_ CHAPTER XIV
Soon after the death of poor Kate, the attention of the Percy family was taken up by a succession of different visits; some from their old neighbours and really affectionate friends, some from among the band of reproaching condolers. The first we shall mention, who partook of the nature of both these classes, was Lady Jane Granville: she was a sincere and warm friend, but a tormenting family adviser and director.
Her ladyship was nearly related to Mr. Percy, which gave her, on this occasion, rights of which she knew how to avail herself.
To do her justice, she was better qualified to be an adviser and protector than many who assume a familiar tone and character.
Lady Jane Granville was of high birth and fortune, had always lived in good company, had seen a great deal of the world, both abroad and at home; she had a complete knowledge of all that makes people well received in society, had generalized her observations, and had formed them into maxims of prudence and politeness, which redounded the more to her credit in conversation, as they were never committed to writing, and could, therefore, never be brought to the dangerous test of being printed and published. Her ladyship valued her own traditional wisdom, and oral instruction, beyond any thing that can be learned from books. She had acquired a
tact, which, disclaiming and disdaining every regular process of reasoning, led her with admirable certainty to right conclusions in her own concerns, and thus, in some degree, justified the peremptory tone she assumed in advising others.
Though by no means pleased with Mr. and Mrs. Percy's answer to several of her letters of counsel, yet she thought it her duty, as a friend and relation, to persevere. She invited herself to the Hills, where, with great difficulty, through scarcely practicable cross roads, she arrived. She was so much fatigued and exhausted, in body and mind, that during the first evening she could talk of nothing but her hair-breadth escapes. The next morning after breakfast, she began with, "My dear Mr. Percy, now I have a moment's ease, I have a thousand things to say to you. I am very much surprised that you have thought fit to settle here quite out of the world. Will you give me leave to speak my mind freely to you on the subject?"
"As freely as you please, my dear Lady Jane, upon any subject, if you will only promise not to be offended, if we should not coincide in opinion."
"Certainly, certainly; I am sure I never expect or wish any body to submit to my opinion, though I have had opportunities of seeing something of the world: but I assure you, that nothing but very particular regard would induce me to offer my advice. It is a maxim of mine, that family interference begins in ill-breeding and ends in impertinence, and accordingly it is a thing I have ever particularly avoided. But with a particular friend and near relation like you, my dear Mr. Percy, I think there ought to be an exception. Now, my dear sir, the young people have just left the room--I can take this opportunity of speaking freely: your daughters--what will you do with them?"
"Do with them! I beg pardon for repeating your ladyship's words, but I don't precisely understand your question."
"Well, precise sir, then, in other words, how do you mean to dispose of them?"
"I don't mean to dispose of them at all," said Mr. Percy.
"Then let me tell you, my good friend," said Lady Jane, with a most prophetic tone, "let me tell you, that you will live to repent that.--You know I have seen something of the world--you ought to bring them forward, and make the most of their birth, family, and connexions, put them in a way of showing their accomplishments, make proper acquaintance, and obtain for your girls what I call the patronage of fashion."
"Patronage!" repeated Mr. Percy: "it seems to be my doom to hear of nothing but patronage, whichever way I turn. What! patronage for my daughters as well as for my sons!"
"Yes," said Lady Jane, "and look to it; for your daughters will never go on without it. Upon their first coming out, you should--" Here her ladyship stopped short, for Caroline and Rosamond returned. "Oh! go on, go on, let me beg of your ladyship," said Mr. Percy: "why should not my daughters have the advantage of hearing what you are saying?"
"Well, then, I will tell them candidly that upon their first
coming out, it will be an inconceivable advantage, whatever you may think of it, to have the patronage of fashion! Every day we see many an ugly face, many a mere simpleton, many a girl who had nothing upon earth but her dress, become quite charming, when the radiance of fashion is upon them. And there are some people who can throw this radiance where and on whom they please, just as easily," said Lady Jane, playing with a spoon she held in her hand, "just as easily as I throw the sunshine now upon this object and now upon that, now upon Caroline and now upon Rosamond. And, observe, no eye turns upon the beauteous Caroline now, because she is left in the shade."
