TALES OF THE HALL.BOOK IX.THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND.
TALES OF THE HALL.
THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND.
The Morning Ride—Conversation—Character of one whom they meet— His early Habits and Mode of Thinking—The Wife whom he would choose—The one chosen—His Attempts to teach—In History—In Botany—The Lady’s Proficiency—His Complaint—Her Defence and Triumph—- The Trial ends.
TALES OF THE HALL.
BOOK IX.
THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND.
“Whom pass’d we musing near the woodman’s shed,Whose horse not only carried him but led,That his grave rider might have slept the time,Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?A more abstracted man within my viewHas never come—He recollected you.”“Yes—he was thoughtful—thinks the whole day long,Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong;He thought a strong and kindred mind to traceIn the soft outlines of a trifler’s face.10“Poor Finch! I knew him when at school—a boyWho might be said his labours to enjoy;So young a pedant that he always tookThe girl to dance who most admired her book;And would the butler and the cook surprise,Who listen’d to his Latin exercise;The matron’s self the praise of Finch avow’d,He was so serious, and he read so loud.But yet, with all this folly and conceit,The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;20And early promise in his mind appear’dOf noble efforts when by reason clear’d.“And when he spoke of wives, the boy would say,His should be skill’d in Greek and algebra;For who would talk with one to whom his themes,And favourite studies, were no more than dreams?For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,The boys contemn’d and hated him as vain,Stiff and pedantic.—”“Did the man enjoy,In after life, the visions of the boy?”—30“At least they form’d his wishes, they were yetThe favourite views on which his mind was set:He quaintly said, how happy must they prove,Who, loving, study—or who, studious, love;Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,And their warm hearts by beauty’s force subdued.“His widow’d mother, who the world had seen,And better judge of either sex had been,Told him that, just as their affairs were placed,In some respects he must forego his taste;40That every beauty, both of form and mind,Must be by him, if unendow’d, resign’d;That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs;His sisters’ portions, and the Hall’s repairs.“The son assented—and the wife must bringWealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;But as these merits, when they all unite,Are not produced in every soil and site;And when produced are not the certain gainOf him who would these precious things obtain;50Our patient student waited many a year,Nor saw this phœnix in his walks appear.But, as views mended in the joint estate,He would a something in his points abate;Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,And he would then the happy state commence.The mother sigh’d, but she at last agreed;And now the son was likely to succeed.Wealth is substantial good the fates allot:We know we have it, or we have it not;60But all those graces which men highly rateTheir minds themselves imagine and create;And therefore Finch was in a way to findA good that much depended on his mind.“He look’d around, observing, till he sawAugusta Dallas! when he felt an aweOf so much beauty and commanding grace,That well became the honours of her race.“This lady never boasted of the trashThat commerce brings: she never spoke of cash;70The gentle blood that ran in every veinAt all such notions blush’d in pure disdain.—“Wealth once relinquished, there was all beside,As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride;He could not gaze upon the form and air,Without concluding all was right and fair;Her mild but dignified reserve supprest}All free inquiry—but his mind could rest,}Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest. }“And now he asked, ’am I the happy man80Who can deserve her? is there one who can?’His mother told him, he possess’d the landThat puts a man in heart to ask a hand;All who possess it feel they bear aboutA spell that puts a speedy end to doubt;But Finch was modest—‘May it then be thought}That she can so be gained?’—‘She may be sought.—’}‘Can love with land be won?’—‘By land is beauty bought. }Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,All value that the want of which they know;90Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies;But can my son be sure of what he buys?Beauty she has, but with it can you findThe inquiring spirit, or the studious mind?This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,And minds unpair’d had better think alone;Then how unhappy will the husband be,Whose sole associate spoils his company?‘This he would try; but all such trials proveToo mighty for a man disposed to love;100He whom the magic of a face enchainsBut little knowledge of the mind obtains;If by his tender heart the man is led,He finds how erring is the soundest head.“The lady saw his purpose; she could meetThe man‘s inquiry, and his aim defeat;She had a studied flattery in her look;She could be seen retiring with a book;She by attending to his speech could proveThat she for learning had a fervent love—110Yet love alone, she modestly declared;She must be spared inquiry, and was spared;Of her poor studies she was not so weakAs in his presence, or at all, to speak;But to discourse with him who, all agreed,[Had] read so much, would be absurd indeed;Ask what he might, she was so much a dunceShe would confess her ignorance at once.