A RURAL EXCURSION.
A brilliant water party had been arranged
among the exclusives, to go to Richmond,
merely to view the scene; it consisted of the
Glenmores, Baskervilles, Lady Tenderden,
Comtesse Leinsengen, Lady Tilney, Lord Boileau,
Sir William Temple, Lord De Chere,
Mr. Winyard, Mr. Spencer Newcomb, Comte
Leinsengen, and a few other young men of
their set.
When the day arrived, Lord Glenmore told
his wife that as he was on a committee of the
House, he should not be able to accompany
her.
"Then I would far rather not go myself."
"Do not be so childish," he said; "for
as we could not, at all events, be together,
you might just as well be at Richmond
as here; and the day is beautiful, so that I
hope you will have a pleasant excursion."
Lady Glenmore sighed, and hung her head,
while a tear came into her eye.
"What is the matter, love?--Has any
thing vexed you?--is it any thing which I
can remedy?--You know you have only to
speak, and your wishes are my laws." He
pressed her fondly to his breast as he said
this, and she replied:
"Nothing; nothing vexes me, except that
we are hardly ever together, as it seems to
me--or never, but when in public; and I long
for the time when we shall be in the country,
and that all our occupations will be mutual;
when you are not with me, I find more pleasure
in music, or in reading, than in going to
parties: for nobody cares for me; and I am
sure I return the compliment."
"Nay, my sweet Georgina, this is really
nonsense. Are you not courted and paid attention
to by every one in the most marked
manner?"
"Do not mistake me," she replied; "I
have not explained what I mean. As to outward
attentions of politeness, oh! yes, I receive
them in abundance; but what I intended
to make you understand is, that the
things I take interest in, and the pleasures I
have in view, seem so entirely different from
those of the generality of the set I live in,
that there is nothing left for me to say; and
I often observe that when I do speak, my conversation
is either laughed at, or they stare at
me as if they did not believe I was serious."
Lord Glenmore smiled, and loved his innocent
little wife a thousand times the more for
her unsophisticated sweetness; nevertheless,
as he was likely always to have a part to play
in the great world, he could not help wishing
that his wife should be able, without putting
any force upon her inclinations, to do so likewise.
He therefore said, and speaking rather
more seriously than he had done: "Retain
always, dearest Georgina, this youth and
purity of character; but, for my sake, learn,
my love, to endure an intercourse with others
who may be of a less pure nature than yourself;
but who are yet, from your situation
and circumstances, likely to be those with
whom you must naturally associate: to please
me, then, my dearest Georgina, begin from
to-day: put on all your smiles, and let me
hear that you are the envy of the women, and
the admiration of the men. Remember, love,
to _please me_."
"Any thing to please you," she replied;
and she decorated herself with more than
usual care. Just as her toilette was about to be
completed, Lord Glenmore entered her room
with a quantity of lilies of the valley. "Here,"
he said, "I have brought you your favourite
flowers; wear them, love, and let their fragrance
remind you of the donor." All this
lover-like attention enchanted the person to
whom it was addressed, and her eyes sparkled
with unwonted brilliancy, and her cheeks were
tinged with the glow of pleasure as she fastened
her _bouquet_ in her breast. Lord Glenmore,
proud of such a wife, as well he might
be, handed her into her carriage, and she
drove to Lady Tilney's, where the party were
to assemble to go to Whitehall stairs.
When she entered the room she found nobody
yet arrived; a servant made Lady Tilney's
apology, saying she should be dressed
shortly. Having played a few airs on the
piano-forte, she took up a novel, and was
busily employed in its pages when Mr. Leslie
Winyard was announced. Lady Glenmore felt
embarrassed in his presence, she knew not
why, but there was something of fear and
flutter that came over her whenever he approached,
which she could not command.
She arose and curtseyed; and then, as though
she had payed him too marked a distinction,
she remained awkwardly standing, as though
she had taken that position by accident--not
in honour of him.
All this was not unobserved by Mr. Winyard.
