Miss Sparkes, a neighboring lady, whom the reputation of being a wit and
an amazon, had kept single at the age of five-and-forty, though her
person was not disagreeable, and her fortune considerable, called in one
morning while we were at breakfast. She is remarkable for her pretension
to odd and opposite qualities. She is something of a scholar, and a
huntress, a politician, and a farrier. She outrides Mr. Flam, and
outargues Mr. Tyrrel; excels in driving four in hand, and in canvassing
at an election. She is always anxious about the party, but never about
the candidate, in whom she requires no other merit but his being in the
opposition, which she accepts as a pledge for all other merit. In her
adoption of any talent, or her exercise of any quality, it is always
sufficient recommendation to her that it is not feminine.
From the window we saw her descend from her lofty phaeton, and when she
came,
The cap, the whip, the masculine attire,
the loud voice, the intrepid look, the independent air, the whole
deportment indicated a disposition rather to confer protection than to
accept it.
She made an apology for her intrusion, by saying that her visit was
rather to the stable than the breakfast-room. One of her horses was a
little lame, and she wanted to consult Mr. Stanley's groom, who, it
seems, was her oracle in that science, in which she herself is a
professed adept.
During her short visit, she labored so sedulously not to diminish by her
conversation the character she was so desirous to establish, that her
efforts defeated the end they aimed to secure. She was witty with all
her might, and her sarcastic turn, for wit it was not, made little
amends for her want of simplicity. I perceived that she was fond of the
bold, the marvelous, and the incredible. She ventured to tell a story or
two, so little within the verge of ordinary probability, that she risked
her credit for veracity without, perhaps, really violating truth. The
credit acquired by such relations seldom pays the relator for the hazard
run by the communication.
As we fell into conversation, I observed the peculiarities of her
character. She never sees any difficulties in any question. Whatever the
topic is started, while the rest of the company are hesitating as to the
propriety of their determination, she alone is never at a loss. Her
answer always follows the proposition, without a moment's interval for
examination herself, or for allowing any other person a chance of
delivering an opinion.
Mr. Stanley, who always sets an example of strict punctuality to his
family, had to-day come in to perform his daily devotions somewhat later
than usual. I could perceive that he had been a little moved. His
countenance wanted something of its placid serenity, though it seemed to
be seriousness untinctured with anger. He confessed while we were at
breakfast, that he had been spending above an hour in bringing one of
his younger children to a sense of a fault she had committed. "She has
not," said he, "told an absolute falsehood, but in what she said there
was prevarication, there was pride, there was passion. Her perverseness
has at length given way. Tears of resentment are changed into tears of
contrition. But she is not to appear in the drawing-room to-day. She is
to be deprived of the honor of carrying food to the poor in the evening.
Nor is she to furnish her contribution of nosegays to Rachel's basket.
This is a mode of punishment we prefer to that of curtailing any
personal indulgences; the importance we should assign to the privation
would be setting too much value on the enjoyment."
"You should be careful, Mr. Stanley," said Miss Sparkes, "not to break
the child's spirit. Too tight a rein will check her generous ardor, and
curb her genius. I would not subdue the independence of her mind, and
make a tame dull animal of a creature whose very faults give indications
of a soaring nature." Even Lady Belfield, to whose soft and tender heart
the very sound of punishment, or even privation, carried a sort of
terror, asked Mr. Stanley "if he did not think he had taken-up a
trifling offense too seriously, and punished it too severely."
"The thing is a trifle in itself," replied he, "but infant prevarication
unnoticed, and unchecked, is the prolific seed of subterfuge, of
expediency, of deceit, of falsehood, of hypocrisy."
"But the dear little creature," said Lady Belfield, "is not addicted to
equivocation. I have always admired her correctness in her pleasant
prattle."
"It is for that very reason," replied Mr. Stanley, "that I am so careful
to check the first indication of the contrary tendency. As the fault is
a solitary one, I trust the punishment will be so too. For which reason
I have marked it in a way to which her memory will easily recur. Mr.
Brandon, an amiable friend of mine, but of an indolent temper, through a
negligence in watching over an early propensity to deceit, suffered his
only son to run on from one stage of falsehood to another, till he
settled down in a most consummate hypocrite. His plausible manners
enabled him to keep his more turbulent vices out of sight. Impatient
when a youth of that contradiction to which he had never been accustomed
when a boy, he became notoriously profligate. His dissimulation was at
length too thin to conceal from his mistaken father his more palpable
vices. His artifices finally involved him in a duel, and his premature
death broke the heart of my poor friend.
