him in the choice of his pasture, he devoured with avidity whatever
presented itself. He passed through school and university with
distinguished success, less the meed of brilliant talent than the
reward of diligent application, and, unfortunately for himself, was
emancipated from the trammels of education long before his age would
permit him to enter one of the learned professions for which he was
designed. The interval between the termination of a young man's
first course of scholastic discipline, and the commencement of his
professional career, is perhaps by far the most important period of
existence in determining his future fate, and no prudent parent should
permit that interval to be a long one. The mind, relieved from its
former habitual restraint, and not yet _harnessed_ in a new pursuit,
dashes wildly forward to revel in the charms of liberty, and woe to him
who enjoys such length of holyday as to unfit him for returning to the
toilsome track in which he must plod for daily bread. George Bentley
employed the _chasm_ in _his_ course, chiefly in reading every thing
upon which he could lay his hands in the region of fiction and romance.
His college studies were ended before he had passed that awkward time
of life, when neither child, nor man, the youth not knowing how to
dispose of the disproportioned length of legs and arms by which he
is encumbered, often flies from polished society in which he cannot
expect to receive much notice; and young Bentley was too amiable, too
aspiring a character to seek in low company the ease which he might
have attained at the expense of morality. Thus while he was sliding
into manhood, his days were principally occupied in solitude, amidst
a heterogeneous mass of books, except during the hours of occasional
meeting with his parents, brothers and sisters.
Inelegant, and unrefined in the habits of domestic economy, the circle
of his relations presented not a single likeness to any of the
pictures of imagination which were promiscuously piled in his memory.
What he _saw_, did not in the least agree with what he _imagined_; but
there where two powerful motives, though of opposite parentage, which
co-operated to prevent him from making the humiliating confession, even
to _himself_, that he could not trace the most distant resemblance
in his mother and sisters, to the portraits which delighted him in
story. These motives were the _vice_ of pride, and the _virtue_ of
filial piety; and these combined, determined him to try every effort
that was practicable in the way of twisting and turning, letting out
and taking in, to fit some of the drapery with which his favourite
novels abounded, on those forms which his affectionate heart would have
gladly invested with whatever he found most attractive. It would not
do: and he has at length given up the attempt, satisfied to respect
and esteem, what he cannot admire; but the effect upon his mind of
this war which I have described between his tastes and his fortunes,
is singular. Let him describe character, whether in actual existence,
or of abstract contemplation; and you would be surprised by the
accuracy of his judgment, and the refinement of his taste; yet from
having studied books more than men, and been debarred in early life
from referring the rules which he learned, to any living examples which
might have afforded a practical illustration of them, he seems at a
loss in society, and gives one the idea of a person who had attained
to a perfect skill in geography by mere inspection of maps, without
ever having stirred from a close room in the heart of London. If such
a person were suddenly brought to the coast, he would be confused, and
quite unable for some time to follow the line of bays and harbours,
creeks and head-lands, with which he was familiar on paper. When George
Bentley, at a later period extended his acquaintance, and quitted home,
a number of new varieties were presented to his view, in which he might
have found specimens of every character; but the most impressible time
of life had passed away, he did never possess, originally, the power
of comparison in any vividness, and the absence of all encouragement
to its exercise in youth, has rendered him slow, now that he is of
maturer age, in adapting objects for the first time to his patterns.
The eye accustomed only to painting, does not come at _once_ to
criticise sculpture; and a surgeon, who knows the whole anatomy of
the living subject, which _either_ is employed to represent, may be a
dunce in _both_. The things are _different_, and will remain so, unless
early habit and natural tact familiarize the mind in applying them to
each other, and seeking similitudes between them. Young Bentley's mind
and manners in fine do not amalgamate; one _layer_ lies upon the other
like a _fineering_, which does not make a part of the plank to which it
is cemented, but is glued on to a material less fine than itself. He
_reasons_ more than he _feels_, is more solid than brilliant, and wants
that beautiful _lightning_ of the mind which plays sometimes round
characters not half so intrinsically valuable as his, with fascinating
illumination. Such is my brief sketch of 'poor George,' as his uncle
calls him. The future is concealed in mist. If a child of mine ever
love young Bentley well enough to marry him, she shall have my full
consent, for I am _sure_ of all the essentials that give security
for substantial peace. The graces which he wants _may_ be dispensed
with. The virtues which he possesses are indispensible; but I shall
avoid giving _direction_ to the inclination of my girl, towards any
particular objects, not because I do not think that many a parent might
choose more wisely than young people do for themselves; but there is
something perhaps inseparable from the human heart, which renders us
more willing to excuse our own blunders, than those of even the people
whom we love best. "Youth is easily deceived;" "love is blind," &c.
