T

he two Ladies continued walking together till rejoined by the others, who as they issued from the Library were followed by a young Whitby running off with five volumes

under his arm to Sir Edward’s Gig—and Sir Edward approaching Charlotte, said ‘You may perceive what has been our Occupation. My Sister wanted my Counsel in the selection of some books.—We have many leisure hours, and read a great deal.—I am no indiscriminate Novel-Reader. The mere Trash of the common Circulating Library, I hold in the highest contempt. You will never hear me advocating those puerile Emanations which detail nothing but discordant Principles incapable of Amalgamation, or those vapid tissues of ordinary Occurrences from which no useful Deductions can be drawn.—In vain may we put them into a literary Alembic;—we distil nothing which can add to Science.— You understand me I am sure?’ ‘I am not quite certain that I do.— But if you will describe the sort of Novels which you do approve, I dare say it will give me a clearer idea.’ ‘Most willingly, Fair Questioner.—The Novels which I approve are such as display Human Nature with Grandeur—such as shew her in the Sublimities of intense Feeling—such as exhibit the progress of strong Passion from the first Germ of incipient Susceptibility to the utmost Energies of Reason half-dethroned,—where we see the strong spark of Woman’s Captivations elicit such Fire in the Soul of Man as leads him—(though at the risk of some Aberration from the strict line of Primitive Obligations)—hazard all, dare all,

achieve all, to obtain her.—Such are the Works which I peruse with delight, and I hope I may say, with Amelioration. They hold forth the most splendid Portraitures of high Conceptions, Unbounded Views, illimitable Ardour, indomptible Decision—and even when the Event is mainly anti-prosperous to the high-toned Machinations of the prime Character, the potent, pervading Hero of the Story, it leaves us full of Generous Emotions for him;—our Hearts are paralized. T’were Pseudo-Philosophy to assert that we do not feel more enwraped by the brilliancy of his Career, than by the tranquil and morbid Virtues of any opposing Character. Our approbation of the Latter is but Eleemosynary.—These are the Novels which enlarge the primitive Capabilities of the Heart, and which it cannot impugn the Sense or be any Dereliction of the character, of the most anti-puerile Man, to be Conversant with.’— ‘If I understand you aright’—said Charlotte—‘our taste in Novels is not at all the same.’ And here they were obliged to part—Miss D. being too much tired of them all, to stay any longer.—The truth was that Sir Edward whom circumstances had confined very much to one spot had read more sentimental Novels than agreed with him. His fancy had been early caught by all the impassioned, and most exceptionable parts of Richardson; and such Authors as have since appeared to tread in Richardson’s steps, so far as Man’s determined pursuit of Woman in defiance of every opposition of feeling and convenience is concerned, had since occupied the greater part of his literary hours, and formed his Character.—With a perversity of Judgement, which must be attributed to his not having by Nature a very strong head, the Graces, the Spirit, the Sagacity, and the Perseverance, of the Villain of the Story outweighed all his absurdities and all his Atrocities with Sir

Edward. With him, such Conduct was Genius, Fire and Feeling.— It interested and inflamed him; and he was always more anxious for its Success and mourned over its Discomfitures with more Tenderness than could ever have been contemplated by the Authors.—Though he owed many of his ideas to this sort of reading, it were unjust to say that he read nothing else, or that his Language were not formed on a more general Knowledge of modern Literature.—He read all the Essays, Letters, Tours and Criticisms of the day—and with the same ill-luck which made him derive only false Principles from Lessons of Morality, and incentives to Vice from the History of its Overthrow, he gathered only hard words and involved sentences from the style of our most approved Writers.

Sir Edward’s great object in life was to be seductive.—With such personal advantages as he knew himself to possess, and such Talents as he did also give himself credit for, he regarded it as his Duty.—He felt that he was formed to be a dangerous Man—quite in the line of the Lovelaces.—The very name of Sir Edward he thought, carried some degree of fascination with it.—To be generally gallant and assiduous about the fair, to make fine speeches to every pretty Girl, was but the inferior part of the Character he had to play.—Miss Heywood, or any other young Woman with any pretensions to Beauty, he was entitled (according to his own views of Society) to approach with high Compliments and Rhapsody on the slightest acquaintance; but it was Clara alone on whom he had serious designs; it was Clara whom he meant to seduce.—Her seduction was quite determined on. Her Situation in every way called for it. She was his rival in Lady D.’s favour, she was young, lovely and dependant.—He had

very early seen the necessity of the case, and had now been long trying with cautious assiduity to make an impression on her heart, and to undermine her Principles.—Clara saw through him, and had not the least intention of being seduced—but she bore with him patiently enough to confirm the sort of attachment which her personal Charms had raised.—A greater degree of discouragement indeed would not have affected Sir Edward. He was armed against the highest pitch of Disdain or Aversion.—If she could not be won by affection, he must carry her off. He knew his Business.— Already had he had many Musings on the Subject. If he were constrained so to act, he must naturally wish to strike out something new, to exceed those who had gone before him—and he felt a strong curiosity to ascertain whether the Neighbourhood of Tombuctoo might not afford some solitary House adapted for Clara’s reception;—but the Expence alas! of Measures in that masterly style was ill-suited to his Purse, and Prudence obliged him to prefer the quietest sort of ruin and disgrace for the object of his Affections, to the more renowned.