He was too well practised in the ways
of women's hearts not to read her's at a
glance. At least he occasioned emotion, no
matter what emotion. He was not to be seen
with indifference--that was enough for him;
and he despaired not of turning it to his own
advantage. This advantage, however, was
not, in the present instance, to be obtained by
a _coup de main_; and assuming an air of polite,
but frigid _nonchalance_, he accosted Lady Glenmore
with an expression of surprise at finding
her the first-arrived person; and then examined
one of the miniatures which hung in a
glass cabinet. Lady Glenmore soon recovered
her composure, and entered into conversation
by asking some of those questions which are
merely the opening of conversation. "Yes,
I like music," said Mr. Winyard, in answer
to one of her questions; "it is one of the very
few things which is worth giving one's-self any
trouble about. I once learned to sing; the
only thing I ever learned." Lady Glenmore
laughed; and as her own ingenuous manner
returned, she evinced that propensity to being
amused by the present moment, which is so
natural and so pleasing in youth.
"Will you do me the honour to sing a
duet with me?"
"Oh! certainly," she said; and turning
over some music which lay scattered on the
instrument, she added, "Oh! here is that
delightful little duet, '_Sempre piu_' which,
though not new, is always charming." Mr.
Leslie Winyard had a sort of shuddering at
the idea that, notwithstanding her general
elegance, she might excruciate his ears by an
open English pronunciation, and a drawl by
way of sentiment; but he had embarked in
the danger, and fortunately there was no one
in the way to hear if his own talent should be
marred. He therefore courageously opened
the music leaf; and Lady Glenmore, having
touched a few chords, gave an assurance that
better things were in store. Nor did she disappoint
the promise; her sweet, rich-toned
voice had been tutored by Italian taste, and
swelled or sunk to every intonation, with a
delicacy of feeling which could not be surpassed;
the _sempre piu t'amo_ was uttered in
the purest enunciation of the language; and
Mr. Leslie Winyard thought, if it were only
addressed to him, it would be a triumph, which
the world he had lived in had not yet afforded.
Lady Tilney entered the room while they were
yet singing.
"I am glad to find you have not been
tired," she said, "waiting for me. I beg you
a thousand pardons, Lady Glenmore; but
really I had so many things to do to-day--notes,
those terrible time destroyers; and then
the last number of the Edinburgh Review, together
with Mr. Kirchoffer's last work, have
so entirely occupied me, I totally forgot how
the hours flew past, till Argenbeau told me
that you were arrived. However, I hope you
find the instrument in good order. Mr. Winyard
sings like an angel; and I make no doubt,"
(looking at him, to ask how far she was right
in the assertion) "Lady Glenmore does so
likewise."
Mr. Winyard said, "I assure you, Lady
Tilney, _que voilà ce que l'on appelle chanter_,"
indicating Lady Glenmore with a movement
of his head, "I had no idea any thing not
of the Land of Song could sing in that manner."
"Well, really, you astonish me; why Lady
Glenmore keeps all her perfections to herself!
But she must really be drawn out, and not
suffered to hide her talents in obscurity."
At this moment Lady Tenderden and the
Baskervilles entered, and shortly after the
remainder of the company. "Well, it is time
we should be gone, if we mean to see Richmond,"
observed Mr. Spencer Newcomb,
"though I believe _eating_ Richmond is fully
as interesting, and candle-light at any time
is better worth seeing than the sun-light;
are you not of my opinion, Lady Glenmore?"
He addressed himself in preference to her,
because he thought she was new enough to
be astonished, and astonishment was an homage
paid to his power which he well knew
he could not extract from any of the rest of
the company.
"Both are good," replied Lady Glenmore,
"in their proper season."
"A philosophical answer!" cried Sir William;
"you did not expect that, did you,
Newcomb?"
"No, it is too wise for me," he said, "for
it leaves me nothing to say--it is a truism;
_messieurs et mesdames, je vous avertie_, that as
I do not like the evening fogs of the river I
cannot postpone my departure. Lord Baskerville,
Mr. Winyard, will you come with me?
I have a _voiture a quatre places_, and any
lady may come that likes." Mr. Leslie
Winyard bowed and whispered Lady Glenmore,
"would she go?" Lady Tenderden
whispered her on the other side, "by all
means go, my dear Lady Glenmore, and I will
arrange my party in your carriage."
