[Transcriber notes: Fred. is always treated as an abbreviation in this
book.
Some quotation marks were left out of the printing. Preserved as
printed.
Numerous mispellings. These were retained as printed.
Italicized text surrounded by "_" . Small capped text converted to
all caps.]
BLUE-STOCKING HALL.
"From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world."
LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1827.
J. B. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
PREFACE.
GENTLE READER,
An Author who is only making a _début_, should be particularly
careful not to offend against established rules; otherwise you and
I might be spared the plague of a Preface; but as I am heartily
desirous to conciliate your regard, I will not forfeit any portion
of your esteem at my onset, by the slightest contempt of Court.
I will therefore say a few words in the way of introduction to
Blue-stocking Hall, though I may find it difficult to tell you more
than you will easily find out for yourself, if you take the trouble
of reading the following Letters, which sufficiently explain
their own story. They are selected from a correspondence which is
supposed to have been spread over a period of four years.
As to my motives (for I observe that most prefaces talk of
_motives_) for publishing the letters which I have been at the
pains to collect, they are such as we may in charity suppose
to operate upon the mind of a criminal, when by the expiatory
tribute of his "last speech and dying words," he endeavours, in
a recantation of his own errors, to prevent others from falling
into similar ones. Besides, we are generally eager to make as many
proselytes as we can to any opinion which we have newly adopted;
and as my prejudices upon some subjects were very strong before I
visited Blue-stocking Hall, I am induced, through abundance of the
milk of human kindness, to wish that if my reader entertains any
prejudices against ladies stigmatized as _Bas Bleus_, as I myself
once did, he may, like me, become a convert to another and a fairer
belief respecting them.
BLUE-STOCKING HALL.
LETTER I.
CHARLES FALKLAND TO ARTHUR HOWARD.
My Dear Howard, _Dover_.
Perhaps you and I are at this moment similarly situated, and
similarly employed. I am seated at a window which opens on the
sea, waiting for a summons to the steam-packet which is to waft me
over to Calais--while you are, probably, expecting that which is
to convey you to Ireland. When I reach France I shall certainly
send you a bill of health from time to time; but as few things are
less satisfactory than letters _from the road_, I shall reserve my
share in the performance of our parting covenant till I am quietly
settled at Geneva.
You do not require descriptions of either places or people; because
innumerable diaries, journals, and sketch-books, tell you as much
as you want to know of all the scenes which it is your intention
ere long to visit; and as to men and women, no second-hand account
can supply the place of actual acquaintance with the few of
either sex that deserve to occupy thoughts or pen. What you _do_
desire, and what I have engaged to furnish, is a history of my own
employments, pursuits, and impressions; but leisure is necessary
for collecting and arranging; and, till I can satisfy myself by
sending you such details as I hope may _interest_, you must be
content to receive only certificates of whole bones.
Now _you_ are to be set down quietly in less than a week at the end
of your journey; and before I set sail I shall take the liberty of
repeating the terms of our epistolary contract, by way of flapper
to your memory, and leaving you no possible excuse for violating
the treaty ratified at Cambridge on Monday evening, ere a mutual
_Vale_ dismissed us on our several adventures.
You see that I have _first_ registered my own part in our
engagement, and generously bound myself, before I proceed to tie
you down.--Now for _your_ undertaking. Remember, that when you
reach the wilds of Kerry, you are under a heavy bond to devote a
part of every day regularly to the task which I have assigned you
of narrating, in minute detail, every circumstance connected with
the external situation, personal appearance, mind, manners, and
habits of your aunt and her family. Aye, there I see you at this
instant in a full roar of laughter: so be it.--I am case-hardened;
and have so long endured your merriment with becoming philosophy,
that I am not to be subdued by a little louder ridicule than you
are accustomed to level at my _romance_. Well, I will confess (now
that I am a few miles distant from that taunting smile), that my
notions are somewhat odd, quaint, old fashioned, or romantic if
you will; and in return for this concession, I only ask that you
will bear with me, and indulge your friend's peculiarities, as they
are at least harmlessly eccentric. The bias of my mind is to be
traced without difficulty to the circumstances of my early life,
so different from your own, that it would be very extraordinary if
much dissimilarity were not discoverable in our ways of thinking.
My boyish years were passed in the seclusion of almost perfect
solitude, with a mother, whose image lives indelibly engraven on
my heart. A child of feeble frame, I was unable in early life to
bear the "peltings of the pitiless storm," and from every wind that
would have visited my infant form too roughly, did the tenderest
of maternal affections shroud, without enervating, my childhood.
My widowed mother was every thing to me--my friend, my tutor, my
protectress, my play-fellow--my all on earth. In losing her at
sixteen, I was left a mere wreck upon the ocean of life; and, while
"Memory holds her seat," never shall I forget the sweet expression
of her elegant and feminine countenance, as it spoke the language
of love, kindness, or pity; nor shall I ever lose the recollection
of that fine understanding which sparkled through her eye, in the
brightest scintillations of intellectual energy, and acuteness.
