LETTER XXXII.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

_Marsden._

My dearest Julia,

Here we are, and my letters have so punctually informed you of each stage in our journey, that I resolved on arriving at this beautiful place to look about me, and grant a respite to my pen, ere I gave you an account of Marsden and its surrounding scenery. The mere fact of our arrival was mentioned by mamma to your dear aunt; and at the distance of a fortnight from the short letter which conveyed that intelligence to our beloved friends at Checkley, I gladly resume my office of journalist, recommencing my task with the delightful news that my uncle is a great deal better than when we first reached this house. The symptoms of his disorder, at _least_, appear to be suspended, and it is impossible not to yield, in some measure, to the sweet persuasions of hope. Mamma shakes her head, and, though she will not repress our joyful anticipations, I perceive with pain that _we_, the young and inexperienced, make no impression on her mind, when we endeavour to gain her over to our own bright visions of recovery. Whether it be the change of air, the novelty of the scene, or that we are naturally inclined to feel a particular interest in whatever is our _own_, I will not pretend to determine; but certain it is, that from some happy cause my dear uncle is apparently much invigorated, and seems to enjoy life doubly himself, since he has come to a place where he is the immediate dispenser of pleasure to all around him. His desire to see us gratified, stimulates every action; and we are obliged to suppress, with care, every half-formed wish, lest he should be led into more exertion to indulge our curiosity than is good for him. Julia, you bid me tell you _truly_ how I like your noble country, and you tell me also to employ the same candour in describing my feelings respecting the people with whom I meet. Fortunately for me you were born in Ireland, though all your early associations are English, and therefore I feel bold in taking some liberties with this country, which all your encouragement could not induce me to venture upon, were it your actual birthplace. The beauty of England indeed I admit, without any drawback, and if I confess that I love my own hills and vallies better, such predilection is easily resolvable into affections which may often bestow pre-eminence where it is intrinsically wanting, and raise the barren wild without depressing the cultured garden. This kingdom with which I was only acquainted before as a child, and which therefore possesses all the charms of novelty in addition to its other attractions, in my eyes appears a perfect paradise, so rich, so cultivated is every part of it; and if I sometimes long for a tangled dell like that of the “Retreat,” I am bound in honesty to confess what an extent of cheerless waste I must travel over, ere I could be indulged by a sight of its soft shades again.

_Here_ then there is a fair _set-off_ which squares accounts; but I come now to the _people_, who bold the same relation, in every country, with the land which they inhabit that the kernel of a nut bears to the shell; and here I unhesitatingly declare my preference for the Irish character beyond any specimens which I have as yet met with in English society, provided always that you suppose me to compare people of education with each other. If you _descend_ in the scale, the balance is greatly in favour of the English, whose trading and yeomen classes exhibit patterns which I wish my countrymen would copy; but in the extreme of the series we Hibernians hold up our heads again, and though our peasants may be, and alas are, more meanly fed, clothed, and lodged, than the sleek sons of Albion, there is a union of heart and intelligence to be found in every Kerry cabin, of which I would not give up one little grain, for all the artificial benefits in the power of bacon and beans to confer upon these votaries of good cheer. Certainly, one half at least of every Englishman amongst the lower orders must be _stomach_, and if so, a stranger need not be surprised at the unceasing anxiety expressed to provide for the due support of such extensive capacity; but there is more room for the exercise of our affections, where the mere animal range of the human economy is not the Aaron’s rod that swallows up all the rest. The eating and drinking _here_ are quite astonishing to one accustomed to our aërial diet; and I have no doubt that an English _mind_ is subdued by weight of matter, as effectually as fire is smothered by the pressure of wet sods.

There is something so beneath the dignity of human kind, when compared with the inferior creation, in submitting thus entirely to _animal_ control, and being only the thing which a full or scanty meal may determine, that, much as I desire to behold some amelioration of my dear Paddy’s lot, I hope I shall never live to see his bright imagination quenched in ale, nor his light heels fettered by the leaden influence of over-feeding on beef and pork.

