acquiring a knowledge of the world and her own heart. She visited her
mother’s father, and would have remained with him; but she determined
not to lessen the small pittance which he had anxiously saved out of a
scanty income for two other grandchildren. She thought continually of
her situation, and found, on examining her understanding, that the
fashionable circle in which she moved could not at any rate have
afforded her much satisfaction, or even amusement; though the neglect
and contempt that she met with rendered her very uncomfortable. She had
her father’s spirit of independence, and determined to shake off the
galling yoke which she had long struggled with, and try to earn her own
subsistence. Her acquaintance expostulated with her, and represented the
miseries of poverty, and the mortifications and difficulties that she
would have to encounter. Let it be so, she replied, it is much
preferable to swelling the train of the proud or vicious great, and
despising myself for bearing their impertinence, for eating their bitter
bread; better, indeed, is a dinner of herbs with contentment. My wants
are few. When I am my own mistress, the crust I earn will be sweet, and
the water that moistens it will not be mingled with tears of sorrow or
indignation.
To shorten my story; she came to me, after she had attempted several
plans, and requested my advice. She would not accept of any considerable
favour, and declared that the greatest would be, to put her in a way of
supporting herself, without forfeiting her highly valued independence. I
knew not what to advise; but whilst I was debating the matter with
myself, I happened to mention that we were in want of a school-mistress.
She eagerly adopted the plan, and persevering in it these last ten
years, I find her a most valuable acquisition to our society.
She was formed to shine in the most brilliant circle—yet she
relinquished it, and patiently labours to improve the children consigned
to her management, and tranquillize her own mind. She succeeds in both.
She lives indeed alone, and has all day only the society of children;
yet she enjoys many true pleasures; dependence on God is her support,
and devotion her comfort. Her lively affections are therefore changed
into a love of virtue and truth: and these exalted speculations have
given an uncommon dignity to her manners; for she seems above the world,
and its trifling commotions. At her meals, gratitude to Heaven supplies
the place of society. She has a tender, social heart, and, as she cannot
sweeten her solitary draught, by expressing her good wishes to her
fellow creatures, an ejaculation to Heaven for the welfare of her
friends is the substitute. This circumstance I heard her mention to her
grandfather, who sometimes visits her.
I will now make some alteration in my dress, for when I visit those who
have been reduced from their original place in society by misfortunes, I
always attend a little to ceremony; lest too much familiarity should
appear like disrespect.
CHAP. XVIII.
_Visit to the School-mistress.—True and false Pride._
Their dress was soon adjusted, and the girls plucked flowers to adorn
themselves, and a nosegay to present to the school-mistress, whose
garden was but small.
They met the children just released from confinement; the swarm came
humming round Mrs. Mason, endeavouring to catch her eye, and obtain the
notice they were so proud of. The girls made their best curtsies,
blushing; and the boys hung down their heads, and kicked up the dust, in
scraping a bow of respect.
They found their mistress preparing to drink tea, to refresh herself
after the toils of the day; and, with the ease peculiar to well-bred
people, she quickly enabled them to partake of it, by giving the
tea-board a more sociable appearance.
The harvest-home was soon the subject of conversation, and the harper
was mentioned. The family pride of the Welsh, said Anna, has often
diverted me; I have frequently heard the inhabitants of a little hut,
that could scarcely be distinguished from the pig-sty, which stood in
the front of it, boast of their ancestors and despise trade. They have
informed me, that one branch of their family built the middle aisle of
the church; that another beautified the chancel, and gave the ten
commandments, which blaze there in letters of gold. Some rejoice that
their forefathers sleep in the most conspicuous tombs, and that their
ashes have an inscription to point out where they are returning to their
mother earth. And those graves, which only a little stone at the head
gives consequence to, are adorned every Sunday with flowers or
ever-greens. We perceive, in all the various customs of men, a desire to
live in the past and in the future, if I may be allowed the expression.
