 Book 3, Chapter 8 of Camilla This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander Camilla or a Picture of Youth by Fanny Burnie Chapter 8 Modern Ideas of Duty Camilla now felt more permanently revived, because better satisfied with the rectitude of her conduct. She could no longer be accused of interfering between Edgar and Indiana. That affair would take its natural course, and be it what it might, while absent from both parties, she concluded she should at least escape all censor. Only therefore she returned to take possession of her usual apartment, affectionately accompanied by her eldest sister. The form and the mind of Lavigne were in the most perfect harmony. Her polished complexion was fair, clear, and transparent. Her features were of the extremist delicacy, her eyes of the softest blue, and her smile displayed internal serenity. The unruffled sweetness over disposition bore the same character of modest excellence, joy, hope, and prosperity, sickness, sorrow, and disappointment, assailed alike in vain the uniform gentleness of her temper. Yet though thus exempt from all natural turbulence, either of pleasure or of pain, the meekness of her composition degenerated not into insensibility. It was open to all the feminine feelings of pity, of sympathy, and of tenderness. Thus copiously gifted with all her sexes' softness, her society would have contributed to restore Camilla to repose, had they continued together without interruption. But in a few minutes the room door was opened, and Lionel, rushing into the apartment, called out, how-do-do, my girls, how-do-do, and shook them each by the hand, with a swing that nearly brought them to the ground. Camilla always rejoiced at his sight, but Lavigne gravely said, I thought, brother, you had been at Dr. Marchman's. All in good time, my dear, I shall certainly visit the old gentleman before long. Did you not sleep there, then, last night? No, child. Could God, Lionel, if my mother? My dear little Lavigne, cried he, chucking her under the chin. I have a vast notion of making visits at my own time, instead of my mammas. Oh, Lionel, and can you just now come, come, interruptity, don't let us waste our precious minute in old moralizing. If I had not luckily been hard by, I should not have known, the coast was clear. Pray, where are they gone, tantalizing? To Cleves. To Cleves, what a happy escape! I was upon the point of going thither myself. Camilla, what is the matter with thee? Nothing. I'm only thinking, pray, when do you go to Oxford? Poo-poo! What do you talk of Oxford for? You are grown quite stupid, girl. I believe you have lived too long with Miss Marglund. Pray, how does that dear creature do? I'm afraid she will grow melancholy from not seeing me so long. Is she as pretty as she used to be? I have some notion of sending her a resuter. Oh, brother, said Lavigne, is it possible you can have such spirits? Oh, hang it! If one is not merry when one can, what is the world good for? Besides, I do assure you, I fret it so consumed hard at first, that for the life of me I can fret no longer. But why are you not at Dr. Marchmont's? Because, my dear, you have no conception, the pleasure those old doctors take in lecturing a junkster, who is in any disgrace. Disgrace, repeated Camilla. At all events, said Lavigne, I beseech you to be a little careful. I will not have my poor mother find you here for the world. Oh, as to that I defy her to desire the meeting less than I do. But come, let's talk of something else. How go on the classics? Is my old friend Dr. Orpon as chatty and amusing as ever? My dear Lionel, said Camilla, I am filled with apprehension and perplexity. Why should my mother wish not to see you? And why, and how is it possible you can wish not to see her? What? Don't you know it all? I know only that something must be wrong. But how? What? Or which way? I have not heard. Has not Lavigne told you then? No, answered Lavigne. I could be in no haste to give her pain. You are a good girl enough. But how came you hither, Camilla? And what is the reason you have not seen my mother-in-law yourself? Not seen her? I have been with her this half hour. What? And in all that time did not she tell you? She did not name you. Is it possible? Well, she is a noble creature. I wonder how she could ever have such a son as me. And I am still less like my father than her. I suppose I was changed in the cradle. Will you countenance me, young ladies, if some villainous attorney or excise man should by and by come to own me? Dear Lionel, cried Camilla, do explain to me what has happened. You make me think it important and trifling twenty times in a minute. Oh, a horrid business! Lavigne must tell it you. I'll go away till she has done. Don't despise me, Camilla. I am confounded sorry. I promise you. He then hurried out of the room, evidently feeling more emotion than he cared. to display. Yet Lavigne had but just begun her relation when he abruptly returned. Come, I had better tell it you myself, cried he, for she'll make such a dismal ditty of it that it won't be over this half-year. The sooner we have done with it the better. It will only put you out of spirits. Then sitting down and taking her hand he began. You must know, I was in rather a bad scrape at Oxford last year. Last year? And you never told us of it before? Oh, to us about something you would not understand. So I shall not mention particulars now. It is enough for you to know that two or three of us wanted a little cash. Well, so, in short, I sent a letter, somewhat of a threatening sort to poor old uncle Relville. Oh, Lionel! Oh, I did not sign it. It was only begging a little money which he can afford to spare very well. And just telling him if it did not come to a place, I mentioned, he would have his brains blown out. How horrible! Poo-poo! He had only to send the money, you know, and then his brains might keep their place. Besides, you can't suppose there was gunpowder in the words. So I got this copied and took the proper measures for concealment. And would you believe it, the poor old gal was full enough actually to send the money where he was bid? Fie, Lionel, cried LaVinia, do you call him a fool because you terrified him? Yes, to be sure, my dear, and you both think him so, too. Only you don't hold it pretty to say so. Do you suppose if he had half the wit of his sister he would have done it? I believe in my conscience there was some odd mistake in their births, and that my mother took away the brains of the man and left the woman for the noddle of my poor uncle. Five, five brother, said LaVinia again. You know how sickly he has always been from his birth, and how soon therefore he might be alarmed. Why, yes, LaVinia, I believe it was a very bad thing, and I would give half my little finger if I had not done it. But it's over, you know, so what signifies making the worst of it? And did he not discover you? No, I gave him particular orders in my letter not to tempt anything of that sort, assuring him there were spies about him to watch his proceedings. The good old ass took it all for gospel, so there the matter dropped. However, as ill luck would have it, about three months ago we wanted another sum. And could you again? Why, my dear, it was only taking a little of my own fortune beforehand, for I am his heir, so we all agreed it was merely robbing myself, for we had several consultations about it and one of us is to be a lawyer. But you give me some pleasure here, said Camilla, for I had never heard that my uncle had made you his heir. No more have I neither, my dear, but I take it for granted. Besides our little lawyer put it into my head, while we wrote again, and told the poor old gentleman, for which I assure you I am heartily repentant, that if he did not send me double the sum in the same manner without delay, his house was to be burned to the ground the first night, that he and all his family were asleep in bed. Now, don't make faces and shruggings, for I promise you I think already I deserved to be hanged for giving him the fright, though I would not really have hurt him, all the time, for half his fortune. And who could have guessed he would have it so easily? The money however came, and we thought it all secure, and agreed to get the same sum annually. Annually, repeated Camilla, with uplifted hands. Yes, my dear, you have no conception how convenient it would have been for our extra expenses, but, unluckily, uncle grew worse and went abroad, and then consulted with some crab of a friend, and that friend was some demagogue of a magistrate. And so all is blown. However we had managed it so cleverly, it cost them near three months to find it out, owing I must confess to poor uncle's cowardice in not making his inquiries before the money was carried off, and he himself over the seas and far away. The other particulars Lavina must give you, for I have talked of it now, till I have made myself quite sick. Do tell me something diverting to drive it a little out of my head. Have you seen anything of my enchanting widow lately? No, she does not desire to be seen by me. She would not admit me. She is frankness itself, and does not pretend to care a fig for any of her own sex. Oh, but Camilla, I have wanted to ask you this great while, if you think there is any truth in this rumour that Mandelbert intends to propose to Indiana? To propose? I thought it had all long since been settled. Ah, so the world says, but I don't believe a word of it. Do you think, if that were the case, he would not have owned it to me? There's nothing fixed yet, depend upon it. Camilla struck, amazed and delighted, involuntarily embraced her brother, though recollecting