Manners Volume Ii Part 5

CHAPTER XII.

O! Primavera, gioventu del' anno, Bella madre di fiori, D'herbe novelle, e di novelli amori, Tu torni ben ma teco Non tornano i sereni E fortunati di de le mie gioje.

Tu torni ben, tu torni Ma teco altro non torna Che del perduto mio caro tesoro, La rimembranza misera e dolente.[9]

IL PASTOR FIDO.

[Footnote 9:

Delightful spring! youth of the year, Thou blooming mother of the opening flowers, The fresh'ning verdure, and the new-born loves-- Thou now returnest! But no second spring Will e'er return of those serene delights, That bless'd my fleeting hours of happiness-- Thou now return'st! But with thee nought returns To my sad thoughts but renovated sorrow, And bitter mem'ry of departed joys.

The Parsonage garden was now blooming in all the beauty of summer, and the hedges had exchanged the fragrance of the violet for that of the flaunting woodbine. Instead of a brisk walk of a bracing March evening, its happy inmates enjoyed a sauntering ramble by the light of the newly risen stars, over rich meadows, or through wooded glades and cheerful valleys.

Mrs. Temple and Adelaide were one evening returning from such a walk: every thing was at rest in the surrounding scene; the very flowers of day had closed their corollas, and ceased to give forth their perfumes; but the air was fragrant with the night-blowing orchis, and the new-mown gra.s.s; and sometimes it brought to their ear the melody of the nightingale, the hooting of the owl, or the hum of the night crow.

Such a scene is more favourable to meditation than discourse; and, when speech is found, it more resembles thinking aloud than conversation. The two friends had continued long in silence, when Mrs. Temple said, "I am never so pious as in such a scene as this; my heart overflows with grat.i.tude to the Author of the spontaneous happiness, that, unsought, seems to pour in on the mind." "Certainly the devotion of the heart is most pure in such a temple," replied Adelaide; "I wonder the worship of the air was not in ancient times more general. It appears to my mind the best emblem of the deity, that man by reason alone can form;--it is every where present, every where invisible; in it 'we live and move, and have our being.' We confess its awful might in the storm, and feel its beneficent power every moment of our lives." These and similar reflections cheated the friends of their time till they reached the Parsonage, where a light in the drawing-room informed them Mr. Temple had returned from his ride. As they entered the room, he gave Adelaide the long expected letter from Mrs. Sullivan; she hesitated for an instant to open it, with that undefined dread we always feel on receiving any communication from a person, whose good will we are doubtful of possessing. However, on reading her letter, she was not a little relieved to find it written in a style of unusual civility; but was surprised beyond measure to find it request, or rather _desire_, her to meet Mrs. Sullivan at Shrewsbury, from whence she intended proceeding to Ireland, declining all discussion as to matters of business, till their return to Webberly House. In her first surprise, she did not perceive the short period of Mrs. Sullivan's intended absence from her accustomed residence; but a confused picture of being taken to another kingdom, and separated from the only people from whom she had any chance of receiving kindness or protection, mixed with painful recollections of her last journey, rose to her mind. Her first thought was not to go; but she as quickly remembered, that Mrs. Sullivan's authority, as her guardian, was indisputable; also that she ought no longer to trespa.s.s on the hospitality of her kind hosts. The agitation of her countenance did not escape Mrs. Temple's observation, but she forbore to notice it; and Adelaide, commanding herself sufficiently to bid good night, retired to her room.

When she read Mrs. Sullivan's letter more attentively a second time, she smiled at the phantom she had raised to terrify herself; for she found her guardian proposed returning home rather before she should be of age, and that of course the dilemma, she had fancied would arise from her being in Ireland without any positive claim on Mrs. Sullivan's protection, would not occur.

Being convinced she could not avoid going to Ireland, her next endeavour was to persuade herself the journey would not be unpleasant; for it was always her custom to look for the best side of every thing and every body: she therefore soon discovered, that becoming acquainted with a country and a people she knew as little of as the Iroquois tribes, would afford her more amus.e.m.e.nt, than spending another summer at Webberly House. The civility of Mrs. Sullivan's letter was so striking, that Adelaide began to think she had been too harsh in her judgment of her character, and determined that her expedition should commence with a voyage of discovery, to ascertain the unknown perfections of the mother and daughters. A strong intellect may command the feelings, but the body is not so obedient as the mind. Adelaide found, though she could compose her thoughts to rest, she could not quiet her nerves to sleep, and therefore got up with the sun; and taking a book to fix her ideas, remained out of doors till Mrs. Temple's early breakfast hour.

