Compassion is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed.
Graceful, particularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart
that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit ease and indulgence
to contract our affections, and wrap us up in selfish enjoyment. But we
should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life, of
the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weeping orphan. Nor
ought we ever to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements;
nor treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty.
It has been objected, and it is to be feared with some reason, that
female conversation is too frequently tinctured with a censorious
spirit, and that ladies are seldom apt to discover much tenderness for
the errors of a fallen sister. No arguments can justify, no pleas
extenuate it.
To insult over the miseries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to
compassionate them is unchristian. The worthy part of the sex always
express themselves humanely on the failings of others, in proportion to
their own undeviating goodness, and by that gentle virtue are prompted
to alleviate the distresses of the unfortunate and wretched; it prevents
us from retaliating injuries; and restrains our severe judgments and
angry passions.
[[Source:
“Thoughts on Conversation” in Hannah More, _Essays Principally
Designed for Young Ladies_ (1777). “True Meekness” (p. 247, no. 83)
is from the same source.]]
* * * * *
* * * *
The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.
_BY MRS. GOOCH._
(Continued from page 395.)
* * *
The
_HISTORY OF LLEWYLLIN._
“In the town of Glamorgan, Madam, I drew my first breath of life; but my
entrance into the world was marked by the deprivation of its first
blessing. As I never beheld the day (of which I can only form a very
imperfect idea), I am the better reconciled to my unhappy destiny. One
keen regret alone embitters my existence; and although I must not repine
at the dispensations of Providence, nor arraign the justice of the Most
High, I feel to its full extent the misery of having never been blessed
with the sight of my daughter, whose piety has sustained my drooping
years, and almost taught me to forget that I have a wish ungratified.”
At that moment a string of the harp which stood in its usual corner,
snapped aloud, and Julia taking it under her arm, withdrew with it into
her own apartment, seemingly rejoiced at a pretext to leave the room,
that she might conceal by retiring the visible emotion that began to
overspread her feeling countenance.
The old man requested her to put it in proper order, and continued his
story.
“As it was impossible for me to be brought up to any business in the
town where we lived, and as my love of music had from my earliest years
surpassed every other inclination, my father proposed sending me to
London in my nineteenth year, that I might try in the musical world
whether my abilities were sufficient to ensure me there a quiet and
comfortable independence. But before he could adopt any measure that he
thought likely to succeed, I had, without his knowledge, accepted the
offering of a heart born to pity and to love me. A niece of my father’s
resided under our roof; her unceasing assiduities and advances which I
could not fail to comprehend, drew from me a sentiment hitherto unknown,
and influenced every future action of my life. My cousin was young, and,
I have heard, handsome. ’Tis probable, that had my situation been
different, we might never have been united; but the pleasure she took in
describing the objects around me, and that tender compassion she so
evidently felt for my hapless infirmity, soon disposed my heart to the
warmest gratitude, and to that a more tender passion soon succeeded. The
result of this attachment soon made a visible alteration on the person
of my cousin; and our intercourse, which had been long suspected, was at
length discovered. An immediate marriage was the consequence; but the
day that gave life to my Julia, deprived her mother of it.
“About this time, while we were yet uncertain whether I should go, and
as my father’s house was a continual memento of my late sad loss, Mr.
David Evans visited our town, and as he excelled on the harp, took
pleasure to instruct me. I devoted my time to his lessons, and their
practice; but my studies would have been soon interrupted by his
departure, had not Sir Herbert Williams arrived with his family at an
estate he had lately purchased between Swansea and Glamorgan, and
insisted on Evans taking up his residence in his house.
“In the course of the ensuing summer many gentlemen who visited that
delightful spot, were pleased to bestow the highest encomiums on my
performances: they proposed my making the tour of England, and held
forth the most flattering promises of liberal patronage and support.
A subscription was, at the close of the season, raised by them; and
Evans who wished for (though he did not absolutely want) money, sold me
at a moderate price the harp now in my possession, having another which
he preferred to it.
“I quickly sallied forth as an adventurer, and for some time succeeded
beyond my expectations. I was admired, courted, and caressed; but the
novelty at length dissipated the charm, and I was no sooner, according
to my own ideas, established in one place, than I found it was become
necessary to remove to another. I wandered from town to town during an
interval of thirteen years. Sometimes I re-visited _Glamorgan_; but my
vanity had been too much flattered by the past, and my hopes too much
raised by the expectation of the future, to allow me to doubt for a
moment that fortune would not pour into my lap, and that it would be
always time enough for me to lay by a sufficient provision for the
support and comfort of my old age.