CHAPTER IX

ne day, soon after Charlotte’s arrival at Sanditon, she had the pleasure of seeing just as she ascended from the Sands to the Terrace, a Gentleman’s Carriage with Post

Horses standing at the door of the Hotel, as very lately arrived, and by the quantity of Luggage taking off, bringing, it might be hoped, some respectable family determined on a long residence.— Delighted to have such good news for Mr. and Mrs. P., who had both gone home some time before, she proceeded for Trafalgar House with as much alacrity as could remain, after having been contending for the last two hours with a very fine wind blowing directly on shore; but she had not reached the little Lawn, when she saw a Lady walking nimbly behind her at no great distance; and convinced that it could be no acquaintance of her own, she resolved to hurry on and get into the House if possible before her. But the Stranger’s pace did not allow this to be accomplished;— Charlotte was on the steps and had rung, but the door was not opened, when the other crossed the Lawn;—and when the Servant appeared, they were just equally ready for entering the House.— The ease of the Lady, her ‘How do you do Morgan?’ and Morgan’s Looks on seeing her, were a moment’s astonishment—but another moment brought Mr. P. into the Hall to welcome the Sister he had seen from the Drawing room, and she was soon introduced to Miss Diana Parker. There was a great deal of surprise but still more pleasure in seeing her.—Nothing could be kinder than her

reception from both Husband and Wife. ‘How did she come? and with whom?—And they were so glad to find her equal to the Journey!—And that she was to belong to them, was a thing of course.’ Miss Diana P. was about four and thirty, of middling height and slender;—delicate looking rather than sickly; with an agreable face, and a very animated eye;—her manners resembling her Brother’s in their ease and frankness, though with more decision and less mildness in her Tone. She began an account of herself without delay.—Thanking them for their Invitation, but ‘that was quite out of the question, for they were all three come, and meant to get into Lodgings and make some stay.’—‘All three come!—What!—Susan and Arthur!—Susan able to come too!— This was better and better.’ ‘Yes—we are actually all come. Quite unavoidable—Nothing else to be done.—You shall hear all about it.—But my dear Mary, send for the Children;—I long to see them.’—‘And how has Susan born the Journey?—and how is Arthur?—and why do not we see him here with you?’—‘Susan has born it wonderfully. She had not a wink of sleep either the night before we set out, or last night at Chichester, and as this is not so common with her as with me, I have had a thousand fears for her—but she had kept up wonderfully—had no Hysterics of consequence till we came within sight of poor old Sanditon—and the attack was not very violent—nearly over by the time we reached your Hotel—so that we got her out of the Carriage extremely well, with only Mr. Woodcock’s assistance—and when I left her she was directing the Disposal of the Luggage, and helping old Sam uncord the Trunks.—She desired her best Love, with a thousand regrets at being so poor a Creature that she could not come with me. And as for poor Arthur, he would not have been

unwilling himself, but there is so much Wind that I did not think he could safely venture,—for I am sure there is Lumbago hanging about him—and so I helped him on with his great Coat and sent him off to the Terrace, to take us Lodgings.—Miss Heywood must have seen our Carriage standing at the Hotel.—I knew Miss Heywood the moment I saw her before me on the Down.—My dear Tom I am so glad to see you walk so well. Let me feel your Ancle.—That’s right; all right and clean. The play of your Sinews a very little affected:—barely perceptible.—Well—now for the explanation of my being here.—I told you in my Letter, of the two considerable Families, I was hoping to secure for you—the West Indians, and the Seminary.’ Here Mr. P. drew his Chair still nearer to his Sister, and took her hand again most affectionately as he answered ‘Yes, Yes;—How active and how kind you have been!’— ‘The West-indians,’ she continued, ‘whom I look upon as the most desirable of the two—as the Best of the Good—prove to be a Mrs. Griffiths and her family. I know them only through others.—You must have heard me mention Miss Capper, the particular friend of my very particular friend Fanny Noyce;—now, Miss Capper is extremely intimate with a Mrs. Darling, who is on terms of constant correspondence with Mrs. Griffiths herself.—Only a short chain, you see, between us, and not a Link wanting. Mrs. G. meant to go to the Sea, for her Young People’s benefit—had fixed on the coast of Sussex, but was undecided as to the where, wanted something Private, and wrote to ask the opinion of her friend Mrs. Darling.—Miss Capper happened to be staying with Mrs. D. when Mrs. G.’s Letter arrived, and was consulted on the question; she wrote the same day to Fanny Noyce and mentioned it to her—and Fanny all alive for us, instantly took up her pen and forwarded the

circumstance to me—except as to *Names—*which have but lately transpired.—There was but one thing for me to do.—I answered Fanny’s Letter by the same Post and pressed for the recommendation of Sanditon. Fanny had feared your having no house large enough to receive such a Family.—But I seem to be spinning out my story to an endless length.—You see how it was all managed. I had the pleasure of hearing soon afterwards by the same simple link of connection that Sanditon had been recommended by Mrs. Darling, and that the West-indians were very much disposed to go thither.—This was the state of the case when I wrote to you;—but two days ago;—yes, the day before yesterday—I heard again from Fanny Noyce, saying that she had heard from Miss Capper, who by a Letter from Mrs. Darling understood that Mrs. G. has expressed herself in a letter to Mrs. D. more doubtingly on the subject of Sanditon.—Am I clear? I would be anything rather than not clear.’—‘Oh! perfectly, perfectly. Well?’—‘The reason of this hesitation, was her having no connections in the place, and no means of ascertaining that she should have good accomodations on arriving there;—and she was particularly careful and scrupulous on all those matters more on account of a certain Miss Lambe a young Lady (probably a Niece) under her care, than on her own account or her Daughters.—Miss Lambe has an immense fortune—richer than all the rest—and very delicate health.—One sees clearly enough by all this, the sort of Woman Mrs. G. must be—as helpless and indolent, as Wealth and a Hot Climate are apt to make us. But we are not all born to equal energy.—What was to be done?—I had a few moments indecision;—Whether to offer to write to *you,—*or to Mrs. Whitby to secure them a House?—but neither pleased me.—I hate to

