I strolled out alone, intending to call at the Rectory, but was
prevented by meeting the worthy Dr. Barlow, who was coming to the Grove.
I could not lose so fair an opportunity of introducing a subject that
was seldom absent from my thoughts. I found it was a subject on which I
had no new discoveries to impart. He told me he had seen and rejoiced in
the election my heart had made. I was surprised at his penetration. He
smiled, and told me he "took no great credit for his sagacity in
perceiving what was obvious to spectators far more indifferent than
himself; that I resembled those animals who, by hiding their heads in
the earth, fancied nobody could see them."
I asked him a thousand questions about Lucilla, whose fine mind I knew
he had in some measure contributed to form. I inquired, with an
eagerness which he called jealousy, who were her admirers? "As many men
as have seen her," replied he; "I know no man who has so many rivals as
yourself. To relieve your apprehensions, however, I will tell you, that
though there have been several competitors for her favor, not one has
been accepted. There has, indeed, this summer been a very formidable
candidate, young Lord Staunton, who has a large estate in the county,
and whom she met on a visit." At these words I felt my fears revive. A
young and handsome peer seemed so redoubtable a rival, that for a moment
I only remembered she was a woman, and forgot that she was Lucilla.
"You may set your heart at rest," said Dr. Barlow, who saw my emotion;
"she heard he had seduced the innocent daughter of one of his tenants,
under the most specious pretense of honorable love. This, together with
the looseness of his religious principles, led her to give his lordship
a positive refusal, though he is neither destitute of talents, nor
personal accomplishments."
How ashamed was I of my jealousy! How I felt my admiration increase! Yet
I thought it was too great before to admit of augmentation. "Another
proposal," said Dr. Barlow, "was made to her father by a man every way
unexceptionable. But she desired him to be informed that it was her
earnest request that he would proceed no further, but spare her the pain
of refusing a gentleman for whose character she entertained a sincere
respect; but being persuaded she could never be able to feel more than
respect, she positively declined receiving his addresses, assuring him,
at the same time, that she sincerely desired to retain, as a friend, him
whom she felt herself obliged to refuse as a husband. She is as far from
the vanity of seeking to make conquest, as from the ungenerous insolence
of using ill those whom her merit has captivated, and her judgment can
not accept."
After admiring in the warmest terms the purity and generosity of her
heart, I pressed Dr. Barlow still further, as to the interior of her
mind. I questioned him as to her early habits, and particularly as to
her religious attainments, telling him that nothing was indifferent to
me which related to Lucilla.
"Miss Stanley," replied he, "is governed by a simple, practical end, in
all her religious pursuits. She reads her Bible, not from habit, that
she may acquit herself of a customary form; not to exercise her
ingenuity by allegorizing literal passages, or spiritualizing plain
ones, but that she may improve in knowledge and grow in grace. She
accustoms herself to meditation, in order to get her mind more deeply
imbued with a sense of eternal things. She practices self-examination,
that she may learn to watch against the first risings of bad
dispositions, and to detect every latent evil in her heart. She lives in
the regular habit of prayer, not only that she may implore pardon of
sin, but that she may obtain strength against it. She told me one day
when she was ill, that if she did not constantly examine the actual
state of her mind, she should pray at random, without any certainty what
particular sins she should pray against, or what were her particular
wants. She has read much Scripture and little controversy. There are
some doctrines that she does not pretend to define, which she yet
practically adopts. She can not perhaps give you a disquisition on the
mysteries of the Holy Spirit, but she can and does fervently implore his
guidance and instruction; she believes in his efficacy, and depends on
his support. She is sensible that those truths, which from their deep
importance are most obvious, have more of the vitality of religion, and
influence practice more, than those abstruse points which unhappily
split the religious world into so many parties.
"If I were to name what are her predominant virtues, I should say
sincerity and humility. Conscious of her own imperfections, she never
justifies her faults, and seldom extenuates them. She receives reproof
with meekness, and advice with gratitude. Her own conscience is always
so ready to condemn her, that she never wonders, nor takes offense, at
the censures of others."
"That softness of manner which you admire in her is not the varnish of
good breeding, nor is it merely the effect of good temper, though in
both she excels, but it is the result of humility. She appears humble,
not because a mild exterior is graceful, but because she has an inward
conviction of unworthiness which prevents an assuming manner. Yet her
humility has no cant; she never disburdens her conscience by a few
disparaging phrases, nor lays a trap for praise by indiscriminately
condemning herself. Her humility never impairs her cheerfulness; for the
sense of her wants directs her to seek, and her faith enables her to
find, the sure foundation of a better hope than any which can be derived
from a delusive confidence in her own goodness."
