Elizabeth Gunning

Miss Gunning. The Packet: a Novel.

London: J. Bell, 1794.

 

Contemporary Reviews

British Critic, 4 (1794), 544-45.

(Art. 22. The Packet, a Novel. By Miss Gunning. 12mo. 4 vols. 12s. J. Bell. 1794.

We ought to ask pardon of Miss Gunning, for having so long delayed to notice her novel, and we do ask pardon; and we ask it with the more willingness, because we see abundant reason in the book to believe that she is not of a character to resent involuntary offences. It seems a bad method of recommending an ingenious work of this kind to tell the story of it; it is like taking the seasoning from a dish, and then soliciting our friends to eat the remainder. We shall not do that injury to Miss G.-We shall content ourselves with saying, that the characters are interesting and well drawn: that Sir Thomas Montreville is the paragon of worthy Baronets, (very like one we could mention) his Lady, son, and daughter, no less eminent in their different lines of merit; and Mrs. Johnson admirably contrasted to them all. The contrivances of the story are ingenious, and the style of narrative at once original, lively, and sensible. The picture of humble life with which the book commences is drawn with accuracy and interest; so much so, that it is impossible not to esteem and love Richard and Sarah Adams, of whom it is said, that "they were in the actual receipt of fifty pounds a year (from the bounty [545] of Sir Thomas Montreville) quite as large a sum to them as any Lord's fifty thousand per annum is to him; every man's wants being proportioned to his means, and sometimes even beyond them.-Fortune (our fair narrator proceeds), when heaping upon Richard and Sarah these capital marks of her bounty, did not take from them what was a thousand times more valuable than the very best of her gifts, but left them in possession of their peace, their innocence, and their humility. Their rest was never disturbed by plotting how they should make their fifties into hundreds; their rectitude was never sacrificed to temptation, or their humble thoughts ever lifted above their neighbours by the breath of vanity. Their residence had received no embellishments from the improvers of nature-their manner no grace from the polish of ton-or their language any advantage from Mr. Sheridan's dictionary. Merely then for amusement and health's sake were these happy people working in their little garden, when I entered it through a small wicket, over which was turned a fragrant arch of roses, honeysuckles, and sweet briar." P. 72. Here is nature, good morality, and good language. Miss G. has a naïve style of narrative, which denotes genius, and has throughout a pleasing effect. She says "The Castle presents itself before me. What food does it exhibit for architects-What a regale for amateurs-What a hash of description it is now in my power to serve up, supplied with so many rich ingredients, if in one only I had not been deficient! The attic salt is wanting, without which I may increase the mess of words, but can give them no relishing flavour; and it is for this reason, of which I am truly conscious, that I shall choose to say little about it." p. 37. Vol I.-What she adds, alluding to her own talent for drawing, has much similar merit. At p. 211[?], after some paragraphs of the same easy manner, she declares her hero rich, and adds, "It would never have entered into my head to have introduced a poor hero or a poor heroine, and then have sent them to make their way through the circles of fashion: it would have been subjecting them to insult, and myself to the charge of knowing less than I really do know of the circles into which I should so foolishly have ushered them." We have no room for more morsels, but if the palate of our readers resembles our own, these will be sufficient to excite appetite.

Critical Review, ns, v11 (1794), 178-81.

The Packet: a Novel. By Miss Gunning. 4 Vols. 12mo. 12s. sewed. Bell. 1794.

