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 ^HE 
 
 OLD 
 
 SCHOOL 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 « Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them notj ond 
 our crimes would despair, if they verc not cherished by our 
 virtues." 
 
 all's well that ends well* act XV. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. BOOTH, DUKE STREET, 
 PORTLAND PLACE. 
 
 1813.
 
 Printed bjr J. Barfield, 91, Wardour-Street, So^
 
 8^3 
 
 V. 1 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 aP THE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Marlff History of Sir William Jerning- 
 ham^ and Marriage />. 1. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 } Continuation of the Early History of 
 Sir William Jemingham, — World 
 Without Souls, — Family of Sir 
 
 ^ William Jerniyigham, — Mrs, Mon- 
 tague's Letters, — Family Arrange- 
 
 "'H ments . />. 25. 
 
 ^
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sir John Jehu, — Filial Obedience, — 
 Mrs. Carter, — Mr.Jerningham.p*51. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. Cooper and Son.^^On the Appro* 
 priation of Time j». 70. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Lord Karnes. — Criticism.'^ Arrival of 
 Miss Jerningham. — Young People. — 
 Lady Castleton. — Town Life, p.\0^. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mrs. Cony ers.-— Character of Women. 
 — Henry Jerningham. — Sunday. 
 
 Sabbatical Year. . . . . jt?. 125.
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 Sir Henry and Lady Charlotte West, — 
 
 Lord Edward Clarendon, Sir 
 
 Charles Grandison, — Fashions, p, 157, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Frederick Campbell, — Sir Thomas More. 
 
 p, 187. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Dancing' Masters' Balls, — Superstition, 
 — Henry IV, — Madame de St, Evre- 
 mont, — The Lover's Change, jt?. 21 1. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Metcalf Family, — Religious Sects,— 
 Poor, . p. 240.
 
 triii. CONTENTS* 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Alarming Accident^ and Cotisequenees, 
 — Attending Divine Service, . p. 268. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Family Embarrassments. Frank De- 
 claration. ..••.. J». 293.
 
 THE 
 
 OLD SCHOOL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY HISTORY OF SIR WILLIAM 
 ^ERNINGHAM, AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Jerningham Hall, Mat/ 8, 1811. 
 
 XjlFTER passing the winter so pleasant- 
 ly with m}^ dear aunt in town, as usual, 
 and being separated from her by the ex- 
 pediency of her visiting a watering-place, 
 and a disinclination on my part to accom- 
 pany her, the motive of which it is no way 
 necessary to explain, farther than by ob- 
 serving it was a subject we were mutually 
 agreed upon, and that our regard and 
 VOL, !• B friendship
 
 4 EARLY -HISTOny OF 
 
 manners, the peculiar complacency of his 
 intercourse with those most dear to him, 
 his benevolence and piety, render him 
 entirely deserving of the character I first 
 gave him. 
 
 A very singular circumstance cast an 
 early cloud upon the youth of Sir William, 
 bhghted his cheerful prospects, and left 
 a canker in his breast, which no time has 
 been able to eradicate — the death of a 
 friend by his own hand, in a duel. Not 
 that he was either the aggressor, or the 
 defier; but he w anted firmness and resolu- 
 tion to resist the impetuous outrage of his 
 challenger, and to await a period, which 
 must shortly have arrived, when cool re- 
 collection, and the interposition of friends, 
 might have explained and adjusted every 
 thing amicably. The whole history is 
 curious and affecting, and must be traced 
 from the beginning, in order to give you 
 a clear idea of it. Mr. Jerningham, then 
 the second son of Sir Thos. Jerningham, 
 when about the age of two or three and 
 
 twenty,
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 5 
 
 twenty, became deeply enamoured of a 
 Miss Courtenay, whom he occasionally 
 met at the house of a near relation. The 
 polished gentleness of his manners, his 
 refined taste, his elegant person and ad- 
 dress, appeared to gain him a considerable 
 interest in the heart of this young lady. 
 When Mr. Jerningham learned that she 
 was the only child of a man of large for- 
 tune, his diffidence of the reception his 
 proposals might meet with, restrained him 
 from the direct declaration of his passion, 
 lest it might deprive him of the opportunity 
 he so frequently enjoyed of freely con- 
 versing with her : and he was a young 
 man of too delicate a sense of honour to 
 attempt to gain an avowal of regard from 
 a young creature, without the knowledge 
 of her first and best friends ; yet it was 
 the general observation that the sentiment 
 of regard appeared to be mutual. 
 
 It was at this period that a friend of 
 
 Jerningham's, the companion of a part of 
 
 his travels, felt his curiosity stimulated 
 
 B 3 by
 
 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 by the conversation of his friend, to be 
 introduced to this paragon of elegance 
 and perfection. 
 
 Fitzosborne was of a character and 
 figure striking and imposing ; his appear- 
 ance and address brought to the imagina- 
 tion those heroes of romance, who irresist- 
 ibly carry all before them. Acquaintance 
 with various countries, languages, and 
 persons, had given him a flow of ideas, 
 a volubility of expression, and that easy 
 confidence, which seldom fails to make 
 its way in society : he was animated, en- 
 tertaining, warm in his attachments, and 
 generous in his sentiments : his fortune 
 was large, but not unincumbered. 
 
 Fitzosborne danced with Louisa Cour- 
 tenay, and dwelt with peculiar eloquence 
 to his friend upon the interesting sweet- 
 ness and attraction of his chosen. It is 
 not certain whether a fearful apprehen- 
 sion, or what other cause, stimulated Jer- 
 ningham at this time to risk an explicit 
 avowal of his attachment, to the father of 
 
 Louisa.
 
 sift M^M. ^ERNiNGHAM. 7 
 
 Louisa, He was so unfortunate as to 
 receive a direct refusal, on the score of his 
 own moderate expectations, so inadequate 
 to the fortune of the lady. When Jerning- 
 ham lamented this mortifying result to his 
 friend, an expression in the eye of the 
 latter struck him with a painful suspicion 
 that a sentiment had gained admission to 
 his breast, incompatible with their former 
 friendship. ** Do you then," said Fitzos- 
 borne, " resign all hopes of this lovely 
 girl?" "How can I do otherwise ?" answer- 
 ed Jerningham : ** you know my circum- 
 stances, and my expectations from my 
 worthy uncle are too vague to be men- 
 tioned." His friend was silent, and musing, 
 but not apparently dejected. 
 
