III. FROM JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM
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other, I told you how, at first,I fear'd this visit to the Hurst.Fred must, I felt, be so distress'dBy aught in me unlike the restWho come here. But I find the placeDelightful; there's such ease, and grace,And kindness, and all seem to beOn such a high equality.They have not got to think, you know,How far to make the money go.But Frederick says it's less the expenseOf money, than of sound good-sense,Quickness to care what others feelAnd thoughts with nothing to conceal;Which I'll teach Johnny. Mrs. VaughanWas waiting for us on the Lawn,And kiss'd and call'd me 'Cousin.' FredNeglected his old friends, she said.He laugh'd, and colour'd up at this.She was, you know, a flame of his;But I'm not jealous! Luncheon done,I left him, who had just begunTo talk about the Russian WarWith an old Lady, Lady Carr,--A Countess, but I'm more afraid,A great deal, of the Lady's Maid,--And went with Mrs. Vaughan to seeThe pictures, which appear'd to beOf sorts of horses, clowns, and cowsCall'd Wouvermans and Cuyps and Dows.And then she took me up, to showHer bedroom, where, long years ago,A Queen slept. 'Tis all tapestriesOf Cupids, Gods, and Goddesses,And black, carved oak. A curtain'd doorLeads thence into her soft Boudoir,Where even her husband may but comeBy favour. He, too, has his room,Kept sacred to his solitude.Did I not think the plan was good?She ask'd me; but I said how smallOur house was, and that, after all,Though Frederick would not say his prayersAt night till I was safe upstairs,I thought it wrong to be so shyOf being good when I was by.'Oh, you should humour him!' she said,With her sweet voice and smile; and ledThe way to where the children ateTheir dinner, and Miss Williams sate.She's only Nursery-Governess,Yet they consider her no lessThan Lord or Lady Carr, or me.Just think how happy she must be!The Ball-Room, with its painted skyWhere heavy angels seem to fly,Is a dull place; its size and gloomMake them prefer, for drawing-room,The Library, all done up newAnd comfortable, with a viewOf Salisbury Spire between the boughs.When she had shown me through the house,(I wish I could have let her knowThat she herself was half the show;She _is_ so handsome, and so kind!)She fetch'd the children, who had dined;And, taking one in either hand,Show'd me how all the grounds were plann'd.The lovely garden gently slopesTo where a curious bridge of ropesCrosses the Avon to the Park.We rested by the stream, to markThe brown backs of the hovering trout.Frank tickled one, and took it outFrom under a stone. We saw his owls,And awkward Cochin-China fowls,And shaggy pony in the croft;And then he dragg'd us to a loft,Where pigeons, as he push'd the door,Fann'd clear a breadth of dusty floor,And set us coughing. I confessI trembled for my nice silk dress.I cannot think how Mrs. VaughanVentured with that which she had on,--A mere white wrapper, with a fewPlain trimmings of a quiet blue,But, oh, so pretty! Then the bellFor dinner rang. I look'd quite well('Quite charming,' were the words Fred said,)With the new gown that I've had madeI _am_ so proud of Frederick.He's so high-bred and lordly-likeWith Mrs. Vaughan! He's not quite soAt home with me; but that, you know,I can't expect, or wish. 'Twould hurt,And seem to mock at my desert.Not but that I'm a duteous wifeTo Fred; but, in another life,Where all are fair that have been true,I hope I shall be graceful too,Like Mrs. Vaughan. And, now, good-bye!That happy thought has made me cry,And feel half sorry that my cough,In this fine air, is leaving off.
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