judgment. Others may outshine him in original powers of mind, but none
can surpass him in the tasteful appreciation of merit, whatever be
its form, and wherever it exists. Kind and unselfish, he can praise
in others those attributes which he does not himself possess; and
every scheme in which he is engaged, has for its object the comfort
and advantage of his fellow-creatures. If he find that his views are
erroneous, or detect a flaw in their application, far from becoming
the _advocate_, because he was the _proposer_ of a plan, he resigns
his particular views with a noble ingenuousness, and, confessing that
they were either unfounded, or not suited to the case, seeks farther
light from whatever source is most likely to afford information. This
complete absence of pertinacity has a powerful effect in enhancing
the weight of his opinion in every deliberation, as it is well known,
that he will not adhere to the wrong side because it is that which he
had first adopted. While others pursue the 'bubble reputation' abroad,
Adolphus seeks to be loved at home, and his own fire-side is the scene
in which the best energies of his mind, and the purest affections
of his heart are expanded. I am reclaimed by his virtues from my
visionary absurdities, and shall endeavour to make all the reparation
in my power for having wandered so far from the truth by _preaching_ a
_crusade_ to the youth of my own sex, who may be inclined to deviate
into the labyrinth from which I was myself so happily extricated. If
you have any female friends to whom my tale may be useful, advise
them from the experience of Clara Browne, against an overweening
admiration of talents without due reflection on the manner in which
such talents are associated. Tell them that books, and occasional
conversation may supply all that is necessary of mental variety, while
_nothing_ is capable of compensating for the want of common sense,
disinterestedness, and affection."
Clara ceased; and as I remained a month at Stockton, after her
husband's return, I am enabled to bear a willing testimony to the
fidelity of her narrative, as well as to the soundness of her views:
and as I know how glad you will be to hear of her happiness, I have
given you this detail without fear of your being fatigued by its
perusal.
I am, my dear Otway,
Your sincere friend,
G. L.
LETTER XXI.
MRS. DOUGLAS TO MRS. E. SANDFORD.
My dearest Elizabeth will believe that Glenalta has charms which even
Killarney cannot boast for me. Yes; though the word _home_ never meets
my eye or ear without producing a _gulp_, which tells of other days,
when that little monosyllable of four letters contained the _world_
for me, yet repose is so necessary to my existence, that I sighed for
return to my peaceful glen, and the pain of concealing every feeling
that warred against the happiness of my beloved children, from their
acute observation, increased my restraint, and has converted the
enjoyment of my _cell_ into more positive pleasure than I have felt
for years. How gracious are the mercies shed upon our daily path, and
how tender the dispensation which so often renders what we conceive
to be inflictions, conducive to our comfort! Elizabeth, my spirits are
unusually depressed, but you are expecting an answer to your letter,
and I will not suffer my pen to forget its duty, nor wander from the
subject of your inquiry, till I have given you what little aid, my
longer experience of your present cares, may contribute. You think that
my advice would be, that you should resign yourself exclusively to
the charm of such society as you find amongst the Stanleys, No, dear
friend; I would only allow you to _prefer_ them; but there is a net
of kind, expansive benevolence which it would seem as if Nature loved
to throw more widely in scenes of rural life than in any other. "Man
made cities, God formed the country." It is very true, every heart
must acknowledge the distinction, and yours my friend would desire to
emulate, as far as the imperfect creature is enabled to do, the bounty
of that Being who has placed you where all the sweet charities of
fellowship may be called into exercise. I do not mean that you should
mingle indiscriminately, nor _over-much_ in society: I would only say
avoid unkindness; exclusion should be reserved for the unworthy, but
not visited on those who have only the misfortune to be less pleasing
than their neighbours. A judicious _assortment_ will always prevent the
disagreeable effects which sometimes spring from neglect of selecting
such people only as harmonize with each other in manners and modes of
thinking. I should be more diffuse upon this subject, were there the
slightest danger of your supposing for a moment that I could be the
advocate of an _electioneering_ system. You know how I abhor the arts
of popularity, and revere independence; but human virtues and vices
are often separated from each other by such imperceptible shades, that
in giving ourselves credit for the performance of the one, it is too
often our lot to glide into the other. Selfishness is an arch fiend,
and ever at hand to whisper temptation. I know that it is a prevailing
opinion amongst a large number of respectable and worthy people, that
we are bound to make profession of our creeds in the highways, and
in the corners of our streets, that every sentence which we utter
should tell of the sect to which we belong, every article of dress
which we wear be a symbol of distinction; and every person with whom
we converse, every book that we open, be submitted to an ordeal, and
pronounced upon, by a few self-elected judges, before we venture to
pursue acquaintance with the one, or advance in perusal of the other.
