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 '
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 VOL.1.
 

 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 3 Bottcl ; 
 
 INCLUDING A DESCRIPTION OF 
 
 THE LAKES . 
 
 OF 
 
 CUMBERLAND AND WESTMORELAND, 
 
 AND 
 
 A PART OF SOUTH WALES. 
 
 BY CATHERINE HUTTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE MISER MARRIED," AND 
 " THE WELSH MOUNTAINEER." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Prin tern-Street ; 
 FOB LONGMAN, HURST, RE;>, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 FATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1819.
 
 II (K)OW>?M 
 
 ; 

 
 PREFACE 
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, though last pub- 
 lished as an entire work, was my first 
 attempt at writing for the press, and 
 
 x fr * 
 
 is the one alluded to in the preface of 
 the Miser Married, as having been un- 
 dertaken upon reading a celebrated 
 novel of great exuberance. The novel 
 which occasioned it will be found in 
 Mrs. Oakwood's library in the present 
 work. 
 
 2202890
 
 Vi PREFACE* 
 
 Oak wood Hall was cut into shreds, 
 a nd published some years since, under 
 the title of Oakwood House, in the 
 periodical publication called La Belle 
 Assemblee : the work, as it is now of- 
 fered to the Public, has received great 
 additions, and, I hope, many improve- 
 ments. 
 
 Like the inimitable author of The 
 Antiquary, I lay down my pen as a 
 writer of novels. Like him, I may re- 
 sume itj for, in this world, where 
 every thing changes, I hold a change 
 of mind to be pardonable : but 1 have 
 not the temptation to change which 
 that great painter of character and 
 manners had, his store of learning, or 
 his fund of humour. If I have written
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 well, I should be careful not to write 
 worse ; if I have not written well, J 
 have already written too much. 
 
 CATHERINE HUTTON, 
 
 BENNETT'S HILL, 
 near Birmingham, 
 
 J&1919.
 
 
 mo sd i-I'A'.:'?. T I low 
 
 - v Tf
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL, BELMONT COTTAGE. 
 
 Ferrybridge. 
 
 BEHOLD me thus far on my way to my 
 native dale ; my maid Anson my 
 only companion in a post-chaise, and 
 my man James my only attendant. 
 You bade me write an account of my 
 journey j of what I see, feel, and 
 imagine ; in a word, you require the 
 Life and Opinions of Jane Oakwood 
 during a visit to her brother in Y ween 
 shire. , May you not repent your con . 
 mands. I shall make but one condit-j the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 my information and remarks shall not 
 extend beyond terrestrial objects. If 
 you want the grey tints of the morn- 
 ing, the cloudless skies of noon, or the 
 glowing refulgence of evening ; you 
 may either draw and colour them for 
 yourself, or look into the many authors 
 where they are to be found. 
 
 Newark you know; its beautiful 
 church and ancient castle. From 
 thence to Doncaster the country is 
 generally flat, and has formerly been 
 uncultivated ; as the names of Scarthing 
 Moor, Markham Moor, and Barnby 
 Moor, the several stages, denote. The 
 most striking objects to me, were the 
 road and the inns ; the one spacious j 
 the other a succession of palaces, which 
 +and with their doors open, to receive 
 traveller. 
 
 he entrance into Doncaster, be- 
 en rows of trees, is beautiful ; ancf
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 the town itself, which is one long wide 
 street, with a few collateral branches, 
 is justly celebrated for neatness and 
 elegance. I sauntered to its church, 
 a handsome ancient structure, with a 
 tall tower steeple ; but it hurt my eyes 
 to see those spaces occupied by sash 
 windows, which were originally destined 
 to receive small panes, fastened into 
 lead j if not painted glass. I was at- 
 tracted by a female figure in basso re- 
 lievo, over the entrance, and approach- 
 e,d her, hoping to gain some informa- 
 tion respecting ancient costume ; 
 but when I found that the lady had 
 a paii* of wings springing from her 
 shoulders, and that her business was to 
 hold a coat of arms, I thought further 
 examination unnecessary. 
 
 The same kind of road, between 
 rows of stately trees, that had con- 
 ducted me into Doncaster from the 
 a*
 
 4 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 south, led me out of it on the north. 
 The fields are fertile j but the houses 
 congregate in villages, and are not 
 scattered about the country. To 
 Wentbridge, which is ten miles, I do 
 not recollect more than four near the 
 road. One of these is a country inn, 
 about seven miles from Doncaster, 
 which holds out the sign of Robin Hood 
 and Little John, and on the other side 
 the road is a well, with a small stone 
 building erected over it, still called 
 Robin Hood's well. The neighbour- 
 ing grounds, which are now a park 
 and a common, were then a forest ; 
 and were the abode of that celebrated 
 outlaw, and the scene of many of his 
 exploits j no doubt the well was used 
 by him and his followers. 
 
 In the park stood the stump of a 
 tree called the Bishop's tree root : a 
 man is living near the spot, who knew
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 5 
 
 a man of ninety-three, whose father 
 remembered it : around this tree it was 
 that Robin Hood made the Bishop of 
 Hereford dance in his boots, when he 
 had robbed him of all his gold. Merry 
 Barnsdale, to which he led the Bishop, 
 and where he treated him with the 
 venison he paid for so dear, is just 
 above. 
 
 These circumstances impressed my 
 mind so forcibly, that I saw the whole 
 country an undivided forest ; the great 
 north road a horse-path ; the pretend- 
 ed shepherds dressing their deer by its 
 side ; and the Bishop approach, at- 
 tended by a number of armed follow- 
 ers, for then the great durst not travel 
 without, and the common people did 
 not travel at all. I saw the Bishop 
 calling the shepherds to account for 
 deer-stealing, and refusing them the 
 pardon they implored. I saw Robin
 
 6 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Hood set his back against a tree, and 
 his foot against a thorn ; and I am not 
 sure I did not actually see the thorn 
 itself; for there are still some very old 
 ones in the park. I saw threescore and 
 ten of bold Robin Hood's men, come 
 marching to their master's assistance, 
 at the well-known sound of his horn. 
 I saw the Bishop a suppliant in his 
 turn, denied the pardon he refused to 
 grant, led by the hand, treated with 
 venison and mock civility, robbed, and 
 made to dance round a tree, the ex 
 istence of which is still remembered. 
 In short, I sung the whole ballad to 
 Anson, and you are very fortunate I 
 do not transcribe it to you. 
 
 I have such a veneration for an- 
 tiquity, that I shall introduce to your 
 notice a couple of old shattered boards, 
 held together by pieces of iron, which 
 form the sign of a little public-house
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 7 
 
 at the entrance of the village of Went- 
 bridge. The figure represented is a 
 Bell, in a new, bright blue liveiy, 
 richly trimmed with gold. The in- 
 scription 
 
 " 1633. 
 
 The Blue Bell on Wentbridge Hill. 
 
 The old Sign's existing still." 
 
 And rustic Royalists and Oliverians, 
 Jacobites and Williamites, Whigs and 
 Tories, Pittites and Foxites, have tip- 
 pled under it. 
 
 Much as I admire white houses and 
 white roads, the clouds of limestone 
 dust which blew in my eyes at Ferry- 
 bridge disgusted me j and I shut my 
 windows and amused myself with ob- 
 serving the loading and unloading of 
 the heavy coaches from York to Lon- 
 don. These are ponderous machines, 
 and of no small importance. Besides 
 the visible cargo of inside and outside 
 B 4
 
 8 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 passengers ; besides the usual lading 
 of boxes and packages ; every crevice 
 is stowed with Yorkshire presents; 
 hams, poultry, and potted meats, and 
 in the season, game and stupendous 
 pies. 
 
 If coaches must have names, those 
 of Highflyer, Mercury, and Telegraph 
 are good ; but I own myself unable to 
 comprehend the propriety of such as 
 The Prince of Wales, Lord Nelson, 
 and the Peace Maker. 
 
 To-morrow I go to York, from 
 which place you shall again hear from 
 your 
 
 JANE OAKWOOD,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL, BELMONT COTTAGE. 
 
 York. 
 
 I VIEW York with the impartial eye 
 of a stranger. Though the capital of 
 my native county, I have seen it only 
 once before ; when, on my brother's 
 coming of age, I quitted the paternal 
 mansion, at the age of eighteen, and 
 under the wing of my mother, was 
 going to make my first appearance in 
 tbe world. That is now thirty-three 
 years ago. I then saw things with a 
 careless eye. I examined nothing; 
 and to compare would have been im- 
 possible, as I had only seen my 
 
 B5
 
 10 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 native fields and woods, and the three 
 small market-towns I had passed 
 through in my way. 
 
 York has an air of grandeur and 
 antiquity j , of gentry, if not nobi- 
 lity ; of business, but not of trade. 
 The shops are inferior only to those of 
 the metropolis. Indeed the people 
 here have a proverb, " You may have 
 everything at York you can at London, 
 and Acomb sand beside j" meaning a 
 fine sand brought from the neigh- 
 bouring village of Acomb, for the 
 purposes of scouring. The bridge 
 over the Ouze is high and narrow. 
 The streets are narrow and crowded, 
 and many of the houses project over 
 them. There are twenty-three parish 
 churches in York, four large city gates, 
 and five posterns. Some of the churches 
 are beautiful ; all are venerable. . The 
 tower of Christ church, onthe pavement,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 11 
 
 is literally a lantern , an open octagon, 
 supported by eight pillars. The church 
 of St. Margaret, Walmgate, has a 
 curious Saxon porch, of five round 
 arches, each within and smaller than 
 the other ; and each supported by 
 round pillars touching the side walls. 
 The two outer arches are ornamented 
 with human figures, beasts, and mon- 
 sters, carved in the stone j the three 
 inner with knots, and different de- 
 vices. 
 
 The church of Saint Martin, Coney 
 Street, has a curious pulpit cloth, of 
 ancient needlework. The centre piece 
 represents the figure of Jesus Christ 
 upon the cross, and God the Father, 
 seated above, supporting him. Around 
 is a border, divided into different com- 
 partments, each containing a whole 
 length figure, about six inches in 
 height. The whole is worked in some- 
 
 B6
 
 2 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 thing like tent stitch, with shades of 
 drab-coloured silk, on linen cloth, 
 which it once entirely covered ; but 
 time has, in some places, laid the 
 cloth bare. The figures, and even the 
 features, are extremely well executed. 
 The head of the Deity, that of a 
 respectable old man, has an em- 
 broidered golden sun, like a watch 
 case, hanging over it, which may be 
 lifted up at pleasure. The dress of 
 the figures in the border is that of the 
 beginning of the fifteenth century, the 
 reign of Henry the fourth. The rest 
 of the pulpit-cloth, on which these 
 pictures of needlework are sewed, is 
 crimson velvet, studded with silver 
 stars. 
 
 But the cathedral of York ! I cannot 
 describe it. When I stood without, 
 and contemplated its south side j when 
 I went on, and raised my aching eyes
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 13 
 
 to its west end, where two grand towers 
 arise, and between them perches for a 
 thousand images, some of which, alas ! 
 are empty j when I stood in the centre 
 within, and turning round, viewed its 
 four matchless windows ; I can give 
 you no idea of what I saw, or what I 
 felt. I, who have such a mania for 
 cathedrals, that I have travelled miles 
 in every direction, and hundreds in 
 some, to see one! I, who regret the 
 reformation on no account whatever, 
 but that we can no longer build cathe- 
 drals I When one man could persuade 
 another that his sinful soul would go to 
 heaven, if he cheated his heirs, and left 
 what he could no longer enjoy, towards 
 building a church ; what magnificent 
 piles arose I Now, how difficult to 
 obtain, by subscription, a few paltry 
 thousands, to rear the plainest edifice ! 
 York cathedral was two hundred
 
 14 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 years in building, and each prelate 
 endeavoured to outvie his predecessor 
 in what was added to it. It is 5%4> feet in 
 length from east to west ; the transept 
 222 from north to south j the height of 
 the body of the church 99. But it 
 claims precedence of all cathedrals 
 for the beauty of its windows. That 
 at the east end is J5 feet high, and 32 
 broad, of painted glass j and is said to 
 be the most magnificent in the world. 
 The upper part is remarkable for its 
 tracery ; the lower, in a hundred and 
 seventeen partitions, representf almost 
 the whole history of the Bible. Its op- 
 posite, at the west end, though inferior 
 on the whole, is said to surpass it, in 
 its curious tracery. The noble window 
 at the end of the north transept is five 
 distinct windows joined together ; and 
 you are told it was the gift of 
 five maiden sisters, who each worked a
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 15 
 
 pattern in embroidery as a model 
 for the tracery of her share of the 
 present. The south transept has six 
 windows ; one circular and very fine. 
 
 A celebrated screen, containing 
 statues of all the Kings of England, 
 from William the Conqueror to Henry 
 the sixth, separates the body of the 
 church from the choir. It is said to 
 have been executed in the reign of 
 Henry the Sixth, and to have included 
 the statue of that monarch, which the 
 archbishop of the next reign took 
 down, in compliment to Edward the 
 fourth. The niche remained empty, 
 till one of his successors complimented 
 James the first with the vacant place, 
 on his passage through York, to take 
 possession of the throne of England. 
 
 The chapter-house appears to me 
 one of the wonders of the world. 
 Without, it is an ugly excrescence,
 
 16 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 with a sugar-loaf top, growing out of 
 the north transept. Within, it is an 
 octagon room, 63 feet in diameter, 
 and 67 feet in height, to the centre of 
 the roof, which is not supported by 
 any pillar. The entrance occupies 
 one of the eight sides, and over it were 
 once placed statues of the Virgin Mary 
 and twelve apostles, of solid silver, gilt. 
 These have been taken away ; and had 
 the whole cathedral been built of the 
 same material^ not one ounce would 
 have remained upon another. The 
 other seven sides of the octagon are 
 alike. They each contain six marble 
 seats, arched over the top. Above 
 these runs a gallery of stone, so ex- 
 quisitely carved, that to have an idea 
 of it, it must be seen. The sculptor's 
 workmanship was formerly covered 
 with painting and gilding, which is 
 now almost obliterated by time. Above
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 17 
 
 the gallery, each of the seven sides 
 contains a noble window. In this room 
 the business of the church should be 
 transacted ; but, on account of the 
 damp, its commanding officers adjourn 
 to the council-room, or inner vestry, 
 and this is only used on great occasions. 
 What that business is, is unknown to 
 the prophane. The attendants are 
 sworn to secresy, and the guide looked 
 as if it were not his place to conjec- 
 ture. 
 
 In the vestry I was shown a thread- 
 bare pall of gold tissue, which was 
 carried over James the first, when at 
 York j a pastoral staff of silver, in- 
 tended to decorate a catholic arch- 
 bishop, in the reign of James the 
 second ; and several rings, taken from 
 the fingers of different archbishops, 
 when their tombs were opened in the 
 year 1736. The dates of the rings are
 
 18 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 1315, 1423, 1476, and 1544, 
 Two of them have each a single ruby. 
 But, above all, I was shown the fa- 
 mous horn of Ulphus, king of the 
 western part of Deira ; the title deed 
 by which the church holds lands of 
 great value v to this day. The two sons 
 of Ulphus quarftlling about the suc- 
 cession to his estate, he determined to 
 show no partiality to either : he re- 
 paired to York, taking with him the 
 horn out of which he usually drank, 
 and filling it with wine, he knelt down 
 before the altar, drank it off, and 
 piously defrauded them both, by giv- 
 ing the horn, with all his possessions, 
 to God and Saint Peter ; and leaving, 
 as was customary in these cases, the 
 dignitaries of the church executors and 
 residuary legatees. They have found 
 this summary way of conveying an 
 estate as good as twenty skins of parch-
 
 OAKVVOOD HALL. 19 
 
 , 
 
 merit and forty thousand words. The 
 horn is made of an elephant's tooth, 
 and has a broad band of metal round 
 it, on which different figures are rudely 
 engraved. Its original ornaments were 
 of gold, but they shared the fate of the 
 Virgin Mary and the twelve apostles. 
 
 In a room leading to the vestry, I saw 
 two ancient half-circular chests, who ( se 
 iron hinges spread over the lids, like 
 stalks and flowers. I enquired their 
 use ; and was told that they had for- 
 merly contained the treasure and valu- 
 able utensils of the church. They are 
 now said to be empty, or filled only 
 with rubbish j the sacred chalices, 
 mitres, and copes having, perhaps, been 
 plundered by heretics, and some other 
 place found for the money. 
 
 If the revenues of the cathedral 
 make rich clergymen, the number of 
 other churches in York make poor.
 
 20 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 The rectory of Saint Dennis, Waim- 
 gate, is only twenty-three pounds a 
 year j and a part of it arises from the 
 rents of. small houses, torn from the 
 bowels of the poor, and half swallowed 
 up in repairs.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 I ARRIVED at this place last Thurs- 
 day. I cannot express my various emo- 
 tions as I approached it ; the scene of 
 childhood and youth, so long unvisited. 
 Every path and every field was marked 
 by some event, and on every bush 
 there hung a tale. My reflections na- 
 turally reverted to myself. My acti- 
 vity, my elasticity, that 
 
 " Golden time of youthful prime," 
 
 so pathetically- lamented by Burns, 
 was gone. But I did not ask, with
 
 %2 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 him, whose excesses had brought on 
 the sufferings of a premature old age, 
 
 " Why com'st thou not again ?" 
 
 I was grateful to the Supreme Ruler 
 of the Universe, that I had not yet to 
 endure the 
 
 " Weary, weary days, 
 
 And nights of sleepless pain." 
 
 Fields and paths and trees remain ; 
 but every human face and figure was 
 unknown to me. The inhabitants 
 were either not those I had left be* 
 hind, or so changed that I could dis- 
 cover no traces of what they were. I 
 was surprised to find even my brother 
 so much altered, though I have seen 
 him many times since I quitted Oak- 
 wood : but the last is fourteen years 
 ago, and that, at our age, is enough 
 to metamorphose a young man or wo- 
 man into an old one. He would find 
 the present Jane Oakwood very dif~
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 23 
 
 ferent from the former ; but he forbore 
 to remind me of it. He received me 
 with great affection. 
 
 Like me, my brother has led a life 
 of single blessedness. He was afraid 
 I should find a bachelor's house un- 
 pleasant; though he begged me to 
 consider myself as its mistress. His 
 habits, he said, had long been such as 
 to disqualify him for society : he had 
 not only forgotten the forms of cere- 
 mony, but of good breeding. I assured 
 him that I should hold the smallest of 
 his habits sacred ; and that I had not 
 been more than fifty years in the world, 
 without contracting some habits my- 
 self, which might require indulgence. 
 I should ask but one thing of him, 
 which was his love, arid all the rest I 
 would make out for myself. He em- 
 braced me, and ringing the bell for 
 jhjs housekeeper, quitted the room.
 
 4 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Mrs. Simpson appeared in a ruby- 
 coloured silk gown, a clear-starched 
 lawn apron and handkerchief, and as 
 many petticoats as would have clothed 
 a family of half a dozen full grown 
 daughters. Her hair was powdered, 
 and combed over a roll, and her cap 
 crimped like the florendines of my 
 grandmother, who learned the art of 
 pastry at a regular school. The poor 
 woman came in trembling, and strok- 
 ing down her apron, and begged to 
 know my commands. -I told her I had 
 none to give. 
 
 " To be sure, ma'am," says she, " my 
 master keeps a very good table, and 
 has every thing comfortable about 
 him j for he leaves all to me ; but it 
 can't be like what such a lady as you 
 is used to, find he bid me take my 
 orders from you, ma'am." 
 10
 
 GAKWOOD HALL. 25 
 
 I told her I should make no altera- 
 tion whatever ; that all would still be 
 left to her ; and that I had no doubt 
 her experience and care would make 
 it as comfortable to me as to her 
 master. 
 
 The poor woman looked delighted. 
 " As to experence, ma'am," said she, 
 " I've had enough ; for I've lived with 
 my master above twenty years, and 
 a good master he is; though, to be 
 sure, lie has his ways ; and as to 
 care, ma'am, that sha'n't be wanting. 
 I remember when I had lived with 
 my master about three years, I for- 
 got to ask him what- pudding he 
 would have for dinner j and he was 
 going a hunting, and I run out, and 
 he was just mounting his horse. Sir,' 
 says I, I beg your pardon, what pud- 
 ding '11 you please to have for dinner ?' 
 * Whatever you've a mind,' says he. 
 
 VOL. i. c
 
 26 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 * Then, sir/ says I,' I'll make one of my 
 own head, shall I ?' And my master's 
 a very joking gentleman, at times, 
 ma'am. ' Aye,' says he, * do ; but don't 
 
 put too much snuff in it.' To be 
 
 sure I do take a pinch now and then ; 
 for when I'm low-spirited it revives 
 me." To the truth of this part of her 
 tale, the good woman's nose bore tes- 
 timony. " And my master liked my 
 pudding," continued she, " and ever 
 since then he gives me no orders, and 
 I know what he likes, and he never 
 knows what he has for dinner, till he 
 sees it on the table." 
 
 I desired she would continue not 
 only to make puddings but every thing 
 else of her own head j and she left me, 
 courteseying and saying she could not 
 desire a more agreeabler lady to come 
 into the house. 
 
 I believe a female visitor was never
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 7 
 
 known at Oakwood in the memory of 
 any of the servants j and my coming 
 was as s much dreaded by the whole 
 household, as the arrival of the fox 
 could have been among the poultry. 
 The master himself was not without 
 his share of apprehension, both on my 
 account and his own : on mine, lest 
 he should not make his house agree- 
 able to me ; on his own, lest he 
 should be put out of his way. But 
 now I have been here almost a 
 week, and the servants find I do not 
 attack them, and the master finds that 
 I can provide for my own amusement, 
 without putting him to the heavy fa- 
 tigue of entertaining me j we are the 
 best friends in the world. Our grand 
 maxim is, that each shall have his way, 
 and no one shall interfere with the way 
 of another ; and'if it were more widely
 
 28 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 diffused, I believe society would be 
 the better for it. 
 
 My brother's way is an uncommon one; 
 but I do not condemn it on that account. 
 He will not suffer any thing to be kill- 
 ed in his house larger than a flea ; 
 though he knows his own grounds sup- 
 ply his table with mutton and venison, 
 his farm-yard with poultry, and the ad* 
 joining river with fish. He will have 
 every thing put to death instantly, 
 and with as little pain as possible, for 
 its own sake ; and for his, he will have 
 it done at the farm-house, which is at a 
 distance, that he may not know when 
 an animal is to die. 
 
 In his younger days he was fond of 
 hunting; but he has left it off from 
 principle. He will eat of hare, if it have 
 been shot ; for, as all creatures must 
 die, he thinks a gun may occasion less
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 20 
 
 pain than disease ; but he can no longer 
 witness the distress of a hare with the 
 dogs in pursuit of her j or suffer such 
 persecution, where he is master. Even 
 a fox, whom, as a robber and murderer, 
 he thinks it right to destroy, he will not 
 allow to be hunted. 
 
 How then you say can an old bachelor 
 spend his time ; for of course he will nei- 
 ther shoot nor fish ? you are right j he 
 will not : but how he employs his time 
 you would find it difficult to guess. He 
 labours in his plantations. Not like a 
 gentleman j but like a man, and harder 
 than a man who works for hire. His 
 callous hands are familiar with the mat- 
 tock, the spade, and the wheelbarrow. 
 His pleasure grounds are so extensive, 
 that there is always room for improve- 
 ment, at least for alteration ; and if he 
 consider it improvement, it is enough. 
 In this place, shrubs must be stocked 
 c3
 
 SO OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 * 
 
 up, the ground must be dug three feet' 
 deep, the gravelly soil Carried away, and 
 manure and fresh earth must be brought 
 from a distance to supply its place. 
 The whole must be levelled, and planted 
 in a different form j and while this is 
 doing, he is up at six o'clock in a morn- 
 ing ; dressed in a nankeen jacket, cap 
 and trowsers, if the weather be mild ; a 
 hat and woollen jacket and trowsers, if 
 it be cold or wet ; shoes studded with 
 more than ploughman's nails ; and tak- 
 ing half a dozen men with him, he is 
 not only superintendent of the work, 
 but chief labourer. His exercise is so 
 violent that it frequently obliges him to 
 throw off his jacket, and work in his 
 shirt. No weather interrupts his labour 
 but snow. He has a fire in his dressing- 
 room, winter and summer, and his valet, 
 who has a much easier place than his 
 master, has always a set of clothes hang-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 3 
 
 ing round it, ready for him, when he 
 comes in. We dine alone, and he 
 commonly dresses before dinner ; but if 
 the work be of very great importance, 
 the only ceremony he observes is wash- 
 ing his hands j and after he has allowed 
 himself the workmen's hour, he toils 
 again till six or seven o'clock. He is 
 generally so fortunate, before, his job is 
 finished, as to find another that must be 
 done : if not, the interval is insupport- 
 able, and therefore it is never long. 
 
 Adieu. You who have seen me, not 
 a florist, but a downright gardener , 
 who have admired the tulips, hyacinths, 
 ranunculuses, and pinks I have culti- 
 vated with my own hands, will perceive 
 the resemblance between my brother 
 and your friend. 
 
 JANE OAKWOOD.
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDE NELL. 
 
 OaJcivood. 
 
 MY apartment is the same I occupied 
 in my youth, when every day brought 
 some acquisition or improvement. My 
 dressing-room is still hung round with 
 flowers, traced by my hand, and the 
 fire screens are my needlework. The 
 view from its windows is almost divine, 
 but I will spare you the particulars. 
 Wood and water, hill and vale, rock 
 and meadow, admit of infinite combina- 
 tions by nature j in description they 
 are all alike j and I have little more cha- 
 rity for them than for the state of the 
 atmosphere. I will however inform
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 33 
 
 you, that Oakwood stands in one of the 
 beautiful dales of this country, 'and 
 commands it to a great extent ; with 
 the stupendous hills, which guard it on 
 each side, and the river which runs 
 through the bottom. 
 
 " And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running 
 
 brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." 
 
