Read Ebook: Manners: A Novel Vol 2 by Panache Madame

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d by his wife. Though she could not trust herself to say, "Good bye," she stept into the carriage with tolerable composure; but when she lost sight of them and their cheerful abode, she experienced an acuteness of sorrow she some time before had thought she was as incapable of ever feeling again, as an equal degree of joy.

When the carriage drove away, Mr. Temple made a speedy retreat into his study; and the traces of tears were still visible on his wife's face, when they met at dinner.

One only passion unreveal'd With maiden pride the maid conceal'd; Yet not less purely felt the flame-- Oh! need I then that passion name?

SCOTT.

"Which are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than Heav'n:"

For affliction had indeed "touched her looks with something that was scarce earthly," and, when brightened by any emotion near akin to joy, smiles such as might have beamed in the face of a seraph illuminated hers. Mrs. Sullivan, in a tone of sorrowful admiration, whispered to Cecilia, "Jack can't choose but fancy her; she's beautifuller than ever: I han't seen her like since we parted." "Law, mama!" replied Cecilia with unmixed vexation, "I believe you've taken leave of your senses, since you used to say she was a sallow poking thing. You forget what beautiful girls the Miss Nathans, and the Miss Bakers, and all the Lunnon ladies are." Here, with affected indifference and real mortification, she stopped to examine the subject of their discourse through her glass. As she continued to gaze, her soft cheek became crimsoned with anger, and her beautiful eye, which seemed formed to convey the tender feelings of the gentlest female heart, scowled with the dark expression of envy. Adelaide, turning her eyes on her face, met that glance, and sighing to see the youthful bloom of this fair creature deformed by malevolent emotions, felt for her the pity of a superior nature, that from its own beatitude beholds the fretful passions of a being incessantly employed in weaving the web of its own misery, and mourns that it may not save the wretched victim from its self-destroying arts.

My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his; even as the lake, Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke, Reflects the invulnerable rock.

Mr. Webberly's attentions were as incessant as disgusting, and to her astonishment his mother no longer gave them overt opposition. His sisters, on the contrary, were more than ever devoured by "proud spleen and burning envy;" but they excited in her mind only the most profound compassion. Pity is said to be near akin to love; it is sometimes however very closely allied to that mournful pardon we grant to a character, whose irremediable defects excite our unqualified hopeless disapprobation.

But as Mrs. Sullivan was on one point alone entitled to respect, and even there imperfectly, Adelaide had now a hard task to perform--namely, to fortify herself once more with indifference to all her associates. Her feelings had been awakened from their temporary torpor by her visit to the Temples, and she now felt it most painful to lower them to the icy temperature they had attained in the soul-benumbing atmosphere of Webberly House. "However, I must only play the dormouse, and, like it, having gone through a few months' torpidity, I shall then wake to an existence of positive enjoyment."

Mrs. Sullivan, during Miss Wildenheim's absence, had become conscious of the value of her decorum of manner; for besides the attention it prompted this young lady to pay her, as due to the person under whose roof she resided, it acted as a restraint on the rudeness of her daughters, who, when unshackled by the presence of an example of propriety in their domestic scene, opposed their mother in every trifle with the most perverse obstinacy. Mr. Webberly, as soon as he had been refused by Selina, told his mother, in the first effusions of his wounded pride, he was determined to marry Miss Wildenheim directly. "He was rich enough to please himself after all; he was sure she was a far personabler woman than Miss Seymour, though Miss did think no small beer of herself." As he could not have Selina, his mother now wished him to marry his cousin Miss Leatherly, who was nearly as rich, though she had not the advantages of connection, that had won her pride to prefer Miss Seymour. She had long delayed her answer to Adelaide's letter, determining she should seek another home; but her son declared if she did not bring her to Ireland, he would not go either, but would remain in whatever place she resided till she was of age, and then it would not be in his mother's power to prevent their marriage. Mrs. Sullivan, alarmed at this menace, determined no longer to use open opposition, but to trust to chance and the possibility of Miss Wildenheim's own pride assisting her to defeat his wishes; therefore offered to compromise the matter, by saying she would bring Miss Wildenheim with her to Ireland, on condition he did not actually propose for her till the period fixed for their return to England, promising she would do nothing to prevent his paying her what attentions he pleased; but, at the same time giving him to understand, the match would never receive her approbation, reminding him that a ten thousand pound fortune with a wife was nothing! and that he had little now left but what she pleased to give him. Mr. Webberly had found out from Selina's conduct, it was possible he might be refused; therefore, yielding in part to his mother's wishes, acknowledging, on second thoughts, a little delay would be no bad thing, as it might enable him to conquer his mistress's resentment for his having transferred his attention elsewhere, which he elegantly expressed, by saying "In the first brush of the thing she may cuff off her nose to punish her face."

