Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “Pray, sir,” said Mrs. Howard to the traveller, “is it true that the humming-bird is a passionate little animal? Is the story told by the author of the Farmer’s Letters true?”

  “What story?” said Charles, eagerly.

  “Of a humming-bird that flew into a fury with a flower, and tore it to pieces, because it could not get the honey out of it all at once.”

  “Oh, ma’am,” said little Charles, peeping over his tutor’s shoulders, “will you show me that? Have you got the book, dear aunt?”

  “It is Mr. Russell’s book,” said his aunt.

  “Your book!” cried Charles: “what, and do you know all about animals, and those sorts of entertaining things, as well as Latin? And can you tell me, then, what I want very much to know, how they catch the humming-bird?”

  “They shoot it.”

  “Shoot it! but what a large hole they must make in its body and beautiful feathers! I thought you said its whole body was no bigger than a bee — a humble bee.”

  “They make no hole in its body — they shoot it without ruffling even its feathers.”

  “How, how?” cried Charles, fastening upon his tutor, whom he now regarded no longer as a mere man of Latin.

  “They charge the gun with water,” said Mr. Russell, “and the poor little humming-bird is stunned by the discharge.”

  The conversation next turned upon the entertaining chapter on instinct, in Dr. Darwin’s Zoonomia. Charles did not understand all that was said, for the gentlemen did not address themselves to him. He never listened to what he did not understand: but he was very quick at hearing whatever was within the limits of his comprehension. He heard of the tailor-bird, that uses its long bill as a needle, to sew the dead and the living leaf together, of which it makes its light nest, lined with feathers and gossamer: of the fish called the ‘old soldier,’ that looks out for the empty shell of some dead animal, and fits this armour upon himself: of the Jamaica spider, that makes himself a house under ground, with a door and hinges, which door the spider and all the members of his family take care to shut after them, whenever they go in and out.

  Little Charles, as he sat eagerly attentive in his corner of the sofa, heard of the trumpet of the common gnat, and of its proboscis, which serves at once for an awl, a saw, and a pump.

  “Are there any more such things,” exclaimed Charles, “in these books?”

  “A great many,” said Mr. Russell.

  “I’ll read them all,” cried Charles, starting up—”may I? may not I, aunt?”

  “Ask Mr. Russell,” replied his aunt: “he who is obliged to give you the pain of learning what is tiresome, should have the pleasure of rewarding you with entertaining books. Whenever he asks me for Dr. Darwin and St. Pierre, you shall have them. We are both of one mind. We know that learning Latin is not the most amusing occupation in the world, but still it must be learned.”

  “Why,” said Charles modestly, “you don’t understand Latin, aunt, do you?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Howard, “but I am a woman, and it is not thought necessary that a woman should understand Latin; nor can I explain to you, at your age, why it is expected that a gentleman should; but here are several gentlemen present — ask them whether it be not necessary that a gentleman should.”

  Charles gathered all the opinions, and especially that of the entertaining traveller.

  Mrs. Holloway, the silly lady, during that part of the conversation from which she might have acquired some knowledge, had retired to the further end of the room to a game at trictrac with an obsequious chaplain. Her game being finished, she came up to hear what the crowd round the sofa could be talking about; and hearing Charles ask the opinions of the gentlemen about the necessity of learning Latin, she nodded sagaciously at Mrs. Howard, and, by way of making up for former errors, said to Charles, in the most authoritative tone, —

  “Yes, I can assure you, Mr. Charles, I am quite of the gentlemen’s opinion, and so is every body — and this is a point upon which I have some right to speak; for my Augustus, who is only a year and seven months older than you are, sir, is one of the best scholars of his age, I am told, in England. But then, to be sure, it was flogged into him well at first, at a public school, which, I understand, is the best way of making good scholars.”

  “And the best way of making boys love literature?” said Mrs. Howard.