I cannot enter into this system of parcelling out mankind by quite so
restrictive a rule; I see nothing of all this in the inspired precepts
of the great Founder of our faith, whose beautiful simplicity of
doctrine and extensive charity of example, are too little dwelt upon
as matter of imitation, while His name is mingled with disgusting
familiarity in every trifling discourse.
Oh, my friend, human nature is so frail that we should not _tempt_
our pride, or our vanity, by putting on external marks that may
deceive even our own hearts, and persuade us that we are better than
others. Let our consistency be seen in our _lives_; our religion shine
through our actions; our tastes be proclaimed by our preferences; and
let us not _profess_ at all, let us not belong _exclusively_ to one
party, or one preacher. Let us catch illumnination from those who
possess more than we do, contributing our own light to such as have
less. Do not suffer your dear girls to assume names or badges. Do not
permit them to be tied down by observances. Let their books, their
society, their opinions, and their tastes, spring from their _habits_
and their _principles_. It is an _inverted_ method, to begin with
the mere trappings, and argue to the indwelling of the spirit, from
the rigidity of the letter. Set up no sign-posts; use no cabalistic
phraseology; make no premature vows, and adopt no rule but that of
your Bible in matters of religion. In matters of inferior concern, I
would advise equally against precipitancy either in proscribing or
adopting. _Parade_ is of all things to be avoided; be natural, be kind.
You will find that some, of whom you may at first have formed high
expectation, are over-rated, whilst others may rise in your estimation
as you know them better. A little _time_ settles our modes of life,
and regulates our conduct without any _eclat_ much more consistently
than any pre-arrangement of our own, and with a little patience we
may gradually _sift_ people and things, till we find ourselves placed
as nearly as circumstances permit, in the situation most suited to
our characters. My little experience leads me to certain conclusions
which had they been earlier impressed upon my mind I should have been
spared much anxiety. One of them is, that in the beginning of our
career we all _plan_ too much. We take as it were a _survey_ of all the
territory that lies spread before us, and sitting down in the pride of
full possession, we scan the map of futurity, dazzle our imaginations
with mines that are to be dug, and riches that are to be realized,
amuse our fancies with palaces to be built, and forests to be planted,
worshipping within our breasts the idol of self-complacency, while we
contemplate _ourselves_ as the _great_ engineers whose skill is to
operate these mighty improvements. We _assume_ too much, we _trust_ too
little; we know nothing but the present, and the present we despise.
Our limited vision cannot extend beyond a point, and we strain our
eyes over all created space. _Little_ things and _proximate_ purposes,
make up the real sum of happiness and virtue: but we pass by these
in contemptuous disdain, to aim at the great and the distant; the
undefined and generally unattainable. True wisdom is surely to watch
with our best attention, and cultivate with assiduity, the daily,
the hourly circumstances which arise in our path, leaving the widely
spreading consequences of unseen result, to Him who alone is acquainted
with the final issues.
I have never known a failure in any wish of my own respecting the
good of my family, which I could not resolve into over solicitude
in _looking_ too far, and _doing_ too much in my _own strength_.
Examine your heart; be sure that it is single, that no divided empire
_there_ is likely to split its councils, and lead to compromise or
dissimulation. _Simplicity_ of design is a panoply of power. Clad in
its protective guardianship, put up your prayers with confidence for
that aid, without which all your efforts will be abortive, and rising
from your knees refreshed by the blessed assurance that the sincere
suppliant is _never_ disregarded, go forth to your _daily_ task; as
you are taught to ask for your _daily_ bread. Endeavour to perform the
little duties which are allotted to a _given hour_. Neither perplex
your thoughts, nor weaken your sight by scrutinizing the hidden things,
and pouring through the darksome mists of future time, but leave it to
_become_ the present. At its appointed period your duty is declared,
and its boundary is traced: be that your _practical_ object. What mind
indeed of "lofty pitch" would be contented with the prison that I
prescribe, were I not confining the consideration to that part which we
are individually called upon to _act_ in life; but you do not mistake
my meaning. Ah! who would wish to walk over "the field of Marathon,
or wander amid the ruins of Iona," without desiring to possess the
power of abstracting thought from the fleeting moment that eludes our
grasp, to expatiate in the mighty vast of years gone by? Or who that
has ever loved and lost, would clip the spirit's wing, and stay its
airy flight from stretching beyond this narrow strait of time and
space into the boundless regions of eternal blessedness, where it is
not forbidden to seek amongst the dazzling host, the happy myriads
of the sky, for _one_ bright seraph, dearer than the rest, towards
whom the newly emancipated stranger flies to meet its fondest though
unearthly welcome? _Can_ there be danger--_is_ there impiety--in this
vision which steals with heavenly influence on my solitary musings? Oh,
if there be, speak, my Elizabeth, and I will try to curb my _waking_
thoughts, and turn imploringly to _sleep_ for the precious imagery
which perhaps my day-light dreams ought not to mingle.
