LETTER V. Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland. (continued 3)

"I remember, sir," said I, "to have seen once, in the library of a gentleman, who, by the bye, was a most complete domestic despot, an odd sort of a book, entitled "Rights of Women."

"Are you acquainted with, and an approver of that work?"—"No, young gentleman, that is a book which has long ago found its resting-place amid dust and cobwebs. When new, it was a wretched thing, and is now forgotten; but you found it, as the mineralogists express themselves, in situ, when you discovered a stray copy on the shelves of a tyrant. The brawlers about liberty are generally fond of keeping it all to themselves. The French revolution, which was before your time, set many heads distracted, and loosened the whole frame-work of our morals; but we are sobered, and have consigned to oblivion the grosser absurbities of that disjointed period.

"Women have real and substantial rights, natural as well as civil, which no one attempts to dispute; and they are fools when they part with them, unless to secure a greater good than they relinquish; but marriage is the rock upon which multitudes make shipwreck, because from the present constitution of things, that solemn act of life is performed with less consideration than people commonly employ in the purchase of a field. Men, after a career of folly, begin to look about them, and think it wise to settle, before time has thinned their locks and scattered silver over the flowing honours of youth. Women sigh for what are called establishments; and happiness slides out of a scheme in which no provision has been made for its entertainment. Take an old man's advice, Mr. Howard, be as deliberate in your selection as you please, and I hope that you will not marry till you know your own mind; but when you do become a Benedick, let your Beatrice be the friend of your bosom, the companion of your life, and a partner in all your pains, pleasures, and pursuits."

I was not prepared to contradict, for the truth is, that Domine told me more in half a dozen sentences than I ever heard before. However, not to appear as if I had suddenly lost my speech, I gently hinted, "that Solomon was usually thought a wise man, upon the authority of the Scriptures; and he declares that, in his search after wisdom, he had never found one woman to reward his pains."

"Truly, that is not very wonderful," said Oliphant. "When the men, who possessed all the advantages that superior power bestowed, made so little use of it towards the cultivation of knowledge and virtue, that Solomon complains of not finding a man of worth in a thousand, no wonder that amongst the weaker sex, who were kept in the lowest state of slavery and degradation, he should not discover any who, deprived of the benefit of education, and shut out from the light of truth, had broken her bonds, and soared above the horrible debasement to which females were condemned by their rulers. The Christian Religion, of which that Bible that you lately quoted as authority for the servitude of women, is the sacred repository, is in fact the charter of female liberty; and in proportion as the Sun of Righteousness shines with more or less refulgence in any land, in such proportion is woman respected."

"Pray then, Mr. Oliphant, how comes it that the sense of mankind has always been taking a contrary course? A boy is hardly out of his nurse's arms, before he hears of his superiority over his sisters. When he goes to school, the first grammar that his lisping tongue is turned to repeat, tells him that his sex is most worthy. In the world, one hears women only estimated by their beauty, or their wealth; and in families we see them nothing better than the wrecks of a former day, little loved by their husbands, or respected by their children."

"Hinc illæ lachrymæ," answered my opponent, "in one sense the male sex is decidedly superior—I mean in strength; and were this employed in supporting the weak, instead of oppressing them, the female world would not be disposed to grudge men a supremacy of which they would themselves enjoy the happy fruits. But as to your nursery nonsense, an elder son is always told that he is as much above his younger brothers, as his sisters; and so he is, by the laws of primogeniture, which give him the estate. Yet I suppose that there are few such blockheads as to believe, that because a man happens to come into the world before his brethren, he is therefore invested with a patent of superior intellectual endowment. On the contrary, it often happens, that elder sons, satisfied with the gifts of fortune, take little trouble with their minds, and are, in point of cultivation, at the tail instead of the head of their Houses. Grammar rules prove nothing. They were made by men, and according to vulgar estimates of physical force; and as to the world, the most convincing proof in my eyes of its degeneracy in our day, is to be found in the impertinent neglect of women, so frequently observable in the soi-disant men of fashion. To sum up the argument: the sexes differ from each other, but difference implies nothing of better or worse, taller or shorter, wiser or less wise. They are different, and each beautifully adapted by the eternal Creator to fulfil the purposes for which it was designed. The man stronger, more active—made to encounter danger, and endure fatigue. The woman more delicate, more refined, formed to sooth by her tenderness, to watch over the helpless, comfort the unfortunate, and be the balm of human kind. In mental capacity Nature has dealt with impartial bounty, and the most splendid talents are to be found in that sex, which I grieve to add, too rarely exercise their powers. Rely upon it, that men are not less manly for sharing their privileges, nor women less feminine for profiting by the boon. The age of Chivalry is gone, and it would be well to restore it.

"Look, my dear young gentleman, around you at Glenalta. Is Frederick less likely to attain the gold medal at his University, or is he less ardent in pursuit of game in the fields, because he loves his mother and sisters, and would be unwilling to enjoy any gratification in which they were not partakers? Turn your eyes upon the dear gentle trio of your fair cousins, and tell me are they less pleasing, less modest, less artless, and happy, because, with minds well stored, they can always find resources at home, for which others are vainly seeking abroad? Are they less elegant because they are independent, or less delicate because they neither shriek at a wasp, nor faint at the sight of a spider?"—

I was going to say something, I hardly know what, when a party appeared in sight, that at a little distance might have passed for a group of gipsies; Paddy and the poney car, led the van. Frederick, the three girls, Phil., and young Bentley brought up the rear. We were together in the next moment, and in the midst of salutations, I could not help remarking the anxiety of all the young people about my aunt, whose expression of fatigue had brought them back to offer aid, and satisfy themselves that she was not ill. Frederick settled the cushions, and dispatched Paddy, saying, that he must himself drive the little car, lest it should go too fast. Fanny had brought a small basket, in which was a phial of hartshorn, and a glass having been also produced, away ran Charlotte to the stream which tumbles through this rocky glen, to procure water,—all without fuss, or effort.

Yes, there is no question of it—what Oliphant says is true enough. These people are not at all the worse for any thing that they have said, done, learned, or acquired. My aunt was unusually gay, to convince her children that nothing ailed her; and we all returned home, laughing and talking as merrily as possible. Bentley was asked to stay and dine, which Phil. had promised also to do, and so sped Saturday away as smoothly as if it rolled on casters.

In the evening we walked. I took my first lesson in botany from Emily. We planned a trip to Killarney, for July, if my aunt makes no objection, and finished the revels with music.

What would you think, if I tell you, that Domine took the bass in several glees, and has a remarkably fine sonorous voice. Our guests departed. The bell rang. Servants were assembled, and the usual prayer was read, with no other circumstance of change, than the substitution of Mr. Oliphant, in quality of domestic chaplain, for my aunt.

Just as we were about to separate, Fanny called me, and whispered, "Don't go yet to your room. We are going to hold a conference for a few minutes in the study, and you must assist at our council." I accordingly lagged behind, and after Mr. Oliphant and my aunt had severally retired, we five mustered in the Library. Emily opened the proceedings, by saying, "Arthur, my brother, sisters and I, have set our hearts upon accomplishing a project which Frederick and I devised in our walk this evening. It is to prevail with our beloved mother to accompany us to Killarney. It is many years since she has been there, and I know that she will not revisit that heavenly spot without the deepest emotion. Yet we cannot help flattering ourselves with its being of such a nature as not to amount to pain; and it will be counteracted by the pleasure of beholding our rapture at seeing her make one in our excursion. Phil. is in our secret, and now so are you. We are going to write a petition. She shall not have it to-night, because it might agitate her; and it shall only be signed by her children, because if such happiness as her compliance would impart, should be in store for us, it is of that sacred character which we could not bear to owe even to the dearest friends; and if, on the other hand, as I am afraid may prove the case, we are asking too much, we will not involve any one else in the pain of a refusal. Now good night—wish us success, and meet us in the moss-house at eight in the morning to learn our fate."

I went to my room quite unable to speak—I was suffocating, and, shall I confess to Falkland (but proclaim it not in Gath) tears, such as I never shed before in all my life, coursed each other down my "innocent nose." It is too much. Unmanned at a short turn, and by what? a set of children laying schemes to have their mother's company in a party of pleasure! Well, I know not what is to come next, but this place will be the ruin of me, if this is the way in which I go on resigning my understanding. Positively I shall be absolutely unfit for society, and look when I go back to town precisely as if I had been spending a couple of months with Noah in the ark, and had just stepped out on Mount Ararat. I took myself to task; shook myself; scolded myself; chewed the cud of the last ball at Almack's; ditto at Lady Arabella Huntley's; placed myself in the midst of that group with whom I passed my last London evening at Lady Murray's after the Opera; but it would not do.

