Tales and Novels Volume I Part 26

"ARAMINTA.

"April, 1800.--_Angelina Bower!_

"So let me christen my cottage!"

What effect this letter may have on _sober-minded_ readers in general can easily be guessed; but Miss Warwick, who was little deserving of this epithet, was so charmed with the sound of it, that it made her totally to forget to judge of her amiable Araminta's mode of reasoning.

"Garnish-tinselled wands"--"shackle-scorning Reason"--"isolation of the heart"--"soul-rending eloquence"--with "rocks and woods, and a meandering river--balmy air--moonlight--Orlando--energy of intellect--a cottage--and a heart-broken friend," made, when all mixed together, strange confusion in Angelina's imagination. She neglected to observe, that her Araminta was in the course of two pages--"almost heart-broken"--and in the possession of--"supreme felicity."--Yet Miss Warwick, though she judged so like a simpleton, was a young woman of considerable abilities: her want of what the world calls common sense arose from certain mistakes in her education.--She had pa.s.sed her childhood with a father and mother, who cultivated her literary taste, but who neglected to cultivate her judgment: her reading was confined to works of imagination; and the conversation which she heard was not calculated to give her any knowledge of realities. Her parents died when she was about fourteen, and she then went to reside with Lady Diana Chillingworth, a lady who placed her whole happiness in living in a certain circle of high company in London. Miss Warwick saw the follies of the society with which she now mixed; she felt insupportable ennui from the want of books and conversation suited to her taste; she heard with impatience Lady Diana's dogmatical advice; observed, with disgust, the meanness of her companion, Miss Burrage, and felt with triumph the superiority of her own abilities. It was in this situation of her mind that Miss Warwick happened, at a circulating library, to meet with a new novel, called "The Woman of Genius."--The character of Araminta, the heroine, charmed her beyond measure; and having been informed, by the preface, that the story was founded on facts in the life of the auth.o.r.ess herself, she longed to become acquainted with her; and addressed a letter to "The Woman of Genius," at her publisher's. The letter was answered in a highly flattering, and consequently, very agreeable style, and the correspondence continued for nearly two years; till, at length, Miss W. formed a strong desire to see her _unknown friend_. The ridicule with which Miss Burrage treated every thing, and every idea, that was not sanctioned by fas.h.i.+on, and her total want of any taste for literature, were continually contrasted in Miss Warwick's mind, with the picture she had formed of her Araminta.--Miss Burrage, who dreaded, though certainly without reason, that she might be supplanted in the good graces of Lady Diana, endeavoured by every petty means in her power, to disgust her young rival with the situation in which she was placed. She succeeded beyond her hopes. Miss Warwick determined to accept of her _unknown friend's_ invitation to Angelina Bower--a charming romantic cottage in South Wales, where, according to Araminta's description, she might pa.s.s her halcyon days in tranquil, elegant retirement. It was not difficult for our heroine, though unused to deception, to conceal her project from Lady Diana Chillingworth, who was much more observant of the appearance of her protegee in public, than interested about what pa.s.sed in her mind in private. Miss Warwick quitted her ladys.h.i.+p's house without the least difficulty, and the following is the letter which our heroine left upon her dressing-table.

Under all the emphatic words, according to the custom of some letter-writers, were drawn emphatic lines.

"Averse as I am to every thing that may have the appearance of a clandestine transaction, I have, however, found myself under the necessity of leaving your ladys.h.i.+p's house, without imparting to you my intentions. Confidence and sympathy go hand in hand, nor can either be _commanded_ by the voice of authority. Your ladys.h.i.+p's opinions and mine, upon _all_ subjects, differ so _essentially_, that I could never hope for your approbation, either of my _sentiments_ or my conduct.

It is my _unalterable determination_ to _act_ and _think_ upon every occasion for myself; though I am well aware, that they who start out of the common track, either in words or action, are exposed to the ridicule and persecution of vulgar or illiberal minds. They who venture to carry the _first_ torch into _unexplored_ or _unfrequented_ pa.s.sages in the mine of truth are exposed to the most imminent danger. Rich, however, are the treasures of the place, and cowardly the soul that hesitates!

But I forget myself.

"It may be necessary to inform your ladys.h.i.+p, that, disgusted with the frivolity of what is called fas.h.i.+onable life, and _unable_ to _live_ without the higher pleasures of friends.h.i.+p, I have chosen for my asylum the humble, tranquil cottage of a female friend, whose tastes, whose principles have long been known to me: whose _genius_ I admire! whose _virtues_ I revere! Whose example I _emulate!_

"Though I do not condescend to use the fulsome language of _a mean dependant_, I am not forgetful of the kindness I have received from your ladys.h.i.+p. It has not been without a _painful_ struggle that I have broken my bonds asunder--the bonds of what is _falsely_ called _duty: spontaneous_ grat.i.tude ever will have full, _indisputable, undisputed_ power over the _heart_ and _understanding_ of

"ANNE-ANGELINA WARWICK.

