MANNERS:
A NOVEL.
----Dicas hÓc forsitan unde
Ingenium par materiÊ.
JUVENAL.
Je sais qu'un sot trouve toujours un plus sot pour le lire.
FRED. LE GRAND.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1817.
MANNERS.
CHAPTER I.
What, and how great, the virtue and the art,
To live on little with a cheerful heart--
(A doctrine sage, but truly none of mine)
Let's talk, my friends,----
POPE.
In the retired village of Deane, in Yorkshire, lived for many years one
of those unfortunate females ycleped an old maid; a title which
generally exposes the possessor to every species of contempt, however
inoffensive, or even worthy, the individual may be, thus unluckily
designated.
Mrs. Martin, the lady alluded to, was certainly one of those more
"sinned against than sinning;" for malice itself could not accuse her of
one uncharitable thought, word, or action: and even her enemies, if
enemies she had, must have acknowledged, that "Poor Mrs. Martin had a
good heart," however inferior she might be in understanding to those,
who affected to despise her unassuming merits. She was one of those
worthy good people, who never did a wicked thing, and never said a wise
one; and who, therefore, are seldom mentioned without some epithet of
contemptuous pity by those, who at least wish to be considered of an
entirely opposite character. She lived in a contented mediocrity, "aboon
distress below envy," humble, and good natured, with a most happy
temperament, both moral and physical; in friendship with all the world,
and devoutly believing all the world in friendship with her, and indeed
in that respect at least her judgment did not err; for few people were
more generally beloved than "Poor Mrs. Martin." She always had a ready
laugh for the awkward jests of her neighbours, and to the distressed she
as willingly gave her equally ready tear.--Her income was extremely
limited, yet she still contrived to spare a mite to those still poorer
than herself, and to her trifling donations she added such cordially
interested enquiries, and such well intentioned advice, that her mercy
was indeed "twice blest."--To her other good qualities she joined that
of being a most excellent manager. All the village acknowledged, that
"Poor Mrs. Martin's sweetmeats, and poor Mrs. Martin's bacon, were the
best in the place;" nor were there many seasons so unproductive in her
little garden, as to deprive her of the pride and pleasure of bestowing
a bottle of currant wine, or a pot of raspberry jam, on her more opulent
though less thrifty neighbour.--Her house, which was in the middle of
the village, was only distinguished from those around it by its superior
neatness: a court, about the dimensions of a modern dinner table, which
she facetiously termed her pleasure ground, divided it from the
principal, indeed the only street, and was separated from it by a few
white rails;--a little walk curiously paved in different coloured stones
was the approach to the hall door, and the grass on each side was
ornamented by a circular bed bordered with reversed oyster shells, and
containing each a few rose trees. The house boasted of one window
corresponding to each flower bed on the ground floor; and of three above
stairs, the centre one of which, being Mrs. Martin's own bed room, was
ornamented with an old fender painted green, which served as a balcony
to support three flourishing geraniums, and a stock July flower, that
"wasted its sweetness on the desert air" out of a broken tea pot, which
had been carefully treasured by this thrifty housewife as a substitute
for a flower pot. The hall door, which always stood open in fine
weather, was decorated with a clean but useless brass knocker, and a
conspicuous rush mat; whilst the narrow passage, to which it led,
presented, as its sole furniture, a huge clock, on which Mrs. Martin's
only attendant Peggy often boasted no spider was ever known to rest, and
whose gigantic case filled the whole space from wall to wall. The left
hand window, whose dark brown shutters were carefully bolted back on the
outside, illuminated a kitchen, where cheerful cleanliness amply
compensated for want of size;--opposite to it was the only parlour, of
the same proportions, and of equal neatness; a small Pembroke table,
that, with change of furniture, served the purpose of dinner, breakfast,
or card table; white dimity curtains, and a blind that was for any thing
rather than use, as it was never closed; half a dozen chairs, that once
had exhibited resplendent ornaments of lilies and roses, painted in all
the colours of the rainbow, but whose honours had long since faded under
the powerful and unremitting exertions of Peggy's scrubbing brush; a
corner cupboard, the top shelf of which with difficulty contained a well
polished japanned tea tray, where a rosy Celadon, in a brilliant scarlet
coat, sighed most romantically at the feet of Lavinia in a plume of
feathers; and the best cups and saucers, ranged in regular order, filled
the ranks below;--a book shelf, which, besides containing a Bible, Sir
Charles Grandison, a few volumes of the Spectator, and occasionally a
well thumbed novel from Mr. Salter's circulating library, was also the
repository for various stray articles, such as the tea caddy, Mrs.
