'To my unutterable relief, I found I was mistaken, and that,
whatever he knew of Mr. Mervyn's suspicions or discoveries, he did
not intend to converse with me on the topic. Coward as I was, I
was inexpressibly relieved, though, if he had really investigated
the reports which may have come to his ear, the reality could have
been nothing to what his suspicions might have conceived. But,
though my spirits rose high at my unexpected escape, I had not
courage myself to provoke the discussion, and remained silent to
receive his commands.

'"Julia," he said, "my agent writes me from Scotland that he has
been able to hire a house for me, decently furnished, and with the
necessary accommodation for my family; it is within three miles of
that I had designed to purchase." Then he made a pause, and seemed
to expect an answer.

'"Whatever place of residence suits you, sir, must be perfectly
agreeable to me."

'"Umph! I do not propose, however, Julia, that you shall reside
quite alone in this house during the winter."

'"Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn," thought I to myself.--"Whatever company
is agreeable to you, sir," I answered aloud.

'"O, there is a little too much of this universal spirit of
submission, an excellent disposition in action, but your
constantly repeating the jargon of it puts me in mind of the
eternal salaams of our black dependents in the East. In short,
Julia, I know you have a relish for society, and I intend to
invite a young person, the daughter of a deceased friend, to spend
a few months with us."

'"Not a governess, for the love of Heaven, papa!" exclaimed poor
I, my fears at that moment totally getting the better of my
prudence.

'"No, not a governess, Miss Mannering," replied the Colonel,
somewhat sternly, "but a young lady from whose excellent example,
bred as she has been in the school of adversity, I trust you may
learn the art to govern yourself."

'To answer this was trenching upon too dangerous ground, so there
was a pause.

'"Is the young lady a Scotchwoman, papa?"

'"Yes"--drily enough.

'"Has she much of the accent, sir?"

'"Much of the devil!" answered my father hastily; "do you think I
care about a's and aa's, and i's and ee's,? I tell you, Julia, I
am serious in the matter. You have a genius for friendship, that
is, for running up intimacies which you call such." (Was not this
very harshly said, Matilda?) "Now I wish to give you an
opportunity at least to make one deserving friend, and therefore I
have resolved that this young lady shall be a member of my family
for some months, and I expect you will pay to her that attention
which is due to misfortune and virtue."

'"Certainly, sir. Is my future friend red-haired?"

'He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, perhaps, I
deserved it; but I think the deuce prompts me with teasing
questions on some occasions.

'"She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appearance as in
prudence and affection for her friends."

'"Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommendation?
Well, sir, but I see you are going to take all this too seriously;
whatever the young lady may be, I am sure, being recommended by
you, she shall have no reason to complain of my want of
attention." After a pause--"Has she any attendant? because you
know I must provide for her proper accommodation if she is without
one."

'"N--no--no, not properly an attendant; the chaplain who lived
with her father is a very good sort of man, and I believe I shall
make room for him in the house."

"'Chaplain, papa? Lord bless us!"

'"Yes, Miss Mannering, chaplain; is there anything very new in
that word? Had we not a chaplain at the Residence, when we were in
India?"

'"Yes, papa, but you was a commandant then."

'"So I will be now, Miss Mannering, in my own family at least."

'"Certainly, sir. But will he read us the Church of England
service?"

'The apparent simplicity with which I asked this question got the
better of his gravity. "Come, Julia," he said, "you are a sad
girl, but I gain nothing by scolding you. Of these two strangers,
the young lady is one whom you cannot fail, I think, to love; the
person whom, for want of a better term, I called chaplain, is a
very worthy, and somewhat ridiculous personage, who will never
find out you laugh at him if you don't laugh very loud indeed."

'"Dear papa, I am delighted with that part of his character. But
pray, is the house we are going to as pleasantly situated as
this?"

'"Not perhaps as much to your taste; there is no lake under the
windows, and you will be under the necessity of having all your
music within doors."

'This last coup de main ended the keen encounter of our wits, for
you may believe, Matilda, it quelled all my courage to reply.

'Yet my spirits, as perhaps will appear too manifest from this
dialogue, have risen insensibly, and, as it were, in spite of
myself. Brown alive, and free, and in England! Embarrassment and
anxiety I can and must endure. We leave this in two days for our
new residence. I shall not fail to let you know what I think of
these Scotch inmates, whom I have but too much reason to believe
my father means to quarter in his house as a brace of honourable
spies; a sort of female Rozencrantz and reverend Guildenstern, one
in tartan petticoats, the other in a cassock. What a contrast to
the society I would willingly have secured to myself! I shall
write instantly on my arriving at our new place of abode, and
acquaint my dearest Matilda with the farther fates of--her

'JULIA MANNERING.'




CHAPTER XIX

     Which sloping hills around inclose,
     Where many a beech and brown oak grows
     Beneath whose dark and branching bowers
     Its tides a far-fam'd river pours,
     By natures beauties taught to please,
     Sweet Tusculan of rural easel

          WARTON.


