Chapter VIII: Letter VI: The Same to the Same (2)

"Here have I sat for hours with Henry Douglas, the friend, the companion of my youth; and listened with unwearied delight to the flow of mind which poured its exhaustless treasure from his lips; sometimes expanding its stream to the amplitude of ocean, then narrowing its pellucid waves within confines of unrivalled fertility; and again, (if you will allow me to pursue the image,) still farther contracting its limits to dissport occasionally amid the enchantments of rock and bower, scattering its spray in bright fantastic sparkles all around. You are to consider an introduction to this hallowed spot, which I have consecrated to his memory, as a distinguishing mark of the regard with which I wish to treat his nephew, and an earnest of that friendship, which if you desire to cultivate, I shall be happy to bestow on one so nearly allied to the man who, of all others, I most loved upon earth." There was a solemn tenderness in his manner which thrilled me; and I thanked him heartily, expressing as well as I could, how gratefully I felt inclined to profit by his kindness, adding, "I do not believe that I ever saw my uncle Henry: if I did, it must have been in early childhood, for I have no remembrance of him, but have often heard of him as a person rarely gifted."--"Yes,--had you ever seen him, he could never have been forgotten! there was an illumination in his very countenance which irresistibly seized upon the attention. The play of intelligence upon his features was like the summer lightning, 'as bright and harmless too;' and, in him were combined 'the wisdom of the serpent, with the innocence of the dove.' My dear departed Douglas possessed the most brilliant talents. Imagine these rising majestically from a solid plinth of boldest structure in religion and morals, while Fancy in her most tasteful mood had wreathed the light acanthus round his brow, and you may form some idea of the man who, in our youthful days, was always called the 'Corinthian pillar' of that little band in whose society he passed his hours of recreation. He was at once the most profound reasoner, the acutest critic, the soundest arbiter, and the kindest friend. The peculiar sensitiveness of his character never impaired its strength; and a remarkable accuracy of observation with which heaven had endowed him, acting in concert with an uncompromising integrity, imparted the influence of truth itself, to the decisions of his judgment. He saw whatever subject was presented to his understanding, in all its different bearings, with quickness bordering on intuition; and was enabled by the variety of his knowledge, to enter into the minutest details, without diminishing the force of outline in any question that offered itself for discussion. As might be easily supposed, this assemblage of qualities, at once the most solid and attractive that I ever knew, was little comprehended by the generality of mankind. That noble independence which disdains the tricking arts of popularity, and _dares_ to walk alone, was miscalled pride. The elegant retirement of a mind replete with resources, and too refined to consider as society what was not congenial companionship, was, with equal departure from just discrimination, styled misanthropy, while sensibility, which with magic touch can raise aërial hosts of imagery; and straying over the sacred expanse of time gone by, and yet to come, sighs to the memory of the past, or o'er the uncertainty of the future: this was _selfishness_, according to vulgar interpretation. But vice and folly are compelled to pay the reluctant homage of an involuntary respect at the shrine of virtue, and collective excellence is always sure to receive its tribute, however incapable the mass of mankind may prove to appreciate the individual beauties of a character which they do not understand. _Such_ tribute was paid in large proportion to my friend; and while kindred merit sought his acquaintance with enthusiasm, the _little world_ were forced to gaze at him with reverence, and look up with veneration. He is gone! and I never visit this spot, associated peculiarly with his image, unaccompanied by the recollection of that epitaph at the Leasowes, the only beautiful testimony of surviving affection which I remember to have seen, and which seems as if written for Douglas, and for him alone.

Heu quanto minus est
Cum reliquis versari,
Quàm tui meminisse!"

Mr. Otway paused, and I felt deeply affected by the impressive manner in which these eloquent lines were repeated. After a short silence, I told him how greatly I felt indebted for the animated sketch which he had just given me of a relation whom I had never till then heard so particularly described. "At Glenalta," said I, "there is no allusion ever made to my uncle, and I think, that I have already discovered, even at this distance of time from his death, that even the name of Henry cannot be pronounced without causing an inward convulsion of feeling in my aunt. At first I thought it impossible, but on reading a paragraph to her in the newspaper yesterday, I perceived a recurrence of such an expression in her countenance, as determined me to avoid producing it again, at least by a repetition of the same sound which gave rise to her present agitation."

