"Sacred To Friendship."
"Sacred To Friendship."
In two niches prepared for the purpose, we severally seated the two astonished nymphs, who seemed absolutely enchanted. Above was the inscription in large Roman letters.
The Astons looked so much alive, that they might have been mistaken for Stanleys, who, in their turn, were so affected with this tender mark of friendship, that they looked as tearful as if they had been Astons. After reading the inscription, "My dear Clara," said Lucilla to Miss Aston, "wherecouldyou get these beautiful verses? Though the praise they convey is too flattering to be just, it is too delicate not to please. The lines are at once tender and elegant." "We got them," said Miss Aston, with a sweet vivacity, "where we get every thing that is good, from Stanley-Grove," bowing modestly to me.
How was I elated; and how did Lucilla blush! but though she now tried to qualify her flattery, she could not recall it. And I would not allow myself to be robbed of the delight it had given me. All the company seemed to enjoy her confusion and my pleasure.
I forgot to mention, that as we crossed the park, we had seen enter the house, through a back avenue, a procession of little girls neatly dressed in a uniform. In a whisper, I asked Lady Aston what it meant. "You are to know," replied her ladyship, "that my daughters adopt all Miss Stanley's plans, and among the rest, that of associating with all their own indulgences some little act of charity, that while they are receiving pleasure, they may also be conferring it. The opening of the temple of friendship is likely to afford too much gratification to be passed over without some such association. So my girls give to-day a little feast, with prizes of merit to their village-school, and a few other deserving young persons."
When we had taken our seats in the temple, Ph[oe]be suddenly cried out, clasping her hands in an ecstacy, "Only look, Lucilla! There is no end to the enchantment. It is all fairy land." On casting our eyes as she directed, we were agreeably surprised with observing a large kind of temporary shed or booth at some distance from us. It was picturesquely fixed near an old spreading oak, and was ingeniously composed of branches of trees, fresh and green. Under the oak stood ranged the village maids. We walked to the spot. The inside of the booth was hung round with caps, aprons, bonnets, handkerchiefs, and other coarse, but neat articles of female dress. On a rustic table was laid a number of Bibles, and specimens of several kinds of coarse works, and little manufactures. The various performances were examined by the company; some presents were given to all. But additional prizes were awarded by the young patronesses, to the best specimens of different work; to the best knitters, the best manufacturers of split straw, and the best performers in plain work, I think they called it.
Three grown up young women, neatly dressed, and of modest manners, stood behind. It appeared that one of them had taken such good care of her young sisters and brothers, since their mother's death, and had so prudently managed her father's house, that it had saved him from an imprudent choice. Another had postponed, for many months, a marriage in which her heart was engaged, because she had a paralytic grandmother whom she attended day and night, and whom nothing, not even love itself, could tempt her to desert. Death having now released the aged sufferer, the wedding was to take place next Sunday. The third had, for above a year, worked two hours every day, over and above her set time, and applied the gains to clothe the orphan child of a deceased friend. She was also to accompany her lover to the altar on Sunday, but had made it a condition of her marrying him, that she should be allowed to continue her supernumerary hours' work, for the benefit of the poor orphan. All three had been exemplary in their attendance at church, as well as in their general conduct. The fair patronesses presented each with a handsome Bible, and with a complete, plain, but very neat suit of apparel.
While these gifts were distributing, I whispered Sir John that one such ticket as we were each desired to take for Squallini's benefit, would furnish the cottages of these poor girls. "And itshall," replied he, with emphasis. "How little a way will that sum go in superfluities, which will make two honest couple happy! How costly is vanity! how cheap is charity!"
"Can these happy, useful young creatures be my little inactive, insipid Astons, Charles?" whispered Mr. Stanley, as we walked away to leave the girls to sit down to their plentiful supper, which was spread on a long table under the oak, without the green booth. This group of figures made an interesting addition to the scenery, when we got back to the temple, and often attracted our attention while we were engaged in conversation.
The company were not soon weary of admiring the rustic building, which seemed raised as if by the stroke of a magician's wand, so rapidly had it sprung up. They were delighted to find that their pleasure was to be prolonged by drinking tea in the temple.
While we were at tea Mr. Stanley, addressing himself to me, said, "I have always forgotten to ask you, Charles, if your high expectations of pleasure from the society in London had quite answered?"
"I was entertained, and I was disappointed," replied I. "I always found the pleasure of the moment not heightened, but effaced by the succeeding moment. The ever restless, rolling tide of new intelligence at once gratified and excited the passion for novelty, which I found to bele grand poisson qui mange les petits. This successive abundance of fresh supply gives an ephemeral importance to every thing, and a lasting importance to nothing. We skimmed every topic, but dived into none. Much desultory talk, but little discussion. The combatants skirmished like men whose arms are kept bright by constant use; who were accustomed to a flying fight, but who avoided the fatigue of coming to close quarters. What was old, however momentous, was rejected as dull, what was new, however insignificant, was thought interesting. Events of the past week were placed with those beyond the flood; and the very existence of occurrences which continued to be matter of deep interest with us in the country, seemed there totally forgotten.
"I found, too, that the inhabitants of the metropolis had a standard of merit of their own. That knowledge of the town was concluded to be knowledge of the world; that local habits, reigning phrases, temporary fashions, and an acquaintance with the surface of manners, was supposed to be knowledge of mankind. Of course, he who was ignorant of the topics of the hour, and the anecdotes of a few modish leaders, was ignorant of human nature."
Sir John observed, that I was rather too young to be apraiser of past times, yet he allowed that the standard of conversation was not so high as it had been in the time of my father, by whose reports my youthful ardor had been inflamed. He did not indeed suppose that men were less intellectual now, but they certainly were less colloquially intellectual. "For this," added he, "various reasons may be assigned. In London man is every day becoming less of a social, and more of a gregarious animal. Crowds are as little favorable to conversation as to reflection. He finds, therefore, that he may figure in the mass with less expense of mind; and as to women, they are put to no expense at all. They find that by mixing with myriads, they may carry on the daily intercourse of life, without being obliged to bring a single idea to enrich the common stock."
"I do not wonder," said I, "that the dull and the uninformed love to shelter their insignificance in a crowd. In mingling with the multitude, their deficiencies elude detection. The vapid and the ignorant are like a bad play; they owe the little figure they make to the dress, the scenery, the music, and the company. The noise and the glare take off all attention from the defects of the work. The spectator is amused, and he does not inquire whether it is with the piece or with the accompaniments. The end is attained, and he is little solicitous about the means. But an intellectual woman, like a well written drama, will please at home without all these aids and adjuncts; nay, the beauties of the superior piece, and of the superior woman, will rise on a more intimate survey. But you were going, Sir John, to assign other causes for the decline and fall of conversation."
