this point was settled before we left Glenalta, you have not charged
me with neglect; forgetful I can never be. You all live continually in
my thoughts; I fancy how you are all employed during every part of the
day, and never see any thing that delights or surprises me, without
wishing that my mother and sisters were to enjoy whatever is worthy of
their admiration. This is to me a scene of wonder, and I have a great
deal of trouble in suppressing too true an exhibition of my rusticity,
and curbing my astonishment at things so common, that no one here could
comprehend my ignorance of them. London is a world full of interest
to a novice like myself, and while the charm of novelty lasts, and
curiosity is kept alive, I shall find as much happiness as I can feel
away from you; but the people with whom I meet at my aunt Howard's,
though I am told that they are of the first circle, have little merit,
I must confess, in my eyes. I ought however, to begin with the _hosts_,
before I describe the company. My aunt is as unlike you, as Louisa is
different from Emily, Charlotte, or Fanny. The former is so rouged, so
dressed, and made up, that a natural emotion, if any such live within
her breast, has no power to reach the surface. Every feature seems
fixed, as though she were a _cast_, and not a real human form of flesh
and blood. Her manners are so cold, and her eye so disdainful, that had
I come to Grosvenor-square _alone_, one glance would have been enough
to settle my resolves not to encounter a second; but she treats Arthur,
her only son, and _certainly_ a favourite, as frigidly as she behaves
to me; and with her daughter, there is a perpetual _sparring_ kept up,
which to my unaccustomed ear is perfectly dreadful, though at the same
time, she is evidently vain of Louisa's beauty and accomplishments. To
Mr. Otway she is _civil_, and towards my poor uncle, _officious_ to
excess, without being _able_ to look kind. My cousin is very handsome,
and if she had been _your_ child, would, I believe, have been very
amiable, for she is good-natured, in spite of every effort to make her
the contrary; and her love for Arthur is genuine, I believe, though
of a species very new to me. Her person is encumbered with ornaments,
and her mind with fashion. Her understanding is excellent, and _will_
break its bounds, and start forth through all the London fogs that
would obscure its light; but it is only in accidental scintillations
that Louisa's brightness discovers itself, and _then_, sarcasm is
generally the medium through which it shines; nothing can exceed the
stupid inanity of such conversation as I hear at my aunt's, where
_people_ only are ever discussed. It is one eternal round of dress,
public places, and gossip. _Every_ body is said to be out of town,
yet the streets are full. _Nobody_ is ever in London at this season,
yet the Howards live in a crowd of society, and would be very angry
with _any_ body who ventured to affirm that their acquaintance is not
_first-rate_. Mr. Otway reconciles many apparent incongruities through
his explanations, when we reach our lodgings at night, and I am already
bidding fair to part with the nick-name which Louisa has bestowed upon
me of the "novice of Saint Patrick." My _Mentor_ tells me, that London
is in fact, at this moment, full of people who are ashamed of not being
at their country seats, the watering places, or on the continent; and
are detained here _malgrè_ for want of money to go elsewhere, or pay
off the bills which continue daily to increase, while they remain in
town, _shying_ each other. It is true that the people do not imprison
themselves: they meet in the streets, in the shops, in the park, at
the theatres; but there seems to be a conventional agreement to tell
lies, which are permitted, like base metal, to circulate in the place
of sterling coin, though known to be counterfeit by all who use it as
a medium of exchange. There is a sort of _sinister_ honesty in this
compact, as deception is avoided in the universality of the fraud.
One family is detained by Dr.----, who will not suffer his patient to
undertake as yet a journey to Leamington. Another is just _going_ to
France. A third _waits_ for a carriage which has been promised by the
coachmaker, but is not _quite_ finished, and so on. Not a word of truth
in any of the stories. A country bumpkin, however, benefits by all this
_charlatanerie_, and finds food for eyes, ears, and reflection, at a
time when the metropolis ought to be according to the rules of _haut
ton_, a perfect desert.