When the mind gets one of these wrenches, it is in vain to attempt setting matters to rights again in a hurry. I found, after toiling to give a new bent to my reflections, that they would still return with elastic force to the place whence they set out; and I therefore gave vent to them in the new course which they had channelled for themselves. While in this mood, I could not help thinking, that if we measure life by the exercise of our faculties, and the warmth of our feelings, instead of by such evidences of existence as might apply to stocks and stones as well as to sentient beings, I have only lived in your society, and since I came to Glenalta. A mournful chill stole over my heart as I involuntarily asked myself, "Is my mother like this mother, or are my sisters like my cousins?" These questions led me to one still more immediately painful—"Do I resemble Frederick?" The inquiry was accompanied by a feeling of such bitterness, that I fear it must have been answered in the negative, to each of my self-addressed queries. Alas! thought I, of what light materials are we formed! tossed about by every wind, and seizing on the contagion of every new situation! Well, one week has worked a strange jumble of my tastes and opinions, but all will be stratified in regular order, according to received notions, by a corresponding term, when I revisit Selby or Grosvenor Square. This consolation seemed a quietus, for I fell asleep, and undisturbed by farther moralizing, rose refreshed and full of spring, in due season to keep my engagement.

What a vein of lovely weather! and what an influence does it exert over our souls. The morning appeared as if determined to cheat me into good humour with all the wearisome business of Sunday in "a pious family" (oh that quaint expression) in the country. Nature looked as if she had just stepped, in the luxuriance of youth and beauty, that moment from her bath. A dew-drop glistened on every blade of grass, and fragrance breathed around from every flower. I set out with that invigorating sensation of hilarity which I have always found an early walk on a fine day to produce. I believe, that besides the animal gratification arising from sunshine, perfumes, and the bracing quality of fresh air, we are insensibly pleased with ourselves, when we have started from the enervating effects of drowsy slumbers, and snatched a portion of time from Lethe's wave.

I was in the humour to analyze, and I think that I was more complacent in my feelings towards myself than usual. If so, it is not hard to account for the balminess of charity towards all things else—the key-note is ever to be found within our own breasts, and it regulates the whole strain.

Half-musing, half-poetizing, I reached the moss-house, and was ruminating on the sparkling stream that dashes over the rock, amongst its tangled brush-wood, when with light feet, my nymphs and their brother hastened round the wood, and appeared at the seat of Congress.

After a joyous "good morrow," they told me that "mamma" had not been awake when they left the house to attend the Sunday School, and therefore they had no good news to impart to me; and only came to the place of appointment, lest I should wait and accuse them of a failure in punctuality.

The words "Sunday School," acted as a "killing frost" to all the tender leaves and buds with which Fanny had wreathed my morning walk, and looking I dare say like an icicle, I said, "And are you really enlisted amongst those troops of godly women dressed in grey, and looking like flocks of Solon geese, who paddle from house to house on the Sabbath, and make that which was given us for an anniversary of repose, the most tiresome and laborious day of all the weekly seven?" My companions laughed, and Frederick bade me not be alarmed, assuring me that there were no Solon geese in the poultry-yard of Glenalta.

"We do not belong," said Emily, "to a train-band of any description; and a very short portion of Sunday is sufficient for our little task. But few children assemble at our school, as Protestants are thinly scattered in Kerry; and, as it is a rule here, never to teach to read where the Bible is not received, the number of our scholars is very limited. This would be subject of grief to mamma, were it not her fixed opinion, supported by the experience and strong sense of our friend Mr. Otway, and the worthy tutor, that in this country matters are not ripe for the quantity of education forced upon the people, and that a more gradual process is for the advantage of every part of the community; but were it otherwise, our individual labours would still be light. Charlotte, Fanny, and I, go before breakfast to hear the children read a chapter, repeat a collect, and answer a few questions, more as pioneers to Mr. Oliphant, than as teachers. This occupies only one hour, and we do no more. Domine, as you call him, and the Curate of our parish, who is a very good clergy-man, examine after church, and this finishes the school-work of the day."

"Bless me!" said I, "I am very glad to hear these things, but must own that your account is most unexpected. The ladies whom I have heard called 'pious,' at our post town in Buckinghamshire, sit up, I imagine, all Saturday night, and starve all Sunday. They defile along in troops, looking sour enough to curdle milk into whey by their presence, and are always to be seen loaded with tracts, and carrying bags which are filled with other implements of the trade. These saintly damsels are, I firmly believe, a set of whale-boned exclusionists, who deny salvation to all who are not within their pale, and able to answer their qui va là? by the signs and countersigns of their free masonry."

"Arthur," replied Emily, "though your anger diverts, I must scold you for being too severe. Why should you judge so hardly upon hearsay testimony of people whom it is your boast not to be acquainted with? Surely starving, without food or rest by day, and sleep at night, cannot be matter of amusement; and if your picture be not greatly exaggerated, we may at least hope that the motives are pure, which dictate so much self-denial."

"Not a bit of it, I assure you," answered I. "I promise you that these folks are self-sufficient, as they are generally weak; and have as much pride, vanity, and dogmatism, in their own plain way, as their neighbours. They set up to be teachers, when they would be much better employed in learning; and both men and women of the new light get into the cant, and are sworn in to the confederacies to serve very secular purposes. See how they nestle into the houses of the great, marry the best fortunes, and while they preach a religious republic, always take care if they can, to secure the dictatorship."

"We know nothing here of these abuses," said Emily; "I have heard of noble characters who devote all their time, money, and influence, to the high purposes of reclaiming the vicious, and teaching the Word of God to the ignorant. But if we lived in a less refined spot than this, we should not even then be likely to join any of the societies to which you allude, composed of such as are technically, and most improperly called, when with design to convey a taunt, 'good people.' Mamma dislikes liveries, whether of dress or manners. She disapproves of bazaars, working parties, and all religious exhibitions and excitements: in short, of all demonstrations of what she calls a gregarious spirit of piety; though she makes it a point never to express an opinion in the presence of any one who could wrest it to the unworthy purpose of throwing either ridicule or reproach on numbers of excellent persons of both sexes who differ from her in theory as well as practice."

"I perceive," said I, with delight, "that my aunt does not consider dancing a sin."—"No, so far from it," answered Frederick, "that when the Sandfords were with us, we were very gay, and I hope shall be so again when they return in the autumn. My mother loves that piety should rear her altar in the heart, and does not rest so much as some well meaning people are inclined to do, on petty observances of a merely external kind. She cannot endure mannerism, and her feelings are very strong upon the injury which true religion sustains through want of judgment in her votaries. The tithe of mint, anise, and cummin, occupies many, perhaps not to the entire exclusion of weightier matters; but little things can be understood, and grasped by minds totally incapable of enlarged views; and unfortunately these are often mistaken for vital principles, when they are no more than sign-posts. For this reason, the peculiar language which has become so common, is never used here; and though Sunday at Glenalta is a very sacred day, I hope that you will not find it more dull than other days."

As Fred. ceased to speak, who should enter our council chamber but my aunt. "What! all my dears assembled in committee?" "Yes, dearest mother," said Frederick, springing forward to meet her, "and with Arthur in the chair, we have passed a resolution, that you will make us the happiest group in Christendom, if you will grant the boon implored in this petition." So saying, he slipped a paper into her hand, and taking two of his sisters, leaving Fanny to grace my arm, he added, "we must not take our sovereign by surprise. She must have time to dwell upon the prayer of her subjects. So we will make a tour of St. Colman's rock, and be back like true liegemen, to assist her in returning home." Off he hurried us, and this was done to spare his mother that emotion which is always felt when we know that what passes within the heart is seen and comprehended by others. It is astonishing! These young people study every look, and can follow the windings, however sinuous, of every thought, when affection is the lamp to guide their way.