"One very affecting reason," replied he; "is that the alarming state of public affairs fills all men's minds with one momentous object. As every Englishman is a patriot, every patriot is a politician. It is natural that that subject should fill every mouth which occupies every heart, and that little room should be left for extraneous matter."
"I should accept this," said I, "as a satisfactory vindication, had I heard that the same absorbing cause had thinned the public places, or diminished the attraction of the private resorts of dissipation."
"There is a third reason," said Sir John. "Polite literature has in a good degree given way to experimental philosophy. The admirers of science assert, that the last was the age of words, and that this is the age of things. A more substantial kind of knowledge has partly superseded these elegant studies, which have caught such hold on your affections."
"I heartily wish," replied I, "that the new pursuits may be found to make men wiser; they certainly have not made them more agreeable."
"It is affirmed," said Mr. Stanley, "that the prevailing philosophical studies have a religious use, and that they naturally tend to elevate the heart to the great Author of the universe."
"I have but one objection to that assertion," replied Sir John, "namely, that it is not true. This would seem indeed to be their direct tendency, yet experiment, which you know is the soul of philosophy, has proved the contrary."
He then adduced some instances in our own country, which I forbear to name, that clearly evinced that this was not their necessary consequence; adding, however, a few great names on the more honorable side. He next adverted to the Baillies, the Condorcets, the D'Alemberts, and the Lalandes, as melancholy proofs of the inefficacy of mere science to make Christians.
"Far be it from me," said Sir John, "to undervalue philosophical pursuits. The modern discoveries are extremely important, especially in their application to the purposes of common life; but where these are pursued exclusively, I can not help preferring the study of the great classic authors, those exquisite masters of life and manners, with whose spirit conversation, twenty or thirty years ago, was so richly impregnated."
"I confess," said I, "there may be more matter; but there is certainly less mind in the reigning pursuits. The reputation of skill, it is true, may be obtained at a much less expense of time and intellect. The comparative cheapness of the acquisition holds out the powerful temptation of more credit with less labor. A sufficient knowledge of botany or chemistry to make a figure, is easily obtained, while a thorough acquaintance with the historians, poets, and orators of antiquity requires much time, and close application."
"But," exclaimed Sir John, "can the fashionable studies pretend to give the same expansion to the mind, the same elevation to the sentiments, the same energy to the feelings, the same stretch and compass to the understanding, the same correctness to the taste, the same grace and spirit to the whole moral and intellectual man."
"For my own part," replied I, "so far from saying with Hamlet, 'Man delights not me, nor woman neither,' I confess I have little delight in any thing else. As a man, man is the creature with whom I have to do, and the varieties in his character interest me more than all the possible varieties of mosses, shells and fossils. To view this compound creature in the complexity of his actions, as portrayed by the hand of those immortal masters, Tacitus and Plutarch; to view him in the struggle of his passions, as displayed by Euripides and Shakspeare; to contemplate him in the blaze of his eloquence, by the two rival orators of Greece and Rome, is more congenial to my feelings than the ablest disquisition of which matter was ever the subject." Sir John, who is a passionate, and rather too exclusive, admirer of classic lore, warmly declared himself of my opinion.
"I went to town," replied I, "with a mind eager for intellectual pleasure. My memory was not quite unfurnished with passages which I thought likely to be adverted to, and which might serve to embellish conversation, without incurring the charge of pedantry. But though most of the men I conversed with were my equals in education, and my superiors in talent, there seemed little disposition to promote such topics as might bring our understandings into play. Whether it is that business, active life, and public debate, absorb the mind, and make men consider society rather as a scene to rest than to exercise it, I know not; certain it is that they brought less into the treasury of conversation than I expected; not because they were poor, but proud, or idle, and reserved their talents and acquisitions for higher occasions. The most opulent possessors, I often found the most penurious contributors."
"Rien de trop," said Mr. Stanley, "was the favorite maxim of an author[3]whom I am not apt to quote for rules of moral conduct. Yet its adoption would be a salutary check against excess in all our pursuits. If polite learning is undervalued by the mere man of science, it is perhaps over-rated by the mere man of letters. If it dignifies retirement, and exalts society, it is not the great business of life; it is not the prime fountain of moral excellence."
"Well, so much forman," said Sir John, "but, Charles, you have not told us what you had to say ofwoman, in your observations on society."
"As to woman," replied I, "I declare that I found more propensity to promote subjects of taste and elegant speculation among some of the superior class of females, than in many of my own sex. The more prudent, however, are restrained through fear of the illiberal sarcasms of men who, not contented to suppress their own faculties, ridicule all intellectual exertion in woman, though evidently arising from a modest desire of improvement, and not the vanity of hopeless rivalry."
"Charles is always the Paladin of the reading ladies," said Sir John. "I do not deny it," replied I, "if they bear their faculties meekly. But I confess that what is sneeringly called a learned lady, is to me far preferable to a scientific one, such as I encountered one evening, who talked of the fulcrum, and the lever, and the statera, which she took care to tell us was the Roman steel-yard, with all the sang-froid of philosophical conceit."
"Scientific men," said Sir John, "are in general admirable for their simplicity, but in a technical woman, I have seldom found a grain of taste or elegance."
"I own," replied I, "I should greatly prefer a fair companion who could modestly discriminate between the beauties of Virgil and Milton, to one who was always dabbling in chemistry, and who came to dinner with dirty hands from the laboratory. And yet I admire chemistry too; I am now only speaking of that knowledge which is desirable in a female companion; for knowledge I must have. But arts, which are of immense value in manufactures, won't make my wife's conversation entertaining to me. Discoveries which may greatly improve dyeing and bleaching, will add little to the delights of one's summer evening's walk, or winter fire-side."
The ladies, Lucilla especially, smiled at my warmth. I felt that there was approbation in her smile, and though I thought I had said too much already, it encouraged me to go on. "I repeat, that next to religion, whatever relates to human manners, is most attracting to human creatures. To turn from conversation to composition. What is it that excites so feeble an interest, in perusing that finely written poem of the Abbe de Lille, 'Les Jardins?' It is because his garden has no cultivators, no inhabitants, no men and women. What confers that powerful charm on the descriptive parts of Paradise Lost? A fascination, I will venture to affirm, paramount to all the lovely and magnificent scenery which adorns it. Eden itself with all its exquisite landscape, would excite a very inferior pleasure did it exhibit only inanimate beauties. 'Tis the proprietors, 'tis the inhabitants, 'tis thelive stock, of Eden, which seize upon the affections, and twine about the heart. The gardens, even of Paradise, would be dull without the gardeners. 'Tis mental excellence, 'tis moral beauty which completes the charm. Where this is wanting, landscape poetry, though it be read with pleasure, yet the interest it raises is cold. It is admired, but seldom quoted. It leaves no definite idea on the mind. If general, it is indistinct; if minute, tedious."