The friendship of Arthur sets me at ease. Were it not for him, I should
sneak into a corner I suppose, and not dare to utter a word for fear of
_committing_ some Hibernicism, and bring the eyes of Europe upon me;
but, supported by my faithful Achates, I am bold, and you would perhaps
be astonished to see me _doing the agreeable_ at my aunt's evening
parties. I assure you that I make my way surprisingly, and am beginning
to feel rather triumphant. Louisa put me through a sort of ordeal
which was unpleasant enough for three or four days; but Arthur gave me
a few hints behind the scenes which enabled me to come off victorious,
and now like a _freshman_ at school, who has _boxed_ himself into
character, I am _let alone_, and actually applied to, for my opinions
upon "Shakspeare, taste, and the musical glasses." Some contrivance
is necessary, however, to slide out of a group when it happens that
a cross subject is started; but in general, I find myself _au fait_,
for a grain of intellect, like a grain of gold will hammer out into
surface enough to cover a prodigious field of "worshipful society;"
and if you are quick in picking up names, admiring the right music,
the fashionable singer, the favourite novel, and the _newest_ of every
thing, you need not draw unmercifully on your brains, nor put your
eyes in danger of Opthalmia, by poring over the midnight lamp. I fancy
Emily and Charlotte, with inquiring eyes, pressing forward together, to
ask Frederick whether his soul has not been entranced by the finished
performance of our London _belles_ on the harp and piano-forte.
Dearest girls, publish it not in Gath, if I whisper the homespun
confession, and tell you in depth of secrecy, that pleasure is a
stranger to me at our concerts. I hear compositions so chromatic,
modulations so unnatural, transitions so violent, and harmony so
entirely divested of the character which I have been in the habit of
attaching to it, that, were it not for information to the contrary,
I should not be aware that I was listening to music at all, but
should imagine myself introduced to a new and wonderful mechanism for
exhibiting the muscular powers to their utmost extent, and also trying
how far it is practicable to exert the licence of caprice without ever
touching on the borders of melody. In the same spirit of confidential
avowal I may add, that there seems to be a strict covenant between the
modern composers and the instrument-makers to murder music, and prevent
a concerto, as well as the piano-forte on which it is performed, from
a longer existence in the fashionable world than will be allotted
to the preposterous flat hats, which only require poles supporting
their circumference, to give the Regent's-park exactly the air of an
encampment. Another musical observation which I have made, is, that
every young lady on first setting down, and running over the keys of
the finest Stoddart or Broadwood, piped, barred, and _dandified_,
according to the very latest vogue, declares the instrument to be
out of tune. Quere, is this to make boast of an exquisite ear, or is
it done to bespeak mercy for imperfect execution? In either case, to
produce _effect_ it should not be a _general_ fashion; and there should
be at least a foundation of truth in the complaint; but it literally
happened yesterday evening, that Louisa's magnificent instrument had
been put into the highest order only half an hour before the company
arrived, and yet the fair competitors for fame were not a whit the
better satisfied. Perhaps after all it is necessary to talk a little
nonsense, and tumble over the leaves of whatever music is open on the
desk, to gain time for shaking back the manacles which load the wrists
of a fashionable lady with such _shekels_ of gold that their weight
is apt to determine the blood towards her finger tops. This is an
inconvenience, and certainly an alloy to the pleasure of exhibiting
richer ornaments than were ever _à la mode_ till now, but what
advantage is there without its counterpoise? It is unlucky too that
necklaces are _out_, as they afforded great opportunity in perpetual
fiddling with them to regulate the _circulation_, and shew off
bracelets and rings in the best possible position for securing white
hands and arms, during the time being.
Dearest mother, do I see you shake your head, and call this ill nature?
If I thought that a shadow of displeasure glanced over that brow on
which I pray unceasingly that I may never be the means of gathering a
cloud, I would make a vow against opening my eyes to the ridiculous
while I remain in London; but I hope that even _you_ will laugh with
me at the absurdities which we must be blind not to see, and dumb
not to tell of. If the sisters imagine that my heart is likely to be
perforated like a _cullender_, tell them that not a single missile has
reached it as yet,
"Th' invaders dart their jav'lins from afar."
Nevertheless, I am safe, and likely to remain _unscathed_ by any
lightning from London eyes. This is fortunate; for what chance would
a poor Kerry _bog-trotter_ have of meeting "sweet return" in this
meridian blaze--this dazzling glare?
"For sight no obstacle found here, or shade,
But all sunshine; as when his beams at noon
Culminate from the Equator."
I love our dear Glen better than any scenery that I have met with since
I left its sunny lawns and tangled dells; and, if I may be allowed
to compare the moral with the physical world, there is an enchanting
refreshment in the lights and shades of a refined yet _natural_
character, beyond all the glow of fashion's artificial splendour to
impart.
