Talk with a man out of a window!--a proper saying.--
Much Ado About Nothing.
WE must proceed with our extracts from Miss Mannering's
letters, which throw light upon natural good sense,
principle, and feelings, blemished by an imperfect
education, and the folly of a misjudging mother, who called
her husband in her heart a tyrant until she feared him as
such, and read romances until she became so enamoured of the
complicated intrigues which they contain, as to assume the
management of a little family novel of her own, and
constitute her daughter, a girl of sixteen, the principal
heroine. She delighted in petty mystery, and intrigue, and
secrets, and yet trembled at the indignation which these
paltry manoeuvres excited in her husband's mind. Thus she
frequently entered upon a scheme merely for pleasure, or
perhaps for the love of contradiction, plunged deeper into
it than she was aware, endeavoured to extricate herself by
new arts, or to cover her error by dissimulation, became
involved in meshes of her own weaving, and was forced to
carry on, for fear of discovery, machinations which she had
at first resorted to in mere wantonness.
Fortunately the young man whom she so imprudently introduced
into her intimate society, and encouraged to look up to her
daughter, had a fund of principle and honest pride, which
rendered him a safer intimate than Mrs. Mannering ought to
have dared to hope or expect. The obscurity of his birth
could alone he objected to him; in every other respect,
With prospects bright upon the world he came,
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame;
Men watched the way his lofty mind would take,
And all foretold the progress he would make.
But it could not be expected that he should resist the snare
which Mrs. Mannering's imprudence threw in his way, or
avoid becoming attached to a young lady, whose beauty and
manners might have justified his passion, even in scenes
where these are more generally met with, than in a remote
fortress in our Indian settlements. The scenes which
followed have been partly detailed in Mannering's letter to
Mr. Mervyn; and to expand what is there stated into further
explanation, would be to abuse the patience of our readers.
We shall, therefore, proceed with our promised extracts from
Miss Mannering's letters to her friend.
Sixth Extract.
I have seen him again, Matilda--seen him twice. I have used every
argument to convince him that this secret intercourse is dangerous
to us both--I even pressed him to pursue his views of fortune
without further regard to me, and to consider my peace of mind as
sufficiently secured by the knowledge that he had not fallen under
my father's sword. He answers--but how can I detail all he has to
answer? he claims those hopes as his due which my mother permitted
him to entertain, and would persuade me to the madness of a union
without my father's sanction. But to this, Matilda, I will not be
persuaded. I have resisted, I have subdued, the rebellious
feelings which arose to aid his plea; yet how to extricate myself
from this unhappy labyrinth, in which fate and folly have entangled
us both!
"I have thought, upon it, Matilda, till my head is almost
giddy--nor can I conceive a better plan than to make a full
confession to my father. He deserves it, for his kindness is
unceasing; and I think I have observed in his character, since I
have studied it more nearly, that his harsher feelings are chiefly
excited where he suspects deceit or imposition; and in that
respect, perhaps, his character was formerly misunderstood by one
who was dear to him. He has, too, a tinge of romance in his
disposition; and I have seen the narrative of a generous action, a
trait of heroism, or virtuous self-denial, extract tears from him,
which refused to flow at a tale of mere distress. But then, Brown
urges, that he is personally hostile to him--And the obscurity
of his birth--that would be indeed a stumbling-block. O Matilda, I
hope none of your ancestors ever fought at Poictiers or Agincourt!
If it were not for the veneration which my father attaches to the
memory of old Sir Miles Mannering, I should make out my explanation
with half the tremor which must now attend it."
Seventh Extract.
"I have this instant received your letter--your most welcome
letter!--Thanks, my dearest friend, for your sympathy and your
counsels--I can only repay them with unbounded confidence.
"You ask me, what Brown is by origin, that his descent should be so
displeasing to my father. His story is shortly told. He is of
Scottish extraction, but, being left an orphan, his education was
undertaken by a family of relations, settled in Holland. He was
bred to commerce, and sent very early to one of our settlements in
the East, where his guardian had a correspondent. But this
correspondent was dead when he arrived in India, and he had no
other resource than to offer himself as a clerk to a
counting-house. The breaking out of the war, and the straits to
which we were at first reduced, threw the army open to all young
men who were disposed to embrace that mode of life; and Brown,
whose genius had a strong military tendency, was the first to
leave what might have been the road to wealth, and to choose that
of fame. The rest of his history is well known to you; but
conceive the irritation of my father, who despises commerce
(though, by the way, the best part of his property was made in that
honourable profession by my great-uncle), and has a particular
antipathy to the Dutch; think with what ear he would be likely to
receive proposals for his only child from Vanbeest Brown, educated
for charity by the house of Vanbeest and Vanbruggen! O Matilda, it
will never do--nay, so childish am I, I hardly can help
sympathising with his aristocratic feelings. Mrs. Vanbeest Brown!