We took the round of St. Colman, a great white rock, about which, there is a legend, that perhaps I may tell you at some other time, and found my aunt seated where we left her: probably pondering upon past happiness, and present gratitude, for blessings still continued. Her own sweet smile rested on her countenance, but a tear had recently fallen on her cheek. She did not wait to be addressed, but extending a hand to Fred. and his eldest sister, told them by a beaming, but silent look, that she complied with their entreaty. Fred. seized her in his arms in extacy, and having given one emphatic kiss, which bore a world of thanks upon its impress, he dashed out of the moss-house, unable to control the feeling of his manly heart. He is a fine creature. Emily and Charlotte glided away without uttering a word, and Fanny sobbed aloud. Her mother kissed her, and taking my arm, with a tremulous voice that seemed to struggle against display of those inward conflicts which caused it to falter, said to me, "dear Arthur, you are unused to scenes like this in fashionable life, yet they are very sweet. Like Cornelia, I have my jewels, and they are precious gems; but we shall be late, and Mr. Oliphant will wonder what has become of his congregation." I felt again the plaguy choke, which is an endemic, I suppose of these bogs, for I have scarcely ever experienced a fit of the disease till I came here. I could not help giving a gentle squeeze to the hand that leaned upon my arm. "You are the happiest set I ever saw," said I. A suppressed sigh met my ear, and Fanny, jumping into the middle of the walk, to arrest our progress, broke a chain which would have led to sorrow. "Oh! mamma, stop: Arthur, don't put down your right foot for your life. There, now he's safe poor thing," and in an instant, a frightful frog, which had been hurt by some unlucky foot that had come down too weightily on the reptile's leg, was gently deposited, first on her hand, and then laid quietly on the grass under the shade of a Lauristinus. "I will return after breakfast," muttered Fan. "and if I find that you are not likely to recover, poor little wretch, you shall be put out of your pain by old Lorry." How my sisters would stare in wild amaze, were I to tell them of such an act! "Pray," said I, "Fanny, do you cherish in this manner, all the vile vermin that chance brings into your path?" "To be sure; every creature can live its short hour in pleasure or in pain; and the less pretty and likely to excite sympathy, the more I feel to be its friend: it is so pleasant to be kind to any thing that is unfortunate. These little traits let you into whole regions of character, and therefore it is that I relate them. You are very near the end of my sketches, and must then be contented with letters that sum up events; but I will not relax the labours of my pencil, to commence upon those of my pen, till you have Sunday sent down the stream of time, with the years before the flood."

Oliphant, who had not any starch whatever in his features, met us at the verandah, without his hat, and looking as benign as the sky that he seemed to have stood admiring, before we reached the door. He helped my aunt to take off her shawl, and then presenting his arm, led the way towards the little room which serves as a chapel, where the only addition to the usual orisons, was a short and emphatic prayer for a blessing upon the employments and instruction, whether public or private, of this day. Breakfast ended, we soon set out to church, which is full a mile distant; but the fineness of the weather tempted most of the party to walk. My aunt and Emily accompanied Mr. Otway in his carriage; and young Bentley, who is on a visit at Lisfarne, joined us.

Arrived at the parish church, upon the side of a bleak and barren hill, I looked with amazement at the poverty of all around, not that there was an absence of decency, or even comfort; but the bare white-washed walls, the simple uncarved pulpit, unfringed cushions, with the absence of monumental decoration, music, and all the paraphernalia of church worship on our civilized side of the channel, struck me most unfavourably as I entered the family pew; but these things were soon forgotten, and the service was admirably performed. It so happened, that a gentleman who was on his way to some other part of the country, and whose talents as as a preacher stand deservedly high, had halted the day before at our parson's house, and was prevailed upon to take the pulpit. Mr. Oliphant, whose voice is well modulated, and whose devotion communicates a kindred feeling to his auditors, read the lessons, and prepared the mind, by the simple energy of his manner, for the powerful impression which awaited it. The sermon was upon prayer, and described the efficacy of supplication for divine mercy and assistance. The preacher, who perhaps I may never see again, has left an indelible impression upon my mind. He was tall, thin, and pale, with a wonderful benevolence of aspect. A holy calm sat upon all his features, which the serene but clear light of his eye distinguished completely from the dulness of vanity. There was nothing monotonous in the repose of his appearance; and when he opened his lips, the effect was of music spoken. To the finest voice I ever heard, he added the perfection of its adaptation to every variety of meaning which his matter was designed to convey, and while every inflection seemed to be suited to the words which it uttered with such correspondence of expression, that had they been removed echo would still have given back all they could have imparted; study was the last idea that suggested itself in listening to this eloquent being. All his tones, each look, each emphasis, appeared to be the spontaneous drapery in which a bright understanding clothed the feelings of his heart. I never was so transfixed in my life, and the apostolic sacredness of his figure harmonized so entirely with the simplicity of that lowly building divested of even the common-place decoration usual in English country churches, that for some time I was untrue to our beloved Gothic, and actually began to fancy that I had never till yesterday been amongst the faithful worshippers of God in His own Temple.

When the sermon was finished, the preacher remained in his pulpit, apparently desirous of allowing the congregation to disperse before his departure; and we saw no more of him.

The family of Glenalta had heard frequently of his extraordinary powers, but till now had never had an opportunity of judging for themselves. As we walked home, our talk by the wayside naturally enough took its hue from the scene which we had just quitted, and I asked Mr. Oliphant whether Mr. Leighton, whose performance had excited such general admiration, held the opinions distinctively denominated Calvinistic? "No, I should imagine not; but cannot speak positively, as I am not personally acquainted with him." Young Bentley, who was a little behind us, stepped up, and said, "I believe that I may answer with certainty; for an uncle of mine, who lives in the north, is very intimate with Mr. Leighton, and once asked him the question, from having heard some reports which were circulated touching the doctrines that he inculcated; and he entered upon that occasion into a full statement of his sentiments, which, to sum up briefly, may I fancy be comprised in two words, Gospel truth. He professed the most perfect charity for those who sincerely differ from him; and likewise the deepest admiration for holiness both of life and character, in some of those writers who held the peculiar tenets that mark Calvin's creed: but he unequivocally declared that he did not adopt the Genevan opinions, while he as unhesitatingly asserted his belief in evangelical piety as the only vital religion." "Pray," said I, "tell me what you mean; for with us evangelical preachers are synonymous with Calvinists." "Aye," said Mr. Oliphant, "and probably with Methodists too: there is nothing so easy as a name by which people are in the habit of representing things not understood or inquired into? I once knew a young man who, being met in the street by another who had known him at the university, was suddenly asked, 'Why, Dick, when did you turn Calvinist?' My young friend stared, and the other flippantly added, 'I heard that you never dance now, and therefore suppose you to be one of the new light.' In this way, idleness and folly make sad confusion; but to answer your question, as to differences between certain opinions, I will put a volume into your hands, whenever you please, which will give you in detail the points upon which Calvin dissented from the Lutheran doctrines, and formed a sect now known by his name. Very many individuals are called Calvinists in the unthinking manner which I have described, without being in reality such; and many who incontrovertibly held Calvin's opinions, and others who do hold them at the present day, have been, and are, men whose virtues ought to excite our deepest veneration, and inspire an earnest desire of imitation; however we may consider them mistaken in their explanation of those parts of the Bible which appear to sanction their doctrines. A pure evangelical faith embraces all that seems necessary to salvation, namely, the most perfect self-abasement before God, together with a lively sense of human unworthiness, full implicit confidence in the free gift of atoning mercy as the only way to everlasting glory, and an earnest desire, by increasing holiness and obedience, to prove ourselves the children of God. These principles, with the addition of a clear sense that we must adopt them, and become, through the divine spirit infused into our souls, awakened from the delusive securities of natural pride, and humbled by an abiding consciousness of our sins and infirmity, constitute a summary of the Christian system, and comprise all that is essentially evangelical."

"I observed nothing," said I, "of peculiar phraseology in Mr. Leighton's discourse, and certainly never heard any language more entirely free than is his from that twang which I have hitherto considered as a characteristic of the ultras in religion." "Now, my young friend," replied Domine, "are you not falling yourself into the error which you reprobate? Why use those words, which designate a sect of fashionable fault-finders, who rail against a religion which they do not take the trouble to investigate, just as plainly as the terms that you are desirous to abolish, mark what you call the new light fraternity?"

I told him that I stood corrected, and he shook my hand, saying, "I thank you for so kindly excusing me in thus abruptly calling you to order;" and then continued—"Mr. Leighton is a person of such character, that my conclusion respecting his not being a Calvinist was drawn entirely from the absence of those expressions generally belonging to the school." "But, sir," said Mr. Bentley, "I have heard several sermons preached by men whose principles I discovered at a short turn now and then to be really Calvinistic, though they were free from every peculiarity of phrase, and so guarded as to doctrine, that for a long time I have resisted the idea of their being any other than evangelical ministers of the gospel, such as you described it to be." "Aye," answered Oliphant, "that is the very point to which I would draw your attention. It is, in my opinion, not right to consider any tenet of a particular creed essential to salvation, and yet suppress it. Either the decretum horribile is, or is not, a vital article: If not, there is no Calvinism, and if it be, no man who believes in its importance as a pillar of faith is justified by motives of expediency in leaving out subjects so essential in their view of the Christian system. A practical evil which I have known to proceed from what is commonly called a judicious style of preaching is, that many are taken in to become members of a congregation before they are aware of the tenets of their instructor. Much confusion of mind sometimes results. Weak understandings are perplexed, and the effect is, that people who are not capable of drawing nice distinctions, at last slide gradually, without any exercise of their own will or understanding, into the opinions very different from those of which they imagine themselves to be the advocates. But, my dear Mr. Howard, we should each in his own sphere, be it narrow or extended, rejoice in all the good that exists, though it may vary in its livery; and, so far from cultivating a spirit of ridicule, endeavour to draw the bonds of charity together, so as to include all the sincere and pains-taking of the Christian community, within its ample scope."