herself almost at the same moment, she endeavoured to turn off the resistless impulse into taking leave, and hurrying him away. Lionel, who to want of solidity and penetration principally owed the errors of his conduct, was easily put upon a wrongsend, and assured her he would take care to be off in time. But what, cried he, has carried them to Cleves? Are they gone to tell tales? Because I have lost one uncle by my own fault, must I lose another by theirs? No, answered Lavigne, they have determined not to name you. They have settled that my uncle Eug shall never be told of the affair, nor anybody else if they can help it, except your sisters and Dr. Marchmont. Well, they are good souls, cried he, attempting to laugh, though his eyes were glistening. I wish I deserved them better. I wish, too, it was not so dull to be good. I can be merry and harmless here at the same time, and so I can at Cleves, but at Oxford, or in London. Your merry blades there, I can't deny it, my dear sisters, you merry blades there are but sad fellows. Yet there is such fun, such spirit, such sport amongst them. I cannot for my life keep out of their way. Besides, you have no conception, young ladies, what a byword you become among them if they catch you flinching. I would not for the world say anything to pain you, my dear brother, cried Lavigne. But yet I must hope that in future your first study will be to resist such dangerous examples, and to drop such unworthy friends. If it is not to tell tales, then, for what else are they gone to Cleves, just at this time? For my mother to take leave of Judea and my uncle before her journey. Journey? Why wither is she going? Abroad? The deuce she is, and what for? To try to make your peace with her brother, or at least to nurse him herself till he is tolerably recovered. Lionel slapped his hat over his eyes, and saying, This is too much. If I were a man, I should shoot myself, rushed out of the room. The two sisters rapidly followed him, and caught his arm before he could quit the house. They earnestly besought him to return, to compose himself, and to promise he would commit no rash action. My dear sisters, cried he, I work just now only as I ought to be, but I will give you any promise you please. However, though I have never listened to my father as I ought to have listened, he has implanted in my mind a horror of suicide that will make me live my natural life, be it as good for nothing as it may. He then suffered his sisters to lead him back to their room, where he cast himself upon a chair in painful rumination upon his own unworthiness, and his parents' excellence. But the tender soothing of La Vina and Camilla, who trembled lest his remorse should urge him to some act of violence, soon drew him from reflections of which he hated the intrusion. And he attended with complacency to their youthful security of perfect reconciliations and re-established happiness. With reciprocal exaltation, the eyes of the sisters congratulated each other on having saved him from despair, and seeing him now calm, and, they hoped, safe, they mutually, aggrieved, took Trude no further upon meditations that might be useful to him, and remained silently by his side. For some minutes all were profoundly still. Lionel then suddenly started up. The sisters affrighted, he still arose at the same instant. When stretching himself and joining, he called out, Pretty Camilla, what has become of that smug Mr. Dubster? Speechless with amazement, they looked earnestly in his face, and feared he was raving. They were soon, however, undeceived. The tide of penitence and sorrow was turned in his bayant spirits, and he was only restored to his natural, volatile self. You used him most shabbily, he continued, and he was a very pretty fellow. The next time I have nothing better to do, I'll send him to you that you may make it up. This quick return of gaiety caused a sigh to LaVigna, and much surprise to Camilla. But neither of them could prevail with him to depart, till Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold were every moment expected. They then, though with infinite difficulty, procured his promise that he would go straight to Dr. Marchmont, according to an arrangement made for that purpose by Mrs. Tyrold herself. LaVigna, when he was gone, related some circumstances of this affair which he had omitted. Mr. Relville, the elder brother of Mrs. Tyrold, was a country gentleman of some fortune, but of weak parts, and an invalid from his infancy. He had suffered these incendere letters to pray upon his repose, without venturing to produce them to anyone, from a terror of the menaces hurled against him by the writer, till at length he became so completely hypochondriac, that his rest was utterly broken, to preserve his very existence, he resolved upon visiting another climate. The day that he set out for Lisbon, his destined harbor, he delivered his anonymous letters to a friend, to whom he lived in charge to discover, if possible, their author. This discovery by the usual means of inquiries and rewards was soon made, but the moment Mr. Relville learned that the culprit was his nephew, he wrote over to Mrs. Tyrold a statement of the transaction, declaring he should disinherit Lionel from every shilling of his estate. His health was so much impaired, he said, by the disturbance this had given to his mind, that he should be obliged to spend the ensuing year in Portugal, and he even felt uncertain if he might ever return to his own country. Mrs. Tyrold astonished and indignant, severely questioned her son, who, covered with shame, surprise, and repentance, confessed his guilt. Shocked and grieved in the extreme, she ordered him from her sight, and wrote to Dr. Marchman to receive him. She then settled with Mr. Tyrold the plan of her journey and voyage, hoping by so immediately following, and herself nursing her incensed brother, to soften his wrath, and avert its final ill consequences. CHAPTER IX A FEW EMBARRASSMENTS Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold returned to Edrington somewhat relieved in their spirits, though perplexed in their opinions. They had heard from Sir Yug that Edgar had decidedly disavowed any pretensions to Indiana, and had voluntarily retreated from Cleves, that this disavowal might risk no misconstruction, either in the family or the neighborhood. This insensibility to beauty the most exquisite wanted no advocate with Mrs. Tyrold. Once more she conceived some hope of what she wished, and she determined upon seeing Edgar before her departure. The displeasure she had nourished against him vanished, and justice to his general worth with an affection nearly maternal to his person took again their wanted place in her bosom, and made her deem herself unkind in having proposed to quit the kingdom without bidding him farewell. Mr. Tyrold, whom professional duty and native inclination alike made a man of peace, was ever happy to second all conciliatory measures, and the first to propose them, where his voice had any chance of being heard. He sent a note therefore to invite Edgar to call the next morning, and Mrs. Tyrold deferred her hour of setting off till noon. Her own natural and immediate impulse had been to carry Camilla with her abroad, but when she considered that her soul around was to nurse and appease an offended sick man, whose chamber she meant not to quit till she returned to her family, she gave up the pleasure she would herself have found in the scheme, to her fears for the health and spirits of her darling child, joined to the superior joy of leaving such a solace with her husband. Sir Yug had heard the petition for postponing the further visit of Camilla almost with despondence, but Mr. Tyrold restored him completely to confidence with respect to his doubts concerning Dr. Orkbon, with whom he held a long and satisfactory conversation, and his own benevolent heart received a sensible pleasure, when, upon examining Indiana with regard to Edgar, he found her, though peaked and pouting, untouched either in affection or happiness. Early the next morning Edgar came. Mrs. Tyrold had taken measures for employing Camilla upstairs, where she did not even hear that he entered the house. He was received with kindness and told of the sudden journey, though not of its motives. He heard of it with unfin concern, and earnestly solicited to be the companion of the voyage, if no better male protector were appointed. Mr. Tyrold folded his arms around him at his disgraceful proposal, while his wife animated of her guard, warmly exclaimed, My dear, excellent Edgar, you are indeed the model, the true son of your guardian. Sorry for what had escaped her from her internal reference to Lionel. She looked anxiously to see if he comprehended her. But the mantling blood which mounted quick into his cheeks, while his eyes sought the ground, soon told her there was another mode of affinity, which at that moment had struck him. Willing to establish whether this idea were right, she now considered how she might name Camilla, but her husband, who for no possible purpose could witness distress without seeking to alleviate it, declined his kind offer, and began discourse upon the passage to Lisbon. This gave Edgar time to recover, and in a few seconds, something o' moment seemed abruptly to occur to him, and scarcely saying adieu, he hurried to remount his horse. Mrs. Tyrold was perplexed, but she could take no steps towards an explanation without infringing the delicacy she felt due to her daughter. She suffered him, therefore, to depart. She then proceeded with her preparations, which entirely occupied her till the chess was at the gate. When, as the little party, their eyes and their hearts all full, were taking a last farewell, the parlor door was hastily open, and Dr. Marchmont and Edgar entered the room. All were surprised, but none so much as Camilla, who, forgetting in sudden emotion, everything but former kindness and intimacy, delightedly exclaimed, Edgar, oh, how happy my dearest mother! I was afraid you would go without seeing him. Edgar turned to her with a quickness that could only be exceeded by his pleasure. Her voice, her manner, her unlooked-for interest in his appearance penetrated to his very soul. Is it possible, he cried, you could have the goodness to wish me this gratification? At a moment such as this, could you? Think of me, he would have added, but Dr. Marchmont, coming forward, begged him to account for their intrusion. Almost overpowered by his own sudden emotion, he could scarce recollect its motive himself, while Camilla, fearful and repentant, that she had broken her deliberate and well-principled resolutions, retreated to the window. Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold witnessed the involuntarily movements which betrayed their mutual regard with the tenderest satisfaction, and the complacency of their attention, when Edgar advanced to them, soon removed his embarrassment. He then briefly acquainted them that finding Mrs. Tyrold would not accept him for her chevalier, he had ridden hard to the parsonage of cleaves, whence he hoped he had brought her one too unexceptionable for rejection. Dr. Marchmont, with great warmth, then made a proffer of his services, declaring he had long desired an opportunity to visit Portugal, and protesting that, besides the pleasure of complying with any wish of Mr. Mandelberts, it would give him the most serious happiness to show his gratitude for the many kind offices he owed to Mr. Tyrold, and his high personal respect for his lady. He should require but one day for his preparations, and for securing the performance of the church duty at cleaves during his absence. Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold were equally struck by the goodness of Dr. Marchmont and the attentive kindness of Edgar. Mrs. Tyrold nevertheless would immediately have declined the scheme, but her husband interposed. Her travelling, he said, with such a guard, would be as conductive to his peace at home as to her safety abroad. And with respect, cried he, to obligation I hold it as much a moral duty, not refuse receiving good offices, as not to avoid administering them. That species of independence which proudly flies all ties of gratitude is inimical to the social compact of civilized life, which subsists but by reciprocity of services. Mrs. Tyrold now opposed the scheme no longer, and the shares was ordered for the next day. Dr. Marchmont hurried home to settle his affairs, but Edgar begged a short conference with Mr. Tyrold. Every maternal hope was now awake in Mrs. Tyrold, who concluded this request was to demand Camilla in marriage, and her husband himself, not without trepidation, took Edgar into his study. But Edgar, though his heart was again fully Camillas, had received a look from Dr. Marchmont that guarded him from any immediate declaration. He simply opened upon the late misconception at Cleves, vindicated himself from any versatility of conduct, and affirmed that both his attentions and his regard for Indiana had never been either more or less than they still continued. All this was spoken with a plainest, to which the integrity of his character gave a weight superior to any protestations. My dear Edgar, said Mr. Tyrold, I am convinced of your property. The tenor of your life is its guarantee, and any other defense is a degradation. There is indeed no perfidious so unjustifiable as that which wins but to desert the affections of an innocent female. It is still, if possible, more cowardly than it is cruel, for the greater her worth and the more exquisite her feelings, the stronger will be the impulse of her delicacy to suffer uncomplaining, and the deluder of her esteem commonly confides for averting her reproach to the very sensibility through which she has ensnared her good opinion. No one, said Edgar, can more sincerely concur in this sentiment than myself, and I trust there is no situation and no character that could prompt me to deviate in this point. Here, in particular, my understanding must have been as defective as my morals to have betrayed me into such an enterprise. How do you mean? I beg pardon, my dear sir, but though I have a sort of family regard for Ms. Linmer, and though I think her beauty is transcendent, her heart, I believe, he hesitated. Do you think her heart invulnerable? Why, no, not positively, perhaps, answered he, embarrassed. Not positively invulnerable, but certainly I do not think it composed of those finely subtle sensations which elude all vigilance and become imperceptibly the prey of every assailing sympathy. For itself, therefore, I believe it not in much danger, and for others I see not in that magnetic attraction which charms away all caution, beguils all security, enraps the imagination, and masters the reason. The chain of thinking which from painting what he thought insensible in Indiana led him to describe what he felt to be resistless in Camilla, made him finish the last sentence with an energy that surprised Mr. Tirold into a smile. You seem deeply, he said, to have studied the subject. But not under the guidance of Ms. Linmer, he answered, rising and coloring, the moment he had spoken in the fear he had betrayed himself. I rejoice then the more, replied Mr. Tirold calmly, in her own slackness of susceptibility. Yes, cried Edgar, recovering and quietly replacing himself. It is her own security, and it is the security of all who surround her, though to those, indeed, there was also another, a still greater, in the contrast which he stopped confused at his own meaning, yet presently almost irresistibly added. Not that I think the utmost vivacity of sentiment, nor all the charm of soul, though eternally beaming in the eyes, playing in every feature, glowing in the complexion and brightening every smile. He stopped again, overpowered with the consciousness of the picture he was portraying, but Mr. Tirold continuing silent. He was obliged, though he scarce knew what he said, to go on. Nothing in short so selfishly are we formed, that nothing, not even the loveliest of the lovely, can be truly bewitching, in which we do not hope or expect some participation. I believe I have not made myself very clear. However, it is not material. I simply meant to explain my retreat from Cleaves, and indeed it is barbarious at a season such as this, to detain you a moment from your family. He then hastily took leave. Mr. Tirold was sensibly touched by this scene. He saw through a discourse so perplexed, and a manner so confused, that his daughter had made a forcible impression upon the heart of Mandelbert, but could not comprehend why he seemed struggling to conceal it. What had dropped from him appeared to imply a distrust of exciting mutual regard, yet this, after his own observations upon Camilla, was inconceivable. He regretted that at a period so critical, she must part with her mother, with whom again he now determined to consult. Edgar, who hitherto had opened his whole heart upon every occasion to Mr. Tirold, felt hurt and distressed at this first withholding of confidence. It was, however, unavoidable in his present situation. He went back to the parlour to take leave once more of Mrs. Tirold, but opening the door found Camilla there alone. She was looking out of the window, and had not heard his entrance. This was not a sight to still his perturbed spirits. On the contrary, the moment seemed to him so favourable, that it irresistibly occurred to him to cease it for removing every doubt. Camilla, who had not even missed her mother and sister from the room, was contemplating the horse of Edgar, and internally arraigning herself for the dangerous pleasure she had felt and manifested at the sight of his master. He gently shut the door and approaching her said, Do I see again the same frank and aimable friend, who in earliest days, who always in detail Camilla turning round, startled to behold him so near, and that no one else remained in the room, blushed excessively, and without hearing what he said, shut the window, yet opened it the same minute, stammering out something, but she herself knew not what concerning the weather. The gentlest thoughts crossed the mind of Edgar at this evident embarrassment, and the most generous alacrity prompted him to hasten his purpose. He drew a chair near her, and in penetrating accent said, Will you suffer me? Will you? Can you permit me to take the privilege of our long friendship, and honestly to speak to you upon what has passed within these last few days at Cleves? She could not answer, surprise, doubt, fear of self-deception, and hope of some happy explanation, all suddenly conspired to confound and to silence her. You cannot, I think, forget, he soon resumed, that you had condescended to put into my hands the management and decision of the new acquaintance you are anxious to form? My memory at least will never be unfaithful to a testimony so grateful to me of your entire reliance upon the deep, the unspeakable interest I have ever taken, and ever must take, in my invaluable guardian, and in every branch of his respected and beloved family. Camilla now began to breathe. This last expression, though seamless in friendliness, had nothing of appropriate partiality, and in losing her hope she resumed her calmness. Edgar observed, though he understood not the change, but as he wished