At breakfast she read to her friends the subjoined letter from Mrs.

Sullivan. Notwithstanding all her distress of mind, it was with the utmost difficulty she could command her countenance while she did so.

She omitted some pa.s.sages, and slightly altered the wording of others; but though her eyes during this time were perseveringly cast down, their comical expression was not thus concealed; for the light that streamed from beneath their half-closed lids was reflected on her cheek, and brightened her whole countenance, displaying as unequivocally what pa.s.sed in her mind, as if she had directed to her auditors the most meaning glances of arch drollery. She was too generous to wish to expose Mrs. Sullivan's extreme ignorance to her friends, as it was exemplified in this ill spelled, ill written scrawl. But she had yet another secondary motive, which prompted her to screen it from their eyes; and this trifling circ.u.mstance may perhaps explain her character more effectually, than one of greater importance, in which nine rational people out of ten would act alike.

She had but little vanity, yet from nature and education was proud in the extreme. This ambiguous quality, partaking of vice and virtue, which is "both perhaps or neither," was interwoven in the very texture of her mind, was blended with many of her virtues and most of her errors, and prompted her always to shield as much as possible from ridicule any person she was even slightly connected with. Mrs. Temple was nearly as much amused by the grave dignity of her countenance, when she looked up after reading her letter, which seemed to say, "You ought not to laugh,"

as she had been by its droll expression a few moments before.

MRS. SULLIVAN TO MISS WILDENHEIM.

London, June 1st.----

My dear Miss Wildenheim,

I've received your letter, and am glad to hear your well: so is Meelly and Cilly. I be sometimes troubled with the vind; but howsomedever I gets my health middling. This comes to say we be all a-going to Ireland with all speed; and I must _retreat_ and _insist_ that you come two; and we can taulk all about what you wrot me in March when we returns from them there outlandish parts.

But I'm in great hops Jack will mary his cozen Hannah Leatherly after all, which I just menshion, as young girls be very apt to think ever a man that looks after 'em be in love with 'em. But says I to my eye, Addle Wildenheim has two much spirit of her own to covet her neighbour's goods. So, my dear, if you'll meat us at Shrovesbirry, I'll be excedin glad to be your shoprun; and we mean to reeturn to Webberly House afore the time comes of your mynoritie been over; so till then I wont here taulk of your chousing no other garden.

We be a goin to see Mr. Sullivan and his sister, for he thinks he's a going to put on his wooden great coat, so he's anxshious to see my little Carline, for it's quite natral he shoud desire to see his nearest akin; and so we shoud a gone six weeks ago, only for certain good raisins that made us wish to stay over Lady Ashbrooke's bawll, which was three nights ago. But no good come off it, after all. Some folks are so fine and so sa.s.sy, they'd turn up their noses at their own bread and b.u.t.ter. But every dog has his day, and Carline may be as grate a aira.s.s as no other guess parson.

So now I conclude with complements to Mr. and Mrs. Temple. I'll send John Arding to retort you from Webberly House to Shrovesbirry, and so you may expect him in less than a weak. You must come in the post-shay; and you'd better bring your made Lamotte with you, but you must send her back from Shrovesbirry (mind I'm at no costs for her jurney); for I can't take but one made to attend both you and I. Seeing she can taulk no English, she'd be of small sarvice to I. I've got a stout girl to do our turn. You must pay half the wagers and travailing expences, and I'll charge you naught for her wittals; for d'ye mind me, Mr. Sullivan will see to that, which will be all the better for you: a penny saved is a penny got, as my poor father tot me betimes. I'll send Mrs. Harris home to Webberly, (so she'll keep k.u.mpany with Lamotte); for she'll be wanted to do the sweetmeats and pikchols this summer; and I wish, my dear, you'd wright word to John Gardiner, to sell all the fruit at Deane which isn't vaunted for persarvin; and I expect a good account when I go home. So hopping to met you at Shrovesbirry without fail,

I remane your affectionate friend, HANNAH SULLIVAN.