"It must be confessed," said Sir John, "that some poets are apt to forget that the finest representation of nature is only the scene, not the object; the canvas, not the portrait. We had indeed some time ago, so much of this gorgeous scene-painting, so much splendid poetical botany, so many amorous flowers, and so many vegetable courtships; so many wedded plants; roots transformed to nymphs, and dwelling in emerald palaces; that some how or other, truth and probability and nature, and man slipped out of the picture, though it must be allowed that genius held the pencil."
"In Mason's 'English Garden,'" replied I, "Alcander's precepts would have been cold, had there been no personification. The introduction of character dramatizes what else would have been frigidly didactic. Thomson enriches his landscape with here and there a figure, drawn with more correctness than warmth, with more nature than spirit, and exalts it everywhere by moral allusion and religious reference. The scenery of Cowper is perpetually animated with sketches of character, enlivened with portraits from real life, and the exhibition of human manners and passions. His most exquisite descriptions owe their vividness to moral illustration. Loyalty, liberty, patriotism, charity, piety, benevolence, every generous feeling, every glowing sentiment, every ennobling passion, grows out of his descriptive powers. His matter always bursts into mind. His shrubbery, his forest, his flower-garden, all produce
Fruits worthy of Paradise,
Fruits worthy of Paradise,
and lead to immortality."
Mr. Stanley said, adverting again to the subject of conversation, it was an amusement to him to observe what impression the first introduction to general society made on a mind conversant with books, but to whom a the world was in a manner new.
"I believe," said Sir John, "that an overflowing commerce, and the excessive opulence it has introduced, though favorable to all the splendors of art and mechanic ingenuity, yet have lowered the standard of taste, and debilitated the mental energies. They are advantageous to luxury, but fatal to intellect. It has added to the brilliancy of the drawing-room itself, but deducted from that of the inhabitant. It has given perfection to our mirrors, our candelabras, our gilding, our inlaying, and our sculpture, but it has communicated a torpor to the imagination, and enervated our intellectual vigor."
"In one way," said Mr. Stanley, smiling, "luxury has been favorable to literature. From the unparalleled splendor of our printing, paper, engraving, illuminating and binding, luxury has caused more books to be purchased, while from the growth of time-absorbing dissipation, it causes fewer to be read. I believe we were much more familiar with our native poets in their former plain garb than since they have been attired in the gorgeous dress which now decorates our shelves."
"Poetry," replied Mr. Stanley, "has of late too much degenerated into personal satire, persiflage, and caricature among one class of writers, while among another it has exhibited the vagrancies of genius without the inspiration, the exuberance of fancy without the curb of judgment, and the eccentricities of invention without the restrictions of taste. The image has been strained, while the verse has been slackened. We have had pleonasm without fullness, and facility without force. Redundancy has been mistaken for plenitude, flimsiness for ease, and distortion for energy. An over desire of being natural has made the poet feeble, and the rage for being simple has sometimes made him silly. The sensibility is sickly, and the elevation vertiginous."
"To Cowper," said Sir John, "master of melody as he is, the mischief is partly attributable. Such an original must naturally have a herd of imitators. If they can not attain to his excellences, his faults are always attainable. The resemblance between the master and the scholar is found chiefly in his defects. The determined imitator of an easy writer becomes insipid; of a sublime one, absurd. Cowper's ease appeared his most imitable charm, but ease aggraved is insipidity. His occasional negligences, his disciples adopted uniformly. In Cowper, there might sometimes be carelessness in the verse, but the verse itself was sustained by the vigor of the sentiment. The imitator forgot that his strength lay in the thought; that his buoyant spirit always supported itself; that the figure, though amplified, was never distorted; the image, though bold, was never incongruous; and the illustration, though new, was never false.
"The evil, however," continued Sir John, "seems to be correcting itself. The real genius, which exists in several of this whimsical school, I trust, will at length lead them to prune their excrescences, and reform their youthful eccentricities. Their good sense will teach that the surest road to fame is to condescend to tread in the luminous track of their great precursors in the art. They will see that deviation is not always improvement; that whoever wants to be better than nature will infallibly be worse; that truth in taste is as obvious as in morals, and as certain as in mathematics. In other quarters, both the classic and the Gothic muse are emulously soaring, and I hail the restoration of genuine poetry and pure taste."
"I must not," said I, "loquacious as I have already been, dismiss the subject of conversation without remarking that I found there was one topic which seemed as uniformly avoided by common consent as if it had been banished by the interdict of absolute authority, and that some forfeiture, or at least dishonor and disgrace, were to follow it on conviction—I mean religion."
"Surely, Charles," said Sir John, "you would not convert general conversation into a divinity school, and friendly societies into debating clubs."
"Far from it," replied I, "nor do I desire that ladies and gentlemen over their tea and coffee should rehearse their articles of faith, or fill the intervals of carving and eating with introducing dogmas, or discussing controversies. I do not wish to erect the social table, which was meant for innocent relaxation, into an arena for theological combatants. I only wish, as people live so much together, that if, when out of the multitude of topics which arise in conversation, an unlucky wight happens to start a serious thought, I could see a cordial recognition of its importance; I wish I could see a disposition to pursue it, instead of a chilling silence which obliges him to draw in as if he had dropped something dangerous to the state, or inimical to the general cheerfulness, or derogatory to his own understanding. I only desire that as, without any effort on the part of the speaker, but merely from the overflowing fullness of a mind habitually occupied with one leading concern, we easily perceive that one of the company is a lawyer, another a soldier, a third a physician, I only wish that we could oftener discover from the same plenitude, so hard to conceal where it exists, that we were in a company of Christians."
"We must not expect in our day," said Mr. Stanley, "to see revive that animating picture of the prevalence of religious intercourse given by the prophet: 'Then they that feared the Lord, spake often one to another.' And yet one can not but regret that, in select society, men well informed as we know, well principled as we hope, having one common portion of being to fill, having one common faith, one common Father, one common journey to perform, one common termination to that journey, and one common object in view beyond it, should, when together, be so unwilling to advert occasionally to those great points which doubtless often occupy them in secret; that they should on the contrary adopt a sort of inverted hypocrisy, and wish to appear worse than they really are; that they should be so backward to give or to gain information, to lend or to borrow lights, in a matter in which they are all equally interested: which can not be the case in any other possible subject."