Martin's knitting, and receipt book, transcribed by her niece Lucy; and
lastly, a barbarous copy of Bunbury's beautiful print of Jenny Grey, the
highly prized, and only production of Lucy's needle, while attending
Miss Slater's genteel "academy for young ladies," composed the furniture
of this little room.
But its chief ornament, and Mrs. Martin's greatest pride (next to Lucy
herself), was a glass door, that opened into her demesne: a plot of
ground, containing about an acre and a half, which was kitchen garden,
flower garden, and orchard, all in one. This glass door had been a
present of young Mr. Mordaunt's, in whose company Mrs. Martin had often
undesignedly lamented, that the sole entrance to her garden was through
the scullery, and, on her return from her only visit to London, about
two years before this narration commences, she had been most agreeably
surprised by the improvement in question.--Various and manifold were the
speculations, to which this little piece of good natured gallantry had
given rise in the simple mind of Mrs. Martin.--"Indeed, indeed, she
never thought of his doing such a thing! so generous! so kind! and then
his manner was always so obliging and polite; it could not certainly be
for herself that he took the trouble of ordering the glass door; and she
remembered very well, when he called after their return from London,
that he said he was very glad to see a town life had agreed so well with
Lucy, though Mrs. Crosbie had very good naturedly said, she thought she
didn't look half so well as before she went. To be sure, she never saw
him _talk_ much to Lucy, but then she was so shy!"--Mrs. Martin had been
standing for some minutes at this same glass door, one fine evening in
July, indulging in a similar reverie, when it was suddenly interrupted
by the abrupt entrance of Lucy, who, with as much concern in her
countenance as her vacant unmeaning features could express,
exclaimed--"La! Aunt, he won't come to-night after all!"--"Not come,
child!" answered Mrs. Martin, "why, I never expected he would."--"Not
expect Mr. Brown?" returned Lucy, in a tone something between anger and
surprise; "Not expect Mr. Brown? why I'm sure he'd come if he could, and
you'd never ask the Lucases without him." "No, indeed, my dear, I would
not;" replied Mrs. Martin, totally unconscious that her first answer had
alluded to the subject of her own thoughts, not to the constant object
of poor Lucy's--"He is a well behaved, sober young man, and very
attentive to the shop; but why won't he come to-night?"--"He just rode
up as I was standing at the gate with this little bottle of rose water,
which he brought then, because, he said, he had to go to squire
Thornbull's to see the cook, and he didn't think he could be back for
tea do what he would--I'm sure I wish Mr. Lucas would attend his own
patients."--"Well, Lucy, I suppose the rest will soon be here; do just
set down the tray, my love, whilst I go and see if Peggy is doing the
Sally Lunn right." Poor Lucy proceeded to her task with unwonted gloom,
having first stopped to take one more smell of the rose water before she
placed it on the ready book shelf; and so slow was she in her movements,
that the tea table was scarcely arranged, when she heard her aunt accost
her visitors out of the kitchen window, with "How d'ye do Mrs. Crosbie,
how d'ye do Mrs. Lucas; beautiful evening; thank you kindly; I'm quite
well, and Lucy's charming; pray step in Mr. Crosbie--give me your hat;
Mr. Lucas, I'll hang your cane up by the clock here; sit down my dear
Nanny, I hope your shoes are dry--indeed, I don't think they can be wet;
we've scarcely had a drop of rain this fortnight.--Peggy! bring in the
kettle."
And now, what with the disposal of the bonnets, the arrangement of the
chairs, and the repetition of observations on the weather, and inquiries
after the health of each individual present, the time was fully
occupied, till the arrival of Peggy, with a bright copper tea kettle in
one hand, and a well buttered, smoking hot Sally Lunn in the other, put
an end to the confusion of tongues, and assembled the party in temporary
silence round the tea table.--But Mrs. Martin's natural loquacity, added
to her incessant desire to be civil, soon induced her to interrupt the
momentary calm, and, while she spread her snow white pocket handkerchief
on her knees, as a preparation for her attack on the Sally Lunn, she
addressed her neighbour, the attorney, with--"Well, Mr. Crosbie, what
did you think of our sermon last evening; it was a delightful one,
wasn't it?"--"Yes, a very good, plain sermon, Mrs. Martin; but, with all
deference to your better judgment, Mrs. Martin, I think your friend Mr.
