died without any act of
reconciliation on my part; though I intend also to settle something
on his family if they are in want; yet I certainly cannot blame
myself for having shewn a well merited resentment at conduct so
highly injurious to himself, and _obstinate_ towards me. It is
all over now, and I may perhaps follow him ere long; yet, while
we _are_ here, it is human nature to deplore _that_ folly which
blights the happiest anticipations in the bud. No man knows the
value of money so well as he who has made it for himself. If you
know where poor Mrs. H. Douglas and her family are, I shall thank
you to let me hear of their retreat, and believe me, my dear Otway,
with best wishes for a happy meeting,

                                    Your very sincere old friend,
                                      FRED. AUBREY DOUGLAS.




                           END OF VOL. I

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