to satisfy his mind before he indulged his inclination, he endeavoured not to be sorry to see her mistress of herself during the discussion. He wished her but to answer him with openness. She still, however, only listened, while she rose and looked about the room for some work. Edgar somewhat disconcerted, waited for her again sitting down. And after a few minutes spent in a useless search, she drew a chair to a table at some distance. Ravely then following, he stood opposite to her, and after a little pause said, I perceive you think I go too far. You think that the intimacy of childhood and the attachment of adolescence should expire with the juvenile sports and intercourse which snarish them, rather than ripen into solid friendship and permanent confidence? Do not say so, cried she with emotion. Believe me, unless you knew all that had passed, and all my motives, you should judge nothing of these last few days, but think of me only, whether well or ill, as you thought of me a week ago. The most laboured and explicit defence could not more immediately have satisfied his mind than this speech. Suspicion vanished, trust and admiration took its place, and once more drawing a chair by her side. My dear Miss Camilla, he cried, forgive my having thus harped upon this subject. I here promise you I will name it no more. And I, cried she delighted, promise you, she was going to add that she would give up Mrs Albury if he found reason to disapprove the acquaintance, but the parlor door opened and Miss Margeline stalked into the room. Sir Yu was going to send a messenger to inquire how and when Mrs Tyrell had set out, but Miss Margeline from various motives of curiosity offered her services and came herself. So totally, however, had both Edgar and Camilla been engrossed by each other, that they had not heard the carriage drive up to the garden gate, which, with the door of the house being always open, required neither knocker nor bell. A spectre could not more have startled or shocked Camilla, she jumped up with an exclamation nearly amounting to a scream, and involuntarily seated herself at the other end of the room. Edgar, though not equally embarrassed, was still more provoked, but he rose and got her a chair and inquired after the health of Sir Yu. He is very poorly indeed, answered she, with an austere air, and no wonder. Is my uncle ill? cried Camilla alarmed. Miss Margeline dained no reply. The rest of the family who had seen the carriage from the windows now entered the room, and during the mutual inquiries and the account which followed, Edgar, believing himself unobserved, glided round to Camilla, and in a low voice said, The promise, I think, I guess it's gratifying import. I shall not, I hope, lose through this cruel intrusion. Camilla saw no eyes but those of Miss Margeline, which were severely fastened upon her, affected not to hear him, and planted herself in the group out of his way. He anxiously waited for another opportunity to put in his claim, but he waited in vain. Camilla, who from the entrance of Miss Margeline had had the depressing feel of self-accusation, seduliously avoided him. And though he loitered till he was ashamed of remaining in the house at a period so busy, Miss Margeline, by indications not to be mistaken, showed herself bent upon outstaying him. He was obliged, therefore, to depart, though no sooner was he gone than having nothing more to scrutinize she went also. But little doubt now remained with the watchful parents of the mutual attachment of Edgar and Camilla, to which the only apparent obstacle seemed, a diffidence on the part of Edgar with respect to her internal sympathy. Pleased with the modesty of such a fear, in so accomplished a young man, Mr. Tyrell protested that, if the superior fortune were on the side of Camilla, he would himself clear it up and point out the mistake. His wife gloried in the virtuous delicacy of her daughter, that so properly till it was called for concealed her tenderness from the object who so deservingly inspired it. Yet they agreed that though she could not at present meet Edgar too often, she should be kept fully ignorant of their wishes and expectations, lest they should still be crushed by any unforeseen casualty, and that meanwhile she should be allowed every safe and innocent recreation that might lighten her mind from its depression, and restore her spirits to their native vivacity. Early the next morning Dr. Marchmund came to Edrington, and brought with him Lionel by the express direction of his father, who never objected to meet the faulty to his presence. His hopes of doing good were more potent from kindness than from severity, from example than from precept. Yet he attempted not to conquer the aversioness of Mrs. Tyrell to an interview. He knew it proceeded not from an inexorable nature, but from a repugnance insurmountable to the sight of a beloved object in disgrace. Mrs. Tyrell quitted her husband with the most cruel regret, and her darling Camilla with a tenderest in-quietude. She affectionately embraced the unexceptionable La Vigna, with whom she left a message for her brother, which she strictly charged her to deliver, without softening or omitting one word. And then, attended by Dr. Marchmund, she set forward on her journey towards Falmouth, when, sub-packed in a few days she was informed, would sail for Lisbon. End of Chapter 9, read by Lars Rolander. Book 3, Chapter 10 of Camilla This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lars Rolander. Camilla or a Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney, Chapter 10. Modern Ideas of Life Read at this separation, Mr. Tyrell retired to his study, and his two daughters went to the apartment of Lionel, to comfort him under the weight of his misconduct. They found him sincerely affected and repentant, yet eager to hear that his mother was actually gone. Ill as he felt himself to deserve such an exertion for his future welfare, and poignant as were his shame and sorrow to have parted her from his excellent father, he thought all evil preferable to encountering her eye, or listening to her admonitions. Though unaffectedly beloved, Mrs. Tyrell was deeply feared by all her children, Camilla alone accepted, by Lionel from his horror of reproof, by La Vina from the timidity of her humility, and by Judea from her high sense of parental superiority. Camilla alone escaped the contagion, for while too innocent, too undesigning, willfully to excite his pleasure, she was too gay and too light-hearted to admit apprehension without cause. The gentle La Vina knew not how to perform her painful task of delivering the message with which she was commissioned. The sight of Lionel in dejection was as sad as it was new to her, and she resolved in conjunction with Camilla to spare him till the next day when his feelings might be less acute. They each sat down, therefore, to work silent and compassionate, while he, ejaculating blessings upon his parents, and calling for just vengeance upon himself, stromed up and down the room, biting his knuckles, and now and then striking his forehead. This lasted about ten minutes, and then suddenly advancing to his sisters, and snatching a hand of each. Come, girls, he cried, now let's talk about other things. Too young to have developed the character of Lionel, they were again as much astonished as they had been the preceding day, but his defects, though not originally of the heart, were of a species that soon tend to harden it. They had the rise in a total aversion to reflection, a wish to distinguish himself from his retired and, he thought, unfashionable relations, and an unfortunate coalition with some unprincipled young men, who, because flashy and gay, could lead him to whatever they proposed. Yet, when his chief or misfortune ensued from his vent on false, he was always far more sorry than he thought it manly to own, but as his actions were without judgment, his repentance was without principle, and he was ready for some new enterprise, the moment the difficulties of an old one subsided. Camilla, who from her affection to him read his character through the innocence of her own, met his returning gaiety with a pleasure that was proportioned to her pain at his depression. But LaVenia saw it with discomfort, as the signal for executing her charge, and with extreme reluctance, gave him to understand she had a command to fulfill to him from his mother. The powers of conscience were again then instantly at work, he felt what he had deserved, he dreaded to hear what he had provoked, and trembling and drawing back, and treated her to wait one half hour before she entered upon the business. She tearfully consented, and Camilla proposed extending the reprieve to the next day, but not two minutes elapsed before Lionel protested, he could not bear the suspense, and urged an immediate communication. She can have said nothing, cridy, worse than I expect, or than I merit, probe me then without delay. She is acting by me like an angel, and if she were to command me to turn anchor it, I know I ought to obey her. With much hesitation LaVenia then began. My mother says, my dear Lionel, the fraud you have practiced, the fraud, what a horrid word, why it was a mere trick, a joke, a frolic, just to make an old hunk's open his purse strings for his natural air. I am astonished at my mother, I really don't care if I don't hear another syllable. Well then, my dear Lionel, I will wait till you are calmer, my mother I am sure did not mean to irritate but to convince. My mother, continued he, striding about the room, makes no allowances, she has no fault herself, and for that reason she thinks nobody else should have