The carriage windows were no sooner drawn up, to put an end to the clamour occasioned by such squabbles on the outside, than the usual contentions were renewed within, which seldom ceased till the time for wrangling with the ostlers arrived again, for which a scold to the last turnpike keeper, for the badness of the roads, in proportion to the high tolls, served as a prelude. However, they at last reached Holyhead: as Adelaide skipped into the inn, overjoyed to be comparatively at liberty, she exclaimed, in thought, "Thank goodness, so much of my Purgatory is over! Why Webberly House was Heaven to this! However we shall travel only a small portion of the time I am to spend in penance for my sins.--They will all be sea-sick to-morrow, and then I shall have a few hours' peace."

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float Upon the wanton breezes; strew the deck With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, That no rude savour maritime invade The nose of nice nobility.

COWPER.

On the following evening, wind and tide answering, the packet in which our travellers were to embark was prepared for sailing.

"When first I went on board, Good Lord! what a racket, Such babbling and squalling fore and aft through the packet; The passengers bawling, the sailors yo-ho-ing, The ship along dashing, the wind aloft blowing; Some sick, and some swearing, some singing, some shrieking, Sails hoisting, blocks rattling, the yards and booms creaking!"

This gallant soldier was the second son of a country gentleman, whose family had lived from generation to generation in habits of friendship with that of the late Mr. Sullivan, who was also a younger son. These young men were companions, school-fellows, and friends, and on the death of their fathers, found themselves but scantily provided for. Edward Desmond, being intended for the church, had gone through some part of his collegiate course in the university of Dublin; but on the death of his father, agreeing with his young friend, that "it was much better to be a soldier than a damned quiz of a parson" resolved to exchange the cassock for the sword. Being a protestant, Edward did not labour under the same disabilities as his friend, but he would not separate their fortunes, and determined to share the same fate, and follow the same standard; accordingly they left their homes, in order, as they expressed it, in the words of a favourite song, to "go round the world for sport."

They entered the Austrian armies, and the first five years of their career served under the command of Baron Wildenheim, during which time he proved himself their patron and friend; gratitude on their side, and regard on his, preserved the intimacy thus formed, by correspondence and personal communication, long after they had ceased to be brother soldiers. Colonel Desmond remained in Germany, several years subsequent to Mr. Sullivan's return to England, so that he was much better known to Adelaide than the latter gentleman; and till she recollected he was unmarried, she had often wondered her father had not left her to his guardianship, in preference to a person who was to her a comparative stranger. Though Desmond and Sullivan had commenced their career of life together, they did not long continue on an equality as to character. The superior education Edward had received, in order to qualify him for the profession he was originally designed to embrace, showed its beneficial effects in far different pursuits; for whilst Maurice Sullivan plunged into every species of dissipation, his companion, incited by the expostulations and example of Baron Wildenheim, occupied himself in the acquirement of the knowledge most necessary to his profession, occasionally varying his studies by the pleasures arising from the cultivation of literature and the fine arts. But, however advantageous Colonel Desmond's intercourse with Baron Wildenheim had been to the formation of his character, it had latterly been dangerous to the peace of his mind. He had so long regarded the daughter of his friend with almost parental affection, that he was not exactly aware of the moment, when his feelings towards her became those of a lover; but when awakened to a sense of the real nature of his sentiments, his hours of solitude were tinctured with regret, as he bitterly lamented that hitherto disregarded want of fortune, which forbade his seeking the hand of the lovely girl. Neither Adelaide, nor the Baron, was ever conscious of this attachment; she only felt for him as a sort of second father, in whose approbation she delighted, and by whose admonition she profited; honour and generosity withheld his using any endeavours to win further on her regard; and feeling that self-control would not much longer be possible, he left Vienna, apparently induced only by the desire to revisit his native country. Time and absence had deadened, but not changed his feelings: with such sentiments, it may therefore be supposed, what happiness this unexpected meeting gave to both. The Miss Webberlys had come down below with their mother and Adelaide, so that the latter was obliged to stay in the suffocating cabin, where she remained in durance vile above an hour; from time to time she heard Caroline's little merry voice on deck, and longed to be there also; at last, when the little girl retired to bed, she gave Adelaide Mrs. St. Orme's compliments, to know if she would like to come on deck, adding, that she and Colonel Desmond were waiting in the outer cabin to take her up. With the utmost delight she profited by this good natured attention. When they ascended, she found all the passengers disposed of for the night, except Mr. and Mrs. St. Orme and Colonel Desmond.