It was Mr. Percy's policy to allow Lady Jane full liberty to finish all she wished to say without interruption; for when people are interrupted, they imagine they have much more to add. Let them go on, and they come to the end of their sense, and even of their words, sooner than they or you could probably expect.
"Now," continued her ladyship, "to apply to living examples; you know Mrs. Paul Cotterel?"
"No."
"Well!--Lady Peppercorn?"
"No."
"Nor the Miss Blissets?"
"No."
"That is the misfortune of living so much out of the world!--But there are the Falconers, we all know them at least--now look at the Miss Falconers."
"Alas! we have not the honour of knowing even the Miss Falconers," said Mr. Percy, "though they are our cousins."
"Is it possible that you don't know the Miss Falconers?"
"Very possible," replied Mr. Percy: "they live always in town, and we have never seen them since they were children: except a visit or two which passed between us just after Mrs. Falconer's marriage, we know nothing even of her, though we are all acquainted with the commissioner, who comes from time to time to this part of the country."
"A very clever man is the commissioner in his way," said Lady Jane, "but nothing to his wife. I can assure you, Mrs. Falconer is particularly well worth your knowing; for unless maternal rivalship should interfere, I know few people in the world who could be more useful to your girls when you
bring them out. She has a vast deal of address. And for a proof, as I was going to point out to you, there are the Miss Falconers in the first circles--asked every where--yet without fortunes, and with no pretensions beyond, or equal to, what your daughters have--not with half Rosamond's wit and information--nothing comparable in point of beauty and accomplishments, to Caroline; yet how they have
got on! See what fashion can do! Come, come, we must court her patronage--leave that to me: I assure you I understand the ways and means."
"I have no doubt of that," said Mr. Percy. "All that your ladyship has said is excellent sense, and incontrovertible as far as--"
"Oh! I knew you would think so: I knew we should understand one another as soon as you had heard all I had to say."
"Excellent sense, and incontrovertible, as far as it relates to the means, but perhaps we may not agree as to the ends; and if these are different, you know your means, though the best adapted for gaining your objects, may be quite useless or unfit for the attainment of mine."
"At once, then, we can't differ as to our objects, for it is my object to see your daughters happily married; now tell me," said Lady Jane, appealing alternately to Mr. and Mrs. Percy, "honestly tell me, is not this your object--and yours?"
"Honestly, it is," said Mr. and Mrs. Percy.
"That's right--I knew we must agree there."
"But," said Mrs. Percy, "allow me to ask what you mean by happily married?"
"What do I mean? Just what you mean--what every body means at the bottom of their hearts: in the first place married to men who have some fortune."
"What does your ladyship mean by
some fortune?"
"Why--you have such a strange way of not understanding! We who live in the world must speak as the world speaks--we cannot recur continually to a philosophical dictionary, and if we had recourse to it, we should only be sent from
a to
z, and from
z back again to
a; see
affluence, see
competence, see
luxury, see
philosophy, and see at last that you see nothing, and that you knew as much before you opened the book as when you shut it--which indeed is what I find to be the case with most books I read."
Triumphant from the consciousness of having hitherto had all the wit on her side, Lady Jane looked round, and continued: "Though I don't pretend to draw my maxims from books, yet this much I do know, that in matrimony, let people have ever so much sense, and merit, and love, and all that, they must have bread and butter into the bargain, or it won't do."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Percy: "under that head I suppose you include all the necessaries of life."
"And some of the luxuries, if you please; for in these days luxuries are become necessaries."
"A barouche and four, for instance?" said Mrs. Percy.
"Oh! no, no--my dear madam, I speak within bounds; you cannot expect a barouche and four for girls who have nothing."
"I expect it as little as I wish it for them," said Mrs. Percy, smiling; "and as little as my daughters, I believe, desire it."
"But if such a thing should offer, I presume you would not wish that Rosamond or Caroline should refuse?"
"That depends upon
who offers it," said Mrs. Percy. "But whatever my wishes might be, I should, as I believe I safely may, leave my daughters entirely at liberty to judge and decide for themselves."
