As we were sitting at supper, after Dr. Barlow had left us, Lady
Belfield, turning to me, said, "She had had a governess proposed to her
from a quarter I should little expect to hear." She then produced a
letter, informing her that Mr. Fentham was lately found dead in his bed
of an apoplexy. That he had died insolvent; and his large income ceasing
with his life, his family were plunged into the utmost distress. That
Mrs. Fentham experienced the most mortifying neglect from her numerous
and noble friends, who now, that she could no longer amuse them with
balls, concerts, and suppers, revenged themselves by wondering what she
could ever mean by giving them at all, and declaring what a bore it had
always been to them to go to her parties. They now insisted that people
ought to confine themselves to their own station, and live within their
income, though they themselves had lifted her above her station, and had
led her to exceed her income.
"The poor woman," continued Lady Belfield, "is in extreme distress. Her
magnificently furnished house will go but a very little way toward
satisfying her creditors. That house, whose clamorous knocker used to
keep the neighborhood awake, is already reduced to utter stillness. The
splendid apartments, brilliant with lustres and wax-lights, and crowded
with company, are become a frightful solitude, terrifying to those to
whom solitude has not one consolation or resource to offer. Poor Mrs.
Fentham is more wounded by this total desertion of those whom she so
sumptuously fed, and so obsequiously flattered, than by her actual
wants."
"It is," said Sir John, "a fine exemplification of the friendships of
the world,
"Confederacies in vice, or leagues in pleasure."
"Lady Denham, when applied to," resumed Lady Belfield, "said, that she
was extremely sorry for them; but as she thought extravagance the
greatest of faults, it would look like an encouragement to imprudence if
she did any thing for them. Their extravagance, however, had never been
objected to by her, till the fountain which had supplied it was stopped:
and she had for years made no scruple of winning money almost nightly
from the woman whose distresses she now refused to relieve. Lady Denham
further assigned the misery into which the elopement of her darling
child with Signor Squallini had brought her, as an additional reason for
withholding her kindness from Mrs. Fentham."
"It is a reason," said I, interrupting Lady Belfield, "which, in a
rightly-turned mind, would have had a directly contrary operation. When
domestic calamity overtakes us, is it not the precise moment for holding
out a hand to the wretched? for diminishing the misery abroad, which at
home may be irretrievable?"
"Lady Bab Lawless, to whom Mrs. Fentham applied for assistance, coolly
advised her to send her daughters to service, saying, 'that she knew of
no acquirement they had which would be of any use to them, except their
skill in hair-dressing.'"
"It seemed a cruel reproach from a professed friend," said Sir John,
"and yet it is a literal truth. I know not what can be done for them, or
for what they are fit. Their accomplishments might be turned to some
account, if they were accompanied with real knowledge, useful
acquirements, or sober habits. Mrs. Fentham wishes us to recommend them
as governesses. But can I conscientiously recommend to others, girls
with whom I could not trust my own family? Had they been taught to look
no higher than the clerks of their father, who had been a clerk himself,
they might have been happy; but those very men will now think them as
much beneath themselves, as the young ladies lately thought they were
above them."
"I have often," said Mr. Stanley, "been amused, with observing what a
magic transformation the same event produces on two opposite classes of
characters. The misfortunes of their acquaintance convert worldly
friends into instantaneous strictness of principle. The faults of the
distressed are produced as a plea for their own hard-hearted
covetousness; while that very misfortune so relaxes the strictness of
good men, that the faults are forgotten in the calamity! and they, who
had been perpetually warning the prodigal of his impending ruin, when
that ruin comes, are the first to relieve him."
It was agreed among us that some small contribution must be added to a
little sum that had been already raised, for their immediate relief; but
that nothing was so difficult, as effectually to serve persons whose
views wore so disproportioned to their deserts, and whose habits would
be too likely to carry corruption into families who might receive them
from charitable motives.
The conversation then fell insensibly on the pleasure we had enjoyed
since we had been together; and on the delights of rational society, and
confidential intercourse such as ours had been, where minds mingled, and
affection and esteem were reciprocal. Mr. Stanley said many things which
evinced how happily his piety was combined with the most affectionate
tenderness of heart. Indeed I had always been delighted to observe in
him a quality which is not so common as it is thought to be, a thorough
capacity for friendship.
