Each look, each motion, wak'd a new born grace,
That o'er her form its transient glory cast;
Some lovelier wonder soon usurp'd the place,
Chas'd by a charm still lovelier than the last.
LYTTELTON.
Mr. Mordaunt, finding it impossible to persuade Sir Henry Seymour's
veteran coachman to resign his office of charioteer, or even willingly
to admit a partner on his throne, was obliged to solace himself with
Mrs. Galton's conversation, till they entered the park of Deane. At
last, as the carriage turned up the long dark avenue which led to the
magnificent though antique mansion, his delighted eye beheld Selina, as
she supported her father, whilst "with measured step and slow" he walked
up and down the broad smooth terrace, which stretched along the south
front of the house, and commanded all the beauties of the rich vale
below. Her fragile form and firm yet elastic step were contrasted with
Sir Henry's tottering feeble gait. But though her sparkling eyes gave a
joyous welcome, even from a distance, to Mrs. Galton and Augustus, yet,
with the fond solicitude of filial love, she restrained her father's
hastening steps, till Augustus relieved her from her charge; then light
as a zephyr which scarcely bends the flower over which it passes, she
flew to Mrs. Galton, and had already seen, if not examined, all her
purchases, recapitulated her various occupations during her three hours'
absence, and made Mrs. Galton repeat twice over all the particulars she
could recollect, of "dear Mrs. Temple," and Miss Wildenheim, before
Augustus had conducted Sir Henry to the hall door, or replied to more
than half his inquiries about "poor Brown's lease, and the arrangements
that were made for his wife and children."
Selina Seymour was nearly seventeen; her person
"Fair as the forms that, wove in fancy's loom,
Float in light vision round the poet's head;"
and her mind as well cultivated as could be expected under the peculiar
circumstances of her situation; for she had lived entirely in the
country, and never had as yet an opportunity of acquiring that
brilliancy of execution in the fine arts, by which so many of our modern
girls of fashion rival the painters, and the dancers, and the singers,
and the players on musical instruments, who live only by the exertion of
their talents in those different lines. Of what are usually called
_accomplishments_ she was comparatively ignorant. She knew little or
nothing of fancy works--had never made any pasteboard screens--could
neither waltz nor play on the flageolet--nor beat the tambourine in all
the different attitudes practised and taught to young ladies by the
Duke of York's band--but with several modern languages she was well
acquainted, and had learned to draw from Mrs. Galton, who particularly
excelled in miniature painting, and delighted in transmitting all her
knowledge to her adopted child. Music was however Selina's favourite
amusement, and for it she early discovered a decided genius. An old
blind organist, from the town of ----, generally attended her for three
months every summer, and certainly taught her well the only part of the
art he understood, namely, thorough bass--but of the soul of music, he,
poor man, had no idea; for that she was indebted solely to her own
intensity of feeling; and whatever execution she possessed she had
acquired by the indefatigable practice of such lessons of Handel's,
Corelli's, Scarlatti's, and Bach's, as her father's old music chest
afforded; for Sir Henry had not added an air to his collection since the
death of her mother Lady Seymour, nor did he suppose it possible, that
any improvement could have taken place in the art of composition since
that period. Perhaps, had he heard Selina play some of Mozart's
admirable melodies, he might have been induced to acknowledge their
merit, as he generally thought all she did was perfection; though in her
education he never interfered--the care of that had been intrusted, ever
since she had lost her mother, to Mrs. Galton, and the excellent rector
of the parish, Mr. Temple, who had been tutor to Sir Henry Seymour's
ward, Augustus Mordaunt. With them Selina often joined in studies of a
graver cast than those usually appropriated to her age and sex. And
perhaps the peculiar style of her education was the one best adapted to
her disposition. She had naturally uncommon vivacity. "Her cheek was yet
unprofaned by a tear," and her buoyant spirits had never been depressed
by those unfeeling prohibitions and restraints, which, "like a worm i'
th' bud," feed on the opening blossom, and turn the happiest season of
our lives into days of protracted penance. To her elasticity of spirits
and brilliancy of imagination, which, but for an uncommon superiority of
talent, might have degenerated into frivolity of mind, this calm and
almost masculine education formed an admirable counterpoise. But yet
such was her natural pliability of character, that Mrs. Galton scarcely
deemed even this antidote sufficient; and looked forward with trembling
anxiety to the period of her being introduced to society, knowing how
probable it was, that her fancy, and even her heart, might be seriously
affected, long before her reason or understanding were called into
action.
