LETTER X.

MISS HOWARD TO ARTHUR HOWARD, ESQ.

Dear Arthur, _London_.

I am so completely _obsedée_ with all that I have to accomplish, that really you must be very thankful for a letter on any terms at present. The fact is that _la Madre_ is put into a _flutterment_ by news which we have just had from that old quiz, Mr. Ingoldsby, of the India House, who says poz, that our ancient uncle is coming home as rich as Cr[oe]sus. What is bringing him, we know not. No matter for the cause, the effect is that _Ingot_ (as I always call him) came here last week _express_ with the intelligence, since when I could not command five minutes, or you should have had the _on dit_ on the wings of the wind. At first I felt transformed into a _begum_, and transported with joy. Shawls, gems, and jewels, dazzled my senses. I dreamt of lacs of rupees, snuffed otto in every breeze, and read envy, malice, and all uncharitableness, in every female face throughout the metropolitan world.

Such was the bright vision of half an hour, when, on the _per contra_ side of the question a grisly band rose upon my disordered imagination, and I terrified myself with the bare idea, that _vielle-cour_ is becoming religious, to such a degree that I had hardly spirits left for Lady Anne Legrave's "At Home," to which I was obliged to go in the evening. I told my fears to mamma and Adelaide. The former said that she would hope the best; but, if the worst comes to the worst, we must, she says, of course indulge the whim as long as it lasts. _Ingot_ does not expect him for several months, so that we may take time by the forelock. Then it may be only a rumour, and he may be snug at Calcutta; but to make _sure_, we shall take a few _good books_ down to Selby, and, _per_ favour of the Morleys and Arundels, and a few more of the "Praise God Barebones" community, we shall get up a nice vocabulary, and with the help of a fawn-coloured bonnet, which I shall certainly borrow from Deborah Prim the grocer, that "demurest of the tabby kind," who is of the society called _Friends_, I do not despair of acting my part _à merveille_.

Mamma is rather _cross_ upon the matter, I think, and _foresees_ trouble; but she is always a bit of a Cassandra; and besides, she lost horribly the other night at _ecarté_; but for heavens sake don't say that I told you so.

Adelaide, some how or other too, does not enter into the thing _con amore_, and is not as much alive as one might expect upon a point of such magnitude, for though we have at present nothing to go upon but Ingot's testimony, and our own surmises, the return of the old lad is a serious sort of concern. If he is in good humour, and neither sick, nor pious, we are _Nabobs_ and _Nabobesses_ at once. _C'est tout dit._ If, on the other hand, he has _got the liver_ (as the Indians say so vulgarly), or has any crotchet in his head, connected with new-light fantasies, I do assure you that we may have much vexation in prospect; and unless you just put yourself in training, and help me out, I do not promise myself any effective assistance. Our poor mother is, as I said before, in an acid vein, and will require Cheltenham certainly, when we leave town; and as to Adelaide, she has other fish to fry, and till the cookery is performed or the finny race, sent swimming _again from the net_ (_vous comprenez_); I shall not be able to enlist her in my pantomime. _Apropos_, Lord George was with us last night, and protests that his mother shall give a masquerade at which he will perform the part of our old Rajah, and I shall _rehearse_ my new character, dressed as a quaker, carrying a basket of _tracts_ on my arm, and, followed by half a dozen of his sister, Lady Somerville's children, who are perfect cherubs, and are to enact _my school_. You can't fancy any thing more _spirituel_. It was quite a _scene_, and we were decidedly the attraction of the evening. I was evidently _prima donna_, and felt so _couleur de rose_ with every thing, and every body, that, forgetful of a quarrel which I had with _Ady_. in the morning, I caught Lord Crayton by the arm, and, under pretence of asking his advice how to prepare for uncle's arrival, gave him such a _teeth-watering_ account of the old boy's investments in the 3 _per cent. Consols_, that milord stuck, for the rest of the evening, like bird-lime to my pensive sister, and almost overturned poor Sir Leonard Twig to _beau_ mamma down stairs; since when, he has never missed a day in visiting, riding with our coterie in the park; and in short I shall not be surprized if, before your return from the _land of darkness_, you see a paragraph in the Morning Post: but what should bring the Morning Post into the wilderness? I give myself immense credit for remembering ever since I performed the Druidical priestess at Lady Penguin's, and learned my evening's task for the occasion, that Annan is the Druid's name for your island of saints, and that it was held to be the dominions of night. It is _so à propos_!

Well, but I was talking of Crayton and Adelaide. If indeed a London newspaper should meet your eyes while you are suffering _ostracism_, (I got _such_ credit for that stroke last night) I verily think it not improbable, that you will stumble ere long, upon, "It is rumoured in the higher circles, that Viscount Crayton is shortly to lead to the Hymeneal altar the lovely Miss A. Howard." What more you may see here-after, I cannot give you a hint of till you come.