We were now arrived at the house, and separated into little parties. My aunt and her daughters disappeared, Mr. Oliphant and young Bentley went off to the school, and Fred. and I took a long and delightful walk tête-à-tête by the sea side. We had a great deal of conversation that informed me of many particulars respecting my family, with which I had never till then been made acquainted. On returning home, as we passed a cabin door, I saw Fanny busily distributing bread and money, the former from a large basket held by the same boy who attends the donkies, and the latter from a small leather bag which she carried slung upon her arm. "What are you doing here?" was answered by "nothing but our Sunday-work;" which, being interpreted, meant a weekly donation presented by these amiable girls to a few old people who cannot work, and who esteem the gift tenfold for being communicated by the hands of their young mistresses. This is a striking feature in the poor of this island. In England, a shilling is a shilling provided it come legitimately from the mint, no matter who is the donor; but here sentiment, which with us is confined to the higher classes, is to be found in the most miserable habitations.

Charlotte, who was within the hut, joined our party, and told us that a poor man had just been expressing to her feelings which certainly are not common in any rank of life. She had said, "Tim., why are you not walking to-day; it is too fine weather to stay in the house?" and his answer was, "The finer the day, my dear miss, the more I'd covet not to be looking at it; ever since I buried her, I'd rather be to myself, and Sunday brings all the people out." What an artless expression of faithful affection! This man's wife, who is the "her" to be comprehended, he supposes, by every one, because there is no other to confound with the image in his own breast, has been dead for six years; and yet Memory is true to her trust. There is something very endearing in this tenderness, and we feel in good humour with our species, when an instance like what I have mentioned occurs, to prove that some of our best movements can spring from an uncultivated soil.

At dinner, after dinner, and all the evening, I am compelled in honesty to say, that not a moment passed heavily. We laughed and talked as usual. The interval between dinner and tea was spent in walking; that between tea and nine o'clock in listening to some of Handel's finest songs, very sweetly performed; and e'er "the close of the silent eve," the family group were once more assembled; and after prayers, and a short but impressive sermon, sent to their rest with an emphatic blessing.

You have now the panorama of Glenalta, and you are placed upon a platform in the midst, from which, turning yourself round the scene, you can form a just idea of every object which it includes within the circuit.

Thus have I brought (I believe with fidelity) the first part of my epistolary labours to a conclusion. From this time forth you will know all the ground-plan, and be enabled to allot its own place to each occurrence as it may chance to arise. As to the general impression made upon my mind, I own to you that I never was so happy anywhere as since I came to this lone and lovely spot; and I am powerfully struck with the truth of a remark which you once made to me, and which at that time though I had a vague idea of your being right, I had no actual experience that permitted me to confirm; namely, that society in its true sense consists not in the number of those persons with whom one converses, but in the number of ideas excited in one's own mind. Glenalta completely illustrates this observation. A family of five individuals, with the addition of two intimate friends, have furnished such variety and excitement in the flow of my thoughts, that I appear to have lived in a crowd; and through a long duration of time I was thinking of this circumstance before I got up this morning as a contradiction to the common notion, that when we are most happy time seems the fleetest; but I see how it is—both remarks are strictly true.

Stimulus of an agreeable diversified nature certainly prevents our taking note of time while present, and therefore it may be said to glide away rapidly; but when remembered, every circumstance which produced a change of pleasure, serves to distinguish one portion from another, and thus to afford a sense of progress, which the dullness of monotony is incapable of producing, just as a single acre of ground, animated by trees, houses, and living creatures, fills a much greater extent in imagination, when we recollect the landscape, than is occupied by a wide expanse of ocean, though the latter, when looked upon, appeared a boundless prospect; still, however, in the midst of this sunshine of the heart, I always bear in mind that its locality is the secret of its charm. You would not agree with me, but I am assured that the sort of thing that delights where one feels no responsibility, would cease to fascinate in the moment that the surrounding world came to call one to account for one's country cousins: and these dear souls, perhaps, might make one blush at the west end. I ought not to say so from any thing that I have seen here; but the whole course of our thoughts and feelings is so subject to join the tide of opinion, that I hardly dare to assert how far my present impressions, vivid as they are, would stand the test of a Bond-street jury.

As Mrs. Malaprop says, however, "let us not have any retrospections as to the future" Viva, viva. I am so much better, that I hardly remember how I came here in the high road to Charon's ferry.

I am longing to hear from you. Don't forget to let me know about Stanhope, as Mr. Otway will be anxious to learn whether you and he cement.

Adieu, dear Falkland. Am I not the very pine-apple, and quintessence of letter-writers? Huzza!

Yours, ever affectionately, Arthur Howard.

LETTER VIII. Miss Douglas to Miss Sandford.

My dearest Julia,

Glenalta.

Unfortunately for me, I promised to write again without entering into any covenant with you; and were I prevented from performing my vow for half a year to come, I suppose that you would be a little female Shylock and insist upon your bond, before you put pen to paper. I do not know whether I shall do more wisely in refraining from all apology for my silence, or in attempting to account for it. If you have been able to settle into a regular track of daily employment since your return to Checkley, you will be able to comprehend how the day should often find us defaulters at its close, in at least half the amount of what we had to do at its commencement; but if the whirl of travelling be still in operation, you may wonder how people, who are stationary, should not have too much time, rather than too little, on hand. I will therefore keep on the safe side, and make no excuse, lest it should not be considered a valid one, till I know how far you can understand our habits of life; but as I am very certain of your heart, I will proceed to tell you, as I promised in my last letter, of the surprise which Frederick and I have prepared lately for our dearest mother.

On Wednesday next Arthur is to take a long ride with Mr. George Bentley, and Frederick, and I mean to take advantage of our cousin's absence to introduce mamma to the retreat, for so we have named the spot which is consecrated by our rural labours to this idol of our daily worship. Surely such worship cannot be idolatry, for through the finest mortal, as the most beautiful natural, object, we may pay homage to the God that created it. But do we really offer this tribute, or does not too much love—does not too large a share of adoration rest in the channel without reaching the source, like the worship of our poor Roman Catholic, which is certainly given to the pictures and images, that adorn their altars rather than to the Divinity which they represent? This is a question which my conscience so often asks itself, that I believe the true answer would come against me; and yet with the half convicted sense of being a sinner, the sin of loving my mother beyond due bounds, borrows so much of her character from its object, that it appears like virtue, and so deludes.

Fred. and I talked the matter over yesterday evening, as we stole away to our hallowed bower.

When you were at Glenalta, I never told you of the discovery which my brother and I had made, because to have mentioned, without shewing you, a gem so worthy of your admiration, as I shall presently describe, would hardly have been kind. Your curiosity and feeling would have been awakened, and I should have feared to gratify them lest we might have disturbed the solitary genius of the place, who was at that time, a daily visitant at its rustic shrine. When first we came here, as I told you in my last letter, Nanny and Mr. Oliphant were alternately our walking companions. Mamma was weak both in body and spirits; and though she made exertion to be gay when we were with her, it is only long since that period that I have been fully sensible how much we owed her for efforts that were beyond her strength. As the mind requires to unbend after intense meditation, so her spirit asked repose after over excitement, and she used to glide along the shrubbery, meet her donkey at its wicket gate, and, following the winding pathway of our glen, ascend, as we imagined the mountain that lies beyond St. Colman's rock, to breathe the "unchartered air of heaven," in full security of not being interrupted; but, as she never went accompanied by any one, we still only conjectured whither she directed her daily ride: and her sorrow was too sensitive, even to our young eyes, to permit of our asking many questions. We had been at Glenalta for three years, before Frederick and I, who were then allowed to visit our poor people at a distance, and explore our glens alone, found ourselves one day about three miles from home, and along the course of the same rivulet which sports so gracefully near our moss-house, at the most enchanting spot that I ever beheld. It is a tiny dell, shut out, or rather shut in, from all the world besides. A Liliputian lawn of the softest green, and not more than a few yards in circumference, serves as a pedestal to one single tree, the only one of its kind in the whole scene. This tree is a beach of surpassing beauty, which casts its delicate branches in a sweeping curve round the little area which it occupies, forming an umbrella of shade, except in one part, where a natural opening invites underneath its lovely archway.

