What say'st thou, Wise One?--that all-powerful Love
Can fortune's strong impediments remove;
Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
The pride of genius with the pride of birth.
Crabbe.
V. Brown,--I will not give at full length his thrice unhappy
name--had been from infancy a ball for fortune to spurn at; but
nature had given him that elasticity of mind which rises higher
from the rebound. His form was tall, manly, and active, and his
features corresponded with his person; for, although far from
regular, they had an expression of intelligence and good humour,
and when he spoke, or was particularly animated, might be decidedly
pronounced interesting. His manner indicated the military
profession, which had been his choice, and in which he had now
attained the rank of captain, the person who succeeded Colonel
Mannering in his command having laboured to repair the injustice
which Brown had sustained by that gentleman's prejudice against
him. But this, as well as his liberation from captivity, had taken
place after Mannering left India. Brown followed at no distant
period, his regiment being recalled home. His first inquiry was
after the family of Mannering, and, easily learning their route
northward, he followed it with the purpose of, resuming his
addresses to Julia. With her father he deemed he had no measures
to keep; for, ignorant of the more venomous belief which had been
instilled into the Colonel's mind, he regarded him as an oppressive
aristocrat, who had used his power as a commanding officer to
deprive him of the preferment due to his behaviour, and who had
forced upon him a personal quarrel without any better reason than
his attentions to a pretty young woman, agreeable to herself, and
permitted and countenanced by her mother. He was determined,
therefore, to take no rejection unless from the young lady herself,
believing that the heavy misfortunes of his painful wound and
imprisonment were direct injuries received from the father, which
might dispense with his using much ceremony towards him. How far
his scheme had succeeded when his nocturnal visit was discovered by
Mr. Mervyn, our readers are already informed.
Upon this unpleasant occurrence, Captain Brown absented himself
from the inn in which he had resided under the name of Dawson, so
that Colonel Mannering's attempts to discover and trace him were
unavailing. He resolved, however, that no difficulties should
prevent his continuing his enterprise, while Julia left him a ray
of hope. The interest he had secured in her bosom was such as she
had been unable to conceal from him, and with all the courage of
romantic gallantry he determined upon perseverance. But we believe
the reader will be as well pleased to learn his mode of thinking
and intentions from his own communication to his special friend and
confidant, Captain Delaserre, a Swiss gentleman, who had a company
in his regiment.
"Let me bear from you soon, dear Delaserre.--Remember, I can learn
nothing about regimental affairs but through your friendly medium,
and I long to know what has become of Ayre's court-martial, and
whether Elliot gets the majority; also how recruiting comes on, and
how the young officers like the mess. Of our kind friend, the
Lieutenant-Colonel, I need ask nothing; I saw him as I passed
through Nottingham, happy in the bosom of his family. What a
happiness it is, Philip, for us poor devils, that we have a little
resting-place between the camp and the grave, if we can manage to
escape disease, and steel, and lead, and the effects of hard
living. A retires old soldier is always a graceful and respected
character. He grumbles a little now and then, but then his is
licensed murmuring-were a lawyer, or a physician, or a clergyman,
to breathe a complaint of hard luck or want of preferment, a
hundred tongues would blame his own incapacity as the cause. But
the most stupid veteran that ever faltered out the thrice-told tale
of a siege and a battle, and a cock and a bottle, is listened to
with sympathy and reverence, when he shakes his thin locks, and
talks with indignation of the boys that are put over his head. And
you and I, Delaserre, foreigners both,--for what am I the better
that I was originally a Scotchman, since, could I prove my descent,
the English would hardly acknowledge me a countryman?-we may boast
that we have fought out our preferment, and gained that by the
sword which we had not money to compass otherwise. The English are
a wise people. While they praise themselves, and affect to
undervalue all other nations, they leave us, luckily, trap-doors
and back-doors open, by which we strangers, less favoured by
nature, may arrive at a share of their advantages. And thus they
are, in some respects like a boastful landlord, who exalts the
value and flavour of his six-years'-old mutton, while he is
delighted to dispense a share of it to all the company. In short,
you, whose proud family, and I, whose hard fate, made us soldiers
of fortune, have the pleasant recollection, that in the British
service, stop where we may upon our career, it is only for want of
money to pay the turnpike, and not from our being prohibited to
travel the road. If, therefore, we can persuade little Weischel to
come into ours, for God's sake let him buy the ensigncy, live
prudently, mind his duty, and trust to the fates for promotion.