“All this the man believed not—doom‘d to grieveFor this belief, he this would not believe:120No! he was quite in raptures to discernThat love, and that avidity to learn.‘Could she have found,’ she said, ‘a friend, a guide,Like him, to study had been all her pride;But, doom‘d so long to frivolous employ,How could she those superior views enjoy?The day might come—a happy day for her,When she might choose the ways she should prefer.’“Then too he learn‘d in accidental way,}How much she grieved to lose the given day }130In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.}Happy, most happy, must the woman proveWho proudly looks on him she vows to love;Who can her humble acquisitions state,That he will praise, at least will tolerate.“Still the cool mother sundry doubts express’d,—‘How! is Augusta graver than the rest?There are three others: they are not inclinedTo feed with precious food the empty mind;Whence this strong relish?’ ‘It is very strong,’140Replied the son, ‘and has possess’d her long;Increased indeed, I may presume, by views—We may suppose—ah! may she not refuse?’‘Fear not!—I see the question must be tried,Nay, is determined—let us to your bride.’“They soon were wedded, and the nymph appear’dBy all her promised excellence endear’d:Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,And she was proud—of what her husband knew.“Weeks pass’d away, some five or six, before,150Bless’d in the present, Finch could think of more.A month was next upon a journey spent,When to the Lakes the fond companions went;Then the gay town received them, and, at last,Home to their mansion, man and wife, they pass’d.“And now in quiet way they came to liveOn what their fortune, love, and hopes would give.The honied moon had nought but silver rays,And shone benignly on their early days;The second moon a light less vivid shed,160And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.They now began to look beyond the Hall,And think what friends would make a morning-call;Their former appetites return’d, and nowBoth could their wishes and their tastes avow;’Twas now no longer ‘just what you approve,’But ‘let the wild fowl be to-day, my love.’In fact the senses, drawn aside by forceOf a strong passion, sought their usual course.“Now to her music would the wife repair,170To which he listen’d once with eager air;When there was so much harmony within,That any note was sure its way to win;But now the sweet melodious tones were sentFrom the struck chords, and none cared where they went.Full well we know that many a favourite airThat charms a party fails to charm a pair;And as Augusta play’d she look’d around,To see if one was dying at the sound;But all were gone—a husband, wrapt in gloom,180Stalk’d careless, listless, up and down the room.“And now ’tis time to fill that ductile mindWith knowledge, from his stores of various kind.His mother, in a peevish mood, had ask’d,’Does your Augusta profit? is she task’d?’“‘Madam!’ he cried, offended with her looks,‘There’s time for all things, and not all for books:Just on one’s marriage to sit down, and prateOn points of learning, is a thing I hate.—’“‘’Tis right, my son, and it appears to me,190If deep your hatred, you must well agree.’“Finch was too angry for a man so wise,And said, ‘Insinuation I despise!Nor do I wish to have a mind so fullOf learned trash—it makes a woman dull:Let it suffice, that I in her discernAn aptitude, and a desire to learn.—’“The matron smiled, but she observed a frownOn her son’s brow, and calmly sat her down,Leaving the truth to Time, who solves our doubt,200By bringing his all-glorious daughter out—Truth! for whose beauty all their love profess;And yet how many think it ugliness!“‘Augusta, love,’ said Finch, ‘while you engageIn that embroidery, let me read a page.Suppose it Hume’s; indeed he takes a side,But still an author need not be our guide;And, as he writes with elegance and ease,Do now attend—he will be sure to please.Here at the Revolution we commence—210We date, you know, our liberties from hence.’“‘Yes, sure,’ Augusta answer’d with a smile;‘Our teacher always talk’d about his style,When we about the Revolution read,And how the martyrs to the flames were led:The good old bishops, I forget their names,But they were all committed to the flames;Maidens and widows, bachelors and wives—The very babes and sucklings lost their lives.I read it all in Guthrie at the school—220What now!—I know you took me for a fool;There were five bishops taken from the stall,And twenty widows, I remember all;And by this token, that our teacher tried’To cry for pity, till she howl’d and cried.’“‘True, true, my love, but you mistake the thing—The Revolution that made William kingIs what I mean; the Reformation you,In Edward and Elizabeth.’—‘’Tis true;But the nice reading is the love between230The brave Lord Essex and the cruel queen;And how he sent the ring to save his head,Which the false lady kept till he was dead.“‘That is all true; now read, and I’ll attend;But was not she a most deceitful friend?It was a monstrous, vile, and treacherous thingTo show no pity, and to keep the ring;But the queen shook her in her dying bed,And ‘God forgive you!’ was the word she said;‘Not I for certain;’—Come, I will attend;240So read the Revolutions to an end.’“Finch, with a timid, strange, inquiring look,Softly and slowly laid aside the bookWith sigh inaudible——‘Come, never heed,’Said he, recovering; ‘now I cannot read.’“They walk’d at leisure through their wood and groves,In fields and lanes, and talk’d of plants and loves,And loves of plants.—Said Finch, ‘Augusta, dear,You said you loved to learn,—were you sincere?Do you remember that you told me once250How much you grieved, and said you were a dunce?That is, you wanted information. Say,What would you learn? I will direct your way.’