"One day," continued Dr. Barlow, "when I blamed her gently for her
backwardness in expressing her opinion on some serious point, she said,
'I always feel diffident in speaking on these subjects, not only lest I
should be _thought_ to assume, but lest I really _should_ assume a
degree of piety which may not belong to me. My great advantages make me
jealous of myself. My dear father has so carefully instructed me, and I
live so much in the habit of hearing his pious sentiments that I am
often afraid of appearing better than I am, and of pretending to feel in
my heart what perhaps I only approve in my judgment. When my beloved
mother was ill,' continued she, 'I often caught myself saying
mechanically, God's will be done! when I blush to own how little I felt
in my heart of that resignation of which my lips were so lavish.'"
I hung with inexpressible delight on every word Dr. Barlow uttered, and
expressed my fears that such a prize was too much above my deserts to
allow me to encourage very sanguine hopes. "You have my cordial wishes
for your success," said he, "though I shall lament the day when you
snatch so fair a flower from our fields, to transplant it into your
northern gardens."
We had now reached the park-gate, where Sir John and Lady Belfield
joined us. As it was very hot, Dr. Barlow proposed to conduct us a
nearer way. He carried us through a small nursery of fruit-trees, which
I had not before observed, though it was adjoining the ladies'
flower-garden, from which it was separated and concealed by a row of
tall trees. I expressed my surprise that the delicate Lucilla would
allow so coarse an inclosure to be so near her ornamented ground. "You
see she does all she can to shut it out," replied he. "I will tell you
how it happens, for I can not vindicate the taste of my fair friend,
without exposing a better quality in her. But if I betray her, you must
not betray me.
"It is a rule when any servant who has lived seven years at the Grove,
marries, provided they have conducted themselves well, and make a
prudent choice, for Mr. Stanley to give them a piece of ground on the
waste, to build a cottage; he also allows them to take stones from his
quarry, and lime from his kiln; to this he adds a bit of ground for a
garden. Mrs. Stanley presents some kitchen furniture, and gives a
wedding dinner; and the rector refuses his fee for performing the
ceremony."
"Caroline," said Sir John, "this is not the first time since we have
been at the Grove that I have been struck with observing how many
benefits naturally result to the poor, from the rich living on
their own estates. Their dependants have a thousand petty local
advantages, which cost almost nothing to the giver, which are yet
valuable to the receiver, and of which the absent never think."
"You have heard," said Dr. Barlow, "that Miss Stanley, from her
childhood, has been passionately fond of cultivating a garden. When she
was hardly fourteen, she began to reflect that the delight she took in
this employment was attended neither with pleasure nor profit to any one
but herself, and she became jealous of a gratification which was so
entirely selfish. She begged this piece of waste ground of her father,
and stocked it with a number of fine young fruit-trees of the common
sort, apples, pears, plums, and the smaller fruits. When there is a
wedding among the older servants, or when any good girl out of her
school marries, she presents their little empty garden with a dozen
young apple-trees, and a few trees of the other sorts, never forgetting
to embellish their little court with roses and honey-suckles. These last
she transplants from the shrubbery, not to fill up the _village garden_,
as it is called, with any thing that is of no positive use. She employs
a poor lame man in the village a day in a week to look after this
nursery, and by cutting and grafts a good stock is raised on a small
space. It is done at her own expense, Mr. Stanley making this a
condition when he gave her the ground; 'otherwise,' said he, 'trifling
as it is, it would be my charity and not hers, and she would get thanked
for a kindness which would cost her nothing.' The warm-hearted little
Ph[oe]be cooperates in this, and all her sister's labors of love.
"Some such union of charity with every personal indulgence, she
generally imposes on herself; and from this association she has acquired
another virtue, for she tells me, smiling, she is sometimes obliged to
content herself with practicing frugality instead of charity. When she
finds she can not afford both her own gratification, and the charitable
act which she wanted to associate with it, and is therefore compelled to
give up the charity, she compels herself to give up the indulgence also.
By this self-denial she gets a little money in hand for the next demand,
and thus is enabled to afford both next time."
As he finished speaking, we spied the lame gardener pruning and clearing
the trees. "Well, James," said the Doctor, "how does your nursery
thrive?" "Why, sir," said the poor man, "we are rather thin of stout
trees at present. You know we had three weddings at Christmas, which
took thirty-six of my best apple-trees at a blow, besides half a dozen
tall pear-trees, and as many plums. But we shall soon fetch it up, for
Miss Lucilla makes me plant two for every one that is removed, so that
we are always provided for a wedding, come when it will."
I now recollected that I had been pleased with observing so many young
orchards and flourishing cottage gardens in the village: little did I
suspect the fair hand which could thus in a few years diffuse an air of
smiling comfort around these humble habitations, and embellish poverty
itself. She makes, they told me, her periodical visits of inspection to
see that neatness and order do not degenerate.