But to return to Marsden (which, though sold from the caprice of its former possessor for £50,000, is said to be worth double that sum), it seems to me a fit residence for a prince. We have a splendid house, magnificent grounds, hot-houses, conservatories, and all the long line of fine and handsome appendages to rank and fortune, for which I have made the discovery, that I possess no taste, unless upon the quiet scale of Glenalta, where, by the bye, we have just as good and as pretty things in the fruit and flower way as any situation can boast. The views from Marsden are superb, and on a clear day command an immense extent.

We have had crowds of visitors coming to pay their compliments to my uncle, who has the reputation of being enormously rich; and whether it be that there is really nothing to interest in the character of our neighbourhood, or that the heartlessness of an acquaintance formed on the ground of mere wealth, has nothing congenial with my disposition in the nature of its cement, I perhaps ought not to determine too hastily; but though we have seen a great many people, I have not as yet met with any who has left on my mind a distinct impression. I had often heard that the English are reserved, and I expected to find them silent. This is not the case as far as my experience extends; but were I to furnish a motto for the talkers who have fallen in my way, it should be “_beaucoup parler et rien dire_.” To be sure we have come at a bad time, for we are in the midst of an election for the county, which occupies every creature, rich and poor, to the exclusion of every topic unconnected with itself; and yet, though I have tried to interest myself in that which engages the attention of all, down to the little children who have got party badges for play-things, and have learned to shout for the candidates to which they severally belong, I have not heard a single syllable in which a stranger could sympathize--not a word of parliamentary fitness--no mention of head or heart that could induce one to hope for this one or the other amongst the combatants. I am sick of the sounds, “weight of influence, county men, borough interests, large estates, numerous tenantry,” &c.

My uncle has made a point of our accepting several invitations, though he is not able to dine out himself; and the only pleasure which I derive from compliance with his wishes in this matter, is found in the amusement which our remarks afford to this dear and pleasant host, who would be a gem in society himself were bodily weakness not to impede the flow of a mind replete with sense and information. To enjoy at _home_ the conversation of three such beings as mamma, Mr. Otway, and my uncle, has the effect perhaps of making me fastidious; but the goddess of dulness seems to have taken under her especial care every dinner-party in which I have been forced to mingle since I came into Hampshire. While we are in the drawing-room there is an attempt sometimes made to take _us_ into the circle, which would be very diverting to witness as a mere looker on, but which is very fatiguing to those who must reply. There is a certain activity of manner, apparently quite distinct from natural good spirits, which seems to be the fashion at present amongst the young people of my own sex; and they assail me with an incessant _giggle_, forming a running accompaniment to the silliest, most objectless questions about Ireland, as if it were a kingdom in the moon. One tells me that she wonders I do not speak with a brogue; another asks whether there are public amusements in _Dublin_, a third inquires whether “the castle” is really a castle or not, and before it is possible to answer, hops off to something else; a fourth absolutely entreated me to tell her whether there were not still existing in the remoter parts of the island, a few of the aboriginal wild Irish with wings, and laughed immoderately at her own wit. All these flat stupidities are uttered with an air of hilarity so perfectly uncalled for, by the occasion, that it makes me stare. If the object be to proclaim that the spirits never flag, the method is _round-about_, only proving the fact by implication that _if_ people can laugh _without_ reason, they must, by an irresistible argument, be supposed capable of excitement when any cause of merriment appears.

From girls of my own age I have flown to the matrons, in hope of some relief from “lively dulness which ever loves a joke;” and so far I have not been disappointed, that in joining the elder groups I have found _rest_, because, not being prepared to enter upon the subjects which they discussed, I have quietly sat by, recovering my spirits while they talked of their nurseries, indispositions, and all the births, marriages, and deaths, past, present, and to come, of the whole county.