She was my _Gamaliel_, and no wonder if her lessons, her thoughts,
her sentiments, have left traces upon my mind not easily to be
obliterated. When I entered Cambridge, I felt no affection for any
living creature. Relations I had none, that were not too remote to
fill the chasm which death had created in my heart. My guardian,
though an excellent man, only put me painfully in mind of my
bereavement, when he attempted to condole or advise; and I turned
from him, not with disrespect, but in disgust with all created
things.
The natural elasticity of youth, and your society, gradually
reclaimed me from a state which, had it continued, must have ended
in madness, or idiotcy; and I am able now, at the termination of
our collegiate career, to think gratefully of prolonged existence,
and look back with thankfulness.
Perhaps you have just laid down my letter to exclaim, "Poor
Falkland! surely the man is bewildered, or he would not tell me
now, as if for the first time, what I have known these six years."
Now, my good fellow, be not so hasty in declaring me _non compos_.
You know the general outline of my story, and you are acquainted
sufficiently with what you call my romance of character, to find
in it a constant fund of amusement when we are together; but you
do not know more than this! You are _not_ aware that the tree
has adopted its decided inclination from that bias which the twig
received. Nothing, I feel, can ever make me a man of fashion.
Nothing, I _hope_, will loosen the ties which, all unseen as
they are, bind me to the memory of her by whose judgment, were she
living, I should desire to be directed in all things to which
her admirable sense would permit her to apply those reasoning
powers which never dogmatized, nor lost themselves in the mazes of
imagination.--I admired my mother's taste as much as I reverenced
her virtues--I respected her talents; and since her death have not
met with any one capable of interesting me who did not resemble, in
some degree, the character which faithful memory attaches to her
much-loved image.
Different as has been your path from mine, your affectionate
heart has been my best solace; and though you have been trained
in the school of modern luxury, which is so little conversant
with Nature, the generous impulses of your breast have not been
sacrificed, and you are not _yet_ spoiled by what is called The
World. For being what you are, you are, I firmly believe, indebted
in part to original structure; and perhaps, in some degree, to
that friendship which has united us both at school, and at the
University.--Somewhat older, and much graver than you, I have
always been permitted to take the lead, and exercise an influence
over your pleasures and pursuits, which, though frequently
counteracted, has, notwithstanding, communicated an individuality
to one and the other, that distinguishes you essentially from the
heartless specimens of human mechanism that pass for men of _ton_.
You know what pleasant day-dreams occupy my fancy--I anticipate
nothing less than your _radical reform_, from all the follies
which sometimes obscure your good sense; and I look for this
change, not as the result of a Hohenlohe miracle, wrought upon
you through the intercession of the Irish priesthood, but as the
natural effect of living domesticated with such a family as I
conceive to be now about to welcome you at Glenalta. I know your
charming aunt and cousins only through their letters to you; but
by "these presents," I feel that I cannot be mistaken in the
attributes with which I have invested them: and, laugh as you like,
you know that my castles are all built with materials from the
county of Kerry, in Ireland; and I only say, if it be enthusiasm
to love and venerate a set of people whom I have never seen--yes,
and fully to intend, if life be spared me, to make a pilgrimage in
quest of your relations, inspired by as much zeal as ever actuated
the followers of Mahomet in their pious journeys to Mecca, why, let
me cry with Falstaff, "God help the wicked." A sort of internal
evidence quite incommunicable to any one else, assures me, that my
fate is linked with that of the Douglas family; and I can give you
no better reason for this belief, than the improbability that so
much sympathy as draws me towards Glenalta, should be thrown away.
However baseless you may consider the fabric of my visions, you
can at least imagine that, while they possess my mind, they are
not a little interesting; and therefore I conclude, as I began, by
entreating that you will feed my Quixotism with journals containing
the most accurate and minute accounts of all that is said and
done, planned and projected, at that Ultima Thule, as you call it,
whither you are bending your steps.
The gun is fired as a signal for sailing--I see an army of
carpet-bags and portmanteaus in full march, and must say--farewell!
God bless you, my dear Howard.
Your affectionate
CHARLES FALKLAND.
LETTER II.
MISS DOUGLAS TO MISS SANDFORD.
Dearest Julia, _Glenalta_.
Your letter, which I received yesterday, reproaches me with
silence, and I plead guilty to the charge, though you are very
wrong in supposing that my failure in punctuality proceeds from
weariness of communion with you. I have very few correspondents,
and amongst these few I rejoice to say, that there is not one, to
whom I write from any other motive than because I love and value
every species of intercourse with those who are really dear to my
heart. I know that it is only necessary to tell you, that I have
been much engaged, to be certain of your forgiveness; but I should
not satisfy myself if I did not say how I have been occupied.
Shut out as we are from the gay world, and living for weeks
together without any interruption to our pursuits, even _you_ may
perhaps wonder that time is not a burthen on our hands. Yet this is
not the case; but on the contrary, the day appears scarcely set in
before it has arrived at its close. Is this always the effect of
full employment, or is it peculiar to the little circle at Glenalta
to wish that the sun would stand still, and give more of his
company?--I am too little acquainted with people and places beyond
my own home to answer the question; and you are not here to do it
for me; so now I will proceed with the causes of my long silence.
