_Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_
_London, Grosvenor Street_
I have received your letter, good Abimelech, and own your reasoning has
its force. Much is yet to be done to Wenbourne-Hill. Year after year I
have said--'This shall be the last: we will now bring affairs to a
finish.' But improvement is my delight; walking, talking, sitting,
standing, or lying, waking or sleeping, I can think of nothing else. We
live you know, honest Aby, only to amend: so that, instead of
concluding, I find more things to do at present than ever.
I have the wilderness very much at heart: but the soil is excellent,
and I scarcely know, Aby, how we shall make the land sufficiently
barren. Yet it would have a fine effect! Yes, that it certainly would,
and we will try our utmost. The hermitage too at the far end! The
moss-grown cell, Aby! With a few scattered eglantines and wild roots!
We will plant ivy round the three old oaks, and bring a colony of owls
to breed! Then at the bottom of all a grotto: Oh! it will be delicious!
Shells will be expensive, for we are not within forty miles of the sea.
But no matter: it must and it shall be done, for I have set my heart on
it. Nay, from what you said to me, honest Aby, knowing you to be a
careful thrifty fellow, full of foresight, I was so warm in the cause
that I had determined to take your advice, and renounce or defer the
journey to France; but the blabbing servants got a hint of the matter,
and it came to my daughter's ears. So, for peace and quietness sake, I
think I must e'en indulge her, and take her a short trip to the
continent. But we will go no further than the neighbourhood of Paris.
Beside I wish, for my own part, to see how the country is laid out. I
am desirous to know whether all France has any thing to equal
Wenbourne-Hill.
And yet, Aby, I find it is impossible to please every body. You know
what continual improvements I have been making, for these last twenty
years; for you have superintended them all. I have planted one year,
and grubbed up the next; built, and pulled down; dug, and filled up
again; removed hills, and sent them back to their old stations; and all
from a determination to do whatever could be done. And now, I believe,
there are no grounds in all England so wooded and shut in as those of
Wenbourne-Hill; notwithstanding its situation on a very commanding
eminence. We are surrounded by coppices, groves, espaliers, and
plantations. We have excluded every vulgar view of distant hills,
intervening meadows, and extensive fields; with their insignificant
green herbage, yellow lands, and the wearisome eternal waving of
standing corn.
And yet, Aby, after having done all this, comes me Sir Alexander
Evergreen, and very freely tells me that we have spoiled
Wenbourne-Hill, buried ourselves in gloom and darkness, and shut out
the finest prospects in all England! Formerly the hall could be seen by
travellers from the road, and we ourselves had the village church in
view, all of which we have now planted out of sight! Very true: but,
instead of the parish steeple, have we not steeples of our own in every
direction? And, instead of the road, with the Gloucestershire hills and
lessening clouds in perspective, have we not the cedar quincunx? Yet
see the curse of obstinacy and want of taste! Would you think it, Aby?
Of this Sir Alexander complains!
It is in vain to tell him that we are now all within ourselves; that
every body is surprised to see how snug we are; and that nobody can
suspect so many temples, and groves, and terraces, and ascents, and
descents, and clumps, and shrubberies, and vistas, and glades, and
dells, and canals, and statues, and rocks, and ruins are in existence,
till they are in the very midst of them. And then! Oh how have I
enjoyed their admiration! Nothing is so great a pleasure to me as to
bring a gentleman of taste, who knows how to be struck with what he
sees, and set him down in the middle of one of my great gravel walks!
For all the world allows, Abimelech, that our gravel walks at
Wenbourne-Hill are some of the broadest, the straightest, and the
finest in the kingdom.
Yet observe how men differ, Abimelech. Sir Alexander wants me to turf
them over! He says that, where you may have the smooth verdure, gravel
walks are ridiculous; and are only tolerable in common pathways, where
continual treading would wear away the greensward. But I know what has
given him such a love for the soft grass. Sir Alexander is gouty, and
loves to tread on velvet.
Beside he is a cynic. He blames all we have done, and says he would
render one of the deserts of Arabia the garden of Eden, with the money
we have wasted in improving Wenbourne-Hill; which he affirms, before we
touched it, was one of the most beautiful spots in the three kingdoms.
I confess, Aby, that, if as I said I did not know him to be a cynic, I
should be heartily vexed. But it either is, or at any rate it shall be,
one of the most beautiful spots in the three kingdoms, ay or in the
whole world! Of that I am resolved; so go on with your work, Abimelech.
Do not be idle. The love of fame is a noble passion; and the name of
Arthur St. Ives shall be remembered at Wenbourne-Hill, long after his
remains are laid in their kindred clay, as the poet says.
I desired your son Frank to accompany us to London. He is a spirited
young fellow, and behaved well on the road, where he had an affair with
a highwayman, and got a slight wound; but he is in no danger. He is a
fine fellow, a brave fellow, and an honour to you, honest Aby.
Some grounds which I saw on my journey, with water purling, meandering,
and occasionally dashing down a steep declivity, or winding along a
more gentle descent, as it happened to be, suggested an idea to me. It
came into my mind that, as we lie high, if we had but a lake
sufficiently large on the top of the hill, we could send the water down
in rivulets on every side. But then the difficulty struck me how to get
it up again. Perhaps it may be overcome. It would have a charming
effect, and we will think of it hereafter.
When you have received my address at Paris, do not fail to let me know,
once a week, how every thing proceeds. Be particular in your accounts,
and do not be afraid of wearying me. My heart is in my grounds and my
improvements; and the more places and things you name the more pleasure
you will give me. Write to me too concerning my herd of deer, my
Spanish sheep, my buffaloes, my Chinese pheasants, and all my foreign
live stock.
I will make my journey as short as possible; it shall not be long
before I will re-visit my Wenbourne-Hill. To own the truth, honest Aby,
after reading your letter, I had ordered the chaise to the door to come
down again; but Anna St. Ives would not hear of it, so I was obliged to
yield. But, as I tell you, my heart is with you; Wenbourne-Hill is
never out of my mind.
I could wish you to be cautious in your communications, Abimelech,
concerning our money matters. My daughter gave me a hint about the last
mortgage, which I did not half like. Children think they have a right
to pry into a father's expences; and to curb and brow-beat him, if the
money be not all spent in gratifying their whims. Be more close,
Abimelech, if you would oblige me.