"In all human concerns," said I, "we find that those dispositions, tastes, and affections which are brought into exercise, flourish, while others are smothered by concealment."
"It is certain," replied Mr. Stanley, "that knowledge which is never brought forward is apt to decline. Some feelings require to be excited in order to know if they exist. In short, topics of every kind which are kept totally out of sight make a fainter impression on the mind than such as are occasionally introduced. Communication is a great strengthener of any principle. Feelings, as well as ideas, are often elicited by collision. Thoughts that are never to be produced, in time seldom present themselves, while mutual interchange almost creates as well as cultivates them. And as to the social affections, I am persuaded that men would love each other more cordially; good-will and kindness would be inconceivably promoted, were they in the habit of maintaining that sort of intercourse which would keep up a mutual regard for their eternal interests, and lead them more to consider each other as candidates for the same immortality through the same common hope."
Just as he had ceased to speak, we heard a warbling of female voices, which came softened to us by distance and the undulation of the air. The little band under the oak had finished their cheerful repast, and arranged themselves in the same regular procession in which they had arrived. They stood still at a respectful distance from the temple, and in their artless manner sung Addison's beautiful version of the twenty-third psalm, which the Miss Astons had taught them, because it was a favorite with their mother.
Here the setting sun reminded us to retreat to the house. Before we quitted the temple, however, Sir George Aston, ventured modestly to intimate a wish, that if it pleased the Almighty to spare our lives, the same party should engage always to celebrate this anniversary in the Temple of Friendship, which should be finished on a larger scale, and rendered less unworthy to receive such guests. The ladies smiled assentingly. Ph[oe]be applauded rapturously. Sir John Belfield and I warmly approved the proposal. Mr. Stanley said it could not but meet with his cordial concurrence, as it would involve the assurance of an annual visit from his valued friends.
As we walked into the house, Lady Aston, who held by my arm, in answer to the satisfaction I expressed at the day I had passed, said, "we owe what little we are and do, under Providence, to Mr. Stanley. You will admire his discriminating mind, when I tell you that he recommends these little exhibitions for my daughters far more than to his own. He says that they, being naturally cheerful and habitually active, require not the incentive of company to encourage them. But that for my poor timid inactive girls, the support and animating presence of a few chosen friends just give them that degree of life and spirit which serves to warm their hearts, and keep their minds in motion."
Miss Sparkes came to spend the next day according to her appointment. Mr. Flam, who called accidentally, staid to dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Carlton had been previously invited. After dinner the conversation chanced to turn upon domestic economy, a quality which Miss Sparkes professed to hold in the most sovereign contempt.
After some remark of Mrs. Stanley, in favor of the household virtues, Mr. Carlton said, "Mr. Addison in the Spectator, and Dr. Johnson in the Rambler, have each given us a lively picture of a vulgar, ungentlewoman-like, illiterate housewife. The notable woman of the one suffocated her guests at night with drying herbs in their chamber, and tormented them all day with plans of economy, and lectures on management. The economist of the other ruined her husband by her parsimonious extravagance, if I may be allowed to couple contradictions; by her tent-stich hangings for which she had no walls, and her embroidery for which she had no use. The poor man pathetically laments her detestable catalogues of made wines, which hurt his fortune by their profusion, and his health by not being allowed to drink them till they were sour. Both ladies are painted as domestic tyrants, whose husbands had no peace, and whose children had no education."
"Those coarse housewives," said Sir John, "were exhibited aswarnings. It was reserved for the pen of Richardson to exhibitexamples. This author, with deeper and juster views of human nature, a truer taste for the proprieties of female character, and a more exact intuition into real life than any other writer of fabulous narrative, has given in his heroines exemplifications of elegantly cultivated minds, combined with the sober virtues of domestic economy. In no other writer of fictitious adventures has the triumph of religion and reason over the passions, and the now almost exploded doctrines of filial obedience, and the household virtues, their natural concomitants, been so successfully blended. Whether the works of this most original, but by no means faultless writer, were cause or effect, I know not; whether these well-imagined examples induced the ladies of that day 'to study household good;' or whether the then existing ladies, by their acknowledged attention to feminine concerns, furnished Richardson with living models, I can not determine. Certain it is, that the novel-writers of the subsequent period have, in general, been as little disposed to represent these qualities as forming an indispensable part of the female character, as the contemporary young ladies themselves have been to supply them with patterns. I a little fear that the predominance of this sort of reading has contributed its full share to bring such qualities into contempt."
Miss Sparkes characteristically observed, that "the meanest understanding and most vulgar education were competent to form such a wife as the generality of men preferred. That a man of talents, dreading a rival, always took care to secure himself by marrying a fool."
"Always excepting the present company, madam, I presume," said Mr. Stanley, laughing. "But pardon me, if I differ from you. That many men are sensual in their appetites, and low in their relish of intellectual pleasures, I confess. That many others, who are neither sensual, nor of mean attainments, prefer women whose ignorance will favor their indolent habits, and whom it requires no exertion of mind to entertain, I allow also. But permit me to say, that men of the most cultivated minds, and who admire talents in a woman, are still of opinion thatdomestictalents can never be dispensed with: and I totally dissent from you in thinking that these qualities infer the absence of higher attainments, and necessarily imply a sordid or a vulgar mind.
"Any ordinary art, after it is once discovered, may be practiced by a very common understanding. In this, as in every thing else, the kind arrangements of Providence are visible, because, as the common arts employ the mass of mankind, they could not be universally carried on, if they were not of easy and cheap attainment. Now, cookery is one of these arts, and I agree with you, madam, in thinking that a mean understanding and a vulgar education suffice to make a good cook. But a cook or housekeeper, and a lady qualified to wield a considerable establishment, are two very different characters. To prepare a dinner, and to conduct a great family, require talents of a very different size: and one reason why I would never choose to marry a woman ignorant of domestic affairs is, that she who wants, or she who despises this knowledge, must possess that previous bad judgment which, as it prevented her from seeing this part of her duty, would be likely to operate on other occasions."
"I entirely agree with Mr. Stanley," said Mr. Carlton. "In general I look upon the contempt or the fulfillment of these duties as pretty certain indications of the turn of mind from which the one or the other proceeds. I allow, however, thatwiththis knowledge a lady may unhappily have overlooked more important acquisitions; butwithoutit I must ever consider the female character as defective in the texture, however it may be embroidered and spangled on the surface."