Not to appear too eager, I asked the poor man some questions about his
health, which seemed infirm. "I am but weak, sir," said he, "for matter
of that, but I should have been dead long ago but for the Squire's
family. He gives me the run of his kitchen, and Miss Lucilla allows me
half-a-crown a week for one day's work and any odd hour I can spare; but
she don't let me earn it, for she is always watching for fear it should
be too hot, or too cold, or too wet for me; and she brings me my dose of
bark herself into this tool-house, that she may be sure I take it; for
she says, servants and poor people like to have medicines provided for
them, but don't care to take them. Then she watches that I don't throw
my coat on the wet grass, which she says, gives laboring men so much
rheumatism; and she made me this nice flannel waistcoat, sir, with her
own hands. At Christmas they give me a new suit from top to toe, so that
I want for nothing but a more thankful heart, for I never can be
grateful enough to God and my benefactors."
I asked some further questions, only to have the pleasure of hearing him
talk longer about Lucilla. "But, sir," said he, interrupting me, "I hear
bad news, very bad news. Pray, your honor, forgive me." "What do you
mean, James?" said I, seeing his eyes fill. "Why, sir, all the servants
at the Grove will have it that you are come to carry off Miss Lucilla,
God bless her whenever she goes. Your Mr. Edwards, sir, says you are one
of the best of gentlemen, but indeed, indeed, I don't know who can
deserve her. She will carry a blessing wherever she goes." The honest
fellow put up the sleeve of his coat to brush away his tears, nor was I
ashamed of those with which his honest affection filled my own eyes.
While we were talking, a poor little girl, who I knew, by her neat
uniform, belonged to Miss Stanley's school, passed us with a little
basket in her hand. James called to her, "Make haste, Rachel, you are
after your time."
"What, this is market-day, James, is it?" said Doctor Barlow, "and
Rachel is come for her nosegays." "Yes, sir," said James; "I forgot to
tell their honors, that every Saturday, as soon as her school is over,
the younger Misses give Rachel leave to come and fetch some flowers out
of their garden, which she carries to the town to sell; she commonly
gets a shilling, half of which they make her lay out to bring home a
little tea for her poor sick mother, and the other half she lays up to
buy shoes and stockings for herself and her crippled sister. Every
little is a help where there is nothing, sir."
Sir John said nothing, but looked at Lady Belfield, whose eyes glistened
while she softly said, "O, how little do the rich ever think what the
aggregate even of their own squandered shillings would do in the way of
charity, were they systematically applied to it!"
James now unlocked a little private door, which opened into the
pleasure-ground. There, at a distance, sitting in a circle on the
new-mown grass, under a tree, we beheld all the little Stanleys, with a
basket of flowers between them, out of which they were earnestly
employed in sorting and tying up nosegays. We stood some time admiring
their little busy faces and active fingers, without their perceiving us,
and got up to them just as they were putting their prettily-formed
bouquets into Rachel's basket, with which she marched off, with many
charges from the children to waste no time by the way, and to be sure to
leave the nosegay that had the myrtle in it at Mrs. Williams's.
"How many nosegays have you given to Rachel to-day, Louisa?" said Dr.
Barlow to the eldest of the four. "Only three apiece, sir," replied she.
"We think it a bad day when we can't make up our dozen. They are all our
own; we seldom touch mamma's flowers, and we never suffer James to take
ours, because Ph[oe]be says it might be tempting him. Little Jane
lamented that Lucilla had given them nothing to-day, except two or three
sprigs of her best flowering myrtle, which," added she, "we make Rachel
give into the bargain to a poor sick lady who loves flowers, and used to
have good ones of her own, but who has now no money to spare, and could
not afford to give more than the common price for a nosegay for her sick
room. So we always slip a nice flower or two out of the green-house into
her little bunch, and say nothing. When we walk that way we often leave
her some flowers ourselves, and would do it oftener if it did not hurt
poor Rachel's trade."
As we walked away from the sweet prattlers, Dr. Barlow said: "These
little creatures already emulate their sisters in associating some petty
kindness with their own pleasures. The act is trifling, but the habit is
good; as is every habit which helps to take us out of self, which
teaches us to transfer our attention from our own gratification to the
wants or the pleasures of another."
"I confess," said Lady Belfield, as we entered the house, "that it never
occurred to me that it was any part of charity to train my children to
the habit of sacrificing their time or their pleasure for the benefit of
others, though to do them justice, they are very feeling and very
liberal with their money."
"My dear Caroline," said Sir John, "it is our money, not theirs. It is,
I fear, a cheap liberality, and abridges not themselves of one
enjoyment. They well know we are so pleased to see them charitable that
we shall instantly repay them with interest whatever they give away, so
that we have hitherto afforded them no opportunity to show their actual
dispositions. Nay, I begin to fear that they may become charitable
through covetousness, if they find out that the more they give the more
they shall get. We must correct this artificial liberality as soon as we
get home."