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 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 (
 
 HAPPINESS: 
 
 A TALE, 
 
 von THE 
 
 GRAVE AND THE GAY 
 
 " Quod peti.=! hie e'^t."'— Horace. 
 
 *' Seria cim po.«sim, qii6d delectantia inalim 
 Scribere, tu cau«a es lector. " — -Martin/. 
 
 " Cosi a I'egro fanciul porgiamo asper«i 
 Di soave licor gli orli del vaso : 
 Sucfbi amari inganaato intanto ei beve, 
 K lU ringaniio suo vita receve." — Tasso. 
 
 IX TWO VOLIMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 rrilXTED FOR FRANCIS WESTLEV, 
 
 iO, statioxer's-court; and 
 
 SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, & BROWN, 
 
 rATER.\OSTER-nO\V. 
 
 182L
 
 HAPPINESS 
 
 C H A P. I. 
 
 " Mosse ! da prima quelle cose belle." — -Dante. 
 
 " Self flattered, unexperienced, high in hope. 
 
 When young-, with sanguine chear and streamers gay. 
 
 We cut our cable, launch into the world. 
 
 And fondly dream each wind and star our friend." 
 
 Young. 
 
 oO you really will not accompany me, 
 Louisa," said Emily Thornhill; " well, I 
 ,'Only hope you will not die o^ ennui " 
 " " Indeed it would gratify me exceed- 
 J ingly,^^ replied Louisa^ " for I like the 
 i^* Countess, and am always pleased with her 
 — parties ; but the doctors say my mother 
 must neither receive company nor pay visits, 
 and I am sure she will not stay contentedly 
 at home this evening, unless I promise to 
 amuse her, a task in which I have been en- 
 gaged for the last fortnight.^* " That, to be
 
 2 HAPPINESS. 
 
 sure/^ rejoined Emily, " is an unanswerable 
 objection, but 3^00 shall not tell me that you 
 cannot go toTwaites*s with me this morning." 
 Louisa consented ; and the young ladies pro- 
 ceeded to the mantua-maker's. After the im- 
 portant choice of colours, patterns, and trim- 
 mings, had been definitively settled, as they 
 were leaving the shop, they were met by 
 Captain Dormer, one of those quizzical, half- 
 -boorish coxcombs, who annoy the gentler 
 pedestrians of Bond-street, by their rude and 
 obtrusive insolence. The Captain was a 
 lounger of no ordinary distinction ; he was 
 also a jockey of uncommon merit. Unit- 
 ing in his own person the extremes of a 
 neck-and-nothing dasher in the chace, and 
 of an exquisite dandy on the Mall, he 
 rode his own horses at Newmarket, and 
 piqued himself on being the best figure in a 
 ball-room. This whimsical combination of 
 heterogeneous characteristics, obtained for 
 him among the ladies the enviable appellation 
 of the mad creature ; one moment he 
 would languish with a die-away softness, 
 and the next almost stun you with the view 
 halloo. Like most eminent men, he was 
 the slave of ambition, and only differed from
 
 HAPPINESS 
 
 them in mistaking notonety for fame. He 
 was delighted when any of his exploits 
 were chronicled, and it is said was never 
 more gratified than when he had given occa- 
 sion to the following paragraph in the news- 
 papers : 
 
 "Match. — Captain D and ]Mr. L started on 
 
 horseback from Richardson's hotel, in London, at 
 three o'clock on Monday morning, for the Castle- 
 tavern, Brighton, for a wager of fifty guineas, and 
 the horses they rode ; tlie race was won by Capt. 
 
 D , the horse of ^Ir- L \\Si\mg fallen down 
 
 dead, near Crawley. The rider luckily escaped." 
 
 By this hel-efiprit Louisa and her com- 
 panion were accosted : " Ha ! Ladies search- 
 ing for new weapons to assail us ! eh, Mrs. 
 Twaites will have a great deal on her 
 conscience for assisting you to commit so 
 many murders.'* " I cannot tell what com- 
 punctious visitings may trouble Twaites 
 on the subject ; but, for my own part, I do 
 not think she is half so guilty o^ malice pre- 
 pense, as the man who made your quizzing 
 glass,'' said Emily, laughing. 
 
 The Captain simpered ; but as he could 
 not recollect a smart answer, and did not 
 wish to be pursued farther, he turned to 
 B 2
 
 4 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Louisa to inquire after Lady Delaval. Louisa 
 replied, that her mother was better, but still 
 not well. The Captain accordingly expressed 
 his sorrow and condolence: " Sad thing — 
 very sad thing ; but old wonien will die — no 
 help for it. I wonder how she has contrived 
 to live so long ; two physicians have been 
 taking their steady aim for a fortnight, — 
 double-barrelled gun — eh — can^t miss. Well, 
 we must have a coroner's inquest — Verdict, 
 died by the visitation of the Doctors — 
 ha! ha!^' 
 
 Shocked as Louisa was at his want of 
 feeling, neither she nor Emily could forbear 
 smiling at the Captain's manner of express- 
 ing himself. Emily, however, ventured to 
 expostulate with him, at least to say, that 
 she thought sickness and death very unfit 
 subjects for raillery. " ^Pon honour, I did 
 not think of what I was saying ; but I hate 
 physic. I hope I did not hurt your feelings. 
 Miss Delaval ; the good lady may live 
 many years yet — sorry, very sorry to offend. 
 I shall never survive your frowning and grave 
 looks, Miss Thornhill!" "That's an old 
 story,'' said Emily ; " you cannot make us 
 believe it now : at any rate it will not do for 
 a scarecrow, for we have charity enough to
 
 HAPPINESS. 5 
 
 be very willing to sacrifice the pleasure of 
 your company for the good of the under- 
 taker/' 
 
 " Oh, Miss Thornhill/' stammered out the 
 Captain, " indeed you are very cruel ; 1 
 would not for the world be at your mercy 
 for half an hour/^ 
 
 *' You are very much afraid of us, it 
 seems, and I suppose will not therefore 
 venture to walk in," said Louisa, as they 
 reached home. The Captain pleaded a 
 particular engagement, which required his 
 immediate attention, and with a whistle to 
 his dog, that had strayed to the other side 
 of the road, he bowed, and wished the 
 ladies good morning. 
 
 " That creature you perceive," said 
 Emily, " is on most excellent terms with 
 himself ; to be sure he has one advantage 
 over his brother puppies ; — he has an elegant 
 person, and, in spite of all his efforts, has 
 not quite lost the gentleman in the fop: 
 then he is whimsical and tolerably good 
 natured. What would you think of him as a 
 lover, Louisa ?^^ — " I will answer your ques- 
 tion by asking another," replied Louisa ; 
 " What would you think of him as a hus-
 
 6 HAPPINESS. 
 
 band, Emily ? — Besides, is not the idea of a 
 Dandy making love absurd and preposterous ? 
 — Love ! such an animal is incapable of any 
 passion but self-admiration, and is insen- 
 sible to all charms but those which center 
 in his own dear person. Captain Dormer 
 in love ! whoever dreamed of such a thing !*^ 
 
 " Do not be surprised, my dear Louisa," 
 rejoined Emily, " if it should turn out that 
 love is one of the Captain's waking dreams 
 at present. I have heard that he has serious 
 thoughts of a matrimonial speculation; and 
 if I am not misinformed, a friend of yours 
 is the happy fair one." 
 
 " A friend of mine !" exclaimed Louisa 
 (blushing crimson). " Then it must be her 
 fortune and connexions on which he has 
 fixed the eyes of his rapacity/' — " Have you 
 then so mean an opinion of the merit of 
 your friends,'' said Emily, " that you ima- 
 gine their lovers must be attracted by what 
 they have^ rather than by what they are P" 
 
 *' Whatever my opinion may be of the 
 merit of my friends," replied Louisa, " the 
 only merit which any woman can possess in 
 the estimation of fops and gamblers, is a 
 plentiful fortune. Perhaps you will inform
 
 HAPPINESS. * 
 
 me who the happy fair one is, that has been 
 so fortunate as to fix the roving heart of this 
 gay Lothario?'' — " That, my dear,'' said 
 Emily, with an air of affected importance, 
 " I am not at hberty to disclose. But time, 
 that tells all secrets, will perhaps ere long blab 
 this out ; if not, as we are friends, I will tell 
 you myself; for, in truth, 1 hate secrets, and 
 never keep any but those I forget." Here 
 the conversation relating to the Captain 
 ended ; and the party at the Countess's 
 became the subject of speculation and dis- 
 cussion. Emily, though several years older 
 than Louisa, was all vivacity ; and talked 
 with fluency and animation, of scenes on 
 which her imagination dwelt, with un- 
 mingled delight. Louisa participated in the 
 pleasure of her companion, and felt no little 
 chagrin that she was compelled, by duty, to 
 mope at home, while Emily was to be so 
 happy in the circle of her dear five hundred 
 friends ; yet the feelings of Louisa were 
 naturally of a more sober and profound 
 character than those of her friend ; and, 
 though fashionable amusements attracted 
 and pleased her, they did not engross her 
 whole attention, and however she might have
 
 8 HAPPINESS. 
 
 once regarded them, she did not now view 
 them as indispensable to the enjoyment of hfe. 
 They suited well with the lighter stream 
 of emotions that flowed and sparkled on the 
 surface of her mind ; but were totally un- 
 congenial with that deeper under current, 
 which ran imperceptibly and without noise 
 in an opposite direction. 
 
 As the character of Louisa will develope* 
 Itself in the following pages, and as there 
 are parts of her story which cannot be well 
 understood without some account of her 
 family, it may be proper to introduce it 
 here. 
 
 Sir George Delaval, the father of Louisa^ 
 was a perfectly well bred man of the world. 
 He possessed naturally a good understand- 
 ing, and might have been reckoned a man 
 of talent, had it been well cultivated. He 
 had a heart formed for friendship, and capa- 
 ble of enjoying the pleasures of domestic 
 life, if the voice of nature had not been 
 silenced amidst the hurry and confusion of 
 the ever-shifting scenes of dissipation. But 
 with every natural good tendency, he was 
 the victim of a fashionable education, and 
 the slave of a fashionable wife. He was de-
 
 HAPPINESS. 9 
 
 scended from a line of ancestors, who were 
 distinguished for their attachment to their 
 native soil, who lived on their estate, and left 
 it to their children, not only undiminished, 
 but greatly improved. Sir George, however, 
 unfortunately caught the mania now so pre- 
 valent of leaving his country residence to 
 the care of a steward, while he spent the 
 winter in London, and the summer months 
 by the sea side. By this departure from the 
 habits of his forefathers, he exposed himself 
 to those temptations which few young 
 men can resist ; and a compliance with 
 which not only taint'? the purity and weakens 
 the force of the moral principle, and thus 
 destroys the character ; but also impairs the 
 estate, and reduces the individual to be the 
 sport of capricious fortune. Having by this 
 means involved himself in pecuniary embar- 
 rassments. Sir George determined to form 
 an alliance with some fair lady, whose pro- 
 perty, added to his own, would extricate 
 him from his difficulties. He wanted a for- 
 tune more than a wife ; but, as one could 
 not be obtained without the other, he sub- 
 mitted to the necessity of choosing from 
 the triflers of the day, a lady who had
 
 IX) HAPPINESS. 
 
 a decent fortune at her own disposal. At 
 that time the Misses Elmer were well known 
 in every fashionable circle ; their father, a 
 wealthy banker, had left them the whole of 
 his property ; and it was generally supposed, 
 as they had arrived at that period of life, 
 when suitors become rather scarce ; they 
 would have no violent objection to enter 
 into a matrimonial treaty with any gentle- 
 man of fortune and respectable connexions. 
 
 The affairs of Sir George being rather 
 urgent, and as there was something in the 
 younger Miss Elmer, that rendered her, in 
 his view, a tolerably agreeable companion, 
 the business was not long on the tapish^iove 
 it was concluded ; and the marriage pro- 
 duced as much felicity as those alliances 
 usually do, where convenience and not 
 affection is the only inducement to form 
 them. Lady Delaval having never been 
 educated to be a wife, it would be unjust to 
 fbrm an estimate of her character by the 
 rigid rules of domestic economy. She was 
 educated for show, and only regarded ma- 
 trimony as an establishment for life. A 
 husband she considered as chiefly desirable on 
 account of the consequence he would attach
 
 HAPPINESS. 11 
 
 to her person, and the subserviency of his 
 will and inclinations to her caprice. Pos- 
 sessing more natural strength of mind than 
 Sir George, she felt her superiority, and was 
 resolved to maintain it ; and though her 
 tyranny was sufficiently irksome, it was on 
 the whole beneficial to his interests. Lady 
 Delaval, while she yielded to the follies of 
 fashion, did not suffer herself to be ensnared 
 by its vices. Though she loved a little per- 
 sonal extravagance, her habits were not ge- 
 nerally expensive. Indeed, it was on the 
 point of his embarrassments, and his inca- 
 pacity to manage his own fortune ; that Lady 
 Delaval always found herself able to silence 
 and humble her spouse. Still her ladyship 
 was unquestionably a woman of fashion. 
 To be such, and of the highest ton, was the 
 first wish of her heart up to a certain period. 
 When, however, she became a mother, which 
 happened a few years after her marriage, her 
 maternal feelings which (to her honour be 
 it spoken), it was not in the power of dissi- 
 pation to subdue, led her to devote her un- 
 divided and anxious attention to her only 
 daughter. 
 
 Conscious that her own glory was on the
 
 12 HAPPINESS. 
 
 wane, she was resolved to shine in the charms 
 and accomplishments of her darhng Louisa- 
 Having formed in her imagination her beau 
 ideal of excellence, which included in it 
 little either of intellectual or moral worth, 
 but was chiefly distinguished by the 
 showy qualities which are calculated to 
 excite momentary admiration, rather than 
 to conciliate permanent affection, she de- 
 sired to form the character of her daughter 
 after this splendid model. Sir George rea- 
 dily acquiesced in her views, and as soon 
 as the infant became capable of receiving 
 the important instructions which were to 
 form her into an automaton of fashion ; the 
 house was filled with governesses and mas- 
 ters, and all the train whose business it is to 
 stifle and torture the female mind, by forcing 
 upon it, what Rousseau has called, " the 
 insignificant trash that has obtained the name 
 of a polite education/' Lady Delaval was 
 beyond measure delighted when she saw the 
 olyect of her fond idolatry grow into an ele- 
 gant figure and an engaging person, adorned 
 with all the accomplishments which the 
 Monsieurs, the Mademoiselles, the Signors, 
 and the Signoras had so successfully laboured
 
 HAPPINESS. 13 
 
 to bestow upon her. She longed for the 
 period when her amiable and lovely daughter 
 should be ushered into the world, and was al- 
 ways talking to her of the conquests she would 
 make, and the distinction she would com- 
 mand. 
 
 Thus flattered and caressed, Louisa 
 soon fancied herself a prodigy. Her lively 
 imagination painted scenes of future happi- 
 ness, when, bright as the morning star, she 
 was to adorn the hemisphere of fashion, and 
 captivate all hearts. She spared no pains 
 in qualifying herself for the conspicuous 
 station she seemed destined to fill. To 
 shine at a ball, to attract the beaux of 
 distinction to her box at the opera, appeared 
 to be the very acme of felicity. How she 
 longed for the approach of the first winter, 
 when she was to make her entree into life ! 
 Present enjoyment was lost in expectation of 
 the future. Sometimes, indeed, she would re 
 lieve the tedious interval, by amusing herself 
 with some of our best authors, especially 
 the living poets. She read with avidity and 
 dangerous delight the love-witchery of 
 Moore, and the sublime but demoralising 
 extravagance of Byron ; with Scott, Southey
 
 14 HAPPINESS. 
 
 and Campbell, she was familiar ; and her sin- 
 cere admiration of the latter, proved, that not- 
 withstanding the corrupting influence of her 
 favourites, she still retained a taste for na- 
 tural simplicity and moral beauty. But the 
 frivolities and dissipation with which she 
 was surrounded, and the lessons of vanity 
 which were instilled into her mind, hurried 
 her away from intellectual pursuits.
 
 HAPPINESS. 15 
 
 CHAP. 11, 
 
 " How swift, how soon ye pass'd away, 
 
 Joys of my early hours.'' — Montg-omery. 
 
 Yet there was one m that gay shifting crowd 
 Sick at the soul with sorrow/' — Cornwall, 
 
 AT length the period arrived when Miss 
 Delaval was to enter upon her brilhant career — 
 
 " The worid was all before her," 
 
 So lovely did its scenes appear, so fair the 
 blossoms which adorned her path, and so 
 magnificent the enchanting prospect which 
 opened to her view, that her youthful ima- 
 gination was dazzled, and her whole soul 
 absorbed in rapture and admiration. How- 
 ever the multitude with whom she asso- 
 ciated might wear only " the face of plea- 
 sure,^* she possessed the reality. The cause 
 of this may be easily imagined. A stranger
 
 16 HAPPINESS. 
 
 to mankind, all the scenes that she con- 
 templated were adorned with the brightest 
 hues of novelty. With what contempt would 
 this ingenuous girl have heard it insinuated, 
 that the emotions she now felt would one 
 day be followed with satiety and disgust ; 
 and that when she had been used to this 
 every day worlds its charms would fade 
 away ! This change, however, was not far 
 distant. Before she was eighteen years of 
 age, she began to suspect that every thing 
 around her was artificial. She had many ac- 
 quaintances, but among them all she could 
 scarcely boast one friend. After having 
 twice or thrice completed the revolution of 
 fashionable pleasure, she sighed for some 
 other method of spending her time ; though 
 flattered into a sufficiently good opinion of 
 her beauty, she could not be always dressing 
 and exhibiting herself to public view. The 
 theatre, though enchanting at first, became 
 insipid after she was accustomed to its 
 scenes, and acquainted with the merit of its 
 performers. To pay unmeaning visits, and 
 in return to meet in her father's mansion a 
 promiscuous crowd, with a tenth part of 
 whom she could hold no intercourse, after
 
 HAPPINESS. 17 
 
 the novelty had ceased, became insipid and 
 disgusting. She endeavoured, indeed, to 
 reconcile herself to these things, by consi- 
 dering they were according to the mode, yet 
 still she felt ennui. Perhaps there is not a 
 more pitiable object in nature than a young 
 woman, who, possessing a fine understand- 
 ing and a heart of sensibility, is doomed to 
 be the slave of opinion, and the sport of 
 fashion. It is true, various expedients are 
 contrived to preserve a female thus circum- 
 stanced from reflection. The great majority 
 of this unenviable class of our fair country- 
 women live entirely without thought, and 
 thus are perfectly contented to be what they 
 are. It is an invariable principle with them, 
 that not to be fashionable is not to exist, and 
 to this principle they sacrifice everything for 
 which life can be desirable. Miss Delaval, 
 though no vulgar notions had been infused 
 into her mind by her preceptors and asso- 
 ciates, could not help sometimes thinking 
 that she was a rational being formed for hap- 
 piness ; and she had the good sense to per- 
 ceive, that the manner in which she had been 
 educated, and the pursuits in which she was 
 engaged, had little in them to satisfy her 
 c
 
 18 HAPPINESS. 
 
 reason, or to make her happy. In her own 
 family, and in those with whom she was more 
 particularly intimate, she found that a fashion- 
 able life was constantly at war with nature, 
 and that to attain any eminence, and to give 
 the ton^ it was necessary to live and die a 
 trifler. Though these thoughts would often 
 intrude, they were never indulged, and were 
 generally dissipated by 
 
 " Fandango ball or rout." 
 
 Among the belles of distinction, with whom 
 Miss Delaval had formed an acquaintance, 
 was Emily Thornhill. She was a girl whom 
 folly could not satiate. Her chief excellen- 
 cies were, an acute understanding, a vivacious 
 temper, and a compassionate heart — her 
 prevailing defect, the love of admiration, to 
 which every thing most graceful and valuable 
 in the female character was sacrificed. She 
 lived on flattery. Wherever she appeared, 
 she imagined herself the idol of the throng ; 
 and it must be owned, that the homage which 
 was paid to her fortune and her beauty, not 
 a little justified her vanity. Miss Thornhill 
 had been introduced into what is called the 
 world, much earlier than Louisa Delaval.
 
 HAPPINESS. 19 
 
 The latter, therefore, sought her as a desirable 
 companion ; and Emily received her with 
 the warmth of undissembled and generous 
 friendship. It was from the habits of this 
 lady, and the constraint which she was con- 
 stantly imposing upon the best feehngs of 
 her heart, that Louisa was first led to sigh 
 for the simple pleasures of unsophisticated 
 life. With her, she would sometimes ven- 
 ture to converse on the subject, which, as it 
 was by no means a pleasing topic, w^as soon 
 dismissed to give place to the more w^elcome 
 themes of dress and equipage. From Miss 
 Thornhill, Louisa obtained such knowledge 
 of the principal persons who figured in the 
 gay circles, as induced her most sincerely to 
 despise them. The secret history of men 
 and women of fashion, allowing them to be 
 the chroniclers of each other's fame, certainly 
 does not exhibit them as models of virtue. 
 Louisa, how^ever, found it necessary to dis- 
 guise her feelings. Sometimes she indulged 
 her love of admiration, and was not a little 
 gratified with the marked attentions of Sir 
 Charles Clermont and Colonel Stanley, two 
 of the most finished gentlemen of the age, 
 w ho had persons of which they w^re vain, 
 c 2
 
 20 HAPPINESS. 
 
 affairs of honour of which they boasted, and 
 morals of which only a man of fashion can 
 be proud. These were the professed ad- 
 mirers of Louisa, but they had been equally 
 the admirers of every new face. Though the 
 vanity of Miss Delaval led her at first to over- 
 value her conquests, the acquaintance of a 
 few days convinced her, that a woman of 
 understanding and virtue must sacrifice her 
 reputation for both in permitting the gallan- 
 tries and attentions of avowed and shame- 
 less libertines. 
 
 In their gallantries she thought the dis- 
 covered licentious passion, and in their pre- 
 tensions a matrimonial scheme to repair a 
 fortune, which play, expensive amours, and 
 Bacchanalian orgies had embarrassed. 
 
 Every day her dissatisfaction visibly in- 
 creased. The mind once roused to busy 
 reflection, cannot easily return to its former 
 state of torpid repose. To detect an error 
 is to explode it. To discover that certain 
 habits and pursuits are irrational, is at once 
 to arm conscience and the better part of our 
 nature against them. They may for a season 
 retain a mechanical influence over us ; but 
 the understanding will condemn them, and
 
 HAPPINESS. 21 
 
 to the heart they will yield no permanent sa- 
 tisfaction. Custom, example, and ignorance 
 of what is more worthy of our regard, may 
 likewise increase their power, and hold us in 
 slavish subserviency to their dominion ; but 
 we must frequently sigh under our bondage, 
 and long to escape from it. Something of 
 this kind Louisa began to feel at the period 
 when her mother's indisposition commenced, 
 and from which she appeared to be recover- 
 ing, when Captain Dormer assailed her with 
 the ludicrous expressions of his condolence. 
 The evenings which her affection naturally 
 induced her to spend in the sick room of her 
 beloved parent, were therefore not so irksome 
 and mopish as Emily had taught her to 
 expect, and as she herself anticipated. Merely 
 to absent herself from company, and the 
 scenes of amusement to which she was 
 accustomed, was no great sacrifice ; and 
 revolting as the chamber of disease certainly 
 is to youth and vivacity, Louisa found that 
 it had its uses and its pleasures too. She 
 had more than once, in circles the most bril- 
 liant, been quite as melancholy, and with 
 this difference, that when she returned, her 
 gloom was deepened by regret. But in the
 
 22 HAPPINESS. 
 
 present instance, though she had much to 
 endure from the fretfulness of the invahd, 
 and the sympathy which her sufferings occa- 
 sioned ; yet the performance of duty was 
 a cordial to her heart : her attentions were 
 paid to one who needed them, whose pains 
 they assuaged — who stood in the nearest 
 relation to her, and whom she fondly loved. 
 She relieved a mother's anguish ; she was 
 necessary to a mother's comfort: she was 
 useful, and she was so far happy. 
 
 AtlengthLady Delaval recovered, and with 
 her daughter returned to the world of fashion, 
 where they were received with a thousand 
 congratulations. Captain Dormer, deeply pe- 
 netrated wijth her ladyship's serious indispo- 
 sition, was happy to meet her renovated, as 
 he said, and adorned with new charms, like 
 the queen of flowers, or some other simile 
 which he was not at leisure, or had not the 
 ability to complete, and from which he 
 escaped by a fulsome and equally extrava- 
 gant compliment to Louisa. Every body 
 had something civil to say, and in their very 
 best manner, to a lady who was the life and 
 soul of all their parties, whose fair daughter 
 had just risen upon them as the morning
 
 HAPPINESS. 23 
 
 Star of beauty, and who now shone brighter 
 for her temporary ecHpse. All this, and a 
 great deal more, was said on the occasion ; 
 how much was meant, this deponent saith 
 not. The sincerity of the fashionable world 
 is proverbial. Feeling herself completely 
 restored, Lady Delaval issued cards to an- 
 nounce a rout, and to invite all the fashion 
 and folly she could muster on the occasion, 
 intending, if possible, to outvie her most 
 splendid acquaintances in the rank and 
 number of her visitors. The evening ar- 
 rived ; the company assembled ; her lady- 
 ship was observed to be animated with an 
 unusual flow of spirits. Her eyes beamed 
 with pride and satisfaction as she glided 
 through the rooms, and welcomed with 
 smiles and compliments the almost count- 
 less throng. But in the moment of highest 
 exhilaration, she suddenly fainted — and ex- 
 pired. This dreadful event spread dismay 
 through the whole assembly of triflers — some 
 screamed, others instantly ordered their car- 
 riages, and, in less than half an hour, the 
 spacious apartments so brilliantly illumi- 
 nated, and which had been crowded to ex- 
 cess, became void as the desert, and silent
 
 24 HAPPINESS. 
 
 as the mausoleum of the dead. Indeed, the 
 whole house was soon abandoned to the 
 rapacious cormorants who hunt for death as 
 their prey. 
 
 This unlooked-for intrusion of the king of 
 terrors, where he was so little desired, pro- 
 duced no lasting impression on those who had 
 witnessed it. It furnished the chit-chat of 
 the morning calls of the ensuing day. The 
 phrases, " Good God V* and " Gracious 
 Heavens !" were profanely repeated in a 
 thousand variety of tones. Before the even- 
 ing the circumstance was forgotten, and 
 the ball at Lady Prescott's was numerously 
 attended by the very individuals who scream- 
 ed, fainted, and acted the farce of grief be- 
 fore the afflicted family of the Delavals on 
 the preceding night. 
 
 This appalling catastrophe gave an addi- 
 tional shock to the already perturbed mind 
 of Louisa. The death of a parent must for 
 a moment, at least, arrest the most thought- 
 less ; it must excite even in the trifler mourn- 
 ful reflections on the uncertainty of life. 
 IVliss Delaval had long suspected that all 
 was vanity ; she had also felt vexation of 
 spirit ; but now the world appeared dis-
 
 HAPPINESS. 25 
 
 robed of its fallacious beauty ; it yawned 
 under her feet, the grave of every hope, and 
 every joy. Her bereaved heart rejected con- 
 solation. In vain did pleasure woo her to its 
 circle ; vain were the well meant efforts 
 of mistaken friends to divert and relieve her 
 mind. They spread before her the fascina- 
 tions of those amusements which, in other 
 instances, had been known to cheat the suf- 
 ferer of his woe ; but on her they produced 
 an opposite effect. There is a state of 
 mental gloom, to which 
 
 " Life's gayest scenes speak man's mortality, 
 Tho' in a style more florid, fiill as plain 
 As mausoleums, pyramids, and tombs." 
 
 In spite of herself, Louisa imagined that 
 death lurked in every scene. Frequently 
 she thought of something after death ; but it 
 was indistinct and formless. She knew no- 
 thing of " a hopey^^// of immortahty.^' She 
 presumed that all would be well, and there 
 the matter ended. Her father observing her 
 disquietude, became seriously alarmed for 
 her health ; and attributing her unusual 
 sedateness and aversion to company to the 
 melancholy event of her mother's death, he
 
 26 HAPPINESS. 
 
 resolved to accompany her to a watering 
 place, hoping that change of scene might 
 recruit her spirits, and heal the anguish 
 which so visibly preyed upon her loveliness. 
 Louisa was glad to seek in solitude, and the 
 charms of nature, that repose which she had 
 in vain endeavoured to procure in the world. 
 She took an affectionate leave of Emily, her 
 only friend, and accompanied her father to 
 the sea coast.
 
 HAPPINESS. 27 
 
 CHAP. in. 
 
 " A mind unnerved or indisposed to bear 
 The weight of subjects wortliiest of her care ; 
 WHiatever hopes a change of scene inspires. 
 Must change her nature, or in vain retires." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 From the remarks which our narrative has 
 thus far ehcited, let none imagine that the 
 faithful biographer of Miss Delaval is one 
 who, with plebeian rudeness, is determined 
 to attack " the Corinthian capitals ^^ of 
 polished society, and to level in the dust that 
 hght and elegant structure of gaiety and 
 politeness which is the ornament and the 
 charm of the civihsed world. Against such 
 a design indeed he needs enter no protest ; 
 no censure is here passed on the great, the 
 rich, and the noble as such, nor upon the 
 manners and accomplishments, which reflect 
 lustre upon the elevated stations which 
 Providence has destined them to fill. In a 
 country where wealth is every day changing
 
 §8 HAPPINESS. 
 
 its masters, and the nobodies of yesterday 
 become the upstart lordlings of to-day ; 
 where the educated and illustrious are so 
 constantly annoyed by well-fed ignorance, 
 and purse proud insolence ; where all the 
 consequence of rank is assumed without 
 the smallest portion of its urbanity, by those 
 who every moment betray to others the 
 baseness of their origin, while they 
 
 " Forget the dunghill where they grew. 
 And think themselves the Lord knows who :" 
 
 He must be a Goth or a Vandal who would 
 attempt to confound the distinction between 
 the well-bred gentleman and the overgrown 
 dealer in the articles which furnish his table 
 and his cellar — ^between the lady of birth 
 and family, and the malapert and affected 
 descendant of her grandmother's waiting- 
 woman. But when the higher orders enter 
 into a tacit compact, to exclude from their 
 circles the dignity of intellect and the spirit 
 of piety ; when their whole time is wasted in 
 frivolous amusements, and in those pursuits 
 which render their example useless, if not 
 pernicious ; that writer ought not to be 
 deemed the enemy of their rank or privilege,
 
 HAPPINESS. 29 
 
 who, in the language of mild expostulation, 
 presumes to become the censor of their 
 vices, and the satirist of their follies ; who 
 unveils their real character with the bene- 
 volent desio'n of excitins^ them to reflection 
 and amendment. It is possible to possess, 
 in all its irresistible attraction, " the un- 
 bought grace of life,'^ and yet to be rational 
 and devoted candidates for immortality. 
 
 The place chosen by Sir George Delaval, 
 as a summer's retreat, was a delightful spot : 
 
 a little lowly hermitage it was. 
 
 Down in a dale." 
 
 It was situated on the banks of the Medina, 
 in a nook which secluded it from observation, 
 except from the water. Trees, then in all the 
 verdure of spring, shaded it from the glare 
 of the noon-day sun. The windows com- 
 manded a birdVeye view of the harbour of 
 Cowes, and all the picturesque and enchant- 
 ing scenery of its eastern shore. It was 
 sufficiently distant from the town, to pre- 
 serve the charm of silent solitude. No 
 human voice was heard, except when in the 
 stillness of the night, the hoarse watch-word 
 of the centinel stationed in the convict ship
 
 30 HAPPINESS. 
 
 at the mouth of the river, murmured through 
 the glen. On the first evening of her 
 arrival, Louisa, in wandering around her 
 cottage, felt a kind of ecstacy. The still 
 small voice of nature spoke to her heart, and 
 she wept she knew not why. It had been a 
 very sultry day, but a light evening breeze 
 rendered the air cool. It was fresh without 
 chillness, and inspired a sensation of deli- 
 ciousness which words cannot describe. To 
 the eye all was beauty. The setting sun 
 had tinged the clouds with a crimson hue, 
 which was again reflected by the water, and 
 invested with its glory the trees of the 
 distant copse. The sweetest nightingales 
 were incessantly on either side of the river, 
 answering each other's songs. Never to the 
 enamoured ear of Louisa did sounds convey 
 so heartfelt a joy. For dispirited and sad as 
 she was, she still retained 
 
 " A young fancy, which would convert the sound 
 
 Of common breath to something exquisite. 
 
 When evening silence, and the trees were round her." 
 
 In this charming retreat Miss Delaval in- 
 dulged a pleasing confidence that she should 
 lose her mental distress, and recruit her
 
 HAPPINESS. 31 
 
 wasting strength. When in the world, she 
 imagined that the cause of her unhappiness 
 was not in herself, but in her condition ; she 
 therefore at once concluded, that retirement 
 would bestow upon her tranquillity and 
 peace. But after the first delightful emo- 
 tions, which rural scenery cannot fail to 
 excite in one who had been long a stranger 
 to its influence had subsided ; she felt again 
 the gnawing anguish of a mind that preyed 
 upon itself. Quietness soothed her melan- 
 choly, but did not invigorate her heart. It 
 forced upon her reflection ; but the past had 
 nothing to inspire her with satisfaction, and 
 of the future she was totally ignorant. She 
 sought employment and solace in reading, 
 and once or twice made an effort to express 
 her sentiments in verse. But her's was not 
 the usual theme on which young ladies of 
 her age invoke the muse. She was not in 
 love, and therefore neither whined nor wept 
 in the edifying strains of damsels, who 
 would feign persuade us that their tender 
 hearts must break, because Lothario frowns, 
 or Edwin is inconstant. 
 
 The following lines bear the date of the 
 period, when Louisa had occupied the re-
 
 32 HAPPINESS. 
 
 tired scene which we have described, but 
 little more than a fortnight : 
 
 Sweet is the radiant blush of early mom. 
 And soft the crystal drops of glittering dew ; 
 
 Mild the young fragrance of the milk-white thorn. 
 And fair the glow which paints the violet blue. 
 
 Calm is the sweet, the tranquil hour of eve. 
 And fair the sparkling gems that gild the night ; 
 
 Soft is the tint the murmuring waves receive. 
 From the faint beams of Luna's silvery light. 
 
 But 'tis not in the radiant morning's hue 
 To chace away the mental shades that roll. 
 
 Nor can the early drops of balmy dew 
 Distil sweet peace into the wounded soul. 
 
 In vain the violet spreads her leaves so fair. 
 In vain the sweetly scented hawthorn blows ; 
 
 If sadly nursed, with many a bitter tear 
 The thorn of sorrow in the bosom grows. 
 
 When the last beam fades slowly from the west. 
 And all the starry host of heaven arise. 
 
 The child of anguish tastes not nature's rest — 
 Each zephyr seems an echo to her sighs. 
 
 I guess the cause that bids the silent tear 
 
 Steal gently trembling down her pallid cheek. 
 
 And in that bursting sigh did fancy hear 
 The language which a sigh alone can speak. 
 
 It seemed to whisper, " Tho' each beauty fades, 
 " Another morning shall its charms restore ; 
 
 " But, ah ! my Sun has sunk in darkest shades, 
 " To rise and purple Eastern skies no more.
 
 HAPPINESS. 33 
 
 In vain for her, the waves of ocean roll, 
 In vain for her the silvery moon-beams play ; 
 
 For ruder billows overwhelm her soul. 
 Without one gleam of hope's celestial ray. 
 
 No outward scene can make the mourner blest, 
 Or cause the sun of heavenly peace to shine ; 
 
 Some corresponding charm luiUdn the ])reast 
 Must gently wake the sympathy divine. 
 
 The pensiveness breathed in these stanzas 
 acquired increasing influence every day, 
 interrupted occasionally by a letter from 
 Emily, and the employment of answering 
 what had been thus received. This cor- 
 respondence, as it will disclose the different 
 characters of the writers, may not be unin- 
 teresting : 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 *' I almost envy you, my thoughtless Emily, 
 the happiness which is ever dimpling your 
 cheeks and illuminating your countenance 
 with perpetual smiles. I would give the 
 world for that power by which you lay every 
 thing under contribution to your wishes; and 
 for that nonchalance with which you allow 
 yourself to be cheated into pleasure. I am 
 so much a fool, I break every toy that should
 
 34 HAPPINESS. 
 
 amuse me to see what it contains. If Sir 
 Charles bows to me, and says a thousand 
 fine things, I begin to dissect his head ; and, 
 when he proffers love, I am provoked to find 
 that my sighing Strephon is without a heart. 
 A ball-room has its charms, and I love to 
 shine ; but then I cannot bear to think at how 
 small a price I purchase admiration ; and 
 when I imagine I have deserved it, I begin 
 to estimate this admiration itself, and find it 
 lighter than vanity. When I go to the play, 
 if I am interested, I am laughed at ; and if 
 I am perfectly indifferent to what is passing 
 on the stage, I am doomed to listen to un- 
 meaning compliments and insipid nonsense 
 from the coxcombs around me ; yet I really 
 make an effort to do these things with a 
 grace, and it would all be well could I chace 
 away the intruding phantom — thought, had 
 I not the strange propensity to believe that I 
 am answering no one important purpose for, 
 which I conceive my Creator blessed me 
 with existence. Oh ! I could satirise and 
 scourge the follies of the world ! 1 some- 
 times feel the curling smile of bitter irony 
 disfiguring my most enchanting face, as 
 the boobies call it ; but when I would turn
 
 HAPPINESS. 35 
 
 the jest upon a fellow trifler, conscience 
 raises her faithful mirror, and I stand 
 self-convicted and reproved. In thus open- 
 ing my heart, I have exposed myself, 
 Emily, to your playful raillery ; but to this 
 I feel not the smallest objection. Perhaps 
 for the moment I shall laugh with you^- 
 " A merry heart doeth good like a medicine;" 
 but when I shall obtain this panacea, it is 
 not in my power to imagine. Sir George 
 has chosen a retreat which seems like fairy 
 land. This beautiful island is, indeed, the 
 garden of England. Yesterday I beheld a 
 lovely scene. As we were ascending an ad- 
 joining hill, which commands a view of 
 Whippingham spire, peeping above the trees, 
 and the elegant chateaux and grounds which 
 render the eastern Cowes one of the most 
 cultivated and pleasant spots upon earth ; 
 we were suddenly surprised by the gather- 
 ing of dark clouds immediately around us, 
 and the springing up of violent gusts of 
 wind. While the servants w^ere endea- 
 vouring to close the carriage, the rain 
 descended in torrents, and we expected 
 nothing less than a raging and pitiless 
 tempest ; but scarcely had this thought 
 D 2
 
 36 HAPPINESS. 
 
 glanced through the mind ere the scene 
 was completely changed. The storm, appa- 
 rently in pursuit of some fleet and flying 
 enemy, merely frowned and threatened as 
 it hastened from us to pour its fury on the 
 devoted victim ! But the glorious sun, as if 
 determined to avenge the insult, shone forth 
 in all his brightness ; and as we turned to 
 welcome him with smiles of gratitude, a 
 spectacle, to me altogether new and delight- 
 ful, presented itself. The trees on the rising 
 shore were invested with all the lovely 
 variegated tints of the rainbow, " turning 
 their leafy umbrage into a substance glo- 
 rious as its own ;" as if Iris had descended 
 to the emerald cavern of the naiads of the 
 stream, and had cast her mantle on the shore 
 to await her return : or you might have ima- 
 gined that Nature determined to keep a holi- 
 day in this her favourite isle, had hung the 
 woods with garlands, adorned with every 
 flower of every hue from her exhaustless 
 treasury of beauty. In short, your fancy 
 may imagine what you will, but you will 
 never, never be able to realise the lovely and 
 enchanting vision ; but that also is no more: 
 like many day dreams, which were quite as
 
 HAPPINESS. 37 
 
 charming, it is fled. Oh ! what a vain pa- 
 geant is human life — 
 
 " "WTiat is this passing scene ?" 
 
 A peevish April day, 
 A little sun, a little rain, 
 And then night sweeps along the plaiii. 
 
 And all things fade away. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Emily, you need not 
 envy ; perhaps you will sympathise with 
 your unhappy friend L. ])." 
 
 Emily to Louisa. 
 
 " Very pretty notions, truly, for a girl of 
 twenty ; that old prude, your venerable aunt, 
 could not have diverted me more. What 
 strange spirit of vapourish melancholy, my 
 dear Louisa, dictated your last letter ? I am 
 ready to say with Hamlet — 
 
 " Get thee to a nunnery." 
 
 When, my charming friend, do you take 
 the veil ? Let me see — 
 
 *'' In these deep solitudes and awful cells." 
 
