render him more contented with his situation, and attempted to teach Mrs
Alworth to think, but in both was equally unsuccessful. However, this
was not all she had to endure. When Mr Alworth began with unprejudiced
eyes to compare her he had lost with the woman for whom he relinquished
her; when he saw how greatly Harriot's natural beauty eclipsed Mrs
Alworth's notwithstanding the addition of all her borrowed charms, he
wondered what magic had blinded him to her superiority. But when he drew
a comparison between the admirable understanding of the one, her great
fund of knowledge, the inexhaustible variety in her conversation, with
the insipid dullness or unmeaning vivacity of the other, he was still
more astonished and could not forgive his strange infatuation. This
train of thought perhaps had no small share in giving rise to a passion
for Harriot which he had never felt, while it might have been the source
of much happiness to them both. In short, he became violently in love
with her and fell a prey to the most cruel regret and despair, sensible
that all he suffered was the consequence of his own folly.
Respect for Harriot made Mr Alworth endeavour to conceal his passion,
but could not prevent its daily increase. At this time I became
acquainted with her, during a visit I made in the neighbourhood; and as
the natural openness both of her disposition and mine inclined us to
converse with much freedom, I one day took the liberty to tell her how
much Mr Alworth was in love with her. She had not the least suspicion of
it, the entire affection which had always subsisted between them she
imagined sufficient to lead me into that error but told me the thing was
impossible; and to prove it, related all the circumstances of their
intended union. Appearances were too strong to suffer me to be persuaded
that I was mistaken; I acknowledged that what she urged seemed to
contradict my opinion, but that it was no proof; for the perverseness of
human nature was such that it did not appear to me at all improbable
that the easiness of obtaining her, when they had both been, as it were,
bred up with that view, might be the sole occasion of his indifference;
and the impossibility of ever possessing her now would only serve to
inflame his passion.
Harriot accused me of representing human nature more perverse and absurd
than it really was, and continued firm in the persuasion of my being
mistaken. Whatever glaring signs of Mr Alworth's love appeared, she set
them all down to the account of friendship; till at length his mind was
so torn with grief and despair that no longer able to conceal the cause
of his greatest sufferings he begged her to teach him how to conquer a
passion which, while it existed, must make him wretched; and with the
greatest confusion told her how unaccountably unfortunate he was, both
in not loving, and in loving, each equally out of season. Almost
distracted with the distressful state of his mind, he was in the utmost
horror lest this declaration should offend her; and throwing himself at
her feet with a countenance and manner which shewed him almost frantic
with despair, terrified her so much that she did not feel half the shock
this declaration would have given her had it been made with more
calmness.
She strove to silence him; she endeavoured to raise him from her feet,
but to no purpose; she could not abate the agonies of his mind, without
assuring him she forgave him. Her spirits were in extreme agitation till
she saw him a little composed, for she feared his senses were affected;
but when her alarm began to abate, the effect of her terrors and her
grief appeared in a flood of tears; Mr Alworth found them infectious,
and she was obliged to dry them up in order to comfort him. When he grew
more composed, Harriot ventured, after expressing her concern for his
having conceived so unfortunate a passion, to intimate that absence was
the best remedy and that there was nothing to be done but for her to
leave the house.
Mr Alworth was not able to support the mention of her going away and
intreated her at least to give him time to arm himself against the
greatest misfortune that could befall him, the loss of her society. She
dared not control him in any thing material while his mind continued in
that desperate situation and therefore consented to stay some time
longer. She found it very difficult to make him think that there ever
was a proper time for her to depart, though passion was much less
tormenting since he had ventured to declare it; and what before arose
nearly to distraction, sunk now into a soft melancholy. Mrs Alworth paid
so little attention to her husband that she had not perceived the
conflict in his mind. She was wearied with the country to the greatest
degree, and made the tiresome days as short as she could by not rising
till noon; from that time till dinner her toilet found her sufficient
employment. As the neighbourhood was large, she very frequently
contrived to make a party at cards; but as her company was not used to
play high, this afforded her little relief except she could find
somebody to bet with her, which was not very difficult as she was
contented to do it to a disadvantage.