Woodbourne, the habitation which Mannering, by Mr. Mac-Morlan's
mediation, had hired for a season, was a large comfortable
mansion, snugly situated beneath a hill covered with wood, which
shrouded the house upon the north and east; the front looked upon
a little lawn bordered by a grove of old trees; beyond were some
arable fields, extending down to the river, which was seen from
the windows of the house. A tolerable, though old-fashioned
garden, a well-stocked dove-cot, and the possession of any
quantity of ground which the convenience of the family might
require, rendered the place in every respect suitable, as the
advertisements have it, 'for the accommodation of a genteel
family.'

Here, then, Mannering resolved, for some time at least, to set up
the staff of his rest. Though an East-Indian, he was not partial
to an ostentatious display of wealth. In fact, he was too proud a
man to be a vain one. He resolved, therefore, to place himself
upon the footing of a country gentleman of easy fortune, without
assuming, or permitting his household to assume, any of the faste
which then was considered as characteristic of a nabob.

He had still his eye upon the purchase of Ellangowan, which Mac-
Morlan conceived Mr. Glossin would be compelled to part with, as
some of the creditors disputed his title to retain so large a part
of the purchase-money in his own hands, and his power to pay it
was much questioned. In that case Mac-Morlan was assured he would
readily give up his bargain, if tempted with something above the
price which he had stipulated to pay. It may seem strange that
Mannering was so much attached to a spot which he had only seen
once, and that for a short time, in early life. But the
circumstances which passed there had laid a strong hold on his
imagination. There seemed to be a fate which conjoined the
remarkable passages of his own family history with those of the
inhabitants of Ellangowan, and he felt a mysterious desire to call
the terrace his own from which he had read in the book of heaven a
fortune strangely accomplished in the person of the infant heir of
that family, and corresponding so closely with one which had been
strikingly fulfilled in his own. Besides, when once this thought
had got possession of his imagination, he could not, without great
reluctance, brook the idea of his plan being defeated, and by a
fellow like Glossin. So pride came to the aid of fancy, and both
combined to fortify his resolution to buy the estate if possible.

Let us do Mannering justice. A desire to serve the distressed had
also its share in determining him. He had considered the advantage
which Julia might receive from the company of Lucy Bertram, whose
genuine prudence and good sense could so surely be relied upon.
This idea had become much stronger since Mac-Morlan had confided
to him, under the solemn seal of secrecy, the whole of her conduct
towards young Hazlewood. To propose to her to become an inmate in
his family, if distant from the scenes of her youth and the few
whom she called friends, would have been less delicate; but at
Woodbourne she might without difficulty be induced to become the
visitor of a season, without being depressed into the situation of
an humble companion. Lucy Bertram, with some hesitation, accepted
the invitation to reside a few weeks with Miss Mannering. She felt
too well that, however the Colonel's delicacy might disguise the
truth, his principal motive was a generous desire to afford her
his countenance and protection, which his high connexions, and
higher character, were likely to render influential in the
neighbourhood.

About the same time the orphan girl received a letter from Mrs.
Bertram, the relation to whom she had written, as cold and
comfortless as could well be imagined. It inclosed, indeed, a
small sum of money, but strongly recommended economy, and that
Miss Bertram should board herself in some quiet family, either at
Kippletringan or in the neighbourhood, assuring her that, though
her own income was very scanty, she would not see her kinswoman
want. Miss Bertram shed some natural tears over this cold-hearted
epistle; for in her mother's time this good lady had been a guest
at Ellangowan for nearly three years, and it was only upon
succeeding to a property of about L400 a year that she had taken
farewell of that hospitable mansion, which otherwise might have
had the honour of sheltering her until the death of its owner.
Lucy was strongly inclined to return the paltry donation, which,
after some struggles with avarice, pride had extorted from the old
lady. But on consideration she contented herself with writing that
she accepted it as a loan, which, she hoped in a short time to
repay, and consulted her relative upon the invitation she had
received from Colonel and Miss Mannering. This time the answer
came in course of post, so fearful was Mrs. Bertram that some
frivolous delicacy, or nonsense, as she termed it, might induce
her cousin to reject such a promising offer, and thereby at the
same time to leave herself still a burden upon her relations.
Lucy, therefore, had no alternative, unless she preferred
continuing a burden upon the worthy Mac-Morlans, who were too
liberal to be rich. Those kinsfolk who formerly requested the
favour of her company had of late either silently, or with
expressions of resentment that she should have preferred Mac-
Morlan's invitation to theirs, gradually withdrawn their notice.

The fate of Dominie Sampson would have been deplorable had it
depended upon any one except Mannering, who was an admirer of
originality, for a separation from Lucy Bertram would have
certainly broken his heart. Mac-Morlan had given a full account of
his proceedings towards the daughter of his patron. The answer was
a request from Mannering to know whether the Dominie still
possessed that admirable virtue of taciturnity by which he was so
notably distinguished at Ellangowan. Mac-Morlan replied in the
affirmative. 'Let Mr. Sampson know,' said the Colonel's next
letter, 'that I shall want his assistance to catalogue and put in
order the library of my uncle, the bishop, which I have ordered to
be sent down by sea. I shall also want him to copy and arrange
some papers. Fix his salary at what you think befitting. Let the
poor man be properly dressed, and accompany his young lady to
Woodbourne.'