Sir John Belfield declared, that though he had not that natural antipathy to a wit, which some men have; yet unless the wildness of a wit was tamed like the wildness of other animals, by domestic habits, he himself would not choose to venture on one. He added, that he should pay a bad compliment to Lady Belfield, who had so much higher claims to his esteem, if he were to allege that these habits were the determining cause of his choice, yet had he seen no such tendencies in her character, he should have suspected her power of making him as happy as she had done.
"I confess with shame," said Mr. Carlton, "that one of the first things that touched me with any sense of my wife's merit, was the admirable good sense she discovered in the direction of my family. Even at the time that I had most reason to blush at my own conduct, she never gave me cause to blush for hers. The praises constantly bestowed on her elegant, yet prudent, arrangement, by my friends, flattered my vanity, and raised her in my opinion, though they did not lead me to do her full justice."
The two ladies who were thus agreeably flattered, looked modestly grateful. Mr. Stanley said, "I was going to endeavor at removing Miss Sparke's prejudices, by observing how much this domestic turn brings the understanding into action. The operation of good sense is requisite in making the necessary calculations for a great family, in a hundred ways. Good sense is required to teach that a perpetually recurring small expense is more to be avoided than an incidental great one, while it shows that petty savings can not retrieve an injured estate. The story told by Johnson, of a lady, who, while ruining her fortune by excessive splendor and expense, yet refused to let a two shilling mango be cut at her table, exemplifies exactly my idea. Shabby curtailments, without repairing the breach which prodigality has made, discredit the husband, and bring the reproach of meanness on the wife. Retrenchments, to be efficient, must be applied to great objects. The true economist will draw in by contracting the outline, by narrowing the bottom, by cutting off with an unsparing hand costly superfluities, which affect not comfort, but cherish vanity."
"'Retrench the lazy vermin of thine hall,' was the wise counsel of the prudent Venetian to his thoughtless son-in-law," said Sir John, "and its wisdom consisted in its striking at one of the most ruinous and prevailing domestic evils, an overloaded establishment."
If Miss Sparkes had been so long without speaking, it was evident by her manner and turn of countenance, that contempt had kept her silent, and that she thought the topic under discussion as unworthy of the support of the gentleman as of her own opposition.
"A discreet woman," said Mr. Stanley, "adjusts her expenses to her revenues. Every thing knows its time, and every person his place. She will live within her income, be it large or small; if large, she will not be luxurious; if small, she will not be mean. Proportion and propriety are among the best secrets of domestic wisdom; and there is no surer test, both of integrity and judgment, than a well-proportioned expenditure.
"Now the point to which I would bring all this verbiage," continued he, "is this—will a lady of a mean understanding, or a vulgar education, be likely to practice economy on this large scale? And is not such economy a field in which a woman of the best sense may honorably exercise her powers?"
Miss Sparkes, who was always a stanch opposer in moral as well as in political debate, because she said it was the best side for the exertion of wit and talents, comforted herself that though she felt she was completely in the minority, yet she always thought that was rather a proof of being right than the contrary; for if it be true, that the generality are either weak or wicked, it follows that the inferior number is most likely to be neither.
"Women," said Mr. Carlton, "in their course of action describe a smaller circle than men; but the perfection of a circle consists not in its dimensions but in its correctness. There may be," added he, carefully turning away his eyes from Miss Sparkes, "here and there a soaring female, who looks down with disdain on the party affairs of 'this dim speck called earth;' who despises order and regularity as indications of a groveling spirit. But a sound mind judges directly contrary. The larger the capacity, the wider is the sweep of duties it takes in. A sensible woman loves to imitate that order which is stamped on the whole creation of God. All the operations of nature are uniform even in their changes, and regular in their infinite variety. Nay, the great Author of Nature himself disdains not to be called the God of order."
"I agree with you," said Sir John. "A philosophical lady may 'read Malebranche, Boyle, and Locke;' she may boast of her intellectual superiority; she may talk of abstract and concrete; of substantial forms and essences; complex ideas and mixed modes, of identity and relation; she may decorate all the logic of one sex with all the rhetoric of the other; yet if her affairs aredelabré, if her house is disorderly, her servants irregular, her children neglected, and her table ill-arranged, she will indicate the want of the most valuable faculty of the human mind, a sound judgment."
"It must, however, be confessed," replied Mr. Stanley, "that such instances are so rare, that the exceptions barely serve to establish the rule. I have known twenty women mismanage their affairs, through a bad education, through ignorance, especially of arithmetic, that grand deficiency in the education of women, through a multiplicity of vain accomplishments, through an excess of dissipation, through a devotedness to personal embellishments, through an absorption of the whole soul in music, for one who has made her husband metaphysically miserable."
"What marks the distinction," said Mr. Carlton, "between the judicious and the vulgar economist is this: the narrow-minded woman succeeds tolerably in the filling up, but never in the outline. She is made up of detail but destitute of plan. Petty duties demand her whole grasp of mind, and, after all, the thing is incomplete. There is so much bustle and evident exertion in all she does! she brings into company a mind exhausted with her little efforts! overflowing with a sense of her own merits! looking up to her own performance as the highest possible elevation of the human intellect, and looking down on the attainments of more highly gifted women, as so many obstructions to their usefulness; always drawing comparisons to her own advantage, with the cultivated and the refined, and concluding that because she possesses not their elegance they must necessarily be deficient in her art. While economists of a higher strain—I draw from living and not absent instances," added he, looking benignantly round him—"execute their well ordered plan, as an indispensable duty, but not as a superlative merit. They have too much sense to omit it, but they have too much taste to talk of it. It is their business, not their boast. The effect is produced, but the hand which accomplishes it is not seen. The mechanism is set at work, but it is behind the scenes. The beauty is visible, the labor is kept out of sight."
"The misfortune is," said Mr. Stanley, "that people are apt to fancy that judgment is a faculty only to be exercised on great occasions; whereas it is one that every hour is calling into exercise. There are certain habits which, though they appear inconsiderable when examined individually, are yet of no small importance in the aggregate. Exactness, punctuality, and other minor virtues, contribute more than many are aware, to promote and to facilitate the exercise of the higher qualities. I would not erect them into a magnitude beyond their real size; as persons are too apt to do who areonlypunctual, and are deficient in the higher qualities; but by the regular establishment of these habits in a family, it is inconceivable to those who have not made the experiment, how it saves, how it amplifies time, that canvas upon which all the virtues must be wrought. It is incredible how an orderly division of the day gives apparent rapidity to the wings of time, while a stated devotion of the hour to its employment really lengthens life. It lengthens it by the traces which solid occupation leaves behind it: while it prevents tediousness by affording, with the successive change, the charm of novelty, and keeping up an interest which would flag, if any one employment were too long pursued. Now all these arrangements of life, these divisions of time, and these selections and appropriations of the business to the hour, come within the department of the lady. And how much will the cares of a man of sense be relieved, if he choose a wife who can do all this for him!"
