One morning I took a ride alone to breakfast at Lady Aston's; Mr.
Stanley having expressed a particular desire that I should cultivate the
acquaintance of her son. "Sir George is not quite twenty," said he,
"and your being a few years older, will make him consider your
friendship as an honor to him; I am sure it will be an advantage."
In her own little family circle, I had the pleasure of seeing Lady Aston
appear to more advantage than I had yet done. Her understanding is good,
and her affections are strong. She had received a too favorable
impression of my character from Mr. Stanley, and treated me with as much
openness as if I had been his son.
The gentle girls, animated by the spirit of their brother, seemed to
derive both happiness and importance from his presence: while the
amiable young baronet himself won my affection by his engaging manners,
and my esteem by his good sense and his considerable acquirements in
every thing which becomes a gentleman.
This visit exemplified a remark I had sometimes made, that shy
characters, who from natural timidity are reserved in general society,
open themselves with peculiar warmth and frankness to a few select
friends, or to an individual of whom they think kindly. A distant manner
is not always, as is suspected, the result of a cold heart, or a dull
head; nor is gayety necessarily connected with feeling. High animal
spirits, though they often evaporate in mere talk, yet by their warmth
and quickness of motion obtain the credit of strong sensibility: a
sensibility, however, of which the heart is not always the fountain.
While in the timid, that silence which is construed into pride,
indifference, or want of capacity, is often the effect of keen feelings.
Friendship is the genial climate in which such hearts disclose
themselves; they flourish in the shade, and kindness alone makes them
expand. A keen discerner will often detect, in such characters,
qualities which are not always connected with
the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
When people who have seen little of each other are thrown together,
nothing brings on free communication so quickly or so pleasantly, as
their being both intimate with a third person, for whom all parties
entertain one common sentiment. Mr. Stanley seemed always a point of
union between his neighbors and me.
After various topics had been discussed, Lady Aston remarked, that she
could now trace the goodness of Providence in having so ordered events,
as to make those things which she had so much dreaded at the time, work
out advantages which could not have been otherwise obtained for her.
"I had a singular aversion," added she, "to the thoughts of removing to
this place, and quitting Sir George's estate in Warwickshire, where I
had spent the happiest years of my life. When I had the misfortune to
lose him" (here a tear quietly strayed down her cheek), "I resolved
never to remove from the place where he died. I had fully persuaded
myself that it was a duty to do all I could to cherish grief. I obliged
myself as a law, to spend whole hours in walking round the place where
he was buried. These melancholy visits, the intervals of which were
filled with tears, prayers, and reading a few good, but not well chosen
books, made up the whole round of my sad existence. I had nearly
forgotten that I had any duties to perform, any mercies left. Almost all
the effect which the sight of my children produced in me was, by their
resemblance to their father, to put me in mind of what I had lost.
"I was not sufficiently aware how much more truly I should have honored
his memory by training his living representatives in such a manner as
he, had he been living, would have approved. My dear George," added she,
smiling at her son through her tears, "was glad to get away to school,
and my poor girls, when they lost the company of their brother, lost
all the little cheerfulness which my recluse habits had left them. We
sunk into total inaction, and our lives became as comfortless as they
were unprofitable."
"My dear madam," said Sir George, in the most affectionate tone and
manner, "I can only forgive myself from the consideration of my being
then too young and thoughtless to know the value of the mother whose
sorrows ought to have endeared my home to me, instead of driving me from
it."
"They are _my_ faults, my dear George, and not yours, that I am
relating. Few mothers would have acted like me; few sons differently
from you. Your affectionate heart deserved a warmer return than my
broken spirits were capable of making you. But I was telling you, sir,"
said she, again addressing herself to me, "that the event of my coming
to this place, not only became the source of my present peace, and of
the comfort of my children, but that its result enables me to look
forward with a cheerful hope to that state where there is neither sin,
sorrow, nor separation. The thoughts of death, which used to render me
useless, now make me only serious. The reflection that 'the night
cometh' which used to extinguish my activity, now kindles it.