Selina was the only one of Sir Henry Seymour's children who had survived
their mother; in her were centred all his hopes and nearly all his
affections; her vivacity amused, and her talents gratified him. But he
was not capable of justly appreciating or fully comprehending her
character; he had so long considered her as a mere child, it never
entered into his calculation, that she was now approaching that eventful
period of life, when more was required from the discretion and affection
of a parent, than a mere tolerance of harmless vivacity. It did
certainly sometimes occur to him, that she might marry, but he generally
banished the idea from his mind as quickly as it arose; for it was
always accompanied by a painful feeling, arising in truth from a dread
of losing her delightful society; but he never analyzed this feeling,
and always repeating to himself that she was still but a child, he
concluded by his usual reflection, that there "was no use in thinking
about it; for, if it was to happen, he could not help it."
Thus, with infatuated security, he anticipated no danger in allowing his
daughter to associate with Augustus Mordaunt. They had been brought up
as children together, and their manner to each other was so
unrestrained, so free from all those artificial precautions, that by a
premature defence first apprise innocence of its danger, that even wiser
heads than poor Sir Henry's might have believed, as Selina really did,
that only the affection of brother and sister existed between them: it
is true, Mrs. Galton and Mr. Temple sometimes talked over together the
possibility of their future union; and so desirable did it seem to both,
and so certain to obtain Sir Henry's consent, that they left them to
their fate, scarcely wishing that any circumstance should arise to
prevent a mutual attachment taking place.
Augustus was nephew to the earl of Osselstone, and heir to his title.
His father, dying when he was four years old, had left him to the
guardianship of Sir Henry; and the boy had been removed to Deane Hall
the year before Selina was born, where he had constantly resided since,
except during the periods he had passed at Eton and Oxford. Sir Henry
felt for him an affection almost paternal; nor was it unreturned, or
unworthily bestowed. The disposition of Augustus was naturally
benevolent and ardent in the extreme. Even in the most trifling pursuit
either of knowledge or amusement, the fervency of his character was
manifested; and where the susceptibility of his heart was once called
forth, though expression might be repressed, his feelings were not
easily to be subdued.
Mr. Temple, profiting by the example the fate of Mordaunt's parents had
presented, early laboured to bring his passions under the control of
reason. He succeeded in regulating them, though they were not to be
extinguished; and though Augustus early acquired a habit of
self-possession, yet the natural vivacity of his character was expressed
in every glance of his intelligent countenance, which served to portray
each fleeting sentiment as it arose, whilst his dark expressive eye
seemed to penetrate into the inmost thoughts of others, and to search
for a mind congenial to his own. His figure was not less remarkable for
elegance than strength; and he particularly excelled in all those manly
exercises and accomplishments in which grace or activity are required.
He had derived, partly from nature, partly from education, such high and
almost chivalrous ideas of principle, that, even as a boy, no temptation
could have induced him either to deserve or submit to the slightest
imputation on his honour; and as he approached to manhood, this jealousy
of character had given him a reputation of pride, which his dignified
manner and appearance in some degree corroborated.--Though to his
inferiors his address was always affable, yet to strangers of his own
rank in life he was generally reserved: he was therefore not always
understood; and those who were incapable of fully comprehending his
peculiar merits, frequently attributed that apparent haughtiness of
demeanour, which repelled officious familiarity, less to the superiority
of his individual character, than to the adventitious circumstance of
his high birth and expectations.
