However I am glad I contained myself; for, on the entrance of Sir Arthur, we came to an explanation; and I find the young lady was really indisposed. But, considering his mongrel birth and breeding, for he is the son of a gardener, I really never saw a fellow give himself such high airs.

Sir Arthur received me with great civility. I have not yet seen the daughter, but I expect to find her a beauty. She is the toast of the county where her father resides. I am to be with her in half an hour; and, as I suppose I shall be fully engaged with this and other affairs for some days, I shall seal up my letter: you must therefore wait for an account of her, till inclination and the full tide of events shall induce me again to indite of great matters.

I shall direct this, agreeably to your last, to your banker's, in Parma. Do not fail to tell me when you shall be at Turin.

Yours very sincerely,

C. CLIFTON

P.S. My opponent of the Elysian Fields has just paid me a visit. He is a man of family; seems to be of a slightly pleasant humour; and acknowledged that what he had heard convinced him he had mistaken my character; for which he was very ready either to cut my throat or ask my pardon. His ease and good temper spoke much in his favour; and I laughed, and answered, in mercy to my throat, I would accept his apology. In consideration of which we are to cultivate an acquaintance, and be sworn friends.

LETTER XXIV

_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_

_Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_,

_Fauxbourg St. Germain_

I return eagerly to my Louisa. Mr. Clifton, my dear, has this instant left us. I give you joy! Yes, he is the brother of my friend! I do not say he is her equal, though I am not quite sure that he is her inferior. He is all animation, all life. His person is graceful, his manners pleasing, and his mind vigorous. I can say but little from so short an acquaintance; except that I am convinced his virtues, or his errors, if he have any, [And who is without?] are not of the feeble kind. They are not characterised by dull mediocrity; which, of all qualities, is the most hopeless, and incapable. He gave his earnest desire to see me, when he was refused by Frank, the air of a handsome compliment; politely accusing himself of improper impatience, when he was in expectation of what he was pleased to call an uncommon pleasure.

Though it was our first interview, he felt no restraint; but said many very civil things naturally, and with an exceedingly good grace.

I purposely turned the conversation on Frank, related some anecdotes of him, and bestowed praise which was confirmed by Sir Arthur. Your brother, whose imagination is warm and active, called him a trusty Cerberus; and said he had a mouth to answer each of the three; meaning Laura, himself, and Sir Arthur. Various remarks which escaped him shew that he has a fondness for pleasant satire, and similes of humour.

He praised Frank, after hearing our account of him; but his praise was qualified with the word obstinacy. There was an appearance of feeling that the gentleman ought not to have been so sternly repulsed, by the son of a steward.--And was this his kindred equality to my friend?--Forgive me, Louisa--It was unjust in me to say I was not quite sure he is your inferior--However I can very seriously a.s.sure you, he is not one of your every day folks.

Frank came in, and your brother addressed him with good humour, but in a tone denoting it was the gentleman to the sort of a gentleman. I own it pleased me to observe the ease with which Frank, by his answers, obliged Mr. Clifton to change his key. But I soon had occasion to observe that the warmth of your brother's expressions, his eagerness to be immediately intimate with us, and the advances which he with so little sense of embarra.s.sment made to me, had an effect upon Frank which, I greatly fear, was painful. I must look to this; it is a serious moment, and I must seriously examine, and quickly resolve. In the mean time, your brother has kindly insisted upon devoting himself wholly to our amus.e.m.e.nts; to attend on us, and shew us the public buildings, gardens, paintings, and theatres; as well as to introduce us to all his friends.

And what must we do in return for this well-meant kindness? Must we not endeavour to weed out those few errors, for few I hope they are, which impoverish a mind in itself apparently fertile and of high rank?--Yes, it instantly suggested itself to me as an indispensable act of duty--The attempt must be made--With what obstinate warfare do men encounter peril when money, base money is their proposed reward! And shall we do less for mind, eternal omnipotent mind?

He is returned. Adieu. You shall soon hear again from your

A. W. ST. IVES

LETTER XXV

_c.o.ke Clifton to His Sister, Louisa Clifton_

_Paris, Hotel de l'Universite, pres le Pont Royal_

I write agreeably to your desire, sister, to thank you for all obligations, not forgetting your advice. Not but I am excessively obliged to you; I am upon my soul, and seriously, for having done me the favour to bring me acquainted with your charming friend. I have seen many women and in many countries, but I never beheld one so sweet, so beautiful, so captivating! I had heard of her before I left England, her fame had reached Italy, and your letters had raised my expectations. But what were these? The accomplishments and graces of her person, the variety, the pleasure inspiring heaven of her countenance, the cupids that wanton in her dimples, and the delights that swim and glisten in her eyes, are each and all exquisite beyond imagination!