Mrs. Mason then observed, that of all the species of pride which carry a
man out of himself, family pride was the most beneficial to society.
Pride of wealth produces vanity and ostentation; but that of blood seems
to inspire high notions of honour, and to banish meanness. Yet it is
productive of many ill consequences, the most obvious is, that it
renders individuals respectable to the generality, whose merit is only
reflected: and sometimes the want of this accidental advantage throws
the most shining personal virtues and abilities into obscurity. In weak
minds this pride degenerates into the most despicable folly; and the
wise will not condescend to accept of fame at second-hand, replied Anna.
We ought to be proud of our original, but we should trace it to our
Heavenly Father, who breathed into us the breath of life.—We are his
children when we try to resemble Him, when we are convinced that truth
and goodness must constitute the very essence of the soul; and that the
pursuit of them will produce happiness, when the vain distinctions of
mortals will fade away, and their pompous escutcheons moulder with more
vulgar dust! But remember, my young friends, virtue is immortal; and
goodness arises from a quick perception of truth, and actions
conformable to the conviction.
Different subjects beguiled the time, till the closing evening
admonished them to return home; and they departed reluctantly, filled
with respect.
CHAP. XIX.
_Charity.—The History of Peggy and her Family.—The Sailor’s Widow._
I have often remarked to you, said Mrs. Mason one morning to her pupils,
that we are all dependent on each other; and this dependence is wisely
ordered by our Heavenly Father, to call forth many virtues, to exercise
the best affections of the human heart, and fix them into habits. While
we impart pleasure we receive it, and feel the grandeur of our immortal
soul, as it is constantly struggling to spread itself into futurity.
Perhaps the greatest pleasure I have ever received has arisen from the
habitual exercise of charity, in its various branches: the view of a
distressed object has made me now think of conversing about one branch
of it, that of giving alms.
You know Peggy, the young girl whom I wish to have most about my person;
I mean, I wish it for her own sake, that I may have an opportunity of
improving her mind, and cultivating a good capacity. As to attendance, I
never give much trouble to any fellow-creature; for I choose to be
independent of caprice and artificial wants, unless indeed when I am
sick; then, I thankfully receive the assistance I would willingly give
to others in the same situation. I believe I have not in the world a
more faithful friend than Peggy; and her earnest desire to please me
gratifies my benevolence, for I always observe with delight the workings
of a grateful heart.
I lost a darling child, said Mrs. Mason, smothering a sigh, in the depth
of winter: death had before deprived me of her father, and when I lost
my child, he died again.
The wintery prospects suiting the temper of my soul, I have sat looking
at a wide waste of trackless snow for hours; and the heavy, sullen fog,
that the feeble rays of the sun could not pierce, gave me back an image
of my mind. I was unhappy, and the sight of dead nature accorded with my
feelings—for all was dead to me.
As the snow began to melt, I took a walk, and observed the birds hopping
about with drooping wings, or mute on the leafless boughs. The mountain,
whose sides had lost the snow, looked black; yet still some remained on
the summit, and formed a contrast to diversify the dreary prospect.
I walked thoughtfully along, when the appearance of a poor man, who did
not beg, struck me very forcibly. His shivering limbs were scarcely
sheltered from the cold by the tattered garments that covered him; and
he had a sharp, famished look. I stretched out my hand with some relief
in it—I would not enquire into the particulars of such obvious distress.
The poor wretch caught my hand, and hastily dropping on his knees,
thanked me in an extacy, as if he had almost lost sight of hope, and was
overcome by the sudden relief. His attitude, for I cannot bear to see a
fellow-creature kneel, and eager thanks, oppressed my weak spirits, so
that I could not for a moment ask him any more questions; but as soon as
I recollected myself, I learned from him the misfortunes that had
reduced him to such extreme distress, and he hinted, that I could not
easily guess the good I had done. I imagined from this hint that he was
meditating his own destruction when I saw him, to spare himself the
misery of seeing his infant perish—starved to death, in every sense of
the word.
