University of Virginia Library

A CONTRAST.

I was yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice
the manners of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual,
that there was the least pretension where there was the
most acknowledged title to respect. I was particularly
struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of
high rank, consisting of several sons and daughters.
Nothing could be more simple and unassuming than their
appearance. They generally came to church in the plainest
equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies would
stop and converse in the kindest manner with the peasantry,
caress the children, and listen to the stories of the
humble cottagers. Their countenances were open and
beautifully fair with an expression of high refinement,
but, at the same time, a frank cheerfulness, and an engaging
affability. Their brothers were tall and elegantly
formed. They were dressed fashionably, but simply;
with strict neatness and propriety, but without any mannerism
or foppishness. Their whole demeanour was easy
and natural, with that lofty grace, and noble frankness,
which bespeak free-born souls that have never been checked
in their growth by feelings of inferiority. There is a
healthful hardiness about real dignity, that never dreads
contact and communication with others, however humble,
It is only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and
shrinks from every touch. I was pleased to see the manner
in which they would converse with the peasantry
about those rural concerns and field-sports, in which the
gentlemen of this country so much delight. In these
conversations, there was neither haughtiness on the one
part, nor servility on the other; and you were only reminded
of the difference of rank by the habitual respect of the
peasant.

In contrast to these, was the family of a wealthy citizen
who had amassed a vast fortune; and, having purchased
the estate and mansion of a ruined nobleman in
the neighbourhood, was endeavouring to assume all the
style and dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil. The
family always come to church en prince. They were
rolled majestically along in a carriage emblazoned with
arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance from every
part of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed.
A fat coachman in a three-cornered hat, richly laced, and
a flaxen wig, curling close round his rosy face, was seated
on the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two footmen,
in gorgeous liveries, with huge bouquets, and gold-headed
canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose and sunk
on its long springs with peculiar stateliness of motion.
The very horses champed their bits, arched their necks,
and glanced their eyes more proudly than common horses;
either because they had got a little of the family feeling,
or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.

I could not but admire the style with which this splendid
pageant was brought up to the gate of the church-yard.
There was a vast effect produced at the turning
of an angle of the wall;—a great smacking of the whip;
straining and scrambling of the horses; glistening of harness,
and flashing of wheels through gravel. This was
the moment of triumph and vainglory to the coachman.
The horses were urged and checked until they were fretted
into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing
trot, dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of
villagers, sauntering quietly to church, opened precipitately
to the right and left, gaping in vacant admiration. On
reaching the gate the horses were pulled up with a suddenness
that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw
them on their haunches.

There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to
alight, open the door, pull down the steps, and prepare
every thing for the descent on earth of this august family.
The old citizen first emerged his round red face from out
the door, looking about him with the pompous air of a man
accustomed to rule on 'Change, and shake the Stock Market
with a nod. His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable
dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess, but
little pride in her composition. She was the picture of a
broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well
with her; and she liked the world. She had fine clothes,

a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children, every thing was
fine about her: it was nothing but driving about, and visiting
and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual revel; it
was one long Lord Mayor's day.

Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They
certainly were handsome; but had a supercilious air, that
chilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical.
They were ultra-fashionable in dress; and, though no one
could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness
might be questioned amidst the simplicity of
a country church. They descended loftily from the carriage,
and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that
seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an excursive
glance around, that passed coldly over the burly faces
of the peasantry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman's
family, when their countenances immediately brightened
into smiles, and they made the most profound and elegant
courtesies; which were returned in a manner that showed
they were but slight acquaintances.

I must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen,
who came to church in a dashing curricle, with outriders.
They were arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all
that pedantry of dress which marks the man of questionable
pretensions to style. They kept entirely by themselves,
eyeing every one askance that came near them, as if measuring
his claims to respectability; yet they were without
conversation, except the exchange of an occasional cant
phrase. They even moved artificially; for their bodies, in
compliance with the caprice of the day, had been disciplined
into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had done
every thing to accomplish them as men of fashion, but nature
had denied them the nameless grace. They were vulgarly
shaped, like men formed for the common purposes of
life, and had that air of supercilious assumption which is
never seen in the true gentleman.

I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of
these two families, because I considered them specimens of
what is often to be met with in this country—the unpretending
great, and the arrogant little. I have no respect
for titled rank, unless it be accompanied with true nobility
of soul; but I have remarked in all countries where artificial
distinctions exist, that the very highest classes are always
the most courteous and unassuming. Those who
are well assured of their own standing, are least apt to trespass
on that of others; whereas, nothing is so offensive as

the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by
humiliating its neighbour.

As I have brought these families into contrast, I must notice
their behaviour in church. That of the nobleman's
family was quiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they appeared
to have any fervour of devotion, but rather a respect
for sacred things, and sacred places, inseparable from good
breeding. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpetual
flutter and whisper; they betrayed a continual consciousness
of finery, and a sorry ambition of being the wonders
of a rural congregation.

The old gentleman was the only one really attentive to
the service. He took the whole burden of family devotion
upon himself, standing bolt upright and uttering the responses
with a loud voice that might be heard all over the
church. It was evident that he was one of those thorough
church and king men, who connect the idea of devotion and
loyalty; who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the
government party, and religion “a very excellent sort of
thing, that ought to be countenanced and kept up.”

When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more
by way of example to the lower orders, to show them, that,
though so great and wealthy, he was not above being religious;
as I have seen a turtle-fed Alderman swallow publicly
a basin of charity soup, smacking his lips at every
mouthful, and pronouncing it “excellent food for the poor.”

When the service was at an end, I was curious to witness
the several exits of my groups. The young noblemen
and their sisters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling
home across the fields, chatting with the country people as
they went. The others departed as they came, in grand
parade. Again were the equipages wheeled up to the
gate. There was again the smacking of whips, the clattering
of hoofs, and the glittering of harness. The horses
started off almost at a bound; the villagers again hurried
to right and left; the wheels threw up a cloud of dust;
and the aspiring family was wrapt out of sight in a whirlwind.