employ others, when I am equal to act myself—and my conscience told me that this was an occasion which called for me. Here was a family of helpless Invalides whom I might essentially serve.—I sounded Susan—the same Thought had occurred to her.—Arthur made no difficulties—our plan was arranged immediately, we were off yesterday morning at six, left Chichester at the same hour today—and here we are.—‘Excellent! Excellent!’ cried Mr. Parker.—‘Diana, you are unequalled in serving your friends and doing Good to all the World.—I know nobody like you.—Mary, my Love, is not she a wonderful Creature?—Well—and now, what House do you design to engage for them?—What is the size of their family?’ ‘I do not at all know’—replied his Sister—‘have not the least idea;—never heard any particulars;—but I am very sure that the largest house at Sanditon cannot be too large. They are more likely to want a second.—I shall take only one however, and that, but for a week certain.—Miss Heywood, I astonish you.—You hardly know what to make of me.—I see by your Looks, that you are not used to such quick measures.’—The words ‘Unaccountable Officiousness!—Activity run mad!’—had just passed through Charlotte’s mind—but a civil answer was easy. ‘I dare say I do look surprised,’ said she—‘because these are very great exertions, and I know what Invalides both you and your Sister are.’ ‘Invalides indeed.—I trust there are not three People in England who have so sad a right to that appellation!—But my dear Miss Heywood, we are sent into this World to be as extensively useful as possible, and where some degree of Strength of Mind is given, it is not a feeble body which will excuse us—or incline us to excuse ourselves.— The World is pretty much divided between the Weak of Mind and the Strong—between those who can act and those who can not,

and it is the bounden Duty of the Capable to let no opportunity of being useful escape them.—My Sister’s Complaints and mine are happily not often of a Nature, to threaten Existence immediately— and as long as we can exert ourselves to be of use of others, I am convinced that the Body is the better, for the refreshment the Mind receives in doing its Duty.—While I have been travelling, with this object in view, I have been perfectly well.’—The entrance of the Children ended this little panegyric on her own Disposition—and after having noticed and caressed them all,—she prepared to go.—‘Cannot you dine with us?—Is not it possible to prevail on you to dine with us?’ was then the cry; and that being absolutely negatived, it was ‘And when shall we see you again? and how can we be of use to you?’—and Mr. P. warmly offered his assistance in taking the house for Mrs. G.—‘I will come to you the moment I have dined,’ said he, ‘and we will go about together.’— But this was immediately declined.—‘No, my dear Tom, upon no account in the World, shall you stir a step on any business of mine.—Your Ancle wants rest. I see by the position of your foot, that you have used it too much already.—No, I shall go about my House-taking directly. Our Dinner is not ordered till six—and by that time I hope to have completed it. It is now only half past four.—As to seeing me again today—I cannot answer for it; the others will be at the Hotel all the Evening, and delighted to see you at any time, but as soon as I get back I shall hear what Arthur has done about our own Lodgings, and probably the moment Dinner is over, shall be out again on business relative to them, for we hope to get into some Lodgings or other and be settled after breakfast tomorrow.—I have not much confidence in poor Arthur’s skill for Lodging-taking, but he seemed to like the

commission.’ ‘I think you are doing too much,’ said Mr. P. ‘You will knock yourself up. You should not move again after Dinner.’ ‘No, indeed you should not,’ cried his wife, ‘for Dinner is such a mere name with you all, that it can do you no good.—I know what your appetites are.’ ‘My appetite is very much mended I assure you lately. I have been taking some Bitters of my own decocting, which have done wonders. Susan never eats I grant you—and just at present I shall want nothing; I never eat for about a week after a Journey—but as for Arthur, he is only too much disposed for Food. We are often obliged to check him.’—‘But you have not told me any thing of the other Family coming to Sanditon,’ said Mr. P. as he walked with her to the door of the House—‘the Camberwell Seminary; have we a good chance of them?’ ‘Oh! Certain—quite certain.—I had forgotten them for the moment, but I had a letter three days ago from my friend Mrs. Charles Dupuis which assured me of Camberwell. Camberwell will be here to a certainty, and very soon.—That good Woman (I do not know her name) not being so wealthy and independant as Mrs. G.—can travel and chuse for herself.—I will tell you how I got at her. Mrs. Charles Dupuis lives almost next door to a Lady, who has a relation lately settled at Clapham, who actually attends the Seminary and gives lessons on Eloquence and Belles Lettres to some of the Girls.—I got that Man a Hare from one of Sidney’s friends—and he recommended Sanditon;—Without my appearing however—Mrs. Charles Dupuis managed it all.’

