with which the strange incongruity which I have been describing would
present a case so completely anomalous as to disturb the harmony of
creation, and leave us a bewildered race, without helm or compass to
guide our course. But a contradiction still more monstrous and difficult
to reconcile would result from such an order of things as we are now
supposing. The necessity which we are considering must either be
independent of, or immediately proceeding from, God. If the former, it
supersedes the Deity, or, identified with Him, is itself the sovereign
ruler of the universe. If the latter, all the evil deeds of man are
performed by the _express order_ of that Being who threatens with eternal
punishment those of his creatures who will not obey His commandment to
be “holy even as He is holy.” The preposterous absurdities involved in
this view are levelled at once by the belief that man at his birth is
_decreed_ to be a free agent, all whose actions are in his own power; who
will never be tempted above what he is enabled to bear; and who, if he
sincerely _desire_ after righteousness, will never fail in attaining it.
“How far the _ultimate ends_ of all that we see may be _fixed_ by the
fiat of Divine ordinances, is not our business to inquire into, any more
than what future worlds the Creator may please to form when our planetary
system shall have passed away. Our own actions are our immediate concern:
thousands of _events_ may hinge upon every one of them, with which we do
not _design_ the remotest connection; while the ends which we _intend_
to bring about are never achieved. Yet, in secular matters, no man ever
believes his free will to have been restrained. If he make a bad bargain,
or act upon a false calculation, he may regret his want of prudence,
or lament a deficiency of information; but it never occurs to the most
sceptical amongst those with whom I have ever met, to fancy, for a single
moment, that he _might_ not have done differently, inquired farther, or
been less precipitate.
“Whence this _division_? Why are temporal affairs regulated by the law
of responsibility while spiritual conduct only is to be considered
under the inflexible control of a _necessary_ compulsion? The reason
is plain: the creed of the fatalist is only adopted to screen him
from the examination which he dreads, and serve as an opiate to his
conscience. The fatalism of the ancient heathen world was more rational
and consistent than that of modern infidelity, inasmuch as it was applied
to earthly concerns, and frequently led to contentment under misfortune
and privation. Perhaps you are ready to say how much less puzzling you
would find the doctrine of free-will than that of necessity were it
not for one stumbling block. How can fore-knowledge be reconciled with
freedom? Were human analogies to satisfy our inquiry, there would be no
difficulty to encounter in this question. In _this_ world, the prophetic
wisdom which, like that of Edmund Burke, looks deeply into the volume of
futurity, and predicts events to come, is rarely, if ever concerned in
the practical occurrence of them; but on the contrary, is generally in
diametrical opposition, as he was to the horrors of that revolution which
he so clearly foresaw. So far analogy _separates_ fore-knowledge from
necessity. Imagine _once_ that man is created _free_ by the Almighty’s
decree, and the difficulty vanishes. If _free_, man is empowered to act
for himself; and though _beyond_ a certain limit he may not be able to
_see_ or to _do_, he has liberty _within_ a given circuit, and that
liberty once conferred, there is nothing more incomprehensible in the
fore-knowledge of God, than in that of an earthly parent, who having
_endowed_ his children with a certain measure of power, limited by his
discretion, and recallable at his will, _foresees_, without _choosing_
to control its exercise. That species of active interference sometimes
employed to bring about the designs of self-interest by people who plan
devices, and then are busied in executing them; is not what we mean by
fore-knowledge _humanly_ speaking. What we speak of as such, is founded
on information from without, and derived from our own judgment in drawing
conclusions relative to future events from certain data presented to our
understandings. I repeat, therefore, that so far from being accustomed
to couple this species of wisdom with the facts which it predicts,
there is, generally speaking, not the most remote connection between
the prognostic and its fulfilment. Now, as all our ideas respecting the
divine attributes, when we depend on reason alone for believing in them,
are but an extension of those which we see in each other, we are not
instructed by any analogy to _expect_ that the prescience of the Almighty
brings about the downfall of a nation as its _necessary consequence_,
any more than that Burke’s foresight of the effects which would follow
on the spread of infidelity and disloyalty should be instrumental in
compassing the overthrow of monarchy in France. Nor _should_ we reason so
anomalously, were it not that in considering God as the _creator_ of all
those beings whose conduct he foresees, looking in short, upon the divine
fore-knowledge as _infallible_, and not subject to the _contingencies_
which accompany even the highest degree of human sagacity, we attach a
_characteristic_ to the prescience of the Deity which does not belong to
that of man; and therefore while reason and analogy are professedly our
guides, we desert their standard, and set up a new light for ourselves
which is as remote from revealed as from natural religion, and leaves us
inextricably _bogged_ in a morass from which we shall in vain attempt to
disentangle ourselves. If the Almighty _made us free_, we can imagine
how he may fore-know our actions without controlling them; though he
formed all created things, because in the very idea of _freedom_, such
independence is _essential_; any compulsion would destroy liberty, and
involve a contradiction in terms; but here is the final limit to which
human understanding can attain.