"This, my young friend," answered the admirable Otway, "is true to nature. In those horrible and overwhelming moments of recent disseverment, when the grave has just closed upon all that lived in our fondest affections,--when the affrighted spirit glances round upon the desert wilderness, and the tremendous solitude is only interrupted by images of despair,--then, _names_ arrest not the attention. The throbbing heart is wrapped in present anguish, and the dull ear is dead to sounds; even the shade of the beloved might float upon the mourner's vision, and not surprise; but when the first agony of bereavement has settled into the waking consciousness of our loss, when the astonishment of death has subsided, when the phantoms of an amazed and distempered imagination no longer haunt the brain and people our dreams, then it is that the lonely heart sits in silent abandonment, and even 'the willow that waves in the wind,' terrifies like a ghost of other times; associations rise, names startle, and in proportion as distance from the event diminishes the natural _right_ to sympathy which great misfortunes claim in the first moments of their visitation, the delicate mind shrinks within itself fearful of repulse, and would hide its feelings even from the eye of day, lest it might seem to solicit a participation in those thoughts, which are too sacred to be shared. Caroline Douglas is not to be judged of by common-place criteria. When she and the partner of her affections took up their abode at Glenalta, they presented a picture of human felicity of which while 'memory holds her seat,' I shall never lose the most lively impression. Young, and united by the most perfect attachment, grounded upon an intimate and mutual acquaintance with disposition, character, sentiments, and opinions, the highest eulogium which it was possible to pass on either, might be comprised in one short sentence; they were formed for each other. Never did I behold two people knit together in bonds of love so tender, and friendship so rational. Every thought appeared to be held in common; and when they were conversing, it seemed as if the lips of one only gave utterance to that which in the same instant had started into life within the breast of the other. So perfect was the harmony of their souls, that every idea which arose in either mind, was caught by the other at a glance, improved and beautified ere it was reflected back again. In short, it was impossible that any one whose lot was not already cast, should enjoy the privilege of their intimacy, without becoming enamoured of a state capable of producing such celestial happiness as they were permitted to taste; while in proportion as the mind was disposed to offer a tribute of _abstract_ homage at the altar of hymen, the dread of risking individual experiment would as naturally arise, lest mistaking an exception for the rule, disappointment should ensue as the fruit of imitation. But there are very few who marry upon the principles which governed their union; and to expect similar results from discordant motives, is to look for grapes on thorns, and figs on thistles. My friends were mutually attracted by esteem, as well as affection. They did not join their destinies upon the ground of external vanity, or the sordid views of worldly aggrandisement. Their's was not a marriage of two estates; they knew what to desire: they were aware of what they wanted, and were contented with what they possessed. How often have I heard them talk of riches and poverty, in this place where you and I are now sitting! how often heard them agree that a larger share of fortune's favour might render them less dependent perhaps, upon each other for happiness, and consequently, diminish the sum of it; thus would they render privation a subject for gratitude, through the love that they bore to each other."

"What a picture of earthly bliss," said I, "have you drawn, and what a separation was that of two beings so united!"

"Aye, it was indeed a picture worth going any distance to gaze upon! It was a lesson never to be forgotten. Minds like those which I have been attempting to describe, possess the art of harmonizing every thing with which they come in contact in unison with themselves. True refinement inheres _within_, and no more derives its character from outward trappings, than heaven's gift of symmetry owes its fair proportions to the fringes with which fashion encumbers its beauty. In a cottage where luxury never visited, inborn elegance fixed her abode. A favorite author of mine says, that if death were considered stripped of the dreadful paraphernalia which generally attends its mournful presence, half its horrors would be annihilated. Of poverty, we may say the same. Vulgar people bring the machinery of life in all its ugliness and indelicacy before you. It is not whether your tables are of mahogany or deal; your dishes of china or delft which distinguishes _refinement_ from its opposite. It is the soul that presides at the banquet. All this was so instinctively understood, by these pattern specimens of human nature, that dignity and ease, polish and simplicity, were the never-failing companions of their humble home. It is a theme which makes me forgetful of time. We will now bend our steps towards Lisfarne."