P.S.--I'm sure you'd be very sory to take Lamotte to Ireland, you've tot her such bad kustoms, becase she's lived with you since you was a year old. She'd be 'mazed attendin I. You no I be's a bustling body, and a trifle hasty; but I'm nothing the worse for having a good spirit of my own.

Adelaide's delicacy prevented her from allowing her friends to suppose she had any dislike to accompanying Mrs. Sullivan to Ireland, well knowing that if they were aware of it, they would apply to her guardian for permission to protract her stay at the Parsonage; and she succeeded in impressing them with an idea, that the project was far from unpleasant to her. This matter being discussed, they gave her a pressing invitation to spend the following winter with them, during which time Mr. Temple promised, if she gave him authority so to do, to use his best endeavours either to procure her reception by her family, or an eligible abode, wherever she might wish to fix her residence; also authorizing her, should she find herself in any dilemma previous to her return, to apply to him for whatever a.s.sistance she might require. The worthy rector soon interrupted Adelaide's warm acknowledgements for his present and past kindness, by saying, "I hope this delightful scheme, to which Mrs. Temple and I look forward with so much pleasure, will not be prevented by your being run away with by some fine fellow at the other side of the channel. Joking apart," said he seriously, "there is an English gentleman, who is as much in love as his nature will suffer him to be, to whom I hope no consideration will ever tempt you to unite yourself." Adelaide blushed and blushed, till the tears stood in her eyes. Mr. Temple looked at her with astonishment; "Is it possible!"

thought he: "You may think me impertinent, Miss Wildenheim, but I know you never contemn the advice of experience and friendship. It would be heart-rending to see you so thrown away;--such a total dissimilarity of character can never produce happiness. You are beings of a different sphere. The moment in which you marry Mr. Webberly, you sign the misery of your whole life." The expression of her countenance was now quite changed, and the few calm words she spoke, convinced her reverend adviser she _then_ felt convinced she could never marry Mr. Webberly.

But he had, in the course of his life, seen so many strange matches made, that the word "amazement" in matrimony had to him lost its meaning; particularly as he had so often known it commence without "dearly beloved" on the part of either of the persons concerned; and still having some little distrust of the future, he would sincerely have rejoiced to hear, that Mr. Webberly had done Miss Leatherly the honour of making her his wife. When Adelaide retired after breakfast, Mr.

Temple questioned his wife as to the possibility of her having become attached to Augustus Mordaunt, whom she had frequently met at the Rectory. "What vain creatures you men are!" said she: "A girl can't spend a sleepless night, and be a little agitated by an unexpected change in her plans, but you must suppose her colour comes and goes in the intermittent fits of a love fever." "You may quiz, Charlotte, but I a.s.sure you, when Miss Wildenheim used to meet Augustus here, her eyes told more than her tongue." "Then believe me, they told intolerable stories! No young woman of good sense, or good conduct, will ever love a man, who does not show her the most unequivocal preference. After all, what is called love has its residence more in the brain than the heart.

Believe me, Adelaide is no such fool; she has strength of mind to conquer even a reciprocal attachment, if necessary. She has a great deal of feeling, with an equal portion of reason and reflection; but I think her _imagination_ is rather in the minority, at least it takes its rise from her feelings, not her feelings from it." "Well, Charlotte, you may think an attachment a very silly thing now; but, you know, you were in love once yourself." "Never with you, I a.s.sure you: you know, my dear, that was impossible, for you were old enough to have pa.s.sed for my father when we married. I had always too much respect for your reverence. Yet I don't think I have made the worse wife, because I never mistook you for a Strephon, but saw from the first you were a good, plain, steady country parson." "And but for this good, plain, steady country parson, Charlotte," said he, "you would never have been the estimable woman you now are. But to return to Miss Wildenheim: what is it that distresses her? You are clear there is n.o.body in England she is sorry to leave behind." "Pardon me; I think she is very sorry to leave us." "That I take for granted; but on the whole she seems pleased with her expedition. Perhaps she is unprepared to meet so unexpected a demand on her purse; and Mrs. Sullivan's elegant epistle does not say a word on the subject of money:--she should have had more consideration! I will make an estimate of what the journey to Shrewsbury will cost her--will you give it to her, and say I shall be happy to advance what money she may require." "That I will," replied Mrs. Temple; "Poor thing! I'm sure she would die before she would ask Mrs. Sullivan--at least _I_ should, without doubt." When Mr. Temple made out his memorandum, and his wife giving it to Adelaide repeated his offer, she was so touched by this new instance of her friend's kindness, that she could not for a short time reply to Mrs. Temple; but pressing her hand with the earnestness of grat.i.tude, remained silent for an instant, and then, both by word and look, expressed her grateful sense of all the benefits they had bestowed on her. "In the present instance, however," said she, "I need not trespa.s.s on Mr. Temple's goodness; I a.s.sure you I am quite rich, sufficiently so to make this unexpected journey no inconvenience."