"My dear Stanley," said Sir John, "it is of the very essence of human
enjoyments, that they must have an end. I observe with regret, that the
time assigned for our visit is more than elapsed. We have prolonged it
beyond our intention, beyond our convenience: but we have, I trust, been
imbibing principles, stealing habits, and borrowing plans, which will
ever make us consider this visit as an important era in our lives.
"My excellent Caroline is deeply affected with all she has seen and
heard at the Grove. We must now leave it, though not without reluctance.
We must go and endeavor to imitate what, six weeks ago, we almost feared
to contemplate. Lady Belfield and I have compared notes. On the most
mature deliberation, we agree that we have lived long enough to the
world. We agree that it is time to begin to live to ourselves, and to
him who made us. We propose in future to make our winters in London much
shorter. We intend to remove early every spring to Beechwood, which we
will no longer consider as a temporary residence, but as our home; we
will supply it with every thing that may make it interesting and
improving to us all. We are resolved to educate our children in the fear
of God. Our fondness for them is rather increased than diminished; but
in the exercise of that fondness, we will remember that we are to train
them for immortality. We will watch over them as creatures for whose
eternal well-being a vast responsibility will attach to ourselves.
"In our new plan of life, we shall have fewer sacrifices to make than
most people in our situation; for we have long felt a growing
indifference for things which we appeared to enjoy. Of the world, we are
only going to give up that part which is not worth keeping, and of which
we are really weary. In securing our real friends, we shall not regret
if we drop some acquaintances by the way. The wise and the worthy we
shall more than ever cherish. In your family we have enjoyed those true
pleasures which entail no repentance. That cheerfulness which alone is
worthy of accountable beings, we shall industriously maintain in our
own. I bless God if we have not so many steps to tread back as some
others have who are entering, upon principle, on a new course of life.
"We have always endeavored, though with much imperfection, to fill some
duties to each other, to our children, to our friends, and to the poor.
But of the prime duty, the main spring of action, and of all moral
goodness, duty to God, we have not been sufficiently mindful. I hope we
have at length learned to consider him as the fountain of all good, and
the gospel of his Son, as the fountain of all hope. This new principle,
I am persuaded, will never impair our cheerfulness, it will only fix it
on a solid ground. By purifying the motive, it will raise the enjoyment.
"But if we have not so many bad habits to correct as poor Carlton had, I
question if we have not as many difficulties to meet in another way. His
loose course was discreditable. His vices made him stand ill with the
world. He would, therefore, acquire nothing but credit in changing his
outward practice. Lady Belfield and I, on the contrary, stand rather too
well with the world. We had just that external regularity, that cool
indifference about our own spiritual improvement, and the wrong courses
of our friends, which procure regard, because they do not interfere with
others, nor excite jealousy for ourselves. But we have now to encounter
that censure, which we have, perhaps, hitherto been too solicitous to
avoid. It will still be our trial, but I humbly trust that it will be no
longer our snare. Our morality pleased, because it seemed to proceed
merely from a sense of propriety; our strictness will offend when it is
found to spring from a principle of religion.
"To what tendency in the heart of man, my dear Stanley, is it owing,
that religion is commonly seen to excite more suspicion than the want of
it? When a man of the world meets with a gay, thoughtless, amusing
person, he seldom thinks of inquiring whether such a one be immoral, or
an unbeliever, or a profligate, though the bent of his conversation
rather leans that way. Satisfied with what he finds him, he feels little
solicitude to ascertain what he really is. But no sooner does actual
piety show itself in any man, than your friends are putting you on your
guard; there is instantly a suggestion, a hint, a suspicion, 'Does he
not carry things too far?' 'Is he not righteous over much?' 'Is he not
intemperate in his zeal?' 'Above all things, is he _sincere_?' and, in
short--for that is the centre in which all the lines of suspicion and
reprobation meet--'_Is he not a Methodist?_'
"I trust, however, that, through divine grace, our minds will be
fortified against all attacks on this our weak side; this pass through
which the sort of assaults most formidable to us will be likely to
enter. I was mentioning this danger to Caroline this morning. She opened
her Bible, over which she now spends much of her solitary time, and with
an emphasis foreign from her usual manner, read,
"'Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils, for wherein is he
to be accounted of?'"
