and myself, of something which interested him more profoundly than all
earthly records of horsemanship, or any conceivable questions connected
with books. Lady Carbery, with a view to the amusement of Lady Massey
and my sister, for both of whom youth and previous seclusion had created
a natural interest in all such scenes, accepted two or three times in
every week dinner invitations to all the families on her visiting list,
and lying within her winter circle, which was measured, by a radius of
about seventeen miles. For, dreadful as were the roads in those days,
when the Bath, the Bristol, or the Dover mail was equally perplexed
oftentimes to accomplish Mr. Palmer's rate of seven miles an hour, a
distance of seventeen was yet easily accomplished in one hundred minutes
by the powerful Laxton horses. Magnificent was the Laxton turn-out;
and in the roomy travelling coach of Lady Carbery, made large enough to
receive upon occasion even a bed, it would have been an idle scruple to
fear the crowding a party which mustered only three besides myself. For
Lord Massey uniformly declined joining us; in which I believe that he
was right. A schoolboy like myself had fortunately no dignity to lose.
But Lord Massey, a needy Irish peer (or, strictly speaking, since the
Union no peer at all, though still an hereditary lord), was bound to be
trebly vigilant over his surviving honors. This he owed to his country
as well as to his family. He recoiled from what he figured to himself
(but too often falsely figured) as the haughty and disdainful English
nobility---all so rich, all so polished in manner, all so punctiliously
correct in the ritual of _bienséance_. Lord Carbery might face them
gayly and boldly: for _he_ was rich, and, although possessing Irish
estates and an Irish mansion, was a thorough Englishman by education
and early association. "But I," said Lord Massey, "had a careless Irish
education, and am never quite sure that I may not be trespassing on some
mysterious law of English good-breeding." In vain I suggested to him
that most of what passed amongst foreigners and amongst Irishmen for
English _hauteur_ was pure reserve, which, among all people that were
bound over by the inevitable restraints of their rank (imposing, it must
be remembered, jealous duties as well as privileges), was sure to become
the operative feeling. I contended that in the English situation there
was no escaping this English reserve, except by great impudence and
defective sensibility; and that, if examined, reserve was the truest
expression of respect towards those who were its objects. In vain did
Lady Carbery back me in this representation. He stood firm, and never
once accompanied us to any dinner-party. Northamptonshire, I know not
why, is (or then was) more thickly sown with aristocratic families than
any in the kingdom. Many elegant and pretty women there naturally
were in these parties; but undoubtedly our two Laxton baronesses shone
advantageously amongst them. A boy like myself could lay no restraint
upon the after-dinner feelings of the gentlemen; and almost uniformly
I heard such verdicts passed upon the personal attractions of both, but
especially Lady Massey, as tended greatly to soothe the feelings of Lord
Massey. It is singular that Lady Massey universally carried off the palm
of unlimited homage. Lady Carbery was a regular beauty, and publicly
known for such; both were fine figures, and apparently not older
than twenty-six; but in her Irish friend people felt something more
thoroughly artless and feminine--for the masculine understanding of
Lady Carbery in some way communicated its commanding expression to
her deportment. I reported to Lord Massey, in terms of unexceptionable
decorum, those flattering expressions of homage, which sometimes from
the lips of young men, partially under the influence of wine, had
taken a form somewhat too enthusiastic for a literal repetition to a
chivalrous and adoring husband.
Meantime, the reader has been kept long enough at Laxton to warrant me
in presuming some curiosity or interest to have gathered within his mind
about the mistress of the mansion. Who was Lady Carbery? what was her
present position, and what had been her original position, in society?
All readers of Bishop Jeremy Taylor [Footnote: The Life of Jeremy
Taylor, by Reginald Heber, Bishop of Calcutta, is most elaborately
incorrect. From want of research, and a chronology in some places
thoroughly erroneous, various important facts are utterly misstated; and
what is most to be regretted, in a matter deeply affecting the bishop's
candor and Christian charity, namely, a controversial correspondence
with a Somersetshire Dissenting clergyman, the wildest misconception has
vitiated the entire result. That fractional and splintered condition,
into which some person had cut up the controversy with a view to his own
more convenient study of its chief elements, Heber had misconceived
as the actual form in which these parts had been originally exchanged
between the disputants--a blunder of the worst consequence, and having
the effect of translating general expressions (such as recorded a moral
indignation against ancient fallacies or evasions connected with the
dispute) into direct ebullitions of scorn or displeasure personally
against his immediate antagonist. And the charge of intolerance and
defective charity becomes thus very much stronger against the poor
bishop, because it takes the shape of a confession extorted by mere
force of truth from an else reluctant apologist, that would most gladly
have denied everything that he _could_ deny. The Life needs more than
ever to be accurately written, since it has been thus chaotically
mis-narrated by a prelate of so much undeniable talent. I once began a
very elaborate life myself, and in these words: "Jeremy Taylor, the most
eloquent and the subtlest of Christian philosophers, was the son of
a barber, and the son-in-law of a king,"--alluding to the tradition
(imperfectly verified, I believe) that he married an illegitimate
daughter of Charles I. But this sketch was begun more than thirty years
ago; and I retired from the labor as too overwhelmingly exacting in
all that related to the philosophy and theology of that man so
"myriad-minded," and of that century so anarchical.] must be aware
of that religious Lady Carbery, who was the munificent (and, for her
kindness, one might say the filial) patroness of the all-eloquent and
subtle divine. She died before the Restoration, and, consequently,
before her spiritual director could have ascended the Episcopal throne.