  “Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Holloway, who mistook Mrs. Howard’s tone of inquiry for a tone of assertion, a tone more familiar to her—”certainly, ma’am, I knew you would come round to my notions at last. I’m sure my Augustus must be fond of his Latin, for never in the vacations did I ever catch him with any English book in his hand!”

  “Poor boy!” said Charles, with unfeigned compassion, “And when, my dear Mrs. Howard,” continued Mrs. Holloway, laying her hand upon Mrs. Howard’s arm, with a yet untasted pinch of snuff between her fingers, “when will you send Mr. Charles to school?”

  “Oh, aunt, don’t send me away from you — Oh, sir! Mr. Russell, try me — I will do my very, very best, without having it flogged into me, to learn Latin — only try me.”

  “Dear sir, I really beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Russell; “I absolutely only meant to support Mrs. Howard’s opinion for the sweet boy’s good; and I thought I saw you go out of the room, or somebody else went out, whilst I was at trictrac. But I’m convinced a private tutor may do wonders at the same time; and if my Augustus prejudiced me in favour of public education, you’ll excuse a mother’s partiality. Besides, I make it a rule never to interfere in the education of my boys. Mr. Holloway is answerable for them; and if he prefer public schools to a private tutor, you must be sensible, sir, it would be very wrong in me to set my poor judgment in opposition to Mr. Holloway’s opinion.”

  Mr. Russell bowed; for, when a lady claims a gentleman’s assent to a series of inconsistent propositions, what answer can he make but — a bow? Mrs. Holloway’s carriage was now at the door, and, without troubling herself any further about the comparative merits of public and private education, she departed.

  When Mrs. Howard was left alone with her nephew, she seized the moment, while his mind was yet warm, to make a lasting impression. Charles, instead of going to Buffon’s account of the elephant, which he was very impatient to read, sat down resolutely to his Latin lesson. Mrs. Howard looked over his shoulder, and when he saw her smile of approbation, he said, “Then you won’t send me away from you?”

  “Not unless you oblige me to do so,” said his aunt: “I love to have you with me, and I will try for one year whether you have energy enough to learn what is disagreeable to you, without—”

  “Without its being flogged into me,” said Charles: “you shall see.”

  This boy had a great deal of energy and application. The Latin lessons were learned very perfectly; and as he did not spend above an hour a day at them, he was not disgusted with application. His general taste for literature, and his fund of knowledge, increased rapidly from year to year, and the activity of his mind promised continual improvement. His attachment to Mrs. Howard increased as he grew up, for she never claimed any gratitude from her pupil, or exacted from him any of those little observances, which women sometimes consider as essential proofs of affection. She knew that these minute attentions are particularly irksome to boys, and that they are by no means the natural expressions of their feelings. She had sufficient strength of mind to be secure in the possession of those qualities which merit esteem and love, and to believe that the child whom she had educated had a heart and understanding that must feel and appreciate her value.

  When Charles Howard was about thirteen, an event happened which changed his prospects in life. Mrs. Howard’s large fortune was principally derived from an estate in the West Indies, which had been left to her by her grandfather. She did not particularly wish to be the proprietor of slaves; and from the time that she came to the management of her own affairs, she had been desirous to sell her West India propert
y. Her agent represented to her that this could not be done without considerable loss. From year to year the business was delayed, till at length a gentleman, who had a plantation adjoining to hers, offered to purchase her estate. She was neither one of those ladies who, jealous of their free will, would rather act for themselves, that is to say, follow their own whims in matters of business, than consult men who possess the requisite information; nor was she so ignorant of business, or so indolent, as to be at the mercy of any designing agent or attorney. After consulting proper persons, and after exerting a just proportion of her own judgment, she concluded her bargain with the West Indian. Her plantation was sold to him, and all her property was shipped for her on board The Lively Peggy. Mr. Alderman Holloway, husband to the silly Mrs. Holloway, was one of the trustees appointed by her grandfather’s will. The alderman, who was supposed to be very knowing in all worldly concerns, sanctioned the affair with his approbation. The lady was at this time rich; and Alderman Holloway applauded her humanity in having stipulated for the liberty and provision grounds of some old negroes upon her plantation; he even suggested to his son Augustus, that this would make a very pretty, proper subject for a copy of verses, to be addressed to Mrs. Howard. The verses were written in elegant Latin; and the young gentleman was proceeding with some difficulty in his English translation of them, when they were suppressed by parental authority. The alderman changed his opinion as to the propriety of the argument of this poem: the reasons which worked upon his mind were never distinctly expressed; they may, however, be deduced from the perusal of the following letter: —

  “TO MRS. FRANCES HOWARD.