Many of these flattering aphorisms occur to extenuate our own errors,
while the question of "how did _your_ experience fail, how did you
commit a mistake?" arises in the heart, though it may not be expressed
by the lips, of every young romancer, who, finding life a chequered
scene in which the _tessalæ_ of black and white, hold perpetual
contrast, attributes to the influence of a friend's advice, the failure
of those _generally_ disappointed hopes that paint the marriage state
in colours bright and fleeting as the imagination which supplies them.
This moment comes a letter from the India House, to say that my poor
brother, General Douglas, has had so serious an attack of illness,
that his voyage to England is hastened, and we are informed, that his
arrival may be looked for immediately. How this event may operate at
Glenalta, I cannot tell; but though "the noiseless tenour of my way"
should be disturbed, I shall rejoice if it be permitted me to afford
comfort and assistance to the invalid. Adieu, my Elizabeth.
Your faithful
CAROLINE DOUGLAS.
LETTER XXII.
ARTHUR HOWARD TO CHARLES FALKLAND.
My dear Charles,
This letter, if not melancholy in its commencement, will surely be
tinged with a very gloomy colouring ere its close, for the day of
departure is at hand, and to quit Glenalta is no easy matter, I assure
you. Poor Russell and Annesley left us the day before yesterday. I told
you that I expected to be informed of Charlotte's reply to certain
questions which I felt confident would be _put_; but I miscalculated:
however, silence tells _some_ tales, it is said, as well as language,
and so in this case I found it. It was plain to _my_ eyes, and others
too amongst our party, that Russell chose his opportunity while we
were loitering about the Glen, to make his proposals, which were
evidently met in a feeling not _sympathetic_: an increased _activity_
of countenance told me this. It would be injustice to call it anger,
but there was an expression of eye, and a bright spot on each
cheek-bone, that seemed to indicate a very honest surprise, mingled
with what the peasants here comically call the "least taste in life,"
of indignation. If I am _right_, this is all in the strict _keeping_
with Russell's character. You and I long ago decreed that he would
never die of _love_, notwithstanding all his enthusiasm about soft
music. No; Russell loves his _own_ emotions better than the object
who excites them; and though I just feel sufficient _esprit de corps_
not in _general_ to like an individual of the other sex better for
having made one of our own look _foolish_, yet I am sincerely glad that
Charlotte has not accepted our friend; first, because she would not be
happy if she married him, and secondly, because I _do_ think that just
such a _hitch_ will do him good. He is a fine honest-hearted fellow,
and has a great deal of taste; but he surely knows it rather too well,
or at least he _shews_ that he does so, too much. Perhaps, more
truth-telling than his neighbours, _he_ only expresses what others have
art enough to conceal. You will say that I am catching infection, and
growing _acrid_ in the society of old Bentley: it may be so; but I tell
you _all_ my remarks.
Frederick and I got up to see the travellers off at _cock-crow_ on the
morning of their departure, and they left a blank which was felt by
us all. What a sweet contrast was presented in this family with what
I have so often witnessed on similar occasions, when a gay party had
reached its _finale_, and was _crumbling_ away by twos and threes!
I remember at Featherston, when the last shooting-match broke up in
Autumn, Lady Frances and Giorgina Lightfoot, who had been just saying
"_adio_" in the most melting accents to a _brace_ of departing guests
(by the bye, the very Russell of whom we were speaking was one of them)
called to Gifford and me in the moment after the post-boy cracked his
whip and the horses had turned from the hall door, to accompany them
back to the breakfast-parlour. We obeyed; and the ladies, drawing their
chairs close to the fender, and desiring us to do the same, Lady Fanny
said, "For goodness' sake, come, let us talk over those two creatures,
and _cut them up cosily_--I dote on a good _cosé_ when people have
turned their backs; don't you?" To _laugh_ was all that one had for
it; but the feeling that Gifford and I were to be brought under the
_scalpel_ of two such keen operators as our fair hostesses proved
themselves to be anatomizing the _lately defunct_, glanced across my
mind, not certainly to the increase of ease or benevolence.