CHAPTER X

t was not a week, since Miss Diana Parker had been told by her feelings, that the Sea Air would probably in her present state, be the death of her, and now she was at Sanditon, intending to make some Stay, and without appearing to have the slightest recollection of having written or felt any such thing.—It was impossible for Charlotte not to suspect a good deal of fancy in such an extraordinary state of health.—Disorders and Recoveries so very much out of the common way, seemed more like the amusement of eager Minds in want of employment than of actual afflictions and relief. The Parkers, were no doubt a family of Imagination and quick feelings—and while the eldest Brother found vent for his superfluity of sensation as a Projector, the Sisters were perhaps driven to dissipate theirs in the invention of odd complaints.—The whole of their mental vivacity was evidently not so employed; Part was laid out in a Zeal for being useful.—It should seem that they must either be very busy for the Good of others, or else extremely ill themselves. Some natural delicacy of Constitution in fact, with an unfortunate turn for Medecine, especially quack Medecine, had given them an early tendency at various times, to various Disorders;—the rest of their sufferings was from Fancy, the love of Distinction and the love of the Wonderful.—They had Charitable hearts and many amiable feelings—but a spirit of restless activity, and the glory of doing more than anybody else, had their share in every exertion of Benevolence—and there was Vanity in all they did, as well as in all

they endured.—Mr. and Mrs. P. spent a great part of the Evening at the Hotel; but Charlotte had only two or three views of Miss Diana posting over the Down after a House for this Lady whom she had never seen, and who had never employed her. She was not made acquainted with the others till the following day, when, being removed into Lodgings and all the party continuing quite well, their Brother and Sister and herself were entreated to drink tea with them.—They were in one of the Terrace Houses—and she found them arranged for the Evening in a small neat Drawing room, with a beautiful view of the Sea if they had chosen it,—but though it had been a very fair English Summer-day,—not only was there no open window, but the Sopha and the Table, and the Establishment in general was all at the other end of the room by a brisk fire.—Miss P. whom, remembering the three Teeth drawn in one day, Charlotte approached with a peculiar degree of respectful Compassion, was not very unlike her Sister in person or manner— tho’ more thin and worn by Illness and Medecine, more relaxed in air, and more subdued in voice. She talked however, the whole Evening as incessantly as Diana—and excepting that she sat with salts in her hand, took Drops two or three times from one, out of the several Phials already at home on the Mantelpiece,—and made a great many odd faces and contortions, Charlotte could perceive no symptoms of illness which she, in the boldness of her own good health, would not have undertaken to cure, by putting out the fire, opening the Window, and disposing of the Drops and the salts by means of one or the other. She had had considerable curiosity to see Mr. Arthur Parker; and having fancied him a very puny, delicate-looking young Man, the smallest very materially of not a robust Family, was astonished to find him quite as tall as his

Brother and a great deal Stouter—Broad made and Lusty—and with no other look of an Invalide, than a sodden complexion.— Diana was evidently the chief of the family; principal Mover and Actor;—she had been on her Feet the whole Morning, on Mrs. G.’s business or their own, and was still the most alert of the three.— Susan had only superintended their final removal from the Hotel, bringing two heavy Boxes herself; and Arthur had found the air so cold that he had merely walked from one House to the other as nimbly as he could,—and boasted much of sitting by the fire till he had cooked up a very good one.—Diana, whose exercise had been too domestic to admit of calculation, but who, by her own account, had not once sat down during the space of seven hours, confessed herself a little tired. She had been too successful however for much fatigue; for not only had she by walking and talking down a thousand difficulties at last secured a proper House at eight guineas per week for Mrs. G.; she had also opened so many Treaties with Cooks, Housemaids, Washer-women and Bathing Women, that Mrs. G. would have little more to do on her arrival, than to wave her hand and collect them around her for choice.— Her concluding effort in the cause, had been a few polite lines of Information to Mrs. G. herself—time not allowing for the circuitous train of intelligence, which had been hitherto kept up,— and she was now regaling in the delight of opening the first Trenches of an acquaintance with such a powerful discharge of unexpected Obligation. Mr. and Mrs. P.—and Charlotte had seen two Post chaises crossing the Down to the Hotel as they were setting off;—a joyful sight—and full of speculation.—The Miss P.s—and Arthur had also seen something;—they could distinguish from their window that there was an arrival at the Hotel, but not

its amount. Their Visitors answered for two Hack-Chaises.—Could it be the Camberwell Seminary?—No—No.—Had there been a third carriage, perhaps it might; but it was very generally agreed that two Hack chaises could never contain a Seminary.—Mr. P. was confident of another new Family.—When they were all finally seated, after some removals to look at the Sea and the Hotel, Charlotte’s place was by Arthur, who was sitting next to the Fire with a degree of Enjoyment which gave a good deal of merit to his civility in wishing her to take his Chair.—There was nothing dubious in her manner of declining it, and he sat down again with much satisfaction. She drew back her Chair to have all the advantage of his Person as a screen, and was very thankful for every inch of Back and Shoulders beyond her pre-conceived idea. Arthur was heavy in Eye as well as figure, but by no means indisposed to talk;—and while the other four were chiefly engaged together, he evidently felt it no penance to have a fine young Woman next to him, requiring in common Politeness some attention—as his Brother who felt the decided want of some motive for action, some Powerful object of animation for him, observed with considerable pleasure.—Such was the influence of Youth and Bloom that he began even to make a sort of apology for having a Fire. ‘We should not have one at home,’ said he, ‘but the Sea air is always damp. I am not afraid of any thing so much as Damp.’ ‘I am so fortunate,’ said C. ‘as never to know whether the air is damp or dry. It has always some property that is wholesome and invigorating to me.’ ‘I like the Air too, as well as any body can;’ replied Arthur, ‘I am very fond of standing at an open Window when there is no Wind—but unluckily a Damp air does not like *me.—*It gives me the Rheumatism.—You are not rheumatic I

