Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Tonya Allen,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.
ABRIDGED, CHIEFLY IN PARTS PERTAINING TO POLITICAL AND OTHER
CONTROVERSIES PREVALENT AT THE TIME IN GREAT BRITAIN.
CONTENTS.
LETTER I.
CHILDHOOD.--Reasons--Design--Martyrs' prison--Palace garden--Scenery--
Music--Study--Politics--A brother--Protestantism--The Bible--Judicious
plan
LETTER II.
YOUTH.--Private journals--Romance--The drama--Poetical taste--Loss of
hearing--Books--A change--Rural life--Stays--Tight-lacing--Ruinous
custom--The country
LETTER III.
EARLY DAYS.--Idling--Convictions--Anticipating evil--Mischievous errors
--Unreal estimates--Fake views--A parting--Fraternal love
LETTER IV.
YOUTH.--A grandmother--Unfashionable taste--A bereavement--Changes--
Travels--Punctuality--Ocean scenery--False confidence--A storm--Wonders
of the deep--Recklessness--An Arab steed--A fragment--Escapes--
Housewifery--Nova Scotia--Indians--Cosmopolitanism--Home
LETTER V.
IRELAND.--Oxford--Irishmen--The journey--The arrival--An escape--Dublin
--St. John's eve--The dance--Paganism--Trials--Levying distress--
Convictions--Terrors--Awakened conscience--God's teaching--Joy and peace
LETTER VI.
RELIGIOUS PROGRESS.--The church--Socinianism--Temptation--Metaphysics--
Athanasian creed--An epoch--My first tract--A new friend--"Hail Mary"--
Christian communion
LETTER VII.
KILKENNY.--A new residence--Another snare--Compromise--An apostate--"End
of controversy"--The snare broken--Another attack--An argument--
Discussion--The result
LETTER VIII.
The dumb boy.--A pupil--Jack's commencement--Inquiry--A dilemma--Dawning
light--Seasonings--A sunbeam--A soul born--A protester--Idolatry--
Faithfulness--Summons--Superstition--National character--Confession--
Infernal machinery
LETTER IX.
England.--The dumb boy--Jack's adventure--Departure from Ireland--Hannah
More--A carnal politician--Treachery--Afflictions--Jack's progress--
Prayer--Mercies--A soldier--A home--False judgment--Tranquillity
LETTER X.
Sandhurst.--A proposal--A snare--An incident--Papal fulmination--Jack's
petition--Happy caution--Perseverance--Zeal--Testimonies--A contrast
LETTER XI.
Separation.--Prejudices--Home--Forebodings--Danger--Trying scenes--
Queries--Awful contrast--Cadets--Retrospections--A visitation--Sympathy
--True feeling
LETTER XII.
Employment.--Sabbath meetings--Boys--An event--Forgiveness--Prejudices--
The Irish language--St. Giles's--A project--The Irish church
LETTER XIII.
A sunset.--A termination--A sunset--Resignation--The red hand--Joy and
peace--True wisdom--Sympathy--Earnestness--A dying protest--Sleeping in
Jesus
LETTER XIV.
A removal.--An appeal--Irish schools--Literary labors--Antinomianism--
Conclusion
SUBSEQUENT LIFE AND DEATH OF THE AUTHOR
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
LETTER I.
CHILDHOOD.
I have given my best consideration to the arguments by which you support
the demand for a few notices of events connected with my personal
recollections of the past. That which has chiefly influenced me is the
consideration, urged on what I know to be just and reasonable grounds,
that when it has pleased God to bring any one before the public in the
capacity of an author, that person becomes in some sense public
property; having abandoned the privacy from which no one ought to be
forced, but which any body may relinquish; and courted the observation
of the world at large. Such individuals are talked of during life, and
after death become the subject, I may say the prey, of that spirit which
reigned in Athens of old, and from which no child of Adam is wholly
free--the desire to hear and to tell some new thing. No sooner has the
person withdrawn from this mortal stage, than the pen of biography is
prepared to record, and a host of curious expectants are marshalled to
receive, some fragments at least of private history. I wish I could
dissent from your remark, that even godliness itself is too often sought
to be made a gain of in such cases. Writers who are themselves wholly
unenlightened by spiritual knowledge, and uninfluenced by spiritual
feeling, will take up as a good speculation what must to them be a
mystery, and wrong the subject of their memorial while they injure the
cause in which he labored. Even among those of better understanding in
the ways of truth, we do not often meet sound judgment, calm discretion,
and refined delicacy, combined with affection for the departed and zeal
for the gospel. Private journals are sought out, confidential letters
raked together, and a most unseemly exposure made alike of the dead and
the living.