How different at Glenalta! With talents ten thousand times superior
to those of the Lightfoot sisterhood, and discrimination which seems
to grow in solitude, and preserve its fineness of edge because it is
not, like a school-boy's penknife, employed to hack and hew at every
chair and table that comes in the way: the truest hospitality protects
all who go out from under this happy roof; and all that is worthy,
pleasing, and amiable, is recollected, while the _contraries_ are
held back in shade by that charity which _desires_ their reform, and
will not render a change less probable by proclaiming to mankind how
much it is required. _Here_ the absent were talked of, and thought of,
with real kindness; and could they have taken a peep amongst us from
their first evening's halt, they would have felt proud and gratified
at seeing the manner in which they were remembered. Is there any
thing so delightful as this feeling of _security_? Charlotte was calm
and unperturbed; but I thought her more pensive than usual. After
breakfast we all appeared, without saying so, as if inclined to pay a
tribute to "the friend that's awa," by not proposing any plan for the
morning; and it so happened, that though not assembled by any agreement
to meet, we had all sauntered in pairs into the wood, and all found
ouselves dropping in two and two at the Moss House, where we were at
length seated together, moralizing in concert, rather sorrowfully upon
meetings and partings, when that very diverting compound, Mr. Bentley,
followed by George, joined our party. He cannot resist the attraction
of Mrs. Fitzroy's society, and I have found out in what consists the
great difference (dearly as they love each other) between her character
and that of my aunt: it is this,--Aunt Douglas is drawn by sympathy,
Mrs. Fitzroy stimulated by opposition. The former lives more in a
region of feeling, though one in which intellect too is continually
busy. The latter, though very affectionate, can exist for a long time
without applying to the stores of her heart; and provided you give her
plenty of brains, she will feed upon them, and keep her affections
like the furniture of a state drawing-room, with the _covers on_. _Par
consequence_, then, Mrs. Fitzroy delights in seeing Mr. Bentley come to
pay a visit, and always rouses to the combat which is sure to ensue,
certain that her antagonist is strong, and feeling that "wit sparkles
in collision."
"Good morrow, good people," said our rough diamond, "I thought you
would be all as low as 'gib cats' this morning, after the departure of
those two _swains_, (casting a sidelong glance at Charlotte, which she
caught, and blushed immoderately,) and so I thought it might divert you
all, and adorn a page of Madam Fitzroy's Anthologia Hibernia, to bring
you a pretty specimen of Irish impudence which I have had to provoke me
to-day. You must know, that while I was playing the fool, and strolling
about at Killarney instead of minding my business at home, a dozen of
very fine geese were stolen from my farm-yard, by some of those sweet
primitive sentimentalists whom the fair flatterer there has decked in
such fanciful tissues, that when sent forth from the dressing-room of
her imagination, nobody knows who they are. Well, I took proper steps
to trace the thief, and have put the neighbourhood into a deuce of a
fright; but what do you think of the impertinence of some funny dog
(and here he laughed heartily as he drew out from his waistcoat-pocket
a dirty scrap of paper) who sent my large gander _twaddling_ home this
morning by himself, making such plaguy noise that all the servants ran
together to see what was the matter; I found this novel species of
carrier-bird with a small bag tied round his neck, containing a bright
new shilling, and the following ingenious sample of poetry, after
something of the leonine fashion. He then unfolded at arm's length, the
crumpled composition, and read,
"Squire, dear, I live here,
And you live _yander_;
I bought your geese, for pence a-piece,
The money I send by the gander."
We were indeed cheated out of our philosophy, and set laughing most
comfortably by the ridiculousness of this adventure of neighbour
Bentley, which, as he anticipated, was seized upon with rapture by Mrs.
Fitzroy, for her "Irish Reminiscences," but poor Charlotte was writhing
under the remembrance of her having _blushed_, and Mrs. Fitzroy, who
is very good-natured, and who saw exactly the cause, which was no
other than that of having been _suspected_ to feel what in reality
she did _not_ feel, endeavoured to relieve her by recurring to the
subject of our conversation, saying, "Oh! Charlotte, you must repeat
your last observation, I scarcely heard it. Were you not saying that
in wild places where there is no great choice of society, the bonds of
fellowship are drawn closer, and people are disposed to like each other
better than in situations which render one fastidious by the variety
they present? If _that_, my dear, was your remark, I think it a very
just one, and I believe that I may apply the rule to our young friends
who are gone to-day; one of whom, had I met him in what is called the
_world_, I should probably never have known, he is so reserved: and the
other is so volatile, that he would have been completely evaporated
over a larger surface."
Charlotte, who had quite recovered her _nerve_, answered with perfect
ease, "Well, there is great pleasure in liking our fellow-creatures,
and, if retirement produce philanthropy, it is better than the world;
is it not?" "I believe," answered Mrs. Fitzroy, that I shall be
entirely of your opinion some time or other, though we arrive at this
agreement by very opposite paths. _You_, having seen nothing of the
world, and _I_ a great deal too much of it; you inhabitants of Glenalta
are making me long for settlement amongst you; and I feel as if you
were the only set of people living
"Whose hearts keep the promise I had from the face."