 Admirable ! so the amiable Louisa De- 
 laval, the mirror of fashion, the admiration
 
 38 HAPPINESS. 
 
 of the other sex, and the envy of her own, 
 begins to morahse — to weep, and to talk of 
 being unhappy ! This all comes of being 
 romantic : I always thought you had a spice 
 of this in your composition, and have la- 
 mented its influence over you. It is very 
 well to seem to be romantic and sentimental, 
 and all that sort of thing, when it is the 
 mode, and Lord Byron's poetry has certainly 
 of late brought it into fashion ; but to be 
 really romantic, to live in the poet's world, 
 and to be the subject of deep and powerful 
 feelings which none of the million can under- 
 stand, and with which they cannot sympathise, 
 is to be a grim solitaire, Avhen all around us is 
 social gaiety and joy. I would rather dwell 
 in a fool's paradise, and laugh away my days 
 of idleness with the daughters of vanity, than 
 mope and moralise, and cry and look sub- 
 lime with those very sombre^ magnificent, and 
 heroic personages the ladies of romance. 
 Do not you, my dear Louisa, suffer yourself 
 any longer to be entranced by these wizards, 
 the mighty masters of song : they may make 
 fools of their readers ; but they are far enough 
 from being duped themselves by the crea- 
 tions of their fancy. There is your favourite
 
 HAPPINESS. 39 
 
 Byron, for instance ; do you think that he is 
 'troubled with any of the sensibihties and 
 tendernesses of human nature ; that he pos- 
 sesses any of that ennobhng generosity which 
 deh'ghts in the happiness of others, and which 
 would spend its last energies in alleviating 
 their wretchedness? no; he is radically and 
 totally selfish, and we may almost say of 
 him, w^hat has been recently said of the 
 second Charles, " that a heart was fors^otten 
 in his anatomy." If he were not a stranger 
 to the true natural touch, if apathetic vanity 
 had not chilled and frozen all the delicate 
 sympathies of humanity within him ; would 
 he so constantly force upon mankind his 
 impious creed, his refined profligacy, his 
 cruel and execrable taunts on a woman, 
 whose only fault was identifying the poet 
 with the man ; who sinned but once, but, ah ! 
 how fatally, in paying that homage to genius 
 which was due only to virtue ? How mean 
 are his attempts to awaken sympathy for 
 himself at the expense of a wife whom he 
 first rendered desolate, and whom he has 
 -ever since assailed with the weapons of irony 
 and ridicule; holding her up in exquisite and 
 unrivalled poetry to public scorn and con-
 
 40 HAPPINESS. 
 
 tempt ! In perfect harmony with these sen- 
 timents, are the following lines which I met 
 with the other day. I will make no apology 
 for inserting them, and shall only premise 
 that they are misnamed a 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Byron ! of all mankind the foe. 
 
 Why pour in heedless ears thy woe ? 
 
 The wretched mourn their own sad lot. 
 
 The gravcj the gay, regard thee not ; 
 
 All — all are ruled by selfish cares. 
 
 Each busied in his own affairs ; 
 
 Yet could they sigh o'er others grief. 
 
 And yield to sorrow sweet relief. 
 
 In them, — thy wayward fancied dole. 
 
 Can wake no tenderness of soul ; 
 
 Then why in pensive sadness wail. 
 
 Why breathe thy strange obtrusive tale ? 
 
 AH human sympathies in thee are dead. 
 
 And for the misanthrope, no human tears are shed, 
 
 I look back amazed at what I have written, 
 and begin to feel that moralizing is infec- 
 tious. If you tell me that I have mistaken 
 your case, that you are not at all romantic, 
 and that I might have spared my tirade 
 against your noble oracle, why then you 
 drive me per force to another conjecture. 
 Louisa, ah ! Louisa—you are certainly in
 
 HAPPINESS. 41 
 
 love ; pray who is the tender swain ? But 
 " she never told her love.^' Prithee do not 
 sit any longer like " patience on a monu- 
 ment \' escape from solitude, it will only 
 nourish your melancholy; if necessary, escape 
 from yourself; a gay and laughing world 
 is ready to receive you with a lively 
 welcome ; and if your beautiful island, 
 with its rainbows and breezes, cannot 
 impart to your cheeks the roses of 
 York and Lancaster — why, you can get 
 them, you know, at a moderate price from 
 the perfumers in Bond-street. In a few 
 weeks we shall be off to Cheltenham, or 
 Brighton. Glens and cottages will not suit 
 us. I must flow and ebb with the tide of 
 fashion. The stagnant pool of retirement 
 would infect me with a disease a thousand 
 times more to be dreaded than a tertian 
 ague. But I am interrupted — the carriage 
 waits — I have a hundred calls to make, and 
 as many comphments to pay, and beginning 
 them with my best compliments to Sir 
 George — and concluding this letter with my 
 sincerest regards to you, I am, my dearest 
 Louisa, your ever devoted 
 
 Emily."
 
 42 HAPPINESS. 
 
 CHAP. IV, 
 
 I have of late (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth 
 — Indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition, that 
 this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril pro- 
 montory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, 
 this brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestic roof, 
 fretted with golden fires, why it appears no other 
 to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of 
 vapours.'' — Shakspeare. 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 " I SEEM, my dear Emily, to be already in a 
 nunnery, except that I tell no beads, and 
 repeat no Ave-Maria's. I have not to en- 
 counter the grave austerities of a Lady 
 Abbess, nor am I troubled with the gloating 
 and grimace of holy monks and friars; 
 neither am I imprisoned within frowning 
 and impassable walls, nor do I look through 
 grated windows, and sigh in vain for free- 
 dom. But I am as gloomy and wretched 
 as any of the hapless sisterhood ; and though
 
 HAPPINESS. 43 
 
 I have not renounced the world, the world 
 has renounced me ; at least, I do not think 
 that I can ever delight in it again. It is not 
 merely insipid, it is distasteful, and almost 
 nauseating. Young as I am, I have ex- 
 hausted the chalice of human pleasure. I 
 have run the giddy round, and tired and 
 satiated, I sit down sick at heart. I have 
 experienced what the world is, and in this 
 retirement, favourable to reflection, have 
 been able to delineate its character, and to 
 estimate its worth. What can be more 
 WTetched than a woman of fashion, obey- 
 ing the ever-varying and yet monotonous 
 dictates of her capricious deity ? Let me 
 fill up for your instruction, my Emily, only 
 one week of her dissipated career. Each 
 morning is spent, either in the bosom of 
 vacancy at home, attentively enumerating 
 the dull and heavy hours that delay the 
 frivolous scene, which at midnight her 
 heart pants to realize ; or in sauntering, or 
 rolling through the public streets without 
 an object, but to catch the attention of the 
 equally idle of the other sex, or excite the 
 envy of her own. When the wished-for 
 moment arrives, she sallies forth to the
 
 44 HAPPINESS. 
 
 revel or empty pageantry of the night, re- 
 gardless of the repose which her constitu- 
 tion, and the wants of nature imperiously 
 demand ; and often pushing her furious 
 avidity for dissipation into the blushing 
 beams of a returning sun, miserable should 
 chance or indisposition prevent her, in a 
 single instance, from being surrounded 
 abroad, or at home, by a circle of this 
 splendid wretchedness: a stranger in her 
 family ; her children, if children she has 
 any, committed to the mercy, the inat- 
 tention, the example of menials ; without the 
 benefit of a mother's tenderness, instruction,' 
 and care ; and this blessed week, which is 
 the history of every other, only redeemed by 
 occasionally on a Sunday morning offering 
 to Almighty God the wanderings of a mind 
 stupified and corrupted by the never-ending 
 worship of the world. And, oh ! what is 
 this world ? What is its genuine character ? 
 Is it not to neglect occupations the most 
 sacred and important ; to run indiscreetly 
 and without choice into every circle that 
 will admit us ; to live only in the confusion 
 of night and day, amidst laborious amuse- 
 ments that always terminate in disgust ; to
 
 HAPPINESS. 45 
 
 Strive who shall outdo the other in ex- 
 cessive and luxurious entertainments ; to 
 exhibit with study and affectation brilliant 
 and. expensive baubles on the person, and 
 the person w'ithout attire ; to relish the un- 
 inteUigible jargon of mixed and tumultuous 
 assemblies ; to endeavour in all conversa- 
 tions, rather to shine than to instruct ; to 
 season it high with the salt of sarcasm, or 
 slander ; delicately and artificially to enve- 
 lope the poison of impurity and corruption ; 
 to render play an occupation and a 
 traffic, a blind ungovernable passion, that 
 fills the soul with base and malignant affec- 
 tions, the selfishness of avarice, the bitter- 
 ness of envy, the rage that boils at loss and 
 disappointment ; nightly to grope for an 
 object that engrosses every reflection of the 
 mind, and every desire of the heart ; that 
 every instant under the capricious empire of 
 chance, produces miserable shiftings of ec- 
 stacy and pain ; and under the law of polite 
 manners, commands the torment of out- 
 ward ease and countenance serene, when 
 the storm is most violent and afflicting 
 within ? This is the world — the world in 
 which we have lived, my Emily ; the only
 
 46 HAPPINESS. 
 
 scene of our being and pursuits ; the pre- 
 scribed limits in which we have been taught 
 to seek our happiness. Thank heaven, for 
 a httle interval at least, I have escaped. 
 Every thing around me is charming : 
 
 Nature here. 
 
 Wantons as in her prime, and plays at will. 
 Her virgin fancies.'* 
 
 We have spent the last few days at Shank- 
 lin and Steephill, — yet, in Paradise I am 
 unhappy. The genius of the place be- 
 friends me not, and the gloom of my mind 
 gives a sombre cast to the most brilliant 
 prospects, and covers with a sickly hue the 
 beauties of summer. I begin to suspect 
 the disease to be in myself, and that it is 
 rather of a moral, than of a physical nature, 
 Methinks I should feel as one new made, 
 could I look back with pleasure, and 
 retrace the events of my little history with 
 satisfaction. My infant heart danced with 
 joy, when my dear departed mother painted 
 to my view the pleasures which awaited 
 me, when I should dazzle the world with 
 my beauty ; but, oh, it was all delusion ! A 
 life of fashion is dehghtful while it is novel,
 
 HAPPINESS. 47 
 
 and when enjeyed by a thoughtless girl ; 
 but reflection is the fell magician, who, 
 with a single stroke of his wand, reduces 
 the enchanting scenery to a wide, dreary 
 waste ; and yet with a mind prone to reflec- 
 tion, I am doomed to be the child and the 
 sport of folly. A thousand times since I 
 have been in the country, have I wished for 
 the sweet simplicity and rural innocence 
 of the cottage maid. And as I love poetry, 
 who knows but after all I may be meta- 
 morphosed from the fine lady to the shep- 
 herdess with her crook to chaunt in Lydian 
 measures the praises of a country life ; but 
 through whatever variety of untried being 
 I am doomed to pass, my dear Emily, be- 
 lieve me to be your ever affectionate 
 
 Louisa. 
 
 Emily to Louisa. 
 
 " My dear Louisa ; 
 You talk of a metamorphosis, — a thought 
 just occurs to me ; and if you please you 
 can avail yourself of it for your benefit, and 
 the edification of such sinners as I am. 
 Certes, you preach almost as well as the
 
 48 HAPPINESS. 
 
 good Bishop of Gloucester ; and as you 
 would no doubt attract a crowd of fashiona- 
 bles to hear you, what think you of taking" 
 orders ? " The cloak of inky black would 
 denote you truly :" the only objection to this 
 project is your sex ; but 1 have seen many 
 an old woman in lawn sleeves, and I see 
 no reason why a young one may not take 
 the gown. On second thoughts, however, 
 I am afraid you would be too pious and 
 methodistical ; yet, if you will not do for 
 the establishment, with a very little initiation, 
 you may start from all the vanities of this 
 wicked world an inspired luminary of the 
 new secession of young ladies, who have 
 left the ball-room for the conventicle ; and 
 whose pretty sparkhng eyes, dimpled cheeks, 
 and ruby lips, fascinate the listening puri- 
 tanic throng, which their novel opinions, and 
 still more novel practice, have drawn around 
 them. Had you not better join this coterie 
 of lovely Theologians ? I promise you I 
 will become your attentive auditor, and be 
 demure if I can, while you unfold the secret 
 book of fate, and tell us how a God of 
 mercy reprobated from all eternity, unnum- 
 bered millions of his wretched creatures.
 
 HAPPINESS. 49 
 
 The daughter of Lord S has been doing 
 
 all this with the most becoming fervour and 
 
 propriety in the neighbourhood of E , and 
 
 I assure you, she is greatly admired. But, 
 to be serious, where is your former spright- 
 hness ? 1 fear, from the strain of your letter, 
 you will bury yourself alive ; you almost 
 unfitted me for the engagements of the last 
 evening. I played horridly, and to tell you 
 the truth, lost a verv considerable sum. I 
 shall put it to your account, for I was think- 
 ing of you instead of the game. The 
 
 Countess of D quite disconcerted me 
 
 by inquiring after you. Sir Charles Cler- 
 mont, I verily believe, were it possible for 
 him to die of love, would languish for you, 
 and go off in high style. But, alas ! the age 
 of chivalry is gone, and that of calculators 
 and arithmeticians has succeeded it, I had 
 half a mind to let your adorer know what 
 strange vagaries infect your brain, but I was 
 afraid some of the company would faint. 
 We have a new face added to our circle. 
 The men say the creature is handsome. She 
 is very well, but intolerably affected. That 
 divinity of a beau. Captain Dormer, left my 
 chair as soon as she entered last evening ; 
 
 £
 
 50 HAPPINESS. 
 
 but I am determined to mortify him. Do, 
 my dear, contrive to meet us as soon as pos- 
 sible ; I have a thousand things to tell you. 
 Since your departure, we have lost a bril- 
 liant of the purest water, — so say the lords 
 of the creation, who well understand how to 
 appreciate jewels and precious stones, — and 
 do you know I hear it all without envy. In 
 your next, do write a little " like folks of 
 this world.*' Adieu. 
 
 Emily.*' 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 *' I know not, my dear Emily, how suffi- 
 ciently to admire your patience. You re- 
 ceive, with all the playfulness of good 
 humour, the dull sermon-like letters of your 
 gloomy friend. Writing to you is the great- 
 est relief to my distressed mind, and I sin- 
 cerely wish that I could transfer into my 
 epistles a little of your g'aiety. But there 
 is scarcely a moment of my life in which I 
 do not feel mortification. I cannot, — and 
 indeed I have seriously made the attempt, — 
 I cannot rank myself among the serene and 
 thoughtless mortals that are content with the
 
 HAPPINESS. al 
 
 same vanities from January to December, 
 without the least variety, or even forming a 
 wish for more reasonable and exalted pursuits. 
 I have, it is true, now fled from scenes 
 
 *' Where languor loads the day, excess the night." 
 
 But I know not that I have made a pro- 
 fitable exchange ; I am equally unfit for 
 retirement and the world. In the bustle of 
 life, I wanted motives for action : in soli- 
 tude, I am destitute of materials for think- 
 ing. A rational and immortal nature craves 
 the aliment that will at once invigorate and 
 satisfy it. Depend upon it, the state of my 
 mind is not, as you playfully imagine, the 
 result of romance or of love. The noble 
 poet you so severely and so oddly censure, 
 and whose unrivalled genius it would betray 
 a total want of intellect and taste not to ad- 
 mire, has neither duped my understanding 
 nor perverted my heart. But he has elo- 
 quently and powerfully described those feel- 
 ings of utter and hopeless wretchedness 
 which never fail to agonise the soul, when 
 vanity throws off her disguise and becomes 
 vexation of spirit. Be assured that the poet 
 describes every votary of the world when he 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNJVcRsiTY OF ILUms
 
 S£ HAPPINESS. 
 
 talks of th€ fulness of satiety ; and tells us, 
 that 
 
 " With pleasure drugg'd, he almost longed for woe. 
 
 And e'en for change of scene would seek the diades below.'* 
 
 The same energy and intensity of feeling 
 which he ascribes to his hero, can belong, 
 indeed, only to minds of a superior order. 
 But even the frivolous and the imbecile, who 
 are bounded by the circle of fashionable 
 pleasures and pursuits, if they think at all, 
 must be painfully conscious that existence 
 and disappointment are coeval and insepara- 
 ble, and must be almost prepared to admit 
 the melancholy conclusion which this said 
 noble author has too happily expressed in 
 the following stanza : 
 
 " Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen. 
 Count o'er thy days from anguish free. 
 
 And know whatever thou hast been, 
 "Tis something better not to be." 
 
 I have lately indulged my imagination by 
 exhausting the circulating library of the 
 neighbouring town. Among a vast quan- 
 tity of wretched trash, I have found some 
 of the productions of genius ; but the 
 genius of romance and fiction seems to be 
 only an incarnation of the spirit of evil. It
 
 HAPPINESS. 53 
 
 is certain that its influence on the mind is 
 most unfavourable to correct thinking and 
 vigorous acting. It is the opiate of the soul 
 which gently conveys it to the dreaming 
 world, where it is familiar only with the 
 pleasures and the pains of sleep. Indeed I 
 sometimes think that professed and devoted 
 novel-readers are a species of sleep-walkers 
 upon the earth ; their eyes are closed against 
 every thing that is passing in the world 
 around them, and every moment they tread 
 on precipices, unconscious of their danger, or 
 pursue delusive phantoms which they mis- 
 take for glorious realities. This, to be sure, 
 is an enviable state of mind could we only 
 command its continuance, and secure our- 
 selves against the innumerable perils and 
 calamities to which it necessarily exposes 
 us ; but my heart rejects the vain illusion. 
 It seems to be my unhappy fate to detect 
 all the fallacies which have so much power 
 over others. The world of fashion and the 
 world of fancy, are alike treacherous : in 
 both I have confided only to be deceived ; 
 like juggling fiends, they 
 
 " Keep the word of promise to oiir ear. 
 And break it to our hope."
 
 54 
 
 HAPPINESS 
 
 Whatever gives the imagination the ascen- 
 dancy over the understanding and the judg- 
 ment, must be injurious to happiness. The 
 fictitious kind of hfe exhibited in novels, is 
 so unhke this world of dull reality, that if 
 we suffer ourselves to be captivated by its 
 illusions, it must equally unfit us for the 
 duties and the pleasures of existence. The 
 flowers, and the verdure, and the sunlight in 
 the fields of fancy, are all too beautiful, fresh, 
 and vivid, not to make every thing around 
 us insipid and worthless. And should the 
 imagination be chiefly excited by scenes of 
 gloom and melancholy, hovi^ distressing must 
 be its influence in aggravating the ills which 
 are inseparable from the present state. Every 
 calamity is made doubly formidable, and the 
 cup of sorrow is overcharged with bitterness. 
 Thus, my Emily, have I sufficiently proved 
 to you, that I am far enough from being ro- 
 mantic. Did this form any very striking 
 part of my intellectual character, I should be 
 its dupe, and not its censor; yet I love to 
 read a well-written novel : when I meet with 
 works of this description, I feel as anxious 
 to get through them as those to whose exist- 
 ence they are a necessary aliment ; and could
 
 HAPPINESS. 55 
 
 1 incessantly employ myself with them, I 
 might tlien charm away the evil spirit ; but as 
 it is, these fascinating volumes only leave me 
 more susceptible of its return, and less able 
 to resist its influence. But enough of ro- 
 mance, of fiction, and wretchedness; the best 
 thing in human life is friendship. Sympathy 
 mitigates, if it does not remove sorrow, and 
 this alleviation I feel whenever I approach 
 my dearest Emily. ^*
 
 56 HAPPINESS. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 " Natura beatis 
 Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.'' — Claudian, 
 
 '" Wherein lies happiness ? In that which becks 
 Our ready minds to fellowship divine, 
 A fellowship with essence ; till we shine, 
 Full alchemiz'd, and free of space." — Keats. 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 " SINCE my residence in the country, my 
 letters to you, my dear Emily, have chiefly 
 turned upon the state of my own mind. I 
 have had little inclination to look around 
 me, or to make any new acquaintance ; but 
 I have lately met with a lady of exquisite 
 accomplishments, of singular mental endow- 
 ments, and who appears to me the strangest 
 and yet the happiest creature in the world. 
 Our first meeting was at the bath, where 
 most of the company saunter away the 
 morning. We chatted for a few minutes on 
 the general topics of the day, and parted 
 without any expectation of being more inti-
 
 HAPPINESS. 57 
 
 mately acquainted ; but the other evening, 
 as I was taking a ramble among the rocks, 
 1 overtook the same lady ; she was reading 
 in an elegant volume, which, at my approach, 
 she instantly closed. Our conversation na- 
 turally turned on the serenity of the evening. 
 My companion seemed to be an enthusiastic 
 admirer of nature. She descanted with taste 
 and elegance on every striking object which 
 was presented to our view. But while rap- 
 ture beamed in her eye, as she pointed my 
 attention to whatever was lovely in the 
 beautiful scenery around us, she exclaimed, 
 '' I have no doubt that even this paradise 
 will be visited by many to whom verdant 
 shades, fragrant breezes, and all ' the pomp 
 ' and garniture of fields,^ will possess no 
 charms. The giddy sons and daughters of 
 fashion will wander here, and to them this 
 delightful scene will be a blank ; retirement 
 suits not the vacant mind, and to the vota- 
 ries of artificial pleasure, the simple beauties 
 of nature will be insipid ; it is only through 
 the heart, which contains within itself re- 
 sources of enjoyment, that 
 
 " Woods, hills and vaUies diffuse 
 A lasting, a sacred delight."
 
 58 HAPPINESS. 
 
 " It is indeed to be lamented/^ I replied, 
 " that there are so many rational creatures 
 who are wretched every where, who quit the 
 country for the town, and the town for the 
 country with the same success, and who 
 seem to be ingenious in nothing but the art 
 of self-tormenting." " It is lamentable,'* 
 said my companion, with unusual energy, 
 " and yet these wretched beings might be 
 happy. '^ When she uttered this last sen- 
 tence, I am sure my countenance betrayed 
 the emotions I felt. " You seem, my dear 
 Madam,'* I answered, concealing as well 
 as I could my embarrassment, " to enjoy a 
 much greater portion of happiness than 
 commonly falls to the lot of poor bewil- 
 dered mortals. I confess to you that I am 
 one of those who can contemplate even a 
 scene like this without being happy : yet 
 I admire it ; I have a taste for its beauties ; 
 but unless I could give mind and intelli- 
 gence to these inanimate lovely forms, they 
 will not, cannot, please me long. I want, — 
 call it poetryor what you will, — that ineffable, 
 exquisite something, by which I may con- 
 sciously become a ' portion of that around 
 ' me.' I cannot say that ' to me high moun-
 
 HAPPINESS. 59 
 
 tains are a feeling/ I am yet a stranger to 
 that which has been elegantly described as 
 
 '" a tone. 
 
 The soul and source of music which makes known 
 Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm. 
 Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, 
 Binding all things with beauty." 
 
 I often seem to stand alone in a desolate 
 world — beautiful indeed, but desolate — for I 
 hold with it no communion. It does not 
 convey my spirit to Heaven ; and, if it did, I 
 know nothing of that mysterious principle, — 
 that love to the Divine Being which would 
 make me happy, while conscious of his pre- 
 sence." Oh, Emily ! you should have seen 
 the countenance of my affectionate com- 
 panion, when, with indescribable pity and 
 tenderness, she gently took advantage of this 
 my indiscreet confession to descant on the 
 charms of divine philosophy — " That very 
 want, my dear young friend, of which 
 you complain,'* she observed, " the state of 
 my mind supplies. When walking in the 
 lonely glen, when reclining on the sea-beaten 
 rock, and listening to the dashing of the 
 waves, I feel the pervading presence of the 
 infinite spirji. Without this, even Elysium
 
 60 HAPPINESS. 
 
 itself would be tome a dreary wilderness. I 
 love to trace the hand of Deity in all the rich 
 variety of his innumerable and glorious 
 works. I am not any more than you are, the 
 idolater of nature ; I have no sympathy with 
 that merely poetic or rather atheistic feeling 
 which calls up ' the spirit of each spot/ 
 which seems to impart itself to inanimate 
 objects, and which exclaims — 
 
 " Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part 
 Of me and of my soul, and I of them ?" 
 
 I worship God alone. To me what is 
 heathenishly called nature, but reveals his 
 being, his presence, and his love ? I hear 
 him in the thunder; he whispers in the 
 breeze : in the rustling of the leaf, he passes 
 by me ; I see him in every form : he meets 
 my eye wherever it rests : he is in every 
 hue of every flower. The sublime is but an 
 overpowering glimpse of his majesty ; the 
 beautiful, but a fine and exquisite trait of 
 him, ' the first fair, and the first good.' 
 While I adore the pure spirituality of his 
 essence, which exalts and glorifies all his 
 perfections, without which, indeed, infinitude 
 could not appertain to his being, to me the
 
 HAPPINESS. 61 
 
 universe is his temple, and every object in 
 that vast fabric is an altar, on which I en- 
 deavour to present the offering of a devout 
 and grateful heart. I consider all that is 
 sensible around me as a type of something 
 spiritual. When Spring decorates the earth, 
 enamels my path with flowers, and decks 
 the forest with her loveliest verdure, ima- 
 gination transports me to the regions of im- 
 mortality. I think of the ever-blooming fields 
 of Paradise, and of those undecaying trees, 
 whose foliage is never embrowned with the 
 melancholy tints of Autumn. Subject to in- 
 firmity, I must ere long be borne to the 
 house appointed for all living. But thus I 
 descend with a calm and holy pleasure. I 
 could tell you much ; but see, the shadows 
 of evening w^arn us to depart ; we shall meet 
 again, and, if the theme be not disagree- 
 able, we will renew it." Believe me, Emily, 
 I quitted this interesting woman with wonder 
 and regret. I begin even now to feel how 
 lovely goodness is. I see that I have hitherto 
 neglected the friendship of the only being 
 who can make me happy. 
 
 Adieu."
 
 62 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 " Yesterday, my dear Emily, I was ho- 
 noured with a visit from Mrs. WiUnington, 
 the lady whose conversation the other even- 
 ing on the beach so much interested me. 
 She appears to be about forty years of age, 
 and must have been in youth eminently beau- 
 tiful. She possesses all the elegance of man- 
 ners which distinguishes the best company ; 
 yet, strange as it may appear, she never 
 figured in the gay circles ; nor has disappoint- 
 ments or age driven her from the pursuits of 
 pleasure. She is to me an extraordinary 
 woman ; her mind is highly cultivated, 
 yet is she no has bleu, nor is she at all a 
 recluse. She possesses every thing that 
 would render her a charming woman of 
 fashion, and has a fortune that would enable 
 her to appear with consequence. I first 
 thought that probably she was a little cynical, 
 and that she refused to share in the gaieties 
 and dissipation of life, that she might gratify. 
 her spleen in making them a subject of rail- 
 lery and censure. But this is not the case ; 
 she suffers the world to enjoy what are called
 
 HAPPINESS. 63 
 
 its pleasures ; she only prefers her own. 
 The intercourse of a few hours has enabled 
 me to form these ideas of the character of 
 ray new acquaintance. You will, I doubt 
 not, conclude, that she is a curious mortal, 
 and wonder how I can waste ray time with 
 such a quizzical being ; but in the distressed 
 state of mind in which she found me, she 
 seems to be a guardian angel sent to cheer 
 and revive my drooping spirits. Cheer- 
 fulness is her inseparable companion. And 
 what may appear strange, she professes 
 to derive her happiness from religion. She 
 assures me, that the want of this is the cause 
 of the greater part of that chagrin and dis- 
 appointment, which so often distracts the 
 votaries of pleasure. She insists upon it, 
 that in a great multitude of cases, what 
 are called nervous disorders, oridnate in 
 the conscience ; that they are rather moral 
 than physical ; and she pities those who 
 are incessantly searching after happiness 
 where it never can be found. The novelty 
 of her assertions at first startled, but 
 their reasonableness half convinced me. 
 It seems probable, that creatures endowed 
 with intelligence, who feel Avithin them a
 
 64 HiPPINESS. 
 
 conscious principle which alHes them to 
 Deity, and which is immortal, — it seems 
 probable, that such creatures ought to cul- 
 tivate the best part of their nature, and pre- 
 pare to enjoy the noblest portion of their 
 existence. When Mrs. Wilmington quitted 
 me, I began to ruminate on this subject, 
 and felt more than half persuaded to try 
 whether religion will make me as happy as 
 she is. I have accordingly read my Prayer- 
 book, I hope, with devotion ; I intend to be 
 regular at church. I will endeavour at least 
 to deserve happiness, and to make my 
 Creator propitious to me. By this means 
 I hope to dispel the gloom which has over- 
 spread my mind, and to return to my Emily 
 and to the world with cheerfulness, that I 
 may pursue those pleasures only in fashion- 
 able life, which are compatible with my new 
 resolutions. I expect to be rallied by you 
 on my strange plan ; but is not " happiness 
 our beings end and aim ;" and is it not at 
 least as reasonable for me to court it in an 
 untried path, as still to run round in the same 
 circle which has uniformly disappointed 
 me ? You and I, Emily, are certainly dif- 
 ferently constituted ; you are well contented
 
 HAPPINESS. 65 
 
 as you are. I am the slave o^ ennui; but I 
 now anticipate a happy change. T am sure, 
 did you know Mrs. Wilmington you would 
 love her, at least you would confess that 
 the world can boast very few women so 
 elegantly agreeable and charmingly intel- 
 ligent. 
 
 " Louisa.** 
 
 ExMiLY TO Louisa. 
 
 *' Wonders will never cease ! My sweet re- 
 ligious friend, I hope with your pious resolves 
 you will not be seized with a passion for reform- 
 ing your acquaintances ; and pray how long 
 is this religious fit to continue ? I imagine, 
 and I am sure I hope, that you will be soon 
 tired of it. Prayers may be a sovereign 
 remedy to cure some people of the spleen, 
 but they always give me the vapours. I 
 should absolutely die, were I condemned to 
 read the Prayer-book for an hour ! Mercy on 
 us, what have you and I to do with religion ? 
 A little of it on a sick bed is very well, and 
 when we become grand-mothers we may 
 read the week's preparation and take the 
 sacrament. But, oh dear, my head turns 
 
 F
 
 66 HAPPINESS. 
 
 giddy at the thought ! Do you think, my 
 charming Louisa, we shall ever look like our 
 grand-mothers ? There is nothing I dread 
 so much as wrinkles — I must have a peep 
 at my glass — I hope they will never come ; 
 however, I am well satisfied that they are 
 far, very far yet. — Gertrude tells me I never 
 looked so charming and every thing that is 
 beautiful as I do now. — Ah, Louisa, she's 
 a faithful good creature ! she says the dimple 
 in my cheeks is absolutely killing ; and 
 though I have seen two and twenty, I am 
 more blooming and have more of mellow 
 
 and settled beauty than Lady S , who 
 
 isjust nineteen. It signifies nothing, I never 
 can be old. I am told some people look 
 charming at fifty, and have really been mis- 
 taken for girls in their teens : this is truly 
 delightful ! I think I have a good wearing 
 face, and when I smile I am irresistible. 
 Do not, my dear Louisa, be misled by that 
 unaccountable being you dignify with the 
 name of friend. She may be very well as 
 an object of curiosity ; but what have you 
 to do with saints ? — you are already an 
 angel, — nay, were I Sir Charles Clermont, I 
 would swear you are a goddess. Pray does
 
 HAPPINESS. 67 
 
 not your new associate belong to the tribe 
 of sentimental sermonising female authors, 
 who lounge at Hatchard's, and talk theology 
 with the solemn decent gentlemen in black, 
 who spend their mornings there ? She is 
 not quite old enough to be the methodistical 
 writer of Coelebs, which was certainly com- 
 posed in her dotage, and which, notwith- 
 standing the noise it made at first, is now 
 almost forgotten in the fashionable world. 
 The truth is, it does not suit our meridian. 
 I took up the last volume the other day, but 
 I began to feel ennui ; by the way, I never 
 begin any book except a real novel. Give 
 me novels, the opera, beauty and admiration, 
 masquerades and routs, and I envy you not 
 your books of devotion, your tete-d-tetes 
 with Mrs. Wilmington, and all the dismal 
 train of " pious orgies, decent prayers.'^ 
 
 *' Emily." 
 
 Louisa to Emily. 
 
 " My dear Emily ; 
 
 Your fearful apprehensions of old age at 
 first diverted me, but afterwards, when I laid 
 down your letter, in spite of myself a melan- 
 F 2
 
 68 HAPPINESS. 
 
 choly train of reflections forced itself upon 
 my mind. How strange, I could not help 
 exclaiming, that we should anxiously strive 
 to avoid that which is inevitable, and to 
 which, if we live long enough, we are posting 
 with all the rapidity of time ! I asked 
 myself, what is there in wrinkles and old age 
 really to be dreaded ? and I could not help 
 concluding, that those pursuits and plea- 
 sures which vanished before the harbingers 
 of death, must be fallacious and worthless. 
 The evening of life, if we understood the end 
 for which it is given, must be as interest- 
 ing and beautiful as its morning. How 
 evanescent must be the happiness which 
 hangs only on the lovehness of youth, and 
 the charms of beauty ! And how wretched 
 the creature who is doomed to pass from 
 the pleasures of a dissipated youth to the 
 remorse of a cheerless and neglected age ! 
 How pitiable too the object who attempts to 
 grasp the fleeting shadow even after it is 
 gone, who would fain persuade itself that 
 it retains to the very last that which was 
 scarcely worth its care, while the business 
 and end of existence are neglected ! It 
 was but the other day! saw the Dowager
 
 HAPPINESS. 69 
 
 Countess of , who is nearly eighty- 
 years of age, and even now the cares of the 
 toilet are all that engross her attention ; and 
 for your comfort, my thoughtless Emily, 
 I assure you that by the help of rouge she 
 looks as blooming as eighteen. To be sure 
 she betrays certain indications of decrepitude 
 when she attempts to walk ; but in her chair 
 and at a convenient distance (// ne faut pas 
 regarder de trop presj she appears a 
 lovely creature. She was once, Emily, beau- 
 tiful as you are. Flattered by her waiting 
 woman, adored by the Dormers of the last 
 age, the admiration of the men, and the 
 envy of the women she fluttered and shone 
 through her little day, and when it was past 
 she was left without resources. Fortunately 
 her vanity did not forsake her ; it is still 
 her companion, and she imagines herself a 
 beauty at four-score. If you think that, like 
 this miserable trifler, you can thus make 
 your understanding the dupe of your incli- 
 nation, you need not be alarmed at the 
 approach of wrinkles. To me old age 
 appears so distant and uncertain a thing, and 
 an early grave so much more probable, that 
 the highest attainment for which I sigh,
 
 70 HAPPINESS. 
 
 is intellectual and immortal beauty. My 
 heart sinks within me when I am forced to 
 believe that I scarcely possess one of its 
 features, and that I have lived so entirely 
 in vain. 
 
 " Louisa."
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 C H A P. VI 
 
 Bon Ton 's the thing. 
 
 " Ah, I loves life, and all the joys it yields," 
 Says Madam Fussock, warm from Spital Fields- 
 
 — .. Bon Ton 's a constant trade 
 
 Of rout, festino, ball, and masquerade ; 
 
 'Tis plays and puppet shows — 'tis something new, — 
 
 'Tis losing thousands every night at lu ! 
 
 Colman. 
 
 *' "WELL/^ said Emily, as she folded up 
 her reply to Louisa's last letter, and the 
 perusal of which we shall spare our readers, 
 " friendship may do very well for those who 
 are never ennided with any thing, but I fear 
 I shall find it very tiresome, after all, to 
 send such long epistles, that one's fingers are 
 cramped with writing; and to receive such 
 never-ending answers, that one's eyes are 
 spoiled with reading tliem/^ " No, no," 
 she continued, " my pretty Richardson in 
 petticoats, to play Miss Howe to your 
 Clarissa Harlowe, is too much of a farce for
 
 72 HAPPINESS. 
 
 me !" But, Emily^s anger had nearly spent 
 itself in these ebullitions, and the native 
 tenderness of her heart was fast rising to 
 complete the conquest of affection over 
 selfishness, and that repugnance which gaiety 
 always feels when brought into too near 
 contact with seriousness, when the whole 
 current of her feelings was suddenly averted 
 into another channel, by the entrance of 
 no less a personage than her own maid. 
 Rushing into the room with all the conse- 
 quence which the importance of the occa- 
 sion required — " Ma^am," she exclaimed, 
 " as I'm a sinner (which by-the-by she was, 
 and a great one), there's Mrs. Gainham's 
 coach coming down the street at a full trot. 
 You know you excused yourself going to 
 her horrid party ; sending word you had a 
 severe cold ; and here's the creature actually 
 coming to see you, as if you were very ill, 
 to ask after your health : TU be bound she's 
 brought a coach full of flannel wrappers to 
 tie up your poor throat outside, and pots of 
 currant jelly of her own making, to moUify it 
 within, Ma'am.''— " Why,'' said the startled 
 Emily, " do you stand prating there ; all the 
 mischief will be done while you are talking
 
 HAPPINESS. 73 
 
 about it, " Run, Gertrude, run and tell 
 her Fm not at home." — "Yes, Ma'am/'— 
 " But, Gertrude, stay ; tell her I am at home, 
 but Tm so ill I can't see any body." — 
 " Very well, Ma'am.*'—" But, Gertrude,'' 
 — "Ma'am" — " You had better say Tm not 
 at home — say I'm gone into the country for 
 change of air — say I'm very ill — I have been 
 ill for this week, and I shan't be w^ell for 
 these three weeks, nay, for aught you know, 
 I shall never be well any more.'' This last 
 decision might probably have been adopted, 
 had it not been cut short, by the loud report 
 of the street door knock. " There," said the 
 disconcerted Emily, there she is, and its all 
 your fault, waiting and gossiping so long." 
 — " I am sure," retorted the Abigail, " it's 
 no fault of mine; 1 only waited, Ma'am, to 
 know what was to be your pleasure, which 
 I could not guess, and you could not tell !" 
 " Run," ejaculated Emily, " meet John 
 before he reaches the door, and desire him 
 to say ' not at home.' " The waiting woman 
 departed to bid her fellow servitor repeat the 
 oft-told lie which folly first invented, and 
 which the " tyrant custom" has almost passed 
 into a law. Such were the final orders ; —
 
 74 HAPPINESS. 
 
 orders however, which a glance from the 
 window induced Emily in a moment to 
 revoke. The dreaded visitor had made her 
 way into the hall. To force her to retreat was 
 impossible, the footman not having received 
 his instructions in sufficient time. 
 
 Mrs. Gainham, a vulgar ill-bred woman of 
 fashion (for since her widowhood she had 
 abandoned the city for Portman-square, and 
 on the score of her wealth and her disposition 
 for shewy and ill-judged extravagance, was 
 admitted into the best company), had ob- 
 truded herself upon Emily. They had met 
 at several parties, but their acquaintance pro- 
 perly commenced at a sale of a nobleman *s 
 library, where Emily found herself seated 
 next to this opulent city dame. She was not 
 a little amused by the ridiculous observations 
 of her companion ; and had any of the wits 
 of her acquaintance been present, she would 
 have indulged that satirical vein which she 
 so well knew how to employ to the best 
 advantage. But, almost alone and unob- 
 served, the kindness of her nature prevailed 
 over this less amiable trait of her character, 
 and she delicately interposed more than 
 once to protect Mrs. Gainham from being
 
 HAPPINESS. 75 
 
 duped by the eloquence and address of the 
 auctioneer. Ignorance, impertinence, and 
 folly are never less at home than in a library 
 and at a mart of books ; here a purchaser 
 not only disposes of his money, but un- 
 consciously betrays the strength or weakness 
 of his mind, the nature of its cultivation, 
 and the absence or otherwise of judgment 
 and taste. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Gainham on the present oc- 
 casion had certainly wandered out of her 
 sphere. She had fixed her heart upon a set 
 of tracts of all dates, on the Popish con- 
 troversy (evidently vamped up for the sale), 
 because the auctioneer had assured her the 
 binding was novel and unique^ and that if she 
 bought them, she would possess a series of 
 volumes which, for splendor of appearance, 
 were not to be matched in London. These, at 
 Emily's suggestion, she reluctantly consented 
 to forego. They were knocked down to the 
 tutor of a young Roman Cathohc nobleman, 
 at less than the cost of the binding. A 
 number of splendid, though antiquated 
 volumes — Travels of the Jesuits in China, 
 — she could not, however, agree to relin- 
 quish; — they bore with them an attraction
 
 76 HAPPINESS. 
 
 which all the persuasion of Emily could not 
 overcome. The plates, which were of a 
 gaudy description, charmed her at once, and 
 " through the eye subdued the heart." She 
 must have them ,- she said " the picturs were 
 so beautiful, just the very thing for rainy 
 weather ; besides they were so helegant and 
 in such good taste — the very moral of the 
 Pavilion at Brighton." — Observations quite 
 as profound and interesting this voluble 
 piece of vulgarity continued to utter, to the 
 no small astonishment of all who heard her. 
 Emily, however, sometimes with difficulty 
 suppressing a smile, contrived to extricate her 
 from several dilemmas into which her 
 palpable ignorance had betrayed her ; and 
 she did it with so much address, that Mrs. 
 Gainham was evidently charmed with her 
 condescending attentions. The close of the 
 auction compelled the company to retire ; 
 but as they separated, Emily was loaded 
 with fulsome compliments by her companion, 
 who expressed the greatest anxiety to rank 
 her among her friends and visitors. " She 
 had three daughters," she said, " who were 
 highly hedicated ; one played sweetly on 
 the forte piano^ the other sung in a fine
 
 HAPPINESS. 77 
 
 bravura style, and the third was sentimental, 
 and wrote verses of such excellence, that 
 some 'cute judges of them sort of things, 
 attributed her effusions to the helegant pen 
 of no less a poet than Sir Walter Scott. 
 She herself had not been so fortinate as to 
 get a first rate hedicaiion ; but, as poor dear 
 Mr. Gainham used to say, " learning was 
 better than house and land," she had spared 
 no expense in accomplishing her daughters, 
 and she should like of all things to introduce 
 Miss Thornhill to them ; and as she often gave 
 parties, she hoped on the next occasion of 
 the kind, to be honoured with her company. 
 She would not fail to send an early invita- 
 tion ." Emily dexterously escaped from this 
 torrent of garrulity by giving an air of grace- 
 ful politeness, to the sly and irresistible 
 humour which almost laughed in her eyes 
 and played on her countenance, while she 
 assured Mrs. Gainham that the honour of 
 her acquaintance was the first wish of her 
 heart, and that she was dying to know the 
 all-accomplished Miss Gainhams. Not long 
 after this interview, she received a card, an- 
 nouncing that Mrs. Gainham, on the Thurs- 
 day evening following would give a ball and
 
 78 HAPPINESS. 
 
 supper. But, learning that the Gainhams 
 were the butt of the whole fashionable 
 world, that Mrs. Gainham especially was no 
 sooner introduced into a family, than she 
 persecuted them with well-meant, but auk- 
 ward and unseasonable attentions, and that 
 the late Richard Gainham, esq., Merchant, 
 Government Contractor, and Banker, had 
 amassed the fortune which enabled his 
 family to make such a figure by a series of 
 cruel exactions and oppressions, Emily 
 determined to avoid all unnecessary inter- 
 course with these upstarts of fashion. She 
 did not wish to be annoyed by the living, or 
 to bear any portion of the disgrace which 
 rested upon the memory of the dead. In 
 this respect she differed greatly from people 
 of the highest distinction. With them a 
 splendid establishment frequently outweighs 
 all other considerations ; and though they 
 have a keen perception of all that is vulgar, 
 and an affected contempt of all that is vicious, 
 yet both vulgarity and vice they not only 
 tolerate, but readily welcome, provided they 
 are clothed in purple, and fare sumptuously 
 every day. In order at once to check the 
 threatened intimacy with Mrs. Gainham,
 
 HAPPINESS. 79 
 
 Emily excused herself from being present 
 at her intended ball, on the ground of having 
 taken a violent cold, which severely affected 
 her throat and lungs ; and this excuse, 
 understood literally by the simple Mrs. 
 Gainham, had brought her, as the maid of 
 Emily had predicted, to inquire after the 
 health of the invalid, and to offer her all 
 the remedies which her knowledge and ex- 
 perience of domestic pharmacy enabled her 
 to prepare and to recommend. Happily for 
 Miss Thornhill, this interview, which might 
 have involved her in a very aukward dilemma, 
 and for which she was so little prepared, was 
 turned to very good account by the unexpect- 
 ed appearance of Capt. Dormer, who drawing 
 up his dashing new tilbury en face with the 
 carriage already at the door, had entered the 
 hall almost at the same moment with Mrs. 
 Gainham. Emily relied upon the Captain's 
 tact and dexterity to get her handsomely 
 through her difficulties ; indeed she found 
 that she had no alternative but suddenly to 
 recover, and to promise her attendance at the 
 ball, feeling assured that she would be able 
 to inlist Dormer and a few of his friends to 
 sustain her on the occasion.
 