This I have always seen and lamented; and being aware that my turn would
probably come to be thus exhibited, I have abstained from preserving
even the slightest memoranda of events, thoughts, or feelings, that
could be laid hold on as a private journal: and I have most distinctly
intimated to all those friends who possess any letters of mine, that I
shall regard it as a gross breach of confidence, a dishonorable, base,
and mercenary proceeding on their part, if ever they permit a sentence
addressed by me to them to pass into other hands. Indeed, to such an
extent have I felt this, that for many years past I have kept some
friends under a solemn pledge, that immediately after my death, they
will proclaim my having so guarded my correspondence, in order, if
possible, to shame the individuals from a course with regard to me which
I have never been inveigled into with regard to others. Looking on
epistolary communications as a trust not to be betrayed, I have
invariably refused to deliver to the biographers of my departed friends
any letters of theirs that I might possess: the first application for
them has always been the signal for committing the whole budget to the
flames.
This you know; and you say that the very precautions I have used will
leave my memory more completely at the mercy of ill-judging or ill-
informed survivors, who, in the absence of more authentic information,
may draw on their own invention, and do me injustice. This is the plea
that has prevailed with me now: the uncertainty of mortal life, with the
apprehension that if suddenly removed I shall become the heroine of some
strange romance, founded probably on the facts of a life by no means
deficient in remarkable incidents, but mixed up with a great deal of
fiction; and the consciousness that others may be thereby wounded, whom
I would not wish to wound--have decided me to act upon your suggestion,
and to draw out a little sketch of such matters as can alone concern the
public in any way. Into private domestic History no person possessed of
a particle of delicacy can wish to intrude. It is melancholy to witness
the prying spirit that some are but too ready to cater to, for filthy
lucre's sake: and grievous to reflect that the boasted immunity which
makes the cottage of the English peasant, no less than the palace of the
English noble, a castle--which so fences his domestic hearth that no man
may set foot within his door without his consent, or proclaim an untruth
concerning him without being legally compelled to render compensation,
should be withdrawn from his grave. I cannot tell you how I have blushed
for the living, and kindled with resentment on behalf of the dead, when
contemplating the merciless desecration of what may truly be called the
sacredness of home, in some biographical notices.
You may therefore expect to find in these sheets a record of that mental
and spiritual discipline by which it has pleased the Lord to prepare me
for the very humble, yet not very narrow, sphere of literary usefulness
in which it was his good purpose to bid me move; with whatever of
outward things, passing events, and individual personal adventure, as it
is called, may be needful to illustrate the progress. Of living
contemporaries I shall of course not speak: of the dead no further than
as I would myself be spoken of by them, had I gone first. Public events
I shall freely discuss, and hold back nothing that bears on spiritual
subjects. Nobody shall ever need to be at the trouble of posthumously
searching out and proclaiming my opinions on any topic whatever, apart
from personalities. I will not withhold, nor disguise, nor soften them
down; and if the charge of egotism be brought, let the accusers lay
their hands upon their hearts, and declare that they would not have
sanctioned another in performing for me, as a defunct writer, the office
which nobody can fulfil half so well, because nobody can do it half so
correctly, as myself.
To commence the task, in which I earnestly implore the Father of all
mercies and Teacher of all truth to guide me, to guard me from
misstatement, to preserve me from self-seeking, and to overrule it to
the glory of his great name, I must remind you that my birthplace was
Norwich; a fine old town, distinguished for its many antiquities, the
beauty of its situation on a rising ground, interspersed with a
profusion of rich gardens, and studded with churches to the number of
thirty-five, including a majestic cathedral. Many years have elapsed
since I last beheld it, and perhaps the march of modern improvement has
so changed its features, that were I now to dwell upon my recollections
of that cherished home, they would not be recognized. But I cannot
forget the early impressions produced on my mind by the peculiarities of
the place; nor must they be omitted here. The sphere in which it is my
dearest privilege to labor, is the cause of Protestantism; and sometimes
when God has blessed my poor efforts to the deliverance of some captive
out of the chains of Popish delusion, I have recalled the fact of being
born just opposite the dark old gateway of that strong building where
the noble martyrs of Mary's day were imprisoned. I have recollected that
the house wherein I drew my first breath was visible through the grated
window of their prison, and a conspicuous object when its gates unfolded
to deliver them to unjust judgment and a cruel death. Are any of the
prayers of those glorified saints fulfilled in the poor child who was
brought into the world on that particular spot, though at the distance
of some ages? The query could not be answered, but the thought has
frequently cheered me on. The stern-looking gateway opening on St.
