Contribution Page

Were we permitted to consider this novel as a burlesque upon the extremes of romantic absurdity, we should certainly pronounce it a work of considerable merit. We have seldom seen the nonsensical jargon of mock sentiment, and overstrained hyperbole, more happily exposed to ridicule.

'During the period of my confinement in my chamber, lord Acreland employed himself with his violoncello, or in making visits to the neighbouring nobility; while Mr. Belmont passed every day at my favourite hermitage, frequently remaining there till the last gleam of light faded from the surrounding landscape. I used to observe him from my window; his pace was slow, his arms were folded, an air of melancholy marked his steps. I could see him distinctly, till he reached the wood; and, with a telescope which I had removed from the library to view the distant scenery, I could perceive him at the window of the hermitage, leaning pensively on his hand, and for whole hours unvarying his attitude. What an extraordinary being! My father thinks him deranged in his intellects; and lady Watkins says he informed sir Philip, that he was afraid he should "make nothing of him."

'Oh! tasteless, undiscriminating thought! Can the plodding occupations of sordid minds tend to polish such a gem of nature? He is already perfect! inestimable in value, but dangerous to contemplate!' Vol. i., P. 175.

Such is the description given by a merchant's daughter of one of her father's clerks! Ridiculous as the inflated language of this and similar descriptions may appear to the enlightened reader, - on the imagination of a poor romantic girl, it is calculated to produce more serious effects. The story itself, when told in plain language, is too absurd to injure the mind of the most romantic miss; but when the immoral conduct of the heroines is wrapped in the tinseled veil of sentiment, the youthful mind loses sight of its deformity; and as the imagination warms, the distinctions of vice and virtue are forgotten. Angelina is introduced to our acquaintance as the cast-[398]off mistress of lord Acreland, who, on the report of his death, had travelled into Wales, and there, in the language of the book, becomes 'the beauteous inmate of the Welch mountains.' She is thus described by a young baronet, who was sent in search of her by lord Acreland, at the very moment when his lordship had resolved to repair his shattered fortune by marrying the daughter of a West-India merchant -

'I approached gently; she started, on seeing me, and rose from her seat. I bowed with veneration. She was all grace, beauty, and gentleness! She was silent, but the enlightened soul beamed in her large eyes; they were rendered powerful by their softness, and captivating by that solemn sensibility which seemed the effect of deep and melancholy musing.

'She was drest in white muslin; a narrow black zone served to fasten the drapery, which gave her the appearance of a Grecian statue: her head was unadorned, except by nature, which had bestowed a profusion of dark auburn hair, that waved about her shoulders, and partly shaded her white forehead; her eye-brows [sic] were nearly black; her eyes of the deepest blue; her nose beautifully formed; her cheek - O grief! what a banquet hadst though there! It had lost the bloom of youth, of health, of sweet repose! She endeavoured to smile when I approached her. She could not; long accustomed to mournful sufferance, she had forgot the very semblance of delight. Is it possible that any being, blessed with reason, sentiment, or humanity, could destroy the peace of such an angel? Hold; I did not recollect that I was writing to Lord Acreland.

'Her's was not the morning of juvenile lustre! She must have been more strikingly brilliant, more wonderfully lovely! But she never could have appeared so interesting as she did at the moment in which I describe her! She displayed not the freshness of the rose, but she convinced me that twice eighteen summers can mature a myrtle, sweet to the sense, and decorated with that sober grace which can rival the most animated tints of the gaudiest flower! She is a gem formed by the bewitching hand of nature; not glowing with the dazzling rays of the brilliant, but mildly graced, as the more modest pearl, intrinsically rare, and elegantly unassuming!' Vol. i. p. 216.