"Forgive me, sir," added she, wiping her eyes; "these are not such tears
as I then shed. These are tears of gratitude, I had almost said of joy.
In the family at the Grove, Providence had been providing for me
friends, for whom I doubt not I shall bless him in eternity.
"I had long been convinced of the importance of religion. I had always
felt the insufficiency of the world to bestow happiness; but I had never
before beheld religion in such a form. I had never been furnished with a
proper substitute for the worldly pleasures which I yet despised. I did
right in giving up diversions, but I did wrong in giving up employment,
and in neglecting duties. I knew something of religion as a principle of
fear, but I had no conception of it as a motive to the love of God, and
of active duty; nor did I consider it as a source of inward peace. Books
had not been of any great service to me, for I had no one to guide me in
the choice, or to assist me in the perusal. I went to my daily task of
devotion with a heavy heart, and returned from it with no other sense of
comfort but that I had not omitted it.
"My former friends and acquaintance had been decent and regular; but
they had adopted religion as a form, and not as a principle. It was
compliance and not conviction. It was conformity to custom, and not the
persuasion of the heart. Judge then how I must have been affected, in a
state when sorrow and disappointment had made my mind peculiarly
impressible, with the conversation and example of Mr. and Mrs. Stanley!
I saw in them that religion was not a formal profession, but a powerful
principle. It ran through their whole life and character. All the
Christian graces were brought into action in a way, with a uniformity,
and a beauty, which nothing but Christian motives could have effected.
"The change which took place in my own mind, however, was progressive.
The strict consonance which I observed between their sentiments and
actions, and those of Dr. Barlow and Mr. Jackson, strengthened and
confirmed mine. This similarity in all points, was a fresh confirmation
that they were all right. The light of religion gradually grew stronger,
and the way more smooth. It was literally a 'lamp to my feet,' for I
walked more safely as I saw more clearly. My difficulties insensibly
lessened, and my doubts disappeared. I still indeed continue hourly to
feel much cause to be humbled, but none to be unhappy."
When Lady Aston had done speaking, Sir George said, "I owe a thousand
obligations to my mother, but not one so great as her introduction of me
to Mr. Stanley. He has given a bent and bias to my sentiments, habit,
and pursuits, to which I trust every day will add fresh strength. I look
up to him as my model: happy if I may, in any degree, be able to form
myself by it! Till I had the happiness of knowing you, sir, I preferred
the company of Dr. Barlow and Mr. Stanley, to that of any _young_ man
with whom I am acquainted."
After some further conversation, in which Sir George, with great credit
to himself, bore a considerable part, Miss Aston took courage to ask me
if I would accompany them all into the garden, as she wished me to carry
home intelligence to Miss Stanley of the flourishing state of some
American plants which had been raised under her direction. To speak the
truth, I had for some time been trying to bring Lucilla on the tapis,
but had not found a plausible pretense. I now inquired if Miss Stanley
directed their gardening pursuits. "She directs _all_ our pursuits,"
said the two bashful blushing girls, who now, for the first time in
their lives, spoke both at once; the subject kindling an energy in their
affectionate hearts, which even their timidity could not rein in.
"I thought, Clara," said Sir George, "that Miss _Ph[oe]be_ Stanley too,
had assisted in laying out the flower garden. Surely she is not behind
her sister in any thing that is kind, or any thing that is elegant." His
complexion heightened as he spoke, and he expressed himself with an
emphasis, which I had not before observed in his manner of speaking. I
stole a glance at Lady Aston, whose meek eye glistened with pleasure, at
the earnestness with which her son spoke of the lovely Ph[oe]be. My
rapid imagination instantly shot forward to an event which some years
hence will probably unite two families so worthy of each other. Lady
Aston, who already honors me with her confidence, afterward confirmed my
suspicions on a subject about which nothing but the extreme youth of
both parties made her backward to express the secret hope she fondly
entertained.