suppose?’ ‘Not at all.’ ‘That’s a great blessing.—But perhaps you are nervous.’ ‘No—I believe not. I have no idea that I am.’—‘I am very nervous.—To say the truth Nerves are the worst part of my Complaints in my opinion. My Sisters think me Bilious, but I doubt it.’ ‘You are quite in the right, to doubt it as long as you possibly can, I am sure.’ ‘If I were Bilious,’ he continued, ‘you know Wine would disagree with me, but it always does me good.— The more Wine I drink (in Moderation) the better I am.—I am always best of an Evening.—If you had seen me to-day before Dinner, you would have thought me a very poor Creature.’ Charlotte could believe it. She kept her countenance however, and said—‘As far as I can understand what nervous complaints are, I have a great idea of the efficacy of air and exercise for them:— daily, regular Exercise;—and I should recommend rather more of it to you than I suspect you are in the habit of taking.’—‘Oh! I am very fond of exercise myself’—he replied—‘and mean to walk a great deal while I am here, if the Weather is temperate. I shall be out every morning before breakfast—and take several turns upon the Terrace, and you will often see me at Trafalgar House.’—‘But you do not call a walk to Trafalgar House much exercise?’ ‘Not, as to mere distance, but the Hill is so steep!—Walking up that Hill, in the middle of the day, would throw me into such a Perspiration!— You would see me all in a Bath by the time I got there!—I am very subject to Perspiration, and there cannot be a surer sign of Nervousness.’ They were now advancing so deep in Physics, that Charlotte viewed the entrance of the Servant with the Tea things, as a very fortunate Interruption.—It produced a great and immediate change. The young Man’s attentions were instantly lost. He took his own Cocoa from the Tray,—which seemed

provided with almost as many Teapots &c as there were persons in company, Miss P. drinking one sort of Herb-Tea and Miss Diana another, and turning completely to the Fire, sat coddling and cooking it to his own satisfaction and toasting some Slices of Bread, brought up ready-prepared in the Toast rack—and till it was all done, she heard nothing of his voice but the murmuring of a few broken sentences of self-approbation and success.—When his Toils were over however, he moved back his Chair into as gallant a Line as ever, and proved that he had not been working only for himself, by his earnest invitation to her to take both Cocoa and Toast.—She was already helped to Tea—which surprised him—so totally self-engrossed had he been.—‘I thought I should have been in time,’ said he, ‘but cocoa takes a great deal of Boiling.’—‘I am much obliged to you,’ replied Charlotte—‘but I prefer Tea.’ ‘Then I will help myself,’ said he.—‘A large Dish of rather weak Cocoa every evening, agrees with me better than any thing.’—It struck her however, as he poured out this rather weak Cocoa, that it came forth in a very fine, dark coloured stream—and at the same moment, his Sisters both crying out—‘Oh! Arthur, you get your Cocoa stronger and stronger every Evening’, with Arthur’s somewhat conscious reply of ‘Tis rather stronger than it should be tonight’—convinced her that Arthur was by no means so fond of being starved as they could desire, or as he felt proper himself.—He was certainly very happy to turn the conversation on dry Toast, and hear no more of his sisters.—‘I hope you will eat some of this Toast,’ said he, ‘I reckon myself a very good Toaster; I never burn my Toasts—I never put them too near the Fire at first—and yet, you see, there is not a Corner but what is well browned.—I hope you like dry Toast.’—‘With a reasonable

quantity of Butter spread over it, very much’—said Charlotte— ‘but not otherwise.’ ‘No more do I’—said he exceedingly pleased— ‘We think quite alike there.—So far from dry Toast being wholesome, I think it a very bad thing for the Stomach. Without a little butter to soften it, it hurts the Coats of the Stomach I am sure it does.—I will have the pleasure of spreading some for you directly—and afterwards I will spread some for myself.—Very bad indeed for the Coats of the Stomach—but there is no convincing some people.—It irritates and acts like a nutmeg grater.’ He could not get command of the Butter however, without a struggle; His Sisters accusing him of eating a great deal too much, and declaring he was not to be trusted;—and he maintaining that he only eat enough to secure the Coats of his Stomach;—and besides, he only wanted it now for Miss Heywood.—Such a plea must prevail, he got the butter and spread away for her with an accuracy of Judgement which at least delighted himself; but when her Toast was done, and he took his own in hand, Charlotte could hardly contain herself as she saw him watching his sisters, while he scrupulously scraped off almost as much butter as he put on, and then seize an odd moment for adding a great dab just before it went into his Mouth.—Certainly, Mr. Arthur P.’s enjoyments in Invalidism were very different from his sisters—by no means so spiritualized.—A good deal of Earthy Dross hung about him. Charlotte could not but suspect him of adopting that line of Life, principally for the indulgence of an indolent Temper—and to be determined on having no Disorders but such as called for warm rooms and good Nourishment.—In one particular however, she soon found that he had caught something from them.—‘What!’ said he—‘Do you venture upon two dishes of strong Green Tea in one