 But running brooks are not our only 
 books. My brother's library is all that 
 an English gentleman could desire. 
 Besides the best histories, ancient and 
 modern, of every country in the world, 
 he has all English historians, from 
 Hollingshed to Hume; all Voyages 
 and Travels, from Columbus to Lord 
 Macartney ; all Poets, from Chaucer to 
 Burns ; all dramatic writers, from 
 Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher, to Colman and
 
 34 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Mrs. Inchbald; and all the Novels of 
 Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, Cum- 
 berland, Holcroft, and Godwin. I 
 should swell my letter into a Bookseller's 
 catalogue, were I to enumerate the 
 Antiquities, Topography, and Miscel- 
 laneous Works j and he is continually 
 adding all that comes out, which is 
 either worth reading or looking at. 
 
 But the number of my brother's 
 books is nothing, compared with their 
 quality and dress. In that they are ex- 
 ceeded by many noblemen's and gen- 
 tlemen's libraries ; in these, I believe, 
 they are scarcely to be paralleled. 
 They exhibit every thing that is most 
 rare and costly in paper, printing, en- 
 graving, and binding. No book in his 
 library has a superior out of it. Indeed, 
 should that happen, by an after pub- 
 lication of the same work, it is immedi- 
 ately added.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 35 
 
 To look at my brother's books, giants, 
 where giants could be found ; arrayed 
 in red, green, and yellow morocco, 
 half covered with gold ; arranged in 
 the nicest order, and viewed through 
 plate glass ; you would suppose they 
 were to be seen, not read. Just the 
 reverse. He reads them all through, 
 except books of reference, and never 
 lets any body else see them, if he can 
 help it. One of the singularities of his 
 library is, that almost all may be read 
 with pleasure, and nothing is admitted 
 to make up a show, without some in- 
 trinsic merit of its own. 
 
 From our father my brother has in- 
 herited a taste for reading; from our 
 mother a taste for rich and splendid fur- 
 niture ; these, combined, have produced 
 his library. His book-cases are as re- 
 markable as their contents. The parts 
 that can never be seen are mahogany, 
 c6
 
 36 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 by his particular order ; and the fronts 
 are carved, and inlaid with every kind 
 of costly wood, in figures and different 
 devices. His correctness and care he 
 derives from both our parents; and they 
 are such, that there is not a spot upon 
 a leaf, or a scratch upon a binding, in 
 his whole library. 
 
 Mr. Oakwood's prints are not less 
 extraordinary than his books. In ge- 
 neral he does not purchase the entire 
 works of any en graver $ but only selects 
 the best pieces. Of these he has thou- 
 sands, French and English, single prints, 
 companions and setsj all the finest 
 impressions, and bound up in portfolios 
 of Russian leather, as large as a card- 
 table. 
 
 Here, then, is an employment for a 
 snowy day j and for a part of every 
 day ; and I share it as I please. Pic- 
 tures my brother has none ; except fa-
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. ? 
 
 mily portraits. As he says himself, he 
 keeps one hobby horse in so expensive 
 a manner, that he cannot afford a pair. 
 
 My brother loves to contemplate the 
 physiognomy of celebrated men; and 
 every part of his house that is proper 
 for such works of art, is ornamented 
 with their busts. Though firm to a 
 party himself, talents or notoriety, of 
 any kind, or on any side, is a sufficient 
 warrant for admission among the dumb 
 inhabitants of Oakwood Hall. Here 
 Pitt and Fox, Percival and Bellingham, 
 Castlereagh and Burdett, forgetting all 
 animosities, stand quietly by the side of 
 each other. 
 
 Neither are all our tongues tongues 
 of trees. My brother has gradually de- 
 clined the society of the neighbouring 
 families ; our vicar has a better living, 
 and does not reside here, and Mr. Ne- 
 vil, his curate, though a } oung man of
 
 38 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 good sense, has indulged himself in 
 laughing at some of my brother's pecu- 
 liarities, and is not admitted into the 
 house. But it ,is not good for man to 
 be alone. Every evening, after supper, 
 John Freeman, a sturdy yeoman, who 
 lives opposite the park gates, comes to 
 talk over history and politics with Mr. 
 Oakwood, and to share his bowl of negus. 
 It is lucky that, though their politics 
 differ, they are not directly opposite j for 
 my brother is irritable and warm, and 
 John is stedfast as a rock. 
 
 In his youth, John Freeman culti- 
 vated a small paternal estate ; but pre- 
 ferring a life of ease, he now lets it for 
 a hundred pounds a year, and with his 
 wife and an only daughter, lives on his 
 income. They keep no servant 5 but the 
 wife's sister, Mrs. Anderson, lives with 
 them, and paying a trifle for her board, 
 assists in the different employments of
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 39 
 
 the family. The whole of John's edu- 
 cation consisted in learning to read and 
 write ; but he had such an uncommon 
 fondness for the former of these occu- 
 pations, that, at a very early period, 
 almost in infancy, he had read the 
 Bible and Rapin's History of England. 
 His memory was so retentive, that he 
 not only knew all the events, but all 
 the characters of the Jewish and Eng- 
 lish histories ; and, of the latter, all the 
 chronology. This knowledge was pro- 
 digious j but here John stopped. Dur- 
 ing his farming life he continued to read 
 the History of England on a winter's 
 evening, and the Bible on Sundays ; 
 but he added nothing to his stock of in- 
 formation. He would not look into 
 any other history than that of Rapin, if 
 it fell in his way-. Believing that to be 
 the best and most faithful, he thought 
 it wouldbe waste of time to read a worse,
 
 40 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 and endangering his firm conviction of 
 right and wrong to read a different. 
 This last fear was groundless ; for no 
 man was ever less likely to be shaken in 
 any opinion he had once adopted. 
 
 When John Freeman let his farm, 
 he found so much leisure on his hands, 
 that he perceived the necessity of 
 extending his studies. The whole 
 world of fiction, including poetry, 
 he utterly despised. He believed 
 literally in the celebrated maxim of 
 Boileau 
 
 " Nothing is beautiful that is not true." 
 
 He read the histories of Greece and 
 Rome. Ideas do not make the same 
 indelible impression at fifty, as at seven 
 years of age ; but he is nearly as well 
 acquainted with Sparta and Athens, 
 as with Jerusalem and London ; with 
 Philip of Macedon and Alexander the
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 41 
 
 Great, as with David and Henry the 
 fifth ; with Solon and Lycurgus, as 
 with Solomon and Alfred. Here his 
 knowledge rests for ever ; and he 
 would shut his eyes manfully against 
 any thing that should tend to increase 
 it. 
 
 John Freeman is a republican of the 
 old school ; a steady admirer of the 
 ancient republics of Greece and Rome, 
 and of liberty in opposition to mo- 
 narchy. He is a republican by descent, 
 and inherits his principle^ with his 
 house and land. His father, Oliver 
 Freeman, whom I well knew, and who 
 dated his age with the last century, 
 remembered both his grandfathers, 
 who were officers in the army of Oliver 
 Cromwell j and one of them named 
 him after his former master. 
 
 What an air-drawn bubble is this free- 
 dom ! how beautiful ! how evanescent !
 
 42 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Like Shakspeare's lightning, gone, 
 before we can say " Tis there." The 
 moment after it was attained, was not 
 Oliver Cromwell absolute monarch, 
 under the name of Protector, and 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, under that of 
 First Consul ; though the people were 
 still amused with the sound, and 
 knew not the bubble had burst ? The 
 one, knowing his people's attachment 
 to liberty, contented himself with the 
 power of a king, without daring to 
 assume the name j and they thought 
 they were free. The other, knowing 
 his people's fondness for grandeur and 
 shew, rose superior to kings in title, 
 as in power j and they believed they 
 rose with him.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 48 
 
 LETTER V 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 Oak'weod. 
 
 GOING into the housekeeper's room 
 the other day, I was struck with a 
 small landscape, framed acli glazed, 
 which was cut in writing paper so ex- 
 quisitely fine, that I could scarcely 
 believe it in the power of scissars to 
 execute it, or hands to guide them. 
 The subject was the ruins of Palmyra, 
 and the whole was surrounded by a 
 border representing fine lace. 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Simpson," said I,," who 
 did this?"
 
 44 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 " O, ma'am," she replied, " it's the 
 handy-works of Peggy Freeman." 
 
 " Do.es she visit you sometimes ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, yes, ma'am, she does come 
 now and then, with her mother and 
 her aunt j but not very of tens. To 
 be sure she's a very pretty sort of a 
 girl, and very good-natured ; but she's 
 too high-flown for me. She's too fond 
 of reading to be good for any thing. 
 She has read all the books at the 
 Parsonage over and over ; and I be- 
 lieve, in my heart, that sooner than be 
 without books, she'd make -'em herself. 
 But it's her mother's fault, and so I 
 told her. ' Here, Mrs. Freeman,' says 
 I, ' you keep slave, slave, and let your 
 daughter sit reading the Pope, and the 
 Four Seasons, and tlie Young Night 
 Thoughts, when she ought to be mak- 
 ing a pudding, or sweeping up the
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 45 
 
 house!' * Why,' says she, ' Mrs. Simp- 
 son/ says she, * if my daughter likes to 
 read, and I like to make a pudding and 
 sweep the house, I think nobody can 
 blame us for our separate employ- 
 ments.' Well,' says I, every one in 
 his way : but I know if I'd a daughter, 
 I'd make her good for something. Your 
 hundred a year won't buy Peggy 
 a gentleman, and all her learning 
 won't cook her husband's dinner, nor 
 her ingenousness mend his stockings.' 
 Though, to be sure, ma'am, con- 
 tinued Mrs. Simpson, the neighbours 
 do say that Mr, Nevil the curate is 
 strangely smitten with her, and some 
 people have taken it into their heads 
 to fancy he might marry her ; but he 
 knows o' which side his bread is but- 
 tered ; and he "knows that reading 
 books is of no use in a family, what- 
 ever it may be in the pulpit. Besides,
 
 46 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 they say now he's for an apple off a 
 higher bough." 
 
 This account of the housekeeper 
 raised my curiosity to see Peggy Free- 
 man, and I took my evening walk to 
 the house. Jessamine and woodbine 
 were climbing on each side the door, 
 and a small flower-garden lay before 
 it. I found the good mother knitting, 
 the aunt at her spinning-wheel, and 
 Peggy finishing a beautiful drawing of 
 the Choice of Hercules. The firmness 
 of her figure of Virtue, the fascination 
 of Pleasure, and the beauty of both, 
 astonished me j nor was the indecision 
 of Hercules, or his muscular strength, 
 less striking. Peggy received me 
 with native ease and sweetness. In- 
 deed my unexpected entrance caused 
 no more confusion in the whole groupe, 
 than that of my favourite spaniel. 
 The house was a pattern of neatness.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 4*7 
 
 Its casements were adorned with white 
 curtains, and its cherry-coloured floor 
 partly covered with a carpet ; the rest 
 of the furniture had descended from 
 father to son, with the house that con- 
 tained it. The polished tables, chairs, 
 and dresser were of massive oak ; and 
 over the latter were ranks of shining 
 pewter, from the dish which held the 
 Christmas beef, to the plate from which 
 it was eaten. On one side of the fire- 
 place stood a couch, called a squab ; 
 on the other, a heavy, immoveable 
 oaken chair; capable of holding three 
 persons, called a lang-settk, that is a 
 long seat. The chimney corners were 
 adorned with brazen tongs, fire shovel, 
 and chaffing dish, and a pair of bellows 
 mounted with the same metal. 
 
 I remarked to Mrfc. Freeman the 
 ancient furniture of ner house, and 
 told her with what care I should pre-.
 
 48 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 serve it. She said her husband valued 
 it so highly, that he not only would 
 not part with any of it, but that he 
 would not suffer it to change its place ; 
 and she had had great difficulty to pre- 
 vail upon him to let her take the 
 wooden cradle up stairs, in which his 
 ancestors, himself, and his daughter 
 had been nursed ; but that at last she 
 had gained her point, and it Was now 
 in company with the cane chairs 
 above. 
 
 During this latter part of the con- 
 versation, John entered, and bade 
 his wife take me up stairs to see the 
 cradle, which he assured me was a 
 great curiosity. She knew this cham- 
 pion of freedom too weH, to dispute 
 the smallest of his commands, and led 
 the way, while her daughter followed. 
 The cradle was indeed curious j of 
 pannelled oak, grown black with age,
 
 OAKWOOD HAL1, 4$ 
 
 ornamented with carving ; and had a 
 cross at the top, probably to secure its 
 infant tenant from the influence of 
 witchcraft or evil spirits, when they 
 were in fashion. But the whole room 
 was a curiosity. It was Peggy's. The 
 blue and white striped linen curtains 
 of the bed and window were the joint 
 manufacture of the mother and aunt ; 
 .every thing else shewed touches of her 
 own hand. The walls she had herself 
 painted light blue ; but no more of 
 Ahem was seen above the chairs, than 
 served for a ground-work to the in- 
 numerable drawings and landscapes of 
 cut paper with which they were cover- 
 ed. The drawings were various. Land- 
 scapes, flowers, birds, and butterflies, 
 in their native colours ; and portraits 
 in Indian ink, in which the fine touches 
 of the pencil were such an exact copy 
 ,of the strokes of the burin, that it re- 
 VOL. i. D
 
 50 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 quired the nicest eye to distinguish the 
 drawing from an engraving. The 
 counterpane and cushions of the cane 
 chairs were of white linen, with knots 
 of flowers of her own quilting ; the 
 carpet, of canvas, covered wrbh flowers 
 of her own working; and artificial 
 flowers of her own making ornamented 
 the chimney-piece. Even the boxes 
 were covered with writing paper, witli 
 small prints pasted on, and varnished 
 over. 
 
 " Peggy," said I, astonished at what 
 I saw, " is it posible all these are your 
 performances ?" 
 
 She replied, with great modesty, " I 
 have a taste for these fanciful employ- 
 ments, ma'am ; and my father and 
 mother are so kind as to give me 
 leisure to indulge it.'* 
 
 The mother shewed me Peggy's em- 
 broidery on muslin, and even her
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 51' 
 
 darning of the family linen. " There is 
 some charm in your fingers, certainly," 
 said I ; " I never saw any thing so ex- 
 quisitely neat. The pencil, the scissars, 
 and the needle acquire powers in your 
 hands, of which I did not think them 
 .capable. The pencil and scissors I 
 willingly cede to you : but you beat 
 me on my own ground ! I, who never 
 saw any sort of needle-work which I 
 did not learn; or practised any in 
 which I did not excel ! " 
 
 To complete your idea of Peggy 
 Freeman, I must tell you that her 
 person is tali and slender ; her features 
 are extremely pleasing, and though, 
 perhaps, not regularly beautiful, in- 
 separably connected with my ideas of 
 beauty ; and her- complexion is the 
 purest red and white, by 
 
 l Nature's own swaet and cunning hand laid on."
 
 52 OAKWOOD HALt. 
 
 Her manner shews a consciousness that 
 her own talents are an equivalent to 
 the rank of those the world would call 
 her superiors j but her self-confidence 
 has no presumption. Her manners, 
 indeed, bespeak a knowledge of the 
 world, which neither intuition nor 
 books could give. This she has acquired 
 at the- house of Mr. Caradine, a gentle- 
 man about twenty miles distant, whose 
 daughter is her intimate friend. 
 
 Such is my neighbour. But she is 
 something more than this, which I do 
 not well know how to describe. Some- 
 thing which speaks to the heart, and 
 which my heart tells me I could love. 
 I promise myself great pleasure in her 
 society.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 5S 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 MY mornings are inviolably my own. 
 This is one of my singularities. In 
 the afternoon Margaret (Peggy now 
 no more, for I like no Peggy but Allan 
 Ramsay's) works or walks with me ; 
 and I have introduced her to our even- 
 ing society, where my brother and her 
 father, having read the news of the 
 day, generally make some comments 
 not much in its favour. On politics 
 we are both silent ; on other subjects 
 we join as we please ; and rriy brother 
 acknowledges the pleasure he derives 
 from female conversation. 
 
 D3
 
 54 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 My brother's temper is naturally 
 violent. He loves and hates, and 
 speaks, in extremes j and, by speaking 
 only to inferiors, he has contracted 
 some strong modes of expression, that 
 would not pass current in the world. 
 John Freeman is as positive as my bro- 
 ther is warm, and fears the 'squire no 
 more than the 'squire does him. Hence, 
 when they differ in opinion, a stranger 
 would believe a quarrel must ensue, 
 and they would part in anger, if not 
 for ever. But, besides the regard 
 wliich every body feels for my brother, 
 who knows him thoroughly, they are 
 held together by two of the strongest 
 ties in the world, habit and self-in- 
 terest. They have conversed so long, 
 that each is become necessary to the 
 ether, and neither could find a sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 " Brother," said I, last night, " have
 
 .*:; OAKWOOD HALL. 55 
 
 you Methodists in the village ? I heard 
 psalm singing just now, as I passed 
 Webster's barn." 
 
 " I believe/' replied he, " there is 
 not a village in the kingdom without 
 them. They swarm like gnats on a 
 summer's evening. They wanted one 
 of my coach-houses to preach in, but 
 I would burn it first. I expect I shall 
 not keep a servant in the house for them 
 soon, for if ever they convert one, I 
 discharge him directly/' 
 
 " Why does their religion disqualify 
 them for service ?" demanded I. 
 
 " Because ^ n - - n ll 
 
 ered. " There is r.ot one that 
 
 would not pick your pocket: and 
 though I cannot keep canting, lying, 
 and cheating out of the village, I will 
 not let them reside in my house, if I 
 know it." 
 
 " You are very right," said I. " I 
 
 D 4f
 
 5 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 know little of the Methodists ; and I 
 did not know that dishonesty was one 
 of the doctrines they teach." 
 
 " I suppose they do not teach it," 
 replied my brother j " they only prac- 
 tise it." 
 
 " In that predicament, I imagine," 
 said I, " stand all religions. All in- 
 culcate good; and so far as the pro- 
 fessors of any commit evil, llivy depart 
 from ttheir own faith. That the Me- 
 thodists, pretending to more sanctity 
 than their fellow-christians, and pos- 
 *jtt|in^ no more virtue, are wider from 
 * 1 can 
 
 easily believe ; but, surely, that is all/* 
 
 " No," said my brother, " it is not 
 all. They were originally, as them- 
 selves confess, the vilest of sinners, 
 and so they are still. Can the impres- 
 sion made by the rant of an enthusiast 
 be lasting ? Can it change the nature
 
 OAKWOOD MALL. 57 
 
 of an ignorant blockhead? If it re- 
 strain the tongue of a prophane swearer, 
 will not the evil principle come out in 
 the shape of a lie ?" 
 
 " If I grant you that Methodists 
 before their conversion were the vilest 
 of sinners," said I, " the result will be 
 much in their favour ; for they are now 
 decent, orderly members of society. 
 If they have banished swearing, drink- 
 ing, and debauchery, we may forgive 
 them a little hypocrisy. The manners 
 of all are improved, and unquestionably 
 the morals of many." 
 
 " Well, I will not involve all in a 
 general censure, then," rejoined my 
 brother ; " but I believe their religion, 
 like that of the Pharisees of old, cor- 
 rects manners rather than morals." 
 
 " They affect simplicity of dress," 
 said Margaret, " and I have- known a 
 female Methodist take more time and
 
 8 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 pains in starching a cap border, than I 
 do in curling my hair." 
 
 " Besides," said my brother, " their 
 ignorance is unpardonable. I stopped 
 a moment at Webster's barn-door the 
 other night, and heard a black-handed 
 blue coated fellow reading scripture in 
 a manner that would have made your 
 hair stand on end, and saying that all 
 the great guns of heaven were charged 
 up to their muzzles, and would shortly 
 be fired off by the angel Gabriel against 
 the devil's heir at law, Napoleon Bo- 
 naparte." 
 
 " And I," said John Freeman," 
 '* made one of the congregation a few 
 evenings ago, when the preacher cried, 
 looking round on the assembly, St. Paul 
 says, ' I can do all things !' He laid 
 down his Bible, with an air of rncrecku- 
 lity 5 and shaking his head, repeated, 
 St. Paul says, he can do all tilings! I'll
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. $9 
 
 lay him half a crown of that. And 
 taking a half-crown piece out of his 
 pocket, he produced it to his hearers," 
 
 ' Aye," interrupted my brother, 
 " he had studied this brilliant flower of 
 rhetoric, and borrowed the half-crown 
 for the purpose." 
 
 "Very likely, sir," resumed John. 
 " But, after a pause, finding St. Paul 
 did not come forward and accept hig 
 wager, he cried Hold! let usjirst be 
 sure! And taking up his Bible, he 
 read, * I can do all things - by the help 
 of Christ. 9 O, says he, that's another 
 affair* III not lay against that ; and 
 put his half-crown again into his 
 pocket." 
 
 " This is vulgarity bordering upon 
 prophaneness," said I j " but it is cal- 
 culated to arrest the attention of the 
 multitude j and probably, in the course 
 06
 
 60 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 of the evening, they might hear some- 
 thing better. Had this man, like 
 St. Paul himself, reasoned ofrighteous- 
 nessj temperance, and judgment to 
 come, his sermon had passed unheeded, 
 and the next night of his preaching, 
 his congregation would have met at 
 the ale-house or at foot-ball." 
 
 " I should think," said Margaret, 
 " it must be difficult for farmers ser- 
 vants and labourers to be awake to the 
 exhortations of the preacher, notwith- 
 standing the variety they contain. Ale 
 and foot-ball are more powerful stimu- 
 lants than eloquence, and either might 
 for a time make them forget the fatigue 
 of the day." 
 
 " You know not the power of that 
 eloquence which ranges from ever- 
 lasting happiness to a potatoe, and 
 comprises every tone, from a whisper
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 61 
 
 to a roar,*' said my brother ; " however, 
 I suppose the auditors do sleep some- 
 times." 
 
 " I was a witness of it the other 
 night," said John Freeman; "and the 
 orator was very civil upon the occasion ; 
 for, fixing his eyes upon the roof of the 
 barn, he cried, * Sinner ! awake ! I 
 will not expose thee by pointing thee 
 out to the congregation ; but I will 
 stop a few minutes to give thee time to 
 rouse thyself. " 
 
 " An infallible method to awake 
 either saint or sinner," said my bro- 
 ther ; "for if you read till a man fall 
 asleep, he awakes when the voice 
 ceases : and as sure a method to engage 
 the attention of the congregation ; for 
 each would be looking round for the 
 
 sleeper. I have been told, howr 
 that the methodist preacher- iiave 
 more ways than one of awakening
 
 62 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 sinners, and that one of them threw 
 his Bible at the head of a sleeping man, 
 saying, " If you will not hear the word 
 of God, you shall feel it." 
 
 " Men go to church," said I, " to be 
 gravely taught, or severely reprehend- 
 ed ; neither of which is very pleasant. 
 But it is very pleasant to be amused j 
 and doubly so, under the idea of per- 
 forming the duties of religion. I have 
 no doubt that Wesley, the great apostle 
 of the methodists, was sensible of this j 
 and intermixed anecdotes and familiar 
 sayings in his discourses, as other 
 itinerants hang up the figures of wild 
 beasts, to draw company r and it has 
 frequently happened that some ex- 
 pression has struck the sinner with 
 
 nviction or remorse, and made a 
 convert of him, when he only went to 
 see the show." 
 
 " If the methodists taught men
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 63 
 
 their duty by way of amusement," 
 said my brother, "it would be an 
 improvement on the ivory letters and 
 dissected maps of children. But they 
 send them to the lowest pit of hell, 
 by their own authority, and terrify 
 them out of the little reason they ever 
 had to guide them !" 
 
 " Some farce and some tragedy, bro- 
 ther," said I : " if amusement bring 
 them together, terror holds them. The 
 grand secret is to let neither predomi- 
 nate too much." 
 
 The clock now struck eleven, 
 which was our signal to retire. John 
 Freeman took home his daughter ; and 
 my brother, shaking me heartily by 
 the hand, bade me good night. 
 
 JANE OAKWOOD.
 
 64 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 TO MISS CARADINE, OATLEY MANOR. 
 
 You have often rallied me, my dear 
 Maria, on the attentions of Mr. Nevil, 
 but as they were confined to the sup- 
 plying me with books, and the im- 
 provement of my small stock of know- 
 ledge, I could not admit your sur- 
 mises. What could be more natural 
 than that a man of sense and learning, 
 at a distance from every human being 
 acquainted with books or qualified for 
 conversation, except Mr. Oakwood, 
 my father, and myself, and forbidden 
 the society of the former, should seek 
 refuge at our cottage ? Was it not also
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. DO 
 
 'natural that when he saw my passion 
 for reading, he should furnish me with 
 the means to gratify it, and that when 
 the same topics were common to us 
 both, and to no other person within 
 his reach, he should seek my society ? 
 Mr. Nevil and myself have, in the 
 course of our reading, admired the 
 same beauties, and condemned the 
 same faults ; and if both our judgments 
 were tolerably correct, it could not 
 have been otherwise. Where our 
 tastes have differed, I have endea- 
 voured to think like Mr. Nevil ; and 
 where I could not change my opinion, 
 he has sometimes doubted his own. 
 
 You laugh at my natural history, 
 and you tell me that Mr. Nevil, being 
 twenty-five years of age, and myself 
 nineteen, the natural consequence was, 
 that he should become my lover. You 
 even now believe that I have made the
 
 66 OAKWOOD HALl* 
 
 discovery, and that what I have said 
 is the prelude to my communicating it 
 to you. Indeed you believe too much. 
 I am only going to tell you that the 
 behaviour of Mr. Nevil is inexplicable ; 
 and that if I were to describe his 
 manners of yesterday, it would give 
 you no certain idea of those of to-day. 
 He approaches me with an air of cold- 
 ness, almost of reluctance j he sits 
 silent and abstracted, and walks out of 
 the house without taking leave. The 
 following day his visit commences in 
 the same manner j something acci- 
 dentally leads to conversation ; he 
 becomes animated and interesting j and 
 leaves me abruptly. The third day he 
 does not visit me j if he see me walk- 
 ing, he strikes into another path ; and 
 if he think I have finished reading one 
 of his books, he sends, instead of 
 bringing me another.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 67 
 
 Is Mr. Nevil afraid I should like him 
 too well ? Not satisfied with his friend- 
 ship, does he think I aspire to his love ? 
 And does he kindly assume repulsive 
 manners at some times, lest I should 
 be betrayed into unrequited fondness 
 by his attention at others ? In person, 
 as in mind, Mr. Nevil is greatly supe- 
 rior to any man I have seen; and 
 perhaps I might love him, if he 
 seriously sought my regard ; but I 
 believe I do not already love him, and 
 that if I did, I should not allow my 
 affection to annoy him. The humility 
 becoming my inferior station, I trust, 
 will not forsake me j but I own I feel 
 offended at his capricious behaviour. 
 