Our dear friend, and invaluable neighbour, Mr. Otway, has been ill:
thank heaven, he is quite recovered now.--This dear friend and your
aunt are, I think, the only people on earth who for the last twelve
years could have poured the balm of comfort into the desolate
spirit of my beloved mother--the latter in becoming a tender parent
to you and your sisters has had too much care connected with her
immediate duties to admit of her being often with us; but what she,
under different circumstances, _might_ have been, Mr. Otway has
been; and what can we ever do sufficiently to prove our gratitude,
as well as our affection? During his illness, which continued
for three months, we shared, not only the task of nursing him
with unremitting assiduity, but endeavoured to supply his place
by undertaking the labours which, for a series of years, he has
imposed upon himself. We took care of his schools, we visited his
sick poor, we distributed his benefactions, became his deputies
on the roads and in the fields; and resolved that, on his return
to his gardens and plantations, he should find all things meeting
him with that pleasant welcome which even the inanimate world is
enabled to testify, when the hand of diligent affection has taught
every shrub and flower to glow with its own emotions!--I know
nothing more touching than such a reception, which needs no words
to convince the object of our solicitude, how constantly the heart
has been occupied in an endeavour to please by the cultivation of
whatever might confer enjoyment; and the suppression of all that
would be productive of pain.
Though one of the actors in the scene, I will confess to you,
that the success of our efforts was complete. There was no
arrangement--no display that appeared to solicit thanks for our
faithful stewardship; but I never shall forget the happiness of
seeing tears, _not_ of grief, stealing from my mother's eyes, while
our dear friend, leaning upon her arm on one side, and Frederick's
on the other--Charlotte, Fanny, and I, bringing up the rear--took
his first walk upon the terrace which commands that panorama of
loveliness and expanse which you admired so much in your visit at
Glenalta, to which my mind frequently recurs as the most joyful
period of my existence. In addition to all the blessings of my
daily life, I had then the enlivening influence of your presence.
The landscape was the same, but you were the sunshine: and while
you were here, all seemed "gold and green."--When will you come
again, I wonder!--Well, what a wanderer I am! continually
deviating from my path, my narrative advances but slowly,--and you
are yet to learn, that besides our extra employments at his farm,
we have been as busy as bees preparing for the accommodation of my
Cousin Arthur Howard, who is expected here to-morrow evening.
People who live in towns, or even in what is called _civilized_
parts of the country, have little idea how we poor pill-garlicks
labour to perform what they accomplish as if by the stroke of
a magical wand. A few words are pronounced in the shape of an
order, to one of your fashionable upholsterers, and lo! sophas,
ottomans, tables, arm-chairs, and all the elegant etceteras of
modern furniture rise up like an exhalation, and are found in their
exact places, as if a fairy had arranged them. While country folks,
like us, have to wish, and to wait, for many a long day before we
can obtain even an imperfect representation of a new luxury. I do
not complain of this; for I really believe, that we gain by every
difficulty, and enjoy our humble acquisitions, after going through
much trouble to obtain them, a thousand times more than the rich
and fashionable do their superfluities, which it is only to desire,
and to possess; but I state the fact to account for the employment
of time and pains in filling up a comfortable bed-chamber and
dressing-room for Arthur Howard, whose approach I dread, not
because I have any reason to be afraid of him, but because I
feel how entirely out of his natural (or perhaps I should rather
say _artificial_) element, he will find himself in this peaceful
retreat.
I believe I told you in my last letter, that Arthur has been
very delicate for some months past, and apprehensions have been
entertained that if the change of air to a softer climate than
that of Buckinghamshire were not resorted to, his lungs might soon
become affected. Poor fellow! He is an only son; and as my aunt
could not make up her mind to going abroad with him herself, and
she would not consent to let him go to the Continent without her,
though in the company of his friend Mr. Falkland, matters have
been compromised by accepting mamma's invitation to the _Island
of mists_; and truly it would delight us all to cherish this young
cousin at Glenalta, if it were not for the painful feeling that he
considers it a heavy penance to come amongst his Irish relations.
The performance of duty is, however, so agreeable in itself, that
if we find our cares successful, and are enabled to return the
invalid in good health to his mother and sisters, we shall be
amply recompensed. It is but to think of the grateful love which
would warm our own hearts (were Frederick similarly circumstanced)
towards any friend who might be instrumental in his recovery,
to enter _con amore_ into the feelings of Arthur's family, and
sing a _Te Deum_ if we are permitted to excite them. Sickness, in
producing a powerful sense of our mortality, often awakens the
heart to the _realities_ of happiness, by shewing us the utter
futility of pleasures on which we had thoughtlessly relied, till
evil days came upon us, and our helpless dependence was brought
experimentally home to our conviction.
