On Sunday morning, before going to church, Mr. Micklewham called at the
manse, and said that he wished particularly to speak to Mr. Snodgrass.
Upon being admitted, he found the young helper engaged at breakfast, with
a book lying on his table, very like a volume of a new novel called
_Ivanhoe_, in its appearance, but of course it must have been sermons
done up in that manner to attract fashionable readers. As soon, however,
as Mr. Snodgrass saw his visitor, he hastily removed the book, and put it
into the table-drawer.
The precentor having taken a seat at the opposite side of the fire, began
somewhat diffidently to mention, that he had received a letter from the
Doctor, that made him at a loss whether or not he ought to read it to the
elders, as usual, after worship, and therefore was desirous of consulting
Mr. Snodgrass on the subject, for it recorded, among other things, that
the Doctor had been at the playhouse, and Mr. Micklewham was quite sure
that Mr. Craig would be neither to bind nor to hold when he heard that,
although the transgression was certainly mollified by the nature of the
performance. As the clergyman, however, could offer no opinion until he
saw the letter, the precentor took it out of his pocket, and Mr.
Snodgrass found the contents as follows:--
LETTER XVI
_The Rev. Z. Pringle_, _D.D._, _to Mr. Micklewham_, _Schoolmaster and
Session-Clerk_, _Garnock_
LONDON.
DEAR SIR--You will recollect that, about twenty years ago, there was a
great sound throughout all the West that a playhouse in Glasgow had been
converted into a tabernacle of religion. I remember it was glad tidings
to our ears in the parish of Garnock; and that Mr. Craig, who had just
been ta'en on for an elder that fall, was for having a thanksgiving-day
on the account thereof, holding it to be a signal manifestation of a new
birth in the of-old-godly town of Glasgow, which had become slack in the
way of well-doing, and the church therein lukewarm, like that of
Laodicea. It was then said, as I well remember, that when the Tabernacle
was opened, there had not been seen, since the Kaimslang wark, such a
congregation as was there assembled, which was a great proof that it's
the matter handled, and not the place, that maketh pure; so that when you
and the elders hear that I have been at the theatre of Drury Lane, in
London, you must not think that I was there to see a carnal stage play,
whether tragical or comical, or that I would so far demean myself and my
cloth, as to be a witness to the chambering and wantonness of
ne'er-du-weel play-actors. No, Mr. Micklewham, what I went to see was an
Oratorio, a most edifying exercise of psalmody and prayer, under the
management of a pious gentleman, of the name of Sir George Smart, who is,
as I am informed, at the greatest pains to instruct the exhibitioners,
they being, for the most part, before they get into his hands, poor
uncultivated creatures, from Italy, France, and Germany, and other
atheistical and popish countries.
They first sung a hymn together very decently, and really with as much
civilised harmony as could be expected from novices; indeed so well, that
I thought them almost as melodious as your own singing class of the
trades lads from Kilwinning. Then there was one Mr. Braham, a Jewish
proselyte, that was set forth to show us a specimen of his proficiency.
In the praying part, what he said was no objectionable as to the matter;
but he drawled in his manner to such a pitch, that I thought he would
have broken out into an even-down song, as I sometimes think of yourself
when you spin out the last word in reading out the line in a warm summer
afternoon. In the hymn by himself, he did better; he was, however,
sometimes like to lose the tune, but the people gave him great
encouragement when he got back again. Upon the whole, I had no notion
that there was any such Christianity in practice among the Londoners, and
I am happy to tell you, that the house was very well filled, and the
congregation wonderful attentive. No doubt that excellent man, Mr. W---,
has a hand in these public strainings after grace, but he was not there
that night; for I have seen him; and surely at the sight I could not but
say to myself, that it's beyond the compass of the understanding of man
to see what great things Providence worketh with small means, for Mr.
W--- is a small creature. When I beheld his diminutive stature, and
thought of what he had achieved for the poor negroes and others in the
house of bondage, I said to myself, that here the hand of Wisdom is
visible, for the load of perishable mortality is laid lightly on his
spirit, by which it is enabled to clap its wings and crow so crously on
the dunghill top of this world; yea even in the House of Parliament.