 From this ungrateful subject I turn 
 to one which affords me real pleasure. 
 Mrs. Oakwood, Mr. Oakwood's sister, 
 has been some lime at the Hall, and 
 having accidentally seen one of my
 
 68 O'AKWOOD HALL. 
 
 landscapes in cut paper in the house- 
 keeper's room, she was so pleased with 
 it that she honoured me with a visit. 
 
 Mrs. Oakwood is an old maid j an 
 appellation which is considered so 
 much like a term of reproach, that I 
 have observed people of good breeding 
 avoid making use of it. Why should 
 this be ? If a woman live single from 
 necessity, it is possible she may deserve 
 our pity, but she cannot our contempt ; 
 if from choice, she cannot be the 
 object of either. Having no one's 
 taste or temper to consult but her own, 
 she may contract some peculiarities ; 
 but they cannot generally be so ridicu- 
 lous as to render her a proper object of 
 ' derision. She has fewqr virtues to 
 exercise than a married woman ; she 
 cannot make a good wife or a good 
 mother; she is not called upon to 
 " love, honour, and obey" a husband,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 69 
 
 or "to train up children in the way they 
 should go ;" but she may be a dutiful 
 daughter, an affectionate sister, a 
 faithful friend, and an indulgent mis- 
 tress ; and are not these relations to 
 our fellow-creatures sufficient to con- 
 stitute a respectable woman? Such 
 Mrs. Oakwood ever has been, and still 
 is. She has never been handsome, 
 but her person is yet elegant ; and 
 good sense and good nature are so 
 strongly depicted in her countenance, 
 that they cannot be mistaken. I love 
 her, and every one does so that comes 
 within the sphere of her attraction. 
 Till my acquaintance with this lady, 
 my visits to the hall were confined to 
 the housekeeper's room ; except when 
 Mrs. Simpson, in the absence of her 
 master, chose to inake a display of the 
 wonders of her empire, and her art of 
 governing, by leading me through the
 
 70 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 stately apartments. As my notions 
 on this subject rise no higher than 
 neatness and comfort accompanied by 
 a little taste, my admiration was soon 
 over ; and as Mrs. Simpson's ideas, 
 though extremely correct within her 
 own dominions, seldom wander out of 
 them, it was not the wish of either that 
 my visits should be frequent. But 
 Mrs. Oakwood has opened a new field 
 for me. She has introduced me into 
 the room in which Mr. Oakwood 
 passes his evenings, where I join the 
 conversation, and form one of the 
 party. An evening party composed of 
 four persons ! An old bachelor, an old 
 maid, an old farmer, and a young girl, 
 who has scarcely been out of her 
 native dale, except to the nearest 
 market-town, and to the house of hex- 
 dear Maria ! Let, however, the scof- 
 fers be silent. We have neither cards 
 8
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 71 
 
 nor music, it is true ; nor have we any 
 lofty flights of imagination; but our 
 conversation never degenerates below 
 plain good sense. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 MARGARET FREEMAN.
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 TO MISS CARADINB, OATLEY MANOR. 
 MY DEAR MARIA, 
 
 THE enigmatical behaviour of Mr, 
 Nevii is now explained, and I hasten 
 to give you the solution. To-day he 
 brought me Rousseau's Eloisa ; " Read 
 that, Margaret," said he, " and tell me 
 what you think of it." 
 
 " I do not kn ow whether I dare 
 read it," replied I, after having opened 
 the book ; " for the author himself re- 
 presents it as dangerous." 
 
 " Nothing can be dangerous to 
 you," said Mr. Nevil, " who know not 
 what love is But tell me whether
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. . 73 
 
 you believe it possible to devote your 
 whole soul to one person, and after- 
 wards be happy with another ? " 
 
 " I should dread the trial," replied 
 J j but your question requires some 
 explanation. Am I to suppose the 
 object of my affection to be deserving, 
 or unworthy of my regard ?" 
 
 " Deserving as an angel." 
 
 " That term is generally applied to 
 females ; but there may be angels pf 
 the other sex." 
 
 " Undoubtedly there are," said Mr. 
 Nevil, with a look of some perplexity. 
 " Don't you know that Belzebub was 
 a fallen angel ?" 
 
 " Is the supposed object of my love 
 to resemble Belzebub ?" 
 
 " Belzebub ! She is the most per- 
 fect of her sex ! v She is all beauty, 
 elegance, and sweetness! heavenly both 
 in mind and person ! " 
 
 VOL.1. E
 
 74 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 " I am afraid I could never have a 
 lover of that description. Would you 
 have me imagine him a celestial 
 female?" 
 
 " I don't know what I would have, 
 or what I say I cannot express my- 
 self clearly My meaning is to know 
 whether you think it possible for man 
 or woman (which is the same thing) 
 to sacrifice the most tender passion for 
 one object, and retain any hope of 
 happiness with another, who is perfectly 
 indifferent to him I mean to her." 
 I ceased to correct Mr. Nevil. 
 " Nothing can exceed my inexperi- 
 ence in such a matter," replied I ; 
 " but let me ask what motive couk 
 be sufficiently powerful to demand this 
 sacrifice?" 
 
 " A motive worthy of Belzebub 
 himself the love of money?" 
 
 " I believe then that money could
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 7<5 
 
 not counterbalance the loss of a beloved 
 person." 
 
 " Oh ! I believe so from my soul," 
 said Mr. Nevil. " But there is a demon 
 more unrelenting than even Mammon ; 
 more inexorable in his demands upon 
 mortals I mean the pride of family 
 How would you satisfy this mon- 
 ster?" 
 
 " I cannot answer such extraor- 
 dinary questions, 5 ' said I. " You for- 
 get that you are demanding them of 
 one whose situation in life excludes her 
 from every degree of pride of that sort. 
 My ancestors had nothing to boast, 
 unless honesty were a subject for it. 
 The rabble of Jack Straw might take 
 for their motto, 
 
 " When Adam delv'd and Eve span, 
 Who was then a^ gentleman ? " 
 
 but it has been said that no one ever 
 despised the advantages of birth but
 
 76 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 those who did not possess them. U 
 they were mine, I think I should not 
 despise them." 
 
 " How reasonable ! how candid 1" 
 exclaimed Mr. Nevil. " You will not 
 allow me the satisfaction of once think- 
 ing you in the wrong} You will not 
 give me a chance of quarrelling with 
 you, by uttering one absurdity!" 
 
 " Why do you desire to think meanly 
 of me, sir ? or why would you seek a 
 pretence to quarrel with me ? Bestow 
 upon me only that share of your good 
 opinion which your judgment may tell 
 you that I merit, and which therefore 
 you cannot withhold ; but do not seek 
 an occasion to quarrel with the young 
 woman you have condescended to in- 
 struct, and who, if the testimony of her 
 own conscience may be trusted, has 
 given you no cause of offence. Go, 
 sir, withdraw your communications,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 77 
 
 and retain your books j and if you 
 wish to see me no more, do not imagine 
 that a quarrel is necessary to our sepa- 
 ration." 
 
 " I thank you, Margaret," said Mr. 
 Nevil, solemnly, " for having uttered a 
 word I could not articulate. I must 
 indeed see you no more, at least at 
 present ; but I shall attach your image to 
 every book we have perused together, 
 and look back upon the hours I have 
 passed in your society as an enchanting 
 vision, while those present will be a 
 painful reality. I have sat with you 
 for hours, endeavouring to summon 
 resolution enough to make the declara- 
 tion I am now going to make ; but I 
 always deferred the dreadful task till 
 the morrow. It now shocks my soul, 
 and it will be so revolting to you, that 
 you would banish me from your pre- 
 sence, if I could form a design to enter 
 
 E3
 
 78 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 it: yet cannot I quit you quit you 
 for ever, without acquainting you with 
 the state of my heart. I love you, 
 Margaret, love you almost to distrac- 
 tion j yet I am going to marry ano- 
 ther." 
 
 Mr. Nevil's emotion here stopped 
 his voice j and if my looks were faith- 
 ful to my feelings, they must have been 
 expressive of astonishment and horror. 
 After some moments he continued, 
 " I have neither fortune nor expecta- 
 tions. How could I ask you to be- 
 come the wife of a curate in an obscure 
 village ? or how could I submit to re- 
 main in such a situation myself? But 
 the other obstacle I mentioned is yet 
 more invincible Will you pardon me 
 if I again name it? My family has 
 stood near the throne for ages : it has 
 even made and unmade kings : some 
 of its onours and possessions remain,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 79 
 
 though neither have descended to me ; 
 but tell me, could I marry the daughter 
 of a simple yeoman, however deserving 
 and accomplished?" 
 
 Mr. Nevil again paused, but I was 
 silent, and he proceeded. " Dear 
 Margaret, forgive me for such unheard 
 of presumption ; but my emotions must 
 for once have vent, and my wayward 
 behaviour must be explained. For 
 some time, your modesty, your in- 
 genuousness, your talents, and your 
 progress in literature, gave me pleasure 
 without alloy. By degrees I found 
 that my pleasure was incompatible with 
 my circumstances ; but I was so situated 
 that I could not detach myself from 
 your society. I have struggled with 
 my passion, and I have appeared rude 
 and unfeeling ; I have yielded to it, in 
 spite of every effort ; and you must 
 have thought me inconsistent, if not 
 
 E 4t
 
 80 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 insane. It is over. A woman of family 
 and fortune has found means to make 
 me understand that I might prove ac- 
 ceptable to her 5 she has bestowed upon 
 me her heart, and indirectly offered 
 me her hand. You cannot but know 
 to whom I allude; as, unfortunately, the 
 lady herself has made no secret of the 
 partiality with which she honours me." 
 
 " If," said I, " I were required to 
 name the woman who favoured you 
 with a preference, it might be difficult 
 to fix upon 'the right; but there can 
 be only one who would make you ac- 
 quainted with her sentiments. Miss 
 Lovewell might think her immense for- 
 tune justified such a step.'* 
 
 Mr. Nevil sighed deeply. " I am 
 bound to Miss Lovewell by gratitude," 
 said he, " and that, I hope, will secure 
 her happiness As to my own ! I know 
 she has neither beauty nor good sense,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 81 
 
 and I fear she is deficient in good 
 temper; and if you are capable of 
 wishing me miserable, you will probably 
 be gratified." 
 
 " I am not," said I. " You have 
 my thanks for the past, and my best 
 wishes for the future. May no re- 
 membrance of me contribute to your 
 unhappinessl" 
 
 " This is too much !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Nevil. " I cannot bear it!" He 
 then snatched up his hat and rushed 
 out of the house. 
 
 You know that Lovewell Hall is 
 about ten miles below Oakwood, and 
 that the late Sir Everard Lovewell 
 never resided there ; but I think I have 
 not informed you, that about four 
 month sago, intelligence arrived that his 
 daughter and sole heiress was coming 
 to the mansion. The news ran through 
 the dale like a torrent. Nobody had
 
 82 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 seen Miss Lovewell, and every body 
 was employed in conjecturing what 
 sort of a person she might be. She was 
 supposed to be tall and short, hand- 
 some and plain, affable and proud j 
 and the principal topic of discussion 
 among the poor was, whether she were 
 greedy or charitable. The Sunday 
 after the lady's arrival, the church at 
 Lovewell was crowded to excess ; Miss 
 Lovewell entered the family pew, ac- 
 companied by a widow lady, her com- 
 panion ; and it was then ascertained 
 that she was a little thin woman, with 
 a pale brown complexion, a sharp nose, 
 and fine black eyes. 
 
 Every person entitled to that honour 
 claimed the acquaintance of Miss Love- 
 well ; and after they had all been re- 
 ceived at her house, it was universally 
 allowed that she was the sweetest 
 woman in the world. Her person was
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. S3 
 
 so elegant, her manners were so polite, 
 and her dress was so beautiful ! The 
 ladies carried away every particle of 
 her attire that their memories could 
 retain, and set their maids and milliners 
 to imitate it. 
 
 Among the visitors of Miss Love- 
 well, Mr Nevil was particularly distin' 
 guished. She attended the service at 
 Oakwood, in preference to that at her 
 parish church ; and, on such occasions, 
 she took back the curate in the coach, 
 with herself and her companion, to 
 dinner. The companion delighted in 
 enumerating the titled and wealthy 
 lovers whom her dear Miss Lovewell 
 had rejected, and always concluded by 
 saying, she was quite positive that 
 nothing but merit could ever prevail. 
 Such circumstances as these soon turned 
 the conversation of the dale from the 
 beauties of Miss Lovewell and her 
 
 E6
 
 84 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 dress, to the prospect of Mr. Nevil's 
 good fortune; the rich believed he 
 would be a happy man, and the poor, a 
 great man ; I believed that if common 
 fame were not, as she is represented, a 
 great story-teller, she was at least a great 
 magnifier ; but the extraordinary con- 
 fession Mr. Nevil thought it necessary 
 to make, proves that she has for once 
 adhered to the truth. 
 
 The companion of Miss Love well has 
 told several persons, in confidence, that 
 the lady is twenty-nine years of age : 
 my father's chronology is too hard for 
 her j for he adds nine to the number. 
 We keep this secret, however, within 
 our own family. 
 
 May Mr. Nevil be happy with the 
 woman he has chosen ; and I am happy 
 that my heart had no interest in his 
 
 choice. 
 
 Yours, most truly, 
 
 MARGARET FREEMAN.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER. IX. 
 
 TO MISS CARABINE, OATLEY MANOR. 
 
 I HAVE another stranger to introduce 
 to you, my dear Maria. One dark and 
 rainy evening, as we were sitting around 
 our fire, the latch of the door was lifted 
 up, and a gentleman entered our cot- 
 tage. He seemed about twenty-six 
 or twenty-seven years of age ; he was 
 tall and well made, his face handsome* 
 and his manner interesting. 
 
 " Sir," said the stranger, addressing 
 himself to my father, " I have lost my 
 way ; can you have the goodness to tell 
 me if there is a,ny inn near, where I 
 may pass the night ?"
 
 86 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 " There is a public-house in the vil- 
 lage," replied my father ; " but it is 
 half a mile distant, and you would be 
 very ill accommodated there. I have a 
 spare bed for a friend j the stranger is 
 my friend ; and I think you had better 
 sleep here." 
 
 The gentleman thanked my father, 
 and sat down : our supper remained on 
 the table ; the gentleman began to eat ; 
 and my father having placed a cup of 
 his mild ale at his elbow, said, " I do 
 not so much wonder that you lost your 
 way such a night as this, as that you 
 found your way hither ; for we are re- 
 mote from the great road, and, if you 
 come from the south, the river is be- 
 tween that and our village." 
 
 "Itis," said the stranger ; "anditwas 
 my surprise at seeing such a river with- 
 out a bridge, that made me discover I 
 had quitted the road."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 87 
 
 " And how did you get over the ri- 
 ver ?" said my father. 
 
 " I went a considerable way up its 
 banks," answered the stranger ; " and 
 where I found it the broadest I knew it 
 must be the shallowest j and there I 
 ventured to cross it." 
 
 "You must have pulled offyour boots 
 then, and slung them over your shoul- 
 der," said my father, casting his eyes 
 upon the boots, and observing that they 
 did not appear to be soaked with water. 
 
 " I am certain I did not pull off my 
 boots," replied the stranger ; " nor 
 could I have any motive for doing so; 
 for I believe the water was very little 
 higher than my horse's knees." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said my fa- 
 ther ; " as I saw no whip in your hand, 
 I thought you had been walking. I am 
 told that it is the fashion for gentlemen 
 to walk journeys and run races, instead
 
 88 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 of fatiguing their horses ; and that a 
 pair ofiboots are no more a sign of a man's 
 having been on horseback, than a black 
 coat is a sign of a clergyman. But 
 pray, sir, if it be not impertinent, what 
 have you done with your horse ?" 
 
 " I have forgotten him," said the 
 stranger, hastily laying down his knife 
 and fork j " and if he can forgive me, 
 I never can forgive myself! The 
 poor animal stands on the outside of 
 your gate ; and your unexpected hos- 
 pitality made me totally neglect him; 
 but I must decline any further ac- 
 ceptance of it, if you cannot have the 
 goodness to lodge him as well as my- 
 self. As to my whip, I declare I 
 never thought of it ; but, as you justly 
 observe, it is not here ; and as I do not 
 recollect having used it on the road, 
 I believe I must have left it at the inn 
 where I dined,"
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 89 
 
 \ 
 
 My mother and I smiled at each 
 other; and each, in her own mind, ap- 
 plied our country saying to the stranger, 
 He would have lost his head, if it had 
 been loose. 
 
 " As you probably dined at the dis- 
 tance of only one stage from hence," 
 said my father, " if I knew the name of 
 the place, and the sign of the inn, I 
 might be able to recover the whip, by 
 means of one of my neighbours." 
 
 " I do not know the name of the 
 town," said the stranger. " I never 
 asked it, nor did I ever hear it. As to 
 the inn, I believe it was the Red Lion 
 or, indeed, the Angel I cannot be 
 certain which of the two, for I have 
 stopped at both on my way. I am clear 
 that I dined ; for I remember that I was 
 going to cut my meat with my fork. I 
 do not recollect, 'however, whether I 
 paid my bill but I must have paid it j
 
 90 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 for the waiter and hostler both attended 
 me at the door ; and they were the 
 persons to have reminded me of such 
 an omission." 
 
 " The whip is gone for ever," said 
 my father. 
 
 " I fear it is," rejoined the stranger j 
 " for, to confess the truth, I was so oc- 
 cupied in analysing the motives of the 
 person at whose request I was pre- 
 vailed upon to undertake this jour- 
 ney, and in inquiring into the probable 
 result of it, that I was inattentive to 
 those trifles, which, though seemingly 
 beneath the dignity of man, are es. 
 sential to his welfare." 
 
 My father then committed the horse 
 to the care of our neighbour, and re- 
 turned to have half an hour's conversa- 
 tion with his guest, before he went to 
 the Hall, where he scarcely would have 
 omitted going, had his hero, Oliver
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Cromwell, arisen from the shades to 
 visit him. 
 
 "Sir," said my father, entering, 
 " your horse has lost a shoe." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the gentleman, "you 
 have a blacksmith in your village, who 
 can supply its place to-morrow morn- 
 ing ? 
 
 "Yes," replied my father, "we have;" 
 and seating himself, added, "it is 
 a pity that such a useful and noble ani- 
 mal as the horse should be trusted in the 
 hands of such unskilful blockheads. 
 Pray, sir, do you think the Romans shod 
 their horses ?" 
 
 The gentleman looked surprised. 
 "Why, sir," said he, "I have not at- 
 tended to the subject of horse's shoes; 
 but I am of opinion that they did not 
 shoe them in the manner we do ; for 
 what remains of the Appian way is so
 
 g OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 smooth, that a horse shod like ours could 
 not have kept his feet upon it." 
 
 " I always thought the Romans were 
 a wiser people than ourselves," ex" 
 claimed my father. " It seems they 
 had one way less of tormenting horses* 
 But pray, sir, have you seen the Ap- 
 pian way ?" 
 
 " No," replied the gentleman, " it 
 has always been the first wish of my 
 heart to visit Italy, and comtemplate 
 the magnificent ruins of ancient Rome, 
 the mistress of the world ; I cannot 
 think of them without enthusiam j but 
 I never had the opportunity." 
 
 " We have Roman roads here in Eng- 
 land," said my father, "but I have ne- 
 ver seen one." 
 
 " The roads made by the Romans in 
 Britain, a remote conquered pro- 
 vince," rejoined the stranger, " were 
 far inferior to those they had near
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 93 
 
 the seat of empire; but even those 
 would have endured to eternity, if 
 they had been spared by the mattock 
 and the plough. You have a fine 
 specimen of a small one in your own 
 county, in perfect preservation, about 
 live miles on this side of Doncaster. It 
 is now covered with turf, but is exactly 
 in the form the Romans left it ; flat at 
 top, and sloping down steep on each 
 side ; and appears to have been made 
 only of the common limestone and gra- 
 vel of the country, with out any cement." 
 " If I was ten years younger," cried 
 my father, " I would walk on foot 'to 
 see it." 
 
 " It would repay your pains," said 
 the gentleman. " I thought myself 
 fortunate in having it pointed out to 
 me. And about three miles on this 
 side you would meet with a still higher 
 gratification j for the same road appears
 
 94 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 again, and you may trace it all along 
 the western boundary of the common 
 called Barnsdale. But I fear the in- 
 tended new road to Pontefract and 
 Leeds will destroy it." 
 
 " Then the projectors of it ought to 
 be fined and imprisoned," exclaimed 
 my father. " They may destroy ; but 
 could they make such roads? Roads 
 to last seventeen hundred years. Here, 
 again, the Romans were wiser than we 
 are. In time of peace their conquering 
 legions were set to work. They made 
 their soldiers useful. They employed 
 them in making these everlasting roads, 
 from one end of the kingdom to the 
 other. Is it not ay shame, sir, that the 
 finest, stoutest young men should be 
 called from among us, and be main- 
 tained for cleaning their own waist- 
 coats and breeches ; and those that 
 ride, for looking after their own horses r
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 95 
 
 They are drones in the hive, who 
 ought to be the best labourers j and we, 
 the poor bees, after toiling for them, 
 must have our wings clipped into the 
 bargain !" 
 
 " I am of your opinion," replied the 
 gentleman, " that soldiers ought to 
 work. It has been objected that labour 
 is incompatible with the military spirit ; 
 but I cannot be convinced that em- 
 ployment would hurt the spirit of a 
 soldier more than inactivity; or that 
 idleness is the proper school to prepare 
 him for hard service. As to the Ro- 
 man roads, they were certainly con- 
 structed for greater ^durability than 
 ours : but it ought to be taken into 
 consideration, that they had not heavy 
 loaded waggons continually passing 
 over them j weights which, perhaps, 
 even they would not have been able to 
 withstand."
 
 96 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 A servant then entered from the Hall. 
 We had trespassed half an hour ; and 
 my father's punctuality having never 
 varied five minutes in fifteen years, 
 Mr. Oakwood had sent to know if any 
 thing were amiss. We departed with 
 the servant ; leaving to my mother and 
 aunt the care of waiting on the stran- 
 ger, and making his bed. 
 
 Next morning the gentleman break- 
 fasted with us, of course. At break- 
 fast my father asked him to dine, and 
 at dinner to stay all night. At Mr. 
 Oakwood's request he was introduced 
 at the Hall ; and we find him such a 
 valuable acquisition to our society, that 
 we do not repeat our invitations, for 
 fear they should remind him of going j 
 and he, satisfied that he is a welcome 
 guest, forgets his intended journey, as 
 he forgot his whip, or is afraid to in- 
 troduce any thing that may lead to his
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 97 
 
 departure. He has been here a 
 week. 
 
 My mother makes no alteration in 
 our little table on this gentleman's ac- 
 count. He looks upon eating and 
 drinking as the tenure by which he 
 holds his being, the tax he pays to live ; 
 but he despises all idea of their being 
 a gratification. His name is Milli- 
 champ. He has a small paternal es- 
 tate in Kent; but I believe he has 
 great expectations from his mother's 
 brother, a rich cotton manufacturer in 
 the neighbourhood of Manchester. 
 
 Such, my dear Maria, is our new 
 acquaintance; I think I may say, 
 friend ; for though friendship may be 
 in general a plant of slow growth, it 
 has here met with such a congenial soil, 
 that it has shot up with rapidity. We 
 cannot be deceived in the man ; for his 
 
 VOL. i. F
 
 98 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 countenance sometimes smiles with 
 the benevolence of a good heart, and 
 sometimes glows with the dignity of 
 a great mind, in a manner which 
 words cannot describe, and art could 
 not imitate. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 MARGARET FREEMAN.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL* 99 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 I HAVE nothing to offer you, my dear 
 friend, except the fire-side pictures at 
 this place 5 but >we have another 
 figure in the groupe not unworthy of 
 your notice, a Mr. Millichamp, whom 
 chance and a dark rainy night sent to 
 John Freeman's door, to beg a lodg- 
 ing. He is a young man, of ap- 
 pearance and manners extremely pre- 
 possessing ; circumstances which I will 
 not forget in announcing him, though 
 you and I are no longer young women 
 for these make a favourable impression 
 upon all women. Mr. Millichamp is 
 F 2
 
 100 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 the son of a clergyman in the south, 
 and was himself educated and intended 
 for a clergyman ; but, declining the 
 profession, he now resides with a rich 
 manufacturer, his uncle. 
 
 If being an oddity is a requisite qua- 
 lification for the society at Oakwood 
 Hall, Mr. Millichamp bears his testimo- 
 nials about him. To the most pro- 
 found erudition ; to a thorough know- 
 ledge of the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, 
 French, and Italian languages ; he 
 joins the dignity of a philosopher, the 
 modesty of a maiden, the simplicity of 
 a child, and the forgetfulness of parson 
 Adams. 
 
 Mr. Millichamp likes his quarters at 
 John Freeman's so well, and they are 
 so pleased with their guest, that there 
 is a tacit agreement between them to 
 avoid all subjects which might lead to 
 a separation. He attends the father
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 101 
 
 and daughter here every night, and we 
 find as little pleasure as they in antici- 
 pating his departure. 
 
 " Sir," said John Freeman to Mil- 
 li champ last night, " when you first 
 came to our house, and I found you 
 had forgotten your whip and your 
 horse, I had a great mind to have 
 asked you where you had left your 
 spurs; for I observed you had not 
 them on." 
 
 " It would have been a natural ques- 
 tion," said Millichamp j " but I never 
 wear spurs, for two reasons. The first 
 is, I had rather be run away with by 
 my own thoughts than by my horse j 
 and, if I wore spurs, one would be the 
 inevitable consequence of the other j 
 for I should stick them into his sides 
 inadvertently, while I was thinking of 
 something else. The other is, I have 
 doubts in my own mind of the pro- 
 
 F3
 
 102 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 priety of wounding a poor animal, be- 
 cause he does not go exactly the pace 
 I wish him to go." 
 