Honest Mac-Morlan received this mandate with great joy, but
pondered much upon executing that part of it which related to
newly attiring the worthy Dominie. He looked at him with a
scrutinising eye, and it was but too plain that his present
garments were daily waxing more deplorable. To give him money, and
bid him go and furnish himself, would be only giving him the means
of making himself ridiculous; for when such a rare event arrived
to Mr. Sampson as the purchase of new garments, the additions
which he made to his wardrobe by the guidance of his own taste
usually brought all the boys of the village after him for many
days. On the other hand, to bring a tailor to measure him, and
send home his clothes, as for a school-boy, would probably give
offence. At length Mac-Morlan resolved to consult Miss Bertram,
and request her interference. She assured him that, though she
could not pretend to superintend a gentleman's wardrobe, nothing
was more easy than to arrange the Dominie's.

'At Ellangowan,' she said, 'whenever my poor father thought any
part of the Dominie's dress wanted renewal, a servant was directed
to enter his room by night, for he sleeps as fast as a dormouse,
carry off the old vestment, and leave the new one; nor could any
one observe that the Dominie exhibited the least consciousness of
the change put upon him on such occasions.'

Mac-Morlan, in conformity with Miss Bertram's advice, procured a
skilful artist, who, on looking at the Dominie attentively,
undertook to make for him two suits of clothes, one black and one
raven-grey, and even engaged that they should fit him--as well at
least (so the tailor qualified his enterprise) as a man of such an
out-of-the-way build could be fitted by merely human needles and
shears. When this fashioner had accomplished his task, and the
dresses were brought home, Mac-Morlan, judiciously resolving to
accomplish his purpose by degrees, withdrew that evening an
important part of his dress, and substituted the new article of
raiment in its stead. Perceiving that this passed totally without
notice, he next ventured on the waistcoat, and lastly on the coat.
When fully metamorphosed, and arrayed for the first time in his
life in a decent dress, they did observe that the Dominie seemed
to have some indistinct and embarrassing consciousness that a
change had taken place on his outward man. Whenever they observed
this dubious expression gather upon his countenance, accompanied
with a glance that fixed now upon the sleeve of his coat, now upon
the knees of his breeches, where he probably missed some antique
patching and darning, which, being executed with blue thread upon
a black ground, had somewhat the effect of embroidery, they always
took care to turn his attention into some other channel, until his
garments, 'by the aid of use, cleaved to their mould.' The only
remark he was ever known to make on the subject was, that 'the air
of a town like Kippletringan seemed favourable unto wearing
apparel, for he thought his coat looked almost as new as the first
day he put it on, which was when he went to stand trial for his
license as a preacher.'

When the Dominie first heard the liberal proposal of Colonel
Mannering, he turned a jealous and doubtful glance towards Miss
Bertram, as if he suspected that the project involved their
separation; but when Mr. Mac-Morlan hastened to explain that she
would be a guest at Woodbourne for some time, he rubbed his huge
hands together, and burst into a portentous sort of chuckle, like
that of the Afrite in the tale of 'The Caliph Vathek.' After this
unusual explosion of satisfaction, he remained quite passive in
all the rest of the transaction.

It had been settled that Mr. and Mrs. Mac-Morlan should take
possession of the house a few days before Mannering's arrival,
both to put everything in perfect order and to make the
transference of Miss Bertram's residence from their family to his
as easy and delicate as possible. Accordingly, in the beginning of
the month of December the party were settled at Woodbourne.




CHAPTER XX

    A gigantic genius fit to grapple with whole libraries

        --BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON


The appointed day arrived when the Colonel and Miss Mannering were
expected at Woodbourne. The hour was fast approaching, and the
little circle within doors had each their separate subjects of
anxiety. Mac-Morlan naturally desired to attach to himself the
patronage and countenance of a person of Mannering's wealth and
consequence. He was aware, from his knowledge of mankind, that
Mannering, though generous and benevolent, had the foible of
expecting and exacting a minute compliance with his directions. He
was therefore racking his recollection to discover if everything
had been arranged to meet the Colonel's wishes and instructions,
and, under this uncertainty of mind, he traversed the house more
than once from the garret to the stables. Mrs. Mac-Morlan revolved
in a lesser orbit, comprehending the dining-parlour, housekeeper's
room, and kitchen. She was only afraid that the dinner might be
spoiled, to the discredit of her housewifely accomplishments. Even
the usual passiveness of the Dominie was so far disturbed that he
twice went to the window which looked out upon the avenue, and
twice exclaimed, 'Why tarry the wheels of their chariot?' Lucy,
the most quiet of the expectants, had her own melancholy thoughts.
She was now about to be consigned to the charge, almost to the
benevolence, of strangers, with whose character, though hitherto
very amiably, displayed, she was but imperfectly acquainted. The
moments, therefore, of suspense passed anxiously and heavily.

At length the trampling of horses and the sound of wheels were
heard. The servants, who had already arrived, drew up in the hall
to receive their master and mistress, with an importance and
EMPRESSEMENT which to Lucy, who had never been accustomed to
society, or witnessed what is called the manners of the great, had
something alarming. Mac-Morlan went to the door to receive the
master and mistress of the family, and in a few moments they were
in the drawing-room.