 80 HAPPINESS. 
 
 The amphibious nature of Dormer's pur- 
 suits, we have already hinted at. Alter- 
 nately, buck or beau, Nimrod or dandy, he 
 passed at will from the one extreme to the 
 other, and doubled these incongruous cha- 
 racters with equal ease and propriety. The 
 first of them he has now the honour to per- 
 sonate; and never was comedian better 
 dressed for his part. His costume, though 
 such as in our play-going days (at least a 
 quarter of a century since), we remember 
 to have seen assumed by Filch, in the 
 Beggar's Opera, and others of a like descrip- 
 tion ; and though far, very far, removed 
 from that which in our antiquated ideas 
 we had supposed as characteristic of a gen- 
 tleman, was such as many young men of 
 the present age would consider the only 
 habit a man of fashion could appear in. It 
 was certainly perfection of its kind, and 
 fully justified the encomium of Dormer's 
 groom, who swore that morning "that master 
 knowed how to dress more beautiful, that is 
 more flash beautiful, nor any gennidman 
 in Lunnun" His outward man then was 
 decorated d-la-nwde. Imprimis^ with a hat 
 which, though shallow in the head (as if
 
 HAPPINESS. 81 
 
 to resemble its master), encroached so ex- 
 cessively in the brim, that, except in the 
 presence of a lady (for then he always took 
 it off), it might occasion the wearer to be 
 mistaken for the Patriarch of that sober 
 and demure sect called Quakers. This im- 
 pression, if once made, however, the very 
 next article would infallibly remove — this 
 presented itself in the shape of a huge cravat, 
 of coloured muslin, wrapped in enormous 
 folds round his throat, and clasped in front 
 with a large gold brooch, representing a neck- 
 and-neck race at Newmarket. His coat, we 
 beg pardon, his tunic, — was a surtout of the 
 colour called pepper-and-salt, closing at the 
 breast with a single row of enormous pearl 
 buttons, and opening to display a light fancy 
 waistcoat, with buttons of the same material, 
 while a silk under-waistcoat was disclosed 
 beneath it. The remainder of his person w'as 
 contained in a milk-white cord culotte^ gloves 
 to correspond, and jockey boots ; a silk 
 handkerchief of the kind commonly called 
 Belcher, occupied his left hand ; his right 
 grasped one of Crowther^s whips. His dress 
 displayed a striking contrast between the 
 fineness of its quality and the vulgarity of its 
 
 G
 
 82 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Style ; and his figure, if engraved, would pre- 
 sent a tout ensemble that might puzzle the 
 future antiquary to determine whether it was 
 intended to represent a gentleman or a groom. 
 In support of his character as a buck, he had 
 this morning, previous to repairing to the 
 grand mill at Moulsey Hurst, dropped in at 
 TattersalTs, pocketed a cool hundred, laid 
 bets on the fight, by which he hoped to 
 pocket a couple more, and picked up a new 
 friend and a new slang phrase. With the 
 latter of these he was come, as he termed it, 
 to try it on with the ladies. 
 
 As Emily's footman reported the official 
 intelhgence, which we have so unseasonably 
 delayed, that his mistress was bond Jide 
 "at home," the Captain lost no time in alight- 
 ing and ushering Mrs. Gainhamup stairs, the 
 latter of whom no sooner entered the rooniy 
 than she burst into an expression of con- 
 dolence on Emily^s indisposition. Dormer, 
 quite a stranger to this ruse de guerre of his 
 fair friend, was about to give audible expres- 
 sion to his look of surprise at this intelli- 
 gence, when a significant glance from Emil}^ 
 at once furnished him with his cue — " Oh ! 
 yes, begged pardon ; heard some ladies say- 
 ing how immensely sorry they were Miss
 
 HAPPIXESS. 83 
 
 Tlioniliill was so ill ; could'nt remember 
 who it was — always fors^ot people's names. 
 Nevermind, Miss Thornhill, you are looking 
 charmingly now ; no one would think you had 
 been ill — (Emily blushed) — you^il do now 
 — that's right — keep it up — go the pace,*' 
 The Captain having thus tried the operation 
 of his mystic phrase, paused, and gave Mrs. 
 Gainham an opportunity to make her kind 
 offers of assistance. She had taken the liberty 
 of calling, solely to inquire after Miss Thorn- 
 hiirs health ; she had also brought with her 
 some cordials — mere trifles — things of her 
 own composition ; but as they required par- 
 ticular care rightly to administer them, in 
 which case they never failed of cure, she 
 would, with Miss ThornhilTs permission, 
 stay the whole morning, and show her liow 
 to take them. Poor Emily, thus threatened 
 to be confined as an invalid, and drenched 
 with medicine which she did not require, 
 was obliged to summon all her courage 
 and skill to repel so formidable an attack. 
 She thanked Mrs. Gainham, kindly thanked 
 her ; but she knew not how it was, she was 
 quite well this morning, — never was better 
 in her life ; she begged she might not detain 
 G 'J
 
 84 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Mrs. Gainham for an instant on her account, 
 she should be most unwilling to do so. Her 
 ball taking place that same evening, the time 
 of Mrs. Gainham must be fully occupied. 
 
 The kind-hearted Mrs. Gainham, gratified 
 beyond measure at hearing this account of 
 Emily's convalescence repeated by her own 
 lips, confirmed as it was by the unequi- 
 vocal testimony of her charming looks, took 
 advantage of this circumstance to renew 
 her former invitation. Primming her mouth 
 up to its most gracious expression, and side- 
 ling like a crab across the room, for the pur- 
 pose of grasping with her enormous hand 
 the delicate arm of the astonished Emily, 
 " Indeed, dear,*^ she exclaimed, in a coaxing 
 tone of voice, " you must come, we cannot 
 do without you ; you may retire early, or 
 command any accommodation my house and 
 all that^s in it can afford.^' " Yes,^' said 
 Dormer, who it appeared was to be there, 
 " 'pon honour, Miss Thornhill, you must go ; 
 there'snothingforan invalid likedancing ; the 
 French now, they always dance, ill or well, 
 and they manage these things a vast deal 
 better than we do. Their girls live for ever — 
 chprming at ninety, and go out of the world
 
 HAPPINESS. 65 
 
 with a chassce eii avant. Yes, you must go ; 
 you will, I know ; tJiafs right — keep it up — 
 go the pace.' ^ With a slight show of reluct- 
 ance, Emily yielded to the united importunity 
 of her guests. Mrs. Gainham broke into 
 expressions of undissembled satisfaction : — 
 " Dear," she exclaimed, " I am so dehghted 
 with your compliance ; indeed I am, and I 
 don't care who knows it : we never should 
 have done without you. But now you'll 
 come, and be sure come early ; we shan^t 
 begin without you, and you and Captain 
 Dormer shall open the ball.'' Emily bowed 
 assent, and Dormer literally capered for joy. 
 *' We'll lead off with a waltz,'' said he, 
 doubtingly, as if to anticipate Emily's wish ; 
 " but 1 believe, Miss Thornhill, you prefer a 
 quadrille,^' he added, with more assurance ; 
 *' then a quadrille it shall be, by Jupiter. 
 Allans do7ic, that's right, keep it up, go 
 the pace,*' and with a graceful adieu, he 
 retired, Mrs. Gainham taking advantage of 
 his arm to conduct her to her carriage. 
 
 Emily, fairly rid of her tormentor^ lost no 
 time in summoning to her chamber her faith- 
 ful Gertrude. With her mistress this worthy 
 indispensible was closeted in deep consul-
 
 86 HAPPINESS. 
 
 tation " an hour by the dial.'^ Without 
 exposing ourselves to the charge of scandal, 
 we may reasonably opine, that the all-im- 
 portant article of dress was the sole subject 
 of inquiry and discussion in this protracted 
 ttteci'tcte. One dress was rejected because 
 it came too high ; another, because it fell too 
 low ; a third, because it made the complexion 
 look too pale ; and a fourth, as it gave it a 
 tint too vulgar and red ; and so on to the 
 seventeenth dress, which having been tried 
 on for the seventeenth time, was approved, 
 and the order issued for its being in readi- 
 ness by the evening. Necklaces and fans we 
 would observe, en passant^ were chosen or 
 rejected on points which for intricacy might 
 have puzzled the twelve judges ; but dis- 
 missing these and other inferior prehminary 
 matters, and coming at once "m medias res^^' 
 we beg to announce, that at an early hour, 
 Emily, accompanied by a female relative, and 
 Dormer ?\s\\ec cavalier, entered the ball-room .- 
 A buzz of admiration was heard wherever 
 she approached. Indeed, " never alighted 
 on our orb, which she scarcely seemed 
 to touch, a more delightful vision. ^^ She 
 moved along in all the majesty of trium^
 
 HAPPINESS. 87 
 
 phaiit loveliness. Nor is it possible to 
 ■describe the elegance of her well-chosen at- 
 titudes ; the grace of her elastic step ; the 
 mastic of her smiles, and the music of 
 her voice. Yet was she rather a seductive 
 than an overpowering beauty. Her stature 
 was not commanding, nor was she formed 
 according to the exact proportions of a Venus 
 de Med ids ; but the idea of beauty was in 
 her soul, and it lived in every motion, in 
 every look. Her eyes, when she was free 
 from excitement, inclined rather to hazel 
 than to black ; but when thought was awa- 
 kened in her mind, or emotion was stirred in 
 her heart, they darkened as they shone. 
 Liquid in their lustre, they were equally 
 bright and soft, arch and innocent, playful 
 and tender ; and illumined from their long 
 and beautiful fringes, a countenance which 
 was formed to be eloquent ; whatever she 
 thought she felt, and whatever she felt 
 beamed in her face ; to be dumb would have 
 been less a calamity to her than to any human 
 being. The tendency to opposite extremes 
 in her character, which was evidently im- 
 pressed upon her features, gave the princi})al 
 charm to her person ; and thus completely
 
 88 HAPPINESS. 
 
 distinguished her from the insipid automata 
 of fashion. Judging from her physiognomy- 
 alone, Philosophy might have exulted in her 
 as the most sedate and devoted of his pupils ; 
 and fri\^olity as the most ready and extrava- 
 gant of her votaries. If the angel of mercy 
 had wished to employ a mortal to personate 
 celestial goodness in relieving human misery, 
 on her he might have fixed his choice ; and 
 had the goddess of mirth met her, she would, 
 at once, have marked her for her own. To 
 the light and volatile part of her nature, 
 however, education and habit had lent their 
 all-powerful aid, and she was rather capable 
 of being excited to the more grave and valu- 
 able than inclined and disposed to indulge it. 
 
 On the present occasion, she completely 
 resigned herself to the genius of the evening. 
 Her dress, though odiously fashionable, on 
 her appeared just what it ought to be ; for 
 what is it that beauty and elegance will not 
 render becoming ? It was, however, thesub- 
 jectof ill-natured remark among the lessdistin- 
 guished belles around her ; and in proportion 
 as she commanded the admiring gaze of the 
 one sex, did she become the envy of the other. 
 This double incense, offered at the shrine of
 
 HAPPINESS. 89 
 
 lier vanity enlivened her spirits, and shed its 
 grateful influence over her countenance. 
 Dormer was absolutely entranced ; and to 
 the infinite mortification of some who ima- 
 gined they had sufficient claims on his pre- 
 ference, he devoted his undivided and most 
 courteous attentions to his fair charge ; but 
 we have too long detained our readers from 
 this Proteus. 
 
 The stout and sturdy Hercules of the 
 morning, in his rude but manly costume, 
 could not be recognised in the diminished 
 form and tightened dress of the evening fop. 
 The turbulent Jehu, the envy of his brother 
 whips and the terror of every drayman, from 
 Hyde-park-corner to Temple-bar, was pared 
 and pinched, scented and softened into the 
 slender, pliable, and obsequious beau, who, 
 
 " Instead of mounting barbed steeds 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries," 
 
 seemed fit only to " caper nimbly in a lady's 
 chamber to the lascivious breathing of a 
 lute." So complete was his metamorphosis, 
 that he appeared to have changed his person 
 with his clothes ; even his " big manly voice 
 dwindled into childish treble, and piped and 
 whistled in the sound."
 
 90 nAPPijjEss 
 
 C H A P. VII. 
 
 ** Nor cold, nor stern my soul! yet I detest 
 These scented rooms" 
 
 '* Hark the deep buzz of vanity and hate. 
 Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer. 
 My lady eyes some maid of humbler state. 
 While tlie pert Captain or the primmer Priest 
 Prattles accordant scandal in her ear." — Coleridge. 
 
 Duke, Senior. " But what said Jaques ? 
 
 Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 
 First Lord. O, yes, my lord.'' — Shakspeare. 
 
 TO the moralist, a fashionable ball-room 
 exhibits a strange and very humiliating pic- 
 ture of human nature. Considered simply 
 in the light of an amusement, where the in- 
 telligent, the virtuous, and the polite mingle, 
 during a few hours of relaxation, to increase 
 the sum of individual gaiety by mutual par- 
 ticipation, the spectacle would indeed be 
 exhilirating and joyous. But this is not the 
 character of any of the misnamed pleasures
 
 HAPPINESS. 91 
 
 of the world. They are not the recreation, 
 for to this they are ill adapted, but they are 
 the business of existence. The early and 
 the best part of life is spent in qualifying 
 the frequenters of balls and routs to appear 
 among their kindred triflers with eclat. And 
 after the severe and protracted task of pre- 
 paration is ended, and the well-disciplined 
 animals are privileged to herd together, where 
 whim and fashion may conduct them, the 
 whole intervening time is wasted in adjust- 
 ing and determining what parties they shall 
 visit, what dresses they shall wear, what non- 
 sense they shall utter, what friends betray, 
 and what rivals annoy. 
 
 The " trysting place" is the scene of com- 
 bat rather than of social intercourse. The 
 skirmishes of vanity in which every belle and 
 every beau is striving to excel and outshine 
 their innumerable compeers, are maintained 
 with a dexterity and steadiness worthy of a 
 better cause. Instead of a disposition to 
 please and to be pleased, its semblance only 
 is assumed ; and, under this deceitful guise, 
 lurk envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncha- 
 ritableness. The exultation of triumph, and 
 the mortification of defeat, divide the whole
 
 92 HAPPINESS. 
 
 gay and volatile assemblage. All are odious 
 in each other's eyes, and the only real plea- 
 sure that lights up any countenance, arises 
 from the consciousness of having inflicted 
 pain, and the irradiation springs from the 
 fires of the bottomless pit. A liew, perhaps, 
 there may be, whom custom and the tedium 
 of life have placed on the muster-roll of 
 fashion, who merely mingle in these agitated 
 and brilliant circles to pass away their time, 
 to let their numberless acquaintances know 
 that they are still in the land of the living, 
 and who just appear on such occasions " to 
 see the great Babel, and to feel the stir." 
 But an immense majority are anxious and 
 busy actors in the scene. 
 
 After Emily, for a few minutes, had endured 
 the intense and rude, we ought rather to say 
 fashionable, gaze of the party already assem- 
 bled at Mrs. Gainham's, and had withstood, 
 with all due confidence, a volley of quizzing 
 glasses that assailed every part of her figure, 
 at one and the same moment, she was led 
 by Dormer to a vacant sofa, where they were 
 speedily joined by some of his friends. The 
 first who approached was an exquisite, that 
 is, a creature of fashion, belonging to a once
 
 HAPPINESS. 95 
 
 numerous and effeminate class, distinguished 
 by the generic appellation of Dandies. 
 Morbid, sensitive, and elegant, the genuine 
 Dandy cannot breathe in our common atmo- 
 sphere ; he cannot endure the rude and bois- 
 terous world which Fate, in the very frolic of 
 her caprice, has strangely destined him to 
 inhabit. The only beings with whom he 
 can deign to converse, and then in a lan- 
 guage of his own, are those who, like him- 
 self, feel a thorough contempt for every thing 
 that does not refine and deify the senses. 
 Exquisites are ultra Dandies, and have gene- 
 rally more of the starch and stays, and less 
 of the spirit of Dandyism. The whole spe- 
 cies are lineal descendants of the Mohawks 
 of the Spectator, and the ruffians and bloods 
 of the Guardian. But the emasculating 
 influence of luxury has totally destroyed all 
 resemblance between the offspring and their 
 parents. Intermediate generations were im- 
 proved by the gradual progress of civiliza- 
 tion ; and the beaux of the last age, though 
 scented and powdered, retained something 
 of a manly character. But their succes- 
 sors 6f the present day have lost almost 
 every trace of humanity. It is certain they
 
 94 HAPPINESS. 
 
 are of doubtful gender ( heteroclila suntoji 
 and have never been claimed by either sex. 
 This circumstance, however, so far from depre- 
 ciating their merit, has endowed them with a 
 mysterious attraction. They are regarded by 
 the fair as a kind of earthly genii ; and they 
 view them with the same interest w^ith which 
 they would gaze on tulips and carnations if 
 they could beheve them inspired with intelli- 
 gence and sensation ; but, alas ! tulips and 
 carnations fade, and Dandies live not for ever. 
 In a few short months every vestige of 
 them will disappear. Yes, these Ariels 
 of the enchanted island of fashion are, 
 at this moment, on the wing ; already the 
 regrets and the tears of beauty bemoan their 
 threatened departure ; and unless the mighty 
 chasm be filled up by something as delicate 
 which shall exhale its little soul in sighs, 
 and breathe its innocent tenderness in 
 whispers, soft and balmy as zephyr lan- 
 guishing o'er a bed of roses — the Lucindas 
 and the Clarissas, the Lady Di's, and the 
 Lady Bels must return again to lavish all 
 their fondness on their monkeys, their lap- 
 dogs, and their parrots. Alas ! the age of 
 Dandyism is gone.
 
 HAPPINESS. 95 
 
 The deplorable fact we have now stated, 
 received abundant confirmation at Mrs. 
 Gainham's ball. On this occasion, those 
 M^ho formerly gloried in the distinction which 
 Dandyism conferred, seemed half ashamed 
 to acknowledge it. The Glendoveers, in 
 whom dwelt the spirit of genuine refinement, 
 and the elegance of superior hon-ton^ no 
 longer graced the temple. Borne away by 
 some "ship of heaven,^' with one or two 
 exceptions, only a few spurious imitators 
 remained, destitute alike of the delicacy and 
 the taste which threw around their departed 
 originals, the charm of irresistible fascination. 
 
 Dormer, as we have intimated, was a 
 Dandy in his exterior, and when it suited the 
 whim of the moment, he performed the cha- 
 racter well, and was certainly a graceful actor. 
 But the exquisite (to whom the reader is 
 indebted for this long digression) was formed 
 by nature and art to be the thing it seemed .- 
 a sort of connecting link between the sexes, 
 it must have been a Dandy or nothing. It
 
 96 HAPPINESS. 
 
 had no alternative, and it desired none. Its 
 fate was its choice — aut Ccesar, aut nullus. 
 As an elegant piece of mechanism, it could 
 talk, sing, dance, play on the piano-forte ; 
 and, in short, was the very counterpart of 
 those automata or wooden men that are 
 constantly exhibited in every metropolis in 
 Europe ; and like those, having travelled in 
 foreign parts, it had brought back, as its sole 
 acquisition, the faculty of addressing to you 
 a very few hackneyed terms and phrases in 
 the languages of the various countries it had 
 passed through. It was perpetually accost- 
 ing you with " Wie gehts" as we say at 
 Vienna ; " Come sta,^' as they ask you at 
 Naples ; " Cela va-t-il h'len^' as they inquire 
 at Paris. In short, as says our immortal 
 bard, it " had been at a great feast of Ian- 
 guages, and brought away the scraps." 
 
 Though possessing none of the essential 
 spirit of Dandyism, it was a very respectable 
 sample of the every-day things that scent 
 the air of Brighton Steyne, and promenade 
 so elegantly on tip-toe, the 'paxe of Bond- 
 street. With its legs a little crossed, it w^as 
 negligently leaning on the arm of its com- 
 panion, when it lisped out an affected com-
 
 HAPPINESS. 97 
 
 plimenl to Emily. The companion was a 
 being of a higher order, though somewhat of 
 an eccentric. This was a stage-str'ick hero, 
 — '' an amateur of fashion,'^ — who, envying 
 the notoriety of Romeo Coates, resolved to 
 imitate him. Alas ! the shadow of a shade. 
 In vain did he toil after his great prototype : he 
 followed: sedfionpassibus csquis. Happily 
 for his fame, he did not venture to expose 
 himself on the boards of any regular theatre, 
 nor did he ever gratify a convulsed audience 
 by dying a second and a third time at their 
 obstreperous demand ; but in private thea- 
 tricals he had enjoyed the enviable luxury 
 of being supported by a few of his personal 
 friends, who had once or twice succeeded in 
 overpowering, by their clamorous approba- 
 tion, the hisses and groans of the whole 
 company. He was well educated, of a good 
 family, and of an amiable disposition, but 
 was unaccountably seized with the passion 
 of rendering himself ridiculous. Actors and 
 acting, theatres and theatricals, engrossed 
 his whole attention. He was literally a 
 theatrical library, a walking prompt book, 
 and a curse or an invocation was for ever on 
 his tongue.
 
 98 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Dormer, he accosted with 
 
 " Hail to your lordship," 
 
 And saluted Emily with 
 
 *' How do you, Desdemona ?" 
 
 But while busied in selecting something 
 most appropriate from among the innumer- 
 able appropriate fragments and sentences 
 pent up in his memory and impatient for 
 utterance, he was interrupted by the arrival 
 of some other young men. Among them 
 were two youths, who, emulous of Dormer's 
 celebrity, aspired to share it with him. In 
 short, they were his imitators, his doubles, 
 or, as he sometimes more characteristically 
 described them, his " Ames damntes.'^ He 
 was their Satan, and they his spell-bound vic- 
 tims. Their office was, to do whatever he did. 
 This they were always striving to accomplish, 
 aping his freaks and floundering at his heels, 
 like clown after harlequin, and generally 
 with the same success as attends that re- 
 nowned hero of mischance. In the present 
 instance one wore his arm in a sling, from 
 having, at the request of Dormer, rode his 
 horse at full gallop, in doing which, he wa»
 
 HAPPINESS. 99 
 
 thrown ; the disaster might have been fatal, 
 but luckily he fell upon his head : the other 
 bore the marks of some severe bruises from 
 a hackney coachman, whom Dormer had 
 persuaded him to box. How many more of 
 the accumulating and fantastic throng would 
 have hailed Dormer for the sake of gazing on 
 Emily, and basking in the heaven of her 
 smiles, it is not easy to divine. Certain it 
 is, her sofa was the point of attraction, and 
 she sat like a queen receiving the homage of 
 an increasing levee, when an unusual bustle 
 among the company announced that dancing 
 was about to begin. Emily rose, and was 
 conducted by her delighted partner to the 
 scene of action. The party were arranging 
 for a quadrille, when the leader of the band, 
 a Frenchman, approached Miss Thornhill, 
 and with a thousand grimaces, shrugs, and 
 bows, presented her with the music of a new 
 country dance of his own composing, which 
 he respectfully begged she Avould do him the 
 honour to lead off. Emily, with graceful 
 compliance, consented. The brilliant assem- 
 blage was instantly in motion. Elegance, 
 grace, and beauty, animated with the soul of 
 harmony, exhibited a spectacle which a 
 H 2
 
 100 HAPPINESS. 
 
 superficial observer might have mistaken for 
 the acme of delight ; and in the gay illusion 
 of the scene, it may be presumed, that the 
 amiable and social feelings obtained a mo- 
 mentary triumph, except, indeed, among the 
 spectators, where belies^ without partners, 
 felt the bitterness of chagrin ; and dowagers, 
 whose rouge but ill concealed the wrinkles 
 of age, avenged the loss of their charms by 
 satirical and malevolent observations on those 
 who were still youthful and lovely. The 
 latter, however, soon made their way to the 
 card-tables, which were liberally provided in 
 rooms expressly fitted up for their accommo- 
 dation. 
 
 Without digressing on the subject, so as to 
 lose ourselves in the labyrinths of moulinet, 
 allemande, and poussette, we shall content 
 ourselves with saying, that, aided by the 
 captivating figure and graceful steps of 
 Emily, who was well supported by the 
 exquisite performance of Dormer (for in this 
 elegant accomplishment he stood unrivalled), 
 the new dance met with general approbation, 
 was honoured by the voice of the assem- 
 bly with the name which had introduced it 
 with so much eclat^ and is at this moment
 
 HAPPINESS. 101 
 
 a favourite in the circles of fashion. Emily 
 on this occasion excelled herself, nor was 
 she ever beheld to greater advantage. Her 
 complexion, somewhat too languishing and 
 pale, was now heightened by the animation of 
 the evening to a glow of "celestial rosy red/* 
 Her fine dark eye beamed with vivacity, 
 her glossy hair played in wanton ringlets on 
 her face, or drooped in striking contrast on 
 her marble neck, while her sylph-like form, 
 now seen now lost amid the mazes of the 
 dance, presented an idea of etherial and 
 super-human loveliness. Fatal loveliness, 
 for the spoiler was near, and marked it for 
 his prey. In the records of domestic misery, 
 what a dismal pre-eminence is given to the 
 assembly and ball-room of fashion. The 
 dance concluded ; Emily withdrew to a part 
 of the room where, without mingling in the 
 croud, she could observe what was passing 
 around her. She was soon joined by Dormer 
 and his companions, with two or three ladies 
 of her acquaintance, and the party proceeded 
 to talk nonsense and scandal " pour passer 
 le terns *^ The good lady of the house was 
 selected as the most prominent object of 
 sarcasm, which was couched in the usual
 
 102 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Strain of fashionable guests, who, in return 
 for the hospitahty which has received and 
 entertained them, commonly amuse them- 
 selves by railing at the founder and abusing 
 the feast. 
 
 In justice to Emily we must, however, 
 remark, that she repelled with lively and 
 indignant repartee this ungenerous attack; 
 and heard with the most poignant regret, 
 that the splendor and fashion which she little 
 expected to see at Mrs. Gainham's, and 
 the good taste and elegance which every 
 where prevailed, were to be attributed to a 
 fact which was maliciously told by one of 
 the party, ludicrously commented upon by 
 another, and loudly laughed at by all — a fact 
 which we hope, for the honour of the 
 fashionable world, stands alone in the history 
 of their crimes and follies. It was this, — 
 that a dashing dowager, notorious for her 
 pecuniary embarrassments, and fondness for 
 deep play, had, for the sake of a valuable 
 consideration (some said a large douceur), 
 taken Mrs. Gainham and daughters under 
 the wing of her protection, and engaged to 
 introduce them to all her friends, or, as the 
 fashionable phrase is, to bring them out.
 
 HAPPINESS. 103 
 
 but rather, as Dormer sneeringly observed, 
 in his commentary, to take them in, A 
 few of Mrs. Gainham's city acquaintances, 
 whom she had unluckily introduced, while 
 parading the room, received several vollies 
 of ridicule. 
 
 A young man, who was to inherit the 
 fortune of his uncle, a sugar-boiler, of great 
 wealth and eminence, and who distin- 
 guished himself by his excessive attachment 
 to every folly of fashion, was too fair a 
 mark to escape. His dress was chiefly 
 remarkable for its ultra Dandyism, and his 
 awkward lanky figure, almost cut in two 
 at the waist, by the extreme pressure of a 
 pair of very tight stays, gave to the wearer 
 some resemblance of an overgrown wasp ; 
 he was likewise manacled at the wrist by 
 enormous bands of stiffened lin^n, while the 
 same confinement in the shape of cravat and 
 shirt collar, was applied to his neck ; so that 
 from the habit of holding his hands in an 
 extended position, for fear of spoihng his 
 wristbands, and from the rotatory evolution 
 he performed when he wished to turn his 
 head, he looked exactly like a man in the 
 pillory. " Here,'^ cries Dormer, " here we
 
 104 HAPPINESS. 
 
 come from the wrong side of Temple-bar — 
 three to two that's one of Mrs. Gainham^s 
 city friends. What a caricature has he made 
 of himself! Comme il singe ^le Dandi ! 
 He's really obliged to stand on tip-toe to 
 look over his shirt collar, and cannot turn 
 his head unless he goes to the right about/^ 
 " I believe,'^ said the exquisite, with an 
 affected lisp, *' it's the manth nephew who 
 makth thugar." " And," said the Marquis 
 of W., who had just joined the coterie, 
 " affecting the Dandy at this time of day, 
 
 when the thing's quite gone by " 
 
 The exquisite here ventured to interpose 
 in behalf of his brother Dandies, et id genus 
 omne. But this was overruled at once by 
 Dormer's exclaiming, " No ! that won't do. 
 The dress, the habits of the Dandy, may be 
 retained by the Sieur Calicots, and the 
 numerous host of man milliners ; but we 
 must start something fresh. Dandyism 
 among us must go out. The materiel of 
 the thing may be kept up, but the personel 
 is quite abandoned. Like mules. Dandies 
 are the first, and will be the last, of their 
 family. The whole generation savour 
 strongly of ' mine ancient,' and as some-
 
 HAPPINESS. 105 
 
 body said of a kitten, ' time, that spoils 
 ' all things, will soon turn her into a cat/ 
 we may now affirm of the Dandies ; 
 with their juvenility they have lost all that 
 rendered them attractive. Old Potts and 
 old Brummel make a sorry figure now that 
 they have reached their grand climacteric.^'* 
 " But is not the threatened extinction of 
 Dandyism deeply to be regretted ?*' inquired 
 Emily. " In the galaxy of fashion they 
 were the brightest stars — so refined, and so 
 intellectual,^^ continued she, smihng, " at 
 their departure, like the daughters of Greece, 
 we must weep that ' the spring is cut out 
 ' of our year/" " Nay, Miss Thornhill," 
 replied Dormer, " you must not ridicule 
 the whole fraternity. Have you never met 
 with clever Dandies } What say you to 
 
 Sk— g— n and P m ?'^ " Why, yes,'' 
 
 rejoined Emily, " I cannot deny but that I 
 have occasionally witnessed such phaeno- 
 mena ; as I have sometimes seen, with sur- 
 prise, certain quadrupeds remarkable for 
 their expertness in dancing to the sound of 
 the pipe and tabor ; and, in both cases, I 
 
 * Dandies and monkies, it is said, arrive at this period 
 much earlier than other animals.
 
 106 HAPPINESS. 
 
 have been struck with the wonderful effects 
 of an early and well-conducted education.*^ 
 —Here a solemn personage interposed ; he 
 was a member of the House of Commons, 
 very young and very formal, whose seat his 
 father purchased for him in hope that by his 
 deep sonorous voice, grave appearance, and 
 subserviency to the ministry, he might one 
 day rise to the dignity of Speaker, and this 
 nickname he had already acquired among 
 his acquaintance. Quite in character on 
 the present occasion, observing that there 
 appeared some difference of opinion, he 
 begged to take the sense of the company on 
 the subject: " All those,'^ said he, " who 
 are of opinion that no gentleman can be 
 a Dandy, will please to signify the same." 
 "All, all," was the reply. — " The contrary." 
 "None:" — "The ayes have it," said he, 
 with inconceivable gravity of face and utter- 
 ance. 
 
 The exquisite, however, appeared little 
 disposed to concur in this annihilation of 
 himself, " and all his tribe :'^ he still lisped 
 out his unmeaning remonstrance, and, not- 
 withstanding the decision of this parliament 
 of fashion, he continues to the present
 
 HAPPINESS. 107 
 
 moment, stiff in his attachment to starch 
 and stays : 
 
 " Victrix causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni."— iwcan. 
 
 Just as this debate had ended, the three 
 Misses Gainham and their beau opportunely 
 passing at the moment, became topics of 
 animadversion. To form an idea of these 
 young ladies, be pleased, gentle reader, to 
 imagine three girls immoderately short and 
 fat, who were, indeed, as broad as they were 
 long, dressed, or rather undressed, in all the 
 exposure of a modern belle, and squired by 
 a little Dandy man still shorter than them- 
 selves, whom each wislied to secure as her 
 partner, and who thus, like Paris on Mount 
 Ida, was tempted and tormented by three 
 divinities at once. *' Here," said Dormer, as 
 they approached, " we have Actaeon among 
 the nymphs. ^^ " Say rather," rejoined Emily, 
 " Love among the roses. Nay," she added, 
 on looking nearer and perceiving the grimaces 
 of the hen-pecked bantam, " the gentleman 
 confesses it by his looks, for he seems as if 
 he were really upon thorns.^' At this sally, 
 the exquisite simpered applause, and the 
 theatrical casting a humourous glance on the
 
 108 HAPPINESS. 
 
 urchin beau, gravely announced — " Ladies 
 and gentlemen ; this evening will be per- 
 formed, by particular desire of several per- 
 sons of distinction, Alexander the Great, or 
 the Rival Queens." 
 
 " And note,'^ continued Dormer, " the 
 affectation of these imbecilles, who, pour se 
 francifier^ sport an enormous ridicule, and 
 carry it every where with them.*' " Alas !" 
 rejoined Emily, with a sigh of pity at their 
 affectation, the kindness of which almost 
 redeems the pun, " I fear they are doomed 
 to carry the ridicule wherever they go." — 
 At this the exquisite lisped out '"-Parola 
 d'onor, Mith Thornhill, you're quite a 
 quith." 
 
 A titled lady now presented herself, who 
 afforded a sad mark for the satire of our 
 scorners, inasmuch as she displayed, by 
 the ravages of her features, an excessive 
 predilection for the unfeminine indulgence 
 of the bottle. " Ah !" cried the theatri- 
 cal, " enter Bardolph with a red nose." 
 *' There,"' replied Dormer, " you are mis- 
 taken ; her ladyship's proboscis is dyed with 
 the purple light of love ; though in my opi- 
 nion she would shine more in water colours."
 
 HAPPINESS. 109 
 
 The doubles laughed approbation at this 
 insipid joke, and a new arrival offered new 
 matter of censure. 
 
 A city dame, spouse to an eminent 
 jeweller, now passed in review. In her 
 vulgar pomposity of carriage and manner, 
 she exhibited all the insolence of low 
 breeding, while with ill-judged show she 
 displayed in her dress a profusion of the 
 choicest and most expensive jewels. 
 *' There,^^ said Dormer, " there/s a travel- 
 ling trinket shop. Well, the poor thing 
 is but dressed in borrowed plumage ; the 
 jewels that adorn her to-night will return 
 to her shop-window in the morning/^ 
 " Ah ! here she comes,^' exclaimed one of 
 the doubles ; " four by honours — queen of 
 diamonds. May it please your splendid 
 majesty,'^ he continued, in a tone of 
 affected reverence, and almost loud enough 
 to be heard by the object of his badinage, 
 who that moment turning her broad full- 
 moon face on the speaker, utterly discon- 
 certed him, to the no small amusement of 
 his mischievous companions ; when the 
 theatrical hearing only the term Queen, 
 and ignorant of its application, strutted
 
 110 HAPPINESS. 
 
 forth, and in a fifth act attitude, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Catch it, ye winds, 
 " And bear it on your rosy wings to heaven : 
 " Cordelia shall be Queen." 
 
 " With all deference to the lofty buskin," 
 rejoined Dormer, " if the heavens are to re- 
 ceive any joyous tidings (and 1 beg that the 
 rosy wings will, for a moment, suspend their 
 flight), let it be announced to the gods that 
 Miss Thornhill reigns the elected Queen of 
 Hearts.^' " Queen of hearts T echoed 
 Emily ; " where, in the name of fashion, 
 am I to find subjects ? I fear the empire 
 of hearts lies in some far distant Utopia, 
 where balls and beaux are ahke unknown. 
 Why, why then, will you banish me from a 
 scene so bright and fair ? Dormer," she 
 added, with affected tenderness, " force me 
 not to leave thee.^^ Almost annihilated by 
 this unexpected sally, he was about to reply ; 
 but Emily, with serious meaning in her 
 face, and an ill-suppressed sigh, whispered 
 to him the lines of Schiller : 
 
 " Yes, he deserves to find himself deceived 
 " Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man."
 
 HAPPINESS. Ill 
 
 Then, with an irresistible smile, she pro- 
 ceeded aloud, — " What an uncharitable 
 groupe do we form, examining and con- 
 demning every one who comes before us, 
 — we are lurking here, making prey of 
 every body, and remaining ourselves shel- 
 tered and unexposed. — Come, Dormer,^^ 
 she added, " you are not on rifle-service 
 now ; quit, then, this sorry ambush, and 
 brave manfully the sarcasms you so well 
 deserve/^ Here the exquisite attempted a 
 bon-mot — " Ah, Mith Thornhill,'' it hsped, 
 " why expothe uth to the danger which 
 
 your lovely eyeth " ** My lovely eyes 
 
 always go to sleep, Sir,^^ said Emily, 
 " when gentlemen talk nonsense.^' " Sleep 
 on, then, and take your rest," said a voice 
 in a tone of bitter scorn, — '' Sleep till the 
 day of doom.^^ This strange and unex- 
 pected salute proceeded from a person of 
 high birth, who affected to be, or was in 
 reality, a misanthrope. 
 
 " Cross'd with care, or craz'd with hopeless love/' 
 
 yet, perfectly harmless, he was privileged, 
 even in the most polite circles, to utter the 
 rudest sarcasms and reproaches with impu-
 
 112 HAPPINESS. 
 
 nity. " Here nonsense is oracular," he 
 steadily continued, as if totally unconscious 
 of the titter and surprise which his first 
 observation had produced, " here, as if by 
 common consent, all that would improve 
 the understanding and refresh the heart, 
 is excluded. This is Folly's Temple ; 
 and there stands (pointing to Emily) its 
 fairest and most costly victim. You, Sir 
 (addressing Dormer) are the officiating 
 high-priest. — That beauteous sacrifice has 
 a heart ; but Folly is a cruel deity. — Oh, 
 that such a heart should be doomed to 
 bleed on such an altar ! For the last half 
 hour, in all the proud consciousness of 
 superior ton and superior wit, you have 
 been levelling your artillery at the unoffend- 
 ing ; but you, too, have had your censors. 
 The sybils of Scandal have told your fortune, 
 and Envy is even now exulting over your 
 fate. Lady, beware ! Joy flows not to the 
 human spirit pure from the fountain, and 
 here its streams are tainted with intoxicating 
 and deadly poison. The flowers of this 
 Eden are bright and beautiful, but 
 
 " The trail of the Serpent is over them all."
 
 HAPPINESS. 11.3 
 
 With a look more in pity than in anger, 
 this singular being passed into the crowd. 
 As he turned away, the theatrical, half 
 kneeling and in trennulous accents, cried, 
 
 " Art thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd .'* 
 Alas ! poor Ghost !" 
 
