 | A sketch of old England |  |
A
SKETCH
OF
OLD ENGLAND,
BY A NEW ENGLAND MAN.
LETTER I.
I am now comfortably and quietly settled in lodgings,
with an elderly lady, who has good blood in her veins; that is
to say, if blood be an hereditary commodity, which some
people doubt, but which I do not, for there are diseases bodily
and mental in most of the old families here that have descended
through half-a-score of wealthy generations. She claims descent
from Tudors and Plantagenets to boot, and combines the conflicting
claims of both York and Lancaster. Though too well
bred to boast, she sometimes used to mention these matters,
until one day I advised her, in jest, to procure a champion to
tilt against young parson Dymoke for the broom at the ensuing
coronation. The good old soul took the joke ill, and I was
sorry for it. What right had I to ridicule that which, to her,
was an innocent source of happiness? I despise the cant of
sentiment, but I promise never to do so again.
She has a number of noble relatives among the respectable,
old-fashioned nobility, who still possess some of that sturdy,
antique morality and honesty, now so scarce among this class
throughout all Christendom. Their occasional visits in the
dusk of the evening, and the contemplation of her own august
descent, seem to constitute her little fund of worldly enjoyment.
It is so blameless, that I humour her by often enquiring
the names of her visitors; which gives occasion to a variety of
family details and claims of kindred, distant enough to be sure,
but still sufficient to support the little edifice of vanity, erected
in her heart upon the tombs of her ancestors. The old matron
hates Napoleon Buonaparte with a zeal past all human understanding,
and has brought to war against him most exclusively
several passages of the Old and New Testaments.
Comfort, neatness, and economy distinguish her household,
from the cellar to the garret. Nothing is wasted, nothing is
wanting. Such, indeed, is her economy, that I verily believe
she never throws away a pin for want of a head, or a needle
for being without an eye. This economy is neither the
offspring of meanness nor avarice, but the rational result of a
determination to preserve her independence. Her means are
just sufficient, with this rigid economy, to enable her to appear
with that sober sort of gentility, which it is her pride and delight
ever to exhibit. Were she to relax in any one respect the
nice system would lose its balance and fall to the ground. To
sum up all, she is so perfectly upright in all her dealings, that,
I am satisfied, no prospect of impunity, no certainty of escaping
discovery or suspicion, would tempt her to defraud the
living or the dead, or receive more than her due. It is amusing
to see her uneasiness at incurring the slightest obligation, or being
subjected to the smallest debt. I happened to pay the postage
of a letter one day for her in her absence, and she was quite
unhappy because I could not make change, and release her
from the obligation. She and I are great friends after the cold
English fashion. If I be sick, every attention is scrupulously
paid, but paid as if from a sense of propriety, not from the
heart. Our occasional conversations are friendly, but formal;
rather genealogical I confess, but let that pass—the old lady
comes from Wales. Still I cannot help respecting her most
sincerely, and I feel more at home in her house than any place
where I have sojourned since I left my own home. I have
been the more particular in my sketch, because she belongs to
a class of females which once gave a character to England,
and to English domestic life, of which the country yet feels the
benefit, in the enjoyment of a reputation for integrity, founded
on the past, rather than the present. It was this homely honesty,
this inflexible regard to principle, which made amends
for the absence of those easy and sprightly manners, which attach
a stranger, who is generally more in want of courtesies
than benefits, and consequently forms his estimate of a people
from their general deportment, rather than from any particular
act of kindness. This class is, however, I regret to say, daily
mouldering away amidst the speculating extravagance and
splendid pauperism of the times. They cannot keep pace
with the more numerous class of the nobility and gentry, because
their pride will not stoop to an alliance with vulgar
government by the sacrifice of their integrity.
Our house is situated in one of the old streets, running into
******, which, though rather narrow, was considered quite
genteel until lately, but a corrector of enormities in beards
made a lodgment directly over the way, and poked his pole at
an angle of some forty degrees, almost into the old lady's window.
This awful invasion put to flight two persons of quality,
who lodged in the house. “'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody
good,” and I was wafted by this breeze into lodgings that suit
me exactly. Adieu.
| A sketch of old England | |