To Colonel Bellville.
Thursday.
WE have been dining Al fresco in a
rustic temple in a wood near the
house: romanesque, simple; the pillars
trunks of ancient oaks, the roof the bark
of trees, the pavement pebbles, the seats
moss; the wild melody of nature our music;
the distant sound of the cascade just
breaks on the ear, which, joined by the
chaunt of the birds, the cooing of the doves,
the lowing of the herds, and the gently-breathing Western breeze, forms a concert
most divinely harmonious.
Really this place would be charming, if
it was a little more replete with human
beings; but to me the finest landscape is a
dreary wild, unless adorned by a few groupes
of figures.–There are 'squires indeed–
well, absolutely, your 'squires are an agreeable
race of people, refined, sentimental,
formed for the Belle passion; though it
must be owned the 'squires about Belmont
are rational animals compared to those my
Caro Sposo used to associate with: my Lord
has exceedingly humanized them, and their
wives and daughters are decent creatures:
which really amazed me at first, for you
know, Bellville, there is in general no
standing the country misses.
Your letter is just brought me: all you
say of levees and drawing rooms is thrown away:
"Talk not to me of courts, for I disdain
All courts when he is by: far be the noise
Of kings and courts from us, whose gentle souls
Our kinder stars have steered another way."
Yes, the rural taste prevails; my plan of
life is fixed; to fit under a hill, and keep
sheep with Harry Mandeville.
O mon Dieu! what do I see coming
down the avenue? Is it in woman to resist
that equipage? Papier machée–highly
gilded–loves and doves–fix long-tailed
grey Arabians–by all the gentle powers of
love and gallantry, Fondville himself–the
dear enchanting creature–nay then–poor
Harry–all is over with him–I discarded him
this moment, and take Fondville for my
Cecisbeo==fresh from Paris–just imported
–Oh! all ye gods!
Friday Morning.
I left you somewhat abruptly; and am
returned to fill up my epistle with the adventures
of yesterday.
The great gates being thrown open,
and the chariot drawn up to the steps, my
charming Fondville, drest in a suit of light-coloured silk embroidered with silver, a
hat with a black feather under his arm
and a large bouquet of artificial flowers in
his button-hole, all Arabia breathing from
his well-scented handkerchief, descended,
like Adonis from the carr of Venus, and,
full of the idea of his own irresistibility,
advanced towards the saloon–he advanced,
not with the doubtful air of a bashful lover
intimidated by a thousand tender fears, but
in a minuet step, humming an opera tune,
and casting a side glance at every looking
glass in his way. The first compliments
being over, the amiable creature seated
himself by me, and began the following
conversation:
Well, but my dear Lady Anne, this is
so surprizing–your Ladyship in Campagna?
I thought Wilmot had given you a surfeit
of the poet's Elysium–horrid retirement!
–how do you contrive to kill time?
–though Harry Mandeville indeed–a
widow of spirit may find some amusement
there.
Why really, Fondville, a pretty fellow
does prodigiously soften the horrors of solitude.
Oh, nothing so well.
And Harry has his attractions.
Attractions! ah L'Amore! the fairest
eyes of Rome–
But pray, my dear Lord, how did the
court bear my absence?
In despair: the very Zephyrs about
Versailles have learnt to sigh, La belle Angloise.
And Miremont?
Inconsolable: staid away from two
operas.
Is it possible? the dear constant creature!
how his sufferings touch me!–but here
is company.
Any body one knows?
I rather think not.
What! the good company of the Environs,
the Arriere Ban, the Posse Comitatus?
Even so: my Lord "brings down the
natives upon us," but, to do the creatures
justice, one shall seldom see tamer savages.
Here the door opening, Fondville rose
with us all, and, leaning against the wainscoat,
in an attitude of easy indifference, half
bowing, without deigning to turn his eyes
on those who entered the room, continued
playing my fan, and talking to me in a half
whisper, till all were seated; when my
dear Lady Belmont, leading the conversation,
contrived to make it general, till, tea
being over, my Lord proposed a walk in
the gardens; where having trifled away an
hour every pleasantly, we found music ready
in the saloon at our return, and danced till
midnight.
Lord Viscount Fondville (he would not
have you omit Viscount for the world) left
us this morning: my Lord is extremely polite
and attentive to him, on the supposition
of his being my lover; otherwise he must
expect no supernumerary civilities at Belmont;
for, as it is natural to value most
those advantages one possesses one self, my
Lord, whose nobility is but of the third generation,
but whose ancestry loses itself in
the clouds, pays much greater respect to a
long line of illustrious ancestors than to the
most lofty titles; and I am sorry to say my
dear Fondville's pedigree will not stand the
test; he owes his fortune and rank to the
iniquity of his father, who was deep in the
infamous secret of the South Sea bubble.
'Tis however a good-natured, inoffensive,
lively, showy animal, and does not flatter
disagreeably. He owns Belmont not absolutely
shocking, and thinks Lady Julia rather
tolerable, if she was so happy as to have
a little of my spirit and enjouement.
Adio! A. Wilmot.
O Ciel! what a memory! this is not post
day. You may possibly gain a line or two
by this strange forgetfulness of mine.
Saturday.
Nothing new, but that La Signora
Westbrook, who visited here yesterday,
either was, or pretended to be, taken ill
before her coach came; and Harry, by her
own desire, attended her home in Lady Julia's
post chaise. He came back with so
grave an air, that I fancy she had been
making absolute, plain, down-right love to
him: her ridiculous fondness begins to
be rather perceptible to every body: really
these city girls are so rapid in their
amours, they won't give a man time to
breathe.
Once more, Adieu!