 The exquisite smiled — showed its pretty 
 white teeth, but could say nothing. After 
 having been a few moments in reverie, it 
 however summoned up courage to attempt 
 another compliment, which was intended 
 to be in honour of Emily's dress: " Mith 
 Thornhill," it sapiently observed, " your 
 dress is really the perfection of pink, while 
 
 you yourself ^* "I myself am the 
 
 pink of perfection, I suppose," rejoined the 
 lively girl; " and thus the comparison ends." 
 The creature, again repulsed, sunk into its 
 former insignificance and silence. They 
 w^ere now accosted by Lord John Fribble, 
 a personage so extremely lean and spare, 
 that he had acquired the nick-name of 
 " John of Gaunt :^' his intellect was also 
 as spare as his person, and he was by no 
 means either well-informed or well-read. 
 He addressed Emily with " What is this 
 I
 
 114 HAPPINESS. 
 
 new dance that all the people talk about ?'^ 
 " Oh/^ replied Emily, " it's quite an irre- 
 gular thing, my Lord ; not one of the figures 
 at the four corners is a right figure.'* His 
 Lordship bowed, and walked off ; delighted 
 with the information thus readily acquired. 
 Passing by the " pomp and circumstance'* 
 of a quadrille, in which Emily took part 
 with her accustomed grace and usual share 
 of applause ; and the refreshments of the 
 supper-table, where every dehcacy, whether 
 in season or out of season, was served in 
 the most elegant form that taste could sug- 
 gest ; we proceed to observe, that, after 
 supper, the matrons and elderly gentlemen, 
 of the party, and others, who preferred the 
 sobriety of whist and cassino to insipid 
 noise and nonsense, sat down to cards, 
 while the company in general lounged 
 through the rooms, talking, tittering, and 
 quizzing, without any other object than to 
 get rid of the enemy — the usual appellation 
 of Time in the nomenclature of fashion. 
 
 A few, however, who either really pos- 
 sessed, or affected to possess, a taste for 
 music, adjourned to the music-room. Among 
 these, were Emily, Dormer, Mrs. Gainham.
 
 HAPPINESS. 115 
 
 and her daugliters, and a few lisping, Ian- 
 giiishing, but faded beauties. A grand 
 piano-forte, from the center of which shone 
 a flaming gold star, relieved by a ground of 
 deep crimson velvet, was the first object 
 which struck the admiring attention of the 
 guests. jNIrs. Gainham assured her friends, 
 " that most people thought it very helegant. 
 She had bought it, she said, for two pur- 
 poses — to employ and display the skill of 
 her daughters, and to amuse herself when 
 they were from home ; not that she had ever 
 learnt, but it had got two or three barrels, and 
 played so beautiful ail alone by itself ; she 
 liked it amazingly, it was such good com- 
 pany.^^ A splendid harp occupied another 
 part of the room ; and now the only thing 
 necessary was, to select performers who 
 could make these instruments " discourse 
 most excellent music. ^^ All eyes were 
 turned to Emily, but she begged that IMiss 
 Grace Gainham, of whose vocal and instru- 
 mental fascinations she had heard so much, 
 might precede her. This young lady, who 
 possessed no natural taste for the accom- 
 plishments which she had laboured hard to 
 acquire, was flattered into a persuasion, that 
 I 9
 
 116 HAPPINESS. 
 
 she was an admirable singer. Of science5 
 indeed, she might reasonably boast ; but 
 having no melody in her soul, she had none 
 in her voice : it was harsh and dissonant, 
 and wanted both sweetness and compass. 
 Yet, unconscious of these disadvantages, 
 she sat down to attempt a most difficult 
 aria of Mazzinghi's. The contrast between 
 her squeaking and discordant tones, and the 
 softness and majesty of the Italian music, 
 was too striking to escape the ridicule of 
 the company. Accordingly, the theatrical 
 meeting Lord John Fribble, exclaimed, 
 " My Lord, my Lord, yonder's foul murder 
 done ;'^ while the exquisite observed, " How 
 ridiculouth it wath for a woman to attempt 
 to thing who had no voith,^^ 
 
 Having finished her task, and heard a 
 thousand compliments on the wonderful 
 science and power of her execution, Miss 
 Gainham led Emily to the harp. Sincerely 
 pitying the failure she had just witnessed, 
 Miss Thornhill resolved to prevent the pos- 
 sibility of ill-natured comparison by under- 
 taking something in a totally different style. 
 Relinquishing, therefore, all pretensions and 
 all rivalry, she sung, with melting tenderness, 
 the following simple ballad :
 
 HAPPINESS. 117 
 
 O WAKE, love, wake, can such an hour 
 Be lent alone to slumber's power ? 
 
 0, no ! 'twas made 
 For the moon-light walks, where lovers meet, 
 And the silver songs, and the music sweet. 
 
 Of their serenade. 
 
 And rise, love, rise, the queen of night 
 Upbraids thy rest, for her smiles are bright 
 
 On thy casement now ; 
 And the fairest forms of love and bliss 
 Are awake and abroad, in a night like this— 
 
 Then, where art thou ? 
 
 O quit, love, quit those visions blest. 
 That hover around thy couch of rest, 
 
 From realms above; 
 Forget, if thou canst, the halcyon theme. 
 And wake to as holy, as happy a dream— 
 
 The dream of love. 
 
 And hark, love, hark to yon melody faint, 
 
 'Tis the song of the nightingale pouring her plaint 
 
 To the starry ray ; 
 But the only orbs that can cheer my night. 
 And bless my song with their looks of light — 
 
 Oh, where are they ? 
 
 And list, love, list, mid the silence aroiin4 
 Thou shalt hear beside, the murmvur'd sofund 
 Of thy lover's lay ; 
 
 l3
 
 118 HAPPINESS. 
 
 As he sings, that the earth and the skies are dini;, 
 And the beauty of night hath no beauty for him. 
 While thou art away. 
 
 Then wake thee, wake thou sweetest flower. 
 And quit for a moment thy virgin bower. 
 
 For thy true love's sake ; 
 There is nought to harm thee, around, or on high, 
 The earth is tranquil, and so is the sky — 
 
 Then wake, love, wake. 
 
 She hears, she wakes ; from her window far. 
 The well-known sound of her lover's guitar 
 
 Hath caught her ear ; 
 And see at her casement she takes her stand. 
 And waving slow her lily hand, 
 
 She wafts a kiss to her cavalier. 
 
 As the soft and tender tones of the harp 
 died away, rapturous bravos burst from 
 every part of the room. Emily sighed ; she 
 knew how to appreciate them. They were 
 ready for every occasion, — waited on every 
 performer, — and had even greeted the miser- 
 able attempt of Miss Grace Gainham. Such 
 applause she also felt to be totally unsuited 
 to the class of emotions to which she had 
 just given indulgence, and which she had
 
 HAPPINESS. 119 
 
 -hoped to excite in her audience. With 
 these, however, there was not one that knew 
 how to sympathise, and only one who 
 affected to be moved by them. The thea- 
 trical hesitated for a moment, whether to 
 exclaim " something too much of this/* 
 which was the real conviction of his mind, 
 or to utter some apposite compliment ; — the 
 latter seemed more comme il faut^ — and 
 assuming the intoxicated joyousness of 
 Cassio, he addressed Emily with ^' Why, 
 this is a more exquisite song than the 
 other." Lord John Fribble whispered that 
 he thought it too lackidaisicaL It was 
 love without licence, and his Lordship, of 
 course, was unable to comprehend it. The 
 ladies sneered, and charitably supposed, that 
 Miss Thornhill was making an insidious 
 attack on some unpractised swain, by a 
 ridiculous affectation of sensibility. While 
 Dormer, stung by the mysterious invectives 
 of the misanthrope, seeing him approach, 
 cried " Here comes Old Timon, — ' Music 
 hath charms to soothe the savage breast.' " 
 '' True,^^ replied the object of his remark, 
 with a look of sarcastic disdain, *' but the 
 boor of fashion is the most untameable brute
 
 120 HAPPINESS. 
 
 in its whole menagerie. ^^ " Yet/^ he conti- 
 nued, relaxing his features into an expression 
 of musing sadness, " the human machine, 
 destitute ahke of heart and soul, can dis- 
 semble passion, assume tenderness, and woo 
 and win the fair/* " Good, very good,"' 
 said Dormer ; " and therefore your splenetic 
 envy cannot endure the success of your 
 miore happy rivals." " I — I, Mr. Dormer," 
 rejoined the misanthrope, with solemnity, 
 " I have long since renounced all preten- 
 sions to the heart of fickle woman : but why 
 should I, or any man, despair ? Now-a-days, 
 hands are given without hearts — and some 
 hearts, alas ! are very weak. He must be 
 destitute and forlorn indeed, who in this good- 
 natured world is doomed to sigh in vain for 
 beauty. It asks not for youth, for decrepi- 
 tude on crutches has borne away the prize in 
 triumph. — A manly person and a noble mien 
 are not necessary ; for if Cahban were more 
 than an ideal monster, and could mutter out 
 his passion, there would be some charming 
 creature whom his equipage, if not himself, 
 would captivate, and loveliness and defor- 
 mity would joyfully take each other for 
 better and for worse. Even Poverty, the
 
 HAPPINESS. 121 
 
 very quintessence of all the ills in Pandora's 
 Box, needs not remain in solitary wretched- 
 ness ; for a husband, there are females who 
 would impoverish Poverty itself; nay Vice, 
 Vice, in the person of a fashionable rake, 
 may surely reckon upon kind advocates and 
 gentle apologists ; for a thousand pretty 
 languishing eyes are ready to tell him how 
 supremely happy they should be to under- 
 take his reformation." " The sex are 
 deeply indebted to you, Sir," replied Emily, 
 *' for the good opinion which you entertain 
 of them. Your observations are so just and 
 discriminating, and their kindness is so un- 
 questionable, that if they fail to instruct 
 and reclaim us, we must be incorrigible." 
 " Whatever severity there may be in my 
 manner," rejoined the misanthrope, " my 
 heart feels only pity and regret. If in such 
 an assembly as this I sacrifice courtesy to 
 truth, I stand alone a monster of sincerity. 
 The trifling things around me deceive each 
 other by mutual consent. It is because I 
 honour and love the sex that 1 sometimes 
 force myself to become their monitor ; and 
 I charge upon the fashions of the day, upon 
 every object and being with which the
 
 122 HAPPINESS. 
 
 higher order of females are constantly sur- 
 rounded, a deliberate and systematic con- 
 spiracy to frivohze and falsify their minds, 
 to induce a habit of life that makes folly its 
 business, and pleasure its toil. I have 
 gazed to-night on forms the most lovely, 
 fluttering in meretricious exposure, whose 
 only ambition it has been, to become the 
 temporary idols of beings as frivolous as 
 themselves ; but who, stupid as they are, can 
 ridicule — ay, and bitterly and grossly expose 
 the weakness which thinks to charm them 
 by a display which, in the females of their 
 own family, or any females for whom they 
 had a value, or even a respect, would disgust 
 and revolt them." "A sermon,=^ a homily, 
 on my hfe," interrupted Dormer. " Good, 
 Dr. Cantwell, speak, and we will hear 
 thee," he continued, assuming a demure air 
 and a drawling tone. The misanthrope, not 
 a whit disconcerted, observed, that he felt 
 
 * Were not the thing impossible, we should infer, that 
 Dormer had detected the misanthrope in a plagiarism from 
 one of the most eloquent sermons in our language. The 
 concluding sentence is certainly extracted verbatim from 
 Maturin's inimitable Discourse on the Necessity of Female 
 Education.
 
 HAPPINESS. 123 
 
 not tlie slightest reluctance to pursue the 
 subject. If he could be sure of an audience 
 he would pledge himself to furnish them 
 with what would certainly possess the merit 
 of being a novel species of amusement. 
 
 Delighted with the proposal, the party 
 ironically assured him that he should com- 
 mand their profoundest attention. With a 
 simplicity, either affected or real, which 
 seemed to favour the idea generally enter- 
 tained of his being half insane, he gravely 
 proceeded, " You have all, I suppose, heard 
 of ' Coelebs in search of a Wife.^^ this was 
 once my character ; but I have long since 
 renounced it. I am a bachelor at forty ; 
 and a bachelor I intend to continue. Dis- 
 appointed in my search, I have relinquished 
 hope for ever. Once I was the creature of 
 powerful feeling — now sensibility is dried 
 up in my heart. I am no longer an actor, 
 but an observer in the great drama of life. 
 When I first united myself to the C Celebes, 
 I determined to quit them as soon as pos- 
 sible. Though a very numerous and wealthy 
 order, I found, that the younger brethren 
 only were respected by the world ; that a 
 Coelebs in search of a Wife, was every where
 
 124 HAPPINESS. 
 
 a welcome guest ; but that a C celebs whose 
 conduct indicated satisfaction with his state, 
 was, after a certain period, an object of 
 ridicule and contempt. Several times I 
 have been on the point of quitting the frater- 
 nity, but either my evil or my good genius 
 interposed, and the cup of bitterness or the 
 cup of bliss has been dashed, untasted, from 
 my lips. To many this may appear strange ; 
 to the men of eighty, who have found no 
 difficulty in persuading to accompany them 
 to the hymeneal altar the blooming beauties 
 of eighteen — and to those who consider the 
 term ' wife' as synonimous with woman, 
 and who understand nothing more by woman 
 than a female with a large fortune, or a 
 female with a bewitching smile, a love- 
 speaking eye, or an enchanting foot, my 
 assertion will appear incredible. To obtain 
 a wife is, in their view, the easiest thing in 
 nature. But the facility with which I often 
 saw the most foolish and the basest of men 
 unite themselves to women, distinguished 
 by intelligence, beauty, and even virtue, so 
 far from animating me in my matrimonial 
 scheme, proved an insuperable barrier to 
 my success, by exciting a frigid caution not
 
 HAPPINESS. 125 
 
 at all congenial with the ardour of love. — It 
 was ever my wish, that the wife of my choice 
 should love me for myself alone — that she 
 should receive me into her affections — not be- 
 cause I was an individual belonging to such a 
 class of my species, or filling such a station in 
 society — but on account of those peculiar 
 qualities of intelligence and moral character 
 by which I was distinguished from the rest of 
 my fellow-creatures, and which would attract 
 her regard, though I had nothing of an ad- 
 ventitious nature to recommend me/' 
 
 " An ideal form, at this moment, glides 
 before my imagination. The eloquent 
 countenance, the modest mien, the soul 
 adorned with every charm, exhibit to my 
 view all that is estimable in woman. 
 The figure is precisely such as my boyish 
 fancy drew, but the character has improved 
 with my years. It first appeared before me 
 in all the sensibility of the heart ; for such a 
 character was best adapted to the ardour of 
 youthful feeling. Now the eye beams 
 equally with intelligence — now it is in- 
 vested with all the dignity of moral virtue, 
 associated with all the sweetness of divine 
 philosophy. Stripped of whatever is
 
 126 HAPPINESS. ' 
 
 romantic, it now possesses a character of 
 greatness to resist the temptations of the 
 world, of magnanimity to sustain its evils, 
 of energy, guided by principle and softened 
 by feminine grace, which qualifies it to dis- 
 charge all the duties of social life. With 
 these varied excellencies, I see something 
 of human infirmity to excite my sympathy, 
 of error to call forth my forbearance. This 
 pleasing phantom of a waking dream, is 
 Eve with a fallen nature in a fallen world, 
 and not Eve in Paradise, adorned with ori- 
 ginal and spotless purity ; yet to that ori- 
 ginal purity she is approximating. I trace 
 her progress with delight through the diver- 
 sified scenes of the present state of existence. 
 — I feel elevated by her example ; her 
 resignation teaches me submission ; — her 
 exertions inspire me with activity. Such 
 is the creature of my imagination.^' 
 
 " Once, indeed 5 such lovely visions glorified 
 the earth. Before these degenerate days, in 
 the times in which Milton lived, there were 
 women who, when compared with the most 
 exalted females of the present age, appear 
 to have belonged to a higher class of beings. 
 Behold the wife and biographer of Colonel
 
 HAPPINESS. 127 
 
 Hutchinson, and say, if the creature of my 
 fancy is indeed an ' airy nothing/ But let 
 it not be supposed, that I expected to see 
 in every woman a Mrs. Hutchinson ; or 
 that I was ever vain enough to beheve that 
 a woman, with a mind so comprehensive, 
 or with a person so enchanting, would fall 
 to my lot. No ! I could have made con- 
 siderable abatement as to intellect and 
 beauty, but not an iota as to delicacy of 
 sentiment, mental culture, and moral and 
 religious excellence. I never desired that 
 women should be educated to be heroines, 
 but to be wives ; yet it was always my wish, 
 that their minds should be so enriched, their 
 principles so good, so vital, so dignifying, 
 that if the necessity of circumstances de- 
 manded it, the wife should rise into the 
 heroine. Women of this description are 
 not the growth of such a state of society as 
 the present ; and were it possible to produce 
 them, there would not be found ' helps- 
 meet' for them. That lofty air of man- 
 hood which once characterised our British 
 youth, no longer exists. There is, among 
 us, an abundance of talent, but a dearth of 
 genius. — In general, scarcely the appearance
 
 128 HAPPINESS. 
 
 of virtue — and only here and there a solitary 
 and derided instance of its reality — and this 
 reality wearing a hue so sickly, that such 
 women as Mrs. Hutchinson would blush to 
 own it. The giants have disappeared, and 
 we are over-run with a race of pigmies — I 
 beg pardon; a race of Dandies." 
 
 " This will, in a great degree, account for 
 the debasementof the female character. There 
 is, in most men, little that they can respect ; 
 little that has a tendency to raise them to 
 that mental elevation and moral purity after 
 which they would naturally aspire, and 
 which, in other circumstances, they might 
 easily attain. A desire to captivate and 
 please, is a sort of instinct in the female 
 heart ; and where education does not impart 
 to her those noble principles of virtue which 
 will check this propensity where it is im- 
 proper, and hallow it where it ought to be 
 indulged, it becomes the surest snare by 
 which woman is debased and enslaved.'* 
 
 How far this uncourteous harangue might 
 have extended, and with what sallies of wit 
 and ridicule it would have been followed, 
 we have no means of ascertaining ; for just 
 at the moment when the last sentence was
 
 HAPPINESS. 129 
 
 Uttered, a loud, shrill, and most inharmo- 
 nious clamour of voices, as of furies in the 
 act of " civil bickering,^' excited the sur- 
 prise of the listeners and the speaker. They 
 hastened to the spot whence the ungracious 
 sounds appeared to issue ; when, to their no 
 small astonishment, a brace of dowagers, 
 the ^v']f^ of a citizen, and a harridan of 
 fashion were accusing: each other of not 
 having deposited their stakes at the com- 
 mencement of a game of whist, which, to 
 the great chagrin of the winners, were found 
 to be deficient. Each solemnly protested 
 that the fraud was not chargeable upon her. 
 We cannot pollute our pages with the 
 epithets which were bandied to and fro on 
 the occasion. Various fragments of private 
 scandal w^ere mins-led with the most harsh 
 
 o 
 
 and unfeminine invectives. Recrimination 
 growing darker every moment, heightened 
 the interest of the conflict, which seemed 
 fast approaching to personal outrage ; when, 
 fortunately, one of the lovely combatants 
 casting her eye on the floor, beheld the glit- 
 tering cause of the fracas which had swelled 
 their gentle bosoms into a tempest of rage, 
 and rendered them a fertile source of amuse-
 
 130 HAPPINESS. 
 
 ment to crowds of malicious spectators. 
 The amende honorable was awkwardly 
 made : the storm subsided into a calm, and 
 the company gradually diminished. 
 
 Emily, escorted by her beaux, was among 
 the latest departures ; just as she was pre- 
 paring to step to her carriage, a new incident 
 occurred, and a new object presented itself 
 to her view. A wretched female of that 
 class " whose nightly earnings are their 
 daily bread,^* was seen struggling with the 
 watchman who was attempting to appre- 
 hend her ; she maintained the unequal con- 
 test with all the strength she possessed, but 
 soon vanquished, was thrown with dreadful 
 violence on the pavement, and fell sense- 
 less at the feet of Emily. Alarmed at the 
 dismal spectacle before her, yet feeling for 
 the unhappy creature (in whom she beheld 
 the degradation of her sex) the tenderest 
 pity, she could not resist the first generous 
 impulse of her heart ; and, regardless of the 
 sneers of the beaux, and the affected terror 
 of the belles, she instantly interposed with 
 the Cerberus of the night : — " Save her," 
 she exclaimed, " she is hurt — she is much 
 hurt ; do not take her to prison — lead her
 
 HAPPINESS. 151 
 
 where she will be kindly treated, and 1 will 
 reward you for your pains." The man fixed 
 his eye for a moment on the golden bribe 
 which glittered in the hand of Emily ; then, 
 loosing his iron grasp, and relaxing some- 
 what from his insolence of office, replied, 
 *' I vont hurt the wratch, if you vishes it. 
 Ma'am ; but it is not often as a lady, like 
 your Ladyship, will stoop to take notice of 
 sich varmint.^' " Come," said Emily, ad- 
 dressing the hapless object of her solicitude, 
 " rise, if you can, and go with this person ; 
 he will not hurt you — for my sake he will 
 not." 
 
 The wretched creature made an effort to 
 rise ; and, lifting up her head, disclosed a 
 set of features which, though wan and ema- 
 ciated, were still interesting, and had once 
 been beautiful; while the gentility of her 
 form, and the correctness of her language, 
 bespoke her one who " had looked on better 
 days, and known what 'twas to pity and be 
 pitied. ^^ — Now, alas ! the tone of compas- 
 sion seemed strange to her ; so strange, 
 indeed, that it awoke emotions long since 
 dead in her soul. " Young lady," she 
 exclaimed, raising her languid head, and 
 K 9
 
 132 HAPPINESS. 
 
 clasping her wasted hands, " you are an 
 angel from heaven ; — and can you feel pity, 
 and for such a wretch ? — I was once, like 
 you, in innocence and peace — but what am 
 I now ? — Now," with dreadful emphasis 
 she shrieked, " I am a fiend, and life is 
 made a hell, on purpose to torment me \'' 
 Emily shrunk instinctively from the horror 
 of her expressions, and again commending 
 her to the care of the watch, whose attentions 
 she promised still further to reward, with- 
 drew to her carriage. 
 
 During this scene. Dormer was observed 
 to retire into the crowd, as if to elude the 
 eye of the distressed object in whose misery 
 Emily discovered so deep an interest. — 
 When, however, the poor creature had 
 moved onward a few paces, he stepped up 
 to the carriage — complimented Miss Thorn- 
 hill on the sympathy she had shown, and 
 promised himself to take care that the 
 watchman performed his duty — and that in 
 the morning he would make some efforts for 
 the permanent relief of the sufferer. " He 
 beheved," he said, " there was a place at 
 the other end of the town which they put 
 these people in, to read sermons and sing
 
 HAPPINESS. 133 
 
 psalms all day long ; — did not know to a 
 certainty, but conjectured this to be the case. 
 However, his aunt Dorothy, who was an 
 old maid and a methodist, must know all 
 about it, for she was always going about to 
 such places, and giving away the family- 
 money to the evangelical parsons ; and 
 though he had not seen her these dozen 
 years, he would certainly call on her the 
 first thing in the morning, and arrange the 
 affair, if possible, to Emily's satisfaction.^^ 
 Emily thanked him for his offer, by a kind 
 and gentle pressure of the hand, which 
 thrilled through his frame. She then took 
 a last look of the retiring unfortunate, — 
 trembled as she viewed her — thought, for 
 the first time that evening, of the absent 
 Louisa — sunk into a reverie, suggested by 
 the contrast of such reflections as these, with 
 the gay and splendid scenes in which she 
 had been just exhibiting, and waving with 
 her hand a farewell which she was unable 
 to speak, was driven to her home. 
 
 The remarks of her associates of both 
 sexes who witnessed this scene, we shall 
 spare our readers ; suffice it to say, the
 
 134 HAPPINESS. 
 
 exquisite observed in its own inimitable 
 manner, " that the creature wath a regular 
 nuithanth^^^ while the theatrical declared, 
 *' that her action was suitable and her atti- 
 tude fine ; but her voice was broken and 
 hollow, and would never do for the stage/^
 
 HAPPINESS. 135 
 
 C H A p. Ylll. 
 
 " But who, alas ! can love and then be wise ?" 
 
 A little still she strove, and much repented ; 
 
 And whispering ' I will ne'er consent/ — consented." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 " WHO can resist their fate?'^ exclaimed 
 Emily, when on the ensuing morning she 
 ruminated on the incidents of the ball, 
 and dwelt with dangerous interest on the 
 person, the gaiety, and elegance of Dormer. 
 She had long and seriously repelled his 
 particular attentions. For, to herself she 
 referred, when she carelessly informed 
 Louisa that love w^as among the cap- 
 taints waking dreams. At that period she 
 deemed him a frivolous, if not a selfish 
 pretender, to a passion which she believed 
 it impossible he could ever feel. And the 
 contemptuous badinage of Louisa agreeing 
 with this opinion, she was confirmed in her
 
 136 HAPPINESS. 
 
 reiterated rejection of his addresses. Yet, 
 in spite of the conviction of her judgment, 
 and the repugnance of her feehngs, Dormer, 
 insensibly grew upon her. Cheerful, frank, 
 and deboiuiair, to a girl of Emily's vivacity 
 of temper, he was always an agreeable com- 
 panion. Being on intimate terms with all 
 her friends and acquaintances, she was in- 
 cessantly meeting him ; and as they both 
 excelled in the accomphshment of dancing, 
 they were frequently thrown together as 
 partners. Of these circumstances Dormer 
 well knew how to take advantage. Piqued 
 at being so often repulsed, he was resolved, 
 if possible, to win the prize ; and as he was 
 no stranger to the heart of woman, he felt 
 assured, that if he could once lull suspicion 
 asleep, and awaken the least interest in his 
 favour, whether of pity or gratitude, that his 
 success would be certain. Of Emily's wit 
 he was sufficiently apprised, and he was 
 well acquainted with the generous tender- 
 ness of her disposition. With the hope of 
 exciting the one, he was willing to expose 
 hirnself to the artillery of the other ; and 
 the method he adopted proved that he was 
 an able tactician in the art of love.
 
 HAPPINESS. 137 
 
 His flattery was delicate, and administered 
 at the very moment when the craving appe- 
 tite of female vanity was yearning to receive 
 it ; that is, on occasions when it wanted 
 the opinion of another to sustain its own 
 almost vanquished complacency. If any 
 doubt occurred in Emily's mind on the sub- 
 ject of a rival's dress or accomplishments, 
 and her fluttering heart betrayed its secret 
 in an anxious glance, Dormer instinctively 
 felt the appeal which he seemed not to 
 observe ; and, by a well-timed compliment 
 on the very point at issue, restored the 
 jealous fair one to a tranquil consciousness 
 of her own superiority. Most assiduous in 
 his endeavours to anticipate her wishes and 
 to consult her taste, without re-urging his 
 suit, or even hinting at the subject of his 
 attachment which, in deference to Emily's 
 repeated declarations that " she could never 
 think of him,'' he appeared desirous rather 
 to conceal than to obtrude : her unsuspect- 
 ing heart w^as touched with what she con- 
 sidered a refinement of dehcacy, — which, 
 from time immemorial, has been deemed 
 by all competent judges, an unequivocal 
 evidence of the purity and ardour of love.
 
 138 HAPPINESS. 
 
 It is true she had many sad misgivings. 
 This appearance of deHcacy might be as- 
 sumed : it imphed to be real, something 
 romantic in the character, something foreign 
 from the heartlessness of fashion, and that 
 destitution of sentiment which, on other 
 occasions, her adorer had been known to 
 boast of as a virtue. 
 
 In addition to this, he had a reputation for 
 gallantry — that is, he was a rake ; yet his 
 heart was good. — He was kind to all about 
 him — after all, he might be sincere ; and it 
 was in the power of love to work a miracle 
 of reformation. It had often converted a 
 debauched lover into a devoted and faithful 
 husband. — Besides, he was not worse than 
 others ; and his very frankness of disposition 
 was a guarantee for his superiority to every 
 thing mean and base, — His connexions were 
 high ; his family, noble ; and he stood in his 
 own person at no great distance from the 
 peerage. With all this, — he was a general 
 favourite ; and why should she refuse to 
 unite her destiny with a man whose alliance 
 so many women of distinction were ambi- 
 tious to obtain ? — His faults, too, were those 
 of his age and rank in society, but he had
 
 HAPPINESS. 139 
 
 personal accomplishments and virtues which 
 redeemed them all. 
 
 On this important question, Emily argued 
 as all persons do who transfer the reasoning 
 faculty from the head to the heart — who 
 suffer their feelings to dictate to their judg- 
 ment. She also laboured under another and 
 very serious disadvantage. Her ideas of 
 virtue and vice, and their influence on the 
 happiness of human life, were exceedingly 
 vague and confused. Contemplating this 
 subject only in one point of view, she had 
 adopted the common maxim of the world, 
 that " the standard of virtue ought not to be 
 applied with equal rigour to both sexes.'* 
 According to this maxim. Chastity in the 
 one is indispensable ; the imputation of it 
 in the other is a disgrace. It is scandalous 
 for clergymen and ladies to intrigue ; but if 
 a man of fashion has not the reputation of 
 being gay, he is distrusted as a Joseph 
 Surface, or ridiculed as a Tony Lumpkin ; 
 in other words, he is reproached as a hypo- 
 crite, or despised as an idiot. Women 
 must be pure, but men may be indulged in 
 what are termed " little sinnings in love,'' — 
 a phrase which, however gaily quoted by
 
 140 HAPPINESS. 
 
 the execrable seducer and the lenient censors 
 of his crime, has a dreadfully emphatic 
 meaning when it happens to fall on the ears 
 of heart-broken parents, weeping over the 
 moral wreck of all they held dear and lovely 
 upon earth. It is only in the code of 
 fashion, that one of the most destructive 
 vices of human nature is palliated and con- 
 sidered venial. For every man, in the eye 
 of the Divine Law, who by incontinence 
 offends against the sacred rights of huma- 
 nity, — and every act of incontinence is such 
 an ofFence,~is either a seducer or the 
 
 ABETTOR OF SEDUCTION. 
 
 But however lax the notions of fashion- 
 able females may be on the general subject 
 of sexual purity, a woman of real delicacy 
 cannot help feeling a little apprehensive 
 terror, when she seriously thinks of uniting 
 herself for ever to a man who has been 
 familiar with a plurality of attachments — 
 who is a libertine from habit and from prin- 
 ciple — and in whose eyes the whole sex are 
 degraded into mere victims of caprice, or 
 objects of licentious passion. She must be 
 far gone in selfishness, and fashion must have 
 deadened all the sensibilities of her heart,
 
 HAPPINESS. 141 
 
 if she can regard matrimony as no more 
 than a cold compact of convenience ; and 
 even then it is a dangerous venture, to com- 
 mit health, fortune, and reputation to the 
 care of a profligate, the business of whose 
 life is, to ruin the peace of families, and to 
 spread immoral contagion through the whole 
 sphere of his influence. But where the 
 bosom is tenderly alive to impression — 
 where, notwithstanding all the factitious 
 pleasures of the world— it longs for domestic 
 repose, for some arm of fond affection on 
 which to lean, and which can afford it in 
 every hour of weakness and danger, support 
 and protection ; how inexpressibly appal- 
 ing is the thought of surrendering every 
 hope and every joy to a being who has no 
 constancy in his nature — who lives on 
 excitement, and to whom the endear- 
 ments of yesterday^s love are like a 
 *' tale that is told,'^ — faintly pleasing in the 
 recollection, but never to be repeated with 
 the same interest or heard with the same 
 emotion. 
 
 Emily, perhaps, was placed at an equal 
 distance from regarding marriage as a mere 
 matter of calculation, and from viewing it as
 
 142 HAPPINESS. 
 
 a perfect union of hearts, sympathies and 
 joys. She had outHved the period when 
 " love's morning-beam first shone on the 
 horizon of her existence, and tinged every 
 object with its glow." Once, indeed, she 
 felt, that her being was absorbed in that of 
 another, and that there was no use of exist- 
 ence but to devote it to him. But this 
 fondly cherished hope of early affection had 
 been blighted by the treachery of its object. 
 Under the corrosions of disappointment she 
 had rushed with delirious ardour into the 
 vortex of amusement ; and this it was which 
 confirmed the frivolity of her character. 
 Her happiness was no longer to be entrusted 
 to the frailty of one creature ; it was hence- 
 forth to seek its enjoyment in gaiety, in 
 dissipation, in a round of thoughtless folly. 
 The world had done much in sophisticating 
 her feelings, in impressing its own image 
 upon her heart. Still, however, she pos- 
 sessed the desire of being loved ; still she 
 could appreciate and reward genuine affec- 
 tion. She knew too much of life, indeed, 
 to expect either romantic ardour or faultless 
 purity in a lover of modern days ; all that 
 she looked for in a husband, was preference.
 
 HAPPINESS. 143 
 
 and an affectionate desire to promote her 
 happiness in the way she hked best, allowing 
 her to select her pleasures, and, if he chose, 
 to participate in them. 
 
 In the exterior of Dormer, and in the 
 space he occupied in the circles of fashion, 
 there was much to gratify that passion for 
 admiration which she dehghted to indulge. 
 But his habits, his pursuits, and his constant 
 associates, all conspired to impress her with 
 the conviction, that his love was rather a 
 whim than a passion ; and that marriage 
 was only one among his thousand expe- 
 dients to relieve the monotony of existence. 
 This conviction was, however, often shaken 
 by considerations similar to those already 
 detailed. Persuaded at length that he could 
 love, her vanity soon assured her of the sin- 
 cerity of his professions. — This excited a 
 little of her compassion ; but she had so 
 often said, that Dormer was the last man she 
 could ever think of marrying — ^and that a 
 union with him was as impossible as any 
 imaginable impossibility in nature — that she 
 felt no danger in the pity with which she 
 regarded his disappointment. Her mind 
 was so perfectly made up on the subject,
 
 144 HAPPINESS. 
 
 that instead of avoiding him she was de- 
 lighted to let the world see how superior 
 she was to the artillery of love, when 
 directed by one whom she could treat with 
 all the familiarity of indifference. 
 
 This very circumstance, as almost any 
 novice might have foreseen, produced an 
 impression different from that which she in- 
 tended. Her name was so often associated 
 with Dormer's, and they were talked of as 
 destined for each other in so many morning 
 visits and evening parties, that Emily almost 
 began to feel, that what she at first deemed 
 impossible might be probable. Having been 
 accustomed to the tones of his voice, his 
 manner, and the delicate services he ap- 
 peared so happy to render, if these were 
 suspended for a week, or even a day, as 
 sometimes happened, discontent clouded 
 her brow. Fler maid was chided even when 
 she took the greatest pains to please, and 
 she returned' from routs and balls, out of 
 humour with herself and all that she had 
 seen. When, however, Dormer re-appeared, 
 her complacency returned : Gertrude was 
 caressed, and every party was delightful. 
 Still Dormer could never be her husband.
 
 HAPPINESS. 145 
 
 Had she not peremptorily rejected him ? — 
 Certainly. 
 
 With Gertrude she had discussed the 
 point so often, and had made such repeated 
 references to this her irrevocable decision, 
 that she seemed perfectly fortified against 
 any renewed attack which her lover might 
 presume to meditate. Gertrude, however, 
 was not long in discovering what Emily took 
 such marvellous pains to hide even from 
 herself. Her very anxiety to be thus forti- 
 fied soon convinced her observant waiting- 
 woman that the citadel was in danger. When- 
 ever, therefore, she wished to propitiate her 
 mistresses regard, she never failed to espouse 
 the cause of Dormer, and to descant on all 
 that she could imagine favourable in his 
 character, and charming in his person. On 
 these occasions Emily heard her with a 
 satisfaction she could ill conceal ; and though 
 she suggested many objections, they appeared 
 to be only urged for the purpose of eliciting 
 a voluble and successful refutation. Such a 
 refutation was always ready ; and when her 
 auditor declared herself still unconvinced, 
 and gently desired her never again to mention 
 Dormer's name, the wily Abigail usually
 
 146 HAPPINESS. 
 
 ended the conference by observing, that she 
 verily believed there was a fate in these 
 things- — that marriages were made in heaven 
 — that what was to be must be — and that she 
 could not help thinking Miss Emily and 
 Captain Dormer would make the handsomest 
 couple in England. 
 
 Absurd as this popular notion of fate un- 
 doubtedly is, because it paralyses the human 
 agent, and throws the spell of uncontrollable 
 necessity around his volitions, destroying at 
 once his accountableness, and impeaching 
 the wisdom and goodness of the supreme 
 Governor of the World — yet, it is the usual 
 refuge of weakness, when the heart can no 
 longer sophisticate and pervert the under- 
 standing. " It is a step, on the propriety of 
 which I dare not consult my judgment (says 
 the hesitating victim of blind attachment). 
 I should certainly reprobate it in another, 
 but it is my destiny ; I cannot avoid it 
 if I would.'' It is thus we confound Divine 
 and human agency, when we ought to distin- 
 guish them, and to remember that, while 
 the Almighty permits folly, and its inevitable 
 consequence misery, and overrules both for 
 the ultimate happiness of his children, yet
 
 HAPPINESS. 147 
 
 that neither is the direct and immediate 
 ordination of his providence. He is the 
 Father of Lights (of knowledge and wis- 
 dom), from whom cometh every good and 
 perfect gift ; but he bestows upon none of 
 his creatures a debauched husband, or a ter- 
 magant w^ife. We procure these benefits to 
 ourselves. The Deity suffers our infatuation 
 to become our punishment ; and, if our 
 guilt and obstinacy prevent not, educes from 
 it the richest good a perverse and selfish 
 mortal can receive from the hands of a wise 
 and beneficent Creator ; but it forms no part 
 of his arrangements. He is not the author of 
 evil — it is repugnant to his nature ; and he 
 either sternly tramples upon it by his power, 
 or mercifully subdues it by his grace. 
 Let no erring, weak and deluded child of 
 humanity, then, rush into a connexion for 
 life that is equally condemned by prudence 
 and religion, and imagine he is fulfilling a 
 previous destiny — a destiny with which his 
 own volitions and passions have nothing 
 to do. Let no one who is thus tempted, 
 though by a being in the semblance of an 
 angel of light, presume to say, he is tempted 
 of God. 
 
 L 9
 
 148 HAPPINESS. 
 
 It is certain, that an indefinable idea of 
 necessity operated in the heart of Emily just 
 in proportion as her reason condemned, and 
 her affections approved, the addresses of 
 Dormer. This was the state of her mind 
 when he accompanied her to Mrs. Gain- 
 ham's. At that moment the shghtest cir- 
 cumstances were able to turn the scale com- 
 pletely in his favour ; and of these more than 
 quantum sufficii was supplied in the silent 
 looks of rapture with which he frequently 
 gazed upon her, — in the style and spirit with 
 which he supported her in the dance,— in 
 the mute admiration, accompanied by a 
 starting tear, with which he listened to her 
 song, without joining in the loud applause at 
 its conclusion ; — and, above all, the generous 
 interest which he appeared to take in the 
 poor unfortunate, whose piercing shrieks had 
 filled her with horror, pleaded most power- 
 fully in his behalf. She had wronged him. 
 He had a heart, or why should he pity the 
 ruined and the lost — and why should he 
 tremble when she gently pressed his hand 
 — what could thus agitate him but the feel- 
 ing response of tender sympathy ? Rumi- 
 nating on all the incidents of the evening,
 
 HAPPINESS. 149 
 
 .which crowded upon her imagination, she 
 retired to rest. How charming were her 
 dreams ! Dormer rose to her view, clothed in 
 every attribute with which affection dehghts 
 to invest its object. His manly figure, the 
 aerial grace with which he moved, and the 
 mild benignity of his countenance when he 
 stepped forth as the guardian angel of the 
 fallen and the wretched, endeared him to 
 her heart. It was the Dormer of her fancy 
 — her heau ideal, breathing its plastic energy 
 into the soul, and giving its unrivalled per- 
 fection to the form of him, whom, in sleep 
 alone, she allowed herself to love. 
 
 In the morning she arose to give her wak- 
 ing thoughts to the images of the night, — to 
 dream again in reverie. Having consumed 
 full two hours in this intoxicating employ- 
 ment, she brought herself once more round 
 to the point of destiny." 
 
 As if directed by his good genius. Dor- 
 mer, at this critical juncture, was announced. 
 The wrinkles of thought were on his brow — 
 
 '• Frons laeta parum, et dejecto lumina vultu." 
 
 ViKGiL. 
 
 There was also a careless negligence in his 
 dress, which betrayed unusual absence. In
 
 150 HAPPINESS. 
 
 fine, his manner was altogether that of a 
 person labouring under some oppressive ca- 
 lamity. Emily, greatly shocked at this sud- 
 den change in his appearance from the gay 
 levity of the preceding evening, and anxious 
 to learn the cause, darted the keen penetra- 
 tion of her inquisitive eye into his inmost 
 soul. The silent sorrow which seemed to 
 overwhelm the sufferer, thus interrogated, 
 soon became eloquent. Emily listened with 
 new emotions to the thrice-told tale of love, 
 now no longer flippant, and uttered in a tone 
 of provoking non-chalance^ but struggling to 
 escape from a heart profoundly agitated, for 
 which the world had no charms, and life no 
 solace, without her smiles — without herself. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Whoever listened to the tones of passion 
 without feeling their thrilling potency ? What 
 woman ever pitied a lover's distress without 
 experiencing its infection ? But was Dormer 
 then really in earnest ? Was his indeed the 
 distinguished privilege to wear the crown of 
 love and friendship, that 
 
 " Sits high 
 
 " Upon the forehead of humanity."
 
