_From the same to the same_.
You cannot, I think, have forgotten, my dear Lucy, how often in the
pride of my heart I have blessed nature for having compounded my
character of better materials than those which our poet has inimitably
given to a species of beings, who, in my opinion, only encumber the
space allotted to mortals!
"Yet Cloe sure was form'd without a spot;
Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot;
With every pleasing, every prudent part,
Say, what does Cloe want? She wants a heart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought,
But never, never reach'd one generous thought."
So much for those who _want_ hearts. Now for those who have too much of
this useful, but combustible commodity; and who, proudly relying on its
impulses, drive on without knowing the course they steer, till they are
surprised to find themselves ingulphed in the worst of all the deadly
sins, which old Hannah, your cook, used to tell us St. Anthony quitted
when he forsook the world for a cowl. I mean _spite_ and _rancour_ of
spirit: and into this whirl-pool have I, for some time, been speeding,
at the instigation of my good friend, _a warm heart_. How truly may I
apply Pope's lines to myself!
"Oft in the passions' wild rotation tost,
The spring of action to myself is lost."
But confession is the best road to repentence, according to Hannah's
creed; and you will not be a worse confessor for the knowledge you have
of your present penitent's abhorrence of hypocrisy.
On Saturday evening Miss Flint asked us whether we meant to attend
divine service the following morning. Colds and rheumatic pains were
pleaded by the ladies. Sir Murdock was out of the question, he still
obstinately preferring his own prayers to Mr. Snughead's. I, nothing
loth to enjoy the silly triumph of seeing her mortified, promised to
accompany her, and my _conscience_ slept as sound as _I_ did. She
looked surprised on my joining her to go to church, to see me so
smartly dressed; and I mentioned my engagement to dine at the Abbey,
adding that I meant to walk from church with my friends; to which
she civilly replied, that she could set me down, and that I should
not discompose my dress by walking. We entered the church, passing
the broad stare from the benches, and took our seats in the pew.
Soon after entered the girls, in all the flutter of haste, and in
their new attire. As they passed to their seat the woman all rose,
as if by common consent, and curteseyed to Miss Howard with marked
respect. The captain received this compliment with more surprise than
gratitude, whilst Mary's cheeks were dyed with blushes. Her beautiful
hair, in which, to be poetical, the autumnal breeze had sported more
roughly than the zephyrs of the spring, had escaped from the little
straw bonnet, and, in some disorder, shadowed off the lilac-coloured
ribands: the simplicity of her person, clad in her unsullied white
robes, had however acquired a more elegant _tournure_ by the fashion
in which she was dressed. A lilac sash and shoes completed the
general opinion of the curious spectators, and with one accord, they
told "nurse Dobs," that Miss Howard was for once dressed _like "Mrs.
Howard's daughter."_ In passing our pew, she respectfully curtseyed
to her aunt, and on entering Wilson's, kneeled down. Miss Flint would
gladly have done the same, but she could not kneel; she removed
herself to the pillow, where she was concealed, and wept bitterly.
In the confession, her sobs were even audible; and in mine, Lucy, I
recollected that "I had done that which I ought not to have done." I
had with a cruel levity and inconsiderateness promised to my angry
passions, a gratification, for which my conscience and feelings now
reproved me. During Mr. Snughead's discourse on the inefficacy of
good works without faith, I was composing the lecture which such an
instance of my obduracy of heart as the one that stared me in the
face, would have called from our _christian mother_. Unable to reach
the purity, and I had almost said the divine eloquence which flowed in
her lessons, I endeavoured to recall her often repeated words: "You
have, Rachel," would she say, "an erring, but a faithful admonitress
in your bosom; you will never act wrong without feeling that you are
deviating. Never, for an instant, resist the intimation your conscience
will give you; the warmth of your temper requires all the vigilance of
your moral guide; and Heaven, in its mercy, has so constituted you,
that you cannot be unjust nor unmerciful, without feeling the pains you
inflict, with an acuteness proportioned to those faculties with which
you are endowed for the purpose of rising to eminence in virtue. You
may subvert the intentions of your Maker by an abuse of his gifts,
but even in this life you will be miserable by so doing; for you will
never be able to stifle the reproaches of a heart formed to have no
gratifications, but in seeing the happiness of all around it. Who
would reject such privileges, and turn from the sweet and satisfying
pleasure of doing good to all within our reach, for the indulgencies of
a petulant temper, and a stubborn self-will?"