Lady Tenderden's advice was not to be
slighted, and Lady Glenmore accordingly accepted
Mr. Leslie Winyard's offered arm, and
followed Comtesse Leinsengen, who treating
her as nobody, as she was generally wont to
do every one whom she dared, she entered
her carriage and drove off. At Whitehall-stairs
they found their boat waiting, the best
barge, the most knowing bargemen, and all
things in exquisite order--they take their
places, and, a band of music following, glide
down the stream, and are, or appear to be, in
the most harmonious of humours.
"What is become of Glenmore to-day?"
asked Lord Gascoigne.
"I am sorry to say he was obliged to be
on a committee, and I feel so lonely without
him, half my pleasure is gone," replied Lady
Glenmore. The men looked at one another--the
ladies tittered; there was a pause, and
the speaker felt sadly embarrassed, she knew
not why. Lady Tenderden whispered to her
as they leaned over the boat-side:
"That was a very injudicious speech of
your's, my dear; you must learn not to _affiché_
these tendernesses; for if you really feel them
nobody cares, and people in general only imagine
you affect them by way of being singular."
Poor Lady Glenmore made no answer;
but was again convinced that she should
never like a society in which she was to be
so perfectly unnatural. Mr. Leslie Winyard,
who saw at a single glance the truth and
freshness of Lady Glenmore's character, was
certain that it would not do to attempt to gain
her good graces by any common-place mode
of attack, such as flattery of the person, or
intoxicating representations of power, dissipation,
and pleasure. He therefore took
an opportunity, when the rest of the party
were engaged in their own conversation, to
approach Lady Glenmore, and having found
a seat next to her, he commenced a discourse
which he conceived would be more to her
taste. Music afforded him an opening; it
was a subject on which he spoke elegantly
and well, and she listened with pleased attention.
"After all," he observed, "where science
and taste have done their utmost to produce
perfection, and without these guides certainly
nothing will do; even after they have lent
their assistance, there is a third ingredient
which is _given_ only, and cannot be _acquired_,
without which there will ever remain a flatness,
an _ineffectiveness_, if I may so speak,
which renders the whole vapid and inefficient--I
mean feeling; and there, indeed,
you must know, Lady Glenmore, that you
are not wanting." He fixed his eyes on her
with an expression which made her blush;
but she replied smiling:
"How can _you_ know that, Mr. Winyard?"
"Did I not hear you a short time ago sing
'_Sempre piu t'amo_'?"
"Oh," she replied, "you judge by that?"
"And can I appeal to a more convincing
proof of what I assert? But if I needed any
other proof, surely the words, and the look
which accompanied the words, when you expressed
your regret at Lord Glenmore not
being of the party to-day, would be an
undoubted corroboration of the fact."
"Oh, that was natural," she said; "it
would have been odd could I have done
otherwise. But real feeling is a much deeper
seated quality than can be judged of by singing
a song, or a passing impulse, and I do
not own that you can know any thing about
me or my feelings."
"Perhaps not," replied Mr. Leslie Winyard,
looking grave and humble; "may it be
my good fortune to know more of these, and
to have the honour and advantage of improving
my acquaintance with you."--Here a
louder laugh than was usual among the fastidious
in manners, interrupted this _tête-à-tête_;
"will you not allow us to benefit by the wit?"
asked Mr. Winyard.
"Oh," said Lady Tenderden, "it is only
that Sir William Temple fell asleep, and asked,
when he was awoke, for some more maids
of honour."--"To be sure," he said, "what
does one go to Richmond for, but to eat those
exquisite compositions. If all maids of honour
were like them, I am sure their race would
be more in vogue than it is. I would give a
hundred or two to have the receipt, for notwithstanding
that I have brought my cook
disguised _en valet de chambre_ a thousand
times, he never could find out the secret;
neither has he been able, with all his art, to
produce any precise _fac-simile_."
"Ah!" exclaimed Lord Gascoigne, "that
is the true spirit of philanthropy; a hundred
or two for a receipt to make cheesecakes!
while we have such men in the state we need
not be under any apprehension that the arts
and sciences will fail."
"Yes, arts and sciences, my Lord Gascoigne;
for I affirm that the pleasures of the
table require one to be an adept, both in
order to procure and preserve them in perfection.
