after reading your letter to my father--a letter which is a
very natural sequel to your perfidious conduct. That you should
feel at liberty to charge upon me the baseness of suggesting
the crime of which you have been guilty, is more than I could
have imagined; but it has relieved me from that bitter regret
which I should otherwise feel in being separated from you
for life. You have betrayed me--you have reproached me--you
have insulted me--but this, it appears, is not enough: you
now try to disgrace me. Have you lost all sense of honour?
Does no feeling of generous sensibility move in your breast?
Are you become an alien from every virtuous principle? and do
you wish, if possible, to sink me into contempt, after having
abandoned me and your child? I feel too indignant to throw
back the reproaches which you have cast on me. I have a home,
and a peaceful one, and you may rely upon it, that no false
professions of attachment shall ever again induce me to leave
it. I am unable to judge of your state of mind; but if you have
the slightest degree of remorse left, conscience must reproach
you bitterly.--Your much injured
"EMMA."
I shall now anticipate my narrative a little, and conclude the
history of Captain Orme. Soon after sending the preceding letter to
Mr. Holmes, he obtained a military appointment in the East Indies,
through the influence of Lord ----; and immediately embarked,
without making any communication to his wife, or expressing any wish
to see his infant child. She knew not the place of his destination
for nearly two years after he had left his native country, when
she received a letter from him. On opening the letter she very
naturally expected to find some relentings for his past unkindness,
and some promises of future amendment, but she was disappointed.
The influence of time, which generally softens down the asperities
of temper, and brings about a cordial reconciliation between the
most hostile parties, had only increased the malevolence of his
disposition; and as though he had not already inflicted a wound
sufficiently deep, he now proceeded to the most heartless and
unmanly abuse. He accused her of infidelity; reproached her for her
attachment to her own family, whom he reviled in the lowest terms;
and concluded by saying, that she might now put on her weeds, as it
was not his intention of ever returning to claim her as his wife, or
even to acknowledge as his son the child she had borne.
As she still cherished an attachment for him, notwithstanding his
cruel treatment, and had indulged the forlorn hope of seeing him
reclaimed from the paths of evil, the contents of this letter
produced at first a deep melancholy; but as she had now begun to
derive consolation from a source of happiness which is concealed
from the eye of the gay and the dissipated, she soon regained her
composure, though she ceased not to pray for her erring husband.
At length the report of his death reached her through the medium
of a friend. She wept when she heard of his decease, and expressed
a strong anxiety to know the cause of it. Many inquiries were
made, but no information could be obtained, till she received a
letter from a military officer who had known him in the East.
This gentleman spoke in high terms of his courage, and of the
important services which he had rendered to the government of India;
expressing, at the same time, his regret that he fell a victim, not
to the sword, but to his habits of intemperance, which became so
inveterate, that neither reason nor authority could subdue them.
Thus terminated a union planned by treachery, which a perverse will
led Emma Holmes to contract, but which she lived to regret with
bitter and unavailing sorrow.
Her husband's cruelty, in first abandoning his wife and child,
without bidding them adieu, and then insulting her by his base
accusations, was not more flagrant and unjust than his perfidy
in first inducing her to become his wife. Though pity could not
withhold the sympathy which her sufferings excited, yet every
impartial spectator was compelled to acknowledge that she had
brought them on herself by her own imprudence. And though such
instances of cruelty and treachery are frequently occurring in
the history of human life, and though they are held up by the
moralist as beacons to warn the incautious female of the danger to
which she is exposed, yet how often, alas! do we see such warnings
disregarded. Women are too often smitten by external appearances,
and too easily imposed upon by the artful tales of the perfidious
and the crafty, to listen to the advice of their best friends. Thus
braving the opposition of their parents, they plunge themselves into
a state of misery, without having, as a melancholy alleviation to
their anguish, the solitary consolation that they were not apprized
of their danger. I have seen, in my passage through life, many
fine characters wrecked on this fatal rock, and wish to guard the
thoughtless and inexperienced from a similar catastrophe, and though
I cannot suppose that I shall be able to change the purpose, when
it is once formed, yet I do not despair of exciting some degree of
precaution in the unfettered and uncorrupted mind.