As we rose, he continued:--

"Over the misery which succeeded, I must, like Timanthes of old, draw a veil, for it was too painful to contemplate, even in painting. Douglas was snatched in the prime of life from the beloved of his bosom, from whom to part was the only anguish which religion had not yet taught him to endure with heavenly resignation. Even this bitter draught he learned at length to drink with Christian fortitude. No language could describe the scene of sorrow that I witnessed afterwards; but years have rolled away; the dear survivor lives to be a blessing still; and while with cheerfulness she can now mingle in the innocent gaieties of her children, her heart is set on heaven where she hopes for re-union with the only loved of earth."

Here ended a recital which I felt deeply interesting, partly perhaps because the actors in this sad tale were my nearest relations, and partly too on account of the noble characters which it pourtrayed. Falkland, I am growing serious in this place, and shall lose my spirits if I stay much longer here.

As we turned from the _sacred_ promontory, Mr. Otway playfully shook my elbow, and, by a sudden change in the modulation of his voice, made me feel that we were not to dwell any longer on the topic which had occupied the preceeding hour. At his request I gave him a history of my _life and adventures_. We talked of you, and I so completely _fired_ him by my subject, that he has taken your address, and means immediately to write to young Stanhope who, with his tutor, (a nephew, by the bye of Oliphant's) is to be at Pisa about the time of your arrival there, to make your acquaintance with all suitable activity. Mr. Otway gives a good character of his ward, so that probably you may find him worth knowing; but if not for his own sake, you will I am assured _fly to the meeting_ for the sake of your romance; and consider the youth as a link in that mysterious _concatenation_, by which your fate _or_ your fancy is bound to Glenalta.

Before we re-entered the house, Mr. Otway desired me to follow him down a winding-path, at the end of which I found myself within a nice little enclosure, sheltered by a hawthorn hedge which was bursting into a sheet of fragrant blossoms. "This is my botanic garden," said my companion, "and I must not forget to send Fanny some plants which I promised her. Here, Howard, help me to take these to the gardener, and he shall send them over to my little pupil."

"I will take them myself in the evening," said I, "and shall have the benefit of appearing very learned, if you will tell me their names. Emily has extracted a promise from me in our walk from the mountain this morning, to put myself under her tuition while I remain in these flowery regions, so the sooner I begin my task the better."

"You are very right," replied 'mine host;' "knowledge is never a burthen; and when the news of London is once told, and the stimulus of novelty wears off, we shall then feel the full value of such pursuits as at once sustain social communion, exercise common curiosity, and employ the powers of the understanding."

"You told me this morning, Mr. Otway, that you think the mania for education is outrunning its natural progress; and that it is the fashion at present to overleap the barrier of prudence in a premature and forced extension of learning. May I not urge your zeal in favour of female cultivation as somewhat inconsistent with this theory? Setting all jocularity aside, and banishing _nicknames_, as you call them, from our inquiry, will you tell me if utility be the measure by which you ascertain and determine the question of what possible use is education, beyond the polite limits of fashionable acquirement amongst the higher orders, and the necessary qualifications for a housewife in the lower classes? Can women keep schools for our youth? Can women occupy professors' chairs? Are women called upon to write works of science? In short, do women ever _want_ all this lore? and if not, might not their time be more valuably employed in cultivating the delightful arts of pleasing? I confess to you," added I, "that I have a little scheme of trying to save Fanny, who is as yet a child, and a very engaging one too, from going through the ordeal which her sisters have passed. They are sweet girls, and certainly have contributed to soften my prejudices exceedingly against learned ladies. Still, however, it is a pity not to spare Fanny the trouble as well as the hazard of becoming one. _You_ are so looked up to at Glenalta, that if you are on the opposition benches I may despair of a majority, so pray answer me seriously."

