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C[OE]LEBS
IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
BY MRS. HANNAH MORE.
NEW YORK:
DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET.
1858.
* * * * *
"Among unequals what society
Can sort, what harmony or true delight?
Of fellowship, I speak, fit to participate
All rational enjoyment."
* * * * *
PREFACE.
When I quitted home, on a little excursion in the spring of this present
year 1808, a thought struck me, which I began to put into immediate
execution. I determined to commit to paper any little circumstances that
might arise, and any conversations in which I might be engaged, when the
subject was at all important, though there might be nothing particularly
new or interesting in the discussion itself.
I fulfilled my intention as occasions arose to furnish me with
materials; and on my return to the North, in the autumn of this same
year, it was my amusement on my journey to look over and arrange these
papers.
As soon as I arrived at my native place, I lent my manuscript to a
confidential friend, as the shortest way of imparting to him whatever
had occurred to me during our separation, together with my reflections
on those occurrences. I took care to keep his expectations low, by
apprizing him, that in a tour from my house in Westmoreland to the house
of a friend in Hampshire, he must not look for adventures, but content
himself with the every-day details of common life, diversified only by
the different habits and tempers of the persons with whom I had
conversed.
He brought back my manuscript in a few days, with an earnest wish that I
would consent to its publication, assuring me that he was of opinion
that it might not be altogether useless, not only to young men engaged
in the same pursuit with myself, but to the general reader. He obviated
all my objections arising from my want of leisure, during my present
interesting engagements, by offering to undertake the whole business
himself, and to release me from any further trouble, as he was just
setting out for London, where he proposed passing more time than the
printing would require.
Thus I am driven to the stale apology for publishing what perhaps it
would have been more prudent to have withheld--_the importunity of
friends_; an apology so commonly unfounded, and so repeatedly alleged,
from the days of John Faustus to the publication of C[oe]lebs.
But whether my friend, or my vanity, had the largest share of influence,
I am willing to indulge the hope that a better motive than either
friendship or vanity was an operating ingredient in my consent. Be that
as it may--I sent him my copy "_with all its imperfections on its
head_." It was accompanied by a letter of which the following extract
shall conclude these short prefatory remarks:
"I here send you my manuscript, with permission to make what use of it
you please. By publishing it I fear you will draw on me the particular
censure of two classes of critics. The novel reader will reject it as
dull. The religious may throw it aside as frivolous. The one will accuse
it of excessive strictness; the other of censurable levity. Readers of
the former description must be satisfied with the following brief and
general answer:
"Had it been my leading object to have indulged in details that have
amusement only for their end, it might not have been difficult to have
produced a work more acceptable to the tastes accustomed to be gratified
with such compositions. But to entertain that description of readers
makes no part of my design.
"The persons with whom I have associated in my excursion were
principally, though not exclusively, the family of a country gentleman,
and a few of his friends--a narrow field, and unproductive of much
variety! The generality of these characters move in the quiet and
regular course of domestic life. I found them placed in no difficult
situations. It was a scene rather favorable to reflection than
description. Social intercourse, and not striking events, marked the
daily progress of my visit. I had little of pathetic scenes or trying
circumstances to work on my own feelings, or, by the relation of them,
to work on the feelings of others. My friend's house resembled the
reign of some pacific sovereigns. It was the pleasantest to live in, but
its annals were not the most splendid to record. The periods which make
life happy do not always render history brilliant.
"Great passions, therefore, and great trials growing out of them as I
did not witness, I have not attempted to delineate. Love itself appears
in these pages, not as an ungovernable impulse, but as a sentiment
arising out of qualities calculated to inspire attachment in persons
under the dominion of reason and religion, brought together by the
ordinary course of occurrences, in a private family party.
"The familiar conversations of this little society comprehend a
considerable portion of this slender work. The texture of the narrative
is so slight, that it barely serves for a ground into which to weave the
sentiments and observations which it was designed to introduce.
"It may not be unnecessary to anticipate an objection to which these
conversations may sometimes be thought liable. In a few instances, the
speeches may be charged with a degree of stiffness, and with a length
not altogether consistent with familiar dialogue. I must apologize for
this by observing, that when the subjects were serious, the dialogue
would not, in every instance, bend to such facilities, nor break into
such small parcels, as may easily be effected in the discussion of
topics of gayer intercourse.
