"And how many tragical events have risen out of these scenes of
amusement! You have read, I have no doubt, the following account
of one which befell a very holy man:--'When Herod's birth-day was
kept, the daughter of Herodias danced before them and pleased Herod.
Whereupon he promised, with an oath, to give her whatsoever she
would ask. And she, being before instructed of her mother, said,
Give me here John Baptist's head in a charger. And the king was
sorry: nevertheless, for the oath's sake, and them which sat with
him at meat, he commanded it to be given her. And he sent, and
beheaded John in the prison. And his head was brought in a charger,
and given to the damsel: and she brought it to her mother.' How this
damsel could so far subdue the common feelings of human nature, and
still more the natural tenderness of her own sex, as not only to
endure so disgusting a spectacle, but even to carry the bleeding
trophy in triumph to her mother, is not easy to imagine; but it
shows, that a life of fashionable gaiety and dissipation not only
prevents the growth of the more amiable and useful virtues, but
sometimes calls into action those feelings and passions which lead
to rapine and murder."
The late excellent Bishop Horne closes his life of St. John in such
a forcible and beautiful manner, that the author does not conceive
it necessary to offer any apology to his readers for its insertion
on the present occasion:--
"The Baptist's fate being determined, 'immediately the king sent an
executioner, and commanded his head to be brought: and he went, and
beheaded him in the prison.' This deed of darkness must have been
done in the season proper for it--the middle of the night; and
St. John was probably awakened, to receive his sentence, out of
that sleep which truth and innocence can secure to their possessor
in any situation. The generality of mankind have reason enough to
deprecate a sudden death, lest it should surprise them in one of
their many unguarded hours. But to St. John no hour could be such.
He had finished the work which God had given him to do. He had
kept the faith, and preserved a conscience void of offence. He had
done his duty, and waited daily and hourly, we may be sure, for
his departure. He was now, therefore, called off from his station
with honour--to quit the well-fought field for the palace of the
Great King--to refresh himself, after the dust, and toil, and heat
of the day, by bathing in the fountain of life and immortality--to
exchange his blood-stained armour for a robe of glory--and to have
his temporary labours rewarded with eternal rest--to sit down with
Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God--and as the
friend of the Bridegroom, to enter into the joy of his Lord. From
the darkness and confinement of a prison, he passed to the liberty
and light of heaven; and while malice was gratified with a sight
of his head, and his body was carried by a few friends in silence
to the grave, his immortal spirit repaired to a court, where no
Herod desires to have his brother's wife--where no Herodias thirsts
after the blood of a prophet--where he who hath laboured with
sincerity and diligence in the work of reformation is sure to be
well received--where holiness, zeal, and constancy are crowned, and
receive palms from the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world.
'So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon uprears his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore,
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky--
He hears the unexpressive nuptial song
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops and sweet societies;
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.'"--MILTON.
THE UNHAPPY ATTACHMENT.
The institution of marriage is a provision made by Divine Providence
to promote human happiness; but owing to the imprudence and haste
with which it is sometimes contracted, it not unfrequently becomes a
source of extreme wretchedness. This union should never be formed,
except by those who have a strong affection for each other; and even
then, the utmost degree of prudence should regulate their conduct,
both in the appointment of the time when it should take place, and
the adjustment of the various interests which it involves. When
persons marry mainly for the purpose of adding to their worldly
estate, or obtaining a higher position in society, it rarely
happens that an alliance entered into from such motives can be
productive of domestic happiness. And even when the purest feelings
of affection and love influence the youthful pair, inspiring them
with the determination to sacrifice the esteem of friends, and the
attractions of this world's wealth, rather than break the solemn vow
and separate for life, they should beware of rashness and headlong
impetuosity, pondering well the desirableness of the connection they
are about to form, and feeling well assured that it is really a step
which must conduce to their welfare.