He had early shown a strong predilection for the army, but he could
never prevail on Sir Henry to consent to his entering that profession;
and as a coolness existed between his uncle and his guardian, none other
had yet been decided on for him. Nor, if it was to depend on Sir Henry's
advice or exertions, was the selection likely soon to be made; for such
was the habitual indolence of the baronet's character, that, unless the
natural benevolence of his disposition was peculiarly called forth by
any accidental circumstance, he was content with feelings of unbounded
good will to all mankind, without making a single effort to promote the
welfare of any individual. Yet, nevertheless, he was an affectionate
father, an indulgent landlord, a hospitable neighbour, a kind friend,
and as such universally beloved and respected. In his establishment at
Deane Hall, old English hospitality was maintained to the fullest
extent; and the regularity of this establishment was united to such an
uniformity of pursuit, that it almost amounted to a monotony of life.
The care of directing his household and doing the honours of his table
he left entirely to Mrs. Galton, the sister of the late Lady Seymour.
She was, however, only called "mistress" by courtesy, for though "still
in the sober charms of womanhood mature," just "verging on decay," she
was yet unmarried. In her youth this lady had been as beautiful as she
was amiable, and being possessed of a large fortune, had many suitors:
on one of these, a Mr. Montague, she had bestowed her affections, and
was on the point of marrying him, when she discovered that he was an
inveterate gamester, ruined in fortune, morals, and character, and of
course unworthy of her regard; and though her good sense enabled her in
time to recover from the misery this discovery occasioned her, yet she
was never afterwards prevailed on to make another choice. Shortly after
her refusal of him, Mr. Montague married a Miss Mortimer, who was as
depraved as himself, and lost his life in a duel with one of his
dissipated companions. Mrs. Galton had resided at Deane Hall from the
period of her sister's death; and Selina soon filled the place of
daughter in her affectionate heart. As that heart had been so deeply
wounded, she had turned assiduously to the cultivation of her
understanding; and in endeavouring to engraft her own perfections on
Selina's ductile mind, she preserved the peace of her own, by
withdrawing it from those corroding remembrances, that had threatened it
with irreparable injury.
The day at last arrived, which was fixed for the annual visit of Mrs.
Sullivan and her party at Deane Hall; for it may easily be supposed,
that where such dissimilarity of character and pursuit existed, little
intercourse would be maintained. At least an hour after the appointed
time, the loud and peremptory knock of their London footman proclaimed
their arrival; but their welcome was much less cordial, than it would
otherwise have been, from all the assembled party at Deane, as they came
unaccompanied by Miss Wildenheim.
Mrs. Sullivan, on entering the room, displayed a low, fat, vulgar
figure, arrayed in all the shades admissible in fashionable _mourning_.
Her gown was a _soi-disant_ grey, approximating, as nearly as possible,
to a sky blue, relieved with black and scarlet, and profusely ornamented
with artificial flowers. On her head waved a plume of white ostrich
feathers, which, in their modest color and airy form, served perfectly
to contrast her piony cheeks and lumpish person.
Her petticoats, wired at the bottom, kept unbroken the ample circle, of
which her breadth from hip to hip formed the diameter. Her shuffling
gait put all her finery in motion from head to foot; and Selina could
not help thinking, that, "if she might just give her one _little_
twirl," she would make to perfection what in her girlish plays was
called a _cheese_. Mrs. Sullivan was followed by her two elder
daughters--Miss Webberly, loaded with all the superfluous decorations of
modern costume, which could be called in aid to conceal her natural
deformity, and her sister, dressed in the opposite extreme of capricious
fashion, equally solicitous to exhibit her all unobscured charms. Soon
after, the entrance of the remaining guests completed the circle, and
the company insensibly dividing into small separate parties, Mrs. Galton
found herself between her two intimate friends, Mr. and Mrs. Temple,
and expressed to them her sincere regret at not seeing Miss Wildenheim,
for whom Mrs. Sullivan had made an awkward apology.
