Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 2 of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland.

My dear Charles,

This letter, if not melancholy in its commencement, will surely be tinged with a very gloomy colouring ere its close, for the day of departure is at hand, and to quit Glenalta is no easy matter, I assure you. Poor Russell and Annesley left us the day before yesterday. I told you that I expected to be informed of Charlotte's reply to certain questions which I felt confident would be put; but I miscalculated: however, silence tells some tales, it is said, as well as language, and so in this case I found it. It was plain to my eyes, and others too amongst our party, that Russell chose his opportunity while we were loitering about the Glen, to make his proposals, which were evidently met in a feeling not sympathetic: an increased activity of countenance told me this. It would be injustice to call it anger, but there was an expression of eye, and a bright spot on each cheek-bone, that seemed to indicate a very honest surprise, mingled with what the peasants here comically call the "least taste in life," of indignation. If I am right, this is all in the strict keeping with Russell's character. You and I long ago decreed that he would never die of love, notwithstanding all his enthusiasm about soft music. No; Russell loves his own emotions better than the object who excites them; and though I just feel sufficient esprit de corps not in general to like an individual of the other sex better for having made one of our own look foolish, yet I am sincerely glad that Charlotte has not accepted our friend; first, because she would not be happy if she married him, and secondly, because I do think that just such a hitch will do him good. He is a fine honest-hearted fellow, and has a great deal of taste; but he surely knows it rather too well, or at least he shews that he does so, too much. Perhaps, more truth-telling than his neighbours, he only expresses what others have art enough to conceal. You will say that I am catching infection, and growing acrid in the society of old Bentley: it may be so; but I tell you all my remarks.

Frederick and I got up to see the travellers off at cock-crow on the morning of their departure, and they left a blank which was felt by us all. What a sweet contrast was presented in this family with what I have so often witnessed on similar occasions, when a gay party had reached its finale, and was crumbling away by twos and threes! I remember at Featherston, when the last shooting-match broke up in Autumn, Lady Frances and Giorgina Lightfoot, who had been just saying "adio" in the most melting accents to a brace of departing guests (by the bye, the very Russell of whom we were speaking was one of them) called to Gifford and me in the moment after the post-boy cracked his whip and the horses had turned from the hall door, to accompany them back to the breakfast-parlour. We obeyed; and the ladies, drawing their chairs close to the fender, and desiring us to do the same, Lady Fanny said, "For goodness' sake, come, let us talk over those two creatures, and cut them up cosily—I dote on a good cosé when people have turned their backs; don't you?" To laugh was all that one had for it; but the feeling that Gifford and I were to be brought under the scalpel of two such keen operators as our fair hostesses proved themselves to be anatomizing the lately defunct, glanced across my mind, not certainly to the increase of ease or benevolence.

How different at Glenalta! With talents ten thousand times superior to those of the Lightfoot sisterhood, and discrimination which seems to grow in solitude, and preserve its fineness of edge because it is not, like a school-boy's penknife, employed to hack and hew at every chair and table that comes in the way: the truest hospitality protects all who go out from under this happy roof; and all that is worthy, pleasing, and amiable, is recollected, while the contraries are held back in shade by that charity which desires their reform, and will not render a change less probable by proclaiming to mankind how much it is required. Here the absent were talked of, and thought of, with real kindness; and could they have taken a peep amongst us from their first evening's halt, they would have felt proud and gratified at seeing the manner in which they were remembered. Is there any thing so delightful as this feeling of security? Charlotte was calm and unperturbed; but I thought her more pensive than usual. After breakfast we all appeared, without saying so, as if inclined to pay a tribute to "the friend that's awa," by not proposing any plan for the morning; and it so happened, that though not assembled by any agreement to meet, we had all sauntered in pairs into the wood, and all found ouselves dropping in two and two at the Moss House, where we were at length seated together, moralizing in concert, rather sorrowfully upon meetings and partings, when that very diverting compound, Mr. Bentley, followed by George, joined our party. He cannot resist the attraction of Mrs. Fitzroy's society, and I have found out in what consists the great difference (dearly as they love each other) between her character and that of my aunt: it is this,—Aunt Douglas is drawn by sympathy, Mrs. Fitzroy stimulated by opposition. The former lives more in a region of feeling, though one in which intellect too is continually busy. The latter, though very affectionate, can exist for a long time without applying to the stores of her heart; and provided you give her plenty of brains, she will feed upon them, and keep her affections like the furniture of a state drawing-room, with the covers on. Par consequence, then, Mrs. Fitzroy delights in seeing Mr. Bentley come to pay a visit, and always rouses to the combat which is sure to ensue, certain that her antagonist is strong, and feeling that "wit sparkles in collision."

"Good morrow, good people," said our rough diamond, "I thought you would be all as low as 'gib cats' this morning, after the departure of those two swains, (casting a sidelong glance at Charlotte, which she caught, and blushed immoderately,) and so I thought it might divert you all, and adorn a page of Madam Fitzroy's Anthologia Hibernia, to bring you a pretty specimen of Irish impudence which I have had to provoke me to-day. You must know, that while I was playing the fool, and strolling about at Killarney instead of minding my business at home, a dozen of very fine geese were stolen from my farm-yard, by some of those sweet primitive sentimentalists whom the fair flatterer there has decked in such fanciful tissues, that when sent forth from the dressing-room of her imagination, nobody knows who they are. Well, I took proper steps to trace the thief, and have put the neighbourhood into a deuce of a fright; but what do you think of the impertinence of some funny dog (and here he laughed heartily as he drew out from his waistcoat-pocket a dirty scrap of paper) who sent my large gander twaddling home this morning by himself, making such plaguy noise that all the servants ran together to see what was the matter; I found this novel species of carrier-bird with a small bag tied round his neck, containing a bright new shilling, and the following ingenious sample of poetry, after something of the leonine fashion. He then unfolded at arm's length, the crumpled composition, and read,

"Squire, dear, I live here,

And you live yander;

I bought your geese, for pence a-piece,

The money I send by the gander."