  “DEAR MADAM,

  “Sorry am I to be under the disagreeable necessity of communicating to you thus abruptly, the melancholy news of the loss of ‘The Lively Peggy,’ with your valuable consignment on board, viz. sundry puncheons of rum, and hogsheads of sugar, in which commodities (as usual) your agent received the purchase-money of your late fine West India estate. I must not, however reluctantly, omit to mention the casket of your grandmother’s jewels, which I now regret was sent by this opportunity. ’Tis an additional loss — some thousands, I apprehend.

  “The captain of the vessel I have just seen, who was set on shore, on the 15th ultimo, on the coast of Wales: his mate mutinied, and, in conspiracy with the crew, have run away with the vessel.

  “I have only to add, that Mrs. Holloway and my daughter Angelina sincerely unite with me in compliments and condolence; and I shall be happy if I can be of any service in the settlement of your affairs.

  “Mrs Holloway desires me to say, she would do herself the honour of waiting upon you to-morrow, but is setting out for Margate.

  “I am, dear madam,

  “Your most obedient and humble servant,

  “A. T. Holloway.

  “P.S. Your agent is much to blame for neglecting to insure.”

  Mrs. Howard, as soon as she had perused this epistle, gave it to her nephew, who was reading in the room with her when she received it. He showed more emotion on reading it than she had done. The coldness of the alderman’s letter seemed to strike the boy more than the loss of a fortune—”And this is a friend!” he exclaimed with indignation.

  “No, my love,” said Mrs. Howard, with a calm smile, “I never thought Mr. Holloway any thing more than a common acquaintance: I hope — I am sure I have chosen my friends better.”

  Charles fixed an eager, inquiring eye upon his aunt, which seemed to say, “Did you mean to call me one of your friends?” and then he grew very thoughtful.

  “My dear Charles,” said the aunt, after nearly a quarter of an hour’s silence, “may I know what you have been thinking of all this time?”

  “Thinking of, ma’am!” said Charles, starting from his reverie—”of a great many things — of all you have done for me — of — of what I could do — I don’t mean now; for I know I am a child, and can do nothing — I don’t mean nothing. — I shall soon be a man, and then I can be a physician, or a lawyer, or something. — Mr. Russell told me the other day, that if I applied myself, I might be whatever I pleased. What would you wish me to be, ma’am? — because that’s what I will be — if I can.”

  “Then I wish you to be what you are.”

  “O madam,” said Charles, with a look of great mortification, “but that’s nothing. Won’t you make me of some use to you? — But I beg your pardon, I know you can’t think about me just now. Good night,” said he, and hurried out of the room.

  The news of the loss of the Lively Peggy, with all the particulars mentioned in Alderman Holloway’s letter, appeared in the next day’s newspapers, and in the succeeding paper appeared an advertisement of Mrs. Howard’s house in Portman-square, of her plate, china, furniture, books, &c. — She had never in affluence disdained economy. She had no debts; not a single tradesman was a sufferer by her loss. She had always lived within her annual income; and though her generous disposition had prevented her from hoarding money, she had a small sum in the funds, which she had prudently reserved for any unforeseen exigence. She had also a few diamonds, which had been her mother’s, which Mr. Carat, the jeweller, who had new set them, was very willing to purchase. He waited upon Mrs. Howard, in Portman-square, to complete the bargain.