When persons, who have no parents or judicious friends whom they can
consult, are making arrangements for marriage, they should exercise
more than ordinary discretion, lest they plunge themselves into
difficulties from which no one can rescue them. But when parents
are living, not to consult them, and pay some degree of deference
to their opinion, is an offence against the law of propriety, and
generally productive of the most fatal evils. Parents are more
deeply interested in the marriage of their children than any other
persons, and no pledges ought to be given between the contracting
parties till they have been spoken to on the subject. This is a
mark of respect to which they are justly entitled. And are they
not, from their age, and experience, and affection, qualified to
give advice? How far it is binding on a young person to obey his
or her parents, who may disapprove of a proposed marriage, is a
question which I shall not presume to decide; but that no young
person ought to give or receive any inviolable pledge, till they
have been solicited to give their opinion and sanction, is a point
too obvious to the dictates of good sense and filial attachment,
to need any lengthened discussion. But how very rarely is this the
case! An affection is formed and cherished--it grows up into ardent
and romantic attachment--interviews take place--letters and presents
are exchanged--and after the imagination has been captivated with
bright visions of future happiness, the parents are requested to
give their permission, not their advice. If, now, they object,
either from caprice, or from a full conviction that the proposed
union is improper or unsuitable, what direful consequences often
result! Their objections, in some cases, are treated with scorn,
and the marriage takes place in defiance of their authority;
and, in some instances, when their objections are admitted to be
valid, they are still doomed to see the fairest flower of their
family fade and die under the slow, yet fatal influence of a
passion, which is too strong to be quenched, and too baneful to
be cherished. These evils, which are so often springing up within
the domestic circle--destroying the peace and the happiness of
parents and of children, and setting at variance the members of the
same household--might be avoided, if, before adopting any decisive
measures, the parents--who have a right to expect such a mark of
respect, who have so much of their own respectability and happiness
at issue, and who are, in general, so well qualified to give
judicious counsel--were consulted.
But do not parents sometimes bring upon themselves, and upon their
children, the very evils which they are anxious to avoid? Do they
not, by their reserve--by their sternness--by their positive
unwillingness to admit their children into familiar intercourse, and
by their uniform habit of neglecting to encourage them to ask their
advice in their different pursuits in life, indirectly compel them
to concealment, from the dread of a furious outbreak of passion?
How many a dutiful son has been known to say, "I would consult my
father, but he will not listen to my solicitation!" How many an
amiable daughter has said, on an offer being made her, "I should
like to take counsel from my parents, but they will not give it.
They will condemn my attachment without inquiry--without respecting
my feelings, and without assigning any reasons for their decision!"
Thus, the inexperienced child is often thrown on her own resources,
in reference to the most momentous step in life, in consequence
of being unable to apply for the advice of her parents; and dire
necessity compels her to profound secresy, till the fact of her
attachment, having been discovered by some accident, is heard with
indignation. An order to discontinue all further correspondence
with the object of her affection is now peremptorily issued, which
merely serves to increase the ardour of her attachment, and make
her resolute in her choice, without regard to consequences. Let
parents, then, if they wish to guide and control their children on
these important occasions, induce them to repose in them an implicit
confidence--to consult them, as friends, on every occasion of
difficulty; and by the avoidance of dictation, imperative command,
or stern, unexplained prohibition, endeavour to rule over them by a
mild authority, tempered with the purest affection; and, by a course
of practical wisdom, in assigning plain, palpable, and important
reasons for the advice they give, make it evident that they are
influenced by a regard for their children's welfare, rather than by
mere caprice or an arbitrary will. And though instances may occur in
the history of human life, in which such a wise method of procedure
may fail in the accomplishment of its object; and a perverse or
reserved disposition may lead the son or daughter to set at naught
the kindest and best advice, when given in the most unexceptionable
manner; yet there is reason to believe, that where parents have
acted towards their children as they ought to act, such a disastrous
result will be of rare occurrence.
As we are commanded by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving,
to make known all our requests unto God, I cannot conceive of any
matter in which we ought to seek his direction more earnestly, than
in the choice of the person who is to be our companion for life.
He knows our tempers, our dispositions, and our propensities; the
future temptations and trials to which we shall be subjected, and
all the various ills that will intersect our path in life; and he
has promised, that if we acknowledge him in _all_ our ways, he
will direct our steps. Ought we not to implore his guidance in
the selection of a suitable partner, to share our sorrows, and
enhance our joys?--one who will soothe us, under the agitations
of distress, tranquillize the irritation of passion, assist us by
judicious counsel, and who will give a higher tone to our character,
by inducing us to add to "virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge,
temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness;
and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness,
charity." But how rarely is this duty attended to, even by those
who make a profession of religion, till they see one who captivates
their heart; and then the sanction of God is requested, rather than
his counsel; and he is importuned to remove the obstructions which
impede the gratification of our wishes, instead of being solicited
to keep us from forming an alliance which will be injurious to our
happiness, our usefulness, and our honour!
And are not Christian parents, in general, too inattentive to this
branch of their duty? Are they not, in the case of the marriage
of their children, apt to depend too much on their own judgment
to decide on its fitness? And are they not more frequently
influenced in their decision by the love of wealth, and of worldly
respectability, than by those moral and religious considerations,
which ought ever to maintain an absolute authority over them? As
their own peace, and the present and eternal happiness of their
children, and their children's children, depend so much on this
important measure, they ought often to pray, as their children are
rising to maturity, that he who fixes the bounds of our habitation,
and determines for us the number of our years on earth, would be
pleased to form their connections, and sanctify their marriage
by his blessing? Is it not by the adoption of such a course of
practical devotion, that parents are encouraged to expect that their
sons and their daughters will be preserved "from the hand of strange
children, whose mouth speaketh vanity, and whose right hand is a
right hand of falsehood:" and be induced to form those alliances
which will be no less a source of happiness than of honour--handing
down not only their names, but their principles, their example, and
their influence to bless and adorn the succeeding generation.