 It had been remarked by Jerningham, 
 when he first spoke openly to Louisa of his 
 affection, in lamenting the direct refusal 
 of her father, that she received the intelli- 
 gence in a very different manner from 
 what he, at one time, had flattered him- 
 self she would. 
 
 B 4 When
 
 8 EART.y HISTORY OF 
 
 When a woman really loves, she does 
 not instantly resign all hope of future 
 changes. With him — 
 
 " It was to hope wherei hope is lost, 
 " Tho' heav'n and earth his passion crost/' 
 
 But Louisa appeared cool, decided, 
 and unconcerned.—** The commands of a 
 father are, you know, Sir, insuperable/* 
 But she talked not of patient acqui* 
 escence, or of silent hope. > 
 
 The suspicions awakened by these 
 united circumstances were sufficiently 
 painful to a tender and disappointed 
 heart : but suspicion was soon converted 
 into certainty. Filzosborne was a frequent 
 visitor at Courtenay Castle, and no doubt 
 remained of his being the favoured lover 
 of its young heiress. 
 
 An entire coldness between the two 
 friends took its date from this period ; 
 and after some weeks had passed in pain^ 
 ful dejection, produced by disappointed 
 
 hopes,
 
 SIR TVM. JERNINGHAM. Q 
 
 hopes, Mr. Jerningham determined to visit 
 his uncle, at Norton Grove, Persuading 
 himself that the road by Courtenay Castle 
 was the best, if not the nearest way thither, 
 he took that road, and towards the even- 
 ing of a sultry day in July he approached 
 the confines of that place. A long threat- 
 ening thunder-storm became, at this time, 
 tremendously awful ; the lightning was ter- 
 rific, and the rain descended in torrents. 
 
 At this moment he perceived a young 
 lady in great distress and alarm, attempt- 
 ing to open the park gate, and at length, 
 taking refuge under a large tree. He 
 flew to succour, and draw her from her 
 dangerous situation ; but what were his 
 surprise and emotion when he beheld 
 Louisa! — ** Allow me, Madam — can I 
 serve you ?" ** O yes. Sir, what shall I 
 do?'' ** Instantly quit this dangerous spot, 
 enter my chaise; I will conduct you to 
 your father's door, and retire." Almost 
 fainting with terror, he put her into the 
 chaise, and followed her. Just as the door 
 B 5 was
 
 10 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 was shut, Fitzosborne galloped by the 
 carriage, and looking earnestly in, clearly 
 saw Miss Courtenay, supported by Jer- 
 ningham. He soon returned, and looking 
 fiercely into the carriage, galloped back 
 again. 
 
 Louisa saw him not, and Jerningham 
 having deposited his affrighted charge at 
 the castle, was proceeding on his journey, 
 •when he was met at the park gate by the 
 servant of Fitzosborne, who delivered 
 from his master, a request to see him at 
 the keeper's house. He followed the ser- 
 vant, and entered the house where Fitz- 
 osborne, with a friend, awaited, and in- 
 stantly accosted him with warmth and 
 irritation : *'Did I rightly understand, Sir, 
 that your expectations of Miss Courtenay's 
 favour were entirely at an end ?" " Cer- 
 tainly, Sir, you did; from myself.'* "How 
 then am I to account for what I have just 
 witnessed ?" " In no way inconsistent 
 with honour and integrity." " How, Sir ! 
 am I to see myself supplanted, and to be 
 
 told
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 11 
 
 told of honour and integrity ?'* '* Is it for 
 Fitzosborne to speak of supplayiting T^ 
 with a piercing look, said Jerningham. 
 "And is this, Sir, the language of a friend ?** 
 retaliated the enraged lover. "Ah, where 
 is the conduct of a friend ?" returned the 
 other. " If I can obtain no other satisfac- 
 tion, I must demand that of a gentleman." 
 "As you please, Sir." "But you are alone." 
 " Let not that embarrass you : I will con- 
 sider your friend as equally the friend of 
 both.*' " I wish not to take any advan- 
 tage," said Fitzosborne. " Doubtless not; 
 I am at your service." Unhappy, ill- 
 fated youths ! could not this failure in the 
 savage etiquette of false honour save you 
 by the delay of a few hours, and, giving 
 time for explanation, from the horrid 
 catastrophe that hung over you ? It is 
 more than probable that indignity of 
 his injuries, rankling in the heart of Mr. 
 Jerningham, prevented his acting with 
 that coolness for which he was remark- 
 able. Resentment and intemperance, too 
 B 6 surelv
 
 12 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 surely actuated both : they hurried to a 
 neighbouring wood, a servant following^ 
 with a pair of travelling pistols. 
 
 By agreennent, they fired together; Fitz- 
 osborne fell, a ball having entered his 
 breast. All resentment dropped with 
 hinn — it was too late. Jerningham flew to 
 his friend, and supported him in his arms 
 with agonizing terror. They were now 
 surrounded by some persons from the 
 house they had quitted, and the wound- 
 ed man was instantly conveyed thither. 
 He was for some time speechless, and 
 evidently mortally wounded. At length 
 he beckoned his friend to him, and with 
 much difficulty articulated : *'As a dying 
 man, answer me one question : How came 
 Louisa with you?'' " Terrified as she 
 was by the storm, I flew to her succour, 
 and was conveying her to her father's 
 house ; I thought not of supplanting you, 
 Fitzosborne, if you love her." '' O Jerning- 
 ham ! Jerningham! but three words, */ 
 succoured Louisa $' and we had both 
 
 been
 
 SIR WM. JERNIXGHAM. IS 
 
 been happy ; I had thanked you ; but 
 now — O mercy ! mercy ! God forgive 
 me ! Let me once more embrace my 
 friend : dear, dear Jerningham, had you 
 spared yourself — me, this crime. — You 
 bleed too ! wretched beings ! O God for- 
 give us I'' He sunk down to rise no 
 more. 
 
 The wretched survivor fell insensible 
 by his side, and was dragged from the 
 corpse of his friend^ when a piercing 
 shriek roused him from the momentary 
 ease of insensibility. It was Louisa, in a 
 state of frantic despair. She fell on the 
 body and uttered the most agonizing la- 
 mentations ; till all power of utterance, 
 all sense of perception fled. 
 