“‘Goodness!’ said she, ‘what meanings you discernIn a few words! I said I wish’d to learn,And so I think I did; and you replied,The wish was good: what would you now beside?Did not you say it show’d an ardent mind;And pray what more do you expect to find?’“‘My dear Augusta, could you wish indeed260For any knowledge, and not then proceed?That is not wishing——’“‘Mercy! how you tease!You knew I said it with a view to please;A compliment to you, and quite enough—You would not kill me with that puzzling stuff!Sure I might say I wish’d; but that is stillFar from a promise: it is not,—‘I will.’“‘But come, to show you that I will not hideMy proper talents, you shall be my guide;And lady Boothby, when we meet, shall cry,270She’s quite as good a botanist as I.’“‘Right, my Augusta;’ and, in manner grave,Finch his first lecture on the science gave;An introduction—and he said, ‘My dear,Your thought was happy—let us persevere;And let no trifling cause our work retard.’Agreed the lady, but she fear’d it hard.“Now o’er the grounds they rambled many a mile;He show’d the flowers, the stamina, the style,Calix and corol, pericarp and fruit,280And all the plant produces, branch and root;Of these he treated, every varying shape,Till poor Augusta panted to escape.He show’d the various foliage plants produce,Lunate and lyrate, runcinate, retuse;Long were the learned words, and urged with force,Panduriform, pinnatifid, premorse,Latent, and patent, papulous, and plane—‘Oh!’ said the pupil, ‘it will turn my brain.’‘Fear not,’ he answer’d, and again, intent290To fill that mind, o’er class and order went;And stopping, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my love, attend.’‘I do,’ said she, ‘but when will be an end?’—‘When we have made some progress—now begin,Which is the stigma, show me with the pin;Come, I have told you, dearest, let me see,Times very many—tell it now to me.’“‘Stigma! I know,—the things with yellow heads,That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads;You call them wives and husbands, but you know300That is a joke—here, look, and I will showAll I remember.’—Doleful was the lookOf the preceptor, when he shut his book—The system brought to aid them in their view,And now with sighs return’d—‘It will not do.’“A handsome face first led him to suppose,There must be talent with such looks as those;The want of talent taught him now to findThe face less handsome with so poor a mind;And half the beauty faded, when he found310His cherish’d hopes were falling to the ground.“Finch lost his spirit; but e’en then he soughtFor fancied powers: she might in time be taught.Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear;The favourite study did not yet appear.—“Once he express’d a doubt if she could lookFor five succeeding minutes on a book;When, with awaken’d spirit, she replied,‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’“With this delighted, he new hopes express’d—320‘How do I know?—She may abide the test?Men I have known, and famous in their day,Who were by chance directed in their way.I have been hasty.—Well, Augusta, well,What is your favourite reading? prithee tell;Our different tastes may different books require—Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire:Do then explain.’—‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste,‘How do I hate these lectures upon taste!’“‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare—330You read, you say—what your attainments are.’“‘Oh! you believe,’ said she, ‘that other thingsAre read as well as histories of kings,And loves of plants, with all that simple stuffAbout their sex, of which I know enough.Well, if I must, I will my studies name,Blame if you please—I know you love to blame.When all our childish books were set apart,The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart:’It was a story, where was done a deed340So dreadful, that alone I fear’d to read.“‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun—’’Twas quite a shame such evil should be done;‘Nun of—no matter for the creature’s name,For there are girls no nunnery can tame.Then was the story of the Haunted Hall,Where the huge picture nodded from the wallWhen the old lord look’d up with trembling dread,And I grew pale, and shudder’d as I read.Then came the tales of Winters, Summers, Springs,350At Bath and Brighton,—they were pretty things!No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen,But all was love and flight to Gretna-green.Perhaps your greater learning may despiseWhat others like, and there your wisdom lies—Well! do not frown—I read the tender talesOf lonely cots, retreats in silent valesFor maids forsaken, and suspected wives,Against whose peace some foe his plot contrives;With all the hidden schemes that none can clear360Till the last book, and then the ghosts appear.“‘I read all plays that on the boards succeed, }And all the works that ladies ever read—}Shakspeare, and all the rest—I did, indeed,—}Ay! you may stare; but, sir, believe it trueThat we can read and learn, as well as you.“‘I would not boast,—but I could act a sceneIn any play, before I was fifteen.“‘Nor is this all; for many are the timesI read in Pope and Milton, prose and rhymes;370They were our lessons, and, at ten years old,I could repeat——but now enough is told.Sir, I can tell you I my mind applied}To all my studies, and was not denied}Praise for my progress——Are you satisfied?’ }“‘Entirely, madam! else were I possess’dBy a strong spirit who could never rest.Yes! yes, no more I question—here I closeThe theme for ever—let us to repose.’”