I was taken last Thursday morning to breakfast with him his house at
Kensington, by an East India man, who is likewise surely a great saint.
It was a heart-healing meeting of many of the godly, which he holds
weekly in the season; and we had such a warsle of the spirit among us
that the like cannot be told. I was called upon to pray, and a worthy
gentleman said, when I was done, that he never had met with more
apostolic simplicity--indeed, I could see with the tail of my eye, while
I was praying, that the chief saint himself was listening with a curious
pleasant satisfaction.
As for our doings here anent the legacy, things are going forward in the
regular manner; but the expense is terrible, and I have been obliged to
take up money on account; but, as it was freely given by the agents, I am
in hopes all will end well; for, considering that we are but strangers to
them, they would not have assisted us in this matter had they not been
sure of the means of payment in their own hands.
The people of London are surprising kind to us; we need not, if we
thought proper ourselves, eat a dinner in our own lodgings; but it would
ill become me, at my time of life, and with the character for sobriety
that I have maintained, to show an example in my latter days of riotous
living; therefore, Mrs. Pringle, and her daughter, and me, have made a
point of going nowhere three times in the week; but as for Andrew
Pringle, my son, he has forgathered with some acquaintance, and I fancy
we will be obliged to let him take the length of his tether for a while.
But not altogether without a curb neither, for the agent's son, young Mr.
Argent, had almost persuaded him to become a member of Parliament, which
he said he could get him made, for more than a thousand pounds less than
the common price--the state of the new king's health having lowered the
commodity of seats. But this I would by no means hear of; he is not yet
come to years of discretion enough to sit in council; and, moreover, he
has not been tried; and no man, till he has out of doors shown something
of what he is, should be entitled to power and honour within. Mrs.
Pringle, however, thought he might do as well as young Dunure; but Andrew
Pringle, my son, has not the solidity of head that Mr. K---dy has, and is
over free and outspoken, and cannot take such pains to make his little go
a great way, like that well-behaved young gentleman. But you will be
grieved to hear that Mr. K---dy is in opposition to the government; and
truly I am at a loss to understand how a man of Whig principles can be an
adversary to the House of Hanover. But I never meddled much in politick
affairs, except at this time, when I prohibited Andrew Pringle, my son,
from offering to be a member of Parliament, notwithstanding the great
bargain that he would have had of the place.
And since we are on public concerns, I should tell you, that I was minded
to send you a newspaper at the second-hand, every day when we were done
with it. But when we came to inquire, we found that we could get the
newspaper for a shilling a week every morning but Sunday, to our
breakfast, which was so much cheaper than buying a whole paper, that Mrs.
Pringle thought it would be a great extravagance; and, indeed, when I
came to think of the loss of time a newspaper every day would occasion to
my people, I considered it would be very wrong of me to send you any at
all. For I do think that honest folks in a far-off country parish should
not make or meddle with the things that pertain to government,--the more
especially, as it is well known, that there is as much falsehood as truth
in newspapers, and they have not the means of testing their statements.
Not, however, that I am an advocate for passive obedience; God forbid.
On the contrary, if ever the time should come, in my day, of a
saint-slaying tyrant attempting to bind the burden of prelatic
abominations on our backs, such a blast of the gospel trumpet would be
heard in Garnock, as it does not become me to say, but I leave it to you
and others, who have experienced my capacity as a soldier of the word so
long, to think what it would then be. Meanwhile, I remain, my dear sir,
your friend and pastor,
Z. PRINGLE.
When Mr. Snodgrass had perused this epistle, he paused some time,
seemingly in doubt, and then he said to Mr. Micklewham, that, considering
the view which the Doctor had taken of the matter, and that he had not
gone to the playhouse for the motives which usually take bad people to
such places, he thought there could be no possible harm in reading the
letter to the elders, and that Mr. Craig, so far from being displeased,
would doubtless be exceedingly rejoiced to learn that the playhouses of
London were occasionally so well employed as on the night when the Doctor
was there.
Mr. Micklewham then inquired if Mr. Snodgrass had heard from Mr. Andrew,
and was answered in the affirmative; but the letter was not read. Why it
was withheld our readers must guess for themselves; but we have been
fortunate enough to obtain the following copy.