 The wretched Jerningham recovered his 
 senses to experience a state of mind not 
 to be described. He refused to have his 
 Vv^ound dressed, and called on death to 
 release him from his misery : until, quite 
 exhausted, he was conveyed in a fainting 
 state to the nearest inn ; where, though 
 
 under
 
 14 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 under the best advice that could be 
 procured, his life was long despaired of. 
 A high fever, with frequent delirium, 
 and the alarming state of his wound 
 offered but few hopes of his ultimate 
 recovery. 
 
 Sir Wm. once told Lady Jerningham, 
 " That no words could ever describe the 
 horrors of his state of mind for a very 
 considerable time ; no heavenly consola- 
 tion, no assisting grace : — how should a 
 murderer raise his hands to his God l" 
 Cutting, but unavaihng remorse, pursued 
 him night and day. ** When I felt," said 
 he, ** the cold arms of my once-loved 
 friend grasping my neck in convulsive 
 agonies, with joy would I have given a 
 right arm to save him from death ; to save 
 myself from the bitter sorrow, w hich must 
 in a degree, pursue me to the last hour 
 of my life. I was at first conscious of 
 acting uprightly; why did I not openly 
 avow it? Detested, latent resentment I 
 abhorred pride ! where are ye now ? 
 
 *' Noble
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 15 
 
 '* Noble, generous, but impetuous Fitz- 
 osborne : had we but in the first period 
 of coldness calmly sought an explanation ; 
 had we acted with openness and candour, 
 we might now have been happy." Alas ! 
 in vain are we by early sacred rites, called 
 Christians ; in vain do our tender and 
 watchful mothers endeavour early to stifle 
 anger and resentment in our little breasts, 
 and to inculcate forbearance, and endur- 
 ance of petty affronts, if the false pride 
 of a corrupted world is to sanction and 
 term gentlemanly, acts of violence and 
 murder. After a period of distressing sus- 
 pense to the family of Mr. Jerningham, 
 an abatement of the extremely irritable 
 symptoms allowed them some flattering 
 hopes of recovery : but reduced to the 
 greatest debility of mind and body, and 
 apparently insensible to their kindness 
 and hopes, it was thought necessary to 
 try continual change of scene ; and his 
 anxious friends long wandered with him 
 
 from
 
 15 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 from place to place, in an almost hope- 
 less pursuit of that peace of mind, and 
 health of body, which seemed for ever 
 fled. 
 
 Louisa Courtenay, deeply attached to 
 Fitzosborne; stung, perhaps, with a pain- 
 ful consciousness of the versatile levity 
 with which she had resigned so valuable a 
 heart as Jerningham's, sunk into a state 
 of melancholy stupor, which falling upon 
 a tender constitution, terminated in a de- 
 cline, and carried her off in less than a 
 twelvemonth; leaving her parents over- 
 whelmed with grief and remorse, that they 
 had precipitately rejected an estimable 
 man, because he was not then possessed 
 of an independent fortune, 
 
 O craving love of wealth ! eagerness 
 for worldly distinctions and parade ! how 
 do you reward your devoted followers ? 
 frequently with the entire disappointment 
 of all their worldly views, and not seldom 
 by rendering the completion of them 
 their greatest punishment. Then have 
 
 they
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 17 
 
 they acknowledged, with unavailing re* 
 gret, that moderation and simplicity in 
 their wishes would have secured to them 
 and their offspring, the most heartfelt 
 comfort and happiness. It was about 
 this period, that the eldest son of 
 Sir Thomas Jerningham, an extrava- 
 gant and dissipated young man, died 
 abroad, where he had been long a ram*- 
 bier. Their grief for his death was con- 
 siderably diminished by the sorrow he 
 had caused them in his life, by his pur- 
 suit of fashionable vices, crowned by 
 fashionable disregard to religion, and to 
 his parents. Their now^ eldest and most 
 amiable son, languishing for two years 
 under a most alarming state of weakness, 
 chanced to pass a few weeks at the house 
 of his uncle, in company with a ^liss 
 Gower, and her aunt, Mrs. Cooper. Ap- 
 prized as this young lady had been of Mr. 
 Jerningham's peculiar circumstances, her 
 tenderest compassion was already his; 
 and the intelligent, and touching melan- 
 choly
 
 18 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 choly diffused over his character, did not, 
 upon acquaintance, lessen her feelings of 
 soft sympathy. Maria was not a stranger 
 to sorrow : she was not one of those un- 
 fortunate mortals, whom a long course of 
 prosperity had rendered either unfeeling 
 or trifling. The sudden death of a young 
 gentleman, to whom, with the approving 
 consent of her friends, she was soon to 
 have been united, had, at nineteen, taught 
 her a sensible lesson of the precarious- 
 ness of all human expectations. She was 
 now twenty-two, and though she had long 
 since apparently recovered her cheerful- 
 ness ; yet she possessed and enjoyed her 
 remaining blessings with ^ that chastened 
 and subdued sense of their fleeting nature, 
 which, to sensible minds, lent an inex- 
 pressible charm to her whole exterior. 
 That a degree of friendly sympathy should 
 arise betv»'een the two minds last spoken 
 of, will not appear extraordinary to many 
 persons; frequentopportunities of familiar 
 conversation naturally occurred, and in 
 
 one,
 
 SIR WM« JEHNINGHAM. 19 
 
 one, in which Mr. Jerningham seemed dis- 
 tantly to touch upon his state of mind, he 
 chanced to observe Miss Gower's eye 
 filled with tears. She soon discovered 
 that he laboured under the painful op- 
 pression of a burthened mind. From 
 tenderness to his distressed friends, he 
 had smothered within his breast that 
 corroding sense of his own misfortune, 
 and its dreadful consequences, which con- 
 stantly pursued him. 
 
 Every tender attention he received 
 from his parents; but they were not 
 aware that freely opening the heart, at 
 its own time, and in its own way, was ab- 
 solutely necessary to its ultimate peace, 
 in order to 
 
 " Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which hangs about the heart." 
 