Who will deny that the cultivation
and use of the animals, and vegetables, and
elements, that are employed, do not include
all these, not to speak of the _main d'œuvre_."
"I am not disputing the fact," said Lord
Gascoigne; "why did you address yourself to
me? On the contrary, I am so well convinced
of it, that I pay my cook a hundred a year:
but the rascal threatens to leave me if I do
not raise his wages."
"I cannot be surprised at that," said Lord
Baskerville, "for I give mine two, and he is
only a second-rate performer."
"It is vastly extravagant," cried Lady
Tilney; "however, one need not do it if one
does not chuse; and, after all, it is not too
much to pay a man to become a salamander."
"Oh," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen,
"_ils son fait au feu ces gens-là_, they are good
for nothing else, and if you were not to yield
to them, you would have them for half de
money; but you are all _des dupes_ in England.
You think the more you pay, de grander you
are, that is the truth."
"Well, my dear Comtesse," rejoined Lord
Baskerville, "that is all very well to say, but
I am certain that you never would get any
body to serve you if you did not pay him
well; and I must declare that I had rather
give a hundred or two more to my cook, than
to any other servant in my house; for one's
whole domestic comfort depends upon one's
cook, don't you think so, Temple?"
"I was always of opinion that you were a
wise man, and I am now confirmed in that
opinion. Most indubitably one's cook is the
great nucleus upon which one's whole existence,
mental and physical, depends; for if
you eat of a bad greasy ragoût, the _physique_
immediately suffers, and then bilious hypochondria
ensues, and one's friends are the
victims of one's indigestion; and all the economy
of life, in short, goes wrong, if there is a
failure in that department."
"Nobody has ever denied," observed Mr.
Spencer Newcomb, "_que le bonheur est dans
l'estomac_, and that happiness depends very
much on what one eats--and what one
eats depends upon the cook. I hold it to be
an incontrovertible maxim, _que le bonheur des
bonheurs_ is to have a _cordon bleu_ at one's
command--even the ladies will agree with
me."
"Certainly," said Lady Baskerville, "I account
it to be one of the requisites of life."
"Yes," rejoined Mr. Winyard; "for a
lady ought to appreciate the beauty of every
thing, even of a _poulet santé aux truffes_; and
though I cannot endure a woman to have
what is vulgarly called a good appetite--a
sort of beef and cabbage voraciousness--I like
her to know the various flavours and high-wrought
refinements of the palate. Indeed,
I am sure she is always vulgar if she does
not. But here, we are nearly at the landing-place;
and now let us hope to put our theories
in practice, and find in this _rural_ retreat
a change of viands to recreate and stimulate
our somewhat palsied palates."
As the ladies were gathering up their
shawls and reticules, Lady Glenmore stooped
down to arrange a part of her dress, and the
lilies of the valley her husband had given her
fell into the water. She made an exclamation,
and attempted to catch them, but a
breeze bore them beyond her reach. "Oh
my nosegay! I would not lose it for the
world," she cried.
Mr. Leslie Winyard looking in her face, and
seeing that she was eager in her wish to recover
the flowers, hastily darted from another
part of the boat; and in making an effort to
catch them, lost his balance, and fell into the
water. As they were literally on the shore,
there was no sort of danger, besides that
of getting a ducking; but he thought it
might avail him something in Lady Glenmore's
favour: nor was he mistaken. Seeing
him floundering in the water, she cried out,
"for God's sake save his life!" and while
he made the most of the awkwardness of his
situation, he kept brandishing the lilies with
one hand, and would not suffer any body to
touch them till he delivered them safely to
her. She was exceedingly touched by this
effort to oblige her, and for the rest of the
evening, after he had made a fresh toilette,
he reaped the rewards of his gallantry, by
finding that Lady Glenmore listened to him
with a kind of favourable impression, that
he could scarcely have hoped to inspire her
with, had not fortune thus favoured him.
During dinner nothing was talked of but
the merits of a Richmond party:--"there is
surely nothing in the world more beautiful,"
said Mr. Newcomb, "than the view of Richmond
Hill; it is the only _riante_ landscape in
England; a perfect Claude; and for my part,
I never desire to go farther in quest of the
picturesque--it is quite a _gentle_ scene; no
horrors, no rugged rocks or torrents; but a
sweet, soft, sylvan composition."