"I will, indeed," answered Phil, "though I cannot help laughing at your pity and intended kindness, for which, however the _motive_ may secure your pardon, my little Fan would certainly not thank you as gratefully as you expect. To answer your question will in no wise perplex me. Utility is a test by which I am very well satisfied to abide; and, if we try the matter at present in debate by that rule, I think I shall be able to convince you, that unless in _our_ sex education is to lower its tone, or be neglected, there can be no doubt of the advantage which would be gained by the solid instruction of the female world. You grant that it is to women we ought to look for all that is most valuable in first impressions. Boys rarely quit their homes before ten years of age, and girls, not generally speaking, till they marry. It seems then to require no argument to prove, that upon a mother's being fond of her home, and satisfied with the pleasures of her domestic fire-side, must depend an _inclination_ to give up society abroad for the good of her family; at least you will grant, without difficulty that, though a sense of duty may do much with the truly conscientious, the union of duty and inclination will work double tides--so far we must be agreed. Now the question which remains is, _how_ the love of home may be produced, and here I should have no hesitation in saying, by a marriage, in which the greatest portion of sympathy can be found, and, consequently, the greatest number of common pursuits. The amusements of young men at the present day--I mean the majority are such as no female can join in--hunting, shooting, horse-racing, pugilism, rowing matches, are diversions exclusively appertaining to the mass of our male population of the gentry class. Now we will, if you please, suppose two families:--the first shall be composed of a Gentleman, who has been bred at one of the great schools without making a figure in scholarship of any kind, and who, having passed through the University in a manner equally undistinguished, and vapoured at balls, concerts, and parties, lost his money at play, and gone the rounds of fashionable dissipation, marries at length to repair his fortune and improve his interest; and a young Lady who plays on the harp and piano forte, draws a little, dances and dresses according to the last French receipt. This happy pair set up an establishment. If rich, they live in a whirl of company, sometimes at home, but more frequently abroad. When children come, they are committed to the care of servants and the nursery governess, till a time arrives for sending the boys to school, and exchanging the humble services of the infant teacher for the _Ma'amoiselle_, who, more like a dancing dog than a human being, takes charge of the girls, and becomes the guardian of their religion, morals, and manners! Perhaps you interrupt me, ere my conclusion be drawn, to observe that this representation only applies to what are called the higher circles. Very well--be it so; you shall have the advantage of a second statement upon _your_ side before I contrast it with _my_ view of the subject. Let us suppose a Gentleman of a thousand a year, or a Professional man, the former may, or may not, have profited more by his school and collegiate course than the man of fashion. The latter is obliged to plod his weary way through law or physic for his daily bread. These Gentlemen marry, and, according to the present modes of female education, are not likely to be much happier than our former Benedick; for a young Lady, now-a-days, whose fortune is no more than a thousand pounds, learns exactly the same things which are taught to the daughters of a Duke; and it depends upon original genius whether her accomplishments be more or less shining than those of her more splendid models. But music and drawing, however well performed, can enter but a little way into the happiness of a fire-side in the country, or that of a Barrister or Physician in town, when compared with the comforts which _might_ result from a different order of things. Take a peep now into a _menage_, such as I wish were not too often to be found only in an air-built castle."