Temple doesn't show as much learning in the pulpit as he might
do."--"Learning!" quoth his amicable spouse, "I never can believe that
man is a learned man; I could make as good a sermon myself."--"_Non
constat_, my love," replied Mr. Crosbie; "though I often think you would
have done very well for a parson, you are so fond of always having the
last word." Probably the gentle Mrs. Crosbie would have given the
company a specimen of her talents for lecturing, had she not acquired a
habit of never attending to what her husband said: she had therefore,
fortunately, no doubt, during his speech, profited by the opportunity of
overhearing Mrs. Martin's and Mrs. Lucas's discussion, respecting the
appearance at church the evening before of the party from Webberly
House, consisting of Mrs. Sullivan and her two elder daughters, the Miss
Webberlys.--"I declare, I wasn't sure they were come down yet," said
Mrs. Martin, "till I saw their two great footmen bring their prayer
books into church, and their cushions; Mrs. Sullivan looks quite plump
and well."--"Yes, indeed, she looks remarkably well;" answered the
assenting Mrs. Lucas.--"Well!" retorted Mrs. Crosbie--"I think she is
going into a dropsy; her face is for all the world like a Cheshire
cheese."--"It certainly does look as if it was a little swelled,"
replied the complacent Mrs. Lucas--"Dear me," rejoined Mr. Lucas, "I
must certainly call at Webberly House, and inquire after the health of
the family; I thought they never left town till August: perhaps they are
come down for change of air."--"And Lucy and I must pay our respects to
them too, they are always so very polite."--"They are never very
_civil_, I take it," said Mrs. Crosbie; "I believe, in my heart, they
would never come near their country neighbours, but to show off their
town airs on them."--"Well, for my part," observed Mr. Crosbie, "with
due deference be it spoken, I think town airs should be laid by for town
people, kept _in usum jus habentis_, for those who understand
'em."--"That's what you never could do, my dear," replied the
lady.--Mrs. Lucas, as usual, slipping in an assenting nod to every
successive observation from each person, while she as unremittingly
attended to the tea and cake. "Well, I'm sure, at all events," said her
daughter Nancy, "they are very genteel: what a lovely green bonnet the
little Miss Webberly had on!--she's the eldest, I believe."--"I'm sure,
if the bonnet was lovely, the face under it wasn't; the two together are
for all the world like a full blown daffodil in its green case."
Notwithstanding Mrs. Crosbie had thus taken occasion to express her
dislike of the family in general, she was not less ready than the rest
of the little circle to pay her annual visit at Webberly House; and, as
all were anxious to wait on the ladies in question, either from motives
of civility, or interest, or curiosity, it was speedily settled, that
the party should adjourn thither on the following morning. All
particulars of their dress, their conveyance, &c., being finally
arranged, the four seniors of Mrs. Martin's visitors sat down to penny
whist, while she seated herself at the corner of the card table, ready
to cut in, snuff candles, or make civil observations between the deals.
Lucy, and Nancy Lucas, strolled into the garden, ostensibly to pull
currants, but, in reality, to talk over Mr. Brown, the apothecary's
apprentice, and Mr. Slater's hopeful son and heir, whose professed
admiration of Miss Lucas had lately been eclipsed by a flash of military
ardour, that had induced him to enter into the Yorkshire militia. At
length Mrs. Martin's fears of the damp grass and evening dew induced the
two eternal friends to return to the parlour, where the fortunate
attainment of an odd trick, by finishing the rubber, broke up the little
party, who dispersed with much the same bustle with which they had
entered. While Mrs. Martin pursued her retreating visitors as far as the
white pales, with renewed offers of a glass of currant wine, hopes and
fears relative to the company catching cold, and assurances that she and
Lucy would certainly be ready before eleven o'clock for Mr. Lucas, with
a profusion of thanks for his offer of calling for them in his gig.