The stream, which near Glenalta is comparatively tame, though sweetly fanciful, assumes a bolder aspect at the retreat, and dashes over fragments of broken rock, which are richly clothed with fern and ivy, and start from masses of holly, and other brushwood, that grow luxuriantly down at each side, to the verge of our mountain brook, which makes a circuit round the beech, so as to render the velvet cushion on which it stands almost a little island. As the bleak heath-covered hill rises in every direction, you could fancy yourself to have reached a fertile oasis in the midst of a desert. Nothing of animated life appeared in view except two young goats that had ventured down the precipice, and the silence was only broken by the rush of waters. Frederick and I stood quite transfixed; but when our first exclamations of wonder and delight had subsided, we determined on exploring farther, and passing round the tree we scrambled to the other side, and found a rude seat of stone, over which a tuft of alders and mountain-ash had formed a roof impenetrable to the sun. A variety of the beautiful orchis, cowslip, and primrose tribes intermixed with wild violets of the most brillant purple, enameled the ground, and the softest moss lined every part of this sylvan niche with refreshing verdure. We sat down in a perfect ecstacy, then pulled bundles of flowers, drank at the stream, and were indulging in all the luxury of our good fortune, when something white struck my eye, clung into the root of an old hazle which stood a little below us. I pointed it out to Frederick, who immediately jumped down the rock, and found a bit of paper rolled round a pencil. It was torn, and had been injured by wet, having evidently lain for a long time in its concealment. The holly which grows so abundantly all over the rocks, had furnished its evergreen protection so as to save the paper from melting away, and the weight of the pencil, round which it was tightly wrapped, had contributed with the tangled roots, to prevent its being carried away by the wind. We eagerly unfolded our mysterious prize, and with some difficulty decyphered, at last completely, and in mamma's hand-writing, the following lines:

We gazed on each other, and the truth flashed upon our hearts in the same instant. Frederick and I, by a movement imparted from within, darted towards the tree together, and on examination found a part of the once varnished surface, raised into irregular carbuncles, where the bark had closed with time over some letters no longer legible. With much pains, we satisfied ourselves that the initials H. A. C. D. had been interwoven, and cut in the bark from the external face of which, these letters had been carried inward by the process of annual growth. It immediately occurred to us, that our beloved parents had made this a favourite haunt in happier days; and that the undying memory of some faithful mourner had sought again these now almost obliterated characters. Such mourner could have been no other than the dear surviving guardian of our youth; and our tears flowed without restraint, as we read again and again, the stanzas of which we had become accidentally possessed. The first movement of our minds was, as you may suppose, to restore them directly to their author; and it was not without considerable reasoning between ourselves, that either could convince the other of its being better to suppress the verses, and say nothing of the retreat. From mamma's never having communicated any hint relative to this little hermit-cell, it was obvious that she did not wish us to discover its situation; then, the pencilled lines had been lost for some time. She had made no inquiry about them; her memory was able in all probability, to supply them again; and in giving up what manifestly appeared to be mamma's own composition, such explanation might have ensued as would have opened all her wounds afresh, and destroyed ever afterwards the pleasure which she appeared to feel in visiting the sequestered spot which we had discovered. Upon mature deliberation then we agreed to hush up our little adventure, and keep the tender effusion that we had found, till some natural opportunity might occur of giving it back again to its owner.

Time has rolled on, and the gradual influence of its healing power is happily illustrated in the improved condition of our precious charge, (for I consider her as a blessing conferred upon her children, henceforward placed peculiarly in their care); and a moment having arrived in which Frederick agreed with me that we might venture to commence our little scheme, we set to work in the beginning of November, just at the time when the change of weather, and the death of faithful Dapple, that sole companion of our pilgrim's progress, conspired to prevent the discovery of our plan. Poor Tom Collins and his son, who live not far from the scene of our operations, were necessarily let into the secret, for they were manual contributors to the execution of our project; and had this not been the case, I should have still rewarded the former by a confidence, the distinguishing nature of which he knows how to appreciate, in return for a trait of feeling so unlike one's abstract notion of a peasant, and so delicate, that I must tell the anecdote of him, before I proceed with our works at the retreat. One day preparatory to our design, Frederick and I watched an opportunity when mamma was obliged to drive on business to a little town in our neighbourhood, and paid a visit to our favourite spot. We were sitting talking over past, present, and future, when a slight rustling amongst the leaves, announced the approach of some one; and presently poor Tom Collins, on tip-toe, and his finger, in sign of caution, placed upon his lip, stood before us. "Och, then," said he, "its I that am after running to stop your honours from coming down at all, at all, into my misthess's nook. I does be keeping the childer always from this place till the sun does be setting, and then I knows there 'ont be any danger in life of seeing her honour, for becaase she only comes of a morning."

"And Tom," answered I, "why are you so uneasy from the fear of seeing mamma?"

"Och, then, miss, my heart, I'll tell ye, and I never tould it afore, nor wouldn't now, only becaase I never seed any one of quality like, here, only her honour's self; and now if I don't tell, why may be she'd be fretted to think that you and Masther Fred. would find her out in her nook; and I knows very well, that she wouldn't like it, for when it plased God to take my poor boy Darby away from me, I'd covet to be all day moping if I could, down in that very bottom. Why, then, sure enough, it was there I was one Midsummer day, lying down flat on the ground beyont the big holly stump, and thinking heavy enough of Darby, becaase of all days in the year, 'twas his own birth day, when I heard a whispering like, under the baach-tree, so I gets up fair and softly, without making as much stir as a baatle among the laaves; why then mavourneen, what would I see but my misthess on her two knees, upon the could ground, looking up and praying like. Well, there I stood, and I seed her crying like droppings from the ivy beyant; and I heerd the words axing the Lord to make yees good childer, and mark yees to Glory. And then she'd ax Him to make her a good mother, and to keep and to help her all the days of her life; and sure, be the same token, God listened to her prayer, for she's the best of ladies. After that she'd get up, and talk to the tree all as one as if it was a Christian, about my maasther, for I heerd her say, Hinnery, and so I knew well enough who she'd be spaiking of, being that I'd be often that way talking myself to the air, as I may say, about Darby. Well, my heart grew so big, that I thought it would fairly jump out o'me; so with that, I slinged away; and seeing poor Dapple another day fastened behind the rock above, I says to myself, to be sure says I, she's moping there like myself, and so I never would come again till night fall; but when I have time, I does be above, not far off, only she can't see me, be raison I'd like, if any thing would be for going down the clift, to stop 'em till she'd be clear and clane out o' the place for the day. So that's all about it; and she don't be coming so often now, tho' in the main-time 'tis constant at her prayers or writing on a bit of a paper, or reading out of a little book that she does be, whenever she'll come to the lag below."

The eloquence of Demosthenes could not have worked upon our hearts like this simple story. I seized instinctively upon the rough hand of honest Tom, and Frederick did so likewise. We were too full to utter a word, but we each of us resolved that this trait should have its recording angel, and that, however tears might bedew the remembrance of it, they should never blot out the registry. Of this we said nothing, for it would have been a species of sacrilege to sully the purity of such genuine feeling, by making it an apparent cause of any temporal benefit. Oh what a withering breath is praise, and how sickly do the motives of action become, when flattery, that simoon of the heart, has passed over them! We now communicated our embryo purpose to Tom, and told him that we intended proceeding to work on the following day, as it was not likely, that during the winter season, my mother would visit her seat again. Pride and joy took possession of his countenance, as we developed our plan; and had we presented him with a purse of gold, I do not think that the expression of his face could have indicated such happiness as the feeling of being thus distinguished by our confidence, inspired.