LETTER XVII
_Andrew Pringle_, _Esq._, _to the Rev. Mr. Charles Snodgrass_
LONDON.
MY DEAR FRIEND--As the season advances, London gradually unfolds, like
Nature, all the variety of her powers and pleasures. By the Argents we
have been introduced effectually into society, and have now only to
choose our acquaintance among those whom we like best. I should employ
another word than choose, for I am convinced that there is no choice in
the matter. In his friendships and affections, man is subject to some
inscrutable moral law, similar in its effects to what the chemists call
affinity. While under the blind influence of this sympathy, we,
forsooth, suppose ourselves free agents! But a truce with philosophy.
The amount of the legacy is now ascertained. The stock, however, in
which a great part of the money is vested being shut, the transfer to my
father cannot be made for some time; and till this is done, my mother
cannot be persuaded that we have yet got anything to trust to--an
unfortunate notion which renders her very unhappy. The old gentleman
himself takes no interest now in the business. He has got his mind at
ease by the payment of all the legacies; and having fallen in with some
of the members of that political junto, the Saints, who are worldly
enough to link, as often as they can, into their association, the
powerful by wealth or talent, his whole time is occupied in assisting to
promote their humbug; and he has absolutely taken it into his head, that
the attention he receives from them for his subscriptions is on account
of his eloquence as a preacher, and that hitherto he has been altogether
in an error with respect to his own abilities. The effect of this is
abundantly amusing; but the source of it is very evident. Like most
people who pass a sequestered life, he had formed an exaggerated opinion
of public characters; and on seeing them in reality so little superior to
the generality of mankind, he imagines that he was all the time nearer to
their level than he had ventured to suppose; and the discovery has placed
him on the happiest terms with himself. It is impossible that I can
respect his manifold excellent qualities and goodness of heart more than
I do; but there is an innocency in this simplicity, which, while it often
compels me to smile, makes me feel towards him a degree of tenderness,
somewhat too familiar for that filial reverence that is due from a son.
Perhaps, however, you will think me scarcely less under the influence of
a similar delusion when I tell you, that I have been somehow or other
drawn also into an association, not indeed so public or potent as that of
the Saints, but equally persevering in the objects for which it has been
formed. The drift of the Saints, as far as I can comprehend the matter,
is to procure the advancement to political power of men distinguished for
the purity of their lives, and the integrity of their conduct; and in
that way, I presume, they expect to effect the accomplishment of that
blessed epoch, the Millennium, when the Saints are to rule the whole
earth. I do not mean to say that this is their decided and determined
object; I only infer, that it is the necessary tendency of their
proceedings; and I say it with all possible respect and sincerity, that,
as a public party, the Saints are not only perhaps the most powerful, but
the party which, at present, best deserves power.
The association, however, with which I have happened to become connected,
is of a very different description. Their object is, to pass through
life with as much pleasure as they can obtain, without doing anything
unbecoming the rank of gentlemen, and the character of men of honour. We
do not assemble such numerous meetings as the Saints, the Whigs, or the
Radicals, nor are our speeches delivered with so much vehemence. We
even, I think, tacitly exclude oratory. In a word, our meetings seldom
exceed the perfect number of the muses; and our object on these occasions
is not so much to deliberate on plans of prospective benefits to mankind,
as to enjoy the present time for ourselves, under the temperate
inspiration of a well-cooked dinner, flavoured with elegant wine, and
just so much of mind as suits the fleeting topics of the day. T---, whom
I formerly mentioned, introduced me to this delightful society. The
members consist of about fifty gentlemen, who dine occasionally at each
other's houses; the company being chiefly selected from the brotherhood,
if that term can be applied to a circle of acquaintance, who, without any
formal institution of rules, have gradually acquired a consistency that
approximates to organisation. But the universe of this vast city
contains a plurality of systems; and the one into which I have been
attracted may be described as that of the idle intellects. In general
society, the members of our party are looked up to as men of taste and
refinement, and are received with a degree of deference that bears some
resemblance to the respect paid to the hereditary endowment of rank.