In our walk round the gardens, the Miss Astons continued to vie with
each other who should be warmest in the praise of their young friends at
the Grove. To Miss Stanley, they gratefully declared, they owed any
little taste, knowledge, or love of goodness which they themselves might
possess.
It was delightful to observe these quiet girls warmed and excited by a
subject so interesting. I was charmed to see them so far from feeling
any shadow of envy at the avowed superiority of their young friends, and
so unanimously eloquent in the praise of merit so eclipsing.
After having admired the plants of which I promised to make a favorable
report, I was charged with a large and beautiful bouquet for the young
ladies at the Grove. They then drew me to the prettiest spot in the
grounds. While I was admiring it, Miss Clara, with a blush, and some
hesitation, begged leave to ask my advice about a little rustic building
which she and her sisters were just going to raise in honor of the Miss
Stanleys. It was to be dedicated to them, and called the Temple of
Friendship. "My brother," said she, "is kindly assisting us. The
materials are all prepared, and we have now only to fix them up."
She then put into my hands a little plan. I highly approved it;
venturing, however, to suggest some trifling alteration, which I told
them I did, in order to implicate myself a little in the pleasant
project. How proud was I when Clara added, "that Miss Stanley had
expressed a high opinion of my general taste!" They all begged me to
look in on them in my rides, and assist them with my further counsel;
adding that, above all things, I must keep it a secret at the Grove.
Lady Aston said, "that she expected our whole party to dine at the Hall
some day next week." Her daughters entreated that it might be postponed
till the latter end, by which time they doubted not their little edifice
would be completed. Sir George then told me, that his sisters had
requested him to furnish an inscription, or to endeavor to procure one
from me. He added his wishes to theirs that I would comply. They all
joined so earnestly in the entreaty that I could not withstand them,
"albeit unused to the _rhyming_ mood."
After some deliberation, Friday in the next week was fixed upon for the
party at the Grove to dine at Aston-Hall, and I was to carry the
invitation. I took a respectful leave of the excellent lady of the
mansion, and an affectionate one of the young people, with whom the
familiar intercourse of this quiet morning had contributed to advance my
friendly acquaintance more than could have been done by many ceremonious
meetings.
When I returned to the Grove, which was but just in time to dress for
dinner, I spoke with sincere satisfaction of the manner in which I had
passed the morning. It was beautiful to observe the honest delight, the
ingenuous kindness, with which Lucilla heard me commend the Miss Astons.
No little disparaging hint on the one hand, gently to let down her
friends, nor, on the other, no such exaggerated praise as I have
sometimes seen employed as a screen for envy, or as a trap to make the
hearer lower what the speaker had too highly raised.
I dropped in at Aston-Hall two or three times in the course of the week,
as well to notice the progress of the work, as to carry my inscription,
in which, as Lucilla was both the subject and the muse, I succeeded
rather better than I expected.
On the Friday, according to appointment, our whole party went to dine
at the Hall. In our way, Mr. Stanley expressed the pleasure it gave him,
that Lady Aston was now so convinced of the duty of making home
agreeable to her son, as delightfully to receive such of her friends as
were warmly disposed to become his.
Sir George, who is extremely well bred, did the honors admirably for so
young a man, to the great relief of his excellent mother, whom long
retirement had rendered habitually timid in a party, of which some were
almost strangers.
The Miss Astons had some difficulty to restrain their young guests from
running directly to look at the progress of the American plants; but as
they grew near the mysterious spot, they were not allowed to approach it
before the allotted time.
After dinner, when the whole party were walking in the garden, Lady
Aston was desired by her daughters to conduct her company to a winding
grass-walk, near the little building, but from whence it was not
visible. While they were all waiting at the appointed place, the two
elder Miss Astons gravely took a hand of Lucilla, Sir George and I each
presented a hand to Ph[oe]be, and in profound silence, and great
ceremony, we led them up the turf steps into this simple, but really
pretty temple. The initials of Lucilla and Ph[oe]be were carved in
cypher over a little rustic window, under which was written,
"SACRED TO FRIENDSHIP."