I must now describe what we have done: Mr. Oliphant has been let into our councils, and his excellent taste has assisted us not a little; but dear Phil., Charlotte, Fanny, and Arthur are as ignorant as mamma, of our necromancy. A beautiful rustic temple has taken place of the stone seat. It is lined with reeds, interleaved in a sort of basket-matting, which fits close to the inside; and the front is supported by pillars of twisted elm, which are surmounted by capitals of remarkably fine cones from the stone-pine. These supporters are covered with clematis, honeysuckle, and roses. A circular seat, equal in softness to any Ottoman divan, is raised to a convenient height, and covered with the same reed-matting which I have mentioned. The paving is of snow-white pebbles, which Collins' little girls have collected for me on the strand, and the whole Glen has been decorated by every thing either fragrant or beautiful, which was not out of character with its wildness. I have trained a number of Alpine plants over the rocks, and taught the lovely water-lily to unfold its flowers upon a tiny basin, which Frederick has scooped out, lower down the stream. We have secured this bower from trespassers, and made a serpentine path through the tangled brush-wood, to permit the dear sovereign of these sylvan dominions to descend the hill without fatigue, and admit of her being brought by Dapple the second, up to the door of her rural palace. When this was completed, we set to work at Tom Collins' abode, which is now raised and enlarged into a thoroughly comfortable habitation. A nice cabbage-garden is inclosed at the back, and the front is thickly planted with a double hedge of quicks and privet, separating a little space from the moor, which is filled with sweet, but common flowers. The family have been set to spin, and are already clothed in their own manufacture. Frederick has given poor Tom a cow, to which I have added half a dozen sheep; and such a scene of contentment above, and of beauty below, it would be difficult to equal: at least so we think; and when we contemplate the entire as a creation of our own, Frederick and I certainly do confess to some degree of self-complacency. But as far as I have hitherto narrated, only relates to the body of our exertions. I must now describe the soul of them. In the back part of our rustic temple, is a door so completely concealed by the matting of reeds, as not to be discernible to ordinary observers. This door, upon being opened, discovers a little cell of just sufficient size to admit of one person's sitting in it without inconvenience. Its furniture consists of a small pedestal of delicate workmanship in white marble, upon which Frederick has placed the exquisite urn that you may remember, of alabaster, found at Pompeïa. It belonged to my father, and has been kept in a closet, hidden from every eye since the time of his death. Upon the front of the pedestal which supports it, we have had engraved the following lines:—

Immediately behind the urn, which with its pedestal is let into a niche, is a pretty little arched window of stained glass; and at the opposite extremity of our Anchorite's cell stands a slab of Kerry marble, which rests upon a simple cabinet of the beautiful black oak of the bog which our island furnishes from its ebony stores. When opened, a flat box of polished beech-wood presents itself, and this serves as a solid portfolio, preserving from damp an exquisite drawing in pencil, by Frederick, of the large tree to which you have been already introduced. Underneath the tree, mamma's lines which we found, are neatly transcribed; and the old pencil, with its original paper wrapped round it, as when first discovered in its hiding place, and a pocket Bible, in the first page of which, after the name of Caroline Douglas, are written these words; "The prayer of the righteous availeth much," complete the furniture of this rustic sanctuary.

When Frederick and I went this morning at early dawn, to see that all was finished according to our design, we found Tom Collins already there, leaning against one of the pillars, in an attitude of contemplation. He started from his reverie as we approached, and twirling his old hat in his hands, resting first upon one foot, then upon the other, he said, after the usual salutation, "Miss, dear, I was thinking that you would'nt refuse me, if you plase, just to let me be standing overright there beyant the big baach, when my mistress will be coming—I'll engage I'll not let her see a bit o'me, any more than if I was a sperret, nor I'ont brathe a word good, or bad, only to set my two looking eyes upon her, when she'll see the place you done for her." Could such a request fail of being granted?

This romantic mountaineer is full of the finest sensibilities, and not perverted, as so much of acute feeling often is, to the purposes of discontent and ingratitude. Tom is a good husband, a good son, and a good father. Yet he knows not a letter in the alphabet.

"What shameful ignorance," I hear you exclaim! Ignorance of letters it surely is, but not shameful. You, in England, can be sure of giving your poor a religious education. We cannot! but some of our peasants act the Bible, which their priests will not allow them to read; and what benefit would these derive from the pennyworth of sedition or impurity which they might be permitted to purchase, and instructed to peruse? With what fresh delight have I sometimes returned to this dear desert, after having visited some of the districts said to be civilized when compared with our neighbourhood!—Oh it is a great mistake to imagine that reading is a cure for every evil, unless the Bible be allowed to offer its blessed promises, and hold forth its bright meed of reward for patience in adversity, and resignation under privations, which all other learning is calculated to reveal in the strongest light, without affording any means to remedy. The will of God has made inequality the very essence of every social scheme. No spread of knowledge can improve the lot of him who must till the ground in the sweat of his brow, if that knowledge be not of a nature to make him better, and therefore happier; and I never pass by our smith's forge, which is the parish coffee-house, without hearing expressions, and seeing looks that mark a murmuring spirit.

The other day I asked an aged peasant, who lives on the lands of Lisfarne, about fairies; "Did you ever see the Luracawn," said I, "of which people say, that it is a sort of fairy that lives always by the sea-side, and carries a purse such as we often find on the strand with strings to it?"

"No, miss, I never did myself; but in ould times they used to be seen plenty enough."

"Then," answered I, "perhaps the truth may be, that the people now are grown too wise to believe the stories which were swallowed in old times."

The old man replied, "Miss, there's a great dael o' larning that is'nt knowledge, and there's more of it than is good, I can assure you. The people now gets hould o'books, and cares very little about their parents, who were better folk than many o'them that are going now a' days."

"Then you don't approve of learning Andrew."—"Why, miss, you might as well say I don't approve o'my fellow craitures. There's two kinds o'one as of the other.—Good men and good books, bad men and bad books. I likes the two first, and I don't like the two last, and when people gets hould o'larning, the're vastly fonder o'the bad than the good."

Really these people astonish me by the clearness of their views and the acuteness of their observations. But before I close this long letter, I must say a word of Arthur Howard, who is a great favourite already at Glenalta. Had he been born under a happier star than that which presided at his birth, he would be a charming young man, and great improvements may yet be effected, for he is young and full of generous feeling as of quick tact. The contrarieties which nature and art sometimes display in their contest for pre-eminence in his actions, would divert us excessively, if there were not so much to love and regard in the compound, that vexation must ever be a predominating sentiment when he obeys an unworthy impulse. Selfishness is, I believe, the leading vice of fashionable people; and it must be very difficult to throw off the habits in which education has taught us that comfort (that aldermanic little word, as many use it) consists.

The first thought in what is called the world, appears to be, "is such or such a thing for my pleasure, my interest, my convenience;" and the last is, "whether the matter in question be useful, or agreeable to other people?" I am now speaking of the school, not the scholar, for though Arthur has necessarily adopted some of the folly in the midst of which he has lived, moved, and had his being, it is astonishing how little the natural tendencies of his heart are obscured. He came here, as I told you, with very strong prejudices, but I perceive with delight that they are fading away; and, I believe, that he thinks less hardly than he did when he first came amongst us, of female improvement. How could he bask in the sunshine of mamma's sweet smile, and enjoy the constant variety of her unrivalled powers in conversation, without feeling how compatible are the charms of high cultivation with all that is excellent in private life—all that is fascinating in female softness?

As I listened eagerly to a dialogue the other day, in which she was engaged, shedding light and animation upon every subject which came before her, I could not help thinking, that were amusement the only object and end of existence, cultivation of mind would appear, in my opinion, to be an indispensable requisite in the art of attaining it. The gay world, I suppose has its charms, and may attract for a season. Change of place, and change of faces, may please perhaps for a time, but this cannot last for ever, and when the period arrives in which people must rely upon the resources of home, what an immeasurable distance must there be between the full mind and the empty one! The very playfulness of a superior person is so exhilarating that I never grow weary of it; but of all the tiresome companionships on earth, it is that of animal spirits in perennial flow, that bear no treasure on the tide. How well Pope has expressed what I mean! "For lively Dulness ever loves a joke."

I must reserve space for a concluding word after our visit at the Retreat. Till then adieu.

Well, dear Julia, I feel the repose of my own room most welcome after the excitement of this day. The sun shone in full splendor on our project. Last night Frederick and I spoke to mamma of some trifling alterations that we had been making for the comfort of Tom Collins and his family, whose little dwelling had suffered much from the winter storms.

"Yes, my loves," said she, "I am rejoiced that your activity has anticipated me. Since the death of my poor Dapple, I have not gone so far as Tom's house, and have been intending a visit to the mountain, till you have made me ashamed by this lesson on procrastination. The truth is, that my present steed is so unlike his predecessor in gait and humour, that he and I are not such friends as to make me quite at home in his company; and I hate to have Paddy running after me. My morning rambles were always solitary, and I should not be at ease now in going alone, till I am more accustomed to my new Neddy, or his temper becomes more amiable; but all this is no excuse for not having employed other eyes to see that the Collins' were not unroofed. I wonder why Tom did not come."

"We happened to see him," said Frederick, "which probably prevented his applying to you, as Emily and I did the needful; but if to-morrow should be a fine day, suppose that I drive you and Em. in the pony car, before breakfast, and we will shew you how we have patched up these poor people for the present."