"What a beautiful style of countenance hers is," said Augustus Mordaunt,
who was standing by: "quite the Grecian head." "I look more to the
inside of the head," replied Mr. Temple, "and find it as admirable as
you do the outside." "You are always so warm in your admiration of your
young favourite, that I am really quite jealous," said his amiable wife,
with a look that expressed her love and pride in the speaker, and her
regard for the object spoken of. "I do indeed admire her; nay, youthful
as she is, I reverence her," resumed Mr. Temple.
"And how did you happen to know so much of her?" asked Mrs. Galton; "for
she has been carefully secluded from the rest of the neighbourhood."
"I was called upon to attend her in my pastoral office last winter,
during her dangerous illness; and having good reason to think that her
pillow was unsmoothed by any kind hand, I pitied her most sincerely; and
when we heard she was recovering, we both visited her frequently, and
without much difficulty prevailed on Mrs. Sullivan, to permit her to
come to the parsonage for change of air, where my ill-natured wife
nursed her for six weeks." "I think," said Mrs. Temple, "one becomes
better acquainted with a person in an invalide state, than in any other;
the sort of charge that the healthy take upon them for the sick,
entitles them to discard much of the formality of common intercourse."
"You are right, my dear; and the being that is in hourly uncertainty of
its stay here, is anxious to part with its fellow mortals, not only in
peace, but in love; and receives every proffered kindness with
gratitude. Impressed with these feelings," continued Mr. Temple, "Miss
Wildenheim suffered us to gain a knowledge of her disposition no other
circumstance could have procured us.--To know and not to admire her is
an impossibility!"
Mrs. Sullivan, who had kept herself aloof to impress on her mind an
inventory of the furniture, and to listen to the whole company at once,
could no longer keep patience or restrain her indignation; and having
gathered sufficient to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Temple were praising
her lovely ward, she exclaimed with involuntary vehemence, "Lauk! how
can you admire Miss Wildenheim, with her sallow complexion, and such a
poke?" "Pardon me, Mrs. Sullivan," replied Mrs. Galton; "the only time I
ever met her I thought her complexion the most beautiful brunette I ever
saw: but perhaps her colour was heightened by exercise." "And her
carriage"--rejoined Mrs. Temple, with less ceremony, "is grace itself!"
"_Et vera incessu patuit Dea_[4]"--said the worthy rector to Mordaunt;
and, as he abhorred gossips, sheered off to the window, to ask him some
questions regarding his studies at Oxford. "Well, well!" resumed Mrs.
Sullivan, "I loves a girl as straight as the poplars at Islington, with
a good white skin, (casting a look of triumph at Cecilia); I never liked
none of them there outlandish folk: why she's for all the world like a
gipsy. My poor dear Mr. Sullivan didn't ought for to bring his casts-up
to me and my daughters, who are come of good havage!--If she and my
Carline wasn't sisters, they never would be so out of the way fond of
one another. If Miss was her natural mother, she couldn't make more of
her than she does now, for her father's sake: and my foolish little chit
thinks this Frenchified lady a nonsuch. I'll warrant me her schooling
cost a pretty penny in foreign parts, where she got that odorous twang
on her tongue; howsoever, she's culpable to teach my little girl to
jabber French; and, as one good turn deserves another, I takes a world
of pains to teach her not to misprison her words: and would you believe
it? she looks sometimes as if she had a mind to laugh; and then she
casts down her hugeous eyes, and colours up as red as a turkey cock, all
out of pride! But I'm resolved she shan't ruinate Carline's English;
I'll supersede that myself."
[Footnote 4:
And by her walk the queen of love is known.
DRYDEN.
]
Dinner being announced, prevented Mrs. Sullivan's female auditors from
making either comment or reply, except by an "alphabet of looks," which
had this sapient lady possessed sufficient shrewdness to decipher, she
would not have been much gratified by its import.