“Whom pass’d we musing near the woodman’s shed,Whose horse not only carried him but led,That his grave rider might have slept the time,Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?A more abstracted man within my viewHas never come—He recollected you.”“Yes—he was thoughtful—thinks the whole day long,Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong;He thought a strong and kindred mind to traceIn the soft outlines of a trifler’s face.10“Poor Finch! I knew him when at school—a boyWho might be said his labours to enjoy;So young a pedant that he always tookThe girl to dance who most admired her book;And would the butler and the cook surprise,Who listen’d to his Latin exercise;The matron’s self the praise of Finch avow’d,He was so serious, and he read so loud.But yet, with all this folly and conceit,The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;20And early promise in his mind appear’dOf noble efforts when by reason clear’d.“And when he spoke of wives, the boy would say,His should be skill’d in Greek and algebra;For who would talk with one to whom his themes,And favourite studies, were no more than dreams?For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,The boys contemn’d and hated him as vain,Stiff and pedantic.—”“Did the man enjoy,In after life, the visions of the boy?”—30“At least they form’d his wishes, they were yetThe favourite views on which his mind was set:He quaintly said, how happy must they prove,Who, loving, study—or who, studious, love;Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,And their warm hearts by beauty’s force subdued.“His widow’d mother, who the world had seen,And better judge of either sex had been,Told him that, just as their affairs were placed,In some respects he must forego his taste;40That every beauty, both of form and mind,Must be by him, if unendow’d, resign’d;That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs;His sisters’ portions, and the Hall’s repairs.“The son assented—and the wife must bringWealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;But as these merits, when they all unite,Are not produced in every soil and site;And when produced are not the certain gainOf him who would these precious things obtain;50Our patient student waited many a year,Nor saw this phœnix in his walks appear.But, as views mended in the joint estate,He would a something in his points abate;Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,And he would then the happy state commence.The mother sigh’d, but she at last agreed;And now the son was likely to succeed.Wealth is substantial good the fates allot:We know we have it, or we have it not;60But all those graces which men highly rateTheir minds themselves imagine and create;And therefore Finch was in a way to findA good that much depended on his mind.“He look’d around, observing, till he sawAugusta Dallas! when he felt an aweOf so much beauty and commanding grace,That well became the honours of her race.“This lady never boasted of the trashThat commerce brings: she never spoke of cash;70The gentle blood that ran in every veinAt all such notions blush’d in pure disdain.—“Wealth once relinquished, there was all beside,As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride;He could not gaze upon the form and air,Without concluding all was right and fair;Her mild but dignified reserve supprest}All free inquiry—but his mind could rest,}Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest. }“And now he asked, ’am I the happy man80Who can deserve her? is there one who can?’His mother told him, he possess’d the landThat puts a man in heart to ask a hand;All who possess it feel they bear aboutA spell that puts a speedy end to doubt;But Finch was modest—‘May it then be thought}That she can so be gained?’—‘She may be sought.—’}‘Can love with land be won?’—‘By land is beauty bought. }Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,All value that the want of which they know;90Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies;But can my son be sure of what he buys?Beauty she has, but with it can you findThe inquiring spirit, or the studious mind?This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,And minds unpair’d had better think alone;Then how unhappy will the husband be,Whose sole associate spoils his company?‘This he would try; but all such trials proveToo mighty for a man disposed to love;100He whom the magic of a face enchainsBut little knowledge of the mind obtains;If by his tender heart the man is led,He finds how erring is the soundest head.“The lady saw his purpose; she could meetThe man‘s inquiry, and his aim defeat;She had a studied flattery in her look;She could be seen retiring with a book;She by attending to his speech could proveThat she for learning had a fervent love—110Yet love alone, she modestly declared;She must be spared inquiry, and was spared;Of her poor studies she was not so weakAs in his presence, or at all, to speak;But to discourse with him who, all agreed,[Had] read so much, would be absurd indeed;Ask what he might, she was so much a dunceShe would confess her ignorance at once.“All this the man believed not—doom‘d to grieveFor this belief, he this would not believe:120No! he was quite in raptures to discernThat love, and that avidity to learn.‘Could she have found,’ she said, ‘a friend, a guide,Like him, to study had been all her pride;But, doom‘d so long to frivolous employ,How could she those superior views enjoy?The day might come—a happy day for her,When she might choose the ways she should prefer.’“Then too he learn‘d in accidental way,}How much she grieved to lose the given day }130In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.}Happy, most happy, must the woman proveWho proudly looks on him she vows to love;Who can her humble acquisitions state,That he will praise, at least will tolerate.“Still the cool mother sundry doubts express’d,—‘How! is Augusta graver than the rest?There are three others: they are not inclinedTo feed with precious food the empty mind;Whence this strong relish?’ ‘It is very strong,’140Replied the son, ‘and has possess’d her long;Increased indeed, I may presume, by views—We may suppose—ah! may she not refuse?’‘Fear not!—I see the question must be tried,Nay, is determined—let us to your bride.’“They soon were wedded, and the nymph appear’dBy all her promised excellence endear’d:Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,And she was proud—of what her husband knew.