The East Indian.
"Would I not stem
A tide of suffering, rather than forego
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm
Of those whose thoughts are only turn'd below,
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow?"
From Rome and our care-worn travellers, let us turn to Mrs. Vernon's
drawing-room at Leamington.
An unforeseen event suddenly made a considerable change in the hopes and
prospects of our fair friend Julia.
One warm summer's morning--it was on the very day, that the brothers, with
Acmé, were sailing close to the Calabrian mountains, and the latter was
telling her ghost story, within view of the sweet village of Capo del
Marte--one balmy summer's morning, the Miss Vernons were seated in a room,
furnished like most English drawing-rooms; that is to say, it had tables
for trinkets--a superb mirror--a Broadwood piano--an Erard harp--a
reclining sofa--and a woolly rug, on which slept, dreamt, and snored, a
small Blenheim spaniel.
Julia had a mahogany frame before her, and was thoughtfully working a
beaded purse.
The hue of health had left her cheek. Its complexion was akin to that of
translucent alabaster. The features wore a more fixed and regular aspect,
and their play was less buoyant and quick changing than heretofore.
Deep thought! thus has been thy warfare for ever. First, thou stealest
from the rotund face its joyous dimples; then, dost thou gradually imprint
remorseless furrows on the anxious brow.
A servant entered the room, and bore on a salver a letter addressed to
Miss Vernon.
Its deep black binding--its large coat of arms--bespoke it death's
official messenger.
Julia's cheek blanched as she glanced over its first page.
Her sisters laid down their work, and looked towards her with some
curiosity.
Julia burst into tears.
"Poor uncle Vernon!"
Her sisters seemed surprised at the announcement, but not to participate
in Julia's feelings on the occasion.
One of them took up the letter, which had fallen to the ground, and the
two read its contents.
"How very odd!" said they together, "uncle has left you Hornby, and
Catesfield, and almost all the property!"
"Has he?" replied Julia, "I could not read it all, for however he may
have behaved to mamma, I ever found him good and kind; and had always
hoped, that we might have yet seen him with us once more. Poor old man!
and the letter says a lingering illness--how sad to think that we were
not with him to soothe his pillow, and cheer his death bed!"
"Well!" said one of the sisters reddening, "I must say it was his own
fault. He would not live with his nearest relations, who loved him, and
tried to make his a happy home--but showed his caprice _then_, as he has
_now_. But I will go up stairs, and break it to mamma, and will tell her
you are an heiress."
"An heiress!" replied Julia, with heart-broken tone! "an heiress!" The
tear quivered in her eye; but before the moisture had formed its liquid
bead, to course down her pallid cheek; a thought flashed across her, which
had almost the power to recal it to its cell.
That thought comprised the fervency and timidity--the hopes and fears of
woman's first love. She thought of her last meeting with Sir Henry Delmé:
of the objections which might now be removed.
A new vista of happiness seemed to open before her.
It was but for a moment.
The blush which that thought called up, faded away--the tear trickled
on--her features recovered their serenity--and she turned with a sweet
smile to her sisters.
"My dear--dear sisters! it is long since we have seen my poor uncle.
"Affection's ties may have been somewhat loosened. They cannot--I am
sure--have been dissolved.
"Do not think me selfish enough to retain this generous bequest.
"It may yet be in my power, and it no doubt is, to amend its too partial
provisions.
"Let us be sisters still--sisters in equality--sisters in love and
affection."
Julia Vernon was a very noble girl. She lived to become of age, and she
acted up to this her resolve.
And, now, a few words as to the individual, by whose death the Miss
Vernons acquired such an accession of property.
The Miss Vernons' father had an only and a younger brother, who at an
early age had embarked for the East, in the civil service. He had
acquired great wealth, and, after a residence of twenty-five years in the
Bengal Presidency, had returned to England a confirmed bachelor, and a
wealthy nabob. His brother died, while Mr. Benjamin Vernon was on his
passage home. He arrived in England, and found himself a stranger in his
native land.
He shouldered his cane through Regent Street, and wandered in the
Quadrant's shade;--and in spite of the novelties that every where met
him--in spite of cabs and plated glass--felt perfectly isolated and
miserable.
