The reader will observe that there has been a little altercation at the
end of the last chapter. Emma Phillips was guilty of letting drop a
received truism, or rather a metaphor, which offended our hero. "Did
innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand?" If Emma had put that
question to us, we, from our knowledge of the world, should have
replied, "Yes, very often, my dear Miss Phillips." But Emma was wrong,
not only in her metaphor, but in the time of her making it. Why did she
do so? Ah! that is a puzzling question to answer; we can only say, at
our imminent risk, when this narrative shall be perused by the other
sex, that we have made the discovery that women are not perfect; that
the very best of the sex are full of contradiction, and that Emma was a
woman. That women very often are more endowed than the generality of
men we are ready to admit; and their cause has been taken up by Lady
Morgan, Mrs Jamieson, and many others who can write much better than we
can. When we say their cause, we mean the right of equality they would
claim with our sex and not subjection to it. Reading my Lady Morgan the
other day, which, next to conversing with her, is one of the greatest
treats we know of we began to speculate upon what were the causes which
had subjected woman to man; in other words, how was it that man had got
the upper hand, and kept it? That women's minds were not inferior to
men's we were forced to admit; that their aptitude for cultivation is
often greater, was not to be denied. As to the assertion that man makes
laws, or that his frame is of more robust material, it is no argument,
as a revolt on the part of the other sex would soon do away with such
advantage; and men, brought up as nursery-maids, would soon succumb to
women who were accustomed to athletic sports from their youth upwards.
After a great deal of cogitation we came to the conclusion, that there
is a great difference between the action in the minds of men and women;
the machinery of the latter being more complex than that of our own sex.
A man's mind is his despot: it works but by one single action; it has
one ruling principle--one propelling power to which all is subservient.
This power or passion (disguised and dormant as it may be in feeble
minds) is the only one which propels him on; this _primum mobile_, as it
may be termed, is ambition, or, in other words, self-love; everything is
sacrificed to it.
Now, as in proportion as a machine is simple so is it strong in its
action--so in proportion that a machine is complex, it becomes weak; and
if we analyse a woman's mind, we shall find that her inferiority arises
from the simple fact, that there are so many wheels within wheels
working in it, so many compensating balances (if we may use the term,
and we use it to her honour), that although usually more right-minded
than man, her strength of action is lost, and has become feeble by the
time that her decision has been made. What will a man allow to stand in
the way of his ambition--love? no--friendship? no--he will sacrifice the
best qualities, and, which is more difficult, make the worst that are in
his disposition subservient to it. He moves only one great principle,
one propelling power--and the action being single, it is strong in
proportion. But will a woman's mind decide in this way? Will she
sacrifice to ambition, love, or friendship, or natural ties? No; in her
mind the claims of each are, generally speaking, fairly balanced--and
the quotient, after the calculation has been worked out, although
correct, is small. Our argument, after all, only goes to prove that
women, abstractedly taken, have more principle, more conscience, and
better regulated minds than men--which is true if--if they could always
go correct as timekeepers; but the more complex the machine, the more
difficult it is to keep it in order, the more likely it is to be out of
repair, and its movements to be disarranged by a trifling shock, which
would have no effect upon one of such simple and powerful construction
as that in our own sex. Not only do they often go wrong, but sometimes
the serious shocks which they are liable to in this world will put them
in a state which is past all repair.
We have no doubt that by this time the reader will say, "Never mind
women's minds, but mind your own business." We left Emma in the
drawing-room, rather astonished at our hero's long speech, and still
more by his (for the first time during their acquaintance) venturing to
breathe a contrary opinion to her own sweet self.
Emma Phillips, although she pouted a little, and the colour had mounted
to her temples, nevertheless looked very lovely as she pensively
reclined on the sofa. Rebuked by him who had always been so attentive,
so submissive--her creature as it were--she was mortified, as every
pretty woman is, at any loss of power--any symptoms of rebellion on the
part of a liege vassal; and then she taxed herself; had she done wrong?
She had said, "Innocence and mystery did not walk hand in hand." Was
not that true? She felt that it was true, and her own opinion was
corroborated by others, for she had read it in some book, either in
Burke, or Rochefoucault, or some great author. Miss Phillips bit the
tip of her nail and thought again. Yes, she saw how it was; our hero
had risen in the world, was independent, and was well received in
society; he was no longer the little Joey of Gravesend; he was now a
person of some consequence, and he was a very ungrateful fellow; but the
world was full of ingratitude; still she did think better of our hero;
she certainly did. Well; at all events she could prove to him that--
what?--she did not exactly know. Thus ended cogitation the second,
after which came another series.