As mamma never leaves my uncle, she is spared much weariness of mind, which would not be counterpoised to her by the novelty which makes some amends to us, the younger branches of the household. Mr. Otway performs the part of _Chaperone_; and on our return home we find the cords of affection more tightly drawn towards that delightful society with which heaven, in its bounteous mercy has blessed our happy fire-side. It is, however, only doing justice to inform you, that we have not yet seen some charming people who are reported to inhabit this vicinity. One family is in France, and two others, who are I am told really worth knowing, are prevented from coming to see us by domestic affliction. You are to take my saucy criticisms, then, with due allowance, and not conclude me to be an indiscriminating bigot, who finds fault with all things exterior to her own particular pale. With this qualification I will continue my comments, and venture to express a wonder, that where wealth and situation lead us to expect good breeding, there should be such a deficiency of it as to exclude from conversation all who are not intimate through locality with a petty circle of subjects that possess no general interest, and are incapable of eliciting any one observation in which a stranger can participate. How _can_ people fancy themselves agreeable while they are telling the minutest particulars of a teething fit, or _cackling_ over an interminable list of weddings and wedding wardrobes? Amongst the gentlemen, the _elders_ devote to prophecying upon the probable effects of the present drought, all their mental powers which are not absorbed by the election, and amongst the more youthful there is the most deplorable lack of intellect in all that I have heard them say to each other, while to the _female_ part of their acquaintance nothing can exceed the inanity of their addresses: “Were you at the flower-shew?” “Shall you go to the race-balls?” “Do you ride?” “Do you like rowing?” are the only sounds that live upon my memory, and the above questions have been asked to Charlotte and me so repeatedly, that we might almost be excused if, like Dr. Franklin on entering an American town, to save the trouble of inquiry, we were to set up a little placard answering in large letters, Yes or No, to these and some similar interrogatories, under a supposition that they will be proposed anew at every turn of the street. It is sometimes almost ludicrous to see a young man suddenly start from long forgetfulness that a lady was sitting on one side while he had been discussing the merits, perhaps of a fishing-fly on the other; and turning rapidly round, propose some interrogation quite unconnected with what he had uttered the moment before. This division of topics into male and female genders is very unlike what I have been accustomed to, and strikes me as a marked difference between English and Irish society, by no means favourable to the former. We were the day before yesterday at a great dinner, and I sat next to a Mr. Johnson, who is eldest son to a baronet of large fortune in this neighbourhood. So long a time had elapsed before he condescended to speak to me, that I had hopes of being entirely forgotten, which, however mortifying to my _pride_, was compensated by the kindness of a _nice crisp_ little elderly gentleman on my left hand, who, with great goodnature, talked to me of his crops in such a manner as to make me feel that he thought himself conversing with a rational creature, capable of estimating the signs of the times, and understanding the difference between wheat and barley, turnips and mangel worsel. But though Mr. Johnson had sat during half an hour with his back turned upon me while he was talking over, in horrible detail, a pugilistic match fought near Portsmouth a few days ago, the movement of my head in bowing to some one who had asked me to drink wine, brought me in a flash of recollection to his mind, and I could scarcely preserve my gravity, when, like lightning, he _whisked_ round, and said, as if for a wager, it was so rapidly done, “Do you waltz?” I feared that this was a beginning which augured a long list of balls, respecting which I should have the humiliating confession to make that I had not been at one in my life; but I was spared this lowering avowal as the entire notice which he took of the simple negative with which I replied was contained in the monosyllable “_Oh_,” which, by the bye, is the most comprehensive little word except _nice_ in the colloquial intercourse of England; and from the variety of meaning which the several intonations of voice with which it is pronounced, are capable of imparting, assumes as wide a range of interpretation as the “Spectator” allots to the exercise of the fan. There is the _oh_, inquiring; the _oh_, surprised; the _oh_, satisfied; the _oh_, contemptuous; the _oh_, affected; the _oh_, languid; the _oh_, inquisitive; the _oh_, doubtful; in short, there is scarcely a state of the mind which an English provincialist cannot contrive to convey by a correct modulation of the many keys upon which may be played those two letters; and as for the twin-brother of this _multum in parvo_--_nice_, I heard it on one day lately, applied to Lord Eldon, who, a lady near me, said, was a “nice chancellor.” Afterwards to the French nation, who, a gentleman opposite, declared, are the nicest people in the world; then to Der Freischütz, Miss Stephens, a calve’s head, wild ducks, the Hampshire breed of pigs, red Lammas wheat, Cheshire cheese, cream, coffee, and the Courier! Does _nice_ mean _any_, or _every_ thing?

