_Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_
_Paris, Hotel de l'Université_
I have received yours of the 30th ult.[1] honest Aby, and it gave me
great pleasure to hear you had so much dispatch. Wenbourne-Hill is the
garden of Eden. The more I see the more I am convinced. What is there
here to be compared to my temples, and my groves, and my glades? Here a
mount and a shrubbery! There a dell concealed by brambles! On your
right a statue! On your left an obelisk, and a sun-dial! The obelisk is
fixed, yet the dial shews that time is ever flying. Did you ever think
of that before, Aby?
[Footnote 1: Omitted.]
Apropos of this dial: Sir Alexander I remember said it was useless half
the day; because it was shaded from the sun to the west and the north,
by the old grove. His advice was that the grove should be grubbed up;
but it certainly would be much easier to remove the sun dial, obelisk,
and all.
I am so delighted with the recollection of these things, Abimelech,
that I had half forgotten the reason of my writing to you. The subject
is disagreeable enough; and I should not be sorry if I were never to
remember it more.
I very much fear we must stop our improvements. My son has claimed and
entered upon the Edgemoor estate. I thought myself sure that he would
remain satisfied as he was till my death. What could be more
reasonable? I argued with him to the very utmost, but to no purpose. He
is in great haste to set up for himself; and I don't know whether he
would not eject me out of Wenbourne-Hill, if he had the power. In vain
did I tell him that his pay in the guards, added to the three hundred
a-year which I had before allowed him, was more than any young man knew
how properly to spend. He has only himself to think of; and he very
positively declares he never means to have a family, for he will never
marry. I believe he is quite serious in his declaration: and if so,
what does he want with an estate of eight hundred a-year? He ought to
consider that; and to remember that a provision must be made for his
sister. But no; he considers only himself.
Indeed I hear but an indifferent account of him: he is a fashionable
gentleman, and would rather squander his money at the gaming-table,
than suffer it to remain in the family. He has been a wild youth. I
have sometimes wondered where he got all the money which I am told he
has spent. Not from me I am sure. And though I have often heard of his
deep play, I do not remember to have ever heard of his winning. But he
follows his own course. My arguments that I had the family dignity to
support, his sister to marry, and mortgages to pay off, were all in
vain.
He was equally deaf when I pleaded the improvements that I was making;
all for his sake. For you know, Aby, he is to have them when I am gone:
and go I must, some time or another.
He had even the confidence to tell me that, if Wenbourne-Hill were his,
he would quickly undo every thing that I have been doing.
Is not this a sad thing, Aby? For what have I been labouring? Have not
we both spent our lives in contriving? How many charming thoughts have
we had! What pleasure have we taken in planting and pulling up, digging
and scattering, watering and draining, turfing and gravelling!
Talking of water, Aby, I cannot forbear mentioning a most delightfully
romantic lake, which I have met with in the park of the Marquis de
Villebrun. It is the only thing, in the laying out of grounds, that I
have seen to please me in all France. One part of it a fine level: such
a sweep! At the other extremity nothing but rocks and precipices. Your
son Frank threw himself headlong down one of them, into the water, to
save a gentleman's life. Were you but to see it, you would be
astonished. They have called it the Englishman's leap. I would not do
such a thing for a million of money. I should be dead enough if I did.
But Frank is a bold young man, and I assure you, Aby, highly esteemed
by my daughter; ay and by myself too, and by every body: very highly
indeed. He was the whole talk for I know not how many days.
But about this money, Aby. I shall soon want a good round sum, if I am
not mistaken. I may venture, Aby, to give you a hint that I expect very
soon, indeed I don't know how soon, a proposal should be made to me for
my daughter: and if it be, I am so pleased with the party, who let me
tell you is a fine spirited young fellow, that I assure you I shall not
think of refusing my consent; especially as he is so much in the good
graces of my daughter. In this case, I cannot do less than pay twenty
thousand pounds down.
I am afraid, honest Aby, we must renounce the wilderness! But when you
know the party, I think you will allow I could not act otherwise.
Indeed, I find, however we may please ourselves, we can never satisfy
our children. Here too has Anna been lecturing me, about money thrown
away, as she is pleased to conceive; and has said a great deal indeed,
against what I thought could not have been found fault with. But so it
is! Friends, relations, children, all are wiser than ourselves! All are
ready enough to discover or to suppose blemishes! Would you think it
possible for any body to be acquainted with Wenbourne-Hill and do any
thing but admire? My hope, nay my determination was to have made it the
paradise of England, and to have drawn strangers far and near to come
and be delighted with its beauties. But these rubs and crosses put one
out of heart with the most excellent thoughts and contrivances.
Let me know what you think can be done in these money matters, if
things should be as I expect. You are perfectly acquainted with the
state of my affairs. I see no way but that of mortgaging more deeply.
It is exceedingly vexatious to think of stopping our proceedings, Aby.
But what can be done? However, as I do not intend to stay much longer
here, we can talk more to the purpose on these matters when we meet in
England.
Perhaps it would be better to begin by discharging the workmen
gradually; which you will find proper opportunities to do, Aby. And if
you were, by way of talk in the neighbourhood, to say that you thought
nothing more could be done to Wenbourne-Hill, and that you had reason
to believe that was my opinion likewise, such a report might tie the
tongues of cavillers: for I would not have it thought we stop for want
of money.
You may write to me here, in answer to this; for we shall not leave
Paris before your letter will come to hand. And so, good Abimelech,
farewell.