It was a most delightful night, the ship was smoothly cutting her rapid way before a fair, wind, and as it passed, the rippling waters sparkled with the beams of the moon. Colonel Desmond, leaning carelessly over the side of the vessel, half sung, half hummed, this verse, translated from an ancient Irish song:--

The moon calmly sleeps on the ocean, And tinges each white bosom'd sail; The bark, scarcely conscious of motion, Glides slowly before the soft gale.

Adelaide thought the sound of his well remembered voice "pleasant and mournful to the soul, like the memory of joys that are past;" and it was insensibly leading her into a train of ideas, which she was not sorry to have interrupted by general conversation. How much did she enjoy the delightful freshness of the night, and the enlivening sallies of her animated companions; they were, however, at length terminated by Mr. St. Orme complaining of the increasing chilliness of the air, and proposing that she and her fair companion should take refuge from it in the body of her barouche, which was on deck. There they passed the remainder of the night most comfortably; and, when the sun rose, Miss Wildenheim was very sorry to hear they were entering the bay of Dublin, as she recollected her landing would put an end to the temporary release the packet had afforded her from the annoyances of the Webberly family.

LLOYD'S MYRHA.

The sun was shining in all his brightness, and seemed to exult on beholding the fair isle, that, cheered by his smiles, was venturing to raise her lovely face from beneath its misty veil, no longer fearful of beholding the dark visage of Night, who, sullenly retreating from his glorious foe, had turned his louring brow on other daughters of the sea. The hill of Howth rose proudly from the bosom of the deep; and whilst its rocky sides, from age to age, beheld unmoved the fury of the sounding surge, the pointed summits of the distant Wicklow mountains courted the beams of morn and the dews of evening, ere they descended to visit the plains beneath. The bold promontory of Bray rushed to meet the foaming waves; and by its side the beautiful bay of Killina retreated from their half spent rage; whilst in the distant sky a darkened line of smoke pointed out the site of the fine city of Dublin. "Dear Ireland!" exclaimed Mrs. St. Orme, whilst the tear of feeling and the smile of joy struggled for mastery in her beaming eyes--"Oh! only those who have pined for their native land beneath a stranger sky, whose eye has been long unblessed by her loved face, whose ear has vainly paused to hear once again her kindly, though unpolished accents; who have held her--

can feel their souls moved to sympathy at the sight of her children's emotions, when they at last behold her cherished soil." Poor Adelaide! she felt the current of life retire from her chilled heart, as it was oppressed by the sad thought, that no revered parent or beloved sister would receive her in the arms of affectionate love, when she landed on the smiling shore, that spread before her sight. She gazed on the countless dwellings, that met her view, with a bitterness of sorrow that was faithfully depicted in her speaking countenance. In every mourner Mrs. St. Orme saw a friend; and understanding the nature of her companion's affliction, from a conversation she had the evening before with Colonel Desmond, she pressed her hand, saying in the kindest tones of benevolence, "You will find friends every where; in that hospitable land there are many warm hearts, to whom you will quickly be dear." The expression of Adelaide's gratitude, though mute, was eloquent, and she soon recovered herself sufficiently to answer, with apparent ease, the various inquiries put to her by Mr. St. Orme and Colonel Desmond, who now appeared to offer their services.