They consist either of young men who have acquired distinction at
college, or gentlemen of fortune who have a relish for intellectual
pleasures, free from the acerbities of politics, or the dull formalities
which so many of the pious think essential to their religious
pretensions. The wealthy furnish the entertainments, which are always in
a superior style, and the ingredient of birth is not requisite in the
qualifications of a member, although some jealousy is entertained of
professional men, and not a little of merchants. T---, to whom I am also
indebted for this view of that circle of which he is the brightest
ornament, gives a felicitous explanation of the reason. He says,
professional men, who are worth anything at all, are always ambitious,
and endeavour to make their acquaintance subservient to their own
advancement; while merchants are liable to such casualties, that their
friends are constantly exposed to the risk of being obliged to sink them
below their wonted equality, by granting them favours in times of
difficulty, or, what is worse, by refusing to grant them.
I am much indebted to you for the introduction to your friend G---. He
is one of us; or rather, he moves in an eccentric sphere of his own,
which crosses, I believe, almost all the orbits of all the classed and
classifiable systems of London. I found him exactly what you described;
and we were on the frankest footing of old friends in the course of the
first quarter of an hour. He did me the honour to fancy that I belonged,
as a matter of course, to some one of the literary fraternities of
Edinburgh, and that I would be curious to see the associations of the
learned here. What he said respecting them was highly characteristic of
the man. "They are," said he, "the dullest things possible. On my
return from abroad, I visited them all, expecting to find something of
that easy disengaged mind which constitutes the charm of those of France
and Italy. But in London, among those who have a character to keep up,
there is such a vigilant circumspection, that I should as soon expect to
find nature in the ballets of the Opera-house, as genius at the
established haunts of authors, artists, and men of science. Bankes
gives, I suppose officially, a public breakfast weekly, and opens his
house for conversations on the Sundays. I found at his breakfasts, tea
and coffee, with hot rolls, and men of celebrity afraid to speak. At the
conversations, there was something even worse. A few plausible talking
fellows created a buzz in the room, and the merits of some paltry
nick-nack of mechanism or science was discussed. The party consisted
undoubtedly of the most eminent men of their respective lines in the
world; but they were each and all so apprehensive of having their ideas
purloined, that they took the most guarded care never to speak of
anything that they deemed of the slightest consequence, or to hazard an
opinion that might be called in question. The man who either wishes to
augment his knowledge, or to pass his time agreeably, will never expose
himself to a repetition of the fastidious exhibitions of engineers and
artists who have their talents at market. But such things are among the
curiosities of London; and if you have any inclination to undergo the
initiating mortification of being treated as a young man who may be
likely to interfere with their professional interests, I can easily get
you introduced."
I do not know whether to ascribe these strictures of your friend to
humour or misanthropy; but they were said without bitterness; indeed so
much as matters of course, that, at the moment, I could not but feel
persuaded they were just. I spoke of them to T---, who says, that
undoubtedly G---'s account of the exhibitions is true in substance, but
that it is his own sharp-sightedness which causes him to see them so
offensively; for that ninety-nine out of the hundred in the world would
deem an evening spent at the conversations of Sir Joseph Bankes a very
high intellectual treat.
G--- has invited me to dinner, and I expect some amusement; for T---, who
is acquainted with him, says, that it is his fault to employ his mind too
much on all occasions; and that, in all probability, there will be
something, either in the fare or the company, that I shall remember as
long as I live. However, you shall hear all about it in my next.--Yours,
ANDREW PRINGLE.
On the same Sunday on which Mr. Micklewham consulted Mr. Snodgrass as to
the propriety of reading the Doctor's letter to the elders, the following
epistle reached the post-office of Irvine, and was delivered by Saunders
Dickie himself, at the door of Mrs. Glibbans to her servan lassie, who,
as her mistress had gone to the Relief Church, told him, that he would
have to come for the postage the morn's morning. "Oh," said Saunders,
"there's naething to pay but my ain trouble, for it's frankit; but
aiblins the mistress will gie me a bit drappie, and so I'll come betimes
i' the morning."
LETTER XVIII
_Mrs. Pringle to Mrs. Glibbans_
LONDON.