I will now hasten to the sequel of the account. His wife had lately had
a child, she was very ill at the time, and want of proper food, and a
defence against the inclemency of the weather, hurried her out of the
world. The poor child, Peggy, had sucked in disease and nourishment
together, and now even that wretched source had failed—the breast was
cold that had afforded the scanty support; and the little innocent
smiled unconscious of its misery. I sent for her, added Mrs. Mason, and
her father dying a few years after, she has ever been a favourite charge
of mine, and nursing of her, in some measure, dispelled the gloom in
which I had been almost lost. Ah! my children, you know not how many
“houseless heads bide the pitiless storm!”
I received soon after a lesson of resignation from a poor woman, who was
a practical philosopher.
She had lost her husband, a sailor, and lost his wages also, as she
could not prove his death. She came to me to beg some pieces of silk, to
make some pin-cushions for the boarders of a neighbouring school. Her
lower weeds were patched with different coloured rags; but they spoke
not variety of wretchedness; on the contrary, they shewed a mind so
content, that want, and bodily pain, did not prevent her thinking of the
opinion of casual observers. This woman lost a husband and a child
suddenly, and her daily bread was precarious.—I cheered the widow’s
heart, and my own was not quite solitary.
But I am growing melancholy, whilst I am only desirous of pointing out
to you how very beneficial charity is; because it enables us to find
comfort when all our worldly comforts are blighted: besides, when our
bowels yearn to our fellow-creatures, we feel that the love of God
dwelleth in us—and then we cannot always go on our way sorrowing.
CHAP. XX.
_Visit to Mrs. Trueman.—The Use of Accomplishments.—Virtue the Soul of
all._
In the afternoon they visited Mrs. Trueman unexpectedly, and found her
sitting in the garden playing to her children, who danced on the green
sod. She approached to receive them, and laid aside her guitar; but,
after some conversation, Mrs. Mason desired her to take it up again, and
the girls joined in the request. While she was singing Mary whispered
Mrs. Mason, that she would give the world to be able to sing as well.
The whisper was not so low but a part of it reached Mrs. Trueman’s ears,
who said to her, smiling, My young friend, you value accomplishments
much too highly—they may give grace to virtue, but are nothing without
solid worth. Indeed, I may say more, for any thing like perfection in
the arts cannot be attained, where a relish, nay a delight in what is
true and noble is wanting. A superficial observer may be pleased with a
picture in which fine colours predominate; and quick movements in music
may tickle the ear, though they never reach the heart: but it is the
simple strain which affection animates, that we listen to with interest
and delight. Mr. Trueman has a taste for the fine arts; and I wish in
every thing to be his companion. His conversation has improved my
judgment, and the affection an intimate knowledge of his virtues has
inspired, increases the love which I feel for the whole human race. He
lives retired from the world; to amuse him after the business of the day
is over, and my babes asleep, I sing to him. A desire to please, and the
pleasure I read in his eyes, give to my music energy and tenderness.
When he is ruffled by worldly cares, I try to smooth his wrinkled brow,
and think mine a voice of melody, when it has had that effect.
Very true, replied Mrs. Mason, accomplishments should be cultivated to
render us pleasing to our domestic friends; virtue is necessary; it must
ever be the foundation of our peace and usefulness; but when we are
capable of affection, we wish to have something peculiar to ourselves.
We study the taste of our friends, and endeavour to conform to it; but,
in doing so, we ought rather to improve our own abilities than servilely
to copy theirs. Observe, my dear girls, Mrs. Trueman’s distinction, her
accomplishments are for her friends, her virtues for the world in
general.
