it was. While we were jogging on as merrily as possible, Fred.
made a hop, step, and jump into the bottom of a ditch, "Emily,
what is this?" as he snapped at something growing near the bottom.
I do believe, answered she, that it is a leaf of the parnassia;
but to make _sure_, we will keep it for dear Phil. This unlucky
Phil. was my stumbling block. "By the bye," I said, "he is a very
fine looking man of his age," and totally forgetting where I was,
Old Nick put it into my head to add, "pray, is he one of aunt's
aspirants?" If I had fired a pistol at Emily, she could not have
been more amazed. For a second she stood motionless, and then
burst into tears. I begged a thousand pardons, and asked how I had
offended, while Frederick, exactly as if he had been her lover,
pressed her hand with the most affectionate solicitude, and leading
his sister towards the bank, we were all seated by a sort of tacit
consent in a moment. A silence while you could reckon ten, ensued,
and I felt foolish enough, as well as vexed, at such a _contre
tems_ in the midst of our good humour. Again I mentally cursed
botanists, philosophers, and _precieuses_, though I must own they
were not to blame upon the present occasion, when it was my own
confounded folly in forgetting what a _Ninette à la Cour_ I had to
deal with that produced this vexatious _kick up_. But while I was
biting my lip, and thinking what I should say _next_, Emily brushed
off her tears, and seizing my hand in the kindest manner, gently
implored my forgiveness, as if _she_ had been the offender, and
with as much _naïveté_ and tenderness, as if she had never read a
word of Greek or Latin in her life, said with energy, "Arthur, will
you pardon me. I know that you could never have meant the least
degree of unkindness; I was very foolish not to recollect in the
instant when you spoke, that you were only jesting; but I am so
jealous for my beloved mother, and feel such love and respect for
her valued friend, that unaccustomed to any other sentiments than
those of reverence and affection, I was quite unprepared for your
joke, which I know you will not repeat: say that you forgive me." I
felt really grateful for this good-natured address, because I had
certainly distressed her, and I therefore said very sincerely that
I was sorry for having inadvertently touched a chord that vibrated
so sensitively, adding, "but you do me only justice in believing
that nothing was further from my intentions than to wound your
feelings. I live in a world where such things are said every day
with impunity, and in fact (if you will not be angry with me for
_explaining_) I meant simply to say, that Mr. Otway and my aunt
seem well suited to each other. She is still a very attractive
woman, and he seems to feel that she is so. Now dear Emily is not
this 'the very head and front of mine offending?'" "I will try and
not again expose myself," said Emily, "by giving way to impulses
which should be under better control; it is very wrong, as well as
silly I know, to judge all things and people by the same standard;
and therefore I ought to have remembered, that the gay circle of
fashion in which you live, must of necessity be governed both in
habits and opinions by a rule as different as possible from any
that guides our simple hearts in the Kerry mountains. Now then,
here is my bargain,--I will not be angry any more, and you will
not draw conclusions, till you are better acquainted at Glenalta.
When you are, you will not be inclined to repeat the _treason_; you
will then see clearly how much you mistake the characters of the
persons who surround you: when the subject may be more interesting
than it can be while you are a mere stranger here, I will give you
a sketch of Mr. Otway's history; till then, you are to be a _calm
observer_."
All this was said with an air that partook of playful and serious;
and while it conveyed the most cheerful pardon to me, intimated
as clearly, that the error I had committed was not a slight one.
Frederick gave an encouraging look at his sister, and merrily
turning to me, finished, by saying, "We shall all be intimate by
and by, and see each other as we really are; till then, we must
obey our little mistress." Frederick and Emily appear quite devoted
to one another. We recovered our fracas very speedily; and after
a walk through some of the most beautiful scenery I ever saw,
returned home. Just as we were leaving a coppice that joins with
the shrubbery grounds, a poor woman without shoes or stockings, and
one of the most grotesque figures I ever beheld, popped upon her
knees while we were crossing a stream; recollecting suddenly that
I was now in the island of saints, I expected to hear an _ave_ at
least from this poor disciple of St. Patrick; but with uplifted
hands, streaming eyes, and county of Kerry _whine_, she invoked the
"'blessed Virgin' to shower down her best gifts on Emily's head"
"Oh Miss, _mavourneen_, Jem is well again, and going to work; and
I made bould to come over the mountain with a bit o' fish and a
little hen for ye." "Eileen, I thank you heartily," said Emily,
"and am very glad to hear that your husband is better; but where
are your shoes and stockings?" "Honey, I left 'em at home, a fear
I'd be wearing 'em out too soon; but the flax you gave me is a'most
spun, and when I gets the price of it, I'll have another pair of
stockings, and then, plase God, I'll not come to your honor any
more bare-footed."