"Imagine a well-educated man, who, not stopping at the animal qualifications of eating, drinking, boxing, and fox-hunting, has cultivated his mind, and acquired a taste for literature, will not such a man be likely to enjoy more happiness at home, if he has a companion capable of participating in his most rational gratifications? Will a sensible man admire an amiable woman less, because in addition to whatever personal qualities may have endeared her to his affections, she is possessed of solidly useful knowledge which she is capable of imparting to her offspring? Surely not; to maintain the contrary, would be to pass the severest censure on our sex. A woman is neither less pretty, less elegant, less kind, nor less accomplished of _necessity_, because she has read and loves reading; and, considering her _own_ happiness, can there be any question respecting the advantage of books as a source of amusement as well as usefulness, above all the lighter acquirements above enumerated? The former pass away with the careless gaiety of youth. The rising generation steps close upon the heels of that which has immediately preceded it; and as novelty is the very essence of fashion, the singing which has been heard, and the dancing which has been seen for a few successive winters cease to charm, and newer attractions occupy the stage. How much would the respect of children towards their mothers be increased, were women, generally speaking, capable of taking part in the instruction of a family, attending to their interests, exercising a sound judgment on their progress, and accompanying their pursuits! Reflect upon the numbers who are left widows to guide sons, as well as daughters, through the thorny paths of life? Is it of no importance that a woman, whom it has pleased God to make the solitary guardian of a youthful progeny, should place her affections on higher objects than dress, cards, theatres? Is it of no use that she should be able to direct the eternal interests of her children, and watch, as a careful nurse, over their temporal welfare? And will she be less the object of veneration and love, because every hour of the day presents some variety of cheerful companionship, where utility and pleasure go hand in hand, and knowledge is delightful, because associated with maternal tenderness? Believe not such untruths, my dear Howard, and if you ever marry, beware of those idle butterflies who, having skimmed through a summer's day, flutter their fading wings and are forgotten. Such women are, indeed, but children of a larger growth, and totally unfit for the responsibility which devolves upon them. But do not suppose that by a sweeping clause, as false as it would be uncharitable, I mean to include the _entire_ world of fashion in the denunciation which I have pronounced against modern modes and manners. There are some beautiful exceptions, which not only have escaped contagion, but which illustrate my position by being themselves amongst its brightest examples. It is the _general_ evil of which I complain, and unless women will stand their _own_ friends, and resist the tyranny of opinion which, if it proceed much farther in its present course, bids fair to deprive them of those faculties which Heaven has bountifully bestowed, they may rest assured that their power will daily decline; both sexes will degenerate, and the rude supremacy of physical strength will be at last resorted to, to complete female subjugation, and bring the civilized world again to a state of barbarism from which it will slowly emerge."

Just as I was going to reply, a servant announced Mr. Bentley. A young man entered the room, and we were ere long summoned to dinner. Nothing could be more agreeable than the trio. You see that I include myself in the compliment to our good humour, ease, and festivity. Phil. is an extraordinary man, and I am much _taken_ with him. He is a perfect Encyclopedia, as little Fanny called him, and literally seems to know every thing; but so absolutely is he divested of the pomps and ceremony of literature, that it is only by the fulness of your own mind, and the number of new ideas that you find in your brain, that you discover the superiority of him from whom you have derived such accession to your thoughts. We ate, drank, and were merry.

Bentley is a very sensible young man, and a near neigbour of Mr. Otway's.

I suppose that I must tell you what we talked of. Well, I am patiently going through my task of _minute_ narrative in the beginning; but by the time that you are acquainted with the characters around me, through these my _masterly_ sketches you must prepare to take your leave of such reports. I shall write regularly, and mention whatever incidents may occur; but to hold on in this method, of repeating every word that is uttered, would be more than flesh and blood are equal to. Besides, should money fall short, you may take advantage of me, and make a book out of these my voluminous materials. Thus forestalling, for all you can possibly tell, my intentions of giving so many sapient observations as I have committed to paper, one day myself to the world.

Well, but you want to know who Bentley is, and what we talked about. As to who a young man, living in the county of Kerry in Ireland, may be, I am not quite ready to answer though _faute d'autres sujets_, I shall inquire more concerning him; perhaps somewhat more determined in my design so to do, from having remarked a scarlet blush pass over his cheek at dinner when Charlotte's name was mentioned.