Poor Lionel Strangeways bores me to death with his _petits soins_. Sir Stephen (that odious name always sets me sneezing) haunts Grosvenor-square; and Annesley with whom you used to be so _lié_, and who, begging your pardon, is neither more nor less than _bête_, worries me to dance wherever I meet him.

Adelaide, Crayton, Lord George, and I, made a _parti quarré_, in the park yesterday, when we met him quite _en polisson_. He had no servant, looked _bourgeois_; and though I am not ill-natured as you _know_, I was obliged to sham blindness, and to pass by without even a nod. This may cure _him_, and release _me_ from a _blister_. If he were not nephew to the Duke of Elsbury, there would be no bearing him; but every one knows the relationship, and therefore one is _safe_ in acknowledging him, though he is so horribly disagreeable. Directly after I gave him _the go by_, I recollected that perhaps he had heard from you since your letter to us of the 5th, and I might have asked how your cough is, but I did not think of it in time.

The match between Lady J. Marston and Mr. Harrop, ditto between Miss Percy and Lord Anfield are off, positively off _faute d'argent_. The old Countess held out for £2,000 a-year settlement, and Harrop was tied up by his former marriage. It is whispered that a Scotch coronet _hove in sight_ just before poor H. got his _congé_; but I don't pledge myself for the truth of this _codicil_ to the story.--I was interrupted here by Lord George and Mr. Cambray, and have been laughing till I am weary at the best thing in the world. I told you in a former part of this letter, that I was in particularly good spirits last night, and made a sally, in speaking of your banishment. Lord George's "_bravissimo_" was the signal of applause, but poor Sir Hargrove Miles did not know the meaning of _ostracism_, and asked some one (I believe young Felton), who, in a funny mood, told him that I was talking of oysters. There was a laugh, and some ridiculous things were said which I did not hear, but Sir Hargrove looked _cloudy_, and your Marplot friend, Annesley, dreading a meeting in the morning, _explained_ like a goose, and put him into good humour by allowing him to turn the joke against me. Poor Sir H. has accordingly been representing me to-day up and down the whole length of Bond-street as a _Blue_, and were it not that Lord George is my _chevalier_, and that _nuncle_ is coming home with a heavy purse, it would not be so pleasant. As things _are_, I can _afford_ a blue banner, or, as Lord George says, "We may hoist the _blue Peter_ now if we like." He is very witty, and I assure you that _our_ society is considered quite _haut ton_--quite _French_.

I did not intend to have written six lines, and you see how I have run on. Do, my dear, return to us as quickly as possible: you ought to be at your _post_ when the old fellow lands on English ground. _You_ will of course be his principal _look out_, and ought certainly to _toad_ him a little, especially as he will probably be very bilious after the voyage. Mamma thinks it likely that the new light and the bile will be extinguished together, and proposes being ready at an hour's notice to _whisk_ him off to Leamington; but should we find that there is any thing so fixed in his religious derangement as not to give way immediately to the waters, she says that the worst which can happen is our leaving him for a time, and going to the continent. He will probably come home after so long an absence with his heart in his hand, and be as generous as a prince. If so, we shall get plenty of money to take us abroad, and thus fare the better for any little _twist_ that he may have got from received opinions, I do not say from _fashionable_ ways of thinking; for I observe, that East Indians are never people of _ton_: they are expensive and luxurious, but want the _je ne sais quoi_, that inexplicable _odeur de la bonne société_ which marks the select few in a London circle.

My uncle, in all likelihood, will purchase a magnificent seat, have a splendid establishment; and as a little time will remove any quaint prejudices which he may have contracted, he may keep a first-rate table, and see the best company if he is properly managed. The _great_ bore will be to watch him so vigilantly as to prevent his marrying. I am _sure_ that I know at least six regular sieges that will be commenced against the citadel of his purse, besides whatever masked batteries may be prepared to take him by surprise. It must be our care to be his _videttes_, and keep a strict guard upon the motions of the enemy, giving him notice upon every approach of danger.

Well, I must go and dress: I hate the Opera, but we are forced to join a party of Lady Mildmay's, and Lord Clayton will not let us be off. _Adio mio Caro._ Say something civil to the goodies of the Glen. What sickly stuff is pastoral life! I yawn as I write the word. Heaven defend me from your Arcadias! I absolutely shudder at the notion of a golden age, cool grots, and mountain nymphs. That milk diet, too, is a sleepy, corpulent sort of thing. You will loose your _air de noblesse_, and we shall have to put you in training, and fine you down like a jockey before you are fit to be seen.

Come quickly. _Bon repos._ _You_ are retiring to your slumbers, no doubt.

Your mother and Ady said something, I suppose--loves, and so forth, but I'm not sure.

Yours, ever, L. HOWARD.