How strange is this sort of thing! and yet this creature, scarcely
human, had a kind of natural grace about her which I believe to
be the offspring of enthusiasm: she was not at all abashed by my
presence, but tripped lightly along with us, as if assured that
she was welcome to Emily, who seemed her principal object, though
turning to Fred. presently, she exclaimed "Och, then Maisther
Frederick, how low my poor Jem was the last day that your honor
comed to see him! sure he called to little Tade, and tould him to
bring down the priest, and not tell me, a fear I'd be fretted; and
sure enough, Father Clancy come to us afore night fall, and said a
dail over him in gibberish like, that Jem did'nt know a word of;
why then, ever since, he's growing better every day; God bless
Father Clancy, and the physicks that I gets from Miss Emly."
I was much amused: this was worthy a place in Miss Edgeworth's
Absentee; but we were now opening a little wicket into the
shrubbery, and Eileen stopping, told Emily that she would go
round, it not being fit for "the likes of her to come in front of
the house." Emily's answer was, "you should come this way my good
Eileen, if it was the shortest, but you shall go round by those
trees, because you will get rid of your load directly by doing so,
and I will go with you to keep Carlo from barking at you." How new
to me is all this attention to the feelings of mere peasants; and
yet my mother's family are all zealous reformists, and of course
talk much of the people. The reason no doubt of all this is to be
found in the total ignorance of the world which prevails here. We
had now come within a few paces of the verandah, when Fanny, with a
delighted face, flew up to her brother and me, "Pray do look! the
warm sunshine of this day is bringing out my _grubs_, and I shall
have butterflies before the usual time." "Aye, Fan, said Frederick,
but you will not prevail on this day's warmth to last, and your
early butterflies may be killed by frost, if you force them out
before their time." This was a new idea, and abated Fanny's joy,
who now ran off to consult her mother and Emily upon this matter of
importance. I find my obedience to your commands, will involve me
in quires of paper, so if you do not desire a stationer's bill of
large amount to be brought in to you, upon your return, you must
let me _skip_ now and then, after giving you these _peeps_ into
character.
Imagine now a nice luncheon furnished with fine apples that have
outlived the winter, milk, honey, and sandwiches. Suppose us all
met, and an arrangement entered upon, for the mountain ride.
Charlotte, Fanny, Fred. and I, mounted, and my aunt setting out in
a little donkey cart with Emily, upon some of their inventions. We
took a charming ride, and I certainly feel this air quite a balsam
in itself. These dear little girls; think of their having prepared
Iceland moss, and made up the finest stuff you ever tasted for a
cold, which they have left in my room. At every turn I find some
mark of kind attention, and all this without fuss, or the slightest
demand upon my gratitude.
Brother and sisters were gay and agreeable during our excursion.
Frederick is a very fine fellow, with excellent abilities and noble
spirits; and in short, what with sunshine, soft air, fine views,
and good society, I came back to Glenalta in monstrous good humour,
notwithstanding that I was put in mind of my morning's annoyance
by the sight of _Phil._ driving up to the door in a gig just as we
reached home. The bell rang, (for I do assure you that we do things
here _secundum artem_, and dress for dinner), and we separated
after greeting Mr. Otway _en passant_. A very good repast, at which
Eileen's fish made a figure, as also some extraordinary sea-kale
which is a matter of rivalry between the houses of Glenalta and
Lisfarne, Emily trying one mode of culture and Mr. Otway another,
came to an end in due season without the least _stagnation_, such
as one so often witnesses in the country.
