"If India be the land of magic, this my dearest Matilda, is the country of romance. The scenery is such as nature brings together in her sublimest moods;--sounding cataracts-hills which rear their scathed heads to the sky-lakes, that, winding up the shadowy valleys, lead at every turn to yet more romantic recesses-rocks which catch the clouds of heaven. All the wildness of Salvator here, and there the fairy scenes of Claude. I am happy too, in finding at least one object upon which my father can share my enthusiasm. An admirer of nature, both as an artist and a poet, Ihave experienced the utmost pleasure from the observations by which he explains the character and the effect of these brilliant specimens of her power. I wish he would settle in this enchanting land' But his views lie still farther north, and he is at present absent on a tour in Scotland, looking, I believe, for some purchase of land which may suit him as a residence. He is partial, from early recollections, to that country. So, my dearest Matilda, Imust be yet farther removed from you before I am established in a home--And oh how delighted shall I be when I can say, Come, Matilda, and be the guest of your faithful Julia!
"I am at present the inmate of Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, old friends of my father. The latter is precisely a good sort of woman;--ladylike and housewifely, but, for accomplishments or fancy--good lack, my dearest Matilda, your friend might as well seek sympathy from Mrs.
Teach'em,--you see I have not forgot school nicknames. Mervyn is a different--quite a different being from my father; yet he amuses and endures me. He is fat and good-natured, gifted with strong shrewd sense, and some powers of humour; but having been handsome, I suppose, in his youth, has still some pretension to be a beau garcon, as well as an enthusiastic agriculturist. I delight to make him scramble to the tops of eminences and to the foot of waterfalls, and am obliged in turn to admire his turnips, his lucerne, and his timothy grass.--He thinks me, I fancy, a ****** romantic Miss, with some--(the word will he out) beauty, and some good nature; and I hold that the gentleman has good taste for the female outside, and do not expect he should comprehend my sentiments further. So he rallies, hands, and hobbles (for the dear creature has got the gout too), and tells old stories of high life of which he has seen a great deal; and I listen, and smile, and look as pretty, as pleasant, and as ****** as I can, and we do very well. But, alas! my dearest Matilda, how would time pass away, even in this paradise of romance, tenanted as it is by a pair assorting so ill with the scenes around them, were it not for your fidelity in replying to my uninteresting details? Pray do not fail to write three times a week at least--you can be at no loss what to say."Fifth Extract.
"How shall I communicate what I have now to tell!--My hand and Heart still flutter so much, that the task of writing is almost impossible!--Did I not say that he lived? did I not say I would not despair? How could you suggest, my dear Matilda, that my feelings, considering I had parted from him so young, rather arose from the warmth of my imagination than of my heart?--Oh! I was sure that they were genuine, deceitful as the dictates of our bosom so frequently are.--But to my tale--let it be, my friend, the most sacred, as it is the most sincere, pledge of our friendship.
"Our hours here are early--earlier than my heart, with its load of care, can compose itself to rest. I, therefore, usually take a book for an hour or two after retiring to my own room, which Ithink I have told you opens to a small balcony, looking down upon that beautiful lake, of which I attempted to give you a slight sketch. Mervyn Hall, being partly an ancient building--, and constructed with a view to defence, is situated an the verge of the lake. A stone dropped from the projecting balcony plunges into water deep enough to float a skiff. I had left my window partly unbarred, that, before I went to bed, I might, according to my custom, look out and see the moonlight shining upon the lake. Iwas deeply engaged with that beautiful scene in the Merchant of Venice, where two lovers, describing the stillness of a summer night, enhance on each other its charms, and was lost in the associations of story and of feeling which it awakens, when I heard upon the lake the sound of a flageolet. I have told you it was Brown's favourite instrument. Who could touch it in a night which, though still and serene, was too cold, and too late in the year, to invite forth any wanderer for more pleasure? I drew yet nearer the window, and hearkened with breathless attention--the sounds paused a space, were then resumed--paused again--and again reached my ear, ever coming nearer and nearer. At length, I distinguished plainly that little Hindu air which you called my favourite--I have told you by whom it was taught me--the instrument, the tones, were his own!--was it earthly music, or notes passing on the wind, to warn me of his death?
"It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on the balcony--nothing could have emboldened me to do so but the strong conviction of my mind, that he was still alive, and that we should again meet--but that conviction did embolden me, and I ventured, though with a throbbing heart. There was a small skiff with a single person--O Matilda, it was himself!--I knew his appearance after so long an absence, and through the shadow of the night, as perfectly as if we had parted yesterday, and met again in the broad sunshine! He guided his boat under the balcony, and spoke to me; Ihardly knew what he said, or what I replied. Indeed, I could scarcely speak for weeping, but they were joyful tears. We were disturbed by the barking of a dog at some distance, and parted, but not before he had conjured me to prepare to. meet him at the same place and hour this evening.