"P.S. It will be in vain to attempt to discover the place of my retreat.

All I ask is to be left in peace, to enjoy, in my retirement, _perfect felicity_."

CHAPTER II.

Full of her hopes of finding "perfect felicity" in her retreat at Angelina Bower, exulting in the idea of the courage and magnanimity with which she had escaped from her "aristocratic persecutors," our heroine pursued her journey to South Wales.

She had the misfortune--and it is a great misfortune to a young lady of her way of thinking--to meet with no difficulties or adventures, nothing interesting upon her journey. She arrived, with inglorious safety, at Cardiffe. The inn at Cardiffe was kept by a landlady of the name of Hoel. "Not high-born Hoel. Alas!" said Angelina to herself, when the name was screamed in her hearing by a waiter, as she walked into the inn. "Vocal no more to high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellynn's lay!"

A harper was sitting in the pa.s.sage, and he tuned his harp to catch her attention as she pa.s.sed. "A harp!--O play for me some plaintive air!"

The harper followed her into a small parlour.

"How delightful!" said Miss Warwick, who, in common with other heroines, had the habit of talking to herself; or, to use more dignified terms, who had the habit of indulging in soliloquy:--"how delightful to taste at last the air of Wales. But 'tis a pity 'tis not North instead of South Wales, and Conway instead of Cardiffe Castle."

The harper, after he had finished playing a melancholy air, exclaimed, "That was but a melancholy ditty, miss--we'll try a merrier." And he began--

"Of a n.o.ble race was Shenkin."

"No more," cried Angelina, stopping her ears; "no more, barbarous man!--you break the illusion."

"Break the what?" said the harper to himself; "I thought, miss, that tune would surely please you; for it is a favourite one in these parts."

"A favourite with Welsh squires, perhaps," said our heroine; "but, unfortunately, _I_ am not a Welsh squire, and have no taste for your 'b.u.mper Squire Jones.'"

The man tuned his harp sullenly. "I'm sorry for it, miss," said he: "more's the pity, I can't please you better!"

Angelina cast upon him a look of contempt. "He no way fills my idea of a bard!--an ancient and immortal bard!--He has no soul--fingers without a soul!--No 'master's hand, 'or 'prophet's fire!'--No 'deep sorrows!'--No 'sable garb of woe!'--No loose beard, or h.o.a.ry hair, 'streaming like a meteor to the troubled air!'--'No haggard eyes!'--Heigho!"--"It is time for me to be going," said the harper, who began to think, by the young lady's looks and manners, that she was not in her right understanding.

"It is time for me to be going; the gentlemen above in the Dolphin will be ready for me."

"A mere modern harper! He is not even blind," Angelina said to herself, as he examined the s.h.i.+lling which she gave him. "Begone, for Heaven's sake!" added she, aloud, as he left the room;--and "leave me, leave me to repose." She threw up the sash, to taste the evening air; but scarcely had she begun to repeat a sonnet to her Araminta--scarcely had she repeated the first two lines--

"Hail, far-famed, fairest, unknown friend, Our sacred silent sympathy of soul,"

when a little ragged Welsh boy, who was playing with his companions, in a field at the back of Cardifie Inn, espied her, gave the signal to his playfellows, and immediately they all came running up to the window at which Angelina was standing, and with one loud shrill chorus of "Gi'

me ha'penny!--Gi' me ha'penny!--Gi' me one ha'penny!" interrupted the sonnet, Angelina threw out some money to the boys, though she was provoked by their interruption: her donation was, in the true spirit of a heroine, much greater than the occasion required and the consequence was, that these urchins, by spreading the fame of her generosity through the town of Cardiffe, collected a Lilliputian mob of pet.i.tioners, who a.s.sailed Angelina with fresh vehemence. Not a moment's peace, not a moment for poetry or reverie would they allow her: so that she was impatient for her chaise to come to the door. Her Araminta's cottage was but six miles distant from Cardiffe; and to speak in due sentimental language, every moment that delayed her long-expected interview with her beloved unknown friend, appeared to her an age.

"And what would you be pleased to have for supper, ma'am?" said the landlady. "We have fine Tenby oysters, ma'am; and, if you'd like a Welsh rabbit--"

"Tenby oysters!--Welsh rabbits!" repeated Angelina, in a disdainful tone. "Oh, detain me not in this cruel manner!--I want no Tenby oysters, I want no Welsh rabbits; only let me be gone--I am all impatience to see a dear friend. Oh, if you have any feeling, any humanity, detain me not!" cried she, clasping her hands.