 " I honour your doubts," said my 
 brother. " I wear spurs, because I 
 have no reveries j but J never let them 
 touch my horse. For my own part, I 
 think we shall be answerable hereafter 
 for our inhumanity to brutes. As they 
 are treated, they ought to be made of 
 wood and wire. Indeed, if they were, 
 men would be more careful not to 
 knock the machine to pieces, than they 
 are as it is made of flesh and blood." 
 
 " Possibly," said Millichamp, " we 
 may be the beasts of burthen in the 
 next world, and our horses may ride 
 
 us." 
 
 " I am prepared for that," rejoined 
 
 my brother. " There is not one of 
 
 my horses that will not make me a good 
 
 master. I must own, that when I was' 
 
 8
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 103 
 
 young, I did amuse myself sometimes 
 with docking, nicking, and cropping 
 them ; and I have run them too far 
 after a fox; but I have asked their 
 pardon long ago ; and I never killed or 
 maimed a horse in my life. I never 
 breed my own horses; because if a 
 colt did not turn out well, I could not 
 bear to consign him to the flagellation 
 of a two-legged brute. I never buy a 
 horse without inquiring into his cha- 
 racter as particularly as I would into 
 that of a coachman ; for I trust my 
 neck in the care of both ; and I never 
 sell one. When a horse is grown old 
 in my service, his place is a sinecure ; 
 and when life is no longer an enjoy- 
 ment, I have him shot, and buried in 
 his skin and shoes. I have a cemetery 
 on purpose for horses " 
 
 " I once broke a horse myself," said 
 Millichamp. " What an idea does this 
 F 4
 
 104 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 word broke convey?" cried he, inter- 
 rupting himself: " in its literal meaning, 
 that of tearing the animal to pieces j 
 in its common acceptation here, only 
 breaking his spirit. I conceived that 
 they who make it a trade proceeded not 
 only upon a cruel, but upon a mistaken 
 principle. I trained ray horse from a 
 colt ; I accustomed him to expressions 
 of kindness j when I began to ride him, 
 he had never seen a whip. I did not 
 then use one ; I only made him sen- 
 sible of his errors by the alteration in 
 my tone of voice ; and he had such a 
 love of my friendship, and such a fear 
 of my displeasure, that he became per- 
 fectly obedient." 
 
 " I should wish every servant of 
 mine, whether on two legs or four," 
 said my brother, " to be actuated by 
 both these motives. Love alone is not 
 strong enough to secure obedience j
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 and I would shoot myself rather than 
 live only to be feared. But your me- 
 thod of training a horse would not be 
 generally practicable. It requires a 
 personal acquaintance with him that 
 no horse-breaker could have with every 
 animal that passes through his hands ; 
 and, in such a long course of educa- 
 tion, if time were allowed, patience 
 would sometimes be wanting in the 
 preceptor." 
 
 " The time it would demand," re- 
 joined Millichamp, " is an objection I 
 cannot answer ; but if patience only 
 were wanting, it would be the fault of 
 the man, not the method. The best 
 systems of education for our own spe- 
 cies require uninterrupted patience." 
 
 " Besides," said my brother, " I 
 should doubt whether the fear of Ins 
 master's displeasure would be strong 
 enough always to restrain a horse, if
 
 106 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 that of corporeal punishment were un- 
 known. It might sufficiently influence 
 your groom ; because it would include 
 the fear of losing his place, and getting 
 a worse. But the tempers of horses 
 differ, as well as those of men ; some 
 require greater severity than others ; 
 and yours might be of a gentle dispo- 
 sition." 
 
 " He was," said Millichamp ; " and, 
 while he was in possession of himself, 
 needed no other incitement or curb 
 than my orders. But I shall not con- 
 ceal from you, that turning a corner 
 suddenly one day, when the whole 
 earth was one uniform picture of snow, 
 and seeing a woman in a large, bright, 
 scarlet cloak, he refused to pass her. 
 For the first time I struck him with the 
 whip. He was ignorant of its mean- 
 ing, and, instead of using all his legs, 
 found only the two hind ones. He
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 107 
 
 kicked, and threw me. Had he had a 
 previous knowledge of the smart, his 
 fear of that might Have been stronger 
 than of the scarlet cloak, and impelled 
 him to pass it. I do not mean, there- 
 fore, to recommend my method of 
 training horses; but I think a great 
 deal of it might, with advantage, be 
 incorporated into a little of the old j 
 and in that I am certain you will be 
 of my opinion. 
 
 " And I too," said I. " I believe 
 it is undiscovered how far the intelli- 
 gence between men and horses might 
 be carried ; except Gulliver discovered 
 it, who kept no other company. I had 
 a noble beast, and I gave a sigh to 
 his memory ; so beautiful, that I was 
 bidden to name my own price, if I 
 would have sold him ; but money could 
 not come in competition with him. 
 He carried me on a pillion seven years. 
 
 F6
 
 108 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 In my airings, when he reached any 
 place where he had been accustomed 
 to turn back, and, by a little shuff- 
 ling, indicated his wish to do so, the 
 servant who rode before me, and who 
 had long been intimate with him, would 
 say, in a tone of common conversa- 
 tion, as if he had been answering one 
 of his own species, * No, not yet.' 
 The creature submitted, and went on. 
 When we arrived at a place where I 
 chose to turn again, the man would 
 say, in the same unmarked tone, * Now 
 you may turn back, if you will ;' and 
 the horse instantly availed himself of 
 the permission. I have travelled jour- 
 nies of three or four hundred miles on 
 his back j and, as I thought saddle and 
 pillion, with their respective burthens, 
 too heavy a load to go safely down a 
 steep hill, I always walked down my- 
 self. At the top of such he would, of
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 109 
 
 his own accord, set himself across the 
 road, that he might stand steady, while 
 the man dismounted, and lifted me off: 
 and if it were a short hill, and I chose 
 to keep my seat, on the man's saying, 
 No, not this hill,' he would go on. 
 I once had him with me at a sea-bath- 
 ing place. I rode on the sands regu- 
 larly every day, and, when my airing 
 was finished, I always got off at a par- 
 ticular spot, and walked to my lodg- 
 ings : the servant then flung the bridle 
 over the horse's neck, and the horse 
 followed him to his stable. It hap- 
 pened one day that, attracted by some 
 beautiful sea weeds, I alighted before 
 I came to the usual place. The man 
 led the way towards the stable, ex- 
 pecting the horse to follow j but though 
 the animal cast a wishful look towards 
 his keeper, as he receded from him, he 
 would not leave his mistress, believing
 
 110 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 he had not yet discharged his duty. 
 The man called him ; the horse hesi- 
 tated ; and, finding I did not oppose 
 it, inclination prevailed; he trotted 
 off, at a great rate, till he over- 
 took his conductor, and then fol- 
 lowed him quietly to his rack and 
 manger/' 
 
 " And what became of him at last ?" 
 said Margaret. 
 
 " I kept him two years after he was 
 unable to work," replied I, "and in 
 that time he never lay down. Towards 
 the last, he grew so weak that he fell, 
 when asleep, and could not get up 
 again, without the assistance of two 
 men. Having done so several times, 
 a kind friend took the opportunity 
 of my absence, to order him to be 
 shot ; and he lies buried in my 
 garden."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. Ill 
 
 " And what did you say to it ?" 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " I thanked my friend very sin- 
 cerely, and shed bitter tears over nay 
 horse."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 TO MISS CAEADINE. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 MY dear Maria, your letter has over- 
 whelmed me with astonishment and 
 confusion. Though I was not igno- 
 rant of Mr. Caradine's design to satisfy 
 his principal creditor by the sacrifice 
 of his daughter, how could I imagine 
 that our interesting wanderer was 
 destined to receive the prize? Why, 
 Maria, did you suffer three weeks to 
 elapse since my last letter, before you 
 informed me that he was on his way to 
 you, when our cottage arrested his 
 steps ? Do you think that I that 
 is, we surely I shall not speak like
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 118 
 
 Mr. Nevil do you think that we 
 would have detained the loiterer here, 
 if we had known his errand ? I assure 
 you I did not detain him ; my father 
 and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Oakwood, 
 every one dreaded his departure. 
 
 What will become of Mr. Marriot ? 
 Not discouraged by Mr. Caradine, 
 allowed to hope by yourself, absent, 
 and his treasure given to another ! 
 How will he bear the unexpected 
 stroke ! Your spirit, my dear Maria, 
 would not have yielded to compulsion 
 or intreaty on so unreasonable a requi- 
 sition as that of marrying a man you 
 did not love, to redeem the mortgage 
 on your father's estate ; but you will 
 love Millichamp ; you have only to 
 become acquainted with him, to render 
 persuasion unnecessary. He will 
 prevail, and Marriot will be wretched 
 and forgotten.
 
 OAKWOOB HA11, 
 
 When I had read your letter till I 
 could no longer distinguish the charac- 
 ters, I considered what course I had to 
 take, and I believed I ought to make 
 Millichamp acquainted with its con- 
 tents. I accordingly took my needle- 
 work into the garden, and sitting down 
 in my rustic hut, where he had often 
 joined me, I awaited his coming. He 
 soon entered the garden, and seeing 
 me, advanced towards the hut. I was 
 greatly agitated, and being unable to 
 speak, as he came into the hut, I 
 pointed to the bench beside me. 
 
 " Has any thing alarmed you, Mar- 
 garet ?" said Millichamp. 
 
 " No," replied I, recovering my- 
 self; " but I fear we have all com- 
 mitted a great error in wishing to de- 
 tain you here. You would be much 
 surprised if I were to tell you that 1 
 know the object of your visit to this 
 part of the country."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 115 
 
 The agitation was now his own. 
 He turned pale, and with some diffi- 
 culty articulated, " I should, indeed." 
 
 " Miss Caradine," resumed I, "is 
 my dearest friend. Deprived of her 
 mother when an infant, she was nursed 
 in this village by a farmer's wife who 
 had been her mother's maid ; and she 
 remained here till the fondness that 
 united us as children and playfellows 
 had grown into a friendship which sur- 
 vived our separation. Laying aside 
 the superiority of her birth and station, 
 Miss Caradine has considered me as 
 her equal. I have been her frequent 
 visitor, and am her constant corre- 
 spondent." 
 
 " Ah ! she is then an estimable wo- 
 man," exclaimed Millichamp. 
 
 Without noticing this remark, I 
 continued. Among the few topics 
 of epistolary conversation which this
 
 116 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 neighbourhood affords, it was impos- 
 sible to forget the chance which fa- 
 voured us with your society, and the 
 pleasure we derived from it ; and the 
 answer to this, which I have received 
 this morning, informs me that you 
 have been some time expected at 
 Mr. Caradine's house." 
 
 " What, then, must you think of 
 me ?" 
 
 " I think," said I, smiling, " that 
 you take time for deliberation." 
 
 " Margaret!," said Millichamp, " I 
 value your good opinion so highly, that 
 I will not forfeit it without some ex- 
 planation. I will, with your permis- 
 sion, tell you what I am, and how I am 
 situated with respect to Miss Caradine. 
 
 " My paternal estate is only two 
 hundred pounds a year. My father, 
 as you already know, was a clergyman, 
 and educated me for the same profes-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 117 
 
 sion. He hoped I might succeed him 
 in his preferment j but he died before I 
 had taken orders, and his living was 
 given to another. I had no particular 
 inclination for the church ; indeed my 
 mind revolted against the idea of being 
 chained down to repeat a certain num- 
 ber of words, however admirable, at 
 stated hours ; and knowing that my 
 income would satisfy my present wants, 
 I left the university, and pursued my 
 studies and inquiries without a plan. 
 
 " In these studies I might perhaps 
 have grown old without perceiving it, 
 had not my uncle roused me. He had 
 no child. He said, he should consider 
 the son of his sister as his own ; he 
 should experience the pleasures of a 
 parent in my society ; I should be the 
 comfort of his declining years ; and the 
 inheritor of his fortune. Such were 
 the lures held out, to tempt me to
 
 11$ OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 sacrifice my independence, the great 
 privilege which gives to man the dis- 
 posal of his own time, and the regula- 
 tion of his own actions ; and they suc- 
 ceeded ; though, if I know my own 
 heart, the last motive was the least. 
 
 " I came to reside with my uncle ; 
 I gave up one habit or opinion from 
 duty, another from gratitude, another 
 from the love of peace ; none from self* 
 interest. In the mean time, reiterated 
 demands on my uncle's part, and con. 
 cessions on mine, have erected him 
 into a tyrant, and degraded me into a 
 slave. His last request was, that I 
 should marry Miss Caradine, the 
 heiress of her father's estate, which is 
 mortgaged to my uncle for -half its 
 value. 
 
 " I am a sort of Carlos in * Love 
 makes a Man.' Books have been my 
 delight. I have regarded your sex,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 119 
 
 Margaret, as the most beautiful part of 
 the works of the Creator j but I had no 
 more personal interest in it than in the 
 lily or the rose. I knew neither the 
 kind of love, nor the degree, which was 
 necessary to secure my own felicity, 
 or that of the woman I should vow to 
 cherish. My mind then, with respect 
 to woman, a sheet of blank paper, 
 might as well receive the impression of 
 Miss Caradine as of any other ; and I 
 set out for her father's mansion, in 
 conformity to my uncle's desire, ear- 
 nestly wishing I might like the lady, 
 but determined not to impose upon 
 cither her or him for a moment, if I 
 did not. Why I came here, you know/' 
 continued Millichamp, with some hesi- 
 tation ; " but why I have remained here 
 so long, I scarcely know myself. I 
 have been happy and voluntarily to 
 deprive myself of happiness required
 
 120 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 more resolution than I possess in- 
 deed, I was not certain that a lady 
 whom I had never seen had a right to 
 exact such a sacrifice." 
 
 Millichamp might have talked till 
 to-morrow, and have met with no inter- 
 ruption from me. Here, however, he 
 paused, and I ventured to say, " She 
 could have no such right j but you 
 have invested your uncle with the au- 
 thority of a parent, and perhaps you 
 ought to be directed by him." 
 
 " Never," he replied with energy j 
 " never can one human being have a 
 right to direct the actions of another ! 
 Even a state of servitude does not con- 
 fer it, farther than the actions of the 
 servant regard the master j and as to 
 slavery, it is a monster of man's own 
 making !" 
 
 " But suppose the lady has expected 
 you," said I.
 
 OAKwOOD HALL. 121 
 
 " If the lady have expected me, 
 I am indeed to blame; but surely 
 it was indelicate, if she were in- 
 formed of my purpose as well as my 
 visit. Do not you think we should 
 have seen each other first, and I have 
 been spared the mortification of being 
 known to reject the lady if I could not 
 love her ?" 
 
 You could not expect delicacy from 
 a man who has passed his life with 
 horses and dogs, and who has con- 
 tracted to pay his debts with the hand 
 of his daughter ; but, as things are cir- 
 cumstanced, no mischief can ensue. 
 Though our acquaintance with you is 
 of recent date, the unreserved domestic 
 intercourse we have had with you has 
 enabled us to discover your worth ; 
 and as to the idea of rejecting Maria 
 iaradine, it could only enter the breast 
 of a man who had not seen her. She 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 is possessed of a fine face, an elegant 
 person, and irresistible manners ; she 
 has a good understanding and a good 
 heart j she is the idol of her father's 
 household, and of all who know her. 
 You cannot fail to obtain her pardon 
 for your delay, and I congratulate you 
 upon the certainty that your duty and 
 inclination will point to the same 
 object." 
 
 I stopped ; and Millichamp continu- 
 ing silent, I ventured to raise my eyes 
 to his face, when I perceived that he 
 had not been attending to what I said. 
 I therefore rose, and quitted the hut, 
 and, as I believe, without his being 
 conscious of my leaving him. 
 
 It was now evening. The open 
 sunshine of Millichamp's face has been 
 clouded throughout the day ; but I 
 hear nothing of his intention to leave 
 us. Will he go to-morrow ? He ought 
 8
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 123 
 
 to go, and I hope he will but what 
 can I do more ; I cannot force him 
 out of my father's house. If you do 
 not see him immediately, tell me what 
 I shall say and do. 
 
 My head aches deplorably I will 
 not go to the Hall to.night. Adieu, 
 my ever dear Maria. May you be 
 happy with Millichamp indeed, with 
 him you cannot be otherwise. 

 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 TO MISS CARABINE. 
 
 Oak-wood. 
 
 UNKIND Maria! You have suffered me 
 to pass a week of anguish, and convert 
 all the pleasure I received from Milli- 
 champ's company into self-reproach ! 
 You now tell me that I am in love, and 
 that you waited to see two timid birds 
 entangle themselves in the same net. 
 You laugh at me for insisting upon 
 your being happy with Millichamp, 
 when, you say, I have a mind to be hap- 
 py with him myself. If I really loved 
 him, what must have been the situation 
 of my mind ? Knowing that he was en-
 
 OAKWOOD MALL. 
 
 gaged to my friend, and that he was 
 violating every duty, every hour he 
 stayed ? feeling that my regard for him, 
 however innocent, must be repressed 
 as a deadly sin, lest it should be a step 
 towards making me the wretched rival 
 of my friend ? Such was the insupport- 
 able burthen you have removed from 
 my heart, and my head-aches have 
 flown with it. 
 
 You ask why I should doubt your 
 affection for Mr. Harriot, when I have 
 seen such uniform proofs of it ? Dare 
 I tell you that I thought Millichamp a 
 being of a higher order ; and that you 
 would cease to love the lesser merit, 
 when the greater were known ? 
 
 But, my dear Maria, having got rid of 
 the terrors that haunted me, I am now 
 conjuring up another set of spectres. 
 If I love Millichamp, which I trust I 
 do not, I am still in a miserable situa- 
 
 G3
 
 126 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 tion. Though I no longer regard him 
 as the destined husband of my friend, I 
 have no reason to believe he loves me. 
 The lovers I have hitherto had have all 
 sought an opportunity to inform me of 
 their sentiments in my favour ; Milli- 
 champ has daily opportunities, yet ne- 
 ver glances at the subject. That he 
 esteems me, I cannot doubt j every 
 look and every action prove it : but he 
 esteems my father and mother, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Oakwood. 
 
 With regard to myself, what is this 
 love ? it is unknown to me, as to Milli- 
 champ. I will describe my symptoms, 
 and you, whom experience has in- 
 structed, shall judge j shall tell me 
 whether I have been so unfortunate and 
 imprudent as to love, where no profes- 
 sions of love have been made to me. 
 
 I know every trifle that Millicliamp 
 prefers, and it is ready for him. I
 
 OAKWOOd HALL. 
 
 have seen him cut.a crust at dinner ; he 
 has one always laid by his plate. I saw 
 one of his pillows placed upon the 
 other ; he finds it so when he goes to 
 rest. I discovered a hole in his night- 
 cap ; it is darned, and so neatly that he 
 will never perceive it. All this I do for 
 my father and mother. Millichamp 
 has had a slight indisposition since he 
 has been with us ; I have been his 
 nurse, and ha.ve never failed to pre- 
 sent his medicine at the appointed 
 hour, or to remind him of his great 
 coat, if he were going out. All this, 
 and more, I should have done for my 
 father or my mother. 
 
 I am almost afraid to proceed. If 
 we walk together, Millichamp offers 
 me his arm ; I take it, and am happy. 
 If we are with Mrs. Oakwood, he offers 
 it her j I feel not quite happy, per- 
 haps a little sullen, and sometimes 
 G 4
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 loiter behind j though I would not de- 
 prive her of it for the world. This I 
 should not feel, if I were walking with 
 my father and mother. I cannot de- 
 cide upon my case ; but one thing I am 
 certain of that when I believed you 
 were destined for each other, I most 
 sincerely wished him gone j though I 
 dreaded, and still dread, the taking 
 leave. 
 
 I will quit this subject, which puzzles 
 and distresses me, and give you love in 
 another form. 
 
 I yesterday took a solitary walk to 
 the ruins of the old Abbey, and taking 
 Thomson's Seasons out of my pocket, 
 I sat down on a broken stone, to read. 
 Mr. Oakwood never lets man, woman, 
 or child apply to him for work in vain. 
 His grounds are so large there is employ- 
 ment for all. Once, indeed, it hap- 
 pened that there was not j and he set
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 120 
 
 two strangers to remove a large stack of 
 kids to a distant place, and, as soon 
 as they bad finished, ordered them to 
 bring them back; neither suffering 
 them to eat the bread of idleness, nor to 
 go without any bread at alF. * He was 
 giving orders for the third removal, 
 when he was 'told the men had left his 
 service. This I did not mean to tell 
 you. I was only going to say, that 
 about three years ago a young stout 
 rustic solicited employment, and, after 
 labouring some time in the fields, he 
 proved so industrious, attentive, and ho- 
 nest, that he was promoted to the rank 
 of waggoner at the farm-house. This 
 man now appeared ; and from an oppo- 
 site quarter advanced one of the foot- 
 men, belonging to the Hall. They 
 met very near me j but I was concealed 
 by a broken arch. 
 
 " Tom," says the footman, ' how
 
 130 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 ame you to follow Molly the kitchen- 
 maid last night, when she had been 
 down to the farm-house for some 
 eggs ?" 
 
 " Mun nubbuddy fullo nubbuddy 
 without exing yore leave ?" said Tom, 
 who is a native of Derbyshire. 
 
 " Nobody shall follow Molly without 
 asking my leave, and having it too," 
 replied the footman. 
 
 " An* if so bee I wunnot ex it, whot 
 then ?" 
 
 " Why then I'll knock you down." 
 
 " An what mun I be doing the 
 whoile ?" 
 
 " Doing, you scoundrel ! why, doing 
 your best. Do you think I fear what 
 such a clod-hopper as you can do ?" 
 
 " Ma'hap you dunnot ; no moor 
 nor oi moind a rapscallion i j a laced 
 coote an a showder knot. My frock's 
 my own, an yo conna sey that o'yore
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 131 
 
 cloose ; an oi believe there's no bigger 
 a skowndril under* t nor there is i' yore 
 yaller wescot." 
 
 " I shall give you one piece of ad- 
 vice, however," returned the footman ; 
 ' waggoners frocks and yellow waist- 
 coats out of the question 5 and that 
 is, that you let Molly alone, or you'll 
 come by the worst on't." 
 
 " Beleddy that's moor nor tha 
 know'st, foin as tha art. Oi could 
 dubble thee up, and put thee in an 
 auger hole ; an* oi'd doot tew ; only 
 oi think my mester would na loik me 
 th j better for geeing thee a black oye 
 or a bluddy nose ; and, besoide he's so 
 koind I should be loath t'anger 'im. 
 Tha'rt mistekken i* thy inon ; an oi 
 think tha'rt mistekken i j th* wencli. 
 Its my moind to hae her, hi* the ; and 
 hes bin ony toime this tew year. Ma* 
 
 06
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 happen its thoine t'pley wee her, an 
 then fo'sake her." 
 
 " What my mind is, is nothing to 
 you. Molly knows my mind, and 
 that's enongh." 
 
 " If Mally purtends to loike thee, 
 hur's a fause jade j and tha' mest hae 
 her to thy sen ; for oi'll gee her 
 o'er." 
 
 " You may give her over then, I'll 
 promise you." 
 
 " Bur oi shanna tek thoi wud for't. 
 Oi'll speak to her my sen, an oi'll sey, 
 * Mally, says oi, J 'Robbut saysyo loiken 
 him ; and if you dun, sesso> an oi'll gee 
 my sen no moor trubble abaate you, 
 Ma' happen oi ma fret a bit at fust ; 
 but oi shall think oin a good miss. 
 Bur if you dunna loike him, nor hanna 
 loiked him, by Gosh, oi'm afraid i' 
 shall knock him down i' good arnst j
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 133 
 
 % 
 
 and sartin sure oi shall if iver he's arter 
 you agen.' " 
 
 Here the rivals parted, Robert mut- 
 tering, that if the girl were to choose, 
 she would not be a fool : but I thought 
 he did not seem entirely satisfied with 
 the reference. 
 
 In this village scene appear the 
 characters of higher life : the real lover 
 in a waggoner, the man of gallantry in 
 a footman, and, I suppose, the coquet 
 in the kitchen-maid. 
 
 Your forgetful swain is still here ; 
 unheeding, or not seeming to heed, 
 the vows his uncle has made for him. 
 What will be the end of it is not for 
 me to say j but now I know his stay 
 prolongs your happiness, as well as 
 my own, it shall meet with no inter- 
 ruption from me. 
 
 I have just discovered that the darn is 
 cut out of the night-cap, and the hole
 
 O'AKWOOD HALL. 
 
 left bigger than before. I wonder 
 whether Mr. Millichamp expects me 
 to mend it again ! 
 
 After Mr. Nevil had left me so 
 abruptly, he was seen no more. He 
 employed the remainder of the day in 
 writing letters, and in regulating his 
 books, and quitted Oakwood the next 
 morning before any person in the 
 village was stirring. No tidings of 
 him were received till yesterday, when 
 it was announced that he had arrived 
 at Loveweli the preceding evening, 
 and had that morning made the lady of 
 the manor his own. The happy pair, 
 as the newspapers never fail to call 
 such pairs, set off for London imme- 
 diately after the ceremony ; doubtless 
 to provide those necessary appendages 
 of happiness, new clothes, new car- 
 riages, new liveries, &c. 
 One of the letters Mr, Nevil wrote
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 135 
 
 before he left this village was addressed 
 to Mr. Oakwood. He had, as you 
 know, formerly amused himself at the 
 expence of Mr. Oakwood's wheel- 
 barrow and spade. I have frequently 
 heard him blame himself for having 
 descended to such ungentlemanly 
 jokes j and it seems that he thought 
 it necessary to ask Mr. Oakwood's 
 pardon before he quitted his village. 
 On reading his letter, Mr. Oakwood 
 said, " Poor fellow ! he has paid for 
 his wit in the loss of my roast beef and 
 plumb pudding. I should have liked 
 to have shaken him heartily by the 
 hand, and wished him no worse luck 
 in what is to follow !" 
 