Evening?—What Nerves you must have!—How I envy you.—Now, if I were to swallow only one such dish—what do you think it’s effect would be upon me?’ ‘Keep you awake perhaps all night’— replied Charlotte, meaning to overthrow his attempts at Surprise, by the Grandeur of her own Conceptions.—‘Oh! if that were all!’— he exclaimed.—‘No—it acts on me like Poison and would entirely take away the use of my right side, before I had swallowed it five minutes.—It sounds almost incredible—but it has happened to me so often that I cannot doubt it.—The use of my right Side is entirely taken away for several hours!’ ‘It sounds rather odd to be sure’—answered Charlotte coolly—‘but I dare say it would be proved to be the simplest thing in the World, by those who have studied right sides and Green Tea scientifically and thoroughly understand all the possibilities of their action on each other.’— Soon after Tea, a Letter was brought to Miss D. P. from the Hotel.—‘From Mrs. Charles Dupuis’—said she,—‘some private hand.’—And having read a few lines, exclaimed aloud ‘Well, this is very extraordinary! very extraordinary indeed!—That both should have the same name.—Two Mrs. Griffiths!—This is a Letter of recommendation and introduction to me, of the Lady from Camberwell—and her name happens to be Griffiths too.’ A few lines more however, and the colour rushed into her Cheeks, and with much Perturbation she added—‘The oddest thing that ever was!—a Miss Lambe too!—a young West-indian of large Fortune.—But it cannot be the same.—Impossible that it should be the same.—She read the Letter aloud for comfort.—It was merely to ‘introduce the Bearer, Mrs. G.— from Camberwell, and the three young Ladies under her care, to Miss D. P.’s notice. Mrs. G.— being a stranger at Sanditon, was anxious for a respectable

Introduction—and Mrs. C. Dupuis therefore, at the instance of the intermediate friend, provided her with this Letter, knowing that she could not do her dear Diana a greater kindness than by giving her the means of being useful.—Mrs. G.’s chief solicitude would be for the accommodation and comfort of one of the young Ladies under her care, a Miss Lambe, a young W. Indian of large Fortune, in delicate health.’—‘It was very strange!—very remarkable!—very extraordinary’ but they were all agreed in determining it to be impossible that there should not be two Families; such a totally distinct set of people as were concerned in the reports of each made that matter quite certain. There must be two Families.— Impossible to be otherwise. ‘Impossible’ and ‘Impossible’, was repeated over and over again with great fervour.—An accidental resemblance of Names and circumstances, however striking at first, involved nothing really incredible—and so it was settled.— Miss Diana herself derived an immediate advantage to counterbalance her Perplexity. She must put her shawl over her shoulders, and be running about again. Tired as she was, she must instantly repair to the Hotel, to investigate the truth and offer her services.

CHAPTER XI

t would not do.—Not all that the whole Parker race could say among themselves, could produce a happier catastrophée than that the Family from Surry and the Family from Camberwell were one and the same.—The rich West-indians, and the young Ladies Seminary had all entered Sanditon in those two Hack chaises. The Mrs. G. who in her friend Mrs. Darling’s hands, had wavered as to coming and been unequal to the Journey, was the very same Mrs. G. whose plans were at the same period (under another representation) perfectly decided, and who was without fears or difficulties.—All that had the appearance of Incongruity in the reports of the two, might very fairly be placed to the account of the Vanity, the Ignorance, or the blunders of the many engaged in the cause by the vigilance and caution of Miss Diana P.—Her intimate friends must be officious like herself, and the subject had supplied Letters and Extracts and Messages enough to make everything appear what it was not. Miss D. probably felt a little awkward on being first obliged to admit her mistake. A long Journey from Hampshire taken for nothing—a Brother disappointed—an expensive House on her hands for a week, must have been some of her immediate reflections—and much worse than all the rest, must have been the sort of sensation of being less clear-sighted and infallible than she had believed herself.—No part of it however seemed to trouble her long. There were so many to share in the shame and the blame, that probably when she had divided out their proper portions to Mrs. Darling, Miss Capper,

Fanny Noyce, Mrs. Dupuis and Mrs. C.D.’s Neighbour, there might be a mere trifle of reproach remaining for herself.—At any rate, she was seen all the following morning walking about after Lodgings with Mrs. G.—as alert as ever.—Mrs. G. was a very well- behaved, genteel kind of Woman, who supported herself by receiving such great girls and young Ladies, as wanted either Masters for finishing their Education, or a home for beginning their Displays—She had several more under her care than the three who were now come to Sanditon, but the others all happened to be absent.—Of these three, and indeed of all, Miss Lambe was beyond comparison the most important and precious, as she paid in proportion to her fortune.—She was about seventeen, half Mulatto, chilly and tender, had a maid of her own, was to have the best room in the Lodgings, and was always of the first consequence in every plan of Mrs. G.—The other Girls, two Miss Beauforts were just such young Ladies as may be met with, in at least one family out of three, throughout the Kingdom; they had tolerable complexions, shewey figures, an upright decided carriage and an assured Look;—they were very accomplished and very Ignorant, their time being divided between such pursuits as might attract admiration, and those Labours and Expedients of dexterous Ingenuity, by which they could dress in a stile much beyond what they ought to have afforded; they were some of the first in every change of fashion and the object of all, was to captivate some Man of much better fortune than their own.—Mrs.