 Miss Gower's was a character of that 
 simple dignified excellence, and strength 
 of mind, that ventured to act by its own 
 
 pure,
 
 so EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 pure and good impulses, unconscious 
 of design, and heedless of trifling ob- 
 servation. In some rides which they took 
 together, she encouraged him to speak 
 freely of the painful feelings which 
 oppressed him ; she heard him patiently, 
 and occasionally poured into his mind 
 the healing balm of religious consola- 
 tion. 
 
 She took some pains to convince him 
 that there was even no series of errors for 
 which, under a sincere repentance, an 
 humble Christian might not hope for 
 pardon : still more, this one offence, 
 which had been followed by contrition so 
 deep. That continued and wasting sorrow 
 was, in such cases, of itself, an offence ; 
 particularly where the peace of beloved 
 relatives hung upon his returning health 
 and comfort. Actuated by the purest 
 compassion, she was the more earnest 
 and eloquent in her expressions ; and the 
 amendment in the looks and manners 
 of the invalid were visible to every one ; 
 
 perhaps
 
 SIR WM JERyiXGHAar. 21 
 
 perhaps it was not unsuspected by some, 
 that a sentiment softer than friendship, 
 more powerful than reason, was afford- 
 ing its healing balm to his wounded 
 heart This was observed with smiling 
 complacency by his hi^therto anxious 
 parents; but unthought of by .his fair 
 friend, since his once languid and wasted 
 appearance afforded no sanguine hopes 
 that he would long be an inhabitant of 
 this world. 
 
 During a walk on the lawn before the 
 house, previous to the departure of the 
 Jerninghams from Norton Grove, Maria 
 said with her genuine frankness, ** I hope, 
 Sir, the good effect of our friendly con- 
 versation will not be lost by your de- 
 parture; but that you will carry with you 
 resolutions to continue your efforts for 
 regaining a tranquil and cheerful state of 
 mind : then, and then only may your 
 anxious parents hope to see you again 
 restored to health." 
 
 "Could
 
 2!2 EARLY HISTORY, StC. 
 
 *' Could I but carry with me the con- 
 tinued prescriptions of my most kind 
 physician," said Jerningham, taking her 
 hand, as bidding her farewel, " I might, 
 indeed, hope much. Dearest Miss Gower, 
 what are my obligations to you ! may I 
 be allowed to add to them ? Will you per- 
 mit me, if my heart is still oppressed, to 
 write to you once or twice ?'* 
 
 After a little pause — " To refuse," said 
 she, "such a request, after what has 
 passed, might seem inconsistent and un- 
 feeling. 
 
 '* My best wishes. Sir, go with you, 
 for a complete recovery. I feel for, ad- 
 mire, and honour your mother." She 
 entered the house, and the Jerningham 
 family drove off. 
 
 It is rather an old observation, that pity 
 is nearly allied to love ; but not the less 
 true for that Our young invalid very 
 soon found his heart so oppressed^ that 
 it was absolutely necessary to unburthen 
 
 it
 
 MAl^RIAGE. 23 
 
 it to his fair physician ; and a long letter, 
 full of expressions of gratitude and ac- 
 knowledgments of obligation, concluded 
 with a pretty clear avowal of love. It 
 was now that Maria first began to suspect 
 that a feeling, still more eloquent than 
 friendship, had insinuated itself with her 
 pity, and given energy and persuasion to 
 her words. 
 
 It was not long before a frank acknow- 
 ledgment w^as obtained from her, of an 
 anxious interest in the recovery of her 
 patient. 
 
 In the course of a month, she was 
 induced, together with her respectabk 
 aunt, to pass some time at the Hall; 
 where the happy parents of her lover 
 obtained from her a promise, that upon 
 the hoped-for reinstatement of his health, 
 she would rejoice the whole family by 
 making herself one of it. In less than a 
 a twelvemonth, this happy event took 
 place, amidst tranquil smiles, and heart- 
 felt
 
 24 MARRIAGE. 
 
 fjlt gratitude to Providence for the inter* 
 vention of so sweet and salutary a phy- 
 sician. 
 
 . I must close niy enormous packet, an 
 opportunity offering to forward it. 
 
 7odii^-" Adieu, dearest Madam, 
 
 A. S.
 
 S5 EARLY HISTORY, &:C. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE EARLY HIS- 
 TORY OF SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 
 
 WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. — FAMILY 
 OF SIR WILLIAM JERNINGHAM. 
 
 MRS. Montague's letters. — fa- 
 mily ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 May 11. 
 
 After what I have communicated to 
 my dear aunt, she is, I hope, anxious 
 for further particulars of this amiable 
 family in former days^ I have collected 
 another budget 
 
 A touching and very pleasing little 
 anecdote* was connected at no distant 
 
 * A circumstance, almost exactly similar to this, 
 occurred in the family of a most respectable Baronet, 
 now in the India direction, upan the marriage of a 
 worthy son with an amiable woman, both then very 
 young. It was given to the Editor by a friend, who 
 was so happy as to pass some days with the young 
 couple at the house of a mutual friend. 
 
 VOL. I, c period
 
 26 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 period with the marriage of the young 
 couple. When their future place of 
 residence became the question, Sir Tho- 
 mas said, with affecting paternal tender- 
 ness, *^ This is the only unpleasant cir- 
 cumstance, my William, attending this 
 joyful event. I cannot bear to think of 
 another home : you have been so long 
 our inmate and friend, that we know not 
 how to give you up, even into the hands 
 of so excellent a nurse. Besides, I fear, 
 the proportion of fortune I can at present 
 conveniently allot you, will not command 
 all those liberal comforts which you still 
 require: carriages, horses, &c. Could 
 you be happy to live with me for a 
 twelvemonth, and then make your choice 
 for the future?" 
 
 '* Could I be happy to live with you, 
 Sir? Could I be happy to leave you, after 
 the multiplied kindnesses I have receiv- 
 ed, and the anxiety you have so long 
 suffered ? Should I not present you with 
 the first fruits of my brightening days ?" 
 
 Maria
 
 SIR WM* JERXIXGHAM. 2/ 
 
 Maria warmly seconded him, and Lady 
 Jerningham, her eyes glistening with 
 tears, and pressing her husband's hand, 
 said, *' We shall all now be happy : no 
 cruel farewells to damp our joy. Most 
 cheerfully passed a twelvemonth with this 
 united family ; at the end of which time, 
 Sir Thomas, one day, when they were all 
 together, said, *'You have now, my dear 
 children, gone through the prescribed 
 time to gratify my wishes ; you are now 
 free to make your farther election, and 
 gratify yourselves." 
 