Sleep! balmy Sleep! thy poppies shed
A pitying respite on my woes;
Bind on thy charm around my head,
And lull my soul to calm repose!
Yet not those slumbers I implore,
That steep the brain in Lethe's wave,
Tho' such the weary sense restore,
'Tis not this lifeless boon I crave!
I woo thee with thy world of dreams,
That o'er the mind in vision play
Thro' mimic shades--by airy streams
Where phantom Hope delights to stray.
Now gorgon Reason sinks to rest,
And Fancy, with unchartered range,
Soars to the regions of the bless'd;
The transit neither hard, nor strange.
How radiant the etherial light!
Credulity, companion kind,
Has spread her wing to join the flight--
The spirit's dungeon left behind.
Borne upward to the glorious sky,
Crowds of celestial beings throng;
Whose brighter, more inquiring eye,
Is that which beams their ranks among?
'Twas his!--no more--the vision's past!
Hark! is that sound the funeral bell?
Raptures too vivid cannot last--
That dream is but a broken spell!
There are days so sad, and feelings so overwhelming, that to make war
against their flow is as fruitless as to oppose a barrier to the sea.
Forgive me. _You_ are not one of the unskilful comforters who attempt
to impart consolation by checking the tide of sorrow. _You_ understand
better the nature of the human heart, and are aware that a little kind
sympathy is the truest balm which friendship can bestow.
I will now impart to you some circumstances which have weighed upon
spirits, at _best_ so tremblingly poised, that the slightest addition
to their usual burthen destroys the balance. As I mentioned to you, my
excursion to Killarney was, in itself, a great effort. _Such_ scenery,
and sweet music, are the most powerful exciters, in my mind, to a train
of association which I dread in company. Memory is so acutely painful,
from the minuteness with which its traces are engraved, and the
fidelity of its pictures, that I fly from whatever is likely to unlock
the stores, and present to my view _much_ that I dare not contemplate,
unless I am alone. The delight, however, of gratifying my dear children
overcame every other consideration: and I accompanied a party composed
of admirable materials, but too numerous and too gay for me. I had
not been long from home before I felt myself, for the first time,
involved in those cares which, as my children grow up, I must expect to
encounter.
My dear friend Mrs. Fitzroy, whose enlivening society charmed the
whole group, was the first to awaken my attention to the expressions,
both by looks and manner, of feelings in Mr. Russell's mind, which her
quick eye discovered that Charlotte had excited. I have such perfect
confidence in the delicacy of my dear girls, that I was spared all
solicitude on the score of _conduct_; but I watched with uneasiness the
progress of a sentiment which, as it met no return, will I fear be the
cause of pain to an amiable and an accomplished young man. I find that
he is acquainted with you, and, as he talks of going into Derbyshire on
his return from France, you will probably see him, and perchance hear
his story from his own lips.
The conversation, in which he made known his attachment to Charlotte,
took place on the evening preceding his departure, and was so unlike
the common place dialogues upon such occasions, that I could not,
when it was repeated to me, repress a smile in the midst of more
serious impressions. It was a lovely evening, and the young people
had, as usual, strayed away from the elders, whose more sober views of
happiness, and less active powers of locomotion, happily prepare us, as
time advances, for the final rest.
As lovers always contrive to find the opportunity which they are
seeking, Russell soon detached Charlotte from the group, by some
appeal to her taste in particular; and when removed from all ears, save
her own, he exclaimed (and, poor fellow, I believe with genuine truth),
"How wretched is the _ending_ of such happiness!"