Mamma consented, and this morning early we sat out; but my tears suffocate me at the bare remembrance of my mother's emotion. She was amazed and delighted with our improvements. The garden, the hedge, the clean house, and clean people, all appeared the effect of enchantment. Tom, his wife, and children, grinned with broad uncontrolled rapture, and overwhelmed the little party with blessings. When we had praised, and been praised (such praise warms the heart without enervating its powers), Frederick took mamma's arm, and said, "You must come, dearest mother, to look at a dell which Emily and I discovered some time ago, the sweetest spot that you ever beheld." A faint blush overspread her cheek, and I perceived a thrill run through her frame. She hesitated, then hinted that the banks were steep, and that we should be late for breakfast; but we coaxed, and she evidently not desiring to say how well she was acquainted with the scene which she was about to visit, suffered herself to be led forward, I walking behind with a palpitating heart, down the narrow descent, and poor Tom following at a discreet distance. As we proceeded, I observed mamma gaze to the right and the left with amazement; but when our rustic temple burst upon her eye, the expression of her countenance became painfully inquisitive. The mysterious door was opened, Frederick pushed her gently in, closed the wicker-work, and waited with me in the outer inclosure. We heard her sob aloud, and in a few moments she was in our arms.

Here I pause. The sweetness of the feeling reciprocally called forth, would baffle my little powers of language to describe. Is it not Cora, in the play of Pizarro, who talks of three bright moments in her life? No moment in any one's life ever surpassed this expansion of hearts linked by a tie so pure end so affectionate as binds our's to each other. We sat till breakfast was forgotten. We looked, and looked again, and when the first swell of painful pleasure had given way to more tranquil sensations, we architects became garrulous, and in the vanity of success, hurrying our beloved mother from flower to flower, shrub to shrub, rock to rivulet, that we might not lose one atom, or one item of applause; and at length so completely communicated the contagion of gladness to her who had inspired the emotion in ourselves, that she entered zealously into the idea of surprising the rest of our party, adding, "I will first come here alone with our dear friend of Lisfarne, after which we will revisit this beloved retreat in a body, and enjoy in common the pleasures which you have created." We were now turning our steps towards Glenalta, when the sight of poor Tom wiping his eyes in the sleeve of his coat, as he leaned against the beech-tree, arrested mamma's attention. She went up, shook him warmly by the hand, and without a word uttered on either side, we separated.

I am promised a conveyance of this pamphlet rather than letter by that excellent creature George Bentley, and I am particularly pleased with the power of sending you so voluminous a packet by private hand at present, because I may not be able to write for some time again. We are all going to Killarney. Arthur is an enthusiast about our Glen scenery, and I enjoy exceedingly the delight of shewing him that gem of purest water. Some anxiety, however, is always wisely mingled in our cup, which mamma's promise to accompany us, would have rendered too intoxicating, and this anxiety is relating to dearest Fred. whose College examinations must precede our excursion. He and Mr. Oliphant leave us on Thursday next, and will only be absent during five or six days. I cannot sleep from feverish solicitude, though I believe that my Fred. is very well prepared; but we have so managed this charming trip to Killarney, that it will either crown our victory, should such happiness be in store, or divert our melancholy, should the dear fellow be doomed to suffer a disappointment. Phil. and Mr. Bentley are to be of our party. Do you know that Arthur is quite a surprising botanist already; and as I am his Linnæa, I am as proud as a peacock of my pupil. He can now walk without leading strings, and is grown so expert that our rambles are become trials of rival skill. Well, I must bid my dear friends adieu. With many loves from Charlotte and Fanny to Bertha and Agnes; and all our loves to your dearly loved aunt, believe me, Julia's most affectionate,

Emily Douglas.

LETTER IX. Charles Falkland to Arthur Howard.

My dear Howard,

Rome.

You are, indeed, a prince of letter writers, and the delight which you have afforded me is inexpressible. Two of your admirable journals reached me at Pisa, and the last treasure I have received since I came here in company with—whom do you think? Why, actually, Mr. Richard Oliphant, young Stanhope, and I are dwelling under the same roof, and enthusiastically employed in exploring the wonders both within and without this enchanting city. Stanhope has given Mr. Otway a detailed account of our meeting, in consequence of a letter from Lisfarne, after your arrival at Glenalta; and I will therefore not take up your time, nor my own, in repetition, but proceed to say how greatly pleased I am with my new acquaintances. Their grand object was Rome, and I determined to quit Pisa much sooner than was my original design, that I might enjoy such excellent society. Here then we are together, and, should no unforeseen circumstances prevent the completion of our arrangements, I think it likely that we shall not separate hastily, but visit Florence, and Naples, see Pæstum, go to Venice, and pass the winter at Paris in company with each other. If you join us there what a coterie shall we form. I feel now as if I were in the midst of the Douglas group. I can see the very countenances, and already make my selections, even in that society where all are so much to my taste, that it seems at first view difficult to prefer, without doing injustice. From Stanhope I receive the most satisfactory answers to every question which your volume suggests; and, oh! what happiness it is to know that in any favoured spot of earth such purity and peace are to be found as bless that little valley of Glenalta with their presence. In any situation the contemplation of such a family would possess charms for me beyond the power of any other pleasure to excite; but if it required to be heightened through contrast, surely that contrast is to be met with on the Continent! Yes, to a sober mind, there is something horrible in the metamorphosis produced in the minds of some with whom you and I are acquainted. Letters are so frequently opened at the foreign post-offices, and so often lost, that I shall be prudent, and not send names out to the winds; however, you will have no difficulty in recognizing F—— and L—— by their initials; and, though you are still a wild sort of being yourself, you will be sorry to hear that they are immersed in every thing at Paris which they used to withstand so vigorously at Cambridge. We ranked them there amongst the élite, for genius, good taste, and polished habits. Alas! how are the mighty fallen? The facilitie afforded in Paris to the commission of every vice, are, perhaps hardly greater than those which London offers to tempt unwary youth; but there is all the difference in the world between the manner of doing the thing in the two capitals. Notwithstanding the daily intercourse between England and France, there is still such a body of national virtue and good feeling unshaken in the former country, that the most profligate can hardly sin with absolute impunity, and vice is scarcely bold enough to throw off the veil which, however flimsy, still protects some purer eyes from beholding corruption in all its deformity. Have you ever felt, when you lingered at a ball till day-light, and the bright beams of a newly risen sun shone with open freshness on the expiring lamps, the pale faces, and the tinsel finery of the last night's pageant; a sort of undefined sensation of shame at being thus caught by the truth-telling hour of waking seriousness, in the midst of a scene so unsuited to the time? If you have, I may avail myself of the similitude to describe the difference which I feel between England and the Continent. I say Continent at large, for the great towns are alike in this; ours is a daylight dance, while here is the nightly revel. With us the clear sunshine of opinion, if it cannot prevent excess, at least exhibits its faded form and haggard countenance, pronouncing on their ugliness, and inducing their concealment. Cross the channel, and a new order of things presents itself. Decorum is busy indeed, but it is to deceive, and while the fascination of gaiety and ease presents an opiate to circumspection, the good taste which borrows an external clothing of propriety in which to dress the votaries of pleasure, finishes the delusion, and many young men are not aware of the counterfeit till they are fast bound in the spell like Telemachus in the island of Calypso. The French language too, now so universal, is a potent ingredient in the intoxicating cup. It acts as a mask, and since I left England, I have met with numbers of my countrymen, aye, and countrywomen also, who say things at Paris in the idiom of another tongue, which could never find utterance in their own, though no infringement of decency in conduct would be tolerated publicly in good society abroad. All this renders foreign travelling a very insidious poison, and happy are those who can enjoy the benefits derivable from extensive acquaintance with men and manners, without risk of confounding the boundaries which separate vice from virtue. In short, no man is safe, upon whom the grand tour produces other effect than to send him back with increased thankfulness to the British Isles, as (waving adieu to the shores he has quitted) he borrows the words of the poet to say, "these are my visits;" and, turning to the white cliffs of Albion, finishes the line with "but thou art my home." It would be stupid, however, as well as ungrateful to deny the witchery, by way of securing either one's self, or one's friends against its allurements. This device, which my worthy guardian, I believe, in the honesty of his heart employed as a bastion of strength to fortify my weakness, will never, in any case, survive the first shot that experience levels against it. It is in vain to call the Syren's song discord, to say that nectar is but extract of wormwood, and Ambrosia but a mess of Spartan pottage. The first sound, and the first taste, disabuse the ignorant, adding the stimulus of surprise to what was but too attractive without it. No, let us fairly acknowledge the magic, and then try our best to repel its influence. You know that I shall keep all my scenery, whether moral or physical, for fireside talk, perhaps at Glenalta, and not so much as a moon-beam on the Coliseum will you have in the way of description, already exhausted by abler limners than I am; but I cannot avoid adding my testimony to the charms of foreign society. It is not that it is wiser or better; it is not that you have better cheer, or one half so good accommodation as at home. No, the whole necromancy exits in one monosyllable—ease. In England ease is practised; in France it springs naturally from every one with whom you converse. In England people are remembering to forget themselves; in France they do really forget themselves, and in this simple circumstance resides the whole secret of being at ease. In England people run to shew you how freely they can walk, never considering that ease, that grand desideratum, is as much banished by over exertion to be gay, as by the torpor of mauvaise honte. In France there is neither a jerking activity, nor a leaden stupor, but people convey the idea, while you are in their company, of being pleased, interested, and animated, by the subject of conversation. There is no acted egotism, no effort at making display; and the effect of an evening passed in a Parisian society is that of gaiety without fatigue. You have, perhaps, not heard a single sentence that you desire to treasure; but there has been no strain upon your animal spirits. You have spoken naturally what really presented itself to be said, instead of fishing for a theme, and having to recollect at every turn whether you were going to speak to a man or a woman. In fine, conversation, however trifling, flows on the Continent, while with us it resembles pints of water, chucked one after another into a pump. You work the handle, and up comes your pint, but there is no more till you make a new deposit, and a fresh exertion. It is unnecessary to add that I speak of mixed society, and of its average state in the two countries. Come to the sincere intercourse of mind and heart, when the affectations of fashion are in abeyance, or I should more justly say where they have never existed, and who would go to any climate of the earth from that in which our happy stars have placed us, to enjoy "the feast of reason and the flow of soul!" Ireland and Scotland, remember, are always included in this preference. But we do not understand society, even imitating the French, as we prove, alas, that we can do continually, in their faults, while we cannot throw off our whalebone and buckram. In France there is much less of gossip than in England; the King, the Court, the national prosperity, or distress, the political relations of Europe, philosophy, sentiment, all find their way broken down to a convenient circulable medium into company. You hear many false positions in each several department, but you have likewise a great deal of good sense and discrimination; and at all events you have common property in the subjects which are treated in a French circle, as if they really interested the assembly. Perhaps at the moment of reading this passage of my letter, you recollect what pops into my memory in the moment of writing it; I mean a paragraph upon which you and I commented together, in one of the letters of Madame du Deffand, where she describes to Horace Walpole the "grand succes" of a soirée at her house, from the introduction of some paltry New-year or Easter gifts. There is no inconsistency here. Whether it be the army, the navy, the funds, Cuvier's last work, La Place's talents, the Jardin des Plantes, the fashionable actor or musician; the last song, epigram, bon-mot cap, bonnet or pin-cushion; the thing is talked of with animation, and apparent interest; and it is the want of this that renders common place society in England so insufferably dull, as often to suggest the idea that the several members who compose it prepare for meeting, by committing to memory a set of vapidly disjointed questions, and answers; a very catechism of inanity upon the least amusing topics which it is possible to select, and invariably such as no stranger can participate in from the strict confinement of their locality. Here, men, women, old, young, handsome or ugly; all who can speak the language, take a part according to their several measures of ability in the general conversation. All look happy, and, from being at perfect ease themselves, possess the power of imparting this indispensable charm, this essential essence of society, to every one with whom they hold companionship. Why cannot we seize upon this talent, and convert it to our own use, grateful as we must ever feel for its enlivening influence? Our deficiencies in colloquial power have long been matter of observation; and it is a trite remark, that the English cannot converse; but as it is admitted that every ingredient requisite for conversation of the most brilliant kind is to be found in our island, it would seem that we only want the method of combining, in which our neighbours excel. Your charming circle in Ireland have caught the happy art, and vainly should we look around for many such specimens as Glenalta exhibits of its perfection; but why cannot we all go into company determined to trade freely upon our capitals, be they large or small, avoiding on the one hand that broad-cast sincerity which I am afraid I must call selfishness, that refuses to take interest in any concern which does not come home to the narrow enclosure of individual loss and gain, pain, or pleasure; and on the other, that conventional adoption of trifles incapable of amusing in any community, except a paradise of fools, with which we are in the habit of performing the mechanism of society, fatiguing our friends, and doing penance ourselves?