 "I hope, dear Sir," said Maria, her 
 eyes filling with tears, *' that no thought- 
 less inadvertency of our's has brought so 
 very exactly to your remembrance this 
 period; can we ever be more happy? 
 Will you banish us?" *' No, my sweet 
 and skilful physician," said the good 
 baronet, kissing bis daughter's hand : 
 **have you not, with the blessing of 
 God, diffused serene cheerfulness through- 
 out our mansion: would I banish you 
 c S from
 
 28 EARLY HISTORT OF 
 
 from it ?" Tears of affection were 
 almost general, and no more was said 
 of parting. 
 
 Nearly a year after this, Mr. Jerning- 
 ham became, by the death of an uncle, 
 possessed of a good estate, and a neat 
 house, in a neighbouring county. He had 
 too much delicacy to make this the signal 
 for quitting the paternal roof, where he 
 had experienced so much affectionate 
 goodness ; and it was not till after the 
 birth of his second child that they deter- 
 mined upon residing on this estate, under 
 a promise to spend half the year at the 
 Hall. 
 
 Upon the lamented death of Sir Tho- 
 mas Jerningham, some years after this, 
 very little alteration appeared to take place 
 in the family arrangements, only that the 
 young baronet and his wife passed more 
 of the year at Jerningham Hall, where the 
 dowager and her daughters still resided, 
 than they formerly had done. *' Never,'* 
 said Sir William, *' shall a mother of 
 
 mine
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM, 29 
 
 mine, have a home to seek upon so 
 afflicting a stroke ; never shall she, with 
 my permission, quit a mansion which she 
 has so long graced and dignified by her 
 virtues and excellence. The dowager had 
 her separate apartments, on a compact 
 scale, and mixed with their company only 
 when perfectly agreeable to herself. She 
 lived respected and happy ; and died be- 
 loved and lamented, in the bosom of her 
 family. 
 
 How is it that the old and the young so 
 seldom live pleasantly together ? Is it that 
 the former assume too frequently the privi- 
 lege of dictating and preaching to those 
 not half their age ; and that the latter are 
 unwilling to conform, or even to listen pa- 
 tiently to the advice of those, who certain- 
 ly must have experience on their side? Is 
 it owing to the young being too eager in 
 the pursuit of trifling pleasures ; and the 
 old too ready to condemn all pleasure, as 
 a reprehensible mode of occupying any 
 of their time? I am inclined to think 
 3 that
 
 50 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 that an intimate association of the two 
 classes >yould tend to promote, in the one, 
 more domestic habits ; and in the other, 
 a greater degree of cheerfulness. 
 
 A society consisting of many elderly 
 and infirm persons, might be apt to 
 dwell too much upon the increasing de- 
 pravity of the present times ; and to con- 
 tend with each other for the superemi- 
 nence in infirmities, sorrow, and various 
 discomforts : whilst a multitude of young 
 persons collected together, produce often, 
 it must be confessed, a superabundance 
 of frivolity and impertinence, to say no 
 worse. It is from some such cause, I 
 imagine, that the most good-humoured 
 old persons are those who delight in the 
 company of the young : whilst the most 
 amiable young people are generally such 
 as have passed their chief time with re- 
 spectable elders Some writer has said, 
 (I forget who,) ^'Nothing has a better 
 influence upon the disposition and cha- 
 racter of a young person, than living much 
 
 in
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 31 
 
 in the company of those they respect. Ex- 
 clusive of the improvement he is likely to 
 receive from such society, he is accus- 
 tomed to self-control, and self-restraint; 
 and habitually relinquishes the indul- 
 gence of many bad habits and trifling 
 ways, which the constant society of his 
 equals in age and knowledge would only 
 foster and encourage." 
 
 Lady Jerningham said to me one day, 
 that she thought she never was more 
 happy than during the two years, or more, 
 in which she lived with the parents of her 
 husband. His improving health and cheer- 
 fulness ; the grateful and lively tenderness 
 of his once afflicted parents; freedom 
 from family cares ; the birth of her two 
 first treasures ; all was harmony and joy. 
 •—She also, in a conversation, which I 
 had with her yesterday, said, '' It w^ould 
 be incomprehensible to any common 
 mind, how much the early trials and 
 sorrows of Sir William, my sense of 
 them, and our mutual feelings on the 
 c 4 subject,
 
 32 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 subject, have tended to raise, and, as it 
 were, sublime our mutual tenderness, 
 and to lead to many exquisite feelings of 
 gratitude and complacency, unknown to 
 the prosperous attainers of their wishes : 
 though, I must freely confess, that at 
 times, my painful sense of his occasional 
 sorrows, has nearly thrown me into the 
 same dejected state. Still this has always 
 tended to increase our affection. Let 
 two persons, who apparently love in a 
 common degree, experience a mutual 
 affliction, and they will be more closely 
 drawn together in mutual tenderness, ex- 
 cluding bad conduct and recrimination 
 from my calculation. When I see my 
 dear Sir William's manly brow occasion- 
 ally overcast by the inward trouble of his 
 mind ; is there a sacrifice which I would 
 not make, to brighten and cheer it ? Is 
 there a blessing, except conscious in- 
 tegrity, which I would not resign, to 
 restore to his feeling mind that uncloud- 
 ed sunshine, which can alone result from 
 
 the
 
 SIR "\VM. J EllX INGHAM. 33 
 
 the consciousness of never having injtired 
 a fellow-being?" 
 
 There is in the character of Lady 
 Jerningham the most charming mixture 
 of sensibiUty and fortitude, I think, I ever 
 met with. Full of the tenderest and 
 kindest feelings, it is not necessary that 
 those feelings should be spread on the 
 exterior, in order to gain the love and at- 
 tention of those with whom she is con- 
 nected ; on the contrary, the finest emo- 
 tions are often concealed under a calm 
 and smiling demeanour, and nothing short 
 of intimate knowledge and observation 
 can discern the many tendernesses that 
 frequently occupy her mind ; it is by her 
 countenance and actions, not by her 
 words, that they are discoverable; and 
 surely, she has the most speaking coun- 
 tenance, the most expressive, though 
 soft eye, I ever observed. 
 