Martin's plain, was probably one of the very first objects traced on the
retina of my infant eye, when it ranged beyond the inner walls of the
nursery; and often, with tottering step, I passed beneath that arch into
the splendid garden of our noble episcopal palace; and certainly, if my
Protestantism may not be traced to that locality, my taste may; for from
all the elaborate display of modern architecture, all the profuse
luxuriance and endless variety of modern horticulture, I now turn away,
to feast in thought on the recollection of that venerable scene. The
palace itself is a fine specimen of the chaste old English style; but
the most conspicuous, the most unfading feature, was the cathedral
itself, which formed the boundary of one-half of the garden; a mass of
sober magnificence, rising in calm repose against the sky, which, to my
awe-struck gaze and childish imagination, seemed to rest upon its
exquisitely formed spire. Seated on the grass, busying my fingers with
the daisies that were permitted to spring around, I have been lost in
such imaginings as I suppose not many little children indulge in, while
permitting my eyes to rove over the seemingly interminable mass of old
grey stone, and then to fall upon the pleasant flowers around me. I
loved silence, for nothing that fell on the ear seemed in accordance
with what so charmed the eye; and thus a positive evil found entrance in
the midst of much enjoyment. I acquired that habit of dreamy
excursiveness into imaginary scenes, and among unreal personages, which
is alike inimical to rational pursuits and opposed to spiritual-
mindedness. To a period so early as the middle of my fourth year I can
revert with the most perfect, most vivid recollection of my habitual
thoughts and feelings; and at that age, I can unhesitatingly declare, my
mind was deeply tinctured with a romance not derived from books, nor
from conversation, but arising, as I verily believe, out of the singular
adaptation to each other of my natural taste and the scenery amidst
which it began to develop itself. Our abode was changed to another part
of the city before this period arrived; but the bishop's garden was
still our haunt, and my supreme delight.
An immense orchard, shrubbery, and flower-garden were attached to my
father's new residence, to which he had removed on account of its
proximity to the church of which he was rector. This, too, was an old-
fashioned house, mantled with a vine, and straggling out, in irregular
buildings, along the slope of the garden. The centre of an immense
grass-plot, studded with apple, pear, and plum trees, was occupied by
the most gigantic mulberry I ever beheld, the thick trunk of which
resembled that of a knotted oak, while in its forest of dark branches
nestled a number of owls and hats. Oh, how I loved to lurk beneath its
shadow on a summer evening, and await the twilight gloom, that the large
owl might come forth and wheel around the tree, and call out his
companions with a melancholy hoot; while the smaller bat, dipping lower
in his flight, brushed by me, accustomed to my presence. I had entered
betimes upon the pernicious study of nursery tales, as they then were,
and without having the smallest actual belief in the existence of
fairies, goblins, or any such things, I took unutterable delight in
surrounding myself with hosts of them, decked out in colors of my own
supplying, gorgeous or terrible beyond the conception of my classic
authorities. The faculty of realizing whatever I pictured to myself was
astonishingly great; and you must admit that the localities in which I
was placed were but too favorable to the formation of a character which
I have no doubt the enemy was secretly constructing within me, to
mislead, by wild, unholy fiction, such as should come within the range
of its, influence. To God be all the glory that I am not now pandering
with this pen to the most grovelling or the most impious of man's
perverted feelings.
But above all other tastes, all other cravings, one passion reigned
supreme, and that acme of enjoyment to me was music. This also was met
by indulgence as unlimited as its cravings; for not only did my father
possess one of the finest voices in the world, and the very highest
degree of scientific knowledge, taste, and skill in the management of
it, but our house was seldom without an inmate in the person of his most
intimate friend and brother clergyman, a son of the celebrated composer
Mr. Linley, who was as highly gifted in instrumental as my father was in
vocal music. The rich tones of his old harpsichord seem at this moment
to fill my ear and swell my heart; while my father's deep, clear, mellow
voice breaks in, with some noble recitative or elaborate air of Handel,
Haydn, and the rest of a school that may be superseded, but never, never
can be equalled by modern composers. Or the harpsichord was
relinquished to another hand, and the breath of our friend came forth
through the reed of his hautboy in strains of such overpowering melody,
that I have hid my face on my mother's lap to weep the feelings that
absolutely wrung my little heart with excess of enjoyment. This was not
a snare; or, if it might have been made one, the Lord broke it in time,
by taking away my hearing. I would not that it had been otherwise, for
while a vain imagination was fostered by the habit I have before
adverted to, this taste for music and its high gratification most
certainly elevated the mind. I do firmly believe that it is a gift from
God to man, to be prized, cherished, cultivated. I believe that the man
whose bosom yields no response to the concord of sweet sounds, falls
short of the standard to which man should aspire as an intellectual
being; and though Satan does fearfully pervert this solace of the mind
to most vile purposes, still I heartily agree with Martin Luther, that,
in the abstract, "the devil hates music."
Before I had completed my sixth year, I came under the rod of discipline
which was to fall so long and so perseveringly upon me ere I should
"hear the rod and who had appointed it." Enthusiastic in every thing,
and already passionately fond of reading, I had eagerly accepted the
offer of a dear uncle, a young physician, to teach me French. I loved
him, for he was gentle and kind, and very fond of me; and it was a great
happiness to trip through the long winding street that separated us, to
turn down by the old Bridewell, so celebrated as an architectural
curiosity, being built of dark flint stones, exquisitely chiselled into
the form of bricks, and which even then I could greatly admire, and to
take my seat on my young uncle's knee, in the large hall of his house,
where stood a very large and deep-toned organ, some sublime strain from
which was to reward my diligence, if I repeated accurately the lesson he
had appointed. Thus between love for my uncle, delight in his organ, and
a natural inclination to acquire learning, I was stimulated to
extraordinary efforts, and met the demand on my energies in a very
unsafe way. I placed my French book under my pillow every night, and
starting from repose at the earliest break of dawn, strained my sleepy
eyes over the page, until, very suddenly, I became totally blind.
