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.