 She is not a woman of very many 
 
 words; she is not an haranguer, not an 
 
 arguer, not a decider : but her conversg.- 
 
 c 5 tion 
 
 *="-
 
 34 EARLY HISTORY OF 
 
 tion in a small party, and, most particu- 
 larly, with one chosen friend, is de- 
 lightfully interesting. It is the rich flow 
 of an enlightened and feeling mind, un- 
 adulterated by the false varnish of the 
 world ; thinking for itself; unenslaved by 
 false prejudices. 
 
 Lady Jerninghara is altogether elegant 
 and attractive in person and manners : she 
 has more than the remains of beauty; 
 though not of juvenile beauty, yet that 
 of dignity and expression : her talents 
 are of a superior class, but meekly 
 worn. 
 
 A neat and genteel negligence of out- 
 ward decoration marks a mind occupied 
 with something superior to ornament. 
 Her manners to her husband are plea- 
 santly obliging, and cheerfully compla- 
 cent. A little instance of their tender, 
 yet regulated affection, occurred the other 
 day, I am inclined to think, unobserved 
 by any one but myself Sir William, as 
 I before mentioned, has never recovered 
 
 that
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 35 
 
 that State of firm health, and unclouded 
 cheerfulness, which he once enjoyed : but 
 is subject to nervous tremors, aud uneasy 
 sensations in miscellaneous conversation, 
 if it happen to bear towards one subject, 
 which occasions him sometimes to leave 
 the room : but it is the established rule 
 that these exits are never to be noticed. 
 One evening, in a small party, the late 
 dreadful duel, in which one friend fell by 
 the pistol of another, became, unfortu- 
 nately, the subject of discussion. Lady 
 J. was visibly uneasy; and Sir William 
 changed colour, and, after a little time, 
 left the room. Poor Lady J. became 
 entirely absent ; her eyes anxiously fixed 
 upon the door. In order to give a turn 
 to the conversation, I spoke of the last 
 elopement of a wife from a fond husband, 
 and sweet young family. All mouths 
 were opened to furnish various aggravat- 
 ing particulars, very unnecessarily ; and 
 the murderer of his friend was for- 
 gotten in the seducer of his friend's wife. 
 c6 At
 
 56 WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. 
 
 At length Sir William returned, with 
 a little book in his hand ; he passed be- 
 hind Lady J.'s chair, and in answer to 
 her anxious inquiring looks, said in a 
 low voice, ** Better, my love;" her coun- 
 tenance again brightened. " What have 
 you got there, Sir William ?" " Some- 
 thing which I meant to have put into 
 your hands this morning, Maria; a book 
 with which I have been much pleased 
 and interested : * The World Without 
 
 Souls-' '' O," said Captain R , " I 
 
 have heard it is a stupid methodistical 
 work, written by one of the saints, as 
 they believe themselves to be, who do 
 nothing but find fault with people of 
 spirit and fashion, because they amuse 
 themselves; and infer from thence that 
 they have no souls." Sir William. — " If 
 we can prove that he finds fault without 
 reason, he is certainly much to blame; 
 but if the restless pursuit of pleasure can 
 be used as an argument for his hypothesis, 
 I fear we should find it very difficult to 
 
 prove
 
 WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. 37 
 
 prove the right which that class possess 
 to the immortal spark." " A mere cant- 
 ing methodist," said the Captain, " who, 
 not being able to enjoy any pleasure him- 
 self, is determined that no one else shall." 
 ** I must confess," rejoined Sir William, 
 *' that I have not found any methodistical 
 doctrine in this book, but, on the con- 
 trary, very rational and temperate sen- 
 timents on religion; and much solid ob- 
 servation upon the present prevailing 
 manners. It appears to me to be the 
 production of a mind, rich in right prin- 
 ciple, and fine feeling. The story of 
 M 's sister, the piteous victim of fa- 
 shionable depravity, is beautifully told: 
 her penitent sense of her own crime, the 
 awful and consolatory moments they 
 passed together previous to her decease,, 
 come from, and go to the heart/' His 
 voice altered. ** Give us," said Lady 
 J. (taking the book from him, and 
 pressing his hand in the action) *'a cheer^ 
 ful part of your book," " I will — the 
 
 happy
 
 38 WOULD WITHOUT SOULS. 
 
 happy union of a truly estimable young 
 man, to a young woman with a soul; a 
 soul intent on virtue ; on the wonders 
 and beauties of creation. They are repre- 
 sented as situated amongst the grand and 
 sublime scenery of Switzerland, where, 
 the author adds, ' I do not, however, say 
 that the visitations of sorrow were not 
 felt by them : it met them indeed in tears, 
 but without a frown; and was meant, 
 therefore, not to chastise, but to improve 
 them.' Again, * I know no man, who, like 
 
 M , could thus sanctify misfortunes. 
 
 * There are,' he would say, * trees, which 
 we wound to obtain a balsam; the wound 
 is here inflicted, it is our's to extract 
 the medicine.' *' That simile pleases 
 me," said Lady J. " I do not recollect 
 to have met with it before.'* " Pshaw !" 
 said the Captain, ^' I have no patience 
 with those starch fellows, who will not 
 let any body be happy, because they are 
 not so themselves." *' Rather a serious 
 charge," said the baronet; *^ but, indeed, 
 
 if
 
 WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. 39 
 
 if we could prove that the earnest and 
 incessant pursuit of pleasure afforded 
 real enjoyment, it would be something 
 gained on the side of its votaries: but 
 from their frequent complaints, exhausted 
 spirits, and cheerless countenances, we 
 must conclude, that what we are habi- 
 tuated to call happiness, the active spring 
 of an intelligent mind, the full posses- 
 sion of all its various faculties and 
 powers, is far from being their's. Even 
 supposing us for a moment transported 
 to the world depicted in our little book ; 
 and the transporting thought of a glorious 
 futurity for an instant out of the question; 
 still, I believe, wearisome slavery is of- 
 tener the portion of the devotees of plea- 
 sure, than happiness ; and that what they 
 daily perform, if enjoined them as an 
 imperious duty, would seem the most 
 tyrannical of oppressions." The Captain 
 began whisding a tune. Sir William 
 was proceeding to delineate the happy 
 mixture of retirement, enlightened so- 
 ciety,
 
 40 FABIILY OF 
 
 ciety, and amusement, which give enjoy- 
 ment to life, when supper was brought 
 in ; much to the satisfaction of the Cap- 
 tain, who was as far inferior to his 
 antagonist in sentiment and argument, as 
 the latter might be to him in military 
 tactics. 
 