The whole convocated clergy could not more effectually, nor more
authoritatively, have preached to me, than did the recollection of
this lesson, and _the occasion_ which gave rise to it. My part was
now chosen, and I whispered to Mrs. Heartley, on the service being
concluded, that I could not be with her till the tea hour. On going
down the aisle, the poor and truly crest-fallen Miss Flint was obliged
to proceed slowly; she is very lame. Amidst the half-whispered praises
of the beautiful niece, who preceded her, she overheard one old woman
say, "Aye, aye, she is like her parents, her's is not the beauty of
a day; like them, she will be an angel in heaven!" Miss Flint looked
distressed. "Lean on me, my dear Madam," said I aloud, and in an
endearing tone, "do not hurry." She pressed my arm with emotion; and
on reaching the carriage, wept so bitterly that I dreaded lest she
should have an hysteric fit: her tears were, however, its preventive;
and when somewhat more composed, she requested me to give the servant
the order to stop at the Abbey. I answered, with the compassion she had
excited, that I should not go; adding, "Let us extend our ride, the
morning is favourable, and the air will be useful to you." I pulled
the check-string; and we proceeded. The poor humiliated woman felt,
I believe, this kindness, as also my attempts to divert her. These
succeeded so well, that she dined in the parlour; and on quitting us to
rest for an hour, asked us to drink our tea in her apartment. I pleaded
my engagement; she coloured, and said, "Then, to-morrow?"--"Willingly,"
replied I, taking that _hard_ and burning hand in mine, which had
been my _horror_, "on condition that I find you here at supper-time
this evening." She bowed, unable to speak, and with Warner's help
and her stick, left the room. Lady Maclairn, who had attended her,
returned in a few minutes, saying, that Lucretia was trying to get a
nap; and cheerfully turning to me, she observed with a smile, that if
in time she hated the Heartleys, as cordially as Mr. Snughead did,
I should be answerable for the injustice. "How so?" asked I.--"They
monopolise too much of our comfort," replied she, "and you may, if
you please, warn them of the danger to which your partiality exposes
them."--"You would act much more consistently," replied I gaily, "to
warn them yourself; and by your influence with them, weaken mine. Why
do you persist," added I, with earnestness, "in depriving yourself
of a society so formed for you? Why will you refuse to visit those
whom you esteem?"--"I cannot act otherwise, Miss Cowley," answered
she, with seriousness; "I would visit them, were it possible for me
so to do without infringing upon what I think a duty."--"You will
pardon me," replied I, "for renewing a subject, on which you have
before so decidedly given a negative, in consequence of the motive
which at this time prompted me to recall it: this suggestion of my
mind may also stand in need of an apology; but it will have one with
you, in the goodness of my intentions. I think that after what has
passed, Sir Murdock ought to visit Captain Flint. He cannot otherwise
renew his visits here; and every means should be employed to effect
a reconciliation between him and his sister, who appears to me truly
concerned for this recent breach between her and her brother: besides
these inducements, for a compliment of this sort, I think Sir Murdock
owes this advance to _himself_ and _you_, as much as to Captain Flint.
What can mark his and your disapprobation of the violence which
has driven his niece and himself from the hall more strongly, than
convincing him, that you mean not to drop his acquaintance, nor to
avoid him, because he has been injured, and your roof abused?"--"Miss
Cowley is in the right," said the baronet rising with spirit. "I
have deferred too long to convince Mr. Flint that we have been
fellow-sufferers with himself in the outrage committed in this family,
and not the _aiders_ and _abettors_ of a cruelty which would be the
disgrace of a workhouse. You can have no objection to my waiting on the
captain for a purpose so indispensible to my honour," added he, with
some warmth of manner and addressing his wife.--"Sir Murdock Maclairn
needs not the guidance of any one," replied she with tenderness, "on
this, or any other question; his own understanding and principles will
always direct him to a conduct of propriety and justice. Were it not
for this conviction, I would say, _go this very evening_ with Miss
Cowley, and convince Captain Flint, that your wife has not suffered
less than his innocent Mary. He will say that Sir Murdock Maclairn
is entitled to his respect and esteem." I verily believe, Lucy, that
had not her husband strained her to his bosom, I should to mine, she
looked at this moment so amiable in my eyes. Malcolm flew to order
the curricle; and conducted by the baronet, I set out. On the road
some previous ceremony was adjusted; and on our arrival Sir Murdock
entered the captain's apartment, I sending him from the drawing-room
to entertain his visitor. They remained below some little time; when
the disembarrassed and cheerful air with which they joined the party,
relieved us. Mrs. Heartley overlooked, in her satisfaction, that it
was the first time the baronet had been in her house; but with the
most cordial frankness, she received him as an accustomed guest. She
introduced to him Mr. Greenwood and Doctor Douglas, her visitors,
and with the most courtly ease, Sir Murdock replied to her little
compliments, that he perceived her protection would soon recommend him
to the favour of his _neighbours_.
The night approached with a heavy fog, and in order to complete my
humiliation, Miss Flint sent her coach "for Miss Cowley's return."
Malcolm, whose hardness of heart still resists the hour of contrition,
affirms that this compliment to my health and accommodation included
Mr. Snughead's safety, who, profiting by the ordering of the carriage,
had escaped an evil he dreads as much as his lady's death, namely,
autumnal damps and the gout. I was not to be prevented; and finding her
in the parlour, repaid her kindness with my fooleries, and made her
laugh by a description of Doctor Douglas, with whose person and manners
I was pleased, and with which I affected to be enamoured. The poor
creature was amused; and your Rachel Cowley, somewhat at peace with
herself, bids you farewell.