Home, is a place, either of happiness or misery. In my book of
experimental wisdom, I find a number of most excellent remarks, which,
if remembered, and reduced to practice, I am confident may be of service
to families.
Every person has some failings: Perfection is not to be looked for in
the present world. A great attention in husband and wife, to the
failings of each other, has a direct tendency to destroy or embitter
domestic enjoyments.
The ancients, sensible of this gave good advice, when they said that,
“The husband should hot see, and the wife should be blind.” And it is
evident, that many things which transpire in a family, had better not be
seen--if seen, not remembered, if remembered, yet not spoken of. Again,
to render families happy, there must be, “In the husband wisdom, in the
wife gentleness.” These are virtues indeed, which, when they meet, cause
families to shine with a peculiar lustre. Again, “Those husbands are in
heaven whose wives do not chide.” Certainly then, if it is in the power
of the wife to put her husband into heaven, since she must be with him,
and with him participate in all its joys, she will forever remember this
excellent proverb.
A consideration of the unhappy condition of those families, wherein
scolding is the principle employment, I should suppose would stimulate
every woman to attend to the above remarks. Only hear what the Spaniards
say, “Smoke, raining into a house, and a scolding wife, make a man run
out of doors.”---The ladies will pardon me, I trust, for introducing
this proverb, since it evidently implies, that a scolding wife alone,
without rain and smoke, does not render a house so intolerable, but that
a man, at least if he has a common share of patience, may possibly live
in it.
Again, that house is highly ornamented, and that family has many
enjoyments, in which the wife is as attentive to her domestic concerns,
as is the husband to his abroad. No person was ever made for idleness,
accordingly, it is positively affirmed in my book of wisdom, that “That
is the best gown, which goes up and down the house.” If there be any
women, who are unable to penetrate into the depth of this proverb, or to
comprehend its profound wisdom, I will endeavour to explain it. As there
are but a few gentlemen, whose finances are adequate to the supporting
of a woman who feels herself above a personal attention to her family
concerns, so in general, husbands are well pleased to see their wives
suitably active in the house. Husbands in general, love their wives; and
it gives them pleasure to see them blooming in health; and they know
that the idle drone is always sick, or full of complaints.
Further, sometimes ladies, by doing nothing except eating of the honey,
reduce their husbands to poverty, and we read that, “When poverty comes
in at the door, love flies out at the window,” and I add, misery comes
in at every corner. It is best then to “Carry an even yoke.”
Pough! why am I always so severely berating the women? Every body knows
they do not deserve it: And I assure the ladies that I have an affection
for them. I am fearful that I have not well considered what I am about.
It is well if I do not bring an “Old house about my ears.” From this
time forward, on consideration they will pardon me for what I have
already said, I solemnly promise that I will be more cautious; and no
more proverbs shall come out respecting them, unless they come by
accident.
Perhaps I shall make this lecture rather long, but I wish to give some
advice to heads of families respecting their children. We read, that
“Children are certain cares, but uncertain comforts.” They would,
however, oftener be comforts, if they had not, as the ancients say, “Too
much of their mothers blessing.” Alas! well it only came out edgwise,
therefore I have not broken my promise.
To prove that I had no evil intention, I will bring one proverb greatly
in favour of the ladies; “She spins well who breeds her children well;”
and as every woman knows that she breeds her children well, so it is
proved beyond all doubt, that every woman is a good house wife.
To be serious; set your children good examples. Be more anxious to make
them virtuous, than to leave them rich. The Spaniards say, that “The
father’s virtue is the best inheritance a son can have;” and if so,
surely to make the son himself virtuous is to make him rich indeed.
Again, “Leave your son a good reputation, and an employment.” This is
good advice, for children trained up without virtue, and without
employment, are fit only for the gallows. Again, “It is a bad house
which has not an old man in it.” The meaning is, that every man who has
a family, should have the soberness, gravity, and virtues of the aged.