* * * * *
The intimacy which subsisted between Emma Holmes and her young
friend Miss Orme proved essentially injurious to the moral tone
and feelings of her mind; and eventually brought on the family a
series of trials which overwhelmed them in the deepest sorrow. This
intimacy commenced at school, just as her character began to receive
its complexion and its tendencies; and when she stood most in need
of those checks and restraints, and that salutary advice, which
she would have received, if her companion had been imbued with the
grace of pure religion. From the cast of her mind, which bore no
resemblance to that of either of her sisters, she imbibed, at an
early age, strong prejudices against evangelical piety; and though
at one period she felt the reproaches of an evil conscience, and the
terrors of the law falling upon her, yet she soon cast them off,
and became still more volatile and gay. The inconsistent conduct of
some professors was the immediate cause of effacing her deep and
solemn impressions of the vanity of the world and the importance of
religion; and though she would readily admit that this circumstance
was no valid argument against the reality of personal piety, yet she
could never conquer that painful aversion which it had excited in
her mind against the love of the truth.
This strong aversion was strengthened and increased by many
accidental circumstances, from which at the time no bad effects
were apprehended. Her sister Louisa had established a periodical
interchange of visits between her own family and the Corries, and
their uncouth phraseology of speech was no less offensive to
Emma's taste, than their dogmatic opinions were revolting to her
moral feelings. Their intellectual weakness imperceptibly destroyed
that reverence for the Christian faith which she had felt, when
contemplating it as associated with minds of a higher order, and
greater degree of refinement. Their perpetual recurrence to a few
favourite opinions--the tenacity with which they held them, even
when fairly refuted by sound argument--the self-complacency which
they discovered in their assumed superior illumination, after an
unsuccessful effort to support the dogmas of their belief--and
the sang-froid with which they condemned as unenlightened and
unconverted every one who professed sentiments differing from their
own--excited in her mind a great dislike to evangelical religion.
While these good people required from the chosen few a more entire
renunciation of the world than is compatible with its claims on our
attention; and while they visited with severe censures the slightest
degree of conformity to its style of dress or of living--condemning
even a taste for music, poetry, or art, as a proof of a carnal mind;
they gave to the unconverted the utmost latitude, and maintained
that pious parents should not attempt to impose any restrictions on
their children, assigning as a reason that if they were not elected
to eternal life, this was the only state in which they could enjoy
happiness, and that to deprive them of it by prohibiting them from
"walking in the ways of their own heart, and in the sight of their
own eyes," would be an act of cruelty and folly. In vain did Mr.
Holmes argue, that secret things belong to God, and the revealed
promises and prohibitions to us and to our children; they invariably
met his arguments by saying, that the mysteries of the kingdom were
concealed from the wise and the prudent, being revealed only to
babes.
These speculative notions, if confined within their own pious
circle, would have done but little injury, but being introduced as
the theme of frequent discussion and debate in Emma's presence, they
supplied her with a powerful argument in justification of her own
predilections.
It was at this period, when her mind was vacillating between
a lingering reverence and a positive aversion to evangelical
religion, that she happened to pay a visit to Redhill, the seat
of Colonel Orme, her friend's father. Here she passed at once
from the chastened seriousness and fervent devotion of domestic
order and piety, to the levity and gaiety of fashionable life;
and being removed from the control of her parents, she devoted
herself to worldly pleasures and amusements with an ardour of
feeling which bespoke the energy of her ruling passion. The Colonel
was a good-natured, pleasant man; he had been gay in his younger
days, but was now become very domestic in his habits. He was a
professed infidel; and though he had too much politeness to make
a direct attack upon religion in Emma's presence, he nevertheless
availed himself of every favourable opportunity to lower it in
her estimation. He related facetious stories which had been got
up for the purpose of burlesquing the doctrines of the new birth,
and salvation by grace--introduced some grave tales to calumniate
the conduct of the evangelical clergy, and gave it as his decided
opinion, that the fanaticism of the country would destroy the energy
and glory of the English character.
Mrs. Orme was quite the lady of fashion, fond of dress and cards,
operas and balls; and as for Sunday, she was sometimes seen at
church, but then it was principally to show a mark of respect to the
clergyman, who was a particular friend of the Colonel's.
The Colonel had three daughters by his present wife, and one son
by a former marriage. As it required all his income to support the
style in which he lived, he could make no provision for his son
beyond the commission he had obtained for him in the army, yet he
flattered himself on being able to form for him some good alliance;
and understanding that Mr. Holmes was possessed of great wealth,
he resolved, if possible, to secure Emma as a partner for his son.