 The company divided, and miscella- 
 neous conversation occupied the remainder 
 of the evening. But I am just sensible 
 of my inaccuracy in falling into conversa- 
 tions and details, before I have brought 
 you acquainted with the w^hole of this fa- 
 mily. You must take the stream as it 
 flows. I must detail as I feel and re- 
 member. The family'of Sir William con- 
 sists of a dai^hter, a.t present in town 
 with an aunt, a son at the university, 
 two sweet girls at home, nearly grown 
 up, and two much younger. Selina is a 
 lovely, modest, promising young creature, 
 for so must I speak of a girl of eighteen, 
 whose character I do not consider as go 
 completely fixed, but th^^t an excep- 
 tionable
 
 SIR VrU. JERNINGHAM. 41 
 
 tionable connection, either in friendship 
 or marriage, may entirely undo former 
 good impressions. 
 
 Madame de Genlis says, ** A young 
 woman's education is only begun by her 
 mother ; it must be finished by her hus- 
 band, if she chance to marry young." 
 How few men are qualified, or inclined, to 
 add those finishing touches to goodness, 
 those confirmations of blossoming virtue, 
 which would tend to perfect the rising 
 character ! 
 
 Does not this idea afford a striking 
 conviction to mothers, of the extreme 
 importance of the character of the man 
 to whom they are willing to commit the 
 beloved child, they have carefully edu- 
 cated in the paths of virtue ? Selina is 
 the counterpart of her mother ; her whole 
 wish and endeavour seems to be to tread 
 in her steps : she inherits her peculiar 
 sweetness of countenance, and graceful- 
 ness of manner. Of the talents of a very 
 diffident girl, it would be difficult so soon 
 
 to
 
 42 FAMILY OF 
 
 to judge; the best presumption of her 
 possessing them, is a modest and ob- 
 serving silence. She is the coadjutor of 
 her mother in all her household arrange- 
 ments and charitable exertions, and many 
 intelligent looks and whispers pass be- 
 tween them : many a domestic arrange- 
 ment, or assistance to a deserving cot- 
 tager, passes through the medium of the 
 active but retiring Selina, I am unwill- 
 ing to allow Maria to be inferior, though 
 she is certainly of a very different cast of 
 character from her sister. Sprightly, 
 arch, intelligent ; of a more original turn 
 of mind ; her manners are pretty much 
 her own, and she must be good, and do 
 good in her own way. She is the delight 
 of her father, to whom she is warmly at- 
 tached: he calls her his agreeable rattle: 
 she rides with him, follows him about the 
 grounds; and brightens many an hour 
 which might otherwise be heavy. Lady 
 Jerningham sees with delight her own 
 wishes answered by the attractive spright- 
 
 liness
 
 SIR WM. JERNINGHAM. 43 
 
 liness of youth, and allows Maria consi- 
 derable freedom in her amusing sallies, 
 always preserving the check in her own 
 hand ; but not attempting to make her 
 like her sister, or any other person. 
 
 ** So as they are good and affection-^ 
 ate," she says, *' let them preserve the 
 charm of nature and originality." Maria 
 is not more than fifteen, but would pass 
 for more, certainly. Eliza and Sophia, 
 twelve and nine, are two sweet little girls, 
 promising all that is good and attrac- 
 tive. 
 
 May \4t. 
 
 After the interruption of a day or 
 two, I again resume my pen. Every fresh 
 discovery in this family affords fresh gra- 
 tification and delight to the observing 
 mind. Each of these young females has 
 adopted two or three old infirm women, 
 in or about the village, of whom she con- 
 siders
 
 44 FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS, 
 
 siders herself the guardian and com- 
 forter. She makes their caps, frequently 
 visits and reads to them, and if they are 
 sick, carries them wine or broth, and 
 takes care that they want not in their de- 
 clining years those comforts which a pa- 
 rish allowance cannot afford them. 
 
 I was walking yesterday on the skirts 
 of the park, when I heard a little voice, 
 which- 1 thought I knew, in a cottage, 
 the door of which was open. I stood 
 still, and through some very light foliage 
 plainly discerned Sophia reading to a 
 very old woman, and then talking, as if 
 endeavouring to explain some verse as it 
 had been explained to her, in the New 
 Testament. After a little while she 
 arose. *^ Well, ^ood bye, Betty, I must 
 go; Eliza is waiting for me." *' Good 
 bye, my sweet little lady," said the good 
 woman ; '* may God in heaven bless you, 
 and make you as happy as you are 
 good." 
 
 Our hours here are regular, and not 
 
 late ;
 
 FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS. 45 
 
 late ; a great source of comfort to people 
 who do not find time an insupportable 
 burthen. That devourer of useful and 
 valuable hours, an uncertain breakfast 
 as to commencement and duration, is 
 unknown here. Nine is the hour, and 
 you may depend upon finding some of 
 the elder females at that time. 
 
 Until ten is allowed for this meal, and 
 if any of her guests should not chance to 
 be ready, and accomodated by that time, 
 Lady Jerningham retires, leaving a daugh- 
 ter to preside. She cannot, she says, for 
 months together, give up the best part of 
 the day to lounging attendance on others. 
 An hour or two after breakfast she passes 
 with her two youngest daughters, though 
 she has a young person, who is called a 
 governess. I peeped into their school- 
 room up stairs one day. They were 
 reading round a table, with a large globe 
 in the middle. History and geography 
 united were the business of the day. 
 
 We have a pleasant morning room up 
 
 stairs,
 
 46 MRS. Montague's letters. 
 
 stairs, called the ladies' library, where 
 we assemble about the middle of the day, 
 if not otherwise engaged, and generally 
 peruse some interesting work together, 
 the two elder girls being of our party. 
 
