Lays of Leisure Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

Mrs. Marchmont! I'm charmed and delighted
Your blooming good looks to remark,
Ever since we were kindly invited,
We've thought but of Easterwell Park!

Pray allow me — my dear eldest daughter,
I think you've ne'er seen her before,
And my youngest besides I have brought her,
'Tis shameful though bringing the four

437

For here is my sweet Araminta,
Oh! you must make acquaintance with her,
She came out but this very last winter,
And caused some sensation and stir!

And my lovely and gay Juliana—
Her I think you can hardly forget—
You remarked on her mein and her manner
When at Brighton last season we met.

And my School-boy—your kindness he shared not,
But, alas! he's so wildly inclined,
So rude and so rough—that we dared not
By any means leave him behind!

I've another dear boy that's more steady,
My poor Frederick—but he's far away,
You must know he's a gallant young middy
That will grace his profession some day!

438

His arrival indeed we're expecting—
You'll permit him to join us All here,
The reunion will be most affecting—
For to all of us Freddy is dear.

I am quite a weak fool about Freddy,
Though he has some slight faults I must say,
Since, although he's so good and so steady,
From his ship he ran seven times away.

He's a fine, frank, affectionate creature—
All he has in the world he would give—
And so generous and kind is his nature,
That we must check its warmth; I believe.

When on shore—scarce the tale you will credid—
Twenty pounds from his father he stole,
(Though this tale we would wish not to spread it)
And spent on his sister the whole.

439

For he purchased her earrings and necklace,
(He had heard her admire much the set)
And though may be, this was rather reckless,
Such an act we can scarcely forget!

As for William my youthful Collegian,
He is studying most zealously now,
But escaped from the classical region,
He'll hasten to make you his bow.

He will prove a companion delightful
For your promising son I expect,
And in general 'tis really quite frightful
The friendships that young men select.

My son's most distinguished and clever,
Though a little too wild I allow,
Since I grieve much to say he's for ever
Engaged in some riot or row.

440

He's too fond too of drinking and gambling,
But 'tis natural and right at his age!—
One must pardon a little wild rambling,
I like not to see young men too sage.

I don't doubt he'll amend soon his living—
But at present his passions are play,
Slang, cock-fighting, boxing, and driving,
But he'll soon change his course, I dare say!

To the turf too he's strangely devoted,
I wish there was no turf at all!
My brother too much on it doated,
To the ruin of Rantriot Hall!

Willy last week a watchman assaulted,
And for this was imprisoned and fined—
But most dignified still and exalted
Is he, both in his manners and mind!

441

He's too easily led on by others,
From whence these slight weaknesses come,
Full of spirit too just like his brothers,
And for faults—we have all of us some!

Your son can't do better than make him
His bosom companion and friend,
As his model I trust he will take him,
On his worth he may firmly depend!

For the light venial errors I've mentioned,
To that worth they but serve as a foil,
He's well principled, soundly intentioned,
I but fear the world's homage will spoil!

One so full of all talent and spirit,
So superior and shining as he,
Must be courted and prized for his merit,
And the Idol of thousands must be!

442

I am told his young friend, my Lord Burten,
Now cuts him—sheer envy no doubt—
Yes! 'tis malice and envy I'm certain,
Just because my dear boy cuts him—out!

To be sure they do say he's delightful,
The best brother and son ever known,
But he must be most horridly spiteful—
Since he thus doth my Willy disown.

For a time they were sworn friends, believe me,
And for nothing Lord Burten turned round,
(So said Willy, who ne'er would deceive me)
And a friend more congenial soon found.

I suspect the youth's too strict and rigid,
(Besides—envious of William's great powers!)
He looks odiously formal and frigid!
I am glad he is no son of ours!

443

May I ask who you have here at present?
I was told young Lord Glasville was here,
Oh! I'm sure we shall find it so pleasant
You will tempt us to stay half the year!

Not a word, my dear friend!—I assure you
'Tis no flattery—Oh! no, not a bit,
Why, my Julia, this fine air will cure you
Of the small-pox you've scarcely lost yet.

Nay, pray don't be alarmed, my dear Lady!
You see she is scarce marked at all,
Indeed, our friend Doctor O'Brady
Said—those slight marks all hearts would enthrall,

That they suited her air and complexion,
And gave an additional charm,
And agreed with her looks to perfection,
And indeed there's no ground for alarm.

444

Yes! I see you're afraid of infection,
But I'm sure nothing bad will befall,
Though I own 'tis my rooted conviction
Vaccination's of no use at all.

All my faith in it now's gone for ever,
'Tis a weak superstitious vain charm,
I can never again trust it—never,
Do just look at the mark on her arm.