"Yes, I believe you safely may," said Lady Jane, "as long as you keep them here. You might as well talk of leaving them at liberty in the deserts of Arabia. You don't expect that knights and squires should come hither in quest of your damsels?"
"Then you would have the damsels sally forth in quest of the knights and squires?" said Mr. Percy.
"Let them sally forth at any rate," said Lady Jane, laughing; nobody has a right to ask in quest of what. We are not now in the times of ancient romance, when young ladies were to sit straight-laced at their looms, or never to stir farther than to their bower windows."
"Young ladies must now go a great deal farther," said Mr. Percy, "before the discourteous knights will deign to take any notice of them."
"Ay, indeed, it is shameful!" said Lady Jane sighing. "I declare it is shameful!" repeated she, indignantly. "Do you know, that last winter at Bath the ladies were forced to ask the gentlemen to dance?"
"Forced?" said Mr. Percy.
"Yes, forced!" said Lady Jane, "or else they must have sat still all night like so many simpletons."
"Sad alternative!" said Mr. Percy; "and what is worse, I understand that partners for life are scarcely to be had on easier terms; at least so I am informed by one of your excellent modern mothers, Mrs. Chatterton, who has been leading her three
gawky graces about from one watering-place to another these six years, fishing, and hunting, and hawking for husbands. 'There now! I have carried my girls to Bath, and to London, and to Tunbridge, and to Weymouth, and to Cheltenham, and every where; I am sure I can do no more for them.' I assure you," continued Mr. Percy, "I have heard Mrs. Chatterton say these very words in a room full of company."
"In a room full of company? Shocking!" said Lady Jane. "But then poor Mrs. Chatterton is a fool, you know; and, what is worse, not
well mannered,--how should she? But I flatter myself, if you will trust me with your daughter Caroline, we should manage matters rather better. Now let me tell you my plan. My plan is to take Caroline with me immediately to Tunbridge, previous to her London campaign. Nothing can be a greater mistake than to keep a young lady
up, and prevent her being seen till the moment when she is to be brought out: it is of incalculable advantage that, previously to her appearance in the great world, she should have been seen by certain fashionable
proneurs. It is essential that certain reports respecting her accomplishments and connexions should have had time to circulate properly."
All this Mr. and Mrs. Percy acknowledged, in as unqualified a manner as Lady Jane could desire, was fit and necessary to secure what is called a young lady's success in the fashionable world; but they said that it was not their object to
dispose of their daughters, as it is called,
to the best advantage. The arts which are commonly practised for this purpose they thought not only indelicate, but ultimately impolitic and absurd; for men in general are now so well aware of them, that they avoid the snares, and ridicule and detest those by whom they are contrived. If, now and then, a dupe be found, still the chance is, that the match so made turns out unhappily; at best, attachments formed in public places, and in the hurry of a town life, can seldom be founded on any real knowledge of character, or suitableness of taste and temper. "It is much more probable," added Mrs. Percy, "that happy marriages should be made where people have leisure and opportunities of becoming really and intimately acquainted with each other's dispositions."
"Vastly well!" said Lady Jane: "so you mean to bury your daughters in the country--to shut them up, at least--all the days of their unfortunate lives?"
Mr. and Mrs. Percy, both at the same moment, eagerly declared that they had no such absurd or cruel intention towards their daughters. "On the contrary," said Mr. Percy, "we shall take every proper occasion, that our present fortune and situation will allow, of letting them see agreeable and sensible persons."
"Are they to spring out of the ground, these agreeable and sensible persons?" said Lady Jane. "Whom do you see in this desert, or expect to see?"
"We see your ladyship, in the first place," said Mr. Percy: "you cannot therefore wonder if we are proud enough to expect to see sometimes good company, persons of merit, and even of fashion, though we have lost our station and fortune."
"That is very politely turned by you, Mr. Percy. Much more polite than my desert. But I could not bear the thoughts of your sweet pretty Caroline's blushing unseen."