I sometimes flatter myself with a hope that mamma's enchanting
influence, Frederick's sweet disposition, and the cheerful aid of
the three _handmaids_, may operate a change in Arthur's mind, and
reclaim a fine understanding from the blighting effects of cold and
selfish fashion. You see that I am castle-building--may it not be
in the air!
I am desired by mamma, to say that your dear aunt shall soon hear
from her; and you shall have a letter ere long to tell you what
progress we make in acquaintance with our guest, who is a perfect
stranger amongst the juniors of our house, and only remembered as a
little boy by my mother.
So much have I had to say of our _hospital_ concerns, that I
have not told you a word of a surprise which Frederick and I are
preparing for this precious Author of our being.--There is a little
solitary spot not far removed from this, the most sequestered,
wild, and lovely glen that Nature I believe ever formed. For years
after we came to Glenalta, my sisters and I never saw or heard of
it, mamma never having mentioned its existence; and its distance
placing it without the bounds of our allotted walks while we were
children. Frederick was the first who made me acquainted with this
tiny Paradise of beauty and seclusion, the story of which I must
reserve for my next letter.
Our fond and united loves attend your circle from all here, and
particularly your
Faithful and affectionate Friend,
EMILY DOUGLAS.
LETTER III.
ARTHUR HOWARD TO CHARLES FALKLAND.
My Dear Falkland, _Glenalta_.
Your letter from Dover has travelled many a mile in quest of
me; first into Buckinghamshire, then to Grosvenor-square,
"tried" Cambridge, and _non est inventus_ being the return made
at each of these places, it has followed me into the wilds of
Kerry in Ireland. Here I am actually at Glenalta, and as I mean
faithfully to perform my promise, and execute the task which you
have so solemnly _spread out_ before me, in such detail that I
am not likely to forget the engagement, I shall _begin from the
beginning_, for the following cogent reasons: first, that I may
be correct by not trusting to memory; secondly, that I may not be
overwhelmed by an inconvenient accumulation of materials, thirdly
and lastly, because to vent my spleen in a letter is next to the
relief of doing so in a _viva voce_ unburthening, disemboguing, or
whatever else you choose to call this pouring out of my vexations.
After a journey through a horrible country, as naked as if it
was but just born, and as comfortless as if it had never been
inhabited, I reached at last my haven of rest yesterday evening at
six o'clock. You must not expect me to name places which I cannot
spell, nor jolt over such roads as I have escaped again with you.
This would indeed be "thrice to slay the slain," for I am in a
state of mummy this morning. If David had known the county of
Kerry, I should believe that it rose upon his mind, when he wrote
of the judges that were overthrown in stony places. As I approached
within a mile of my journey's end I should possibly have been put
into good humour, if my temper had not been previously so ruffled
as to counteract the influence of pleasanter impressions. Candour
obliges me to confess, that nothing in nature can exceed the
scenery of this spot when _once you are at it_; but in my present
feelings I doubt whether I would go to Heaven itself, if there
were no better road thither than that by which I have achieved my
safe landing at Glenalta. Part of my way lay through a morass,
technically called _bog_ in this country, which brought to my
recollection every frightful engulfment that I ever heard or read
of. The vast American swamps, the Indian jungles, aye, even "that
great Lerborian bog 'twixt Damietta and the sea," so finely touched
by Milton, appeared safe and smooth to my imagination in comparison
with the dark abysses that seemed to yawn upon me from either
side of my gloomy and monotonous path. No, it is not in human
nature to recover a man's equilibrium after what I have suffered
in less than a week; and therefore the features of this _cul de
sac_, which has nothing beyond it but the waves of the Atlantic,
will stand but a bad chance of being sketched in any other than
_distemper_ colouring, if I must _fix_ my first impressions. Your
orders, however, concur with my bile, and thus duty and inclination
happily coincide, which is somewhat uncommon. Well, "through mud
and mire, brake and brier," I at last beheld the termination of
my woes, and drove up in a post chaise, which I firmly believe sat
for its picture to Miss Edgeworth, and found myself in front of a
verandah, which, in any other place and any other at time, might
have seemed a bower of enchantment; but my eyes were jaundiced,
my bones were weary, and every thought was steeped in vinegar, so
cross, cold, sour, and discontented did I feel, as the lubberly
brute, called post-boy by a strange misnomer, trundled off his
jaded horse, and thumping up like a sack against the hall door,
gave a knock which might have been heard in Labrador. I expected
to have been met and smothered on the threshold by my aunt and
cousins, but a servant only made his appearance, and the step was
let down; Lewis had descended, and I was fairly on my feet, and
trying to pump up a smile upon my countenance, lest its previous
expression should stamp my character irretrievably, ere in two
minutes I found myself affectionately greeted and as affectionately
dismissed to my apartments, for I have got a _suite_ allotted to
me, and as I was preparing to obey, and retire, my aunt, with
one of the sweetest voices I ever heard, begged that I would not
hurry myself. "Frederick my love," added she, "I depend upon your
shewing dear Arthur his room, and I need not remind you that as
he is an invalid, he must not be asked to do any thing in the
least distressing, or requiring effort. Arthur, you will I hope
feel yourself _at home_, and that charming little word comprises
all that I can offer you, and so _much_, that I should weaken its
force, if I attempted by any addition to render it more impressive."
