автордың кітабын онлайн тегін оқу  Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 2 of 3)

William Pitt Scargill

J. B. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.

BLUE-STOCKING HALL.

"From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;

They are the books, the arts, the academes,

That show, contain, and nourish all the world."

Love's Labour Lost.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1827.

BLUE-STOCKING HALL.

LETTER XII.

Mr. Otway to General Douglas.

[In point of time, this letter should not appear till later in the series; but as it is an answer to the preceding, the Editor judged it expedient to insert it in this place.]

Lisfarne.

My dear General,

It gave me sincere pleasure to see your hand-writing once more; and if I had required any thing beyond the gratification of an assurance that you had not forgotten your old friend, to put me in good humour, the commission which you have given me would secure all the benevolence of which I am possessed in excusing your long silence. Most readily do I accept the trust which you confide in me, and happy shall I be if my exertions facilitate the event of your return to your native land, there to enjoy the otium cum dignitate to which every man naturally aspires who has passed the best of his days in toiling for and realizing an honorable independence.

It is one of the sophisms of this paradoxical age in which we live, to prove that the absentee commits no crime against either patriotism, or political economy; but I rejoice that you have not fallen into the snare, and are coming to repose your mind, and spend your money, where every honest man ought to bring himself to anchor; namely, in his own country, and amongst his own people. By a lucky coincidence there is a splendid mansion with highly finished grounds and plantations, just offered for sale in Hampshire; and if I am fortunate enough to conclude a bargain for the sum which I have offered in your name, I shall think myself no ordinary diplomatist. The present possessor, Sir Reginald Barnes, is like yourself, a nabob, but after rendering his demesne at Marsden a fit residence for a prince, he is grown weary of it, and is so anxious to dispose of the whole as it stands, that I am not without hope of procuring all you want at a single stroke.

This letter shall be sent through Ingoldsby, to catch you at the Cape, and of my farther negociation with Mr. Snubb, Sir Reginald's agent, you shall have due notice. I know the place for which I am in treaty, and therefore, if I succeed, my trouble will be as zero. If not, I must look elsewhere, and you shall have reports of progress.

With respect to your relations, I have the pleasure to give you satisfactory intelligence. Your eldest brother, poor man, was rapidly advancing towards "that bourne from which no traveller returns," when Mr. Howard died and left him a fine estate, though very heavily burthened, in Buckinghamshire, together with his house in Grosvenor-square, plate, books, etcætera. To substitute the name of Howard for that of Douglas was all the qualification required to enable the family to take possession, and this was soon arranged. Your brother was taken to his grave without ever having visited any part of his new property, of which young Arthur is the heir, and a very fine youth he is: he will soon be of age, and is now on a visit in this neighbourhood to his aunt, Mrs. Henry Douglas, who lives at a sweet spot which you may remember that I purchased for my invaluable friend. A legacy of £20,000 left to your sister-in-law, by her great aunt, old Mrs. Norton, has enabled that first of women and mothers to reside at Glenalta, where she lives adored by her children, and by all who surround her dwelling. I have the happiness to enjoy the beloved society which her family affords, from which I am not more than half a mile distant, and here I shall hope to see you, ere long, added to the circle. Of Mrs. Howard and her daughters I only know by report: they live in the world, and I out of it; but of Caroline and her children I can venture to affirm, that had independence (beyond which their wishes never appear to extend) been withheld by Providence, you would never have known them in the character of needy suppliants, or cringing sycophants. They are as much above any people with whom I am acquainted in every noble principle of heart, as they excel all others that I have met with in their powers of pleasing. Your nephew is likely to make a distinguished figure at the University, and is as amiable as he is clever.

There are three girls, all pretty and accomplished; and as to your sister, she is such a woman as, when you have once been in her company, will no longer permit you to remain in astonishment that our dear lamented Henry should have preferred poverty itself in Caroline's society, to the wealth of Potosi without her.

I trust to your own taste and discrimination for this tribute to your departed brother when you become acquainted with the object of his tenderest and unceasing affection; and will not take up any more time in describing the characters of your family, nor anticipate the delight which you will feel in exercising your own judgment as they develope themselves to your penetrating eye.

The family of Glenalta beg to send you, through me, their affectionate greetings, and old Bentley, who is likewise a neighbour of mine, and as caustic as ever, desires me to say how much he rejoices in the hope of shaking you by the hand.

Farewell, my dear General! may you have a prosperous voyage, and be permitted, ere long, to set your foot on British ground once more! Believe me very

Sincerely and faithfully yours,
Ed. Otway.

LETTER XIII.

Mrs. Eliza Sandford to Mrs. Douglas.

My beloved Friend,

Your kind affection has anticipated all that I have to say: it has pleaded for me more powerfully than I could do for myslf, and has surely told you how much I have been engaged on returning after so long an absence, to Checkley. At last I begin to breathe; and my little Agnes makes such rapid advance to returning health, that I can now, without self-reproach, indulge in the dearest pleasure of life except that of conversing with you, and begin once more to pour out my heart into your faithful bosom. I may now in full security of our punctual English posts give you undisguised details of every thing most interesting, and expect the same from you, till the happy season arrive which will, I trust, re-unite us, and give me the delight of re-visiting Glenalta. I must obey you before I follow the dictates of my own feelings, and answer your questions ere I touch upon matter of another description. "Describe your girls," you say. Well, then, in a few words, they are dear children: Julia is a charming creature, and if I do not take the mother too much upon me in saying so, is worthy of that friendship which is the boast and pride of her life, and which is bestowed upon her by your Emily. Such a letter as she has lately received, describing the retreat! but I must not digress. Julia, then, is really, at seventeen, a most interesting character. She is docile as possible, singularly artless and innocent, yet possessed of admirable faculties, which appear capable of application to a great variety of different pursuits. In short, whatever Julia attempts she accomplishes, and performs well, but without the slightest vanity that I have been able to detect. Bertha is handsomer, quicker, and more striking, though not nearly so solid nor reflecting as her elder sister. She commits more faults in a week than Julia in a year, from an impetuosity of temper which was not corrected while she was a little one; but her contrition is so genuine, and her nature so frank, that I always find myself loving her better than I did before whenever she has offended. She will be fifteen, you know, her next birth-day, and is certainly much improved since we went abroad.

The extreme youth of my dear girls, my particular object in leaving England being truly the recovery of health for one of them; the recent losses which they had sustained, and my dislike of company, all conspired to preserve us from the contagion of foreign influence; while I was enabled, by taking my young charge entirely from home, to break at once through a thousand ties which would have perplexed me exceedingly had I remained at Checkley. What I should have found much difficulty in gradually unloosening, I have now boldly dissevered, I shall not hold myself under any obligation to resume the thread of acquaintance with any whose society may not be advantageous to my young people, who at present furnish me with ample excuse for declining all invitations, and thus avoiding jealousy on the part of our neighbours. Julia has never been in company, and is the only one of my girls whose age makes it expected that she should go out. Bertha will suffer no persecution as yet, and my little dear Agnes is hors de combat. Her delicate state affords me a reason, as genuinely sincere as it is opportune, for lying by in perfect tranquillity; and during this happy interregnum I shall profit by your advice, and learn to act with decision when I am forced out of my retirement.

As I consider myself only in the light of guardian, and have really no stake in this country myself, even the most calculating of the neighbouring gentry must perceive that I am not bound to any particular style of life; and the more discriminating amongst them, I may hope, will give me credit for acting upon principle. This is all that I want. I know how impossible it is to please every body, and indeed I wonder how an upright mind should desire the approval of a multitude made up of the most discordant elements; but I am much puzzled, notwithstanding, what course to steer, and shall require all your pilotage to keep me steadily in the right track. To give you an idea of my dilemma, I must tell you what sort of people we are living amongst, and present you with a survey of our vicinage, before you can be of use in directing my steps.

The Burleys, who are our nearest neighbours, are people of large fortune, and decidedly children of this world. They have sons and daughters all brought up in luxury. They have a house in London, go to town every year, have large expectancies, and so no doubt are full of the present "life's futurities;" but while they are in the country, they are inclined to be very friendly, and it will not be their fault if the inhabitants of their splendid hall and those of humbler Checkley are not allied in close intimacy. I am quite aware how the homely adage of "for want of company, welcome trumpery," applies upon many occasions when fine people leave the "flaunting crowd," and come to rusticate for a season in their country seats. But the Burleys, to do them justice, seem to wish for a familiar acquaintance on truer principles. Sir Thomas is a complete Englishmen, worthy, hospitable, open-hearted, up to the eyes in county politics, and when the affairs of this wider range are so balanced as not to call forth the extent of his powers, the parish cabals supply an under plot, which is sure to keep them in full practice for larger matters when they may arrive. At present, the game laws absorb all that is not given to conviviality, in the circuit of his head and heart, without the pale of his own family, in which he is deservedly beloved, and of which he is the sun-beam. Lady B. is simply vapid. She is neither ill-natured nor unkind, but so exceedingly insipid, that were not a log as troublesome as a wasp, though not so active, you might be justified in forgetting that she makes one of the family group. Devoured by ennui herself, she operates on all around her till the whole mass would be vaporized, were it not for the broad good-humour of her spouse, who is as alert as she is inanimate. They do not quarrel, however, and the young people, though very uninteresting, are sufficiently alive to keep up something like cheerfulness, though not of that species which the French appropriately denominate gaieté du coeur. The talk at Burley Hall is so entirely of fashion, and supposes such a sympathy of pursuit, as well as conversancy with topics of which Julia is ignorant, that I question the honesty of permitting her to associate amongst those whose thoughts and feelings are so much at variance with her own, and of such a nature that I never desire to see her approximate to increased congeniality with them.

A mile farther off, we have the Henleys; excellent people, who are from morning till night engaged in doing good. They are rich and bountiful, friendly and good-humoured, but so strict, and so devoted to the letter of their particular sect, that if you agreed to travel with them over a line which had been divided into a hundred distinct measures, of a cubit length in each, and that after performing ninety-nine steps in the series, you were to stop at the hundredth, your former task would go for nothing, and you would be as completely distanced as if you had never attempted to walk the course. These good people are anxious in the greatest degree to enlist my young folks, and like the nuns think it no harm to employ every art of affectionate inveiglement to persuade them into an adoption of a certain distinctive phraseology, and form of thinking which I do not like, and therefore shall endeavour to avoid without wishing to repel the kind fellowship which is proffered, though I conclude that our religion will be at once condemned, when it is discovered that I do not disapprove of many things which are proscribed at the Priory. I heard it rumoured the other day, that I am considered one of the pie-bald race. What am I to do?

Well, a third description of neighbour, and by much the most numerous, I find planted in three or four pretty places at no great distance from Checkley. There is a family of Liner, another of Peachum, and others whose names I need not plague you by calling over, who with competent fortunes enjoy all the comfort of life which money can bestow, and feel all the title to consideration which belongs to independence; but who are so intolerably dull, unimproving, and self-complacent, so vulgar too in a perpetual rivalry of fine dinners, fine furniture, and fine dress, which have not even the stamp of fashion to recommend them, that my mind revolts against introducing my nieces into such a society as they form.