Last night I sat for a short time by a young lady who had something
pensive in her countenance, which brought Emily to my mind: and feeling
a sort of _attraction_ towards her, I listened to her conversation, in
which, hearing some words through the din of voices, that bespoke a
love of painting and sculpture, I determined on getting _alongside_,
as the sailors say. I did so, and we talked of the Exhibition, the
Elgin Marbles, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Chauntry, Canova, &c. but _talk_
it was, aye, "_vox et preterea nihil_." Not a particle of enthusiasm
had reached her mind, it only flickered round her lips. She had been in
Rome, had seen Naples, visited the Louvre, ransacked every _atelier_ of
every celebrated artist in her travels; and, as a matter of course, is
come back discontented with every thing in England. I sought as vainly
for a single grain of taste in her conversation as I generally do for a
strain of sweetness in the music which I daily hear: no;--terms of art
and fashionable echoes met my ear, but not a sentiment that originated
in feeling: no description drawn by a pencil dipped in the heart.
I ventured to say something, I know not what, but my remark was my own;
I was not to be found, I suppose, in the common-place book acknowledged
at present, as the reception that it encountered was a rude burst of
laughter, in which my fair antagonist's mamma, who came to present
Lord Oldfield to her daughter, joined immediately, and I should have
been the _butt_ of the company, I conclude, if my happy stars had not
sent a nobleman to my rescue, who so entirely engrossed the attention
of both mother and _ma'mselle_, that a _mouse_ would have been a
greater object than I was. Otway's lines rushed on my memory as I
gazed indignantly on this vulgar pair; for how can I give them any
more appropriate epithet? When I looked around me, and rested my eyes
on the _wool-pack_, matrons lounging in their easy chairs so large and
languid, I could not help mentally exclaiming,
"Those lazy owls, who, perched near Fortune's top,
Sit only watchful with their heavy wings
To cuff down new-fledged Virtues that would rise
To nobler heights, and make the grove harmonious."
I suppose that the immense size of the elderly ladies here, must
proceed, from the little exercise they take, and _that_ little in a
carriage which is next to not taking any; but I am told that it is the
fashion to be _monstrous_, and if beauty be reckoned by weight and
measure, the tonnage and poundage of London are prodigious.
When Lord Oldfield left my aunt's to vapour at another party, the
above-mentioned young lady of pensive mien, seemed to recollect that
she had treated me somewhat cavalierly, or perhaps she was amused
by my _outlandish_ ways of thinking, and returned to look at me, as
people used to do at the Cherokee chiefs, or Sandwich Islanders; but
from whatever motive, so it was, that she called me to her, and with a
smile of such _concentration_ as appeared to say, "_Sauve qui peut_,"
she invited me to attend her to-day and look at some statues, at the
house of an Italian newly arrived. Now I had charity enough to believe
that she had only _heard_ of them as fine specimens of sculpture, and
was ignorant altogether of what she was going to see; but before I
could reply, she added that she had begun to model from a Cupid in the
collection, and hoped that I should approve her performance. Arthur and
I had been to see these statues two or three days ago, and all I can
say is, that as I have not yet had the advantage of _case-hardening_
on the continent, I blushed as I bowed a seeming assent, resolving to
make my excuse this morning, which I have accordingly done.
If modesty be really one of those cumbrous virtues, which, like the
ponderous armour of former days, is no longer necessary in the high
state of civilization to which we have attained, why is not the word
honestly banished along with the quality which it represents? and why
do we foolishly retain the sign, if we must lose sight of the idea
to which it belongs? It would be wrong, perhaps, to charge a modern
fair one with actual vice because she can walk with perfect unconcern
through files of statues representing the human form in a state of
nudity, and _that_ too in company, it may be, of a profligate man; but
I _must_ say, that to my untutored sense, the thing is very disgusting;
and as London is certainly not the Garden of Eden, I should venture
to add, that the practice is not very safe, unless moral virtue be no
longer considered requisite to the well-being of the community, but
with other antiquities is to be only reserved for the cabinets of the
curious; _there_, as we view it clothed in venerable rust, to excite
our astonishment at the difference between the clumsy accoutrements of
our ancestors, and the convenient accommodations of our own time.