In these back settlements there is nothing to do, but exercise the skill of a calm observer; and I expect to be quite _au fait_ as a critic in every thing appertaining to countenance, by the time that I return to the world. As to conversation we had a great deal of one sort or other. Some politics, some anecdote, some I know not what, pleasant enough, but nothing striking. I remember only two remarks that I shall take the trouble of exporting to Pisa. We were speaking of Scott's Novels (for I take the liberty of calling them his, notwithstanding all the denials which are cited to prove the contrary[A]) and I instanced these and some other works of fiction which are justly celebrated, and of recent publication, to support my opinion, that the present genius of literature stands upon a lofty pedestal in comparison with former times, adding "what can be a stronger argument in favour of modern wisdom than that _such_ books are the recreation of our contemporaries?" A stranger just set down in England might naturally say, if this be _amusement_, what are the _serious_ studies in this country? And if, as some writer has said, "tell me your diversions, and I'll tell you what you are," carry any weight, we may fairly claim to high pre-eminence."

[Footnote A: The authorship of the Novels has been avowed by Sir Walter Scott since this letter was written.]

"And deserve it too," answered Phil., "if we do not push the argument too far. The present day furnishes us some admirable samples in the department of fiction; but I question much if you will not find, that novels, with a large portion of existing men, and women, make the _business_, as well as the relaxation of their reading hours. The novels of our time are like letters of marque. They are _armés en flute_ for war or merchandize, _alias_ for instruction or entertainment; and if people will not read any thing more serious we must be happy that there _is_ a method of riveting attention by cloathing good sense in the light drapery of fiction. Thousands are led on to better things than they are promised by a pleasant tale; and I rejoice to perceive a growing sense of accountableness in the writers who supply the present rage for new publications. I see a consciousness arising amongst novelists and the editors of reviews and magazines that the morbid diseases induced by _mental_ opium eating (if you will allow me the image) threaten paralysis and, would inevitably lead to dissolution of all intellectual energy, if not arrested in their progress. Several are usefully employed in applying alterations, and endeavouring to bring about a more healthful action of the rational powers. Let us earnestly desire a blessing on every effort of this nature, and give our best individual support even to story, when, like the useful wedge, it is successful in sliding in, what would not find its way into the hands of half mankind unaided by such an instrument." The remark struck me as valid, and I had the grace to say so. Led on from one topic to another, in which this excellent man discovered so much knowledge of life as perfectly to amaze me, I turned to young Bentley, and said, "I have often heard people obtain credit for extraordinary acquaintance with the world, and wherever this has been the case, such skill has been attributed to travelling, and a widely spreading communion with various classes of men; but it sometimes strikes me as matter of surprise to find the acutest sense of all that is doing on the great theatre, in a retired corner of the earth, apparently shut out from all the bustle, vice, and folly, that pervade the world."

Bentley replied, "I know not to whom you may apply for information on _this_ head, more appropriately than to my good friend of Lisfarne, who contrives to know mankind so well without going amongst them. Let us ask him how he manages to find them out?"

"Were it really the case," answered Phil. "that I am better informed than my neighbours in the science which you ascribe to me; a point which I utterly dissent from, I should be apt perhaps to take credit for my skill as resulting from the very reason that, according to your view, might excuse its deficiency, namely, to those retired habits which lead me to study a few, rather than glance my eye over a multitude. It is with men as with books. You may skim over too great a number to read any with profit. With some few exceptions, the characters of which mankind is made up, are easily classified; and if you master a score of distinct specimens from each tribe with care and accuracy, you will find the sum of your knowledge considerably to exceed that which has been gleaned from a larger surface, where less attention has been brought to the task of investigation. A certain impatience of decision leads people frequently to pronounce upon as anomalies, what a severer scrutiny would prove to be well understood, and belonging to accredited divisions of human character."

"I seldom meet with a _real_ non-descript, though appearances may puzzle me for a time, and though I have not been in a crowd for many years, I meet in succession with individuals of all sorts, and perhaps am enabled to form a more discriminating judgment of each single figure as it passes before me than I could do were my mind distracted by many objects together. The whole being made up of parts, one may give a shrewd guess at the collective effect from acquaintance with the separate atoms."