"This sad example led me in my own family to watch this evil in the bud.
Divines often say that unbelief lies at the root of all sin. This seems
strikingly true in our conniving at the faults of our children. If we
really believed the denunciations of Scripture, could we for the sake of
a momentary gratification, not so much to our child as to ourselves
(which is the case in all blamable indulgence), overlook that fault
which may be the germ of unspeakable miseries! In my view of things,
deceit is no slight offense; I feel myself answerable in no small degree
for the eternal happiness of these beloved creatures whom Providence has
especially committed to my trust."
"But it is such a severe trial," said Lady Belfield, "to a fond parent
to inflict voluntary pain!"
"Shall we feel for their pain and not for their danger?" replied Mr.
Stanley. "I wonder how parents who love their children as I love mine,
can put in competition a temporary indulgence, which may foster one evil
temper, or fasten one bad habit, with the eternal welfare of that
child's soul. A soul of such inconceivable worth, whether we consider
its nature, its duration, or the price which was paid for its
redemption! What parent, I say, can by his own rash negligence, or false
indulgence, risk the happiness of such a soul, not for a few days or
years, but for a period compared with which the whole duration of time
is but a point? A soul of such infinite faculties, which has a capacity
for improving in holiness and happiness, through all the countless ages
of eternity?"
Observing Sir John listen with some emotion, Mr. Stanley went on: "What
remorse, my dear friend, can equal the pangs of him who has reason to
believe that his child has not only lost this eternity of glory, but
incurred an eternity of misery, through the carelessness of that parent
who assigned his very fondness as a reason for his neglect? Think of the
state of such a father, when he figures to himself the thousands and ten
thousands of glorified spirits that stand before the throne, and his
darling excluded--excluded perhaps by his own ill-judging fondness. Oh,
my friends, disguise it as we may, and deceive ourselves as we will,
want of faith is as much at the bottom of this sin as of all others.
Notwithstanding an indefinite, indistinct notion which men call faith,
they do not actually _believe_ in this eternity; they believe it in a
general way, but they do not believe in it practically, personally,
influentially."
While Mr. Stanley was speaking with an energy which evinced how much his
own heart was affected, Miss Sparkes, by the impatience of her looks,
evidently manifested that she wished to interrupt him. Good breeding,
however, kept her silent till he had done speaking: she then said, "that
though she allowed that absolute falsehood, and falsehood used for
mischievous purposes, was really criminal, yet there was a danger on the
other hand of laying too severe restrictions on freedom of speech. That
there might be such a thing as tacit hypocrisy. That people might be
guilty of as much deceit by suppressing their sentiments if just, as by
expressing such as were not quite correct. That a repulsive treatment
was calculated to extinguish the fire of invention. She thought, also,
that there were occasions where a harmless falsehood might not only be
pardonable, but laudable. But then she allowed, that a falsehood to be
allowed, must be inoffensive."
Mr. Stanley said, "that an inoffensive falsehood was a perfect anomaly.
But allowing it possible that an individual instance of deceit might be
passed over, which, however, he never could allow, yet one successful
falsehood, on the plea of doing good, would necessarily make way for
another, till the limits which divide right and wrong would be
completely broken down, and every distinction between truth and
falsehood be utterly confounded. If such latitude were allowed, even to
obtain some good purpose, it would gradually debauch all human
intercourse. The smallest deviation would naturally induce a pernicious
habit, endanger the security of society, and violate an express law of
God."
"There is no tendency," said Sir John Belfield, "more to be guarded
against among young persons of warm hearts and lively imaginations. The
feeling will think falsehood good if it is meant to _do_ good, and the
fanciful will think it justifiable if it is ingenious."
Ph[oe]be, in presenting her father with a dish of coffee, said in a half
whisper, "Surely, papa, there can be no harm in speaking falsely on a
subject where I am ignorant of the truth."
"There are occasions, my dear Ph[oe]be," replied her father, "in which
ignorance itself is a fault. Inconsiderateness is always one. It is your
duty to deliberate before you speak. It is your duty not to deceive by
your negligence in getting at the truth; or by publishing false
information as truth, though you have reason to suspect it may be false.
You well know who it is that associates him that _loveth_ a lie, with
him that _maketh_ it."