A fourth order remains to be mentioned, and here my pen could expatiate, untired of so delightful a theme. There is a family of Stanley who live six miles from this, and with whom it would be delightful to live in constant communion, if the distance between our two houses did not throw a barrier in the way of daily intercourse. They put me in mind of the Douglas circle, and can I say more to mark the estimation in which I hold them? Father, mother, and children of both sexes are superior to almost any people that I have ever met with, learned, informed, accomplished, the mind is kept in a continual round of exertion in their company, refreshing from its variety, and stimulating from its animation. An hour passed at Brandon Court supplies materials for a week's rumination; and, like animals that chew the cud, we repose day after day, living on the nutriment which we have collected in the fertile pastures of that attractive spot. Nature's economy is such, in the midst of her lavish profusion, that she seldom endows the same individual with very opposite qualities; and we usually seek for the serenity of contemplation in scenes and amongst people far remote from the busy practitioner. The Stanleys, like yourselves, combine all the characteristics so rarely found in union. At Brandon Court you have meditation, not monastic—seriousness, not rigid—sentiment, never morbid—and practical energy, neither coarse nor bustling. Perfect harmony subsists amongst the various members of the interesting group. Mr. and Mrs. Stanley are truly one. Every thought expressed by either, meets from the other a response of delighted affection, whilst a joyous band of happy youth disport around them, whose only rivalry consists in trying who shall contribute most to the general stock of happiness, and pay most attention to the cherished authors of their being.

I fancy that I hear you exclaim, "How can Elizabeth hesitate? Why not cultivate the Stanleys, and forget that there is a vulgar world to be passed by?" I will tell you why Elizabeth doubts what path to choose. These inestimable persons are stigmatized by the paltry and mindless animals who environ them, and the Miss Stanleys are yclept blues, while all the rest are called philosophers.

For myself you know, that I have no possible feeling upon such a subject. Were I called Blue, because I was seen with the Stanleys, or reading any thing but a novel, it would not signify. My walk in life has long been determined, and I have outlived (if indeed I ever felt like the Mimosa upon such occasions) all sensibility to those nick-names, which are so generously bestowed upon single women. I am a veteran, and can stand fire. I can endure to be called by any appellation, the true meaning of which, is that I have preferred remaining unmarried to being encumbered by the cares of wedded life; and if heaven have granted any measure of understanding, have chosen to employ, rather than let it lie fallow. But this is my individual view of the matter. Have I a right to place my nieces in society which they would certainly love and imitate? am I to incur for them the obloquy that waits on superior knowledge and acquirements in their sex? impeding perhaps, also, the chances of that settlement in future life which, though I have never desired for myself, and am in reality very indifferent about for them, I am still bound to consider as the ordinance of nature, besides being the point to which the artificial laws of the world are universally directed. Many cares will necessarily spring up in my way as I proceed, but at present, how to steer a middle course between Scylla and Charybdis is my chief difficulty. With the inanity of fashion, and its opposite vulgarity on the one hand; a religion which deals too much in external observances, and the reproach of female learning on the other, is there any honest method by which, without sacrificing integrity of principle, I may skim the cream of each class, and save my children from the evils attendant upon all the classes that I have described? Be my Cumean Sybil; look into the page of destiny for me; say what is before me, and how I shall act.

The priest in the proverb, "christens his own child first;" you see that I have adopted the same prudent maxim, and given you nothing as yet, but my own story; but for this you need no apology my dearest Caroline. Innumerable interruptions break my purposes, and deprive me of any command over my time just now. By and by I shall be able to write less selfishly I trust, and repay your kindness by more agreeable matter than you will find in a dish of egotism which I have served up for your this day's fare. Before I release you, however, I must tell you that I was not a little surprised yesterday, by the appearance of an Irish acquaintance, Mr. Bentley, whom I have seen frequently at Lisfarne, and uncle to George, who is, I believe, an intimate still at your house, and Mr. Otway's. When I was at Glenalta, the young man was, I suppose, at the University, for I did not see him, but I heard the girls and Frederick name him familiarly.

In the midst of giving directions to my work-men, a travelling carriage drove up to the hall-door, and I was really delighted to see Mr. Bentley, who is a highly respectable man, but who appeared in a new light of interest to my eyes, from all the associations which his presence awakened. I endeavoured to shew how glad I felt to see him; and though I could not prevail with him to make a longer stay, he indulged me by remaining, to pass a few hours, and walk round our pretty grounds. In the course of conversation, I asked for his nephew, and was answered, that he was at Lisfarne, where he would remain till Mr. Bentley, senior, returns to the county of Kerry. I spoke of the advantage which any young person must derive from such society as that of Mr. Otway, upon whose character I expatiated with my usual warmth.

"Yes," replied Mr. Bentley, "Otway is a noble fellow, though one of your oddities; and poor George absolutely worships him, but nevertheless; I am not very sure that his staying at Lisfarne is for either his happiness or advantage."

"Pray, how so?" answered I, "with perfect unconsciousness."

"My dear madam," said the good man, "your friends at Glenalta are too near I should think, for my poor boy's peace. I do not say that it is so. I only mean that such things flow naturally from near neighbourhood, which often brings people into scrapes. I have known many a heart lost through the insensible influence of contiguity. Opportunity is the deadliest foe of the one sex, Importunity of the other; and between them both, many a match is brought about, to which an unwilling consent is wrung out of parents and guardians when it is too late to withhold one's fiat."

I looked grave, and begged him to be explicit. "Do you speak merely," said I, "Mr. Bentley, upon a general supposition of what may be possible, or have you any reason to suppose that your nephew's happiness is likely to be endangered? Not the remotest suspicion has ever glanced across my mind, and I should take it as a favour, if, since you have touched upon the subject, you would enlighten me farther, by mentioning the ground of your surmise?"

"My dear ma'am, it is not actually surmise. I may be wrong, and must acquit George of having given me the slightest insight into his mind. In fact, he is very close; it is the only fault that I find with him, and my sole reason for suspecting, is derived from my own observation of his avidity to puzzle his brains about a great many useless things, such as chemistry, botany, and the like, which never put a guinea into a young gentleman's pocket. Now, you know that Mrs. Douglas and her daughters are so learned, that they could sack a grand jury; though I must do them the justice to add, that no people in the country are more beloved than they are. Nothing can exceed their unpretending goodness. But George has no pretensions; he must make his own way in the world, and cannot afford to waste his precious hours in learning what I call fal lals, that will never help him through life. To tell you the honest truth, I am a little jealous of both Lisfarne and Glenalta. I see no business that any young man has to love or like mortal better than his own flesh and blood; and more time and wits are lavished in these foolish episodes which just end in nothing, than would put a man many a mile forward in his professional career. People fall in love through very idleness and vacuity. A young tenant of my own, excused himself lately, when I asked him what could possess him to marry a girl without sixpence, by replying, 'Indeed, sir, she lived so handy that we were always together, and 'twas the same thing we thought to get married.' Poor George would be probably dismissed by the Douglas family if they entertained the least idea of such presumption, as no doubt, a hope on my nephew's part, would be considered; and you will therefore not wonder, my dear Mrs. Sandford, that I am anxious to get my business in London, and a month at Buxton well over, that I may return home, where it is necessary that George should see after my affairs during my absence. I have seen a great deal of life, though not upon a grand scale; and I know the folly of romance. Mrs. Douglas, I make no question, is as prudent as she is sensible, and has never given her children so elegant an education, to throw them away upon paupers. My own opinion is, that money is the only thing that does not disappoint. I do not say the only thing that is good, far from it; but while mental qualities may be only feigned, sweet tempers and dispositions assumed but for a season, accomplishments suffered to languish, beauty doomed to fade, money performs its promise, and procures all the comfort, and all the happiness that it ever engages to purchase. I repeat this every week of my life to poor George, but he is so reserved, that I never have the satisfaction of hearing whether or not I make any impression upon him."

To this exposé, I listened with the most profound attention, and could only reply, "my dear sir, it appears to me that you are putting trouble out to interest, and compound interest, by the view that you take of your family affairs. I can assure you that the remotest hint has never reached me, respecting any suspicion of a feeling such as you ascribe to your nephew, who I dare say, is too much in the habit of venerating your counsels to fly in your face, by presuming to bestow his affections without your approbation; though whenever he does, at some distant period of his life, obtain your permission to offer his hand in marriage, I conclude that you will have no objection to his loving his wife better than you, as he must make a solemn vow to that effect, and cleave to her in preference to all created things. But of one part of your anxiety, I can with certainty relieve you; rest assured, that if the slightest symptom appeared to warrant my friend, Mrs. Douglas, in imagining as you do, the most decisive measures would be instantly adopted to prevent any painful result."

"I thought so; I always said so," rejoined hastily, Mr. Bentley. "I knew that Mrs. Douglas had a judgment too profound not to determine on marrying her daughters to men of fortune. I have told my opinion in George's presence (not to him, for the last thing I should desire, would be to convey to his mind, that an idea, such as I have confided to you, ever entered mine), a thousand and a thousand times; and I feel that my discernment is extremely flattered by your assurance, that I saw how the land lay so clearly. Your allusion to interest, and compound interest, is very just and beautiful; and I declare that you have set my mind quite at rest."

So enraptured was the poor man, or rather I suspect, rich man, with his own sagacity, and my illustration, that I found the greatest possible difficulty in edging in a word or two to undeceive him respecting your mercenary projects. If none are so blind as those who will not see, there are certainly none more deaf than such as will not hear. Full of courtesy, bustle, and acknowledgment, this little worldly, but goodly puffin, bundled himself up in his chaise, and posted off, lightened of a load of care, and in such buoyant humour, that I prophecy a fortnight at Buxton will do the needful, and return him in half the time that he had devoted to his bodily weal, in a state of perfect restoration, to Mount Prospect and "poor George."

When he was gone, I resolved on giving you intimation of all that had passed. It is very evident to me, that this visit, which I took so kindly, was paid at Checkley, for the sole purpose of sounding; and I think that I can perceive exactly the conflict of his mind. His vanity would be flattered to the highest degree, by even the remotest hope that his nephew might be accepted at Glenalta, while he is also manifestly bent on a rich wife for George with such hearty purpose, that no disappointment is consequent upon believing, as he now does, that there is no chance of a Miss Douglas for his niece. I am sure that he has a very snug store laid up somewhere or other; that being an old batchelor, George is his object, and that had he found reason for his conjecture in any confirmation afforded by me, he would have taught himself to be very well pleased, while he can, as sincerely, turn the current of his thoughts into another stream, in which he hopes that a larger quantity of the precious metals may be found. How comically people who are accustomed to employ a little cunning in their devices, betray themselves. Old Bentley, however, is a worthy man; and a very acute, though rather a vulgar observer. You need not dread the slightest indiscretion on his part, in making the young man a party in his cogitations. One excellent remark which he made with much shrewdness, convinced me that you have nothing to fear on that score. "Madam," said he, "I shall never give George the remotest hint of what has been passing in my head. No, no, when you want to keep young people from committing themselves, be very sure of what you are about, in expressing your fears upon the subject. If you have reason to know that there is an understanding, why then you must either sanction or refuse, and of course must speak; but if you have to deal with timidity, or reserve, be assured that the first word is half the battle; and in proclaiming your own apprehensions, you have at one stroke levelled a barrier which might have remained for ever impregnable but for your incaution."

Well, dearest friend, here is a long letter. Let me have a speedy answer, and tell me of George Bentley; is there any foundation for his uncle's fancy: is he a person of whom you could ever think, for one of your dear children? My sweet girls unite in all that is affectionate to their young friends. Farewell.