"n.o.body is rich now-a-days," said Mrs. Temple; "in such an extravagant family how have you managed, my dear Adele, to get into such a good condition of purse?" "When I was first at Webberly House, I was too unhappy to have any fancies to indulge; and as soon as by your benevolent care I recovered from my primary state of stupefaction, I became so terrified at my unprotected situation, that I determined to provide for any emergency that might occur, by limiting my expenditure as much as possible. Impressed with these fears, I _dared_ not give myself habits of extravagance. I a.s.sure you I have been economical almost to parsimony." "Your poor pensioners do not say so," rejoined Mrs. Temple, in a tone of affectionate approbation.--"I do not think it permissible, my dear Mrs. Temple, to provide for future wants by the neglect of present duties. I look upon charity in proportion to our means, as a necessity as indispensable to our condition as daily food and raiment; a due portion of whatever fund procures the one, ought surely to provide for the other." "You are a singular girl," said Mrs.

Temple; "I will apply to you Goldsmith's epitaph on Dr. Bernard:--

"If you have any faults, you have left us in doubt, At least in six weeks I could not find them out."

The few days Adelaide had to spend at the Parsonage flew most rapidly away. She saw the dreaded morning arrive, in which she was to commence her journey, with a heavy heart, and perhaps those she was to leave behind were yet more sorrowful than herself. In the separation of friends, those who depart are never half so much to be pitied as those who remain. Change of scene, motion, and fatigue, insensibly divert the former; but the latter have nothing new to fill up the uncomfortable void they feel. It is long before the eye ceases to look for the beloved face it has been used to gaze on, or the ear unconsciously to expect the well-known voice or step. The children had bid farewell to Adelaide the night before, not without many pressing entreaties for her speedy return; but the father and mother got up at a very early hour, to take leave of her on the morning of her departure. At the sight of Mrs.

Temple she could no longer control her feelings, but threw herself in an agony of sorrow into her arms, saying, it was her fate always to be torn from what was dear to her in life, and that she should know nothing like happiness till she saw her again. Mr. Temple, seeing her make a great effort to restrain her tears, said, "Do not, my dear young friend, suppress the expression of your sorrow; here are those who respect your tears--they are most natural to your age and s.e.x. You have too much the habit of suppressing your own feelings, to avoid distressing those of others. We shall all meet happily again in a few months, and then your connection with that unamiable family will cease. You are too deserving of happiness not to meet with it;--indeed you will find it in your own mind, when you recover from the first shock of the heavy affliction it has pleased Providence to a.s.sign you. You may, if it is any consolation, take with you an old man's blessing; whose utmost wish would be gratified in having a daughter to resemble you." Mrs. Temple, who had been nearly as much comforted by his commendation as Adelaide, now said, "Rouse yourself, my dear girl, and look at all those impertinent Webberlys, as much as to say, 'I hold ye in sovereign, contempt.' I wish you were not content, with _feeling_ your own superiority, but would occasionally a.s.sert it. I should like to see them smarting under the power of ridicule certain arch smiles have told me you possess--indeed, indeed, my dear, you are righteous over much: do oblige me, and be a little spiteful."

By the time breakfast was over, Adelaide's spirits were comforted by Mr.