"Nor could we," said Mr. Percy, "bear the thoughts of her ceasing to blush from being too much seen. We could not bear the thoughts of
fitting our daughters out, and sending them to the London market, with the portionless class of matrimonial adventurers, of whom even the few that succeed are often doomed but to splendid misery in marriage; and the numbers who fail in their venture are, after a certain time, consigned to neglect and contempt in single wretchedness. Here, on the contrary, in the bosom of their own families, without seeking to entice or entrap, they can at all events never be disappointed or degraded; and, whether married or single, will be respected and respectable, in youth and age--secure of friends, and of a happy home."
"Happy nonsense! begging your pardon, my dear coz. Shall I tell you what the end of all this living in the bosom of their own families will be?--that they will die old maids. For mercy's sake, my dear Mrs. Percy, do not let Mr. Percy be philosophical for your daughters, whatever he may be for himself. You, I am sure, cannot wish your poor daughters to be
old maids," said her ladyship, with a tremendous accent upon the word.
"No, I should wish them to marry, if I could ensure for them good husbands, not merely good fortunes. The warmest wish of my heart," cried Mrs. Percy, "is to see my daughters as happy as I am myself, married to men of their own choice, whom they can entirely esteem, and fondly love. But I would rather see my daughters in their graves than see them throw themselves away upon men unworthy of them, or sell themselves to husbands unsuited to them, merely for the sake of being
established, for the vulgar notion of
getting married, or to avoid the imaginary and unjust ridicule of being old maids."
The warmth and energy with which these last words were spoken, by so gentle a person as Mrs. Percy, surprised Lady Jane so much, that she was silent; all her ideas being suddenly at a stand, and her sagacity at fault. Mr. Percy proposed a walk to show her the Hills; as her ladyship rose to accompany him, she said to herself, "Who could have guessed that Mrs. Percy was so romantic?--But she has caught it from her husband.--What a strange father and mother!--But for the sake of the poor girls, I will not give up the point. I will have Caroline with me to Tunbridge, and to town, in spite of their wise heads."
She renewed her attack in the evening after tea. Rising, and walking towards the window, "A word with you, Mr. Percy, if you please. The young people are going to walk, and now we can talk the matter over by ourselves."
"Why should not we talk it over before the young people?" said Mr. Percy. "We always speak of every thing openly in this family," continued he, turning to Lady Jane; "and I think that is one reason why we live so happily together. I let my children know all my views for them, all my affairs, and my opinions, I may say all my thoughts, or how could I expect them to trust me with theirs?"
"As to that, children are bound by gratitude to treat their parents with perfect openness," said Lady Jane; "and it is the duty of children, you know, to make their parents their confidants upon all occasions."
"Duty and gratitude are excellent things," said Mr. Percy, "but somewhat more is necessary between parent and child to produce friendship. Recollect the Duc d'Epernon's reply to his king, who reproached him with want of affection. 'Sire, you may command my services, my life; but your majesty knows, friendship is to be won only by friendship.'"
"Very true," said Lady Jane; "but friendship is not, properly speaking, the connexion that subsists between parents and children."
"I am sorry you think so," said Mr. Percy, smiling: "pray do not teach my children that doctrine."
"Nay," said Lady Jane, "no matter whether we call it friendship or not; I will answer for it, that without any refined notions about perfect openness and confidence, your children will be fond of you, if you are indulgent to them in certain points. Caroline, my dear," said she, turning to Caroline, who was at the farthest end of the room, "don't look so unconscious, for you are a party concerned; so come and kneel at the feet of this perverse father of yours, to plead your cause and mine--I must take you with me to Tunbridge. You must let me have her a summer and winter, and I will answer for Caroline's success."
"What does your ladyship mean by my success?" said Caroline.
"Why, child--Now don't play your father's philosophic airs upon me! We people who live in the world, and not with philosophers, are not prepared for such entrapping interrogatories. But come, I mean in plain English, my dear, though I am afraid it will shock your ears, that you will be" (speaking loud) "pretty well admired, pretty well abused, and--oh, shocking!--pretty well married."
"Pretty well married!" repeated Mrs. Percy, in a scornful tone: "but neither Caroline nor I should be satisfied unless she be very well married."
