"The strange powers which lieWithin the magic circle of the eye."
"The strange powers which lieWithin the magic circle of the eye."
But had she thus quickly subdued all the rebel feelings, that so lately had mocked the calm control of reason? Oh, no! The smile that quivers round the trembling lip may play but to conceal the throb of agony. Even the melancholy sepulchre sometimes looks bright in the splendid beam of the sun; and the admiring spectator thinks not of the darkness and horror that reign within. At that moment Adelaide's heart was the tomb of hope. When she entered the breakfast room, Mr. Webberly stared at her like another Cymon, when Iphigenia first appeared to his wondering view. After gazing at her for some moments, he drew his breath, which had been repressed by his admiration, so as to give utterance to a most audible sigh; at the same time resolving, that, when she was Mrs. Webberly, she should always wear rouge. "When she has a colour (thought he) there is not a handsomer woman in all Lunnon.—At this very instant she looks as grand as Madame Catalani, when she acts that Di—Di—that virago queen, that burned herself like a fool. What a figure we shall cut when I drive her round the ring at the Park, in an open landaulet, with four dashing horses, and two out-riders, in smart liveries! No; I think I'll sit beside her; the fellows will envy me so! and have two postilions, with purple velvet caps, and jackets trimmed with gold lace!" Having thus settled his equipage to his satisfaction, he came up to the intended mistress of it, saying, with all the tenderness of accent he could command, "There is no body, Miss Wildenheim, I envy so much as Mrs. Temple; you used always to be so glad when you saw her; I should be the happiest man alive, if a letter from me would make you look so gay as hers has done."
A deeper hue painted Adelaide's cheek, and a still brighter beam sparkled in her eye. "What strange figure is that?" said she, laughing, and avoiding any direct reply; "mounted like the farrier of Tamworth, 'on a mare of four shilling?'" The equestrian, that thus attracted her notice, was one of a most unusual description. A sallow, meagre object was mounted on one of the rough mountain horses of the country; a straw rope served as bridle; and, instead of saddle, he sat on a well filled sack, wearing a coarse blanket, fastened under his chin, not to serve as a garment, as she unknowingly supposed, but to hide the good condition of those it concealed. "What's your business, good man?" inquired Miss Fitzcarril.—"I'm a stranger, and ye have a good name in the country, lady dear; and I'm just come to seek your charity, in God's name."—"What's that you've got in the sack?"—"Pratees and meal, honey."—"And where did you get that horse?"—"Troth, I bought him at the fair, last Tursday was tree weeks." "I've nothing for you, good man: many's the time I've heard of setting a beggar on horseback, but I never saw one till now." The following Saturday this hero returned on the same errand, but without his horse, still however retaining his blanket. Miss Fitzcarril's lynx's eye recognized him instantly; indeed such a peculiar figure could hardly have escaped the notice of the most casual observer. She inquired where he had left his horse? He very quietly answered, "Ye were no ways agreeable to him, jewel, the last time I was here, so I just hitched him up at the gate there below[3]!"
In the middle of this assembly of beggars, four gentlemen and a lady rode up to the door; and Mr. Webberly turned away with an expression of mortification, when he saw Adelaide kiss her hand to Colonel Desmond, who jumped off his horse, and, with his niece and Mr. Donolan, quickly entered the house; whilst his brother, with his characteristic jocularity, stopped to jest with the women on the outside, his son standing by in silence to enjoy the fun. When they, in a few minutes' time, joined their party within, the mendicant dames said one to another, "God bless his merry honour, but master Harry is a hearty gentleman[4]!"
Mr. Desmond was a very handsome man, tall, stout, and well made; his face, manner, and words expressive of the greatestbonhomie, mirth, and joviality. He had no pretensions whatsoever, but was one of the few, who openly dare to appear precisely what they are. He went through the world finding amusement in every person he met, whether beggar or king; laughing at himself, and with every body else: he danced, rode, and sung admirably; and particularly excelled in the composition of electioneering songs and squibs. His family had, for centuries, lost their blood and their property, in every rebellion Ireland was agitated by; but, about sixty years ago, had become protestants and loyalists in the same day; and, as the Irish are never lukewarm in any thing, Mr. Desmond now figured as Orange-man, captain of a yeomanry corps, freemason, and magistrate of the most approved zeal, which, however, his natural good disposition kept within the pale of humanity. Miss Desmond, who accompanied her father and uncle in this visit, was mentally and personally a softened resemblance of the former. She was just then fifteen, but so extremely tall and womanly in stature, that the spectator was constantly obliged to refer to her face, to correct the false calendar expressed by her figure. Thedilettante, in the true spirit of hypercriticism, congratulated himself on having discovered, that she was not symmetrically formed; but though some said, "She would be a fine woman," and some that "She would be a coarse woman," all were agreed, that in the mean time she was a very lovely girl. Her features were not perfect, but her countenance was frank, good natured, and vivacious: a pair of laughing eyes sent forth from beneath their shading lashes fairy messengers of mirth, to dimple her blooming cheek, or pucker up the corners of her eye-lids. In manner, though she was not impudent, she was not bashful, perhaps from the total absence of self-conceit, which never led her to suppose she occupied a place in the thoughts of those who did not love her; and on the partiality of those who did she relied implicitly. Until her uncle fixed his residence at her father's house, she was nearly as wild as the heaths that surrounded it. But the observer of nature is well aware, that in such uncultivated regions blooms many a flower, whose beauty is more exquisite than that of those the art of man raises in the brilliant parterre. Some happy star seemed to rule over Melicent Desmond, that saved her from the very verge of what was unlovely in woman. She was so tall, she would have looked masculine, but for the fairest complexion in the world, which gave her face, neck, and arms a most feminine appearance. The expression of her countenance was so droll, it would have been satirical, but for the kindness of heart it beamed with. She was so lively she was almost boisterous; and any other girl, equally careless of her attire, would have seemed untidy. But all her looks, words, and actions had a peculiar charm, that, though none would or could have imitated them, few were so harsh as to condemn; and, in the very act of censure, the face of the speaker expressed fondness and admiration, of which nobody could define to themselves the cause: she seized upon the affections with a sort of arbitrary power, which defied the remonstrances of reason, when it did not receive her sanction. This dear girl was the idol of her parents and her uncle: but the latter, though most anxious to see her all that was delightful in a female character, was extremely cautious in the line of conduct he adopted towards her; he rather sought to add, than to change, and was not a little fearful of "improving for the worse," as his countrymen emphatically express the effects arising from a spirit of false refinement:
"Many are spoil'd by that pedantic throng,Who with great pains teach youth to reason wrong:Tutors, like virtuosoes, oft inclin'd,By strange transfusion to improve the mind,Draw off the sense we have, to pour in new,Which yet with all their skill they ne'er could do."