Lord Acreland continues to prosecute his marriage, - the young lady shows little or no repugnance to the alliance, till captivated by the placid and manly countenance of a young man, who had unfortunately, just at this juncture, been placed in her father's counting-house, by his patron sir Philip Watkins. The young lady soon discovers the uncommon merit of this hero of the counting-house, - their sentimental conver-[399]sations in the grottoes and hermitages, - their apropos meetings, when, according to the custom of ladies in romances, they went to wander at midnight in the woods, afford ample subject for the ladies' pens. At length her father's jealousy is alarmed, - the young clerk makes his escape, - his mistress follows his example. The morning on which she was to have been married to lord Acreland, she elopes from her father's house, and flies to London on the outside of a stage-coach, - hears that her lover has gone on board the fleet as a volunteer, - that he is wounded, - has a fever of course, - eludes the vigilance of her attendants, - and, in her robe de chambre, takes a walk to Portsmouth. Thither, likewise fascinated by the enchanting mien of the young clerk, went sir James Montagu, a sentimental city banker, who, sallying forth at midnight, thus describes his meeting with our heroine upon the ramparts -

'Two nights since, soon after my arrival at Portsmouth, being little inclined to rest, and much to meditation, I strolled towards the ramparts. The moon shone clearly, and the sea was more than usually agitated. Yet the scene was more melancholy than terrific. I stood for a considerable time, contemplating the ocean, and listening to the successive waves that rolling toward the shore dashed against the fortress.

'The fleet which was visible at Spithead occasioned a thousand mournful reflections in my mind; I naturally thought on those who had perished; I fancied that I could hear their dying groans; see their deep wounds, and trace the torrents of blood, that, gushing from them, ran in mingling streams along the decks. I then started, as if roused by the thundering cannon; I almost believed that the air thickened with the clouds of sulphur rising from the floating bulwarks. My ideas then were filled with the cries of helpless infants, left to bewail a gallant father. I saw, in fancy, the despairing widow, the aged parent, hosts of kindred, weeping, raving, lamenting, perhaps, their only hope! While he, a mangled corpse, was consigned to the howling deep - sinking fathoms down the terrible abyss - cold - insensible!

"And for what was this miserable warfare first invented?" said I. While I asked myself the question I observed something dart swiftly by me: it roused me from my reverie; for the lateness of the hour, it being near midnight, rendered the spot as solitary as a desert.

'So suddenly did the figure glide before me, that I almost instantly lost sight of it: I was inclined to believe imagination had conjured up that which was not real; and that the deception originated in my situation, and the surrounding scenery. [400]

'I proceeded along the ramparts, and in a few minutes again beheld the form, which had so startled me, standing on the point of one of the bastions.

'Curiosity made me hasten towards it. When I came within a few yards of the figure, I plainly perceived, that it was a female, elegantly formed, and of no mean condition: her dress, which was white and transparent, was contrasted by her long dark hair, which floated in the wind. She had placed herself in a situation so perilous, that the least surprise, or the shortest step forward, would have hurled her headlong into the furious ocean!

'I listened for some moments, but she was silent. Indeed, had she spoke, I could not have heard her, owing to the united clamours of the contending elements.

'I began to fear that she meditated self-destruction; and I resolved to make some effort for her preservation, even at the risk of the worst that could happen. I stole unperceived, until I came within reach of her; the whistling of the wind prevented her hearing me; and her eyes were too intently fixed upon the sea to observe any other object: fortunately I caught her in my arms before she was sensible of my approach. She made no resistance, but looked wistfully at me; - such a countenance never did I behold; it had something about it divine! Yet not so placid as the consciousness of bliss would have made it. It was melancholy, yet impatient and imploring. Her beautiful mouth was twice preparing to speak, and as often she shook her head to indicate that the powers of articulation failed.

'The moon continued to throw a clear light on the rampart, where we stood. The forlorn wanderer looked like a statue. Her eyes were still bent on the ocean; she smiled, but it was a ghastly smile; every feature bore the marks of unspeakable affliction. Her face was pale as the whitest marble; and her countenance was rendered doubly interesting, by her having bound a white handkerchief round her forehead, beneath which I could just discern her dark and penetrating eyes!' Vol. iii. P. 2.

After four subsequent elopements from her father, this pattern of female propriety and decorum is at length united to her lover, who, according to the laws of romance, is then discovered to be a lord! - the son of the lord who would have married her himself, and of that angelic Angelina, who, after having lived with him so many years as his mistress, is at length acknowledged to be his wife! Such are the outlines of the story; - but it would far exceed our bounds, should we attempt to point out all the circumstances which outrage nature, probability, and common sense.

[complete] Provided by Julie Shaffer, July 1999.