"Heyday! There is no knowing where to have you
lady philosophers. This morning you did not desire a coach and four for your daughters, not you; now you quarrel with me on the other side of the question. Really, for a lady of moderation, you are a little exorbitant.
Pretty well married, you know, implies 2000
l. a-year; and very well married, nothing under 10,000
l."
"Is that the language of the market? I did not understand the exact meaning of
very well married--did you, Caroline? I own I expect something more than 10,000
l. a-year."
"More!--you unconscionable wretch! how much more?" said Lady Jane.
"Infinitely more," said Mr. Percy: "I expect a man of sense, temper, and virtue, who would love my daughter as she deserves to be loved."
"Let me advise you," said Lady Jane, in her very gravest tone, "not to puff up Caroline's imagination with a parcel of romantic notions.--I never yet knew any good done by it. Depend on it you will be disappointed, if you expect a genius to descend from the clouds express for your daughters. Let them do as other people do, and they may have a chance of meeting with some good sort of men, who will make them as happy as--as happy as their neighbours."
"And how happy is that?" said Caroline: "as happy as we are now?"
"As you are now!" said Lady Jane: "a vastly pretty maidenly speech! But young ladies, nevertheless, usually think that the saffron robe of Hymen would not be the most unbecoming dress in the world; and whether it be in compliance with their daughters' taste, or their own convenience, most parents are in a hurry to purchase it."
"Sometimes at the expense of their daughters' happiness for life," said Mrs. Percy.
"Well, lest we should go over the same ground, and get into the same labyrinth, where we lost ourselves this morning, let me come to the point at once.--May I hope, Mr. and Mrs. Percy, to have the pleasure of Caroline's company at Tunbridge next week, and in town next winter, or not?--That is the question."
"That is a question which your ladyship will be so good as to ask Caroline, if you please," said Mr. Percy; "both her mother and I wish that she should decide for herself."
"Indeed?" cried Lady Jane: "then, my dear Caroline, if you please, come with me this minute to my dressing-room, and we'll settle it all at my
toilette de nuit. I have a notion," added her ladyship, as she drew Caroline's arm within hers, and led her out of the room, "I have a notion that I shall not find you quite so impracticable as your father has shown himself."
"You may leave us, Keppel," said Lady Jane to her maid, as she went into her dressing-room--"I will ring when I want you.--My love," said she to Caroline, who stood beside her dressing-table, "why did not you let Keppel dress your hair to-day?--But no matter--when I once get you to town, we'll manage it all our own way. I have a notion that you are not of a positive temper."
Caroline coloured at this speech.
"I see what are you thinking of," said Lady Jane, mistaking her countenance; "and to tell you the truth, I also am sadly afraid, by what I see, that we shall hardly gain our point. I know your father--some difficulty will be started, and ten to one he will not allow me to have you at last, unless you try and persuade him yourself."
"I never try to persuade my father to do any thing."
"What, then, he is not a man to be persuaded?"
"No," said Caroline, smiling; "but what is much better, he is a man to be convinced."
"Better!" exclaimed Lady Jane: "Why surely you had not rather live with a man you were to convince than one you could persuade?"
"Would it not be safer?" said Caroline: "the arts of persuasion might be turned against us by others, but the power of conviction never could."
"Now, my dear, you are too deep for me," replied Lady Jane. "You said very little in our long debate this morning, and I'm afraid I said too much; but I own I could not help speaking candidly. Between ourselves, your father has some notions, which, you know, are a little odd."
"My father!" exclaimed Caroline.
"Yes, my dear, though he is your father, and my relation too, you know one cannot be quite blinded by partiality--and I never would give up my judgment."
"Nor would I," said Caroline. "Nor I am sure would my father ever desire it. You see how freely he permits, he encourages us all to converse with him. He is never displeased with any of us for being of a different opinion from him."
"He may not show displeasure," said Lady Jane.
"Oh! he does not feel it, ma'am--I assure you," said Caroline, with emotion. "You do not know my father, indeed you do not."