In this way she contrived, just, as she called it, to drag on life; and
wondered how so fine a woman as Harriot could have so long buried
herself in that place, scarcely more lively than the family vault.
When Harriot thought she had sufficiently convinced Mr Alworth of the
necessity of her absence, she took her leave with much greater concern
than she would suffer to appear, though she did not affect indifference;
but the truth was, Mr Alworth's passionate tenderness for her had made
an impression on her heart which without it all his merit could not
effect. The melancholy languor which overspread his countenance gave it
charms she had never before discovered in it; the soft accents in which
he breathed the most delicate love penetrated to her very soul, and she
no longer found that indifference which had been so remarkable a part of
her character. But she carefully concealed these new sensations in hopes
that he would more easily conquer his passion for not thinking it
returned.
Though the winter was scarcely begun, yet having no inducement to go to
any other place, she went to London; and as I had prolonged my stay in
the country only to gratify my inclination for her company, I went with
her to town. Mrs Alworth did not continue there a month after us; but
her husband, whose health was by no means in a good state, went to Bath;
and that he might not be quite destitute of pleasure, he carried his
little boy with him, though but a year and a quarter old. His wife did
not contend with him for this privilege, she would have seen little more
of the babe had it been in London.
Harriot Trentham was at her first arrival in very low spirits, and every
letter she received from Mr Alworth increased her dejection, as it
painted his in very strong colours. As the town filled she began to try
if dissipation could dispel her melancholy. Her beauty, the fineness of
her person, and her being known to have a large fortune, which fame even
exaggerated, procured her many lovers and she became the most admired
woman in town. This was a new source of pleasure to her. She had lived
where she saw not many single men, and though few of these who dared to
flatter themselves with hopes, had failed paying their addresses to her,
yet these successive courtships were very dull when compared with all
the flutter of general admiration. Her books were now neglected, and to
avoid thinking on a subject which constantly afflicted her, she forced
herself into public and was glad to find that the idleness of the men
and her own vanity could afford her entertainment.
She was not however so totally engrossed by this pleasing dissipation as
to neglect any means of serving the distressed. Mrs Tonston, exerting
the genius she had so early shewn for traducing others, set her husband
and his family at variance, till at length the falsehoods by which she
had effected it came to be discovered. Her husband and she had never
lived well together, and this proof of her bad heart disgusted him so
entirely that he turned her out of his house, allowing her a mere trifle
for her support. In this distress she applied to Harriot, who she knew
was ever ready to serve even those who had most injured her.
Her application was not unsuccessful. Harriot sent her a considerable
present for her immediate convenience and then went into the country to
Mr Tonston, to whom she represented so effectually his ungenerous
treatment, since the fortune his wife brought him gave her a right to a
decent maintenance, that he made a proper settlement upon her and gave
the writings into Harriot's hands, who not only saw the money paid
regularly, but took so much pains to convince Mrs Tonston of the
malignity of her disposition that she brought her to a due sense of it,
and by applying for his assistance to mend her heart, who best knew its
defects, she became so altered in temper that five years after her
separation from her husband Harriot effected a reconciliation, and they
now live in great amity together, gratefully acknowledging their
obligations to her.
I have anticipated this fact in order to render my narrative less
tedious, or I should have stopped at Harriot's procuring a settlement
for Mrs Tonston, and have told you that by lying in her return at an inn
where the smallpox then was she caught that distemper, and soon after
she arrived in London it appeared. I need not say that she had it to a
very violent degree. Being then in town I had the good fortune to nurse
her and flatter myself that my care was not useless; for in cases so
dangerous, no one who does not feel all the tender solicitude of a
friend can be a proper nurse.