 HAPPINESS. 151 
 
 Could his eyes drink in the influence 
 of that 
 
 « Of light," 
 
 Orbed drop 
 
 which genders a novel sense, " and melts 
 the very soul into its radiance ?'^ Oh, no ! 
 his was not a nature to feel such " rich en- 
 taniilement.'^ In the noblest sense of the 
 word, he could not love ; yet he was for the 
 moment sincere. Hypocrisy will sometimes 
 drop its mask, and at length believe its oft- 
 repeated fiction. Without knowing what 
 love could mean. Dormer persuaded himself 
 that he was subdued by its all-conquering 
 power ; and he succeeded in imparting the 
 same conviction to the heart of Emily. The 
 perturbation of his mind, and the sadness, 
 bordering on anguish, depicted in his looks, 
 was not, however, entirely the effect of his 
 imaginary passion. 
 
 The last spectacle of the preceding night, 
 awakened, even in his callous bosom, some- 
 thing like remorse. In the imploring victim 
 of despair, at the feet of Emily, he beheld 
 one of the many wretched beings whom he 
 had seduced from the paths of innocence
 
 152 HAPPINESS. 
 
 and peace. Even he was shocked at the 
 contrast between her appearance when he 
 first saw her, the pride of the village where 
 he plotted her destruction, and the ap- 
 palling misery which had now imprinted 
 its cold and sickening characters on her 
 withered form and haggard countenance. 
 The circumstances of her ruin all flashed 
 upon his remembrance in a moment. He 
 saw, in the shrinking self-accuser, his own 
 base handy- work. He had paled the roses 
 on that cheek — he had scared peace from her 
 halcyon nest in that bosom — he had given 
 to vice and to infamy one of the fairest of 
 the daughters of men. Confiding in his truth, 
 making him all her world, in evil hour, at 
 his insidious persuasion, she wandered from 
 the home of affection ; forsook her father and 
 lier mother to repose in love's elysium, to 
 be the idol (so she vainly imagined) of one 
 whose passionate fondness could never grow 
 weary of its object ; who had sworn inviolable 
 attachment, with eyes so eloquently tender, 
 with accents so tremulously soft, that she 
 could not choose, but yield her destiny to 
 his protection. Enamoured of his prey, for 
 a few short months, he watched over her with
 
 HAPPINESS. 153 
 
 jealous anxiety. Not a friend, not a com- 
 panion, would he suffer to approach her. 
 Charmed with his fond, his unwearied atten- 
 tions, the infatuated girl never once felt the 
 loss of character, nor could she permit her 
 imagination to dwell upon former scenes of 
 domestic endearment, which blind affection 
 had well nigh effaced from her memory. 
 Her life was a delirium — she was absorbed 
 in the joyous present, and was equally reck- 
 less of the past and the future. 
 
 At length, sated with his victim, and 
 possessing neither the courage nor the 
 generosity to reveal the sad truth to her 
 whom he still affected to adore, he basely 
 introduced to her the most depraved of 
 her own sex, and their equally profligate 
 paramours, with the sole view of debauch- 
 ing her mind, and ensnaring her into some 
 act of indiscretion, which might afford him 
 a plausible pretext for abandoning her. The 
 opportunity he thus created and sought, 
 soon occurred, and he left her pennyless and 
 friendless. From one gradation of infamy 
 to another, the miserable creature sunk — nor 
 had her fate excited a pang, or an inquiry, 
 from her heartless seducer, till he saw her in
 
 154 HAPPINESS. 
 
 the hands of the watchman, and heard the 
 lovely Emily plead so earnestly in her behalf. 
 
 Dreading a discovery, and anxious to 
 remove her beyond the possibility of another 
 interview, he lost no time in calling upon his 
 aunt Dorothy, upon whom the reader will 
 recollect he had charged two equally intole- 
 rable abominations — namely, those of being 
 an " old maid," and a " Methodist/^ 
 
 To the first, she must have undoubtedly 
 pleaded guilty ; the second, it is probable, 
 would have been as unintelligible to herself as 
 it was to her accuser. . She was*, in fact, a 
 maiden lady, who had considerably passed 
 the meridian of life. Early intimacy with 
 some of the brightest ornaments of piety, 
 which, about half a century ago, adorned the 
 higher ranks of female society, and shed a 
 lustre on the Church of England, had given 
 a decided turn to her character, and had 
 placed her above the dissipation of the fashion- 
 able world at an age when she might have 
 been expected to delight in its amusements. 
 The companion of Miss Talbot, of Mrs. 
 Carter, and of Hannah More, she preferred 
 the grave pursuits of literature, and the calm 
 and tranquil pleasures of religion. Her un-
 
 HAPPINESS. 155 
 
 tlerstanding was vigorous and cultivated, and 
 she was rather distinguished by the accuracy 
 of her judgment, than the fervour of her 
 imasri nation : she seldom wandered into the 
 regions of fancy, yet in her heart there 
 dwelt the genial warmth of benevolence. 
 Her character combined two qualities not 
 often found in the same individual — acti- 
 vity and preciseness. Punctual to a mo- 
 ment, and precise to a minutia, she also dis- 
 played an amazing energy in behalf of every 
 cause which she espoused. The former was 
 natural to her disposition ; but the latter w^as 
 superinduced by principle alone — it was, 
 therefore, noiseless, unobtrusive, and equa- 
 ble — it was not an ebuUition ; but a calm, 
 majestic intensity, selecting and employing 
 the best means to accomplish the best pur- 
 poses — it was neither blind nor obstinate, 
 selfish nor injurious — it was the light of the 
 mind, shedding its lustre on the heart, and 
 the glow of the heart, thus excited, mingling 
 itself with the light of the mind. She was, 
 in fact, governed by religion ; but it was 
 the religion which sanctified her reason, and 
 expanded her affections. She was more 
 devout than opinionative. Two things, alas !
 
 156 HAPPINESS. 
 
 sadly prevalent among what are generally 
 called Methodists, she utterly detested, 
 namely, scandal and cant. She loved her 
 fellow creatures too well to libel their cha- 
 racters, or to expose their infirmities. Her 
 object was, to do good, and she delighted to 
 serve God by the active service of mankind. 
 Her large fortune was, therefore, consecrated 
 to charitable and religious institutions ; but 
 she was her own almoner — she was on every 
 committee where she could be usefully em- 
 ployed without compromising the delicacy 
 of her sex. 
 
 Her time was devoted — every portion of it 
 had its allotted duties, and its appropriate 
 pleasures — she truly lived, and therefore she 
 enjoyed life. One of her favourite objects had 
 been for many years,to lessen the sum of guilt 
 and miser}'^ among that portion of her own 
 sex, which all the world have doomed to 
 hopeless infamy. With intense perseverance, 
 she laboured to erect, for the reception of 
 the penitent of this wretched class, a house 
 of mercy — a hospital for the heart; — at last 
 she succeeded, and can relate many an af- 
 fecting tale of the triumphs of humanity and 
 religion over misery and vice. Surprised
 
 HAPPINESS. 157 
 
 at the visit of her nephew, whom she had 
 not seen during a very long interval, and 
 more astonished still at the nature of his 
 business, she yet received him with the ut- 
 most kindness ; and httle suspecting that he 
 was induced to apply to her on such a sub- 
 ject from any other motive than humanity, 
 she readily promised that his request should 
 be granted. It was immediately after this 
 interview that Dormer waited upon Emily 
 to convey to her this grateful intelligence, 
 and to make his grand coup de main upon 
 her heart — with what success, the chronicles 
 of the day in a few weeks announced to the 
 world.
 
 158 HAPPINESS, 
 
 C H A P. IX. 
 
 " give me, from this heartless scene releas'd. 
 Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures 
 The things of Nature utter ; birds or trees. 
 Or moan of ocean gale in weedy caves/' — Coleridge. 
 
 " Toccando un poco la vita futura." 
 
 WHILE gaiety, dissipation, fantastic 
 joys, and worldly hopes occupied the heart 
 of her friend ; Louisa Delaval, estranged 
 from them all, and labouring under the most 
 painful depression of spirits, was yet in a far 
 safer condition. She had less real cause for 
 anxiety, and the state of her mind was, on 
 the whole, favourable to her happiness. The 
 victim of the world may for a season appear 
 to possess an immense advantage over the 
 votary of religion ; but the bright prospects 
 of the one, are soon shrouded in perpetual 
 darkness — while the gloom of the other
 
 VTAPPINESS. 159 
 
 gradually melts into the radiance of eternal 
 sunshine. But to religion, as a principle of 
 duty, and a source of enjoyment, Louisa 
 was, at the time of her correspondence with 
 Emily, and for a considerable period after- 
 wards, a total stranger. She was divorced 
 from vanity, but she was not reconciled to 
 God. We cannot make an immediate tran- 
 sit from eartli to heaven. The pleasures of 
 religion are not at the instant command of 
 the satiated worldling. He must pass through 
 a baptism of the Holy Ghost and of fire, 
 before he can enjoy the unutterable peace. 
 
 Religious knowledge is not intuitive ; it 
 must be sought by patient inquiry, and the 
 humility of faith. True devotion does not 
 take full possession of the heart, until it has 
 long and often breathed earnest supplications 
 into the ear of the Most Holy. To its at- 
 tainment, many impediments are raised by 
 the depravity of our nature ; and where the 
 understanding is cultivated, and the taste re- 
 fined, by the degrading associations of re- 
 ligious profession, with the littleness, the 
 selfishness, and the hypocrisy, of the world. 
 The dark citadel of ignorance, aided by 
 corrupt principles, and a sensualized heart, 
 
 4- L 8
 
 160 HAPPINESS. 
 
 cannot easily be vanquished by the light of 
 heavenly truth. Thus supported, it will 
 maintain a stubborn conflict with its bright- 
 est evidences and mightiest claims. And if 
 the intellectual character of the individual 
 be lofty and imaginative, if his idea of reli- 
 gion be that of a pure and divine essence, 
 identifying the soul with its own glorious 
 nature, he feels himself utterly repulsed by 
 the debasing mediums through which this 
 superlative excellence in vain endeavours to 
 display its overpowering majesty and en- 
 chanting loveliness. By a strange perver- 
 sion of the understanding, he supposes, 
 because the doctrines of the Christian verity 
 do not always impart with their consolations 
 the sublimity of their abstract character, that 
 they are therefore beneath his consideration 
 and unworthy of his belief. 
 
 To the mind of Louisa, as yet, religion 
 had no difficulties. The far distant temple 
 rose in indistinct and awful grandeur before 
 her imagination, but she saw nothing of the 
 strange declivity and rugged ascent which 
 guarded its approach. All expectation of 
 happiness from her former pursuits she had 
 slowly, but completely relinquished. Far-
 
 HAPPINESS. 161 
 
 ther than this she had not advanced — this is 
 evident, from the subjoined effusion, which, 
 in a sohtary hour, and in melancholy mood, 
 she addressed 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 Sweet Hope ! whose beauteous ray 
 
 Illumes the mourner's way, 
 And shines amidst the gloom of saddest night ; 
 
 Thy cheering- beams impart 
 
 To this desponding heart. 
 Which darkness shi'ouds, and boding fears afTright. 
 
 The richest boon of heaven. 
 
 In mercy thou wer t given. 
 To gild the future with thy glorious dreams ; 
 
 The magic of thy smiles. 
 
 Of present woe beguiles. 
 And gives bewitching life to airy schemes. 
 
 In days of early youth. 
 
 Confiding in thy truth. 
 Enchantment threw her speUs around my feet ; 
 
 Till grave Experience came. 
 
 With Reason ; awful name .' 
 And baiiished from my heart the fond deceit. 
 
 They told me, Hope is vain. 
 
 The sure presage of pain. 
 Which yields not homage to their wise behest ; 
 
 They chid my follies past, - 
 
 And bade me seek at last, 
 Their sober guidance to the port of rest. 
 
 A- M
 
 162 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Thus chastened, I obey. 
 
 Yet Hope must guide my way. 
 Not the illusive form which Fancy drew ; 
 
 But her Experience loves. 
 
 And Reason best approves, 
 Whose charms are real, and her promise true. 
 
 It was infinitely to the advantage of Miss 
 Delaval, that just at the moment when a 
 guide and a friend became indispensable to 
 her happiness, she was favoured with the 
 kind and judicious instructions of Mrs. Wil- 
 mington. Her acquaintance with this lady 
 appeared to be the effect of chance ; but 
 
 " Such chances Providence obey." 
 
 Our most endeared connexions are often 
 formed by the accidental combination of cir- 
 cumstances. We meet an interesting stranger 
 — a kindred spirit animates us — we feel the 
 power of attraction, the attraction of souls — 
 and henceforth the charm is never broken — 
 the stranger becomes a companion, the com- 
 panion a friend. Something like this was 
 experienced by Mrs. Wilmington and Louisa 
 at their first parting ; they felt a mutual in- 
 terest in each other's welfare. The death of 
 her mother had left a void in the heart of the 
 latter— she wanted a mother, and Providence
 
 HAPPINESS. 163 
 
 kindly sent her Mrs. Wilmington. Lady 
 Delaval was no real loss to her daughter ; 
 Mrs. Wilmington was an acquisition, whose 
 worth it was impossible for her to estimate. 
 
 During the summer months they often 
 met in the morning ; and in the evening 
 usually walked, sometimes ascending the 
 mountain's height, surveying the expanse 
 of waters, and watching the distant sail as 
 it gradually appeared to sink from their view 
 at the edge of the horizon. At other times 
 they would seek the sylvan recess, wander 
 through rude and unfrequented paths, and, 
 when fatigued, sit down on a rustic seat, to 
 enjoy the fragrance of the wild honeysuckle, 
 while balmy zephyrs played around them, 
 and ocean, with its slow and mournful undu- 
 lations, murmured at their feet. 
 
 There was one delightful, favourite spot, 
 to which they often retired. This was .on 
 the skirts of a wood that hung on a promon- 
 tory overlooking the sea ; on their left, 
 through a tangled vista, they could see no- 
 thing but water, and now and then a solitary 
 fishing vessel, which unfurled its white sail 
 to the breeze ; on their right, at some dis- 
 tance, the turrets of a castle, which, though 
 M ^2
 
 164 HAPPINESS* 
 
 of modern erection, had all the appearance 
 of ancient and gloomy magnificence, were 
 half revealed amid the trees ; while, in their 
 immediate view, the irregular windings of 
 the shore, strewn with pieces of massive rock, 
 the calm serenity of the ocean, lighted by 
 the mild refulgence of the sinking sun, un- 
 disturbed, save by the flitting of the sea fowl 
 on its surface ; and the distant woods of the 
 opposite coast, over the natural duskiness of 
 which twilight was wont to throw a deeper 
 shade ( like the gloom of sorrow on the brow 
 of age), afforded a prospect which could not 
 fail to interest the lovers of nature. 
 
 Here Mrs. Wilmington and Louisa 
 would sometimes muse, sometimes con- 
 verse, and often linger " till the first pale 
 star of evening" warned them to depart* 
 And can it be doubted, that a scene so cal- 
 culated to excite the fervours of animated 
 piety, frequently led them to talk on this 
 most interesting subject. Astronomy, bo- 
 tany, music, and poetry, were all favourite 
 pursuits of Mrs. Wilmington. In the plea- 
 sure afforded by these, she passed many of 
 her leisure hours. But religion was her dar- 
 ling theme ; her chief study was the science
 
 HAPPINESS. 165 
 
 which makes wise to salvation ; on this she 
 was always at home, and the amiable sweet- 
 ness of her manners added charms to hea- 
 venly truth ; when she conversed on this 
 topic, it was as if an angel pleaded the cause 
 of heaven. She was, indeed, distinguished 
 by that " noble enthusiasm,^' kindled at the 
 altar of immortality, " without which reason 
 has no guide, imagination no object \' which 
 alone can animate virtue into beauty, and 
 purify the affections, by exalting them to 
 their native region in the heaven of heavens. 
 A few conversations had informed her of 
 the state of Miss DelavaPs mind — she saw 
 her a lovely, sensible, ingenuous young 
 w^oman, whom education had misled, and 
 whose heart was corroded with a painful 
 sense of that disappointment which the mere 
 pleasures of the world never fail to occasion, 
 and which the dissipated amusements of 
 fashionable life more especially create. 
 Though a stranger, she felt no common in- 
 terest in her happiness, and she considered 
 her present dissatisfaction with herself as 
 affording a favourable opportunity to lead 
 her to the fountain of eternal felicity. She 
 observed that her example had some influ-
 
 166 HAPPINESS. 
 
 ence on the conduct of her youthful acquaint- 
 ance ; but she was convinced that her notions 
 of rehgion were crude and erroneous, and her 
 method of seeking its consolations such as 
 would not fail, ere long, to disgust her with 
 what she imagined to be a life of devotion. 
 
 In the judicious advice and soothing 
 attentions of such a friend, Louisa found 
 something of that tranquillity and calm de- 
 light which she had so long sought in vain. 
 One evening, retiring to their usual recess, 
 among a variety of interesting subjects 
 touched upon in conversation, that of the 
 state of departed spirits was introduced. It 
 was suggested by the setting sun. Louisa, 
 on a former occasion, had remarked on the 
 beauty of a similar scene, and embraced the 
 present opportunity of repeating to her friend 
 a poetical thought to which it had given 
 birth. It was thus expressed: 
 
 Say, did ye mark the Sun to-day. 
 How bursting through his shadowy cloud. 
 
 He chas'd the twilight gloom away. 
 And gilded all his sable shroud? 
 
 And then, methought, he lingering stood 
 
 To gaze upon the world awhile ; 
 And ere he sunk beneath the flood. 
 
 To bless it Avith a parting smile.
 
 HAPPINESS. 167 
 
 So, when the Christian's day is past, 
 
 'Tis his to chase the twilight gloom, 
 To shine the brighter at the last. 
 
 And shed mild radiance o'er the tomb. 
 
 So, when life's well-spent journey o'er, 
 Lies pictured hi the approving breast, 
 
 'Tis his the landscape to explore. 
 
 And bless the view, and sink to rest. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington, pleased with the de- 
 vout allusion contained in these lines, and 
 feeling the enthusiasm of the moment (for 
 the sun was then retiring from their view), 
 observed, that the same object, in precisely 
 the same situation, reminded her not only of 
 the Christian's rest, but of his subsequent and 
 immediate immortality. "While yon glorious 
 orb,'^ she said, " seems to set in darkness, he 
 is this very instant " repairing his 'drooping 
 head," and rising in another hemisphere, to 
 ' Flame in the forehead of the morning sky.* 
 
 Thusis he, atthisinteresting period, not only 
 a beautiful emblem of the last moments of the 
 Christian, but a dehghtful presage of the 
 glory with which, even in the hour of death, 
 he breaks upon the " new heavens, wherein 
 dwelleth righteousness.'^ After a few mo- 
 ments of pensive silence, in which a train of
 
 168 HAPPINESS. 
 
 mournful reflections was evidently passing in 
 the mind of Louisa, she remarked, " Since 
 the death of my dear mother, I have often 
 wearied myself with conjectures respecting 
 the unseen world. If, indeed, we are im- 
 mortal, — and of this reason itself almost 
 assures us, and nature speaks in our hearts, — 
 what a mystery hangs over our destiny ! 
 The future is an awful state — an impene- 
 trable veil conceals it from our view, nor 
 can we conceive how they exist, nor what 
 are their employments who have left our 
 world for ' that bourne whence no traveller 
 returns/ It is a subject in which the mind 
 is lost, and I often dread the approach of 
 the solemn hour when the secret shall be 
 disclosed." 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington did not check what 
 some may be disposed to call the melan- 
 choly of her friend. She did not dismiss 
 the subject as one too serious to engage the 
 attention of youth and loveliness ; but as it 
 was a theme in unison v^ith the feelings of 
 her heart, and one on which she often 
 reflected with ineffable delight, she replied, 
 '' Indeed) my dear, the future is an awful 
 istate ; but in the Scriptures it rises to our
 
 HAPPINESS. 169 
 
 view in something like definite and allur- 
 ing majesty. The sun of Revelation pours 
 its radiance on the path of immortality, and 
 often, while gazing upon the enrapturing 
 prospect, a holy impatience seizes on my 
 soul. I am eager to flee away, to walk the 
 golden streets, to hear the strains of bliss, 
 to join the society of angels, and to drink 
 for ever from the river of life. Heaven," she 
 added, with a sigh, "has peculiar attractions 
 to me. There are beings there who look down 
 upon me with eyes of fascination, and it 
 would be impious w^ere I to wish the charm 
 dissolved. Human sympathy, maternal fond- 
 ness, indeed, powerfully, too powerfully, 
 attach me to the earth ; but the glorious de- 
 parted, whose train of blessed light revealed 
 to me, as they entered the celestial mansions, 
 the unutterable grandeur of their destiny, 
 seem to reproach me from their thrones, when 
 I linger and loiter in a world, from which I 
 ought for ever to feel myself estranged. On 
 the most enchanting spot, in the original Eden 
 itself, could I discover it, I could not dare 
 to build a tabernacle. It is not s^ood for me 
 to be here; yet do I not repine. I am a 
 wearied pilgrim ; but I ask not for premature
 
 170 HAPPINESS. 
 
 repose * the time my God appoints is best.' 
 We shall meet, my dear Louisa, 1 fondly 
 hope, we shall meet when the days of our 
 mourning are ended, in the regions of im- 
 mortal love and joy." 
 
 " To be happy in the fiiture world should 
 be our business and our object in the pre- 
 sent. The danger to which thoughtless 
 mortals are exposed, is most tremendous ; 
 and the grand inquiry for each of us ought 
 to be, shall I be happy when my body is 
 mouldering in the tomb ?" "Is there, then, 
 any doubt, my dear madam,'^ said Louisa, 
 greatly agitated, "respecting the happi- 
 ness of the future state ? It never once 
 occurred to me, that there could be the least 
 uncertainty on this point. My anxieties con- 
 cerning another world have arisen from its 
 concealment, from a latent fear, that death, 
 after all, might be annihilation, and that the 
 soul and the body had no separate existence. 
 Do you believe, that any of the sons and 
 daughters of men will ever be miserable after 
 they quit this scene of care and disappoint- 
 ment? Surely, the last hope, the great com- 
 pensation for earthly trial, and the terrors 
 of the grave — the hope that settles on the
 
 HAPPINESS. 171 
 
 bright realities of an after paradise, cannot be 
 implanted in the human heart, only to ag- 
 gravate its positivemisery by an eternal sense 
 of loss and privation. Is not the Creator 
 just and good — and can it be consistent with 
 these perfections of his nature, to doom any 
 of his creatures to the horrors of hopeless 
 despair ? I have attended to the duties of 
 religion, in order to obtain from them relief 
 for the sorrow^s of the present life ; but it is 
 to me a new and a shocking thought, that my 
 immortal happiness is questionable/^ 
 
 While Louisa, trembling with apprehen- 
 sion, urged these inquiries, tears of pity and 
 affection stole down the cheeks of her friend. 
 " It is, my dear,** she replied, " a painful and a 
 humiliating truth, which the Bible declares 
 and universal experience confirms, that hu- 
 man nature is not what it was when it pro- 
 ceeded from the hand of its Creator. We 
 are fallen, and as the Scripture expresses, 
 ' conceived in sin, and shapen in iniquity ;' 
 we are fallen, sinful creatures, and in this 
 situation are exposed to the penalty of 
 guilt.^' 
 
 " But this, surely, is not the state of «// man- 
 kind," said Louisa ; " there are many amiable,
 
 172 HAPPINESS. 
 
 cellent persons, like yourself, who are cer- 
 tainly free from this charge ; and is it, my 
 dear madam, really possible that any crea- 
 ture can be so guilty as to deserve misery in 
 a future state ?^' 
 
 " I do not wonder, my lovely friend," 
 said Mrs. Wilmington, " 1 do not wonder 
 that you, who, by your education, have 
 had no opportunity of considering this 
 important subject, should be so much sur- 
 prised at a doctrine which is too true, and 
 which it is the constant endeavour of the 
 world to forget, or to disbelieve. The Bible, 
 which you do not question to be the word 
 of God, you have read but little, and perhaps 
 never with a conviction, that it was to teach 
 you that which it infinitely concerns you to 
 know. The Bible, a book so unfashionable in 
 the circles where you have been accustomed 
 to move, gives the most affecting, and 
 just description of the state of all mankind, 
 without exception. This Bible assures us, 
 that there is none that doeth good and sin- 
 neth not ; and if the most amiable and vir- 
 tuous individual that ever lived, will compare 
 his motives, principles, and actions, with the 
 law of God, he will find that the decision of
 
 HAPPINESS. 173 
 
 the Scripture is an incontrovertible truth. 
 That it is possible for creatures to commit 
 sin so as to deserve to be exposed to the wrath 
 of God, from which, of themselves, they 
 can never escape, you will be fully convinced 
 when you apply your mind to the study of 
 this important subject/' 
 
 " But," interrupted Louisa, for her anxiety 
 greatly increased, '-you do not mean, my re- 
 spected friend, lam sure you do not mean to 
 say, supposing this to be the case, that there 
 is no way to escape from Divine wrath — our 
 condition is not hopeless ?*' " No, my dear," 
 immediately rejoined herfriend," the adorable 
 God, whom we have all offended, and who 
 is so justly displeased with us, has himself 
 revealed to our hearts a hope full of immor- 
 tality. He saw us guilty and miserable ; 
 and, to use the pathetic language of an in- 
 spired prophet, ' when there was no eye to 
 pity, and no arm to save, his own arm 
 brought salvation.' 
 
 The same book, which unfolds to us a 
 knowledge of our hopeless condition, as 
 culprits in the hands of the Avenger, 
 reveals also the glorious way of salvation, 
 and leads us to ' the Lamb of God,
 
 174 HAPPINESS. 
 
 which taketh away the sin of the world/ 
 What is meant by this, an apphcation to the 
 sacred volume will soon inform you. We 
 will talk more largely on this subject when 
 we meet again. See, the orb of day sheds 
 his last ray of golden lustre, as he sinks be- 
 low the ocean. The smooth wave in silence 
 flows, and affords an interesting picture of 
 the religious mind. Calm and serene as 
 this delightful evening ; smooth and un- 
 ruffled as yonder expanse of water is the 
 bosom which enjoys * the peace of God, 
 which passeth all understanding/ " 
 
 As Mrs. Wilmington uttered this pleasing 
 reflection to her listening friend, " twilight 
 stole over the scene,'^ and they passed along 
 in silent musing, till they reached the her- 
 mitage. Soon after Mrs. Wilmington took 
 her leave, Louisa retired for the night. 
 
 Ruminating on the solemn conversation, 
 and the affectionate solicitude of her friend 
 for her happiness, she took up the Bible 
 with sensations to which she had hitherto 
 been a stranger. The powerful impression 
 seized her mind — it is written by the finger 
 of God — and it is addressed to me ; — she 
 read, she prayed, she wept.
 
 HAPPINESS, 175 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 'Tis the Bible ! 
 
 I know and feel it is a blessed book ; 
 
 And I remember how it stopp'd my tears 
 
 In days of former sorrow ; like some herb 
 
 Of sovereign virtue to a wound applied.''— ^lYjon, 
 
 Let every mother pay back the vast debt she owes to 
 Christ, by instructing her daughters early in his Gos- 
 pel, by making the knowledge of the Bible the basis 
 of all education^ and makmg it the cupola too^the 
 Alpha and Omega — the first and the last." — Maturin, 
 
 THAT religion is incompatible with the 
 general habits and spirit of the world, is in 
 nothing more evident than in the ridicule 
 and contempt with which it visits those who 
 are not ashamed to avow unfeigned attach- 
 ment to the Holy Scriptures. The miserable 
 may seek every other refuge, they may fly 
 to the intoxicating draught, to obtain tem- 
 porary relief, or they may bury their sorrows 
 in the eternal oblivion of the grave, and pity 
 will weep over their misfortunes ; but let 
 them once apply to the Bible for support 
 and consolation, and they will infallibly pro-
 
 176 HAPPINESS. 
 
 voke the bitterest scorn. The popery of 
 fashion is, in this instance, as unrelenting 
 and vindictivej as that which is sustained by 
 the thunders of the Vatican, and the terrors 
 of the Inquisition* 
 
 The Scriptures may be received with im- 
 plicit faith ; but they must not be read or 
 understood* A distant reverence (to adopt 
 a beautiful alkision) may bow them out 
 of the circle of the human mind ; and 
 we may practise a few genuflexions, and 
 perform a few unmeaning ceremonies before 
 the altar of the unknown God ; but not a 
 ray of spiritual intelligence must penetrate 
 into our souls-^not one of the truths of 
 salvation must be brought into contact with 
 our hearts. Such is the decree ; — and it is 
 not too much to affirm, that fashionable 
 Christians, as they are strangely denomi- 
 nated, are as little acquainted with the oracles 
 of the Christian faith, as the Esquimaux) 
 who never heard that such oracles are in ex- 
 istence. 
 
 But why this stern edict against the 
 Bible ? What evil has it done ? Is it a vo- 
 lume of fictions ? No. This would ensure 
 its cordial reception. If the Bible were a
 
 HAPPINESS. 177 
 
 romance, its interesting narratives would 
 delight, its sublime descriptions charm, the 
 more than chivalric benevolence of its prin- 
 cipal personage would captivate every mind. 
 It would be the greatest favourite that our 
 circulatinij libraries could furnish. How 
 then are we to account for its universal aban- 
 donment ? Is it rejected, because it is true ? 
 If the moral government of the Creator, if 
 death, the immortality of the soul, and a 
 future judgment, were only airy dreams, the 
 Scriptures would be hailed as a most va- 
 luable treasury, where learning has deposited 
 its stores, genius its splendours, and human 
 nature itself all the amazing phenomena of 
 its mysterious character. But it is the 
 book of God ; its narratives — real history ; 
 its sublimity — the inspiration of heaven ; its 
 most prominent personage — a perfect being, 
 whose whole life forms the most humiliating 
 contrast to the fashion, the vanity, and the 
 viciousness of the world. The votaries of 
 folly, true to their idol, do well to exclude 
 the Bible from their circles. In their pur- 
 suits, it is expedient that conscience should 
 be lulled, not roused ; that death and judg- 
 ment should be concealed, not exposed.
 
 17^ HAPPINESS. 
 
 They would produce worse effects than the 
 hand-writing on the wall of Belshazzer's pa- 
 lace, were they suffered to obtrude into the 
 ball-room, to appear in propria persona on 
 the stage, and to walk without a veil at the 
 masquerade. 
 
 It is probable, that the sneer of contempt 
 has already been excited against the hapless 
 Louisa. In the estimation of the daughters 
 of fashion, she has committed the unpardon- 
 able sin, for which nothing can atone, and 
 the taint of which no lustrations can ever 
 remove. Be it so. Yet accompany her 
 through the future scenes of her story. As 
 you advance, let this fact be impressed upon 
 your minds — " She read her Bible.^* Her 
 history may prove an antidote against such 
 weakness, or an incentive to it ; who can 
 tell > 
 
 The day after Miss Delaval had read the 
 sacred book with so much interest and feel- 
 ing, was the Sabbath. As soon as she arose, 
 the conversation of the past evening, and the 
 employment of the subsequent hour, were 
 the first things to which her memory re- 
 curred. The recollection brought with it 
 the impressions which she then felt ; she
 
 HAPPINESS. 179 
 
 began to view her character through a new 
 and by no means a flattering medium. 
 
 Her first object was, to examine the stand- 
 ard of truth and virtue presented in the 
 Scriptures, and which is the only legitimate 
 standard with which we are to compare our 
 principles and conduct, our views and pur- 
 suits. She soon discovered, that her opi- 
 nions were erroneous ; the motives of her 
 actions defective ; and, on other grounds, 
 most objectionable. The mortifying consi- 
 deration, that with an infallible guide, she 
 had preferred the uncertain, partial, and 
 deluding sentiments of her own erring na- 
 ture, deeply affected her. She thought it 
 strange, that she should ever have attempted 
 to legislate for herself when she was abso- 
 lutely amenable to her Creator, to whom she 
 owed unbounded homage, affectionate grati- 
 tude, and universal obedience. " How 
 preposterous,'^ she exclaimed, as she dwelt 
 on this subject, " that I should acknowledge 
 the claims of the Supreme Being, and yet 
 never inquire into their nature and extent ; 
 that I should confess my dependence, and 
 yet never feel concern to honour my bene- 
 factor by examining and obeying his just re- 
 N 2
 
 180 HAPPINESS. 
 
 quirements.*^ Thus, she felt convinced, that 
 as it respected the Author of her existence, 
 and the Revelation which he had communi- 
 cated to man, she had been guilty of the 
 most criminal negligence. " He is my Fa- 
 ther," she said, " yet I have never read his 
 letters of affectionate solicitude for my wel- 
 fare ; he is my Sovereign,^but I have disre- 
 garded his laws ; and while I have professed 
 to obey him, my conduct has been guided by 
 a standard of my own.'^ 
 
 With the most painful sensations of con- 
 trition for her past unconcern, she sat down 
 once more to peruse the New Testament. 
 To a mind unaccustomed to scriptural ideas, 
 and the train of thought a general knowledge 
 of the facts and doctrines of the Bible usually 
 produces, when any particular portion of it 
 is read, the effect of a first application to its 
 pages is far from being pleasant. Prejudice 
 is alarmed, httle information is acquired, 
 and anxiety is rather increased than relieved. 
 Notions and habits of thinking at variance 
 with almost every sentence, prevent a clear 
 apprehension of its meaning, or "create repug- 
 nance when it is understood. One truth, 
 perceived and admitted, is so interwoven
 
 HAPPINESS. 181 
 
 with many others yet to be learned, that the 
 understanding is confused, and embraces it 
 with trembhng reluctance. As a person 
 born blind, and whose eyes have been re- 
 cently couched, makes many painful and 
 apparently fruitless efforts before he can dis- 
 cern any thing with pleasure, so the indivi- 
 dual, who, with an awakened mind, first sits 
 down to a perusal of the Scriptures, feels all 
 the inconveniences of a sudden admission 
 into a scene of *' marvellous light/' The 
 time spent in learning to define its various 
 doctrines — to trace their connexion — and to 
 harmonize them into beauty, is an interval 
 of severe and perplexing difficulty. Louisa, 
 however, was prevented in a great degree 
 from experiencing this state of confused em- 
 barrassment by falling upon a part of Scrip- 
 ture which exactly accorded with her feel- 
 ings ; and which brought one entire subject 
 under her review. It was the conversation 
 between our blessed Saviour and the Lawyer, 
 in the 10th chapter of St. Luke. The ques- 
 tion which the latter proposed to his illus- 
 trious teacher she considered to be of im- 
 mense importance — she had pondered it in 
 her heart ; repeatedly had she asked her-
 
 182 HAPPINESS. 
 
 self " what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 
 But when she learnt the conditions on which 
 it was to be obtained, a paleness like that of 
 death came over her countenance, and the 
 book almost fell from her hands. " Thou 
 shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
 heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy 
 strength, and with all thy mind, and thy 
 neighbour as thyself." With whatever com- 
 placency she might have listened to the dic- 
 tates of the second table, the demands of 
 the first alarmed and confounded her — she 
 knew that this supreme love to God, which 
 annihilates every consideration of selfishness 
 and independence, was a stranger to her 
 heart. She observed that God required not 
 a transient emotion of gratitude for benefits 
 received, which the mere lovers of pleasure 
 sometimes complacently imagine they do 
 him the honour to feel and to manifest, but 
 that intenseness of affection, that unabating 
 ardour of love which makes the claims of the 
 Deity paramount to all others. She blushed 
 with shame while her conscience told her 
 that she had hitherto lived but for herself ; 
 that her very devotion was selfish and formal- 
 Now, she was persuaded, that if eternal life
 
 HAPPINESS. 185 
 
 could be procured on no other condition 
 than this, she certainly had forfeited every 
 claim to it. Under this impression she was 
 anxious to discover whether the divine law 
 relaxed any of its high demands, or mitigated 
 any of its terrors against the guilty. The 
 more she examined, the more strict she dis- 
 covered its injunctions to be, and that the 
 thunders of heaven were denounced against 
 every offender ; that there was no promise 
 of forgiveness to imperfect and sincere obe- 
 dience, but that its inexorable language 
 uniformly was, " the soul that sinneth, it 
 shall surely die.** 
 
 Notwithstanding this declaration Miss De- 
 laval felt not the anguish of despair ; though 
 overwhelmed with anxiety she did not see 
 her guilt and unworthiness in all their extent ; 
 for this is a conviction which is not felt until 
 the hght of the sun of righteousness guides 
 the transgressor into the way of peace. She 
 resolved, however, to make the attempt to 
 love God, and to serve him perfectly under 
 its all-powerful influence. She determined 
 to be in earnest in religion, and she imagined 
 that repentance for the past, and amendment 
 for the future, would entitle her to the divine
 
 184 HAPPINESS. 
 
 forgiveness ; and that the mercy, if not the 
 justice of God, would acquit her. Thus, ig- 
 norant of the righteousness of heaven, and yet 
 properly convinced that righteousness was 
 absolutely necessary to her happiness, she 
 undertook to perform a righteousness for 
 herself; with what success a subsequent 
 page will disclose.
 
 HAPPINESS. 185 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 The sweet words 
 
 Of Christian promise 
 
 Are muttered o'er by men whose tones proclaim 
 How flat and wearisome they feel their trade ; 
 Rank scoffers some ; but most, too indolent. 
 To deem them falsehoods, or to know their truth.'' 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 '^ Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 
 Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
 His master strokes, and draw from his design. 
 I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
 In doctrine, uncorrupt ; in language, plain ; 
 And plain in maimer ; decent, solemn, chaste. 
 And natural in gesture; much impress'd 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
 And anxious mainly, that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too ; affectionate in look. 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 The Messenger of Grace to guilty men. 
 Behold the picture ! — Is it like .^" — Cowper. 
 
 SERIOUSLY persuaded that religion 
 ought to be her first and greatest concern, 
 Miss Delaval went with this impression to
 
 186 HAPPINESS. 
 
 the parish church in the neighbourhood. It 
 was a lovely morning, and so tranquil was 
 the scene, that it diffused a heavenly serenity 
 over her agitated feelings. The voice of 
 rural labour was mute, hush'd was " The 
 plough-boy's whistle, and the milk-maid*s 
 song," — " Calmness sat throned on an un- 
 moving cloud,^^ which seemed to repose in 
 the depth of heaven. Her heart felt the 
 appeal — a tear glistened in her eye as she 
 beheld the touching emblem of peace, the 
 beautiful type of the mind's Sabbath, when 
 it sweetly rests on the bosom of its God. 
 As she approached the village, the hallowed 
 edifice, standing on a commanding eminence, 
 and brightened by the beams of the morning 
 sun, appeared to smile on the gathering 
 crowds, which, from the town and the adja- 
 cent hills, were drawing near its portals ; 
 while its cheerful, yet solemn chime con- 
 veyed to the imagination the sublime senti- 
 ment of the Psalmist, " Light is sown for 
 the righteous, and joy for the upright in 
 heart."' Her spirit was awed as she read 
 the carved inscription on the Gothic arch 
 through which she entered : " The place 
 whereon thou standest is holy ground." Ab-
 
 HAPPINESS. 187 
 
 sorbed in meditation, she sat for several mo- 
 ments unconscious of any presence but that 
 of the Great Being. At length the voice of 
 the clergyman, inviting the children of guilt 
 and sorrow to confess their sins, and to im- 
 plore forgiveness, first awakened her from her 
 profound and solemn reverie. Her heart 
 was in perfect unison with the penitential 
 address to heaven, which immediately fol- 
 lowed ; she felt that she was an erring, wan- 
 dering sheep, and she acknowledged it with 
 devout sincerity. The prayers and the lessons 
 appeared to her in quite a new light, and she 
 was struck with their suitableness to her 
 condition. In one of the chapters she lis- 
 tened with eagerness to these words : 
 " work out your own salvation with fear and 
 trembling,'^ and in the gospel of the day, 
 " strive to enter in at the strait gate.^^ From 
 these sentences she was powerfully con- 
 vinced that the most unremitting diligence 
 was requisite in accomplishing the great de- 
 sign she had undertaken ; that the services 
 and duties of religion were 
 
 not thanks of form. 
 
 A word, and a grimace/
 
 188 HAPPINESS. 
 
 as she once imagined, but demanding the 
 full vigour of every intellectual and moral 
 faculty of her soul. 
 
 During the interval between the clergy- 
 man's quitting the desk and ascending the 
 pulpit, she felt the most awful suspense; 
 anxiously hoping, that the preacher might 
 pursue what the reader had begun, and that 
 some directions might be given to enable her 
 to obtain the support and consolation she so 
 earnestly desired ; how was she mortified to 
 discover, that with his surplice the priest had 
 lost his piety, and that in the pulpit he dif- 
 fered in the most essential points from the 
 sentiments he had uttered in the desk. In- 
 stead of solemnity she was grieved to observe 
 elegant trifling, in place of fervour the most 
 chilling apathy. From the discourse (if we 
 may dignify a ten minutes' languid harangue 
 with so honourable an appellation,) she learnt 
 that a life of vain and worldly pleasure 
 was by no means inconsistent with the 
 spirit of devotion ; that fashion and religion 
 were compatible ; that the morality of the 
 Gospel must not be too strictly enforced ; 
 that the striking language of exhortation in 
 the Bible was to be considered as addressed
 
 HAPPINESS. 189 
 
 to Heathen idolaters, sunk in the lowest bar- 
 barism and sensuality ; but that it was not 
 to be pressed in all its energy of meaning 
 upon civilized Christians ; that if understood 
 literally', it could not be adapted to the state 
 of human nature ; that if spiritual and pre- 
 ceptive Christianity were what it is described 
 to be by a modern sect, which had even dared 
 to obtrude itself into the chureh by law esta- 
 blished, few, if any, could be saved ; that 
 men were expressly enjoined not to be 
 righteous overmuch ; thatif we went to church, 
 performed our duty, and received the sacra- 
 ment, God was bound to give us eternal 
 life. 
 
