THE MAN OF FEELING IN LOVE.
THE day before that on which he set out, he went to take leave of Mr.
Walton.—We would conceal nothing;—there was another person of the family
to whom also the visit was intended, on whose account, perhaps, there
were some tenderer feelings in the bosom of Harley than his gratitude for
the friendly notice of that gentleman (though he was seldom deficient in
that virtue) could inspire. Mr. Walton had a daughter; and such a
daughter! we will attempt some description of her by and by.
Harley’s notions of the καλον, or beautiful, were not always to be
defined, nor indeed such as the world would always assent to, though we
could define them. A blush, a phrase of affability to an inferior, a
tear at a moving tale, were to him, like the Cestus of Cytherea,
unequalled in conferring beauty. For all these Miss Walton was
remarkable; but as these, like the above-mentioned Cestus, are perhaps
still more powerful when the wearer is possessed of some degree of
beauty, commonly so called, it happened, that, from this cause, they had
more than usual power in the person of that young lady.
She was now arrived at that period of life which takes, or is supposed to
take, from the flippancy of girlhood those sprightlinesses with which
some good-natured old maids oblige the world at three-score. She had
been ushered into life (as that word is used in the dialect of St.
James’s) at seventeen, her father being then in parliament, and living in
London: at seventeen, therefore, she had been a universal toast; her
health, now she was four-and-twenty, was only drank by those who knew her
face at least. Her complexion was mellowed into a paleness, which
certainly took from her beauty; but agreed, at least Harley used to say
so, with the pensive softness of her mind. Her eyes were of that gentle
hazel colour which is rather mild than piercing; and, except when they
were lighted up by good-humour, which was frequently the case, were
supposed by the fine gentlemen to want fire. Her air and manner were
elegant in the highest degree, and were as sure of commanding respect as
their mistress was far from demanding it. Her voice was inexpressibly
soft; it was, according to that incomparable simile of Otway’s,
—“like the shepherd’s pipe upon the mountains,
When all his little flock’s at feed before him.”
The effect it had upon Harley, himself used to paint ridiculously enough;
and ascribed it to powers, which few believed, and nobody cared for.
Her conversation was always cheerful, but rarely witty; and without the
smallest affectation of learning, had as much sentiment in it as would
have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles of female materialism, to
account for. Her beneficence was unbounded; indeed the natural
tenderness of her heart might have been argued, by the frigidity of a
casuist, as detracting from her virtue in this respect, for her humanity
was a feeling, not a principle: but minds like Harley’s are not very apt
to make this distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all
that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature.
As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had frequent
opportunities of seeing her. He looked on her for some time merely with
that respect and admiration which her appearance seemed to demand, and
the opinion of others conferred upon her from this cause, perhaps, and
from that extreme sensibility of which we have taken frequent notice,
Harley was remarkably silent in her presence. He heard her sentiments
with peculiar attention, sometimes with looks very expressive of
approbation; but seldom declared his opinion on the subject, much less
made compliments to the lady on the justness of her remarks.
From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took more
particular notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the laws of
precedency, were better entitled to it: it was a mode of politeness she
had peculiarly studied, to bring to the line of that equality, which is
ever necessary for the ease of our guests, those whose sensibility had
placed them below it.
Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the world, yet
was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on his part; on the
contrary, the most delicate consciousness of propriety often kindled that
blush which marred the performance of it: this raised his esteem
something above what the most sanguine descriptions of her goodness had
been able to do; for certain it is, that notwithstanding the laboured
definitions which very wise men have given us of the inherent beauty of
virtue, we are always inclined to think her handsomest when she
condescends to smile upon ourselves.
It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love: in
the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition; for there were
certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a degree much above their
common complexion. In times not credulous of inspiration, we should
account for this from some natural cause; but we do not mean to account
for it at all; it were sufficient to describe its effects; but they were
sometimes so ludicrous, as might derogate from the dignity of the
sensations which produced them to describe. They were treated indeed as
such by most of Harley’s sober friends, who often laughed very heartily
at the awkward blunders of the real Harley, when the different faculties,
which should have prevented them, were entirely occupied by the ideal.
In some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton did not fail to be
introduced; and the picture which had been drawn amidst the surrounding
objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out to be viewed through the
medium of romantic imagination: it was improved of course, and esteem was
a word inexpressive of the feelings which it excited.