This was a grievous blow to my tender parents: the eclipse was so
complete that I could not tell whether it was midnight or midnoon, so
far as perception of light was concerned, and the case seemed hopeless.
It was, however, among the "all things" that God causes to work together
for good, while Satan eagerly seeks to use them for evil. It checked my
inordinate desire for mere acquirements, which I believe to be a bad
tendency, particularly in a female, while it threw me more upon my own
resources, such as they were, and gave me a keen relish for the highly
intellectual conversation that always prevailed in our home. My father
delighted in the society of literary men; and he was himself of a turn
so argumentative, so overflowing with rich conversation, so decided in
his political views, so alive to passing events, so devotedly and so
proudly the Englishman, that with such associates as he gathered about
him at his own fireside, I don't see how the little blind girl, whose
face was ever turned up towards the unseen speaker, and whose mind
opened to every passing remark, could avoid becoming a thinker, a
reasoner, a tory, and a patriot. Sometimes a tough disputant crossed our
threshold; one of these was Dr. Parr, and brilliant were the flashes
resulting from such occasional collision with antagonists of that
calibre. I am often charged with the offence of being too political in
my writings: the fact is, I write as I think and feel; and what else can
you expect from a child reared in such a nursery?
But another consequence of this temporary visitation was an increased
passion for music. The severe remedies used for my blindness frequently
laid me on the sofa for days together, and then my fond father would
bring home with him, after the afternoon service of the cathedral, of
which he was also a canon, a party of the young choristers. My godfather
would seat himself at the harpsichord; the boys, led by my father,
performed the vocal parts; and such feasts of sacred music were served
up to me, that I have breathed to my brother in an ecstatic whisper the
confession, "I don't want to see; I like music better than seeing."
That brother I have not before named; but that only brother was a second
self. Not that he resembled me in any respect, for he was beautiful to a
prodigy, and I an ordinary child; he was wholly free from any
predilection for learning, being mirthful and volatile in the highest
degree; and though he listened when I read to him the mysterious marvels
of my favorite nursery books, I doubt whether he ever bestowed an after-
thought on any thing therein contained. The brightest, the sweetest, the
most sparkling creature that ever lived, he was all joy, all love. I do
not remember to have seen him for one moment out of temper or out of
spirits for the first sixteen years of his life; and he was to me what
the natural sun is to the system. We were never separated; our studies,
our plays, our walks, our plans, our hearts were always one. That holy
band which the Lord has woven, that inestimable blessing of fraternal
love and confidence, was never broken, never loosened between us, from
the cradle to his grave; and God forbid that I should say or think that
the grave has broken it. If I have not from the outset included that
precious brother in my sketch, it was because I should almost as soon
have deemed it necessary to include by name my own head or my own heart.
He too was musical, and sang sweetly, and I cannot look back on my
childhood without confessing that its cup ran over with the profusion of
delights that my God poured into it.
About this time, when my sight, after a few months' privation, was fully
restored, I first imbibed the strength of Protestantism as deeply as it
can be imbibed apart from spiritual understanding, Norwich was
infamously conspicuous in persecuting unto death the saints of the Most
High, under the sanguinary despotism of popish Mary; and the spot where
they suffered, called the Lollard's pit, lies just outside the town,
over Bishop's bridge, having a circular excavation against the side of
Moushold-hill. This, at least to within a year or two ago, was kept
distinct, an opening by the road-side. My father often took us to walk
in that direction, and pointed out the pit, and told us that there Mary
burnt good people alive for refusing to worship wooden images. I was
horror-stricken, and asked many questions, to which he did not always
reply so fully as I wished; and one day, having to go out while I was
inquiring, he said, "I don't think you can read a word of this book, but
you may look at the pictures: it is all about the martyrs." So saying,
he placed on a chair the old folio of Foxe's Acts and Monuments, in
venerable black-letter, and left me to examine it.
Hours passed and still found me bending over, or rather leaning against
that magic book. I could not, it is true, decipher the black-letter, but
I found some explanations in Roman type, and devoured them; while every
wood-cut was examined with aching eyes and a palpitating heart.
Assuredly I took in more of the spirit of John Foxe, even by that
imperfect mode of acquaintance, than many do by reading his book
through; and when my father next found me at what became my darling
study, I looked up at him with burning cheeks and asked, "Papa, may I be
a martyr?"
"What do you mean, child?"
"I mean, papa, may I be burned to death for my religion, as these were?
I want to be a martyr."
He smiled, and made me this answer, which I have never forgotten: "Why,
Charlotte, if the government ever gives power to the Papists again, as
they talk of doing, you may probably live to be a martyr."
