by Mary Hays
When the table was cleared, and the servants had withdrawn, perceivingthe party not sociably inclined, I was about to retire--when Mrs Mortonobserved, with features full of a meaning which I did not comprehend,that--
'Their guest, Mr Francis, had, no doubt, left Morton Park gratefullyimpressed by the _kindness_ of Miss Courtney.'
Montague reddened--bit his lips--got up--and sat down again. The youngladies wore an air not perfectly good-humoured, and a little triumphant.Mr Morton looked very solemn.
'I hope so, Madam,' I replied, somewhat carelessly. 'I felt myselfindebted to Mr Francis for his civilities, and was solicitous to makehim all the return in my power--I wish that power had been enlarged.'
She held up her hands and eyes with an affected, and ridiculous,gesture.
'Mr Francis,' said Montague, abruptly, 'is very happy in having inspiredyou with sentiments _so partial_.'
'I am not partial--I am merely just. Mr Francis appeared to me arational man, and my understanding was exercised and gratified by hisconversation.'
I was about to proceed, but my uncle (who seemed to have been tutoredfor the occasion) interrupted me with much gravity.
'You are but little acquainted, Emma, with the customs of society; thereis great indecorum in a young lady's making these distinctions.'
'What distinctions, my dear Sir!--in prefering a reasonable man to foolsand coxcombs.'
'Forgive me, my dear--you have a quick wit, but you want experience. Iam informed, that you breakfasted with Mr Francis this morning, andattended him through the Park:--this, with your late walk yesterdayevening, and evident emotion on your return, let me tell you, child,wears an indecorous appearance:--the world is justly attentive to theconduct of young women, and too apt to be censorious.'
I looked round me with unaffected surprize--'Good God!--did I suppose,in this family, it was necessary to be upon my guard against maliciousconstructions?'
'Pray,'--interrupted Sarah, pertly--'would you not have expressed somesurprize, had I shewed Mr Montague similar attentions?'
I looked at her, I believe, a little too contemptuously.--'Whateversentiments might have been excited in my mind by the attentions of MissMorton to Mr Montague, _surprize_, assuredly, would not have been amongthem.'
She coloured, and Montague's passions began to rise. I stopped him atthe beginning of an impertinent harangue, by observing--
'That I did not think myself accountable to him for my conduct;--beforeI should be solicitous respecting his opinions, he must give me betterreasons, than he had hitherto done, to respect his judgment.'
Ann wept, and prattled something, to which nobody thought it worth whileto attend.
'Well, Sir,' continued I, turning to Mr Morton, 'be pleased to give me,in detail, what you have to alledge, that I may be enabled to justifymyself.'
'Will you allow me to ask you a question?'
'Most certainly.'
'Has Mr Francis engaged you to correspond with him?'
I was silent a few moments.
'You hesitate!'
'Only, Sir, _how_ to answer your question.--I certainly intend myselfthe pleasure of addressing Mr Francis on paper; but I cannot strictlysay _he engaged_ me so to do, as it was a proposal he was led to make,by conjecturing my wishes on the subject.'
Again, Mrs Morton, with uplifted hands and eyes--'What effrontery!'
I seemed not to hear her.--'Have you any thing more to say, my dearuncle?'
'You are a strange girl. It would not, perhaps, be proper before thiscompany to enquire'--and he stopped.
'Any thing is proper, Sir, to enquire of me, and in any company--I haveno reserves, no secrets.'
'Well, then, I think it necessary to inform you, that, though asensible, well educated, liberal-minded, man, Mr Francis has neitherestate nor fortune, nor does he practise any lucrative profession.'
'I am sorry for it, on his own account; and for those whom hisgenerosity might benefit. But, what is it to me?'
'You affect to misunderstand me.'
'I _affect_ nothing.'
'I will speak more plainly:--Has he made you any proposals?'
The purport of this solemn, but ludicrous, preparation, at once flashedupon my mind, the first time the thought had ever occurred. I laughed--Icould not help it.
'I considered Mr Francis as a _philosopher_, and not as a _lover_. Doesthis satisfy you, Sir?'
My uncle's features, in spite of himself, relaxed into a half-smile.
'Very platonic--sweet simplicity!'--drauled out Mrs Morton, in ironicalaccents.
'I will not be insulted, Mr Morton!' quitting my seat, and rising intemper.--'I consider myself, merely, as your visitant, and not asresponsible to any one for my actions. Conscious of purity of intention,and superior to all disguise or evasion, I was not aware of thesefeminine, indelicate, unfriendly suggestions. If this behaviour be aspecimen of what I am to expect in the world--the world may do itswill--but I will never be its slave: while I have strength of mindto form principles, and courage to act upon them, I am determined topreserve my freedom, and trust to the general candour and good senseof mankind to appreciate me justly. As the brother of my late father,and as entitled to respect from your own kind intentions, I amwilling to enter into any explanations, which _you_, _Sir_, may thinknecessary:--neither my motives, nor my actions, have ever yet shrunkfrom investigation. Will you permit me to attend you in your library? Itis not my intention to intrude longer on your hospitality, and I couldwish to avail myself of your experience and counsels respecting myfuture destination.'