As that union, which is ordained to be the source of the purest
felicity, or of the bitterest anguish, and which nothing but death
or guilt can dissolve, is the most important that can be formed,
no one ought to propose it, or consent to it, till after the most
mature deliberation. In some instances it has been known that
_short_ courtships have led to happy marriages; but the instances
are comparatively few. Two persons accidentally meet--strangers
to each other--an offer of marriage is made, and immediately
accepted; a few weeks of intercourse, or of correspondence elapse,
and they are united for life. Can such a hasty union, which has
taken place while the parties have been almost entirely ignorant
of each other, be expected to yield much domestic felicity? It
may, but the chances are against it; as the history of social life
demonstrates this fact, that domestic happiness is less dependent on
the agreeableness of each other's persons, than on the harmony of
each other's disposition; and though a magic charm often renders us
blind to the defects of the beloved object, this blissful dream is
soon dissipated when the wedded pair come to seek their happiness
in the amiability of each other's tempers, and the goodness of each
other's principles. And considering the immense importance of this
correspondence in mental taste, tendencies, and inclinations, as a
source of permanent domestic happiness, and the amazing diversity
of tempers and dispositions which is known to prevail amongst human
beings, will a wise man, or will a prudent female, venture to risk
their felicity for life by a sudden and precipitate union? What!
shall we deem it necessary to institute a severe inquiry respecting
the temper, and disposition, and principles of the servants we take
into our dwellings, and whom we may dismiss at our pleasure; and
think that no such inquiry is necessary in relation to the person
to whom we are to be united for life--who is to be our comfort or
our torment, the means of elevating us to honour or sinking us into
contempt! Would this be an act of wisdom or of discretion?
And is it not to be regretted that the period of courtship, which
is intended to give to the parties an opportunity of judging of
their fitness for each other, is usually the period in which the
greatest degree of duplicity prevails? It may be justly denominated
the intermediate state between the two conditions in human life,
over which the evil spirit of deception presides--investing the
character with imaginary charms--softening down rugged and uncouth
tempers into the smoothness of the most subduing tenderness--curbing
restless and ungovernable passions with the restraints of a crafty
policy--and giving such a fascination to external graces, that they
are received as substitutes for the most solid and substantial
virtues. This is the fatal period, when suspicion is usually
asleep; when a slowness of heart to believe the rumours of report
becomes proverbial; and it is not till the parties emerge from
this delusion, to the realities of married life, and resume their
real character, that they discover the deception they have been
practising on each other. Then the work of mutual recrimination and
reproach commences. Then it is their eyes are opened to see their
folly and their danger, but their repentance, like that of Esau's,
comes too late to repair the evil which they have brought upon
themselves.
As the period of courtship is the most dangerous in the history
of life, because the most deceptive, those who wish to enjoy a
state of permanent domestic happiness, cannot, at this period, be
too observant of each other's tempers and dispositions, or too
inquisitive respecting each other's connections and manners. If
they now discover a dissonance in any of these particulars, they
would act a wiser part to separate by mutual consent, than to form
a union which will inevitably become a fruitful source of misery,
and may terminate in disgrace, if not in ruin. Some severe moralists
contend, that when an offer of marriage has been given and accepted,
no circumstances will justify either party in withdrawing from their
pledge, but that it ought to be held as sacred and as obligatory
as the marriage vow. Though the writer would not hazard an opinion
which would tend to sanction a wanton inconstancy, yet he claims
the privilege of differing from such casuists. For what purpose
has the unanimous consent of mankind required some period of time
to elapse, after the offer has been made, before it is formally,
and for life decided? Is it not that the contracting parties may
have an opportunity of judging of their relative fitness for each
other? If not, they may pass at once to the nuptial altar, after
mutually consenting to their union; but if it be, they are invested
with a moral right to revise their decision, when fresh discoveries
of character are made, which change their opinions, and diminish,
if not alienate their affections. Suppose a gentleman makes a lady
an offer, and she accepts it, under a firm conviction that he is
a man of honour, of integrity, of virtue, and of prudence, whose
disposition is amiable, whose circumstances are respectable, and
who is capable of maintaining her in the rank in which she has
been accustomed to move. Suppose that on a subsequent inquiry,
she finds out that these sterling qualities do not adorn his
character--that he is violent in his passions--and that his means
to support a family are not adequate to its demands. If she is now
convinced that by consummating the union, her happiness for life
will be sacrificed, ought she to be compelled to do so? She may be
censured for giving her consent too hastily; but is a consent given
under false impressions, and while in a state of total or partial
ignorance, to be binding, when she discovers the delusion which has
been practised on her, and sees nothing but misery and wretchedness
before her? I think it is not. If Emma Holmes, when she returned
the letters and presents to Captain Orme, had never more consented
to see him, would any wise or prudent person have passed a sentence
of condemnation on her conduct? No! Why not? Because she had given
her consent under false impressions of his character; but after her
marriage, though that took place under the same false impressions,
she was bound by the laws of God and man to remain his wife.
But as there is always some risk of reputation, and sometimes
some pecuniary risk, in breaking off an engagement which has been
formed, it should not be done hastily, nor for trifling reasons.