It is true, his Indian friends found him out at the Burlington, and their
cards adorned his mantelpiece--for Mr. Benjamin Vernon was said to be
worth a plum, and to be on the look out for a vacancy in the Directory.
But although these were indisputably his Indian friends, it appeared to
Mr. Vernon, that they were no longer his friends of India. They seemed to
him to live in a constant state of unnatural excitement.
_Some_ prided themselves on being stars in fashion's gayest
circle--others, whom he had hardly known, _were_ fathers--for their
families were educating in England---he now found surrounded by children,
on whose provision they were wholly intent.
These were off at a tangent, "to see Peter Auber, at the India House,"
or, "could not wait an instant; they were to meet Josh: Alexander
precisely at two."
And then their flippant sons! taking wine with him, forsooth--adjusting
their neckcloths--and asking "whether he had met their father at Madras or
Calcutta?"
This to a true Bengalee!
Nor was this all!
The young renegades ate their curry with a knife!
Others, from whom he had parted years before, shook hands with him at the
Oriental, as if his presence there was a matter of course; and then asked
him "what he thought of Stanley's speech?"
Now, there are few men breathing, who have their sympathies so keenly
alive--who show and who look for, such warmth of heart---who are so
chilled and hurt by indifference--as your bachelor East Indian.
The married one may solace himself for coldness abroad, by sunny smiles at
home;--but the friendless bachelor is sick at heart, unless he encounter a
hearty pressure of the hand--an eye that sparkles, as it catches his--an
interested listener to his thousand and one tales of Oriental scenes, and
of Oriental good fellowship.
Mr. Benjamin Vernon soon found this London solitude--it was worse than
solitude--quite insupportable.
He determined to visit his brother's widow, and left town for Leamington.
The brother-in-law felt more than gratified at the cordial welcome that
there met him.
His heart responded to their tones of kindness, and the old Indian, in the
warmth of his gratitude, thought he had at length discovered a congenial
home. He plunged into the extreme of dangerous intimacy; and was soon
domiciled in Mrs. Vernon's small mansion.
It is absurd what trifles can extinguish friendships, and estrange
affection. Mr. Vernon had always had the controul of his hours--loved his
hookah, and his after-dinner dose.
His brother's widow was an amiable person, but a great deal too
independent, to humour any person's foibles.
She liked activity, and disliked smoking; and was too matter-of-fact in
her ideas, to conceive that these indulgences, merely from force of habit,
might have now become absolute necessities.
Mrs. Vernon first used arguments; which were listened to very patiently,
and as systematically disregarded.
As she thought she knew her ground better, she would occasionally secrete
the hookah, and indulge in eloquent discourse, on the injurious effects,
and waste of time, that the said hookah entailed.
Nor could the old man enjoy in peace, his evening slumber.
One of his nieces was always ready to shake him by the elbow, and address
him with an expostulatory "Oh! dear uncle!" which, though delivered with
silvery voice, seemed to him deuced provoking.
For some time, the old Indian good-naturedly acquiesced in these
arrangements; and was far too polite at any time to scold, or
hazard a scene.
Mrs. Vernon was all complacency, and imagined her triumph assured.
Suddenly the tempest gathered to a head. Bachelor habits regained their
ascendancy; and Mrs. Vernon was thunderstruck, when it was one morning
duly announced to her, that her brother-in-law had purchased a large
estate in Monmouthshire, and that he intended permanently to reside there.
Mrs. Vernon was deeply chagrined.
She thought him ungrateful, and told him so.
At the outset, our East Indian was anxious that his niece Julia, who had
been by far the most tolerant of his bachelor vices, should preside over
his new establishment; but the feelings of the mother and daughter were
alike opposed to this arrangement.
This was the last rock on which he and his brother's widow split; and it
was decisive.
From that hour, all correspondence between them ceased.
Arrived in Wales, our nabob endeavoured to attach himself to country
pursuits--purchased adjoining estates--employed many labourers--and
greatly improved his property. But his rural occupations were quite at
variance with his acquired habits.
He pined away--became hypochondriacal--and died, just three years after
leaving Mrs. Vernon, for want of an Eastern sun, and something to love.