 MARGARET FREEMAN,
 
 136 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 IT was not without reason, in giving 
 you the character of Millichamp, that I 
 mentioned his absence of mind. Yes- 
 terday he undertook to boil an egg 
 for his breakfast; and when Mrs. 
 Freeman entered the room, she found 
 him boiling his watch, which he had 
 taken out to mark the minutes neces- 
 sary to cook his egg. 
 
 He is extremely fond of argument ; 
 not, as most persons are, in the hope 
 of convincing their antagonist ; nor, 
 like a very few, for the possibility of
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 137 
 
 being convinced themselves ; nor yet to 
 shew his learning or his penetration j but 
 for argument's sake. He will urge every 
 consideration he can think of against 
 one's opinion, and draw out all one has 
 to say in its defence, and then acknow- 
 ledge it was his own, from the begin- 
 ning of the controversy. He assures 
 us he once persuaded a Methodist 
 preacher that the stars were made of 
 moons, cut in pieces. I told him I 
 believed that his solemn dignified man- 
 ner, and the reputation of his pro- 
 found learning, came in aid of his argu- 
 ments. He confessed that it might 
 be true ; and thought they would still 
 have received additional weight from 
 long, flowing garments ; or even a silk 
 night gown, a velvet cap, and morocco 
 slippers. He offered to prove to me 
 the possibility of the moon's being 
 made of green cheese, notwithstanding
 
 138 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 the ridicule that whole generations had 
 thrown on the idea. But I declined 
 the dispute j telling him I was too 
 contemptible an adversary to bring out 
 his talents, as I never went farther in 
 an argument than a reply and a re- 
 joinder. 
 
 He seldom attacks John Freeman, 
 who will not bear a joke, and whose 
 prejudices are sometimes stronger than 
 his arguments ; but it is his delight to 
 draw in my brother. 
 
 " I have been reading," said I, last 
 night, " Mrs. Wollstoncraft's Travels 
 in Sweden, Norway and Denmark. 
 She has the heart and imagination of a 
 woman, with the understanding and 
 language of a man." 
 
 " You cannot believe that men have 
 stronger understandings than women, 
 can you ? " said Millichamp. 
 
 " They have stronger persons," an>
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 1SQ 
 
 swered I, " and, if I reasoned from 
 analogy, I should suppose they had 
 stronger understandings." 
 
 " That argument is in my favour," 
 said MilliGhamp, " as facts will prove. 
 We all know that women rule, and 
 were born to rule, men ; and, as it 
 cannot be by superior strength, it must 
 be by superior understanding. Spirit 
 goes beyond strength ; or man could 
 never have tamed and ridden a horse." 
 " Man's understanding," said my 
 brother, " has made the force of the 
 horse subservient to his purposes. He 
 invented the bit and the bridle ; but 
 his strength of arm is also necessary to 
 restrain him, when the ingenuity of 
 women would avail nothing.' 5 
 
 " Still is woman man's superior," 
 said Millichamp j " for if man govern 
 the horse, woman governs the rider." 
 " But men generally suppose we
 
 140 OAKWOOD HALL* 
 
 govern by our weakness," said I. "We 
 appeal to your affections for support 
 and kindness, and rule by making you 
 believe that we submit. One of you 
 has said, 
 
 ' Nature for defence affords 
 Fins to fishes, wings to birds, 
 Swiftness to the fearful hares ; 
 Women's weapons are their tears.' 
 
 You pay that compliment to our 
 weakness we should try for in vain by 
 strength." 
 
 " I believe it will be found through- 
 out the animal creation," said my 
 brother, " that whenever creatures 
 associate or herd together, one will be 
 master. Man is a larger, stronger 
 animal than woman, and therefore 
 formed to be master. As Millichamp 
 says, her spirit sometimes gets the 
 better of his strength ; sometimes even 
 cunning will do it. When that is the
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 141 
 
 case, she will commonly change places 
 with her master; but she had better 
 be silent about it." 
 
 " Who can read the History of Eng- 
 land," said John Freeman, " and not 
 believe that women are qualified to 
 govern ? Among all our sovereigns, 
 who was ever like Elizabeth ; careful 
 of the nation's money, as well as its 
 honour ; feared abroad, and beloved 
 at home ?" 
 
 " If women are qualified to govern 
 in theory, father," said Margaret, "you 
 would not wish to see them put it in 
 practice." 
 
 " Nature makes exceptions to all 
 general rules," said my brother. " Eli- 
 zabeth was one j though in assuming 
 the peculiarities of our sex, she did not 
 renounce those of her own. To a 
 masculine spirit of domination, she 
 joined the mean dirty jealousy of a
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 woman ; and the unfortunate Mary, 
 Queen of Scots, fell her victim, because 
 she could neither bear a rival in beauty 
 nor in power." 
 
 " Mary, Queen of Scots, had plotted 
 so much treason,'* returned John Free- 
 man," that Elizabeth was obliged to 
 bring her to the block in her own de- 
 fence. She could never have been 
 safe while Mary was alive ; and, as 
 one must die, it was only fair that it 
 should be the author of the mischief. " 
 
 " That," said my brother, " was the 
 reason given for the riots at Birming- 
 ham. The mob burnt the meeting- 
 houses the Dissenters, and the 
 dwelling-houses of some of the most 
 respectable inhabitants of that persua- 
 sion ; because, if they had not, the Dis- 
 senters 'would have burnt the Church. 
 There is no abomination that this 
 mode of preventing evil will not sane-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 143 
 
 tion. In these two instances it has 
 been the pretext of murder and incen- 
 diary." 
 
 I expected John Freeman's answer 
 would not have been of the most conci- 
 liating kind; for he adores Elizabeth 
 almost as much as Oliver Cromwell ; 
 and, before he could speak, I said, " I 
 have always thought, though Elizabeth 
 ruled her subjects with a rod of iron, 
 she descended to cajoleries that no 
 man would have practised j and her 
 good and beloved people themselves 
 began to be weary of them. Yet, cer- 
 tainly, England was never, on the 
 whole, better governed. It Elizabeth 
 be compared with the tyrannical mon- 
 ster, her father ; or the weak Stuarts, 
 who succeeded her, she will be entitled 
 to the highest praise." 
 
 " I will leave Elizabeth to you and 
 Mr. Freeman," said Millichamp. " But
 
 144 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 who that has the happiness of being 
 admitted into the society of Mrs. Oak- 
 wood and Margaret Freeman, but 
 must acknowledge the superiority of 
 woman ! " 
 
 " The present company is always 
 excepted," said I, smiling. " It would 
 not be fair to judge of mankind by 
 you and my brother. We will say no 
 more of superiority," added I ; " but 
 substitute the word difference. We 
 will leave depth and solidity to you, 
 and take quickness and fancy our? 
 selves. You could no more create a 
 beautiful landscape, out of a piece of 
 blank paper, by the help only of that 
 pair of scissars, than Margaret could 
 reason on the immortality of the 
 soul." 
 
 " I pity Mrs. Wollstoncraft exceed- 
 ingly," said Margaret ; "for I too have 
 a heart. But I am thankful that I
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 145 
 
 / - 
 
 have no brilliant imagination, nor un- 
 controuled passions, to hurry me be- 
 yond the bounds prescribed to my sex 
 by either nature or custom ; it is no 
 matter which, for custom is second 
 nature. The chain which galled her, 
 whether it be imposed by God or man, 
 sits so lightly upon me that I never 
 feel it." 
 
 " Mary Wollstoncraft's energy of 
 mind, and boldness of imagination," 
 said I, " are almost unparalleled in the 
 female world. Her daring and ardent 
 soul entertained ideas, and formed a 
 plan, unthought of, unattempted by 
 woman. Her sufferings are a beacon 
 to her sex ; and if ever another Mary 
 Wollstoncraft arise, she will not follow 
 her steps : but her writings will be 
 admired when her errors shall be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 VOL. i. H
 
 146 OAKWOOD HALL- 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 TO MISS CARADINE. 
 
 OaJcwood. 
 
 WE have been thrown into the great- 
 est consternation to-day, by the follow- 
 ing advertisement in Mr. Oakwood's 
 London newspaper. 
 
 " Whereas a tall thin gentleman, 
 about twenty-six years of age, dressed 
 in black, and mounted on a handsome 
 dark chesnut horse, fifteen hands high, 
 left London, on his way to the north, 
 on or about the 29th of last February, 
 and has not since been heard of; this 
 is to desire him, if living, to give im- 
 mediate notice thereof to his friends. 
 But as he is subject to fits of absence,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 147 
 
 it is feared some misfortune may have 
 befallen him ; and, in that case, any 
 person giving information concerning 
 either him or his horse, that may lead 
 to a discovery of his fate, to the printer 
 of this paper, shall receive fifty pounds 
 reward." 
 
 Mr. Oakwood, on reading this ad- 
 vertisement, came with the paper to 
 our house, and pointing it out, desired 
 my father to read it. Having done so, 
 my father, with silence and great so- 
 lemnity, put it into the hands of Milli- 
 champ. As he read it, his features 
 expressed curiosity and astonishment ; 
 and could you think it possible ? as he 
 ended, he laughed. Not so your poor 
 simple friend. When its contents were 
 communicated aloud, I burst into 
 tears ; but such were the different 
 emotions excited in the audience, that 
 I hope they passed unnoticed.
 
 J48' OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 " The day of reckoning is come," 
 said my father. " What do you mean 
 to do?" 
 
 " To write to my uncle instantly," 
 replied Millichamp. 
 
 " Have you never written to him 
 since you have been here ?" 
 
 " I confess I have not." 
 
 " Did you forget ?" said my father. 
 
 " This is a new kind of catechism," 
 said Millichamp, smiling ; " but I have 
 my answers by heart. I did not wholly 
 forget ; and I will anticipate your next 
 question ? * Why, then, did you not 
 write ?' by saying, that at first I in- 
 tended it every day : I then only in- 
 tended it every second day ; and for 
 some time past, I have ceased to think 
 of it at all." 
 
 " You are surejy to blame," said my 
 my father. " As your uncle means to 
 leave you all his fortune, he has a 
 right to know where you are."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 149 
 
 " I am indeed to blame," said Milli- 
 champ. " I have repaid my uncle's 
 kindness with neglect, and subjected 
 him to anxiety on my account ; but I 
 would not do the smallest thing for all 
 his fortune, that I ought not to do 
 without any part of it : and I have not 
 exactly ascertained in my own mind 
 the degree of right that one man has 
 over another." 
 
 My father, with all his notions of 
 liberty, was going to reply with some 
 bitterness ; when Mr. Oakwood, seeing 
 the matter become serious, said, " Let 
 me write to your uncle, Millichamp. 
 I shall get fifty pounds by you. Or I 
 can send him your horse, and say you 
 were drowned in fording the river ; and 
 you may pass the remainder of your 
 life in this dale, without danger of 
 being detected." 
 
 J thanked him in my heart. He put 
 H 3
 
 1-50 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 us all into good humour, and left us. 
 Millichamp sat down to write his 
 letter, and I took my work into the 
 garden, secretly hoping that, when he 
 had done, he would follow me. In about 
 half an hour he seated himself by my 
 side. " Well," said I, " you have left 
 undone those things you ought to have 
 done ; but I hope you have been doing 
 them now. You have been writing to 
 your uncle ; and if I were not afraid of 
 continuing my father's catechism, I 
 should ask what excuse you could make 
 for neglecting the errand he sent you 
 upon, and not having written to him 
 before." 
 
 " You cannot ask any thing I should 
 not answer with pleasure. .Your fa- 
 ther's questions remind me of an old 
 game of iny childhood, Questions and 
 commands. Yours are of a softer 
 nature ; and I hope I shall not disgrace
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 151 
 
 myself in your good opinion. My 
 letter to my uncle is in as humble a 
 style as your own gentle spirit could 
 have dictated ; but, my dear Mar- 
 garet, I never make excuses." 
 
 " If I were you, I should be afraid 
 of his displeasure," said I. 
 
 I fear nothing," said Millichamp, 
 " but doing wrong. In this instance I 
 have done wrong ; his displeasure will 
 be justice, and I shall bow before it ; 
 but I do not tremble at it. Let us go 
 back a little. My uncle, having no 
 children of his own, adopts me, treats 
 me as his son, perhaps loves me as his 
 son ; for I believe, if he had been a 
 father, he would have been despotic. 
 In return for these favours I owe him 
 duty, gratitude, obedience ; that is, 
 obedience in all that respects himself. 
 I have gone farther : for I have made 
 many sacrifices to his usurpations in 
 H 4
 
 152 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 what concerned me alone. At last he 
 assumes the power of telling me whom 
 I shall love a power* I have not over 
 myself! whom I shall pass the remain- 
 der of my days with ! and how miser- 
 able must they be, if I did not love ! 
 I set out at his bidding, willing, and 
 even desirous, to oblige him ; I am 
 arrested by a higher power j I am 
 charmed by the society of your family 
 and Mr. Oakwood's, and I will add 
 your society, Margaret ; I feel incom- 
 petent to fulfil the engagement he has 
 made for me, and I renounce it. So 
 far I have done right ; my own miiad 
 acquits me. Now comes my fault. I 
 should have told this to my uncle ; I 
 should have informed him of my ^de- 
 termination to proceed no farther, and 
 not have involved him in the uncer- 
 tainty respecting my fate which has 
 produced that extraordinary adver-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. ' 153 
 
 tisement. For this, as I sincerely 
 condemn myself, I have sincerely 
 asked his pardon. I have hot even 
 urged in palliation of* rny error, as I 
 justly might, the imperceptible influ- 
 ence of the motive which prompted 
 me to disobey him, and the difficulty 
 of explaining to him what I was not 
 aware of myself." 
 
 I felt half-suffocated ; whether with 
 my own imaginations, I know not. 
 At length I articulated, " I thought, 
 perhaps, you would have answered 
 your uncle's advertisement in person." 
 
 " I thought of it too," said he ; 
 " but on reflection, I do not see the 
 necessity of it : my letter will answer 
 the same purpose. I have not resolu- 
 tion enough to leave you ; unless, in- 
 deed," added he, looking earnestly at 
 ane, " you wish it." 
 
 " I only wish you to act right," 
 H 5
 
 154 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 answered I, " and of that you are a far 
 better judge than I am. For myself j 
 alone, I should wish you to stay." 
 
 " I will stay, then, for both our- 
 selves, if your father do not turn me 
 out. I have requested my uncle to 
 write to me here ; and you shall work 
 or dr^w, and I will read to you in a 
 morning ; and we will walk with Mrs. 
 Oakwood, or our good mother or aunt, 
 in an afternoon ; and chat at the 
 Hall, in an evening j and be as happy 
 as we have been." Millichamp then 
 put my arm in his, and we walked to- 
 gether into the house. 
 
 What am I to understand by this ? 
 Does Millichamp love me ? I think 
 he does. However, I will sit down 
 quietly, and wait the event. How I 
 dread this uncle I What reason I have 
 to dread him, if, indeed, his nephew 
 love me I A country girl 1 a farmer's
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 1&5 
 
 daughter ! portionless, till the decease 
 of my parents, which may Almighty 
 Goodness long avert ! and then pos- 
 sessed of a trifle ! I seem always to 
 have one heavy evil in view, and no 
 more. When I regarded Millichamp 
 as your future husband, that alone 
 appeared insupportable. When my 
 heart was at ease on that subject, I 
 was uncertain of his love. So I am 
 still ; but as that phantom seems dis- 
 solving, this uncle stands before me, 
 and shakes me with terror. But I 
 will not go on thus, anticipating mis- 
 fortune, I will imitate the man I 
 most admire ; endeavour to act ight, 
 and let consequences follow as they 
 may. \ 
 
 H6
 
 156 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 . 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 TO MRS, BRUDENELL. 
 
 OaJciioood. 
 
 THE shades of Oakwood are enlivened 
 in a manner I did not foresee. Milli- 
 champ is still here, and our regard for 
 him increases, as we know him more. 
 A certain easiness of disposition would, 
 in some measure, account for his 
 lengthened stay ; he requires a greater 
 degree of force than most people to 
 be put in motion ; but Margaret is 
 the chief spell that holds him here. 
 I have long believed that such a man 
 could not be domesticated under the
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 157 
 
 same roof with such a woman, and 
 look upon her with indifference. An 
 advertisement, inserted in the London 
 papers by his uncle, has found him 
 out ; but even that has failed to move 
 him. 
 
 Yesterday my brother, with six or 
 eight men around him, was labouring 
 hard, near our village road. The 
 weather was warm, and he wore 
 neither jacket, waistcoat, nor hat. A 
 chariot, with four fine bay horses, and 
 coachman and two out-riders, in very 
 gay liveries, a phenomenon totally 
 unprecedented in the annals of Oak- 
 wood, appeared j and a gentleman 
 about sixty years of age, in a white 
 wig, putting his head out of the 
 window, and calling to the coachman 
 to stop, beckoned my brother to the 
 carriage. He obeyed ; while his men, 
 half tittering at the joke, and half
 
 158 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 afraid of the consequences, laid by 
 their spades and stopped their wheel- 
 barrows to listen. 
 
 " My tad," said the gentleman ; 
 for young or old, workmen are all lads 5 
 " who does that house belong to?" 
 
 "To 'Squire Oakwood, sir." 
 
 ** What sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 " Something like me, sir." 
 
 " Aye, but I mean what sort of a 
 character is he. Do you all like him ?" 
 
 "I cannot answer for all, sir: they 
 know best," pointing to his workmen ; 
 " but I can answer for one ; I like 
 him myself." 
 
 " Perhaps he pays thee well ; and we 
 aU like the bridge that carries us safe 
 &ver. I was told he was an odd sort 
 of a man, and worked like a negro." 
 
 " Odd enough, sir ; he works so 
 hard you would not suppose him to be 
 a gentleman."
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 15<) 
 
 "Aye, aye, I thought so. Always 
 two sides to a story ; I never find men 
 that will work if they can live without 
 work, And dost know one Mr. Free- 
 man of this place ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Whereabouts does he live ?" 
 
 " At that farm-house, sir, opposite 
 the park gates." 
 
 ' Very well. Ttelook'stas if thee'dst 
 seen better days. Here's a shilling, 
 for thee, to drink." 
 
 My brother said, " Thank you, sir," 
 and pocketed the donation, while the 
 chariot drove on to John Freeman's. 
 
 You have already pronounced the 
 gentleman in the white wig to be 
 MiUichamp's uncle. His name is Gold- 
 acre. 
 
 Mrs. Simpson entered the room 
 where I was sitting, out of breath with 
 the arrival. " Ma'am, ma'am," cried
 
 160 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 she, "what do you think? An ekgunt 
 chariot and four is stopped at John 
 Freeman's j and there's a gentleman 
 in it-, and he's got out', and they say 
 he's come to pay his addresses to 
 Peggy. He'll put Mr. Millichump's 
 nose quite out o' joint, as sure as a 
 gun." 
 
 No nose can be secure against such 
 an equipage," said I. 
 
 " I suppose we must have Mr. MilU- 
 chump here," returned the house- 
 keeper j " for I know they have but one 
 spare bed at Freeman's, and they must 
 turn Mr. Millichump out, to let the 
 gentleman have it. To be sure, they 
 might let the strange gentleman come 
 here ; for ours are the best beds, and 
 the fittest for a gentleman,, I ought 
 not to say it, because I seed to the 
 filling of every one of 'em, myself; 
 but we've two and twenty as good
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. l6l 
 
 down and feather beds as any's in 
 the north riding, let the others be 
 where they will ; and twenty of 'em's 
 empty now. And I'm sure they're all 
 well aired ; for I make the house- 
 maids sleep in 'em round. And so, if 
 you choose, ma'am, or my master 
 chooses, to have the gentleman here, 
 I'll order a pair of sheets to the fire 
 immediately." 
 
 " You calculate far before you, 
 Mrs Simpson," said I; "but I believe 
 you are right. If there be a stranger 
 at John Freeman's j if he stay all 
 night ; and if Mrs. Freeman cannot 
 accommodate him, we shall certainly 
 have him here." 
 
 " O, ma'am, if I had not a little 
 
 jbrcast, things would not go on as 
 
 they do. I always contrive, ma'am. 
 
 Nobody ever stands still for want of 
 
 work j and Fm sure nobody's over-
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 worked. The spinning wheel fills up 
 all vacancies, ma'am, and I spin, my- 
 self, of a winter's evening. I've fifty 
 pair of homespun sheets in a chest, 
 ma'am, all bran new ; besides what's 
 in wear j and they're full ell wide, and 
 almost four yards long, and as fine as 
 holland." 
 
 I commended the industry and ma- 
 nagement of Mrs Simpson as they 
 deserved j and she retired, proud of 
 my good opinion. At supper my 
 brother and I laughed over the conver- 
 sation with the gentleman in the white 
 wig. The hour of nine as certainly 
 brought John Freeman, as it did the 
 Beast to Beauty ; but this evening he 
 came alone. He brought Miliichamp's 
 excuses, on account of the arrival of 
 his uncle, and said Margaret was con- 
 fined to her room with the head-ach. 
 Poor girl! a little heart-ach mixed
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 163 
 
 with it, I am afraid. My brother sent 
 instantly to request the uncle's com- 
 pany with Millichamp's, and to offer 
 the former a bed ; and soon after, 
 Millichamp entered, introducing Mr. 
 Goldacre. He started on seeing my 
 brother, and immediately recognised 
 the labourer in the lord of the mansion. 
 
 " Sir, sir," said he, " I protest I'm 
 ashamed to see you. How could I be 
 such a blockhead as not to find out 
 who you was ? but who would have 
 thought of meeting you in such a trim ? 
 
 " I told you," said my brother, with 
 a smile, " you would not suppose me 
 to be a gentleman". 
 
 " If Mr. Oakwood chooses to assume 
 the appearance, and perform the work 
 of a labourer," said I, " it is his fault, 
 not yours, that you mistake him. You 
 could only judge by appearances." 
 
 " That's very true, ma'am. Thank
 
 164 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 you, ma'am," said Mr. Goldacre. 
 " But I unluckily said something about 
 an odd sort of a man ; something I'd 
 heard at the inn where I stopt last : 
 and those people don't know how to 
 give a gentleman a good word when 
 he deserves one. But I beg your 
 pardon, sir j I'm sure I intended no 
 offence." 
 
 " I do not take any," replied my 
 brother. " What you said was very 
 natural j and as it was unexpected, it 
 has given me some amusement." 
 
 Millichamp sat silent and thought- 
 ful ; Goldacre seemed determined 
 not to forget my brother was a gen- 
 tleman, and not a little proud to 
 be noticed byxme ; my brother invited 
 them all to dine with, him to-day. 
 
 When we were summoned into the 
 dining-room, I observed that Goldacre 
 singled out the best dish, by an intuitive
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 165 
 
 glance, and placed himself accordingly. 
 When he had helped himself with an 
 unsparing hand, he assured us it was 
 " a very good article." When he had 
 emptied his plate, he cried out, " Any 
 lady or gentleman want any thing in 
 my way ?" When he had helped me, 
 "Ever another customer?" Then, 
 thinking he had sacrificed enough to 
 politeness, he put the contents of the 
 dish on his own plate, and asked if 
 any body would give him a commis- 
 sion for chicken. 
 
 When the gentlemen joinedme at tea, 
 Goldacre observed that he thought the 
 young men were, now a days, very pig- 
 headed. "Here," says he, "whenlwas 
 young, and out of my time, I was very 
 glad to get into business, and set up for 
 myself ; and business was nothing then 
 to what it is now. Now I employ four 
 hundred pair of hands, and set children
 
 166 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 to work, night and day, that used to 
 get nothing at all j but was a burden to 
 their parents, and perhaps to the parish. 
 Here, some people subscribe for soup 
 for the poor, and some gentlemen give 
 J em bread and beef j I give 'em work, 
 plenty of work ; and if they won't do 
 that, let 'em starve." 
 
 " You are right," said my brother. 
 
 " Charitable men may give food to the 
 poor, and ingenious men may discover 
 the cheapest kind of food for them. A 
 very worthy gentleman, a neighbour of 
 mine, treated his friends the other day 
 with a sample of his discovery in the 
 form of food for pigs whether it was 
 served in a silver trough, and the com- 
 pany put their noses in it, I could not 
 learn. But prudent men, Mr. Goldacre, 
 and you and 1 are of the number, will 
 give them employment, and let them 
 find food for themselves."
 
 OAKWOODHALL. 167 
 
 " Yes," saidGoldacre " and I've got a 
 deal of money by it ; a great deal of 
 money ; a great deal of money indeed. 
 And I live upon the fat o' the land, and 
 eat and drink of the best ; and I don't 
 think, sir, youv'e any finer horses in 
 your own stables than my coach horses ; 
 have you, sir ?" 
 
 " No," said my brother. " I admired 
 your horses very much." 
 
 " Did you, sir? I'm glad of that, 
 however. I know these four, and one 
 to match, that the groom rides, cost me 
 five hundred guineas. Very well, sir j 
 you see these things j and here's my 
 nephew might be a partner in the busi- 
 ness directly, and have it all when I'm 
 gone ; and I never can get him into the 
 warehouse." 
 
 " I cannot believe, sir," said Milli- 
 champ, "that the noble faculties of 
 man were given him to superintend the
 
 168 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 drawing out of a thread of cotton, and 
 preparing it for a woman's petticoat." 
 
 " What ! would you have women go 
 without petticoats, then ?" said the un- 
 cle : " for we're told the flowers of the 
 field can't spin ; and I suppose the birds 
 of the air can't." 
 
 " No," ansjvered Millichamp ; but 
 women might spin their own petticoats. 
 Among the Greeks, the whole process of 
 carding, spinning, weaving and bleach- 
 ing the garments of the family, was 
 under the direction of its mistress; even 
 if she were a princess." 
 
 " Oh !" said Goldacre, " that you 
 should always be supposing them hea- 
 then Greeks wiser than us, when the 
 scripture itself talks of their foolishness 
 and , calls them stumbling blocks ! 
 Stumbling blocks I'm sure I've always 
 found 'em." 
 