Mrs Alworth wrote her husband word of Harriot's illness, who came post
to London, filled with the extremest anxiety, and shared the fatigue of
nursing with me; she was all the time delirious. When she came to her
senses, she at first seemed mortified to think Mr Alworth had seen her
in that disfigured condition; but on reflection told me she rejoiced in
it, as she thought it must totally extinguish his passion; and her
greatest solicitude was for his happiness. But she afterwards found her
expectation was ill grounded.
When she recovered, she perceived that the smallpox had entirely
destroyed her beauty. She acknowledged she was not insensible to this
mortification; and to avoid the observation of the envious or even of
the idly curious she retired, as soon as she was able to travel, to a
country house which I hired for her.
In a very short time she became perfectly contented with the alteration
this cruel distemper had made in her. Her love for reading returned, and
she regained the quiet happiness of which flutter and dissipation had
deprived her without substituting any thing so valuable in its place.
She has often said she looks on this accident as a reward for the good
she had done Mrs Tonston, and that few benevolent actions receive so
immediate a recompense, or we should be less remiss in our duties though
not more meritorious in performing them. She found retirement better
calculated for overcoming a hopeless passion than noise and flutter. She
had indeed by dissipation often chased Mr Alworth from her thoughts, but
at the first moment of leisure his idea returned in as lively colours as
if it had always kept possession of her mind. In the country she had
time to reflect on the necessity of conquering this inclination if she
wished to enjoy any tolerable happiness; and therefore took proper
measures to combat it. Reason and piety, when united, are extremely
prevalent, and with their assistance she restrained her affection once
more within its ancient bounds of friendship. Her letters to Mr Alworth
were filled with remonstrances against the indulgence of his love, and
the same means she had found effectual she recommended to him and with
satisfaction learnt that though they had not entirely succeeded, yet he
had acquired such a command over his heart that he was as little
wretched as a man can be who is a living monument of the too common
folly of being captivated by a sudden glare of person and parts; and of
the fatal error of those men who seek in marriage for an amusing trifler
rather than a rational and amiable companion, and too late find that the
vivacity which pleases in the mistress is often a fatal vice in a wife.
He lives chiefly in the country, has generally a few friends in the
house with him, and takes a great deal of pains in the education of his
two sons; while their mother spends almost the whole year in town,
immersed in folly and dissipation.
About fourteen years ago Harriot, who I ought to begin to call Miss
Trentham, came to see a lady in this neighbourhood and thus was first
known to the inhabitants of this mansion. They were much pleased with
her acquaintance and when she had performed her visit, invited her to
pass a little time with them. She required no solicitation, for it was
the very thing she wished, and here she has remained ever since. When Mr
Maynard died, leaving me but a small jointure, Miss Trentham was
indulged in her inclination of asking me to spend the first part of my
widowhood with her and her friends; and I have been fortunate enough to
recommend myself so effectually that they have left me no room to doubt
they choose I should continue with them, and indeed I think I could
scarcely support life were I banished from this heavenly society. Miss
Trentham and Mr Alworth keep up a constant correspondence by letters,
but avoid meeting. His wife has brought him one daughter, and Miss
Trentham's happiness has been rendered complete by obtaining from her
permission to educate this child; a favour which contrary to what is
usual is esteemed very small by her who granted and very great by the
person that received it. This girl is now ten years old, and the most
accomplished of her age of any one, perhaps, in the kingdom. Her person
is fine, and her temper extremely engaging. She went about a week ago to
her father, whom she visits for about three weeks twice in a year, and
never returns unimproved.
As Miss Trentham's fortune made a good addition to the income of the
society, they on this occasion established in the parish a manufacture
of carpets and rugs which has succeeded so well as to enrich all the
country round about.
As the morning was not very far advanced, I asked Mrs Maynard to conduct
us to this manufacture, as in my opinion there is no sight so delightful
as extensive industry. She readily complied, and led us to a sort of
street, the most inhabited part of the village, above half a mile from
Millenium Hall. Here we found several hundreds of people of all ages,
from six years old to four score, employed in the various parts of the
manufacture, some spinning, some weaving, others dying the worsted, and
in short all busy, singing and whistling, with the appearance of general
cheerfulness, and their neat dress shewed them in a condition of proper
plenty.