The title of Carbery was at that time an earldom; the earl married
again, and his second countess was also a devout patroness of Taylor.
Having no peerage at hand, I do not know by what mode of derivation the
modern title of the nineteenth century had descended from the old one of
the seventeenth. I presume that some collateral branch of the original
family had succeeded to the barony when the limitations of the original
settlement had extinguished the earldom. But to me, who saw revived
another religious Lady Carbery, distinguished for her beauty and
accomplishments, it was interesting to read of the two successive ladies
who had borne that title one hundred and sixty years before, and whom no
reader of Jeremy Taylor is ever allowed to forget, since almost all
his books are dedicated to one or other of the pious family that had
protected him. Once more there was a religious Lady Carbery, supporting
locally the Church of England, patronizing schools, diffusing the most
extensive relief to every mode of indigence or distress. A century and a
half ago such a Lady Carbery was in South Wales, at the "Golden Grove;"
now such another Lady Carbery was in central England, at Laxton. The two
cases, divided by six generations, interchanged a reciprocal interest,
since in both cases it was young ladies, under the age of thirty, that
originated the movement, and in both cases these ladies bore the
same title; and I will therefore retrace rapidly the outline of that
contemporary case so familiarly known to myself.
Colonel Watson and General Smith had been amongst the earliest friends
of my mother's family. Both served for many years in India: the first
in the Company's army, the other upon the staff of the king's forces in
that country. Each, about the same time, made a visit to England, and
each of them, I believe, with the same principal purpose of providing
for the education of his daughter; for each happened to have one sole
child, which child, in each case, was a girl of singular beauty; and
both of these little ladies were entitled to very large fortunes. The
colonel and the general, being on brotherly terms of intimacy, resolved
to combine their plans for the welfare of their daughters. What they
wanted was, not a lady that could teach them any special arts
or accomplishments--all these could be purchased;--but the two
qualifications indispensable for the difficult situation of
lady-superintendent over two children so singularly separated from all
relatives whatever, were, in the first place, knowledge of the world,
and integrity for keeping at a distance all showy adventurers that might
else offer themselves, with unusual advantages, as suitors for the favor
of two great heiresses; and, secondly, manners exquisitely polished.
Looking to that last requisition, it seems romantic to mention, that
the lady selected for the post, with the fullest approbation of
both officers, was one who began life as the daughter of a little
Lincolnshire farmer. What her maiden name had been, I do not at this
moment remember; but this name was of very little importance, being
soon merged in that of Harvey, bestowed on her at the altar by a country
gentleman. The squire--not very rich, I believe, but rich enough to rank
as a matrimonial prize in the lottery of a country girl, whom one
single step of descent in life might have brought within sight of menial
service--had been captivated by the young woman's beauty; and this, at
that period, when accompanied by the advantages of youth, must have been
resplendent. I, who had known her all my life, down to my sixteenth year
(during which year she died), and who naturally, therefore, referred her
origin back to some remote ancestral generation, nevertheless, in her
sole case, was made to feel that there might be some justification for
the Church of England discountenancing in her Liturgy, "marriage with
your great-grandmother; neither shalt thou marry thy great-grandfather's
widow." She, poor thing! at that time was thinking little of marriage;
for even then, though known only to herself and her _femme de chambre_,
that dreadful organic malady (cancer) was raising its adder's crest,
under which finally she died. But, in spite of languor interchanging
continually with disfiguring anguish, she still impressed one as a regal
beauty. Her person, indeed, and figure, _would_ have tended towards such
a standard; but all was counteracted, and thrown back into the mould of
sweet natural womanhood, by the cherubic beauty of her features. These
it was--these features, so purely childlike--that reconciled me in a
moment of time to great-grandmotherhood. The stories about Ninon de
l'Enclos are French fables--speaking plainly, are falsehoods; and sorry
I am that a nation so amiable as the French should habitually disregard
truth, when coming into collision with their love for the extravagant.