 " Millichamp," said my brother, "you
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 are wrong. No occupation, however 
 trifling in itself, can be beneath the 
 dignity of human nature when it pro- 
 vides for the comfort and accommoda- 
 tion of the human species ; to say 
 nothing of its relation to commerce 
 and the influx of wealth, which provides 
 so many other comforts. I look upon 
 the noble faculties of man to be more 
 usefully, nay, more worthily, employed 
 in tilling the ground, fabricating a gar- 
 ment, or rearing a house, than in writ- 
 ing an epic poem." 
 
 "There! there!" cried Goldacre, 
 '* What will you say to that ! If such a 
 gentleman as Mr. Oakwood, who never 
 was brought up to trade, any more than 
 you ; and, besides, has a great estate ; 
 if he will speak in favour of trade, what 
 can you say against it?" 
 
 " I suppose," said Millichamp, " Mr. 
 Oakwood will allow that it requires 
 
 VOL. i. i
 
 170 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 greater talent and intellect to write an 
 epic poem than to follow an ordinary 
 occupation ; and is not that the supe- 
 rior employment which demands the 
 greater genius ?" 
 
 " Farmers, weavers, and masons, are 
 now so common," replied my brother, 
 "that we have lost all idea of the origi- 
 nal gejiuis which first set them to work. 
 I do not wider-value poets. I am an 
 enthusiastic admirer of Shakespeare, 
 and I am not a tame partizan of Cow- 
 j>er and Burns ; but I should blame the 
 man who studied them only, and neg- 
 lected to provide himself with shoes and 
 stockings ; or even to make shoes and 
 stockings for others, if that were his 
 trade. In a word, I prize the useful 
 more than the agreeable j one benefits 
 ah 1 mankind, the other only men of 
 fortune and leisure." 
 
 " Sir, you're a very sensible clever 
 gentleman," saidGoldacre. "I like your
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 171 
 
 notions. I once begun to read Shake- 
 speare myself; and I have no doubt I 
 should have admired him as much as 
 you do ; only I happened to be very 
 busy just then, and had not time to 
 finish him. And as to my nephew, sir, 
 it's all custom. If he would but use 
 himself to the manufactory for twenty 
 years, I'd be bound for it he'd like it as 
 well as I do." 
 
 " Your observation is very just," 
 said I. " I knew a man of very great 
 sense and learning who, in his younger 
 days, repined that it was his lot to ma- 
 nufacture linen : and when he grew old, 
 he would have been as miserable in a 
 morning out of his warehouse, as in an 
 evening out of his study." 
 
 " And I'll warrant that man never got 
 rich," said Goldacre, " let him be who 
 he would. Between two stools I 
 i 2
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 say no more, ma'am ; but business 
 won't be minded by halves/' 
 
 " He was not rich, for he preferred 
 competence and ease, to wealth and 
 care. But as trade ought to take a 
 man's whole attention, and as our friend 
 Millichamp would probably bestow half 
 at least upon Greek and Latin> I think 
 he would be good for nothing in your 
 counting-house." 
 
 " I don't know but he'd be worse 
 than good for nothing, ma'am. I'll tell 
 you what he did one day. One of my 
 clerks was ill ; and so, to oblige me, he 
 would go into the warehouse, on a Sa- 
 turday. He is very good-natured j that 
 I will say for him. And so he'd occa- 
 sion to go into another room for a mi- 
 nute, while one of the workmen was 
 there j and, as he was coming up stairs 
 again, he heard copper jingle. Very
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 well j he came into the room again 
 sooner than the fellow expected, and 
 found him behind the desk, where he'd 
 no business, standing close to a scuttle 
 full of halfpence. He believed the 
 rascal had been robbing me, and as he 
 knew the quantity of halfpence in the 
 scuttle, he need only have counted them 
 to have charged him with it. But this 
 he did not choose to do ; and when. I 
 asked him the reason, ' O, sir,' says he, 
 ' it was my fault. I ought not to have 
 left the room. The education of the 
 poor is so neglected, it is no wonder their 
 principles are bad ; and poverty on one 
 hand, , and money on the other, are 
 temptations not easily withstood.' For 
 my part, I think the more the poor 
 are taught, the worse they are. The 
 Sunday schools only teach them to read 
 Tom Paine. The catholics manage 
 
 i 3 

 
 174- OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 best, that let *em know nothing but 
 what the priests tell 'em." 
 
 " But, Millichamp," said my brother, 
 "not to detect a thief, when you had it in 
 your power, was to encourage roguery.' 
 
 " If the thief hadjbeen a child," an- 
 swered Millichamp, " I should have 
 frightened him, in hopes of a reforma- 
 tion ; but this man was old and poor, 
 and had been employed by my uncle 
 more than ten years, during all which 
 time he had been trusted, and supposed 
 to be honest. 
 
 " His having been trusted was an 
 aggravation of his crime,'* said I. 
 " Indeed Mr. Goldacre, your nephew 
 is not fit for trade, and you had better 
 not urge him to it ; especially as you 
 have money enough to establish him 
 without.'* 
 
 " Money enough to be sure I have ;
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 but I don't see why young folks should 
 always have their way. Here, I've 
 thought of a way of establishing my 
 nephew by marriage; and instead of 
 thanking me, and going to see the lady, 
 and falling in love with her as he should 
 do, he likes that no better than manu- 
 facturing cotton. But I won't argue 
 with you, ma'am ; I've too much regard 
 for the ladies to contradict 'em. I 
 know they're the weaker vessels." 
 
 Thus this gross clumsy pitcher, 
 of the coarsest clay, considered us 
 females, who have been called the 
 porcelain of human nature ! I made 
 him no answer ; for I remembered La 
 Fontaine's pot de terre and pot de fer, 
 and thought it best to keep out of his 
 way. 
 
 I wonder how they have managed 
 matters at the farm-house/ John Free- 
 man and Goldacre are civil, but shy j
 
 and Millichamp looks graver than 
 usual. I will let Margaret know that 
 I have discovered the principal part of 
 her secret, and engage her to tell me 
 the rest.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 177 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 TO MISS. CARABINE. 
 
 OaJcvxiood. 
 
 I WAS sitting yesterday evening at work 
 with my mother, Millichamp reading 
 to us, when a very splendid equipage 
 stopped at our gate, and a servant en- 
 tered, to ask if this was Mr, Freeman's. 
 " My uncle!" cried Millichamp. But 
 before he could utter the words I had 
 guessed the truth, and felt as if I were 
 going to be tried for felony. A mo- 
 ment after, Mr. Goldacre followed ; 
 and, without taking the least notice 
 of my mother or me, exclaimed, 
 " An't you ashamed, Richard, to stay 
 skulking here, like a deserter or a
 
 178 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 thief, and never to let me know where 
 you was ?" 
 
 " I am indeed, sir j and rely wholly 
 on your goodness to forgive me." 
 
 " Here was I, wondering and won- 
 dering that I never heard from you. 
 At last I received a letter from Mr, 
 Caradine, who was not very well 
 pleased that I'd broke my bargain 
 with him; and you know I never 
 break, a bargain with any man, if he 
 fulfils his part of the contract. And 
 then I certainly thought you must 
 have been drowned in a river, or have 
 broke your neck with tumbling down 
 a precipice, while you was thinking of 
 logic or algebra.*' 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; I ought to 
 have written to you." 
 
 " I think so indeed. And when 
 you did write to me, 1 thought if I 
 answered your letter, you would not
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 1?9 
 
 mind me, so I'd come myself; and 
 as soon as my horses and carriage and 
 servants could be got ready, which was 
 not above two days, I set out." 
 
 " I am afraid, sir, you will be very 
 ill accommodated in this village." 
 
 " It seems you have not found fault 
 with your accommodations, however." 
 
 " Mr. Millichamp, sir," said my 
 mother, " has been satisfied with things 
 in our humble style ; he only looked to 
 the intention, and he knew that was 
 good. I have nothing to give you im- 
 mediately but a slice of cold roast beef, 
 or a cup of tea j but I will put a chicken 
 down to the fire, which will be ready in 
 half an hour. 
 
 " And let me order your horses to 
 the village inn," said Millichamp. 
 
 " And I suppose they've no coach- 
 house to put the carriage in," returned 
 Mr. Goldacre, " and I should not like 
 16
 
 180 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 to have it spoiled ; it has just cost me 
 three hundred guineas." 
 
 " At any rate they have a barn," said 
 Millichamp, and he directed the servant 
 where to find it. 
 
 My father entered, and welcomed 
 his guest. 
 
 " I am come after my runaway 
 here," said Mr. Goldacre. " I expected 
 I should have been in a violent passion 
 with him ; but he seems sorry for what 
 he has done, and I believe I must say 
 no more about it. It is too late to go 
 any farther to night; but if I could 
 sleep any where in the village, we 
 would go together to Mr. Caradine's 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 " I am sure Mrs. Freeman will give 
 me leave to offer you my bed," said 
 MiJlichampj " but I cannot go to 
 Mr. Caradine's, either to-morrow, or 
 at all."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 181 
 
 " Not go to Mr. Caradine's!" re- 
 peated his uncle. " What do you mean 
 by that ?" 
 
 " As I say, sir. I ought to have 
 gone to Mr. Caradine's long ago ; but 
 I ought not to go now." 
 
 " I don't understand you. Is not 
 right right ? and is not late better than 
 never ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, but circumstances are 
 altered.*' 
 
 " When you think proper to ac- 
 quaint me with the circumstances, then 
 I shall know how to answer you. At 
 present, all I can find out is, that 
 you are a disobedient puppy, and 
 likely to grow worse instead of bet- 
 ter. 1 ' 
 
 My father now set out for the Hall, 
 whence a messenger came, in a few 
 minutes, for Millichamp and his uncle. 
 The latter forgot his ill humour in the
 
 182 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 invitation, which included his sleeping 
 at the Hall. 
 
 After breakfast this morning, when 
 my father was out, my mother and 
 aunt were engaged in the business of 
 the family, and I was sitting at my 
 needle-work, Mr. Goldacre began, 
 " Now, Richard, for the circumstances 
 you talked of last night." I rose to 
 leave the room. " No, no," said he, 
 " you may stay. I suspect you've a 
 hand in the mischief." I burst into 
 tears, and hesitated. 
 
 " My dear Margaret," said Mil- 
 lichamp, " I request you to stay. You 
 are indeed concerned in my expla- 
 nation, though never yet had you a 
 hand in mischief." I sat down. 
 " You judge rightly of Miss Free- 
 man, sir," continued Miilichamp, " if 
 you believe it impossible to live with 
 her, and not to love her. Her beauty
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 18S 
 
 is her least charm, in my eye j though 
 that might command universal admi- 
 ration. Her talents are yet more ex- 
 traordinary ; but it is her good sense, 
 her easy unaffected manners, her gentle 
 quiet spirit and affectionate heart, that 
 have made an impression on me, never 
 to be effaced. For a time I was not 
 sensible of either the nature or the 
 strength of my own feelings. I was 
 happy in her society ; but I thought 
 that to-morrow, or the next day, I 
 should be able to quit her, and visit 
 Mr. Caradine. Each day, however, 
 placed her in a more amiable light than 
 the last j my attachment increased with 
 every setting sun, and formed the prin- 
 cipal charm of my existence. * Why 
 then,' said I, * am I to sacrifice these 
 delicious sensations ? Does the Creator 
 of the universe, who formed man to 
 be happy; who gave him reason and
 
 184 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 perception to discover in what his hap- 
 piness probably might consist ; and 
 who gave even to the birds of the air, 
 who have not this latter privilege, that 
 of choosing their mates ; can he require 
 me to give up my chiefest blessing, if 
 it do not recede from me itself.* And, 
 if he who made me assert no such 
 power, can he have delegated it to 
 another? to one of my fellow-crea- 
 tures, as likely to be mistaken as I, 
 and, in this instance, perhaps, more 
 so?" 
 
 " Not so likely to be mistaken as 
 you are," cried Mr. Goldacre. " When 
 a young man's over head and ears in 
 love, how can he judge so well as 
 those who have reason and experience 
 to guide them, and see things in a 
 proper light ? You'll see 'em differently 
 bye and bye yourself." 
 
 " I do not conceive, sir, that my
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 185 
 
 attachment to Miss Freeman deprives 
 me of my reason, or even impairs it, 
 I see her beloved by every creature 
 that knows her; though not in the 
 degree that I love her. The ancients 
 pictured love as blind j for my part, 
 I find him so quick- sighted, that I think 
 if she were to commit a fault, I should 
 be the first to see and feel it." 
 
 " When you found she was drawing 
 you in, you should have left her," said 
 Mr. Goldacre. 
 
 " What an idea!" exclaimed Mil- 
 lichamp. " Art and cunning in Mar- 
 garet Freeman ! No, sir, I was drawn 
 in only by the impression of excel- 
 lence upon my mind j and I would 
 have torn myself away, had I been 
 commanded to do so by any moral 
 duty. But for whom should I have 
 done it? for a lady who could have 
 no claim upon a man she had never
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 seen ? or an uncle who, if he intended 
 my happiness, might be mistaken in 
 the means? And for what should I 
 have done it? for a few dirty acres 
 which I despise I I never told my love 
 for Margaret till this hour. Though 
 I gave myself up to the sweet emo- 
 tion, and indulged the hope of a 
 return, 1 would not offer her a heart, 
 on which you had laid an embargo. 
 My duty both to you and her forbade 
 it, till I had made you acquainted 
 with my sentiments. Now," continued 
 he, " nothing restrains me j and the 
 greatest happiness of my life will be, 
 if Margaret will accept the man who 
 loves her more than life." 
 
 Millichamp took my hand, which I 
 had neither the wish nor the power to 
 withdraw. I could not speak ; and if I 
 had been able, I had nothing to say. 
 Mr. Goldacre was dumb with astonish-
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 187 
 
 ment. He felt that he possessed no 
 other power over his nephew, than that 
 which the promised bequest of his 
 fortune gave him, and he durst not urge 
 it ; for if Millichamp disdained dirty 
 acres, he was not likely to be influ- 
 enced by sordid gold. At last Mr. 
 Goldacre exclaimed, " Very fine, in- 
 deed, if it will but hold ! but your two 
 hundred a year won't maintain a family j 
 and when poverty comes in at the door, 
 love flies out at the window/' 
 
 " My Margaret's habits of eco- 
 nomy will keep out the fiend," said 
 Millichamp ; " and, if I err, she shall 
 correct me. Mr. Freeman,*' con- 
 tinued he, to my father, who then 
 came in from his walk, " I have 
 been soliciting Margaret to be mine. 
 If I can obtain her consent, may I 
 hope that you will not withhold 
 yours?"
 
 188 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 " I always determined," answered 
 my father, " to let Margaret choose for 
 herself; and if her choice falls upon 
 you, I can have no objection, provided 
 Mr. Goldacre has none." 
 
 " But I have a very great objec- 
 tion," said Mr. Goldacre ; " and more 
 than one j though I think the want of 
 fortune would be enough. This young 
 man, here, fancies he can live upon 
 love j but he would find it very thin diet 
 without a little beef and mutton. Be- 
 sides, he's engaged to Miss Caradine, 
 of Oatley Manor." 
 
 " I am sure," said my father, " I 
 do not wish to force my daughter upon 
 Mr. Millichamp. He's a very ex- 
 cellent young man ; and the greatest 
 proof I can give that I think so, is by 
 saying he deserves her." 
 
 " That is saying too much," cried 
 Millichamp. " Nobody can deserve
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 1 89 
 
 her : and, if that were possible, it 
 could not be such an inactive book- 
 worm as I." 
 
 " You lie," said Mr. Goldacre. 
 " You'd deserve a princess, if you'd 
 set yourself off to the best advantage ; 
 and, as it is, you know you might have 
 Miss Caradine, with an estate of two 
 thousand a year." 
 
 " I know Miss Caradine very well," 
 said my father; " and I am certain, if 
 Mr. Millichamp has any inclination 
 for her, my daughter would not be her 
 hinderance ; for they are very parti- 
 cular friends." 
 
 " Why, he came into these parts on 
 purpose to court Miss Caradine," said 
 Mr. Goldacre ; " and every thing was 
 agreed upon between her father and 
 me ; when he came here, by chance, 
 to your house, and your daughter 
 'ticed him to stay. "
 
 190 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 " Sir," said my father, " let me tell 
 you, that you make a very ill return 
 for the hospitality which has been 
 shewn to your nephew. My daughter 
 would entice no man ; and she need 
 not ; for she might choose a husband 
 within ten miles round. And, since 
 you say so much, she shan't have your 
 nephew." 
 
 " We shall never quarrel about 
 that," said Mr. Goldaere; "and if I was 
 not engaged to dine with Mr. Oak- 
 wood, I would order my carriage and 
 horses, and servants, and leave your 
 house directly, and take my nephew 
 with me." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Millichamp, 
 " you will not speak so unjustly of 
 Margaret, lest I should forget you are 
 my mother's brother." 
 
 " Aye, there it is, now. I've 
 known some uncles that would have
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 191 
 
 disowned their nephews ; aye, and 
 disinherited 'em too, if they were de- 
 termined to marry without their con- 
 sent : but here's a young man who not 
 only says, I don't care a farthing for 
 your consent, but if you say a word 
 against the girl I love, I'll disown my 
 uncle ! This it is to learn Latin and 
 Greek!" 
 
 " I hope, sir," said my father, "you 
 will remain here as long as is agree- 
 able to yourself; and, as to Mr. Milli- 
 champ, we shall always be sorry to 
 part with him ; but you need not fear 
 that I shall assist him in running away 
 with my daughter." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Goldacre : 
 " that's fair, however." They all went 
 together to Mr. Oak wood's, with the 
 appearance of civility, if not of friend- 
 ship. 
 
 I should fail in attempting to give
 
 19*2 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 you any idea of my feelings during 
 this scene, while the questions were 
 agitating, whether, or no. I were worth 
 having, and whether, or no, I should 
 be had. What pleasure did the be- 
 haviour of Mr. Millichamp give me ! It 
 was noble and tender ; all I could have 
 wished, and more than I could have 
 imagined ! The uncle seems, all his life, 
 to have considered money as the sove- 
 reign good. To the acquiring this he 
 has devoted all his faculties ; and, as 
 they were adapted to the pursuit, he 
 has succeeded. His vanity has tri- 
 umphed in his success, and he has 
 looked down with contempt on those 
 less favoured mortals,, who could not 
 spend so much money, or make so 
 great a shew, as himself. Here, his 
 idol is contemned ; a circumstance 
 which never entered into his calcula- 
 tions ! For the first time, a vague idea
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 19S 
 
 floats in his mind that there is some- 
 thing superior even to riches j but so 
 little is he qualified to discriminate 
 what it is, that he believes it is Latin 
 and Greek. Though he is ignorant 
 and narrow-minded, he is not ill- 
 natured ; time and patience might, 
 perhaps, conquer him ; but I fear my 
 own father. He has been wounded in 
 a tender part, by the gross vulgarity 
 of Mr. Goldacre, and will not so soon 
 forget it as Mr. Goldacre himself. 
 The gentlemen are still at the Hall, 
 where I should have joined them to 
 tea, if I had not been a party interest- 
 ed in tfre discussion of the morning. 
 
 VOL.1.
 
 194> OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 - - ' , 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 Oakwood. 
 
 MILLICHAMP is the declared lover of 
 Margaret Freeman. Goldacre growls 
 at it ; but in an under voice ; for he is 
 a little afraid of his nephew. It seems 
 the uncle repaid himself for his forbear- 
 ance, by speaking out to John Free- 
 man, who has taken offence, and will 
 not soon [forget it. The evening after 
 I wrote to you last, they were all at 
 our house ; and Goldacre thinking to 
 avail himself of my brother's opinion 
 and mine, which had several times 
 been given in his favour, opened his 
 cause in full convention. Addressing
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 195 
 
 himself to my brother, he said, " I 
 suppose, sir, you partly know how 
 matters stand between my nephew and 
 me j and as you are a very sensible 
 gentleman, and one that hears reason, 
 I'll tell you the whole story ; and here 
 he is ; let him contradict it if he can. 1 ' 
 
 Poor Margaret turned pale. Both 
 uncle and nephew observed it. Milli- 
 champ, who was standing, took a chair 
 next to her j and Goldacre said, " You 
 need not be afraid, young woman ; 
 I've nothing to say against you. Well 
 then j as I've no children of my own, 
 for this five years back, I've always 
 looked upon my nephew as my child, 
 and treated him as my child. Have n't 
 I, Richard ?" 
 
 " I acknowledge it, sir." 
 
 " Well, sir, I think that deserves 
 some return. I told you yesterday, 
 sir, that I wanted to bring him into 
 K 2
 
 196 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 my business ; where he might have 
 taken the trouble off my hands, and 
 get rich himself ; and he never would 
 agree to it. Well, sir j here's Mrs. 
 Oakwood ; and she's a very sensible 
 lady ; and she says I'd better let him 
 have his way ; and so I give up the 
 point, and he may have his way ; and 
 there's an end o'that. Now, sir, comes 
 the cream of the story ; but I should 
 not like it to go any farther. Here's 
 Mr. Caradine of Oatley Manor You 
 know him, sir?" 
 
 " I do," said my brother. 
 
 " He's a clear two thousand a year 
 estate," resumed Goldacre ; " but he's 
 fond of hunting, racing, and carding ; 
 and he knows I've money, plenty of 
 money ; and he comes to me for one 
 thousand pound after another, one 
 thousand pound after another, and in- 
 terest not very well paid ; till, if all
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 197 
 
 come to all, as the saying is, the es- 
 tate's as much mine as his own. And 
 he has but an only daughter, you 
 know, sir ; and so I says to him one 
 day, Mr. Caradine, ' wher. you and I 
 shut our eyes, your datigli&er and my 
 nephew must divide the Oatley estate.' 
 * I think,' says he, ' they'd better share 
 it together.' ' Why,' says I, * the ad- 
 vantage would be all on your side ; 
 for one half's all your daughter '11 
 have 5 but my nephew '11 have a pretty 
 penny more than the other half.' 
 However, I thought the whole was a 
 desirable thing, and Miss Caradine 
 was a handsome young lady, and very 
 accomplished, and of a good family, 
 and I consented. And we agreed 
 that I should send my nephew over, 
 and that when the young folks was 
 married, they should live at Oatley 
 Manor, and run in at the ruck, and 
 
 K3
 
 198 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 no more interest to pay, and all should 
 be settled upon them, and nobody be 
 ever the wiser j and that was all in 
 Mr. Caradine's favour ; for I need not 
 mind who knew. Well, sir; my -ne- 
 phew was at London ; and J wrote, 
 and told him the whole business, and 
 desired him to go down to Mr. Cara- 
 dine's directly ; and he wrote me a 
 very dutiful letter, and said he was 
 going to set out j and, from that time, 
 sir, I never heard of him. So, at last, 
 there comes a letter from Mr. Cara- 
 dftie, complaining that I'd broke my 
 bargain ; and, sir, I never broke 
 a bargain in my life ; for I know 
 Honesty is best Policy ; and I should 
 not have been worth what I am, if 
 I had not been punctual. So I told 
 him the case j that I was as much in 
 the dark as himself, and that I feared 
 my nephew had come to an ill end*
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 199 
 
 because he was subject not to know 
 what he was doing. Well, to make 
 short of my story, after waiting till I 
 gave all up, I put that advertise- 
 ment in the newspaper that you have 
 seen ; and then comes a letter from 
 my gentleman himself, down on his 
 marrow-bones, begging my pardon. 
 So I set off in a duced hurry, for fear 
 a letter should not bring him; and 
 here I find him over head and ears in 
 love with that young woman ; and he's 
 turned Miss Caradine offj before he 
 has seen her, and he's ready to turn 
 me off too. I won't say the young 
 woman 'ticed him ; for she's a pretty 
 young woman, and a pretty sort of a 
 young woman, and he might fall in 
 love of his own accord j but this I will 
 say, 1 never saw him taken with one 
 before. But, however, we'll let that 
 pass. Now, sir, what I want to know 
 
 K4
 
 200 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 is this. One good turn deserves an- 
 other. If I give up my plan of bring- 
 ing him into my business, to oblige him ; 
 don't you think he ought to marry 
 Miss Caradine to oblige me ?" 
 
 " I think he ought to consent to 
 your marrying her if you like it," said 
 my brother. 
 
 " Ah, sir f' you are joking now," said 
 Goldacre : " however, stranger things 
 than that have come to pass. But 
 will you answer my plain question?" 
 
 " Why, then, I think he ought 
 not," replied my brother. 
 
 " Your reason, if you please ?" 
 
 " Because he would be to live with 
 her j not you. I think the matrimo- 
 nial yoke must be heavy enough, 
 where both parties love each other, 
 and join to support it; but it must 
 be intolerable where they do not." 
 
 " But might not he have loved 
 Miss Caradine ?"
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 201 
 
 " Not when he already loved an- 
 other. Before that time he was will- 
 ing to oblige you, and prepared to 
 try. Your nephew and you have both 
 the same object in view his happi- 
 ness ; you only differ about the road 
 td it. Both may be mistaken ; but 
 he is the least likely ; because he 
 knows his own feelings and disposi- 
 tions best. Perhaps, in marriage, 
 something more than cool reason is 
 required j some warm impulse that 
 should urge a man beyond the fitness 
 of things. Without this, some objec- 
 tion might for ever remain unanswered. 
 It may also be necessary to make him 
 overlook, or pardon, the failings of a 
 woman, whom he is to see in all hu- 
 mours, and at all hours. This im- 
 pulse is on Millichamp's side, not 
 yours : and allowing that either might 
 be mistaken, the mistake ought to lie 
 
 K5
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 on his side, not yours. You take upon 
 yourself too heavy a responsibility, if 
 you insist upon his being happy accord- 
 ing to your opinion j let him judge for 
 himself, and you are quit. If he suc- 
 ceed, you ought to rejoice ; if he fail, 
 you will have the gratification and 
 pride of hearing him say, ' I wish I 
 had taken the advice of my uncle.* }i 
 
 " I shall get no good from you, I 
 find. My nephew himself said some- 
 thing yesterday morning about his 
 being a better judge than me. And I 
 suppose, ma'am, if I was to ask your 
 opinion, you'd side with the young 
 woman ; for you women always hang 
 together ?" 
 