any, besides how should she know what it is to be a young man, and to want a little cash, and not know how to get it. But I am sure, said LaVenia, if you wanted it for any proper purpose, my father would have denied himself everything in order to supply you. Yes, yes, but suppose I want it for a purpose that it's not proper, how am I to get it then? Why then, my dear Lionel, surely you must be sensible, you ought to go without it, cried the sisters in a breath. Aye, that's as you girls say, that no nothing of the matter, if a young man, when he goes into the world was to make such a speech as that, he would be pointed at, besides who must he live with. You don't suppose he's to shut himself up with a few musty books, sleeping over the fire, under pretence of study all day long, do you? Like young Melmond, who knows no more of the world than one of you do. Indeed, said Camilla, he seemed to me an amable and modest young man, though very romantic. Oh, I dare say he did. I could have laid any wager of that. He's just a girl's man, just the very thing, all sentiment and poetry and heroics. But we, my little dear, we lads of spirit hold all that amazing cheap. I assure you, I would soon be seeing trying on a lady's cap at a glass, as pouring over a crazy old author when I could help it. I warrant you think, because one is at the university, one must all be bookworms. Why, what else do you go there for but to study? Everything in the world, my dear. But are there not sometimes young men who are scholars without being bookworms? cried Camilla, half-colouring. Is not Elgar Mandelbert? Oh yes, yes, an odd thing of that sort happens now and then. Mandelbert has spirit enough to carry it off pretty well, without being ridiculous, though he says deep for his time as ever an old fellow of a college. But then, this is no rule for others. You must not expect an Elgar Mandelbert at every turn. Ah, no, thought Camilla. But Elgar Sedlavina has had an extraordinary education, as well as possessing extraordinary talents and goodness, and you too, my dear Lionel, to fulfill what may be expected from you should look back to your father, who was brought up at the same university, and is now considered as one of the first men it has produced. While he was respected by the learned for his application, he was loved even by the indolent for his candor and kindness of heart. And though his income, as you know, was so small, he never ran in depth, and by an exact but open economy escaped all imputation of meanness, while by forebearing either to conceal or repine at his limited fortune, he blunted even the railery of the dissipated, by frankly and good humanly meeting it halfway. How often have I heard my dear mother tell you this? Yes, but all this child is nothing to the purpose. My father is no more like other men than if he had been born in another planet, and my attempting to resemble him is as great a joke as if you were to dress up Miss Marglenn in Indiana's flowers and feathers, and then expect people to call her a beauty. We do not say you resemble my father now, said Camilla Archley, but is there any reason why you should not try to do it by and by? Oh yes, a little one. Nature, nature, my dear, is in the way. I was born a bit of a buck. I have no manner of natural taste for study. And pouring and expounding, and black letterwork. I'm a light airy spark at your service, not quite so wise as I'm merry, but let that pass. My father, you know, is firm as a rock. He minds neither wind nor weather, nor fleerer, nor sneerer. But this firmness, look ye, he has kept all to himself. Not a whit of it do I inherit. Every wind that blows wears me about, and makes me look some new way. Soon after gathering courage from curiosity, he decide to hear the message at once. Lavina unwillingly, complying, then repeated. The fraud which you have practiced, my mother says, whether from Vanton folly to give pain, or from rapacious discontent to gain money, she will leave without comment, satisfied that if you have any heart at all, its effects must bring its remorse since it has dangerously increased the infirmities of your uncle. Driven him to a foreign land, and forced your mother to forsake her home and family in his pursuit. Unless she were willing to see you punished by the entire disinheritance, with which you are threatened. But, oh no more, no more, I am ready to shoot myself already. My dear, excellent mother, what do I not owe you? I had never seen, never thought of the business in this solemn way before. I meant nothing at first, but a silly joke. And all this mischief has followed unaccountably. I assure you, I had no notion at the beginning he would have minded the letter, and afterwards the acquistion persuaded me the money was as good as my own, and that it was nothing but a little cribbing for myself. I will never trust him again. I see the whole now in its true and atrocious colors. I will devote myself in future to make all the immense in my power to my dear incomparable mother. The sisters affectionately encouraged this idea, which produced near a quarter of an hour's serious thinking and penitence. He then begged to hear the rest, and La Vina continued, But since you are readmitted, said my mother, to Edrington, by the clemency of your forebearing father, she charges you to remember you can only repay his goodness by an application the most intense to those studies you have hitherto neglected, and of which your neglect has been the cause of all your errors, by committing to idle amusements the time that innocently, as well as profitably, ought to have been dedicated to the attainment of knowledge. She charges you also to ask yourself, since during the vacation, your father himself is your tutor. Upon what pretext you can justify wasting his valuable time, however little you may respect your own. Finally, I never wasted his time. I never decide to have any instruction in the vacations. It is the most juiced thing in life to be studying so hard incessantly. The waste of time is all his own affair, his own choice not mine, I assure you. Go on, however. Finally, she dures you to consider that if you still persevere to consume your time in willful negligence, to bury all thought in idle gaiety, and to act without either reflection or principle, the career of false which begins but in unthinking folly will terminate in shame, in guilt, and in ruin. And though such a declension of all good must involve your family in your affliction, your disgrace, she bids me say, will ultimately fall but where it ought, since your own want a personal sensibility to the horror of your conduct will neither harden nor blind any human being besides yourself. This is all. And enough, too, cried he, reddening. I am a very wretch. I believe that, though I am sure I can't tell how, for I never intend any harm, never think, never dream of hurting any mortal, but as to study, I must own to you. I hate it most usually. Anything else, if my mother had but exacted anything else, with what joy I would have shown my obedience. If she had ordered me to be horse-ponded, I do protest to you. I would not have demurred. How always you run into the ridiculous, cried Camilla. I was never so serious in my life. Not that I should like to be horse-ponded in the least, though I would submit to it for a punishment and out of duty. But then, when it was done, it would be over. Now the juice of study is, there is no end of it. And it does so little for one. One can go through life so well without it. There is not about here and there an old codger that asks one a question that can bring it into any play. And then a turn upon one seal or looking at one's watch or wondering at one's short memory or happening to forget just that one single passage carries off the whole in two minutes as completely as if one had been working one's whole life to get ready for the assault. And pray now, tell me, how can it be worth one's best days, one's gazed hours, the very flower of one's life, all to be sacrificed to plodding over musty grammars and lexicons, merely to cut a figure just for about two minutes once or twice in a year. The sisters brought up with an early reverence for learning, as forming a distinguished part of the accomplishments of their father could not subscribe to this argument. But they laughed, and that was ever sufficient for Lionel, who, though sincerely in private, he loved and honoured his father, never bestowed upon him one voluntary moment that frolic or folly invited elsewhere. Lavina and Camilla perfectly relieved now from all fears for their brother, repaired to the study of their father, anxious to endeavor to cheer him, and to accelerate a meeting and reconciliation for Lionel. But they found him desirous to be alone, though kindly and unsolicited, he promised to admit his son before dinner. Lionel heard this was a just ape, but gave it no time for deep impression. It was still very early, and he could settle himself to nothing during the hours yet to pass before the interview. He persuaded his sisters, therefore, to walk out with him, to while away at once expectation and retrospection. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lars Rolander. Camilla or a Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney Chapter 11 Modern Notions of Penitence They set out with no other plan than to take a three-hour stroll. Lionel led the way, and they journeyed through various pleasant lanes and meadows, till about three miles distance from Edrington, upon ascending a beautiful little hill. They aspired fifty yards off the grove, and a party of company sauntering round its grounds. He immediately proposed making a visit to Mrs. Arbery, but La Vina declined presenting herself to a lady who was unknown to her mother, and Camilla impressed with the promise she had intended for Edgar, which he was sure, though unpronounced, he had comprehended, dissented also from the motion. He then said he would go alone, for his spirits were so low from vexation and regret, that they wanted recruit, and he would return to them by the time they would be sufficiently rested to walk home. To this they agreed, and amused themselves with watching to see him join the group, in which, however, they were no sooner gratified, then to their great confusion they perceived that he pointed them out, and that all eyes were immediately directed towards the hill. Vexten astonished at his quick passing penitence. They hastened down the declivity, and ran on till a lane with an high hedge on each side, sheltered them from view. But Lionel, soon pursuing them, said he brought the indisputable orders of his invincible widow to convoy them to the mansion. She never, she had owned, admitted formal visitors, but whatever was abrupt and out of the way, won her heart. To the prudent La Vina this invitation was by no means alluring. Mrs. Tyreld, from keeping no carriage, visited but little, and the grew was not included in her small circle. La Vina, therefore, though she knew not how to be peremptory, was steady in refusal, and Camilla, who would naturally with pleasure have yielded, had a stronger motive for firmness than any with which she was gifted by discretion, in her wish to oblige Mandelbert. But Lionel would listen to neither of them, and when he found his insistence insufficient, seized La Vina by one arm and Camilla by the other, and dragged them up the hill, in defiance of their entreaties, and in full view of the party. He then left them all pleading, though less resisting La Vina alone, but pulled Camilla down by the opposite side, with a velocity that though meant but to bring her to the verge of a small rivulet, forced her into the midst of it so rapidly, that he could not himself at last stop, and wetted her so completely that she could, with difficulty, when she got across it, walk on. The violent spirits of Lionel always carried him beyond his own intentions. He was now really sorry for what he had done, and La Vina, who had quietly followed, was uneasy from the fear of some ill consequence to her sister. Mrs. Arlbury, who had seen the transaction, came forth now herself to invite them all into her house, and offer a fire and dry clothing to Camilla, not sparing, however, her well-merited bravery at the awkward exploit of young Tyrold. Camilla, shamed to be thus seen, would have hidden herself behind her sister, and retreated, but even La Vina now, fearing for her health, joined in the request, and she was obliged to enter the house. Mrs. Arlbury took her upstairs to her own apartment, and supplied her immediately with a complete change of apparel, protesting that Lionel should be punished for his frolic, by a solitary walk to Edrington, to announce that she would keep his two sisters for the day. Opposition was vain. She was gay, good-humored, and pleasant, but she would not be denied. She meant not, however, to inflict the serious penalty, which the face of Lionel proclaimed him to be suffering, when he prepared to depart, and the sisters who read in it his treed of meeting Mr. Tyrold alone, in the present circumstances of his affairs, conferred together and agreed that La Vina should accompany him, both to intercede for returning favour from his father, and to explain the accident of Camilla staying at the group. Mrs. Arlbury meanwhile promised to restore her young guest safe at night in her own carriage. Notwithstanding the pleasure with which Camilla in any other situation would have renewed this acquaintance, was now changed into reluctance. She was far from insensible to the flattering kindness with which Mrs. Arlbury received and entertained her, nor to the frankness with which she confessed that her invisibility the other morning had resulted solely from peak that the visit had not been made sooner. Camilla would have attempted some apology for the delay, but she assured her apologies were what she neither took nor gave, and then laughingly added, We will try another today, and if we find it won't do, we will shake hands and part. That you must know is my mode, and is it not vastly better than keeping up an acquaintance that proves dull merely because it has been begun. She then ordered away all her visitors without the smallest ceremony, telling them, however, they might come back in the evening, only desiring they would not be early. Camilla stared, but they all submitted as to a thing of course. You are not used to my way, I perceive, cried she smiling. Yet I can nevertheless assure you, you can do nothing so much for your happiness as to adopt it. You are made a slave in a moment by the world if you don't begin life by defying it. Take your own way, follow your own humour, and you and the world will both go on just as well, as if you ask its will and pleasure for everything you do, and want and think. She then expressed herself delighted with Lionel for bringing them together by this shortcut, which abolished a world of formalities, not more customary than fatiguing. I pass, I know, continued she, for a mere creature of whim. But believe me, there is no small touch of philosophy in the composition of my vagaries. Extremes, you know, have a mighty knack of meeting. Thus I like the sage, though not with sage-like motives, save time that must otherwise be wasted, brain rules that would murder common sense, and when I have made people stare, turn another way that I may laugh. She then, in a graver strain, and in a manner that proved the laws of politeness all her own, where she choose for any particular purpose or inclination to exert them, hoped this profession of her faith would plead her excuse, that she had thus incongruously made her fair guest a second time enter her house, before her first visit was acknowledged, and inquired whether it were to be returned to Edrington or at Cleves. Camilla answered she was now at home on account of her mother's being obliged to make a voyage to Lisbon. Mrs. Arbery said she would certainly then wait upon her at Edrington, and very civilly regretted having no acquaintance with Mrs. Tyrell. Archly, however, adding, as we have nowhere met, I could not seek her at her own house without running too great a risk for then, whether I had liked her or not. I must have received her, you know, into mine, so you see, I am not quite without prudence, whatever the dear world says to the contrary. She then spoke of the ball, public breakfast, and raffle, chatting both upon persons and things, with an easy gaiety and sprightly negligence, extremely amusing to Camilla, and which soon, in despite of the unwillingness with which she had entered her house, brought back her original propensity to make the acquaintance, and left no regret for what Lionel had done, except what rested upon the repugnance of Edgar to his intercourse. As he could not, however, reproach what was begun without her concurrence, he would see, she hoped, like herself, that common civility henceforward would exact its continuance. In proportion, as her pleasure from this accidental commerce was awakened, and her early partiality revived, her own spirits reanimated, and in the course of the many hours they now spent completely together, she was set so entirely at her ease by the good humor of Mrs. Arbery, that she lost all fear of her wit. She found it rather playful than satirical, rather seeking to amuse than to disconcert, and though sometimes from the resistless pleasure of uttering a bon more, she thought more of its brilliancy than of the pain it might inflict. This happened, but rarely, and was more commonly succeeded by regret than by triumph. Camilla soon observed she had personally nothing to apprehend, peculiar partiality supplying the place of general delicacy in shielding her from every shaft that even pleasantly could render poignant. The embarrassment, therefore, which in Indianous youth checks the attempt to please by fear or failure, or shame of exertion, gave way to natural spirits, which Gaely, rising from entertainment, received, restored her vivacity, and gradually, though unconsciously, enabled her to do justice to her own abilities, by unaffectedly calling forth the mingle sweetness and intelligence of her character. And Mrs. Arbery, charmed with all she observed, and flattered by all she inspired, felt such satisfaction in her evident conquest, that before the tetatet was closed, their admiration was become nearly mutual. When the evening party was announced, they both heard with surprise that the day was so far advanced. They can wait, however, said Mrs. Arbery, for I know they have nothing to do. She then invited Camilla to return to her the next day for a week. Camilla felt well disposed to comply, hoping soon to reason from Edgar his prejudice against a connection that afforded her such singular pleasure, but to leave her father at this period was far from every wish. She excused herself, therefore, saying she had still six weeks due to her uncle at Cleves, before any other engagement could take place. Well then, when you quit your home for Sir Yoube, will you beg off a few days from him and set them down to my account? If my uncle pleases? If he pleases, repeated she laughing. Pray never give that if into his decision. You only put contradiction into people's heads by asking what pleases them. Say it once, my good uncle, Mrs. Arbery, has invited me to indulge her with a few days at