"In how many of my friends' houses," said Mr. Carlton, "have I observed the contrary habits produce contrary effects! A young lady bred in total ignorance of family management, transplanted from the house of her father, where she has learned nothing, to that of her husband, where she is expected to know every thing, disappoints a prudent man: his affection may continue, but his esteem will be diminished; and with his happiness, his attachment to home will be proportionably lessened."
"It is perfectly just," said Sir John, "and this comfortless deficiency has naturally taught men to inveigh against that higher kind of knowledge which they suppose, though unjustly, to be the cause of ignorance in domestic matters. It is not entirely to gratify the animal, as Miss Sparkes supposes, that a gentleman likes to have his table well appointed; but because his own dignity and his wife's credit are involved in it. The want of this skill is one of the grand evils of modern life.From the heiress of the man of rank, to the daughter of the opulent tradesman, there is no one quality in which young women are so generally deficient as in domestic economy.And when I hear learning contended for on one hand, and modish accomplishments on the other, I always contend for this intermediate, this valuable, this neglected quality, so little insisted on, so rarely found, and so indispensably necessary."
"Besides," said Mr. Carlton, addressing himself to Miss Sparkes, "you ladies are apt to consider versatility as a mark of genius. She, therefore, who can do a great thing well, ought to do a small one better; for, as Lord Bacon well observes, he who can not contract his mind as well as dilate it, wants one great talent in life."
Miss Sparkes, condescending at length to break a silence which she had maintained with evident uneasiness, said, "All these plodding employments cramp the genius, degrade the intellect, depress the spirits, debase the taste, and clip the wings of imagination. And this poor, cramped, degraded, stinted, depressed, debased creature is the very being whom men, men of reputed sense too, commonly prefer to the mind of large dimensions, soaring fancy, and aspiring tastes."
"Imagination," replied Mr. Stanley, "well directed, is the charm of life; it gilds every object, and embellishes every scene; but allow me to say, that where a woman abandons herself to the dominion of this vagrant faculty it may lead to something worse than a disorderly table; and the husband may find that the badness of his dinner is not the only ill consequence of her super-lunary vagaries."
"True enough," said Mr. Flam, who had never been known to be so silent, or so attentive; "true enough, I have not heard so much sense for a long time. I am sure 'tis sense, because 'tis exactly my own way of thinking. There is my Bell now. I have spent seven hundred pounds, and more money, for her to learn music and whimwhams, which all put together are not worth sixpence. I would give them all up to see her make such a tansy pudding as that which the widow in the Spectator helped Sir Roger to at dinner; why I don't believe Bell knows whether pie-crust is made with butter or cheese; or whether a venison pastry should be baked or boiled. I can tell her, that when her husband, if she ever gets one, comes in sharp set from hunting, he won't like to be put off with a tune instead of a dinner. To marry a singing girl, and complain she does not keep you a good table, is like eating nightingales, and finding fault that they are not good tasted. They sing, but they are of no further use—toeatthem, instead of listening to them, is applying to one sense, the gratification which belongs to another."
In the course of conversation, Miss Sparkes a little shocked the delicate feelings of the ladies, of Lucilla especially, by throwing out some expressions of envy at the superior advantages which men possess for distinguishing themselves. "Women," she said, "with talents not inferior were allowed no stage for display, while men had such a reach for their exertions, such a compass for exercising their genius, such a range for obtaining distinction that they were at once the objects of her envy for the means they possessed, and of her pity for turning them to no better account. There were indeed," she added, "a few men who redeemed the credit of the rest, and for their sakes she gloried, since she could not be of their sex, that she was at least of their species."
"I know, madam," said Mr. Stanley, "your admiration of heroic qualities and manly virtues: courage for instance. But there are still nobler ways of exercising courage than even in the field of battle. There are more exalted means of showing spirit than by sending or accepting a challenge. To sustain a fit of sickness may exhibit as true heroism as to lead an army. To bear a deep affliction well calls for as high exertion of soul as to storm a town; and to meet death with Christian resolution is an act of courage in which many a woman has triumphed, and many a philosopher, and even some generals, have failed."
I thought I saw in Miss Sparkes's countenance a kind of civil contempt, as if she would be glad to exchange the patient sickness and heroic death-bed for the renown of victory and the glory of a battle; and I suspected that she envied the fame of the challenge, and the spirit of the duel, more than those meek and passive virtues which we all agreed were peculiarly Christian, and peculiarly feminine.
In the afternoon, when the company were assembled in the drawing-room, the conversation turned on various subjects. Mr. Flam, feeling as if he had not sufficiently produced himself at dinner now took the lead. He was never solicitous to show what he called his learning, but when Miss Sparkes was present, whom it was his grand delight toset downas he called it. Then he never failed to give broad hints that if he was now no great student, it was not from ignorance, but from the pressure of more indispensable avocations.
He first rambled into some desultory remarks on the absurdity of the world, and the preposterousness of modern usages, which perverted the ends of education, and exalted things which were of least use into most importance.
"You seem out of humor with the world, Mr. Flam," said Mr. Stanley. "I hate the world," returned he. "It is indeed," replied Mr. Stanley, "a scene of much danger, because of much evil."
"I don't value the danger a straw," rejoined Mr. Flam; "and as to the evil, I hope I have sense enough to avoid that: but I hate it for its folly, and despise it for its inconsistency."
"In what particulars, Mr. Flam?" said Sir John Belfield.
"In every thing," replied he. "In the first place, don't people educate their daughters entirely for holidays, and then wonder that they are of no use? Don't they charge them to be modest, and then teach them every thing that can make them bold? Are we not angry that they don't attend to great concerns, after having instructed them to take the most pains for the least things? There is my Fan, now, they tell me she can dance as well as a posture mistress, but she slouches in her walk like a milkmaid. Now as she seldom dances, and is always walking, would it not be more rational to teach her to do that best which she is to do the oftenest? She sings like a siren, but 'tis only to strangers. I, who paid for it, never hear her voice. She is always warbling in a distant room, or in every room where there is company; but if I have the gout and want to be amused, she is as dumb as a dormouse."
"So much for the errors in educating our daughters," said Sir John, "now for the sons."
"As to our boys," returned Mr. Flam, "don't we educate them in one religion, and then expect them to practice another? Don't we cram them with books of heathen philosophy, and then bid them go and be good Christians? Don't we teach them to admire the heroes and gods of the old poets, when there is hardly one hero, and certainly not one god, who would not in this country have been tried at the Old Bailey, if not executed at Tyburn? And as to the goddesses, if they had been brought before us on the bench, brother Stanley, there is scarcely one of them but we should have ordered to the house of correction. The queen of them, indeed, I should have sent to the ducking-stool for a scold.