 " Margaret and I differ a little," 
 replied I, " when she is the subject ; 
 for I think much more highly of her 
 than she does of herself. I think your 
 nephew might have searched ten
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 203 
 
 counties, and not have found such a 
 treasure." 
 
 " I thought so," said Mr. Goldacre. 
 " You're all against me. However, one 
 thing I'll be positive in ; I'll not con- 
 sent to the marriage now." 
 
 " And I'll not consent to it, till you 
 do," said John Freeman j " if I do 
 then." 
 
 " Well, Old Buck," said Goldacre, 
 " give me thy hand. I'll not say I won't 
 consent. Perhaps you and I may 
 agree after all ; and instead of telling 
 the young folks they're wrong, leave 
 'em to find it out." 
 
 John Freeman gave his hand with 
 readiness. Millichamp, who had with- 
 stood all the buffetings of his uncle, 
 unshaken as a rock, now melted into 
 tears. He would have thanked him, 
 but could not. 
 
 " But," continued Goldacre, " I
 
 204 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 can't stay and live at Oakwood ; and 
 here's this confounded Mr. Caradine, 
 what's to be done with him ?" 
 
 " Abide by your own maxim, 
 Honesty is the best Policy" said my 
 brother. " Go, and tell him the 
 truth. If you will make me a visit on 
 your return, I shall be happy to see 
 you. In the mean time, Millichamp 
 shall be my guest. It will not cost 
 me much to maintain him j for I will 
 turn him loose into my library, and he 
 will forget half the dinners he ought 
 to eat." 
 
 Millichamp and Margaret, who had 
 been foreboding a separation, looked 
 their thanks. 
 
 * And I meditate a visit to a friend 
 near Lancaster," said I, " in the course 
 of the summer ; and I can no more 
 hope to move my brother than one of 
 his old oaks j for time has rooted him
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 205 
 
 to the spot as firmly as they ; so I will 
 take his gig, and Millichamp shall 
 drive me." 
 
 Goldacre now looked thankful j as 
 he thought there was less danger in his 
 nephe - TT being run away with by me 
 than by Margaret. 
 
 Yesterday he left us, for Oatley 
 Manor, and to-day we expect him to 
 return.
 
 206 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 i aas &,v/ 'yji'iii ^i 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 TO MRS. BRUDENELL. 
 
 TJUVJof'l 
 
 MR. Goldacre returned, as we ex- 
 pected, and stayed a week with us. 
 We all parted excellent friends, and 
 the lovers are allowed to hope. The 
 affair at Mr. Caradine's was soon set- 
 tled. The father blustered a little, 
 and was obliged to submit. The 
 daughter triumphed openly, and told 
 Mr. Goldacre that she loved another, 
 and that all Millichamp's offers would 
 have been vain. It seems that Mar- 
 garet, who is her intimate friend, knew 
 this 5 but never mentioned it to either
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Goldacre or Millichamp, lest it should 
 have exposed Miss Caradine to the 
 displeasure of her father ; an instance 
 of self-denial which has raised her in 
 the esteem of the uncle ; and added, 
 if possible, to the love and admiration 
 of the nephew. 
 
 When Mr. Goldacre had been with 
 us a week, he gave notice of his 
 departure. " I have been so comfort- 
 able here,'* said he, "that I don't 
 know how to leave ; but dearest 
 friends, you know, must part. To 
 be sure, I've clerks at home that can 
 go on without me ; but every man 
 should mind his business ; or his 
 business won't mind him. I did not 
 think of staying so long ; and if any 
 body had told me of it, I should have 
 expected to be a fish out of water. 
 But you're all so kind and so agreeable, 
 that, somehow or other, the time has
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 slipped away; but I mean to go to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " The time you have been here has 
 slipped away as pleasantly with us as with 
 you," said my brother; "and we wish 
 you to prolong your stay if you can." 
 
 " I join in my brother's request," 
 said I. 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am ; thank you 
 both," returnedhe ; "but the time must 
 come ; so it may as well be to-morrow 
 as another day. But if you come into 
 Lancashire, ma'am, I shall be proud to 
 see you at my house. I'll entertain 
 you in the best manner I'm able ; I've 
 the best of every thing in season ; and 
 I'll shew you my manufactory." 
 
 " I thank you," replied I. " I should 
 be very happy to see y u ; but it is 
 my wish to keep to windward of all 
 manufactories. I cannot digest their 
 thick black smoke."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 " I am so used to it, I never perceive 
 it, " said Mr. GoJdacre. 
 
 " And I am so little used to it, 1 * 
 returned I, "that I find it a great 
 annoyance, when I am obliged to 
 endure it, even in passing. I think the 
 man who invented your steam engines 
 has much to answer for. He has 
 blackened the beautiful green fields 
 and trees, and poisoned the pure 
 atmosphere, created by God Almighty; 
 he has changed the ruddy bloom of 
 health in the t countenances of his 
 fellow creatures, to a sickly pale. And 
 for what ? ,That a horrid smoke may do 
 as much business as a hundred rosy 
 cheerful women j and that a family may 
 earn enough in a week, for the father 
 of it to be drunk the three first days. 
 But this is not the whole of the evil ; 
 for habit and necessity send the chil- 
 dren to work early ; confinement ruins
 
 ^AKWOOD HALL. 
 
 . v^ 
 
 their constitutions, and bad example 
 their morals. Where human beings 
 are in greatest numbers they are worst ; 
 and it must be so j for some bad must 
 be among them ; and you know, Mr. 
 Goldacre, that one sheep mil infect a 
 whole flock. The boys grow up to 
 drunkenness and profligacy in their 
 turn ; the girls to immodesty ; and 
 both continue in dirt and ignorance." 
 " Now look at the husbandman. 
 He has few neighbours ; and, among 
 these few, there is small chance of a 
 bad one ; and, if one have ill propen- 
 sities, he may pass a life, without 
 having them called into action. His 
 house exhibits decency and order ; his 
 wife labours in the fields, or at the 
 washing-tub, abroad, and at the spin- 
 ning-wheel at home. The children 
 are brought up in habits of industry 
 and economy. The boys drive the
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 211 
 
 plough ; the girls assist the mother in 
 domestic occupations ; and both pick 
 stones and weeds for hire. In this 
 school they learn first to become good 
 servants, and then good fathers and 
 mothers." 
 
 Mr. Goldacre shook his head, and 
 looked as if he pitied my ignorance. 
 At last he said, " Why, ma'am, do you 
 reckon it nothing that we can get up 
 our goods so cheap as to undersell our 
 neighbours ? If I was to trust to the 
 fingers and spittle of your hundred 
 cherry-cheeked women, I might dine 
 upon boiled beef and turnips, and 
 carry an empty purse." 
 
 " I do not understand manufac- 
 tures," said I ; " but it appears to me 
 that our neighbours will share the 
 advantages of our discoveries at no 
 very distant period, and have steam 
 engines of their own j we shall then
 
 OAKWOOD HAL1< 
 
 be upon an equality, as when both 
 depended on the spinning-wheel ; and 
 the price of labour being lower in 
 France, and the taxes less, the French 
 will be able to sell their manufactures 
 as much cheaper as if the steam engine 
 had never been invented. 
 
 " But we are getting rich the while, 
 ma'am," said Mr. Goldacre. 
 
 " If you and I consider only our- 
 selves, I believe you are right," said I. 
 " You sell more cottons than you 
 would, without the steam engine, and 
 I buy them for less money." 
 
 " And who should we consider, but 
 ourselves, ma'am ?" demanded Mr. 
 Goldacre. " Does not charity begin at 
 home ? Is not it, every one for himself, 
 and God for us all?" 
 
 "Yes,'' said John Freeman ; "but we 
 should consider others, as well as our- 
 selves. We should live and let live."
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 213 
 
 " That's true/' said Goldacre. I 
 always take care of the first part of the 
 saying myself, and leave it to others to 
 take care of the second." 
 
 " I apprehend another ill conse- 
 quence from the steam engine," said 
 my brother. " It will consume coal 
 faster than the earth can produce it 5 
 and I look forward to the time when 
 I shall be obliged to fell my old oaks 
 to warm myself, But I have been told," 
 continued he, " that a method has been 
 discovered to make the steam engines 
 eat up their own smoke ; and, if it be 
 possible, they ought to be made to do 
 it. I know a very worthy old gentle- 
 man, who has been smoked out of his 
 family mansion, by an engine that 
 reared up its head under his nose." 
 
 " More fool he to mind it," said 
 Goldacre. " He should have done as I 
 do ; snuff it up, and never think of it.
 
 SI 4 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 But he did not feel the smoke in. his 
 pocket," added he ; " and perhaps I 
 might not like to be blacked for 
 nothing, myself. However, ma'am, if 
 you'll come and see me, I'll stop my 
 steam engine while you stay." 
 
 " I consider that as the highest 
 compliment you can pay me," re- 
 plied 1 5 "and if I were going into 
 your neighbourhood, I would accept 
 your invitation ; but I go no farther 
 south than Lancaster. Perhaps you 
 will favour us with your company 
 again, at Oakwood, when I return." 
 
 " Perhaps I may, ma'am, 1 ' said he j 
 " for Mr. Oakwood and you are such 
 agreeable gentlefolks, that I should be 
 loth to drop your acquaintance ; and I 
 suppose my nephew will be loitering 
 here, or hereabouts. I shan't have to 
 advertise him again." 
 
 Millichamp became J our guest when
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 his uncle went to Oatley. When he 
 was first permitted to enter the library, 
 he stood motionless with surprise. 
 " Very well done,'* cried my brother ; 
 " are not they ; considering they are 
 only of wood ?" Millichamp started, 
 and cast on him a look of the utmost 
 contempt : and it was not till several 
 books hai been taken down, that he 
 was convinced they were real paper 
 and print, and laughed at his own cre- 
 dulity. He now forgets to eat, in 
 earnest, as my brother predicted in 
 jest. The hours pass away unper- 
 ceived, when he is in the library j and, 
 as our maxim of " Every man in his 
 humour" extends to our visitor, we 
 never summon him to dinner, and have 
 several times dined without him. He 
 commonly finds his way to the cold 
 meat in the afternoon, or evening ; but, 
 if he hear Margaret's voice, as he
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 passes the door, hunger is again for- 
 gotten, and he makes dinner trust till 
 supper. 
 
 I mean to set out in a fortnight on a 
 visit to my old friend, Mrs. Douglas, 
 of Arrowby Lodge : and, as I have 
 promised to write to Margaret Free- 
 man, you will probably not hear from 
 me again till my return to Oakwood.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 217 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 TO MISS FREEMAN. 
 
 Ambleside. 
 
 You will be surprised, my dear 
 Margaret, to see Ambleside at the top 
 of a letter you expected from Arrowby 
 Lodge. When we arrived at the house 
 of my friend, Mrs. Douglas, we found 
 it so full of company, that, after staying 
 one night, I determined to take a view 
 of some of the celebrated lakes of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland, which 
 have all my life been the objects of my 
 ardent curiosity : and by the time of 
 our return, a large party will have left. 
 I have taken Millichamp with me, of 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 course. If I were thirty years younger, 
 I should expect you to be jealous ; as 
 it is, I will forgive you, if you are not. 
 If you should have a rival, it will start 
 up in the form of a mountain, a lake, 
 or a waterfall : of these Millichamp is 
 an enthusiastic admirer j but he does 
 not even see a woman, if he pass her. 
 
 The streets of Lancaster are narrow ; 
 but there is something venerable in the 
 appearance of the place. The houses 
 are of stone, and many of them large. 
 The county-hall is a noble edifice, with 
 massive pillars. The church and castle 
 are situated on a magnificent rock, 
 which commands town and country, 
 sea and land. As we stood in the 
 church-yard, Hooked over an expanse of 
 rolling waters, and shuddered to think, 
 that when they had subsided, my horse 
 was to drag me over the space they 
 now covered. Millichamp's eyes were
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 219 
 
 directed to the eastward, where the 
 majestic Ingleborough, and his at- 
 tendant mountains, formed the 
 boundary of sight towards his Mar- 
 garet. I did not enter the castle, 
 because it is the county prison ; and 
 I have such an aversion to see my 
 fellow-creatures struggling under sick- 
 ness, madness, or captivity, that I 
 never saw the inside of an hospital, a 
 receptacle for lunatics, or a prison, in 
 my life. If I could restore health to 
 the sick, reason to the deranged, or 
 liberty to the captive ; if I could even 
 carry with me an alleviation of their 
 Distress ; I would conquer my feelings : 
 but I never can go to see misery from 
 ^curiosity. 
 
 We crossed the Lune, on a handsome 
 modern bridge, on quitting Lancaster, 
 the quay below presenting a busy scene 
 of warehouses and vessels j and pro-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 ceeded about four miles on the great 
 north road, when we turned to the left, to 
 Hest Bank, where the sands begin, that 
 we proposed to cross. The inn here 
 accommodates a very small company of 
 sea-bathers, whose only machine is the 
 landlord's cart. We stayed all night, 
 and found the situation of the public 
 room so pleasant, that it might well 
 compensate for a few inconveniences. 
 From its windows are seen the peninsula 
 of Lancashire, running out into the 
 sea ; with Peel castle at its extremity, 
 and the town of Ulverstone farther in ; 
 on the north, the two rivers Keir and 
 Kent, divided by a ledge of rocks, 
 empty themselves into the sea ; but 
 they are too distant to be distinguished, 
 among the alternate masses of sand and 
 water, left by the receding tide. 
 
 The sands here are so flat, that the 
 tide advances with rapid strides, and
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 seldom runs off so as to leave them 
 quite dry. It is said that the Milthrop 
 sands, which are the outlet of the Keir, 
 are sometimes covered as fast as a horse 
 can gallop : and it is certain that a 
 gentleman, crossing them in a gig, 
 found them so unsound, that he was 
 obliged to put his horse on full speed. 
 He and his wife, who both related the 
 fact to me, compared the motion of the 
 the sands under them to the shaking 
 of a blanket. 
 
 This story, with a few others which 
 I heard, of men having been obliged to 
 run away from their shoes, and riders 
 from their horses, made me contem- 
 plate my approaching journey not very 
 much at my ease. 
 
 Next morning, when the waters had 
 retired, we set out; the landlord of 
 Hest Bank, whom we had engaged 
 for our guide, leading the way, on 
 
 L3
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 ? 
 
 horseback; Millichamp and I close 
 behind in the gig j and James following, 
 with his horse's nose almost leaning 
 over the gig's back ; for every one was 
 determined not to be left behind. 
 
 A road like this, washed twice in 
 the twenty^four hours by a deep sea, 
 must assume a variety of forms. The 
 one it wore now was awful. It had 
 rained in the night ; and, though the 
 rain had ceased, the clouds hovered 
 low ; the sand was every where wet ; 
 and we frequently splashed through 
 pools of sea- water. We soon crossed 
 the Keir ; a rapid river ; but now not 
 higher than a man's mid-leg. The 
 shore on our right was rocky, and 
 formed a large bay, the centre of which, 
 perhaps, was not more than three miles 
 from us. The distance across is uni- 
 versally allowed to be eleven miles. I 
 looked at my watch, and when we had
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 trotted half an hour, I asked our guide 
 how far we had come. " Three miles 
 and a half." When we had trotted an 
 hour, I repeated my question. He 
 looked round, " Seven miles." I was 
 glad to hear he measured miles at that 
 rate ; for I believe, by the pace of the 
 horses, we had not gone more than five. 
 I observed he watched very attentively 
 for the track of the stage-coach, which 
 had gone before us. Once or twice 
 it was obliterated, which gave me some 
 uneasiness ; but he had dexterity 
 enough to find it again, and at last 
 brought us to the brink of the river 
 Kent. 
 
 Here we were met by a grey-headed 
 old man, called the carter. He was 
 on horseback, wrapped in a rug coat ; 
 and his legs were cased in a pair of huge, 
 thick boots. To meet with such a 
 being on the brink of a large river, in 
 1,4
 
 AKWOOD HALL. 
 
 a vast solitary desart of sand, and to 
 know it was his business to conduct us 
 safely through it, was a comfort 'you 
 may easily imagine. I called out to him, 
 " Is the river deep ?" He answered, 
 " No, shallow water ;" and we followed 
 his steps to the other side. The current 
 was so strong, that it almost made me 
 giddy, and I fancied it was driving 
 us down towards the sea. It was con- 
 siderably more than knee-deep. 
 
 Arrived in safety at the other side, 
 we stopped some time to converse 
 with the carter, who had a dignity of 
 manner above his station. His grand- 
 father and uncle had successively been 
 carters, the uncle for seventy years ; so 
 that the office seems hereditary in his 
 family. The allowance from govern- 
 ment is ten pounds six shillings and 
 eight-pence a year, and as much land 
 for the keep of his horse, as 13 worth
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 eight or nine pounds more : but his 
 principal revenue arose from the 
 gratuity that every traveller was willing 
 to pay for his services. Time was, when 
 ao person ventured to cross the river 
 without him ; now, a post and a stage- 
 coach traverse the sands every day, and 
 other travellers take the opportunity of 
 accompanying them, and withhold the 
 recompence of the poor carter, who 
 complained that his place was not worth 
 having. He is obliged, by his office, to 
 be on horseback about six hours every 
 tide, and every second week there are 
 two tides in the day. He says there is 
 seldom a winter's day so bad that he 
 cannot cross. The worst times are 
 those when the river is obstructed by 
 ice. His post is at the edge of the 
 water. If a traveller approach on the 
 same side, he conveys him over ; if on 
 the other, he goes through to meet
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 him $ if on both, he escorts the nearett 
 first 5 and, when nobody appears, he 
 frequently rides through the river, to 
 see that the sands are safe. Millichamp 
 asked him if it were an unhealthful 
 employment* He said, " No; the 
 only difficulty was to stand the cold." 
 When we had crossed the river, I 
 drew a shilling from my purse : while 
 we were talking, I took out another ; 
 and Millichamp and I both repented 
 we had not doubled the reward. 
 
 We now soon reached the opposite 
 shore j having been one hour and forty- 
 four minutes on our passage. We 
 judged the distance to be nine miles ; 
 but our road' had been tolerably 
 straight : if ever it be made eleven, it 
 must be when the state of the sands or 
 the weather obliges the traveller to 
 keep nearer the shore. I was glad to 
 see the horses' feet on terra firma, for I 
 7
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 like sands so little, that I will not cross 
 them again. 
 
 We had only three miles to Cartmel, 
 a poor neat town, delightfully situated 
 in a valley, skirted by hills ; and hills 
 were now becoming mountains. The 
 church is large and singular. A high 
 shelving roof rises between two smaller 
 ones, and one tower steeple rises out 
 of another ; the angles of the upper 
 against the sides of the lower. Within, 
 is a choir, with twenty-six stalls. By 
 some odd chance, or combination of 
 ideas, these are ornamented with vines 
 and bunches of grapes, which are also 
 twining round, and hanging down 
 the pillars. There wanted only the 
 figure of Bacchus to make me determine 
 what deity was worshipped at Cartmel. 
 
 We took the road to Ambleside; but 
 having proc eeded about five miles, we 
 quitted it, to sleep at Newby bridge, at 
 
 L6
 
 228 OAK WOOD HALL. 
 
 the foot of Winander Mere, which is 
 here called W'mdthermere Watther.* 
 The lake itself is not seen ; but the 
 bridge, of five arches, is over the river 
 which issues out of it. The place is 
 beautiful, anarrow dell, embosomedin 
 hills. The water is fringed with wood ; 
 and the bridge, the inn, a gentleman's 
 house, and one or two others of some 
 consideration, enliven the scene. On a 
 round hill behind it, called the Knot, is 
 a tower that had been our land-mark 
 from Cartmel. The dialect here is 
 something like ours. An old woman, 
 who looked like one of Macbeth's 
 witches, told me she had a sister, but 
 " hoo was gang'd awa ;" and then 
 called out to her grandson. " Ha lang 
 shalta be, before tha cum, Jan ?" 
 
 This morning our road lay across the 
 foot of Winander Mere, and at Fell Foot, 
 the seat of Mr. Dixon, we arrived at its
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 229 
 
 banks. We travelled up it to Bowness, 
 which is eight miles from Newby bridge, 
 over steep, round, rocky hills ; some- 
 times wood' intercepting our view of the 
 water, and sometimes seeing it stretch- 
 ed at our feet. At Bowness we took a 
 boat. The surface of the water was 
 as smooth as glass, and three beautiful 
 islands, crowned with wood, rose 
 out of it. I do not include the large 
 island in the beauties of Winander 
 Mere. Though in itself beautiful, it 
 is so near the western shore, that it 
 appears like a headland, jutting out, and 
 narrowing, rather than embellishing the 
 lake. On this island we landed, and 
 made the tour of it, attended by the 
 gardener. It is of an irregular, oblong 
 form, containing forty-two acres, and 
 the walk round it is a mile and a half. 
 You have heard of Mr. English, its 
 former possessor, memorable for the
 
 230 QAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 cabbages and pot-herbs which flourish- 
 ed under his auspices. Weary of lake 
 scenery, he sold it to Miss Curwen, a 
 great heiress, who built a house upon 
 it, and gave it, with herself and her 
 name, to Mr. Christian. They reside 
 there during the summer months ; and 
 a more beautiful situation, or one so 
 uncommon, can scarcely be found. In 
 winter, an old housekeeper, and the 
 gardener and his family, who live in a 
 cottage, are the only inhabitants of the 
 island. 
 
 The house is circular. What an idea ! 
 Ugly j and inconvenient as ugly. It 
 looks like a huge overgrown summer- 
 house ; though the gardener told us that 
 it held twenty-six beds, besides those 
 for servants. To ornament this round 
 house, the architect has added a square 
 portico, which has no fault that I could 
 discover, except that it has no busi-
 
 ness there. The house is built of the 
 stone of the country ; the portico of 
 very fine stone, brought from Liver- 
 pool at a great expence. The inside 
 walls are of bricks, which, by the 
 time they arrived at Winander Mere 
 island, are said to have cost three-pence 
 each. 
 
 The gardener has laid out the ground 
 with great taste ; planting the middle 
 of the island, which hides its smallness j 
 and diversifying the shores by scattered 
 trees, clumps, and openings to the finest 
 parts of the lake. His own house is a 
 paltry imitation of a castle ; but he has 
 had the good sense to bury it in a 
 wood. You have heard terrific tales 
 of bottom winds agitating the lakes, 
 when all was calm above. This man 
 assures me they never existed ; except, 
 perhaps, in the imaginations of some 
 travellers of genius.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 
 
 We intended to have visited some 
 other parts of the lake ; though I be- 
 lieve none could excel those we had 
 seen ; but the distant clouds threaten- 
 ing rain, we doubled the island of 
 Crowholm, and rowed back to Bow- 
 ness. ' And prudent it was so to do ; 
 for the rain came on soon after, and 
 continued five or six hours. 
 
 At six o'clock the weather cleared 
 up, and we set out for this place, six 
 miles and a half farther ; our road still 
 on the borders of the water ; but it was 
 more frequently hidden from our view. 
 In one place it went over a steep rock, 
 from the top of which we saw the whole 
 lake at once ; a noble sight ! At Low 
 Wood, the most fashionable inn of 
 Winander Mere, the road runs close to 
 its margin ; the water is broad \ the 
 waves roll against the shore ; and it 
 gives the idea of an arm of the sea.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 233 
 
 The lakes of Wales are grand and 
 solemn j that of Winander Mere is gay 
 and beautiful. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Margaret. You 
 shall hear of Ambleside in your next 
 letter from 
 
 JANE OAKWOOD.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 TO MISS FREEMAN. 
 
 AMBLESIDE is a poor little town in a 
 recess of the mountains, at the head of 
 Winander Mere. We climbed about 
 half a mile above the inn, to see a wa- 
 terfall, which, after the rain, well re- 
 paid our pains. The road to it is a 
 path, not made with hands, but feet ; 
 the latter part hanging over the torrent, 
 and more appropriate than commo- 
 dious. The cascade is composed of two 
 separate falls, bursting through trees, 
 and seen through trees, uniting in
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 235 
 
 one, and rushing into a deep rocky 
 channel. 
 
 I had an inclination to cross the 
 mountains immediately above Amble- 
 side, at the pass called Kirkstone. I 
 consulted the people at the inn, who 
 gave the road a dreadful character; 
 though they said they had dragged a 
 post-chaise over it, with four horses. I 
 am very cautious in believing what 
 people say of their own roads, for I 
 have uniformly found them worse than 
 the description. To a man who goes 
 often to a place, the shortest way is 
 the best ; custom smooths its rugged- 
 ness, and lessens its difficulties; but 
 I would no more take such a man for 
 my guide, than I would follow a bank- 
 er's clerk through the city of London, 
 and dive into every alley which pointed 
 to my mark, regardless of dirt, dark-
 
 36 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 ness, and ill smells. Though I am slow 
 in believing the good, I did not doubt 
 the bad report ; but I determined to 
 judge for myself. 
 
 We rode up three quarters of a mile 
 of very steep road; we relieved the 
 poor animal that drew us, by walking ; 
 we then rode about half a mile. By 
 this time we were come to a hollow in 
 the mountain, and saw the last steep, 
 winding before us, to the top of the 
 pass. " They who make so much of 
 Kirkstone," said I to Millichamp, 
 " have not travelled in Wales." I 
 found it, however, more than it seem- 
 ed ; a regular steep ascent of about a 
 mile. I walked the whole, and then 
 boasted I was at the top of Kirkstone. 
 We calculated the distance from Am- 
 bleside to be three miles j though it is 
 there called four, and four and a half. 
 The top of Kirkstone is flat j but moun-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 237 
 
 tains still rose above us on each side. 
 It is exactly what in Wales is called a 
 Bwlch; but higher than any I ever 
 crossed in that country. Before we 
 descended, the view opened into Pat- 
 terdale, which, I confess, did not an- 
 swer my expectation. The descent 
 was horrible : it was steep and rugged ; 
 it wound among rocks, and looked 
 down upon a torrent, newly started 
 from the side of the mountain ; but the 
 worst of its qualities was the distance 
 to the bottom ; at least two miles. As 
 I had walked more than two-thirds up, 
 for the sake of the horse, I walked the 
 whole way down for. my own ; but 
 when I arrived at the bottom, I was 
 loo weary to boast that I had gal over 
 Kirkstone. 
 