The name has little to recommend it, to be sure.--What children we
are!"
EIGHTH EXTRACT.
"It is all over now, Matilda!--I shall never have courage to tell
my father--nay, most deeply do I fear he has already learned my
secret from another quarter, which will entirely remove the grace
of my communication, and ruin whatever gleam of hope I had ventured
to connect with it. Yesternight, Brown came as usual, and his
flageolet on the lake announced his approach. We had agreed, that
he should continue to use this signal. These romantic lakes
attract numerous visitors, who indulge their enthusiasm in visiting
the scenery at all hours, and we hoped, that--if Brown were noticed
from the house, he might pass for one of those admirers of nature,
who was giving vent to his feelings through the medium of music.
The sounds might also be my apology, should I be observed on the
balcony. But last night, while I was eagerly enforcing my plan of
a full confession to my father, which he as earnestly deprecated,
we heard the window of Mr. Mervyn's library, which is under my
room, open softly. I signed to Brown to make his retreat, and
immediately re-entered, with some faint hopes that our interview
had not been observed.
"But, alas! Matilda, these hopes vanished the instant I beheld Mr.
Mervyn's countenance at breakfast the next morning. He looked so
provokingly intelligent and confidential, that, had I dared, I
could have been more angry than ever I was in my life; but I must
be on good behaviour, and my walks are now limited within his farm
precincts, where the good gentleman can amble along by my side
without inconvenience. I have detected him once or twice
attempting to sound my thoughts, and watch the expression of my
countenance. He has talked of the flageolet more than once; and
has, at different times, made eulogiums upon the watchfulness and
ferocity of his dogs, and the regularity with which the keeper
makes his rounds with a loaded fowling-piece. He mentioned even
man-traps and spring-guns. I should be loath to affront my
father's old friend in his own house; but I do long to show him
that I am my father's daughter, a fact of which Mr. Mervyn will
certainly be convinced, if ever I trust my voice and temper with a
reply to these indirect hints. Of one thing I am certain--I am
grateful to him on that account--he has not told Mrs. Mervyn.
Lord help me, I should have had such lectures about the dangers of
love and the night air on the lake, the risk arising from colds and
fortune-hunters, the comfort and convenience of sack-whey and
closed windows!--I cannot help trifling, Matilda, though my heart
is sad enough What Brown will do I cannot guess. I presume
however, the fear of detection prevents his resuming his nocturnal
visits. He lodges at an inn on the opposite shore of the lake,
under the name, he tells me, of Dawson--he has a bad choice in
names, that be allowed. He has not left the army, I believe, but
he says nothing of his present views.
"To complete my anxiety, my father is returned suddenly, and in
high displeasure. Our good hostess, as I learned from a bustling
conversation between her housekeeper and her, had no expectation of
seeing him for a week; but I rather suspect his arrival was no
surprise to his friend Mr. Mervyn. His manner to me was
singularly cold and constrained--sufficiently so to have damped all
the courage with which I once resolved to throw myself on his
generosity. He lays the blame of his being discomposed and out of
humour to the loss of a purchase in the south-west of Scotland, on
which he had set his heart; but I do not suspect his equanimity of
being so easily thrown off its balance. His first excursion was
with Mr. Mervyn's barge across the lake, to the inn I have
mentioned. You may imagine the agony with which I waited his
return--Had he recognised Brown, who can guess the consequence! He
returned, however, apparently without having made any discovery. I
understand, that in consequence of his late disappointment, he
means now to hire a house in the neighbourhood of this same
Ellangowan, of which I am doomed to hear so much--he seems to think
it probable that the estate for which he wishes may soon be again
in the market. I will not send away this letter until I hear more
distinctly what are his intentions."
"I have now had an interview with my father, as confidential as, I
presume, he means to allow me. He requested me today, after
breakfast, to walk with him into the library; my knees, Matilda,
shook under me, and it is no exaggeration to say, I could scarce
follow him into the room. I feared I knew not what--From my
childhood I had seen all around him tremble at his frown. He
motioned me to seat myself, and I never obeyed a command so
readily, for, in truth, I could hardly stand. He himself continued
to walk up and down the room. You have seen my father, and
noticed, I recollect, the remarkably expressive cast of his
features. His eyes are naturally rather light in colour, but
agitation or anger gives them a darker and more fiery glance; he
has a custom also of drawing in his lips, when much moved, which
implies a combat between native ardour of temper and the habitual
power of self-command. This was the first time we had been alone
since his return from Scotland, and, as he betrayed these tokens of
agitation, I had little doubt that he was about to enter upon the
subject I most dreaded.