"Enlivened too," observed Sir William
Temple, "by stage-coaches, and mail-coaches,
and coaches of all sorts, in short; without
which I hold all views to be very wearisome
things _à la longue_."
"Only made for the eyes of the vulgar, depend
upon it," was Lord Baskerville's observation.
"Except during the hunting season,
the country is hateful; but one may bear a
row to Richmond, especially in such company,"--and
he bowed to Comtesse Leinsengen.
"The country is all very well," she rejoined,
"in a _grande chateau bien remplie de tout ce
qu'il y a de mieux en fait de société_; but it
makes me shudder to think of being in one of
your provinces, in a house in the middle of a
shut-up park, with a neighbour or two _pour
tout bien_; no no, I am perished with _ennui_
but to think of it."
"It makes me shudder too," said Lady
Baskerville, smiling at the Comtesse Leinsengen's
broken English; "but, in fact, it
is what nobody does now-a-days; either the
real or the pretended incapacity on the score
of fortune for living at the country-seats, as
they used to be called, gets rid of all that
sort of thing. People live very much now
as they used to do in France, I am told, when
Paris was the only place in that country which
any body lived in."
"Yes," said Mr. Spencer Newcomb, "and
as long as the people don't find out that their
landlords forsake them, and rack them for
their money, which they spend any where
rather than in doing them any good, it is very
agreeable not to be bored with that sort of
useful virtuous life. Long may they continue
to administer to our pleasures--they ought
certainly to be made for nothing else; but,
unfortunately, there came a time in France
when these things were all changed, and the
vulgars took it into their heads that they were
to have their day; and off went heads, and
on went caps of liberty, and all things were
turned upside down, as every body knows.
I wonder now how Lord Baskerville would
like to turn groom, and rub down his own
horses!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" was echoed around.
"So long as you keep a good whip hand,
and de rein in both, you will not be in any danger,"
cried Comtesse Leinsengen; "you have
only to keep down _de canaille_. What sinifie
all these schools of learning? dey are the most
terrible nonsense; good for nothing but to
turn the people's heads, and make them think
themselves wiser than their masters; we do
not do so in my country. When they learn to
sing, they only learn _one note_, so that no
single person is independent of anoder, and
yet they make excellent concerts; these sort
of people should be always kept dat way, so
you see dat keeps all quiet, and the country
goes on from one age to another all de same."
"Capital," said Winyard, "that is worth
putting in print."
"Oh, I am quite of another opinion,"
cried Lady Tilney; "you must pardon me;
but I think that every thing which has not
freedom for its basis, must be wrong; let
every body have a fair chance of becoming
something; above all, let the light of learning
shine every where, in every thing; there will
always be ways and means of keeping people
in their several stations. A country may
have all the blessings of liberty, and yet a
certain set may exist who shall have a superiority
of its own, move in a sphere of its
own, and be kept quite apart from the vulgar
crowd; there is always a way of managing
these things. I uphold liberty and literature;
but that is not to say, that your authors
and your musicians are to mix with certain
societies--quite the contrary. The liberty
of the latter will always keep its ground against
the intrusion of the former, don't you think so,
Sir William?"
"I think, Lady Tilney, that whatever you
say must be right; and when you command,
I feel always inclined to reply, as some body,
I forget who, did to the Queen of France, _si
c'est possible c'est déjà fait, si c'est impossible
ça ce fera_."
"I have always thought," rejoined Mr.
Spencer Newcomb, "that that speech ought
to be the truest that ever was uttered, for
it is exactly the sort of thing a lady would
like to have said, and I am sure it is the
most ingenious that ever was contrived." A
walk was now proposed, previous to which
the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room.
"Well," said Lady Tenderden, "I think
we have had a charming day, do you not Lady
Glenmore?"
"Very much so," she replied, "and if
only----."
"I will finish the phrase for you--if only
Lord Glenmore was here--now my dear, I
thought I had warned you not to indulge in
that infantine habit of saying always what
you think. You cannot conceive what strange
ideas men attach to these sort of declarations;
they are apt to suppose it is a hint to them to
make love to you."
