* * *
“MY AUNT PEG.”
In the _Vicar of Wakefield_, Dr. Goldsmith describes Burchell in company
with a couple of courtesans, assuming the manners and language of ladies
of quality. The penetrating humourist, at the close of every sentence
from these frail damsels, boasting intimacy with high life, emphatically
and poignantly exclaims, “Fudge.” When the ridiculous in manners, or the
insipid in conversation and life, appears to _Tom Toledo_, whose nose is
as curved as a fish-hook, by an inveterate habit of sneering, ’tis
_Tom’s way_ to baptize the oddity--_My aunt Peg_.
Now, whether _my aunt Peg_, like TRISTRAM SHANDY’s _aunt Dinah_, having
been guilty of some back-slidings in her youth, has forfeited her right
to respect from the family; or whether certain envious prudes, as is
their wont, have leagued, and look prim against her, when she appears,
is a question I cannot _sagely_ solve. Certain it is, she is degraded
from the rank of gentlewoman, and now keeps low and contemptible
company.
_My aunt Peg_, like an English actress of scorched reputation, often
exchanges the petticoats for the breeches, and disguised in male
apparel, spouts farce and low comedy, at the _Theatre Universal_. Though
she “has her exits and her entrances,” and “plays many parts,” yet
critical spectators are always dissatisfied with her style of acting;
her assumed, cannot mask her real character, and pit, box, and gallery,
hiss “_aunt Peg_.”
Sauntering last term into a court of justice, I mingled with “the
swinish multitude,” and figured to myself a union of law and eloquence,
in the charge to the jurors from the bench. The person speaking, for I
absurdly mistook him for the judge, resembling SANCHO PANZA in the
island Barataria, rather than BULLER, HALE, or TALBOT, I plucked
_Toledo_ by the sleeve, and asked if his honour’s name were not
_Dogberry_. By St. Mansfield, he deserves, when time and place shall
serve, to be “set down for an ass.” It is no Judge, says _Tom_: that
broad, and vacant starer is--_my aunt Peg_.
DICKEY DANGLE, _the ladies’ man_, plays three hours with my cousin
Charlotte’s thimble, and fancies that he is courting her. A wag in my
neighbourhood, a lover of _pepper-pots_, observing this frivolous “man
of lath,” with an unthrobbing pulse, gazing _sedately_ on the eyes of a
fine girl, and praising her cherry lips, without a wish to _press_ them,
swears that he is the very fribble of SHAKESPEARE; that
“This is he,
Who kissed away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
--------WHOM LADIES CALL THEIR SWEET.”
And asks, in the phrase of MARLOW, if I shall suffer my cousin to live
with him and be his love. No. A contract of matrimony between _two
females_ is absurd, and not good in law; for doubtless DICKEY is--_my
aunt Peg_.
A literary friend, after a lonesome journey through a boorish quarter of
the country, on his arrival at an inn, exults, when the waiter informs
him, that the young fellow, entering the room, “has been _to_ college.”
The conversation naturally turns upon books. Do you relish the belles
lettres? Oh yes, I read _Rollin’s belles lettres_ last winter, and liked
them mightily. The indignant traveller frowned--he was unconscious that
a degree in _arts_ was frequently conferred on--_my aunt Peg_.
When I was at the university--I beg that the world would suppose I mean
Oxford, Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, and not _our_ college of Cambridge, for
which I have singular affection--if a lad were guilty of genius,
a tribunal of tasteless tutors, professors, &c., would doom him to
expulsion. What, said they, a man of genius in a _college?_ It cannot,
must not be.--Why Issachar, our strong ass, couching down between his
two burdens, Greek on one side, and Mathematics on the other, will bray
and break, bridle at the very sight of him. Yes, says Candor, their
“worships and their reverences” are, in very deed,--_my aunt Peg_.
Half a century since, dame FRANCE was a stately old gentlewoman, proud
of her pedigree, associating with men of rank, and keeping servants at a
distance. But the devil, REFORM, began to haunt her house, and she
insisted that the table should be laid in the _cellar_, instead of the
parlor. Some of her refractory domestics, who disobeyed this whimsical
order, she turned out of doors, hung up others to the kitchen lamp with
the jack line; and at length, assisted by a cruel dog of a joiner, she
fixed a butcher’s cleaver into an old box, and fairly chopped the
_Steward_’s head off.--Not one of her _rational_ neighbours, who
witnessed those mad deeds, but went away exclaiming,--Good lack! that
such a noble lady should be vilely metamorphosed into--_my aunt Peg_.
* * * * *
[[For sources, see the end of the second installment.]]
INTERESTING STORY OF MADELAINE.
By Helen Maria Williams.