"Many are spoil'd by that pedantic throng,Who with great pains teach youth to reason wrong:Tutors, like virtuosoes, oft inclin'd,By strange transfusion to improve the mind,Draw off the sense we have, to pour in new,Which yet with all their skill they ne'er could do."
He more judiciously confined his endeavours to furnishing her with ideas and examples, leaving it to her unbiassed judgment to choose amongst them, and make what she pleased her own. He now wished to give her the advantage of associating, as much as possible, with Adelaide, noticing her perfections but generally, and trusting to Melicent's discernment to analyse each particular charm, unaided, save by the happy benevolence of disposition, which would make such an exercise of her faculties the first of all pleasures. He had accordingly lost no time in making his brother call on the strangers, for the purpose of inviting them to Bogberry Hall. It was settled, in this visit, that the party from Ballinamoyle should dine at Mr. Desmond's house early in the ensuing week, where they should remain till the following day, as the distance was too great to permit of returning at night.
Mr. O'Sullivan prevailed on the Desmonds to join his family circle at dinner; and when they prepared to return home in the evening, Colonel Desmond said to Adelaide, in a low voice, "I hope Melicent has not shocked you by her brogue; I find it most difficult to cure." "Oh, don't try to alter her accent, (replied she) she speaks the prettiest Irish! Any thing that would make her less original, would take from her charms: she is one of the most captivating creatures I ever saw." His only answer was a parting pressure of her hand, which conveyed his thanks for her admiration of his niece, and meant more than he yet ventured to express in words. "How different she is from Melicent, (thought he), yet how charming!"
A lover and an uncle could not be supposed to be expert at definition, otherwise he might have said, that the one amused the fancy, whilst the other touched the heart.
Be my plan,To live as merry as I can,Regardless how the fashions go,Whether there's reason for't, or no.Be my employment here on earth,To give a lib'ral scope to mirth.Churchill.
Be my plan,To live as merry as I can,Regardless how the fashions go,Whether there's reason for't, or no.Be my employment here on earth,To give a lib'ral scope to mirth.
Churchill.
Bogberry Hall was the abode of mirth and glee: there was nothing but rattling, and ranting, and singing, and dancing, from morning till night. The family living in it, consisted of nine happy children, with an indulgent, tender mother, remarkable for nothing, except her good nature, and careful attention to their wants and pleasures. This house was never without company staying in it, principally relations; for the Desmonds had first, second, and third cousins innumerable. The actual income of the family was not large, in proportion to their numbers; but the advantage of situation supplied them with almost every thing they consumed at a low rate; and many rents, that a non-resident would have found it impossible to get, were compounded for, partly in kind, partly in labour. When any body condoled with Mr. Desmond on his large family, he used to say, "The more the merrier; there never was a child sent into the world, that it did not bring its portion with it; I wish I had thirty of them." Calming his mind with this idea, he determined to make them, as long as he was alive, as merry as possible; for, in his vocabulary, merriment and happiness were synonymous. A very necessary part of his establishment, for this purpose, were two fiddlers and a piper. One of the former was then absent on rather a singular errand.—Miss Sophy Desmond had been put to school at Galway, and he was sent to board in the same house, that he might play for her to dance every evening, and "keep her from thinking long after home." The cause of Sophy's being sent to school was as singular as her strange accompaniment. One of Melicent's favourite pastimes the year before had been to get up on the horses that carried fish, poultry, or eggs, in a sort of open panniers called creels, to her father's house for sale; and whilst her mother was giving a dram, or buying chickens three to the couple, away she went "o'er moor and mountain," amusing herself with the alarm she should cause, and the hunt there would be after her. One day a horse was brought to Bogberry Hall, carrying two wooden churns, one containing eggs, the other buttermilk. Melicent scrambled up the side, and seating herself between them, off she set; but while she was galloping along much to her satisfaction, in making a leap over a pit in the bog before her father's gate, the covers of the churns came off, and she was soused with the milk on one side, and pelted with the eggs on the other. The horse took fright, and carried her in this condition miles round the country, without hat or cloak. She was at last met by some gentlemen, who brought her home, her clothes dripping wet, and her face and hair stiff with the contents of the egg shells. The conclusion her friends drew from this adventure was, that asMelicentwas quite spoiled,Sophymust be sent to school directly. Miss Desmond's coadjutor in all such pranks (which however she had much intermitted since the above-mentioned unlucky day) was her brother Launcelot, an arch boy, one year younger than herself, who, to plague his cousin "Dilly," as he called Mr. Donolan, now pretended to be yet more unpolished than he really was. These two were standing in the window of their mother's drawing-room, on the day on which she expected the party from Ballinamoyle to dinner, when they espied Mrs. O'Sullivan's gaudy equipage at some distance. "There, Melicent," said Launcelot, "there comes Tidy-ideldy and Big bow bow," as he had christened the two Miss Webberlys. "I declare, Lanty," replied his sister, "when I saw that ugly Miss Webberly at dinner the other day, with half a rose tree on her head, I could scarcely keep from saying to you, that she was 'the devil in a bush.'" "Oh fie, Melicent!" said Colonel Desmond, with an ill-suppressed smile, "such a great girl as you ought not to encourage that rude boy; it would be much more becoming for you to think of receiving your guests with politeness, than to employ yourself in finding names for them." "Don't be angry, uncle dear," said Melicent, coaxingly, "and I'll call her London Pride; and that dear beautiful Miss Wildenheim is Venus's looking-glass:—you have no objection to be Flos Adonis, uncle, I'm sure. Oh! I wish I was like her, and then you'd be quite pleas'd with me." "My dearest Melicent," said he, fondly, "I don't wish you to be like any body but yourself; only control your spirits to-day, that's a good girl."