"And now, I hope you are expiring with curiosity to learn the end
of my romance. I told you I had deemed it convenient to make a few
days' tour on foot among the mountains of Westmoreland, with
Dudley, a young English artist, with whom I have formed some
acquaintance. A fine fellow this, you must know, Delaserre--he
paints tolerably, draws beautifully, converses well, and plays
charmingly on the flute; and, though thus well entitled to be a
coxcomb of talent, is, in fact, a modest unpretending young man. On
our return from our little tour, I learned that the enemy had been
reconnoitring. Mr. Mervyn's barge had crossed the lake, I was
informed by my landlord, with the squire himself and a visitor.
"'What sort of person, landlord?'
"'Why, he was a dark officer-looking mon, at they called
Colonel--Squoire Mervyn questioned me as close as I had been at
sizes--I had guess, Mr. Dawson' (I told you that was my feigned
name)--I but I tould him nought of your vagaries, and going out
a-laking in the mere a-noights--not I--an I can make no sport.
I'se spoil none--and Squoire Mervyn's as cross as poy-crust too,
mon--he's aye maundering an my guests but land beneath his house,
though it be marked for the fourth station in the Survey. Noa,
noa, e'en let un smell things out o' themselves for Joe Hodges--'
"You will allow there was nothing for it after this, but paying
honest Joe Hodges's bill, and departing, unless I had preferred
making him my confidant, for which I felt in no way inclined.
Besides, I learned that our ci-devant Colonel was on full retreat
for Scotland, carrying off poor Julia along with him. I understand
from those who conduct the heavy baggage, that he takes his winter'
quarters at a place called Woodbourne, in--shire in Scotland. He
will be all on the alert just now, so I must let him enter his
entrenchments without any new alarm. And then, my good Colonel, to
whom I owe so many grateful thanks, pray look to your defence.
"I protest to you, Delaserre, I often think there is a little
contradiction enters into the ardour of my pursuit. I think I would
rather bring this haughty insulting man to the necessity of calling
his daughter Mrs. Brown, than I would wed her with his full
consent, and with the king's permission to change my name for the
style and arms of Mannering, though his whole fortune went with
them. There is only one circumstance that chills me a little-Julia
is young and romantic. I would not willingly hurry her into a step
which her riper years might disapprove--no;--nor would I like to
have her upbraid me, were it but with a glance of her eye, with
having ruined her fortunes--far less give her reason to say, as
some have not been slow to tell their lords, that, had I left her
time for consideration, she would have been wiser and done better.
No, Delaserre--this must not be. The picture presses close upon
me, because I am aware a girl in Julia's situation has no distinct
and precise idea of the value of the sacrifice she makes. She
knows difficulties only by name; and, if she thinks of love and a
farm, it is a ferme ornee, such as is only to be found in poetic
description, or in the park of a gentleman of twelve thousand a
year. She would be ill prepared for the privations of that real
Swiss cottage we have so often talked of, and for the difficulties
which must necessarily surround us even before we attained that
haven. This must be a point clearly ascertained. Although Julia's
beauty and playful tenderness have made an impression on my heart
never to be erased, I must be satisfied that she perfectly
understands the advantages she foregoes, before she sacrifices them
for my sake.
"Am I too proud, Delaserre, when I trust that even this trial may
terminate favourably to my wishes?-Am I too vain when I suppose,
that the few personal qualities--which I possess, with means of
competence however moderate, and the determination of consecrating
my life to her happiness, may make amends for all I must call upon
her to forego? Or will a difference of dress, of attendance, of
style, as it is called, of the power of shifting at pleasure the
scenes in which she seeks amusement,--will these outweigh, in her
estimation, the prospect of domestic happiness, and the interchange
of unabating affection? I say nothing of her father;--his good and
evil qualities are so strangely mingled, that the former are
neutralised by the latter; and that which she must regret as a
daughter is so much blended with what she would gladly escape from,
that I place the separation of the father and child as a
circumstance which weighs little in her remarkable case. Meantime
I keep up my spirits as I may. I have incurred too many hardships
and difficulties to be presumptuous or confident in success, and I
have been too often and too wonderfully extricated from them to be
despondent.