Mannering, who had travelled as usual on horseback, entered with
his daughter hanging upon his arm. She was of the middle size, or
rather less, but formed with much elegance; piercing dark eyes,
and jet-black hair of great length, corresponded with the vivacity
and intelligence of features in which were blended a little
haughtiness, and a little bashfulness, a great deal of shrewdness,
and some power of humorous sarcasm. 'I shall not like her,' was
the result of Lucy Bertram's first glance; 'and yet; I rather
think I shall,' was the thought excited by the second.

Miss Mannering was furred and mantled up to the throat against the
severity of the weather; the Colonel in his military great-coat.
He bowed to Mrs. Mac-Morlan, whom his daughter also acknowledged
with a fashionable courtesy, not dropped so low as at all to
incommode her person. The Colonel then led his daughter up to Miss
Bertram, and, taking the hand of the latter, with an air of great
kindness and almost paternal affection, he said, 'Julia, this is
the young lady whom I hope our good friends have prevailed on to
honour our house with a long visit. I shall be much gratified
indeed if you can render Woodbourne as pleasant to Miss Bertram as
Ellangowan was to me when I first came as a wanderer into this
country.'

The young lady courtesied acquiescence, and took her new friend's
hand. Mannering now turned his eye upon the Dominie, who had made
bows since his entrance into the room, sprawling out his leg, and
bending his back like an automaton, which continues to repeat the
same movement until the motion is stopt by the artist. 'My good
friend, Mr. Sampson,' said Mannering, introducing him to his
daughter, and darting at the same time a reproving glance at the
damsel, notwithstanding he had himself some disposition to join
her too obvious inclination to risibility; 'this gentleman, Julia,
is to put my books in order when they arrive, and I expect to
derive great advantage from his extensive learning.'

'I am sure we are obliged to the gentleman, papa, and, to borrow a
ministerial mode of giving thanks, I shall never forget the
extraordinary countenance he has been pleased to show us. But,
Miss Bertram,' continued she hastily, for her father's brows began
to darken, 'we have travelled a good way; will you permit me to
retire before dinner?'

This intimation dispersed all the company save the Dominie, who,
having no idea of dressing but when he was to rise, or of
undressing but when he meant to go to bed, remained by himself,
chewing the cud of a mathematical demonstration, until the company
again assembled in the drawing-room, and from thence adjourned to
the dining-parlour.

When the day was concluded, Mannering took an opportunity to hold
a minute's conversation with his daughter in private.

'How do you like your guests, Julia?'

'O, Miss Bertram of all things; but this is a most original
parson; why, dear sir, no human being will be able to look at him
without laughing.'

'While he is under my roof, Julia, every one must learn to do
so.'

'Lord, papa, the very footmen could not keep their gravity!'

'Then let them strip off my livery,' said the Colonel, 'and laugh
at their leisure. Mr. Sampson is a man whom I esteem for his
simplicity and benevolence of character.'

'O, I am convinced of his generosity too,' said this lively lady;
'he cannot lift a spoonful of soup to his mouth without bestowing
a share on everything round.'

'Julia, you are incorrigible; but remember I expect your mirth on
this subject to be under such restraint that it shall neither
offend this worthy man's feelings nor those of Miss Bertram, who
may be more apt to feel upon his account than he on his own. And
so, goodnight, my dear; and recollect that, though Mr. Sampson has
certainly not sacrificed to the graces, there are many things in
this world more truly deserving of ridicule than either
awkwardness of manners or simplicity of character.'

In a day or two Mr. and Mrs. Mac-Morlan left Woodbourne, after
taking an affectionate farewell of their late guest. The household
were now settled in their new quarters. The young ladies followed
their studies and amusements together. Colonel Mannering was
agreeably surprised to find that Miss Bertram was well skilled in
French and Italian, thanks to the assiduity of Dominie Sampson,
whose labour had silently made him acquainted with most modern as
well as ancient languages. Of music she knew little or nothing,
but her new friend undertook to give her lessons, in exchange for
which she was to learn from Lucy the habit of walking, and the art
of riding, and the courage necessary to defy the season. Mannering
was careful to substitute for their amusement in the evening such
books as might convey some solid instruction with entertainment,
and, as he read aloud with great skill and taste, the winter
nights passed pleasantly away.

Society was quickly formed where there were so many inducements.
Most of the families of the neighbourhood visited Colonel
Mannering, and he was soon able to select from among them such as
best suited his taste and habits. Charles Hazlewood held a
distinguished place in his favour, and was a frequent visitor, not
without the consent and approbation of his parents; for there was
no knowing, they thought, what assiduous attention might produce,
and the beautiful Miss Mannering, of high family, with an Indian
fortune, was a prize worth looking after. Dazzled with such a
prospect, they never considered the risk which had once been some
object of their apprehension, that his boyish and inconsiderate
fancy might form an attachment to the penniless Lucy Bertram, who
had nothing on earth to recommend her but a pretty face, good
birth, and a most amiable disposition. Mannering was more prudent.
He considered himself acting as Miss Bertram's guardian, and,
while he did not think it incumbent upon him altogether to check
her intercourse with a young gentleman for whom, excepting in
wealth, she was a match in every respect, he laid it under such
insensible restraints as might prevent any engagement or
ECLAIRCISSEMENT taking place until the young man should have seen
a little more of life and of the world, and have attained that age
when he might be considered as entitled to judge for himself in
the matter in which his happiness was chiefly interested.