 The high end of Patterdale, which 
 we now entered, is broken rocky 
 ground, such as frequently grows at
 
 238 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 the foot of mountains j it affords pas- 
 turage. As we advance, the small lake 
 of Broader Water fills the vale : after 
 which, it expands into beautiful mea- 
 dows, till it ends in Ullswater. The 
 head of Ullswater is ten miles from 
 Ambleside ; the larger half of which, 
 for, surely, I cannot say the better, is 
 over Kirkstone. 
 
 We stopped at Dobson's, a small 
 inn in Patterdale, a little short of Ulls- 
 water j and, from a rock behind the 
 house, had a fine view of the upper 
 reach. From a steep rock, called Sty- 
 bray Crag, we had afterwards a view 
 of the middle reach ; which I think the 
 finest part of the lake. Ullswater oc- 
 cupies the whole of the vale ; Place 
 Fell, and other lofty mountains, form- 
 ing the southern boundary, and woods 
 and craggy rocks the northern. We 
 travelled eight miles and three quarters
 
 QAKWOOD HALL. 239 
 
 by its side, which is the whole length 
 of Ullswater. Along the two first 
 reaches, the road never deviated from 
 the lake. It sometimes ran close to 
 its margin ; at others, climbed over 
 rocky promontories, which shoot into 
 it, and then passed through woods on 
 its border. We found the woods te- 
 nanted by myriads of flies, which, as 
 they are seldom disturbed by man, con- 
 sidered us as invaders of their domain, 
 and tormented us as they thought we 
 deserved. The lower reach of the lake 
 approaches the open country j and its 
 boundaries are not so grand on one 
 side, or so romantic on the other* From 
 the end of Ullswater we accompanied 
 its outlet, the river Emont, through a 
 rich country of corn and grass, with a 
 chain of mountains in the back ground. 
 At Dalemain, the seat of Mr. Hassal, 
 God has given all that man can desire.
 
 240 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 At Penrith we slept. It appeared a 
 handsome lively town ; but I was so 
 much fatigued, that I did not go out 
 of my way to see it. 
 
 The next morning we came back 
 two miles of our road, and turned to 
 the right for Keswick, which is seven- 
 teen miles and a half distant from Pen- 
 rith. We passed the villages of Stain- 
 ton and Penruddock, and came to a 
 Jiigh uninclosed country, like downs. 
 We now approached the mountains. 
 At eight miles, a lofty, lonely, green 
 mountain, called Mell Fell, rose on the 
 left ; and, a little farther, Southerfell, 
 on the right. Here we entered a de- 
 file, and rode along the foot of the huge 
 and rugged Saddleback. At fourteen 
 miles, still at the foot of Saddleback, 
 is the village of Threlkeld, and an inn, 
 which afforded us some refreshment. 
 We then quitted this vale, and came
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 241 
 
 in sight of the celebrated Vale of St. 
 John, of which more has been said 
 than it appeared to me to deserve. I 
 got out of the gig to view the Druid 
 temple, on the hill above Keswick j it 
 is a circle of upright stones, in a field 
 on the left of the road. The vale of 
 Keswick, the lake of Derwentwater, 
 and the mountains which surround 
 them, now burst at once upon our view. 
 But here, too, expectation had gone 
 before me. So much has been said on 
 these subjects, that it is difficult for 
 reality to keep pace with imagination. 
 
 VOL. I, M
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 TO MISS FREEMAN, OAKWOOD. 
 
 Kcstvick. 
 
 YESTERDAY morning we hired a boat 
 for six shillings, to carry us round the 
 Lake of Derwentwater. On the left 
 appeared Wallow Crag, a perpendicular 
 rock, fifteen hundred feet high, with 
 wood starting out of its crevices j and, 
 farther on, Falcon Crag, full as high, 
 but not so remarkable. We landed at 
 Barrowgate, and climbed a wood, to 
 see a waterfall above Ashness House, 
 not to be compared with that at Am- 
 blcside. From thence we rowed to
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Lowdooiv where we landed again. 
 We had the larger cannon fired ; and 
 it was curious to hear the rattling peal 
 reverberated from the mountains : as 
 it first sounded in our ears, we almost 
 looked to see if it were visible. It was 
 silent while it passed the lake, and we 
 believed it over : we started on hearing 
 it from the opposite side : another si- 
 lence and another peal ensued, each 
 fainter than the last, till it died away. 
 
 We now entered Borrowdale ; so 
 unlike the Borrowdale delineated by 
 Gilpin, that I looked round in vain for 
 the place I sought. x had been taught 
 to expect enormous concave rocks, that 
 shut out the mid-day sun, and no such 
 could I find. Rocks there were, 
 towering high, intermixed with wood, 
 and prodigious masses of them broken 
 off, -and lying on the ground ; but a 
 sun beamed over them which threw 
 
 M 2
 
 244 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 me in a fever. The village of Grange 
 too, in the bottom, presented no other 
 image than a small assemblage of rustic 
 cots, such as I had often seen before. 
 If ever you mean to visit the lakes, 
 my dear Margaret, burn y6ur books : 
 too much has been said of lake scenery. 
 Were it possible to come unexpectedly 
 on such objects, they would indeed be 
 striking ; but every thing has been de- 
 scribed with all the warmth of fancy ; 
 every beauty has been pointed out ; 
 every spot from which each is to be 
 viewed ; till nature has been reduced 
 to a system, examined by rule, and 
 much of its effect is lost. 
 
 We walked up to Bolder (pronoun- 
 ced Boodther) Stone j an immense 
 mass of rock" fallen from above ; though 
 I could not discover the place. Here 
 description had given me an idea short 
 of truth. A ladder is reared against it
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 for those who choose to ascend to its 
 top : I thought the place to view it was 
 below. 
 
 The lake of Derwentwater, on which 
 we again embarked, is three miles and 
 a half long, and one and a half broad. 
 Our chief boatman told us it was very 
 safe for oars, but not so for a sail, on 
 account of the sudden gusts of wind 
 that came down from the mountains. 
 The rowers frequently see these gales 
 on the water ; when they put the head 
 of the boat to the blast, and lie still till 
 it is over. A gentleman, who has lately 
 purchased one of the islands of Der- 
 wentwater, contrary to the advice of 
 older men, would sail in a small boat 
 on the lake. He was met by one of 
 these breezes, which laid his vessel on 
 her side in a moment. He let go the 
 sail, and she righted j but not before his 
 pockets were filled with water. 
 
 M3
 
 246 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 \ 
 
 The islands on Derwentwater are 
 much admired. There are four large, 
 and four small. In my opinion, when 
 an island is so large, or so near the 
 shore, as not to leave a considerable 
 space of water all round, it is rather 
 an incumbrance than an ornament, in 
 a general view. Lord's and Vicar's 
 islands come under .this description. 
 The first is so called from the unfor- 
 tunate Lord Derwentwater, and was 
 joined to the main land by a draw- 
 bridge. The second, if I may be 
 allowed the expression, is too large for 
 the ground it stands on. At a distance, 
 it makes a part of the main ; and near, 
 it is .too bulky to make a part of the 
 lake. I find another fault with the 
 islands of Derwentwater. They are 
 covered with trees, which appear stuck 
 close together, like upright pins on a 
 pin -cushion. On those of Winander
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 247 
 
 Mere, both tall trees and brushwood 
 spring spontaneously ; spreading, fring- 
 ing the water, and waving with the 
 wind. 
 
 The fairy palaces of these romantic 
 lakes often change their masters. In- 
 deed, of the palaces themselves, much 
 good cannot be said. They remind me 
 of the vulgar saying about meat and 
 cooks : God Almighty made the 
 ground they stand on ; the buildings 
 are by another master. Mr. Pockling- 
 ton, who purchased Vicar's island, and 
 vainly called it by his own name, has 
 sold it to Colonel Peachy of the Manks 
 Fencibles, and it is become Vicar's 
 island again. The house upon it is the 
 king of the monsters. 
 
 Mr. Pocklington instituted a naval 
 
 fete of so extraordinary a kind, that it 
 
 would scarcely be credited, if it were 
 
 not well remembered. All the boats 
 
 M 4
 
 1 (I 
 
 248 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 \ 
 
 of the lake assembled annually \ on 
 a certain day, commanded by Peter 
 Crossthwaite, formerly captain of an 
 Indiaman, now owner and exhibitor of 
 a museum at Keswickl and besieged 
 
 1 G> 
 
 the great island in form. 'The islanders, 
 under Governor Pocklington, were 
 prepared for their reception : cannon 
 were fired on both sides j men pre- 
 tended to drop down dead, and -were 
 besmeared with bladders of blood, 
 brought for the purpose. When the 
 island could hold out no longer, Go- 
 vernor Pocklington appeared in per- 
 son, dressed in scarlet, and armed with 
 a broad-sword, and surrendered the 
 keys of the citadel to Admiral Cross- 
 thwaite, who gave it up to be plundered 
 by his sailors. Then followed the best 
 part of the jest. A butt of beef, and 
 a barrel of strong beer, had been pre- 
 pared, on purpose to be stolen j they
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 24Q 
 
 were born off in triumph by the sailors, 
 and the evening concluded, in the com- 
 mon phrase, with the utmost festivity. 
 The host of strangers who come to 
 visit this mountainous region are termed 
 by the inhabitants lakers, and, imme- 
 diately on their arrival, they " find 
 each bird a bird of prey." Even Mil- 
 lichamp and I, a pair of poor lonely 
 pigeons, not worth the plucking, were 
 surrounded by these hawks. Their 
 system of rapacity made me draw my 
 purse-strings close j perhaps closer than 
 I ought to have done. Before we en- 
 tered Keswick, a paper was put into 
 my hands, inviting me to visit the 
 museum of Peter Crossthwaite, late 
 naval commander in India ; and assur- 
 ing me, that his was the original mu- 
 seum, and the only one worth seeing. 
 Every time we passed his house, his 
 organ, moved by some invisible agent, 
 M 5
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 serenaded us. This was great civility ; 
 but I kept my shilling in my pocket. 
 When we went to the lake, another 
 paper was given me, importing that 
 the museum of Thomas Hutton was 
 particularly well worth seeing, and that 
 it flourished in spite of slander j so I 
 kept two shillings in my pocket. When 
 we had landed at Barrowgate, the ju- 
 risdiction of the boatmen ceased j they 
 consigned us over to a stately old 
 damsel of a housekeeper, who led the 
 way to the cascade, and our shillings 
 went inevitably. 
 
 At Borrowdale we determined to be 
 free. We left our rowers at the public- 
 house, and began our march alone. 
 Here crowds of children followed us, 
 and held open every gate ; but as we 
 neither wanted their company nor their 
 services, we clid not choose to pay for 
 them v ; and I was in possession of a
 
 OAK WOOD HALL. 251 
 
 charm which dispersed them whenever 
 I pleased. " Don't trouble yourselves 
 to follow usj we shall not give you 
 any thing/' To one, a tall girl, with 
 a child in her arms, I said, " You are 
 old enough to go to service." 
 
 " Ise at sarvice," she replied. 
 
 " Then why are you here ?" 
 
 " Ise ganging doon to th' hoose." 
 
 " And what wages have you ?" 
 
 " I wark for meat." 
 
 " What is your meat ?" 
 
 " Potatoes and sauce." 
 
 " And what is sauce?" 
 
 " Butter." 
 
 You would scarcely suppose that a 
 woman wanted to show us Bolder Stone, 
 a stupendous mass of rock which we 
 could not avoid seeing, and which 
 astonished us so much, that we could 
 look at nothing else ! " Pray, good 
 woman," said I, " what could you 
 M 6
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 shew us that we do not see?** She 
 could shew us how we might shake 
 hands under the stone. " Very well,*' 
 said I j " then we will look at the stone 
 where we are, and shake hands when 
 we get home." 
 
 We had seen the fall of Lowdoor 
 from the Lake, and finding that it was 
 almost dry, we did not choose to go out 
 of our way to see a waterfall without 
 water, and went straight into Borrow- 
 dale. Returning, we thought we would 
 step and look at the Channel, and were 
 proceeding to a gate for that purpose, 
 when a man followed us, and offered to 
 open it* We bade him, as we had 
 bidden the children, not trouble 
 himself, and he retired. But we soon 
 found he had not made the oifer with- 
 out good reason ; for he had clapped 
 a padlock on the gate, that nobody 
 might approach the waterfall without
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 253 
 
 his assistance. We did not call him 
 back, and this is the only one of my 
 economies that I repent. 
 
 To-day, Millichamp has ascended 
 Skiddaw, and I have visited several of 
 the stations prescribed by law for views 
 of the lake. The best is from a steep- 
 wooded hill, called Castlet, from whence 
 the whole water was spread before me, 
 and seen, surrounding every island. 
 Farther on was the vale of Keswick ; 
 beyond that, Bassenthwaite water ; and 
 on my right, Skiddaw. I shall here 
 observe, that the family of Snowdon 
 is called his sons ; the progeny of 
 Skiddaw is only a cub. 
 
 I wondered, in my walks, to see the 
 prints of so many asses shoes, and 
 some even on causeways, where it 
 would have been difficult for an ass to 
 get : several times, in the street, I turned 
 my head hastily, thinking a horse was
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 at my heels j and, perhaps, saw nothing 
 but an old woman. The shoes of the 
 common people unravelled these 
 mysteries. Their soles are of wood, 
 about an inch in thickness, and shod 
 before and behind with iron ; or, as 
 they call it, carkered. Besides these, 
 a plate of iron, the depth of the sole, 
 is fastened round the toe, which is 
 called snout-banding. A pair of shoes, 
 thus carkered and snout-banded, will 
 frequently last twelve months, without 
 mending j and it is surprising to see 
 the dexterity with which even old 
 persons and children carry the un- 
 wieldy load. 
 
 In my account of the sharks of 
 Derwentwater, I omit our watermen, 
 and our landlord at the Queen's Head. 
 The former candidly owned, to James, 
 that they expected no other gratifica-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 255 
 
 tion than the six shillings agreed for : 
 one of which was claimed by the owner 
 of the boat j one spent at the inn which 
 recommended it j and two they each 
 had for rowing. As they desired no 
 additional reward, I was perverse 
 enough to give them one. Our landlord 
 added a reasonable bill to great civility 
 and attention j and I shall, at any 
 time, find pleasure in recommending 
 his house to my friends. 
 
 To-morrow morning, we once more 
 turn our faces towards Arrowby Lodge. 
 I say nothing of Millichamp, because 
 he is writing to you himself. . Only I 
 will tell you, for fear he should not, 
 that though he keeps the main body of 
 his garments about him, small de- 
 tached pieces of apparel, such as night- 
 caps, gloves, and pocket handkerchiefs, 
 are deserting him daily. I have some
 
 256 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 thoughts of taking charge of his purse 
 myself, as it has had one or two good 
 chances of escaping. 
 
 One set of long letters is enough. 
 You will oblige me by putting these 
 in your pocket, and reading them to 
 Mr. Oakwood.
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 TO MISS FREEMAN, OAKWOOD. 
 
 Milthrop. 
 
 WE quitted Keswick for Ambleside, 
 from which it is distant sixteen miles, 
 arly in the morning. The boasted 
 view from Castrigg, the hill above 
 Keswick, I thought inferior to that 
 from Castlet ; but it is the first which 
 strikes strangers, who generally ap- 
 proach from that side, and I believe 
 they are right in so doing. From 
 Ambleside we should have taken 
 Keswick first, and have returned 
 by Ullswater. Our road how lay 
 through a narrow dale, with Skiddaw
 
 258 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 behind ; and when we lost it, we 
 opened on Helveylin, which appears to 
 me the most stupendous mountain of 
 the country. The dale became beau- 
 tiful j rocks, woods, and steep hills 
 rose out of it, and varied with every 
 turn of the road. Behind one of these, 
 Leathes water started yp ; it is about 
 three miles in length, but almost 
 divided in two. 
 
 At the Cherry Tree at Wythburn, 
 we stopped to breakfast, and desired to 
 have coffee immediately. After wait- 
 ing half an hour, I went into the 
 kitchen, and found a slice of bread 
 toasting itself by the fire. It entered 
 the parlour soon after, exhibiting a stripe 
 of black in the middle, and one of white 
 on each side, the breadth of the bars. 
 Its texture was so solid, as to be proof 
 against the butter, which was reduced 
 to an oil, and covered the plate,. This
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 was accompanied by three pints of 
 water, made muddy, under the deno- 
 mination of coffee ; which James, who 
 was behind the scenes, told us, after- 
 wards, was made by throwing a very 
 small quantity of coffee into a large tea- 
 kettle. We thought we had mistaken 
 our inn, and expressed our doubts to 
 its mistress ; but she assured us that 
 her's was the house frequented by the 
 quality ; and we were convinced of it, 
 when we found she charged the same 
 for our breakfast tl>at we should have 
 paid at the first inns in England. 
 
 We had now an ascent of a mile and 
 a half to Dunmail Raise ; the top of a 
 pass in the mountains, where Dunmail, 
 the last king of Cumberland, who was 
 slain in the tenth century, lies buried 
 under a grass-grown heap of stones. 
 The wall which divides the counties of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland, runs
 
 260 
 
 over the centre. The descent is 
 steeper on the Westmoreland side, and, 
 at the bottom, lies the beautiful little 
 Lake of Grassmere. Rydal water, 
 which is yet smaller, succeeds it ; and 
 has some charming little islands, deco- 
 rated with wood of nature's own 
 planting. I could have wished its 
 owner had taken the pains to remove 
 the weeds, which shoot above the sur- 
 face of the water. 
 
 Our road from Keswick to Amble- 
 side, after having ascended Castrigg, 
 has been a continued defile, between 
 two ranges of mountains, divided 
 across by Dunmail Raise. The enter- 
 prising hand of man seems to have 
 formed three roads over different passes, 
 in the chain of mountains which rise in 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland. The 
 western is this, which is not very 
 difficult of access. The middle i&
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 26J 
 
 Kirkstone, which, I believe, till of late, 
 was considered as impassable. The 
 eastern is the. great road over Shap 
 Fells, which I have not seen. The 
 lakes, which occupy the foot of these 
 passes, seem proportioned to the height 
 of the passes themselves. The large 
 ones of Winander Mere and Ulls- 
 water lie on each side the lofty 
 Kirkstone j the smaller ones of Grass- 
 mere and Leathes Water on each side 
 Dunmail Raise. 
 
 In the cool of the evening we walked 
 back a mile and a half to Rydal, and, 
 entering a door in the park wall, had 
 half a mile of steep ascent to the 
 waterfall. The proprietor has had the 
 discretion to let his place alone, wisely 
 supposing he could not mend it : except 
 in the necessary accommodation of a 
 footpath, his hand does not appear in 
 it. It would be injustice to judge of
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 the fall in this dry season, which has 
 emptied Lowdoor; but the accompani- 
 ments surpass all 1 ever saw. Bolder 
 rocks, indeed, I have seen; trees so 
 naturally and beautifully disposed, 
 never. 
 
 We were conducted out of the park 
 the way we had entered. '! But," 
 said I to our guide, " may not we see 
 the small cascade ?" for I was too 
 learned not to know all we had to 
 expect. He made no answer, but 
 opened another door in the wall, which 
 led us into a thick wood, almost ex- 
 cluding daylight. I did not think it 
 possible for trees to have spread so 
 deep a gloom. Emerging from this, 
 we passed an open lawn, and entered 
 another dark embowering shade. Here 
 our guide opened the door of a mean- 
 looking building ; and though I knew 
 what it was to offer to our view, I stood
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 motionless when I entered it. Neither 
 description nor fancy could paint any 
 thing so beautiful ; magic, alone, seemed 
 equal to the effect : how, then, can I 
 convey an idea of it to you ! I can but 
 say that we looked through a window, 
 without either frame or glass, and saw, 
 at a few yards distance, the water-fall, 
 environed by trees, which shut out 
 heaven above, an dearth around. Over 
 the top is thrown a bridge, that is less 
 picturesque than it has been, since 
 humanity has added parapet walls ; 
 but, if I had not been told the cir- 
 cumstance, I should not have imagined 
 it could be more so than it is. A ser- 
 vant, riding over it, on a dark night, 
 fell, with his horse, into the pool of 
 the cascade below. They had neither 
 of them any bones broken, and, though 
 much hurt, they both recovered ; but 
 parapet walls were immediately raised 
 on the bridge, to prevent the possibi-
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 lity of such an accident in future. 
 There are trout in the pool, and one 
 may fish out of the window; but a 
 party of lakers^ a few weeks ago, did 
 much better. They dined in this en- 
 chanting retreat, and the poor trout 
 dined with them. 
 
 Our road lay now by Kendal and 
 Burton, to Lancaster ; but, not choos- 
 ing to go the beaten track, we yester- 
 day morning crossed the head of Win- 
 ander Mere, and breakfasted at the little 
 town of Hawkeshead,five miles f rom Am- 
 bleside. Before we reached it, we had a 
 charming view of the vale in which it 
 stands, including Esthwaite water, 
 about two miles in length. From 
 Hawkeshead, our road lay on the bor- 
 der of the water : and, on quitting the 
 vale, we passed through light woods, 
 and by gentlemen's houses, till we came 
 into the woods which skirt Winander
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 Mere, of which we now and then caught 
 n glance. At nine miles from Hawks- 
 head, we arrived again at Newby Bridge, 
 having made the circuit of the banks 
 of Winander Mere. 
 
 From Newby Bridge, I chose rather 
 to encounter rocks I did not know, 
 than sands I did ; and we have come 
 fourteen miles to Milthrop, over scars 
 and mosses almost frightful. After 
 a long and gradual ascent, we found 
 ourselves on the top of a hill called 
 Tawtop. Possibly, if the orthography 
 adhered to the original meaning, it 
 might be Talltop. From hence we 
 looked, over a turbury below, to 
 Witherslack Scar, which rose beyond, 
 so destitute of verdure, that at the first 
 glance Millichamp took the ash- 
 coloured rock for ploughed fields. The 
 descent from Tawtop was about half a 
 mile : steeper than Kirkstone j steeper 
 
 VOL. i. N
 
 266 
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 than any thing I ever saw j except the 
 old Welsh road from Pont Aber 
 Glaslyn, to Tan y bwlch. I felt the 
 same sensation here as there j fear lest 
 the horses should not be able to keep 
 on four legs, as they walked slowly 
 over such unequal ground. You may 
 be assured we walked too. 
 
 Having crossed the vale, which is a 
 mixture of rock and peat, we ascended 
 Witherslack Scar, as high as it is 
 cultivated, and then went along its 
 side ; leaving the enormous ploughed 
 rocks above. To this scar succeeded 
 one still higher, called Whitbarrow 
 Scar, the rocky summit of which had 
 exactly the appearance of a ruined 
 castle. As I looked up, I fancied I 
 could distinguish walls and towers. 
 Below us was Foulshaw Moss, with our 
 road, which is called the Long Cause- 
 way, running across it, like a white
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. #67 
 
 thread; and beyond this a better 
 country. The moss affords a passage 
 to two small rivers, which join the Kent 
 a little farther down ; and as nature, 
 in complaisance to these, has given 
 them a valley as level as their own 
 Waters, she has made herself amends, 
 by raising a barrier of huge rocky fells 
 on one side, and not very small rocks 
 on the other. At Leven's bridge we 
 crossed the Kent, and got into another 
 world. No more mosses or rocks, but 
 the finest verdure and the noblest trees. 
 The scenery about the bridge is un- 
 commonly beautiful. Leven's park is 
 the seat of the Earl of Suffolk. 
 
 We did not arrive at Milthrop till 
 late last night ; and we shall not leave 
 it till evening, on account of the heat. 
 Cartmel, Hawkeshead, and MilthK>p, 
 please me much j three pleasant, poor, 
 ami quiet towns, that do not, all to- 
 N 2
 
 268 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 gether, afford one post-chaise. There 
 is only one inn in each, and these are 
 rather mean j but the people are civil, 
 the provisions good, and the charges 
 so moderate, that one would not think 
 the same country supplied the food 
 which furnishes the neighbouring inns 
 on the great roads. 
 
 I was sitting to-day, after dinner, 
 with Millichamp, when, his shirt bo- 
 som being a little open, I espied a 
 black ribband. " Millichamp," said 
 I, " what have you hanging to that 
 ribband?" 
 
 He hesitated, and replied, " A re- 
 membrance of Margaret." 
 
 " A picture ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " A lock of hair ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What then?" 
 
 " I will tell you" he answered,
 
 OAKWOOD HALL, 269 
 
 " because you will not laugh at me ; 
 but I should be afraid to tell any other 
 person." 
 
 He then drew from his bosom a bit 
 of folded writing-paper, which con- 
 tained what? A darn in a piece of 
 diaper, in which the threads were as 
 exactly laid, as they had been at first 
 by the shuttle of the weaver. I con- 
 tradicted his good opinion of me ; for 
 I could not help laughing, and ex- 
 claiming, " What a remembrance ! 
 and by the fair one's own hand !" 
 
 " You may laugh," said Millichamp ; 
 " but a picture would only have re- 
 minded me of my Margaret's beauty, 
 and a lock of hair could only have at- 
 tached my ideas to her person ; but 
 this is an emblem of her virtues. This, 
 as I will prove to you, proclaims her 
 affection, industry, modesty, and ta-
 
 #70 OAKWOOD HALt. 
 
 lents. If she had not loved me, she 
 would not have darned my night-cap. 
 If she had not been industrious, she 
 would not have darned it. If she had 
 not been modest, she would have told 
 me she had done it. And if she had 
 not been ingenious and correct, she 
 could not have done it so well." 
 
 " And so, as a proof of your Mar- 
 garet's virtues, you cut it out of your 
 night-cap ?" 
 
 '* I did ; and determined to wear 
 the hole in it for her saKe ; but, when 
 it came from washing, it was mended 
 again, though not so neatly as before j 
 and I believe it was done in a^ coarser 
 manner, that the hand of the work- 
 woman might not be suspected/' 
 
 Dear Margaret, how fortunate that 
 such a profound reasoner should 
 come to your door! How many
 
 OAKWOOD HALL. 
 
 young women might live to be wrin- 
 kled before they met with a logician 
 who could deduce all these conse- 
 quences from a darn in a night-cap ! 
 
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