But, if anything could reconcile me to these monstrous old fibs about
Ninon at ninety, it would be the remembrance of this English enchantress
on the high-road to seventy. Guess, reader, what she must have been at
twenty-eight to thirty-two, when she became the widow of the Gerenian
horseman, Harvey. How bewitching she must have looked in her widow's
caps! So had once thought Colonel Watson, who happened to be in England
at that period; and to the charming widow this man of war propounded his
hand in marriage. This hand, this martial hand, for reason inexplicable
to me, Mrs. Harvey declined; and the colonel bounced off in a rage to
Bengal. There were others who saw young Mrs. Harvey, as well as Colonel
Watson. And amongst them was an ancient German gentleman, to what
century belonging I do not know, who had every possible bad quality
known to European experience, and a solitary good one, namely, eight
hundred thousand pounds sterling. The man's name was Schreiber.
Schreiber was an aggregate resulting from the conflux of all conceivable
bad qualities. That was the elementary base of Schreiber; and the
superstructure, or Corinthian decoration of his frontispiece, was, that
Schreiber cultivated one sole science, namely, the science of taking
snuff. Here were two separate objects for contemplation: one, bright as
Aurora--that radiant Koh-i-noor, or mountain of light--the eight hundred
thousand pounds; the other, sad, fuscous, begrimed with the snuff of
ages, namely, the most ancient Schreiber. Ah! if they _could_ have
been divided--these twin yoke-fellows--and that ladies might have the
privilege of choosing between them! For the moment there was no prudent
course open to Mrs. Harvey, but that of marrying Schreiber (which she
did, and survived); and, subsequently, when the state of the market
became favorable to such "conversions" of stock, then the new Mrs.
Schreiber parted from Schreiber, and disposed of her interest in
Schreiber at a settled rate in three per cent. consols and terminable
annuities; for every _coupon_ of Schreiber receiving a _bonus_ of so
many thousand pounds, paid down according to the rate agreed on by
the lawyers of the two parties; or, strictly speaking, _quarrelled on_
between the adverse factions; for agreement it was hard to effect upon
any point. The deadly fear which had been breathed into him by Mrs.
Schreiber's scale of expenditure in a Park Lane house proved her most
salutary ally. Coerced by this horrid vision, Schreiber consented (which
else he never would have done) to grant her an allowance, for life, of
about two thousand per annum. Could _that_ be reckoned an anodyne
for the torment connected with a course of Schreiber? I pretend to no
opinion.
Such were the facts: and exactly at this point in her career had Mrs.
Schreiber arrived, when, once more, Colonel Watson and General Smith
were visiting England, and for the last time, on the errand of settling
permanently some suitable establishment for their two infant daughters.
The superintendence of this they desired to devolve upon some lady,
qualified by her manners and her connections for introducing the young
ladies, when old enough, into general society. Mrs. Schreiber was the
very person required. Intellectually she had no great pretensions; but
these she did not need: her character was irreproachable, her manners
were polished, and her own income placed her far above all mercenary
temptations. She had not thought fit to accept the station of Colonel
Watson's wife, but some unavowed feeling prompted her to undertake, with
enthusiasm, the duties of a mother to the colonel's daughter. Chiefly
on Miss Watson's account it was at first that she extended her maternal
cares to General Smith's daughter; but very soon so sweet and winning
was the disposition of Miss Smith that Mrs. Schreiber apparently loved
_her_ the best.
Both, however, appeared under a combination of circumstances too
singularly romantic to fail of creating an interest that was universal.
Both were solitary children, unchallenged by any relatives. Neither had
ever known what it was to taste of love, paternal or maternal. Their
mothers had been long dead--not consciously seen by either; and their
fathers, not surviving their last departure from home long enough to see
them again, died before returning from India. What a world of desolation
seemed to exist for them! How silent was every hall into which, by
natural right, they should have had entrance! Several people, kind,
cordial people, men and women, were scattered over England, that, during
their days of infancy, would have delighted to receive them; but, by
some fatality, when they reached their fifteenth year, and might have
been deemed old enough to undertake visits, all of these paternal
friends, except two, had died; nor had they, by that time, any relatives
at all that remained alive, or were eligible as associates. Strange,
indeed, was the contrast between the silent past of their lives and that
populous future to which their large fortunes would probably introduce
them. Throw open a door in the rear that should lay bare the long
vista of chambers through which their childhood might symbolically be
represented as having travelled--what silence! what solemn solitude!
Open a door in advance that should do the same figurative office for the
future--suddenly what a jubilation! what a tumult of festal greetings!