"Then again, don't we tell our sons when men that they must admire a monarchical government, after every pains have been taken, when they were boys, to fill them with raptures for the ancient republics?"
"Surely, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, "the ancient forms of government may be studied with advantage, were it only to show us by contrast the superior excellence of our own."
"We might," said Miss Sparkes, in a supercilious accent, "learn some things from them which we much want. You have been speaking of economy. These republicans, whom Mr. Flam is pleased to speak of with so much contempt, he must allow, had some good, clever contrivances to keep down the taxes, which it would do us no harm to imitate. Victories were much better bargains to them than they are to us. A few laurel leaves or a sprig of oak was not quite so dear as a pension."
"But you will allow, madam," said Sir John, smiling, "that a triumph was a more expensive reward than a title?"
Before she had time to answer, Mr. Flam said: "Let me tell you, Miss Sparkes, that as to triumphs, our heroes are so used to them at sea, that they would laugh at them at home. Those who obtain triumphs as often as they meet their enemies, would despise such holiday play among their friends. We don't to be sure reward them as your ancients did. We don't banish them, nor put them to death for saving their country like your Athenians. We don't pay them with a trumpery wreath like your Romans. We English don't put our conquerors off with leaves; we give them fruits, as cheerfully bestowed as they are fairly earned. God bless them! I would reduce my table to one dish, my hall to one servant, my stable to one saddle-horse, and my kennel to one pointer, rather than abridge the preservers of old England of a feather."
"Signal exploits, if nationally beneficial," said Sir John, "deserve substantial remuneration; and I am inclined to think that public honors are valuable, not only as rewards but incitements. They are as politic as they are just. When Miltiades and his illustrious ten thousand gained their immortal victory, would not a Blenheim erected on the plains of Marathon, have stimulated unborn soldiers more than the little transitory columns which barely recorded the names of the victors?"
"What warrior," said Mr. Carlton, "will hereafter visit the future palace of Trafalgar without reverence? A reverence, the purity of which will be in no degree impaired by contemplating such an additional motive to emulation."
In answer to some further observations of Miss Sparkes, on the superiority of the ancient to British patriotism, Mr. Flam, whose indignation now provoked him to display his whole stock of erudition, eagerly exclaimed: "Do you call that patriotism in your favorite Athenians, to be so fond of raree-shows, as not only to devote the money of the state to the play-house, but to make it capital to divert a little of it to the wants of the gallant soldiers who were fighting their battles? I hate to hear fellows called patriots who preferred their diversions to their country."
Then erecting himself as if he felt the taller for being an Englishman, he added—"What, Madam Sparkes, would your Greeks have said to aPatriotic Fundby private contribution, of nearly half a million, in the midst of heavy taxes and a tedious war, voluntarily raised and cheerfully given to the orphans, widows, and mothers of their brave countrymen, who fell in their defense? Were the poor soldiers who fought under your Cimons, and your ——, I forget their names, ever so kindly remembered? Make it out that they were—show me such a spirit among your ancients, and I'll turn republican to-morrow."
Miss Sparkes having again said something which he thought tended to exalt the ancient states at the expense of our own country, Mr. Flam indignantly replied—"Tell me, madam, did your Athens, or your Sparta, or your Rome, ever take in seven thousand starving priests driven from a country with which they were at war; a country they had reason to hate, of a religion they detested? Did they ever receive them, I say, maintain them like gentlemen, and caress them like friends? If you can bring me one such instance, I will give up Old England, and turn Greek, or Roman, or—any thing but Frenchman."
"I should be inclined," said Mr. Stanley, "to set down that noble deed to the account of our national religion, as well as of our national generosity."
Miss Sparkes said, "In one respect, however, Mr. Flam imitates the French whom he is abusing. He is very apt to triumph where he has gained no victory. If you hear his account of a defeat, you would take it, like theirs, for a conquest." She added, however, that there were illustrious men in other countries beside our own, as their successes testified. For her part, she was a citizen of the world, and honored heroes wherever they were found, in Macedon, in Sweden, or even in France.
"True enough," rejoined Mr. Flam, "the rulers of other countries have gone about and delivered kingdoms as we are doing; but there is this difference: they free them from mild masters, to make them their own slaves; we neither get them for ourselves or our minions, our brothers, or cousins, our Jeromes, or Josephs.Weraise the weak,theypull down the prosperous. Ifweredeem kingdoms, 'tis to bestow them on their own lawful kings. If we help this nation, 'tis to recall one sovereign from banishment, if we assist that, 'tis to deliver him from captivity."
"What a scene for Spain," said Sir John, "to behold in us their own national Quixotism soberly exemplified, and rationally realized! The generous theory of their romantic knight-errant brought into actual practice. The fervor without the absurdity; the sound principle of justice without the extravagance of fancy! Wrongs redressed and rights restored, and upon the grandest scale! Deliverance wrought, not for imaginary princesses, but for deposed and imprisoned monarchs! Injuries avenged—not the ideal injuries of ridiculous individuals, but the substantial wrongs of plundered empires!"
Sir John, who was amused with the oddities of Mr. Flam, was desirous of still provoking him to talk; much effort indeed was not required to induce him to do what he was fond of doing, whenever there was an opportunity of contradicting Miss Sparkes.
"But, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, "you were interrupted as you began to enumerate the inconsistencies which you said had put you out of love with the world."
"Why, it makes me mad," replied he, "to hear men who make the loudest outcry about the dangers of the state, cramming their houses with French governesses, French cooks, and French valets; is not this adding flame to the fire? Then I have no patience to see people who pretend great zeal for the church, delighted that an Italian singer should have a larger revenue than the highest of our own bishops. Such patriots might have done well enough for Athenians," added he, looking exultingly at Miss Sparkes, "but they make miserable Englishmen. Then I hate to see fellows who pay least taxes, complaining most of the burden—those who most lament the hardness of the times, spending money in needless extravagance, and luxury increasing in exact proportion as means diminish.
"Then I am sick of the conceit of the boys and girls. Do but observe how their vanity imposes on their understanding, and how names disguise things. My son would start, if I were to desire him to go to London in thestage coach, but heputs himself into the mailwith great coolness. If I were to talk to Fan about living in asmall house, she would not give me the hearing, whereas she is quite wild to live in acottage."