While these matters engaged the attention of the other members of
the Woodbourne family, Dominie Sampson was occupied, body and
soul, in the arrangement of the late bishop's library, which had
been sent from Liverpool by sea, and conveyed by thirty or forty
carts from the sea-port at which it was landed. Sampson's joy at
beholding the ponderous contents of these chests arranged upon the
floor of the large apartment, from whence he was to transfer them
to the shelves, baffles all description. He grinned like an ogre,
swung his arms like the sails of a wind-mill, shouted 'Prodigious'
till the roof rung to his raptures. 'He had never,' he said, 'seen
so many books together, except in the College Library'; and now
his dignity and delight in being superintendent of the collection
raised him, in his own opinion, almost to the rank of the
academical librarian, whom he had always regarded as the greatest
and happiest man on earth. Neither were his transports diminished
upon a hasty examination of the contents of these volumes. Some,
indeed, of BELLES LETTRES, poems, plays, or memoirs he tossed
indignantly aside, with the implied censure of 'psha,' or
'frivolous'; but the greater and bulkier part of the collection
bore a very different character. The deceased prelate, a divine of
the old and deeply-learned cast, had loaded his shelves with
volumes which displayed the antique and venerable attributes so
happily described by a modern poet:--

     That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid,
     Those ample clasps of solid metal made,
     The close-press'd leaves unoped for many an age,
     The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page,
     On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll'd,
     Where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold.

Books of theology and controversial divinity, commentaries, and
polyglots, sets of the Fathers, and sermons which might each
furnish forth ten brief discourses of modern date, books of
science, ancient and modern, classical authors in their best and
rarest forms--such formed the late bishop's venerable library, and
over such the eye of Dominie Sampson gloated with rapture. He
entered them in the catalogue in his best running hand, forming
each letter with the accuracy of a lover writing a valentine, and
placed each individually on the destined shelf with all the
reverence which I have seen a lady pay to a jar of old china. With
all this zeal his labours advanced slowly. He often opened a
volume when halfway up the library steps, fell upon some
interesting passage, and, without shifting his inconvenient
posture, continued immersed in the fascinating perusal until the
servant pulled him by the skirts to assure him that dinner waited.
He then repaired to the parlour, bolted his food down his
capacious throat in squares of three inches, answered ay and no at
random to whatever question was asked at him, and again hurried
back to the library, as soon as his napkin was removed, and
sometimes with it hanging round his neck like a pinafore;--

     How happily the days of Thalaba went by!

And, having thus left the principal characters of our tale in a
situation which, being sufficiently comfortable to themselves, is,
of course, utterly uninteresting to the reader, we take up the
history of a person who has as yet only been named, and who has
all the interest that uncertainty and misfortune can give.




CHAPTER XXI

     What say'st thou, Wise One? that all powerful Love
     Can fortune's strong impediments remove,
     Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
     The pride of genius with the pride of birth.

          CRABBE.


V. Brown--I will not give at full length his thrice unhappy name--
had been from infancy a ball for fortune to spurn at; but nature
had given him that elasticity of mind which rises higher from the
rebound. His form was tall, manly, and active, and his features
corresponded with his person; for, although far from regular, they
had an expression of intelligence and good-humour, and when he
spoke, or was particularly animated, might be decidedly pronounced
interesting. His manner indicated the military profession, which
had been his choice, and in which he had now attained the rank of
captain, the person who succeeded Colonel Mannering in his command
having laboured to repair the injustice which Brown had sustained
by that gentleman's prejudice against him. But this, as well as
his liberation from captivity, had taken place after Mannering
left India. Brown followed at no distant period, his regiment
being recalled home. His first inquiry was after the family of
Mannering, and, easily learning their route northward, he followed
it with the purpose of resuming his addresses to Julia. With her
father he deemed he had no measures to keep; for, ignorant of the
more venomous belief which had been instilled into the Colonel's
mind, he regarded him as an oppressive aristocrat, who had used
his power as a commanding officer to deprive him of the preferment
due to his behaviour, and who had forced upon him a personal
quarrel without any better reason than his attentions to a pretty
young woman, agreeable to herself, and permitted and countenanced
by her mother. He was determined, therefore, to take no rejection
unless from the young lady herself, believing that the heavy
misfortunes of his painful wound and imprisonment were direct
injuries received from the father, which might dispense with his
using much ceremony towards him. How far his scheme had succeeded
when his nocturnal visit was discovered by Mr. Mervyn, our readers
are already informed.

Upon this unpleasant occurrence Captain Brown absented himself
from the inn in which he had resided under the name of Dawson, so
that Colonel Mannering's attempts to discover and trace him were
unavailing. He resolved, however, that no difficulties should
prevent his continuing his enterprise while Julia left him a ray
of hope. The interest he had secured in her bosom was such as she
had been unable to conceal from him, and with all the courage of
romantic gallantry he determined upon perseverance. But we believe
the reader will be as well pleased to learn his mode of thinking
and intention from his own communication to his special friend and
confidant, Captain Delaserre, a Swiss gentleman who had a company
in his regiment.