What had our hero said--what had he accused her of? That she no longer
bestowed on him her confidence placed in him for many years. This was
true; but were not the relative positions, was not the case different?
Should he now retain any secret from her?--there should be no secrets
between them. There again there was a full stop before the sentence was
complete. After a little more reflection, her own generous mind pointed
out to her that she had been in the wrong; and that our hero had cause
to be offended with her; and she made up her mind to make reparation the
first time that they should be alone.
Having come to this resolution, she dismissed the previous question, and
began to think about the secret itself, and what it possibly could be,
and how she wished she knew what it was; all of which was very natural.
In the meantime our hero had made up his mind to leave Portsmouth, for a
time at all events. This quarrel with Emma, if such it might be
considered, had made him very miserable, and the anxiety he had lately
suffered had seriously affected his health.
We believe that there never was anybody in this world who had grown to
man's or woman's estate and had mixed with the world, who could
afterwards say that they were at any time perfectly happy; or who,
having said so, did not find that the reverse was the case a moment or
two after the words were out of their mouth. "There is always
something," as a good lady said to us; and so there always is, and
always will be. The removal of Furness was naturally a great relief to
the mind of our hero; he then felt as if all his difficulties were
surmounted, and that he had no longer any fear of the consequences which
might ensue from his father's crime. He would now, he thought, be able
to walk boldly through the world without recognition, and he had built
castles enough to form a metropolis when his rupture with Emma broke the
magic mirror through which he had scanned futurity. When most buoyant
with hope, he found the truth of the good lady's saying--"There is
always something."
After remaining in his room for an hour, Joey went down to the
counting-house, where he found Mr Small and Mr Sleek both at work, for
their labours had increased since Joey had so much neglected business.
"Well, my good friend, how do you find yourself?" said Mr Small.
"Very far from well, sir. I feel that I cannot attend to business,"
replied Joey, "and I am quite ashamed of myself; I was thinking that, if
you had no objection to allow me a couple of months' leave of absence,
change of air would be very serviceable to me. I have something to do
at Dudstone, which I have put off ever since I came to Portsmouth."
"I think change of air would be very serviceable to you, my dear
fellow," replied Mr Small; "but what business you can have at Dudstone
I cannot imagine."
"Simply this--I locked up my apartments, leaving my furniture, books,
and linen, when I went away, more than four years ago, and have never
found time to look after them."
"Well, they must want dusting by this time, O'Donahue, so look after
them if you please; but I think looking after your health is of more
consequence, so you have my full consent to take a holiday, and remain
away three months, if necessary, till you are perfectly re-established."
"And you have mine," added Mr Sleek, "and I will do your work while you
are away."
Our hero thanked his senior partners for their kind compliance with his
wishes, and stated his intention of starting the next morning by the
early coach, and then left the counting-house to make preparations for
his journey.
Joey joined the party, which was numerous, at dinner. It was not until
they were in the drawing-room after dinner, that Mr Small had an
opportunity of communicating to Mrs Phillips what were our hero's
intentions. Mrs Phillips considered it a very advisable measure, as
Joey had evidently suffered very much lately: probably over-exertion
might have been the cause, and relaxation would effect the cure.
Emma, who was sitting by her mother, turned pale; she had not imagined
that our hero would have followed up his expressed intentions of the
morning, and she asked Mr Small if he knew when O'Donahue would leave
Portsmouth. The reply was, that he had taken his place on the early
coach of the next morning: and Emma fell back on the sofa, and did not
say anything more.
When the company had all left, Mrs Phillips rose and lighted a chamber
candlestick to go to bed, and Emma followed the motions of her mother.
Mrs Phillips shook hands with our hero, wishing him a great deal of
pleasure, and that he would return quite restored in health. Emma, who
found that all chance of an interview with our hero was gone, mustered
up courage enough to extend her hand and say,--"I hope your absence will
be productive of health and happiness to you, Mr O'Donahue," and then
followed her mother.
Joey, who, was in no humour for conversation, then bade farewell to Mr
Small and Mr Sleek, and, before Emma had risen from not a very
refreshing night's rest, he was two stages on his way from Portsmouth.