_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_London, Grosvenor Street_
I must write, dear Louisa. My heart feels as if it were estranged by
silence, and thinks it has a thousand things to repeat; though, when it
comes to enquire what, they seem as if they had all vanished. Not but I
have a little incident to relate, which interests us both; the Dramatis
Personae being, as usual, Clifton, Frank Henley, and the friend of my
Louisa.
We yesterday paid a visit to my aunt Wenbourne, at her summer villa of
Richmond. But I ought to premise, that I am sorry to see Clifton again
looking on Frank Henley with uneasiness, and a kind of suspicion that
might almost be called jealousy.
Having consulted Sir Arthur, I mentioned it, as a pleasant excursion,
to Clifton; and added, as soon as Frank Henley should come, I would
desire him to hold himself in readiness. Sir Arthur was present; and
Clifton, in a pouting kind of manner, whispered me--'Can we never go
any where, without that young fellow dogging us at the heels?'
I smiled it off, rapped him on the knuckles with my thimble, told him
he was naughty, and said we must not suffer merit to think itself
neglected. Clifton began to sing Britons strike home; which he soon
changed to Rule Britannia: sure tokens that he was not pleased; for
these are the tunes with which he always sings away his volatile
choler. But one of the columns, on which I raise my system is a
determination to persist in the right. Frank Henley was therefore
invited, and accompanied us.
Clifton endeavoured to pout; but, as I did not in the least change my
good humour, knowing how necessary it was rather to increase than
diminish it, he could not long hold out, and soon became as cheerful
and as good company as usual; and his flow of spirits, and whimsical
combinations, are very exhilarating.
After dinner, my good old aunt presently got to wordy wars with Frank;
in which, as you may suppose, she had little chance of victory. But she
called in Clifton, to be her auxiliary; and he fell into the same
pettish, half-haughty, half-contemning kind of manner, in which he had
so improperly indulged, previous to the accident of the lake, in
France. I looked at him; he understood me, and endeavoured, but rather
awkwardly, to change his tone.
The conversation continued, and he was again becoming warm; and, while
Frank was laying down the law to my aunt, at which I could perceive his
tongue tingled, I took an opportunity to warn him to beware, for that I
had more than one crow to pluck with him already.
However, as the best and securest mode was, from the temper of the
parties, to put an end to the conversation, I rose, and proposed a
walk, and my proposal was accepted.
I was particularly cautious to say as little to Frank as I could,
purposely that Clifton might have no retort upon me; though a part of
my plan is to accustom him to see me just to the merits of Frank,
without indulging any unworthy suspicions. But this I did not think a
fit occasion for such experiments.
We returned to town, and I purposed, when Clifton should come to pay me
his morning visit next day, to read him a gentle lecture. Of this he
was aware; and, feeling, as I suppose, that he should make a bad
serious defence, knew a comic one would better serve his turn: for his
fancy and humour appear to be inexhaustible. The first thing he did,
when he entered the room, was to fall down on his knees, like a child
to his school-mistress, holding his hands pressed flatly together, with
a piteous face and a 'Pray, pray!' I laughed, and told him he was a
very bad child. His 'Pray, pray!' was repeated, with another strangely
pleasant contortion of countenance. But I still answered--'No,
indeed--I should not forgive him, till I had made him truly sensible of
his fault.' On which he rose from his knees, pulled out a paper fool's
cap, which he had been carving and fashioning for himself, fixed it on
his head, and placed himself, with a new kind of penitential
countenance, in a corner; continuing such quaint mimickry, of a child
in sorrow, that there was no resisting fair and downright laughter.
I still made two or three attempts to begin to argue; but they were
ineffectual; they were all answered with some new antics; and I was
obliged at last to say--'Well, well! I find you are sensible how much
you deserve punishment; and therefore I dare say you will take care not
to offend in future.'
After this, he gave the whole discourse a comic and a witty cast,
embellishing it with all the flights of his rich and strong
imagination, on purpose to avoid the possibility of remonstrance. This
is a certain sign that it must be very painful to him; unless indeed we
allow for the pleasure which he cannot but take, in exhibiting the
activity of his mind. Yet painful I am sure it is. Contradiction is
thing to which he has not been accustomed. He has no doubt led the
opinions of his companions; partly by conforming to and strengthening
their favourite prejudices, though chiefly by his superior talents: and
to be too often encountered, by any one whose intellects are more clear
and consistent than his own, is a kind of degradation to which he
scarcely knows how to submit.
With respect to Frank Henley, whenever he is pleading the cause of
truth, he is inflexible. I have sometimes indeed known him silent, when
he was hopeless of doing good: but at others I have heard him blame
himself for this, and assert that we never ought to despair; for that
truth, no matter how violently opposed at the moment, would revive in
the mind, and do her office, when the argument and the anger should be
wholly forgotten.
I believe the observation to be just. But he is no common thinker! No!
I am almost persuaded he is the first of human beings! Equal, nay I
have sometimes even thought superior, to Louisa herself!
As you perceive, dear friend of my heart, that I know you too well to
fear offending you, I am sure you will do me the justice at the same
time to confess that I do not seek to flatter.
Thus, dear Louisa, you perceive, we do not perhaps make quite so swift
a progress as we could wish: but we must be satisfied. The march of
knowledge is slow, impeded as it is by the almost impenetrable forests
and morasses of error. Ages have passed away, in labours to bring some
of the most simple of moral truths to light, which still remain
overclouded and obscure. How far is the world, at present, from being
convinced that it is not only possible, but perfectly practicable, and
highly natural, for men to associate with most fraternal union,
happiness, peace, and virtue, were but all distinction of rank and
riches wholly abolished; were all the false wants of luxury, which are
the necessary offspring of individual property, cut off; were all
equally obliged to labour for the wants of nature, and for nothing
more; and were they all afterward to unite, and to employ the remainder
of their time, which would then be ample, in the promotion of art and
science, and in the search of wisdom and truth!
The few arts that would then remain would be grand; not frivolous, not
the efforts of cunning, not the prostitution of genius in distress, to
flatter the vanity of insolent wealth and power, or the depraved taste
of an ill-judging multitude; but energies of mind, uniting all the
charms of fancy with all the severe beauties of consistent truth.
Is it not lamentable to be obliged to doubt whether there be a hundred
people in all England, who, were they to read such a letter as this,
would not immediately laugh, at the absurd reveries of the writer?--But
let them look round, and deny, if they can, that the present wretched
system, of each providing for himself instead of the whole for the
whole, does not inspire suspicion, fear, disputes, quarrels, mutual
contempt, and hatred. Instead of nations, or rather of the whole world,
uniting to produce one great effect, the perfection and good of all,
each family is itself a state; bound to the rest by interest and
cunning, but separated by the very same passions, and a thousand
others; living together under a kind of truce, but continually ready to
break out into open war; continually jealous of each other; continually
on the defensive, because continually dreading an attack; ever ready to
usurp on the rights of others, and perpetually entangled in the most
wretched contentions, concerning what all would neglect, if not
despise, did not the errors of this selfish system give value to what
is in itself worthless.
Well, well!--Another century, and then--!
In the meantime, let us live in hope; and, like our worthy hero, Frank,
not be silent when truth requires us to speak. We have but to arm
ourselves with patience, fortitude, and universal benevolence.
Pardon this prattle!--The heart will sometimes expand; and it is then
weak enough to plead that the effusions of friendship claim attention,
and respect. This is among the prejudices of our education, and I know
not who has hitherto overcome them all. I can only say, dear Louisa, it
is not her who is most affectionately your,