A friend of mine, who is lately gone to Toulouse, has sent me from
thence an account of some circumstances which happened not long ago in
that part of France, and which she says are still much the subject of
conversation. I shall transcribe this narrative, which I believe will
interest you. Perhaps a novel-writer, by the aid of a little additional
misery, and by giving the circumstances which actually happened a
heightened colour--by taking his pallet, and dashing with a full glow of
red what nature had only tinged with pale violet, might almost spin a
volume from these materials. Yet, after all, nothing is so affecting as
simplicity, and nothing so forcible as truth. I shall therefore send you
the story exactly as I received it; and in such parts of it as want
interest, I beg you will recollect that you are not reading a tale of
fiction; and that in real life incidents are not always placed as they
are in novels, so as to produce stage effect. In some parts of the
narrative you will meet with a little romance; but, perhaps, you will
wonder that you meet with no more; since the scene is not in the cold
philosophic climate of England, but in the warm regions of the south of
France, where the imagination is elevated, where the passions acquire
extraordinary energy, and where the fire of poetry flashed from the
harps of the Troubadours amidst the sullen gloom of the Gothic ages.
A young Frenchman, whose usual residence was at Paris, having travelled
as far as Toulouse the year before the Revolution, was invited by a
party of his friends to accompany them to Bareges, where some of them
were going in pursuit of amusement and others in search of health from
the medicinal springs which rise so plentifully, both in hot and cold
streams, among the Pyrenean mountains.
This young Parisian, who had some taste for the sublime scenery of
Nature, felt that it would be luxury to leave a little longer the
regular walks, which Art had planted in the Tuilleries, and the trim
gardens and jets d’eaux she has formed at Versailles; to wander amongst
those piles of mountains which overhang each other, and listen to the
torrents which fall down them with loud and irresistible impetuosity.
“Rich in her weeping country’s spoils, Versailles
May boast a thousand fountains, that can cast
The tortur’d waters to the distant heav’ns;
Yet let me choose some pine-topp’d precipice
Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy stream,
Like Anio, tumbling roars.”----
What powerful sensations does the first view of such a scene
produce!--We seem to begin a new existence--every former impression is
for a while erased from the memory, and the mind feels enrapped and lost
in the strong emotions of awe, astonishment, and admiration.
Bareges was crouded, as it usually is in the season, not only with
French company, but also with strangers, who travel from other
countries, in order to use its celebrated baths. The company amused
themselves, as they generally do at water-drinking places, by
sauntering, lounging, cards, lotteries, jeux-d’ésprit, and scandal.
Bareges is a very expensive place. Even moderate accommodations must be
purchased at a high rate; and provisions, as well as lodgings, are
sometimes obtained with difficulty. Bareges is therefore seldom resorted
to by any but people of considerable fortune, who can afford to level
the obstacles which mountains interpose to their conveniences and
comforts, by the all subduing force of gold.
Among a number of persons of rank and fortune, there was however one
family at Bareges in a different situation. This family consisted of an
elderly infirm French officer, who had long been afflicted with the
palsy, and his daughter, a young woman about nineteen years of age.
Their appearance and mode of living seemed to indicate, that, though in
search of relief, this old officer had journeyed to Bareges, he had in
so doing far exceeded the bounds of economy, which his circumstances
prescribed, and was forced to deny himself every accommodation his
infirmities could spare. He lived in the most retired manner, in the
worst lodgings at Bareges; and, while the other ladies were dressed in a
style of expensive variety and profusion, his daughter wore only a plain
linen gown, which, though always perfectly clean, was coarse; and her
dark hair was left unpowdered and without any ornament whatever.
Fortunately for Madelaine, however, (for that was her name) her person
was calculated to make her coarse gown appear to the best advantage; and
though she was not very beautiful, her countenance had an expression of
sweetness which answered the end of beauty by exciting love and
admiration.
The company at Bareges soon became acquainted with each other, and the
ladies always took notice of Madelaine when they met her in their walks,
which however did not happen very often, for her father was frequently
unable so go out. When he did, he was supported on one side by
Madelaine, and on the other by his servant. It was impossible to see
with insensibility the attention which this interesting young woman paid
to her father, whom she never quitted one moment. It was remarked with
what careful tenderness she used to lead him along the streets of
Bareges, walking the slowest pace she could, and watching his steps as
he moved feebly on. And when he was not able to venture out, she was
seen at the window of their little parlour reading in order to entertain
him. Her looks and manner announced that her disposition was naturally
sprightly, and that she would have been gay if her father had not been
sick. But all the chearfulness she could assume while he suffered, was
exerted to amuse him, and shorten the tedious hours of langour and
debility.