Govern your children well, for we read that “He who cockers his child
provides for his enemy,” and such a father will soon find the truth of
the Spaniards assertion, viz. “The first service a bad child does his
father is to make him a fool, and the second is to make him mad.”
Give your children good instructions; fear not a little expence, for
“Better unborn than untaught.” And again, “If the brain sows not corn it
plants thistles.” And depend on it, that thistles are prickly things to
parents, when found in the hands of their children. See that you put
good books into their hands; they are apt to get bad ones, and we read,
that “An ill book is the work of thieves.” Be careful of what you say,
in presence of your children. They catch words, as easily as examples,
and tell things abroad, which may make your hearts ache, and every one
will believe that, “The child tells nothing but what is heard by the
fire side.”
The following proverb I do not like, yet I am fearful it is applicable
in some instances, “The son full and tatter’d, the daughter empty and
fine.” The son should not be tatter’d, nor the daughter empty. Parental
distinctions are odious, and a source of bitterness and of endless
contentions in families.
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[[For sources, see the end of the final (3rd) installment.]]
THE FATAL MISTAKE;
Or, THE HISTORY OF MR. ELLIOT.
[Written by Himself.]
As various conjectures will, most probably, be formed on my retirement
from the world by those ignorant of the cause, and the particularity of
my life will most likely occasion illiberal and ill-natured
observations, I write the history of my misfortunes, ignorant into whose
hands it may fall. Let who will become possessed of this manuscript, may
it warn them from excess of passion, and especially from that
destructive fiend, jealousy.
Born to the enjoyment of a large estate, my birth promised every
happiness affluence could bestow: at ten years old my parents both died
of a malignant fever: left to the care of a worthy man, I was not
sensible of their loss. Mr. Osburn (for that was the name of my
guardian) felt for me, as he has often acknowledged, the fondness of
parental love. No event worth relating happened till I arrived at the
age of fourteen, when a young nobleman came to Winchester, where I was
placed; he was the only son of the Earl of Somerset. Distinguished by
his rank, but more so by his merit, his sweetness of disposition
attracted the love of the whole school, and his generosity demanded
their admiration. For some time I was indifferent to all his amiable
qualifications, ’till an accident happened which was the foundation of
the most affectionate friendship. My master was very severe; I had left
school one evening in order to steal apples from a neighbouring orchard,
and had just reached the intended scene of action, when I saw Lord
Edward Marchmont running towards me. As soon as he came within hearing,
he cried out, “My dear Elliot, the doctor has discovered your absence,
and threatens, unless he finds you within bounds, to punish you with the
utmost severity; if you make haste, we may get round a back way into the
play ground, before he comes from hunting over the college, and escape
the old dog’s vigilance.” As I knew the doctor’s disposition, I complied
with my friend’s proposal, and accordingly we gained the play ground
just as our master appeared. Lord Edward pulled a volume of Homer out of
his pocket, on which we were both looking when the doctor came softly
behind us. Upon seeing our employment he was agreeably surprised, and
applauded us for our conduct in terms of the greatest encouragement.
This good natured action so effectually engaged my gratitude, that I was
miserable if separated from him. We grew so fond of each other, that the
whole school took notice of it; our affection increased with our years,
and when the time came to leave school, both Lord Edward and myself
begged we might be at the same university. Lord Somerset and Mr. Osburn
consenting, we were again happy in the society of each other.