"My dear," said Lady Jane, retracting, "I know he is an excellent father, and I am sure I would have you think so--it is your duty; but, at the same time, you know he is not infallible, and you must not insist," added she, sharply, "upon all the world being of one way of thinking.--My dear, you are his favourite, and it is no wonder you defend him."
"Indeed, ma'am," said Caroline, "if I am his favourite, I do not know it."
"My dear, don't mistake me. It is no wonder that you
are. You must be a favourite with every body; and yet," said Lady Jane, and she paused, "as you hinted, perhaps I am mistaken; I think Rosamond seems--hey?--Now tell me candidly--which is the favourite?"
"I would if I knew," said Caroline.
"Oh! but there must be some favourite in a family--I know there must; and since you will not speak, I guess how it is. Perhaps, if I had asked your sister Rosamond to go to town with me next winter, your father would have been better pleased, and would have consented more readily."
"To lose her company if she were his favourite?" said Caroline, smiling.
"But you know, my dear," continued Lady Jane, without hearing or attending to this, "you know, my dear, that Rosamond, though a very good girl and very sensible, I am sure, yet she has not your personal advantages, and I could do nothing for her in town, except, perhaps, introduce her at Mrs. Cator's, and Lady Spilsbury's, or Lady Angelica Headingham's conversazione--Rosamond has a mixture of naivete and sprightliness that is new, and might
take. If she had more courage, and would hazard more in conversation, if she had, in short,
l'art de se faire valoir, one could hand her verses about, and get her forward in the bel-esprit line. But she must stay till we have brought you into fashion, my dear, and another winter, perhaps--Well, my love, I will not keep you up longer. On Monday, if you please, we shall go--since you say you are sure your father is in earnest, in giving you leave to decide for yourself."
What was Lady Jane Granville's astonishment, when she heard Caroline decline, with polite thanks, her kind invitation!
Her ladyship stood silent with suspended indignation.
"This cannot be your own determination, child?"
"I beg your ladyship's pardon--it is entirely my own. When a person is convinced by good reasons, those reasons surely become their own. But independently of all the arguments which I have heard from my father and mother, my own feelings must prevent me from leaving home in our present circumstances. I cannot quit my parents and my sister, now they are, comparatively speaking, in distress. Neither in prosperity nor in adversity do I wish to leave my family, but certainly not in adversity."
"High-flown notions! Your family is not in any great distress, that I see: there is a change, to be sure, in the style of life; but a daughter more, you know only increases the--the difficulties."
"I believe my father and mother do not think so," said Caroline; "and till they do, I wish to stay with them, and share their fortune, whatever it may be."
"I have done--as you please--you are to decide for yourself, Miss Caroline Percy: this is your final determination?"
"It is," said Caroline; "but permit me," added she, taking Lady Jane's hand, and endeavouring by the kindest tone of gratitude to avert the displeasure which she saw gathering, "permit me to assure you, that I am truly grateful for your kindness, and I hope--I am sure, that I never shall forget it."
Lady Jane drew away her hand haughtily. "Permit me to assure you, Miss Caroline Percy, that there are few, very few young ladies indeed, even among my own nearest relations, to whom I would have undertaken to be
chaperon. I do not know another young lady in England to whom I would have made the offer I have made to you, nor would that offer ever have been made could I reasonably have foreseen the possibility of its being refused. Let us say no more, ma'am, if you please--we understand one another now--and I wish you a good night."
Caroline retired, sorry to have displeased one who had shown so much friendly eagerness to serve her, yet not in the least disposed to change her determination. The next day Lady Jane's morning face boded no good. Mr. and Mrs. Percy in vain endeavoured by all the kind attentions in their power to assuage her feelings, but nothing restored her to that sweet temper in which she had begun the chapter of advice. She soon announced that she had received letters which called her immediately to Tunbridge, and her ladyship quitted the Hills, resolving never more to visit relations who would not be guided by her opinion.
The next persons who came to visit the Percy family in their retirement were Mrs. Hungerford and her daughter, Mrs. Mortimer, who had been friends and near neighbours whilst they resided at Percy-hall, and whose society they had particularly regretted. The distance at which they now lived from Hungerford Castle was such, that they had little hope that any intercourse could be kept up with its inhabitants, especially as Mrs. Hungerford had arrived at that time of life when she was exempted from the ceremony of visiting, and she seldom stirred from home except when she went to town annually to see her daughter Mortimer.