"I do not quite agree with you, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, smiling, "as to the inconsistency of the world, I rather lament its dull uniformity. If we may rely on those living chronicles, the newspapers, all is one faultless scene of monotonous perfection. Were it otherwise, I presume those frugal philologers would not keep a set of phrases ready cut and dried, in order to apply them universally in all cases. For instance, is not every public place from St. James's to Otaheite, or the Cape, invariablycrowded with beauty and fashion? Is not every public sermon pronounced to beexcellent? Is not every civic speech, every provincial harangue,neat and appropriate? And is not every military corps, from the veteran regiment of regulars, to the volunteer company of a month's standing, always declared to bein the highest state of discipline?"
Before the company went away, I observed that Mrs. Carlton gave Lucilla a significant glance, and both withdrew together. In spite of my thorough belief of the injustice and absurdity of my suspicions, a pang darted through my heart at the bare possibility that Lord Staunton might be the subject of this secret conference. I was perfectly assured, that Miss Stanley would never accept him, while he retained his present character, but that character might be improved. She had rejected him for his principles; if these principles were changed, there was no other reasonable ground of objection. He might be reformed. Dare I own, even to myself, that I dreaded to hear of his reformation. I hate myself for the thought. I will, said I faintly, endeavor to rejoice if it be so. I felt a conflict in my mind, between my principles and my passion, that distressed me not a little. My integrity had never before been so assailed. At length they returned; I earnestly examined their countenances. Both looked cheerful, and even animated; yet it was evident from the redness of their eyes that they had been weeping. The company immediately took their leave; all our party, as it was a fine evening, attended them out to their carriages, except Miss Stanley: she only pressed the hand of Mrs. Carlton, smiled, and looking as if she durst not trust herself to talk to her, withdrew to the bow window from whence she could see them depart. I remained in the room. As she was wiping her eyes to take away the redness, which was a sure way to increase it, I ventured to join her, and inquired with an earnestness I could not conceal, what had happened to distress her. "These are not tears of distress," said she, sweetly smiling. "I am quite ashamed that I have so little self-control; but Mrs. Carlton has given me so much pleasure! I have caught the infection of her joy, though my foolish sympathy looks more like sorrow." Surely, said I, indignantly to myself, she will not own Lord Staunton's love to my face?
All frank and open as Miss Stanley was, I was afraid to press her. I had not courage to ask what I longed to know. Though Lord Staunton's renewed addresses might not give them so much pleasure, yet his reformation, I knew, would. I now looked so earnestly inquisitive at Lucilla, that she said, "My poor friend is at last quite happy. I know you will rejoice with us. Mr. Carlton has for some time regularly read the Bible with her. He condescends to hear her and to invite her remarks, telling her, that if he is the better classic, she is the better Christian, and that their assistance in the things which each understands must be reciprocal. If he is her teacher in human literature, he says, she must be his in that which is divine. He has been very earnest to get his mind imbued with scriptural knowledge; but this is not all.
"Last Saturday he said to her, 'Henrietta, I have but one complaint to make of you; and it is for a fault which I always thought would be the last I should ever have to charge you with. It is selfishness.' Mrs. Carlton was a little shocked, though the tenderness of his manner mitigated her alarm. 'Henrietta,' resumed he, 'you intend to go to heaven without your husband? I know you always retire to your dressing-room, not only for your private devotions, but to read prayers to your maids. What have your men-servants done, what has your husband done, that they should be excluded? Is it not a little selfish, my Henrietta,' added he, smiling, 'to confine your zeal to the eternal happiness of your own sex? Will you allow me and our men-servants to join you? To-morrow is Sunday, we will then, if you please, begin in the hall. You shall prepare what you would have read; and I will be your chaplain. A most unworthy one, Henrietta, I confess; but you will not only have a chaplain of your own making, but a Christian also.'
"'Never, my dear Lucilla,' continued Mrs. Carlton, 'did I know what true happiness was till that moment. My husband, with all his faults, had always been remarkably sincere. Indeed, his aversion to all hypocrisy had made him keep back his right feelings and sentiments till he was assured they were well established in his mind. He has for some time been regular at church, a thing, he said, too much taken up as a customary form to be remarkable, and which therefore involved not much; but family prayer, adopted from conviction of its being a duty, rather pledged a man to consistent religion. Never, I hope, shall I forget the joy I felt, nor my gratitude to that 'Being from whom all holy desires proceed,' when, with all his family kneeling solemnly around him, I heard my once unhappy husband with a sober fervor begin:
"'To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him, neither have we obeyed the voice of the Lord our God, to walk in his laws which he set before us.'
"He evidently struggled with his own feelings; but his manly mind carried him through with an admirable mixture of dignity and feeling. He was so serenely cheerful the rest of the evening that I felt he had obtained a great victory over himself, and his heart was at peace within him. Prayer with him was not a beginning form, but a consummation of his better purposes."
The sweet girl could not forbear weeping again while she was giving me this interesting account. I felt as if I had never loved her till then. To see her so full of sensibility without the slightest tincture of romance, so feeling, yet so sober-minded, enchanted me. I could now afford to wish heartily for Lord Staunton's reformation, because it was not likely to interfere with my hopes. And now the danger was over, I even endeavored to make myself believe that Ishouldhave wished it in any event, so treacherous will the human heart be found by those who watch its motions. And it proceeds from not watching them that the generality are so little acquainted with the evils which lurk within it.
Before I had time to express half what I felt to the fair narrator the party came in. They seemed as much puzzled at the position in which they found Lucilla and myself, she wiping her eyes, and I standing by in admiration, as I had been at her mysterious interview with Mrs. Carlton. The Belfields knew not what to make of it. The mother's looks expressed astonishment and anxiety. The father's eye demanded an explanation. All this mute eloquence passed in an instant. Miss Stanley gave them not time to inquire. She flew to her mother, and eagerly repeated the little tale which furnished matter for grateful joy and improving conversation the rest of the evening.
Mr. Stanley expressed a thorough confidence in the sincerity of Carlton. "He had always," continued he, "in his worst days an abhorrence of deceit, and such a dread of people appearing better than they are, that he even commended that most absurd practice of Dean Swift, who, you know, used to perform family prayers in a garret, for fear any one should call in and detect him in the performance." Carlton defended this as an honorable instance of Swift's abhorrence of ostentation in religion. I opposed it on the more probable ground of his being ashamed of it. For allowing, what however never can be allowed, that an ordinary man might have some excuse for the dread of being sneered at, as wanting to be thought righteous overmuch; yet in a churchman, in a dignified churchman, family prayer would be expected as a customary decency, an indispensable appendage to his situation, which, though it might be practiced without piety, could not be omitted without disgrace, and which even a sensible infidel, considering it merely as a professional act, could not say was a custom