When we had been at Oxford about two years, Lord Somerset paid the debt
of nature, and as my friend was now possessed of the title and fortune
of his ancestors, he left Oxford, and entreated me to do the same. As
the university had lost all its pleasures when my friend departed, I
wrote my determination to Mr. Osburn of following him; the good man
would fain have persuaded me to stay longer, but I was not to be moved:
I hastened to London, and according to promise flew to the house of my
Edward, who introduced me with the most flattering character to Lady
Somerset and his sister; the latter was the loveliest work of nature;
joined to a form beautifully perfect, she had an engaging sensibility in
her countenance that seldom accompanies beauty. That amiable Almena
received me with the sweetest complacency, as the friend of her brother,
whom she doated on: the mother of Lord Somerset likewise honoured me
with the greatest marks of esteem, and for a length of time, I enjoyed
every delight that perfect friendship could bestow, but, alas! I was
soon fated to feel a reverse of fortune. My kind and indulgent guardian
was taken suddenly ill; he sent for me, and I was obliged to leave Lord
Somerset and his amiable family: the necessity of this absence
discovered a secret I was willing to hide from myself: it was not the
separation from my friend alone, that caused my grief, I found I loved
his charming sister; the beautiful Almena haunted my imagination
continually: my Edward’s penetration soon discovered the ill hid
partiality, and one day taking me into his study, he addressed me as
follows: “I am infinitely concerned at the cause of our separation, but
I hope we shall soon meet again, by Mr. Osburn’s health being
established; why do you appear so very wretched? Ah Frederick! you have
not been ingenuous with me; why did you doubt my friendship? Have I ever
given you cause to suspect my entire attachment to you? How then could
you violate our regard by a doubtful concealment? Your secret had rested
within this faithful breast had you desired it.” I would have spoke, but
my feelings were too violent for expression. “Compose yourself,”
continued he, “I will explain this painful silence; you love my sister;
your eyes have fully exposed the feelings of your heart, and I am happy
to think our friendship may be closely united by the tye of relations.”
This unexpected eclaircissement elated me beyond idea; I eagerly
embraced my amiable friend, and acknowledged the truth of his
observations; “But, alas! Edward,” continued I, “shall I ever dare avow
my love to your charming sister? What can the exalted Lady Almena
Marchmont see in the poor Frederick Elliot? Will she not despise me for
my presumption, and disdain a man who has nothing but a heart filled
with her perfections to offer?” “And as great a share of merit,”
interrupted my friend, “as ever fell to the lot of one mortal; fear not,
Elliot, my sister has too much understanding to regard a man merely
because he has a title, and in every other qualification you may pretend
to a princess: Almena indeed has a mind capable of distinguishing your
exalted virtues, and if I mistake not feels their full force.” “Flatter
me not, my friend; I cannot dare not indulge the pleasing hope.” My
noble Edward promised to do every good office in my absence, and I took
leave of a family where my chief happiness was centered.
I reached the habitation of Mr. Osburn just time enough to take a last
farewell; the violence of his disorder had left him very weak, and death
made quick approaches to the excellent heart of this worthy man. I drew
near his bed with the tenderest emotions, and taking his cold hand
between mine; “My dearest sir, how painfully does this sight affect your
Frederick! Ah that I could remove every pang far from you!” I could not
restrain my tears: he faintly pressed my hand, and in a voice hardly
articulate, he delivered himself as follows: “It pains me, my dear boy,
to be obliged to part with you; but it is the decree of heaven, and I
submit. I leave you, Frederick, in the possession of a large estate that
was your father’s; to which I have added my own: I have no relations who
stand in need of wealth, and to none can I give it whom I love like you.
Remember it is virtue alone, that renders riches valuable. When you come
to this solemn period, to which you must, may no bad action discompose
your dying moments; you have an excellent heart and are in no danger of
deviating from the narrow road of rectitude, but from the violence of
your passions. Be careful to avoid every thing that may lead you into
mistake and error. Farewel, my excellent boy; remember the last
injunctions of a man who had a real affection for you.”
