CHAPTER VIII.Profitable Pleasure.

CHAPTER VIII.Profitable Pleasure.

Signor Elvi breakfasted with Mr. Byerley the next morning, as the girls were to receive their Italian lesson before they attended the meeting. They understood the grammar of the language well, and had read many good Italian authors. Their purpose in learning of Signor Elvi was to improve their pronunciation, and to accustom themselves to converse in his language. He brought with him a volume of Alfieri, thinking that nothing could afford a better preparation for the speeches they were going to hear. There was no opportunity for Anna to fall into a reverie. Each of the three took a character of a tragedy, and the dialogue was kept up briskly, ‘libertà, libertà,’ being still the theme. When Mr. Byerley looked up from his newspaper, he wasamused to see the eagerness of each—his friend declaiming with all his natural volubility, and his pupils, scarcely able to keep up with him, yet catching the spirit of the sentiment, and charmed with the grandeur of the expression. They were taken by surprise when the carriage drove to the door, and they found it was half-past ten o’clock. While they hastened to put on their bonnets, their father remarked to his friend, that they seemed to have enjoyed their lesson.

“Ah, yes! and I also; for they have a mind and soul for what they do. It is as great a pleasure to me to teach such as they, as it is a toil with some others of my pupils. There will be no need to take strong coffee before sitting down with your daughters.”

“Strong coffee!”

“Yes; you will wonder, perhaps, but you have no idea how great is the drudgery to a teacher, how trying it is to his nerves, to teach those who have no mind, or who will not use it; who are for ever careless about necessary rules, and whom there is no chance of leading on beyondthe rules. I have now one pupil, I might say several, but I will instance one, who writes exercises, month after month, and makes as many gross mistakes now as at first; and all my efforts to make her think and observe are in vain; and so we shall go on till she thinks herself too old to be taught, or fancies she has learned enough because she is grown up, and all this time she will never read Alfieri.”

“I was afraid you might find such a kind of pupil in Anna.”

“No; Miss Anna is sometimes absent, but she is so from the fulness, not from the emptiness of her mind. Not that I would excuse the habit, for it is very fatal to improvement at her age.”

“Show her that you think so; have no mercy on her if she does not attend to you as she ought.”

“I will try,” said the Signor, laughing, “how severe I can be, if there should be reason for complaint.”

The scene of the meeting was one of great animation. The place was nearly full when our party arrived, and the assemblage was gayer andmore various than any the girls had ever seen. There were parties of fashionably dressed ladies, seated beside families of friends in their neat white shawls and drab bonnets. Members of parliament, country gentlemen, and city merchants, met on the hustings, and shook hands, and consulted, and handed papers about, and looked full of business and cheerfulness. Mr. Byerley longed to be among them; and his daughters remarked, as soon as they entered, how well he seemed to be known there. He introduced his daughters to the family of one of his friends, who made room for them on their bench, and requested Mr. Byerley to leave them under their care, as they knew he was wanted on the hustings. The girls found so much to observe, that they could scarcely keep up a conversation with their new acquaintances, and had almost forgotten the object of the meeting in the bustle of the preparation. They watched their father’s progress through the crowd, as he turned to one, made a sign to another, was heartily welcomed by a third, and was held by the button by a fourth.

“Your father will speak, I suppose,” said Miss R—— to Mary.

“I believe not; at least, I heard nothing of his having such an intention.”

“Oh! he certainly will. Look! Mr. B—— is putting one of the resolutions into his hand.”

“Is that Mr. B——?” exclaimed Mary, starting from her seat. “Anna, that is Mr. B—— that papa is talking to.”

“Hush! you must sit down,” said Miss R——, laughing: “you must come and see us some day, and we will introduce you to him, if you wish it.”

“Wish it!” thought Mary: “to hear him speak once in public and once in private, will give us enough to think about till we go to France. I do believe papa will speak,” she continued aloud: “he is sitting down among the speakers, to the left of the chair.”

“Certainly,” replied Miss R——: “my father says, that none of the movers of this meeting have been more active than Mr. Byerley.”