  The want of sensibility which Charles showed when his aunt was parting with her jewels to Mr. Carat, would have infallibly ruined him in the opinion of most ladies. He took the trinkets up, one by one, without ceremony, and examined them, asking his aunt and the jeweller questions about the use and value of diamonds — about the working of the mines of Golconda — about the shining of diamonds in the dark, observed by the children of Cogi Hassan, the rope-maker, in the Arabian Tales — about the experiment of Francis the First upon melting of diamonds and rubies. Mr. Carat was a Jew, and, though extremely cunning, profoundly ignorant.

  “Dat king wash very grand fool, beg his majesty’s pardon,” said the Jew, with a shrewd smile; “but kings know better nowadays. Heaven bless dere majesties.”

  Charles had a great mind to vindicate the philosophic fame of Francis the First, but a new idea suddenly started into his head.

  “My dearest aunt,” cried he, stopping her hand as she was giving her diamond ear-rings to Mr. Carat—”stay, my dearest aunt, one instant, till I have seen whether this is a good day for selling diamonds.”

  “O my dear young gentleman, no day in de Jewish calendar more proper for de purchase,” said the Jew.

  “For the purchase! yes,” said Charles; “but for the sale?”

  “My love,” said his aunt, “surely you are not so foolish as to think there are lucky and unlucky days.”

  “No, I don’t mean any thing about lucky and unlucky days,” said Charles, running up to consult the barometer; “but what I mean is not foolish indeed: in some book I’ve read that the dealers in diamonds buy them when the air is light, and sell them when it is heavy, if they can; because their scales are so nice that they vary with the change in the atmosphere. Perhaps I may not remember exactly the words, but that’s the sense, I know. I’ll look for the words; I know whereabout to find them.” He jumped upon a chair, to get down the book.

  “But, Master Charles,” said the Jew, with a show of deference, “I will not pretend to make a bargain with you — I see you know a great deal more than I of these traffics.”

  To this flattery Charles made no answer, but continued looking for the passage he wanted in his book. Whilst he was turning over the leaves, a gentleman, a friend of Mrs. Howard, who had promised her to meet Mr. Carat, came in. He was the gentleman formerly mentioned by the name of the traveller: he was a good judge of diamonds, and, what is better, he was a good judge of the human heart and understanding. He was much pleased with Charles’s ready recollection of the little knowledge he possessed, with his eagerness to make that knowledge of use to his aunt, and more with his perfect simplicity and integrity; for Charles, after a moment’s thought, turned to the Jew and said, —

  “But the
day that is good for my aunt must be bad for you. The buyers and sellers should each have fair play. Mr. Carat, your weights should be diamonds, and then the changes in the weight of the air would not signify one way or the other.”

  Mr. Carat smiled at this speech, but, suppressing his contempt for the young gentleman, only observed, that he should most certainly follow Mr. Charles’s advice, whenever he wash rich enough to have diamonds for weights.

  The traveller drew from his pocket a small book, took a pen, and wrote in the title-page of it, For one who will make a good use of it; and, with Mrs. Howard’s permission, he gave the book to her nephew.

  “I do not believe,” said the gentleman, “that there is at present another copy in England: I have just got this from France by a private hand.”

  The sale of his aunt’s books appeared to Charles a much more serious affair than the parting with her diamonds. He understood something of the value of books, and he took a sorrowful leave of many which he had read, and of many more which he had intended to read. Mrs. Howard selected a few for her own use, and she allowed her nephew to select as many for himself as she had done. He observed that there was a beautiful edition of Shakspeare, which he knew his aunt liked particularly, but which she did not keep, reserving instead of it Smith’s Wealth of Nations, which would in a few years, she said, be very useful to him. He immediately offered his favourite Etudes de la Nature to redeem the Shakspeare; but Mrs. Howard would not accept of it, because she justly observed, that she could read Shakspeare almost as well without its being in such a beautiful binding. Her readiness to part with all the luxuries to which she had been for many years accustomed, and the freedom and openness with which she spoke of all her affairs to her nephew, made a great impression upon his mind.