When these motley groupes assembled on deck, it was agreed by most it would be much better to take boats to Dunleary, than to wait for the returning tide to land at the Pigeon House, which is the regular station appointed for the packets.

"Jack!" said his mother, interrupting his reverie, "Miss Wildenheim has dissuaded me to go in that 'ere boat;--do get our band-boxes put in it. They say we mustn't take none of our trunks, neither one of the carriages. I suspect me they're playing tricks upon travellers; and if so be, I'll take the law of them as sure as my name's Hannah Silliwan. The ship may sail away with all our things afore ever we can send the constables after it.--They say the Irish are a sad set of rogues. I vish I vas safe back in Lunnon again."

And oh! the luxury of comfortable quiet rooms and beds, after being condemned to the turmoil of a Holyhead packet, and exposed to the dislocating powers of a Black Rock gingle! Our travellers retired at an early hour, to profit by these lately unknown comforts; and here, wishing them sound sleep and pleasant dreams, we bid them "good night."

Ah! si mon coeur osoit encore se renflammer! Ne sentirai-je plus de charme qui m'arr?te? Ai-je pass? le temps d'aimer?

LA FONTAINE.

"When Jacky Bull sets out for France, The gosling you discover; When taught to ride, to fence, to dance, The finish'd goose comes over, With his tierce and his quarte ?a, ?a, And his cotillon so smart, O la! He charms each female heart, ha! ha! When Jacky returns from Dover."

Perhaps the satirical expression of his countenance had not entirely passed away, when he introduced Mr. Felix Donolan to the ladies of the Webberly party, as an "amateur and connoisseur of the fine arts, and an adept in chemistry, mineralogy, botany, and craniology." Colonel Desmond begged to know how he might be of use to the travellers, either as regarded their stay in Dublin, or their journey to Ballinamoyle, reminding Mrs. Sullivan of the permission she had granted him the day before, to escort her thither, and requesting her leave to constitute Mr. Donolan another knight-errant in the service of the fair itinerants.

"How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!"

Adelaide's attention was soon however diverted from this interesting object, by another of a very different description. A squalid looking woman, in the garments of extreme poverty, was leading her child by the hand, whose spotless skin, as white as snow, and its clean neat clothes, formed a surprising contrast to the mother's tattered filthy habiliments, Some hasty passenger knocked the poor infant down.--Adelaide raised it up, and as she beheld the countenance of a cherub, exclaimed, "What a beautiful creature!" The starving mother's mouth had opened to demand her charity, but her maternal pride made her forget her misery. "Troth, she is a beautiful cratur; she's the joy of my heart, and the light of my eyes; many's the long mile I've carried her, and thought it no toil; she makes me kindly welcome wherever I go; it was the Lord God sent her to me, an angel of comfort in my trouble: and may you never know trouble, dear; but my blessing, and the Lord's, be about you, when you get up, and when you lie down, and in your dying hour." Adelaide felt her heart thrill within her, at this unpurchased benediction; she had scarcely given her all the silver in her purse, and less than she wished to bestow, when Colonel Desmond's sleeve was twitched by a venerable looking old gentleman, who begged to speak a word to him.--His countenance was uncommonly fine; he had

"The eye which tells How much of mind within it dwells;"

his reverend temples were adorned with the most beautiful flowing silver locks; his language and manners spoke the gentleman and the scholar; his threadbare coat alone told that he too was a mendicant! Colonel Desmond satisfied his usual demand of "Will you lend me a guinea?" without looking up to behold the blush that crimsoned his aged cheek; and with no other commentary than a deep sigh, rejoined his party.