At length the speakers in posse made room for the noble chairman, and installed him in theusual form; and the business of the day began. For the first half hour, every thing went on much as Anna and Mary had been enabled to anticipate, from their having once attended a public meeting. The chairman began with common-places, and the first speakers were not yet warmed, and had the fear of the audience before their eyes: they stopped for words now and then, and said nothing which had not often been said before; but every good sentiment they uttered, was well received by the audience, and a glow of feeling began to spread through the place, and to prepare the way for the mighty movers of the heart who were to follow. When Mr. B—— rose, Mary forgot to observe, as she had intended, the features and lines of his countenance, and the peculiarity of the little action he used: the harshness of his voice even was soon forgotten, and her whole soul was at the mercy of his deep and varied thoughts, and his vivid, passionate, burning words. If slavery had before appeared to her the most crying abomination which subsists on the earth, she now felt astonished that the earth remained with suchan abomination upon it; she felt at one moment ashamed, at the next proud of her race, according as she heard of the crimes of slave-holders, or of the virtuous efforts of our philanthropists at home. She felt, for the first time in her life, the noble excitement of sharing with a multitude in successive and strong emotions—emotions which are not appropriate to the public services of religion, but which are not therefore inconsistent with their spirit. She was sorry when Mr. B—— gave place to a speaker of a totally different stamp; but the soft, persuasive eloquence of the next friend of the slave who spoke, soon engrossed her again. She was so intent on his words, that she gave no heed when her arm was twice touched by the lady who sat next her; when, at the third hint, she turned, she was shocked to see that Anna was sobbing and trembling violently, and that every body near was observing her. The place was so full, that it was nearly impossible for any one to get out; and besides, she was unwilling, in the extreme, to break up the party who had kindly taken her and her sister under their protection. There wasno overpowering heat, and she knew Anna well enough to be assured that this was only a paroxysm which she had herself excited, or which she might at least have checked. She ventured therefore on speaking very decidedly to her, though in a voice which could not be overheard. She told her that she could not think of disturbing Mrs. R—— and her family; gave her the vinaigrette she carried, and advised her to control her feelings, and fix her attention on the speaker as soon as she could, while she would sit so as to screen her from observation as much as possible. Anna thought all this very bad treatment of such delicate feelings as hers; but her indignation helped to restore her, which was the object most to be desired. Her sobs soon ceased; and if not ashamed at having been so full of herself, and so troublesome to others, she at least was quiet for the rest of the time.

Mr. Byerley spoke, briefly and plainly. He stated a few facts, and explained his own sentiments on the resolution he held, and then made way for those whom he believed more worthy of the attention of the meeting. There was nothingto be ashamed of in the part he took, and little to be proud of besides the propriety of his feelings, and the modesty which led him to be satisfied with being useful behind the scenes, rather than brilliant on the stage.

Mary had for some time been annoyed by the disturbance of persons going out—why so soon she could not conceive—when her own party rose also. Miss R—— tapped her on the shoulder, and laughingly asked if she could listen for a moment. Mary turned.

“Your father will be detained till the meeting is over; but if you will go out with us, my brother will see you into your carriage, which must have been waiting some time. You must be quite faint with weariness and hunger.”

“No, indeed,” said Mary and Anna; “we cannot go till it is over, thank you. We shall not mind sitting here till papa comes.”

“Do you know what o’clock it is? It is just five.”

“Is it possible! But we do not mind that: we had rather stay, thank you.”

So with many acknowledgments to Mrs. R——for her protection, they persisted in remaining by themselves. They looked round for Signor Elvi, but he too was gone. It was not long, however, before the vote of thanks to the chairman was passed, and the meeting broke up. Their father came to give them each an arm, took them to the carriage, nodding to this side and that as he went, and hastened them home, being sure, as he said, that they must be quite exhausted. No such thing. They found, when dinner was before them, that they were very hungry; but they never ceased talking of what they had heard, and were sanguine as to the success of a petition which had been prepared and advocated by such wise heads and warm hearts.

After dinner, Mary looked at her piano, remembering that much practice was required in preparation for her next lesson. It was with some dismay that she heard from her father that he had made an engagement for them for the evening. What a bustling life was theirs just now! The carriage was to be at the door at nine. The girls met to dress while their fatherrested on the sofa, and Mary afterwards practised till it was time to go.

“We shall not stay long,” said Mr. Byerley, as he led his daughters up the staircase at Mr. Nicholson’s, where he met a larger company than he expected: “an hour will be as much as we shall wish for.”