When I was dressed, I went down stairs, and opening a door that
lay on my right hand, found myself in a snug library and alone.
Supposing this to be the room in which we were to muster before
dinner, I took up some books which lay on the table, and what
should I discover? why, positively that I have got amongst a
batch of _Blues_. Full ten minutes elapsed before my rapid survey
was interrupted; and in that short period I found the initials
of Emily and Charlotte annexed to the name of Douglas, in at
least a dozen volumes, one of which was Sallust, a second Virgil,
a third Sowerby on Minerals, a fourth some one, I forget who,
upon Botany, and so on. I absolutely felt my cheeks glow with
shame and indignation. What! set down in a nook of the county of
Kerry, in Ireland, without a creature to speak to, who I suppose
ever saw "a good man's feast," though I dare say they are not
without "bells that call to church;" and to find myself not only
shut out from the world, but screwed in a vice as it were, with
all manner of pedantry, and required to talk science all day
to a set of _precieuses ridicules_! it was too much for _my_
constitution I assure you; and with the celerity of lightning I
resolved to construct an apology, as quickly as possible, for my
speedy departure. The _manner_ of disengaging myself from the
noose still remains to be determined, but it is quite plain that
at Blue-Stocking Hall, which is a much more appropriate name than
Glenalta, I cannot stay.
My aunt's letters never threw light upon the accomplishments
of her daughters, and as one does not take much interest in
the occupations of the elders in a family, her own literary
propensities would not have annoyed me at all, particularly, too,
as I might probably find able assistance in Frederick whenever I
had a mind to laugh at learned ladies. But to my narrative,--the
first who entered the room was Fanny, the youngest of the family.
She is about fifteen, strikingly pretty, with almost the funniest
expression of countenance that I ever saw, and thank Heaven, of
an age to be treated as a child. _She_ will, I see, be my sheet
anchor while I am obliged to tarry on this coast. My aunt and her
_Aspasias_ followed before I had time to utter a sentence, and
Frederick brought up the rear. In the moment of his entrance, the
servant who was at his heels, announced dinner, and while we were
crossing the hall, my aunt said, "You were in the library while
we were waiting your arrival in the drawing-room, so we missed
the pleasure of your company, my dear boy, for I know not how
long. Arthur, I know how disagreeable it is to be watched with
too great anxiety, so to day you shall eat and drink as you find
that you _can_ do; and if there is any thing that you are in the
habit of taking, or any thing that you would like to try, I can
promise you the aid of three of the kindest nurses that ever took
care of an invalid. They have had great experience, and will be
delighted to be useful to you." I thanked her, secretly resolving
to give my fair cousins as little trouble as possible, and down
we sat to dinner, which was not a bit like what I supposed it
would have been, but actually _got up_ in excellent style. We had
two nice little courses of capital materials that might have done
credit to the London market; admirably dressed, served up quite
in a civilized manner, and, would you believe it, not a word of
_azure_ during the repast. Don't fancy me, however, the block-head
to cry roast-meat before I am out of the wood. Indigo itself could
scarcely have found opportunity to display its tints in the midst
of all the inquiries for mother, sisters, uncles, aunts, that
happily filled the intervals of carving and eating. In all my life
I never felt so much indebted to my relations before; and when the
ladies got up to leave the room, not a word had escaped their lips
which was not delivered in their vernacular language; and by the
bye, I will tell you what appears to me very extraordinary, that
not one of this family speaks with that horrible accent, vulgarly
called _brogue_. No, positively they all express themselves
remarkably well, and what is also strange enough, they are very
elegant, and modern in their appearance. In short, I should not be
ashamed of the _coup d'[oe]il_ of the house and its inhabitants,
were it not for this cursed _blue_ which will burst upon me in a
torrent to-morrow, and be no doubt the more impetuous in its flow,
for having been dammed up during so many hours.
When left alone with Fred. who seems a very honest sort of fellow,
I found that he was a sportsman, I suppose in a coarse way; but
still here is a resource, and he tells me that he has excellent
greyhounds and setters; that game abounds in these mountains;
and that there is good fun to be had at small cost of labour.
_Tant mieux_ for an invalid. We sat for an hour without drinking
much wine, from which I am under orders to abstain till this
plaguy chest of mine is well, and to which my companion seemed
to have no natural propensity. We then joined the party in the
drawing-room, and there I found Emily writing music, Charlotte
tuning a harp,--yes, a very fine one too, Fanny rolling a ball for
a beautiful little spaniel, and her mother smiling at its gambols.
There was nothing appalling here, but the evening was young;
however, here was a _new_ resource, and with grateful alacrity I
hastened to beg for a soft strain of Erin. Certainly I am lost
in astonishment. Do you know that these girls sing like syrens?
Nothing can be in finer harmony than their voices, and some of the
simple Irish airs which were sung this evening, have so completely
taken possession of my mind, that I shall dream of nothing else.