I remember the stern pleasure that this reply afforded me; of spiritual
knowledge not the least glimmer had ever reached me in any form, yet I
knew the Bible most intimately, and loved it with all my heart as the
most sacred, the most beautiful of earthly things. Already had its
sublimity caught my adoration; and when listening to the lofty language
of Isaiah, as read from his stall in the cathedral by my father in
Advent, and the early Sundays of the year, while his magnificent voice
sent the prophetic denunciations pealing through those vaulted aisles, I
had received into my mind, and I think into my heart, that scorn of
idolatry which breathes so thrillingly in his inspired page. This I
know, that at six years old the foundation of a truly scriptural protest
was laid in my character; and to this hour it is my prayer that whenever
the Lord calls me hence, he may find his servant not only watching but
working against the diabolical iniquity that filled the Lollard's pit
with the ashes of his saints.
And now upon that all-important topic the Bible I would remark, that
among the most invaluable blessings of my life I remember the judicious
conduct of my parents in regard to it. We generally find that precious
volume made a book of tasks; sometimes even a book of penalties: the
consequence of so doing cannot but be evil. With us it was emphatically
a reward book. That identical book is now before me, in its rich red
cover, elegantly emblazoned with the royal arms; for it is the very
Bible that was placed before queen Charlotte at her coronation in 1761;
and which, becoming the perquisite of a prebendary of Westminster, was
by his wife presented to my mother, to whom she stood sponser. This
royal Bible was highly prized; and it was with special favor that it was
opened for us when we had been good, and were deemed worthy of some mark
of approval. My father, then, whose voice made music of every thing,
would read to us the history of Abel, of Noah, of Moses, of Gideon, or
some other of the exquisite narratives of the Old Testament. I do not
say that they were made the medium of conveying spiritual instruction;
they were unaccompanied by note or comment, written or oral, and merely
read as histories, the fact being carefully impressed on our minds that
God was the author, and that it would be highly criminal to doubt the
truth of any word in that book. * * * The consequences of this early
instruction, imparted as an indulgence, I have reason daily to rejoice
in: it led me to search for myself the inspired pages; it taught me to
expect beauties, and excellences, and high intellectual gratification
where God has indeed caused them to abound. As in the natural world we
find the nutritious fruit not lying like pebbles on the ground, but hung
on graceful trees and shrubs, heralded by fair and fragrant blossoms,
embowered in verdant foliage, and itself beautifully shaped and tinted;
so has the Lord arranged that the garden where grows the fruit of the
tree of life, should abound in all that is most lovely to man's natural
perception; and do we not slight this bounteous care for our mind's
enjoyment while he makes provision for our soul's sustenance, when we
neglect to point these things out to the notice of our children? The
word was my delight many a year before it became my counsellor; and when
at last the veil was withdrawn from my heart, and Jesus stood revealed
as the Alpha and Omega of that blessed book, it was not like gradually
furnishing a vacant place with valuable goods, but like letting a flood
of day into one already most-richly stored with all that was precious;
though, for lack of light whereby to discern their real nature, the gems
had been regarded but as common things. My memory was plentifully stored
with what it had been, my free choice to study; and when in the progress
of this little narrative you learn how mercifully I have been preserved
from doctrinal error in its various forms, through that full
acquaintance with God's word, you will trace his marvellous workings in
thus furnishing my mind, as it were, with an armory of ready weapons,
and will be ready to echo with increased earnestness that emphatic
declaration, "The Bible, the Bible alone, is the religion of
Protestants;" and not only to echo, but also to act upon it.
Religion, however, did at this early period of my life become a very
important concern in my eyes; our mother had taken infinite pains to
assure us of one great truth--the omniscience of an omnipresent God--and
this I never could for a moment shake off. It influenced us both in a
powerful manner, so that if either committed a fault, we never rested
until, through mutual exhortation on the ground that God certainly knew
it, and would be angry if we added deceit to another error, we had
encouraged each other to confession. We then went, hand in hand, to our
mother, and the one who stood clear of the offence acknowledged it in
the name of the transgressor, while both asked pardon. Never did
children more abhor a lie: we spurned its meanness, while trembling at
its guilt; and nothing bound us more closely and exclusively together
than, the discoveries we were always making of a laxity among other
children in this respect. On such occasions we would shrink into a
corner by ourselves and whisper, "Do they think God does not hear that?"