The ladies, it seems, at first hired persons to instruct the
neighbourhood, which was then burdened with poor and so over stocked
with hands that only a small part of them could find work. But as they
feared an enterprising undertaker might ruin their plan, they themselves
undertook to be stewards; they stood the first expense, allowed a
considerable profit to the directors, but kept the distribution of the
money entirely in their own hands: thus they prevent the poor from being
oppressed by their superiors, for they allow them great wages and by
their very diligent inspection hinder any frauds. I never was more
charmed than to see a manufacture so well ordered that scarcely any one
is too young or too old to partake of its emoluments. As the ladies have
the direction of the whole, they give more to the children and the aged,
in proportion to the work they do, than to those who are more capable,
as a proper encouragement and reward for industry in those seasons of
life in which it is so uncommon.
We were so taken up with observing these people, that we got home but
just as dinner was carrying in.
In the afternoon we informed the ladies how we had spent the latter part
of the morning, and in the course of conversation Lamont told them that
they were the first people he ever knew who lived entirely for others,
without any regard to their own pleasure; and that were he a Roman
Catholic, he should beg of them to confer on him the merit of some of
their works of supererogation.
'I do not know where you could find them,' replied Miss Mancel, 'I
believe we have not been able to discover any such; on the contrary, we
are sensible of great deficiencies in the performance of our duty.'
'Can you imagine, Madam,' interrupted Lamont, 'that all you do here is a
duty?'
'Indispensably so,' answered Miss Mancel, 'we are told by him who cannot
err that our time, our money and our understandings are entrusted with
us as so many talents for the use of which we must give a strict
account. How we ought to use them he has likewise told us; as to our
fortunes in the most express terms, when he commands us to feed the
hungry, to clothe the naked, to relieve the prisoner, and to take care
of the sick. Those who have not an inheritance that enables them to do
this are commanded to labour in order to obtain means to relieve those
who are incapable of gaining the necessaries of life. Can we then
imagine that every one is not required to assist others to the utmost of
his power, since we are commanded even to work for the means of doing
so? God's mercy and bounty is universal, it flows unasked and unmerited;
we are bid to endeavour to imitate him as far as our nature will enable
us to do it. What bounds then ought we to set to our good offices, but
the want of power to extend them further? Our faculties and our time
should be employed in directing our donations in a manner the most
conducive to the benefit of mankind, the most for the encouragement of
virtue and the suppression of vice; to assist in this work is the
business of speech, of reason and of time. These ought to be employed
in seeking out opportunities of doing good and in contriving means for
regulating it to the best purpose. Shall I allow much careful thought
towards settling the affairs of my household with economy, and be
careless how I distribute my benefactions to the poor, to whom I am only
a steward, and of whose interests I ought to be as careful as of my own?
By giving them my money I may sacrifice my covetousness, but by doing it
negligently I indulge my indolence, which I ought to endeavour to
conquer as much as every other vice. Each state has its trials; the
poverty of the lower rank of people exercises their industry and
patience; the riches of the great are trials of their temperance,
humility and humanity. Theirs is perhaps the more difficult part, but
their present reward is also greater if they acquit themselves well; as
for the future, there may probably be no inequality.'
'You observed, sir,' said Miss Trentham 'that we live for others,
without any regard to our own pleasure, therefore I imagine you think
our way of life inconsistent with it; but give me leave to say you are
mistaken. What is there worth enjoying in this world that we do not
possess? We have all the conveniences of life, nay, all the luxuries
that can be included among them. We might indeed keep a large retinue;
but do you think the sight of a number of useless attendants could
afford us half the real satisfaction that we feel from seeing the money
which must be lavished on them expended in supporting the old and
decrepit, or nourishing the helpless infant? We might dress with so much
expense that we could scarcely move under the burden of our apparel; but
is that more eligible than to see the shivering wretch clad in warm and
comfortable attire? Can the greatest luxury of the table afford so true
a pleasure as the reflection that instead of its being over-charged with
superfluities, the homely board of the cottager is blessed with plenty?