In another window Mr. Donolan was expatiating on the merits of frogs stewed inredchampaigne, as he had eat them at theCafé de mille Colonnes; whilst his auditor, Mr. Desmond, was assiduously drawing up his mouth into a whistle, his usual preventive ofmal à proposlaughter. His lady was preparing to receive her guests on their entrance, which she did with much kindness, and with the ease of a person well accustomed to the office. The ladies from Ballinamoyle were escorted only by Captain Cormac, as Mr. Webberly had unfortunately sprained his ancle that morning too severely to admit of his moving off a couch, and his host remained at home in order to show him proper attention, and Father Dermoody never formed one of so large a party.
The company, when assembled, besides the party from Ballinamoyle and the Desmond family, consisted of the curate of the parish, the physician of the neighbourhood, a music-master, occasionally resident at Bogberry Hall, two smart beaux on a visit there from Limerick, and three very handsome girls of the name of Nevil, whom Mr. Desmond introduced to the English ladies as "Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death."
Miss Fitzcarril had hoped much from the effects of a rose-coloured satin gown and orange turban, on the heart of her promised spouse; and therefore great was her disappointment, and unfeigned were her expressions of regret, when she lamented the accident, which deprived the party of his "agreeable society." Miss Webberly, resolving to take thedilettante'saffections by acoup de main, had that day employed herself in a reperusal of the portable Cyclopædia, and had no less attended to the embellishment of her person, which she attiredà la Minerve, to give him a delicate proof of her just appreciation of his compliments.
But Cecilia Webberly lost no time in commencing a flirtation with him, for the sole purpose of plaguing her "sweet Meely." In this however she was disappointed, for he complimented the mind of the one nearly as much as the person of the other, hoping thus to earn an equal portion of the "diet of good humour" for himself, which was as necessary to the comfort of his moral existence, as the daily aliments which were required for his physical being. For the purpose of receiving and bestowing flattery, he took a favourable opportunity, afforded by a pause in conversation, of producing a gold fillagree case, in which a few yards of pink riband were rolled up, which some milliner of thePalais Royalhad persuaded him to buy, in order to mark them with the dimensions of the celebrated statues in theLouvre; and he had thus indefatigably measured every wrist, waist, head, and ancle of the collection; and now as unremittingly solicited every lady of his acquaintance to apply this test of symmetry to the corresponding parts of her own person. And many a female heart beat with anxious expectation as she passed the girdle of various Venuses round Her waist, in hopes some one might prove a fit cestus for herself.
By a little false play, Felix now proved Cecilia to be the exact counterpart of the celebrated Amazon of the Hall of the Laocoon, which considerably raised her in his and her own estimation. Mr. Desmond, seeing him preparing to roll this newline of beautyup, called him over, and whispered loud enough for Adelaide, who was sitting close by, to hear, "The ladies will be affronted if you don't measure them all, Dilly; it looks as if you didn't think they would be the right fit:—begin with Miss Wildenheim; I'll be bound the belt of theVenus de Mediciwill fit her as 'nate as a Limerick glove.'"
When thedilettante, in the most affected manner possible, presented Adelaide with the portion of the riband he had passed round the waist of the Medicean Venus, she politely, but gravely declined the honour with a dignity that repelled the officious fop; and turning to Melicent with a kind and anxious glance, by a half sentence conveyed to the intelligent girl her contempt and disapprobation of the erudite trifling. Colonel Desmond met her eye, and by looks thanked her both for the example and advice; and then said, "Why, Felix, if you were to measure wrists and waists by spherical trigonometry; indeed it would afford a laudable display of your science. I'm sure Miss Wildenheim would not suffer the dimensions of her arm to be found in any way less sublime." "Yes, indeed," exclaimed Melicent, "you're no better, Cousin Dilly, than a common habit-maker with that little yard. Why don't you make a surtout for the Venus you are so fond of talking about?" Though Mr. Desmond had set young Donolan on in hopes of seeing a high scene of comic effect take place between him and the ladies, as he never let pass any opportunity of quizzing him, in revenge for the contempt he on all occasions expressed for that country, which was the object of his own enthusiastic love; he grinned with delight to see him so mortified, whilst he at the same time felt much obliged to Adelaide for the good natured hint she had given to Melicent, which he had predetermined to convey himself, when it came to her turn to make the ridiculous exhibition. However, this votary of Momus could not consent to lose his fun entirely, and therefore said to the discontented connoisseur, "Don't be dash'd, Dilly, if the young ones are too shy, we'll try the old ladies;" and snapping the fillagree case out of his hand, he began with his own wife, and with much laughter found her circumference out of all just proportion. He then proceeded to Mrs. O'Sullivan, saying, "I'm shocked, madam, at my nephew's want of gallantry in not ascertaining the proportions of your figure before he took those of lesser beauties." "You're wastly polite, sir, but I bant so slim as I used to be; that ere belt wouldn't compress me now, though time was, Mr. Desmond, when I was the pride of Bagnigge Wells—I could show shapes with any of 'em." "But, my dear ma'am, if one won't do, two of them put together will, and then we can safely say, you have double the beauty of the best French Venus amongst them all. Here's for the honour of Old England," holding up the riband; and as she passed it round her waist, "I knew that," continued he, "it's allowed that one English can beat three Frenchmen; and I could have laid my life, that one full grown British beauty was at least equal to two of the first in France." Miss Fitzcarril simperingly anticipated her triumph, when she should give incontestable proof, that her waist was smaller than that of the finest model of sculptured symmetry. After making the modest, she consented to give ocular demonstration of the fact; and then, holding out one long bony fore-finger, put the tip of the other on its knuckle, saying, with the utmost exultation, "All that much less:" which circumstance she related with conscious pride to Mr. Webberly, the first time she saw him afterwards; and it will long afford an agreeable subject for Captain Cormac's compliments, who, in truth, had lately been rather at a loss for novelties of this kind.
Thedilettante, in an agony of tasteful horror, that the silk, which had encircled the divine form of the Medicean Venus, should have been contaminated by touching that of the stiffest old maid inConnaught, shuddered as he internally groaned, "Oh! the she Vandal! But what can a man of taste expect, who ventures to amalgamate in society with these modern Bœotians! May the genius of sculpture never again display herchefs d'œuvreto my enlightened gaze, if I ever make any further attempt to give these demi-savages a specimen of thebeau idéal." He had scarcely rolled up his riband with undissembled indignation, when dinner was announced. Had the tables on which it was served been as animated as Homer's, they would have groaned with the weight of supernumerary dishes, in all which, however, Mr. Donolan could not, with the aid of his glass, find any thing he could recommend Miss Cecilia Webberly to eat. "Not a particle of French cookery," said he, despairingly shrugging his shoulders, "except, perhaps, thatbashamele de veau roti—the piper and the fiddler make such a confounded noise, no one can be heard. Launcelot! you're next your father, ask him for some of it." "Anan!" said the youth, pretending to look quite stupid, "Ask your father to send Miss Cecilia Webberly some of thatbashamele de veau roti." "What in the name of the Lord does he mean, Milly?" said Lanty, turning to his sister; "faith and honour he never spakes legible now." "Legible, Lanty! indeed I think he speaks copperplate," replied Melicent; "it's some larded veal he wants."
All this time the piper and the fiddler were playing furiously out of tune in the hall. Mr. Desmond, addressing Adelaide, said, "I always make them play up a tune at dinner—it makes it sit light." "What a satisfaction it must be to you to support those poor blind men!" "Yes, and their being blind has an advantage you don't think of;—if I have a potato and herring for my dinner, they don't know but I sport three courses and a dessert." The noise of the piper and fiddler, of incessant laughing and talking, the clatter of knives and forks, joined to the giggling and chattering of the maid servants employed in washing plates, spoons, forks, and knives, in one common bucket, behind the half-closed parlour door, with occasional dialogues between them, such as, "Oh Jasus! I have brok the big dish, and my mistress will be raving!" "The devil mend you! what cale had you to be peeping in at the quality, with your face as black as my shoe; and when the master turned his head, ye made off in such a flusteration, ye let go your load." "Sarra matter! I'll get Miss Milly to spake a good word for me, and there'll be nothing about it." All these noises united were too much for Mr. Donolan, whose "nerves were finer than a spider's web," and he became quite cross. When Melicent complained of the heat, he said very gruffly, "It's no wonder you're hot, when you appear inbear skin." She pretended not to understand him:—he retorted—"Really, Melicent, if you have notgumptionenough to understand them, I cannot be dictionary to my ownbon mots." "Glossary, rather," thought Adelaide, "for I'm sure they are barbarous wit."
Whilst Mr. Donolan conveyed to hisinamorata, who was sitting beside him, by winks, and shrugs, and contortions of countenance, his knowledge of thesavoir vivre, he and she both, as well as the rest of the company, gave incontestable proof—(at least if there be any truth in the proverb, which tells us, "That the proof of the pudding is in the eating")—that Mrs. Desmond's bill of fare, though "gothic to the last degree"—was very palatable. They even condescended, after demolishing fish, flesh, fowl, and pastry, to partake of her floating island, served in a flat cut glass dish, which occupied the place of a modern plateau. After the ladies had given the dessert "honour due," and the gentlemen had drank "The king," and "All our true friends, and the devil take the false ones," and the "Ladies' inclinations," the fair part of the company retired to the drawing-room. Here Melicent, in great delight, showed her friends the new grand piano forte her uncle had bought for her in Dublin. "It was thoroughly well tuned," said she to Adelaide, "by Mr. Ingham this morning, that we might have the pleasure of hearing you play. My uncle says you are a perfect musician." Miss Cecilia Webberly bit her lips, but quickly consoled herself with the recollection, that he had never heard her sing; and, to turn the conversation, asked Miss Desmond if she drew; she replied in the negative, but produced a port-folio of fine drawings of her uncle's. Adelaide had seen most of them before, and looked at them with the deepest interest, as they brought past scenes to her memory. Melicent held up one that was quite new to her;—a lovely female figure, in the freshest bloom of youth, was depicted holding a scroll, which she was reading with evident pleasure. The painter had caught one of the softest blushes and most bewitching smiles, that ever gave to beauty her least resistible charm; whilst the drapery, which flowed round a form of perfect symmetry, seemed to have been arranged by the hand of the Graces. This drawing had been executed by one of the first masters at Vienna, from a sketch of Colonel Desmond's. On the margin of the drawing were the following verses, the first few words of which were written on the scroll the fair creature was supposed to read:
AdélaïdeParoît faite-exprès pour charmer;Et mieux que le galant Ovide,Ses yeux enseignent l'art d'aimerAdélaïde.D'AdélaïdeAh! que l'empire semble doux!Qu'on me donne un nouvel Alcide,Je gage qu'il file aux genouxD'Adélaïde.D'AdélaïdeFuyez le dangereux accueil:Tous les enchantemens d'ArmideSont moins à craindre qu'un coup d'œilD'Adélaïde.D'AdélaïdeQuand l'Amour eut formé les traits,Ma fois, dit-il, la cour de GnideN'a rien de pareil aux attraitsD'Adélaïde.Adélaïde,Lui dit-il, ne nous quittons pas:Je suis aveugle, sois mon guide;Je suivrai partout pas à pasAdélaïde.