EXTRACT

'Let me hear from you soon, dear Delaserre. Remember, I can learn
nothing about regimental affairs but through your friendly medium,
and I long to know what has become of Ayre's court-martial, and
whether Elliot gets the majority; also how recruiting comes on,
and how the young officers like the mess. Of our kind friend the
Lieutenant-Colonel I need ask nothing; I saw him as I passed
through Nottingham, happy in the bosom of his family. What a
happiness it is, Philip, for us poor devils, that we have a little
resting-place between the camp and the grave, if we can manage to
escape disease, and steel, and lead, and the effects of hard
living. A retired old soldier is always a graceful and respected
character. He grumbles a little now and then, but then his is
licensed murmuring; were a lawyer, or a physician, or a clergyman
to breathe a complaint of hard luck or want of preferment, a
hundred tongues would blame his own incapacity as the cause. But
the most stupid veteran that ever faltered out the thrice-told
tale of a siege and a battle, and a cock and a bottle, is listened
to with sympathy and reverence when he shakes his thin locks and
talks with indignation of the boys that are put over his head. And
you and I, Delaserre, foreigners both--for what am I the better
that I was originally a Scotchman, since, could I prove my
descent, the English would hardly acknowledge me a countryman?--we
may boast that we have fought out our preferment, and gained that
by the sword which we had not money to compass otherwise. The
English are a wise people. While they praise themselves, and
affect to undervalue all other nations, they leave us, luckily,
trap-doors and back-doors open, by which we strangers, less
favoured by nature, may arrive at a share of their advantages. And
thus they are in some respects like a boastful landlord, who
exalts the value and flavour of his six-years-old mutton, while he
is delighted to dispense a share of it to all the company. In
short, you, whose proud family, and I, whose hard fate, made us
soldiers of fortune, have the pleasant recollection that in the
British service, stop where we may upon our career, it is only for
want of money to pay the turnpike, and not from our being
prohibited to travel the road. If, therefore, you can persuade
little Weischel to come into OURS, for God's sake let him buy the
ensigncy, live prudently, mind his duty, and trust to the fates
for promotion.

'And now, I hope you are expiring with curiosity to learn the end
of my romance. I told you I had deemed it convenient to make a few
days' tour on foot among the mountains of Westmoreland with
Dudley, a young English artist with whom I have formed some
acquaintance. A fine fellow this, you must know, Delaserre: he
paints tolerably, draws beautifully, converses well, and plays
charmingly on the flute; and, though thus well entitled to be a
coxcomb of talent, is, in fact, a modest unpretending young man.
On our return from our little tour I learned that the enemy had
been reconnoitring. Mr. Mervyn's barge had crossed the lake, I was
informed by my landlord, with the squire himself and a visitor.

'"What sort of person, landlord?"

'"Why, he was a dark officer-looking mon, at they called Colonel.
Squoire Mervyn questioned me as close as I had been at 'sizes. I
had guess, Mr. Dawson" (I told you that was my feigned name), "but
I tould him nought of your vagaries, and going out a-laking in the
mere a-noights, not I; an I can make no sport, I'se spoil none;
and Squoire Mervyn's as cross as poy-crust too, mon; he's aye
maundering an my guests but land beneath his house, though it be
marked for the fourth station in the survey. Noa, noa, e'en let un
smell things out o' themselves for Joe Hodges."

'You will allow there was nothing for it after this but paying
honest Joe Hodges's bill and departing, unless I had preferred
making him my confidant, for which I felt in no way inclined.
Besides, I learned that our ci-devant Colonel was on full retreat
for Scotland, carrying off poor Julia along with him. I understand
from those who conduct the heavy baggage that he takes his winter
quarters at a place called Woodbourne, in ---shire in Scotland.
He will be all on the alert just now, so I must let him enter his
entrenchments without any new alarm. And then, my good Colonel, to
whom I owe so many grateful thanks, pray look to your defence.

'I protest to you, Delaserre, I often think there is a little
contradiction enters into the ardour of my pursuit. I think I
would rather bring this haughty insulting man to the necessity of
calling his daughter Mrs. Brown than I would wed her with his full
consent, and with the King's permission to change my name for the
style and arms of Mannering, though his whole fortune went with
them. There is only one circumstance that chills me a little:
Julia is young and romantic. I would not willingly hurry her into
a step which her riper years might disapprove; no--nor would I
like to have her upbraid me, were it but with a glance of her eye,
with having ruined her fortunes, far less give her reason to say,
as some have not been slow to tell their lords, that, had I left
her time for consideration, she would have been wiser and done
better. No, Delaserre, this must not be. The picture presses close
upon me, because I am aware a girl in Julia's situation has no
distinct and precise idea of the value of the sacrifice she makes.
She knows difficulties only by name; and, if she thinks of love
and a farm, it is a ferme ornee, such as is only to be found in
poetic description or in the park of a gentleman of twelve
thousand a year. She would be ill prepared for the privations of
that real Swiss cottage we have so often talked of, and for the
difficulties which must necessarily surround us even before we
attained that haven. This must be a point clearly ascertained.
Although Julia's beauty and playful tenderness have made an
impression on my heart never to be erased, I must be satisfied
that she perfectly understands the advantages she foregoes before
she sacrifices them for my sake.