Temple, and rallied by his wife. Though she could not trust herself to say, "Good bye," she stept into the carriage with tolerable composure; but when she lost sight of them and their cheerful abode, she experienced an acuteness of sorrow she some time before had thought she was as incapable of ever feeling again, as an equal degree of joy.

When the carriage drove away, Mr. Temple made a speedy retreat into his study; and the traces of tears were still visible on his wife's face, when they met at dinner.

CHAPTER XIII.

One only pa.s.sion unreveal'd With maiden pride the maid conceal'd; Yet not less purely felt the flame-- Oh! need I then that pa.s.sion name?

SCOTT.

Civil people always meet with civility, and Adelaide accomplished her journey without meeting either accident or insult. When the carriage stopped at the Talbot Inn in Shrewsbury, she was received at the door by Mr. Webberly, who had evidently been watching her arrival. On her asking for his mother and sisters, he pointed to a window, where she saw Mrs.

Sullivan attired in a sky-blue habit of ca.s.simir, with a white beaver hat and feathers. Cecilia, in a modish pelisse, looking at that distance very handsome; and Miss Webberly, in the opposite window, _intently_ reading. Mrs. Sullivan met Adelaide half way down stairs, apparently glad to see her. The young ladies greeted her with a slight bow, just muttering a scarcely audible "How d'ye do:"--one turning to stare out of the window, the other affecting to bestow all her attention on her book. Little Caroline, exclaiming "Oh, tie my frock quick, quick!

there's my dear Adele come: I hear mama talking to her,"--burst from an inner apartment, heedless of the remonstrances of her maid, and jumping up with one spring, twisted her ivory arms about her neck; and as Adelaide fondly pressed the lovely child to her heart, her countenance expressed those feelings--

"Which are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than Heav'n:"

For affliction had indeed "touched her looks with something that was scarce earthly," and, when brightened by any emotion near akin to joy, smiles such as might have beamed in the face of a seraph illuminated hers. Mrs. Sullivan, in a tone of sorrowful admiration, whispered to Cecilia, "Jack can't choose but fancy her; she's beautifuller than ever: I han't seen her like since we parted." "Law, mama!" replied Cecilia with unmixed vexation, "I believe you've taken leave of your senses, since you used to say she was a sallow poking thing. You forget what beautiful girls the Miss Nathans, and the Miss Bakers, and all the Lunnon ladies are." Here, with affected indifference and real mortification, she stopped to examine the subject of their discourse through her gla.s.s. As she continued to gaze, her soft cheek became crimsoned with anger, and her beautiful eye, which seemed formed to convey the tender feelings of the gentlest female heart, scowled with the dark expression of envy. Adelaide, turning her eyes on her face, met that glance, and sighing to see the youthful bloom of this fair creature deformed by malevolent emotions, felt for her the pity of a superior nature, that from its own beat.i.tude beholds the fretful pa.s.sions of a being incessantly employed in weaving the web of its own misery, and mourns that it may not save the wretched victim from its self-destroying arts.

When Adelaide sat down, Mr. Webberly, leaning over the arm of the sofa, began a complimentary conversation, which she soon terminated on the excuse of retiring to make some slight alteration in her travelling dress before the time of dinner. In the course of this evening, Mrs.

Sullivan and her son overloaded Miss Wildenheim with officious civilities; and the young ladies paid her many ironical compliments intended as insults; but she _would_ not show, by word or look, that she understood them otherwise than according to the literal sense, and amused herself a little maliciously (forgive her, for she was but human) by observing their disappointment at finding their best efforts at mortifying her fail of success. But at night, her feelings were those of bitter anguish, as she involuntarily compared this day with the last she had spent at the Parsonage of Deane, in the enlightened society of her kind friends. "But I shall meet them again ere long, and shall enjoy their society doubly from the comparison of my present a.s.sociates. I am resolved to think the time till we meet as little disagreeable as possible." Her thoughts then reverted to the scenes of her early life, on which they could now rest with mournful complacency; and, as she recalled to memory the precepts of her beloved father, with a pardonable superst.i.tion, she fondly flattered herself that he yet spoke to her heart. The treasured admonitions of this revered parent at once fortified her mind and soothed her feelings; on them she continued to ponder till sleep deprived her of recollection and his image at the same moment. Her heart was cheered by a sentiment of filial piety, similar to that so beautifully expressed by Scott's Ellen:

My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his; even as the lake, Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke, Reflects the invulnerable rock.