Self-righteousness, no doubt, existed in a high degree; we were baby
Pharisees, rejoicing in the external cleanliness of cup and platter; but
I look back with great thankfulness on the mercy that so far restrained
us: an habitual regard to truth has carried me safely through many a
trial, and, as a means, guarded me from many a snare. It cannot be too
early or too strongly inculcated; nor should any effort be considered
too great, any difficulty too discouraging, any reprobation too strong,
or, I will add, any punishment too severe, when the object in view is to
overcome this infamous vice in a child. Once I remember having been led
into a lie at the instigation, and through the contrivance of a servant-
girl, for whose benefit it was told. Suspicion instantly arose, from my
dreadful embarrassment of manner; a strict investigation commenced; the
girl told me to face it out, for that nobody else knew of it, and she
would not flinch. But my terrors of conscience were insupportable; I
could ill bear my father's steady eye fixed on mine, still less the
anxious, wondering, incredulous expression of my brother's innocent
face, who could not for a moment fancy me guilty. I confessed at once;
and with a heavy sigh my father sent to borrow from a neighbor an
instrument of chastisement never before needed in his own house. He took
me to another room, and said, "Child, it will pain me more to punish you
thus, than any blows I can inflict will pain you; but I must do it; you
have told a lie--a dreadful sin, and a base, mean, cowardly action. If I
let you grow up a liar, you will reproach me for it one day; if I now
spared the rod, I should hate the child." I took the punishment in a
most extraordinary spirit: I wished every stroke had been a stab; I wept
because the pain was not great enough; and I loved my father at that
moment better than even I, who almost idolized him, had ever loved him
before. I thanked him, and I thank him still; for I never transgressed
in that way again. The servant was called, received her wages and a most
awful lecture, and was discharged the same hour. Yet, of all these
things what sunk deepest into my very soul were the sobs and cries of my
fond little brother, and the lamentable tones of his soft voice,
pleading through the closed door, "O, papa, don't whip Charlotte. O
forgive poor Charlotte."
It is sweet to know we have a Brother indeed who always pleads, and
never pleads in vain for the offending child; a Father whose
chastisements are not withheld, but administered in tender love;
judgment being his strange work, and mercy that wherein he delights, and
the peaceable fruits of righteousness the end of his corrections. The
event to which I have referred may appear too trivial a thing to record;
but it is by neglecting trivial things that we ruin ourselves and our
children. The usual mode of training these immortal beings, the plan of
leaving them to servants and to themselves, the blind indulgence that
passes by, with a slight reprimand only, a wilful offence, and the
mischievous misapplication of doctrine that induces some to let nature
do her worst, because nothing but grace can effectually suppress her
evil workings; all these are faulty in the extreme, and no less
presumptuous than foolish: this has produced that "spirit of the age"
which, operating in a "pressure from without," is daily forcing us
further from the good old paths in which we ought to walk, and in which
our forefathers did walk, when they gave better heed than we do to the
inspired word, which tells us, "Foolishness is bound up in the heart of
a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him."
Affectionately yours,
C. E.
LETTER II.
YOUTH.
I have long been persuaded that there is no such thing as an honest
private journal, even where the entries are punctually made under
present impressions. There is so much of positive, active evil always at
work in the mind, that to give a fair transcript of idle unprofitable
thoughts and corrupt imaginings, is out of the question: evil is dealt
with in generals, good in particulars, and the balance cannot be fairly
struck. Those confessions of indwelling sin that remorse will wring from
us, and which perhaps are penned at the moment in perfect sincerity,
being unaccompanied with, the specifications that would invest them in
their naturally hideous colors, beneath the searching light of God's
holy and spiritual law, wear the lovely garb of unfeigned humility. The
reader, coming to such self-condemnatory clauses, is struck with
admiration at the saintly writer's marvellous self-abasement, only
lamenting that he should, in the excess of his lowly-mindedness, have
written such, bitter things against himself, at a time when he was
grieving, resisting, almost quenching the Holy Spirit within by
obstinate transgression.
And if the present, how much more is the past liable to be glossed over?
To be faithful here is next to impossible, for Satan helps us to deceive
ourselves and instructs us to carry out the deception to others. This
consideration might well cause the pen of autobiography to drop from a
Christian's hand, did not an earnest desire to glorify God in his
merciful dealings, together with the consciousness that to no other
could the task he safely delegated, act as a counterpoise to the
discouragement. I do desire to magnify the exceeding riches of God's
grace to me, if I may do so without increasing the charge of arrogant
assumption. I know that among the diversity of gifts which he bestows on
his creatures, he granted me a portion of mental energy, a quickness of
perception, a liveliness of imagination, an aptitude for expressing the
thoughts that were perpetually revolving in my mind, such as to fit me
for literary occupation. I know that Satan, to whom such instruments are
exceedingly valuable, marked me as one who would, if properly trained to
it, do his work effectually within his own sphere; and I am not more
sure of my present existence than I am of the fact that he strove to
secure me for that purpose, from the first expanding of those faculties
which evidently lie exposed to his observation and open to his attacks,
as far as God permits him to work. Can I feel all this, and not bless
the Lord, who so far baffled these designs, and deigned to appoint my
field of labor within the sacred confines of his own vineyard?
The visitation of which I have spoken had a powerful influence on my
after-life; it rendered the preservation of my newly-restored sight an
object of paramount importance, to which the regular routine of
education must needs be sacrificed. A boarding-school had never been
thought of for me. My parents loved their children too well to meditate
their expulsion from the paternal roof; and the children so well loved
their parents and each other that such a separation would have been
insupportable to them. Masters we had in the necessary branches of
education, and we studied together so far as I was permitted to study;
but before it was deemed safe to exercise my eyes with writing
apparatus, I had stealthily possessed myself of a patent copy-book, by
means of which, tracing the characters as they shone through the paper,
I was able to write with tolerable freedom before any one knew that I
could join two letters; and I well remember my father's surprise, not
unmixed with annoyance, when he accidentally took up a letter which I
had been writing to a distant relation, giving a circumstantial account
of some domestic calamity which had no existence but in my brain;
related with so much pathos too, that my tears had fallen over the slate
whereon this my first literary attempt was very neatly traced. He could
not forbear laughing; but ended with a grave shake of the head, and a
remark to the effect that I was making more haste than good speed.