This unfortunate man was of a respectable English family: in his youth he had embraced the clerical profession, and was one of the most eloquent preachers of his day; persuasion hung upon his lips; but, as has been said of individuals of his sacred order, he served only as a finger-post, to point out to others the path he did not tread himself. His talents and his interest procured him considerable church preferment in Ireland, which his extravagance and bad conduct ere long deprived him of. After spending some years in a prison, he repaired to the Irish capital, to live from day to day by any expedient that might occur. Here he partly supported himself, by being what is called in Ireland a "buckle-beggar," that is, a clergyman who solemnizes irregular marriages; partly by begging, under the pretence of borrowing, from any acquaintance he might happen to meet. He was now old and infirm, and would, five days out of six, have wanted a dinner, but that one of his former friends, who had, in better days, partaken of the charms of his wit at his hospitable board, most humanely requested him, in his decay of fortune and intellect, to share, at his table, a meal he could not otherwise have procured.

Adelaide was not a little pleased to see Colonel Desmond and Mr. Donolan join their circle at dinner. In the evening they were entertained with a variety of itinerant musicians, whom the former collected from all quarters of the town for their amusement.

Mrs. Sullivan's stay in Dublin was too short to admit of her party visiting more of its public buildings; but the following day they repaired to the fine botanical gardens in its neighbourhood; and ended their morning excursion by driving through the Phoenix Park.

Pray now, the news? You've made fair work, I fear me: pray, your news?

CORIOLANUS.

Mrs. Sullivan had agreed to leave Dublin in that packet boat which proceeds westward, at nine o'clock in the morning, and which would take her party to the Canal Inn to sleep, the same night: they were to spend the second at some convenient resting place on the borders of Connaught, and early on the morning of the third day expected to reach Ballinamoyle.

Adelaide had employed herself the evening previous to their departure, in writing Mrs. Temple an account of all she had seen worthy of remark in the Irish capital, not forgetting to make honourable mention of her friend Colonel Desmond. This letter was written in much better spirits than the one she had sent from Shrewsbury by Lamotte; and when it reached Mrs. Temple, she was as much gratified by observing this circumstance, as by the tone of affectionate gratitude towards herself and her husband, which pervaded it throughout.

At half past nine o'clock the bustle of leaving Dublin had completely subsided, and the party assembled on the deck of the packet boat had full leisure to view each other, and the surrounding country. As they passed slowly along, one fine seat after another presented itself to their eyes. The country being, hereabouts, principally laid out in parks, lawns, and plantations; that want of wood is not felt for the first twenty miles from Dublin, in this direction, which renders a large proportion of Ireland so desolate to an eye accustomed to woodland scenery. The boat was towed along by two stout horses; but the poor animals were scarcely equal to the laborious task assigned them, and went sideling along in a manner most painful to a humane eye to see. They were driven by giddy boys, and some faint hearts on board quaked lest any accident should occur from their carelessness. Passing the locks is by no means a pleasant operation: you are shut up for a few minutes between massive stonewalls, with a watery abyss beneath, which seems to threaten to swallow you up; and one or other of your fellow passengers is sure to take that opportunity of informing you, that a packet boat was once upset passing a lock, that every soul on board perished, by a variety of deaths, more or less horrible, according to the vivacity of the imagination which the relater may happen to possess. The bell which announces the arrival of the packet boat at the places appointed for changing horses, assembles every individual within reach of its sound, who can accomplish reaching the spot ere its departure. Men, women, and children, of all descriptions, throng to gaze at the passengers, and inquire the news from Dublin. Here are to be seen the landlord, the physician, and the curate of the district, debating the politics of the day. Some passenger gives them the newspapers, or reads an extract from a pamphlet just come out, or relates rumours in direct contradiction to those they heard the day before, which however reign with unquestioned credit, till the next diurnal importation of lies reaches them, which banish, in turn, their ephemeral predecessors, and are themselves dispossessed of their authority by as short-lived usurpers.