Why will women be so absurd as to mistake the true feminine
character, and, despising the sceptre which nature has placed in
their hands, relinquish a legitimate and undisputed empire, to
engage in the silly project of conquest over regions which will
never submit to their arms?
Were it not for the farrago of Latin, Greek, botany, chemistry,
and the devil knows what, with which my ears are to be assailed,
how readily should I bear testimony to the charms which sweet
music and good manners possess; and when I consider (and I really
speak impartially), the fund upon which the Douglas girls might
fairly _trade_, I am at a loss to perceive the motive for all this
nonsense of learning. If they were ugly or old, or surrounded
by professors, there might be some reason for experimenting in
literary lore, and hoisting a blue flag; but young, pleasing,
singularly elegant, with heavenly voices, what is it that the
fools would be at? I suppose that my poor aunt, whose affliction
I fancy made her a recluse for several years, has insisted upon
making scholars of the sisterhood, because Fred's tutor, who of
course was some antiquated piece of furniture, had time to spare,
and probably knew about as much of life and manners, as Noah did
in the Ark. If this be the case, I shall soon find out all about
the matter, and my visit here may be a blessing, as I shall take
the very first opportunity that offers of opening aunty's eyes
to the impolicy of her conduct, by assuring her that men of the
_present_ day dread a _blue_ more than a scorpion, which argument,
I believe, never failed yet with a _mamma_; and as to the poor
girls, it will be easy to work upon their minds without being
ungallant. To be sure they cannot unlearn all that old domine
has crammed into their noddles, but if they are frightened into
a careful concealment, there is not much harm done; for if after
they are married, they can put their boys through the Latin grammar
and Selecta, the employment will not be disagreeable to them, the
children may benefit, and if they should settle in Ireland, I mean
in the country, no body need be the wiser for their latinity.
Fanny is young enough to snatch from contagion, and with her merry
phiz, she ought not to drudge over _Hic hæc hoc_. I could not help
thinking of Marmontel's description (is it not?) of _Agathe_ in
the _Misanthrope_, when I looked at her, "_La plus jolie espiegle
que l'Amour eut jamais formé_," and as I applied these words, I
resolved to save her if possible.
Well, tea, coffee, and milk-cakes, as good of their kinds as you
ever tasted, succeeded by the harp and piano-forte, left me no
time for a game of chess to which Frederick had challenged me on
entering the room. At ten o'clock a tray made its appearance with
some really fine fruit, and the best milk I ever tasted; nothing
could be more easy, cheerful, and pleasant than our little party;
and so entirely were books left out of the evening's amusement,
that what I had seen before dinner was never remembered till I
reached my own room; we were as gay as larks, and even danced some
quadrille figures. Here again surprise is no word to express what
I felt at seeing my cousins acquit themselves with a grace that
would actually be quite _distingué_ at Almack's. A little _fashion_
might be added, but nothing can be better than the flexibility and
perfect ear which accompany every movement of these mountaineers.
So far so good, but old Solon used to say "the end is not come
yet," and I felt all the prudence of suspended judgment conveyed
in his _laconicism_, when on the removal of the tray, Frederick
placed a large book before his mother, and having rung the bell, I
found myself presently engaged,--yes, actually engaged in family
prayers with no less than six domestics and an old non-descript
with grey hair, who hobbled in leaning upon a stick, and for whose
accommodation Fanny placed a cushion; all ranged along the end
of the room: it was a complete _take in_, and I never felt more
awkwardly in all my life. However there was no escaping, and I had
nothing for it but submission. My aunt, to do her justice, gave us
a short prayer, and I cannot say that there was any _cant_ in it;
but conceive the bad taste of following this part of the ceremony
by reading a chapter in the New Testament, and during the time,
sitting "hail fellows well met" in the midst of the servants, who
took to their seats as naturally as if they had been born to five
thousand a year each.
Now my good friend, _you_ stand up for these exhibitions; but to
see the gentry of the country thus brought on a level with their
footmen; and to see a girl of Fanny's appearance fly to help
old Lawrence, whose stick slipped as he was about to retire, I
must ever think revolting to common sense, and I went to my room
determined to hasten my departure as much as possible. Of course I
conclude that my antediluvian relations go through this religious
mummery twice a day; and though you know that I am not of the
infidel school, I hate piety in such clothing as I find it dressed
in here; and as I equally dislike old fashions and _new_ lights,
I shall get rid of the one and the other as fast as I can. I must
not offend people, however, who are kindly inclined to me, and
therefore you may address one letter at least to this place. Good
night, and believe me, in a confounded cross humour,
Truly yours
ARTHUR HOWARD.
P.S. I mean to send you my next packet on this day week.
LETTER IV.
MRS. DOUGLAS TO MRS. E. SANDFORD.
My dearly loved Friend,
And are you really once more in your own Derbyshire, enjoying the
blessing of rest after all your wanderings? My heart flies to bid
you welcome at Checkley, where your presence, I doubt not, was
long desired and affectionately greeted, though not perhaps with
such energy as is conveyed in our Irish "Cead Millagh farthagh."