Mr. Otway is decidedly a very superior man, his conversation
displays extensive information, and, what is singular enough,
though I am given to understand that Killarney is _now_ the limit
of his excursions from home, there is nothing awkward about him.
He is accounted by all, except this family, a great oddity, for he
does not mix in society with the neighbourhood, and is given to
solitary walks and musing, which people, less cultivated than he
is, do not understand. He is not an idler however, as they tell me
that his life is a continued series of active beneficence.
When the dessert was put upon the table, and the servants gone,
we drew our chairs very snugly round a blazing billet, which the
evenings are just chilly enough still to render as comfortable as
it is a social sight; and just as we had formed a crescent about
the fire, that sly-boots, little Fan, looking over at me, with the
most innocent archness imaginable, made an appeal, for which I was
not quite prepared, and addressing herself to Mr. Otway, suddenly
asked him, "What is the meaning, dear Phil. of calling people
Blue-stockings, whose stockings are really white?"
Mr. Otway smiled, and answered, "Blue-stockings, my Fan, is a
vulgar slang for learned ladies."
"Why not for learned gentlemen too?" replied Fanny.
"That is more than I can tell you, unless for the reason, that
those who have given this nickname to your sex, are of the other
themselves, and there are not many men who like ridicule, when it
is brought home."
"Then I am to understand that the appellation Blue Stocking implies
a taunt."
"Certainly, a learned lady is the terror of all ignorant men, and
to cover their own idleness, or incapacity, they never fail to
under-value what they do not possess, particularly if they find
knowledge and ability in those, whom, _as females_, they consider
their inferiors; but you ought to apply to your cousin, who can
give you the latest _edition_. I am an old square-toes you know,
and words change their meaning every day. Howard, _unde derivatur_,
modern Blue-stockings if you please?"
I felt a little awkwardly, but answered, "Mr. Stillingfleet,
I believe, is the origin. At least his Blue-stockings at Mrs.
Montagu's _soirées_ are the only parentage that I have heard of for
the term, and you have defined it."
"Well," said Fanny, "this is odd enough, for it appears that
a gentleman wore the blue-stockings, which are transferred to
the ladies; but now Phil. I want to know why learned ladies are
disliked. I always thought that people were esteemed in proportion
to their knowledge, if they made a right use of it."
"_There_," answered Mr. Otway, "you have yourself told the whole
secret; _if they make a right use of it_. Now it has happened
that some ladies have made a _wrong_ use of their talents and
attainments, and thus have drawn reproach upon the whole sex to
which they appertain."
"What _is_ this wrong use which which has been so heavily punished,
may I enquire," interposed Charlotte, while my aunt, Emily, and
Frederick, seemed quite delighted with this curious catechism.
"The word _display_, includes the whole charge," said Mr. Otway.
"Some women have foolishly destroyed the ease of society by an
unseasonable introduction of their acquirements, and a pedantic
exhibition of the variety and extent of them in pompous expression,
unsuited to mixed companies, and uncalled for by the occasion."
"But why visit the faults of a few on the whole sisterhood,"
interrupted Fanny, with eagerness, "Mr. Otway?"
"Because men are very uncandid in their judgments, and find it
easier to get rid of a vexation by annihilating the cause, than by
regulating the effects."
Emily here begged to know "whether men were never vain-glorious,
and if they were, why they too were not nicknamed."
"In fact," said Mr. Otway, "dunces and fools hate in men, as well
as women, whatever they cannot understand or appreciate; and the
terms Bookworm, Philosopher, Quid-nunc, &c. are frequently employed
to designate persons of superior erudition; but men are simply
avoided as _bores_; women are contemned as rivals."
At this moment I chanced to look at Fanny, and saw a tear gliding
down her cheek. In the instant of being observed, she started
up, and throwing her affectionate arms around Mr. Otway's neck
exclaimed, "Oh never, never, will I call you Phil. again, which
is the short name with us for philosopher. Why did you not tell
me before that it was a term of derision? I love you as our dear
friend, and I thought it the most delightful thing possible, to
know so much as you do, and to be so like the Encyclopedia as you
are."