"I wish you saw this country. I think the scenery would delight
you. At least it often brings to my recollection your glowing
descriptions of your native country. To me it has in a great
measure the charm of novelty. Of the Scottish hills, though born
among them, as I have always been assured, I have but an indistinct
recollection. Indeed, my memory rather dwells upon the blank which
my youthful mind experienced in gazing on the levels of the isle of
Zealand, than on anything which preceded that feeling; but I am
confident, from that sensation, as well as from the recollections
which preceded it, that hills and rocks have been familiar to me at
an early period, and that though now only remembered by contrast,
And by the blank which I felt while gazing around for them in vain,
they must have made an indelible impression on my infant
imagination. I remember when we first mounted that celebrated pass
in the Mysore country, while most of the others felt only awe and
astonishment at the height and grandeur of the scenery, I rather
shared your feelings and those of Cameron, whose admiration of such
wild rocks was blended with familiar love, derived from early
association. Despite my Dutch education, a blue hill to me is as a
friend, and a roaring torrent like the sound of a domestic song
that hath soothed my infancy. I never felt the impulse so strongly
as in this land of lakes and mountains, and nothing grieves me so
much as that duty prevents your being with me in my numerous
excursions among its recesses. Some drawings I have attempted, but
I succeed vilely-Dudley, on the contrary, draws delightfully, with
that rapid touch which seems like magic, while I labour and blotch,
and make this too heavy, and that too light, and produce at last a
base caricature. I must stick to the flageolet, for music is the
only one of the fine arts which deigns to acknowledge me.
"Did you know that Colonel Mannering was a draughtsman?--I believe
not, for he scorned to display his accomplishments to the view of a
subaltern. He draws beautifully, however. Since he and Julia left
Mervyn Hall, Dudley was sent for there. The squire, it seems,
wanted a set of drawings made up, of which Mannering had done the
first four, but was interrupted, by his hasty departure, in his
purpose of completing them. Dudley says he has seldom seen
anything so masterly, though slight; and each had attached to it a
short poetical description. Is Saul, you will say, among the
prophets?--Colonel Mannering write poetry!--Why surely this man
must have taken all the pains to conceal his accomplishments that
others do to display theirs. How reserved and unsociable he
appeared among us!--how little disposed to enter into any
conversation which could become generally interesting! And then
his attachment to that unworthy Archer, so much below him in every
respect; and all this, because he was the brother of Viscount
Archerfield, a poor Scottish peer! I think if Archer had longer
survived the wounds in the affair of Cuddyboram, he would have told
something that might have thrown light upon the inconsistencies of
this singular man's character. He repeated to me more than once,
'I have that to say, which will alter your hard opinion of our late
Colonel.' But death pressed him too hard; and if he owed me any
atonement, which some of his expressions seemed to imply, he died
before it could be made.
"I propose to make a further excursion through this country while
this fine frosty weather serves, and Dudley, almost as good a
walker as myself, goes with me for some part of the way. We part
on the borders of Cumberland, where he must return to his lodgings
in Marybone, up three pair of stairs, and labour at what he calls
the commercial part of his profession. There cannot, he says, be
such a difference betwixt any two portions of existence, as between
that in which the artist, if an enthusiast, collects the subjects
of his drawings, and that which must necessarily he dedicated to
turning over his portfolio, and exhibiting them to the provoking
indifference, or more provoking criticism, of fashionable amateurs.
'During the summer of my year,' says Dudley, 'I am as free as a
wild Indian, enjoying myself at liberty amid the grandest scenes of
nature; while, during my winters and springs, I am not only
cabined, cribbed, and confined in a miserable garret, but condemned
to as intolerable subservience to the humour of others, and to as
indifferent company, as if I were a literal galley-slave. 'I have
promised him your acquaintance, Delaserre; you will be delighted
with his specimens of art, and he with your Swiss fanaticism for
mountains and torrents.
"When I lose Dudley's company, I am informed--that I can easily
enter Scotland by stretching across a wild country in the upper
part of Cumberland; and that route I shall follow, to give the
Colonel time to pitch his camp ere I reconnoitre his
position.--Adieu! Delaserre--I shall hardly find another
opportunity of writing till I reach Scotland."