“_How_ this wonderful union of divine power, and the creature’s free
agency is effected, belongs to higher matters than we can reach. We only
know, as I said before, that we know _nothing, if we are not free_. The
arguments of a necessitarian may seem irrefragable, and convince you that
you are impelled to every action; but in the moment that you close his
book you _feel_ that you can open or shut it at pleasure, and call up,
or dismiss at will, those motives from your mind, which shall be the
_proximate_ and immediate causes of your so doing.
“In like manner Berkeley has perhaps convinced you in the abstract that
you cannot vouch for the existence of matter, and that ideas or shadows
are all that you can answer for; but do you really and substantially
believe less in the existence of a bullet which blows out the brains of
a fellow creature, or that of the sword which pierces his body, because
Berkeley assures you that they are only _ideas_, and you are not able
_metaphysically_ to contradict him?
“You have, my beloved brother, honoured me so far as to consult my
understanding upon these great, these awful subjects, and nothing
could tempt me to accept the office of guide, conscious as I am of my
own weakness, were I not firmly persuaded, that while mortal affairs
require human strength to unravel their intricacies, and overcome their
obstructions, humility is the only pilot to heaven.
“I was once led astray in the mazes of a bewildering philosophy which
grew darker and more uncertain the farther I presumed to penetrate its
recesses. I found torches, indeed, blazing at the portals, and proud of
a little daring, I entered on the labyrinth, vain-gloriously resolved
to reject all clue, and clear a passage for myself; but the damps of
ignorance and doubt soon extinguished the glaring lights that illuminated
the entrance. I found myself ere long involved in the thickest obscurity,
and when the abyss threatened to engulph the groping wanderer, was
grateful for that aid which in the pride of my own strength, I had
indignantly rejected. Assisted by revelation, I retraced my erring steps;
and am now contented with such measure of knowledge as God vouchsafes to
his creatures, as well as resolved never more to tempt the paths which
lead but to confusion worse confounded.
“Where difficulties present themselves, I thankfully incline to that side
which is the least obscure; and, as a belief in necessity, besides the
natural contrariety of its existence with the evidence of our senses,
which proclaim us free agents, would involve an absolute and unqualified
rejection of the Christian scheme, I find no hesitation in abandoning it
to the winds.
“Natural religion presents God to our contemplation in the wonderful
unapproachable character of sovereignty, wisdom, and power. The
_Christian_ sees him brought home to our hearts, and domesticated with
our gratitude, our tenderness, and admiration. In Jesus Christ we behold
the Emanuel, the _God_ with us; redeeming in his love, sustaining by his
spirit, astonishing by his mercy. If I turn from the only door, the only
way, the only shepherd that is provided for me, and look to myself for
a staff of support through the valley of death, what do I find? Alas!
infirmity so pitiable, sin so inseparable from every purpose and every
performance, that I am ready to give my suffrage to the truth of Hooker’s
eloquent, but melancholy avowal, that ‘the very best action of the most
virtuous human being, _requires to be forgiven_.’”
You have now, my dear friend, an outline of the plan upon which we set
out with our search after Truth: and from the moment in which the
conversation that I have reported took place, my brother has passed some
hours of every day in reading and talking on these solemn subjects.
Butler’s Analogy with Wilson’s excellent Letters of Explanation;
Gregory’s Letters and Chalmers’ Evidences, have particularly delighted
him. We have read _Tremaine_ together, and some parts of the reasoning
contained in the third volume of that valuable little work have most
powerfully impressed his mind, while others have failed of satisfying
him. My principal objections to Tremaine are, that the author contents
himself with allowing us to _suppose_ that the hero becomes a Christian.
Secondly, Dr. Evelyn, though a very worthy, and a very sensible man,
appears more like a good humoured country gentleman, than a clergyman,
the professional piety of whom might have been added to his counsel
without detracting from its force. It is a pity also that so strong a
stimulant as love should be allowed by _possibility_ to mingle in the
motives to conversion, and by so doing, sully the integrity of change.
With these defects, however, and some inequalities in the argument,
Tremaine is a charming work, and breathes nothing from beginning to end,
which is not calculated, in some way or other, to render people wiser and
better who read it; a character which it would be a great happiness were
to be able with truth to attribute in this age of novels to many of the
most celebrated amongst them.