“Weeks pass’d away, some five or six, before,150Bless’d in the present, Finch could think of more.A month was next upon a journey spent,When to the Lakes the fond companions went;Then the gay town received them, and, at last,Home to their mansion, man and wife, they pass’d.“And now in quiet way they came to liveOn what their fortune, love, and hopes would give.The honied moon had nought but silver rays,And shone benignly on their early days;The second moon a light less vivid shed,160And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.They now began to look beyond the Hall,And think what friends would make a morning-call;Their former appetites return’d, and nowBoth could their wishes and their tastes avow;’Twas now no longer ‘just what you approve,’But ‘let the wild fowl be to-day, my love.’In fact the senses, drawn aside by forceOf a strong passion, sought their usual course.“Now to her music would the wife repair,170To which he listen’d once with eager air;When there was so much harmony within,That any note was sure its way to win;But now the sweet melodious tones were sentFrom the struck chords, and none cared where they went.Full well we know that many a favourite airThat charms a party fails to charm a pair;And as Augusta play’d she look’d around,To see if one was dying at the sound;But all were gone—a husband, wrapt in gloom,180Stalk’d careless, listless, up and down the room.“And now ’tis time to fill that ductile mindWith knowledge, from his stores of various kind.His mother, in a peevish mood, had ask’d,’Does your Augusta profit? is she task’d?’“‘Madam!’ he cried, offended with her looks,‘There’s time for all things, and not all for books:Just on one’s marriage to sit down, and prateOn points of learning, is a thing I hate.—’“‘’Tis right, my son, and it appears to me,190If deep your hatred, you must well agree.’“Finch was too angry for a man so wise,And said, ‘Insinuation I despise!Nor do I wish to have a mind so fullOf learned trash—it makes a woman dull:Let it suffice, that I in her discernAn aptitude, and a desire to learn.—’“The matron smiled, but she observed a frownOn her son’s brow, and calmly sat her down,Leaving the truth to Time, who solves our doubt,200By bringing his all-glorious daughter out—Truth! for whose beauty all their love profess;And yet how many think it ugliness!“‘Augusta, love,’ said Finch, ‘while you engageIn that embroidery, let me read a page.Suppose it Hume’s; indeed he takes a side,But still an author need not be our guide;And, as he writes with elegance and ease,Do now attend—he will be sure to please.Here at the Revolution we commence—210We date, you know, our liberties from hence.’“‘Yes, sure,’ Augusta answer’d with a smile;‘Our teacher always talk’d about his style,When we about the Revolution read,And how the martyrs to the flames were led:The good old bishops, I forget their names,But they were all committed to the flames;Maidens and widows, bachelors and wives—The very babes and sucklings lost their lives.I read it all in Guthrie at the school—220What now!—I know you took me for a fool;There were five bishops taken from the stall,And twenty widows, I remember all;And by this token, that our teacher tried’To cry for pity, till she howl’d and cried.’“‘True, true, my love, but you mistake the thing—The Revolution that made William kingIs what I mean; the Reformation you,In Edward and Elizabeth.’—‘’Tis true;But the nice reading is the love between230The brave Lord Essex and the cruel queen;And how he sent the ring to save his head,Which the false lady kept till he was dead.“‘That is all true; now read, and I’ll attend;But was not she a most deceitful friend?It was a monstrous, vile, and treacherous thingTo show no pity, and to keep the ring;But the queen shook her in her dying bed,And ‘God forgive you!’ was the word she said;‘Not I for certain;’—Come, I will attend;240So read the Revolutions to an end.’“Finch, with a timid, strange, inquiring look,Softly and slowly laid aside the bookWith sigh inaudible——‘Come, never heed,’Said he, recovering; ‘now I cannot read.’“They walk’d at leisure through their wood and groves,In fields and lanes, and talk’d of plants and loves,And loves of plants.—Said Finch, ‘Augusta, dear,You said you loved to learn,—were you sincere?Do you remember that you told me once250How much you grieved, and said you were a dunce?That is, you wanted information. Say,What would you learn? I will direct your way.’“‘Goodness!’ said she, ‘what meanings you discernIn a few words! I said I wish’d to learn,And so I think I did; and you replied,The wish was good: what would you now beside?Did not you say it show’d an ardent mind;And pray what more do you expect to find?’“‘My dear Augusta, could you wish indeed260For any knowledge, and not then proceed?That is not wishing——’“‘Mercy! how you tease!You knew I said it with a view to please;A compliment to you, and quite enough—You would not kill me with that puzzling stuff!Sure I might say I wish’d; but that is stillFar from a promise: it is not,—‘I will.’“‘But come, to show you that I will not hideMy proper talents, you shall be my guide;And lady Boothby, when we meet, shall cry,270She’s quite as good a botanist as I.’“‘Right, my Augusta;’ and, in manner grave,Finch his first lecture on the science gave;An introduction—and he said, ‘My dear,Your thought was happy—let us persevere;And let no trifling cause our work retard.’Agreed the lady, but she fear’d it hard.“Now o’er the grounds they rambled many a mile;He show’d the flowers, the stamina, the style,Calix and corol, pericarp and fruit,280And all the plant produces, branch and root;Of these he treated, every varying shape,Till poor Augusta panted to escape.He show’d the various foliage plants produce,Lunate and lyrate, runcinate, retuse;Long were the learned words, and urged with force,Panduriform, pinnatifid, premorse,Latent, and patent, papulous, and plane—‘Oh!’ said the pupil, ‘it will turn my brain.’‘Fear not,’ he answer’d, and again, intent290To fill that mind, o’er class and order went;And stopping, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my love, attend.’‘I do,’ said she, ‘but when will be an end?’—‘When we have made some progress—now begin,Which is the stigma, show me with the pin;Come, I have told you, dearest, let me see,Times very many—tell it now to me.’“‘Stigma! I know,—the things with yellow heads,That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads;You call them wives and husbands, but you know300That is a joke—here, look, and I will showAll I remember.’—Doleful was the lookOf the preceptor, when he shut his book—The system brought to aid them in their view,And now with sighs return’d—‘It will not do.’