An old gentleman called here this morning, who amused me so much by a dry good humour, which brought Mr. Bentley, and visions of my beloved Glenalta to memory, that I long to be better acquainted with him. I owe him my gratitude also for entering the lists most gallantly, in quality of my defender, and saying for me, to that tiresome Mr. Johnson, whom I have already introduced to you, what I never could have said for myself. They entered the library together, and found me reading the newspapers to my uncle, who, on perceiving that I was going to make my escape, gently restrained my movement by laying his hand on my arm, and desiring that I should stay and help him to entertain his visitors. When they came in, and the usual comments on the weather and state of the roads were ended, the old gentleman appeared occupied in conversation with my uncle, when the young one turned round to me, and taking up the paper which I had laid down, with that self-sufficient air of conscious superiority which so many young men ridiculously assume, and in a tone which implied as much contempt as indifference would permit him to express, drawled out “Pray, Miss Douglas, are you a politician?” I knew not what to say, and I suppose looked as foolish as I felt, which old Mr. Bolton appeared to observe, and with an alacrity of kindness worthy of the chivalrous ages, he made an answer for me, which, if it did not _satisfy_, at least silenced the enquirer. “I hope that Miss Douglas takes pleasure in reading the newspapers,” said my knight, “newspapers contain the history of the present time, and while that of the past is read by all who do not desire to be branded for their ignorance (here he cast a sidelong glance at the younger visitor), I see no reason why a lady should disdain useful knowledge, because it is not _yet_ presented to her in the form of a _book_;” then changing the subject, before I had power to speak, he added, “But, Miss Douglas, pray tell me how you like Hampshire, and what you think of John Bull, who, I am afraid, seems a rude sort of animal in your eyes?”

This was said so gaily, that I did not suffer the least confusion, and resolving that I would not bring discredit by my _niaiserie_ on dear Ireland, I took courage, and replied, that Hampshire was beautiful, and when the _election_ was over I would tell him how I liked the inhabitants, as _then_ I might hope to become acquainted with them.

Mr. Bolton laughed heartily, and answered with the pleasantest animation, “Be assured, my dear young lady, that the election which you deprecate, is a better friend than you think, and saves you from the fancy-ring and white mustard-seed, which are the favourite topics that have succeeded the Catholic question just _gone by_. Now I conceive, from your countenance, that you would not like the pugilistic platform better than the hustings, nor find the stomach a more interesting subject of conversation than the _poll_: what say you?”

I was delighted with my champion, and told him merrily that he was very right, and I would take care how I repined again.

“Believe me,” continued he, “that you, who seem to have been brought up in the school of nature and reason, have little idea how widely what is called the world, departs from both. It is not enough now-a-days to furnish your house, and adorn your person according to a received rule, you must eat, drink, sleep, think, or not think, fashionably. You must be of one consent in sickness as in health; if indisposed, you must be _fashionably_ indisposed, and as fashionably cured. Four or five years ago every body of any pretension was afflicted by determination of blood to the head, and hence, lancet, leeches, and cupping, were in wonderful activity. The head is now entirely out of fashion, except amongst the dandies and phrenologists, and the stomach takes precedence of every other topic, in a well organized society. As you are young, and have not perhaps made your _debut_, I will give you a hint or two to prepare you for _good company_. Young ladies of your age, play, sing, waltz, and dress; talk of Der Freischütz, Weber, and Pasta; laugh a great deal when there is nothing to laugh at, which shews ability, for _any_ one could be merry if a _subject_ were allowed, and are silly, envious, and unfeeling _ad libitum_. Young gentlemen of my friend Mr. Johnson’s age, ride, fight, row, play whist, hunt, fish, shoot, and talk nonsense; occasionally dancing and flirting, as the necessity of circumstances may require; but by no means spoiling your sex, by paying any of those polite attentions which might lead to insubordination, the more alarming, as were your masters to lose any thing of their presumed superiority, they might be ill prepared to recover the lapse of power, unless by a barbarous appeal to physical strength. The _matron_ class you will find as well as the well-bred men of a _certain standing_, eating mutton chops, at intervals, to the amount of a certain number of ounces, with which no mixture of liquid is permitted, from eight o’clock in the morning till the same hour in the evening. You will see them likewise swallowing white mustard-seed by wholesale, and swearing to its sovereign efficacy in every possible disorder of the human frame. It will naturally suggest itself to you, that any demand upon the _brains_ would be unreasonable, now that the casket which contains them is less carefully attended to than before, and therefore, as an act of justice, fashion very equitably dispenses altogether with the presence of intellect, which is enjoying a long vacation.”