 The preacher was too polite to offend his 
 audience by the severity of reproof, had too 
 exalted an opinion of our common nature to 
 suppose, that we could be sinners (at least in 
 the vulgar scriptural sense of the term,) and 
 too little concern for the interests of real 
 religion to urge its necessity. Indeed, the 
 Gospel had never been his study ; he had 
 received the education of a college, and with 
 a very moderate share of its learning, had 
 acquired certain unclerical, not to say licen- 
 tious habits, which all the discipline of ^/ma
 
 190 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Mater^ vigilant and severe as it is said to be, 
 cannot entirely prevent among her sons. He 
 had taken orders because the church was a 
 genteel profession, and preached as often as 
 necessity obliged him. The morahty of his 
 discourses, manufactured — not by himself, 
 but by the grand empiric, the dry-nurse of 
 the church, vv^as more lax than the morality 
 of Epicurus ; his dehvery — the reading of a 
 school-boy of the lower forms ; and his theo- 
 logy — Deism with a Christian mask. He 
 was indifferent to all religion, but, as in duty 
 bound, to his own church a furious and per- 
 secuting bigot. 
 
 It was unfortunate for Miss Delaval that 
 such a man was her instructor at this critical 
 juncture in her history. She was now arrived 
 at that awful period when her destiny seemed 
 oscillating in suspense, and when a small 
 influence of advice or circumstance would 
 have the power to decide it. But however 
 pleasing the notion, that salvation is a work 
 of easy attainment, might be to her heart ; 
 and however flattering to her pride, that the 
 power of accomplishing it rested solely with 
 herself, the indifference of the preacher ope- 
 rated as an antidote against his doctrine, and
 
 HAPPINESS. 191 
 
 she was more disgusted with his trifling, than 
 rnterested with his subject. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service she flew 
 with eagerness to Mrs. Wilmington, who 
 was walking slowly from the church, appa- 
 rently absorbed in deep meditation. As 
 soon as they had passed from among the 
 crowd their conversation naturally turned 
 upon the preacher and his discourse. It was 
 in every respect a painful subject to Mrs, 
 Wilmington. Her views of religion, and 
 those of the clergyman she had just heard, 
 were directly opposite. A devout member 
 of the church of England, giving it a decided 
 preference to every other communion, she 
 blushed that it should be disgraced by mi- 
 nisters who contradict both its Liturgy and 
 Articles. Though incompetent to decide 
 the violently agitated question, as to the pre- 
 cise theological points which the church 
 calls upon her sons to recognize and main- 
 tain, she yet felt no manner of doubt, that a 
 large proportion of her clergy differ as widely 
 from Hooker as from Calvin ; from the avowed 
 and accredited Fathers of their Church, as 
 from him they denounce as a subtle and
 
 192 HAPPINESS. 
 
 gloomy Heresiarch ; that in fact they are 
 neither Calvinists nor Pelagians, Predesti- 
 narians nor Arminians, but simply nothing- 
 ites, caring only for worldly aggrandizement, 
 and merging all other duties in the zealous 
 performance of one, on which, in their esti- 
 mation, hang both the law and the prophets, 
 namely, the duty of obtaining abetter living, 
 or a richer stall, of running the race set before 
 them, from a curacy to LandafF, and from 
 Landaff to Canterbury. 
 
 Though persuaded that the national esta- 
 bhshment is " built on the foundation of 
 the apostles, Jesus Christ himself being the 
 chief corner-stone," she lamented that its 
 emoluments and secular patronage had so 
 unfavourable an influence upon the character 
 of its pastors ; and that, while it allured the 
 ambitious, the idle, and the dissipated, to 
 its altars, it had no power to correct their 
 principles, or to reform their lives ; and that 
 it too frequently received into its bosom, 
 and rewarded with its preferments, some of 
 the worst enemies of genuine Christianity. 
 Mrs. Wdimington had ever considered this 
 as a moral pestilence, the magnitude and
 
 HAPPINESS. Ip3 
 
 Inveteracy of which she sometimes found it 
 difficult to reconcile with the purity and 
 spirituality of a truly apostolic church. 
 
 But regarding the estabhshment as a hu- 
 man institution, founded on divine princi- 
 ples, and knowing, that the most finished 
 labour of man, must partake of his imper- 
 fections ; impressed likewise with the pleas- 
 ing conviction, that the national church had 
 a thousand redeeming advantages, which, 
 notwithstanding all its evils, rendered it a 
 most extensive and important blessing to 
 society ; she could not consent to forsake its 
 pale. She loved it with all its faults, and 
 those very faults taught her charitably to 
 interpret the motives of those who have con- 
 scientiously separated from its communion. 
 Where she saw something to deplore, they 
 might discover much to condemn. She could 
 not claim for her own church, perfection ; 
 she could not totally condemn the churches 
 of others. In all, she perceived a mixture 
 of good and evil. The great duty of dififer- 
 ent Christian communities appeared to her 
 to be, the cultivation of a spirit of forbearance 
 and mutual kindness. Her very soul loathed 
 intolerance, and if ever she indulged the 
 o
 
 194 HAPPINESS. 
 
 severity of censure, it was directed against 
 the bigots of all parties, who arrogate to 
 themselves a kind of patent Christianity —-an 
 exclusive religion ; who are righteous in their 
 own eyes, and despise others. An Episco- 
 palian from deliberate choice and conviction, 
 she preferred the regularly ordained clergy, 
 who evince by their " preaching and living," 
 that they were moved of the Holy Ghost to 
 undertake the cure of souls, to every other 
 description of ministers. Many such she 
 knew, and she could not but regret, that a 
 preacher of this character did not fill the 
 pulpit on the present occasion. 
 
 " I think, my dear madam," said Miss 
 Delaval, after some desultory conversation, 
 " that the excellent service of the church 
 never appeared to me so suitably adapted to 
 the wants and weaknesses of humanity as it 
 did this morning. Its confessions and peti- 
 tions, its acknowledgments and praises, 
 engaged my whole heart ; they seemed com- 
 posed on purpose for me.^' 
 
 " Probably, my dear," replied Mrs. Wil- 
 mington, " you regarded them to-day with 
 unusual attention ; or, may I not conclude, 
 that the conversation of the last evening
 
 HAPPINESS. 195 
 
 produced some effect upon your mind, and 
 led you, with more than usual fidehty, to 
 scrutinize your own character ?'^ 
 
 " I must acknowledge," rejoined Louisa, 
 ** what once I should have been ashamed to 
 own, that your remarks last night did induce 
 me to take up the Bible. I have read it with 
 new feelings. I see that it is a very strict 
 book, but not more strict than reasonable ; 
 and a conviction, that I have never loved the 
 Author of my Being, with all my heart, 
 strength, and mind, covered me with shame. 
 I slept little, and this morning rose early to 
 pursue the subject. With a mind by no 
 means at rest I came to church. I know not 
 how to account for it, but the church never 
 appeared to me so awful a place before. I 
 wish the sermon had been more conformed 
 to the devotional sentiments of the prayers 
 and lessons. Can you, my dear friend, 
 account for the strange apparent opposition 
 between them ?" 
 
 " I was also struck with the incon- 
 sistency,^' rejoined Mrs. Wilmington, " and 
 felt the most poignant regret, that the pulpit 
 should have been degraded by a cold, ethical 
 performance, of which, an enlightened Hea- 
 o 2
 
 196 HAPPINESS. 
 
 then would have been ashamed ; but this^. 
 my dear, is by no means uncommon. The 
 rehgion of our excellent reformers the com- 
 pilers of our Articles, and who adopted the 
 Liturgy, because they cordially approved of 
 its scriptural sentiments and the simple 
 majesty of its style, is now an exploded 
 system ; the doctrines and the precepts of 
 Christ suit not our accommodating age; and 
 the New Testament is the greatest and the 
 severest satire on what is called fashionable 
 preaching. Nothing is more common than 
 for modern divines to read in the lessons for 
 the day, the condemnation of the sermons 
 they intend to deliver from the pulpit.'* 
 
 " This,'^ said Louisa, " in the instance of 
 to-day, I could not help observing ; but will 
 you, my dear Madam, have the goodness to 
 explain to me this mystery .*' 
 
 " It may be variously accounted for,^* re- 
 plied Mrs. Wilmington. " Several causes'* 
 she continued, '' have united to produce a 
 lamentable perversion of primitive sentiments 
 and manners in the church. The Articles and 
 Liturgy of our Establishment are Christian ; 
 it is perfectly easy to identify them with 
 the New Testament. Every person acquaint-.
 
 HAPPINESS. 197 
 
 ed with the Prayer-book and the New Testa- 
 ment must observe a most striking similarity 
 between them. The one is derived from the 
 other, and founded on its authority ; and we 
 must seek the reasons for the abandonment 
 of its sentiments by a w^orldly priesthood, in 
 the Bible itself, and the depraved principles 
 of the human heart. 
 
 " Christianity is a religion which is in- 
 tended to form the character ; but the 
 character which it forms, is despised and 
 rejected by the great majority of mankind. 
 The doctrines of the Gospel are such as level 
 in the dust the pride of man. Its precepts 
 interfere with his sensual gratification ; they 
 disturb his worldly tranquillity ; they de- 
 mand the sacrifice of selfishness, the sub- 
 jection of passion, and the homage of the 
 heart. To reverence Christianity, unreserv- 
 edly to admit its claims, a man must be a 
 real Christian, that is — he must imbibe the 
 spirit of the Gospel. This is not always 
 convenient ; yet Christianity must not be 
 formally abolished. In order, therefore, to 
 render it acceptable to the world, it is found 
 requisite to alter its very character — to retain 
 its name — but to deteriorate its nature.
 
 198 HAPPINEiiS. 
 
 " Our reformers loved the genuine fea- 
 tures of the Gospel ; their successors would 
 deface them. Christianity is to them not 
 only uninteresting, but disgusting. The 
 emoluments of the national church, and the 
 genteel leisure in which she indulges her 
 clergy, allure many to her standard, who, 
 instead of teaching others, need themselves 
 to be taught ; who, instead of preaching 
 Christianity, inculcate a sort of lax morality, 
 which distributes with a profuse and liberal 
 hand its rewards and favours on the most 
 heterogeneous and discordant characters ; 
 associating the ignorant and the informed, 
 the virtuous and the vicious, under one gene- 
 ral appellation of privilege, and promising 
 them all (unless they should wickedly be- 
 come schismatics or heretics,) a seat in Para- 
 dise ; a morality which affects to call all men 
 brethren, in a Christian sense, though their 
 Christianity consists in nothing more than 
 having been brought in infancy to the won- 
 der-working font of baptism. 
 
 " These men never tell you what Christ- 
 ianity is ; they have nothing to do with its 
 dogmas, and as for faith, the atonement, and 
 spiritual renovation, these they leave to the
 
 HAPPINESS. 199 
 
 initiated into the mysteries of fanaticism, who 
 are weak enough to beheve, that religion 
 ought to be the business of man, and immor- 
 tal glory the object of his pursuit. When 1 
 hear such unqualified, daring intruders into 
 the sacred office, I involuntarily exclaim : 
 
 " From such apostles, O ! ye mitred heads. 
 Preserve the church, and lay not careless hands 
 On skulls, that cannot teach, and will not leani." 
 
 *' I am sorry, my dear, that I have spoken 
 on this subject with unusual warmth, and to 
 an unbecoming length. My zeal for the 
 honour of our truly spiritual church (for such 
 I deem it, notwithstanding all its defects,) 
 must be my apology.'* 
 
 " I thank you, Madam,^' rejoined Louisa ; 
 " I entered upon the topic for the purpose of 
 obtaining the information which you have 
 kindly imparted. It is a pity that sinister 
 motives should induce men to take upon 
 themselves the sacred character. 1 have, 
 indeed, known some of the gayest sons of 
 fashion candidates for the gown ; but never 
 having thought of religion myself, I saw not 
 the inconsistency, nor did I much blame the 
 levity of their conduct.
 
 200 HAPPINESS- 
 
 " Your remarks, on the nature of Christ- 
 ianity, have greatly interested me. It must 
 be astonishingly different from any thing I 
 ever imagined it to be. Perhaps, a greater 
 acquaintance with it will unfold to me the 
 way in which I may obtain the divine favour, 
 and secure immortal felicity. I confess my- 
 self to be entirely ignorant on the subject, 
 and I conceive that very ignorance to be the 
 cause of all my former unhappiness/' 
 
 The last observation brought them to the 
 house of Mrs. Wilmington, with whom, 
 Louisa consented to spend the remainder of 
 the day, that she might converse more at 
 large on the new subject, which now en- 
 grossed her every thought. Mrs. Wilming- 
 ton endeavoured to confine the attention of 
 her guest to inquiries adapted to the state of 
 her feelings, and studiously guarded against 
 the introduction of any topics on which she 
 could not convey to her confused and hitherto 
 uninstructed mind clear and precise ideas. 
 She judiciously began with the beginning ; 
 keeping totally out of view what may be 
 called the metaphysics of Christianity, and 
 dwelling only on its first principles, its plain 
 and palpable rudiments.
 
 HAPPINESS. 201 
 
 Hearing that a very popular divine of the 
 class of seceders, which owe their existence 
 to the late Countess of Huntingdon, was to 
 officiate in a neighbouring chapel, they agreed 
 to become his auditors in the evening. 
 Though the enemy of sects, as such, Mrs. 
 Wilmington well knew how to distinguish 
 genuine piety from the outward forms in 
 which it was either adorned cr disfigured. 
 She preferred it in the garb of decent cere- 
 mony ; but she did not undervalue it because 
 it was grotesquely attired, or almost denuded, 
 according to the fantastic or perverse taste 
 of its mistaken friends ; and as at fashionable 
 watering places the rigid of all sects relax 
 somewhat of their repulsiveness, and appear 
 occasionally in churches or chapels, as whim, 
 curiosity, or better motives influence them ; 
 in the present instance, she overcame her 
 ov/n scruples, and those of her less-enlight- 
 ened friend. The latter, indeed, with great 
 difficulty reconciled herself to an appearance 
 in a Methodist chapel ; but her repugnance 
 was rather the effect of education than of 
 religious prejudice ; it arose from the hauteur 
 of fashion, without any mixture of sectarian 
 intolerance.
 
 202 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Understanding, however, that the preacher 
 she was invited to hear was the eleve of a 
 pious lady of distinction, she concluded, that 
 he was, of course, a man of education, that 
 his intellectual and moral qualities were of a 
 superior order ; and that, without any great 
 sacrifice of propriety she might, for once, 
 worship the Deity in an unconsecrated build- 
 ing, and listen to a Christian discourse, 
 though pronounced from unaccredited lips. 
 
 But if the instructor of the morning was 
 chargeable with an entire ignorance of 
 Christianity, he who assumed the office in 
 the evening, though of a different character, 
 was as little qualified to discharge its duties. 
 
 They were both coxcombs. Each made 
 self his idol, but in a different way. One 
 was vain of his person — the other of his 
 piety ; one cared for the clerical profession 
 only as it connected him with a splendid 
 establishment which shed upon him a por- 
 tion of its lustre — the other assumed it be- 
 cause it raised him from laborious depend- 
 ance, and made him the oracle of his little 
 sect. Both loved admiration ; but the am- 
 bition of one was, to shine in the circles of 
 fashion, to be familiar with a round of lady-
 
 HAPPINESS. 203 
 
 ships ; that of the other, to have the credit 
 of loathing such abominations that he might 
 secure the applause of his hearers, and be 
 invested with the full odour of sanctity ; but 
 even here he was inconsistent, and betrayed 
 the sad leaven of a worldly spirit, by affect- 
 ing high acquaintance, and incessantly 
 boasting of his intimacy with Lady B., the 
 Hon. Mr. N., Lord R., and Sir George G., 
 personages who, mistaking his real character, 
 had condescended occasionally to honour him 
 with their notice. To one of these noble 
 families he had indeed rendered himself a 
 very acceptable appendage, by sometimes 
 walking with the children to keep them out 
 of mischief, or taking the lap-dogs of her 
 ladyship for an airing to preserve them in 
 health. 
 
 The divine of the Establishment wounded 
 the cause of religion by his utter indifference 
 and levity ; the preacher of the chapel in- 
 flicted upon it a still deeper injury by the 
 moroseness of his spirit, the pompous inanity 
 of his style, and the ultra Calvinism of his 
 creed. One had no religion; the religion of 
 the other savoured more of malignity than 
 kindness, and while it blazed forth in osten-
 
 204 HAPPINESS. 
 
 tatious professions of love to his " dear 
 Jesus/^ it had little of tender coaipassion 
 towards those for whom that Jesus suffered 
 and died. He possessed neither the meek- 
 ness of wisdom, the simplicity of truth, nor 
 the candour of charity. He had the spirit 
 of Bonner, without its excuse; the arrogance 
 of a pontiff, without his infaUibility. 
 
 The few doctrines which he taught were 
 an extravagant caricature of the most pro- 
 minent features of the Calvinistic system. 
 Every thing he said, was out of proportion ; 
 and, aiming at a bold singularity, he some- 
 times uttered the grossest absurdities. His 
 phrases were uncouth ; and, though he seldom 
 violated the rules of syntax, he continually 
 sinned against the laws of taste. The 
 passages of Scripture he loved to quote were 
 those that contained an accusation, or an 
 anathema ; and it is supposed, that of his 
 own good-will he never read a text which 
 even implied a beatitude ; denmiciation was 
 his delight — invitation his strange work. He 
 talked more of hell than of heaven. To all 
 but those who favoured his peculiar views, or 
 personal interests, he preached a Gospel of 
 terror, but not of salvation.
 
 HAPPINESS. 205 
 
 On entering the chapel, the first object 
 which attracted the attention of the ladies, 
 was a httle mechanic of the town, a brazier 
 by trade, who, dressed in the paraphernalia 
 of the priesthood, was pompously reading the 
 service of the church. In the eyes of Louisa, 
 this was little less than profanation ; all her 
 fondly cherished ideas of the dignity of the 
 clerical profession were outraged in a mo- 
 ment. The assumption of priestly attire by 
 a person, who, throughout the week, was em- 
 ployed in making or repairing the culinary 
 articles of the kitchen, and whom she had 
 beheld more than once at the Hermitage in 
 the plain and sooty garb of his calling, she 
 viewed as a daring affront offered to the 
 members of the Establishment. So invincible 
 were her prejudices that her favourite Liturgy 
 was in this instance deprived of all its effi- 
 cacy ; and though the brazier might be 
 a pious man, and in this respect better 
 qualified to officiate than the clergyman on 
 whom she had attended in the forenoon, 
 yet it was impossible that she could reconcile 
 either her judgment or her feelings to what 
 appeared to her a strange prostitution of a 
 service she had hitherto been accustomed to
 
 206 HAPPINESS. 
 
 deem most sacred. The surplice, the milk- 
 white surplice — the sacred ephod — the em- 
 blem of holiness — the hallowed appendage 
 of a beautiful form of worship, endeared to 
 her heart by every powerful and pleasing 
 association, and which invested its ordained 
 wearer with at least official sanctity, to cover 
 the shoulders of a man not two removes from 
 a tinker ! proh, pudor ! It was not to be 
 endured ; she felt an involuntary disposition 
 to retire, and was only withheld by a becom- 
 ing sense of propriety. 
 
 The prayers concluded, a hymn was an- 
 nounced, for which she sought in vain in her 
 copy of the old version and the new, bound 
 up with her book of common prayer. " Given 
 out," however, as the phrase is, two lines at 
 a time, she heard the words, and perceived 
 that they were rhyme ; but they were nearly 
 unintelligible, and conveyed scarcely a sin- 
 gle definite idea to her mind. The phrase- 
 ology was altogether new, and the sentiments 
 related to subjects of which she had not the 
 slightest apprehension. This arose partly 
 from her ignorance of the doctrines of reli- 
 gion, and partly from the sort of technical 
 language in which this class of religionists
 
 HAPPINESS. 207 
 
 have chosen to express their devotional 
 feelings. She was greatly perplexed, for 
 instance, to understand the meaning of such 
 lines as these : 
 
 " If now I lament after God, 
 
 And gasp for a drop of thy love ; 
 
 If Jesus hath paid down his blood. 
 To clear off my mortgage above." 
 
 While the congregation were singing, we 
 should say vociferating, in jiggish, rather than 
 in solemn sounds, this piece of conventical 
 psalmody, the popular idol ascended the 
 pulpit. He appeared to be about thirty years of 
 age, and presented an admirable subject for 
 a painter, who might wish to immortalize 
 himself by producing a fme head of Judas 
 Iscariot. His hair was jet black, cropped 
 close, and combed straight over a forehead 
 which was any thing but ample. Shak- 
 speare has exactly described it ; but we must 
 not quote so profane a writer on so grave a 
 subject. His eyes were small and deeply 
 sunk, his eye-brows rather knit and broken. 
 His nose and upper lip wore the habitual 
 curl of contempt — which said equally to 
 saints and sinners, " Stand aside, I am holier 
 than all of you. ^' His visage was lank, and
 
 208 HAPPINESS. 
 
 his complexion sallow ; in short, the tout- 
 ensemble afforded a perfect specimen of the 
 " grace-proud faces/' so inimitably pour- 
 trayed by Burns. It was the index of inef- 
 fable complacency, assuming the peculiar 
 character of spiritual pride, mingled with its 
 due proportion of cunning and overbearing 
 selfishness. 
 
 Never had Louisa looked upon a counte- 
 tenance so ill-favoured and repulsive. As he 
 threw an inquisitive glance around the con- 
 gregation, and which, when it fell upon her, 
 grew into something of a settled stare, she 
 instinctively shrunk from the twinkle of his 
 eye. It had in it nothing of the fabled fas- 
 cination of thebasilisk ; it was the look — not 
 of the good shepherd wishing to conduct a 
 newly-discovered lamb to the richest pasture, 
 but of him whose business it is to select his 
 victims, and then drag them to the slaughter. 
 
 At the close of the hymn he arose, and 
 in a voice rather sonorous but louder than 
 the occasion required, offered an extempore 
 prayer, which was chiefly remarkable for its 
 familiarity with the Deity. One moment it 
 swelled to the insolence of demand, and the 
 next descended to the wheedling of cant ;
 
 HAPPINESS. 209 
 
 and as if all the preceding devotional exer- 
 cises were either forgotten or rejected by 
 heaven, or needed confirmation from the hps 
 of this its special favourite, they were re- 
 peated with the utmost vehemence, imbued, 
 however, with the acrimonious spirit, and 
 translated into the singular phraseology, of 
 the speaker. After this address, he announced 
 his text, which was, the interesting, but too 
 curious question proposed to our Lord, and 
 to which he so condescendingly and perti- 
 nently repHed by intimating the difficulties 
 of religion, and urging his hearers not to spe- 
 culate, but to strive to enter in at the straight 
 gate. It consisted only of these words : 
 '* Are there few that be saved }'' 
 
 The preacher undertook to prove the affir- 
 mative of this question. In pursuance of 
 this object, he plunged at once into the arcana 
 of the divine decrees ; proclaimed a purpose 
 of wrath in the infinite mind from all eter- 
 nity, embracing in its direful execution 
 unnumbered millions of the human race. 
 According to his doctrine the saved and the 
 lost were to be considered as passive instru- 
 ments of depravity or grace, without the 
 smallest reference, on the part of either, to
 
 210 HAPPINESS. 
 
 their accountableness ; without the one seek- 
 ing their salvation, or the other meriting 
 their destruction. The whole was resolved 
 into absolute, inscrutable sovereignty, and 
 that sovereignty reprobating an infinite majo- 
 rity of mankind. 
 
 This statement he followed up by an 
 appeal to facts. The world, he said, for 
 nearly six thousand years, with the exception 
 only of a most inconsiderable portion of its 
 inhabitants, so inconsiderable, indeed, as 
 not to form a millionth part of its incessantly 
 teeming population, had been abandoned to 
 a state which rendered its possession of the 
 divine favour impossible. That Jews, Turks, 
 Infidels, Mahometans, and Pagans, amidst 
 their diversified circumstances of culture or 
 neglect, of civilization or barbarism, were all 
 under the ban of this irreversible decree ; 
 that it was extremely doubtful, whether my- 
 riads of infants, who died not knowing their 
 right hand from their left, were not lifting 
 up their eyes in torments. 
 
 But rising to something like the fierce- 
 ness of infernal eloquence, he turned to 
 Christendom, and, as if armed with the vial 
 of the wrath of God, he poured it upon the
 
 HAPPINESS. £11 
 
 healing waters of its various sanctuaries, and 
 they instantly resembled the Apocalyptic 
 sea, " which became as the blood of a dead 
 man — and every living soul died in the sea.^' 
 
 The Catholic church — the mother of har- 
 lots, with alL her detestable brood, by one 
 sweeping anathema, he pronounced accursed. 
 The sweet-souled piety of Guion, the celestial 
 temper of Fenelon, the sublime intellectual 
 devotion of Paschal, availed them not ; with 
 the spirits before the Flood, they were 
 doomed to welter in the eternal fire. 
 
 The Protestant churches experienced no 
 kinder treatment ; but were abandoned to 
 the same destiny ; the vindictive zeal of 
 the preacher, augmenting its fury in propor- 
 tion as the different communities he de- 
 nounced approximated to his own. The 
 nearer their resemblance to the sect which 
 he had the honour to patronize, the farther 
 they unquestionably were from a state of 
 grace and salvation ; and as a venerable, 
 learned and pious clergyman, belonging to 
 the class of Wesleyan Methodists, was in a 
 neighbouring chapel, pleading the cause of 
 Christian benevolence, he was so incautious 
 and illiberal as to hold him up by name to 
 p 2
 
 212 HAPPINESS. 
 
 the execration of his audience ; because he 
 rejected the horrible decree, as the supralap- 
 sarian view of election is very justly deno- 
 minated, he was described as an impious 
 culprit, questioning the legality of the sen- 
 tence, which, without any regard to his de- 
 linquency, had condemned him to misery 
 before he had a being. In short, the con- 
 clusion of the whole matter was simply this 
 — that heaven was the exclusive portion of 
 this tolerant divine and his blessed ad- 
 herents ; whose motto certainly ought to be 
 " Hell for all ; hors nous et nos amis.'^ 
 
 The nerves of Louisa could scarcely endure 
 the violence of this tremendous harangue ; 
 and most happy was she, to escape from a 
 scene which inspired her with mingled terror 
 and disgust. 
 
 Supported by her affectionate companion, 
 she gained the street, and felt like one awoke 
 to pleasing consciousness from the pains of 
 sleep. The odious man, and his still more 
 odious doctrine, she seemed almost afraid to 
 approach again, even in imagination. 
 
 At length, somewhat recovering her almost 
 paralyzed faculties, she exclaimed : " I have 
 heard much of the terrors of Calvinism — is
 
 HAPPINESS. £13 
 
 this a Calvinist.J O! if what I have just 
 heard be Christianity, my dear Madam, I 
 can never be a Christian. Surely, the folly 
 of fashion is a less evil than the ferocity of 
 religion, if this be religion ; — but no, it can- 
 not be. ' The Son of Man came to seek 
 and to save that which was lost.^ The 
 chapel in which we have been is altogether 
 a libel on our church, and a libel on our 
 creed. The poor infants too ; but I will 
 never, never dishonour a good God, by such 
 an abominable suspicion ; they are not lost, 
 my heart tells me — my reason tells me — 
 the Gospel itself tells me — they are not 
 lost. ' They only leave their parents for the 
 calm of heaven.' '^ 
 
 This burst of feeling restored the amiable 
 speakerto tranquilhty; and Mrs. Wilmington, 
 in the true spirit of Christian moderation, and 
 with her characteristic discriminative wis- 
 dom, endeavoured to impart to her, just views 
 of the subjects which had been so unceremo- 
 niously obtruded upon her. Truth con- 
 strained her to admit, that the sect, of which 
 the individual they had just heard was an 
 oracle, originated in the necessity of circum- 
 stances ; and that, if it had merged into the
 
 214 HAPPINESS. 
 
 church again as soon as this necessity had 
 ceased, it would have produced unmingled 
 good to the cause of true rehgion. But, 
 having made this admission, as a member of 
 the Estabhshment, she was obhged to declare, 
 that even before the death of its foundress, 
 it had assumed the character of an inex- 
 cusable schism ; and that, standing alone in 
 the Christian world, subjecting an institu- 
 tion of its own, mis-named a college, and the 
 half-lettered novices educated there to the 
 management of a lay-committee, formed of 
 ignorant, but well-meaning tradesmen, it had 
 sent forth as teachers (with a few highly ho- 
 nourable exceptions,) persons totally unqua- 
 lified for the sacred office, who, uniting over- 
 weening confidence, with a surprising lack 
 of knowledge, had disseminated, with a 
 most illiberal spirit, a spurious kind of Christ- 
 ianity. That with minds unfurnished, and 
 naturally incapable of understanding a well- 
 arranged system of theological truth, they 
 had ventured upon some of the most abstruse 
 doctrines of the Gospel, which, taken out of 
 their connexion, and exhibited under aspects 
 in which they never, appear in the Scriptures, 
 were fraught with all the consequences of the
 
 HAPPINESS. 215 
 
 most pernicious errors ; that they had thus 
 introduced a style of preaching which infused 
 into all, who approved of it, a spirit of self- 
 complacency, of exclusive attachment to their 
 own teachers, and of bigotry and intolerance 
 towards all who differ from them. 
 
 " A ludicrous incident, proving the truth 
 of this,'* said Mrs. V7ilmington, " occurred 
 in my own family a few weeks since. One 
 of my servants is a member of the chap'el 
 where we have just been. The officiating 
 minister, at the time to which I refer, was, in 
 the estimation of the sect a greater man even 
 than the present. He has been described to 
 me as a spiritual Vulcan, whose anvil is the 
 pulpit, from whence, with tremendous 
 sounds, he dashes, in every direction, upon 
 his affrighted audience, the flaming sparks 
 of reprobating wrath. The poor girl, after 
 witnessing one of these furious exhibitions, 
 on returning home, gave the following ac- 
 count of the preacher and his sermon : 
 
 " Dear man ! he is a most blessed preacher. 
 Hehallood — aye, I fancy he did halloo — oh, 
 I shall never forget, how he told us all to 
 read our Bible ; — ' read it,* said he, ' this 
 very night ; or, you may die, and go to hell ;
 
 216 HAPPINESS. 
 
 and the flames of hell, I promise you, will 
 not afford you light enough to read by ;' then 
 he was very fine about an angel that was to 
 destroy iis ; and make us shriek and groan 
 as he bore our guilty souls down to the bot- 
 tomless pit. Precious man ! He looks big 
 and awful. I loves to hear him ; last night 
 he made my flesh crawl so, and I was afeard 
 like ; yet, I was so happy ; ah, he^s the 
 only preacher for my money." 
 
 " The person who uttered this language, 
 I believe, to be truly conscientious and most 
 exemplary in the performance of every duty. 
 But her mind is sadly perverted by her reli- 
 gion, and her temper is far from being 
 amiable. Accustomed only to spiritual cor- 
 dials and stimulants, to the strongest excite- 
 ments of emotion by the succession of 
 preachers she usually hears, some of whom 
 continually cry ' destruction /* as if the Gos- 
 pel was not the ministry of reconciliation ; 
 and others incessantly proclaim ' privilege,^ 
 as though the prerogatives and authority of 
 the Maker, Governor, and Judge, were anni- 
 hilated by the mercy of the Saviour ; she is 
 the slave of alternate gloom and joy ; and 
 should a preacher, by any chance, be sent
 
 HAPPINESS. 217 
 
 down by the lay Sanhedrim, whose sermons 
 are grave, discriminating, mid practical, she 
 is perfectly wretched ; and bitterly complains, 
 in the phraseology of the initiated, that her 
 soul has no food — that it is as dry as Gideon^s 
 fleece — that she is one of Pharoah^s lean 
 kine — and that, unless some Boaz be com- 
 missioned to lead her to the full sheaves of 
 comfort, she must starve in the wilderness. 
 To be spiritual, she says, under such preach- 
 ing, is almost as great a task as that which 
 the king of Egypt imposed upon the Lord's 
 dear people, when he ordered them to make 
 bricks without straw. Though she is kind 
 to us all, and, I believe, is sincerely attached 
 to the family, yet she does not scruple to 
 say, that we are in the gall of bitterness ; 
 and were she not afraid, that in making the 
 attempt to persuade her fellow-servants to 
 flee from the wrath to come, she should be 
 opposing the eternal purpose of heaven, she 
 would be happy to impart to them the know- 
 ledge of the truth. As it is, she consoles 
 herself with the idea, that their salvation or 
 destruction is no concern of hers. 
 
 " I know, my dear Louisa,'* continued 
 Mrs. Wilmington, " what repugnance you
 
 218 HAPPINESS. 
 
 must feel towards a system, which, under 
 any circumstances, can produce such effects 
 as these. But we ought carefully to distin- 
 guish between the real nature of a thing, and 
 its accidental associations. It is impossible 
 for us to determine, how much of fanatical 
 error and delusion may be permitted to min- 
 gle with genuine piety, to mar its loveliness, 
 and to neutralize its power, without wholly- 
 destroying its savingbenefits and moral effects. 
 While I confess to you, that among the 
 numerous classes who ' profess and call 
 themselves Christians,* the one now under 
 our review, has its full share in depriv- 
 ing the Christian doctrine of its effi- 
 cacy : yet, have I no manner of doubt, that 
 many who belong to it, are far better than 
 their creed, and, that in spite of its dete- 
 riorating influence, they are exemplary in 
 their deportment, if not liberal in their spirit. 
 For the errors of their belief, I claim no cha- 
 rity ; they deserve to be sincerely reprobated; 
 and I entreat you not to identify them with 
 Christianity. Let not prejudice arm you 
 against the religion of the Gospel, on account 
 of any unfavourable and repulsive aspect, in 
 which it may be presented to you. In itself,
 
 HAPPINESS. 219 
 
 it is always glorious — a pure spiritual essence, 
 which nothing can deteriorate. 
 
 " If it force its way into a narrow heart, 
 it struggles to expand it. If it dwell in a 
 vulgar mind, its tendency is to refine it; and, 
 when associated with error, and a spirit fo- 
 reign to its own, it labours to subdue the 
 power of the one, and to soften the asperities 
 of the other. Where the teachers of different 
 sects, though of opposite views on a variety 
 of minor points, infuse into their discourses 
 an equal portion of great scriptural truths in 
 their simplicity and fulness, they are all use- 
 ful, and in some cases equally useful. By 
 this admission, however, I would not be 
 thought to confound truth with error, or for 
 a moment to insinuate, that error, even par- 
 donable error, may not affect and weaken 
 the operation of truth. I am, however, fully 
 persuaded, that it is only when the name of 
 Christianity is given to a system entirely 
 opposed to its real character— when a subtle 
 delusion is substituted in its place, claiming 
 the divinity of its origin, and the sanction of 
 its authority, that the best interests of man- 
 kind are radically and extensively injured by 
 any thing in the form of religious profession.
 
 £20 HAPPINESS. 
 
 With such a counterfeit Christianity the 
 Christian world should keep no terms. It 
 ought not, for a single instant, to be recog- 
 nized as genuine. It is not enough, that the 
 coin should bear the image and superscrip- 
 tion of the prince; it ought, at least, to be 
 standard gold. If the alloy be such as ma- 
 terially to depreciate its value — if the baser 
 metal preponderate — it ought to be rejected 
 as spurious, lest the general credit should 
 be brought into disrepute. It appears to 
 me, that the great Catholic community of 
 Christians have too long suffered the interests 
 of their ' one faith, one baptism, and one 
 Lord,' to be sacrificed by allowing themselves 
 to be associated in name and intercourse 
 with a system of teaching, from which every 
 thing that implies accountableness and moral 
 obligation, is totally excluded. For in my 
 view, this is an Anti-christ, so far as it ob- 
 tains, as fatal to true religion as the grand 
 apostacy of Rome. 
 
 " You ask me, my dear, if, what you 
 have heard, are the doctrines of Calvin — and, 
 whether the sermon of to-night is a specimen 
 of Calvinistic preaching ? I deliberately and 
 conscientiously answer, No. And the greatest
 
 HAPPINESS. 221 
 
 possible injustice is done to this reformer, 
 and those who adopt his system, by the im- 
 putation. Calvinism is never more misun- 
 derstood, or more grossly misrepresented, 
 than when its peculiarities are exaggerated, 
 and its subserviency to the formation of the 
 principles and habits of practical piety, is 
 lost sight of. 
 
 " Not only the tendency, but the whole 
 intention of the discourse, which has led to 
 these remarks, has been to bestow on the 
 belief of certain doctrines, combined with 
 strong religious emotion, the importance 
 of an ultimate object. But, genuine Cal- 
 vinism, so far as I understand it, is the re- 
 verse of this. It proceeds on the principle, 
 that Christianity is a practical system ; it 
 never divests it of its precepts, and its 
 sanctions ; or represents it as a mere charter 
 of privileges, investing a certain class with a 
 title to eternal life, independent of moral 
 discrimination, and a purifying andtransform- 
 ing influence. 
 
 " In the judgment of charity, I would 
 hope, that the person, whom you have mistaken 
 for a Calvinist, is not aware of all the conse-
 
 222 HAPPINESS. 
 
 quences to which his mode of stating his 
 views of Christianity, must inevitably con- 
 duct every one who sincerely embraces his 
 doctrine ; but, I certainly think, that such 
 preaching goes to the extreme point, where 
 Christian verity ends, and another Gospel is 
 maintained, false in its views, immoral in its 
 tendency, and destructive in its effects. If 
 it may not be termed the full-grown plant, it 
 is the germinating principle of that heresy, 
 which an eloquent favourite of mine has finely 
 described, as ' not so much a religious error, 
 as a specious impiety^ designed to subvert all 
 rehgion : the disciples of which, in their 
 own estimation, are a privileged class, who 
 dwell in a secluded region of unshaken secu- 
 rity and lawless liberty, while the rest of the 
 Christian world are the vassals of legal bond- 
 age, toiling in darkness and in chains. Hence, 
 whatever diversity of character they may dis- 
 play in other respects, a haughty and bitter 
 disdain of every other class, is a universal 
 feature. Contempt and hatred of the most 
 devout and enlightened Christians, out of 
 their own pale, seems one of the most essen- 
 tial elements of their being ; nor were the
 
 HAPPINESS. 223 
 
 ancient Pharisees ever more notorious for 
 trusting in themselves, that they were right- 
 eous, and despising others.^ 
 
 *' I have been the more particular in dis- 
 tinguishing the errors of an Antinomian ten- 
 dency from the Calvinistic doctrines, because 
 the latter have now their full measure of the 
 world's contempt ; and through them, all 
 serious religion, both in the Establishment 
 and out of it, is stigmatized and reproached. 
 If a clergyman preach with due earnestness 
 the Gospel of Salvation, if he ' point to 
 heaven, and lead the way,' and there should 
 gather round him a congregation of pious, 
 benevolent, and active individuals, both the 
 pastor and his flock are instantly denounced 
 as a set of sour and bigoted Calvinists. The 
 odium, which this implies, is aimed not at a 
 human system, but at the doctrines and in- 
 fluence of Christianity ; but, if Calvinism be 
 really understood, the imputation of it ought 
 not to be deemed a disgrace. I am no Cal- 
 vinist, at least, no further than the Articles 
 of the Church may be identified with Cal- 
 vinism. Yet, I have observed with regret, 
 that persons, the most unqualified to state 
 the profound doctrines of the New Testa-
 
 224 HAPPINESS. 
 
 ment, which Calvin laboured so earnestly to 
 elucidate, are always the most eager to rush 
 upon its mysteries. Thus, has Christianity 
 been deeply wounded in the house of its 
 friends ; and truth compels nie to add, that 
 among those, who, under the pretence of 
 maintaining the spirituality of the Gospel, 
 have destroyed its holy and blessed tenden- 
 cies, must be ranked, many of the preachers of 
 the ' Connexion,' as it is termed, of the late 
 Countess of Huntingdon. In the course of 
 my remarks, I have denominated this con- 
 nexion a ' Sect,' using the word in its offen- 
 sive and legitimate sense ; but it scarcely 
 rises to this bad eminence. It has the into- 
 lerance of a sect — its dissociating operation ; 
 but, is altogether destitute of the redeem- 
 ing and softening influencies, which Christ- 
 ianity imparts to most of the larger commu- 
 nities which assume its name. It cannot 
 with propriety be classed with any descrip- 
 tion of seceders ; but may be considered as a 
 throbbing and inflamed excrescence on the 
 comely form of the Church of England. 
 
 " Happy, my dear, should I have been, to 
 have spared you this discussion; but my 
 deep anxiety for your happiness has induced
 
 HAPPINESS. 225 
 
 me to endeavour to remove from your mind 
 a prejudice against zealous and devoted 
 piety, which the sad exhibition of this even- 
 ing could not fail to excite." 
 
 Louisa gratefully acknowledged the kind- 
 ness of her friend ; but returned home, with 
 agitated feelings, and a mind greatly per- 
 plexed.
 