AdélaïdeParoît faite-exprès pour charmer;Et mieux que le galant Ovide,Ses yeux enseignent l'art d'aimerAdélaïde.
D'AdélaïdeAh! que l'empire semble doux!Qu'on me donne un nouvel Alcide,Je gage qu'il file aux genouxD'Adélaïde.
D'AdélaïdeFuyez le dangereux accueil:Tous les enchantemens d'ArmideSont moins à craindre qu'un coup d'œilD'Adélaïde.
D'AdélaïdeQuand l'Amour eut formé les traits,Ma fois, dit-il, la cour de GnideN'a rien de pareil aux attraitsD'Adélaïde.
Adélaïde,Lui dit-il, ne nous quittons pas:Je suis aveugle, sois mon guide;Je suivrai partout pas à pasAdélaïde.
TRANSLATION.
TRANSLATION.
AdelaideWas surely form'd all hearts to move,And more than Ovid we can proveBy speaking eyes, the art of loveIn Adelaide.Than AdelaideNo softer thraldom could we meet:Alcides' self would think it sweet,To spin his task out at the feetOf Adelaide.From AdelaideAnd all her dang'rous beauties fly;—Armida's charms and witcheryWere far less fatal than the eyeOf Adelaide.Of AdelaideWhen Cupid first the features fram'd,"In Cnidus' court," he loud proclaim'd,"Not one for beauty shall be fam'dLike Adelaide.""O Adelaide!"The sightless boy enraptur'd cried,"Alas, I'm blind! Be thou my guide;From henceforth I'll ne'er leave the sideOf Adelaide."
AdelaideWas surely form'd all hearts to move,And more than Ovid we can proveBy speaking eyes, the art of loveIn Adelaide.
Than AdelaideNo softer thraldom could we meet:Alcides' self would think it sweet,To spin his task out at the feetOf Adelaide.
From AdelaideAnd all her dang'rous beauties fly;—Armida's charms and witcheryWere far less fatal than the eyeOf Adelaide.
Of AdelaideWhen Cupid first the features fram'd,"In Cnidus' court," he loud proclaim'd,"Not one for beauty shall be fam'dLike Adelaide."
"O Adelaide!"The sightless boy enraptur'd cried,"Alas, I'm blind! Be thou my guide;From henceforth I'll ne'er leave the sideOf Adelaide."
Miss Wildenheim quickly recollected, that these lines were written in a fine edition of Klopstock's works Colonel Desmond had given her, as agage d'amitié, the last day she had seen him at Vienna; and when Miss Nevil turned to trace the resemblance she perceived in the drawing—the blush, the smile, the attitude, the graceful form, struck her so forcibly, that she exclaimed, "Itisyourself, Miss Wildenheim; I thought it was the image of you, the instant I saw it." Melicent, with intuitive propriety, sought to relieve Adelaide's embarrassment, and said, "Here's a far more beautiful figure; this, Miss Webberly, is my last production—a charming Paul and Virginia, I assure you. Do admire Paul's leg, it is thicker than the tree he is sitting under:—I wonder he doesn't kick Virginia, she squints so abominably."
When this singular specimen of the fine arts was first displayed to the partial eyes of Melicent's parents, it met with no small admiration from them. A showy frame was bought, in which it was hung up over the chimney-piece of their usual sitting-room, and the fond mother gazed at it from morning till night. When Colonel Desmond returned from abroad, this was the first object, that, after showing her nine healthy, handsome children, she directed his attention to. He did not then express all the horror he felt at the contrast it afforded; but in about six months' negociation with considerable difficulty accomplished its being safely deposited in his port-folio.
Qu'AdélaïdeMet d'ame et de gout dans son chant!Aux accens de sa voix timideChacun dit rien n'est si touchant,Qu'Adélaïde[5]!Marmontel.
Qu'AdélaïdeMet d'ame et de gout dans son chant!Aux accens de sa voix timideChacun dit rien n'est si touchant,Qu'Adélaïde[5]!
Marmontel.
As soon as the gentlemen returned to the drawing room, and tea was over, the mistress of the house proposed music.