I am ever your attached,
Eliz. Sandford.

LETTER XIV.

Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland.

My dear Falkland,

Whether I blush or not is not for me to tell; but surely I feel that I ought to do so. Yes, it is an absolute fact, that I am ashamed to recollect the date of my last letter; and, therefore, if you please, we will hush it up. All that I will put forward in extenuation of my guilt is, that my journal bears weighty evidence to the truth of your not being forgotten. In that faithful repository you will find, one of these days, a minute registry of all that passes; and I promise myself much amusement at some future time in recalling to my own mind, while I read it to you, this record of the happiest period of my life. Hey day! here is a downright confession. Even so: and I am not inclined to retract the avowal. As I am not in love, (at least I do not believe that I am,) I suppose that I have less hesitation in proclaiming the state of my feelings than were Dan Cupid to be a witness to the declaration of my being more at home at Glenalta, and more happy with the Douglas family, than I ever felt at any place, and amongst any people, since I was born. I find one great disadvantage in having lost the thread of my good old diary, for I know not now where to begin or what to tell you, though I would have you to know that my difficulty does not arise from paucity of incident. On the contrary, my time has been so occupied, and so many novelties have varied the scene, that I am, to use a homely illustration, in the predicament of "not being able to see the wood for trees." The ground tint of life at Glenalta is soft and reposing, without being dead; and it has latterly been picked out (my simile savours, you will say, of Long Acre) by sundry events which have given contrast to its colouring. You are to be informed that I am up to the eyes in all the pursuits which afford constant delight to the Cousins: and would you believe that from morning till night I am never conscious of time, except by its rapid flight? Falkland, I am awakened as if from a heavy sleep, which had dulled my faculties, and my mind seems to take new views of everything. Will this last? If it should, the age of man is doubled by the animation of such feelings as have been evolved in this Irish world. I tread on air—the sun shines into my heart—and you will never hear me again envying an opium-eater while I live. In three days we set out for Killarney; and, as I will certainly devote a letter exclusively to the Lakes, this shall contain a sketch of some minor exploits in the way of sight-seeing.

But I ought not to have proceeded thus far without saying that our Fred. returned, after his short absence, wreathed with victory; and I would give more than I am worth to have been able to call back the shade of Titian by some magical incantation, that his glowing pencil might have fixed that arrival in perennial freshness. Domestic love, what an exquisite painter thou art! Not all the most skilful efforts of factitious refinement can group and touch like this artist of Nature.

It was Frederick's plan to be his own messenger; and, therefore, as no announcement of success or failure preceded his appearance amongst us, suspense hung upon the carriage-wheels as it drove to the very door, and only gave way to joyful assurance, from the uncontrolable gladness of Domine's eye, which sparkled a contradiction, detected at the first glance by Fanny, to the serious air with which the travellers had determined on playfully deceiving the sisterhood. "The Science Premium" presently resounded through the air, and a delighted group of servants, headed by old Lawrence, wafted the glad tidings to an outer circle, who stood peeping from behind the holly-hedge, ready to catch the first contagion that might reach them of joy or sorrow, without understanding how excited, or for what displayed.

When the transport seemed at its height, Mr. Oliphant abruptly exclaimed, "But how easily you are all satisfied! Not a soul has asked me what became of all my hard work at Greek and Latin." Here followed the news that Fred. was doubly crowned, and had also borne away the palm of classical triumph. This was too much; the cup of bliss was full before, and now it overflowed. No, I never saw any thing like it; and even this scene, I suppose, could never again produce the magical sensations which I felt. The intensity of emotion, and the gradations evinced in its exhibition, from the silent, grateful tear that trickled down the hectic cheek of aunt Douglas—then passing through the gentle transports of Emily and Charlotte, the mad delirium of Fanny, the honest pride of Oliphant, the full, yet chastened glow of Frederick, the paternal exultation of old Lawrence, down to the untutored burst of the barefooted mountaineers, reminded me forcibly of that admirable picture by Le Thiers of the Judgment of Brutus, in which you and I used to admire the author's tact in apportioning the varieties of expression in all those numerous countenances, to the exact measure of refinement in each which accompanied the feeling that gave it birth. After the first tumult of congratulations had subsided, I ran to the seashore, to get rid of some unwelcome thoughts, that were not in unison with the scene which I had witnessed, when I overtook a little band of young peasants, who were dragging along large bundles of what we call gorse, but is here yclept furze; and this circumstance soon turned the current of my musings.

"Where are you going, my lads?" quoth I. "Plase your honour, to get ready the bonfires for Maaster Frederick agin the evening." "I am a stranger in these parts, and should like to know what all this work is for," said I, turning to a fine, active youth, who led the van. "Why, indeed, sir, I don't rightly know; but, be what I can larn, Maasther Fred. is to be King o' the College from this time out." "Och! you fool, Jack!" cried another, "that isn't it at all. I heard my father say just now that he was (that's Maasther Fred.) cheered round the city like a Parliamint man, and that he flogged all the scholars in Ireland." "Well you're out too, Flurry," vociferated a third; "for Nance Hagerty tould Kit Lacy and she ought to know, be raison of being about the cows morning and evening at the big house, that Maaster Fred. got a power of money for making an illigant spaach about mancipashon."

I was greatly amused. It was all the same to these poor fellows. Joy was depicted on every face at Glenalta, and to enquire into whys and wherefores is quite too tame for the rush of Hibernian sympathy. The meeting with Phil. was another rich repast of mind; and young Bentley seemed so share the scene like a brother. When I returned to dinner, I found preparations going forward near the house which ended in a piper and a dance upon the green turf, in which the young people of the family took part. A great basket of bread-cakes sweetened with a little sugar, and a single draught to each of Kerry cider, made all the entertainment as related to eating and drinking; hilarity and affection supplied the rest, and I could not help remarking, that I had never till then seen so many people made supremely happy at so trifling an expense. With us at Selby it would have required the winning wiles of at least an ox, and tree tierces of ale, to have prevailed on so many people to come together. When assembled, they would neither pipe nor dance: the gladdest tribute would consist in a few deafening shouts, and, after some coarse and clumsy merriment, the well-fed sons of England would stagger home, filled to the throat, regardless of all sentiment which could not be identified with roast beef and brown stout. Only give an Irish population permission to share in your feelings, and you may have a crowd at your heels in a moment, in any part of the kingdom, as I am told; but I can now say from experience, that, if you deserve affection, you may have an honest flow of its choicest streams unbought, except by reciprocating kindness. These poor people would endure anything for my aunt, her children, and Mr. Otway; and though I have given you a ridiculous specimen of ignorance, in relating the conversation of the bonfire, I am bound in justice, as a set off, to add, that when the festivities of the evening were at an end, Mr. Oliphant beckoned to two youths, who appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, and whom he called by the names of Cronin and Riely, saying, "Boys, I know very well that you are just longing to hear more about Mr. Frederick, so come in the morning, bring your Homer, and I will show you the part in which he was examined." The poor fellows seemed overjoyed, and kicking up a bare heel behind, pulled each a lock of hair on his forehead in token of thanks, neither of these young men having a hat with which to perform the ceremony of a bow, and this extra-ordinary mode of salutation serving as the substitute here for a more civilized mode of obeisance. To my amazement, I now learned that several individuals are to be found in these mountains who can read Horace and Virgil familiarly. The Homer which was brought in the morning was a curiosity too, for so filthy, so broken, and so disjointed a concern, I suppose you never beheld; and it astonished me, not only to hear these tattered academicians read passages with precision which were almost effaced, but translate with fidelity, of which Cowper would not have been ashamed. Frederick gave them each a new book, and I presented a trifling sum to be expended in shoes and hats, sending off our poor scholars as happy as kings are said to be in fairy tales. When Frederick had been at home a day or two, he proposed that we should make the first use of his liberty in extending our excursions both by land and water. "We will begin with the nearest object," said he, "and as you enter with so much zeal into our Irish character, I must take you to see a person whom we have given the name of Wise Ned of the Hill." The next day was appointed, and we were on horseback at four in the morning, each provided with a sort of wallet, containing an ample supply of sandwiches, a small bottle of brandy, a canister of snuff for Ned, with a large parcel of newspapers, and a tin box (which Fanny insisted on adding to our accoutrements) to be filled with any plants which Glenalta did not produce. In this rustic guise, accompanied by three fine dogs, one of which is a noble animal of a species now very scarce, namely, the Irish wolf dog, we commenced our campaign, halting at Lisfarne, to call for young Bentley, by whom we were speedily joined. As we rode along, I begged to know in the true Irish style what it was that we were going to see, and why "Ned of the Hill," was worthy of a pilgrimage to his shrine. "He is," said Frederick, "a most uncommon character, and one who will, I think, reward your trouble in getting at him, for I can tell you that his only neighbours are the eagles. Ned, like the poor boys of Homeric memory, received an education beyond the vulgar level, in the days of his youth. He was born of parents who were strict Roman Catholics; and having an uncle who was priest in a neighbouring parish, it was intended that young Edmund Burke (a promising name, you will say) should succeed to his relation's holy office. With this view he was taught Greek and Latin, though his temporal situation was scarcely raised above absolute want. His father was an idle profligate, his mother a bigot, entirely under the control of her brother, the priest. The boy grew up in the strange jumble of fastings and confessions, prayers and penances, with swearing, drinking, and all manner of profaneness, acted continually in his presence, till his father was suddenly seized with a fit of apoplexy, on recovering from which he had some 'compunctious visitings,' and desired his son, for the first time, to read the Bible for him. There was none to be had except one which had been left in pledge by a poor Protestant woman, who owed a trifle to the little shop kept by these people. Ned objected to read out of such an unholy book, but the father insisted, alleging that his time was hastening to a close, and it was no season to stand upon ceremonies. A Bible was a Bible; and, if it was good at all to read it, the Protestant version could not be very far astray. Ned reluctantly complied, and felt it necessary at first, I dare say, to perform a sort of quarantine after touching the sacred volume; but his father desired that neither his wife nor the priest her brother should hear a word about the matter. The invalid gradually recovered strength, which he ascribed to the fit of piety that had come upon him; and though he did not dream of changing his religion, and was punctilious in his observance of its rites, he still felt a sort of superstitious respect for the book that had been instrumental in keeping up a serious impression of divine things upon his mind; and was not displeased at seeing his son frequently poring over its contents after the daily task of reading to the old man was ended."