So thought his daughters, who had not much inclination to enter a crowd of strangers. They found it pleasanter, however, than they expected. Mrs. Nicholson introduced them to some young ladies who were looking over fine prints, and who seemed to understand drawing. There was some good music; and, what was still better, Signor Elvi was there. He soon made his way to them, and entertained them, as usual, with his lively and refined conversation. Anna overheard him tell Mrs. Nicholson that Mary sang and played very well, and she hoped that an opportunity would offer for her sister’s talents being called out. Anna had as little vanity on her own account as most girls; but she was very proud of Mary. This was rather an annoyance to Mary, who would have been better pleased ifAnna had taken less pains to tell how well her sister could play and sing, and more to contribute to her daily comfort. In due time, Mrs. Nicholson approached with a request that Mary would take her seat at the piano. Mary gently but decidedly declined. “But why? But why?” exclaimed her sister and her friend. Mary gave her reasons; viz. that she had not been accustomed to sing in so large a company, and that the attempt would give no pleasure to any body. She would, with pleasure, sing to Mrs. Nicholson as long as she pleased, in a more private way; but begged to be excused this night. Mrs. Nicholson was politely sorry; Anna muttered, “Provoking!” the Signor whispered “Right, quite right.”

Their engagements seemed still to multiply as the number of their acquaintance increased. Exhibitions in the morning, concerts in the evening, a day at Richmond and Hampton Court; a dinner-party here, an evening-party there, were fixed; and they returned home with their heads in a whirl.

“Light your candles, my dears; and to restas soon as possible,” said Mr. Byerley, holding up his watch, whose hands pointed to midnight.

“Nay, papa, just five minutes,” said Mary, drawing a chair beside him. “I like to call back old thoughts before we say good-night. If I left you with my head full of all we have seen and heard, I could not sleep.”

“Our present way of life will do you no harm while you preserve this feeling,” replied her father. “But tell me, are you not surprised at my making so many engagements for you?”

“Not so much as other people,” said Anna; “because we know that it is for our good, and not to gratify your own taste. Mrs. Nicholson looked quite surprised at your making every thing so easy about Richmond; but I told her that it was because we had never seen it.”

“It certainly is not the pleasantest thing in the world to me to hurry from one engagement to another, so that I cannot call an hour my own; nor would it be pleasant to you, for any length of time. But our stay in London is short; and I wish to show you, wherever you go, the different kinds of life that people lead, that youmay be able, in case of losing my guidance, to make a wise choice, which you could scarcely do if you knew of no other method of employing your days than that to which you have been accustomed, and which would no longer be suitable to your altered circumstances. In case of my death, you would live in rather a gay circle in London; and my object is to show you how your best occupations may be reconciled with the gratifications of taste, while they are wholly incompatible with mere dissipation.”

“I think,” said Mary, “that the pleasures of to-day, of the morning especially, may and ought to give a new spring to our best feelings and wishes.”

“And yesterday’s too,” added Anna. “I have felt like a different person since I saw Westminster Abbey.”

“I hope you will find the same influence from the natural beauties of Richmond, and the delights of the Dulwich gallery; ever remembering that moderation is especially necessary in pleasures of taste. If you went so often from one of these places to the other as to leave nointerval for the serious business of life, there would soon be an end alike of enjoyment and improvement. It is because I trust these pleasures will furnish you with serious occupation, that I offer them to you. If I thought they would afford you merely subjects for talk, and reverie, and drawing, I would carry you away from them all to-morrow.”

“Thought and feeling—deep study—purified tastes: these ought to be ministered to by innocent pleasures,” said Mary, thoughtfully.

“No pleasures can be innocent which do not thus minister,” observed her father; “and I trust, my dears, that you will so rouse your faculties, as to make the most of your present opportunities.” Here he addressed Anna particularly. “Observe keenly, and lay yourself open to the full relish of every beautiful object which is presented to you; and refer it perpetually to your best ideas and feelings. So, in some far distant place or time, in the midst of the sea, or after the lapse of years, alone among strangers, or on a sick bed, the bright and beautiful objects which are now new to you, will come, like familiarfriends, to cheer you, and help your gratitude for the blessings which have strewed your path of life.”