"But sir," said Miss Sparkes, "if by a falsehood I could preserve a
life, or save my country, falsehood would then be meritorious, and I
should glory in deceiving."
"Persons, madam," said Mr. Stanley, "who, in debate, have a favorite
point to carry, are apt to suppose extreme cases, which _can_ and _do_
very rarely if ever occur. This they do in order to compel the
acquiescence of an opponent to what ought never to be allowed. It is a
proud and fruitless speculation. The infinite power of God can never
stand in need of the aid of a weak mortal to help him out in his
difficulties. If he sees fit to preserve the life, or to save the
country, he is not driven to such shifts. Omnipotence can extricate
himself, and accomplish his own purposes, without endangering an
immortal soul."
Miss Sparkes took her leave soon after, in order, as she said, to go to
the stable and take the groom's opinion. Mr. Stanley insisted that her
carriage should be brought round to the door, to which we all attended
her. He inquired which was the lame horse. Instead of answering, she
went directly up to the animal, and after patting him with some
technical jockey phrases, she fearlessly took up his hind leg, carefully
examined the foot, and while she continued standing in what appeared to
the ladies a perilous, and to me a disgusting situation, she ran over
all the terms of the veterinary art with the groom, and when Miss
Stanley expressed some fear of her danger, and some dislike of her
coarseness, she burst into a loud laugh, and slapping her on the
shoulder, asked her if it was not better to understand the properties
and diseases of so noble an animal, than to waste her time in studying
confectionery with old Goody Comfit, or in teaching the catechism to
little ragged beggar-brats?
As soon as she was gone, the lively Ph[oe]be, who, her father says, has
narrowly escaped being a wit herself, cried out: "Well, papa, I must say
that I think Miss Sparkes, with all her faults, is rather an agreeable
woman." "I grant that she is amusing," returned he, "but I do not allow
her to be quite agreeable. Between these, Ph[oe]be, there is a wide
distinction. To a correct mind, no one can be agreeable who is
incorrect. Propriety is so indispensable to agreeableness, that when a
lady allows herself to make any, even the smallest, sacrifice of
veracity, religion, modesty, candor, or the decorum of her sex, she may
be shining, she may be showy, she may be amusing, but she can not,
properly speaking, be agreeable. Miss Sparkes, I very reluctantly
confess, does sometimes make these sacrifices, in a degree to make her
friends look about them, though not in a degree to alarm her own
principles. She would not tell a direct falsehood for the world; she
does not indeed invent, but she embellishes, she enlarges, she
exaggerates, she discolors. In her moral grammar there is no positive or
comparative degree. Pink with her is scarlet. The noise of a popgun is
a cannon. A shower is a tempest. A person of small fortune is a beggar.
One in easy circumstances is a Cr[oe]sus. A girl, if not perfectly well
made, is deformity personified; if tolerable, a Grecian Venus. Her
favorites are angels. Her enemies, demons.
"She would be thought very religious, and I hope that she will one day
become so; yet she sometimes treats serious things with no small levity,
and though she would not originally say a very bad word, yet she makes
no scruple of repeating, with great glee, profane stories told by
others. Besides, she possesses the dangerous art of exciting an improper
idea, without using an improper word. Gross indecency would shock her,
but she often verges so far toward indelicacy as to make Mrs. Stanley
uneasy. Then she is too much of a genius to be tied down by any
consideration of prudence. If a good thing occurs, out it comes, without
regard to time or circumstance. She would tell the same story to a
bishop as to her chambermaid. If she says a right thing, which she often
does, it is seldom in the right place. She makes her way in society,
without attaching many friends. Her bon-mots are admired and repeated;
yet I never met with a man of sense, though he may join in flattering
her, who did not declare, as soon as she was out of the room, that he
would not for the world that she should be his wife or daughter. It is
irksome to her to converse with her own sex, while she little suspects
that ours is not properly grateful for the preference with which she
honors us.
"She is," continued Mr. Stanley, "charitable with her purse, but not
with her tongue; she relieves her poor neighbors, and indemnifies
herself by slandering her rich ones. She has, however, many good
qualities, is generous, feeling, and humane, and I would on no account
speak so freely of a lady whom I receive at my house were it not that,
if I were, quite silent, after Ph[oe]be's expressed admiration, she
might conclude that I saw nothing to condemn in Miss Sparkes, and might
be copying her faults under the notion that being entertaining made
amends for every thing."