"At length Ned, through the single and simple force of truth, became convinced of the errors of the Romish Church; and, afraid to tell his parents, he quitted home, and sought the aid of an exemplary clergyman in an adjoining county. From this gentleman he received the kindest treatment, and the most judicious advice not to be precipitate in the adoption of a new creed. This good man gave him books, and protected his destitute youth from persecution, to which the poor fellow became subject, as soon as it was hinted that he was likely to renounce Popery; but Heaven had endowed Ned with one of those acute understandings which are rarely found in any class of men, and the books which were given him by the excellent pastor under whose tutelage he had placed himself, did not satisfy his inquiring mind. Contending between a sense of duty to his family, his temporal benefit, and the habits of his whole life, on one side, and his newly awakened, and, as he considered, providentially directed, search after truth on the other, he roamed about, suffering the greatest privations, sculking in the mountains, and indebted to charity for his scanty fare, till accident brought Mr. Otway to the spot where he lay stretched upon the heath apparently dead, and a ragged Bible clenched in his hands. He was conveyed to Lisfarne, where he found the asylum after which his soul panted. When his strength was recruited, he was supplied with such books as were calculated to meet the sagacity of his doubts, and a short time made him a fixed and conscientious believer in the superiority of the Protestant faith over that in which he had been educated. About this time his father died, leaving him a little profit-rent of fifteen pounds a year, arising out of a poor tenement in Tralee. This is Ned's all, and as soon as he became possessed of independence he resolved to quit his benefactor and devote himself to the good of his fellow creatures. No argument will tempt him to accept of a salary that would better his condition. A few books, newspapers, and a little snuff, are all that he will permit any of us to add to his hermit's fare. You will see his dwelling, and be surprized perhaps by his remarks. The mountain on which he resides belongs to an absentee nobleman, and Ned lives there unmolested amongst almost inaccessible crags. The singularity of his character, its natural force, and the genuine disinterestedness of conduct which he manifests, combine to produce unbounded influence on the minds of the people, who, notwithstanding the charge of heresy against him, seek his advice, and consider his wisdom as quite oracular. Ned's life is passed in doing good. He traverses hill and dale on foot in quest of all whom he can succour by his counsel or sooth by his kindness. His Bible travels with him, and in spite of the avowed hatred of the priests, and the heavy denunciations of punishment which two or three of them have fulminated against any one who shall listen to, or harbour, poor Ned, he is a universal favourite, and often let in at a back door when his hosts would not venture to receive him at the front of their miserable hovels. He reads the scriptures incessantly, expounding and applying them to the individual necessities of his needy neighbours. He attends the fairs, and prevents many a quarrel. His talents as an arbitrator are in such request that he keeps several paltry cases of contention from the petty sessions, and is even consulted as an almanack, for the signs of bad or good weather."

With this outline of Ned's character and history we approached his extra-ordinary tabernacle, which had no appearance whatsoever of human dwelling, till we reached it close enough to see a little wreath of blue smoke curling up from an orifice in the rock, and were assailed by the sharp and angry bark of a terrier, who lay sunning himself, with a cat lying close by him on a tuft of dried heath. A few great stones piled one upon the other, at each side of a natural aperture in the craggy face of the mountain, seemed to indicate the hand of man in bringing them together, and likewise to afford shelter to the entrance. A stout wooden door opening inwards appeared the only means of ingress to admit even the light of heaven, for windows I saw none.

A few goats were roused from their meditations by our arrival, and I had just pronounced the name of Robinson Crusoe to my companions, when, at the end of our scramble, which had occupied three hours in its performance, Ned himself started from his lair, and stood before us clad in a strong comfortable loose coat of a greyish frize, manufactured in this country by the poor people. He had shoes and stockings of coarse but warm materials; and moreover, a hat, which, though it had seen better days, defended his head from the rude blast of this desolate wilderness, and was fastened to a button-hole by an old red worsted garter. Such was his joy at sight of Frederick, that some minutes elapsed before he seemed sensible that his friend had any companions. "Oh, sir," said he, "the news came to me just as I was lying down last night; Tom Collins sent off little Maurice his son to Tim Scannel, who put his brother across the bay in the fishing-boat; and he ran every step o'the way over the hills till he brought me the account."

To have asked what account would have been a direct insult to all Ned's best feelings, and so Frederick thought, for he replied, "Well, though I am grateful to poor Collins, and also to Scannel, I am very sorry that they have been beforehand with me; I thought to have had the pleasure of telling you myself." "Never mind," answered Ned, "they, poor fellows, have not so many pleasures as you have, don't begrudge them that, for they had a sore trot of it bare legged over the stones to bring me the news; and by the same token I had nothing but two or three potatoes that were cold in the dish after my supper to give Jack after his long tramp over the mountain, and he was afraid of being late for work in the morning, so would not wait till I could get him a drop of milk."

Here was a journey of at least eight miles, by the shortest route, across the bay, performed at the end of hard day's work without the refreshment of food or sleep, and without the expectation of a single sixpence to reward the toil! La Bruyere, Rochefaucauld, and all the host of the Machiavelian school to boot, could hardly concoct a bad motive out of the given materials, with all the maceration and trituration which they could put this action through in their moral crucible, which can contrive to disfigure so much of human nature. The worst incentive to such a deed which ingenuity could extract from its analysis, might perhaps be discovered in that love of stimulus common to all lively people, and of which the Irish are peculiarly susceptible: they love to surprise, and be surprised; but I feel certain that Tom Collins would have performed the part of Speaking Trumpet to "Ned of the Hill," without the aid of this excitement. I am becoming enthusiastic about these Hibernians: but to return to our mountain sage. He received us with native courtesy: his small deal table was quickly spread with the sandwiches which we had brought, to which Ned added a pot of fine smoking potatoes, and a red-herring or two which he took from a stick on which they were hanging in the chimney. Brandy and water (the latter from a stream clear as chrystal that babbled by his door) finished our repast; and, whether from the effect of novelty, my long ride, the purity of the mountain air, or all united, I cannot tell, but I never remember to have thought the best dinner in London half so good as this upon the top of an almost trackless waste, from which we could see nothing but a boundless expanse of ocean lying to the west. When we had finished our luncheon, or whatever you please to call it, Ned invited us to come and sit by the stream in which he said that we should find the finest water-cresses that ever were seen; and "Gentlemen," said he, "I will get you an oaten cake, and new laid eggs, and plenty of milk, before you quit me."

In the first part of his invitation we acquiesced, but told him that my aunt would be uneasy if we were not at home early, and would wait dinner. "Go, then," said Ned, "and my blessing go with you; for I would not have her suffer the smallest fretting or vexation for all the pleasure of your company during a whole week. She is a good mother, and a good Christian; and deserves all the love and duty that you can shew her."

We then walked with poor Ned, and I begged of Frederick to draw him out in conversation, that I might hear some of his opinions. When we were about a quarter of a mile from his fortress, Ned invited us to sit down in a sunny nook, formed by the rock, where the stream widened into a large surface, and here we found the cresses with which our host had promised to crown our simple repast. "I often," said he, "bring a handful of potatoes here, with a grain of salt, and gather a few of these to make out my dinner. It is a fine thing, sir, to think how easily a man may live, and that too upon food better for him than a lord mayor's banquet."

"You are very happy, Ned, I should think," said Bentley, who looked at him with the most profound admiration.—"No one is happy," answered the hermit; "but I believe that I am as much so as anybody, for I am contented with the lot in which Providence has placed me, and would not desire to exchange it. Man is a poor creature, his life is but a vapour, and the less that he is in the way of temptation the better is it for him in time and in eternity."

"Ned," said Frederick, "you have leisure for meditation, and wish that you would tell me what you think of public affairs at present?"

"Why, sir, I should be considered a bad judge of what the public are about, I who live in the desert; but as every man has his own way of thinking, I have mine."

"This is," said I, "a time of great stir, and a great deal is doing that ought to tell either one way or the other for much good or evil."

"Ned smiled, and answered, "Sir, you might set up for an oracle, for you are sure to be right, as your prophecy will answer either way: and that is the method that a great many take to get over a knotty point, when they do not know how to get through it. No offence, sir, I hope."

I really felt a little disconcerted, and my companions laughed; but I begged Ned to explain what he thought himself of king's ministers, men, and nations.

"Why, sir, indeed we all flatter ourselves, even such a poor humble being as I am, that we can see all the working of the puppets, little and big, but people are often mistaken who have better means of coming at the truth than I have: all the way, sir, that I have to know what is doing in the world is by the newspapers, which my young master there (looking at Frederick) kindly brings me, and my notion is, from spelling and putting together, that though I may never live to see the day when such a matter will come to pass, a revolution is hanging over these countries as sure as you are sitting there opposite to me."

"That would be a strange event, Ned," said I, "as the consequences of those changes to which I alluded, I meant the change from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge."

"Sir, I mean the same thing, though I do not give such good names to what I think undeserving of them."

"Why, Ned," "said Bentley, "I know a place within three miles of this spot where you go three or four times a-week to teach: how does your conduct consist with what you have said?"—"It fits like a pea in the pod, sir," replied Ned; "I go to give what instruction I can to a few poor things who are longing to know God through His word; and as some are too young, and others too weak to climb this rugged height, I go to the foot of the mountain to meet them; and don't you think that I would teach every man, woman, and child, if I could make them learn the road to heaven?" I told him that Nature herself seemed to point a finger to the course of education in Ireland, for that such surprising faculties as I found in the poor sons and daughters of Erin could never have been designed by their Creator to lie dormant. "Young man, we know," replied Ned, "nothing of God's designs, and your reason for teaching right hand and left, is about as just as if you were to burn a hay-rick in your neighbour's farm, and when you were asked why you did such mischief, you were to answer, that a heap of combustibles was lying convenient, and that as combustibles were by nature made to be burned, you thought proper to set them on fire. But, sir, my notion is, that the gentry are, as fast as they can, changing sides with the mob of the country, for they are winding off at the upper end of the spindle as much as they are winding on at the bottom, and so it will be only one thing in the place of another after all. Education seems to be declining amongst the heads of the community, as much as it is flourishing amongst the tails, and, before long, it will be found that the tails will take the post where the heads are now."

"Upon what grounds do you prognosticate this up-side-down, this new order, or disorder, of things?" said Bentley.—"Why, sir, upon two grounds: first, upon the ground of my natural reason, which tells me that it cannot be otherwise; and, secondly, upon the ground of the newspapers, which shew me that the matter is already coming to pass under our own eyes. Without any help to my own thoughts, I should be a fool outright if I did not know that education is bringing out all the faculties that were rolled up like those daisies there, before you, in their winter-quarters, till the sun warmed the mountain, and untied the cords that bound every button of them tight and hard in their green cases. Now, sir, God is no respecter of persons: His providence has given understanding to the poor as well as to the rich, which only wants what it is now receiving to bring it into full bloom, and if the rich, who are the smaller number, neglect the instruction which the poor, who are the greater number, are eagerly devouring, you will find how it will be by-and-by: the lean kine will swallow up the fat; and when men find out that their hungry wits, sharpened by want, have gained the power belonging to knowledge, they will use it, and not rest contentedly upon a wild heath like this, without asking themselves the question, "Why should not we take those places that are held by men who do not know how to fill them, and benefit ourselves and the country by shoving out a set of pampered geese, and coming down upon their snug nests with all the force, as I may say, of those eagles yonder?' Sir, when things are ripe for this question, the end is at hand."

"But, my good Ned, why suppose this neglect in the higher classes? What should lead you to conclude that, though the blessings of light and knowledge are spreading over the mass of mankind, the upper ranks are not holding their own, and cultivating as before, the benefits, which, with increased liberality, they are now determined to share?"

"Why, sir, I know very well that 'as the twig is bent the tree's inclined,' and if I look to your great schools, and your colleges, what do I see but an undisciplined rabble, doing what they please, and the masters, who ought to control youthful vice and folly, become like so many ciphers. At one of your great seminaries I see murder committed in a boxing-match, and the whole affair hushed up, as if no harm were done. At another of your great schools, the man to whose care the morals of your English youth are intrusted, runs away without saying a word to any one, leaving a debt of £50,000 behind him.

"Did I not hear young Master Fitzallan tell his father the other day that after being at a third of your great English establishments he had never spoken but twice to the head Master of it? Don't I read of Oxford and Cambridge time after time expelling the young lords and high gentlemen, for every sort of misconduct and disorder? What do they learn at the University, but to gamble away their money, and drink French wines? Sir, my notion is, that the times are out of joint. Children don't respect their parents and rulers. Parents and rulers suffer children to get the upper hand, and think themselves before their time, and without taking the trouble to gain wisdom. The wholesome restraint of the old school is out of fashion; bit and bridle are taken off, and all the world scamper in the way they like best; while, to crown all the folly, the grandees are whetting knives to cut their own throats.

"Suppose now, sir, that there was in all England, or any other country, but one single regiment of men who had arms and ammunition; and that it was the business of this single regiment to protect the king, and stand sentry over your banks, and prevent all commotions in your capital. If neither gun nor pistol, a dust of powder, nor a grain of shot could get into any other hands, would not that regiment, of only perhaps a thousand strong, be able to keep down a multitude that we could hardly reckon? but if the tower is opened, and a hundred thousand stand of arms taken out, and given to the people with plenty of balls and cartridges, and they are drilled from morning till night, learning all the new modes of squaring and filing off, the new this and the new that, while the old regiment does nothing at all, but stand as if it was cut of paste-board, at the palace gates, and the gates of your city; where will the rulers be then? Why, to be sure, in the young and vigorous recruits, who only wanted what you have put into their hands to knock your train-bands upon their faces on the ground, like the poppy heads that some ancient warrior cut down for a sign to let the enemy know what he intended to do."

"But Ned have we not some long heads in Parliament that will keep watch over our interests?"

"Yes, sir, you have a few long, and a great many short ones. Lord Liverpool is an honest man and a sensible man. Mr. Peel is a man that I believe would not tell a lie to make himself a duke; and the greatest fault I see in him, is that he is so fond of sporting, and so afraid that any of poor Dick Martin's feeling for the suffering dumb creation, should interfere with his diversion, that he stifles the voice of humanity within his breast; but it will not be so always, I hope, for the best courage is ever to be found in a tender heart. The lion and the lamb, sir, make a fine mixture in a man's character."

"Then you think cruelty to animals a sin, Ned?"

"Think it a sin!" replied Ned, with an expression of countenance that would had have brought thunders of applause at Drury-lane; "Yes, sir, it is a crying sin, and one of the very worst signs of our time. It is a foul blot upon our scutcheon. When I was a younker, the gentlemen did not set their poor neighbours such examples as they do now, and we see the fruits. What right has a man, who is returning home from a bull-bait himself, though he rides a fine horse, and has ten thousand a year, to talk to an ignorant savage that he sees on the high road for goading a jaded bullock to market, or belabouring an overloaded ass up the hill? or what right has any man who encourages the wicked amusement of prize fighting, which teaches people to become brutes, and mangle each other in cold blood, to abuse others for doing the same in hot blood, when they meet at a fair, and meet too as enemies who think that they are bound to revenge some real or imagined wrong? No, no, sir, preachers must be doers, or they will only be laughed at."

"Whom else do you think well of in our great National Assembly, Ned?" asked Bentley.

"Sir, I like Mr. Robinson. He knows his business. He found things in a bad condition, and it is more troublesome to mend than to make. He is going the right way to work, and he is not frightened by opposition. Mr. Huskisson too, sir, is a sensible man, and knows what he is about."

"What say you, Ned, to Mr. Canning?"

"Why, sir, I think that at all events he can talk well, and I love him better for one thing that he said the other day, than if he had given me a hundred pounds in hand. Do you remember, sir, when he defied the house to shew him any act of liberality, any treaty upon a broad generous foundation, that was not proposed by the Tories. That was nuts and apples, to my heart, for it was truth, and very well they all knew it, for not a man dared to contradict him; even Mr. Hume, who contradicts every thing and every body, let him alone when he threw that challenge in their teeth."

"You do not then like Mr. Hume, Ned.?"

"I should like him better, sir, if he took the trouble of being better informed. He, sir, is the watch dog in the orchard, but he barks so often when no harm is at hand, or when he mistakes a crow for a band of robbers, that when the thieves come in earnest, people do not mind him, and the uproar that he makes then, passes by unheeded, which is a pity. However, sir, he does some good, though not so much as he might do, and the fear of giving tongue keeps many a pilferrer out of the apple trees."

"Well, Ned, will it not be a fine thing for Ireland, if we live to see the day when emancipation is proclaimed, and all animosity, discontent, and rebellion, are laid in the dust?"

Ned laughed heartily. "Wait a while," said he, "and if we live to see that day I am a pickled herring. No, sir, 'tis not because I am no longer a Roman myself that I say it, but the never a bit of good would emancipation do in this country. The name of it indeed, would make the people light fires, and drink a double dose of whiskey, when they heard of it; and they would shout, and those that have hats would throw them up into the air. You would have more noise, and drunkenness, and bloodshed, and battery for a week or so, and when that was over, and not a rap was to be found in their pockets, or a tatter left on their backs, they would begin to look about them, and ask one another, what they had got? Whether the potato-garden was lowered in its rent, or leather in its price? Whether wages were raised or the necessaries of life cheaper than they were before; and when they discovered that all the difference in their condition was, that Daniel O'Connell and his partner Shiel, might stun the House of Commons in London, with their blustering speeches as they do now the Catholic Association in Dublin; the people would find that they had gained nothing but broken heads."

"But though it were only a shadow, a mere name," said I, "if the people's hearts are set upon obtaining it, will they not be happier and more tranquil, if they succeed in the object of their wishes?"

"Why, sir, as to wishes, you may set an ignorant multitude wishing for anything you please. You might make them wish, like an infant, for the moon, though they know no more about it, than that it looks like a fine big Gloucester cheese; but if the moon dropped down to them, and they discovered that they could not neither eat, drink, nor wear it; that it would neither relieve them from tithe, nor cess, pay their rent, nor manure the ground; nor, in fact do anything but set a few learned men in the college talking about the length and the breadth of it; I would not go security for their being satisfied with ther bargain. Sir, when people are set on wishing, without knowing what they are wishing for, it is well for them if it ends as well as the fable, in a yard of good black pudding."

We were excessively amused by Ned's dry sarcastic manner. Bentley continued: "I think, however," said he, "that let Parliament decide as it may, the bonds of affection between landlord and tenant will be drawn closer by the discussions that have taken place. The poor will love the rich better from finding the sympathy so general in their suffering, whether the wrongs of which they complain be real or imaginary."

"Not at all, sir," answered Ned, with energy, "the people are poor and wretched; they have many wants and many grievances to complain of, but those, which their landlords might relieve or redress are never thought about, unless now and then by such a blessed man as Lord H. or Mr. Otway. They make their tenants happy, they treat them like Christians, and among their poor people you hear no cant about emancipation, they have enough to eat and drink, they are encouraged in their industry, protected in their rights, they enjoy all the freedom that they require, and as much as is good for them. But, sir, the talking landlords spend their breath and spare their purses; and the people, who are not such fools now-a-days as to be caught in springes, know the difference between saying and doing; they understand the decoy ducks much better than you seem to suppose. I know a great man, not a hundred miles off, who is building a house as fine as Solomon's temple, and he makes long speeches, and shakes hands with every ragamuffin who can give him a vote; but he is not a whit the better loved for all that, and why should he? He is a hard landlord, and they say that he makes his poor tenants pull down their stone walls, and raise mud cabins for themselves, that they may bring the materials of their former habitations to help in constructing his palace Ah, sir, words cost nothing, and a poor man would depend more upon the kindness that assisted him with a sack of oatmeal, or a warm blanket, than upon all the talk, empty and flourishing, that takes up the newspapers, and gives the county gentlemen the pleasure of seeing themselves in print. When the people had not so much experience as they have at present, it was easier to deceive them; but you can hardly now 'find an old weazel (as we say) asleep on his perch;' and the true characters of the landholders are very well known."

Then said I: "Ned, if you have many such landlords, it is the less to be lamented that they are so fond of going abroad. The absence of such men is as good as their presence."

"No, sir, bad as they are, they could not help being of some use if they stayed at home, and spent their money in their own country. Never believe any one who tells you that the absentees are not one of poor Ireland's greatest curses."

"Ned," said I, "while I listen to you, and hear so many sensible remarks from your lips, I cannot help thinking what a fine thing is universal education, and how great a change must be effected by learning which will enable the mass of any nation to reason with the force which you can bring to meet every subject that we have discussed to day."

"Sir, I thank you," answered Ned, "for the compliment, but I cannot return it without telling a lie. Your reasoning, sir, is not of the best, if you will consider the matter again, when you would say, all as one, as that books make brains. Why should the knowledge of reading and writing, and casting sums in arithmetic make wisdom amongst the poor, any more than amongst the rich; and you have plenty of dunces, sir, in the higher walks of life, who cannot argue a bit the better for any thing that they ever got hold of in school, or at college. But even if learning gave understanding, which it does not, for that is God's gift, still, sir, it might be, with all its worth, not fit for us in our present condition. If you gave me a barrel of the best seed corn that your rich country ever grew, I could not say but that it was a good gift, and the grain fine grain; but if I threw it on the surface of that barren rock yonder there, what return would it make? Wouldn't it only bring the mag-pies in flocks about me, to eat not only that, but what little I had before? First, fence in a bit of ground; then, burn it, and dig it, and clear it; after that, you may sow your grain, and it will come up and yield increase. In like manner, sir, if you gentry would make your tenants more comfortable, give them a little property in their labours, encourage them to decent habits, reward the sober and peaceable, punish the bad, live amongst them, and employ them, you would soon find your soil prepared for sowing a crop which at present is thrown to waste, or only devoured by birds of prey."

I could have staid till midnight with poor Ned, and Bentley seemed rivetted in attention to his acute observations and sound common sense; but Frederick looked at his watch, and gave the signal "to horse."

As we were moving towards the place where our palfreys were in waiting, I said to Burke, "tell me how is it that the mass of the people in Ireland speak so much purer English than we do, though it is our native tongue, and with you not so?"

"That is the very reason of it, sir, I suppose," replied this extra-ordinary man. "You speak English amongst your poor, as we speak Irish, by ear, and so we speak it badly enough, and differently in different places; but our English we learn out of books, because it is not our natural language, and so perhaps we may speak it nearer to the manner in which it is written than you do at your side of the water."

With intelligence thus superior to his humble lot, did this desert "Hampden" (for "village" would not suit with his desolate dwelling) discourse with us till we were mounted. Frederick made him promise to come to Glenalta, where he told him that a present of books awaited his arrival: and we promised to visit him again on our return from Killarney. With affectionate and mutual adieus, we parted, and left the wide blank of a deathlike solitude and silence, to contrast with the merry din of our voices and the cheerful shew of life which had been produced by the group of men, dogs, and horses, on the gloomy heath.