"To my unutterable relief, I found I was mistaken, and that
whatever he knew of Mr. Mervyn's suspicions or discoveries, he did
not intend to converse with me on the topic. Coward as I was, I
was inexpressibly relieved, though if he had really investigated
the reports which may have come to his ear, the reality could have
been nothing to what his suspicions might have conceived. But,
though my spirits rose high at my unexpected escape, I had hot
courage myself to provoke the discussion, and remained silent to
receive his commands.
"'Julia,' he said, 'my agent writes me from Scotland, that he has
been able to hire a house for me, decently furnished, and with the
necessary accommodation for my family--it is within three miles of
that I had designed to purchase--' Then he made a pause, and seemed
to expect an answer.
"'Whatever place of residence suits you, sir, must be perfectly
agreeable to me.'
"'Umph!--I do not propose, however, Julia, that you shall reside
quite alone in this house during the winter.'
"Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, thought I to myself.--'Whatever company is
agreeable to you, sir,' I answered aloud.
"'Oh, there is a little too much of this universal spirit of
submission; an excellent disposition in action, but your constantly
repeating the jargon of it, puts me in mind of the eternal salaams
of our black dependants in the East. In short, Julia, I know you
have a relish for society, and I intend to invite a young person,
the daughter of a deceased friend, to spend a few months with us. '
"'Not a governess, for the love of Heaven, papa!' exclaimed poor
I, my fears at that moment totally getting the better of my
prudence.
"'No, not a governess, Miss Mannering,' replied the Colonel,
somewhat sternly, 'but a young lady from whose excellent example,
bred as she has been in the school of adversity, I trust you may
learn the art to govern yourself. '
"To answer this was trenching upon too dangerous ground, so there
was a pause.
"'Is the young lady a Scotchwoman, papa?'
"'Yes'--dryly enough.
"'Has she much of the accent, sir?'
"'Much of the devil!' answered my father hastily; 'do you think I
care about a's and aa's, and i's and ee's?--I tell you, Julia, I am
serious in the matter. You have a genius for friendship, that is,
for running up intimacies which you call such'--(was not this very
harshly said, Matilda?)--'Now I wish to give you an opportunity
at least to make one deserving friend, and therefore I have
resolved that this young lady shall be a member of my family for
some months, and I expect you will pay to her that attention which
is due to misfortune and virtue.'
"'Certainly, sir.--Is my future friend red-haired?'
"He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, perhaps, I
deserved it; but I think the deuce prompts me with teasing
questions on some occasions.
"'She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appearance, as in
prudence and affection for her friends.'
"'Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommendation
?--Well, sir, but I see you are going to take all this too
seriously; whatever the young lady may be, I am sure, being
recommended by you, she shall have no reason to complain of my want
of attention.--(After a pause)--Has she any attendant? because you
know I must provide for her proper accommodation, if she is without
one.'
"'N-no-no-not properly an attendant--the chaplain who lived with
her father is a very good sort of man, and I believe I shall make
room for him in the house.'
"'Chaplain, papa? Lord bless us!'
"'Yes, Miss Mannering, chaplain; is there anything very new in that
word ? Had we not a chaplain at the Residence, when we were in
India?'
"'Yes, papa, but you were a commandant then.'
"'So I will be now, Miss Mannering--in my own family at least.'
"'Certainly, sir--but will he read us the Church of England
service?'
"The apparent simplicity with which I asked this question got the
better of his gravity. 'Come, Julia,' he said, 'you are a sad girl,
but I gain nothing by scolding you.--Of these two strangers, the
young lady is one whom you cannot fail, I think, to love--the
person whom, for want of a better term, I called chaplain, is a
very worthy, and somewhat ridiculous personage, who will never find
out you laugh at him, if you don't laugh very loud indeed.'
"'Dear papa, I am delighted with that part of his character. --
But pray, is the house we are going to as pleasantly situated as
this?'
"'Not perhaps as much to your taste--there is no lake under the
windows, and you will be under the necessity of having all your
music within doors.'
"This last coup de main ended the keen encounter of our wits, for
you may believe, Matilda, it quelled all my courage to reply.
"Yet my spirits, as perhaps will appear too manifest from this
dialogue, have risen insensibly, and, as it were, in spite of
myself. Brown alive, and free, and in England! Embarrassment and
anxiety I can and must endure. We leave this in two days for our
new residence. I shall not fail to let you know what I think of
these Scotch inmates, whom I have but too much reason to believe my
father means to quarter in his house as a brace of honourable
spies; a sort of female Rozencrantz and reverend Guildenstern, one
in tartan petticoats, the other in a cassock. What a contrast to
the society I would willingly have secured to myself! I shall write
instantly on my arriving at our new place of abode, and acquaint my
dearest Matilda with the further fates of--her
"Julia Mannering."