"From what you say," said I, "a man ought to live _out_ of the world, to judge rightly of those men who compose it."--"No, my young friend, not quite so _terse_. There is no more _necessary_ connection between knowledge of the world and retirement, than between naval tactics and an old gentleman sitting by his fireside in Hampshire; yet it so happened, that the present system of breaking the line, which was of such astonishing importance to us in the last war, was the invention of a man unconnected with naval affairs, and who, marshalling a parcel of cherry-stones after dinner upon his table, proved to a practical understanding how the object could be achieved, and what a Clarke projected, was accomplished by a Rodney."

"_In_ the world or _out_ of the world sagacity may find materials upon which to work, and it will depend on the acuteness of that sagacity to arrive at eminence in the knowledge of man.--Where this is furnished, I should believe retirement, I do not mean solitude, to be more favorable to sound discrimination than a busy scene, because more likely to secure against precipitancy of judgment. On the whole, we may see, and hear, a great deal too much with our _outward_ senses. The principal defect of the present day is want of reflection. The provision, the apparatus for conveying instruction to the mind is superb, but exactly in proportion to these "tricking facilities" is the deficiency of original thinking. When books were few, and purchased with difficulty, they were intensely studied. The mind was forced to be in some sort its own library. The treasures of learning were committed to memory, and the intellect traded upon its internal resources; the capital was frequently turned, and mental riches crowned exertion; but the multiplication of _means_ often retards the _end_, and the understanding is encumbered with help."

"But pray, sir, if we gain more in expansion than we lose in depth, is not the balance on our side? Now that the press is teeming with instruction brought down to the level of _all_ capacities, are we not advancing by rapid strides to a full developement of the reasoning faculty, and approaching that happy termination of ignorance so devoutly to be wished for?"

"I do not agree with you, Howard. If you desire my opinion, it must be given in the negative. I am an old-fashioned fellow, and many of my notions are desperately heretical in these days of display. I cannot help prefering substance to shadows, and depth to surface. I love real improvements, not mere changes. In some instances we _are_ improving. The exact sciences are making progress, and so are those arts which depend upon the application of their principles. Chemistry, mechanics, &c. advance, and there is a disposition to reward the talent that is exhibited in forwarding them to perfection; but I maintain that the system of school and collegiate education for our youth requires reform. The best part of life, as regards some of our mental powers, is frittered away in learning badly two dead languages, to the neglect of better things at school; and at the Universities much might be done to effect a better order of things than prevails in any of them. Then, with respect to the prevailing taste in literature, it is too much devoted to _stimulus_. We have too many new books, and too many young authors. Some expatiating in the labyrinths of moral paradox--others in the wild regions of uncontrolled imagination; and so on. Whatever is _new_, is devoured with avidity, and so great is the quantity, so pulp-like the quality, of this literary pabulum, that the digestive organs are destroyed, and the mind is seldom exercised for itself."

As Phil. finished the last sentence, his old servant opened the door, and in ran Frederick, followed by the redoubtable Domine. A general commotion ensued. Much shaking of hands, inquiries after health, friends, and all the etceteras which are hurried over in the first ten minutes after meeting succeeded, I was presented; and while Mr. Otway was engaged with Oliphant, and Fred. was interchanging civilities with Mr. Bentley, I sat examining the object of my fearful anticipations. Imprimis, he has no wig, but a fine expansive front with a clean bald pate. His hair "a sable silvered," scantily _set_, but curling naturally in a _fringe_ round the back of his head, and a countenance full of benevolence, and sparkling with affection.

Yes, it is a true bill. Here are more fruits of Prophecy and Prejudice, quoth you!--I will give up _anticipating_.--It will save me a great deal of plague in future, not to think of people till they cross my path, and are actually before my eyes.

Before we set out on the return to Glenalta, I was as easy as an old shoe with Oliphant; but all his quaint practice and methodistical habits are hanging over _in terrorem_.