“A handsome face first led him to suppose,There must be talent with such looks as those;The want of talent taught him now to findThe face less handsome with so poor a mind;And half the beauty faded, when he found310His cherish’d hopes were falling to the ground.“Finch lost his spirit; but e’en then he soughtFor fancied powers: she might in time be taught.Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear;The favourite study did not yet appear.—“Once he express’d a doubt if she could lookFor five succeeding minutes on a book;When, with awaken’d spirit, she replied,‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’“With this delighted, he new hopes express’d—320‘How do I know?—She may abide the test?Men I have known, and famous in their day,Who were by chance directed in their way.I have been hasty.—Well, Augusta, well,What is your favourite reading? prithee tell;Our different tastes may different books require—Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire:Do then explain.’—‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste,‘How do I hate these lectures upon taste!’“‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare—330You read, you say—what your attainments are.’“‘Oh! you believe,’ said she, ‘that other thingsAre read as well as histories of kings,And loves of plants, with all that simple stuffAbout their sex, of which I know enough.Well, if I must, I will my studies name,Blame if you please—I know you love to blame.When all our childish books were set apart,The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart:’It was a story, where was done a deed340So dreadful, that alone I fear’d to read.“‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun—’’Twas quite a shame such evil should be done;‘Nun of—no matter for the creature’s name,For there are girls no nunnery can tame.Then was the story of the Haunted Hall,Where the huge picture nodded from the wallWhen the old lord look’d up with trembling dread,And I grew pale, and shudder’d as I read.Then came the tales of Winters, Summers, Springs,350At Bath and Brighton,—they were pretty things!No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen,But all was love and flight to Gretna-green.Perhaps your greater learning may despiseWhat others like, and there your wisdom lies—Well! do not frown—I read the tender talesOf lonely cots, retreats in silent valesFor maids forsaken, and suspected wives,Against whose peace some foe his plot contrives;With all the hidden schemes that none can clear360Till the last book, and then the ghosts appear.“‘I read all plays that on the boards succeed, }And all the works that ladies ever read—}Shakspeare, and all the rest—I did, indeed,—}Ay! you may stare; but, sir, believe it trueThat we can read and learn, as well as you.“‘I would not boast,—but I could act a sceneIn any play, before I was fifteen.“‘Nor is this all; for many are the timesI read in Pope and Milton, prose and rhymes;370They were our lessons, and, at ten years old,I could repeat——but now enough is told.Sir, I can tell you I my mind applied}To all my studies, and was not denied}Praise for my progress——Are you satisfied?’ }“‘Entirely, madam! else were I possess’dBy a strong spirit who could never rest.Yes! yes, no more I question—here I closeThe theme for ever—let us to repose.’”
“Whom pass’d we musing near the woodman’s shed,Whose horse not only carried him but led,That his grave rider might have slept the time,Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?A more abstracted man within my viewHas never come—He recollected you.”“Yes—he was thoughtful—thinks the whole day long,Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong;He thought a strong and kindred mind to traceIn the soft outlines of a trifler’s face.10“Poor Finch! I knew him when at school—a boyWho might be said his labours to enjoy;So young a pedant that he always tookThe girl to dance who most admired her book;And would the butler and the cook surprise,Who listen’d to his Latin exercise;The matron’s self the praise of Finch avow’d,He was so serious, and he read so loud.But yet, with all this folly and conceit,The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;20And early promise in his mind appear’dOf noble efforts when by reason clear’d.“And when he spoke of wives, the boy would say,His should be skill’d in Greek and algebra;For who would talk with one to whom his themes,And favourite studies, were no more than dreams?For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,The boys contemn’d and hated him as vain,Stiff and pedantic.—”“Did the man enjoy,In after life, the visions of the boy?”—30“At least they form’d his wishes, they were yetThe favourite views on which his mind was set:He quaintly said, how happy must they prove,Who, loving, study—or who, studious, love;Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,And their warm hearts by beauty’s force subdued.“His widow’d mother, who the world had seen,And better judge of either sex had been,Told him that, just as their affairs were placed,In some respects he must forego his taste;40That every beauty, both of form and mind,Must be by him, if unendow’d, resign’d;That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs;His sisters’ portions, and the Hall’s repairs.“The son assented—and the wife must bringWealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;But as these merits, when they all unite,Are not produced in every soil and site;And when produced are not the certain gainOf him who would these precious things obtain;50Our patient student waited many a year,Nor saw this phœnix in his walks appear.But, as views mended in the joint estate,He would a something in his points abate;Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,And he would then the happy state commence.The mother sigh’d, but she at last agreed;And now the son was likely to succeed.Wealth is substantial good the fates allot:We know we have it, or we have it not;60But all those graces which men highly rateTheir minds themselves imagine and create;And therefore Finch was in a way to findA good that much depended on his mind.“He look’d around, observing, till he sawAugusta Dallas! when he felt an aweOf so much beauty and commanding grace,That well became the honours of her race.“This lady never boasted of the trashThat commerce brings: she never spoke of cash;70The gentle blood that ran in every veinAt all such notions blush’d in pure disdain.