She'd this cow-pox before she could prattle,
And of small-pox I ne'er had a fear,
Though my sister with me had a battle
When she heard the disease was so near!

It was brought from the town by some stranger—
The town near to where we reside—
And I own I ne'er thought of the danger,
Her maid caught it from her and died!

445

So they said—which does sound rather fearful—
'Twas a bad and most virulent sort,
But we can but be watchful and careful,
In case of its spreading—in short

Have your daughters ne'er had it? believe me
If I'd guessed this, she should not have come,
But I knew when you said you'd receive me,
You ne'er meant I should leave her at home.

I was really afraid Araminta
Was sickening of it to-day,
Not the least ray of colour did tint her
Sweet cheek—not the least faintest ray.

And at breakfast her appetite failed her,
She ate but one small slice of toast,
Then I truly did think something ailed her,
And she looked yet more pale than a ghost!

446

If she should take this dreadful disorder,
What medical men have you near?
Ah! they'll prove of inferior order
To our Doctor O'Brady I fear!

And alas! for my poor Araminta,
The season's against her beside,
She'll be laid up here, all the whole Winter,—
'Tis provoking—it can't be denied!

But we'll hope that these symptoms deceive us,
And if not 'twill but be common sense
In your house for some months then to leave us,
And to take your whole family hence!

If we keep well, 'twill be most enchanting,
Our daughters such great friends will grow—
And we all for so long have been panting
To pay you this Visit you know.

447

'Tis a sacrifice, doubtless, we're making,
Such a very long distance to come,
The opportunity though we are taking
Of effecting improvements at home!

Our house wanted great alterations,
'Tis now thoroughly under repair,
From the roof to the very foundations
It required much revision and care.

We shall have to pull down, to my sorrow,
And rebuild the chief parts—and dear friend,
If my husband, constrained is to borrow,
Mr. Marchmont, I'm certain, will lend!

'Tis a very expensive proceeding—
And a tiresome process indeed,
And to new expense, still, it is leading,
The more done, the more seems still to need!

448

And the time that 'twill take in rebuilding!—
I begin in real earnest to fear,
What with painting, whitewashing, and gilding,
At the very least, 'twill be a year!—

Then there's furnishing too, in addition!
We shall never get through in the year!
I half fear we must make our petition
That you'll let us stay all the time here!

Oh! No, pray—you're so kind and so pressing,
I must turn a deaf ear to you now—
Your entreaties are really distressing,
No!—no!—I'll not listen—I vow!—

I hate nothing so much as encroaching,
No!—I cannot stay on quite so long;
And the season for hunting's approaching,
When I know your friends muster here strong!

449

Well, indeed, if you'll take no denial,
I suppose I must yield with good grace,
But believe me, to me 'tis a trial,
Although 'tis quite a singular case!

I'm convinced that on Earth there's no creature
That hates burthening my friends as I do,
It is quite my remarkable feature,
And no doubt you've discovered 'tis true!

'Tis most grievous, afflicting, and odious,
And I ever avoid it with care,
Howe'er it may be incommodious,
'Tis a thing that I never could bear!

Some people you see go on staying,
Where you're sure they're not wanted at all,
Daily still their departure delaying,
I have known it at Ragtatter Hall.

450

But I never would bear or endure it,
'Tis too shameful and shocking you know—
And there is but one way left to cure it,
To say that yourself you must go.

But now I must just ask you whether
My room to my girls' rooms is near,
We must all be placed quite close together,
Though 'twill prove rather puzzling I fear.

And will probably be inconvenient,
(Since your House does not seem over large!)
But pray do be indulgent and lenient!
Four daughters—they are such a charge!

I do hate from my girls to be distant—
With sad fears it at once fills my mind,
(I may say I'm in all things consistent,
As whilst I stay here you will find!)

451

My poor husband is terribly gouty,
But he swears that the air of this place
Makes him sound now, and vigourous, and doughty,
And ready to join in the chase!

As we came here we met the hounds running,
And his joy he could scarcely contain,
And though hunting he long has been shunning,
I think now, he'll take to it again.

His great weight was, poor man, the chief reason
That made him forsake it before,
He has ceased not with each circling season
His sad heavy case to deplore!

But he killed all his horses for ever,
And 'twas ruinous quite you may think,
But for this I am sure he would never
From a sport he's devoted to, shrink!

452

I ne'er saw him yet look so delighted
As when swept the hounds past in full cry,
'Twas alarming—he seemed so excited,
That I thought in a fit he would die.

Mr. Marchmont I doubt not will mount him
The best of his hunters upon—
And perhaps they will yet have to count him
As the first in some capital run!