I am interrupted by Mr. Otway, who sends his love, and bids me say,
that he has a letter on the _anvil_; so I will send mine. But I have
been led into the mazes of this brilliant scene, so far remote from
_domestic_ subjects, that I find not a word in all my prosing of poor
uncle, for whom I feel both tenderness and respect. He suffers much,
and, if I am not greatly mistaken, has "that within which passeth
shew." His mind appears to me as if it had gone out of Nature's loom
a goodly tissue, but has been pulled _bias_ by untoward circumstances
of fortune and ill health. As yet I know very little of him, and he is
so reserved with his relations, that were there not certain loop-holes
through which I peep into the interior, and thence form judgment of
his true texture, the first and second words of Cæsar's _triplicate_
would answer every purpose of description in my instance; and in saying
_veni vidi_, I should tell you all that is to be known; but I sometimes
see him shake his head, and catch him now and then, his eyes suffused
with tears, and fixed intently on me. The moment of observation is that
of change, and, as a person who has dropped asleep in Church, coughs,
hems, and kicks his heels, to _prove_ how much awake he is, so my uncle
throws a tartness, an abruptness, into his manner after one of these
little affectionate _lapses_, to assure us of the sternness of his
character. My next shall be to Emily.
Adieu, beloved! My heart is with you all, though the _casket_ be far
from you. I shall have much to tell the three, _Graces_ I _will_ not
call them, Furies I _cannot_ call them: what then _shall_ I call them?
They shall be the _Destinies_, because my fate is in their hands,
and as they love and value me through life, I shall be happy or the
contrary.
Remember me affectionately, if you please, to dear Mr. Oliphant, and do
not drive your little car from the door without telling Lawrence that I
enquire for him. Farewell!
Your own
FREDERICK.
LETTER XXVI.
MR. OTWAY TO MRS. DOUGLAS.
Dearest Friend,
My former letters have been faithful transcripts from the book of
our lives, and Frederick has filled up all interstices, but before I
proceed to the main purpose which induces me to write to-day, I must
indulge myself, and not _displease you_, by saying a few words of
this dear youth, whom I have hitherto only mentioned incidentally,
because I wished to see how he would bear the whirl of a London scene,
and comport himself in some situations as trying as they were novel
to him, ere I trumpeted his praise. You know how I abhor flattery,
and will therefore give me credit for believing what I express of
admiration for your son, who really astonishes me. Though introduced
for the first time to what is called, certainly not _par excellence_,
the Great World, he is neither awkward nor confused. The easy polish
of _true_ refinement which he learned at home, in the bosom of that
loved retreat where all the best affections of his noble and manly
heart are centered, _frank_ him into a metropolitan drawing-room,
as fearlessly as into your's at Glenalta; and his manners exhibit
the happiest combination of boldness, in which there is no mixture
of presumption, and modesty without _mauvaise honte_. With all the
freshness of curiosity, and the candour of one who disdains subterfuge,
he flies about collecting information--gratifying his good taste, and
honestly confessing his previous ignorance of a thousand objects which
have ceased to stimulate, if they ever did so, the vapid group by which
we are environed. The courage with which Frederick dares to express
his own thoughts, instead of borrowing the hacknied reverberation of
opinions often adopted without discrimination, and rendered current by
an idle multitude, who, contented to follow a fashionable leader, never
exert a faculty for themselves, has something in it that _commands_
attention, and I continually hear the inquiry of "who is he?" succeed
the avowal of some sentiment on his part at variance with the modish
creed.
If the novelty of Frederick's remarks occasionally excite a smile, it
is evidently always accompanied with a desire to know more of him.
Even those who would not, for any consideration, imitate his example,
involuntarily respect the _power_ of his valorous intrepidity; and that
which in a vulgar man would be denominated mere boorishness, assuming
a very different character when associated with native elegance and
good breeding, the automaton throng are forced to admit the superiority
which they dare not copy, and venerate the independence to which
they cannot aspire. I assure you also, that he is an object of great
admiration amongst the young ladies, one of whom having heard, I
suppose, that he was an Irishman, sweetly lisped a few evenings ago,
in half articulated accents, "_le bel sauvage!_" Tell Fanny that this
anecdote is _genuine_, which she may be at first inclined to doubt; and
tell her likewise that many a pretty head is half turned round to see
that Frederick lingers near the harp or piano-forte, though he _does_
come from that
"Land of bogs,
With ditches fenced--a Heaven fat with fogs."
_This_ information will not surprise his sisters, who have frequently
experienced his dexterity in turning over the leaves of a music book;
and for his dear mother's particular gratification I must add, that I
know not when I have been more delighted with my young friend since we
left home together, than when any appeal to his free will has elicited
the declaration of his entire dependence on the wishes of a parent.