   This is, if we understand aright, this lady's first appearance as a novel writer; and, with that circumstance in our view, we think that she has acquitted herself with credit. The language though not elegant, nor every where free from colloquial inaccuracies, is easy; the tale is pathetic, and the catastrophe strongly interests the feelings. The story is, indeed, told in two [sic] diffuse a manner, and mixed up with much alloy, which diminishes its value; but in the more interesting situations we think there is much merit, nor is it a small part of that merit that none but virtuous feelings are called forth throughout the whole work. The tender charities of parent, child, lover, sister, friend, appear in all their purity, and with some strength of expression. With regard to the plot, we should be sorry if we could not keep a secret as well as the lady; we shall, therefore, not spoil the reader's pleasure by analysing the story, or anticipating the contents of the fourth volume. The following extract may give an idea of the author's manner; it well describes the winning attentions of amiable youth, and the petulant fondness of infirm age. The old lady spoken of, is grandmother to the father of Adelaide, and had been lately sheltered in his house from the unkindness of another descendent.
   'Adelaide, the ever gracious, ever fascinating Adelaide Montreville! from her unremitting attentions, and tender assiduities to the health, the comfort, and the amusement of this interesting venerable parent, awakened all of sensibility that was yet alive in the heart of ninety-six; and, without consulting any part of the family, she formed a resolution which she thus carried into execution.
   'Finding herself one day not well enough to leave her chamber, Adelaide had dedicated, as usual, her whole time to the cares of nursing, and the pleasures of entertaining her. The medicine she took was made less unpalatable when administered by the hands of her gentle and affectionate grandchild--f included to exert her spirits by an effort of cheerfulness, Adelaide's memory was ransacked for little bagatelles, to assist the salutary purpose-if disposed for the reception of harmonic sounds, she drew them form her harp or guittar, [sic] and joined them to the sweeter harmony of her own sweeter voice. When any of these grew tedious on the ear of age, Adelaide would have recourse to a book, and, having lulled her to a short repose, watched till she awoke again, with more anxiety than Mrs. Johnson would have shewn had the last scene been closing in her presence.'
   The resolution mentioned is making a will in favour of Adelaide, soon after which her darling is sent on a tour of France, to the great dissatisfaction of the old lady.
   'There was but one person who took no pains to smother her discontent; and it was with the greatest difficulty than the poor old grandmother was prevailed upon to sit down at the same table with people who could use her so cruelly as to send the dear child away, whose absence she felt it would be in vain for her to expect, or wish to survive.-She was pleased with nothing that was done to please her.-looked affronted with every body-answered nobody but in uncivil short monosyllables-what she did say was mumbled out to herself in such phrases as these-Ah, poor me! dear child!-hard-hearted creatures! and the like. She would look on the interesting Adelaide till her dim half-sightless eyes were filled with scalding tears, and, then she would add: how barbarous you all are-if I am ill, who will take care of me now? I shall take care of you, dear madam, said lady Gertrude. Thank you, returned she; but if I am very bad, and likely to die, sir Thomas must promise to send for Adelaide back again. I give you my word, to do what you desire, said he. Then I know you will not break it, replied she; and from that moment was restored to something like good humour.'
   After sir Thomas had conducted his daughter to Dover, his reception is thus desdribed:
   'Sir Thomas asked what sort of temper she was in at present, and if he might venture to shew himself to her before she went to rest? Lady Gertrude was wishing him to decline the interview that night for fear she might be disturbed and put off from her sleep, when Jaquiline appeared at the door, to say that her lady had heard that sir Thomas was returned, and desired to see him.
   'I am a transgressor, said he; Gertrude, you must go with me, to secure my personal safety. He smiled, drew her hand under his arms, and they walked on together.
   'Lady Gertrude guessed at the reception prepared for him, by observing, that when she left Mrs. Osmond, half an hour before, she was sitting in her easy chair, with her face fronting the door; she had no reversed her position, so that, as they entered, they saw only her back, and it seemed as if she had instructed her very shoulders to speak the language of displeasure; for though always high, they were now pushed up, and much higher than usual.
   'Sir Thomas, finding that he must either laugh or cough at the extraordinary scene before him, stifled the first, and indulged the last so heartily, that if his grandmother had been three rooms off, she would have heard that he was coming; but in the same room with him, she could not plead ignorance of his being entered, yet she neither stirred nor turned her head, but chuffily cried out as he was stepping towards her-So, grandson! you are come back I find, and have made a fine hand of it-I did not think you could have left the dear creature behind, though you said you would-Well, well, you have killed your poor old grandmother, and there's an end of the matter; but I wish it may not be the occasion of more deaths than one:--and she looked at lady Gertrude very kindly, and as if she would have added, the heart of your wife will be broken as well as my own!
   'Sir Thomas kissed her hands very affectionately, for he was much struck with her sensibility, though she had a strange way of shewing it: he thanked her for the fondness with which she loved their Adelaide, and hoped it would not be lessened when she came home again, to take her station, as usual, under the wing of so partial and tender a parent.
   'Thomas! Thomas! She replied pathetically, shaking her few remaining grey hairs, some of which having escaped form their binder, had fallen sparingly over her forehead, as if to render her prophecy more respectable, by adding to the venerable appearance of the venerable prophetess-Thomas! Thomas! said she, I am not to be flattered into false hopes; I shall never live to see the return of my child, neither may you, we are all in the hands of God; but I will try to forgive you for having robbed me, for a few weeks, perhaps months, of happiness in this world; her image I shall carry with me to the next! But we will talk no more of her now, or I shall get no sleep to-night; only remember, she continued, that you have promised to send for her if I should be very bad, and yet not so near my end but there might be a chance of seeing her once more; remember, Thomas, I have your own word for this indulgence.
   'You have, madam, and I will strictly abide by it.
   'Well, said she, then you may go, I can talk no more about it now. -She held out a hand to each-Sir Thomas pressed her forehead with his lips, lady Gertrude saluted her cheek; she returned their endearments with the feeble pressure of enervated age, smiled kindly upon them, called them good creatures, herself a spoilt child, gave them her blessing, wished them a good night,--and they separated from her, more penetrated by the good qualities of her heart, than mindful of the oddities that marked her disposition.
                      -----
   'The good old lady was but too true a prophetess-the vigour of those artificial spirits that in a degree supported her strength, began to fail when Miss Montreville left the castle; to whom her attachment was of that extraordinary sort, that she was indebted to her attentions for a larger share of cheerful content than she had known at any former period of her very long life-her bank of content was broken-she could not longer draw on Adelaide for supplies-She first took to the confinement of her chamber, next to her bed, and from thence, at ninety-six, how easy is the last transition!
   'When death stole upon this venerable ruin of mortality, he came in so gentle a form, that his approach was imperceptible he came with no terrors in his looks, or torments in his train, but softly laid his hands upon her eyes, and they were closed for ever.'
   As we are promised another novel from the same hand; to be built upon an episodical story in these volumes, which, by the way, we protest against as an injudicious mode of a new publication; we must beg the fair author to endeavour to forget herself, if she wishes to interest us in her characters. We would likewise put her in mind that travelling amongst the Alps is not quite like travelling on English turnpike roads; we meet with a cottage, situated at the top of one of the most savage and tremendous mountains in the world, covered with snow, to the door of which they could not drive nearer than a hundred yards.

-Prepared by Margaret Case Croskery, Ohio Northern University, July 2003