"It is indeed," replied my innocent Charlotte, who willingly perhaps
gave her companion a share in the feeling which she echoed.
Perhaps assured by this encouraging sympathy that all might be as he
wished, Russell continued: "Even inanimate objects interest the heart
when we are about to quit them."
"Yes," said Charlotte, "and when one lives entirely in retreat, where
the living objects are few, we do _really_ love trees, rocks, and
streams, as if they were human beings. Is it not for this reason that
mountaineers, like the Swiss, Scotch, and Irish, are fonder of their
homes than any other nation?"
This is not what Russell wanted to know, or cared to inquire
respecting. "To waste love upon trees and rocks, when so many of our
own species are dying for want of the food lavished upon _them_, is
not right," said Russell; "and _you_ are more guilty than any one,
inasmuch as your affection is more prized."
Charlotte interrupted what she perceived to be a _compliment_, by
answering: "You must not make _speeches_. The love that one feels for
rural objects, long known, and seen with daily interest, can never
interfere with better affections. It is a different thing, and _you_
must know how _very_ different, as you have a father, mother, and
sisters." The honest air of directness, which I can imagine to have
accompanied this _reasoning_ upon love, was not very favourable to
farther dalliance.
When the youthful heart is _first_ excited, and hope is felt that
kindred feeling has touched the soul in which it feels an interest,
how exquisite the happiness of developement! Like the beautiful buds
of early spring, the unfolding of each individual scale that binds
the young leaves is in itself delightful, and we do not wish to lose
a single hour of _progressive_ enjoyment, in impatience to behold the
crown of summer foliage. Did you ever meet with an old book called
"_Guadentio di Lucca?_"--It is a story in which, amongst some
primitive race of people in South America, I think the lovers are made
to declare their mutual sentiments by an interchange of buds, and, as
inclinations advance, the full-blown flower.
But to return. Russell felt that his way was retrograde, and therefore,
making an effort, he bounded over rocks, shrubs, and rivulets, and,
taking my sweet child by the hand, declared, in the spirit of Hector
to Andromache, though with the difference between _is_ and _might
be_, that _all_ relations, however fond, concentrate in the object of
tender and devoted love. To hear a confession of this nature, for the
first time, must necessarily produce confusion in the mind of so gentle
a being as Charlotte, and she told her sister that she felt quite
unable for a few minutes to collect herself. Courage was imparted at
length, by the fear of conveying the opposite of what she intended to
communicate by her silence; and, summoning resolution, she turned to
our young friend, and, thanking him kindly for the preference which he
had just expressed, added:
"I have many blessings, and I am very young. It has never before
occurred to me even to _think_, in my own case, of parting with such
treasures as I possess; and though I shall always remember your visit
to Glenalta as a period of _great_ pleasure, and _you_ as an agreeable
member of our happy party, I can say no more."
Russell urged the usual arguments. "Surely she did not mean to devote
herself to a single life. She might still have the society of mother,
sisters, brother. Marriage was the natural object of life: it was the
happiest lot when 'heart met heart.'"
"And _how_ can heart meet heart," replied Charlotte, "on a three weeks'
acquaintance? _My_ heart would require a much longer time for disposing
of itself, if I could disengage it from the ties that bind it here; and
I cannot imagine how people should be either so vain, or so confiding
as to fancy that the foundation of happiness, for perhaps a long life,
can be laid in a short moment of time."
Russell assured her that to the quick eye of a lover, moments were
years in bringing people acquainted.
"Ah then," said Charlotte, "why are so many married people unhappy?"
"They are just as well off in the end," answered Russell, "as those
who are single, and certainly, till they discover their mistakes, much
happier."
"Well, my life," replied Charlotte, "is too happy for any change of
my _own_ making, I believe. If heaven deprived me of all that I love,
it is another question, but to deprive _myself_, I cannot. My idea of
marriage is not so favourable as yours. I think it would require the
most powerful affection to render it a relation of real felicity; and
if not _that_, I should think it much worse than even an unfortunate
lot in single life."
"Have I then _no_ ground of hope," said Russell.
"Indeed, I feel wholly disinclined to marry any mortal at present,"
answered Charlotte. "To you I am scarcely at all known; and I believe
that you are entirely mistaken in supposing for an instant that we are
suited to each other. You and I have been educated in very different
schools, and could never sympathize."
"Do you then forget our musical sympathies. Am I not devoted to your
sweet melodies, and have we not often admired them in unison?"