The Desmonds, in general, were considerable proficients in this delightful art; and a trio for the violin, flute, and piano forte, was charmingly played by Melicent, and her father, and uncle. Though the former failed so lamentably in drawing, she had a fine genius for music, which was made the most of by constant practice; it was the only thing her father had ever studied, and in it he had acquired considerable knowledge, whilst her uncle had gained, in Germany, a fine style of playing on the violin; and to their instructions she was more indebted for her excellence, than to those of Mr. Ingham, who taught her the mere mechanical part of the science, and even that very imperfectly. As soon as, according to the rules of etiquette, the young lady of the house had made a commencement, her guests were in turn requested to display their talents. Colonel Desmond had whispered about that Adelaide sung enchantingly; and there was a general impatience expressed to hear her, which she, in her usual unaffected manner, consented to gratify.
The tones of her voice were exquisitely touching, and they took the shortest road to the heart, without stopping on the way to tickle the ear by the tricks of mere execution; each ornament seemed to rise in its own proper place, by a sort of "happy necessity," and, like the temple of taste, her singing "always charmed, never surprised." Her vocal excellences were most called forth in the highest style of Italian music. In the detached scenes of an opera she was inimitable: her divine voice painted, as it were, every shade of feeling; and the composer might have rejoiced to hear the Proserpine or Elfrida, not of his music, but of his imagination. Still more enchanting than her voice when she sang was her countenance, which the soul seemed to irradiate with that immortal light only seen on earth in "the human face divine;" and there were expressed all those indescribable charms, the offspring of genius and feeling, which the most melodious sounds are insufficient to convey to the sense. As she was however too rational, to be sublime out of place, she did not attempt to introduce the "grand opera" at Bogberry Hall, but apologizing for her deficiency in English music, which she feared to disfigure by her peculiar accent, sang a playful foreign ballad, which perhaps displayed the fascinating graces of her flexible voice, and polished manner, almost as delightfully as a finer composition would have done. She was rapturouslyencored, and was detained singing, till, quite distressed at the idea of excluding every other lady from the piano forte, she pleaded fatigue, as her excuse for retiring from the instrument. As the company crowded round her to bestow their praises, the winning expression with which her soft eyes met the general gaze, as they seemed imploringly to ask the forgiveness of her unsought superiority, and which her graceful gestures no less eloquently entreated, drew from the heart touched by her sweetness and modesty that exclamation of "charming! charming!" which the lips had opened to apply to her captivating talents.
During the time Adelaide was singing, Melicent stood beside her uncle in almost breathless delight, her hand resting on his arm, which she pressed with earnestness as any note of peculiar beauty met her ear. He was so completely lost in a reverie, (a most unusual circumstance with him,) that even after the melody had ceased, he stood in the same spot, and in the same attitude, as before. Melicent roused him from his reflections, as she looked up in his face, and said, "How enchanting! her voice is 'pleasant as the gale of spring, that sighs on the hunter's ear when he wakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the music of the spirits of the Hill.'" "I perceive," replied he, almost starting at her first address, "that you read Ossian as incessantly as ever, Melicent: I have just been thinking how superior Miss Wildenheim is to her own acquirements." "I don't exactly understand you, uncle." "If you had ever mixed in the world, my love, you would without difficulty; you would there meet with many of both sexes, in whom the painter, or the poet, or the musician, stand forth so prominently, that the individual character is lost in the background, indeed, sometimes, with advantage. I'm sure, when Miss Wildenheim occurs to your mind to-morrow morning, you won't thinkfirstof her singing, though you do admire it so much." "Oh, no!" replied Melicent, "I shall think of her charming smiles, as she is endeavouring to persuade Miss Cecilia Webberly to sing the air she thinks she most excels in.—They are looking for the music; I must go and assist them." Cecilia now did her utmost to eclipse Adelaide, by displaying twice the power of voice in songs of greater execution, which every body confessed she sangwell, though no onefeltshe sang charmingly. After two or three solos, it was proposed, that Mr. Ingham should join her in a duet. She purposely chose one, which should be a trial of skill between the performers. It was that style of music, which Colonel Desmond called the "florid Gothick," from its profuse ornament and defective taste; it had triplets, volatas, and trills without end. Poor Mr. Ingham, in more than one sense of the word,shookfor his fame; the merciless Cecilia forgot, that on it depended his bread; she did not read in his countenance, "He who filches from me my good name, takes that which not enricheth him, and makes me poor indeed!" But when they came to the final cadence, impelled by the "glorious fault of angels and of gods," she aspired higher than fate permitted her to attain with honour; and in a precipitate fall from D sharp in alt was hurled on the flat seventh, instead of the perfect third of the key, which made an unfortunate discord with the note intended to harmonize with said perfect third in a simultaneous trill; and on this unlucky seventh she continued to shake without pity or remorse, till the poor man, in emulation, was nearly black in the face, and was obliged to take breath twice, in a most audible manner, before she would have done. But at last she ceased, and the mortified musician's good-natured patron, seeing his vexation, and being himself shocked at the discord, clapped him on the back, saying, "Well done, Ingham; both parts famously sung:" and, with a significant wink, added, "By Heavens! she shook the cat out of the bag that time; she did you up there, man alive!" Lanty, who had thought the shake wondrous queer, he did not know why, understanding the drift of his father's observation, burst into a loud fit of laughter, which was followed by a peremptory order from his mother to quit the room. In the mean time the rest of the company were variously occupied: Mrs. O'Sullivan and Miss Fitzcarril, with the physician and curate, formed a party atshort whist, which the former, to assist her claims to fashion, played at a rate that was much higher than accorded with her frugal propensities, and which