MY DEAR MRS. GLIBBANS--The breking up of the old Parlament has been the
cause why I did not right you before, it having taken it out of my poor
to get a frank for my letter till yesterday; and I do ashure you, that I
was most extraordinar uneasy at the great delay, wishing much to let you
know the decayt state of the Gospel in thir perts, which is the pleasure
of your life to study by day, and meditate on in the watches of the
night.
There is no want of going to church, and, if that was a sign of grease
and peese in the kingdom of Christ, the toun of London might hold a high
head in the tabernacles of the faithful and true witnesses. But saving
Dr. Nichol of Swallo-Street, and Dr. Manuel of London-Wall, there is
nothing sound in the way of preaching here; and when I tell you that Mr.
John Gant, your friend, and some other flea-lugged fallows, have set up a
Heelon congregation, and got a young man to preach Erse to the English,
ye maun think in what a state sinful souls are left in London. But what
I have been the most consarned about is the state of the dead. I am no
meaning those who are dead in trespasses and sins, but the true dead. Ye
will hardly think, that they are buried in a popish-like manner, with
prayers, and white gowns, and ministers, and spadefuls of yerd cast upon
them, and laid in vauts, like kists of orangers in a grocery seller--and
I am told that, after a time, they are taken out when the vaut is
shurfeeted, and their bones brunt, if they are no made into lamp-black by
a secret wark--which is a clean proof to me that a right doctrine cannot
be established in this land--there being so little respec shone to the
dead.
The worst point, howsomever, of all is, what is done with the
prayers--and I have heard you say, that although there was nothing more
to objec to the wonderful Doctor Chammers of Glasgou, that his reading of
his sermons was testimony against him in the great controversy of sound
doctrine; but what will you say to reading of prayers, and no only
reading of prayers, but printed prayers, as if the contreet heart of the
sinner had no more to say to the Lord in the hour of fasting and
humiliation, than what a bishop can indite, and a book-seller make profit
o'. "Verily," as I may say, in a word of scripter, I doobt if the glad
tidings of salvation have yet been preeched in this land of London; but
the ministers have good stipends, and where the ground is well manured,
it may in time bring forth fruit meet for repentance.
There is another thing that behoves me to mention, and that is, that an
elder is not to be seen in the churches of London, which is a sore signal
that the piple are left to themselves; and in what state the morality can
be, you may guess with an eye of pity. But on the Sabbath nights, there
is such a going and coming, that it's more like a cried fair than the
Lord's night--all sorts of poor people, instead of meditating on their
bygane toil and misery of the week, making the Sunday their own day, as
if they had not a greater Master to serve on that day, than the earthly
man whom they served in the week-days. It is, howsomever, past the poor
of nature to tell you of the sinfulness of London; and you may we think
what is to be the end of all things, when I ashure you, that there is a
newspaper sold every Sabbath morning, and read by those that never look
at their Bibles. Our landlady asked us if we would take one; but I
thought the Doctor would have fired the house, and you know it is not a
small thing that kindles his passion. In short, London is not a place to
come to hear the tidings of salvation preeched,--no that I mean to deny
that there is not herine more than five righteous persons in it, and I
trust the cornal's hagent is one; for if he is not, we are undone, having
been obligated to take on already more than a hundred pounds of debt, to
the account of our living, and the legacy yet in the dead thraws. But as
I mean this for a spiritual letter, I will say no more about the root of
all evil, as it is called in the words of truth and holiness; so
referring you to what I have told Miss Mally Glencairn about the legacy
and other things nearest my heart, I remain, my dear Mrs. Glibbans, your
fellou Christian and sinner,
JANET PRINGLE.
Mrs. Glibbans received this letter between the preachings, and it was
observed by all her acquaintance during the afternoon service, that she
was a laden woman. Instead of standing up at the prayers, as her wont
was, she kept her seat, sitting with downcast eyes, and ever and anon her
left hand, which was laid over her book on the reading-board of the pew,
was raised and allowed to drop with a particular moral emphasis,
bespeaking the mournful cogitations of her spirit. On leaving the
church, somebody whispered to the minister, that surely Mrs. Glibbans had
heard some sore news; upon which that meek, mild, and modest good soul
hastened towards her, and inquired, with more than his usual kindness,
How she was? Her answer was brief and mysterious; and she shook her head
in such a manner that showed him all was not right. "Have you heard
lately of your friends the Pringles?" said he, in his sedate
manner--"when do they think of leaving London?'