I shall never forget Ned of the Hill while I live, and though his brogue is the ne plus ultra of possible discord to a musical ear, I would rather listen to him than to almost any West-Endian of my acquaintance. Bentley is beside himself with admiration of Ned, and I believe would like nothing better than a cave next door to our mountain sage, where some future bookmaker, travelling this way, might set down the neighbours as a settlement of the Troglodites, who, by some wonderful chance, had been cast on shore upon the coast of Kerry. I am not yet sure how to classify Bentley. He is very worthy of a place in my Irish Pantheon, but I have not a niche ready for him, and as I hardly think that I shall be able to unravel his character without help, I will ask Mr. Otway about him, some day or other, if I cannot satisfy myself respecting certain incongruities which I perceive in his manner.

As we neared Glenalta, Frederick observed several traces of carriage wheels on the road, and, on examining them more nearly, prophecied that we should find company on reaching home.

"Not at this hour, surely," said Bentley. "Mr. Otway would not drive to Glenalta when he is able to ride or walk thither; and my uncle being an absentee at present, who is there that could venture to pay a visit at five o'clock with any hope of being at their more distant homes in reasonable time for dinner?"

"Depend upon it," answered Frederick, "that whoever came to Glenalta this day, is there still. Like Cacus' den, it exhibits no returning footsteps. All the marks of the horses' feet are in the same direction." See what it is to live in this out of the way sort of place!

The speculation of who could have come in our absence kept our minds for the last mile in the most animating state of inquiry and suspense. We rode up directly to the stable-yard, on entering which, a nice calêche and smart dennett were drawn up in order. The stable-boy could not tell more than that "quality" had come, and old Lawrence, whom we met, could only add, that they were to stay, and were English, but every body was in such a bustle that, he told us, he could learn no more. On entering the house, we found the rooms deserted, and Fanny, who came radiant with excitement, skipping down stairs to meet us, was the only living thing that presented itself to our view. To our eager inquiries she would only reply, that we must go and dress, and that when we appeared in the drawing-room that we should know who were the guests. There was no use in expostulating, Fanny was inexorable, and to our toilettes we were sent. As soon as mine was completed, I hurried down stairs, and Fanny again was the first to me. She took me by the hand, and throwing open the drawing-room door, I found my aunt, Emily, and Charlotte all dressed, and looking full of some mystery, respecting which I was proceeding to ask questions, when two figures bounced from behind the large Indian screen, and who should stand confessed before me, but Russell and Annesley. Astonishment was no adequate word to express what I felt at sight of them. How to account for the vision, how to express amazement, pleasure, at the unexpected rencontre, I knew not. What a creature of circumstance is man! Though I am fond of both Russell and Annesley, and they are the only people besides yourself, of whom I have spoken as friends since I came here, and introduced by character to my relations, yet a meeting with either of them in the Regent's Park, in Bond-street, at the Theatre, or the Opera, how insipid! Nay, sometimes even a bore. Yet here at Glenalta, county of Kerry, South of Ireland, it was rapture to behold their faces, though neither their personal identity nor my own can have undergone any material alteration since we met last at Cambridge. Is it that I, without knowing it, have got a drop of Irish blood in my veins, or that the features of my countrymen, my schoolfellows, my College friends, operate naturally in a strange place, like the Ranz des Vaches on Swiss hearts in a foreign land? I must leave you to develope the cause, I have only to do with effects.

After the first tumult of surprise was over, I gained in ten minutes the following outline respecting the hows, whys, and whens of this sudden incursion into the wilds of Kerry. From the time when first Russell heard of my being here, he began to devise a scheme for slipping over in summer, but as his father wanted him to join a party who were going to the Highlands, he did not find it an easy matter to accomplish his plan; having been told, however, by my sisters, that I was bound to Killarney, he determined on coming to Ireland; and, meeting Annesley, offered him a seat in his dennett. The project resolved on by these wags was, to keep me in profound ignorance of their movements, while they watched ours, and to meet us in some romantic spot of our Lake scenery; but in pursuing their route, they fell in with a travelling carriage which had just smashed down in the bog, and, having left all their English sang froid behind them, they immediately jumped from their own vehicle to make a proffer of every assistance in their power to bestow. A lady, her maid, and footman, were the party submerged by fate beneath the murky waves of Acheron. Literally they were all struggling out of a dyke full of water as black as if it flowed direct from the forge of Vulcan. The knights flew to the rescue with all the zeal of chivalric adventure, and conveyed their fair charge to a neighbouring cabin, where a blazing fire, for which they were indebted to the same morass that had treated them so uncourteously, repaired the evil, and set them moralizing on bogs and bees, which, together with the bane, provide an antidote. They found the lady very agreeable, and moreover they discovered that she was steering for Glenalta, upon which they drew up their visors, proclaimed their names, and told her that a friend whom they were seeking was a guest under that roof. This coincidence pleased the lady, as savouring of a regular adventure, and she at once invested herself with the responsibilities of a godmother, and (one good turn deserving another) prevailed on her deliverers to step into her carriage, and resign theirs to the charge of her servant, promising to introduce them to the Douglas family. Well now, you naturally inquire who is the lady whose intimacy at Glenalta warrants such a stretch of privilege? She is a Mrs. Fitzroy, with whom my aunt became well acquainted, during her long sojournment in Devonshire, and whose society beguiled her sorrows in the deep retirement of Linton. Mrs. Fitzroy is a highly-gifted person, and a most agreeable addition to our party; but to proceed with my narrative, her visit was not a surprise to my aunt, though a very great one to the rest of the family.

A letter came just about the time when Emily and Frederick had finished their works in the Glen, and the unlooked for pleasure which they had prepared for their mother, in introducing her to the rustic temple which they had with filial fondness dedicated to her, suggested the idea of concealing Mrs. Fitzroy's intentions, and thus repaying the young people in kind, by a pleasant necromancy. Nothing could be better managed, and my aunt enjoyed, to use the language of old Du Deffand, a grand succès. I was put in possession of all this before Mrs. Fitzroy made her appearance. Frederick, who came next into the drawing-room, was now informed of all that had happened; and as to my two English comrades, they were at home in a quarter of an hour, a delightful reception for them having been doubly secured by their sponsors. Mrs. Fitzroy now completed our circle, in which Mr. Otway and Bentley had previously taken their posts, and a merrier group you never saw.

Mrs. Fitzroy deserves to be distinguished by a separate portrait, and therefore I must prepare my canvass, and endeavour to sketch her likeness. She appears to be about forty; her features are well defined; replete with intelligence, and when lit up by a gay expression, singularly playful and pleasing. Her faculties are strong and clear, her understanding comprehensive, and her mind apparently equal to any exercise of its powers which she chooses to put into action. She is evidently possessed too of considerable sensibility, which makes her peculiarly alive to whatever is interesting in the character of others. She and my aunt do not in the least resemble each other, but the difference between them is not such as to impede the growth of a very warm friendship. The young people are excessively fond of her, and her arrival at Glenalta is considered quite a jubilee. Though an English-woman by birth, and living almost continually amongst people of her own country, all her sympathies are Hibernian, and she has much of that raciness in her own composition which she says is so attractive a composition in the Irish. The delight with which she goes into the cottages to converse with the peasantry, is something very amusing to witness. She says that, "Irish thoughts are so fresh, and the expression of them so eloquent," that she feels as if transported amid a new order of beings. She seizes on every idea, presented in whatever guise, with such intuitive quickness, that she charms the poor people in return, and Tom Collins paid her an odd sort of compliment yesterday which brought tears into her eyes: "Indeed, God bless your honour, you're just as if you were bred and born in the bog among ourselves." This is her second visit to Ireland, though her first at Glenalta; and she runs about in raptures collecting traits of disposition which seem to have a native affinity with her own. I shall tell you more of her in a future letter.

We are to set out, a formidable muster, for Killarney, at six o'clock to-morrow, and I shall not seal this till the last moment, reserving my next exclusively for a report of our expedition. As I tell you every thing, I cannot conclude without mentioning a letter which I have lately received from my eldest sister, and which has caused me much disquietude; she tells me that my uncle the General is coming home from India, which is fully confirmed by a letter direct from himself to Mr. Otway, and it is my mother's wish that I should be in England when he arrives. What is still worse, there is an evident anxiety expressed by Louisa, who, I conclude, conveys the general feeling of the family conclave in this case also, that I should quit Glenalta directly. The rustication which I am enduring will, she says, totally disqualify me for polite society; my manners will become boorish, my person unsightly, and, in short, it is voted, that as it is supposed my health is perfectly re-established, I shall quit my banishment, and revisit the regions of civilization, which it is apprehended I may forget, if my recal be not speedy and imperative. Then certain hints are thrown out respecting Adelaide, and that ass Crayton, whose coronet, were it of ducal form, and decorated with strawberry leaves imported from Brobdignag, could never hide the length of his ears. How short a time has elapsed since these things which now perplex would have given me joy? I should have been thankful for a good excuse to bid adieu to Ireland for ever; and I should have thought my mother the first of human manoeuvrers, and Adelaide the most fortunate girl in London to have succeeded in hooking that first-rate blockhead, who, it is likely, I am told, may be my brother-in-law. Another subject of painful reflection is added to these, and it is a relief to my spirit to tell you all that oppresses it. Such a change has taken place in my own mind, that I see the character of others with new organs. My personal identity almost seems doubtful to myself, and I can hardly believe what is nevertheless true, that Louisa's letter, independently of the intelligence that it communicates, has shocked me in a manner difficult to be explained within my own breast, and scarcely possible to be expressed intelligibly to another. My sister's language is lively; she speaks of people familiar to me, of amusements in which a few months ago I used constantly to participate; of fears and hopes, in all of which I could have sympathized, and of events which would have excited my vanity and gratified my pride. Surely it is something savouring of magic that can have converted these things into their very opposites. You have often said that I was not formed for the society in which I was placed; that my character would have taken another direction had it not been trained by habit to a distorted deviation from its natural bias. Perhaps you were right; but, allowing that you were so, still I cannot account for the metamorphosis. Apply a ligature that shall bind the branch of a tree, or a limb of the human body, in any particular curve, and there it rests. The bark, the wood, the pith of the one; the muscles, tendons, arteries of the other, obey the rule of distortion, and the removal of restraint effects no alteration; the crooked will not become straight. On the contrary, here I am a changeling in my mother's house; I see all objects with new powers of vision, and such as, I lament to add, render me ill satisfied with those who stand in the relations to me which I have now learned to appreciate. With a mind just awakened to affection, and a heart just opened to the genial influence of domestic love and harmony, my feelings, which this soft climate of Glenalta has unfolded, are blighted by the very thought of Selby. Yes, I sicken at the bare idea of return, and a consciousness which I only felt before upon great occasions, now represents the whole mechanism of that artificial compact sealed by fashion in the most intolerable view to my imagination. I cannot call things by their old names; the words no longer appear to suit their purposes, and the new nomenclature, which now seems most appropriate, disgusts me. How can I apply the terms bold, indelicate, unfeeling, unaffectionate, to a sister, and not turn with horror from such sounds; or attribute the base design of selling a child's happiness, carrying a daughter to market, and disposing of her to the best bidder, with all the cunning and trickery of professed jockeyism—how can I attach such devices to the character of a mother, and not shudder as I write the word? Yet all this is but an unexaggerated picture of those relations, as I have hitherto known them; an epitome of that world in which I have had my being, and though a fugitive feeling, perhaps, occasionally whispered disapprobation, and I have now and then shrunk from certain violations of modesty or integrity in the conduct of those around me—such starts were but momentary. I quickly rejoined the beaten track, and pressed forward with the giddy throng. When I look at my aunt Douglas, I feel how I could worship such a parent. When I am with Emily, Charlotte, and Fanny, I say to myself, if I had such sisters how I could love them; then comes the sting, I have a mother, I have sisters, and my mind revolts from their society. Poor Ned of the Hill told Bentley that "man is never happy." He was right, Glenalta would be Paradise did not the unwelcome intrusion of such reflections disturb its felicity.