 226 HAPPINESS. 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 " Like the mountain oak. 
 
 Tempest shaken, rooted fast — 
 Grasping strength from ev'ry stroke. 
 While it wrestles with the blast." 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 Whatever predisposition Miss Delaval 
 felt towards religion, when she heard it de- 
 scribed in the correct, yet fervid representa- 
 tions of Mrs. Wilmington, it was impossible 
 for her not to experience a sort of mental 
 revulsion, when she reflected on the con- 
 trasted, but equally forbidding exhibitions of 
 it which she had witnessed from the pulpit. 
 The one, repelled her by its dead formality ; 
 the other, like a dark and lowering spectre, 
 rudely chased away the beautiful vision, which 
 was just beginning to dawn upon her imagi- 
 nation. A strange misgiving rushed upon 
 her heart. What ! if religion, after all, should 
 be no more than a state expediency, or an 
 enthusiast's dream ? If those whose province
 
 HAPPIXKSS. 227 
 
 it is to teach it, differed so widely in their 
 opinions, and if ail, with equal confidence, 
 appealed to the Scriptures to support the 
 most opposite doctrines^ can those Scriptures 
 be true ? How fearfully did they seem to 
 sanction the preacher, who clothed the Di- 
 vine Being in ail the attributes of Moloch, 
 and with what readiness did he quote pas- 
 sage after passage, to confirm the dogmas of 
 his terrible creed ? 
 
 Thus, Ignorance and Infidelity conspired to 
 w^eaken the new-formed purpose of her mind, 
 and to arm her with prejudice against the 
 only object from which she had expected to 
 derive real and permanent satisfaction. Be- 
 ginning to speculate, she neglected to pray ; 
 having no clue by which to direct her in- 
 quiries, every question led to doubt, and 
 every doubt placed her at a greater distance 
 from the truth. Thus it is, that the inge- 
 nuous and sincere are often perplexed, and, at 
 length, disgusted with religion, by those who 
 undertake to instruct them in its doctrines 
 and its duties. Thus, the fair promise of a 
 character formed upon the great principles 
 of Christian piety, is blighted in a moment 
 by the hand that ought to cherish and su?- 
 Q 2
 
 228 HAPPINESS. 
 
 tain it. Miss Delaval, till she heard the 
 boisterous fanatic, who confused all her ideas, 
 and revolted all her feelings, was unques- 
 tionably in a state of mind highly favourable 
 to her salvation ; but instead of leading back 
 the penitent wanderer, he drove her farther 
 from the fold ; instead of pointing her to the 
 good Shepherd, he terrified her with the por- 
 trait of a Being, omnipotent in wrath, who 
 delighted only in vengeance. In this sad and 
 perilous course of mental deviation, she was 
 providentially arrested by an unlooked-for 
 train of circumstances. 
 
 Calling on her friend for the purpose of 
 opening her heart, and suggesting all her dis- 
 mal apprehensions on those points of religion, 
 every allusion to which, on account of their 
 abstruseness and comparative unimportance, 
 Mrs. Wilmington had taken the utmost care 
 to avoid ; she found her in the depth of 
 affliction. The calm spirit of resignation 
 had, indeed, breathed its placid beauty over 
 her countenance ; but it was marked with 
 irrepressible sadness. The approach of 
 Louisa suffused it with the momentary flush 
 of anguish. Tears came seasonably to her 
 relief; and, after a httle interval, she in-
 
 HAPPINESS. 229 
 
 formed her, that her only claugliter, who had 
 been in Devonshire on a visit, was about to re- 
 turn to her ; not,as she had fondly anticipated, 
 in all the bloom of health, and, as she hoped, 
 the permanent friend of Louisa, but a dying 
 invalid, who, like a passing sojourner, would 
 only be able, to salute her and depart. Such, 
 she confessed, were her gloomy forebodings ; 
 although the letter which contained the 
 painful intelligence, talked of hope, and en- 
 couraged her with the prospect of ultimate 
 recovery. But thus she had once before 
 flattered herself in vain. In earher life, she had 
 sat under the shade of one, fair and fresh as 
 the gourd over the head of the prophet ; and, 
 while she pleased herself with itsgrowth and 
 its loveliness, God had prepared a worm to 
 smite the gourd, and it withered; yet, had 
 she no just reason to complain. '' The Lord 
 gave, and the Lord had taken aw^ay.'^ Still 
 her '' refuge was on high ;" her heart had 
 been wounded — not broken ; it had been 
 bereaved — not abandoned. He that did 
 " tempt Abraham,'' did also sustain and de- 
 liver him. The Patriarch^s God was her^s. 
 He knew her frame, and would not " break 
 the bruised reed.^'
 
 230 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Under the influence of emotions, power- 
 fully excited by apprehensive dread of an 
 event, which, perhaps, more than any other, 
 crushes the heart of frail humanity, her lan- 
 guage partook of all the venerable simplicity 
 of the Scriptures. On this occasion, there 
 was a sacredness in the allusions and style of 
 her remarks, unlike the usual strain of her 
 conversation when her heart was at ease. In 
 a truly devout and cultivated mind, this is 
 perfectly natural. Mrs. Wilmington's rever- 
 ence for the oracles of heaven, was too pro- 
 found, to allow her to adopt, for the common 
 purposes of human intercourse, the scriptural 
 phraseology, for which the ancient Puritans 
 and Covenanters were so remarkable ; and 
 whose mantle, in this respect, seems to 
 have fallen upon some of their modern suc- 
 cessors. Express references to the sacred 
 book, and sentiments uttered in its conse- 
 crated and peculiar terms, were, with her, 
 the effect of solemn feeling, in seasons when 
 the interests of her personal salvation were 
 involved, or when her piety (if we may 
 so speak) was summoned to stand forth 
 from the objects and incidents of life with 
 a distinct and characteristic prominence.
 
 HAPPINESS. 231 
 
 Such an occasion was the present. The 
 rising storm, that was about to wrest from 
 her the last tie which held her to earth, led 
 her involuntarily to bethink herself of the an- 
 chor of her soul, which was linked to that 
 within the veil in heaven ; and she naturally 
 put forth her hand to prove, that it was near 
 — that it was sure and stedfast — that it was 
 ready for her support, and would not fail her 
 in the hour of trial ; she therefore •' felt and 
 handled the good word of God/* 
 
 Sorrow and calamity are the surest tests of 
 rehgious principle ; and religious principle 
 rises to moral sublimity, when it teaches 
 the suffering individual to breathe its 
 glorious spirit through its own hallowed 
 medium. 
 
 One hour*s sympathizing converse with 
 her interesting companion, in this season of 
 bitter anguish, banished all Louisa's scep^ 
 ticism ; and though it did not explain to her 
 reason, the mysteries of religion, it proved to 
 her heart, its reality. She saw its passive 
 energy, imparting all the Stoic's firmness, 
 without its insensibility ; refining the sense 
 of pain, yet raising the sufferer above its
 
 232 HAPPINESS. 
 
 power; and she concluded, that, notwith- 
 standing all the difficulties with which it 
 perplexed her understanding, that the system 
 must be divine, that could so strangely blend, 
 in one bosom, the most exquisite tender- 
 ness of emotion, with the loftiest magnani- 
 mity of principle ; that, at the same moment, 
 humbled and exalted — humanized and deified, 
 the subject of its influence. 
 
 Juha Wilmington, whose indisposition, 
 had alarmed all the anxious fears of her 
 fond mother, was, indeed, in a state of 
 health which might well justify the fore- 
 boding apprehensions of all who knew 
 and loved her. '' She was waning to the 
 tomb.'^ Her countenance, once bright and 
 rosy as that of Hebe, now exhibited only 
 the hectic, fitful bloom of that insidious dis- 
 ease, which, like a canker-worm at the root 
 of beauty, completes its fatal ravages ere the 
 beholder is aware of its existence. The 
 lovely flowers, thus smitten, display for a 
 season their primitive lustre, and emit all 
 their natural fragrance ; for a long interval, 
 a sickly delicacy marks their decline ; but 
 still they occasionally brighten with more
 
 HAPPINESS. 233 
 
 than original splendour — still their odour is 
 ineffably sweet ; and, while we fondly gaze 
 on the trembling stem and drooping leaves, 
 hoping that the next gleam of sunshine will 
 invigorate and revive them — the sun wraps 
 himself in clouds — the wind of the desert 
 passeth over them — -and they are gone. 
 
 The brief history of the lovely invalid, who 
 was now to be introduced to Louisa, and to 
 inspire her with more than a sister's fond- 
 ness, is but another simple tale, added to 
 the many which narrate the fatal effects of 
 early and unfortunate attachment preying 
 upon a heart of sensibility, and preparing for 
 its hapless victim an untimely grave. It is 
 touching, from its simplicity ; and, though 
 it bears a sad and obvious resemblance to 
 most that have preceded it, yet, it is marked 
 by peculiar circumstances, which, while they 
 create the tenderest sympathy in the woes of 
 the beauteous sufferer, excite, at the same 
 time, the highest admiration of her character. 
 Her misfortunes are not to be attributed 
 either to a defective education, or a want of 
 genuine self-respect. They must be traced 
 to the simple humanity of her gentle and
 
 234 HAPPINEiSS. 
 
 amiable spirit. Her principles were divine, 
 but her heart was human ; she was devout, 
 but her very piety awakened and refined th6 
 generous affections of her nature, and in- 
 creased her susceptibility. 
 
 Worthily to love, and fondly to devote 
 ourselves to the happiness of another, who 
 deserves our high regard, is not condemned 
 by religion. It is not even a weakness, 
 which it permits and deplores ; but a virtue, 
 which it sanctions and commends. And the 
 heart that is deceived, or betrayed, needs not 
 augment its anguish by self-reproach. Love 
 is not only an innocent, but a noble passion. 
 When guided and controlled by religion, it 
 is the germ of all the social virtues — the 
 cement and the solace of the various relations 
 of human life. When rewarded with the 
 hallowed possession of its object, it strews 
 the path of duty with flowers, and scents the 
 air with fragrance ; when unfortunate, and 
 iil-requited, it becotiies, at length, absorbed 
 in high and holy principle ; investing resig- 
 nation with unwonted sublimity, and ex- 
 tracting, from earthly disappointment, the 
 calm satisfaction of heavenly hope. The
 
 HAPPINESS. 2S3t 
 
 process, by which it is thus transformed, 
 may impair the fragile tenement in which it 
 is enshrined, and the dross of mortahty, in 
 such a furnace, may melt away into its kin- 
 dred earth ; but the soaring, unrobed spirit, 
 returns to God who gave it, and at last enjoys 
 repose where it first derived existence.
 
 236 HAPPINESS. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 " He seem'd to love her ; and her youthful cheek 
 Wore for awhile the transient bloom of joy ; 
 And her heart throbb'd with hopes she could not speak. 
 New to delight, and mute in ecstacy." — Ano7i. 
 
 Julia Wilmington was born in the 
 early months of her mother^s widowhood, 
 and was first cradled in the storms of the 
 Indian Ocean ; for it was on her passage to 
 England, after sustaining a shock almost un- 
 paralleled in the history of human suffering, 
 that Mrs. Wilmington was presented with 
 this interesting pledge of an affection, 
 doomed, alas ! to weep over its object — 
 hurried from her arms, in a moment of fan- 
 cied security, by the hand of treachery and 
 violence. The lovely infant, uprose beneath 
 her eye in all the charms of new existence, 
 and by its helpless dependence and artless 
 smiles, beguiled her back to life and hope.
 
 HAPPINESS. 237 
 
 "It seemed/' as she once remarked, when re- 
 lating her sad story," like a cherub of mercy, 
 sent from heaven to awaken her from the 
 stupor of despair ; and then to assuage the 
 anguish of returning sensibility.^' Thus, 
 powerfully excited to feeling and reflection 
 (for, from the moment of her husband's 
 catastrophe, till her infant saw the light,she 
 had been little more than an unconscious 
 statue) her principles came to the aid of her 
 reason, and she resolutely determined to 
 gather up her almost w^asted energies, and to 
 consecrate them to the happiness of this new 
 appendage to her being. But for this, life 
 must have been a blank, and the grave a wel- 
 come asylum to her bereaved and desolate 
 heart. 
 
 Many live-long hours would she spend in 
 her cabin, watching her sleeping charge, and 
 giving the silent expression of tears to the 
 melancholy feelings which her own forlorn 
 situation naturally excited. But, when her 
 infant awoke and required her attention, 
 every sorrow vanished at the call of duty. 
 When restless, she would cradle it in her 
 bosom ; and when the almost unconscious 
 creature smiled, or seemed to smile, the
 
 238 HAPPINESS. 
 
 heart4ouching gleam of sweet intelligence 
 shed its light upon her soul, and caught by the 
 momentary fascination, she was happy. But 
 
 " I may not paint those thousand infant charms " 
 
 which cheated the sufferer of her woe, and 
 through whose soothing influence, she slowly 
 recovered the tone of her mind. Fortunately 
 for Julia, as her faculties became capable of 
 receiving instruction, her mother increased 
 in the ability and disposition to impart it. 
 Perfectly acquainted with all that is neces- 
 sary to the formation of the female character, 
 both as it regards accomplishments, which 
 refine the manners, and principles, which di- 
 rect the conduct, Mrs. Wilmington's first care 
 was, to qualify her daughter for the station 
 in society she was destined to occupy ; and 
 more especially to prepare her, as a Christian, 
 for that immortahty, which it is the high 
 prerogative of Christianity to reveal and 
 bestow. She drew up, for her own guidance, 
 a system of education, comprehending both 
 these objects ; and she proved its practica- 
 bility by strictly adhering to it. In this 
 system, nothing that embellishes life, nothing 
 that exalts it, was undervalued or forgotten.
 
 HAPPINESS. 239 
 
 Each acquirement, each pursuit, had its 
 allotted portion of time and attention, accord- 
 ing to its comparative worth and importance. 
 Religion, of course, held the first place. It 
 was with her the Alpha and Omega of female 
 education ; she considered woman, both in 
 her political and domestic character, to be 
 infinitely indebted to its influence ; and that 
 she was never so truly and so naturally her- 
 self as when acknowledging its authority, and 
 obeying its dictates. '' Men," she was ac- 
 customed to say, when arguing this important 
 question with her fashionable associates, 
 '' may possess great qualities, and perform 
 great actions, that are not consecrated by the 
 blessed spirit of religion. The strenuous and 
 tumultuous destination of man, allows and 
 requires a certain spirit of roughness — a pre- 
 paration for self-defence — a kind of latent 
 hostility about him ; but the natural flow 
 and tendency of the female character is in 
 the channel of goodness. Man, brought up 
 for the field or the flood, the bar or the senate, 
 must be armed with a spirit suited to the 
 ungentle encounters he may meet with ; but 
 woman, from the hour of her birth, seems 
 consecrated to the cultivation of whatsoever
 
 240 HAPPINESS. 
 
 things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, 
 whatsoever things are of good report." 
 
 " And how mighty,^'she would sometimes 
 exclaim, " are the obligations of British 
 females to that religion which they treat with 
 so much indifference. What has not Christ- 
 ianity done,^' she would ask with enthusiasm, 
 " for my fair countrywomen ? It has done 
 for them, that, which neither their nature, 
 their habits, the constitution of society, nor 
 the laws of legislators, could do for them. 
 It has elevated them to their true dignity 
 in existence. Ought they not, then, to pay 
 their vast debt to Christianity ? 
 
 " I have visited countries, where the Gos- 
 pel is perverted ; and I have dwelt in others, 
 where the innumerable population are almost 
 strangers to its name; and in all these coun- 
 tries, women are no more than toys and 
 slaves. Where they are most regarded, they 
 rise no higher than to be splendid victims on 
 the altar of sensuality. In the wildest regions 
 of the earth, and in the most civilized, where 
 Christianity is not professed, woman is 
 equally the object of cruel caprice; every 
 indignity is offered to her reason, and she is 
 scarcely raised above the level of the brutes
 
 HAPPINESS. 241 
 
 that perish. Shall then, women, in this 
 Christian land, who are admitted with the 
 lords of the creation, to an equal partici- 
 pation in knowledge, in social rights, and 
 rational freedom, shall they suffer the Gos- 
 pel, which has conferred upon them benefits 
 so invaluable, to plead with them in vain ? 
 By all means, let them be refined, elegant, 
 accomplished, every thing their rank de- 
 mands, and society expects ; but let them 
 be also devout — let them feel, that their 
 truest dignity is that which comes from 
 above — their best refinement, the sensibility 
 of a tender conscience — their most attractive 
 charm, "the beauty of holiness. ^^ With this 
 spirit, Mrs. Wilmington herself had been 
 very early imbued. Her acquirements and 
 talents, and she eminently excelled in those 
 w^hich tend most to the embellishment of 
 society, were employed, to adorn religion, 
 and to display its power. " She used them 
 with such sweet and chastised enjoyment, 
 with a pleasure that rose so purely from the 
 pleasure of others, that the exercise of her 
 acquirements seemed like the practice of a 
 virtue; her very indulgencies were duties. 
 She spent not the precious ointment on her- 
 
 R
 
 242 HAPPINESS. 
 
 self ; she broke it at her Saviour's feet, and 
 the incense of her heart went up along with 
 it."'-^ 
 
 An example so amiable and attractive 
 failed not powerfully to impress the suscep- 
 tible bosom of the infant Julia. Her mother's 
 character, ere she could understand theprih- 
 ciples on which it was formed, delighted her 
 imagination, and hved in her heart. It was 
 the model she loved to contemplate, and 
 which she constantly endeavoured to resem- 
 ble. With such an instructor, she made the 
 most rapid progress in her studies ; and, at 
 the early age of fifteen, was as distinguished 
 for mental endowments, as she was unrivalled 
 in personal beauty. She grew to be one of the 
 exquisite specimens of loveliness, which na- 
 ture occasionally forms to be the admiration 
 and delight of mankind. 
 
 " Oh, never was a form so delicate, 
 Fashion'd in dream or story, to create 
 Wonder and love in man," 
 
 She realized the vision of the poet, when 
 he described the beauty of his imagination : 
 
 * Maturiii.
 
 HAPPINESS. 243 
 
 She was very fair ; 
 
 and her tliick tresses were 
 
 Of the bright colour of the light of day ; 
 Her eyes were like the dove's, like Hebe's, or 
 The maiden moon, or star-light, seen afar ; 
 
 her brow 
 
 Was darker than her hair, and arch'd and fine ; 
 And sunny smUes would often, often shine 
 Over a mouth, from which came sounds more sweet 
 Than dying winds, and waters when they meet 
 Gently, and seem telling and talking o'er 
 The silence they so long had kept before." 
 
 But, like the mountain-rose, her lovehness 
 exhaled its '' sweetness in the desert air;'^ 
 her life was one of seclusion and reflection. 
 She was a stranger to the world — she knew 
 it but in books, or in converse with her mo- 
 ther ; and, from such report, was happy in 
 her distance from its factitious scenes and 
 imposing vanities. 
 
 On their arrival in England, Mrs. Wil- 
 mington sought retirement in the bosom of 
 her native village ; where, without interrup- 
 tion, she could devote herself to the favourite 
 task which affection and duty had imposed 
 upon her, and enjoy occasional intercourse 
 with a few of her earliest and most highly- 
 valued friends. Among these, it was her 
 privilege to number the rector and his family. 
 R J2
 
 244 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Mr. Evelyn, who had been her father's 
 intimate associate, and her husband^s tutor, 
 was a venerable parish priest, of the now 
 almost obsolete school of Hooker and Her- 
 bert. In his character, he was equally 
 removed from the coldness of the mere ethical 
 formalist, and the tropical fervour of the 
 eccentric zealot. He was neither a profes- 
 sional automaton, who could only ring 
 changes on the terms and phrases — duty, 
 sectaries, apostolic succession, church and 
 king, passive obedience, and non-resistance ; 
 nor was he a fiery pretender to excessive 
 sanctity, who, with lawless daring, leaped 
 over all ecclesiastical bounds, and gloried in 
 his irregularity. He was, on the contrary, 
 the noiseless and unostentatious dispenser of 
 knowledge, purity, and comfort, among his 
 immediate flock ; nor did he care to be known 
 beyond the precincts of his allotted station. 
 He felt that his proper business was, to move 
 in his own orbit. There he shone with steady 
 lustre ; and his light equally cheered the 
 mansion and the cottage. He was the rich 
 man's guide, and the poor man's friend. He 
 was cheerful with the happy, and participated, 
 with heartfelt delight, in the innocent recrea-
 
 HAPPINESS. 245 
 
 tions of the village ; but, in the house of 
 mourning, he was at all times a ready and a 
 welcome guest. From the cheek of misfor- 
 tune, he wiped the tear of anguish, and shed 
 the balm of sympathy, to alleviate the sorrow 
 it was not in his power to remove. To every 
 distress, he knew how to apply its appro- 
 priate remedy. 
 
 The pulpit was his throne — not where he 
 reigned ; but where, as the ambassador of 
 Christ, he entreated men to be reconciled to 
 God. In his earnest and simple addresses, 
 it was difficult to ascertain, whether ma- 
 jesty or meekness predominated. His hearers 
 were always reminded of him who spoke as 
 never man spake. He regarded his parish 
 as his family, and his children all loved him. 
 Tythes and surplice-fees were paid punc- 
 tually, liberally, and without a murmur. The 
 office which he filled, answered all the pur- 
 poses of a divine institution; and those on 
 whom it conferred its invaluable benefits, 
 were happy to convert the provision of law 
 into the offering of gratitude. 
 
 To the guardian care of this excellent man, 
 was committed, by the will of his father, Ed- 
 warddeClifford,ayouthofthefairestpromise;
 
 246 HAPPINESS. 
 
 and who came to reside with Mr. Evelyn, 
 about the period when Julia Wilmington had 
 reached her sixteenth year. Edward was 
 just eighteen. His form was manly, and his 
 countenance highly prepossessing ; but his 
 manner was a little embarrassed, and the 
 ingenuousness of his disposition somewhat 
 concealed by a distressing degree oimauvaise 
 honte. Having studied under a private tutor, 
 and lived in comparative retirement, he was 
 free from the faults which are usually con- 
 tracted in large seminaries ; but he was like- 
 w^ise destitute of the advantages conferred 
 by a public education. Having never been 
 exposed to colhsion and competition, his 
 faculties were not sharpened to acuteness. 
 He neither marshalled them for attack, nor 
 formed them into an attitude for defence. 
 He was a stranger to envy, distrust, and 
 malignity. The unchecked kindness of his 
 benignant spirit brightened every object, and 
 poured its genial influence on all around 
 him. His tutor was a Christian ; and, there- 
 fore, had never put into his hands, for the 
 purpose of making him a classical scholar, 
 those books, by whose abominable wicked- 
 ness the minds of our youth are contami-
 
 HAPPINESS. £47 
 
 nated as soon as they can learn their mean- 
 ing, and long before they can appreciate 
 their beauties. He was rather contemplative 
 than clever ; and was less attracted by the 
 living world, than by the charms of inanimate 
 nature. He held communion with his own 
 thoughts, and conversed but little with his 
 fellow beings. 
 
 Designed for one of the learned professions, 
 his sentiments and habits were most uncon- 
 genial with the pursuits in which he was 
 destined to engage — 
 
 "^ Search of deep philosophy, 
 Wit, eloquence, and poesy," 
 
 were arts which he loved ; but the Justinian 
 Institutions, Coke upon Lyttleton, the dry 
 investigation of cases and precedents, and 
 the strenuous elbowing through crowds of 
 rivals and competitors so necessary to emi- 
 nence and success at the bar, were foreign to 
 his nature. He would have been happy to 
 have lived and died in the solitudes of Beau- 
 lieu ; but the prospect of leaving it for tu- 
 mult and conflict, filled him with distressing 
 apprehensions long before he felt the tender 
 and powerful attraction, which rendered it his 
 only world.
 
 ?48 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Whoever lingered with musing rapture in 
 the deep and romantic sohtudes of the New 
 Forest, and gazed upon its awful and roman- 
 tic loveliness, without cherishing the pre- 
 cious recollection through all the after-years 
 of life ! 
 
 " The warbling woodlands, the resounding shore. 
 The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields — 
 All that the genial ray of morning gilds. 
 And all that echoes to the song of even — 
 All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields— 
 
 were here ; nor did they make their appeal 
 in vain to the heart of Edward de Clifford. 
 
 To his dreaming soul, " the sight of nature 
 in her glorious mood,'^ spoke a language 
 which the new thoughts and emotions it in- 
 spired, enabled him to interpret. The forms 
 of grandeur and of beauty, threw their light 
 into the inmost recesses of his spirit, and 
 awakened, into conscious existence, feelings 
 of which they seemed to be no more than 
 the archetype. 
 
 Thus, mighty was their influence over him 
 before he became acquainted tvith the in- 
 teresting being, whose presence imparted to 
 them a fascination and a charm, which, as a 
 garland, nature condescends to receive from
 
 HAPPINESS. ^49 
 
 the hand of love, and to wear for the lover's 
 sake. When his heart v/as gay, he loved 
 to rejoice with creation in its matin song ; 
 the lark, beneath the rosy cloud, often raised 
 his grateful, adoring thoughts, to the heavens ; 
 after which, she seemed to aspire. And, in 
 the hour when melancholy would throw her 
 sombre spell around him (for there were 
 seasons when he was sad, and knew not why), 
 he would seek the twilight groves ; and, far 
 removed from mortal ken and observation, 
 cherish those high musings of the soul which 
 speak her conscious immortality, and exalt 
 her into regions where she feels herself dis- 
 enthralled from material chains, and beyond 
 the boundaries of mere sensible existence. 
 There was scarcely a spot amidst the 
 knolls, glens and woodlands, on either shore 
 of the river of Beaulieu, which he had not 
 explored, and which tvas not endeared to 
 him by the recollection of some peculiar 
 feelings and thoughts which it had witnessed 
 or occasioned. In one of his moody ramb- 
 lings, he mused, in youthful ecstacy, till the 
 fire kindled, and he traced, with rapid 
 thought and trembling hand, the subjoined
 
 250 HAPPINESS. 
 
 effusion. It was his first effort, to express 
 the hitherto undefinable emotions of his 
 heart. 
 
 Give me the soul of Poesy, 
 
 The skilful hand, the raptur'd eye. 
 
 The pure celestial fire ; 
 The Doric reed, the magic shell. 
 Aerial fancy's mystic spell. 
 
 And wild seraphic lyre. 
 
 What though misfortune rend the heart. 
 And Envy point her keenest dart, 
 
 To wound a Son of song ; 
 And Poverty and foul Despite, 
 In dark, insidious league unite. 
 
 To do him ruthless wrong. 
 
 The Poet feels " the joy of grief," 
 His harp affords him sweet relief. 
 
 It dissipates his care ; 
 Exulting Hope, her visions forms. 
 The dear illusion ever charms, 
 
 And banishes Despair. 
 
 Yes ! Poesy has charms indeed ; 
 Where she bestows her heavenly meed. 
 
 The mind is truly blest ; 
 The heart her inspiration warms. 
 Enraptured with her lovely charms, 
 
 "Has joys the very best."
 
 HAPPINESS. 231 
 
 The man that feels her magic pow'r, 
 Though all the storms of life may low'r, 
 
 Looks through the murky gloom; 
 Gives to the " viewless forms of ah," 
 Ideal beauty, " passmg fair," 
 
 And with them loves to roam. 
 
 The wise and sober clods of earth. 
 Wonder what demon at his birth. 
 
 With madness turned his brain ; 
 Well pleased, that at their natal hour, 
 No frowning star had noxious power 
 
 O'er their kind fates to reign. 
 
 While he the rapt enthusiast knows. 
 When on his grave the violet blows. 
 
 His name shall ever bloom ; 
 Immortal wreaths his brows entwine. 
 And Fame inscribe her deathless line 
 
 On his distinguished tomb. 
 
 O, for a Poet's ecstacy 1 
 
 Come, ye sweet nymphs of harmony. 
 
 And tune my numbers wild ; 
 Help me to reach the Aoiiian hill ; 
 Bow me submissive to your will— 
 
 A meek poetic child. 
 
 Then, as at early mom I tread 
 The sylvan haunt, the dewy mead. 
 
 Or cUmb the mountain grey, 
 Aurora's vermil tints I'll view. 
 And breathe a song inspired by you, 
 
 To the bright god of day.
 
 252 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Then, will I walk at evening shade, 
 
 Or through the wood, or through the glade. 
 
 And hail the queen of night ; 
 Or, mark the northern streamers gay, 
 Where throngs of elfin spirits play. 
 
 Dancing on beams of light. 
 
 And when nor stars, nor moon-beams play 
 Illumes my melancholy way, 
 
 I'll seek the silent grove ; 
 And sit me down to meditate. 
 And mourn thy worst of ills, stem Fate— 
 
 The pangs of hopeless love ! 
 
 Or, when the dark cloud hovers round. 
 And thunder rocks the trembling ground, 
 
 I'll hie me forth to roam. 
 To hear the raging of the stomi. 
 To view the lightning's varying form. 
 
 Darting athwart the gloom. 
 
 And, where old Ocean's surges pour 
 Through the black rocks their horrid roar. 
 
 The dismal scene Til scan ; 
 List to the spirit of the wave. 
 Screaming around the watery grave 
 
 Of some departed man. 
 
 Thus, will I weary life beguile. 
 And, at the ills of fortune, smile— 
 
 A simple son of Rhyme ; 
 And, sweet enthusiast. Poesy ! 
 Thou shalt my loved companion be 
 
 Through the §ad cQiurse of time.
 
 HAPPINESS. 253 
 
 A heart thus sensitive to the charms of 
 nature, and capable of such excitement, only 
 required an object to love, to become com- 
 pletely enamoured and devoted. It was not, 
 indeed, entirely a stranger to love's imagin- 
 ings. A floating vision of ideal beauty 
 would sometim.es present itself and recede, 
 too exquisite to be breathed on by gross 
 mortality, or to be accurately defined in 
 its exact proportions by the eye that 
 gazed upon it. Yet, from this vision, 
 a heart-delighting form lingered on the 
 memory. 
 
 " A gentle spirit, and young, with golden hair.. 
 And eyes as blue as the blue dome above. 
 And a voice as tender as the sound of love." 
 
 When he first beheld Julia Wilmington, 
 she rose upon him like the morning-star of 
 his fancy. It was no longer a dream. He 
 was broad awake in the world of sober 
 reality ; yet was there a being with whom he 
 conversed, whose smile of ineffable sweet- 
 ness, and whose innocent gaiety, charmed, 
 while they awed him into distant embarrass- 
 ment and reserve. His feelings were too 
 profound for utterance, yet too intense to
 
 254 HAPPIJ^ESS. 
 
 escape observation. It was evident, that 
 some overwhelming care laboured in his 
 bosom. But his manner was so cold and 
 repulsive, that his most intimate friends did 
 not venture to question him on the subject. 
 His exterior presented the frozen surface of 
 an Iceland mountain, while within him raged 
 a fiercer fire than those of ^tna. So distant 
 was his conduct towards the sex, that none 
 suspected the real cause of his melancholy. 
 The deep reveries in which he was constantly 
 plunged, appeared to resemble madness ra- 
 ther than love. His looks and actions seemed 
 to say 
 
 " Man delights not me, nor woman either." 
 
 Juha Wilmington he studiously avoided ; 
 yet, if ever chance brought them together, 
 his cheeks were suffused with a flush of 
 delight. He would have given worlds to 
 make her comprehend his feelings, but 
 they were imprisoned in his heart. The eye, 
 Love's fleetest messenger, and which speaks 
 volumes in a glance, he could not entrust 
 with the awful secret, which yet, he almost 
 died to disclose. Nothing is so mighty, and 
 at the same time so timid, as the first youth-
 
 HAPPINESS. 255 > 
 
 fill passion before it is revealed to its object. 
 It absorbs and governs the entire being, and 
 holds, in its tenacious grasp, both character 
 and destiny ; yet, can the lightest footstep 
 in a moment vanquish its most determined 
 purpose, and the sweetest look make it quail 
 with unutterable terror. In vain did Edward 
 de Clifford resolve, that every prospective 
 interview with his mistress should find him 
 less embarrassed, and more master of him- 
 self; in vain did he task his brow, and school 
 his heart, for the encounter which he dreaded. 
 No sooner did he attempt to speak to her, 
 and her fine liquid eyes fell on his, than he 
 blushed, stammered, and was silent. The 
 strange awkwardness of his behaviour, and 
 the apparent sullenness of his temper, often 
 provoked her ridicule, and sometimes she was 
 half offended at his rude neglect ; but her 
 playful raillery only increased the confusion 
 it was intended to dissipate, and she began 
 to think him as disagreeable as he w^as mys- 
 terious. 
 
 Julia Wilmington, with all the superior 
 qualities which constituted the charm of her 
 opening character, was, however, neither more
 
 256 HAPPINESI^. 
 
 nor less than woman. Gallant and courteous 
 attentions from the other sex, she regarded as 
 the prerogatives of beauty ; and she was not 
 a little mortified to observe, that the only 
 individual of that sex, of her own age, with 
 whom she was accustomed to associate, and 
 whose countenance certainly expressed in- 
 telligence and sensibility, seemed to treat her 
 with studied and marked indifference. She 
 was a stranger to the passions, and never 
 once imagined, that romantic and devoted 
 attachment could thus paralyze the faculties. 
 Accident, however, dissolved the spell by 
 which the mind of Edward de Clifford had 
 been so long entranced, and revealed to the 
 astonished Juha, the secret of his heart. 
 
 One day, carelessly turning over the leaves 
 of a volume of poetry, he met for the first 
 time, with the exquisite lines of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh to his Mistress ; in which the Poet 
 beautifully describes the agonizing silence 
 which profound and undeclared love never 
 fails to inspire in the presence of its object, 
 and makes a quaint but pathetic appeal to 
 her compassion : 
 
 " A beggar that is dumb you know. 
 Should challenge double pity."
 
 HAPPINESS. 257 
 
 Just before his attention was arrested by 
 this Uttle poem, Juha had been rallying him, 
 on his aversion to company and his general 
 want of spirits, and to escape from a sub- 
 ject which almost stung him to madness, he 
 had taken up the volume in question. No 
 sooner had he read the verses, which so ex- 
 actly pourtrayed his own case, than, with an 
 effort, almost supernatural, he exclaimed, 
 " WiW Miss Wilmino^ton allow me, in the 
 words of a poet, to present her with my de- 
 fence and apology ? Here" — said he, pointing 
 to the lines, but utterance failed him, and 
 he attempted to close the book ; but this 
 the eager curiosity of Julia prevented. Glanc- 
 ing her eye over the page, her prophetic soul 
 comprehended the whole mystery ; she 
 seemed, however, not to understand it, and 
 endeavoured to descant, but not with her 
 usual felicity, on the merits of the perform- 
 ance. After this incident, she, in her turn, 
 became thoughtful and reserved. Edward, it 
 is true, had not declared himself, nor was she 
 obliged to infer the state of his heart, from the 
 trifling circumstance, which had justoccurred. 
 Yet, that circumstance opened a wide field 
 s
 
 258 HAPPINESS. 
 
 for her imagination, and awakened sensations 
 in her heart, wliich she had never before ex- 
 perienced. She was loved, and by an indi- 
 vidual with whose sorrows she had uncon- 
 sciously trifled. The recollection of her 
 innocent badinage^ brought with it, regret. 
 It had the appearance of injustice and 
 cruelty. Pity gave place to censure ; and 
 pity is nearly allied to love. Her lover, too, 
 in some measure, relieved from the burthen 
 which oppressed him, hailed her approach 
 w^ith evident delight. His conversation was 
 no longer broken and confused ; but gleamed 
 with sentiment, and frequently sparkled with 
 gems of poetic thought. 
 
 But we must not dwell too long on the 
 circumstances of what our graver readers 
 may, perhaps, denominate, " a vain amato- 
 rious tale/^ Those who feel an interest in 
 tracing the progress of passion, in the gradual 
 developement of its sensibilities and tender- 
 nesses, will easily imagine, how habitual in- 
 terchange of sentiments, inspired by nature 
 and refined by poetry, must operate on two 
 youthful spirits, romantic in their character, 
 with hearts uncankered, and possessed of that
 
 HAPPINESS. 259 
 
 innocent feeling that gives life all its fresh- 
 ness. 
 
 Frequently at the hour " when day and 
 evening meet/* would they steal from the 
 family circle, to hold pensive and deep com- 
 munion with the shadowy scenes of twi- 
 light. Love breathed over all, and touched, 
 with melancholy softness, 
 
 " The waving wood and the evanishing sky." 
 
 But they enjoyed the highest luxury 
 of emotion on those evenings (always dear 
 to fond attachment) when the heavens pre- 
 sented one canopy of lucid crystal blue — 
 when the bright stars, in solitary distance, 
 twinkled in the depth of ether, shooting their 
 cold and uncertain beams on " tower and 
 tree^' — while the moon, walking in her vestal 
 glory, " pursuing as from the bosom of 
 eternity, her calm and destined way," poured 
 down the silver of her smiles upon all of 
 lovely and sublime, which the ocean and 
 the forest exhibited to their enraptured 
 view. 
 
 For a long season, the happy pair lived on 
 each other's thoughts ; thoughts which re- 
 quired not words to express them, which 
 s 2
 
 260 HAPPINESS. 
 
 would have lost all their freshness, and their 
 power in passing the deep gulf, which, in 
 the solemn season of profound and ex- 
 quisite feeling, divides the tongue from the 
 heart. 
 
 Uninterrupted in their intercourse, and 
 enjoying the approving smiles of mutual 
 friends, the feverish dream of passion sub- 
 sided into the calm of assured affection. 
 The tempest ceased, and the sublime of 
 emotion gave place to the quiet beauty 
 which diffuses its placid influence over the 
 agitated spirit. Every day proved, or seemed 
 to prove, how necessary they were to each 
 other's happiness ; and they looked forward, 
 with tranquil hope, to the period when they 
 should be united beyond the power of sepa- 
 ration — at least on this side the grave. 
 
 Julia, however, for a few months, was re- 
 moved from Beaulieu, and her lover, for the 
 first time, was doomed to experience the 
 pangs of absence. In the spring she pro- 
 mised to return ; with what feelings he an- 
 ticipated the happy hour, the following lines 
 will disclose :
 
 HAPPINESS. 261 
 
 TO JULIA. 
 
 When lonely wand'ring where we oft have been, 
 
 I trace with conscious eye the well-known scene ; 
 
 Each fond memento rises to my view. 
 
 And soothes my pensive heart with love and you. 
 
 Sweet musings of the past beguile my way. 
 
 And here 1 fain would spend the live-long day. 
 
 To busy memory every spot is dear. 
 
 And fancy almost dreams that thou art here. 
 
 With thee I walk, with thee converse again. 
 
 And absence wounds with mitigated pain. 
 
 But what are joys which only Memory knows ? 
 
 The dying fragrance of the wither'd rose ; 
 
 Sole vestige of a glory passed away. 
 
 The parting sigh of beauty in decay ; 
 
 Which tells of pleasm-e it could once dispense. 
 
 And saddens while it gratifies the sense. 
 
 Celestial Hope must raise this faded flow'r. 
 
 And aid Remembrance with her magic pow'r. 
 
 Hail bright enchantress \ bid the past revive. 
 
 In future scenes let joys departed live; 
 
 Thy spring returns, sweet promise of the year. 
 
 And nature's smiles proclaim her May is near. 
 
 Oh ! visit thus my heart with genial ray. 
 
 And while I joy to meet the lovely May, 
 
 Let one more lovely, to my soul more dear. 
 
 Than all fair nature yields, to my fond gaze appear. 
 
 Tell me of halcyon hours I yet shall prove. 
 
 When beauty's eye shall wake the soul of love ; 
 
 When soft delight shall o'er my senses steal. 
 
 And ev'ry look our mutual bliss reveal. 
 
 And shall these halcyon hours again be mine .'* 
 
 Can Hope deceive the votary at her shrine ?
 
 262 HAPPINESS. 
 
 O'er life's sad path illusive meteors glare. 
 Which promise rapture, while they mean despair. 
 By these allured, by these false lights beguiled, 
 I oft have wandered in the devious wild ; 
 Till tangled in the maze and lost in night. 
 The gleam I folio w'd, vanish'd from my sight. 
 But no — my Julia — it can never be ; 
 The Hope that borrows her sweet smile from thee. 
 Speaks heavenly truth and never can deceive ; 
 Her kind inspiring voice I must believe. 
 Yes ! we shall meet and mingle joys again. 
 Together traverse this delightful plain ; 
 And yield to Memory pleasures yet to come. 
 Which Hope shall cherish in perennial bloom. 
 
 Whatever principles may form the cha- 
 racter, in every bosom, where love is ad- 
 mitted, he will assert his paramount autho- 
 rity. Even rehgion feels his power, and is 
 strengthened or debased by his influence. 
 If the object of our regard be distinguished 
 by the glorious qualities of devotion, and 
 those qualities form the basis of our attach- 
 ment, that very attachment imphes, in our- 
 selves, a kindred excellence. To love is to 
 possess them. And, just in the proportion, 
 in which we welcome them to our hearts, do 
 they shed their divine radiance upon our 
 character ; but if we are allured by the 
 charms of mere mortal loveliness, if we are
 
 HAPPINESS. 263 
 
 enamoured of a creature in whose heart the 
 sacred flame of piety has never been kindled, 
 the celestial fire, on our own altar, diminishes 
 in lustre, and quivers in the pestilential 
 vapour which threatens to extinguish it. 
 