I should think myself vain, and my soul little, answered Mrs. Trueman,
if the applause of the whole world, on the score of abilities, which did
not add any real lustre to my character, could afford me matter of
exultation. The approbation of my own heart, the humble hope of pleasing
the Most High, elevates my soul; and I feel, that in a future state, I
may enjoy an unspeakable degree of happiness, though I now only
experience a faint foretaste. Next to these sublime emotions, which I
cannot describe, and the joy resulting from doing good, I am happy when
I can amuse those I love; it is not then vanity, but tenderness, that
spurs me on, and my songs, my drawings, my every action, has something
of my heart in it. When I can add to the innocent enjoyments of my
children, and improve them at the same time, are not my accomplishments
of use? In the same style, when I vary the pleasures of my fire-side, I
make my husband forget that it is a lonely one; and he returns to look
for elegance at home, elegance that he himself gave the polish to; and
which is only affected, when it does not flow from virtuous affections.
I beg your pardon, I expatiate too long on my favorite topic; my desire
to rectify your notions must plead my excuse.
Mr. Trueman now joined them, and brought with him some of his finest
fruit. After tea Mrs. Trueman shewed them some of her drawings; and, to
comply with their repeated request, played on the harpsichord, and Mr.
Trueman took his violin to accompany her. Then the children were
indulged with a dance, and each had her favourite tune played in turn.
As they returned home, the girls were eagerly lavishing praises on Mrs.
Trueman; and Mary said, I cannot tell why, but I feel so glad when she
takes notice of me. I never saw any one look so good-natured, cried
Caroline. Mrs. Mason joined in the conversation. You justly remarked
that she is good-natured; you remember her history, she loves truth, and
she is ever exercising benevolence and love. From the insect, that she
avoids treading on, her affection may be traced to that Being who lives
for ever. And it is from her goodness her agreeable qualities spring.
CHAP. XXI.
_The Benefit of bodily Pain.—Fortitude the Basis of Virtue.—The Folly of
Irresolution._
The children had been playing in the garden for some time, whilst Mrs.
Mason was reading alone. But she was suddenly alarmed by the cries of
Caroline, who ran into the room in great distress. Mary quickly
followed, and explaining the matter said, that her sitter had
accidentally disturbed some wasps, who were terrified, and of course
stung her. Remedies were applied to assuage the pain; yet all the time
she uttered the loudest and most silly complaints, regardless of the
uneasiness she gave those who were exerting themselves to relieve her.
In a short time the smart abated, and then her friend thus addressed
her, with more than usual gravity. I am sorry to see a girl of your age
weep on account of bodily pain; it is a proof of a weak mind, a proof
that you cannot employ yourself about things of consequence. How often
must I tell you, that the Most High is educating us for eternity?
“The term virtue comes from a word signifying strength. Fortitude of
mind is, therefore, the basis of every virtue, and virtue belongs to a
being, that is weak in its nature, and strong only in will and
resolution.”
Children early feel bodily pain, to habituate them to bear the conflicts
of the soul, when they become reasonable creatures. This, I say, is the
first trial, and I like to see that proper pride which drives to conceal
its sufferings. Those who, when young, weep if the least trifle annoys
them, will never, I fear, have sufficient strength of mind to encounter
all the miseries that can afflict the body, rather than act meanly to
avoid them. Indeed, this seems to be the essential difference between a
great and a little mind: the former knows how to endure—whilst the
latter suffers an immortal soul to be depressed, lost in its abode;
suffers the inconveniences which attack the one to overwhelm the other.
The soul would always support the body, if its superiority was felt, and
invigorated by exercise. The Almighty, who never afflicts but to produce
some good end, first sends diseases to children to teach them patience
and fortitude; and when by degrees they have learned to bear them, they
have acquired some virtue.
In the same manner, cold or hunger, when accidentally encountered, are
not evils; they make _us feel what wretches feel_, and teach us to be
tender-hearted. Many of your fellow-creatures daily bear what you cannot
for a moment endure without complaint. Besides, another advantage arises
from it; after you have felt hunger, you will not be very anxious to
choose the particular kind of food that is to satisfy it. You will then
be freed from a frivolous care.
