With her father she took long walks about the adjacent country. He had visited every scene before, and now pointed out whatever was worthy her attention: the spots where the heroes of former ages had fallen, where the mighty stones of their fame were raised, that the children of the North might hereafter know the places where their fathers fought; that the hunter, as he leaned upon a mossy tomb, might say, here fought the heroes of other years, and their fame shall last forever!
Amanda, too, often rambled by herself, particularly among the rocks, where were several natural grottos, strewed with shells and seaweeds. Here, of a mild day, she loved to read, and listen to the low murmurs of the tide. The opposite Scottish hills, among which her mother first drew breath, often attracted and fixed her attention, frequently drawing tears from her eyes, by awaking in her mind the recollection of that mother’s sufferings.
On a morning, when she sat at work in her apartment, Ellen, who was considered more as a friend than a servant, sometimes sat with her; the conversation not unfrequently turned on nurse Edwin’s cottage, from which Ellen, with an arch simplicity, would advert to Tudor Hall, thence naturally to Lord Mortimer, and conclude with poor Chip, exclaiming: “What a pity true love should ever be crossed!”
[CHAPTER XVI.]
“Some take him for a tool That knaves do work with, called a fool; Fools are known by looking wise, As men find woodcocks by their eyes.”—Hudibras.
The solitude of Castle Carberry was interrupted in less than a fortnight by visits and invitations from the neighboring families. The first they accepted was to dinner at Mr. Kilcorban’s. He was a man of large fortune, which, in the opinion of many, compensated for the want of polished manners, and a cultivated mind; but others, of a more liberal way of thinking, could not possibly excuse those deficiencies, which were more apparent from his pretending to every excellence; and more intolerable from his deeming himself authorized, by his wealth and consequence, to say and do almost whatever he pleased. His lady was, like himself, a compound of ignorance, pride, and vanity. Their offspring was numerous, and the three who were sufficiently old to make their appearance, were considered, by their parents and themselves, as the very models of elegance and perfection. The young heir had been sent to the University; but, permitted to be his own master, he had profited little by his residence there. Enough, however, perhaps he thought for a man of fortune, who wanted not professional knowledge. His face was coarse, his person inelegant, and his taste in adorning himself preposterously ridiculous. Fashion, Hoyle, and the looking-glass, were his chief studies, and, by his family and self, he was considered quite the thing.
The young ladies were supposed to be very accomplished, because they had instructors in almost every branch of education; but, in reality, they understood little more than the names of what they were attempted to be taught. Nature had not been lavish of her gifts. Of this, however, they were conscious, and patched, powdered, and painted in the very extremity of the mode. Their mornings were generally spent in rolling about in a coach and six with their mamma, collecting news and paying visits; their evenings were constantly devoted to company, without which they declared they could not exist. They sometimes affected languor and sentiment, talked of friendship, and professed for numbers, the most sincere; yet, to the very girls they pretended to regard, delighted in exhibiting their finery, if certain they could not purchase the same, and would feel mortified by seeing it.
Mr. Kilcorban had indulged his family in a trip to Bath one autumn, and, in so doing, had afforded a never-failing subject for conversation; upon every occasion this delightful excursion was mentioned—the novelties they saw, the admiration they excited, the elegant intimacies they formed, the amazing sum they expended, were all described and exaggerated.