We might spend our time in going from place to place, where none wish to
see us except they find a deficiency at the card-table, perpetually
living among those whose vacant minds are ever seeking after pleasures
foreign to their own tastes and pursue joys which vanish as soon as
possessed; for these would you have us leave the infinite satisfaction
of being beheld with gratitude and love, and the successive enjoyments
of rational delights, which here fill up every hour? Should we do wisely
in quitting a scene where every object exalts our mind to the great
Creator, to mix among all the folly of depraved nature?
'If we take it in a more serious light still, we shall perceive a great
difference in the comforts arising from the reflections on a life spent
in an endeavour to obey our Maker and to correct our own defects in a
constant sense of our offences, and an earnest desire to avoid the
commission of them for the future, from a course of hurry and
dissipation which will not afford us leisure to recollect our errors,
nor attention to attempt amending them.'
'The difference is indeed striking,' said Lamont, 'and there can be no
doubt which is most eligible; but are you not too rigid in your censures
of dissipation? You seem to be inclined to forbid all innocent
pleasures.'
'By no means,' replied Miss Trentham, 'but things are not always
innocent because they are trifling. Can any thing be more innocent than
picking of straws, or playing at push-pin; but if a man employs himself
so continually in either that he neglects to serve a friend or to
inspect his affairs, does it not cease to be innocent? Should a
schoolboy be found whipping a top during school hours, would his master
forbear correction because it is an innocent amusement? And yet thus we
plead for things as trifling, tho' they obstruct the exercise of the
greatest duties in life. Whatever renders us forgetful of our Creator,
and of the purposes for which he called us into being, or leads us to be
inattentive to his commands, or neglectful in the performance of them,
becomes criminal, however innocent in its own nature. While we pursue
these things with a moderation which prevents such effects they are
always innocent and often desirable, the excess only is to be avoided.'
'I have nothing left me to say,' answered Lamont, 'than that your
doctrine must be true and your lives are happy; but may I without
impertinence observe that I should imagine your extensive charities
require an immense fortune.'
'Not so much, perhaps,' said Mrs Morgan, 'as you suppose. We keep a very
regular account, and at an average, for every year will not be exactly
the same, the total stands thus. The girls' school four hundred pounds a
year, the boys' a hundred and fifty, apprenticing some and equipping
others for service one hundred. The clothing of the girls in the house
forty. The almshouses two hundred. The maintenance of the monsters a
hundred and twenty. Fortunes and furniture for such young persons as
marry in this and the adjoining parishes, two hundred. All this together
amounts only to twelve hundred and ten pounds a year, and yet affords
all reasonable comforts. The expenses of ourselves and household, in our
advantageous situation, come within eight hundred a year. Finding so
great a balance in our favour, we agreed to appropriate a thousand a
year for the society of gentlewomen with small or no fortunes; but it
has turned out in such a manner that they cost us a trifle. We then
dedicated that sum to the establishment of a manufacture, but since the
fourth year it has much more than paid its expenses, though in many
respects we do not act with the economy usual in such cases, but give
very high wages, for our design being to serve a multitude of poor
destitute of work, we have no nice regard to profit. As we did not mean
to drive a trade, we have been at a loss what to do with the profits. We
have out of it made a fund for the sick and disabled from which they may
receive a comfortable support, and intend to secure it to them to
perpetuity in the best manner we can.'
'How few people of fortune are there,' said Lamont, 'who could not
afford L1200 a year, with only retrenching superfluous and burdensome
expenses? But if they would only imitate you in any one branch, how much
greater pleasure would they then receive from their fortunes than they
now enjoy?'