Though the mutual pledge is less binding than the nuptial vow, yet
if it be treated with levity and contempt, society will resent the
insult which is offered to its sense of delicacy and of honour. The
faithless and inconstant will be marked out as the objects of its
censure and reproaches. And no censures can be too severe, nor any
reproaches be too bitter, to be directed against the man who gains
the affections of a female, and then abandons her from caprice; or
against that female, who acts the part of a coquette, by giving
pledges she never intends to redeem, and exciting expectations she
has resolved to disappoint. And this risk ought to operate as a
powerful motive to induce the utmost degree of caution when making
or when accepting an offer. As the right of overture is claimed
and exercised by man, he is supposed to institute every necessary
inquiry before he makes his election, and to be perfectly satisfied
that the female whose friendship and whose affection he courts
is capable of promoting his happiness; and though on a closer
intimacy he may discover some shades of imperfection which were not
visible when he first knew her, yet if they are only the ordinary
imperfections which belong to the human character, he would act
an unwise, if not a criminal part, by making them the ostensible
cause of breaking off the connection. We should ever remember, that
the nuptial vow always unites two imperfect beings, whose mutual
imperfections will call for the exercise of mutual candour; and
when pure and ardent love glows in the breast of each, they will
bear with each other's failings, and strive to promote each other's
happiness.
It is then, in the opinion of the writer, only when some radical
defect is discovered in the character--some strong repulsive
quality, or some untoward and ungovernable passion--that the
male sex, who exercise the prerogative of choice, ought to feel
at liberty to disengage themselves, unless the female give her
unqualified approbation. In that case the connection may be
dissolved at any time, as it cannot be supposed that a marriage
between two persons who are willing to separate for life can be
productive of happiness.
But without acting capriciously, or presuming to encroach on the
principle of equity, I should be disposed to concede to the female
sex a greater degree of liberty on this point. When an offer is made
to a lady, she may feel no reluctance to it--the person who makes it
may be agreeable to her, and, by the ardour of solicitation, she may
be induced to yield assent to the proposed union. She may do this
before her modesty allows her to make those inquiries respecting
temper, disposition, principles, and resources, which the gentleman
is supposed to have made before he ventured to disclose his wishes.
She may have been pressed to a compliance before she acquired that
specific information which would justify and sanction it; and which,
if advantage had not been taken of her amiable weakness, she would
have withheld till she had obtained it. And perhaps, in addition to
this, she has been induced to conceal the overture from her parents,
or her guardians, till some convenient season should arrive to make
it known--that convenient season being to be determined, less by the
decision of her own mind, than the mind of her lover. When these
circumstances occur in the history of a courtship, though I would
not say that the lady is quite as free to reject the offer, as she
was when it was first made, yet I think she is more at liberty to
decline it, than the gentleman who made it. Yet she ought not to
act capriciously, nor ought she to sport with the feelings of the
person to whom she has given her promise; but slighter reasons for
breaking off the connection will justify her in doing so, than those
which will justify him. She may discover no radical defect in his
character, yet she may perceive "the flaw unseemly"--she may behold
no predominating principle of evil, yet she may see its corrupting
influence--she may feel no strong repulsive qualities, yet her
affections may die off, while she knows not the cause--she may
witness no sallies of an ungovernable passion, yet she may strongly
suspect the amiability of his temper--she may not be able to find
out any fixed habits of inconsistency, or positive vice, and yet she
may be convinced that her happiness would be sacrificed for life if
she consented to the proposed union.
A question now arises in which both parties are deeply interested.
Ought a female to marry when she feels conscious that she cannot be
happy with the person who wishes her to become his wife? or would it
be an act of wisdom, or prudence, or of piety, in a man to drag a
victim to the altar, who feels an abhorrence, not to the ceremony,
but to its appalling consequences? No. As mutual love is the only
substantial basis of the union, where that does not exist, the union
ought not to be consummated; and though some evils generally result
from a dissolution of the mutual pledge, yet they are fewer and less
awful and destructive than those which follow a marriage without
affection--or when the affection of one has to struggle against the
cool indifference or positive dislike of the other.
And if circumstances should render it imperatively necessary that
either party should break off the connection, this should be done in
the most delicate and honourable manner. The reasons in most cases
should be expressly and unequivocally stated; all vacillation should
be conscientiously avoided; no words of reproach or invective should
be uttered; and for their mutual credit they should speak of each
other among their friends in terms of respect.