When it is necessary to take a nauseous draught, swallow it at once, and
do not make others sick whilst you are hesitating, though you know that
you ought to take it. If a tooth is to be drawn, or any other
disagreeable operation to be performed, determine resolutely that it
shall be done, immediately; and debate not, when you clearly see the
step that you ought to take. If I see a child act in this way, I am
ready to embrace it, my soul yearns for it—I perceive the dawning of a
character that will be useful to society, as it prepares its soul for a
nobler field of action.
Believe me, it is the patient endurance of pain, that will enable you to
refill your passions; after you have borne bodily pain, you will have
firmness enough to sustain the still more excruciating agonies of the
mind. You will not, to banish momentary cares, plunge into dissipation;
nor, to escape a present inconvenience, forget that you should hold fast
virtue as the only substantial good.
I should not value the affection of a person who would not bear pain and
hunger to serve me; nor is that benevolence warm, which shrinks from
encountering difficulties, when it is necessary, in order to be useful
to any fellow-creature.
There is a just pride, a noble ambition in some minds, that I greatly
admire. I have seen a little of it in Mary! for whilst she pities
others, she imagines that she could bear their inconveniences herself;
and she seems to feel more uneasiness, when she observes the sufferings
of others, than I could ever trace on her countenance under the
immediate pressure of pain.
Remember you are to bear patiently the infirmities of the weakest of
your fellow-creatures; but to yourselves you are not to be equally
indulgent.
CHAP. XXII.
_Journey to London._
The girls were visibly improved; an air of intelligence began to animate
Caroline’s fine features; and benevolence gave her eyes the humid
sparkle which is so beautiful and engaging. The interest that we take in
the fate of others attaches them to ourselves; thus Caroline’s goodness
inspired more affection than her beauty.
Mary’s judgment grew every day clearer; or, more properly speaking, she
acquired experience; and her lively feelings fixed the conclusions of
reason in her mind. Whilst Mrs. Mason was rejoicing in their apparent
improvement, she received a letter from their father, requesting her to
allow his daughters to spend the winter in town, as he wished to procure
them the best masters, an advantage that the country did not afford.
With reluctance she consented, determining to remain with them a short
time; and preparations were quickly made for the journey.
The wished-for morning arrived, and they set off in a tumult of spirits;
sorry to leave the country, yet delighted with the prospect of visiting
the metropolis. This hope soon dried the tears which had bedewed their
cheeks; for the parting with Mrs. Mason was not anticipated. The
autumnal views were new to them; they saw the hedges exhibit various
colours, and the trees stripped of their leaves; but they were not
disposed to moralize.
For some time after their arrival, every thing they saw excited wonder
and admiration; and not till they were a little familiarized with the
new objects, did they ask reasonable questions.
Several presents recruited their purses; and they requested Mrs. Mason
to allow them to buy some trifles they were in want of. The request was
modest, and she complied.
CHAP. XXIII.
_Charity.—Shopping.—The distressed Stationer.—Mischievous Consequences
of delaying Payment._
As they walked in search of a shop, they both determined to purchase
pocket-books; but their friend desired them not to spend all their money
at once, as they would meet many objects of charity in the numerous
streets of the metropolis. I do not wish you, she continued, to relieve
every beggar that you casually meet; yet should any one attract your
attention, obey the impulse of your heart, which will lead you to pay
them for exercising your compassion, and do not suffer the whispers of
selfishness, that they may be impostors, to deter you. However, I would
have you give but a trifle when you are not certain the distress is
real, and reckon it given for pleasure. I for my part would rather be
deceived five hundred times, than doubt once without reason.
They stopped at a small shop, Mrs. Mason always sought out such; for,
said she, I may help those who perhaps want assistance; bargains I never
seek, for I wish every one to receive the just value for their goods.