Having said so much of my invalid’s _mind_, I must mournfully add of
his _bodily_ frame, that it gradually declines, yet so imperceptibly,
that it requires such minute observation as strong affection can alone
awaken, to perceive the progress of decay. My dear children, and our
friend Mr. Otway, unite in kindest remembrances to you. Speak of us all
to our poor neighbours with affectionate recollection, and tell them
that I long to re-visit my little valley, and am only supported through
the pain of absence from home, and the fatigue of more society, than for
many years I have been accustomed to, by the pleasant assurance that I am
not _uselessly_ employed. The remarks of my young people, in a land of
strangers, furnish me too with a perpetual source of gratification, they
are so true to nature and good sense, as well as feeling. We continue to
hear constantly from Arthur, who is happy in the company of Mr. Charles
Falkland, a young man whose friendship I anticipate for my Frederick
with great pleasure. We hear also of Lord and Lady Crayton, of whom I
wish I could add that our accounts are agreeable. Lord C. is, I fear,
ill calculated to make my poor niece happy; and they both exhibit, but
too faithfully, a specimen of fashionable marriage. I tremble, as I look
forward, and bless God when I gaze with thankfulness on my children, that
they have been preserved from the vortex of folly, which draws thousands
daily into its dangerous and seductive abyss. Can all the riches of the
East, added to all “the boast of heraldry, and pomp of power,” supply
the place of domestic love, or compensate for the absence of moral
virtue? I sometimes feel like an old picture that, after having been
hung up during a century, has suddenly received the gift of animation,
and descended from its frame to mingle in the social group. The _world_,
even as seen at this distance from our metropolis, appears almost as
new to me as to my girls; and, I am sorry to confess, how little find
in it to gratify my mental taste. Perhaps retirement may have soured
my disposition, but if this be not the case, society is not _improved_
in this kingdom. We are encircled by people of princely fortune; and
luxury, in all its fertility of invention, reigns throughout this rich
and beautiful country. But, oh! how much I miss the England of my early
recollections! Mr. Otway and I often mourn over the progress of what is
falsely called refinement, which has made the lower classes forget the
simple sobriety, the active industry, the nice cleanliness of former
times, and has rendered the higher orders a disgusting engraftment of
foreign manners, customs, and language, upon a British stock. My dear
home! My pure mountain breezes and rational fire-side, I sigh to behold
you once more! Adieu, my valued friend. I hope to hear from you before we
leave Marsden, and am,
Sincerely yours,
CAROLINE DOUGLAS.
LETTER XXXVI.
FROM EMILY DOUGLAS TO MISS SANDFORD.
My dearest Julia,
This will, probably, be my last letter from Marsden, unless any
unfavourable change in my dear uncle’s health should alter the present
arrangements for our departure. We are to go by Brighton and Dieppe,
instead of by the route first proposed; and you may expect to hear from
me as frequently as possible, though I shall never persecute you with my
_travels as travels_: for I do believe there is nothing left in France
or Italy, which has not been _served up_ in every practicable variety
of form, to meet each different character of taste; but I trust to your
affection for finding interest in every stage of our journey, though
the map of it be so familiar to your memory as to deprive me of all
hope to amuse you by descriptions of scenery or costumes. Since I wrote
last, I have seen much that was new to _me_, without going abroad; and,
though I should be very ungrateful not to acknowledge thankfully the
great kindness with which we have been received in Hampshire, I cannot
permit _even_ gratitude to blind me, and confound distinctions which I
never desire to see melted into an undistinguishable mass of uniform
colouring. My dear Julia, I sometimes stare with such amazement at the
things that present themselves, as to fear that my eye-lids may be
overstrained, and lose the power of closing; but, instead of egotizing
on the effects produced upon my mind, I will beg you to accompany me to
three or four splendid mansions in our neighbourhood, where you shall
judge for yourself. About a week ago, Mr. Otway, Frederick, Charlotte,
and I, took a delightful ride through the New Forest, to pay our respects
to Mrs. Hannaper, a _Begum_ of this country, who commands several hundred
votes, and who is, therefore, a grand bone of contention in this terrible
electioneering struggle. She has a beautiful niece, Miss Ormsby, who is
dressed all over in the colours of that party which her aunt espouses;
and is so full of _stripes_ that she might be supposed to have made her
gown and shawl out of the flag of a ship belonging to the United States.
This young lady assists Mrs. Hannaper in canvassing for her favourite
candidate, to whom it is said that she is to be married; and I have heard
many gentlemen complain of being attacked with such perseverance, as to
find great difficulty in retreating from the united influence of beauty
and supplication. As we rode along, several groups of riotous, drunken
men, in smock frocks, bearing bunches of buff and blue ribbons in their
hats, interrupted our progress, and startled our horses, by tumultuary
shouts which rent the air with cries “Sir Christopher Cromie, and Mrs.