"But it is time to meet the objections of the more pious reader, if any
such should condescend to peruse this little performance. If it be
objected, that religious characters have been too industriously brought
forward, and their faults somewhat too severely treated, let it be
remembered, that while it is one of the principal objects of the work to
animadvert on those very faults, it has never been done with the
insidious design of depreciating the religion, but with the view, by
exposing the fault, to correct the practice. Grossly vicious characters
have seldom come in my way; but I had frequent occasion to observe the
different shapes and shades of error in various descriptions of society,
not only in those worldly persons who do not quite leave religion out of
their scheme, but on the mistakes and inconsistencies of better
characters, and even on the errors of some who would be astonished not
to find themselves reckoned altogether religious. I have not so much
animadverted on the unavoidable faults and frailties inseparable from
humanity, even in the best characters, and which the best characters
most sensibly feel, and most feelingly deplore, as on those errors which
are often tolerated, justified, and in some instances systematized.
"If I have been altogether deceived in the ambitious hope that these
pages may not be entirely useless; if I have failed in my endeavors to
show how religion may be brought to mix with the concerns of ordinary
life, without impairing its activity, lessening its cheerfulness, or
diminishing its usefulness; if I have erred in fancying that material
defects exist in fashionable education; if I have been wrong in
supposing that females of the higher class may combine more domestic
knowledge with more intellectual acquirement, that they may be at the
same time more knowing and more useful, than has always been thought
necessary or compatible; in short, if I shall be found to have totally
disappointed you, my friend, in your too sanguine opinion that some
little benefit might arise from the publication, I shall rest satisfied
with a low and negative merit. I must be content with the humble hope
that no part of these volumes will be found injurious to the important
interests which it was rather in my wish than in my ability to advance;
that where I failed in effecting good, little evil has been done; that
if my book has answered no valuable purpose, it has, at least, not added
to the number of those publications which, by impairing the virtue, have
diminished the happiness of mankind; that if I possessed not talents to
promote the cause of Christian morals, I possessed an abhorrence of
those principles which lead to their contamination.
"C[OE]LEBS."
C[OE]LEBS.
CHAPTER I.
I have been sometimes surprised when in conversation I have been
expressing my admiration of the character of Eve in her state of
innocence, as drawn by our immortal poet, to hear objections started by
those, from whom of all critics I should have least expected it--the
ladies. I confess that as the Sophia of Rousseau had her young
imagination captivated by the character of Fenelon's Telemachus, so I
early became enamored of that of Milton's Eve. I never formed an idea of
conjugal happiness, but my mind involuntarily adverted to the graces of
that finished picture.
The ladies, in order to justify their censure, assert that Milton, a
harsh domestic tyrant, must needs be a very inadequate judge, and of
course a very unfair delineator, of female accomplishments. These fair
cavilers draw their inference from premises, from which I have always
been accustomed to deduce a directly contrary conclusion. They insist
that it is highly derogatory from the dignity of the sex, that the poet
should affirm that it is the perfection of the character of a wife,
To study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
Now according to my notion of "household good," which does not include
one idea of drudgery or servility, but which involves a large and
comprehensive scheme of excellence, I will venture to affirm, that let a
woman know what she may, yet if she knows not this, she is ignorant of
the most indispensable, the most appropriate branch of female knowledge.
Without it, however she may inspire admiration abroad, she will never
excite esteem, nor of coarse, durable affection, at home, and will bring
neither credit nor comfort to her ill-starred partner.
The domestic arrangements of such a woman as filled the capacious mind
of the poet resemble, if I may say it without profaneness, those of
Providence, whose under-agent she is. Her wisdom is seen in its effects.
Indeed it is rather felt than seen. It is sensibly acknowledged in the
peace, the happiness, the virtue of the component parts; in the order,
regularity and beauty of the whole system, of which she is the moving
spring. The perfection of her character, as the divine poet intimates,
does not arise from a prominent quality, or a showy talent, or a
brilliant accomplishment, but it is the beautiful combination and result
of them all. Her excellencies consist not so much in acts as in habits,
in
Those thousand decencies which daily flow
From all her words and actions.
A description more calculated than any I ever met with to convey an idea
of the purest conduct resulting from the best principles. It gives an
image of that tranquillity, smoothness, and quiet beauty, which is the
very essence of perfection in a wife; while the happily chosen verb
_flow_ takes away any impression of dullness, or stagnant torpor, which
the _still_ idea might otherwise suggest.
But the offense taken by the ladies against the uncourtly bard is
chiefly occasioned by his having presumed to intimate that conjugal
obedience
Is woman's highest honor and her praise.