Though Madelaine was handsome, the obscurity and seclusion in which she
lived preserved her from the envy of the women. They knew well enough
that the gentlemen at Bareges were for the most part men of the world,
who, though they may admire beauty, and approve of virtue, are never so
far the dupes of any tender or moral sentiment as to let it interfere
either with their vanity, their ambition, or their interest. Although
the French Revolution had not yet happened, these ladies were aware
that, with respect to marriage, the age of _calculators_ was already
come, and therefore no rival was to be feared in Madelaine. The ladies
joined with the men in admiring the graces of her person, and the
amiable qualities which her conduct displayed. Madelaine, in short,
became the object of general esteem.
Auguste, for so I shall call our young Parisian, who has lost his title
since the laws of equality have been established in his country--Auguste
spoke less of Madelaine than the other gentlemen at Bareges; but it was
perhaps because he thought of her more. Sometimes, in his solitary
morning rambles, he used to make comparisons between her and the
Parisian ladies among whom he had passed the winter, and the comparison
generally ended with a deep sigh. The scene of these meditations was
certainly much in Madelaine’s favour. Perhaps, at Paris or Versailles,
Auguste might have been dazzled by the polished graces of a fine lady
rouged, powdered, perfumed, and equipped for conquest. These artificial
attractions might perhaps have accorded well enough with clipped trees,
and angular walks. But Madelaine’s simple manners, Madeline’s natural
smiles and unstudied blushes, were far more in unison with the Pyrenean
mountains.
One evening, when Auguste was walking in the town of Bareges with some
ladies, he saw Madelaine at a little distance assisting with great
difficulty to support her father, who appeared to be seized with a fit.
Auguste darted like an arrow towards the spot, and held up the officer
till he found himself somewhat recovered; and then Auguste, with a sort
of gentle violence, obliged Madelaine, who was pale and trembling, to
let go her father’s arm and suffer him to assist the servant in leading
him home, which was but a few steps farther. Auguste entered the house,
where he remained till the old officer was a little revived; and, after
prevailing upon Madelaine to take a few hartshorn drops, he retired.
The next morning he felt that common civility required he should pay the
old officer a visit, and learn how he had passed the night. It happened
that Madelaine had the very same idea. “Surely,” thought she, “it will
be very strange if this young man, who was so kind, so careful of my
father, and who made me take some hartshorn drops, should neglect to
call and enquire after us!” This idea had come across her mind several
times; and she was meditating upon it at her father’s bedside, when
Auguste was announced.
The old officer, who had all the finished politeness of his country and
his profession, received him in the most courteous manner; and, though
he spoke with some difficulty, yet he was profuse in acknowledgments for
the service Auguste had rendered him. Madelaine’s thanks were few and
simply expressed; but the tone in which they were uttered was such that
Auguste felt he could have sacrificed his life to have deserved them.
The old officer still continued sick, and therefore Auguste still
considered it as an indispensable mark of attention to go every day, and
learn the state of his health. He also began to feel that these visits
became every day more necessary to his own happiness. That happiness
was, indeed, embittered by many painful reflections. He well knew, that
to obtain his father the Count de ----’s consent to marry Madelaine, was
as impossible as it was for himself to conquer the passion she had
inspired. He knew exactly the order in which his father’s enquiries
would run on this subject. He was aware that there were two
interrogatories to be answered. The first was--“How many thousand livres
has she a year?” And the second--“Is she noble?” And nothing could be
more embarrassing than that the enquiry concerning fortune would, he was
sure, come first: since that was the only article which could not be
answered in a satisfactory manner; for to Madelaine’s family no
objection could have been made. By the way, though the former nobility
of France would not absolutely contaminate the pure streams of noble
blood by an union with the daughter of a _roturier_, they had always
sufficient generosity to abate some generations of nobility in favour of
a proper equivalent in wealth.
Auguste, while he was convinced of the impossibility of obtaining his
father’s consent to his marriage, did not pay Madelaine one visit the
less from that consideration; and when the usual hour of his visit
arrived, he often suddenly broke a chain of admirable reasoning on the
imprudence of his attachment, in order to hasten to the dwelling of her
he loved. In a short time he ceased all kind of reasoning on the
subject, and abandoned his heart without reserve to the most violent and
unconquerable passion.
Auguste made a declaration to the old officer of the sentiments which
his daughter had inspired. The old gentleman mentioned it to Madelaine;
and she only answered by tears, of which he perfectly understood the
meaning. When Auguste explained his situation with respect to his
father, the officer desired him to think of his daughter no more.
Auguste felt that he might as well have desired him to cease to breathe.
He continued his visits, and the officer was soon reduced to that state
of languor and debility which left him neither the power nor the wish to
forbid them. His complaints increased every day, and were attended with
many alarming symptoms. The season for the waters of Bareges was now
past, and all the company left the place, except the old officer, who
was too weak to be removed, and Auguste, who, while Madelaine remained,
had no power to tear himself from the spot. In a few weeks the old
officer felt that his dying hour was near. Auguste knelt with Madelaine
at his bedside--her voice was suffocated by tears; and Auguste had
scarcely power to articulate in broken accents that he would devote his
life to the happiness of Madelaine. The old officer fixed his eyes with
a look of tender anxiety upon his daughter, and soon after expired.