It was not in nature to resist this sally. We all laughed heartily,
though I saw a responding tear glitter in my aunt's eye, and Mr.
Otway impressing a parental kiss on Fanny's cheek, explained in a
few words, assuring her that however he might feel undeserving of
the title which she had bestowed upon him, yet, as being her gift,
it was so valuable that he would not exchange the appellation of
_Phil._ for the most beautiful name in the English language.
Fanny's gaiety was immediately restored, and as the conversation
hit my fancy very much, I was glad that Mr. Otway resumed it by
saying, "the reason why display of a little learning is not so
common amongst men as women, is not that they are less subject to
vanity than the latter, but because _their_ vanity is differently
directed. Learning being the business of _all_ educated men, there
is nothing on which to plume themselves in knowing a little Greek,
Latin, and mathematics. Every school-boy does the same, and it is
only pre-eminence in these studies which renders a man remarkable.
Now _real_ knowledge, extensive learning, and powerful intellect,
of the highest class, preclude boasting for two reasons, first
because I believe that it may be asserted of such minds, that they
are most sensible to the great truths of religion, which, above all
monitors with whose influence we are acquainted, inspires genuine
humility; and secondly, because it is the nature of knowledge to
render those who have made the greatest progress in its attainment
most keenly alive to the deficiencies of all human intellect. 'A
little learning is a dangerous thing,' and flippancy is ever the
offspring of superficial information."
"Now unfortunately some of the female sex having just tasted of
the Pierian springs, have become stimulated to intoxication,
without proceeding to the sobering draught recommended by the poet.
Then, as a woman's education does not _usually_ comprehend either
classical or scientific literature, a very slight proficiency in
either will make a great shew, just as a solitary candle will do
in a dark place; but there are silly people to be found in every
country as of every age, and _both_ sexes." "Pray then," said
Emily, "would not the abuse of learning be remedied in a manner
_kind_ as well as efficient, by making knowledge fashionable,
rather than by condemning half the creation to ignorance? If girls
were _generally_ allowed to acquire more information than it is
customary to teach them, there would be an end of what you call
blue-stockings, and women would not boast of a little reading any
more than they do of drawing or music."
"You are perfectly right, Emily," answered Mr. Otway, "the best
gifts may be abused, and the improper use of any good that
we possess can never be considered as a sound argument for
relinquishing it. Neither do men argue in this way when the
question relates to money, power, rank, or any of those advantages
which they _desire_ to achieve. Now, my own opinion is, that much
of the unhappiness of married life, as well as the insipidity of
mixed society, results from the present style of female education.
Accomplishments are ornamental, yet they are only the acanthus
that decorates the pillar, not the pillar itself. The most empty
mind, the worst regulated temper, may be the portion of a young
lady who plays and sings like a professor, who draws and models,
who can take casts, and sculpture marble. All these things,
however pretty, occupy neither the highest nor the best powers of
the human mind; and, generally speaking, they are pursuits which
_suppose_ exhibition. There are few who cultivate them on their
_own account_; and thousands arrive at excellence in several
branches of polite education without natural taste, merely to
attain certain ends, and when they are compassed, the scaffolding
is thrown aside altogether; the fingers are given a holyday, and
the unfurnished understanding stands confessed in all its vacuity.
If the vessel be not valuable from what it contains, it naturally
follows that the external fashion will determine its estimation;
and thus a short-lived grace comes to be the pearl of price; and
when the bloom of youth is past, there is no fund to support the
long evening of life. A sleepy animalized existence at _home_, or
a perpetual search after excitement abroad, succeeds. Both sexes
degenerate, society grows more vapid, and more vulgar, every day,
till reduced to its coarse elements of mere sensual attraction,
folly ends in vice, and things are worse and worse, till some
new impetus arises to change the entire system. If companionship
be the charm of social intercourse, why should not both sexes
cultivate those qualities and attainments which, besides being most
intrinsically excellent, promise durability?"