On the following day, which was Saturday, we met as usual at breakfast, and immediately afterwards, I was called by the girls and Frederick to come and see the treasures of which their tutor had been the escort. On entering the Library, I saw a valuable addition to the book-shelves; Clarke's Bible, handsomely, but unshewily bound, for my aunt; the Flora and Pomona Londinensis for Emily; a capital Biographical Dictionary for Charlotte; a fine Herodotus for Fred; and Withering's Botany for Fan. Besides these were writing-desks, drawing-books, pencils, port-folios, and a parcel containing the Pirates, Kenilworth, Quentin Durward, and the Inheritance, as food for the "Evening hour." In short, Domine must have been literally built up in the _stack_ which brought him, as tightly as poor Rose de Beverley in the dungeon wall; and to have seen the good man _deterré_ from such a mass of matter must have been diverting enough.

These various objects of acquisition were all gifts of Mr. Otway, who had made his own remarks upon the wants and wishes of his neighbours, and written to Oliphant accordingly, to come laden with whatever he thought most likely to gratify the family group. It is impossible to form an idea of the advantages in _one_ respect which people living in these outposts of mankind possess over the civilized world. If my mother and sisters require a packet of books, or any thing else, from town, Gibson is ordered to write, the things come per next mail. Turner, my mother's maid, opens the store, and the contents are spread upon tables, where perhaps they lie for days before they are observed, and when looked at, are either to be returned, or if retained, it is ten to one if they produce the slightest degree of animation. Here the minds of the little party are so alive and fresh, that one catches the contagion; and I found myself bustling through wrapping papers and twine with an eagerness which I certainly never experienced upon the arrival of a similar importation at Selby.

"We have been so long _wishing_ for these," said Emily, "that they are quite a mine of happiness."

"Yes," answered Charlotte, "and how magical are our dear Phil.'s guesses, for he always discovers what one _wants_ most." "And I," added Fanny, "am just expiring to be off to Lisfarne, with a budget of thanks to our necromancer."

We all dispersed after this library scene; the young people to shew Mr. Oliphant puppies, kittens, young pheasants, and sundry other live stock, which had either grown or been acquired during his absence, and I, after promising to walk with my aunt in an hour or two, filed off to my room to fold up this enormous volume. On looking over my journal before doing so, I perceived an omission: you desired me to tell you more of the _tastes_ of my fair friends in dress, furniture, _etcetera_, I thought that I had given you a _coup d'[oe]il_ which might have sufficed; but if you must have more, learn now, and for ever after hold your peace, that you may walk from top to bottom of this house without hitching your skirts in any of the fopperies of a modern _boudoir_. There is no danger of being entangled amongst a nest of spider-tables covered with china, or of overturning a chiffoniere burthened with flower-pots. There are no scraps of japan, nor _odds_ and _ends_ of any sort to molest a visitor, and interrupt conversation. Glenalta is furnished with simplicity and convenience: the general _character_, is that of chaste uniformity, without any thing of the _drab_ of quakerism. A few good pictures ornament the walls both of drawing-room and parlour. Some handsome busts in bronze give a finish to the bookcases of the library; and the hall, which is light and airy, has a very good appearance as you enter the house. The furniture is solid, and there is every real comfort of polished life to be found in its place without any exhibition of finery or _nick-knackery_, if I may coin a word for the occasion.--Altogether the best idea I can convey of my aunt's dwelling, is by telling you what it is _not_: it is _not_ a _shew_-house--it is _not_ a fashionable house, neither has it the cold, raw, uninhabited look of an English provincial residence; but it is strictly clean, bright, _easy_ looking, and has an air of unpretending elegance.

Now, as to dress, hang me if I know the names of any manufacture; but I told you before, that the cousins have very pretty figures, beautiful hair, and are always perfectly _presentable_. They do not wear the gaudy colouring of the French school, nor are they squeezed as if in a vice, to look like wasps, without any visible connecting link to unite the upper and lower parts of the body. There is a natural grace and gentility in every movement; and the _effect_ is pleasing to the eye from the _repose_ which it meets with, equally remote from _excitement_ on the one hand, and torpor on the other.

What can I tell you more particular? And had I not better say Adieu at once, than add to this mighty mass of paper by further general description?

Your affectionate friend,
ARTHUR HOWARD.