'Am I too proud, Delaserre, when I trust that even this trial may
terminate favourably to my wishes? Am I too vain when I suppose
that the few personal qualities which I possess, with means of
competence, however moderate, and the determination of
consecrating my life to her happiness, may make amends for all I
must call upon her to forego? Or will a difference of dress, of
attendance, of style, as it is called, of the power of shifting at
pleasure the scenes in which she seeks amusement--will these
outweigh in her estimation the prospect of domestic happiness and
the interchange of unabating affection? I say nothing of her
father: his good and evil qualities are so strangely mingled that
the former are neutralised by the latter; and that which she must
regret as a daughter is so much blended with what she would gladly
escape from, that I place the separation of the father and child
as a circumstance which weighs little in her remarkable case.
Meantime I keep up my spirits as I may. I have incurred too many
hardships and difficulties to be presumptuous or confident in
success, and I have been too often and too wonderfully extricated
from them to be despondent.

'I wish you saw this country. I think the scenery would delight
you. At least it often brings to my recollection your glowing
descriptions of your native country. To me it has in a great
measure the charm of novelty. Of the Scottish hills, though born
among them, as I have always been assured, I have but an
indistinct recollection. Indeed, my memory rather dwells upon the
blank which my youthful mind experienced in gazing on the levels
of the isle of Zealand, than on anything which preceded that
feeling; but I am confident, from that sensation as well as from
the recollections which preceded it, that hills and rocks have
been familiar to me at an early period, and that, though now only
remembered by contrast, and by the blank which I felt while gazing
around for them in vain, they must have made an indelible
impression on my infant imagination. I remember, when we first
mounted that celebrated pass in the Mysore country, while most of
the others felt only awe and astonishment at the height and
grandeur of the scenery, I rather shared your feelings and those
of Cameron, whose admiration of such wild rocks was blended with
familiar love, derived from early association. Despite my Dutch
education, a blue hill to me is as a friend, and a roaring torrent
like the sound of a domestic song that hath soothed my infancy. I
never felt the impulse so strongly as in this land of lakes and
mountains, and nothing grieves me so much as that duty prevents
your being with me in my numerous excursions among recesses. Some
drawings I have attempted, but I succeed vilely. Dudley, on the
contrary, draws delightfully, with that rapid touch which seems
like magic; while I labour and botch, and make this too heavy and
that too light, and produce at last a base caricature. I must
stick to the flageolet, for music is the only one of the fine arts
which deigns to acknowledge me.

'Did you know that Colonel Mannering was a draughtsman? I believe
not, for he scorned to display his accomplishments to the view of
a subaltern. He draws beautifully, however. Since he and Julia
left Mervyn Hall, Dudley was sent for there. The squire, it seems,
wanted a set of drawings made up, of which Mannering had done the
first four, but was interrupted by his hasty departure in his
purpose of completing them. Dudley says he has seldom seen
anything so masterly, though slight; and each had attached to it a
short poetical description. Is Saul, you will say, among the
prophets? Colonel Mannering write poetry! Why, surely this man
must have taken all the pains to conceal his accomplishments that
others do to display theirs. How reserved and unsociable he
appeared among us! how little disposed to enter into any
conversation which could become generally interesting! And then
his attachment to that unworthy Archer, so much below him in every
respect; and all this because he was the brother of Viscount
Archerfield, a poor Scottish peer! I think, if Archer had longer
survived the wounds in the affair of Cuddyboram, he would have
told something that might have thrown light upon the
inconsistencies of this singular man's character. He repeated to
me more than once, "I have that to say which will alter your hard
opinion of our late Colonel." But death pressed him too hard; and
if he owed me any atonement, which some of his expressions seemed
to imply, he died before it could be made.

'I propose to make a further excursion through this country while
this fine frosty weather serves, and Dudley, almost as good a
walker as myself, goes with me for some part of the way. We part
on the borders of Cumberland, when he must return to his lodgings
in Marybone, up three pair of stairs, and labour at what he calls
the commercial part of his profession. There cannot, he says, be
such a difference betwixt any two portions of existence as between
that in which the artist, if an enthusiast, collects the subjects
of his drawings and that which must necessarily be dedicated to
turning over his portfolio and exhibiting them to the provoking
indifference, or more provoking criticism, of fashionable
amateurs. "During the summer of my year," says Dudley, "I am as
free as a wild Indian, enjoying myself at liberty amid the
grandest scenes of nature; while during my winters and springs I
am not only cabined, cribbed, and confined in a miserable garret,
but condemned to as intolerable subservience to the humour of
others, and to as indifferent company, as if I were a literal
galley slave." I have promised him your acquaintance, Delaserre;
you will be delighted with his specimens of art, and he with your
Swiss fanaticism for mountains and torrents.

'When I lose Dudley's company, I am informed that I can easily
enter Scotland by stretching across a wild country in the upper
part of Cumberland; and that route I shall follow, to give the
Colonel time to pitch his camp ere I reconnoitre his position.
Adieu! Delaserre. I shall hardly find another opportunity of
writing till I reach Scotland.'




CHAPTER XXII

     Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
     And merrily bend the stile-a,
     A merry heart goes all the day,
     A sad one tires in a mile-a.

          --Winter's Tale.