"So," said Mrs. Hungerford, as Mr. Percy helped her out of her carriage, "my good friend, you are surprised at seeing me, are you?--Ah! you thought I was too old or too lazy to come; but I am happy to be able to convince you that you are mistaken. See what motive will do! You know Mr. Percy says, that people can do any thing they please, and it is certain that it pleased me to do this."
When she was seated, and Mrs. Percy spoke of the distance from which she had kindly come to see them, she answered, "I hear people talk of a
visiting distance; and I understand perfectly well what it means when acquaintance are in question, but for friends there is no
visiting distance. Remove to the Land's End, and, old as I am, I will pursue and overtake you too, tortoise as I seem; and don't depend upon dark nights, for every night is full moon to me, when I am bent upon a visit to a friend; and don't depend upon hills--there are no Pyrenees between us."
These sound, perhaps, like mere civil speeches, but they came from one who always spoke sincerely, and who was no common person. Mrs. Hungerford was, by those who did not know her, thought proud; those who did, knew that she had reason to be proud. She was of noble descent, dignified appearance, polite manners, strong understanding, and high character. Her fortune, connexions, various knowledge, and extraordinary merit, had, during a long life, given her means of becoming acquainted with most of the persons of any celebrity or worth in her own or in foreign countries. No new candidate for fame appeared in any line of life, without desiring to be noticed by Mrs. Hungerford; no traveller of distinction or of literature visited England without providing himself with letters of introduction to Mrs. Hungerford, and to her accomplished daughter, the wife of Admiral Mortimer. In her early youth she had passed some years abroad, and had the vivacity, ease, polish,
tact, and
esprit de societe of a Frenchwoman, with the solidity of understanding, amiable qualities, domestic tastes, and virtues of an Englishwoman. The mutual affection of this mother and daughter not only secured their own happiness, but diffused an additional charm over their manners, and increased the interest which they otherwise inspired. Mrs. Mortimer's house in London was the resort of the best company, in the best sense of the word: it was not that dull, dismal, unnatural thing, an English
conversazione, where people are set, against their will and their nature, to talk wit; or reduced, against their pride and their conscience, to worship
idols. This society partook of the nature of the best English and the best French society, judiciously combined: the French mixture of persons of talents and of rank, men of literature and of the world; the French habit of mingling feminine and masculine subjects of conversation, instead of separating the sexes, far as the confines of their prison-room will allow, into hostile parties, dooming one sex to politics, argument, and eternal sense, the other to scandal, dress, and eternal nonsense. Yet with these French manners there were English morals; with this French ease, gaiety, and politeness, English sincerity, confidence, and safety: no
simagree, no
espionnage; no intrigue, political or gallant; none of that profligacy, which not only disgraced, but destroyed the
reality of pleasure in Parisian society, at its most brilliant era. The persons of whom Mrs. Mortimer's society was formed were, in their habits and good sense, so thoroughly English, that, even had it been possible for them to put morality and religion out of the question, they would still have thought it quite as convenient and agreeable to love their own husbands and wives as to play at cross-purposes in gallanting their neighbours'. Of consequence, Mrs. Mortimer, in the bloom of youth and height of fashion, instead of being a coquette, "hunting after men with her eyes," was beloved, almost to adoration, as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend. Mrs. Hungerford, at an advanced age, was not a wretched, selfish Madame du Deffand, exacting
hommage and
attentions, yet disbelieving in the existence of friendship; complaining in the midst of all the luxuries of life, mental and corporeal, of being oppressed by ennui, unable to find any one to love and esteem, or incapable of loving and esteeming any one; Mrs. Hungerford, surrounded
"With all that should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends."
was, as she often declared, with gratitude to Providence, happier in age than she had been even in youth. With warm affections, and benevolence guided and governed in its objects by reason and religion; indulgent to human nature in general, and loving it, but not with German cosmopolitism--first and best, loving her daughter, her family, comprising a wide and happy extent of relations and connexions, sons and nephews in the army and navy, or in different employments in the state: many of these young men already distinguished, others wanting only opportunity to do equal honour to their name.