“I repaired at length to London, and displayed my talents there; but, to
my utter astonishment, I played for more applause than gain. Here my sun
of glory would have probably sat, had not the Count d’Adhemar, at that
time Ambassador from the Court of France, become, unsolicited, the most
liberal of my patrons. On his discovering that my circumstances were not
adequate to the expences of my existence, and, as he was pleased to add,
to my merit, he deputed me the bearer of a private letter which he
addressed to the Queen, who failed not at _Versailles_ to distinguish
his recommendation with marks of her most zealous approbation. I had the
honour to attend her Majesty, and to give her some lessons on her
favourite harp. She was particularly charmed with the sweetness of the
Scots ballads, which were unknown in that kingdom; nor did some of the
old Welsh ditties fail to delight her ear. She vouchsafed in
commiserating my infirmity, to alleviate its anguish, and soon gave me a
preference over the French masters, under whose instructions she had not
made the proficiency to which her brilliant talents were fully
competent. In this situation I should have probably remained, had not
envy, that loves not merit, darted its smooth-tongued venom on a
creature whose only offence was misfortune; an offence the more
dangerous, as in her generous heart it superseded every other
consideration.
“The Queen ordered her Treasurer to give me a rouleau of fifty
Louis-d’ors, and condescended to say that she was so well satisfied with
the instructions I had given her, that she dismissed me against her
inclination, and did so only in compliance with the discontent of my
competitor, who found himself mortified that a foreigner, and
particularly an Englishman, should have obtained her protection to his
prejudice.
“But my pride had received a wound that was not to be healed in France.
For my disgrace various might be the causes assigned, and perhaps the
only real one concealed compliment to Monsieur ------. I determined
therefore to return to Glamorgan, and found on my arrival there that
Evans was lately dead; and from some hints that had been dropped by Sir
Herbert Williams, it appeared probable that it was his wish for me to
succeed him. Of this I was informed by Julia, who had been frequently
noticed by Sir Herbert and his son, Mr. Williams, who sometimes called
in at my father’s house, and heard Julia with pleasure touch the harp,
which she accompanied with a voice sweet and melodious, though not
powerful.
“A few days after my return, Sir Herbert sent for me, and I was of
necessity accompanied by my daughter. He enquired into my story; and on
finding me disgusted with travelling, which could not afford to me the
smallest share of that satisfaction experienced from it by the rest of
mankind, he proposed my settling at Swansea; and from the double motive
of compassion for my situation, and his having been accustomed by Evans
to the enjoyment of music, he immediately settled on me an annuity of
fifty pounds for my life, and gave me the apartment that had been
occupied by my predecessor.
“In the following year my father died, and Julia remained unprovided
for. I knew not how to dispose of her; and to send her to London, where
she had no friends, was repugnant to my feelings. She was young,
susceptible, and, I was told, handsome; add so these, her affection for
me would not allow the idea of our separation, and she took up for the
present her abode at a friend’s house, in Swansea, and employed herself
with such work as Sir Herbert’s housekeeper chose to give her, more for
the disposition of her time than for any emolument she could derive
from it.
“Sir Herbert had one daughter married in Scotland, who seldom or ever
visited him; and his only son, who lived with him, had imbibed, from the
example of his father, since the death of Lady Williams, a love for
solitude, and a partiality for Swansea, that prevented his wishes from
roving beyond it. The old English hospitality prevailed in their house,
but its visitors were confined to their poorer neighbours, who always
found a welcome in it.
“There was a communication through a shrubbery into a part of Sir
Herbert’s house, in which was my apartment. From thence my Julia could
steal unperceived there, when at times she wished to visit me,
unrestrained by the necessary formalities of dress or the being observed
by the family.”
(To be concluded in our next.)
* * * * *
* * * *
THE STORM.
A Fragment.
It is dark, and a silent gloom pervades the face of Heaven and of Earth,
that makes my soul expand to such a magnitude, as if it would burst the
very bosom which contains it.--All is silent!--fear takes possession of
my mind; when, from an angry cloud, the liquid flames flash forth with
terrible sublimity; darting from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
with such repeated swiftness, blazing expansive through the heaven’s
high vaults, then on a sudden vanishing! On rolls the distant thunder
solemnly sublime, and with the pelting rain and howling wind, approaches
nearer: between each peal out flashes the sulphureous flame, illumining
the rushing cataract with its light; succeeded by a crash most horrible,
which shakes the very earth to its centre! Once more a sombre gloom
spreads over the face of nature--again, all is terror and confusion!--