But how doubly blessed is your return, and how largely has a
merciful Providence repaid your labours, and compensated for every
privation that you have endured, by restoring the sweet Agnes to
perfect health! You are a mother, in almost every sense of that
comprehensive title, to three dear and doubly orphaned girls, who
now employ your whole attention; and though you have been spared
those anxieties, incident to the relation of parent, which belong
exclusively to the tender years of infancy, you can sympathize in
all the solicitude to which the unfoldings of youth give birth; and
thus a new bond has arisen to link our souls together.
Now that the peril is past, that which was toil while actually
present, becomes pleasure when viewed in the distance; and thus it
is that the great Dispenser of Good rewards the patient performance
of duty.
You longed to be at home, and you are safely lodged within its
delightful retreat; while your girls like bees have been collecting
honey from every flower to enrich their hive, and no longer
indebted to "books and swains alone," for their knowledge of the
world, can talk of Switzerland, and Italy, and France with all the
many who have visited their shores. _My_ holidays are yet to come;
but do not be frightened; I am not thinking of the Continent--I am
only running forward with my mind's eye to the happy accomplishment
of our mutual wishes in the meeting at this dear spot of which your
promise holds out the exhilarating prospect. My children seem
to feel that months are years, till August comes and brings the
Sandfords to Glenalta.
But dearest Elizabeth, I am not answering your question: "Will you
help me with your experience in this weighty task which I have
undertaken, and give me your advice upon the important subject of
female education, as I proceed in an endeavour to fulfil the part
which I have engaged to act?" Yes surely, my friend, I will gladly
afford you every aid in my power to bestow, but you will not expect
more than I can give. You must not look to me for that which I have
never found myself, namely a plan or system by which I could work
under the guidance of another mind without exercising at every
moment whatever penetration the Almighty had conferred upon my own.
This, whatever be its measure, has been employed night and day in
scrutinizing the individual varieties that presented themselves in
the several dispositions of my children.
You know the little history of their infant years, and that they
were ever with me. You know also of the frightful chasm in my
life, which succeeded. I dare not even now look back upon that
period, nor is it necessary; for you have nothing to do with the
first years of childhood: but till this moment I never told you of
the _heart-sting_ by which I was roused from that torpor which had
diffused a species of Upas shade over my character for some years.
While I was buried in my cottage near Linton, in Devonshire, I
was attacked by low fever which threatened my life. It was not
contagious, and therefore I was not debarred from seeing my
children. Frederick, the eldest, was then twelve years old, and one
day when he and his little sisters came to kiss and say farewell
before they took their walk, I perceived my dear boy's cheek wet as
it touched mine, and almost in the same instant that the tiny group
hurried from my room I found a scrap of paper lying on the pillow
upon which my head was reclined. I opened and read the following
artless effusion addressed
"_To my beloved Mamma._
And wilt _thou also_ fall asleep?
And must we never cease to weep?
And can'st thou breathe a long farewell
To those whose little bosoms swell
With love, that would thy sorrows cheer,
With grief, that finds no solace here?
Oh take us to the realms of light,
Or stay awhile thy spirit's flight
Tho' angels beckon: hear our prayer,
Nor leave thy children to despair!"
This first lisping of an almost infant muse produced an electric
effect, and seemed the proximate instrument to inspire a degree of
resolution which till then had been denied to my prayers; for God
does his work in our hearts by secondary means and not by miracles.
From that hour my mind appeared gradually to receive strength. I
began to feel that solitude was too selfish an enjoyment; that I
had _active_ duties which claimed a share of my thoughts. I prayed
earnestly, I exerted myself unceasingly, recovered health, and then
determined on the great sacrifice of re-visiting Glenalta. The
anguish, which that effort cost me, it would be as impossible for
me to express, as it would be painful to you to conceive. Enough
of this! Your request for assistance in your new character has led
me back through a labyrinth of past time, and my pen has almost
unconsciously pursued the train.
The excellent tutor who was procured for me by my invaluable
friend Edward Otway, seemed as if formed expressly for my purpose.
I could not have borne the society of any mortal who expected
to be made a companion, nor could I have allowed my children to
associate with a person who did not deserve to be made a friend.
Mr. Oliphant, old enough to be my father, yet cheerful enough to
be the play-fellow of my children when he was not their teacher,
religious, benevolent, learned, simple in his manners, enthusiastic
both in acquiring and imparting knowledge, and never desiring
other company than that of his pupils and his books, was the man
whom I found at Lisfarne under the roof of my friend, and waiting
the arrival of my family at Glenalta. A few dreadful struggles
over, we commenced upon the "noiseless tenor of our way." I read
every volume of which I had ever heard upon education, and found
instruction in a short paper upon the subject, written by the late
Mrs. Barbauld, whose pen was called upon to direct the conduct of
a father and mother who found themselves the parents of a darling
only son, and possessed of such affluence as to induce them to give
a _carte blanche_ for whatever might be suggested as most likely to
succeed in making this object of their common affection all that
they fondly desired to see him.
