In order to render ourselves amiable in society, we should correct every
appearance of harshness in our behaviour. That courtesy should
distinguish our demeanor, which springs, not so much from studied
politeness, as from a mild and gentle heart. We should follow the
customs of the world in matters indifferent; but stop when they become
sinful. Our manners ought to be simple and natural, and of course they
will be engaging. Affectation is certain deformity--By forming
themselves on fantastic models, and vying with one mother in every
reigning folly, the young begin with being ridiculous, and end in being
vicious and immoral.
* * * * *
* * * *
The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.
_BY MRS. GOOCH._
(Continued from page 355.)
“The last expected vessels now arrived, and Scipio one morning, hastily
entering my room, with a joyful countenance put a packet into my hands.
It was from England, but the hand-writing, and seal, were unknown to me.
I found it to be from a female distant relation of my wife’s who assured
me that she wrote it at her desire, as she had not courage to expatiate
on a subject, that she knew would be so contrary to my wishes. She
proceeded to inform me, that the health of Mrs. S---- was very seriously
affected; owing, in great measure, to the depression of her mind since
my departure; that my little boy was recovering from the small-pox; and
that these considerations rendered it impossible for her, with safety
either to herself, or the child, to undertake the long voyage she had
projected. She said she had found it necessary to remove to London, for
the benefit of better advice than could be obtained in the country; and
she mentioned a temporary lodging she had taken in the neighbourhood of
Islington, till she should hear farther from me how to dispose of
herself. Mrs. S---- added a few lines, by way of postscript, as a
confirmation of the above, and desired I would write to her under cover
to her relation, in whose neighbourhood she resided.
“I read--I paused over the letter; and every time my wild ideas hurried
me beyond myself. At one moment, I believed her affections were
estranged from me; that she no longer wished our re-union, but that
indifference had taken place of that affection which it was the study of
my life to cherish and improve. At another, I reproved myself for the
ungrateful, the illiberal idea; and to that thought a still more
poignant one succeeded. The knowledge I had of her tender mind next
convinced me, that her condition was worse than it was described so me.
I fancied her sinking under a load of grief, and on the point of death,
while I, her friend, her natural protector, was far from her; and to
this reflection Reason herself gave way. “Ah,” thought I, “how fatal has
been my desertion of her; and what recompence could promotion, or wealth
itself bestow on me, if purchased by the loss of a wife so tenderly
beloved? She is at this moment suffering under the accumulated horrors
of indigence and slighted affection; and shall I, on whom she has every
claim of love and duty, suffer her to believe that the scorching sun of
this unhealthy climate has had power to dry up in my heart the pure
stream of unadulterated affection? Shall I contemplate her misery, and
allow her to endure it? Ah, no! let me rather return to her as I am,
unpatronized and unexpected;--share with her the scanty pittance
acquired by honest integrity, and trust for the rest to _that_
Providence, which will never forsake _the pure in heart!_”
“Full of these ideas, which were hardly formed before they were
unalterably fixed, I waited on lord G---- and told him that letters I
had just received demanded my quick return to England. I solicited him
to accept my dismission. The perturbation of my mind was visible on my
countenance. He looked attentively at me, expostulated on the folly of
my conduct; but was soon convinced that advice and expostulation were
equally thrown away on a man who sought no interest but his affections,
and consulted no monitor but his heart. Finding at length that I was
deaf to his remonstrances, he settled matters in due form; and wishing
me a pleasant voyage politely, yet coolly, bade me adieu. I returned to
my lodgings, which but a few days since I had taken delight in adorning
for the reception of my Isabella. How sad, how solitary every object now
appeared! The sight of numberless little ornaments, peculiar to the
country, and which I had selected as from their novelty the most
pleasing to her, now lost every charm, and to the affectionate, the
grateful Scipio, I bequeathed them. I went, accompanied by him, to the
house frequented by the English Captains, and soon settled an agreement
with one of them. As I spoke to him, I observed the honest tear of
sensibility steal down the polished cheek of the noble Ethiopian, which
he wiped off with his hand, as if to upbraid it with divulging the
secret of his heart. A few loose dollars remained in my possession,
after I had settled my different accounts: I gave them to Scipio; but he
disdainfully rejected them, and told me I robbed him of more than my
money could purchase, when I robbed him of his _friend!_ These were the
sentiments of an untutored negro; a soul unpractised in the wiles of
art. Alas, poor Scipio! Though many a year has revolved, since we
parted: though many a moon has risen to renew the almost extinguished
lamp of nature, since I witnessed in thee that purity of heart which
nought but Heaven can bestow, still are thy virtues present to my mind,
and still shall remembrance, sickening at the past, reflect on thee,
with prayers for thy transition to those mansions, where innocence like
thine can alone meet with its reward!”
The clocks from the neighbouring churches struck three; and vain were my
solicitations to my unhappy friend, he could not be prevailed on to
share my solitary meal: he abruptly left me, with a promise that he
would continue his narrative of the following day.