Mr Morton, at my request, withdrew with me into the library, where Iquickly removed from his mind those injurious suspicions with which MrsMorton had laboured to inspire him. He would not hear of my removal fromthe Park--apologized for what had passed--assured me of his friendshipand protection--and entreated me to consider his house as my home. Therewas an honest warmth and sincerity in his manner, that sensibly affectedme; I could have wept; and I engaged, at his repeated request, not tothink, at present, of withdrawing myself from his protection. Thus weseparated.
How were the virtues of this really good man tarnished by an unsuitableconnection! In the giddy hours of youth, we thoughtlessly rush intoengagements, that fetter our minds, and affect our future characters,without reflecting on the important consequences of our conduct. This isa subject on which I have had occasion to reflect deeply; yet, alas! myown boasted reason has been, but too often, the dupe of my imagination.
CHAPTER XV
Nothing, here, occupied my heart--a heart to which it was necessary tolove and admire. I had suffered myself to be irritated--the tumult of myspirits did not easily subside--I was mortified at the reflection--I hadbelieved myself armed with patience and fortitude, but my philosophy wasswept before the impetuous emotions of my passions like chaff before thewhirlwind. I took up my pen to calm my spirits, and addressed myself tothe man who had been, unconsciously, the occasion of these vexations.--Myswelling heart needed the relief of communication.
TO MR FRANCIS
'I Sought earnestly for the privilege of addressing you on paper. My mind seemed to overflow with a thousand sentiments, that I had not the courage to express in words; but now, when the period is arrived, that I can take up my pen, unawed by your penetrating glance, unchecked by your poignant reply, and pour out my spirit before you, I feel as if its emotions were too wayward, too visionary, too contradictory, to merit your attention.
'Every thing I see and hear is a disappointment to me:--brought up in retirement--conversing only with books--dwelling with ardour on the great characters, and heroic actions, of antiquity, all my ideas of honour and distinction were associated with those of virtue and talents. I conceived, that the pursuit of truth, and the advancement of reason, were the grand objects of universal attention, and I panted to do homage to those superior minds, who, teaching mankind to be wise, would at length lead
them to happiness. Accustomed to think, to feel, to kindle into action, I am at a loss to understand the distinction between theory and practice, which every one seems eager to inculcate, as if the degrading and melancholy intelligence, which fills my soul with despondency, and pervades my understanding with gloom, was to them a subject of exultation.
'Is virtue, then, a chimera--does it exist only in the regions of romance?--Have we any interest in finding our fellow creatures weak and miserable?--Is the Being who formed them unjust, capricious, impotent, or tyrannical?
'Answer these questions, that press heavily on my mind, that dart across it, in its brightest moments, clouding its sun-shine with a thick and impenetrable darkness. Must the benevolent emotions, which I have hitherto delighted to cherish, turn into misanthropy--must the fervent and social affections of my heart give place to inanity, to apathy--must the activity of a curious and vigorous mind sink into torpor and abhorred vacuity?
'While they teach me to distrust the existence of virtue, they endeavour to impose on me, in its stead, a fictitious semblance; and to substitute, for the pure gold of truth, a paltry tinsel. It is in vain I ask--what have those to do with "_seeming_," who still retain "that which _passeth shew_?" However my actions may be corrupted by the contagious example of the world, may I still hold fast my integrity, and disdain to wear the _appearance_ of virtue, when the substance shall no longer exist.
'To admire, to esteem, to love, are congenial to my nature--I am unhappy, because these affections are not called into exercise. To venerate abstract perfection, requires too vigorous an exertion of the mental powers--I would see virtue exemplified, I would love it in my fellow creatures--I would catch the glorious enthusiasm, and rise from created to uncreated excellence.
'I am perplexed with doubts; relieve the wanderings of my mind, solve the difficulties by which it is agitated, prepare me for the world which is before me. The prospect, no longer beaming with light, no longer glowing with a thousand vivid hues, is overspread with mists, which the mind's eye vainly attempts to penetrate. I would feel, again, the value of existence, the worth of rectitude, the certainty of truth, the blessing of hope! Ah! tell me not--that the gay expectations of youth have been the meteors of fancy, the visions of a romantic and distempered imagination! If I must not live to realize them, I would not live at all.
'My harrassed mind turns to you! You will not ridicule its scruples--you will, at least, deign to reason with me, and, in the exercise of my understanding, I shall experience a temporary relief from the sensations which devour me, the suspicions that distress me, and which spread over futurity a fearful veil.
'EMMA.'
I walked to the next market town, and left my letter at the post-house,--Iwaited impatiently for a reply; my mind wanted _impression_, and sunkinto languor. The answer, which arrived in a few days, was kind, becauseit was prompt, my sickly mind required a speedy remedy.
TO EMMA COURTNEY.