After a pause, Mary asked if it could be supposed that many persons cultivated their tastes with such an object as this.

“I trust that many do,” was the reply; “but we must not suppose that the greater number who spend their lives in flitting from pleasure to pleasure, have any genuine taste to cultivate. The influence of all objects depends mainly upon the sort of mind which is exposed to it; and there may be as wide a difference in the innocence of purpose of two persons who enter the Dulwich gallery at the same moment, as between the state of mind of the Christian who enters a church to worship, and the wretch who goes to scoff. The one may carry away from this sanctuary of taste, a mind softened and refreshed; while the other is burdened with an additional account of time wasted, and levity encouraged. And now, whether these thoughts be old or new to you, they are such as you may carry into private. So good-night, and quiet rest to you.”

While Anna listened to her father it was ever her full intention to adopt the principles to the truth of which she assented; but her power over her own thoughts was too far gone to be easily regained. Instead of keenly observing the new objects which were placed before her, she was commonly lost in dreams which might just as well have been dreamed at A——. The advantages which she knew she could only enjoy for a few weeks were neglected, through the same pernicious habit. She sat for hours with her pencil in her hand, and her drawing-board before her, without putting in a stroke; and she commonly spent the hour when Signor Elvi was with them in pondering his fate, while he himself was enjoying the facility with which he could impress her sister’s more healthful mind. She carried away from every new scene feeble impressions, old ideas, and useless or morbid feelings; and when the last day of their stay in London had arrived, she might have seen, if she had been disposed to observe, that her father looked at her with grief in his countenance; and that when Signor Elvi returned her mournful farewell,there was more of compassion than respect in his words and manner. Dead as she was to external things, she could not but feel that she was and must be regarded a useless thing.

Mary had arranged with her father the plan for their voyage and abode abroad: Mary had received and dismissed their various masters: Mary had made their acknowledgments to their many kind friends who had noticed and assisted them. As to their musical accomplishments, every body knew that no comparison could be drawn; but Mary’s portfolio was that to which the drawing-master referred Mr. Byerley with pride and satisfaction; and with her did their foreign friend converse, in his own language, upon the subjects nearest his heart. This was too mortifying to be borne with patience; and in the midst of all her other business, Mary was obliged to try to soothe her sister’s pettish temper, and to conceal its infirmities, if possible, from her father. To do this entirely was, however, impossible.

“I know how much you are engaged,” said he, on the morning when they were to depart;“but I have omitted one thing which must be done, though I cannot do it myself. Which of you will write a letter of business for me?”

“Oh! the woman of business, to be sure,” said Anna, waving her hand at Mary. “When you have a letter of a different sort—to Signor Elvi for instance—to be written, let me do it; but I defer to Mary in matters of business.”

“If Mary undertake the task of writing to my bailiff, she shall have the pleasure of writing to my friend.”

“She will not thank you for it, sir.”

“She will, and Signor Elvi too. He knows what precious qualities are necessary to constitute what you call a woman of business; and that such qualities make the most faithful and the tenderest friend.”

Anna looked contemptuous.

“I should be pleased with your humility in deferring to your sister, if I did not see that you despise the qualities you disclaim. I hope you will meet with such experience as shall make you wiser and more amiable.”

“My dear sir, I am in no wise inclined toquarrel with Mary for her superior cleverness. She is quite welcome to it. I am content with my lot—

‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’

‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’

‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’

‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’

Yes; I have no particular desire to be remembered by your bailiff or your lawyer, even for writing about leases as well as if I had been a very Nerissa—a lawyer’s clerk.”

“If you go on forgetting as you have done latterly, you will soon be forgotten, to your heart’s content. You will be forgotten when Elvi sits by his wife’s side, and tells his children of his faithful English friends. You will be forgotten when your father stretches out his hand from his death-bed to give his last blessing—or remembered in such a manner that you will pray to be forgotten.”

“O papa!” cried Mary, imploringly. Anna burst into tears.

“You would ask for forgiveness, I see,” said her father, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Your sister forgives you, as she is in thehourly habit of doing; and so do I. Do not be in too great a hurry to forgive yourself.”

Anna was in despair as he left the room; but before he returned, she had apparently lost all remembrance of his rebuke and of its cause.

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