Mrs. Sullivan, looking on him quite as a friend, made him the confidant of her suspicions regarding Miss Wildenheim's birth, which she had resolved to keep secret in Ireland, lest they should tempt her brother-in-law to bequeath any part of his fortune from Caroline. In answer to a long string of interrogatories, respecting her late husband's life abroad, Colonel Desmond laughingly replied, "I really can't affirm that poor Maurice was always immaculate, but he certainly was guiltless of the sin of giving birth to this angelic girl. And I must, as a friend, inform you, that his brother would more easily pardon his presenting to him a dozen such claimants to multiply his name, than you for taking a single letter from it: if you don't call your daughter Miss O--Sullivan, she will never possess an acre of the Ballinamoyle estate, which, I assure you, is well worth having, though it should entail the ugliest name in the world." Mrs. Sullivan thanked him; and, profiting by the hint, there was such a practising of the most pathetic of interjections that day, that a stranger might have supposed, some half dozen of the party were in the last agonies; or that they were a set of strolling comedians, rehearsing for a tragedy, whereas they were only getting up the farce, which was to be played at Ballinamoyle.

"His eye, in a fine stupor caught, Implied a plenteous lack of thought; And not one line his whole face seen in, That could be justly charg'd with meaning."

"If you don't convince," said Colonel Desmond, "you at least persuade: but, you know, there is no general rule without exception; so do be ill-natured for once, and let me know what you were thinking of Felix, when I detected those tell-tale smiles." "Well then," said she, "since I must satisfy you, I will at least only be satirical at second-hand, and answer you in the words of Mondon,

Adolescent qui s'?rige en barbon, Jeune ?colier qui vous parle en Caton, Est en mon sens un animal bernable: Et j'aime mieux l'air fou, que l'air capable; Il est trop fat."

A summons to dinner now assembled together below all the front cabin passengers, and there was collected together such a groupe as none of the young ladies had ever before seen, but which is to be met with at any stage-coach dinner. Mrs. Sullivan and her new friend laboured to outvie each other in airs of consequence, whilst some would-be beaux put their gallantry on active service, to be overpoweringly civil to the ladies in general, and to Cecilia Webberly and Miss Wildenheim in particular. One little smirking man was peculiarly sweet upon Adelaide, watching each word she spoke, and helping her to every thing she even looked near. When she first applied to Colonel Desmond, who sat next her, for the salt cellar, her inamorato seized the only one within reach, and presenting it to her, said with a facetious grin, as he leaned across Desmond with his chin projecting six inches out of his well-tied cravat, "Excuse me for not helping you to it, Miss; it's the only service you could require I would not with all the pleasure in life perform, but should be loath for us to quarrel; they say salt is very unlucky in parting friends." At the moment in which she bowed her thanks to this dapper wight, a very tall man stood up to help himself to something at the extreme end of the table from that where he was placed: somehow his foot slipped, he reeled a few paces back, and, in his retreat, effectually stopped Mrs. Sullivan's mouth with his elbow, who had just opened it to its utmost extension, in the endeavour to raise her dignity to a par with that of her companion, who the instant before asserted "She had every thing in the highest style at her house, and hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her there soon;" her auditor, in emulation, was just proceeding to vaunt the glories of Webberly House, when the thread of her discourse was broken off in the unexpected manner just mentioned.

The travellers had now fairly entered on the dreary bog of Allen. No human form or habitation met their sight. Its only vegetable productions were a little heath, sedgy grass, or bog myrtle, which were crossed here and there by a half-starved cow or sheep; but they sometimes proceeded miles without even seeing one of these, to remind them that the world contained other living beings besides those in the boat. The road seemed to shake as the horses passed over this

"Boggy Syrtis, neither sea Nor good dry land;"

and they almost feared that the breaking of the thin stratum of earth, that seemed to separate the waters above from the waters below, might precipitate them

Their passage through this dismal region seemed intolerably slow, as no object marked their progress, but one unbroken sea of black lifeless matter encompassed them on every side, from which the eye perceived no escape. When the sun set, the heavens, like the earth, seemed dark and uninhabited; no cloud travelled over its gloomy face, but one even fall of misling rain made the aspect of the ethereal regions as unvaried as that of the land they overhung. The passengers long looked in vain to leave this abode of desolation,--

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