In two niches prepared for the purpose, we severally seated the two
astonished nymphs, who seemed absolutely enchanted. Above was the
inscription in large Roman letters.
The Astons looked so much alive, that they might have been mistaken for
Stanleys, who, in their turn, were so affected with this tender mark of
friendship, that they looked as tearful as if they had been Astons.
After reading the inscription, "My dear Clara," said Lucilla to Miss
Aston, "where _could_ you get these beautiful verses? Though the praise
they convey is too flattering to be just, it is too delicate not to
please. The lines are at once tender and elegant." "We got them," said
Miss Aston, with a sweet vivacity, "where we get every thing that is
good, from Stanley-Grove," bowing modestly to me.
How was I elated; and how did Lucilla blush! but though she now tried to
qualify her flattery, she could not recall it. And I would not allow
myself to be robbed of the delight it had given me. All the company
seemed to enjoy her confusion and my pleasure.
I forgot to mention, that as we crossed the park, we had seen enter the
house, through a back avenue, a procession of little girls neatly
dressed in a uniform. In a whisper, I asked Lady Aston what it meant.
"You are to know," replied her ladyship, "that my daughters adopt all
Miss Stanley's plans, and among the rest, that of associating with all
their own indulgences some little act of charity, that while they are
receiving pleasure, they may also be conferring it. The opening of the
temple of friendship is likely to afford too much gratification to be
passed over without some such association. So my girls give to-day a
little feast, with prizes of merit to their village-school, and a few
other deserving young persons."
When we had taken our seats in the temple, Ph[oe]be suddenly cried out,
clasping her hands in an ecstacy, "Only look, Lucilla! There is no end
to the enchantment. It is all fairy land." On casting our eyes as she
directed, we were agreeably surprised with observing a large kind of
temporary shed or booth at some distance from us. It was picturesquely
fixed near an old spreading oak, and was ingeniously composed of
branches of trees, fresh and green. Under the oak stood ranged the
village maids. We walked to the spot. The inside of the booth was hung
round with caps, aprons, bonnets, handkerchiefs, and other coarse, but
neat articles of female dress. On a rustic table was laid a number of
Bibles, and specimens of several kinds of coarse works, and little
manufactures. The various performances were examined by the company;
some presents were given to all. But additional prizes were awarded by
the young patronesses, to the best specimens of different work; to the
best knitters, the best manufacturers of split straw, and the best
performers in plain work, I think they called it.
Three grown up young women, neatly dressed, and of modest manners, stood
behind. It appeared that one of them had taken such good care of her
young sisters and brothers, since their mother's death, and had so
prudently managed her father's house, that it had saved him from an
imprudent choice. Another had postponed, for many months, a marriage in
which her heart was engaged, because she had a paralytic grandmother
whom she attended day and night, and whom nothing, not even love itself,
could tempt her to desert. Death having now released the aged sufferer,
the wedding was to take place next Sunday. The third had, for above a
year, worked two hours every day, over and above her set time, and
applied the gains to clothe the orphan child of a deceased friend. She
was also to accompany her lover to the altar on Sunday, but had made it
a condition of her marrying him, that she should be allowed to continue
her supernumerary hours' work, for the benefit of the poor orphan. All
three had been exemplary in their attendance at church, as well as in
their general conduct. The fair patronesses presented each with a
handsome Bible, and with a complete, plain, but very neat suit of
apparel.
While these gifts were distributing, I whispered Sir John that one such
ticket as we were each desired to take for Squallini's benefit, would
furnish the cottages of these poor girls. "And it _shall_," replied he,
with emphasis. "How little a way will that sum go in superfluities,
which will make two honest couple happy! How costly is vanity! how cheap
is charity!"
"Can these happy, useful young creatures be my little inactive, insipid
Astons, Charles?" whispered Mr. Stanley, as we walked away to leave the
girls to sit down to their plentiful supper, which was spread on a long
table under the oak, without the green booth. This group of figures made
an interesting addition to the scenery, when we got back to the temple,
and often attracted our attention while we were engaged in conversation.