Hannaper for ever!” As we approached to Lyndhurst, the vociferation
increased, and we were just consulting whether it would not be prudent to
turn about, when a crowd came rushing down the road, which branched off
at right angles with that by which we were journeying forward; and we
found ourselves immediately surrounded by three or four hundred people,
who had taken Mrs. Hannaper’s horses from the carriage in which she and
her niece were sitting, and insisted on drawing them home themselves,
to testify their attachment to the cause which she patronizes. Mrs.
Hannaper is apparently from sixty to sixty-five, with a face and form
neither rough nor unpleasing; but a cloth habit, tight beaver hat, over
a Brutus wig, a coloured silk handkerchief tied round her throat, and
a collar rising almost to her cheek bones, gave so masculine an air
as completely to deceive me, while the interposition of some drooping
branches of an ash tree concealed the lower part of her dress from my
view. She stood up in her barouchette, waved her hat to the multitude,
huzzaed, and acted so like a man upon the occasion, that when I came near
enough to see a petticoat, I blushed for the honour of my sex. Her niece
held a parasol over her head, and seemed less inclined to make these
outrageous demonstrations than her aunt; but she held a sort of banner
in the left hand with Sir Christopher’s name worked in gold letters, and
her hat was ornamented with a great cockade of his colours. The carriage
stopped when we appeared, and Mrs. Hannaper covering her head sat down,
and desiring Mr. Otway, whom she had previously seen, to present my
brother, sister, and me, very politely requested us to breakfast on the
following day, when she meant, as she told us, to turn out a bagged fox;
and her “Liliputians”--the name by which she distinguished a favourite
pack of some tiny breed, with the technical appellation of which I am
unacquainted. “Come early,” added she, “Sir Christopher, and a few
friends, will be at Parham, where I shall be happy to see you.” I was
beginning to say why we could not accept her kind invitation, when, in
the same moment, I read “do let us go” in Frederick’s eye, and a glance
from Mr. Otway’s, in which was legibly written, “it is something _new_,
do not refuse.” I suppose that I mismanaged my excuse, for Mrs. Hannaper,
nothing daunted, replied, “oh really you _must_ come, I never take
refusals.” Mr. Otway told her that _some_ of the party would certainly
attend her; and the intoxicated _leaders_ becoming impatient of so long a
parley, threw up a cloud of hats into the air, with a deafening uproar,
and the ladies were whirled along to our no small contentment, for our
steeds threatened, by the noise, to become ungovernable. When we had
resumed our peaceful track, we interchanged, as you may believe, some
remarks upon the extraordinary vision that had just crossed our path. Mr.
Otway was excessively amused by Charlotte’s asking whether Mrs. Hannaper,
and her niece, were _Blue-stockings_. “No, I dare say not,” answered our
friend. “Why do _you_ suppose them to be so?” “Oh,” replied Charlotte,
“I have no reason, further than that from the masculine air of these
ladies, I conclude that they must be disliked extremely by the other sex,
and perhaps considered _intruders_ sufficiently to be called _Blues_.”
An explanation ensued, and we learned that, though it is an inexcusable
offence for a woman to fancy that she possesses any understanding, or is
capable of any mental acquirement, notwithstanding that Heaven may have
bestowed upon her the brightest abilities, it is perfectly admissible,
under certain circumstances, to be a female _Nimrod_--to hunt and course,
dress like a mail coachman, drive a curricle at full speed, ride like a
Bedouin Arab, and be in at the death. Nay, Mr. Otway assured us, that
Mrs. Hannaper is generally ornamented by the Fox’s brush in returning
from the chase, and that she cries talliho with peculiar gusto! “But
then,” added he, “she is a woman of immense fortune; and, however people
might laugh at inferior folk, so many gentlemen are aspiring to the hand
of this Diana, that a thousand knights would take the field to resent
the slightest indignity offered to the goddess of their adoration.” No
language can paint my astonishment to learn that this old lady went
out hunting; to hear her huzzaing, and to see her manly costume, had
been wonder enough for one day; _but_ to fancy it possible, that a
_veteran_ belle of Mrs. Hannaper’s age, could dream of marriage, or,
like queen Elizabeth, permit herself, in _this_ age of the world, to
be surrounded by people _daring_ to talk of love to a _woman of sixty_,
was something beyond my comprehension or credulity. For the first time
in my life I thought, dearest Mr. Otway ill-natured, and, slackening my
pace, fell back with Charlotte, allowing him, and Frederick, to take
the lead--shall I own my weakness? I felt so humbled for my sex, that
low spirits took possession of me; a melancholy dialogue succeeded, and
a hearty fit of tears relieved the oppression which manners so novel
had occasioned. My sister, and I, entreated that we might not be forced
to attend the morning party; so Frederick went alone, and came back
thoroughly disgusted with all that he saw. A gay party met at a breakfast
_à la fourchette_, where the ladies, he told us, played their parts most
vigorously at ham, dried fish, and all sorts of substantial fare, not
disdaining to wash it down with a glass of champagne.