—“Wealth once relinquished, there was all beside,As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride;He could not gaze upon the form and air,Without concluding all was right and fair;Her mild but dignified reserve supprest}All free inquiry—but his mind could rest,}Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest. }“And now he asked, ’am I the happy man80Who can deserve her? is there one who can?’His mother told him, he possess’d the landThat puts a man in heart to ask a hand;All who possess it feel they bear aboutA spell that puts a speedy end to doubt;But Finch was modest—‘May it then be thought}That she can so be gained?’—‘She may be sought.—’}‘Can love with land be won?’—‘By land is beauty bought. }Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,All value that the want of which they know;90Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies;But can my son be sure of what he buys?Beauty she has, but with it can you findThe inquiring spirit, or the studious mind?This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,And minds unpair’d had better think alone;Then how unhappy will the husband be,Whose sole associate spoils his company?‘This he would try; but all such trials proveToo mighty for a man disposed to love;100He whom the magic of a face enchainsBut little knowledge of the mind obtains;If by his tender heart the man is led,He finds how erring is the soundest head.“The lady saw his purpose; she could meetThe man‘s inquiry, and his aim defeat;She had a studied flattery in her look;She could be seen retiring with a book;She by attending to his speech could proveThat she for learning had a fervent love—110Yet love alone, she modestly declared;She must be spared inquiry, and was spared;Of her poor studies she was not so weakAs in his presence, or at all, to speak;But to discourse with him who, all agreed,[Had] read so much, would be absurd indeed;Ask what he might, she was so much a dunceShe would confess her ignorance at once.“All this the man believed not—doom‘d to grieveFor this belief, he this would not believe:120No! he was quite in raptures to discernThat love, and that avidity to learn.‘Could she have found,’ she said, ‘a friend, a guide,Like him, to study had been all her pride;But, doom‘d so long to frivolous employ,How could she those superior views enjoy?The day might come—a happy day for her,When she might choose the ways she should prefer.’“Then too he learn‘d in accidental way,}How much she grieved to lose the given day }130In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.}Happy, most happy, must the woman proveWho proudly looks on him she vows to love;Who can her humble acquisitions state,That he will praise, at least will tolerate.“Still the cool mother sundry doubts express’d,—‘How! is Augusta graver than the rest?There are three others: they are not inclinedTo feed with precious food the empty mind;Whence this strong relish?’ ‘It is very strong,’140Replied the son, ‘and has possess’d her long;Increased indeed, I may presume, by views—We may suppose—ah! may she not refuse?’‘Fear not!—I see the question must be tried,Nay, is determined—let us to your bride.’“They soon were wedded, and the nymph appear’dBy all her promised excellence endear’d:Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,And she was proud—of what her husband knew.“Weeks pass’d away, some five or six, before,150Bless’d in the present, Finch could think of more.A month was next upon a journey spent,When to the Lakes the fond companions went;Then the gay town received them, and, at last,Home to their mansion, man and wife, they pass’d.“And now in quiet way they came to liveOn what their fortune, love, and hopes would give.The honied moon had nought but silver rays,And shone benignly on their early days;The second moon a light less vivid shed,160And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.They now began to look beyond the Hall,And think what friends would make a morning-call;Their former appetites return’d, and nowBoth could their wishes and their tastes avow;’Twas now no longer ‘just what you approve,’But ‘let the wild fowl be to-day, my love.’In fact the senses, drawn aside by forceOf a strong passion, sought their usual course.“Now to her music would the wife repair,170To which he listen’d once with eager air;When there was so much harmony within,That any note was sure its way to win;But now the sweet melodious tones were sentFrom the struck chords, and none cared where they went.Full well we know that many a favourite airThat charms a party fails to charm a pair;And as Augusta play’d she look’d around,To see if one was dying at the sound;But all were gone—a husband, wrapt in gloom,180Stalk’d careless, listless, up and down the room.“And now ’tis time to fill that ductile mindWith knowledge, from his stores of various kind.His mother, in a peevish mood, had ask’d,’Does your Augusta profit? is she task’d?’“‘Madam!’ he cried, offended with her looks,‘There’s time for all things, and not all for books:Just on one’s marriage to sit down, and prateOn points of learning, is a thing I hate.—’“‘’Tis right, my son, and it appears to me,190If deep your hatred, you must well agree.’“Finch was too angry for a man so wise,And said, ‘Insinuation I despise!Nor do I wish to have a mind so fullOf learned trash—it makes a woman dull:Let it suffice, that I in her discernAn aptitude, and a desire to learn.—’“The matron smiled, but she observed a frownOn her son’s brow, and calmly sat her down,Leaving the truth to Time, who solves our doubt,200By bringing his all-glorious daughter out—Truth! for whose beauty all their love profess;And yet how many think it ugliness!“‘Augusta, love,’ said Finch, ‘while you engageIn that embroidery, let me read a page.Suppose it Hume’s; indeed he takes a side,But still an author need not be our guide;And, as he writes with elegance and ease,Do now attend—he will be sure to please.Here at the Revolution we commence—210We date, you know, our liberties from hence.’“‘Yes, sure,’ Augusta answer’d with a smile;‘Our teacher always talk’d about his style,When we about the Revolution read,And how the martyrs to the flames were led:The good old bishops, I forget their names,But they were all committed to the flames;Maidens and widows, bachelors and wives—The very babes and sucklings lost their lives.I read it all in Guthrie at the school—220What now!—I know you took me for a fool;There were five bishops taken from the stall,And twenty widows, I remember all;And by this token, that our teacher tried’To cry for pity, till she howl’d and cried.’“‘True, true, my love, but you mistake the thing—The Revolution that made William kingIs what I mean; the Reformation you,In Edward and Elizabeth.’