G. had preferred a small, retired place, like Sanditon, on Miss Lambe’s account—and the Miss B.s, though naturally preferring any thing to Smallness and Retirement, yet having in the course of the Spring been involved in the inevitable expense of six new

Dresses each for a three days visit, were constrained to be satisfied with Sanditon also, till their circumstances were retrieved. There, with the hire of a Harp for one, and the purchase of some Drawing paper for the other and all the finery they could already command, they meant to be very economical, very elegant and very secluded; with the hope on Miss Beaufort’s side, of praise and celebrity from all who walked within the sound of her Instrument, and on Miss Letitia’s, of curiosity and rapture in all who came near her while she sketched—and to Both, the consolation of meaning to be the most stylish Girls in the Place.—The particular introduction of Mrs. G. to Miss Diana Parker, secured them immediately an acquaintance with the Trafalgar House-family, and with the Denhams;—and the Miss Beauforts were soon satisfied with ‘the Circle in which they moved in Sanditon’ to use a proper phrase, for every body must now ‘move in a Circle’,—to the prevalence of which rototory Motion, is perhaps to be attributed the Giddiness and false steps of many.—Lady Denham had other motives for calling on Mrs. G. besides attention to the Parkers.—In Miss Lambe, here was the very young Lady, sickly and rich, whom she had been asking for; and she made the acquaintance for Sir Edward’s sake, and the sake of her Milch asses. How it might answer with regard to the Baronet, remained to be proved, but as to the Animals, she soon found that all her calculations of Profit would be vain. Mrs. G. would not allow Miss L. to have the smallest sympton of a Decline, or any complaint which Asses milk could possibly relieve. ‘Miss L. was under the constant care of an experienced Physician;—and his Prescriptions must be their rule’—and except in favour of some Tonic Pills, which a Cousin of her own had a Property in, Mrs. G. did never deviate from the

strict Medecinal page.—The corner house of the Terrace was the one in which Miss D.P. had the pleasure of settling her new friends, and considering that it commanded in front the favourite Lounge of all the Visitors at Sanditon, and on one side, whatever might be going on at the Hotel, there could not have been a more favourable spot for the seclusions of the Miss Beauforts. And accordingly, long before they had suited themselves with an Instrument, or with Drawing paper, they had, by the frequency of their appearance at the low Windows upstairs, in order to close the blinds, or open the Blinds, to arrange a flower pot on the Balcony, or look at nothing through a Telescope, attracted many an eye upwards, and made many a Gazer gaze again.—A little Novelty has a great effect in so small a place; the Miss Beauforts, who would have been nothing at Brighton, could not move here without notice;—and even Mr. Arthur Parker, though little disposed for supernumerary exertion, always quitted the Terrace, in his way to his Brothers by this corner House, for the sake of a glimpse of the Miss Bs, though it was half a quarter of a mile round about, and added two steps to the ascent of the Hill.

CHAPTER XII

harlotte had been ten days at Sanditon without seeing Sanditon House, every attempt at calling on Lady D. having been defeated by meeting with her beforehand.

But now it was to be more resolutely undertaken, at a more early hour, that nothing might be neglected of attention to Lady D. or amusement to Charlotte.—‘And if you should find a favourable opening my Love,’ said Mr. P. (who did not mean to go with them)—‘I think you had better mention the poor Mullins’s situation, and sound her Ladyship as to a Subscription for them. I am not fond of charitable subscriptions in a place of this kind—It is a sort of tax upon all that come—Yet as their distress is very great and I almost promised the poor Woman yesterday to get something done for her, I believe we must set a subscription on foot—and therefore the sooner the better,—and Lady Denham’s name at the head of the List will be a very necessary beginning.— You will not dislike speaking to her about it, Mary?’—‘I will do whatever you wish me,’ replied his Wife—‘but you would do it so much better yourself. I shall not know what to say.’—‘My dear Mary,’ cried he, ‘it is impossible you can be really at a loss. Nothing can be more simple. You have only to state the present afflicted situation of the family, their earnest application to me, and my being willing to promote a little subscription for their relief, provided it meet with her approbation.’ ‘The easiest thing in the World’—cried Miss Diana Parker who happened to be calling on them at the moment. ‘All said and done, in less time than you

have been talking of it now.—And while you are on the subject of subscriptions Mary, I will thank you to mention a very melancholy case to Lady D. which has been represented to me in the most affecting terms.—There is a poor Woman in Worcestershire, whom some friends of mine are exceedingly interested about, and I have undertaken to collect whatever I can for her. If you would mention the circumstance to Lady Denham!—Lady Denham can give, if she is properly attacked—and I look upon her to be the sort of Person who, when once she is prevailed on to undraw her Purse, would as readily give ten guineas as five.—And therefore, if you find her in a Giving mood, you might as well speak in favour of another Charity which I and a few more, have very much at heart: the establishment of a Charitable Repository at Burton on Trent.—And then,—there is the family of the poor Man who was hung last assizes at York, tho’ we really have raised the sum we wanted for putting them all out, yet if you can get a Guinea from her on their behalf, it may as well be done.’ ‘My dear Diana!’ exclaimed Mrs. P.—‘I could no more mention these things to Lady