Notwithstanding Adelaide's best endeavours to persuade herself the Webberlys _en ma.s.se_ were a pleasant family, and not less amiable than agreeable, she now found them more intolerable than ever.

Mr. Webberly's attentions were as incessant as disgusting, and to her astonishment his mother no longer gave them overt opposition. His sisters, on the contrary, were more than ever devoured by "proud spleen and burning envy;" but they excited in her mind only the most profound compa.s.sion. Pity is said to be near akin to love; it is sometimes however very closely allied to that mournful pardon we grant to a character, whose irremediable defects excite our unqualified hopeless disapprobation.

As for Mrs. Sullivan, Adelaide felt grieved she could not like her, for she at least had the feelings of a mother; and where is the character so degraded, that these will not give a claim to our love, to our veneration? When she saw this poor woman, full of love and pride in her elder children, pour forth her fondness on them, and saw the ungrateful objects of her tenderness insultingly disdain it, because it did not appear in the language and gestures of what they supposed to be fashion, she redoubled her attentions, and her sweetly soothing manners, sometimes chased the starting tears from the offended mother's eye, sometimes made them flow from the bitterness of the comparison they caused her to make. But when, softened by compa.s.sion, Adelaide was reproaching herself for her want of liking to a woman, who, though a mistaken, was an affectionate mother, some trait of ostentatious arrogant despotism to those not united by ties of relationship sent her benevolent feelings, with accelerated motion, back to the source of kindness from whence they had begun to flow. Vulgarity alone was no crime in her mind; she considered it merely as an accident to which certain conditions are liable, and, therefore, when it was an accompaniment of worth, she did not _dare_ to feel it a fit subject of contempt. She was too n.o.ble in soul, too pious in heart, to presume on her accidental advantages of education, to despise "the pure in spirit,"

who are, however lowly in earthly station, glorious in the approving smile of Heaven.

But as Mrs. Sullivan was on one point alone ent.i.tled to respect, and even there imperfectly, (for, owing to the mercenary artifices of her elder daughters, she was nearly indifferent to Caroline,) Adelaide had now a hard task to perform--namely, to fortify herself once more with indifference to all her a.s.sociates. Her feelings had been awakened from their temporary torpor by her visit to the Temples, and she now felt it most painful to lower them to the icy temperature they had attained in the soul-benumbing atmosphere of Webberly House. "However, (thought she,) I must only play the dormouse, and, like it, having gone through a few months' torpidity, I shall then wake to an existence of positive enjoyment."

Mrs. Sullivan, during Miss Wildenheim's absence, had become conscious of the value of her decorum of manner; for besides the attention it prompted this young lady to pay her, as due to the person under whose roof she resided, it acted as a restraint on the rudeness of her daughters, who, when unshackled by the presence of an example of propriety in their domestic scene, opposed their mother in every trifle with the most perverse obstinacy. Mr. Webberly, as soon as he had been refused by Selina, told his mother, in the first effusions of his wounded pride, he was determined to marry Miss Wildenheim directly. "He was rich enough to please himself after all; he was sure she was a far personabler woman than Miss Seymour, though Miss did think no small beer of herself." As he could not have Selina, his mother now wished him to marry his cousin Miss Leatherly, who was nearly as rich, though she had not the advantages of connection, that had won her pride to prefer Miss Seymour. She had long delayed her answer to Adelaide's letter, determining she should seek another home; but her son declared if she did not bring her to Ireland, he would not go either, but would remain in whatever place she resided till she was of age, and then it would not be in his mother's power to prevent their marriage. Mrs. Sullivan, alarmed at this menace, determined no longer to use open opposition, but to trust to chance and the possibility of Miss Wildenheim's own pride a.s.sisting her to defeat his wishes; therefore offered to compromise the matter, by saying she would bring Miss Wildenheim with her to Ireland, on condition he did not actually propose for her till the period fixed for their return to England, promising she would do nothing to prevent his paying her what attentions he pleased; but, at the same time giving him to understand, the match would never receive her approbation, reminding him that a ten thousand pound fortune with a wife was nothing!