But the succeeding stages of life did not, perhaps, in either case fully
correspond to the early promise. Rank and station the two young ladies
attained; but rank and station do not always throw people upon prominent
stages of action or display. Many a family, possessing both rank and
wealth, and not undistinguished possibly by natural endowments of an
order fitted for brilliant popularity, never emerge from obscurity, or
not into any splendor that can be called national; sometimes, perhaps,
from a temper unfitted for worthy struggles in the head of the house;
possibly from a haughty, possibly a dignified disdain of popular arts,
hatred of petty rhetoric, petty sycophantic courtships, petty canvassing
tricks; or again, in many cases, because accidents of ill-luck have
intercepted the fair proportion of success due to the merits of the
person; whence, oftentimes, a hasty self-surrender to impulses of
permanent disgust. But, more frequently than any other cause, I fancy
that impatience of the long struggle required for any distinguished
success interferes to thin the ranks of competitors for the prizes of
public ambition. Perseverance is soon refrigerated in those who fall
back under any result, defeated or not defeated, upon splendid mansions
and luxuries of every kind, already far beyond their needs or their
wishes. The soldier described by the Roman satirist as one who had lost
his purse, was likely enough, under the desperation of his misfortune,
to see nothing formidable in any obstacle that crossed his path towards
another supplementary purse; whilst the very same obstacle might
reasonably alarm one who, in retreating, fell back under the battlements
of twenty thousand per annum. In the present case, there was nothing
at all to move wonder in the final result under so continual a siege of
temptation from the seductions of voluptuous ease; the only wonder
is, that one of the young ladies, namely, Miss Watson, whose mind was
masculine, and in some directions aspiring, should so readily have
acquiesced in a result which she might have anticipated from the
beginning.
Happy was the childhood, happy the early dawn of womanhood, which
these two young ladies passed under the guardianship of Mrs. Schreiber.
Education in those days was not the austere old lady that she is now.
At least, in the case of young ladies, her exactions were merciful and
considerate. If Miss Smith sang pretty well, and Miss Watson _very_
well, and with the power of singing difficult _part_ music at sight,
they did so for the same reason that the lark sings, and chiefly under
the same gentle tuition--that of nature, glad almighty nature, breathing
inspiration from her Delphic tripod of happiness, and health, and hope.
Mrs. Schreiber pretended to no intellectual gifts whatever; and yet,
practically, she was wiser than many who have the greatest. First of
all other tasks which she imposed upon her wards, was that of daily
exercise, and exercise carried to _excess_. She insisted upon four
hours' exercise daily; and, as young ladies walk fast, _that_ would have
yielded, at the rate of three and a half miles per hour, thirteen plus
one third miles. But only two and a half hours were given to walking;
the other one and a half to riding. No day was a day of rest; absolutely
none. Days so stormy that they "kept the raven to her nest," snow the
heaviest, winds the most frantic, were never listened to as any ground
of reprieve from the ordinary exaction. I once knew (that is, not
personally, for I never saw her, but through the reports of her many
friends) an intrepid lady, [Footnote: If I remember rightly, some
account is given of this palæstric lady and her stern Pædo-gymnastics,
in a clever book on household medicine and surgery under circumstances
of inevitable seclusion from professional aid, written about the year
1820-22, by Mr. Haden, a surgeon of London.] living in the city of
London (that is, technically the _city_, as opposed to Westminster,
etc., Mary-le-bone, etc.), who made a point of turning out her newborn
infants for a pretty long airing, even on the day of their birth. It
made no difference to her whether the month were July or January; good,
undeniable air is to be had in either month. Once only she was baffled,
and most indignant it made her, because the little thing chose to
be born at half-past nine P. M.; so that, by the time its toilet was
finished, bonnet and cloak all properly adjusted, the watchman was
calling "Past eleven, and a cloudy night;" upon which, most reluctantly,
she was obliged to countermand the orders for that day's exercise, and
considered herself, like the Emperor Titus, to have lost a day. But what
came of the London lady's or of Mrs. Schreiber's Spartan discipline?
Did the little blind kittens of Gracechurch-street, who were ordered by
their penthesiléan mamma, on the very day of their nativity, to face the
most cruel winds--did _they_, or did Mrs. Schreiber's wards, justify,
in after life, this fierce discipline, by commensurate results of
hardiness? In words written beyond all doubt by Shakspeare, though not
generally recognized as his, it might have been said to any one of this
Amazonian brood,-- "Now mild may be thy life;
For a more blust'rous birth had never babe.
Quiet and gentle be thy temperature;
For thou'rt the rudeliest welcomed to this world
That e'er was woman's child. Happy be the sequel!
Thou hast as chiding a nativity
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven, can make,
To herald thee from darkness!"--_Pericles, Act III._