Miss Warwick had an ungovernable propensity to make a display of sensibility; a fine theatrical scene upon every occasion; a propensity which she had acquired from novel-reading. It was never more unluckily displayed than in the present instance; for her audience and spectators, consisting of the landlady, a waiter, and a Welsh boy, who just entered the room with a knife-tray in his hand, were all more inclined to burst into rude laughter than to join in gentle sympathy. The chaise did not come to the door one moment sooner than it would have done without this pathetic wringing of the hands. As soon as Angelina drove from the door, the landlady's curiosity broke forth--

"Pray tell me, Hugh Humphries," said Mrs. Hoel, turning to the postilion, who drove Angelina from Newport, "pray, now, does not this seem strange, that such a young lady as this should be travelling about in such wonderful haste? I believe, by her flighty airs, she is upon no good errand--and I would have her to know, at any rate, that she might have done better than to sneer, in that way, at Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe, and her Tenby oysters, and her Welsh rabbit. Oh, I'll make her repent her _pe_haviour to Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe. 'Not high-born Hoel,'

forsooth! How does she know that, I should be glad to hear? The Hoels are as high born, I'll venture to say, as my young miss herself, I've a notion! and would scorn, moreover, to have a runaway lady for a relation of theirs. Oh, she shall learn to repent her disrespects to Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe. I _pe_lieve she shall soon meet herself in the public newspapers--her eyes, and her nose, and her hair, and her inches, and her description at full length she shall see--and her friends shall see it too--and maybe they shall thank, and maybe they shall reward handsomely Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe."

Whilst the angry Welsh landlady was thus forming projects of revenge for the contempt with which she imagined that her high birth and her Tenby oysters had been treated, Angelina pursued her journey towards the cottage of her unknown friend, forming charming pictures, in her imagination, of the manner in which her amiable Araminta would start, and weep, and faint, perhaps with joy and surprise, at the sight of her Angelina. It was a fine moonlight night--an unlucky circ.u.mstance; for the by-road which led to Angelina Bower was so narrow and bad, that if the night had been dark, our heroine must infallibly have been overturned, and this overturn would have been a delightful incident in the history of her journey; but Fate ordered it otherwise. Miss Warwick had nothing to lament, but that her delicious reveries were interrupted, for several miles, by the Welsh postilion's expostulations with his horses.

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed she, "cannot the man hold his tongue? His uncouth vociferations distract me! So fine a scene, so placid the moonlight--but there is always something that is not in perfect unison with one's feelings."

"Miss, if you please, you must light here, and walk for a matter of a quarter of a mile, for I can't drive up to the house door, because there is no carriage-road down the lane; but if you be pleased, I'll go on before you--my horses will stand quite quiet here--and I'll knock the folks up for you, miss."

"Folks!--Oh, don't talk to me of knocking folks up," cried Angelina, springing out of the carriage "stay with your horses, man, I beseech you. You shall be summoned when you are wanted--I choose to walk up to the cottage alone."

"As you please, miss," said the postilion; "only _hur_ had better take care of the dogs."

This last piece of sage counsel was lost upon our heroine; she heard it not--she was "rapt into future times."

"By moonlight will be our first interview--just as I had pictured to myself--but can this be the cottage?--It does not look quite so romantic as I expected--but 'tis the dwelling of my Araminta--Happy, thrice happy moment!--Now for our secret signal--I am to sing the first, and my unknown friend the second part of the same air."

Angelina then began to sing the following stanza--

"O waly waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn side, Where I and my love were wont to gae."

She sung and paused, in expectation of hearing the second part from her amiable Araminta--but no voice was heard.

"All is hushed," said Angelina--"ever tranquil be her slumbers! Yet I must waken her--her surprise and joy at seeing me thus will be so great!--by moonlight too!"

She knocked at the cottage window--still no answer.

"All silent as night!" said she--

"'When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene.'"

Angelina, as she repeated these lines, stood with her back to the cottage window: the window opened, and a Welsh servant girl put out her head; her night-cap, if cap it might be called which shape had none, was half off, her black hair streamed over her shoulders, and her face was the face of vulgar, superst.i.tious amazement.

"Oh, 'tis our old ghost of Nelly Gwynn, all in white, walking and saying her prayers backwards--I heard 'em quite plain, as I hope to breathe,"

said the terrified girl to herself; and, shutting the window with a trembling hand, she hastened to waken an old woman, who slept in the same room with her.--Angelina, whose patience was by this time exhausted, went to the door of the cottage, and shook it with all her force.--It rattled loud, and a shrill scream was heard from within.