LETTER VII.

Mrs.Holmesto MissHarrington.

Belleview.

ALTHOUGH my attachment toBelleviewis not so romantick as your airy pen has described it, I think its quiet and amusements infinitely preferable to the bustle and parade with which you are surrounded.

THE improvements made here by my late husband (who inherited the virtues of his parents, who still protect me, and endeavour to console the anguish of his loss by the most tender affection) have rendered the charms ofBelleviewsuperior in my estimation to every gilded scene of the gay world.

IT is almost vanity to pretend to give youa description of the beauty of the prospect—the grandeur of the river that rolls through the meadow in front of the house, or any eulogium of rural elegance, because these scenes are common to most places in the country. Nature is everywhere liberal in dispersing her beauties and her variety—and I pity those who look round and declare they see neither.

A GREAT proportion of our happiness depends on our own choice—it offers itself to our taste, but it is the heart that gives it relish—what at one time, for instance, we think to be humour, is at another disgustful or insipid—so, unless we carry our appetite with us to the treat, we shall vainly wish to make ourselves happy, “were I in a desert,” says Sterne, “I would find wherewith in it to call forth my affections—If I could do no better, I would fasten them on some sweetmyrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to—I would court their shade and greet them kindly for their protection—If their leaves withered, I would teach myself to mourn, and when they rejoiced, I would rejoice along with them.”

I BELIEVE you could hardly find the way to the summer house, where we have enjoyed many happy hours together, and which you used to call “The TempleofApollo.” It is now more elegantly furnished than it formerly was, and is enriched with a considerable addition to the library and musick.

IN front of the avenue that leads to this place, is a figure of Content, pointing with one hand to the Temple, and with the other to an invitation, executed in such an antique style, that you would think it done either by the ancient inhabitants of the country, or bythe hand of a Fairy—she is very particular in the characters she invites, but those whom she invites she heartily welcomes.

Rural Inscription.Come ye who loath the horrid crest,Who hate the fiery front of Mars;Who scorn the mean, the sordid breast—Who fly Ambition’s guilty cares:Ye who are blest with peaceful souls,Rest Here: Enjoy the pleasures round:Here Fairies quaffe their acorn bowls,And lightly print the mazy ground.Thrice welcome to this humble scene—(To ye alone such scenes belong)Peace smiles upon the fragrant green,And Here the Woodland sisters throng,And fair Contentment’s pleasing train.Whilst in the Heav’n the stars advance,With many a maid and many a swain,Lead up the jocund, rural dance.Thrice welcome to our calm retreat,Where innocency oft hath stroveWith violet blue, and woodbine sweet,To form the votive wreath to love:O! pardon then, our cautious pride—(Caution, a virtue rare, I ween)For evils with the great abide,Which dwell not in our sylvan scene.

Rural Inscription.

Come ye who loath the horrid crest,Who hate the fiery front of Mars;Who scorn the mean, the sordid breast—Who fly Ambition’s guilty cares:Ye who are blest with peaceful souls,Rest Here: Enjoy the pleasures round:Here Fairies quaffe their acorn bowls,And lightly print the mazy ground.

Come ye who loath the horrid crest,

Who hate the fiery front of Mars;

Who scorn the mean, the sordid breast—

Who fly Ambition’s guilty cares:

Ye who are blest with peaceful souls,

Rest Here: Enjoy the pleasures round:

Here Fairies quaffe their acorn bowls,

And lightly print the mazy ground.

Thrice welcome to this humble scene—(To ye alone such scenes belong)Peace smiles upon the fragrant green,And Here the Woodland sisters throng,And fair Contentment’s pleasing train.Whilst in the Heav’n the stars advance,With many a maid and many a swain,Lead up the jocund, rural dance.

Thrice welcome to this humble scene—

(To ye alone such scenes belong)

Peace smiles upon the fragrant green,

And Here the Woodland sisters throng,

And fair Contentment’s pleasing train.

Whilst in the Heav’n the stars advance,

With many a maid and many a swain,

Lead up the jocund, rural dance.

Thrice welcome to our calm retreat,Where innocency oft hath stroveWith violet blue, and woodbine sweet,To form the votive wreath to love:O! pardon then, our cautious pride—(Caution, a virtue rare, I ween)For evils with the great abide,Which dwell not in our sylvan scene.

Thrice welcome to our calm retreat,

Where innocency oft hath strove

With violet blue, and woodbine sweet,

To form the votive wreath to love:

O! pardon then, our cautious pride—

(Caution, a virtue rare, I ween)

For evils with the great abide,

Which dwell not in our sylvan scene.

THESE are the scenes to which I have chosen to retreat; contented with the suffrage of the virtuous and the good, and inattentive to the contemptuous sneer of the giddy and the futile, for eventhesehave the vanity to look with pity on those who voluntarily remove from whatever agrees withtheirideas of pleasure. He who has no conception of the beauties of the mind, will contemn a person aukward or illfavoured; and one whose store of enjoyment is drawn from affluence and abundance, will be astonished at the conduct of him who finds cause to rejoice, though surrounded with inconvenience and penury. Hence we judge of the happiness ofothers by the standard of our own conduct and prejudices.

FROM this misjudging race I retire, without a sigh to mingle in their amusements, nor yet disgusted at whatever is thought of sufficient consequence to engage their pursuits. I fly from the tumult of the town—from scenes of boisterous pleasures and riot, to those of quietness and peace, “where every breeze breathes health, and every sound is the echo of tranquillity.”—On this subject I give my sentiments to you with freedom, from a conviction that I bear the world no spleen; at the same time with a degree of deference to the judgement of others, from a conviction that I may be a little prejudiced.

I HOPE to be with you soon—in the meantime continue to write.

Eliza Holmes.

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