"Impossible!" said Lady Glenmore, colouring.
"Oh, you do not yet know the world, my
dear Lady Glenmore. Be advised at first, and
then afterwards act for yourself."
"I must beg of you, ladies," interrupted
Comtesse Leinsengen, coming up to them, "to
patronize a little _modiste_ who is newly
established, and whom I take under my special
protection. She has all her patterns from
Paris--dey are of the _premier goût_, and have
that particular mark of distinction about
them, which dose who are copied from the
_feuilles des modes_ never so attain. Mademoiselle
Dumesnil has promised me never to
sell certain things but to certain people;
so that one is quite sure of not seeing _le double_
of one's own dress on Mrs. Hoffer, or Lady
Delafont, which is quite sufficient to make
one fall into a syncope, and put one in bad
humour for de whole season."
The Ladies smiled, agreed with her, and
promised compliance with her wishes. "Mademoiselle
Dumesnil's story," continued Comtesse
Leinsengen, "_feroit un roman_; it is
quite touching, and" (she added in a whisper,
as the gentlemen entered the room), "its
hero, _le voilà_," pointing to Mr. Leslie Winyard;
then in a low voice she proceeded to
give the whole particulars to the two Ladies,
Glenmore and Tenderden, who sat next to
her.
The gentlemen now expressed their wish
to know whether the ladies would not profit
by the beauty of the evening to walk out,
and the measure being agreed upon, the party
was so arranged that Lady Glenmore fell to
the lot of Mr. Leslie Winyard, and much as
she now felt averse to accept his arm, after
the particulars she had just heard from Comtesse
Leinsengen, it was impossible for her
to refuse without incurring, as she thought,
Lady Tenderden's animadversions. Lady
Glenmore's silence, however, as they walked
along, attracted her companion's particular
notice. Something, he conceived, must have
occurred, to change her manner so completely
since dinner; but Mr. Leslie Winyard was too
well versed in intrigue to augur from this
circumstance any thing unfavourable to his
wishes, because he knew that to have made
an impression _quelconque_, was the first step
towards attaining his end.
Determined, nevertheless, to ascertain the
reason of this alteration in Lady Glenmore's
manner, he very cautiously, but very adroitly,
contrived to find out that something had been
said which she conceived was to his disadvantage;
and he could be at no loss to guess of
what nature it was, for the affair in which
his name had been mixed up, in Comtesse
Leinsengen's conversation, was of too recent
a date, and too _marquante_, to have escaped the
memories even of that thoughtless circle--it
was, in short, his last.
With this just apprehension of the fact,
therefore, he turned the conversation upon
the subject of scandal, which he deprecated
bitterly; and, as if instancing the effects of it
in regard to a person intimately known to
himself, gave a totally different, but very plausible,
interpretation of the exact story, which
Lady Glenmore had heard detailed half an
hour before by Comtesse Leinsengen.
Lady Glenmore had listened to this artful
language with considerable interest and
surprise. From the generosity of her nature,
she felt much pleasure in thinking that
the evil she had heard, and which made her
uneasy even to be in Mr. Leslie Winyard's
society, was totally without foundation. Her
manner, therefore, gradually relaxed in rigour
towards him; she seemed to have suddenly
recovered her spirits, and her conversation
flowed naturally without any constraint.
The moment the party returned from their
walk she flew up to Lady Tenderden, and
referring to the previous conversation of Comtesse
Leinsengen, repeated that which she
had just heard from Mr. Leslie Winyard, and
which she conceived to be his interpretation
of his own story; commenting, as she related
it, on the injurious effects of speaking evil of
any person without a thorough knowledge of
the fact. Lady Tenderden foresaw, that were
all this carried back to Lord Glenmore, many
impediments would arise in fitting Lady Glenmore
for their exclusive circle, and bringing
her down to a moral level with themselves;
she therefore said, after a minute's pause, "I
make no doubt the Comtesse Leinsengen has
been exceedingly misinformed; but at the
same time the less that is said of these matters
is always best, on every account; and as Mr.