Articulation was stopped, and I could only express my sorrow by sighs
and tears. The clergyman of the parish now came to Mr. Osburn, and I was
obliged to leave him. He soon retired, and informed me that his friend
was on the verge of eternity. When I entered Mr. Osburn’s chamber,
I found him speechless; however by his motions he convinced me he was
sensible. I embraced him in the greatest agony of grief; but, alas! he
could not return it; he looked at me with expressive marks of affection,
and gently breathed his last in my arms. I was for a few hours so
totally absorbed in sorrow, that I hardly knew whether I myself existed;
but youth and the appearance of my Edward, who, on hearing of my loss,
flew to console me, had its usual influence, and I again recalled my
thoughts from the grave of my guardian, to the world and society.
When I opened Mr. Osburn’s will, I found he had bequeathed to me the
whole of his estate, which amounted to more than two thousand per annum,
which joined to my paternal inheritance, made me possessed of eight
thousand a year. My gratitude was infinitely excited by his generosity;
and except a legacy of five hundred pounds to Mr. Harper, the clergyman
I have mentioned, there was no other bequest. I paid the money
immediately, and added a thousand pounds, as his family were large.
Having settled my affairs, I left the abode of my late guardian, and
accompanied Lord Somerset to town. The fair Almena and her amiable
mother, received me with the utmost kindness, every thing in the power
of these dear friends to dissipate my melancholy was exerted, and though
I felt all the gratitude such a conduct excited yet could I not banish
from my remembrance the good Mr. Osburn.
I was roused from my lethargy by Lady Almena’s having a declared lover.
Lord Ashford was a nobleman of reputed worth, and I believe truly
attached to my friend’s sister. Lady Somerset seemed to approve the
proposed alliance; my Edward was silent, and Almena appeared unhappy.
Thus were we situated when I was determined to lay aside every fearful
apprehension, and declare my latent flame. I had soon after an
opportunity of revealing the state of my heart to the fair cause of my
anxiety. Lady Almena was one day writing in her brother’s study when I
entered thinking he was there: she blushed and started; but seeing me
about to retire, “Mr. Elliot,” said she, “my brother is from home, but
as I have finished the note I was writing. I beg you will remain here
’till Lord Somerset comes back.” I again entered the room, and seated
myself by her. She rung for a servant, to whom she delivered the note,
and was going to retire, when I took her hand, and intreated her to hear
me. She did not know in what manner to proceed. I threw myself at her
feet, and in the most respectful terms, declared how much I loved her.
She listened with polite attention, and casting her eyes upon the
ground, appeared greatly agitated. I was all painful suspense. “Speak,
lady Almena, continued I, pronounce my fate; perhaps you despise my too
presumptuous passion; perhaps your heart is already engaged; the merits
of Lord Ashford have met your approbation, and I am wretched.” “Sorry
should I be,” replied the dear charmer, “if the sister of Lord Somerset
could willingly make wretched the friend on whom an only brother doats:
no, Mr. Elliot, I despise affectation as much as I do coquetry; be
assured, sir, Lord Ashford is perfectly indifferent to my heart: ’tis
true, my mother espouses his cause, and pleads for him powerfully: but
the happiness of her daughter has ever been her chief delight, nor will
she insist on a circumstance that would render her miserable.” “Ten
thousand thanks, adorable Lady Almena, for this condescension! Pardon my
bold aspiring heart: may I not hope my unwearied assiduities may at last
make an impression on your gentle nature in my favour?” She told me, she
did not, neither should she wish to throw me into despair, but begged
leave to retire.
My friend soon after appeared, and seeing the joy that animated my
countenance, congratulated me in the most affectionate manner. “Ah,
Edward! exclaimed I, the dear Almena has not driven me to despair: she
does not love Lord Ashford, and I may yet be happy.”--“And who ever
thought she did? Prythee, Frederick, do not encourage that horrid
passion, jealousy, but rather crush it in its birth; no mortal but
yourself would have imagined my sister had the least regard for Lord
Ashford. You may command my interest in your favour with my mother: she
is partial to his lordship, on account of a tender regard she
entertained for his mother; but the happiness of Almena is a matter of
too great importance to be trifled with; and that no man but you could
make her happy, I have long discovered.”
(_To be continued._)
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