"Arthur," said my Aunt, "you must represent _the world_, and reply
to Mr. Otway." "Well then, with deference to his opinion," said
I, "let it be remembered that there is no necessary connection
between the amiable qualities of heart which we admire in woman,
and book knowledge. On the contrary, I should say that reading is
a selfish pleasure; shut up in a library, surrounded by grammars
and lexicons, people are not likely to improve their tempers
half so much as in the endeavour to please by proficiency in
music, dancing, drawing, sculpture, and all the list of elegant
accomplishments which every mother in the fashionable world
procures with the utmost anxiety for her daughters. In fact, the
_establishment_ of a girl who has no fortune, absolutely depends
upon her power of attraction; and when you reflect that men seek
society to unbend their thoughts, and to get rid of the studies, as
well as the cares which oppress them in the several walks of busy
occupation, whether in the field, or the closet, the senate, or the
court, I cannot help feeling that matters are very happily adjusted
in the division of labour, which the general sense of mankind has
adopted, and that women have no business whatsoever with any thing
but the _agrémens_ of life, and should leave to us the whole toil
of reading and thinking."
"Well I am sure," said Fanny, "the motive is so kind that the
arrangement _ought_ to be a good one. What do you think, Mamma?"
"My love," answered her Mother, "I shall lie by and be a listener.
The argument is in very good hands, and I shall keep my opinion in
reserve, for a _single combat_ with Arthur, when he is inclined 'to
fight the battle o'er again.'"
"We will take Emily's judgment upon this question," said Mr. Otway:
"Emily, what think _you_ of the gallantry which Fanny conceives
to be deserving of such praise?" "Indeed," ingenuously answered
Emily, "a kind motive, I should say with Fan, is so sweet, that
it inclines one to find fault with great moderation; but, however
amiable the desire to save our sex all trouble, I must own that I
do not at all admire the expedient, nor think that it seems to be a
judicious one. Reading is a great pleasure to me, and if books were
denied me, I should feel a void in my life which I do not believe
it would be easy to fill; besides, the day is so long, if one rises
early that I do not see why there should not be time for many
things as well as music and drawing."
"Come, come," said Mr. Otway, "it is not generous to profit by the
simplicity of our panegyrists. If the motive for denying, or, at
least, _grudging_ to women the advantages of a sound and a literary
education, be analyzed, I fear that it will turn out but little
creditable to our sex, and the proof that it is so, may rest on
the circumstance that the cleverest and really best informed men
are those who encourage female ambition to soar above the common
standard. _These_ men delight in superior talents, and cultivation
wherever they find them. They are not afraid of rivalry, and their
minds are too large to take pleasure in any supremacy which is
produced by exclusion. The lazy, and the tyrannical, would fence
in their privileges, and not permit to women a participation in
what they choose to call their inherent rights; the former to save
themselves the trouble of acquiring knowledge, and the latter
because they would depress and enslave the sex to which they
would allot no higher calling than that of administering to their
amusement? Is not this a _true bill_?" I could not deny that there
was some force in the statement, but urged the _general_ voice as
being considered the best criterion of what is good in itself, and
then advanced the necessity of making some difference between two
sets of beings destined to such dissimilar offices. "Men are born
to action. They live in public, they preside in the councils of
nations; they provide for the families that look up to them for
protection; they labour in the field with their hands, and in the
closet with their brains. When the toil of life is suspended, they
desire relaxation, and to be gratified by the charms of beauty,
grace, sweet music, and good manners."
"And these are all compatible with much higher and more dignified
powers, and purposes," rejoined my antagonist. "Some writer,
whose name I forget, has said, 'tell me your amusements, and I'll
tell you what you are.' There is a great deal of wisdom in the
idea, and it holds good in forming an estimate both of nations
and individuals. The love of gain, the dread of poverty, desire
of fame; in short, a thousand motives may, and do, constrain men
to engage in pursuits which make the _business_ of life. A set
of shoemakers, or a privy council, merely _as such_, are brought
to a level with each other, the one party as tradesmen, the
other as ministers, and the only difference that we perceive in
contemplating the _body_, in either case, resides in the superior
or inferior skill of the workman or the statesman, compared with
his fellows; but when the low occupation of the one, or the high
employment of the other, is brought to its close, and the _man_
retires from his labours to unbend in the enjoyment of the social
hour, it is _then_ that we find of what materials he is made."