the pride of her companions prevented from confessing was much beyond what suited their finances. The physician, who was losing, internally grumbled at this new method of playing the good old game of whist, by which twice as much may be lost in the same space of time; and muttered, as he sorted his cards, a barbarous parody of Shakspeare, "There comes the last scene of all:—short sight, short gowns, short whist, short every thing!" Leaning over "John of Gaunt's" chair, (the agnomen Mr. Desmond had been pleased to bestow on the stupendous Theresa,) stood Captain Cormac, to rejoice in the goodly row of kings, queens, and aces, which the hand of his liege sometimes contained, and which was graciously pointed out to him with an accompanying smile; or to pick up the glove, card, or handkerchief that fell to the ground, not always undesignedly. Mrs. Desmond kept herself disengaged to be kind and civil to every body, sometimes condoling with the losers at whist, sometimes laughing with the young people, as they played at "consequences," "what's my thought like?" or "dressing the poor soldier." Miss Webberly was in earnest conversation with Mr. Donolan, of which Mrs. Desmond's ear, unwilling, caught one or two sentences. In answer to an observation from Amelia, he said "A very good match forhim," with a sort of conceited emphasis on the wordhim, which insinuated "it would be a very bad match forme." "Scarcely even forhim," retorted Miss Webberly, "German gentry are but sma." This quotation was followed by a laugh of affected vehemence from both; and when Cecilia, exulting in her triumph over Mr. Ingham, came up to them, the witticism was repeated; and they then, in a playhouse whisper, extended their strictures to all the company in turn, only interrupted by fits of laughter. Mrs. Desmond turned away in disgust, and, looking for Melicent, proudly thought, "My little mountain girl may want polish, as Edward says, but, with all her wildness, she is still the lady." The object of her thoughts was, at that moment, in conversation with her uncle and Adelaide, whom they had joined, when Cecilia Webberly sat down to the piano forte. When she had finished her duet, in the manner before mentioned, Miss Desmond said, "What a pity it is, Miss Wildenheim, that people, in the attempt to astonish, will insist upon showing what theycannotdo." "My dear Melicent," interrupted her uncle, "you may take it as a pretty general rule, that when a lady attempts or even succeeds inastonishing, all is not exactly as it ought to be; am I not right?" continued he, turning to Adelaide, "Oh, perfectly," replied she; "but, indeed, Miss Webberly executed her songs extremely well, with the exception of that unfortunate shake." "I have heard my uncle say," rejoined Melicent, "that anexecutionis sometimes amurder; in that sense, I allow she has executed them well; but, surely, music that is not pleasing, can never be good." As Melicent never spokesotto voce, her uncle was afraid her observations would be heard, and therefore, to divert her mind from Miss Webberly's singing, took up a book of poems, which was lying on the table they were standing near, and addressing Adelaide, said, "I condemned these verses this morning, as being unnatural: Melicent, to all my objections, only answered, 'Oh! dear uncle, I delight in them.' Do be our umpire, and show her, that something more is necessary to prove her admiration to be well founded, than the bare assertion that she does admire; when she dislikes, she has reasons enough at command, but when she approves, it is with an extravagance of enthusiasm, that admits of no analysis." Adelaide read as follows:—
The sigh of her heart was sincere,When blushing she whisper'd her love,A sound of delight in my ear;Her voice was the voice of a dove.Ah! who could from Phillida fly?Yet I sought other nymphs of the vale,Forgot her sweet blush and her sigh!Forgot that I told her my tale.In sorrow I wish'd to return,And the tale of my passion renew;Go, Shepherd, she answer'd with scorn,False Shepherd, for ever adieu!For thee no more tears will I shed,From thee to fair Friendship I go;The bird by a wound that has bled,Is happy to fly from its foe.
The sigh of her heart was sincere,When blushing she whisper'd her love,A sound of delight in my ear;Her voice was the voice of a dove.Ah! who could from Phillida fly?Yet I sought other nymphs of the vale,Forgot her sweet blush and her sigh!Forgot that I told her my tale.
In sorrow I wish'd to return,And the tale of my passion renew;Go, Shepherd, she answer'd with scorn,False Shepherd, for ever adieu!For thee no more tears will I shed,From thee to fair Friendship I go;The bird by a wound that has bled,Is happy to fly from its foe.
"What can she find so affecting in those lines?" thought Colonel Desmond, as he marked Adelaide's changing countenance. Memory had raised the shades of departed joys, which appeared in her eyes not clad in their original brightness, but wrapped in sorrow's watery veil; reason quickly bade them be gone, but not ere her attentive observer had marked their shadowy footsteps as they crossed her brow. When she looked up, his penetrating glance read her mind, and expressed his own. She painfully felt her heart was open to his view, that there was now no retreat, and therefore calmly said to Melicent, "I agree with you, Miss Desmond, the feelings of Phillida are perfectly natural." "But," interrupted Colonel Desmond, in a tone and manner not to be mistaken, "don't you think, that though she might turn in scorn from the unworthy object of her first attachment, she might solace her wounded heart by admitting the love of another?" "Never!" replied Adelaide: "even in endeavouring to view him with indifference, her mind must have been too long filled with his idea, not to feel the impossibility of its ever being possessed by a second choice." Colonel Desmond knew the human heart better, and flattered himself, not unjustly, that if he had patience to play the friend, and did not too quickly assume the lover, he might imperceptibly win her regard in that character. He was not hurried away by the imprudent warmth of feeling, which would have deprived a younger man of his self-possession, but determined to destroy the impression of what the seriousness of his looks and tones had conveyed to her mind; and therefore with apparent carelessness, asked her how she liked Ireland. This question a stranger is plagued with in every company, from the day he lands in that country till the one he leaves it; which with its twin tormentor, "Do you like England or Ireland best?" serves to commence that sort of conversation, which begins in Great Britain with observations on the weather. By the way, it is strange that no moralist has ever remarked how providential it is, that the climate of this latter island is so variable, considering the propensity its inhabitants have to talk of it. It certainly affords a beautiful illustration of the doctrine of compensation.