Old Bentley _fidgeted_; giving one of his rapid glances at George, to
ascertain how he stood _affected_ by Mrs. Fitzroy's panegyric, and
finding "pleased acquiescence" seated on his nephew's countenance,
suddenly clapped his hands on his knees (a favourite movement of his)
and exclaimed, "Pooh, madam! all fal lal sort of talk. You might sit
here till doomsday ringing the changes upon these matters of sentiment,
and _all_ be right and _all_ be wrong. I dare say that Miss Douglas
could say something different from what you and her sister think upon
the subject. Miss Fanny, if we call her from tying up those sweet peas,
would probably tell us something else; and our young gentlemen, all, I
dare say, could produce a different reading of the self-same thought.
The fact is, that each individual character gives its own hue to such
sort of disquisitions. Miss Douglas what do you say?"
"Indeed, Mr. Bentley, I believe that I do think differently from Mrs.
Fitzroy and Charlotte on this occasion, and so I dare say that I am
wrong; but it strikes me that the more retired the situation in which
we live, the more nice do we grow, and the more necessary do we find
_great_ congeniality in the people with whom we associate; _that_ is if
we want to love them. In the world where every variety of talent and
disposition is to be found, one can choose, and if disappointed in one
instance, try in another; but in retreat, we must make the best of the
given ingredients."
Bentley chuckled with delight, and rubbed his hands in triumph. This
keen observer knew that Emily's opinion would justify his assertion,
and moreover that it would be favourable to his views of keeping
George's hopes, _if he has any_, down to the ground, Emily being the
person, towards whom I suspect that he thinks his nephew's half averted
eyes, are directed.
"Aye, there it is," said the uncle, "all right, all wrong; exactly as
I said. Mrs. Fitzroy is social in all her tendencies. Human nature is
the book in which she principally delights to study. Her love even
of fine scenery is coupled with society. She does not like any thing
much, except with a reference to communicating her ideas, and puts me
continually in mind of a passage that I have met with in the works of
Balsac, an old French author, who says, "Que la solitude est un belle
chose, mais qu'il est agréable d'avoir quelque un qui sache répondre, a
qui on puisse _dire_ que la solitude est une belle chose." Now another
thing is, that Mrs. Fitzroy does not require coincidence so much as
intelligence. Her mind is generally in search of a good whetstone,
while Miss Douglas----."
"Oh, do not paint me, Mr. Bentley," said Emily, "I should fly from a
portrait of myself."
"And I," said Mrs. Fitzroy, "declare loudly against Mr. Bentley's
rough sketches. I will, however, admit that there is _some_ truth in
what he says, and it exceedingly amuses me to catch glimpses of his
caricatures, though they would terrify if I looked long at them."
"That is because my caps fit," answered our Diogenes.
"Your caps are so ugly that no one would _try them on_," replied Mrs.
Fitzroy. "Mr. Otway is _my_ milliner, and to prove that I do not wish
to hoist false colours, I here pledge myself to let you all see, if you
like it, whatever our friend of Lisfarne brings me this day, as answer
of a question, which I proposed to him yesterday evening, while we were
walking, and talking, on this very subject. I then made a complaint and
told him that it has been my fate most unjustly, and most painfully
to my feelings, to be thought insincere, though I know to a positive
certainty, that I err on the other side and speak the truth with less
reserve than is prudent. I told Mr. Otway, for whom I entertain the
highest regard and admiration, that his _review_ of my character might
be very useful, if, as I am, alas! on the wing, he would give me an
explanation of what seems so extra-ordinary to myself, in comparing
causes with effects; and though I shall not be paid any compliments, I
am so sure of not being made worse than I am, that, as I said before,
whatever picture I receive of myself from Lisfarne you shall certainly
see."
"Come, madam," said old Bentley, "the coroner's inquest will be called
immediately to try the matter, and judge whether you are _murdered_ or
not, for here is Mr. Otway. I see him through the acacias, walking this
way with Mrs. Douglas."
"Then I will go and meet them," answered Mrs. Fitzroy. "Frederick, you
shall go with me. I will ask for the paper which I expect, and you
shall bring it back to be read here before I look at it myself, but I
cannot stay like a culprit at the bar, while you are all scanning me
according to evidence."
So saying, she gaily hastened away, joined my aunt, and sent back with
the following account of herself from the pen of Mr. Otway:
_Answer to Augusta's Question._