LETTER V. Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland. (continued 4)

Adelaide, some how or other too, does not enter into the thing con amore, and is not as much alive as one might expect upon a point of such magnitude, for though we have at present nothing to go upon but Ingot's testimony, and our own surmises, the return of the old lad is a serious sort of concern. If he is in good humour, and neither sick, nor pious, we are Nabobs and Nabobesses at once. C'est tout dit. If, on the other hand, he has got the liver (as the Indians say so vulgarly), or has any crotchet in his head, connected with new-light fantasies, I do assure you that we may have much vexation in prospect; and unless you just put yourself in training, and help me out, I do not promise myself any effective assistance. Our poor mother is, as I said before, in an acid vein, and will require Cheltenham certainly, when we leave town; and as to Adelaide, she has other fish to fry, and till the cookery is performed or the finny race, sent swimming again from the net (vous comprenez); I shall not be able to enlist her in my pantomime. Apropos, Lord George was with us last night, and protests that his mother shall give a masquerade at which he will perform the part of our old Rajah, and I shall rehearse my new character, dressed as a quaker, carrying a basket of tracts on my arm, and, followed by half a dozen of his sister, Lady Somerville's children, who are perfect cherubs, and are to enact my school. You can't fancy any thing more spirituel. It was quite a scene, and we were decidedly the attraction of the evening. I was evidently prima donna, and felt so couleur de rose with every thing, and every body, that, forgetful of a quarrel which I had with Ady. in the morning, I caught Lord Crayton by the arm, and, under pretence of asking his advice how to prepare for uncle's arrival, gave him such a teeth-watering account of the old boy's investments in the 3 per cent. Consols, that milord stuck, for the rest of the evening, like bird-lime to my pensive sister, and almost overturned poor Sir Leonard Twig to beau mamma down stairs; since when, he has never missed a day in visiting, riding with our coterie in the park; and in short I shall not be surprized if, before your return from the land of darkness, you see a paragraph in the Morning Post: but what should bring the Morning Post into the wilderness? I give myself immense credit for remembering ever since I performed the Druidical priestess at Lady Penguin's, and learned my evening's task for the occasion, that Annan is the Druid's name for your island of saints, and that it was held to be the dominions of night. It is so à propos!

Well, but I was talking of Crayton and Adelaide. If indeed a London newspaper should meet your eyes while you are suffering ostracism, (I got such credit for that stroke last night) I verily think it not improbable, that you will stumble ere long, upon, "It is rumoured in the higher circles, that Viscount Crayton is shortly to lead to the Hymeneal altar the lovely Miss A. Howard." What more you may see here-after, I cannot give you a hint of till you come.

Poor Lionel Strangeways bores me to death with his petits soins. Sir Stephen (that odious name always sets me sneezing) haunts Grosvenor-square; and Annesley with whom you used to be so lié, and who, begging your pardon, is neither more nor less than bête, worries me to dance wherever I meet him.

Adelaide, Crayton, Lord George, and I, made a parti quarré, in the park yesterday, when we met him quite en polisson. He had no servant, looked bourgeois; and though I am not ill-natured as you know, I was obliged to sham blindness, and to pass by without even a nod. This may cure him, and release me from a blister. If he were not nephew to the Duke of Elsbury, there would be no bearing him; but every one knows the relationship, and therefore one is safe in acknowledging him, though he is so horribly disagreeable. Directly after I gave him the go by, I recollected that perhaps he had heard from you since your letter to us of the 5th, and I might have asked how your cough is, but I did not think of it in time.

The match between Lady J. Marston and Mr. Harrop, ditto between Miss Percy and Lord Anfield are off, positively off faute d'argent. The old Countess held out for £2,000 a-year settlement, and Harrop was tied up by his former marriage. It is whispered that a Scotch coronet hove in sight just before poor H. got his congé; but I don't pledge myself for the truth of this codicil to the story.—I was interrupted here by Lord George and Mr. Cambray, and have been laughing till I am weary at the best thing in the world. I told you in a former part of this letter, that I was in particularly good spirits last night, and made a sally, in speaking of your banishment. Lord George's "bravissimo" was the signal of applause, but poor Sir Hargrove Miles did not know the meaning of ostracism, and asked some one (I believe young Felton), who, in a funny mood, told him that I was talking of oysters. There was a laugh, and some ridiculous things were said which I did not hear, but Sir Hargrove looked cloudy, and your Marplot friend, Annesley, dreading a meeting in the morning, explained like a goose, and put him into good humour by allowing him to turn the joke against me. Poor Sir H. has accordingly been representing me to-day up and down the whole length of Bond-street as a Blue, and were it not that Lord George is my chevalier, and that nuncle is coming home with a heavy purse, it would not be so pleasant. As things are, I can afford a blue banner, or, as Lord George says, "We may hoist the blue Peter now if we like." He is very witty, and I assure you that our society is considered quite haut ton—quite French.

I did not intend to have written six lines, and you see how I have run on. Do, my dear, return to us as quickly as possible: you ought to be at your post when the old fellow lands on English ground. You will of course be his principal look out, and ought certainly to toad him a little, especially as he will probably be very bilious after the voyage. Mamma thinks it likely that the new light and the bile will be extinguished together, and proposes being ready at an hour's notice to whisk him off to Leamington; but should we find that there is any thing so fixed in his religious derangement as not to give way immediately to the waters, she says that the worst which can happen is our leaving him for a time, and going to the continent. He will probably come home after so long an absence with his heart in his hand, and be as generous as a prince. If so, we shall get plenty of money to take us abroad, and thus fare the better for any little twist that he may have got from received opinions, I do not say from fashionable ways of thinking; for I observe, that East Indians are never people of ton: they are expensive and luxurious, but want the je ne sais quoi, that inexplicable odeur de la bonne société which marks the select few in a London circle.