—‘’Tis true;But the nice reading is the love between230The brave Lord Essex and the cruel queen;And how he sent the ring to save his head,Which the false lady kept till he was dead.“‘That is all true; now read, and I’ll attend;But was not she a most deceitful friend?It was a monstrous, vile, and treacherous thingTo show no pity, and to keep the ring;But the queen shook her in her dying bed,And ‘God forgive you!’ was the word she said;‘Not I for certain;’—Come, I will attend;240So read the Revolutions to an end.’“Finch, with a timid, strange, inquiring look,Softly and slowly laid aside the bookWith sigh inaudible——‘Come, never heed,’Said he, recovering; ‘now I cannot read.’“They walk’d at leisure through their wood and groves,In fields and lanes, and talk’d of plants and loves,And loves of plants.—Said Finch, ‘Augusta, dear,You said you loved to learn,—were you sincere?Do you remember that you told me once250How much you grieved, and said you were a dunce?That is, you wanted information. Say,What would you learn? I will direct your way.’“‘Goodness!’ said she, ‘what meanings you discernIn a few words! I said I wish’d to learn,And so I think I did; and you replied,The wish was good: what would you now beside?Did not you say it show’d an ardent mind;And pray what more do you expect to find?’“‘My dear Augusta, could you wish indeed260For any knowledge, and not then proceed?That is not wishing——’“‘Mercy! how you tease!You knew I said it with a view to please;A compliment to you, and quite enough—You would not kill me with that puzzling stuff!Sure I might say I wish’d; but that is stillFar from a promise: it is not,—‘I will.’“‘But come, to show you that I will not hideMy proper talents, you shall be my guide;And lady Boothby, when we meet, shall cry,270She’s quite as good a botanist as I.’“‘Right, my Augusta;’ and, in manner grave,Finch his first lecture on the science gave;An introduction—and he said, ‘My dear,Your thought was happy—let us persevere;And let no trifling cause our work retard.’Agreed the lady, but she fear’d it hard.“Now o’er the grounds they rambled many a mile;He show’d the flowers, the stamina, the style,Calix and corol, pericarp and fruit,280And all the plant produces, branch and root;Of these he treated, every varying shape,Till poor Augusta panted to escape.He show’d the various foliage plants produce,Lunate and lyrate, runcinate, retuse;Long were the learned words, and urged with force,Panduriform, pinnatifid, premorse,Latent, and patent, papulous, and plane—‘Oh!’ said the pupil, ‘it will turn my brain.’‘Fear not,’ he answer’d, and again, intent290To fill that mind, o’er class and order went;And stopping, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my love, attend.’‘I do,’ said she, ‘but when will be an end?’—‘When we have made some progress—now begin,Which is the stigma, show me with the pin;Come, I have told you, dearest, let me see,Times very many—tell it now to me.’“‘Stigma! I know,—the things with yellow heads,That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads;You call them wives and husbands, but you know300That is a joke—here, look, and I will showAll I remember.’—Doleful was the lookOf the preceptor, when he shut his book—The system brought to aid them in their view,And now with sighs return’d—‘It will not do.’“A handsome face first led him to suppose,There must be talent with such looks as those;The want of talent taught him now to findThe face less handsome with so poor a mind;And half the beauty faded, when he found310His cherish’d hopes were falling to the ground.“Finch lost his spirit; but e’en then he soughtFor fancied powers: she might in time be taught.Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear;The favourite study did not yet appear.—“Once he express’d a doubt if she could lookFor five succeeding minutes on a book;When, with awaken’d spirit, she replied,‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’“With this delighted, he new hopes express’d—320‘How do I know?—She may abide the test?Men I have known, and famous in their day,Who were by chance directed in their way.I have been hasty.—Well, Augusta, well,What is your favourite reading? prithee tell;Our different tastes may different books require—Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire:Do then explain.’—‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste,‘How do I hate these lectures upon taste!’“‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare—330You read, you say—what your attainments are.’“‘Oh! you believe,’ said she, ‘that other thingsAre read as well as histories of kings,And loves of plants, with all that simple stuffAbout their sex, of which I know enough.Well, if I must, I will my studies name,Blame if you please—I know you love to blame.When all our childish books were set apart,The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart:’It was a story, where was done a deed340So dreadful, that alone I fear’d to read.“‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun—’’Twas quite a shame such evil should be done;‘Nun of—no matter for the creature’s name,For there are girls no nunnery can tame.Then was the story of the Haunted Hall,Where the huge picture nodded from the wallWhen the old lord look’d up with trembling dread,And I grew pale, and shudder’d as I read.Then came the tales of Winters, Summers, Springs,350At Bath and Brighton,—they were pretty things!No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen,But all was love and flight to Gretna-green.Perhaps your greater learning may despiseWhat others like, and there your wisdom lies—Well! do not frown—I read the tender talesOf lonely cots, retreats in silent valesFor maids forsaken, and suspected wives,Against whose peace some foe his plot contrives;With all the hidden schemes that none can clear360Till the last book, and then the ghosts appear.“‘I read all plays that on the boards succeed, }And all the works that ladies ever read—}Shakspeare, and all the rest—I did, indeed,—}Ay! you may stare; but, sir, believe it trueThat we can read and learn, as well as you.“‘I would not boast,—but I could act a sceneIn any play, before I was fifteen.“‘Nor is this all; for many are the timesI read in Pope and Milton, prose and rhymes;370They were our lessons, and, at ten years old,I could repeat——but now enough is told.Sir, I can tell you I my mind applied}To all my studies, and was not denied}Praise for my progress——Are you satisfied?’ }“‘Entirely, madam! else were I possess’dBy a strong spirit who could never rest.Yes! yes, no more I question—here I closeThe theme for ever—let us to repose.’”