"I wish they may ever get out o't," was the agitated reply of the
afflicted lady.
"I am very sorry to hear you say so," responded the minister. "I thought
all was in a fair way to an issue of the settlement. I'm very sorry to
hear this."
"Oh, sir," said the mourner, "don't think that I am grieved for them and
their legacy--filthy lucre--no, sir; but I have had a letter that has
made my hair stand on end. Be none surprised if you hear of the earth
opening, and London swallowed up, and a voice crying in the wilderness,
'Woe, woe.'"
The gentle priest was much surprised by this information; it was evident
that Mrs. Glibbans had received a terrible account of the wickedness of
London; and that the weight upon her pious spirit was owing to that
cause. He, therefore, accompanied her home, and administered all the
consolation he was able to give; assuring her, that it was in the power
of Omnipotence to convert the stony heart into one of flesh and
tenderness, and to raise the British metropolis out of the miry clay, and
place it on a hill, as a city that could not be hid; which Mrs. Glibbans
was so thankful to hear, that, as soon as he had left her, she took her
tea in a satisfactory frame of mind, and went the same night to Miss
Mally Glencairn to hear what Mrs. Pringle had said to her. No visit ever
happened more opportunely; for just as Mrs. Glibbans knocked at the door,
Miss Isabella Tod made her appearance. She had also received a letter
from Rachel, in which it will be seen that reference was made likewise to
Mrs. Pringle's epistle to Miss Mally.
LETTER XIX
_Miss Rachel Pringle to Miss Isabella Tod_
LONDON.
MY DEAR BELL--How delusive are the flatteries of fortune! The wealth
that has been showered upon us, beyond all our hopes, has brought no
pleasure to my heart, and I pour my unavailing sighs for your absence,
when I would communicate the cause of my unhappiness. Captain Sabre has
been most assiduous in his attentions, and I must confess to your
sympathising bosom, that I do begin to find that he has an interest in
mine. But my mother will not listen to his proposals, nor allow me to
give him any encouragement, till the fatal legacy is settled. What can
be her motive for this, I am unable to divine; for the captain's fortune
is far beyond what I could ever have expected without the legacy, and
equal to all I could hope for with it. If, therefore, there is any doubt
of the legacy being paid, she should allow me to accept him; and if there
is none, what can I do better? In the meantime, we are going about
seeing the sights; but the general mourning is a great drawback on the
splendour of gaiety. It ends, however, next Sunday; and then the ladies,
like the spring flowers, will be all in full blossom. I was with the
Argents at the opera on Saturday last, and it far surpassed my ideas of
grandeur. But the singing was not good--I never could make out the end
or the beginning of a song, and it was drowned with the violins; the
scenery, however, was lovely; but I must not say a word about the
dancers, only that the females behaved in a manner so shocking, that I
could scarcely believe it was possible for the delicacy of our sex to do.
They are, however, all foreigners, who are, you know, naturally of a
licentious character, especially the French women.
We have taken an elegant house in Baker Street, where we go on Monday
next, and our own new carriage is to be home in the course of the week.
All this, which has been done by the advice of Mrs. Argent, gives my
mother great uneasiness, in case anything should yet happen to the
legacy. My brother, however, who knows the law better than her, only
laughs at her fears, and my father has found such a wonderful deal to do
in religion here, that he is quite delighted, and is busy from morning to
night in writing letters, and giving charitable donations. I am soon to
be no less busy, but in another manner. Mrs. Argent has advised us to
get in accomplished masters for me, so that, as soon as we are removed
into our own local habitation, I am to begin with drawing and music, and
the foreign languages. I am not, however, to learn much of the piano;
Mrs. A. thinks it would take up more time than I can now afford; but I am
to be cultivated in my singing, and she is to try if the master that
taught Miss Stephens has an hour to spare--and to use her influence to
persuade him to give it to me, although he only receives pupils for
perfectioning, except they belong to families of distinction.