'Why will you thus take things in masses, and continually dwell in extremes? You deceive yourself; instead of cultivating your reason, you are fostering an excessive sensibility, a fastidious delicacy. It is the business of reason to compare, to separate, to discriminate. Is there no medium--extraordinary exertions are only called forth by extraordinary contingences;--because every human being is not a hero, are we then to distrust the existence of virtue?
'The mind is modified by the circumstances in which it is placed, by the accidents of birth and education; the constitutions of society are all, as yet, imperfect; they have generated, and perpetuated, many mistakes--the consequences of those mistakes will, eventually, carry with them their antidote, the seeds of reproduction are, even, visible in their decay. The growth of reason is slow, but not the less sure; the increase of knowledge must necessarily prepare the way for the increase of virtue and happiness.
'Look back upon the early periods of society, and, taking a retrospective view of what has been done, amidst the interruptions of barbarous inroads, falling empires, and palsying despotism, calculate what yet may be achieved: while the causes, which have hitherto impeded the progress of civilization, must continue to decrease, in an accelerated ration, with the wide, and still wider, diffusion of truth.
'We may trace most of the faults, and the miseries of mankind, to the vices and errors of political institutions, their permanency having been their radical defect. Like children, we have dreamt, that what gratifies our desires, or contributes to our convenience, to-day, will prove equally useful and satisfactory to-morrow, without reflecting on the growth of the body, the change of humours, the new objects, and the new situations, which every succeeding hour brings in its train. That immutability, which constitutes the perfection of what we (from the poverty of language) term the _divine mind_, would inevitably be the bane of creatures liable to error; it is of the constancy, rather than of the fickleness, of human beings, that we have reason to complain.
'Every improvement must be the result of successive experiments, this has been found true in natural science, and it must be universally applied to be universally beneficial. Bigotry, whether religious, political, moral, or commercial, is the canker-worm at the root of the tree of knowledge and of virtue. The wildest speculations are less mischievous than the torpid state of error: he, who tamely resigns his understanding to the guidance of another, sinks at once, from the dignity of a rational being, to a mechanical puppet, moved at pleasure on the wires of the artful operator.--_Imposition_ is the principle and support of every varied description of tyranny, whether civil or ecclesiastical, moral or mental; its baneful consequence is to degrade both him who is imposed on, and him who imposes. _Obedience_, is a word, which ought never to have had existence: as we recede from conviction, and languidly resign ourselves to any foreign authority, we quench the principle of action, of virtue, of reason;--we bear about the semblance of humanity, but the spirit is fled.
'These are truths, which will slowly, but ultimately, prevail; in the splendour of which, the whole fabric of superstition will gradually fade and melt away. The world, like every individual, has its progress from infancy to maturity--How many follies do we commit in childhood? how many errors are we precipitated into by the fervour and inexperience of youth! Is not every stable principle acquired through innumerable mistakes--can you wonder, that in society, amidst the aggregate of jarring interests and passions, reformation is so tardy? Though civilization has been impeded by innumerable obstacles, even these help to carry on the great work: empires may be overturned, and the arts scattered, but not lost. The hordes of barbarians, which overwhelmed ancient Rome, adopted at length the religion, the laws, and the improvements of the vanquished, as Rome had before done those of Greece. As the stone, which, thrown into the water, spreads circles still more and more extended;--or (to adopt the gospel similitude) as the grain of mustard seed, growing up into a large tree, shelters the fowls of heaven in its branches--so will knowledge, at length, diffuse itself, till it covers the whole earth.
'When the minds of men are changed, the system of things will also change; but these changes, though active and incessant, must be gradual. Reason will fall softly, and almost imperceptibly, like a gentle shower of dews, fructifying the soil, and preparing it for future harvests. Let us not resemble the ambitious shepherd, who, calling for
the accumulated waters of the Nile upon his lands, was, with his flock, swept away in the impetuous torrent.
'You ask, whether--because human beings are still imperfect--you are to resign your benevolence, and to cherish misanthropy? What a question! Would you hate the inhabitants of an hospital for being infected with a pestilential disorder? Let us remember, that vice originates in mistakes of the understanding, and that, he who seeks happiness by means contradictory and destructive, _is emphatically the sinner_. Our duties, then, are obvious--If selfish and violent passions have been generated by the inequalities of society, we must labour to counteract them, by endeavouring to combat prejudice, to expand the mind, to give comprehensive views, to teach mankind their true interest, and to lead them to habits of goodness and greatness. Every prejudice conquered, every mistake rectified, every individual improved, is an advance upon the great scale of virtue and happiness.
'Let it, then, be your noblest ambition to co-operate with, to join your efforts, to those of philosophers and sages, the benefactors of mankind. To waste our time in useless repinings is equally weak and vain; every one in his sphere may do something; each has a little circle where his influence will be availing. Correct your own errors, which are various--weeds in a luxuriant soil--and you will have done something towards the general reformation. But you are able to do more;--be vigilant, be active, beware of the illusions of fancy! I suspect, that you will have much to suffer--may you, at length, reap the fruits of a wholesome, though it should be a bitter, experience.