Whatever you may think of me, Louisa, I do persuade myself I know something of women. I have studied them at home and abroad, and have often probed them to the soul. But I never before met with any one in the least comparable to the divine Anna! She is so unreserved, so open, that her soul seems to dwell upon her lips. Yet her thoughts are so rapid, and her mind so capacious, that I am persuaded it will cost me much longer time to know her well than any other woman with whom I ever met.

Having thanked you very heartily and sincerely for this favour, I shall just say a word or two in answer to yours. And so you really think you have some morality on hand, a little stale or so but still sound, which you can bestow with advantage upon me? You imagine you can tell me something I never heard before? Now have you sincerely so much vanity, Louisa? Be frank. You acknowledged I have crossed rivers, seas, and mountains; but you are afraid I have shut my eyes all the time! _A loud tongue and a prodigious luck of wit! Antics and impertinences of young men of fashion!_ Really, my dear, you are choice in your phrases! You could not love your brother _for any recital of the delight which foreign ladies look in him, and which he took in foreign ladies!_ But you could be in ecstatics for a brother of your own invention.

Do not suppose I am angry! No, no, my dear girl; I am got far above all that! Though I cannot but laugh at this extraordinary brother, which you are fashioning for yourself. If, when I come into your sublime presence, I should by good luck happen to strike your fancy, why so! My fortune will then be made! If not, sister, we must do as well as we can. All in good time, and a G.o.d's name. Is not that tolerable Worcestershire morality?

I am obliged to lay down my pen with laughing at the idea of Miss Louisa's brother, supposing him to be exactly of her modelling. I think I see him appear before her; she seated in state, on a chair raised on four tressels and two old doors, like a strolling actress mimicking a queen in a barn! He dressed in black; his hair smugly curled; his face and his shoes shining; his white handkerchief in his right hand; a prayer book, or the morals of Epictetus in his left; _not interlarding his discourse with French or Italian phrases,_ but ready with a good rumbling mouthful of old Greek, which he had composed, I mean compiled, for the purpose! Then, having advanced one leg, wiped his mouth, put his left hand in his breeches pocket, clenched his right, and raised his arm, he begins his learned dissertation on _well digested principles, ardent desire of truth, incessant struggles to shake off prejudices_, and forth are chanted, in nasal tw.a.n.g and tragic recitative, his _emanations of soul, bursts of though_, and _flashes of genius_!

But _you would not be satirical_. Gentle, modest maiden! And surely it becomes the tutored brother to imitate this kind forbearance. _My faculties were always lively?_ And _I must pardon you if you expect too much?_--Upon my soul, this is highly comic! Expect too much! And there is danger then that I should not equal your expectations?--Prithee, my good girl, jingle the keys of your harpsichord, and be quiet. Pore over your fine folio receipt book, and appease your thirst after knowledge.

Satisfy your longing desire to do good, by making jellies, conserves, and caraway cakes. Pot pippins, brew rasberry wine, and candy orange chips. Study burns, bruises, and balsams. Distil surfeit, colic, and wormwood water. Concoct hiera picra, rhubarb beer, and oil of charity; and sympathize over sprains, whitloes, and broken shins. Get a charm to cure the argue, and render yourself renowned. Spin, sew and knit.

Collect your lamentable rabble around you, dole out your charities, listen to a full chorus of blessings, and take your seat among the saints.

You see, child, I can give advice as well as yourself; aye and I will bestow it most plentifully, if you happen to feel any desire after more. I hate to be ungrateful; you shall have no opportunity to utter your musty maxim upon me--'That the sin of ingrat.i.tude is worse than the sin of witchcraft.' You shall have weight for weight, measure for measure, chicken; aye, my market woman, and a lumping pennyworth.

Brotherly for sisterly _effusions_!

As for the right of eldership, I recollect that a dozen years ago I envied you the prerogative; but now you are welcome to it with all my heart. If, among your miraculous acquirements, you have any secret to make time stand still, by which you can teach me to remain at sweet five-and-twenty, and if you will disclose it to me, I will not only pardon all your _impertinences_, as you so _pertinently_ call them, but do any other thing in reason to satisfy you; except turn philosopher and feed upon carrots! Nay I will allow you to grow as old as you please, you shall have full enjoyment of the rights of eldership.