 In his own family, Edward de Clifford 
 had witnessed the brightest examples of 
 religion ; and at Mr. Evelyn's every thing 
 had conspired to impress him with its 
 supreme worth and importance. Yet was 
 his piety rather the effect of circumstances 
 than of choice. It is true, he understood its 
 doctrines and observed its forms, but he had 
 never imbibed its spirit. The feelings of a 
 religious kind of which he was sometimes 
 conscious, were inspired either by the sublime 
 and beautiful in nature, or by the grand and 
 pathetic in the gospel. He was altogether 
 unacquainted with Christianity as a restora- 
 tive system, provided for sinners and de- 
 signed for their renovation. His devotion, 
 therefore, partook more of a poetical than of 
 a spiritual character. He was (so to speak) 
 a Miltonic Christian, and derived his views 
 of religion more from Paradise Lost, than 
 from the Scriptures. He was more charmed
 
 264 HAPPINESSv 
 
 with its glory than with its truth ; with 
 those parts of it which exalted the intellect, 
 than with those which humbled the heart. 
 
 The piety of Julia, on the contrary, was 
 the blessed result of deliberate and heart- 
 felt conviction. It was a divine influence, 
 pervading her whole being, mingling its 
 essence with her faculties and affections, 
 and constituting at once, the principle and 
 the beauty of her life. 
 
 The external deportment of Edward de 
 Clifford was pure and blameless, and Julia's 
 was no morec It was therefore perfectly 
 easy for each to mistake the character of the 
 other. They appeared to be equally devout ; 
 — the difference was not in the expression 
 but in the motive. Edward was captivated 
 by the person of Julia ; and he imagined 
 that he paid equal homage to her principles ; 
 and Julia naturally inferred, that he could 
 not himself be destitute of what he pro- 
 fessed so much to admire in her. Nor was 
 he insincere in this profession, nor ought 
 she, with no other evidence before her, to 
 have drawn a different conclusion. She 
 would have shuddered to form an intimacy,
 
 HAPPINESS. 265 
 
 SO endearing in its nature, and necessarily 
 fraught with the most important consequences 
 in her future life, with an individual who 
 knew not the God of her fathers, and who 
 could not walk with her in the same path 
 to Heaven. Not only to themselves, but to 
 their most judicious relatives, the lovers 
 appeared to be, in all respects, congenial, and 
 liappily suited to each other.
 
 266 
 
 HAPPINESS, 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 " The poet's lamp, as poets tell. 
 
 Is kindled only at the skies ; 
 
 But there's a flame — the birth of hell, 
 
 "Which sometimes lights the poet's eyes: 
 
 Such was De Ranee's." — Cunningham. 
 
 The profession to which Edward de Chf- 
 ford resolved to devote himself, required, in 
 order to the entering upon it with the best 
 advantage to himself, that he should gra- 
 duate at an English University. Mr. Eve- 
 lyn, therefore, determined on sending him 
 forthwith to Oxford. The good man was 
 fully aware of the temptations and dangers 
 of a college life, especially to one who had 
 seen but little of the world and whose 
 studies had been hitherto pursued in domes- 
 tic privacy and seclusion. But he hoped 
 and prayed, that his beloved charge might
 
 HAPPINESS. 267 
 
 escape the perils which would surround him. 
 He was armed with good principles, with 
 good sense, and, above all, with a virtuous 
 attachment, which he trusted would fortify 
 him against the assaults of impiety, and the 
 blandishments of folly. He had also ac- 
 quired a taste for literature, and was not 
 insensible to the stirrings of ambition. In 
 short, he possessed all the requisites of a 
 reading man, except, that the indolence of 
 poetical dreaming and versatility of mind, 
 sometimes produced irregularity in his ap- 
 plication, and a fitful transition from one 
 study to another. 
 
 Arrangements were made for his admission 
 
 into , and he took an affectionate 
 
 leave of his friends. With Julia he lingered 
 long ; but the agonizing moment at last ar- 
 rived, and dashing the starting tear from his 
 eyes, he rushed into the carriage which was 
 to bear him far away from all he loved on 
 earth. 
 
 Insensible to the rapid motion of the vehi- 
 cle, and the lapse of time, he was not arous- 
 ed from his profound reverie of sorrow 
 till he found himself at Southampton; from 
 whence, he was to depart for Oxford, by the
 
 268 HAPPINESS. 
 
 regular conveyance, on the ensuing day. A 
 feeling of desolation came upon his heart, as 
 he was ushered by the waiter, into the room 
 of the Inn, where he was to pass the evening 
 alone. No Julia was there to greet his ap- 
 proach by a timid glance of delight, — no 
 Mrs. Wilmington to cheer him with her ma- 
 ternal smile, and he must retire to his 
 chamber, unblest by the devout and affec- 
 tionate benizon of his revered and beloved 
 guardian. For that night, the past occu- 
 pied his undivided attention, and especially, 
 recent scenes of love and rapture passed in 
 review before him, while, with a sigh of 
 weary anguish, he exclaimed, " Will they 
 ever return V* He slept but little, and rose 
 early with a feverish pulse to pursue his 
 journey. 
 
 In the stage which was to convey him 
 to his destination, he found but one pas- 
 senger, who, like himself, had taken his place 
 to Oxford. The mind of Edward was too 
 deeply interested in its own sad and agi- 
 tating ruminations, to observe with minute 
 inspection his fellow traveller — yet the 
 slightest glance convinced him, he could be 
 no ordinary man. He was of middle age.
 
 HAPPINESS. 269 
 
 and had somewhat of a foreign air. As he 
 sat uncovered, the contour of his head and 
 features, exhibited a fine specimen of clas- 
 sical expression and beauty; but the ge- 
 neral physiognomy, to an attentive ob- 
 server, revealed a character, formed of all 
 the elements which constitute intellectual 
 grandeur and moral depravation ; the mens 
 divhiior, and the darker passions seemed to 
 divide the countenance between them. The 
 forehead, shaded by Hyperion curls, ex- 
 pressed loftiness of thought, the godlike 
 brow, and full, penetrating eye, gave as- 
 surance of decisive energy, more mighty for 
 evil than for good. Around the mouth, 
 lurked contemptuous scorn, and sarcastic 
 bitterness, while over the whole, was dif- 
 fused the soft illumination, of what Lon- 
 ginus has denominated the To (r(po^pov 
 xoci fv9»o-ta<rTixoj». Edward was no phy- 
 siognomist, and in the then state of his 
 feelings, had no disposition to speculate on 
 the probable character of his companion ; 
 but the gloom which hung so heavily upon 
 his heart, was not impervious to the rays of 
 genius. The majesty of intellect had al- 
 ways commanded his reverence, and when^
 
 270 HAPPINESS. 
 
 dwelling with rapture on its glorious crea- 
 tions, he had often longed to worship in its 
 presence. He had ever been its devoted 
 idolater, without sufficiently appreciating 
 the moral qualities by which it was either 
 exalted or debased. The appearance of the 
 stranger before him, realised all that his ima- 
 gination had conceived of intellectual sub- 
 limity. What if he should prove to be one 
 of the master spirits of the age? It was 
 possible, — this idea had no sooner entered 
 into his mind, than it awakened all his en- 
 thusiasm — and for a moment, even Julia 
 was forgotten, in the visionary hope, that he 
 was about to drink Castalian waters at the 
 fountain. The respectful gaze of admi- 
 ration, which involuntarily accompanied 
 this thought, was not lost upon the stranger. 
 In his turn, he perused the features of the 
 interesting youth, thus thrown by chance 
 into his company, and strongly prepossessed 
 in his favour, soon contrived to draw him 
 into conversation. His colloquial powers 
 were, indeed, of the highest order, and so 
 insinuating were his manners, that even 
 diffidence and reserve felt assured in his 
 presence. He could unveil the heart, and
 
 HAPPINESS. 271 
 
 those who stedfastly resolved to " give 
 their thoughts no tongue/' were not able 
 to resist the witchery which he threw around 
 them, but in spite of themselves, admitted 
 him to their confidence. He led conver- 
 sation, but did not engross it. His won- 
 derful intellect, grasped every subject within 
 the range of philosophy, science and litera- 
 ture. The happiest illustrations came at 
 his bidding, adorned with all the felicities of 
 taste. Even common thoughts, when ut- 
 tered by him, sparkled with unusual bright- 
 ness, and things, universally known, after 
 passing through his mind, appeared in all 
 the freshness of novelty. When he rea- 
 soned, he rather seduced than convinced, 
 and when he declaimed, it vvas in the fervid 
 style of poetical inspiration. Not only w^as 
 he embued with the spirit of the ancient 
 classics, and familiar with the finest models 
 of art, as described in story, and in song ; 
 but sustained by the enthusiasm which these 
 records inspired, he had traversed every 
 region, and worshipped, at every shrine, 
 where genius had left a vestige, or a memo- 
 rial that he had ever been. Yet was this 
 highly-gifted individual to be numbered
 
 272 HAPPINESS- 
 
 among the most guilty of his species ; and 
 with all his assumed gaiety, he was more 
 miserable than the first murderer! " Plea- 
 sure's palled victim ;*' and the daring apostle 
 of Infidelity, he lived, but to extend the em- 
 pire of human wretchedness. It was his 
 sole ambition to render others as depraved, 
 and as hopeless, as himself. The more ef- 
 fectually to accomplish this Satanic purpose, 
 he had organized a system of opinions sub- 
 versive of revealed religion, and at war with 
 the holiest ordinances of society. And that 
 these pernicious opinions might spread their 
 moral desolation over the fairest, and by far 
 the most important portion of the commu- 
 nity, he did not convey them through the 
 medium of essays, and philosophical dis- 
 courses addressed to the learned, but with a 
 baseness peculiarly his own, arrayed them 
 in the fascinations of poetry, and sent them 
 forth, to corrupt the innocence of the rising 
 generation. 
 
 The influence of such a writer, in a coun- 
 try where his talents are commanding, and 
 his productions popular, is worse than the 
 worst plague of Egypt — for that merely cut 
 off the first-born, and in every house there
 
 HAPPINESS. 273 
 
 was only one dead ; but this, infects with 
 its mahgnant virus, all the members of a 
 family, and devotes to ruin, the whole youth- 
 ful population of the land. It resembles 
 the blight in nature, which in one fatal hour, 
 destroys, before the fruit is set, the entire 
 promise of the year. Pestilence and famine 
 are less evils to a state, than lascivious and 
 impious publications; in which, genius be- 
 trays the cause of purity and social goodness, 
 and becomes the pandar to Belial and to 
 Moloch. If a man, of the highest order of 
 mind, misleads when he ought to instruct, 
 he may do mischief as long as the world 
 lasts ; he is a nuisance to future ages, and 
 lays a snare for those who are yet unborn. 
 
 The Harold^s, the Beppo's, and the Don 
 Juan's of the present day will do more to 
 subvert the foundations of human virtue and 
 human happiness, than all the speculative 
 and merely argumentative works against 
 Christianity that have ever issued from the 
 press. These tempters have the Syren's 
 voice, and their song will allure thousands 
 to their fate. How highly then, must tve 
 estimate the humility of the noble author 
 of these performances, when he says : " He 
 
 T
 
 274 HAPPINESS. 
 
 who can reconcile Poetry with Truth and 
 Wisdom is the only true Poet'* Truth and 
 Wisdom ! Falsehood and Folly ! — surely in 
 his lordship^s vocabulary these are conver- 
 tible terms. If the character of his poetry, is 
 to rest on its ethical excellence, he must soon 
 degrade from the rank of poets. 
 
 The companion of de ChfFord had studied 
 in the school of Byron. Childe Harold 
 was the god of his idolatr}^ and the model 
 of his imitation ; nor were his talents at all 
 inferior to those of his extraordinary master. 
 He even exceeded him in the extravagance 
 of his horrors, and came not a whit behind 
 him in the licentiousness of his descriptions, 
 and the impiety of his principles. 
 
 Such was the being with whom, the sus- 
 ceptible, and as far as it regards Poetry, the 
 enthusiastic Edward de Clifford was to travel 
 a distance of fifty miles. 
 
 In a very few moments the kindling spirit 
 of charmed intercourse began to glow and 
 brighten as the stranger poured forth the 
 classic treasures of his mind. Whatever 
 subject was touched upon, he presented it 
 to his companion under some new and beau- 
 tiful aspect. To every enquiry of Edward,
 
 HAPPINESS. 275 
 
 his answers were prompt, and he appeared 
 to feel the highest pleasure in awakening and 
 satisfying his curiosity. With all the mo- 
 dern European writers, and their works, he 
 was familiarly acquainted ; and while he gave 
 a rapid sketch of the men, he interspersed his 
 narrative with judicious and ingenious cri- 
 ticisms on the peculiarities of their intellec- 
 tual characters and pursuits. One moment, 
 he would relate an interesting anecdote, and 
 the next, repeat a fine passage from some 
 favorite poet. Lively Bon mots and grave 
 irony he uttered with admirable naivete as 
 suited the occasion, and the theme. Edward 
 was entranced wuth delight. Never had ha 
 acquired so much information in so short a 
 time; and never before, had the paths of know- 
 ledge appeared to him strewed with flowers 
 of such exquisite fragrance and beauty. The 
 stranger, fully aware of the yet innocent and 
 untainted character of his youthful associate, 
 rather insinuated his peculiar opinions than 
 directly announced them. He scarcely ad- 
 verted to religious topics; but whenever they 
 fairly presented themselves, — he professed 
 a general reverence for rehgion; but hinted 
 slight objections to certain doctrines which 
 t2
 
 27G HAPPINESS. 
 
 he affirmed to belong equally to the systems 
 of Paganism and Christianity. He loved, 
 he said, the religious spirit, wherever it ex- 
 isted in the pure simplicity of holy nature; 
 but, when adulterated with human passion, 
 and debased by the gross forms and symbols 
 of human invention, he thought, that its ge- 
 neral influence was anti-social and mischiev- 
 ous. Some religions, he was of opinion, by 
 their direct operation, made human nature 
 worse than they found it; while others, by 
 aiming to improve it beyond its capacity, by 
 different means had produced the same re- 
 sult. Mystical Christianity possessed a cha- 
 racter of sublimity, which impressed his 
 imagination; but humanized Christianity, 
 the Christianity of schools and churches, dis- 
 gusted him by its intolerance, and its subservi- 
 ency in promoting the worst schemes of the 
 worst men. He did not like the taste for 
 damning each other, which all the various 
 sects of Christians had acquired, and the in- 
 dulgence of which, appeared to afford them 
 supreme dehght. What particularly offend- 
 ed him was, the Crusade, which the most 
 strict, and unquestionably the most virtuous 
 body of Christians, were systematically carry-
 
 HAPPINESS. 277 
 
 iiig on against the liberal spirit and noble 
 attainment of literature. He hated the ver- 
 bal decorum of the age, and entertained se- 
 rious apprehensions, that the Christian Ob- 
 server and the Evangelical Magazine would 
 soon be the only standard classics with the 
 Christianised part of the nation. He per- 
 fectly concurred in the opinions of a cele- 
 brated writer, whom he was proud to rank 
 among the most intimate of his friends : 
 namely, that in these days, the primiim mo- 
 bile of England is cant. Cant political, 
 cant poetical, cant religious, cant moral ; but 
 always cant, multiplied through all the varie- 
 ties of life. It is the fashion, and while it 
 lasts, will be too powerful for those who can 
 only exist by taking the tone of the time. 
 *'I say, cant; because it is a thing of words 
 without the smallest influence on human ac- 
 tions.'' 
 
 These sentiments were not delivered in 
 the consecutive form in which they are here 
 brought together; they were rather intimated 
 than insisted upon — and when they seemed 
 too violently to disturb the prejudices of his 
 auditor, they were instantly qualified, and 
 made to give place to more welcome themes.
 
 278 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Arrived at the termination of their journey, 
 the travellers agreed to spend the evening 
 together. After the pleasant refreshment of 
 coffee, the stranger invited his new-formed 
 acquaintance to take a survey of the city — 
 its public buildings and delightful walks. 
 The time which this occupied, was employed 
 in conversation, excited by the objects, which 
 either roused the curiosity or called forth the 
 admiration of Edward. His companion, at 
 length, took occasion to advert to the new 
 scenes which were about to open upon his 
 inexperience. He had passed through them 
 all, and was therefore, well qualified to cau- 
 tion and direct him. He described the so- 
 ciety of the university in its various grada- 
 tions with great humour, and contrived to 
 throw an air of ridicule on the extravagant 
 pretensions of some of the colleges. 
 
 The profound learning of the more cele- 
 brated professors he characterized as grave 
 stupidity ; and the religion of the whole body, 
 as the slovenly form of thread-bare hypocrisy. 
 He insinuated, that afewmen of the different 
 colleges, who had genius and spirit — and 
 who had all the prizes at their command, 
 regarded the entire establishment with sove-
 
 HAPPINESS. 279 
 
 reign contempt ; but submitted to its irksome 
 and antiquated regulations as a matter of 
 disagreeable necessity. To some of these, 
 bis intimate friends, he promised to introduce 
 de Clifford, in whose success and happiness 
 he professed to feel no common interest. 
 At parting, he presented him with a copy of 
 his works, and assured him of his sincere 
 friendship. 
 
 That a youth scarcely nineteen, and a 
 novice in the world, should be charmed with 
 the talents, and flattered with the notice of 
 a man of genius, and who had acquired 
 high literary distinction, was perfectly na- 
 tural. Edward was amazed at the good for- 
 tune which had, so unexpectedly, enriched 
 him with such a friend ; and his first letter 
 to Julia contained a glowing description of 
 his journey, and a finely drawn portraiture 
 of his companion. 
 
 On the ensuing morning he waited upon 
 his private tutor, and was conducted by him 
 
 to . Having gone through all the 
 
 requisite preliminaries, he took possession of 
 a suite of rooms, and was instantly sur- 
 rounded by a number of benevolent and 
 disinterested tradesmen, who professed to
 
 280 HAPPINESS. 
 
 have no pleasure in the world equal to that 
 of accommodating the under graduates on 
 their arrival, with every thing necessary to 
 their respectability and comfort ; as to charges, 
 though in the way of business such trifles 
 could not well be dispensed with, yet as 
 they were never anxious for payment, and 
 as, indeed, this was a matter of perfect indif- 
 ference, they would only take the liberty of 
 making those who honoured them with their 
 commands, nominal debtors in their books 
 to more than double the amount of value 
 received. In proposing terms so very liberal, 
 these gentlemen, however, always took spe- 
 cial care previously to ascertain, the family, 
 the connexions, and probable means of the 
 party they so earnestly wished to oblige. 
 
 Edward, who had never been a calculator, 
 surrendered the whole affair of fitting up his 
 apartments in the best style to those who 
 assured him of their zeal in his service; and, 
 in a few days, he was more splendidly lodged 
 than any nobleman on the establishment. 
 This, of course, attracted the notice of all the 
 idle, dissipated men in the college, who 
 communicated their information to others of 
 a similar character in the university. When^
 
 HAPPINESS. 281 
 
 therefore, Edward appeared in the public 
 room, he was treated with the most marked 
 respect. All were desirous of being ho- 
 noured with the friendship of one who seemed 
 heedless of expense, and who, it was sup- 
 posed, must have ample resources. Those 
 who had worn their own credit thread-bare, 
 and who wished, in some degree, to repair 
 it, by introducing a good man to their im- 
 patient tradesmen, paid court to him, and 
 expressed the utmost solicitude to guard him 
 against imposition. Evening parties were 
 formed to welcome him, which it was in- 
 cumbent upon him to invite in return. Exe- 
 crable wine and late hours, disqualified him 
 for study, and he began to lounge away his 
 mornings in the rooms of men who wasted 
 their whole day in idleness. Sometimes he 
 would seriously determine to resume his 
 sober habits, and to read for honours. But 
 his companions w^ould, on such occasions, 
 rush upon his seclusion, and bear him off 
 in triumph. Among these, were individuals 
 of fine natural abilities, who had distin- 
 guished themselves when boys at Eton and 
 Winchester; but whose buoyant spirits and 
 social qualities, had hurried them into ex-
 
 282 HAPPINESS. 
 
 cesses, soon after their matriculation at Ox- 
 ford. These were the chosen associates of 
 Edward. Though at first averse to convi- 
 viality, yet, finding, that the exhilaration of 
 wine and company, enabled him to conquer 
 the mauvaise hontc^ which through life had 
 proved the bane of his enjoyment, he soon 
 became reconciled to the pursuits of those 
 who had contrived to unite a taste for litera- 
 ture with dissipation of manners. With 
 his fellow traveller, whose productions he 
 enthusiastically admired, he maintained an 
 interesting, but to him a most dangerous 
 correspondence. 
 
 Frightful were the ravages, which were 
 made upon his principles during a single 
 term. On returning to Beau lieu to spend 
 the long vacation — he thought the scenes 
 were changed, and wondered at their former 
 fascination. Domestic duties and pleasures 
 he regarded as restraints — and even Julia 
 seemed less beautiful and charming. Yet 
 were there moments in which his better feel- 
 ings triumphed. 
 
 Reminiscences of the past came upon 
 him as delightful visions, and he re- 
 gretted that they were gone. At such sea-
 
 HAPPINESS. 283 
 
 sons, the rush of tenderness was irresistible 
 — hisheart, not yet callous, felt the appeal of 
 nature, of friendship, and of love — and with 
 a burst of agony he would exclaim, " O that 
 it were with me as in da^^s that are past !'* 
 
 He wished, and yet he dreaded to return 
 to Oxford. He had formed resolutions and 
 bound them with solemn oaths upon his 
 soul, w^hich he had a strong presentiment he 
 should violate, and thus fearfully hasten the 
 total depravation of his character. 
 
 What he viewed wnth such trembling ap- 
 prehension, actually took place. The baleful 
 principles of w^hat has not been unaptly 
 called the Satanic school of poetry, which, 
 infallibly lead to the contemptuous breach 
 of all social ties — the dissipated habits, 
 induced by a residence at the University 
 during three years, and a long vacation in 
 the Metropolis, spent in the circles of fashion, 
 to which he was introduced, by the indivi- 
 dual who, like his evil genius, had become 
 the controller of his destiny, completed the 
 ruin of Edward de Clifford. It was a pain- 
 ful, a gradual and a vacillating process, but 
 such was its final — its fatal result. 
 
 Daemoniacalgenius,inthis victim, hadano-
 
 234. HAPPINESS, 
 
 ther and not an inglorious triumph. And let 
 the authors of such mighty mischief, exult 
 if they can, in the blasting energy with 
 which they scathe the living temple of the 
 Most High— let them, with the malice of 
 fiends, extinguish the hallowed fire upon 
 its altar, and desecrate the Holy of Holies 
 where the Divinity is enshrined ; but the 
 hour is coming and now is, when the in- 
 sulted Majesty of Heaven will avenge his 
 own wrong ; and when society, shaken to its 
 foundations by their daring impieties, will 
 turn with indignant vengeance upon the 
 enemies of God and man, 
 
 Intellectual talents, are the noblest gift of 
 the Almighty, but they involve their pos- 
 sessors, in high and solemn responsibihty. 
 Prostituted genius is the nearest resem- 
 blance of the spirit of evil. It looks like 
 Satan clothed in the garb of an angel of light. 
 By many, its real character is unsuspected. 
 Others tolerate its wickedness on account 
 of the splendour with which it is invested — 
 the very reason why they ought to shrink 
 from it with disgust : but the wise and the 
 good, must equally dread and abhor it.
 
 HAPPINESS. 285 
 
 — " I'd rather be the wTetch who scrawls 
 
 His idiot nonsense on the walls ; 
 
 His gallant bark of reason wreck'd, 
 
 A poor, quench'd ray of intellect; 
 
 With slabber'd chin and rayless eye. 
 
 And mind of mere manity; 
 
 Not quite a man, nor quite a binte. 
 
 Than I would basely prostitute 
 
 jVIy powers to serve the cause of vice. 
 
 To build some jewell'd edifice. 
 
 So fair, so foul, — fram'd with such art. 
 
 To please the eye and soil the heart. 
 
 That he who has not power to shun 
 
 Comes, looks, and feels himself undone," 
 
 Cunningham's De Ranee.
 
 286 HAPPINESS. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 *' My pale and gentle beauty, what a heart. 
 Had he to wrong thee."— jBarn/ Cornwall. 
 
 In our narrative, the transition from virtue 
 to vice, in the character of Edward de Chf- 
 ford, may appear to be too sudden, and 
 therefore unnatural. We can only sigh, and 
 answer, such things are. There are facts 
 of daily occurrence, which set the proba- 
 bilities of fiction at defiance. Reahty is not 
 unfrequently far more extravagant than 
 romance. The Hghts and shades of a pic- 
 ture distantly resemble nature, but they 
 come not up to the truth and power of na- 
 ture itself. 
 
 When a moral transformation, in such a 
 mind as that of de Clifford, once begins to 
 operate, its progress is inconceivably rapid.
 
 HAPPINESS. 287 
 
 By those who feel shocked at the abruptness 
 of the change, it should be remembered, that 
 his principles were first assailed through the 
 medium of his imagination, an imagination 
 which in his best days required the incessant 
 control of a vigilant and powerful under- 
 standing. The chambers of imagery in his 
 heart (to employ the striking allegory of 
 the prophet) were no sooner touched with 
 the magic wand of the licentious poet, than 
 they instantly flew open ; the pestilential 
 vapours rose with all the horrid forms, which 
 lurked in their darkness into the regions of 
 the fancy, and tainted with their gross pol- 
 lution, the noblest faculties of the spirit. 
 Happy had it been for him, if, like Sir Phihp 
 Sydney, he had met with a Languet in this 
 most important crisis of his destiny; whose 
 eulogium the young Arcadian thus pro- 
 nounced : 
 
 " With his sweet skill, my skilless youth he drew, 
 " To have a feeling taste of him that sits 
 " Beyond the heavens." — 
 
 '■ With old true tales he wont my ears to fill. 
 How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive. 
 He liked me, but pitied lustful youth : 
 His good strong staff, my shppery years upbore; 
 He still hoped well because I loved tmth."
 
 288 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Instead of such a guide, philosopher, and 
 friend, it was his sad mishap to meet, in evil 
 hour, with the temptation he was least able, 
 because least inclined, to resist. Suspicion 
 was always foreign to his nature — nor did 
 he ever dream, that in the living world, a 
 being could be found, who 
 
 ^' Under fair pretence of friendly ends. 
 
 And well placed words of glozing courtesey / 
 
 Baited with reasons not unplausible." 
 
 could 
 
 '' Wind him into the easy-hearted man. 
 And hug him into snares." — Milton. 
 
 There was hkewise something so captivating^ 
 in the wiles of the sorcerer, that when he was 
 most under his power, he imagined himself 
 to be most at liberty ; and so blind was he to 
 the dire effects of the poison which wrought 
 such dismal change in his moral being, that 
 he did not " once perceive his foul disfigure- 
 ment." At Oxford too, the Alma mater of 
 so many profligates, he was exposed to all 
 the allurements of actual dissipation. It 
 was there 
 
 the lewd and lavish act of sin. 
 
 Let in defilement to the inward parts.'
 
 4IAPPINE.SS. 289 
 
 There he learnt to indulge the base desires 
 of sensual nature, and to forget all the high 
 and holy purposes which rehgious principle 
 and virtuous love had taught him to 
 cherish. 
 
 It was not till his last term at the Uni- 
 versity, that he suffered himself to be hurried, 
 by his companions, into criminal excesses 
 of conduct ; and it was under their fatal 
 influence, that he began to treat his once 
 loved Julia, with marked neglect. In his 
 two preceding visits, this amiable girl had 
 felt, that her lover was greatly altered from the 
 Edward de Clifford to whose vows of attach- 
 ment she had once listened with the purest 
 delight : then he was ingenuous ; his eye 
 told her, quick as thought, what he felt and 
 understood. His brow was unclouded and 
 his temper unruffled. He was, likewise, de- 
 vout. He needed not to be reminded of the 
 hour of prayer. The Sabbath he hailed 
 with sacred pleasure, and sought the temple 
 with willing feet. Now he was reserved 
 and mysterious. His countenance often 
 betrayed anguish, which he laboured in vain 
 to conceal, and the tones of his voice, were 
 occasionally petulant and harsh. To reli-
 
 290 HAPPINESS. 
 
 gious duties he submitted iVom a sense of 
 decency, rather than from any apparent 
 consciousness of their importance ; and the 
 Sunday, and the sanctuary, he regarded with 
 equal indifference. Beauheu was no Jonger 
 his home ; indeed his bosom was altogether 
 a stranger to its quiet joys. Yet it was re- 
 markable, that just in proportion as he 
 became alienated from the objects once dear 
 to his youth, his imagination described them 
 with exquisite truth and feeling — they lived 
 in his poetry — but not in his heart. 
 
 Juha trembled with apprehension, as the 
 keen penetration of love discovered to her the 
 painful secret which other eyes were slow to 
 observe. The conviction preyed upon her 
 spirits, yet she clung to hope. His letters 
 were still tender and affectionate. To her, 
 he was the same, and yet— another. His love 
 was unabated, so she fondly believed ; but 
 she feared that his general tastes and habits 
 had experienced an entire revolution. For 
 two years his correspondence glowed with 
 all the passionate ardour which genuine 
 love inspires. But, at length, completely 
 subdued by vice and wretchedness, he wrote 
 but seldom — his phrases were more studied
 
 HAPPINESS. :^91 
 
 — there was much profession with little 
 feeling. He was always in a hurry, and 
 usually began and ended with awkward and 
 unmeaning apologies. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the agony of 
 Julia, when the first well-founded suspicion 
 arose in her mind, that she had out-lived 
 affection, that she had reposed her dearest 
 hopes on worthlessness. It was not resent- 
 ment which she felt — that might have sus- 
 tained her. Nor could she endure to believe, 
 that Edward, her Edward, was indeed the 
 wretch he seemed. It could not be. He 
 was still generous — noble — and devoted to 
 her. It was only a momentary aberration ; 
 he had forgotten himself, under some strange 
 influence, which would soon pass away. 
 She could not realize the desolation that was 
 coming upon her. Like a poor hunted bird, 
 her heart still returned to the place of its 
 affections — in vain was it rudely repulsed — 
 if, for an instant it flew off, it would settle 
 again, where all its cares, and all its tender- 
 nesses were centered. 
 
 This was the state t)f her feelings, when 
 she received a letter containing the following 
 extraordinary sentences. It is difficult to 
 u 2
 
 292 HAPPINESS. 
 
 say, whether they were written under the 
 influence of inebriety or madness. 
 
 " JuHa — a truce to hypocrisy.* It is in 
 vain for me any longer to conceal from you 
 my real character. I am not a Christian. 
 Indeed, I know not what I am. I bear the 
 fabled Hebrew's curse. My mind wanders 
 — my heart is distracted. 1 was onceiiappy, 
 and you were my heaven — yes, it was you I 
 worshipped — not God. 1 imagined it was 
 devotion, when I accompanied you to the 
 
 * This was the phi'ase employed by a certain oracle in the 
 infidel school of poetry, to his bride, on the morning of his 
 nuptialSj and immediately on her stepping from the altar 
 into the carriage. For many months he had persecuted her 
 with his addresses. Aware of his profligate habits, she 
 shrunk from a union with baseness. At last, however, over- 
 come by the semblance of a passion, which she imagined to 
 be real, and which she hoped might be the means of drawing 
 him from the epicurean stye, where he had grovelled so 
 long— she imposed upon him a yeai**s probation ; promising 
 to become his wife, if, during that period, he would abandon 
 his "fellow bacchanals," and "lemans dear.'' He consented, 
 — performed the task, and carried the — prize the prize 
 which he lost no time in converting into a victim of savage 
 brutality. " A truce to hypocrisy," said the wretch—" I will 
 have ample vengeance for my year's abstinence." And this 
 too, at the moment when the sounds " to love and to cherish," 
 had just escaped his lips, and almost before they had died 
 away in silence. Is it necessary to add, what all the world 
 knows-*- the monster kept his word.
 
 HAPPINESS. 293 
 
 altar of religion. It was only love. 
 You will not, cannot unite your fate with 
 an unbeliever. We have now no sentiments 
 in common — ^}^et still, you are the star of my 
 destiny. I shall travel, I can never rest. 
 But your dear image shall be the companion 
 of my wanderings. The bright visions of 
 innocent, happy days shall sometimes break 
 upon the settled gloom of my spirit — and 
 scare the viper from her prey. I am un- 
 worthy of you — hve — but not for another. 
 Forget me — can you forget me ? Heaven 
 grant you may.^^ 
 
 w tP •!? ^ ^ Tr tP 
 
 ^ T? w -Jp TV -sP Tp 
 
 This insane violence did not wound — it 
 crushed the heart on which it fell. It pro- 
 duced — not emotion, but the fixed stupor of 
 despair. Roused by the entrance of her 
 mother — she cast upon her a piteous, im- 
 ploring look — pointed to the letter, and 
 then hid her face in her bosom. For one 
 moment she awoke from her young dream 
 of bliss, and the next, was a lifeless statue 
 in her mother*s arms. Several days elapsed, 
 before the numbness of the soul gave way,
 
 294 HAPPINESS. 
 
 and the icy fetters in which it was bound, 
 melted into tears ; the shock was fatal, yet, 
 for a season she seemed to recover. The 
 sustaining power of religion did not forsake 
 her in her utmost need ; when her heart 
 rejected every other consolation, this was 
 administered by the hand of an angel. The 
 following unfinished lines, bear date many 
 months after she received the communi- 
 cation which annihilated all her earthly 
 prospects, and sadly prove, that affection 
 may long survive hope. It is perhaps, 
 needless to add, that they were never in- 
 tended to meet any eye but her own. 
 
 Can I forget you ?— Ask the silent hours, 
 That glide unseen by ev'ry human eye; 
 View me awhile, when radiant morning pours 
 Her glitt'ring colours o'er the illumin'd sky. 
 Ask, while each lovely flow'r erects its head 
 And hails with fragrance sweet the rising morn,--^ 
 Why the fair tints that once were mine are fled. 
 And left alone within my breast, the thorn. 
 
 Can I forget you ? — Ask the midnight hour. 
 When all is silence round my lonely bed ; 
 'Tis then for thee I tears of anguish pour, 
 And chase soft slumbers from my aching head: 
 Or, worn with grief, or spent with fruitless sighs, 
 Should nature yield, at length, to sweet repose. 
 In dreams, I see thy form belov'd arise. 
 And feel a sad renewal of mv woes.
 
 HAPPINESS. 295 
 
 Can I forget you ? In the social hour 
 WTiy shed I oft the strange unbidden tear, 
 And tuni indifferent from the wonted power 
 Of scenes that late were to my bosom dear ? 
 And why has solitude such charms for me 
 Above each joy that friendship can bestow ? 
 Alas ! because I weep unseen for thee. 
 And undisturb'd indulge my silent woe. 
 
 Can I forget you ? Ask a throne of grace, 
 A tlirone where mourners love to poLu: their sighs, 
 Unheard by all, save one, that holy place. 
 Has witness'd oft for thee, petitions rise: 
 And rise they shall, 'till heaven's eternal will- 
 
 Here the manuscript abruptly breaks off, 
 and is almost illegible. The lovely suf- 
 ferer had evidently blotted it with her tears. 
 It has been justly observed, that to the 
 comprehension of love, nothing is so difficult 
 as the science of forgetful n ess. It is im- 
 possible to turn off the mind at once from an 
 object it has long dwelt on with pleasure. 
 How sweet is the relief which, in such a 
 case, genuine piety affords. It converts 
 affection into supplication, and reveals a 
 bosom, into which the heart may pour all its 
 delicate sensibilities and sorrows, without
 
 296 HAPPINESS. 
 
 fear and without a blush. Juha had been 
 taught from earliest infancy, the vanity of 
 all created good — she had been warned of 
 the treachery of the world, and of the weak- 
 ness of her own heart. She had been told, 
 that happiness could only grow and flourish 
 in the regions of immortality, and that when 
 planted in the human breast, it would wi- 
 ther and die, unless refreshed with dews from 
 the everlasting mountains. These assur- 
 ances were now confirmed by the stern 
 monitor. Experience. Now she knew, what 
 once she only believed ; yet could she not 
 immediately command her affections from 
 earth. But, though she could not soar to 
 the height of divine enjoyment, she some- 
 times felt the sweetness of a spirit resigned to 
 the Divine will; 
 
 " She bow'd her head in quietness: — she knew 
 Her blighted prospects could revive no more. 
 Yet was she calm, for she had heaven in view." 
 
 One dictate of love and piety she resolved 
 to obey, though the very idea of the agony 
 it would inflict upon her feelings overcame
 
 HAPPINESS. 297 
 
 her, and she had made many fruitless at- 
 tempts to perform the painful duty. This 
 was, to return the letters of her faithless 
 lover, accompanied with an earnest and last 
 expostulation on the subject of his infidelity. 
 She did not hope, at least, she thought she 
 did not hope, to win back his estranged af- 
 fections. She was only deeply concerned 
 for his eternal happiness. A few fragments 
 from this generous effort of a breaking heart, 
 shall close the chapter, and the volume. 
 
 ^ ^ 45= * ^ 4^ ^ 
 
 * ^ ^ ^ ■ ^ ^ # 
 
 " O Edward, you are not so fallen, as to 
 ridicule the weakness of your once-beloved 
 Julia. I confess, that to make up this 
 packet, to resign for ever to their treacherous 
 owner, all the fine, eloquent and tender ex- 
 pressions of regard, which made me too 
 happy, has cost me many a severe pang. 
 But this is nothing, — -to you it is nothing ; 
 and it is not, on my own account, that I 
 intrude upon you, these unwelcome lines. 
 Though you love me not, I am still vour
 
 298 HAPPINESS. 
 
 friend, and if the sacrifice of my life would 
 restore your character, and bestow the 
 peace you once enjoyed, you cannot con- 
 ceive with what satisfaction I would lay it 
 down.'^ 
 
 # * ^ ^^ * # i^ 
 >X' '^ ^^ ^ # # * 
 
 "You have abandoned me, but you first 
 abandoned yourself Is it possible, Edward, 
 that i/ou can be an unbeliever ? O, what is 
 to become of our hearths, and our altars, if the 
 flower of our youth is to be thus withered — 
 if domestic pleasures and rational devotion 
 are to be renounced by the generation now 
 rising upon the world, for the heartlessness 
 of wandering bliss — and the gloomy hours 
 of infidelity : — surely some strange divina- 
 tion, some ruthless enchantment, must be 
 against you. Cradled in the arms of piety — 
 like Samuel, early in the temple found, — the 
 child of many prayers, hpw can you be an 
 Infidel?" 4^ '^ * ^ ^ * 
 
 -H: * * 4^ * *• *
 
 HAPPINESS. 299 
 
 " What argument, of greater power, can 
 be brought against the sad delusion into 
 which you have fallen, than the misery it has 
 inflicted upon yourself, and the shame and 
 the regret which it has brought upon all who 
 love you ? Surely, that must be the worst 
 species of madness which laughs at virtue 
 as an idiot's dream, and which labours with 
 the exasperated fierceness of an infernal 
 spirit, to exclude, even the idea of it from 
 the universe. 
 
 With you alas I and with such as you, 
 life has no duties, because it has no hopes, 
 no joys. Essentially misanthropic, self is 
 your only idol; and in all modern and 
 ancient mythology, this is a deity the most 
 capricious and the most cruel :" 
 
 ^M 
 
 ^' 
 
 ^• 
 
 >;^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 44: 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 -'k 
 
 %'r- 
 
 ff 
 
 4^ 
 
 ^Tf 
 
 * 
 
 " Knowing as I do, the truth of the 
 Christian revelation (and what offence has it 
 evercoramitted,tofalsify its character), I some- 
 times Jook at you through its medium, and 
 my heart sickens — 1 cannot endure the ter-
 
 300 HAPPINESS. 
 
 rifying vision. I am a weak girl ; I know I 
 am very weak, but yet I would struggle with 
 the martyr for his stake, and almost forego 
 his crown, could my expiring agonies avert 
 from you, the doom which Christianity 
 denounces against those who wilfully reject 
 its mercy." 
 
 ^ ^M ^f ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 ^* ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ :3?: 
 
 " The juggling fiends that have cheated 
 you of your reason and your faith, will leave 
 you, Edward, when you need the arm of 
 friendship and the heart of love. They will 
 laugh at your calamity, and mock when 
 your fear cometh. They are only the sun- 
 shine friends, that ' throng your blooming 
 summer bower/ Alas ! when the hour of 
 remorse shall come, and come it will, — who 
 will be near to comfort you. Your poor, 
 despised, rejected Julia, will be far, far away. 
 The flowers of the coming Spring will shed 
 their fragrance on her grave — but her last 
 prayer shall be offered for the lost sheep in
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 301 
 
 the wilderness, wounded and ready to 
 perish !^' 
 
 # ^ * * *. * * 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ 'M^ ^ ♦ 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME,
 
 r. C. HANSARD, 
 
 Printer, 
 Peterboroitgh Court, Fleet Street.
 
 ERRATA IN VOL. I. 
 
 Page 1, (motto) after Mosse, dele ! 
 
 20, line 13 from top, for *' the discovered," read " she 
 
 discovered.'^ 
 —— 248, for " awful and romantic loveliness," read " a^vful 
 
 loveliness." 
 
 269, dele To 
 
 — — 298, line 14, for "gloomy hours," read " gloomy /mrors."
 
 w^ 
 
 
 3 0112 046422298 
 
 ,^-H..: