"Those lazy owls, who, perched near Fortune's top,
Sit only watchful with their heavy wings
To cuff down new-fledged Virtues that would rise
To nobler heights, and make the grove harmonious."
I suppose that the immense size of the elderly ladies here, must proceed, from the little exercise they take, and that little in a carriage which is next to not taking any; but I am told that it is the fashion to be monstrous, and if beauty be reckoned by weight and measure, the tonnage and poundage of London are prodigious.
When Lord Oldfield left my aunt's to vapour at another party, the above-mentioned young lady of pensive mien, seemed to recollect that she had treated me somewhat cavalierly, or perhaps she was amused by my outlandish ways of thinking, and returned to look at me, as people used to do at the Cherokee chiefs, or Sandwich Islanders; but from whatever motive, so it was, that she called me to her, and with a smile of such concentration as appeared to say, "Sauve qui peut," she invited me to attend her to-day and look at some statues, at the house of an Italian newly arrived. Now I had charity enough to believe that she had only heard of them as fine specimens of sculpture, and was ignorant altogether of what she was going to see; but before I could reply, she added that she had begun to model from a Cupid in the collection, and hoped that I should approve her performance. Arthur and I had been to see these statues two or three days ago, and all I can say is, that as I have not yet had the advantage of case-hardening on the continent, I blushed as I bowed a seeming assent, resolving to make my excuse this morning, which I have accordingly done.
If modesty be really one of those cumbrous virtues, which, like the ponderous armour of former days, is no longer necessary in the high state of civilization to which we have attained, why is not the word honestly banished along with the quality which it represents? and why do we foolishly retain the sign, if we must lose sight of the idea to which it belongs? It would be wrong, perhaps, to charge a modern fair one with actual vice because she can walk with perfect unconcern through files of statues representing the human form in a state of nudity, and that too in company, it may be, of a profligate man; but I must say, that to my untutored sense, the thing is very disgusting; and as London is certainly not the Garden of Eden, I should venture to add, that the practice is not very safe, unless moral virtue be no longer considered requisite to the well-being of the community, but with other antiquities is to be only reserved for the cabinets of the curious; there, as we view it clothed in venerable rust, to excite our astonishment at the difference between the clumsy accoutrements of our ancestors, and the convenient accommodations of our own time.
I am interrupted by Mr. Otway, who sends his love, and bids me say, that he has a letter on the anvil; so I will send mine. But I have been led into the mazes of this brilliant scene, so far remote from domestic subjects, that I find not a word in all my prosing of poor uncle, for whom I feel both tenderness and respect. He suffers much, and, if I am not greatly mistaken, has "that within which passeth shew." His mind appears to me as if it had gone out of Nature's loom a goodly tissue, but has been pulled bias by untoward circumstances of fortune and ill health. As yet I know very little of him, and he is so reserved with his relations, that were there not certain loop-holes through which I peep into the interior, and thence form judgment of his true texture, the first and second words of Cæsar's triplicate would answer every purpose of description in my instance; and in saying veni vidi, I should tell you all that is to be known; but I sometimes see him shake his head, and catch him now and then, his eyes suffused with tears, and fixed intently on me. The moment of observation is that of change, and, as a person who has dropped asleep in Church, coughs, hems, and kicks his heels, to prove how much awake he is, so my uncle throws a tartness, an abruptness, into his manner after one of these little affectionate lapses, to assure us of the sternness of his character. My next shall be to Emily.
Adieu, beloved! My heart is with you all, though the casket be far from you. I shall have much to tell the three, Graces I will not call them, Furies I cannot call them: what then shall I call them? They shall be the Destinies, because my fate is in their hands, and as they love and value me through life, I shall be happy or the contrary.
Remember me affectionately, if you please, to dear Mr. Oliphant, and do not drive your little car from the door without telling Lawrence that I enquire for him. Farewell!