Leslie Winyard is my very particular friend, I
shall esteem it a favour, my dear Lady Glenmore,
that you do not mention this idle
story to Lord Glenmore, who might conceive
some prejudice against him, which
would make me very unhappy. It is, in
fact, of no consequence whatever; but when
things of that nature pass through various
mouths, they accumulate a consequence in
their passage which they have not in themselves;
and therefore promise me, dear
Lady Glenmore, that you will not mention
this matter to any one; besides," she added,
looking very mysterious, "you know Lord
Glenmore's great interests may be much
affected by the Leinsengens; and the knowledge
of her having retailed that sort of
story, and retailed it under a mistaken
point of view, might produce some coolness
between them; for you know Lord Glenmore
is vastly fond of Mr. Leslie Winyard."
Lady Glenmore did _not_ know this, and
hardly comprehended any part of the speech;
in truth, how should she? But she remembered
her husband's having recommended her to
take Lady Tenderden's advice, and therefore
she determined so to do in the present instance.
Shortly after this conversation, it was put to
the vote whether the party should return to
town by land or by water; and with the
exception of Princess Leinsengen and Lord
Baskerville, who preferred a close carriage
for fear of damp, the rest agreed to go as
they had come. It was soon quite night;
but a brilliant moon made the water look very
beautiful; and the soft language of Mr. Winyard,
as he sat by the side of Lady Glenmore
in the boat, fashioned in its phrase to the taste
of his hearer, appeared to her in unison with
the scene, and she thought him the only one
of the party who was at all amusing, or had
given a colouring of any interest to the hours
she had passed with them.
Arrived at Whitehall, Lady Tenderden proposed
their adjourning to her house, where
supper was prepared; but Lady Glenmore,
uneasy at a longer absence from home and
her husband's society, determined for once to
be firm in her refusal; and stepping into
her carriage, which awaited her, drove at
once home. On her arrival there, however,
she was doomed to sustain an unexpected
disappointment, as she found a note from
Lord Glenmore, dated from the House; in
which he told her not to be uneasy if he were
late, for that the business of the morning was
likely to be followed by a protracted debate on
an important question. Lady Glenmore sighed
over this note as she perused it; and, tired
with the day's excursion, yet not sufficiently
composed for rest, she experienced that listlessness
of mind, which admits not of any
active exertion, and yet affords no satisfactory
contemplation whereon to dwell.
Lord Glenmore's attention happened to be
at this moment directed to a high post under
government, which it was more than probable
he would attain. But could he have dreamt
that in this pursuit he was neglecting the
duties of private life, and casting forth an
inexperienced young person, unprotected, amid
all the dangers of a pleasure-loving world,
he would have left all else to guide her
through the perils to which he now so frequently
left her exposed. How often does it
happen, in various instances, that in the blindness
of human wishes, we hurry to the goal of
our desires--even those which we deem innocent
and praiseworthy; but which, when suffered
to lead us on, without a reference to a
higher power, never fail to _mislead_, and prove
fallacious when obtained. Yes, this is that
self-pride of reason, which, confiding too much
in its own merits, and not acting under the
reliance of a superintending Providence, even
when on the point of realizing its fondest
hopes, finds it has grasped at a shadow; and
to an ideal good, sacrificed a permanent happiness.
Had Lord Glenmore paused to reflect, and
had recourse to that unerring light, which
never dazzles to betray--his steps would
have been guided by unfailing wisdom, and
he would have found his chief happiness in
his chief duty; whereas he pursued the phantom
ambition; he did not consider that the
necessary consequence which must follow an
official occupation, was his leaving his young
wife without a natural protector, amid scenes
that were any thing but safe; and he was
desirous that she, too, should play her part,
and by those graces and influences which
have such sway over the destinies of men and
of empires, take an interest and acquire a
power in that vaulting game of ambition in
which he himself delighted to engage. He
considered not how often he must leave her
through the day, and the greater part of the
night, to run this hazardous career, at an
age when caution sleeps and passions are
awake, and in the midst of a set which, though
certainly not wholly devoid of some unblemished
characters, was yet, generally speaking,
in its whole tendency perilous to the
pure and domestic virtues--a woman's only
true glory.