At this time, seven years of age, I became entangled in a net of
dangerous fascination. One evening my brother was taken to the theatre,
while I, on account of a cold, had to stay at home. To compensate for
this, I was permitted to read the play to him; and that play was, "The
Merchant of Venice." I will not dwell upon the effect. I had already
become fond of such theatrical spectacles as were considered suitable
for children--pantomime and broad farce--and like a child I gazed upon the
glitter, and enjoyed the bustle; but now, seated in a corner, all quiet
about me, and nothing to interfere with the mental world, I drank a cup
of intoxication under which my brain reeled for many a year. The
character of Shylock burst upon me, even as Shakspeare had conceived it.
I revelled in the terrible excitement that it gave rise to; page after
page was stereotyped upon a most retentive memory without an effort, and
during a sleepless night I feasted on the pernicious sweets thus hoarded
in my brain.
Pernicious indeed they were; for from that hour my diligence in study,
my docility of conduct, every thing that is usually regarded as
praiseworthy in a child, sprung from a new motive. I wanted to earn a
reward, and that was no longer a sweet story from the Bible, but
permission to carry into my retreat a volume of Shakspeare. A taste so
unusual at my age was hailed with applause; visitors questioned me on
the different plays, to ascertain my intimate acquaintance with the
characters; but no one, not even my father, could persuade me to recite
a line, or to listen when another attempted it, or to witness the
representation of any play of Shakspeare. This I mention to prove what a
powerful hold the enemy of all godliness must have expected to take on a
spirit so attuned to romance. Reality became insipid, almost hateful to
me; conversation, except that of the literary men to whom I have
alluded, a burden. I imbibed a thorough contempt for women, children,
and household affairs, intrenching myself behind invisible barriers that
few, very few, could pass. Oh how many wasted hours, how much of
unprofitable labor, what wrong to my fellow-creatures, what robbery of
God, must I refer to this ensnaring book. My mind became unnerved, my
judgment perverted, my estimate of people and things wholly falsified,
and my soul wrapped in the vain solace of unsubstantial enjoyments
during years of after sorrow, when but for this I might have early
sought the consolations of the gospel. Parents know not what they do,
when from vanity, thoughtlessness, or overindulgence, they foster in a
young girl what is called a poetical taste. Those things highly esteemed
among men are held in abomination with God; they thrust him from his
creatures' thoughts, and enshrine a host of polluting idols in his
place.
My father, I am sure, wished to check the evil which, as a sensible man,
he could not but foresee; my state of health, however, won a larger
portion of indulgence than was good for me. The doctors into whose hands
I had fallen, were of the school now happily very much exploded: they
had one panacea for almost every ill, and that was the perilous drug
mercury. With it, they rather fed than physicked me; and its deleterious
effects on the nervous system were doubly injurious to me, as increasing
tenfold the excitability that required every curb. Among all the marvels
of my life, the greatest is that of my having grown up to be one of the
healthiest of human beings, and with an inexhaustible flow of even
mirthful spirits; for certainly I was long kept hovering on the verge of
the grave by the barbarous excess to which medical experiments were
carried; and I never entertained a doubt that the total loss of my
hearing before I was ten years old, was owing to a paralysis induced by
such severe treatment. God, however, had his own purposes to work out,
which neither Satan nor man could hinder. He overruled all for the
furtherance of his own gracious designs.
Shut out by this last dispensation from my two delightful resources,
music and conversation, I took refuge in books with tenfold avidity. By
this time I had added the British poets generally to my original stock,
together with such reading as is usually prescribed for young ladies;
and I underwent the infliction of reading aloud to my mother the seven
mortal volumes of Sir Charles Grandison. It was in the fulfilment of
this awful task that I acquired a habit particularly mischievous and
ensnaring--that of reading mechanically, with a total abstraction of
mind from what I was about. This became the easier to me from the
absence of all external sound; and its consequences are exceedingly
distressing to this day, as experienced in a long-indulged, and
afterwards most bitterly lamented wandering of the mind in prayer and in
reading the Scriptures. In fact, through the prevalence of this habit,
my devotions, always very punctually performed, became such an utter
lip-service, as frequently to startle and terrify my conscience, when I
found myself saying prayers and thinking idle songs or scraps of plays;
but I regarded such transient pangs of remorse as a satisfaction for the
sin, and never dreamed of resisting the general habit.
Thus far I had led a town life, residing in the heart of a populous
city, enjoying indeed that noble garden, but daily more and more
absorbed in books of fancy. Happily, my health became so affected that a
removal into the country was judged necessary, and I forgave the doctors
all their past persecution of me, in consideration of their parting
injunctions, which were, that I was to have unbounded liberty; to live
entirely in the open air, save when the weather forbade; to be amused
with all rural occupations; and especially to frequent farm-yards, for
the purpose of inhaling the breath of cows. My father exchanged
parochial duty with a friend, taking his village congregation, and
engaging a house very near the church.