Madelaine mourned for her father with uncontrouled affliction; nor could
all the attentions of her lover dispel that anguish, with which her
affectionate heart lamented the loss of her parent.
The winter being far advanced, she proposed to defer her journey to the
distant province where she and her father had lived, until spring, and
to place herself in the mean time in a convent not far from Bareges.
Auguste exerted all the eloquence of love, to induce her to consent
immediately to a private marriage. She hesitated at this proposal; and,
while they were conversing together on the subject, the door of the room
in which they were sitting was suddenly thrown open, and Auguste saw his
father the Count de ---- enter. He had heard of the attachment which
detained his son at Bareges, and had hastened to tear him from the spot
before it was too late. He upbraided his son with great bitterness, and
began also to upbraid Madelaine: but there was something in her looks,
her silence, and her tears, which stifled the terms of haughty reproach
in which he was prepared to address her; and, ordering his son to leave
the room, he desired to speak to her alone. After explaining to her the
absolute impossibility of her being ever united to his son, and his
determination to disinherit him, and leave his whole fortune to his
second son, if Auguste should persist in his attachment to her--after
endeavouring to awaken her pride and her generosity, he desired to know
where she proposed going. She told him her intention of placing herself
immediately in the convent of ----. He approved of this design, and left
her to go to his son. No sooner was the door of the room shut, than
Madelaine gave way to those tears which she had scarcely been able to
restrain while the Count was speaking. She had never felt so sensibly
her orphan condition as at this moment; and the dear remembrance of her
fond father, was mingled with the agony of disappointed love.
Mean time the Count de ---- declared to his son, that his only chance of
ever obtaining his mistress depended on his absolute unconditional
submission to his commands, and that he must instantly attend him to
Paris. Auguste eagerly enquired what was to become of Madelaine; and his
father told him that she had determined to take refuge in the convent of
----. Auguste absolutely refused to depart till he was allowed an
interview with Madelaine. The Count was obliged to consent; but before
he suffered them to meet, he obtained a promise from Madelaine not to
mention to her lover any particulars of the conversation which had
passed between her and the Count.
Auguste, in this last interview with Madelaine, atoned for the cruel
disdain of his father, by the most solemn and passionate assurances of
fidelity, not to be shaken by time or circumstance; and then, after
attempting to leave the room several times, and returning as often, he
at length tore himself away. Madelaine, when she saw him depart, felt
that every earthly hope had vanished with him.
She set out early the next morning for the convent of ----; but not till
after she had sat some time weeping in the chair which Auguste used to
occupy.
(To be concluded in our next.)
* * * * *
_ANECDOTES._
* * *
During the reign of King James II. and when the people were much
oppressed and burdened with taxes, that monarch made a very expensive
tour thro’ England; and on his return he slept at the palace of
Winchester. The Mayor and Corporation, for the honour done them by this
royal visit, determined to address his Majesty in the morning; but as
the Mayor could neither _read nor write_, it was agreed the Recorder
should prompt him on the occasion.
Accordingly, being introduced into the Royal presence, and every thing
ready for the ceremony, the Recorder, by way of encouraging the Mayor,
who appeared aukward and embarrassed, gently jogged his elbow, and at
the same time whispered in his ear, “Hold up your head--look like a
man.” The Mayor mistaking this for the beginning of the speech, stared
the King boldly in the face, and with a loud voice repeated, “Hold up
your head---look like a man.”---The Recorder, amazed at this behaviour,
again whispered the Mayor, “What the devil do you mean?” The Mayor, in
the same manner, instantly repeated, “What the devil do you mean?” The
Recorder, chagrined at this untoward circumstance, and fearing his
Majesty’s displeasure, still whispering in the Mayor’s ear said, “By
G--d, Sir, you’ll ruin us all;” which the Mayor taking to be a
continuance of the speech, and still staring the King in the face, with
a louder voice than before repeated, “By G--d, Sir, you’ll ruin us all.”
The King on this rose with some anger, but being informed of the cause
of this rough address his Majesty was pleased to pass by with a smile,
and the Corporation was perfectly satisfied with the honor done them.
* * *
An Hibernian _plaintiff_, (a gentleman whose attachment to law finally
induced him to sell his last field for the purpose of prosecuting a man
who broke down his _fence_) died lately in Ireland; when, in searching
his papers, they found the following _memorandum_:--“Cast in _nine_
lawsuits, and _gained_ one, by which I lost 1000l.”
* * * * *
An Affectionate Wife’s
_EPITAPH_.
I died untimely; happier doom be thine:
Live out thy years, dear husband! live out MINE.
* * * * *