the grove, so tomorrow I shall go to her. Will you promise me this? Dear madam, no, my uncle would think me mad. And suppose he should? A little alarm now and then keeps life from stagnation. They call me mad, I know, sometimes. Wild flight, and what not, yet you see how harmless I am, though I afford food for such notable commentary. But can you really like such things should be said of you? I adore the frankness of that question. Why, no, I rather think I don't. But I'm not sure. However, to prevent their minding me, I must mind them, and it's vastly more irksome to give up one's own way than to hear a few impertinent remarks. And as to the world, depend upon it, my dear Miss Tyrol, the more you see of it, the less you will care for it. She then said she would leave her to reinvest herself in her own attire, and go downstairs to see what the poor, simple souls, who had no more wit than to come back thus at her call, had found to do with themselves. Camilla having only her common morning dress and even that utterly spoiled, begged that her appearance might be dispensed with. But Mrs. Albury exclaiming, Why, there are only men, you don't mind men, I hope? Ashamed, she promised to get ready, yet she had not sufficient courage to descend till her gay hostess came back and accompanied her to the drawing-room. End of Chapter 11 Read by Lars Rolander Book 3 Chapter 12 of Camilla This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander Camilla or a Picture of Youth by Fanny Burnie Chapter 12 Heirs and Graces Upon entering the room, Camilla saw again the officers who had been there in the morning, and who were now joined by Sir Sedley Clarendall. She was met at the door by Major Servant, who seemed waiting for her appearance, and who made her his compliments with an air that studiously proclaimed his devotion. She seated herself by the side of Mrs. Orlbury to look on at a game of chess played by Sir Sedley and General Kinsale. Clarendall said, Mrs. Orlbury, you have not the least in the world the air of knowing what you are about. Pardon me, ma'am, said the general. He has been at least half an hour contemplating this very move, for which, as you see, I now checkmate him. Praise, Sir Sedley, how came you at last to do no better? Thinking of other things, my dear general, it is impossible in the extreme to keep one's faculties pinion down to the abstruse vagaries of this brain-besieging game. My head would be deranged past redress if I did not allow it to visit the four quarters of the globe once at least between every move. You do not play so slow, then, from deliberating upon your chances, but from forgetting them. Define, my dear general, to scrupulosity those exquisite little moments we steal from any given occupation for the pleasure of speculating in secret upon something fully foreign to it are resistless to deliciousness. I entreat and command you, then, cried Mrs. Orlbury, to make your speculations public. Nothing will more amuse me than to have the least intimation of the subjects of your reveries. My dear Mrs. Orlbury, your demand is the very quintessence of impossibility. Tell the subject of a reverie. No, you not. It wafts one at once out of the world, and the world's powers of expression, while all its substitutes is as evanescent as it is delectable. To attempt the least description would be a presumption of the first monstrousness. Oh, never heed that. Presumption will not precisely be a novelty to you. Answer me, therefore, my dear Clarendelle, without all this conceit. You know I hate procrastination, and procrastinator still worse. Softly, there is nothing in nature so horribly shocking to me as the least hurry. My poor nerves seek repose after any turbulent words or jarring sounds, with the same craving for the rest that my body experiences after the jolts, and concussions of a long-winded chase. By the way, does anybody want a good hunter? I have the first, perhaps in Europe, but I would sell it a surprising bargain, for I am excruciatingly tired of it. All the gentlemen group ground him to hear further particulars, except Mr. MacDursey, the young ensign, who had so unguardedly exposed himself at the Northwick ball, and who now, approaching Camilla, fervently exclaimed, How happy I should have been, madam, if I had had the good fortune to see you meet with the accident this morning. Instead of being looking another way, I might then have had the pleasure to assist you. And, oh, how much more if it had been your divine cousin. I hope that Ferangel is in perfect health. Oh, what a beautiful creature she is. Her outside is the complete diamond I ever saw. And if her inside is the same, which I dare say it is, by her smiles and delicate dimples, she must be a paragon upon earth. There is at least something very artificial in your praise, said General Kinsale, when you make your panigiric of an absent lady to a present one. Oh, General, there is not a lady living can bear any comparison with her. I have never had her out of my thoughts from the first darling moment that I ever saw her, which has made me the most miserable of men ever since. Her eyes so beautiful, her mouth so divine, her nose so heavenly. And how, cried so sadly, is the tip of her chin. No joking, sir, said the unsigned redneck. She is a piece of perfection not to be laughed at. She has never had her fellow upon the face of the earth, and she never will have it, while the earth holds upon account of there being no such person about ground. And pray, cried so sadly carelessly. How can you be sure of that? How? Why, by being certain, answered the inflamed admirer. For though I have been looking out for pretty women from morning to night, ever since I was conscious of the right use of my eyes, I never yet saw her parallel. A servant was now bringing in the tea, but his lady ordered him to set it down in the next room, whence the gentleman should fetch it as it was wanted. Major Sirward took in charge all attendance upon Camilla, but he was not, therefore, exempt from the acidities required by Mrs. Arbery, for whom the homage of the general, the colonel, and the ensign were insufficient, and who, had a score more been present, would have found occupation for them all. Sir sadly alone was accepted from her commands, for knowing they would be issued to him in vain. She contented herself with only interchanging glances of triumph with him, at the submission of every vassal but himself. Heavens, cried she to colonel Andover, who had hastened to present her the first cup. You surely think I have nerves for a public orator. If I should taste but one drop of this tea, I might envy the repose of the next man who robs on the highway. Major Sirward, will you try if you can do any better for me? The major obeyed, but not with more success. What in the world have you brought me? cried she. Is it tea? It looks prodigiously as if just imported out of the slop basin. For pity's sake, MacDursey, rise and give me your help. You will at least never bring me such maudlin stuff as this. Even your tea will have some character. It will be very good or very bad, very hot or very cold, very strong or very weak, for you are always in flames of fire or flakes of snow. You do me justice, ma'am. There is nothing upon the face of the earth so insipid as a medium. Give me love or hate, a friend that will go to jail for me, or an enemy that will run me through the body, riches to chuck Guinness about like half-pence or poverty to beg in a ditch, liberty wild as the four winds, or an ore to work in a galley, misery to tear my heart into a hundred thousand millions of atoms, or joy to make my soul dance into my brain. Everything has some gratification except a medium, this poor little soul that is satisfied between happiness and despair. He then flew to bring her a dish of tea. My dear MacDursey, cried sheen, receiving it. This is according to your system indeed. Fort is a compound of strong and rich and sweet, to claw an alderman, making altogether elucious a syrup, that our spring would be exhausted before I could slake my thirst, if I should taste it only a second time. Do, dear general, see if it is not possible to get me some beverage that I can swallow. The youngest man present was not more active than the general in this service, but Mrs. Orbury, casting herself despondingly back the moment she had tasted what he brought her, exclaimed. Why, this is worst of all. If you can do no better for me, general, then this tell me at least for mercy's sake when some other regiment will be quartered here. What a cruelty, said the Major, looking with a sigh towards Camilla, to remind your unhappy prey that they are but birds of passage. O all the better Major, if you understand your own interest, you will be as eager to break up your quarters as I can be to see your successors much into them. I have now heard all your compliments, and you have heard all my repartees, both sides therefore want new auditors. A great many things I have said to you will do vastly well again for a new corpse, and to do your justice some few things you have said yourself may do again in a new county. Then, addressing Camilla, she proposed, though without moving, that they should converse with one another and leave the men to take care of themselves, and excessively they will be obliged to me. She continued, without lowering her voice, for giving this little holiday to their poor brains, for I assure you, they have not known what to say this half hour. Indeed, since the first fortnight they were quartered here, they have not upon an average said about one new thing in three days, but once obliged to take up with officers in the country, because there's