* * * * *
Continuation
of the
_HISTORY OF CAPTAIN S----._
“In a short time I embarked for England. The weather for some time
favoured us; at length the winds, as if conscious they were wafting me
to misery, often swelled the reluctantly yielding waves, and hurried us
back from our progression. In those hours when sorrow and vexation
clouded the brows of the labouring mariners, impatient to reach their
native shore, a heavy indifference to our destiny clung round my heart;
a presentment of I knew not what blasted each rising hope; and I
pondered on the easy transition from human woe, as I surveyed the
fathomless gulph below me. Often did I rejoice, while the rough swell
lifted us on high, that my Isabella was not exposed to those many
dangers of the deep, which we feel but during the time we experience
them. Among my few books, was Falconer’s immortal poem of “_The
Shipwreck_.” I knew the superstition commonly attendant on sea-faring
people, and I carefully concealed it from their observation. Often in
the dead of night, when all were sleeping round me as if insensible to
fear, I stole from my cabin, impressed by a far different impulse, and
shared the midnight watch, while its appointed guardian sunk into the
arms of happy, but forbidden rest.
At length we quietly reclined on the peaceful bosom of the venerable
Thames. There, where no fears of faithless seas assailed us, my torpid
mind roused itself into action, and awakening every restless faculty of
my soul, suspended me between despair and hope. I eagerly jumped into
the first boat that came near to us, and leaving every thing belonging
to me on board. I took a post-chaise from Gravesend, where I landed, and
ordering the driver to set me down at the direction I gave him to
Islington, soon reached the abode of my new female correspondent. This
person had seen me but once, and would then have scarcely recollected
me, had not the wildness of my manner in enquiring for Mrs. S----
informed her who I was. She surveyed me with surprize and as I thought,
embarrassment. I requested she would immediately conduct me to my wife’s
lodgings, which she at first seemingly consented to; and then, as if
recollecting herself, observed, that my sudden appearance might perhaps
be too powerful for her newly-recovered health, and proposed my waiting
there till she went herself and apprized her of it. I impatiently
brooked this delay, yet submitted to it in consideration to my Isabella.
She told me it was not more than ten minutes walk from her house; yet I
passed near two hours alone in anxious expectation. It was at this time
the latter end of September; and it was past eight in the evening when I
had reached the house. The night was dark and gloomy; and as I stood
immoveable at the little gate which bounded the small garden allotted to
the habitation, I fancied that every hollow murmur of the wind
responsively echoed to my heart, and sigh’d forth, “_Isabella_.” At
length they came together; the sound of her voice still vibrates in my
ear, as she faintly pronounced “_Is it you?_” The darkness of night
prevented me from seeing her: I clasped her in my arms, and rushed with
her into the house. I placed her on a chair, and by the light of the
candle observed her features. Her person was much altered. She was
become thin, and her countenance was overspread with a livid paleness.
She burst into tears as she exclaimed, “_Ah, Frederick, why, why did you
leave me?_” I intreated her to be composed under the certainty that we
were met to part no more. I enquired for my boy, who was now in his
eighth year. She told me he was placed at a boarding-school, but avoided
making any farther mention of him. It grew late, and a small supper was
set before us, after which I proposed our going home to her lodgings. To
my unspeakable astonishment, she requested that I would not accompany
her; and gave for reason that the people where she lodged, not knowing
she expected me, might be alarmed at the appearance of a stranger being
with her in the night-time. I however insisted, and she consented. Her
house was indeed but a few paces from the one we had just quitted. Its
first appearance struck me. It was fitted up in a style of expensive
elegance; and on the side-board, on which was displayed a quantity of
plate, were two salvers, engraved large enough to be perceived without
very accurate observation, with the initials of her maiden name.
I looked at her with speechless horror, as I stood transfixed to the
spot. The powers of utterance were denied me, I gasped for breath.
A loud rapping at the street door awakened my recollection, and Captain
Nesbitt entered the room. He was in a state of inebriety, and the sight
of me staggered him. “S------,” said he, as he impudently advanced to
take my hand, “I have taken damn’d good care of your wife in your
absence;” and then turning to his guilty partner, continued, “Isabella,
hav’nt I?” At these words, affection, resentment, all seemed at the
moment to die within my breast; I recollected only that I was in the
presence of a woman--(and oh, Heaven, WHAT a woman)--I hastily turned to
Captain Nesbitt, and enquired where on the following morning I could
speak with him. He appointed the Bedford-arms, Covent-Garden, at two
o’clock. I looked at Isabella, who did not attempt to speak, but seemed
anxious only about her infamous lover.
“I hurried out of the house, scarcely knowing whither I went, and my
steps almost involuntarily conducted me to the one we had left not an
hour before. The little gate was locked, and I repeatedly, and in vain,
called for admittance. At length an unknown female voice answered me
from an upper window, and somewhat rudely requested my retreat. On my
expostulating, and begging only three minutes conversation with the
person I had supped with, she answered me that she was not to be
disturbed; and that if I persisted in alarming the neighbourhood, she
should put me in charge of the watch. With these words she shut the
window, and I walked wherever chance directed me. I came to the door of
a tavern, which stood half open, seeming to invite the weary traveller.
Here I fixed my abode for the night; nor was it long before my excessive
fatigue of mind and body threw me into a state of wished-for
insensibility.”
[To be continued.]
* * * * *