My brother had a hankering to be made a member of Parliament, and got Mr.
Charles Argent to speak to my father about it, but neither he nor my
mother would hear of such a thing, which I was very sorry for, as it
would have been so convenient to me for getting franks; and I wonder my
mother did not think of that, as she grudges nothing so much as the price
of postage. But nothing do I grudge so little, especially when it is a
letter from you. Why do you not write me oftener, and tell me what is
saying about us, particularly by that spiteful toad, Becky Glibbans, who
never could hear of any good happening to her acquaintance, without being
as angry as if it was obtained at her own expense?
I do not like Miss Argent so well on acquaintance as I did at first; not
that she is not a very fine lassie, but she gives herself such airs at
the harp and piano--because she can play every sort of music at the first
sight, and sing, by looking at the notes, any song, although she never
heard it, which may be very well in a play-actor, or a governess, that
has to win her bread by music; but I think the education of a modest
young lady might have been better conducted.
Through the civility of the Argents, we have been introduced to a great
number of families, and been much invited; but all the parties are so
ceremonious, that I am never at my ease, which my brother says is owing
to my rustic education, which I cannot understand; for, although the
people are finer dressed, and the dinners and rooms grander than what I
have seen, either at Irvine or Kilmarnock, the company are no wiser; and
I have not met with a single literary character among them. And what are
ladies and gentlemen without mind, but a well-dressed mob! It is to mind
alone that I am at all disposed to pay the homage of diffidence.
The acquaintance of the Argents are all of the first circle, and we have
got an invitation to a route from the Countess of J---y, in consequence
of meeting her with them. She is a charming woman, and I anticipate
great pleasure. Miss Argent says, however, she is ignorant and
presuming; but how is it possible that she can be so, as she was an
earl's daughter, and bred up for distinction? Miss Argent may be
presuming, but a countess is necessarily above that, at least it would
only become a duchess or marchioness to say so. This, however, is not
the only occasion in which I have seen the detractive disposition of that
young lady, who, with all her simplicity of manners and great
accomplishments, is, you will perceive, just like ourselves, rustic as
she doubtless thinks our breeding has been.
I have observed that nobody in London inquires about who another is; and
that in company everyone is treated on an equality, unless when there is
some remarkable personal peculiarity, so that one really knows nothing of
those whom one meets. But my paper is full, and I must not take another
sheet, as my mother has a letter to send in the same frank to Miss Mally
Glencairn. Believe me, ever affectionately yours,
RACHEL PRINGLE.
The three ladies knew not very well what to make of this letter. They
thought there was a change in Rachel's ideas, and that it was not for the
better; and Miss Isabella expressed, with a sentiment of sincere sorrow,
that the acquisition of fortune seemed to have brought out some unamiable
traits in her character, which, perhaps, had she not been exposed to the
companions and temptations of the great world, would have slumbered,
unfelt by herself, and unknown to her friends.
Mrs. Glibbans declared, that it was a waking of original sin, which the
iniquity of London was bringing forth, as the heat of summer causes the
rosin and sap to issue from the bark of the tree. In the meantime, Miss
Mally had opened her letter, of which we subjoin a copy.
LETTER XX
_Mrs. Pringle to Miss Mally Glencairn_
LONDON.
DEAR MISS MALLY--I greatly stand in need of your advise and counsel at
this time. The Doctor's affair comes on at a fearful slow rate, and the
money goes like snow off a dyke. It is not to be told what has been paid
for legacy-duty, and no legacy yet in hand; and we have been obligated to
lift a whole hundred pounds out of the residue, and what that is to be
the Lord only knows. But Miss Jenny Macbride, she has got her thousand
pound, all in one bank bill, sent to her; Thomas Bowie, the doctor in
Ayr, he has got his five hundred pounds; and auld Nanse Sorrel, that was
nurse to the cornal, she has got the first year of her twenty pounds a
year; but we have gotten nothing, and I jealouse, that if things go on at
this rate, there will be nothing to get; and what will become of us then,
after all the trubble and outlay that we have been pot too by this coming
to London?