almost nothing else, can you recommend me any agreeable new people? Oh no, ma'am, I have hardly any quaintness except immediately round the rectory, but fortunately my own family is so large that I have never been distressed for society. Oh, I true, your own family begin with that. Do pray, give me a little history of your own family. I have no history, ma'am, to give for my father's retired life. Oh, I have seen your father, and I have heard him preach, and I like him very much. There's something in him there's no turning into ridical. Camilla, though surprised, was delighted by such a testimony to the respectability of her father, and with more courage said, and I am sure if you knew my mother you would allow her the same exemption. So I hear therefore we won't talk of them. It's a delightful thing to think of perfection, but it's vastly more amusing to talk of errors and absurdities. To begin with, your eldest sister, then she seems in just the same predicament as your father, and, but no mother. So we let her rest too. Indeed she is, she is as faultless. Oh, not a word more than. She won't do for me at all. But pray, is there not a single soul in all the round of your large family that can afford a body a little innocent diversion? Ah, madam, said Camilla, shaking her head. I fear on the contrary, if they came under your examination, there is not one in whom you would not discern some foyball. I should not like them at all the worst for that. For between ourselves, my dear mistero, I am half afraid they might find a foyball or two in returning me. So you must not be angry if I beg the favor of you to indulge me with a few of their defects. Indulge you? Yes, for when so many of a family are perfect, if you confine me one or two that have a little speck of mortality, you must not wonder if I take flight at your very name. In charity, therefore, if you would not drop my acquaintance, tell me their vulnerable parts. Camilla laughed at this ridiculous reasoning, but would not enter into its consequences. Well, then, if you will not assist me, don't take it ill that I assist myself. In the first place, there's your brother. I don't ask you to tell me anything of him. I have seen him, and I confess to you, he does not put me into utter despair. He does not alarm into flying all his rays. Camilla tried vainly to look grave. I have seen another two, your cousin, I think, Miss Lindmer, that's engaged to young Mandelbert. Camilla now tried as vainly to look gay. She's prodigiously pretty. Pray, is not she a great fool? Ma'am, I beg your pardon, but I don't suppose you are responsible for the intellects of all your generation. However, she'll do vastly well. You need not be uneasy for her. A face like that will take very good care of itself. I am glad she's engaged for your sake, though I am sorry for Mandelbert. That is, if as his class of countenance generally predicts, he marries with any notion of expecting to be happy. But why, ma'am, cried Camilla, checking aside, are you glad for my sake? Because there are two reasons why she would be wonderfully in your way. She's not only prettier than you, but sillier. And would both those reasons, cried Camilla, again laughing, make against me? Oh, intolerably with the men. They are always enchanted with something that is both pretty and silly, because they can so easily please and so soon disconcert it. And when they have made the little blooming fool splash and look down, they feel nobly superior and pride themselves in victory. Dear creatures, I delight in their taste, for it brings them a plentiful harvest of repentance when it is their connoobial criterion. The pretty flies off, and the silly remains, and a man then has a choice companion for life left on his hands. The young ensign here could no longer be silent. I am sure and certain, cried you warmly, Miss Lin-Marie's skin capable to be a fool. And when she marries, if her husband thinks her so, it's only a sign he's a blockhead himself. He'll be exactly of your opinion for the first month or two, answered Mrs. Arbery. Or even if he is not, he like her just as well. A man looks enchanted while his beautiful young bride talks nonsense. It comes so prettily from her ruby lips, and she blushes and dimples with such lovely traction while she utters it. He casts his eyes around him with conscious elation to see her admirers and his enviers. But he has amply his turn for looking like a fool himself, when youth and beauty take light, and when his ugly old wife exposes her ignorance or folly at every word. The contrast of beginning and end, said the general, is almost always melancholy. But how rarely does any man, nay, I had nearly said, or any woman think a moment of the time to come, or of any time but the present day in marrying? Except with respect to fortune, cried Mrs. Arbery. And there, me thinks, you men at least are commonly sufficiently provident. I don't think reflection is generally what you want in that point. As to reflection, exclaimed Mr. Macdersey, this the thing in the world I look upon to be the meanest. A man capable of reflection, where a beautiful young creature is in question, can have no soul nor vitals. For my part is my only misfortune that I cannot get at that lovely girl to ask her for her private opinion of me at once, that I might either get a license tomorrow or drive her out of my head before sleep overtakes me another night. Your passions, my good Macdersey, said Mrs. Arbery, considering the violence intolerably obedient. Can you really be so fond or so forgetful at such short warning? Yes, but it's with a pain that breaks my heart every time. You can't treat, however, to get it pretty soon mend it. That, Madam, is a power that has come upon me by degrees. I have paid dear enough for it. Nobody ever found it harder than I did at the beginning. For the first two or three times I took my disappointments so too hard that I should have been bound forever to any friend that would have had the good nature to blow my brains out. But now you are so much in the habit of experience these little failures that they pass on as things of course. No, Madam, you injure me and in the tenderness point for as long as I have the least hope my passions as violent as ever. But you would not be so unreasonable as to have a man love on when it can answer no end. It's no better than making him unhappy for a joke. There's no sense in such a thing. By the way, my dear Mr. Tyrold, and I report to this Miss Lindmer, said Mrs. Albury, do tell me something about Mr. Mandelbert. What is he? What does he do always amongst you? He, he, cried Camilla stammering, he was a ward of my father's. Oh, I don't mean all that. But what is his style, his class? Is he agreeable? I believe he's generally thought so. If he is, do pray then, draw him into my society, for I am terribly in want of recruits. These poor gentlemen you see here are very good sort of men, but they have a trick of sleeping with their eyes wide open and fancy all the time they are awake, and indeed I find it hard to persuade them to the contrary, though I often ask them for their dreams. By the way, can't you contrive some or other amongst you to make the room a little cooler? Shall I open this window? said the Major. Nay, nay, don't ask me. I had rather bear six times the heat than give my own directions. Nothing in the world fatigues me so much as telling stupid people how to set apart things. Colonel, don't you see I have no fan? I'll fetch it directly. Have you left it in the dining parlor? Do you really think I would not send a footman at once, if I must perplex myself with all that recollection? My dear mistero, did you ever see any poor people that pretended at all to walk about and mingle with the rest of the world like living creatures so completely lethargic? It is really quite melancholy. I am sure you have good nature enough to pity them. It requires my utmost ingenuity to keep them in any employment, and if I left them to themselves, they would stand before the fire all the winter and lounge upon sofas all the summer, and that indolence of body so entirely unnerves the mind that they find as little to say as to do. Upon the whole, it is really a paltry race, the men of the present times. However, as we have got no better, and as the women are worse, I do all I can to make them less insufferable to me. And do you really think the women are worse? cried Camilla. Not in themselves, my dear, but worse to me, because I cannot possibly take the same Libertas with them. Macdersey, I wish I had my salts. It shall be the happiness of my life to find them. Be they hid where they may, only tell me where I may have the pleasure to go and look for them. Nay, that's your affair. Why then, if they are to be found from the garrick to the cellar, be sure I am a dead man, if I do not bring them to you. This mode of displaying heirs and graces was so perfectly new to Camilla, that the commands issued and the obedience paid were equally amusing to her. Brought up herself to be contented with whatever came in her way, in preference either to giving trouble or finding fault. The ridiculous yet playful willfulness with which she saw Mrs. Arlbury send everyone upon her errands, yet object to what everyone performed, presented to her a scene of such whimsical gaiety, that her concern at the accident which had made her innocently violate her intended engagement with Edgar, was completely changed into pleasure, that thus, without any possible self-blame, an acquaintance she had so earnestly desired, was even by necessity established, and she returned home at night with spirits all revived, and eloquent in praise of her new favorite.