Stanhope is a very fine young man, full of fire and enterprize, yet gentle and rational. He has a great deal of taste, and is very fond of the classics. We are going presently, armed with a pocket Horace, to visit Soracte, accompanied by Oliphant, who is exactly the sort of man to whose care Mr. Otway may fearlessly confide his charge. He has very good manners, plain, and unassuming, and possesses that fortunate mixture of sobriety and cheerfulness, which peculiarity befits the character of a tutor, securing at once the double tribute of respect and affection.

How I long for your next letter, which will tell me of your expedition to Killarney, and, oh that I could transport myself into the midst of you!

Before I close my letter, I must express the joy of a true friend, at finding that you are so happy with your relations. Dear Arthur, I knew that your mind would undergo a revolution. It is only in progress at present, but I anticipate more decision in all your views of people and things. You have too much sense, and your feelings are too fine, to admit of your being hood-winked. You must not drop into the crowd and suffer yourself to be borne upon its tide, without the slightest sympathy in the folly, and, shall I add, the vulgarity that surround you. Yes, do not start, and suppose that I have lost my senses. I repeat the word; there is infinite vulgarity in mere fashion. Something very poor and mean, in never daring to think for oneself, and in sacrificing every inclination and faculty to the tyranny of arbitrary control; but you will speedily rise into the consequence of a rational creature. You will take your station amongst intellectual beings, and, giving reins to the real bent of your character, find that fulness of mind, which absolutely excludes ennui. I cannot express how much I am interested by the conversations which you have given me. A volume of description would not have conveyed a tithe of what you have imparted in the way of information, by bringing me thus into the midst of the circle. I see the whole mental map before me, and though it would be unreasonable to think that you can have time for such details in future, I cannot set you entirely free; but would fain hope that, coupled with the "incidents" which are all that you promise, henceforward I may still find a few of those graphic touches which make me present in that unrivalled group with whom your good fortune has bound you up.

To Mr. Otway I feel that I may desire to be presented with gratitude for the pleasure of which he has thought me worthy, in an introduction to my agreeable colleagues; but how shall I contrive to make my bow at Glenalta? If you can find a happy moment in which to say with a good grace, "Charles Falkland, Mrs. Douglas," you will be more than ever the cherished friend of,

Your affectionate, C. F——.

P. S. Whenever you visit the city of the Seven Hills, be sure and come hither provided with "Rome in the nineteenth Century." It is a tribute which I for one, most willingly pay, to declare this work of a female pen to be by a thousand degrees the best vade mecum with which you can furnish yourself.

LETTER X. Miss Howard to Arthur Howard, Esq.

Dear Arthur,

London.

I am so completely obsedée with all that I have to accomplish, that really you must be very thankful for a letter on any terms at present. The fact is that la Madre is put into a flutterment by news which we have just had from that old quiz, Mr. Ingoldsby, of the India House, who says poz, that our ancient uncle is coming home as rich as Croesus. What is bringing him, we know not. No matter for the cause, the effect is that Ingot (as I always call him) came here last week express with the intelligence, since when I could not command five minutes, or you should have had the on dit on the wings of the wind. At first I felt transformed into a begum, and transported with joy. Shawls, gems, and jewels, dazzled my senses. I dreamt of lacs of rupees, snuffed otto in every breeze, and read envy, malice, and all uncharitableness, in every female face throughout the metropolitan world.

Such was the bright vision of half an hour, when, on the per contra side of the question a grisly band rose upon my disordered imagination, and I terrified myself with the bare idea, that vielle-cour is becoming religious, to such a degree that I had hardly spirits left for Lady Anne Legrave's "At Home," to which I was obliged to go in the evening. I told my fears to mamma and Adelaide. The former said that she would hope the best; but, if the worst comes to the worst, we must, she says, of course indulge the whim as long as it lasts. Ingot does not expect him for several months, so that we may take time by the forelock. Then it may be only a rumour, and he may be snug at Calcutta; but to make sure, we shall take a few good books down to Selby, and, per favour of the Morleys and Arundels, and a few more of the "Praise God Barebones" community, we shall get up a nice vocabulary, and with the help of a fawn-coloured bonnet, which I shall certainly borrow from Deborah Prim the grocer, that "demurest of the tabby kind," who is of the society called Friends, I do not despair of acting my part à merveille.

Mamma is rather cross upon the matter, I think, and foresees trouble; but she is always a bit of a Cassandra; and besides, she lost horribly the other night at ecarté; but for heavens sake don't say that I told you so.