He broached the subject to his wife and eldest daughter, and both
agreed that the idea was most excellent.
"Indeed, Papa," said Miss Orme, "I think she is the very woman for
Charles. I am sure he will be captivated with her. Such beauty, such
elegance of manners, so much wit; and I should suppose, from the
style in which the Holmeses live, such a handsome fortune."
"I don't look at beauty," said Mrs. Orme, "for that will fade; nor
at elegance of manners, for that obtains no distinction in the
present day; nor yet at wit, for that often brings people into
trouble; but I look at the fortune. Can you form any idea how much
she is likely to have? Have you ever spoken to her on the subject?"
"O dear, yes, Mamma; I said to her one day, as we were walking down
the Green Lanes, just when we came opposite that beautiful house,
with the lawn and carriage sweep before it: 'I suppose, Emma,
nothing less than a carriage and four will please you,' at which she
smiled. I do think she expects a very handsome fortune."
"Ay, ay," said the Colonel, "these London citizens never retire from
business till they have feathered their nest very comfortably; but
they are, like old birds, rather wary, and we must be cautious how
we set the nets, or we shall not be able to catch the game. This
business requires management, and as I understand how to manoeuvre
you must leave it to me. You women are too hasty in your movements."
"Well, well," said Mrs. Orme, "I don't care who takes the management
of the business, so that it is managed properly. But I must suggest
one idea before I have done, and that is, Emma herself had better be
asked the question, whether she is engaged, or has any objection to
the army."
"Yes, exactly so, Mamma. That idea struck me just now; and I think
it a most excellent one; and as we are to walk out in the evening,
I will propose it. I have no doubt but she will tell me; and if,
Papa, she feels any reluctance, I could argue the case with her, and
I have no doubt I should succeed. I am so delighted the idea ever
entered your mind."
"You will each keep at your posts," said the Colonel, "and not move
or speak in this business till I give the word of command. The first
thing to be done is to ascertain if Charles will put off his present
engagement with Miss Collingwood, and the next is to see whether he
will take a fancy to Miss Holmes."
"Why, Colonel," said his wife, "I am surprised to hear you talk
so irrationally! Do you think he would hesitate breaking off
that engagement a single moment? Why, he said to me just before
he left home, 'I am apprehensive, from what I heard at the mess,
that Collingwood is not the man of wealth I thought he was when my
intimacy with his family commenced, and I must make more particular
inquiries.'"
"Perhaps he won't object," said the Colonel, "though you know it is
a point of honour which every man can't pass; but as he has passed
it once, he may again."
In the evening, just before they sat down to cards, the Colonel
opened the campaign, by saying, "It is natural for every man to give
a decided preference to his own profession; but for my part, if I
were to begin life again, and had my choice, I would enter the army.
There it is a man acquires glory."
"And there it is," said Emma, "he is exposed to danger."
"Why, very true, Miss Holmes, but you know that the field of danger
is where the crown of honour is won!"
"Yes, but what sacrifice of feeling does it require?"
"Why, very true, but you know feeling is rather sentimental!"
"Sentimental, Sir!" said the lively young lady, "and did you think
so when you received your wound in the head? It was then, I suspect,
felt to be real."
"Why, yes," said the Colonel, somewhat embarrassed, "very true; but
we don't pay much regard to feeling when engaged in the conflict."
"So I suppose; nor much regard to feeling in prospect of the
conflict, and still less when it is over."
"There you are mistaken; for before the battle begins, a death-like
horror comes over the most courageous spirit; but when it is over,
the shout of victory gives an ecstasy of delight."
"But how is it changed when you look round on the mangled bodies of
the slain--on your friends and comrades weltering in their blood--or
think of the wives and children whom the sword makes widows and
orphans!"
"Ah, true, that's the worst of it: but you know that wars and
fightings have been from the beginning, and will be to the end; and
some must engage in them."
"I presume," said Emma, addressing herself to Mrs. Orme, "you must
have felt intense agony of mind, every time the Colonel left you for
actual service!"
"At first I did, but after I got used to it, I did not regard it,
for use, you know, my dear, is second nature; and then there was so
much pleasure on his return."
"There is, certainly," said the Colonel, "some danger attending the
profession of arms; but it is the most honourable profession in
which a gentleman can be engaged; and though humanity may shudder at
sight of the evils attending it, yet a true soldier is one of the
most tender-hearted men living."
"Your eloquence, Sir," said Miss Emma, "brings to my recollection
what I once read:--'One murder makes a villain--a thousand a hero;'
and though you descant most feelingly on the tenderness of a
soldier's heart, you no doubt refer to it, when touched by the point
of the sword."