I was called away, or you might have had more of my melancholy musings. We have had a charming ride to-day, and seen some patches of scenery so beautiful, that I can hardly suppose any thing to surpass them at Killarney, but like the fine beryls which were shewn to you and me, that had been found in the Kremlin, and looked as if they were set in a mass of pewter, these favoured spots are surrounded by such savage wildness as I can scarcely describe. You could hardly imagine any part of the dominions which own a British Monarch for their Sovereign to present such desolation to your view as met our eyes in this morning's excursion; but now and then we lit upon an oasis in the desert, the fertility and romantic loveliness of which would teach the veriest wilderness to smile. Annesley, who sketches admirably, took some hints for his port folio, which will astonish you some time or other. Emily and Fanny were of our party, and are excellent horsewomen. Our guests were delighted, and we had another cheerful meeting at dinner, but the evening was marked by a discovery which has knocked up poor Russell's repose for this night, I fancy, if not for a longer season. You know his devotion to music, in which he excels, and you are aware of his enthusiasm in collecting national airs, amongst which he thinks none so melodious as the old Irish strain. When the harp and piano-forte were opened this evening, we were listening to a descant of Russell's on the favourite theme, when Frederick said, "I do think Charlotte that you might now accompany yourself. I saw you practising some days ago, and never heard you touch the strings more sweetly."

"I am only trying to recover a little of what I have lost," answered Charlotte, "but, if mamma does not say no, I will do the best that I can. My old Irish airs are in the dressing-room, will you bring them here?"

Till this moment I had never remarked that Emily or Fanny had always accompanied, and that Charlotte only joined in glees and duets, which she sings with her brother and sister in excellent style; but just before I came to Glenalta she fell, as she was dismounting from her horse, and hurt one arm so much, that it has been ever since regaining its ordinary strength. In any other family your ears would have been persecuted from morning till night with the details of such an accident. At Selby, I know that Eau de Cologne, Arquebusade, and every nostrum ever invented, would have been arrayed, and there would have been an incessant demand on the attentions of every mortal throughout the house, but such is the difference of education, that self, in all its branches, is banished from Glenalta. I had nearly forgotten that Charlotte was hurt, and as no one boasted of her powers, I never heard a word of her peculiar talent in music till in this unpremeditated manner it was called forth by Russell's dissertation on the character of Irish melody. The book was brought, Emily saved her sister the labour of tuning, and Charlotte, for the first time, saluted our ears with such divine enchantment as quite baffles every attempt of mine to convey a sense of it to your imagination. Russell furnished a study to Mrs. Fitzroy, who was watching the variety of his emotion with the deepest interest. His account of Charlotte's music, perhaps, may give you the best idea of it that words can impart:—"it is not," he says, "earthly harmony. No mortal finger touches that harp; no human voice is uttered in the song; that strain floats in mid air, and the soft southern breeze has sighed through the strings"—

"'Twas the Genius of Erin that rose from her cave,

And poured out her lament to the answering wave."

It is not in nature to conceive any expression of sorrow more penetrating than that which mourns in the wail of an ancient Irish ditty. Charlotte has contrived to procure several airs which are not in Moore's collection, and which carry internal evidence of antiquity in the irregularity of their rhythm, if I may apply such a term to music. No sea bird's note was ever more sweetly sad; and she has picked up translations from time to time of some poetical fragments which she has adapted with great taste, as well as judgment to the music, for which she has often been indebted to the peasants as they pursued their daily toil; not that they sing agreeably in almost any instance, I am told; the extreme barbarism which is induced by such poverty as reigns in the South of Ireland, is very unfavourable to the Muses; yet they will linger amongst a people who possess such uncommon tact in appreciating their charms, notwithstanding the homely reception with which they are obliged to be contented. A death-song (vulg. caöne or keen), the words of which, I believe, are published in a late work on the Antiquities of this Kingdom, by Mr. Croker, and which Charlotte has set to an old howl that she heard a poor woman uttering (for singing would be a misnomer) with nasal twang, as she milked her cow, is the most heart-rending melody that I ever heard; and a march which she plays, to which the famous Brian Boirombh led his troops forward at the battle of Clontarf, is remarkable for a character of pathetic grandeur that I never found before in martial music. Russell's feelings underwent such excitement during the evening, that had not his sex preserved him from the simile, we should have compared him to a Sybil in the contortions of forthcoming inspiration. I now perfectly comprehend the pleasure which, I am informed, some of our first-rate public performers profess in exhibiting their powers to an Irish audience. The Irish feel music in the "heart of heart," and express what they feel with peculiar energy. Our English guests are bitten I promise you; I heard them both emphatically declare their gratitude to Mrs. Fitzroy for her introduction to this "charming family," but I must have a nap before we sally out upon Lake adventures, so fare thee well. On my return you may expect a budget.

Vale, vale, yours ever,
A. Howard.

LETTER XV.

Miss Howard to A. Howard, Esq.

Dear Arthur,

Your letter of the 10th to me, has produced a horrible combustion, and I am ordered to recal you immediately. Well or not well, you must be off; and as fast as coaching and steaming can bring you it will be prudent for you to appear before your angry parent, who will vent all her bile on us, if you do not come and relieve Adelaide and me from her ill humour. She accuses us of having persuaded her into consenting to your Irish expedition, and protests, at the pitch of her voice, that she would greatly prefer seeing you dead at her feet, to beholding you return a methodist, which she is convinced you are already become. You have no time to lose; but lest you should not consider the reception which I am teaching you to anticipate from your tender mother, too attractive, I have another reason to urge for your speedy appearance, which will surely turn the scale, if you are in any doubt how to act. I gave you a hint in my last, which will prevent your being surprised with the sequel. La mere has played her game so well, that were it not for the dreams of affrighted fancy, which represent you with parted locks of greasy sable, mounted on a tub, and haranguing the multitude al fresco—in short, if she did not believe you in the high road to become a field preacher, unless you are one already, she would have reason to sound the trumpet, and claim the honours of a triumph. She gave a splendid ball by way of clincher, for which her cards where out when I wrote last to you. The bait took à merveille. Crayton and Ady waltzed together, after which, mamma sailed round the rooms, and whispered to three or four friends (good telegraphs), that she wished Lord C. was not quite so particular in his attentions. "Le bruit court," so rapidly said la bonne mere, "that things are settled by the world before the parties themselves have the slightest idea of being serious." Of course you know the eyes of Europe were directed to the pair. The buz went round, and on the following day, old Lady Bilton bethought her of a cheap return, for at least half a dozen parties, and sent off a note to the following effect, which mamma received before six o'clock, at which hour Crayton made his morning call to ask how we did. Old Bilton's billet was to this effect:—

"My dear Mrs. Howard,—As no one can possibly take precedence of me in the most lively interest for all that concerns you, I have made it a point to deny myself this morning to some particular friends, that I may write, to tell you of the rumours which are afloat. To be explicit, Lord Crayton and Adelaide Howard occupy the public mind, and the on dit of this morning is, that the settlements are en train. Do say, by a line, whether I may congratulate you. To a girl of Adelaide's expectations, the report cannot be of any disagreeable consequence if unfounded; but should it be true, I shall long to hear particulars.

Yours very truly,
S. Bilton."

No sooner was Crayton announced, than he was caught and closeted by la madre, who imparted Lady Bilton's intelligence with becoming gravity, and sundry comments on the pain to delicate feelings, produced by talking people; the necessity of being more circumspect, her own disinterested sentiments, desire for her daughter's happiness, dread of Adelaide's affections being engaged; all which matter, judiciously interlarded with my uncle's great riches, speedy return, devoted attachment to his brother's children, and her own fears that his generosity would be so profuse as to bring all the fortune-hunting tribe to torment us, operated so powerfully on my Lord, added to the surprise of his capture on entering the house, that the whole matter was arranged, Ady was sent for, mamma vanished, the proposal was made, and accepted, the horrid business-people are put in motion, and you must come over, not only to take your seat amongst the musty parchments, but likewise to go through the silly form of giving your sister away. This latter ceremony is much more appropriate to the old Indian Plutus; but there are two reasons against waiting his arrival. One is, that we are not sure but he may leave us in the lurch; and, secondly, he may possibly be such an outlandish sort of animal, that we shall find it advisable to keep him in the shade. Now, it may be, that if you proclaim all that I am telling you, to the tiresome primitives, whose notions you seem to adopt with a degree of zeal, which I can assure you gains no credit here, I dare say that the eyes of your pious relatives will turn as naturally to the new, as the sun-flower does to the old light, and the blue, green, grey, or hazel, which may distinguish the organs of your serious aunt and cousins from each other, will be lost in the general field argent, as their pupils become heaven-directed, and the white of their eyes alone remain visible, like the sculptured orbs of so many statues. You will then hear a volley of methodistic nonsence,—of "fraud," "take in," "future unhappiness," and such like mawkish stuff, which I protest makes me feel, while I am writing, as if I had swallowed a score of ipecacuanha lozenges; therefore it will be wiser of you to say nothing of what I have mentioned. It will be quite enough to tell Mrs. Douglas and her gawky lasses, that affairs of importance demand your presence in England, and that, having been cured of your cough, the object of your visit to them is accomplished. We are the more anxious that you should act promptly, because Russell, and that blockhead Annesley, are gone to see Killarney, the Giant's Causeway, and whatever other odds and ends, in the way of lionizing that savage island may offer. Now, if they poke you out from the hole in which you are buried, or stumble upon you in a bog, the ass, alias Annesley, will begin to bray; he will tell the antediluvians of Glenalta that Crayton is not exactly such a puritan as he is himself; that he has gambled away money enough to build four-and-twenty chapels all in a row. Every irregularity of his life will be dragged into notice, and as your good people are stubborn as mules in performing what they call their "duty," we shall have postage to pay for some of your aunt's homilies, and not only that, but folks who know nothing of the world, act so entirely without line or compass, that I should not be surprised if she took up her pen, and committed the monstrous absurdity of addressing a tract to Crayton himself.

To prevent such an absurdity must be our care, and silence is the only plan to pursue with your Kerry relations. If possible, your mother will write a few lines herself, but lest she should be hindered from doing so, I may as well mention that Lady Araminta Sandes strongly recommends a practice of which she has lately set the example, insisting on the insertion of a clause in every modern marriage settlement, to secure a proper provision for the lady, in case of a separation. I think the council so good, that whenever it comes to my turn, I am resolved to stipulate for at least a thousand a year.

The Duchess of Naresbury has fitted up her pallazo in the best style, and intends to be very splendid; but she will never be one of us, with all her endeavours. She is to be "at home" on the twenty-first of next month, and Crayton asked her permission to take young Fancourt, who is just come back from his travels, along with him to her house. The Duchess forgot who he was, and when Cray. had ticketed him like a geranium in the conservatory, "honorable Augustus, second son to Lord Alison, a very fine young man, and my particular friend," her Grace drew herself up with as much dignity as if she was going to pronounce sentence, and answered, "Lord Crayton, I make it a point not to give any encouragement to younger brothers, 'tis a dangerous folly, of which sooner or later one has to repent. I am sorry for it, but I cannot make exceptions. I cannot receive Mr. Augustus Fancourt." Now, the rule is certainly sound, though this was rather an extreme case; but you know that our charming Byron says, somewhere or other,—I forget the lines,

——And pious mothers

Inquired had they fortunes, and if they had brothers.