But let no female expect that a libertine in principle, or a
rake in practice, will ever make a kind and attentive husband,
notwithstanding any professions he may make. Her charms may for a
season operate as a spell on his passions, and he may, under their
powerful influence, appear "a new creature." The company of the
dissolute may be forsaken for the pleasure of her society; and the
habits of vice may be broken off while he is courting the living
image of virtue; but his character will remain the same. He may
affect to deplore his past follies, and he may speak in praise of
goodness and of religion, but, unless his _heart_ is changed, he
will soon give ocular proof that he is the same man as when he made
an open mock of sin, and publicly contemned righteousness. That
some who have been dissolute in their early days have become the
ornaments of society, good husbands, kind parents, and faithful
friends, is a fact too generally known to be doubted; but their
reformation has usually preceded their marriage--rarely followed
it. They have separated themselves from evil-doers, and they
have learned to do well, before they have dared to solicit the
affections of a virtuous female; and then having re-established
their character, and fixed their habits of goodness and of religion,
they have lived to repair the injury they have done to their own
reputation and to the morals of others, by walking in a course of
exemplary consistency.
But there are no females who ought to be so cautious on this subject
as the children of pious parents. If they have imbibed the spirit
of pure and undefiled religion, they ought to marry _only in the
Lord_. No intellectual talents, no degrees of moral excellence, and
no resources of wealth, should induce them to a violation of this
positive injunction of the law of God. It would be, in addition to
an insult offered to Divine authority, a suicidal act in regard to
personal honour and happiness; uniform experience proving that the
intermarrying of the pious with the unconverted is followed by the
most disastrous social and spiritual consequences.
And if they are not decidedly pious, yet if they have been
accustomed to habits of religion, they ought not to calculate on
permanent happiness if they consent to marry a person who is an
avowed infidel, or one who cannot distinguish between the form of
godliness and its power. For such a marriage will separate the
woman from all intimate connection with her pious friends, and she
will thus become to them a source of deep and poignant sorrow. But
this, though an evil which a daughter ought to guard against, out
of respect to the feelings of her parents, is a minor evil, when
compared with the influence it will have over her own mind. The
irreligion of her husband will tolerate none of the customs with
which she has been so long familiar--no family prayer--no reading
of the Scripture--no reverential references to God--to Providence,
or to an eternal world--the Sabbath will be employed as a day of
business, or of indolence, or of pleasure--or if the husband attend
a place of worship, he will go, not
"Where the violated law speaks out
Its thunders; and where, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace;"
but where
"The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again; pronounce a text,--
Cry hem; and reading what they never wrote,
Just fifteen minutes huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene."
Can this strange change take place without producing some ill
effect? will she be satisfied and contented? will conscience never
reproach her? will she have no misgivings? will the days of her life
"----glide softly o'er her head,
Made up of innocence?"
Will she never institute a comparison between her present home,
and that in which she drew her infant breath, and spent the years
of childhood and of youth? Will she never contrast the piety of
her father with the irreligion of her husband?--the devotional
lessons of her mother with her present course of life? But suppose
she should outlive all reverence and respect for the habits of
domestic religion, which she has been accustomed to revere and
observe from the days of childhood, and yield herself to the
beguiling fascinations of gaiety and worldliness, what will be her
reflections and feelings in the hours of sickness, and from whence
can she derive consolation and hope when death approaches? Ah, it
is _then_ the secrets of her soul will speak out! it is _then_
that her criminal folly will appear in all its aggravated forms of
guilt! it is _then_ she will revert to her former home, her earlier
associations, her pristine impressions of religious truth. Alas! she
now goes back to these scenes, not for comfort, but for torture;
not to gather up the fragments of hope, but to give a keener point
to her desponding fears; to call back "joys that are departed," and
to increase the intensity of her mental anguish, by contrasting it
with the happiness she once enjoyed. Yet, if she discloses what
she feels, she is either ridiculed for her superstitious folly, or
suspected of partial derangement--as no one understands her case.
She lingers through the last stages of her life in sorrow and in
sadness, the victim of self-consuming anxieties and grief; and may
die in agonizing apprehension, if not in absolute despair.
THE VILLAGE CHAPEL.
The painful and prolonged excitement occasioned by Emma's unhappy
marriage, and its disastrous consequences, so greatly impaired the
health of Mrs. and Miss Holmes, that a change of air and scene was
deemed absolutely necessary. Dawlish, their favourite retreat, was
thought of, and they were making preparations for their departure
thither, when a letter arrived from Mr. Newell, Mr. Holmes'
son-in-law, in Warwickshire,[26] announcing that the new chapel
which Mr. Holmes had been the means of rearing near his native
place, was all but completed, and inviting them to spend some time
with him, and be present on the opening day. This induced them to
change their mind. "I certainly," said Mr. Holmes, "ought to go, to
witness the accomplishment of my design." "And we," said his wife
and daughter, "should very much like to accompany you; we may thus
reap a spiritual benefit while endeavouring to recruit our bodily
health."
[26] Vol. ii. p. 129.