Let the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November
morning, the scene an open heath, having for the background that
huge chain of mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are
preeminent; let him look along that BLIND ROAD, by which I mean
the track so slightly marked by the passengers' footsteps that it
can but be traced by a slight shade of verdure from the darker
heath around it, and, being only visible to the eye when at some
distance, ceases to be distinguished while the foot is actually
treading it; along this faintly-traced path advances the object of
our present narrative. His firm step, his erect and free carriage,
have a military air which corresponds well with his well-
proportioned limbs and stature of six feet high. His dress is so
plain and simple that it indicates nothing as to rank; it may be
that of a gentleman who travels in this manner for his pleasure,
or of an inferior person of whom it is the proper and usual garb.
Nothing can be on a more reduced scale than his travelling
equipment. A volume of Shakspeare in each pocket, a small bundle
with a change of linen slung across his shoulders, an oaken cudgel
in his hand, complete our pedestrian's accommodations, and in this
equipage we present him to our readers.

Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, and begun
his solitary walk towards Scotland.

The first two or three miles were rather melancholy, from want of
the society to which he had of late been accustomed. But this
unusual mood of mind soon gave way to the influence of his natural
good spirits, excited by the exercise and the bracing effects of
the frosty air. He whistled as he went along, not 'from want of
thought,' but to give vent to those buoyant feelings which he had
no other mode of expressing. For each peasant whom he chanced to
meet he had a kind greeting or a good-humoured jest; the hardy
Cumbrians grinned as they passed, and said, 'That's a kind heart,
God bless un!' and the market-girl looked more than once over her
shoulder at the athletic form, which corresponded so well with the
frank and blythe address of the stranger. A rough terrier dog, his
constant companion, who rivalled his master in glee, scampered at
large in a thousand wheels round the heath, and came back to jump
up on him and assure him that he participated in the pleasure of
the journey. Dr. Johnson thought life had few things better than
the excitation produced by being whirled rapidly along in a post-
chaise; but he who has in youth experienced the confident and
independent feeling of a stout pedestrian in an interesting
country, and during fine weather, will hold the taste of the great
moralist cheap in comparison.

Part of Brown's view in choosing that unusual track which leads
through the eastern wilds of Cumberland into Scotland, had been a
desire to view the remains of the celebrated Roman Wall, which are
more visible in that direction than in any other part of its
extent. His education had been imperfect and desultory; but
neither the busy scenes in which he had been engaged, nor the
pleasures of youth, nor the precarious state of his own
circumstances, had diverted him from the task of mental
improvement. 'And this then is the Roman Wall,' he said,
scrambling up to a height which commanded the course of that
celebrated work of antiquity. 'What a people! whose labours, even
at this extremity of their empire, comprehended such space, and
were executed upon a scale of such grandeur! In future ages, when
the science of war shall have changed, how few traces will exist
of the labours of Vauban and Coehorn, while this wonderful
people's remains will even then continue to interest and astonish
posterity! Their fortifications, their aqueducts, their theatres,
their fountains, all their public works, bear the grave, solid,
and majestic character of their language; while our modern
labours, like our modern tongues, seem but constructed out of
their fragments.' Having thus moralised, he remembered that he was
hungry, and pursued his walk to a small public-house, at which he
proposed to get some refreshment.

The alehouse, for it was no better, was situated in the bottom of
a little dell, through which trilled a small rivulet. It was
shaded by a large ash tree, against which the clay-built shed that
served the purpose of a stable was erected, and upon which it
seemed partly to recline. In this shed stood a saddled horse,
employed in eating his corn. The cottages in this part of
Cumberland partake of the rudeness which characterises those of
Scotland. The outside of the house promised little for the
interior, notwithstanding the vaunt of a sign, where a tankard of
ale voluntarily decanted itself into a tumbler, and a
hieroglyphical scrawl below attempted to express a promise of
'good entertainment for man and horse.' Brown was no fastidious
traveller: he stopped and entered the cabaret. [Footnote: See Note
2.]

The first object which caught his eye in the kitchen was a tall,
stout, country-looking man in a large jockey great-coat, the owner
of the horse which stood in the shed, who was busy discussing huge
slices of cold boiled beef, and casting from time to time an eye
through the window to see how his steed sped with his provender. A
large tankard of ale flanked his plate of victuals, to which he
applied himself by intervals. The good woman of the house was
employed in baking. The fire, as is usual in that country, was on
a stone hearth, in the midst of an immensely large chimney, which
had two seats extended beneath the vent. On one of these sat a
remarkably tall woman, in a red cloak and slouched bonnet, having
the appearance of a tinker or beggar. She was busily engaged with
a short black tobacco-pipe.

At the request of Brown for some food, the landlady wiped with her
mealy apron one corner of the deal table, placed a wooden trencher
and knife and fork before the traveller, pointed to the round of
beef, recommended Mr. Dinmont's good example, and finally filled a
brown pitcher with her home-brewed. Brown lost no time in doing
ample credit to both. For a while his opposite neighbour and he
were too busy to take much notice of each other, except by a good-
humoured nod as each in turn raised the tankard to his head. At
length, when our pedestrian began to supply the wants of little
Wasp, the Scotch store-farmer, for such was Mr. Dinmont, found
himself at leisure to enter into conversation.

'A bonny terrier that, sir, and a fell chield at the vermin, I
warrant him; that is, if he's been weel entered, for it a' lies in
that.'