Howsomever, this is the black side of the story; for Mr. Charles Argent,
in a jocose way, proposed to get Andrew made a Parliament member for
three thousand pounds, which he said was cheap; and surely he would not
have thought of such a thing, had he not known that Andrew would have the
money to pay for't; and, over and above this, Mrs. Argent has been
recommending Captain Sabre to me for Rachel, and she says he is a stated
gentleman, with two thousand pounds rental, and her nephew; and surely
she would not think Rachel a match for him, unless she had an inkling
from her gudeman of what Rachel's to get. But I have told her that we
would think of nothing of the sort till the counts war settled, which she
may tell to her gudeman, and if he approves the match, it will make him
hasten on the settlement, for really I am growing tired of this London,
whar I am just like a fish out of the water. The Englishers are sae
obstinate in their own way, that I can get them to do nothing like
Christians; and, what is most provoking of all, their ways are very good
when you know them; but they have no instink to teach a body how to learn
them. Just this very morning, I told the lass to get a jiggot of mutton
for the morn's dinner, and she said there was not such a thing to be had
in London, and threeppit it till I couldna stand her; and, had it not
been that Mr. Argent's French servan' man happened to come with a cart,
inviting us to a ball, and who understood what a jiggot was, I might have
reasoned till the day of doom without redress. As for the Doctor, I
declare he's like an enchantit person, for he has falling in with a party
of the elect here, as he says, and they have a kilfud yoking every
Thursday at the house of Mr. W---, where the Doctor has been, and was
asked to pray, and did it with great effec, which has made him so up in
the buckle, that he does nothing but go to Bible soceeyetis, and
mishonary meetings, and cherity sarmons, which cost a poor of money.
But what consarns me more than all is, that the temptations of this
vanity fair have turnt the head of Andrew, and he has bought two horses,
with an English man-servan', which you know is an eating moth. But how
he payt for them, and whar he is to keep them, is past the compass of my
understanding. In short, if the legacy does not cast up soon, I see
nothing left for us but to leave the world as a legacy to you all, for my
heart will be broken--and I often wish that the cornel hadna made us his
residees, but only given us a clean scorn, like Miss Jenny Macbride,
although it had been no more; for, my dear Miss Mally, it does not doo
for a woman of my time of life to be taken out of her element, and,
instead of looking after her family with a thrifty eye, to be sitting
dressed all day seeing the money fleeing like sclate stanes. But what I
have to tell is worse than all this; we have been persuaded to take a
furnisht house, where we go on Monday; and we are to pay for it, for
three months, no less than a hundred and fifty pounds, which is more than
the half of the Doctor's whole stipend is, when the meal is twenty-pence
the peck; and we are to have three servan' lassies, besides Andrew's man,
and the coachman that we have hired altogether for ourselves, having been
persuaded to trist a new carriage of our own by the Argents, which I
trust the Argents will find money to pay for; and masters are to come in
to teach Rachel the fasionable accomplishments, Mrs. Argent thinking she
was rather old now to be sent to a boarding-school. But what I am to get
to do for so many vorashous servants, is dreadful to think, there being
no such thing as a wheel within the four walls of London; and, if there
was, the Englishers no nothing about spinning. In short, Miss Mally, I
am driven dimentit, and I wish I could get the Doctor to come home with
me to our manse, and leave all to Andrew and Rachel, with kurators; but,
as I said, he's as mickle bye himself as onybody, and says that his
candle has been hidden under a bushel at Garnock more than thirty years,
which looks as if the poor man was fey; howsomever, he's happy in his
delooshon, for if he was afflictit with that forethought and wisdom that
I have, I know not what would be the upshot of all this calamity. But we
maun hope for the best; and, happen what will, I am, dear Miss Mally,
your sincere friend,
JANET PRINGLE.
Miss Mally sighed as she concluded, and said, "Riches do not always bring
happiness, and poor Mrs. Pringle would have been far better looking after
her cows and her butter, and keeping her lassies at their wark, than with
all this galravitching and grandeur." "Ah!" added Mrs. Glibbans, "she's
now a testifyer to the truth--she's now a testifyer; happy it will be for
her if she's enabled to make a sanctified use of the dispensation."