"Oh yes, certainly," said Charlotte, "but music is a very little part
of life.--We must not stay any longer from our party, who, perhaps, are
wondering at our absence." Fanny appeared precisely as Charlotte spoke
the last word, and the latter, seizing her sister's arm, was delighted
to find excuse for terminating the conversation.
The _last_ evening is always sad, when those who have been pleased in
each other's society are to part; but there is generally also some
degree of bustle, immediately preceding a journey, which prevents the
mind from dwelling on gloomy thoughts, at least in _common_ cases; and
as all were ignorant of what had happened, except the pair immediately
concerned, there was less reserve than might have been anticipated by
any one who knew the fact that a proposal had been made and rejected.
Mr. Annesley is a very sweet young man, and he too was happy enough in
our friendly circle to leave us with regret, which expressed itself
silently in a fine and speaking countenance. We said farewell. The
morning saw our visitors set out at so early an hour that the track of
their carriage wheels alone reported of them when we met at breakfast.
Is there one bright, breathless, listening joy that ever hung upon
expected happiness which is not familiar to my memory; and is not
that memory too a faithful register of every pang that severed love
could teach the heart? How is it then, I wonder, that a tear is left
for minor griefs? Yet tears _will_ flow; and I felt the difference
between the gladsome merriment of approach, when our young friends were
introduced by Mrs. Fitzroy, and the melancholy of their departing hour.
Still we are not bereaved of our guests all at once, though I grieve
to add that another week will deprive me of dear Augusta Fitzroy, and
my charming Arthur. I have real pleasure in the hope of presenting
the latter to you one of these days, and in the mean time I prepare
you for finding him _almost_ all that I desire to see him. Such a
change I did not imagine possible, as has taken place in his mind
since he has been with us. The materials were in existence, no doubt,
but a London life has little need of _heart_, and, therefore, _his_
remained _hermetically sealed_, except when brought into action by
his inestimable friend young Falkland, whose letters, which Arthur
prsserves like "leaves of the Sybil", have rendered me acquainted with
his extra-ordinary virtues. _Now_ in full exercise, my dear nephew's
affections are the source of happiness to himself and delight to all
around. His abilities are shining, and, as habit strengthens the power
of applying them, I feel no doubt of his becoming an ornament to
society, and filling the situation appointed for him by Providence so
as to set an example worthy of imitation. Domestic anxiety at present
weighs upon his spirits, proving at once an acuteness of feeling and
exalted sense of rectitude, which promise a foundation of future
character, delightful to anticipate.
I must speak of George Bentley before I conclude; and, to answer your
inquiry in the _first_ instance, I am wholly unconscious of any ground
for his uncle's apprehensions, though had I been aware of any such
before we set out, I should not have consented to his being of our
Killarney party; however, as Mr. Bentley followed us, my anxiety was
removed. The young man is a fine and uncommon character: you shall
have a sketch of it as far as I can trace its peculiarities. George
Bentley offers a remarkable instance to prove, that what climate is to
the vegetable kingdom, such to man is the moral atmosphere by which
he is surrounded in early life. The temperature and aspect will not
indeed convert an oak into an elm; but as the sapling of either, or
of _any_ kind may be checked in its growth by the chill north-eastern
blast, and turned aside from the natural tendency of its course; or,
as the tender and languid seedling may be improved in strength by the
care which tempers its exposure, and provides shelter for its weakness,
just so may a particular bias of nature in the human mind be enfeebled
or invigorated by circumstance, that powerful agent in the completion
of its structure. Young Bentley came into the world with excellent
faculties and dispositions, but nothing could be less favourable than
that society in which they were to be unfolded. It is not the tutor's
lessons, it is the manners and opinions which _breathe_ around us, that
impart the _tone_ which distinguishes individuals from each other.
Young Bentley was formed in a different _mould_ of intellect from
all his family, and soon discovered in books, a companionship which
was denied in the circle of his immediate relations. As he advanced
in years, his mind, stimulated by a general sense of hunger, rather
than by any discrimination of appetite, sought food for the cravings
of curiosity in a library of motley mixture, accruing from various
professional hoards, and a medley of novels, annual registers, and
magazines, accumulated in a series of generations, through family
survivorship. He was not met at home by either literary tact or
talent. No, nor by that sort of tact which sometimes supplies in a
great degree, the defect of one and the other.