This is so nice a point that I, as a bachelor, dare only just hint, that
on this delicate question the poet has not gone an inch further than the
apostle. Nay, Paul is still more uncivilly explicit than Milton. If,
however, I could hope to bring over to my side critics, who, being of
the party, are too apt to prejudge the cause, I would point out to them
that the supposed harshness of the observation is quite done away by the
recollection that this scrupled "obedience" is so far from implying
degradation, that it is connected with the injunction to the woman "to
promote good works" in her husband; an injunction surely inferring a
degree of influence that raises her condition, and restores her to all
the dignity of equality; it makes her not only the associate but the
inspirer of his virtues.
But to return to the economical part of the character of Eve. And here
she exhibits a consummate specimen and beautiful model of domestic skill
and elegance. How exquisitely conceived is her reception and
entertainment of Raphael! How modest and yet how dignified! I am afraid
I know some husbands who would have had to encounter very ungracious
looks, not to say words, if they had brought home even an angel,
_unexpectedly_ to dinner. Not so our general mother:
Her dispatchful looks,
Her hospitable thoughts, * * * intent
What choice to choose for delicacy best,
all indicate not only the "prompt" but the cheerful "obedience." Though
her repast consisted only of the fruits of Paradise,
Whatever earth, all bearing mother, yields;
yet of these, with a liberal hospitality,
She gathers tribute large, and on the board
Heaps with unsparing hand.
The finest modern lady need not disdain the arrangement of her table,
which was
So contrived as not to mix
Tastes not well join'd, inelegant, but bring
Taste after taste, upheld by kindliest change.
It must, however, I fear, be conceded, by the way, that this "taste
_after_ taste" rather holds out an encouragement to second courses.
When this unmatched trio had finished their repast, which, let it be
observed, before they tasted, Adam acknowledged that
These bounties from our _Nourisher_ are given,
From whom all perfect good descends,
Milton, with great liberality to that sex against which he is accused of
so much severity, obligingly permitted Eve to sit much longer after
dinner, than most modern husbands would allow. She had attentively
listened to all the historical and moral subjects so divinely discussed
between the first Angel and the first Man; and perhaps there can
scarcely be found a more beautiful trait of a delicately attentive wife,
than she exhibits, by withdrawing at the exact point of propriety. She
does not retire in consequence of any look or gesture, any broad sign of
impatience, much less any command or intimation of her husband; but with
the ever watchful eye of vigilant affection and deep humility:
When by his countenance he seem'd
Entering on thoughts abstruse,
instructed only by her own quick intuition of what was right and
delicate, she withdrew. And here again how admirably does the poet
sustain her intellectual dignity, softened by a most tender stroke of
conjugal affection.
Yet went she not, as not with such discourse
Delighted, or not capable her ear
Of what was high--such pleasure she reserved,
Adam relating, she sole auditress----
On perusing, however, the tete-a-tete which her absence occasioned,
methinks I hear some sprightly lady, fresh from the Royal Institution,
express her wonder why Eve should be banished by her husband from
Raphael's fine lecture on astronomy which follows; was not she as
capable as Adam of understanding all he said, of
Cycle and Epicycle, Orb on Orb?
If, however, the imaginary fair objector will take the trouble to read
to the end of the eighth book of this immortal work, it will raise in
her estimation both the poet and the heroine, when she contemplates the
just propriety of her being absent before Adam enters on the account of
the formation, beauty and attractions of his wife, and of his own love
and admiration. She will further observe, in her progress through this
divine poem, that the author is so far from making Eve a mere domestic
drudge, an unpolished housewife, that he pays an invariable attention
even to external elegance, in his whole delineation, ascribing grace to
her steps and dignity to her gesture. He uniformly keeps up the same
combination of intellectual worth and polished manners;
For softness she, and sweet attractive grace.
And her husband, so far from a churlish insensibility to her
perfections, politely calls her
Daughter of God and man, _accomplish'd_ Eve.
I will not, however, affirm that Adam, or even Milton, annexed to the
term _accomplished_ precisely the idea with which it is associated in
the mind of a true modern-bred lady.
It may be objected to the poet's gallantry that he remarks
How beauty is excell'd by manly grace,
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair;
let it be remembered that the observation proceeds from the lips of Eve
herself, and thus adds to her other graces, the crowning grace of
humility.
But it is high time that I should proceed from my criticism to myself.
The connexion, and of course the transition, will be found more natural
than may appear, till developed by my slight narrative.