I love this old man for his good humour and good sense; and, more than for either, because his sallies excessively diverted the invalid left in my charge by the rest of the party, who had gone to return a visit at some distance from Marsden, and who came back before Mr. Bolton had taken his departure.

Mr. Johnson went first, and when he had made his bow, my uncle asked whether his father, Sir Thomas Johnson, were not a very rich man.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Bolton, “he is _called_ by courtesy a rich man. He has an immense extent of property, which gives him considerable influence; but he is so _poor_, notwithstanding, that he cannot command a hundred pounds in ready money, while he is governed by such an inordinate pride that he would rather die than shorten his rental by an inch of paper, in selling off land enough to pay the charges on his estate. He is, however, a kind hearted, hospitable man, who married late in life, and thinks his only child, who has just been paying his respects to you, a _sans pareil_, whose hand will amply recompense the largest sacrifice of fortune that can be made to attain it. It is now his great object in life to marry his son, and, though he idolizes pedigree, he thinks his own so transcendent that it will ennoble any inferior race; for which reason he gives it to be understood that family is less an object with him than wealth.”

“And pray,” said my uncle, “what sort of young man is Mr. Johnson?”

“Empty, pompous, and good-natured,” answered Mr. Bolton. “He has walked so many years up and down a long gallery of portraits, that he honestly believes ‘the boast of heraldry’ to belong peculiarly to his house. As he was never sent to school, he had no opportunity of comparing himself with his superiors, and was not compelled to find his true level by the discipline of a _fagging_ system, or the aristocracy of rank. A private tutor indulged his early indolence; toad-eaters and retainers flattered his youthful vanity; and a short stay at Oxford has put the finish to his education by sending him home an accomplished boxer, rower, and judge of champagne. He is, as may naturally be expected, very extravagant, and such a darling with his parents, that, notwithstanding the difficulty of raising supplies, no curb has ever been put upon his expenditure.”

“Then,” observed my uncle, “I suppose that he is _himself_ also looking after a wife.”

“Precisely so,” answered Mr. Bolton, “and I have no doubt is certain of success wherever he may fix his attention.”

I could not help thinking how little I should envy the future Lady Johnson, whoever she might be, but the conversation was interrupted here by mamma’s return; and in a few minutes Mr. Bolton took his leave.

I have written a long letter, but I know that you are interested in all that we say and do, so I need never apologize for being minute in my details. My uncle has some business to do which will detain him here for some weeks longer, and I shall hope to hear from you and write again before we sail for France.

Well, though we are here in the midst of all that is beautiful and luxurious, my heart pines after Glenalta, and I dream continually of the scene at parting from so many dear objects that we left behind. Switzerland, however, will charm me I am sure, and I promise myself a rich feast in those Alpine wilds which we are to visit. How astonishing to me is the preference which I often hear expressed for the artificial world over that of nature! Not all the splendour of this fine place could ever win me from the dear heathy mountains of Kerry. Fine things do not warm my heart, nor captivate my imagination; and I never find myself coveting my neighbours’ goods as I pass through the sumptuous dwellings that surround us here. All _my_ violations of the tenth commandment are kept for an humbler scale of beauty, but one far more interesting in my view of the matter.

The sisters unite in kindest love; and now, dearest Julia, farewell.

Your affectionate,

EMILY DOUGLAS.