During the summer, Mrs. Mortimer usually spent some months at Hungerford Castle, and generally took with her from town some friends whose company she thought would peculiarly suit her mother's taste. Mrs. Hungerford had always been in the habit of inviting the Percy family, whenever she had any body with her whom she thought they would wish to see or hear; and thus the young people, though living retired in the country, had enjoyed the advantages of becoming early acquainted with many celebrated literary and public characters, and of living in the best society; these were advantages which they obtained from their education and their merit; for assuredly Mrs. Hungerford would never have troubled herself with them merely because they were her neighbours, possessing so many thousand pounds a year, and representatives of the Percy interest in the county.--A proof of which, if any were wanting, is, that she never took the least notice of those who now held their place at Percy-hall; and the first visit she paid when she came to the country, the first visit she had been known to pay for years, was to her friends the Percys, after they had lost their thousands per annum. So completely was it themselves and not their fortune which she had always considered, that she never condoled with them, and scarcely seemed to advert to any change in their circumstances. She perceived, to be sure, that she was not at Percy-hall; she discovered, probably, that she was in a small instead of a large room; the change of prospect from the windows struck her eye, and she remarked that this part of the country was more beautiful than that to which she had been accustomed.--As to the more or less of show, of dress, or equipage, these things did not merely make no difference in Mrs. Hungerford's estimation of persons, but in fact scarcely made any impression upon her senses or attention. She had been so much accustomed to magnificence upon a large scale, that the different subordinate degrees were lost upon her; and she had seen so many changes of fashion and of fortune, that she attached little importance to these. Regardless of the drapery of objects, she saw at once what was substantial and essential. It might, she thought, be one man's taste to visit her in a barouche and four, with half-a-dozen servants, and another person's pleasure to come without parade or attendants--this was indifferent to her. It was their conversation, their characters, their merit, she looked to; and many a lord and lady of showy dress and equipage, and vast importance in their own opinions, shrunk into insignificance in the company of Mrs. Hungerford; and, though in the room with her, passed before her eyes without making a sufficient sensation upon her organs to attract her notice, or to change the course of her thoughts.
All these
peculiarities in this lady's character rendered her particularly agreeable to the Percy family in their present circumstances. She pressed them to pay her a long visit.
"You see," said Mrs. Hungerford, "that I had the grace to forbear asking this favour till I had possession of my daughter Mortimer, and could bring her with me to entice you.--And my dear young friends, you shall find young friends too, as well as old ones, at my house: my nieces, the Lady Pembrokes, are to be with me; and Lady Angelica Headingham, who will entertain you, though, perhaps, you will sometimes be tired
for her, she works so hard
aux galeres de bel-esprit. I acknowledge she has a little too much affectation. But we must have charity for affectation and its multitude of foibles; for, you know, Locke says that it is only a mistaken desire to please. Angelica will find out her mistakes in time, and after trying all manners, will hold fast by the best--that is, the most natural: in the mean time, do you, my dear young friends, come and admire her as an inimitable actress. Then, Mr. Percy, I have for you three temptations--a man of letters, a man of science, and a man of sense. And, for the climax of my eloquence, I have reserved," continued she turning to Mrs. Percy, "my appeal to the mother's feelings. Know, then, that my son, my eldest hope, my colonel, has arrived from the continent--landed last night--I expect him home in a few days, and you must come and flatter me that he is prodigiously improved by the service he has seen, and the wounds which he can show, and assure me that, next to your own Godfrey, you would name my Gustavus, of all the officers in the army, as most deserving to be our commander-in-chief."
An invitation, which there were so many good and kind reasons for accepting, could not be refused. But before we go to Hungerford Castle, and before we see Colonel Hungerford--upon whom, doubtless, many a one at this instant, as well as Rosamond Percy, has formed designs or prognostics in favour of Caroline--we must read the following letter, and bring up the affairs of Alfred and Erasmus. _