Her letter in reply to their solicitations for advice, was
published many years ago in a periodical work entitled "The
Inquirer," and contains more strong good sense in a few pages than
I have ever met with in the many ponderous quartos which maternal
anxiety induced me to wade through. Mrs. Barbauld tells her friends
_to be_ themselves in daily life, in all their habits of speaking
and acting, _that_ which they desire to impress upon their son. The
quantity of Greek and Latin, logic, and mathematics, which he might
attain in the progress of his studies, or the place in which such
knowledge should be acquired, she wisely leaves in a great measure
to other advisers; and resting on what is surely of far higher
consequence in the human compound, namely the principles, the
sentiments, the opinions which it is desirable should actuate the
conduct of the future man, she admirably remarks that the _moral
atmosphere_ by which youth is surrounded, is the real teacher--not
the tutor or governess who lays down precepts in the closet.
We are told in holy writ, that "the children of this world are
wiser in their generation than the children of light," and we may
fairly draw a similar comparison between the young and the more
advanced of our fellow creatures upon earth. The whole _strength_
of a child lies in his sagacity, which accounts for all the
acuteness employed by young people in observing looks and actions,
and in developing the secret motives of those in whose conduct
they are interested. In low minds this acuteness degenerates into
cunning, but in all children there is a quickness of intellect,
a readiness in deducing effects from causes, and marking
inconsistencies between theory and practice, which ought to
operate as a powerful incentive with those who undertake the care
of youth, to make singleness of heart and a broad bold integrity
the rule of every act in life. It is in vain that we talk of the
beauty of truth, while we employ dissimulation in our intercourse
with society; or descant on the advantages of occupation, while
our own days are passed in idleness and sloth. _Words_ go for very
little, whilst it is what we are _doing_ that secretly determines
the bias of our children either to imitate or avoid. Powerfully
impressed with this leading truth, I endeavoured to act upon my
conviction. My rules were simple, few, and determined. I avoided
as much as possible the multiplication of _decrees_, and, where it
was practicable, rather sought to shew my little flock the path in
which I wished them to walk by accompanying their steps, than to
point out by prohibition that which was to be avoided. The success
with which a merciful Providence has blessed my humble efforts
is not granted to all in the same _degree_; but all must try for
the goal, though it may not be given to reach it in every case.
The original structure of the human mind is after all the great
thing, and our best endeavours can but improve or restrain; but
will never _create_. That belongs to higher influence. You know my
feelings, and how much I prize one unselfish movement of the heart
above all the intellect that ever adorned the greatest philosopher;
and therefore it is that I have tried with such incessant care
to cultivate the affections of my children. Here again nature
must co-operate; for there are characters so phlegmatic, so cold,
so inclined to contradiction, that no kindness will warm them
into confidence and love. But though we do not make sufficient
allowance for the vast variety of constitutional temperament, and
too frequently expect equal results from different soils, which
will always disappoint our hopes; a careful study of the materials
upon which we are to act, and a judicious application of culture
according to the _grain_ and _character_ of those materials, will
seldom fail of repaying our labours by such harvest as it is
reasonable to anticipate.
I have, you see, only attempted here to give you a loose sketch of
my ground plan. You must ask specific questions, to which you shall
have the best replies in my power to give: but if I go on tacking
my thoughts together _generally_ upon the subject of education, I
may be giving you what you do not want. Tell me, then, all your
difficulties as they arise, and as far as my experience can remove
them you may rely upon my inclination to assist your virtuous
resolution of supplying a parent's place to your poor brother's
orphans.
The many volumes devoted to the subject of education are frequently
written by people who have, like the spider, spun out the web of
their theories from within, and then applied those tissues to
creatures of their own imagination, fitting and conforming the one
to the other as nicely as Cinderella's slipper was found to suit
the princess for whose foot it had been made. Such books remind me
of a fine contrivance which should be devised with mathematical
precision by one wholly unacquainted with practical operations.
The machine is set going, and the influence of friction alone,
upon which our philosopher had never calculated in his closet, is
sufficient to overset the entire speculation.
I must now employ the remainder of my paper in mentioning the
arrival of my nephew Arthur Howard. His health is far from being
robust: but I flatter myself _already_ that our balmy breezes from
the sea, and fragrant gales from the heath-covered mountains, which
nearly surround this little glen, have been of use to him. Nothing
could be more delightful to my heart than his perfect recovery,
if I might hope that, with renewed health, he were to inhale
amongst us some better notions (for I cannot dignify his nonsense
with the title of _opinions_) than the silly society of his poor
mother, and those vapid votaries of fashion with whom her hours
are passed, have infused into his youthful mind. Arthur is not
more than twenty, and has so good an understanding, combined with
a remarkably open, candid nature, that I cannot bear to think of
his being misled by vanity and folly. He is very engaging, though
in the high road to be spoiled, if we cannot, by some necromancy,
contrive to make him love our peaceful pleasures at Glenalta.