As Sir John repeated these words, I saw Lucilla, who was sitting next
Lady Belfield, snatch one of her hands, and kiss it, with a rapture
which she had no power to control. It was evident that nothing but our
presence restrained her from rising to embrace her friend. Her fine eyes
glistened, but seeing that I observed her, she gently let go the hand
she held, and tried to look composed. I can not describe the chastised,
but not less fervent, joy of Mr. and Mrs. Stanley. Their looks expressed
the affectionate interest they took in Sir John's honest declaration.
Their hearts overflowed with gratitude to him without whom "nothing is
strong nothing is holy." For my own part, I felt myself raised
Above this visible diurnal sphere.
Sir John afterward said, "I begin more and more to perceive the
scantiness of all morality which has not the love of God for its motive.
_That_ virtue will not carry us safely, and will not carry us far, which
looks to human estimation as its reward. As it was a false and
inadequate principle which first set it a going, it will always stop
short of the true ends of goodness."
"Sir John," said Lady Belfield, "I have been seriously thinking that I
ought not to indulge in the expense of this intended conservatory. We
will, if you please, convert the money to the building of a charity
school. I can not consent to incur such a superfluous expense for my
amusement."
"My dear Caroline," replied Sir John, "through the undeserved goodness
of God, my estate is so large, and through your excellent management it
is so unimpaired, that we will not give up the conservatory, unless Mr.
Stanley thinks we ought to give it up. But we will adopt Lucilla's idea
of combining a charity with an indulgence--we will associate the charity
school with the conservatory. This union will be a kind of monument to
our friends at the Grove, from whom you have acquired the love of
plants, and I of religious charity."
We all looked with anxious expectation at Mr. Stanley. He gave it as his
opinion, that as Lady Belfield was now resolved to live the greater part
of the year in the country, she ought to have some amusements in lieu of
those she was going to give up. "Costly decorations and expensive
gardens," continued he, "at a place where the proprietors do not so much
as _intend_ to reside, have always appeared to me among the infatuations
of opulence. To the expenses which they do not _want_, it is adding an
expense which they do not _see_. But surely, at a mansion where an
affluent family actually _live_, all reasonable indulgences should be
allowed. And where a garden and green-house are to supply to the
proprietor the place of the abdicated theatre and ball-room; and
especially when it is to be a means in her hands of attaching her
children to the country, and of teaching them to love home, I declare
myself in favor of the conservatory."
Lucilla's eyes sparkled, but she said nothing.
"It would be unfair," continued Mr. Stanley, "to blame too severely
those, who, living constantly in the country, give a little in to its
appropriate pleasures. The real objects of censure seem to be those who,
grafting bad taste on bad habits, bring into the country the amusements
of the town, and superadd to such as are local, and natural, and
innocent, such as are foreign, artificial, and corrupt."
"My dear Stanley," said Sir John, "we have resolved to indemnify our
poor neighbors for two injuries which we have been doing them. The one
is, by our having lived so little among them: for I have now learned,
that the mere act of residence is a kind of charity even in the
uncharitable, as it necessarily causes much money to be spent, even
where little is given. The other is, that we will endeavor to make up
for our past indifference to their spiritual concerns, by now acting as
if we were aware that the poor have souls as well as bodies; and that in
the great day of account, the care of both will attach to our
responsibility."
Such a sense of sober joy seemed to pervade our little party that we
were not aware that the night was far advanced. Our minds were too
highly set for much loquacity, when Ph[oe]be suddenly exclaimed. "Papa,
why is it that happiness does not make one merry? I never was half so
happy in my life, and yet I can hardly forbear crying; and I believe it
is catching, sir, for look, Lucilla is not much wiser than myself."
The next day but one after this conversation our valuable friends left
us. Our separation was softened by the prospect of a speedy meeting. The
day before they set out, Lady Belfield made an earnest request to Mr.
and Mrs. Stanley that they would have the goodness to receive Fanny
Stokes into their family for a few months previous to her entering
theirs as governess. "I can think of no method so likely," continued
she, "to raise the tone of education in my own family as the transfusion
into it of your spirit, and the adoption of your regulations." Mr. and
Mrs. Stanley most cheerfully acceded to the proposal.
Sir John said: "I was meditating the same request, but with an
additional clause tacked to it, that of sending our eldest girl with
Fanny, that the child also may get imbued with something of your family
spirit, and be broken into better habits than she has acquired from our
hitherto relaxed discipline." This proposal was also cordially approved.