My uncle, in all likelihood, will purchase a magnificent seat, have a splendid establishment; and as a little time will remove any quaint prejudices which he may have contracted, he may keep a first-rate table, and see the best company if he is properly managed. The great bore will be to watch him so vigilantly as to prevent his marrying. I am sure that I know at least six regular sieges that will be commenced against the citadel of his purse, besides whatever masked batteries may be prepared to take him by surprise. It must be our care to be his videttes, and keep a strict guard upon the motions of the enemy, giving him notice upon every approach of danger.

Well, I must go and dress: I hate the Opera, but we are forced to join a party of Lady Mildmay's, and Lord Clayton will not let us be off. Adio mio Caro. Say something civil to the goodies of the Glen. What sickly stuff is pastoral life! I yawn as I write the word. Heaven defend me from your Arcadias! I absolutely shudder at the notion of a golden age, cool grots, and mountain nymphs. That milk diet, too, is a sleepy, corpulent sort of thing. You will loose your air de noblesse, and we shall have to put you in training, and fine you down like a jockey before you are fit to be seen.

Come quickly. Bon repos. You are retiring to your slumbers, no doubt.

Your mother and Ady said something, I suppose—loves, and so forth, but I'm not sure.

Yours, ever, L. Howard.

LETTER XI. General Douglas to Mr. Otway.

My dear old Friend,

Calcutta.

Were I less acquainted than I am with what was once Edward Otway, I could not dare to address a line with any hope of being remembered after the lapse which has occurred since last I wrote to you. I almost dread to look back and mark the time; I fear too that I should not advance a very satisfactory apology in declaring that I have been equally silent to all the European world. I am in this dilemma. I will therefore make no effort at defence or explanation, but proceed to tell you my present object in applying to you. A short time ago I wrote to my old friend Ingoldsby, one of the East India Directors to the like effect; but it may be prudent to provide against casualties, and therefore be it known to you, that with a constitution much shattered through vicissitudes of climate, and a mind somewhat jaundiced by disappointment, I am turning my face towards England, which I hope to reach in about six months after you receive this announcement of my design. Though I speak of disappointment I am not poor; on the contrary I have amassed more money than enough to secure all the luxuries, as well as comforts of life, for my remaining term; but I have lived in banishment from all that ought to have been dear to me; I have lost my health, seen little but wickedness in my early intercourse with mankind, and, now arrived at a premature old age, I look on the past without pleasure, and to the future divested of hope. I have for some time been determined to return, but found my pecuniary circumstances in much need of winding up; and having learned, through sad experience, to distrust the people in whose rectitude I had principally confided, I resolved on an arduous undertaking, which was no other than to go myself first to Delhi, and thence across the country to Bombay, hoping not only to settle my affairs in the best manner, but to retrieve my health by change of air and scene. The first object I have in a great measure achieved, but my liver is deranged, my digestive powers are so impaired that I almost despair of cure, and my spirits are gone. Here is a sorry picture; but to business. If this should find you in England, I wish your own taste to be employed, and if you are in Ireland, that of any friend on whose judgment you can rely, in the purchase of a snug demesne, well wooded, well watered, and having a handsome, commodious house, in an airy situation, into which I may step as soon as possible after landing. As well as I recollect my own impressions, I liked Hampshire, Staffordshire, and Warwickshire, better than any other parts of the country, and I have no objection to go as far as forty or fifty thousand pounds; it must be fee simple property, and in a rich, cultivated district. Order whatever furniture you think suitable, and let me find a travelling carriage, five or six good horses, and a few servants to begin with.—Dear Otway forgive me if I am giving you a great deal of trouble; but Ingoldsby is a fixture in town, and I know so little of my relations, that I am hardly aware to whom I could give these commissions. The Howards, I conclude, are flourishing, for I believe that when my poor brother took the name he got a pretty estate. Of the Douglas family I have lost sight, and as I have long enjoyed the privilege (no small one I promise you) of being considered an oddity, I mean to preserve the character, and choose for myself amongst the people I may meet with. I hate consanguinity. It is a cursed plague to have a set of needy folks continually pressing about one, whose claims are supported by relationship, and whose cares are generally directed by self-interest. I have lived too long, and seen too much to be bamboozled, though I do not mean to be uncivil. Poor Henry might have made a fortune had he taken my advice, and come out to India according to my suggestion; he was my favourite brother, and I should have found both pride and pleasure in providing handsomely for him; but so absurd a marriage as his naturally alienates a prudent man. Poor fellow! I never answered his letters, and looked on him as my son; for he was several years my junior, and felt his resistance to my advice. I never saw his wife, nor any of his children, who have all been born since I came from Europe, and though I do feel sorry that he died without any act of reconciliation on my part; though I intend also to settle something on his family if they are in want; yet I certainly cannot blame myself for having shewn a well merited resentment at conduct so highly injurious to himself, and obstinate towards me. It is all over now, and I may perhaps follow him ere long; yet, while we are here, it is human nature to deplore that folly which blights the happiest anticipations in the bud. No man knows the value of money so well as he who has made it for himself. If you know where poor Mrs. H. Douglas and her family are, I shall thank you to let me hear of their retreat, and believe me, my dear Otway, with best wishes for a happy meeting,

Your very sincere old friend, Fred. Aubrey Douglas.

END OF VOL. I

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