In the mean time, sister, I once more thank you for bringing me acquainted with your friend. You seem to have 'put powder in her drink;' and I freely tell you I wish she loved me half as well as she professes to love her immaculate Louisa. But these I suppose are the _flashes of genius_, which you have taught her. However she is an angel, and in her every thing is graceful.

As for your other prodigy, I scarcely know what to make of him; except that he seems to have quite conceit enough of himself. Every other sentence is a contradiction of what the last speaker advanced. This is the first time he ever ventured to cross his father's threshold, and yet he talks as familiarly of kingdoms, governments, nations, manners, and other high sounding phrases, as if he had been secretary of state to king Minos, had ridden upon the white elephant, and studied under the Dalai Lama! He is the Great Mogul of politicians! And as for letters, science, and talents, he holds them all by patent right! He is such a monopolizer that no man else can get a morsel! If he were not a plebeian, I could most sincerely wish you were married to him; for then, whenever my soul should hunger and thirst after morality, I should know where to come and get a full meal. Though perhaps his not being a gentleman would be no objection to you, at least your letter leads me to suspect as much.

Do not however mistake me. I mean this jocularly. For I will not degrade my sister so much, as to suppose she has ever cast a thought on the son either of the gardener or the steward, of any man. Though, tied to her mother's ap.r.o.n-string and shut up on the confines of Worcestershire, she may think proper to lecture and give rules of conduct to a brother who has seen the world, and studied both men and books of every kind, that is but a harmless and pardonable piece of vanity. It ought to be laughed at, and for that reason I have laughed.

For the rest, I will be willing to think as well of my sister, as this sister can be to think of her catechised, and very patient, humble, younger brother,

C. CLIFTON

P.S. I have written in answer to my mother by the same post. From the general tenor of her letter, I cannot but imagine that, just before she sat down to write, she had been listening to one of your civil lectures, against wild brothers, fine gentlemen, and vile rakes. Is not that the cant? One thing let me whisper to you, sister: I am not obliged to any person who suspects or renders me suspected. I claim the privilege of being seen before I am condemned, and heard before I am executed. If I should not prove to be quite the phoenix which might vie with so miraculous so unique a sister, I must then be contented to take shame to myself. But till then I should suppose the thoughts of a sister might as well be inclined to paint me white as black. After all, I cannot conclude without repeating that I believe the whole world cannot equal the lovely, the divine Anna St. Ives: and, whatever else you may say or think of me, do not lead her to imagine I am unjust to her supreme beauty, and charms. An insinuation of that kind I would never forgive--Never!

LETTER XXVI

_Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_

_Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_,

_Fauxbourg St. Germain_

You cannot imagine, honest Aby, the surprise I am in. Is this their famous France? Is this the finest country in the whole world? Why, Aby, from Boulogne to Paris, at least from Montreuil, I am certain I did not see a single hedge! All one dead flat; with an eternal row of trees, without beginning, middle, or end. I sincerely believe, Aby, I shall never love a straight row of trees again. And the wearisome right lined road, that you never lose sight of; not for a moment, Aby! No lucky turning. No intervening hill.

Oh that I were but the Grand Monarch! What improvements would I make!

What a scope for invention, Aby! A kingdom! A revenue of four hundred millions of livres, and a standing army of three hundred thousand men!

All which, if the king were a wise man, it is very evident, Abimelech, he might employ in improvements; and heaven knows there is a want of them. What are their petty corvees, by which these straight roads have been patched up, and their everlasting elms planted? I would a.s.semble all my va.s.sals--[Your son Frank, Aby, has given me much information concerning the present governments of Europe, and the origin of manors, fiefs, and lordships. I can a.s.sure you he is a very deep young man; though I could wish he were not quite so peremptory and positive; and has informed me of some things which I never heard of before, though I am twice his age. But he seems to have them so fast at his finger's ends that I suppose they must be true. I had often heard of entails, and mortmain, and lands held in fee or fief, I don't know which, and all that you know, Abimelech. One's deeds and one's lawyers tell one something, blindly, of these matters; but I never knew how it had all happened. He told me that--Egad I forget what he told me. But I know he made it all out very clear. Still I must say he is cursed positive.]--However, Aby, as I was saying, I would a.s.semble all my va.s.sals, all my great lords and fief holders, and they should a.s.semble their va.s.sals, and all hands should be set to work: some to plan, others to plant; some to grub, some to dig, some to hoe, and some to sow. The whole country should soon be a garden! Tell me, Aby, is not the project a grand one[1]? What a dispatch of work! What a change of nature! I am ravished with the thought!

[Footnote 1: The plan is in reality much grander than the good knight suspected; if embraced at the will of a nation, instead of at the will of an individual.]