D. than I could fly.’—‘Where’s the difficulty?—I wish I could go with you myself—but in five minutes I must be at Mrs. G.—to encourage Miss Lambe in taking her first Dip. She is so frightened, poor Thing, that I promised to come and keep up her Spirits, and go in the Machine with her if she wished it—and as soon as that is over, I must hurry home, for Susan is to have Leaches at one o’clock—which will be a three hours business,— therefore I really have not a moment to spare—besides that (between ourselves) I ought to be in bed myself at this present time, for I am hardly able to stand—and when the Leaches have done, I dare say we shall both go to our rooms for the rest of the

day.’—‘I am sorry to hear it, indeed; but if this is the case I hope Arthur will come to us.’—‘If Arthur takes my advice, he will go to bed too, for if he stays up by himself, he will certainly eat and drink more than he ought;—but you see Mary, how impossible it is for me to go with you to Lady Denham’s.’—‘Upon second thoughts Mary,’ said her husband, ‘I will not trouble you to speak about the Mullins.—I will take an opportunity of seeing Lady D. myself.—I know how little it suits you to be pressing matters upon a Mind at all unwilling.’—His application thus withdrawn, his sister could say no more in support of hers, which was his object, as he felt all their impropriety and all the certainty of their ill effect upon his own better claim.—Mrs P. was delighted at this release, and set off very happy with her friend and her little girl, on this walk to Sanditon House.—It was a close, misty morning, and when they reached the brow of the Hill, they could not for some time make out what sort of Carriage it was, which they saw coming up. It appeared at different moments to be everything from the Gig to the Pheaton, from one horse to four; and just as they were concluding in favour of a Tandem, little Mary’s young eyes distinguished the Coachman and she eagerly called out, ‘’Tis Uncle Sidney Mama, it is indeed.’ And so it proved.—Mr. Sidney Parker driving his Servant in a very neat Carriage was soon opposite to them, and they all stopped for a few minutes. The manners of the Parkers were always pleasant among themselves— and it was a very friendly meeting between Sidney and his sister- in-law, who was most kindly taking it for granted that he was on his way to Trafalgar House. This he declined however. ‘He was just come from Eastbourne, proposing to spend two or three days, as it might happen, at Sanditon—but the Hotel must be his

Quarters—He was expecting to be joined there by a friend or two.’—The rest was common enquiries and remarks, with kind notice of little Mary, and a very well-bred Bow and proper address to Miss Heywood on her being named to him—and they parted, to meet again within a few hours.—Sidney Parker was about seven or eight and twenty, very good-looking, with a decided air of Ease and Fashion, and a lively countenance.—This adventure afforded agreable discussion for some time. Mrs. P. entered into all her Husband’s joy on the occasion, and exulted in the credit which Sidney’s arrival would give to the place. The road to Sanditon H. was a broad, handsome, planted approach, between fields, and conducting at the end of a quarter of a mile through second Gates into the Grounds, which though not extensive had all the Beauty and Respectability which an abundance of very fine Timber could give.—These Entrance Gates were so much in a corner of the Grounds or Paddock, so near one of its Boundaries, that an outside fence was at first almost pressing on the road—till an angle here, and a curve there threw them to a better distance. The Fence was a proper Park paling in excellent condition; with clusters of fine Elms, or rows of old Thorns following its line almost every where.—Almost must be stipulated—for there were vacant spaces—and through one of these, Charlotte as soon as they entered the Enclosure, caught a glimpse over the pales of something White and Womanish in the field on the other side;—it was something which immediately brought Miss B. into her head—and stepping to the pales, she saw indeed—and very decidedly, in spite of the Mist; Miss B. seated, not far before her, at the foot of the bank which sloped down from the outside of the Paling and which a narrow Path seemed to skirt along;—Miss

Brereton seated apparently very composedly—and Sir E.D. by her side.—They were sitting so near each other and appeared so closely engaged in gentle conversation, that Charlotte instantly felt she had nothing to do but to step back again, and say not a word.—Privacy was certainly their object.—It could not but strike her rather unfavourably with regard to Clara;—but hers was a situation which must not be judged with severity.—She was glad to perceive that nothing had been discerned by Mrs Parker; If Charlotte had not been considerably the tallest of the two, Miss B.’s white ribbons might not have fallen within the ken of her more observant eyes.—Among other points of moralising reflection which the sight of this Tete a Tete produced, Charlotte could not but think of the extreme difficulty which secret Lovers must have in finding a proper spot for their stolen Interviews.— Here perhaps they had thought themselves so perfectly secure from observation—the whole field open before them—a steep bank and Pales never crossed by the foot of Man at their back— and a great thickness of air, in aid. Yet here, she had seen them. They were really ill-used.—The House was large and handsome; two Servants appeared, to admit them, and everything had a suitable air of Property and Order.—Lady D. valued herself upon her liberal Establishment, and had great enjoyment in the order and the Importance of her style of living.—They were shewn into the usual sitting room, well-proportioned and well-furnished;— tho’ it was Furniture rather originally good and extremely well kept, than new or shewey—and as Lady D. was not there, Charlotte had leisure to look about, and to be told by Mrs. P. that the whole-length Portrait of a stately Gentleman, which placed over the Mantlepeice, caught the eye immediately, was the picture

of Sir H. Denham—and that one among many Miniatures in another part of the room, little conspicuous, represented Mr. Hollis.—Poor Mr. Hollis!—It was impossible not to feel him hardly used; to be obliged to stand back in his own House and see the best place by the fire constantly occupied by Sir H. D.