That tall white house, what a place it holds in my fond recollection. It
was perfectly an old parsonage, and behind it lay a garden larger than
our city orchard, sloping gently down, with a profusion of fruit and
flowers, bounded by high walls, and the central walk terminating in a
door, beyond which lay the scene of our greatest enjoyment. A narrow
slip of grass, fringed with osiers and alders and willows, alone
separated the wall from a very clear, lovely stream, which winding half
round an extensive common, turned a mill. This small river abounded with
fish, and we soon became expert anglers; besides which, on creeping to
some distance by a path of our own discovery, we could cross the stream
on a movable plank, and take a wide range through, the country. This
removal was a double resource: it invigorated my bodily frame, until I
outgrew and out-bloomed every girl of my age in the neighborhood, while
really laying a foundation for many years of uninterrupted health, and a
constitution to defy the change of climate for which I was destined;
while it won me from the sickening, enervating habit of sedentary
enjoyment over the pages of a book, which, added to the necessary
studies and occupations, was relaxing alike the tone of the bodily and
mental frame. From the polluted works of man, I was drawn to the
glorious works of God; and never did bird of the air or beast of the
field more luxuriate in the pure bright elements of nature than I did.
All the poetical visions of liberty that had floated in my brain seemed
now realized; all pastoral descriptions faded before the actual
enjoyment of rural life. Sometimes wreathing garlands of, wild flowers,
reclined on a sunny bank, while a flock of sheep strolled around, and
the bold little lambs came to peep in our faces, and then gallop away in
pretended alarm; sometimes tearing our clothes to tatters in an ardent
hunt for the sweet filberts that hung high above our heads, on trees
well fortified behind breastworks of bramble and thorn; sometimes
cultivating the friendship while we quaffed the milk of the good-natured
cows under the dairymaid's operation: all was freedom, mirth, and peace.
Often would my father take his noble pointers preparatory to the
shooting season, at once to try their powers and to ascertain what
promise of future sport the fields presented. These were destructive
expeditions in one sense. I remember the following dialogue, repeated to
me by my brother, when we made our appearance at home after a day's
demolition of wearing apparel.
"Mr. B. this will never do; that girl cannot wear a frock twice without
soiling it; nor keep it whole for a week: the expense will ruin us."
"Well, my dear, if I am to be ruined by expense, let it come in the
shape of the washerwoman's and linen-draper's bills, not in those of the
apothecary and undertaker."
My dear father was right; and it would be a happy thing for girls in
general, if somewhat of appearance, and of acquirement too, was
sacrificed to what God has so liberally provided, and to the enjoyment
of which a blessing is undoubtedly annexed. Where, among females, do we
find the stamina of constitution and the elasticity of spirit which
exist in those of our rural population who follow outdoor employment? It
positively pains me to see a party of girls, a bonneted and tippeted
double-file of humanity,
"That like a wounded snake drags its slow length along,"
under the keen surveillance of a governess, whose nerves would never be
able to endure the shock of seeing them bound over a stream and scramble
through a fence, or even toss their heads and throw out their limbs as
all young animals, except that oppressed class called young ladies, are
privileged to do. Having ventured, in a fit of my country daring, to
break the ice of this very rigid and frigid subject, I will recount
another instance of the paternal good sense to which I owe, under God,
the physical powers without which my little talent might have been laid
by in a napkin all my days.
One morning, when his daughter was about eight years old, my father came
in, and found sundry preparations going on, the chief materials for
which were buckram, whalebone, and other stiff articles, while the young
lady was under measurement by the hands of a female friend.
"Pray, what are you going to do to the child?"
"Going to fit her with a pair of stays."
"For what purpose?"
"To improve her figure; no young lady can grow up properly without
them."
"I beg your pardon; young gentlemen grow up very well without them, and
so may young ladies."
"O, you are mistaken. See what a stoop she has already; depend on it
this girl will be both a dwarf and a cripple if we don't put her into
stays."
"My child may be a cripple, ma'am, if such is God's will; but she shall
be one of his making, not ours."
All remonstrance was vain; stays and every species of tight dress were
strictly prohibited by the authority of one whose will was, as every
man's ought to be, absolute in his own household. He also carefully
watched against any evasion of the rule: a ribbon drawn tightly round my
waist would have been cut without hesitation by his determined hand;
while the little girl of the anxious friend whose operations he had
interrupted, enjoyed all the advantages of that system from which I was
preserved. She grew up a wandlike figure, graceful and interesting, and
died of decline at nineteen; while I, though not able to compare shapes
with a wasp or an hour-glass, yet passed muster very fairly among mere
human forms of God's moulding; and I have enjoyed to this hour a rare
exemption from headaches, and other ladylike maladies, that appear the
almost exclusive privilege of women in the higher classes.