There is something affectingly beautiful in the generous openness, the
amiable devotion, with which this fine young man, just arrived at the
period of life so trying to the silly pride that struggles against
the semblance of authority, refers to _your_ wishes and opinion,
upon every occasion when he is called upon to enter into projects for
future amusement; and this not in the low tone and creeping attitude of
fear or bashfulness, but with the erect air of honest strength, that
glories in the fond submission, where love and duty bid it yield. His
uncle's discriminating eye has already marked these things without a
prompter's aid; and every little instance which indicates _character_,
is registered with evident pleasure in favour of Frederick, by the
acute discernment of my poor friend, on whom it is now time to say
that I have prevailed, in concert with Dr. Pancras, a very worthy man,
who accompanied him from India, in quality of attending physician,
to give up all thoughts of going to Marsden for the present. He is
totally unfit to undertake a house and establishment of his own, at
this time, and will require a long exemption from care of every kind.
His bodily frame is debilitated to a great degree, and his mind calls
for every strengthener, too, that can be administered to invigorate
its tone. His character is deeply interesting, and his situation
mental, as well as corporeal, extremely critical. The moral atmosphere
in which he is to be placed during the next six months appears, if
possible, more important to his future happiness than the climate
in which he is to breathe is of consequence to his health; and no
part of the globe furnishes such a union of all that he stands in
need of as Glenalta; I have therefore urged his passing the winter
in our valley. Till this morning I could not obtain an answer, but
at length he promises to try an experiment, not, however, _binding_
himself to any definite period of sojournment amongst us. When truth
and delicacy preside at the helm, there is no danger of steering
a wrong course. It is the manoeuvrer only who requires a pilot;
your guileless nature needs no _hints_ for regulating your conduct
towards this interesting invalid, and it is only to make you in some
measure acquainted with, not to guide you in the _management_ of his
peculiarities, that I dwell upon the description of them. _You_ knew
nothing of your brother before he went to India, and we have all lost
sight of him for many years; I cannot therefore attempt to pursue, in
any concatenated series, the circumstances which have made him what he
is. I can only trace _effects_, and judge from the data furnished by
these to my observations of what the _causes_ may have been. Since we
have been together, a thousand trifling occurrences have assisted me
in developing a character which must be unrolled with as much nicety
as is required to spread open the Pompeïan manuscripts. The slightest
accident would prove fatal in either case, and one rude touch would so
effectually destroy the delicate fabric of one and the other, as to
render fruitless any after attempt at deciphering the contents. I was
engaged in studying whatever had arisen naturally to my view, when I
one day, as usual, went to visit him directly after breakfast; he was
not in the room when I entered, and I found a volume of Shakspeare open
on the table, at which he had been reading. The book was turned on its
face, in the play of Macbeth, and a pencil lay upon the outside, which
had been probably employed the moment before my entrance in marking
with extra-ordinary emphasis the following passage:--
"I have lived long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not."
I instantly replaced the volume, and mused when I left my poor friend
on the singularity of this little incident; for it is actually a fact
that, in rising to something like an abstract of his character the
night before, as I lay awake, and contemplated the several traits
which fell under my remark, these very lines were cast up by memory to
pourtray the man.
Now, philosophers tell us, that when we arrive at the same result by
the opposite processes of synthesis and analysis, we have good ground
to believe in the correctness of an argument. If so, your brother's
picture is delineated; for these affecting words addressed to Seyton
by the unhappy Thane, whether taken as a text from which to deduce,
or a conclusion at which you arrive by a previous train of induction,
equally "_land_" the observer in that morbid melancholy which has
marked Douglas for her own. His mind is of the finest material, bearing
impress of the race from which he springs. Had he lived at home, and
had his affections been cultivated in those relations which supply
successional _crops_ as it were to feed the heart, when the first
indigenous growth has died away, he would have been a very _different_
man, whether _happier_ or not we cannot tell. But loosened by distance,
and then dissevered by death from those early bonds of instinct which
"plays the volunteer within us," he formed no new connections to
keep in exercise his best feelings, which having lost the objects
prepared for them by nature, were scattered to the winds till they
became annihilated in diffusion. What a mistake it is to fancy that
a man acquires love for his species in proportion to his becoming
indifferent towards individuals? Yet this is a common error. No, true
philanthropy shines on the circumference from a glowing centre, and the
fond domestic affections are those which send out most commonly the
sweetest charities to mankind.