He will never give in, I can tell you,
Mr. Marchmont—mark me he'll be first,
And despite his vast weight will excel you,
And show you the way in a burst!

I am told that your stud is quite splendid,
So you'll lend him a hunter each day—
By the time that the season is ended
He will grow a light weight I daresay

453

Oh! dear!—Oh! my goodness!—good gracious!—
Why, Johnny! now what have you done?—
I declare it is deeply vexatious,
Oh! do look at my mischievous son!

He has brought out our monkey!—how shocking!
(I had given him to Jane in strict charge)
And your china about he's been knocking—
Why how dared you, sir, set him at large?

In the carriage I left him chained closely,
Since this monkey's a mischievous elf,
And now you have thus loosed him jocosely,
Why indeed you're as bad as himself.

Oh! dear Madam—pray do not go near him—
He will bite you to death if you do!—
I have excellent reason to fear him,
For he once bit my arm through and through.

454

Now what is to be done?—Juliana!
Ring the bell—what a noise he does make,
Oh! don't stand there and stare in that manner,
Or that fine Dresden set he will break!

What a clattering and chattering—'tis horrid,
Mrs. Marchmont has fainted away,
Eau de Cologne!—quick! quick! bathe her forehead—
Araminta! my salts bottle, pray!

There's the clock gone!—I tremble all over!—
Oh! here are the servants—at last—
Mrs. Marchmont will quickly recover,
Her colour is coming back fast!

Ah! what havoc!—how dire a disaster,
I am grieved beyond all I can say—
Yet I hope that both mistress and master
In the house will let poor Jacko stay!

455

As for you, Johnny, go! I desire you—
You more mischievous monkey! begone—
For effrontery we all must admire you,
Leave my presence—I order you, John!

Now that riotous boy has departed,
We can hear our own voices once more;
Mrs. Marchmont, you're too tender hearted,
No! such conduct I cannot pass o'er!

And you, too, you so nervous and frightened!
It was enough to destroy you outright,
But I see that your eye now has brightened,
So I trust you'll recover the fright!

I am sure your head must be distracted,
Such a sad invalid as you are!
How outrageously Johnny has acted,
I could swoon away now I declare!

456

Ere this strange interruption so frightful,
I was going to impart a new plan,
Which indeed would be truly delightful—
We must bring it about if we can!

Anne, my dear married daughter, has lately
Had twins—lovely creatures they say,
Now to meet, would rejoice us all greatly,
Do then send and invite her here pray!

I am dying to see the sweet treasures,
And without them of course she won't come,
I do hope you will quickly take measures
To tempt her to bring them from home!

She is very domestic and quiet,
(She's afflicted with deafness you know)
But I think were she only to try it,
Very fond of the World she would grow!

457

So ask her and her babies I pray you,
I feel sure you will doat on them quite,
And a charming long visit they'll pay you,
Do write off the letter to-night!

Miss Marchmont, I hope you speak German,
Araminta does speak it so well,
I can tell you she'll read you a sermon
If she finds that you do not excel!

All my daughters have endless resources,
Any mother in them might feel pride;
By the way—have you good Ladies' horses?
For all of them charmingly ride!

I assure you they're perfect equestrians,
They want nothing but horses indeed,
But perhaps you are only pedestrians,
Young ladies—and shrink from a steed!

458

All my girls are accomplished and clever,
And their minds with deep knowledge are stored,
They are thought acquisitions wherever
I take them with me—on my word!

They are subtle and sound Politicians,
And in arguments close are oft tried,
And so sweet are their meek dispositions,
They oft argue against their own side!

For myself, I was ne'er a great talker,
But quite the reverse—am I not?
Oh! I think I forgot—here's Miss Walker—
Lucy's Governess—Yes! I forgot.

You will find her most pleasing and charming,
I rejoice in presenting her now;—
But indeed it is truly alarming,
Your cheek grows so pale, and your brow!

459

'Tis that horrible monkey's mischances
That you cannot get over, I'm sure,
When your eye at that shattered clock glances,
It brings back all you've had to endure!

By the bye, it would suit us completely
If you would but lend Julia your harp,
For she plays very finely and sweetly,
Though she ne'er knows a flat from a sharp.

Her ear is most sadly deficient,
But that signifies little, they say,
She in truth is a perfect proficient,
Every night she shall sing here and play!

As for Lucy, she's but a beginner,
But she practises much—I believe!—
Will you let us up stairs have our dinner,
If 'tis not too much trouble to give.

460

Let us see what o'clock 'tis—Oh! shocking!
I forgot the poor clock's dismal plight—
It might seem your mishap I was mocking,
Which would ill become me—Well! Good night!