Yet on this precipice was Lady Glenmore
placed, without one real friend to whom
she could look for genuine advice or succour.
Her mother's (Lady Melcomb) absence from
town prevented that natural tie, and had she
been there it would have proved the business of
the exclusives to have prevented that free and
happy intercourse, both on the principle of
not allowing any aged person to mar the
brilliancy of their set, as well as that of excluding
all those who might see through the
drift of the society. On Lady Melcomb's part
it was too early in the day to have any suspicion
of the work of mischief which was carrying
on to separate her from her daughter,
and thus was Lady Glenmore like a lovely
lamb amidst ravening wolves.
Scarcely had she been received amongst
them, when Mr. Leslie Winyard, being at the
moment _desœuvré_, conceived that she was just
put in his way as a fit play-thing for the hour,
and without the least scruple he determined
she should swell the list of his conquests, already
as numerous as those of Don Giovanni
in all lands. He took no pains to conceal this
design from any one save herself, and his intentions
served many of the set as a topic of
conversation, a fit subject for betting on:
"how would Glenmore take the thing;
would he be a wise man or a fool--put on the
cap which fitted him with a good grace, or
make grimaces at it?" Such is the license
with which the most serious delinquencies
were talked over, and though when set down
on paper they may seem exaggerated, yet
certainly the fact is not in the least so; only
people start at things and actions when called
by their right names, which under the title
of venial errors, youthful indiscretions, and the
sanction of custom and habit, are certainly
tolerated, if not commended; _tacitly_ approved,
if not openly avowed. Ought not such a
desperate system to be analyzed? Ought not
language to pourtray in its strongest terms
those deeds and those manners which, under
the semblance of polite terms, and fictitious
representation, and deceptive elegancies,
pass current as being harmless or indifferent.
Let those whose hearts have bled on the
shrine of fashion and of _ton_--who have mourned
the loss of all that was valuable in character,
or beautiful in mental existence, sacrificed
to the insatiable appetite of pleasure,
the degrading occupations of frivolous pursuit,--let
_them_ say if colours can be too deep,
or language too strong, to paint so destructive
an evil as that of the whole false, futile
system of the exclusiveness of _ton_.
Lady Glenmore was evidently one of those
persons marked out to become its victim, and
when the character of Mr. Leslie Winyard is
taken into account, as being the man who
attempted above all others to lead her to her
ruin, it cannot be wondered at, circumstanced
as she was, that the pit of degradation yawned
at her feet. Mr. Winyard was one of those
who to the gentlest manners united the hardest
of hearts: he had not, perhaps, always
merited such a description; but the being who
lives entirely for pleasure, becomes gradually
hardened to every natural sentiment, and selfishness
is the invariable consequence of a life
of idle dissipation. From selfishness springs
every other evil, and as it is the meanest of all
principles of action, when considered in the
baldness of the term, so it is, perhaps, the
most common, and the one which above all
others no person will like to avow--no, not
even Mr. Leslie Winyard.
Yet he was a man who, after having by
every sort of riot and debauchery ruined
himself, proceeded to ruin his own mother
and sister, bringing the grey hairs of the
one to the grave with sorrow, and leaving the
other to work out her existence in a situation
unfitting her rank, but far more honourable
and desirable than the one he filled; yet
this was a man, the beauty of whose personal
appearance, the refinement of whose manners,
the powers of whose understanding
and charm of fascination, were calculated
to destroy every innocent mind; and it was
difficult to arm against such a powerful
enemy--a very Proteus in the power of
becoming all things at pleasure, and suiting
himself precisely to the taste and habits of
the victim whom he was insidiously endeavouring
to undermine.
What could protect an unsuspecting,
youthful mind against such an enemy?
Nothing but religion; nothing but that habitual
looking for wisdom, where alone it
may be found; and perhaps, Lady Glenmore
was in this only security fatally defective;
she was good and pure, in as much as
human nature can be said to be so. And
how totally valueless this goodness is, without
it rests on a firmer basis, may be
seen in her, as in every other person to
whom the same vital want attaches: for her
character was not built on that rock which
when the floods come, and the storm beats,
will remain unmoved by them: she had yet
the greatest of all lessons to learn, not to
depend on _self_.