Well, Crayton was piqued, and as he would have felt it quite a personal thing had he not succeeded in taking Fancourt to Naresburg-House, he essayed again, and with great presence of mind calmly replied, "I beg a thousand pardons, for my presumption, but I thought your Grace liked talents, and Fancourt is an acquisition any where. He is just come from Greece, and his book comes out in six weeks." "Oh! that is toute autre chose," said the Duchess; "I like clever people excessively. You know I patronize authors, and have a host of protegés continually about me. Lord Crayton, this is quite another view of the matter. Pray bring Mr. Fancourt; I shall be glad to see him, and wish that he was out. He should have brought his materials all ready for the press. He will be late for the season in town. Tell him so from me, and bid him print without delay. I will speak of his book. I will announce it to night at the Duchess of L—'s."

So ended the dialogue, and Cray. came off with flying colours. I was interrupted here by his entrance. Poor fellow! he looked pensive I thought; but I fancy he had a double dose of Burgundy at Lord Morley's yesterday, and who does not wince at sight of the sable squadron in perspective, of those terrible law folks with their long bills, and yellow faces? It was not a week ago since Crayton was laughing heartily at a monstrous sum which rich Burton of Norfolk had to pay to his solicitors for some black letter job. Amongst the items in account was, "To anxiety for my client, March the tenth, two pound fifteen." How very good! When the affair was nearly at an end, old Burton thought it would be a clever thing to spur Rosinante, and accordingly ordered his coach and four to stop, at the "special Attorney's," persuading Mrs. Burton, that a friendly call on market-day, carriage and liveries at the door, would diminish the bill by a cool hundred at least. Mrs. B—— waddled out of the coach in a full suit of green with yellow ribbons, like a walking bank of daffodils, and spoke most condescendingly to Mr. Pim and Mrs. Pim, and the Miss Pims, and the Master Pims, but notwithstanding, and nevertheless, the last entry in the account when it came in was, "To a long and tedious conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Burton, thirteen and fourpence." Crayton is so funny! He tells a story when he is in spirits so well!

Here comes La Madre with her letter, and so Adio. Adelaide would send her love, but we are to suppose that she has none to spare. By and by, I dare say, that she will have plenty on hand; but that is selon les regles. The only danger is, that what goes out love, may come back hatred. Well, Rochefaucauld says, that "hatred is distempered love," so 'tis all the same thing in the end. I am growing prosy, but do you know that the foolish story I told you in my former letter has made such a noise, that I am provoked, and shall begin to turn blue in earnest to vex the blocks. Old Pagoda is at hand, or I assure you it is well if my "Ostracism" were not to send me into banishment. It was rather an unlucky hit, half the young men in town do not understand it, and it is voted a poser. Crayton tells me that money is lost and won upon it daily in St. James's Street. When my uncle is fairly come, and I have touched the rupees, and golden maures, I will positively not keep my wits under hatches any longer. After all, it is egregious folly to give opiates to one's brains because our exquisites are unfurnished in the upper story. I must, however, take the matter quietly, for under a hundred thousand, it will not do to use a word of more than two syllables in length, or any dimensions at all in height or depth; but you shall see what revenge I will have when, like the princess in the fairy tale, my "thread-papers are made of bank-notes, and my favorite spaniel drinks out of a diamond cup." I will then ransack Johnson's folio, and oblige every aspirant to come to my levees with the pocket Lexicon in his bosom. Remember what I have said—mum is the word. Let us not have a commission to try whether we are of sane, or insane mind, nor yet be forced, like Rodolpho, to seek our wits in the moon, for I promise you we should not find a Pegasus to mount so high now-a-days. Encore, adieu.

Yours, ever,
L. H.

LETTER XVI.

Mrs. Howard to Arthur Howard, Esq.

(Inclosed in the preceding.)

My dear Boy,

I am so full of business that I can only send you a few lines. I rejoice to hear that you are quite well, and that "Richard is himself again." Come to me directly. Adelaide's approaching marriage requires your immediate presence, and as you are within a few weeks of your majority, you will be able to enter into all my views for the establishment of your sister. You know what a mother I have been—how entirely devoted to the interests of my children; and I hope, my dear love, that I shall find you, on the present momentous occasion, ready to give your best aid in raising money for an immediate supply. You will feel with me, the propriety of a suitable outfit; and I am sure that it would be as painful to your mind as to my own, were our dear girl to want any proper accompaniment of her new dignity. The Granvilles too (Crayton's sister, you know is Lady G.) are people of such connection, that we must make an effort extra-ordinary, and I do not think it will be possible to get through the necessary expenses for less than five thousand pounds for present use. I want you also on Louisa's account; and, entre nous, feel very uneasy at a silly flight of her's the other evening. She was in high spirits at our Thursday's soirée, and imprudently let fly a scrap of history. As really very few young men now read any thing but the Morning Post, and the Novel of the day, it is not surprising that Louisa's learning confounded the party. I was much vexed, but it cannot be helped. When you come, you may be of use, in assuring all your acquaintance that she has not a particle of blue in her whole composition, and that the long word which has made such a sensation, was picked up from Blackwood, or the New Quarterly; that she never reads history, and knows no more of the Greeks than of a plum-pudding. Nothing alarms me more, than the apprehension of her taking to literature in a fit of disgust. You see how much we have for you to do. Commend me to Mrs. Henry Douglas and her family. They are very good people I am sure, and I feel much obliged by their attentions to you. It is a great comfort when folks are doomed to live in retirement, to see them enjoy it; and nothing can be wiser than your aunt's determination to remain in her present abode; but I need not, my dear Arthur, I am convinced, impress upon your mind the absurdity of taking up such notions as are highly commendable as well as suitable to Ireland, and confined circumstances. You are born in another sphere altogether, and must leave your Kerry ways behind you. Lady Cantaloupe and the Comtesse de Soissons just come! I must see them. Dear Arthur,

Your affectionate mother,
Marianne Howard.

P.S. I had a great deal to say of my dear brother the General, but will postpone. Au revoir.

LETTER XVII.

Arthur Howard to Miss Howard.

Dearest Louisa,

On my return from Killarney, I find your packet, and hasten to say to my mother and you, that I shall obey your summons with as little delay as possible, consistently with all that I owe to the beloved friends whom I am about to leave. So many conflicting thoughts press for utterance, that I know not how or where to begin. Louisa, you will find me a very different being from the Arthur of your recollection; and I fear that at first the change which has been wrought in me will not please you. If you disliked my friendship with Falkland, and less powerful, yet still strong, regard for Annesley, what will you think of a devotion which can only end with life for my aunt Douglas, her children, and her friend Mr. Otway?

Yes, I own it to you. At Glenalta, in this despised and remote corner of Ireland, which you and I have so often ignorantly ridiculed, I have met with the most perfect happiness which it has ever fallen to my lot to enjoy. At Glenalta I have found the kindest affection, the most genuine refinement, not confined to mere exterior observance assumed for strangers, but originating in the heart, and living in every action. I have been instructed and amused; and while each hour has done something towards the cultivation of feelings and powers which I did not imagine I possessed, I have never been once a prey to ennui, that constant and wearisome associate of my former life.

Dear Louisa, you have a good understanding and your heart is naturally lively, and even kind, if you were not perverted by the precepts, creeds, and example of that most dogmatizing of all human teachers—Fashion. Why not break the bonds that shackle your every thought, as well as action? Why not exchange the coarse, (alas, yes, I must speak truth) I say the coarse, unfeminine language of your last letter for that of true delicacy and female softness? My ears are new strung I suppose, for sounds which scarcely made a passing impression before I came to Ireland, now grate upon the organs of sense, and vibrate painfully to my heart.

When I picture to my mind the scene which is now acting in Grosvenor Square, I confess that I feel disgusted almost to estrangement from those who are the chief performers in such a drama; and you are very right in the belief that were there any means by which without lowering a mother's character, I could inform that arch-blockhead, whom she has entrapped, of the fraud that has been employed to take him in, I would certainly, in humbling his vanity, remove his blindness, and charitably catch him from the brink of a precipice. What a marriage you are brewing amongst you! Were you the victim about to be sacrificed on the altar of folly, I could not restrain my feelings, which would burst into immediate counteraction of a plot to destroy all happiness and respectability; and I am more quiescent on this occasion, not because I have always loved you so much better than Adelaide, but that I question the utility of endeavouring to snatch her from the evil to come. She has no strength of character: her mind is a mere machine, ready and willing to be worked upon by the arts of any juggler who can produce a certificate of skill in the only science respected by a world holding all things in abhorrence that do not present themselves clad in the trappings of rank and fortune.

If Adelaide were saved from falling into the hands of one profligate coxcomb, she would quickly throw herself into the arms of another. Crayton is not a designing man, and that is the only redeeming circumstance that I can see in his character—if the word character have any meaning when applied to a person who has none.

Say to my mother that, as a point of duty, I shall obey her mandate, and as soon as I am legally empowered to act, will do any thing to assist her which can be done without injuring a property too heavily burthened already. But, dear Louisa, you must prepare her, Adelaide, and yourself for my absence at the marriage ceremony: I cannot perform the part assigned to me. My mind revolts from participating in a trick, and I will never sanction the fraud by becoming a witness. I warn you of the evil, and I can do no more. We are totally unacquainted with my uncle, who may never give us a shilling, who may dislike when he is acquainted with his relations, and either marry, adopt a stranger for his heir, or leave his wealth to public charities. In short, we know nothing about him, and if it should turn out that the golden dreams with which my mother has dazzled the imagination of a man who has wasted his patrimony, and involved himself almost in ruin, melt in empty air, what consequences may not be anticipated? I turn with horror from the perspective, and dare not tell you all my fears! Crayton has an uncle too, and one from whom he expects the fortune, upon a reversionary hope of which, he has, to my knowledge, been trading for a long time past to supply the exigencies of the gambling table, to which he is obstinately addicted; and the pale face which you visited on a double dole of Burgundy, was probably attributable to a loss at play which, under existing circumstances, it would not be pleasant to reveal.

I have now said enough to put my mother and Adelaide on their guard. A little candour would easily bring the matter to a conclusion, and prevent the mischief which is likely to ensue; but it rests with them to determine. I am not asked to advise, and do not say that I am qualified to act as counsel for any one. I trust, however, that I may be forgiven for this unsolicited interference, on the score of brotherly feelings, which shrink from the projected alliance, splendid as it appears.

Louisa, should the day arrive, in which you become acquainted with the Douglas family, I am not without hope of your proselytism. What joy it would give me to see you like these charming girls, and I am the more impatient that it should be so, because you have all the materials which might promise a rich harvest, were they but used to advantage. I would stake more than I shall ever be worth, that you will delight in the society of our aunt and cousins, if you are ever introduced to them.

Say all that is affectionate to my mother and Adelaide, and add, that I give them present pain, to avoid for them a severer future pang. Adieu.

Your affectionate,
Arthur Howard.