But to return to our friend Desmond:—he was too well bred to have asked such an unfair question, had he not been completelydistrait. When the mind is absent without leave, the deputy it leaves behind to secure its unmolested retreat most resembles that apish faculty, memory, and mechanically imitates the manners, and repeats the phrases of others. Adelaide, more embarrassed, though not sodistraitas her interrogator, replied, that she was even more pleased with the country than she had expected to be from the favourable picture held forth in some late publications. He agreed to the justice of these representations; while his brother, happening to hear him, was nettled, to the quick, and abruptly said, "Not a bit like, Ned; quite too ridiculous." "But, my dear Harry, there is nothing in the world so tiresome as direct panegyric; you must allow a little for the malice of human nature, to make an individual or a national character loved, its virtues must be relieved by its foibles." "I'll tell you what, Ned, the devil a good there is in dressing us up in a fool's cap and bells, to make a set of fat English squires laugh who have eat themselves stupid." "How can you be so illiberal, brother? That des——"—"By the piper that danced before Moses," interrupted the elder Desmond; "it's themselves that's illiberal.—There's the two Webberlys, and that airified nephew of my wife's, mocking us all, by the Lord! and all the time of tea, and while Milly was playing on the forte, they were laughing as if their sides would burst. I'm bothered from the head to the tail with them, that's the truth of it. But come, Miss Wildenheim, a tune from you would save any man from being in a passion—give us 'God save the King,' and that will remind me that I ought to comport myself as becomes a peaceable subject."
In nothing did Adelaide excel more than in playing an air, in a manner that seemed to give it beauties that it was not before suspected of possessing. She called to her aid all the powers of harmony, and united boldness of execution with tenderness of expression. She now played "God save the King," in a manner that electrified the company; the card players had dispersed, and there was such a nodding of heads, and marching, and whistling, and singing, and drumming on tables, and rattling watch chains, and beating time, that the performance of a person who could not have brought forth all the power of the "forte," as Mr. Desmond called it, would have been lost amongst all these various noises. The tune was played and replayed, till Adelaide laughingly said her fingers ached; and then dancing was proposed, and being agreed to, the company repaired to a large hall for the purpose. Here Mr. Desmond vented the remnant of his spleen against the Webberlys, by calling to the piper, "Play up the humours of Ludgate Hill there!" with a significant wink to the music master, (who, by the by, was more of a wag than an Orpheus), and though the wink was of no use to the blind piper and fiddler, the tone of his voice was sufficiently understood by them to need no second order; and they accordingly struck up their favourite tune of "Jig Polthogue," to which Mr. Desmond amused himself by mimicking, in turn, the dancing of all the set; and his imitations, being general, offended nobody in particular, but in truth he even satirized with so much good humour, that he hardly ever gave offence. It seemed always to be the fashions of the times he quizzed, rather than the people who exhibited them. "What an entertaining, exhilarating people the Irish are!" said Adelaide to Colonel Desmond. "Yes," replied he; "but yet, with all their cleverness, how strangely inconsistent is their conduct! If Melicent Desmond was a sovereign princess, her father could not have had more pride about her than he has; and yet here she is associating with her music-master, dancing in the very set with him; and I never can persuade him there is any impropriety in it." "How well she does dance!" remarked his fair partner. "And what a capital caricature Captain Cormac and Miss Fitzcarril would make—he all flourishes, she as stiff as the genealogical tree that hangs up in the hall at Ballinamoyle. Do you observe," resumed he, "how much of the 'incedo regina' there is in her manner to him occasionally! This good lady is a singular being, I can assure you. She can be 'proud with meanness, and be mean with pride.'" "Such a character," rejoined Adelaide, "reminds me of Homer's princesses, who, from doing the honours of the palace, proceed to wash the clothes of its inhabitants in the neighbouring river, to which pleasant employment they drive right regally." Mr. Desmond now coming up to turn her in the dance, took that opportunity of saying, "I tried to touch you up, but I couldn't—it's a shame for you to bear away thebellin every thing:—I never saw any one in my lifehandle their feetas you do."
After two or three dances the company adjourned to the supper table, and here again all was mirth and glee. Colonel and Mr. Desmond sung comical songs, and told droll stories, till the whole party were in fits of laughter. Three of the children, younger than Melicent and Launcelot, were kept up to supper, and they sang catches and glees with their father and uncle, in a manner that surprised every body who heard their sweet voices and saw their childish faces. Before they began, a dispute arose between Mr. Desmond and the music-master, relative to the key note; the one sounded one, and the other another; when, to settle the matter, the former called to his second son, "Do you hear, George, take this note out in your mouth to the forte, strike it, and bring me word if I'm not right, and be sure you don't drop it by the way." How far George was an impartial testimony, or how much the note lost or gained in its ascent or descent, must ever remain in doubt; but, like a dutiful child, when he returned, he said, "Youwere right to be sure, father—listen here;" and sounding the octave above as clear as a bell, and as sweetly as possible, they all set to, the little performers keeping time and tune admirably; whilst the mellow base of the gentlemen, and the enchanting soprano of their sister, contrasted delightfully with the juvenile strains of these "young-eyed cherubim." Melicent's fine notes made most of the party express a wish to hear her in a solo, and she sang the "Exile of Erin," with a pathos that drew tears from many present. Adelaide seemed particularly to feel it; which Mr. Desmond perceiving, he said, "Come, Melicent, that's too dismal—I'll tune you up a lilt;" and he immediately sang, in a most comical manner, a ballad he had written himself, entitled, "Miss Jenny's lament for the loss of her petticoat;" in which was ably satirized the present style ofundress. Soon after this the party separated with as much hilarity as they had met.