Emily Douglas.
LETTER XLVI.
From Arthur Howard to the Reader.
My dear Reader,
If you have travelled thus far with me, you and I are kind friends; and I am, in duty bound, to do my best for your gratification. I told you, long ago, my motives for raking and rummaging through sundry trunks where papers were deposited, for the letters which I have picked out of an immense heap, and strung together—shall I venture to say for your amusement? That I was fired with the hope of affording you some entertainment is certain; but people often fail when they are most anxious to succeed; and the size of my manuscript begins to frighten me.
On returning to Glenalta, in the peaceful shades of which the idea first occurred to me of addressing you, I found, as you may imagine, much difficulty in collecting my materials, and making choice from amongst them, to say nothing of arranging and transcribing; but this trouble, and much more, I would willingly take for any one who has liked me sufficiently to accompany my steps during a period of nearly four years. If I resolve, then, on tying up the numerous packets which still lie piled on the table before me; and returning them to their several caskets to be forwarded to their rightful owners, it is not that I am tired of working for you, but I am afraid of fatiguing you, and losing your society, which has hitherto afforded me so much pleasure, that I would not for any consideration lose my hold on your regard, which our good fellowship during so long a journey may lead me to hope that I possess.
Actuated by these friendly feelings, it occurs to me that I will tell you the rest of the story myself, not, believe me, from the vain-glorious motive of desiring to push myself into an undue degree of notice, nor of securing that which attaches to the last speaker, but for the following reasons: First, my dear good friend, we are all alive and merry, I mean we who have written all the mounds of paper through which you have waded so patiently; and therefore you cannot expect a regular end of what is still going on; nor can I keep my book open any longer, lest you might suppose it endless, and throw it aside. Secondly, some of our party came to be involved in writing of another kind, and in the necessity of encountering law business, with which I could not think of wearying you, and thus had less time for the employment of their pens upon more interesting subjects. Again, other individuals of our society became gradually so devoted to each other’s conversation, that with grief of heart I saw myself in danger of losing the best contributors to my scheme. And you know if people will not separate for the accommodation of a compiler, adieu to letter-writing. In short, I grew very uneasy and after suffering those pangs which authors only understand, I determined on throwing up my correspondence, taking the matter at once into my own hands, and relieving your curiosity respecting people and things which I have been the means of introducing to your acquaintance.
You are able, no doubt, to anticipate a great deal, but that is no reason why I should not tell you all I know. And first you shall have such information as I can give you respecting Madame de Lisle, who has been rather abruptly introduced to your acquaintance in a letter from Emily Douglas. The letter to which Miss Douglas refers, for the history of Madame de Lisle, has been unfortunately lost; and you must therefore be contented with such particulars as I have collected since I had the pleasure of an introduction to her acquaintance. Mr. Otway one day saw her so violently agitated by Stanley’s occasional mention of a person who is a friend of his, and whose name is Alured, that he resolved at once on removing his doubts relating to her parentage. Alured was a family name in the pedigree to which he believed her to belong, and he was right. He went alone to visit her, and soon discovered that she was indeed Lady Laura Penshurst, the only surviving daughter of the proud and pompous Earl of Alton, whose sister he had loved in early life, before the “thick coming” honours of her house had tacked a title to her name. This disclosure once made, Lady Laura took Mr. Otway at once into her confidence, and told him that her mother, whose memory she adores, died a few months ago in the south of France, having survived Lord Alton, to whom no mortal could be attached, but three years. Her brother succeeded to the title and estates, and enjoyed them but a very short time, when he too was swept off the mortal stage, and they descended to an infant who is the present Lord Alton. Disgusted with the world in which she no longer possessed an object of affection, Lady Laura determined on remaining abroad, assuming a name and style which should protect her from curiosity, and ending her days where her mother’s remains were deposited.
Of our good friend, George Bentley, I have news which will probably surprise you not a little. He often talked, during our rambles in Switzerland, of taking up his abode in the midst of the romantic scenery which had excited our admiration. His declarations were received as the mere effusions of the moment, and we never believed him in earnest until he seriously declared his determination to carry his project into effect, and took decisive measures for the purpose. He went to Ireland, made arrangements of his property, by which he provided for three or four relations, who are all of his family that remain; settled an annual bounty on the parish poor, annuities on the old retainers, left Mount Prospect to be let by Mr. Oliphant, returned to Piémont, and was, ere long, established in a cottage near Angrogna.