 We began reading yesterday the early 
 letters of the celebrated Mrs. Montague, 
 which I had heard highly praised. Hav- 
 ing some years since read her Essay on 
 the Genius and Writings of Shakspeare, 
 and some excellent letters of her's in Lord 
 Kaimes's Life, latterly, I cannot express 
 my surprise and disappointment in pe- 
 rusing these letters. Why will insatiate 
 editors, who call themselves the friends 
 of the deceased, lower their formerly ac- 
 quired good fame, by producing to the 
 world all their early frivolities and crudi- 
 ties? Is this friendship? Is it not 
 rather censurable, and the motive sus- 
 picious? Are the letters of a girl of 
 thirteen likely to increase the reputation 
 of a woman best known in her mature 
 and rational period ? These letters are 
 
 lively;
 
 MRS. MONTAGUES LETTERS. 47 
 
 lively ; but, if I may freely speak my 
 opinion, it is the liveliness of a pert 
 school-girl, who had been an assiduous 
 reader of novels and trash; and had 
 unfortunately got the reputation of a wit: 
 one of the most mischievous circum- 
 stances that can happen to a young lady. 
 There are in these letters, some iedeco- 
 rous allusions to holy rvrit; and some 
 jokes and expressions, which /should not 
 have expected from a young lady's pen. 
 We are promised many more volumes of 
 these letters — but greatly is it to be la- 
 mented that half of these two had not 
 been withheld. When a woman is so 
 eminently exalted as Mrs. Montague 
 certainly was for many years, it is a 
 most unfriendly act to lower her, by 
 producing the ebullitions of an early 
 childish wit, a failing, which time would 
 of itself correct. 
 
 Lady Jerningham and I, after reading a 
 few of the letters, looked at one another, 
 and agreeing that it was not an interesting 
 
 book,
 
 48 FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 book, put it aside. Maria pleaded for 
 a little farther trial, being amused with 
 the sprightly style of the book; but her 
 mother having a reason for her decision, 
 was immoveable. 
 
 May 18. 
 
 I HAVE discovered another pretty ar- 
 rangement in this family. Last Saturday 
 morning, I observed the two youngest 
 girls came in after breakfast, and call 
 away their two sisters with smiling ear- 
 nest impatience. Lady Jerningham did 
 not follow them, but talked of retiring to 
 write. 
 
 ** There is some delightful scheme of 
 pleasure," said I, in agitation; "where are 
 these young folks going?" " Why, if I 
 must disclose family secrets," said Lady 
 J. " Saturday is a complete holiday, 
 which they are allowed to employ in 
 
 working
 
 FAMILY ARHANGEMENTS. 49 
 
 working for their poor neighbours.* We 
 shall hardly see them until dinner-time. 
 A stock of coarse and cheap materials 
 is laid in wholesale, and old things are oc- 
 casionally put into their stock; and they 
 cut out and make various articles of appa- 
 rel, chiefly for little children, which they 
 have the pleasure of giving them when 
 wanted. This is not the least happy 
 day of the week, and may be considered 
 as a pleasant step to Sunday. It ge- 
 nerally ends in a few visits together to 
 the village. 
 
 ** Their little snug room, up-stairs, is 
 vei'y comfortably adapted to their employ- 
 ment; a wardrobe and drawers containing 
 working implements, &c When they 
 
 * The adoption of exactly such a plan was wit- 
 nessed by the Editor, nearly twenty years ago, in a fa- 
 mily; and the delight in the contemplation of their 
 winter stock of clothing, expressed by two sweet 
 young creatures, now in eternal blessedness, can never 
 be erased from the Editor's mmd. 
 
 VOL. t. D are
 
 50 FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 are gone out on their rambles, we will 
 pay it a visit: to break in upon them 
 now would quite discompose and em- 
 barrass them." 
 
 *' Happy mortals!" said I to myself, 
 ** here is the true enjoyment of life. 
 Religion, progressive knowledge, active 
 benevolence, regularity, family affection, 
 all yield their charming and enlivening 
 comforts. Who that has ever tasted 
 these blessings, can take up with inferior 
 and vague pleasures?" 
 
 Adieu, dearest Madam, 
 
 A, S. 
 
 CHAR
 
 SIR JOHN JEHU. 51 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 SIR JOHN JEHU.— ^FILIAL OBEDIENCE. 
 MRS. CARTER. — MR. JERNINGHAM, 
 
 May 24. 
 
 One morning last week, we were com- 
 fortably settled in our up-stairs library, 
 reading, drawing, working, &c. wlien the 
 little Sophia came running in, apparently 
 terrified, and clinging to her mother, ex- 
 claimed, ** O dear mamma, I am so fright- 
 ened ! there is a nasty coachman — a great 
 noisy vulgar fellow — he must be drunk — 
 crossing the hall; I saw him! and he is 
 coming up stairs, I believe. Pray, ring 
 the bell, or bolt the door. I heard him 
 from our window swearing, and talking 
 in such a manner, it made me tremble, 
 about his horses ; abusing the other ser- 
 vant, because they were hot, and swore 
 he'd cut his head off, if he answered him 
 D 2 a word* 
 
 yNfVERSITV Of 
 iLLINOIS LIBHARiC
 
 52 SIR JOHN JEHU, 
 
 a word. Then he stalked into the house. 
 T)o, pray, mamma, bolt the door." Lady 
 J. arose to ring the bell, when the door 
 suddenly opened, and the butler an- 
 nounced Sir John and Miss Jehu. Two 
 figures entered, of which I would defy 
 any one, at first glance, to say which was 
 the lady, and which the gentleman. 
 
 They were both clothed in long box- 
 coats, half-boots, and stout beaver hats ; 
 only one of the figures had its hat ofi', the 
 other on its head : but after a short salu- 
 tation, not easily described, the latter 
 saying ** *Tis deuced hot !" took its hat 
 
 off, and laid it on the table. " O c d 
 
 hot," said the former, ** now the sun's out! 
 
 But the d 1 take that jade, Fidget, 
 
 she's all of a muck,'' The young ladies 
 looked at the female figure, wondering if 
 he meant her. ^^ She frets herself to 
 death, while Slouch comes in cool as a 
 cucu7nber ; and the two leaders as fresh 
 as a rose. But 'tis all my d d coach- 
 man's fault, for curbing her too tight; and 
 
 if
 
 SIR JOHN JEHU. 53 
 
 if he ever does so again, I'll cut him to 
 pieces, by — !'' *' Nay, Jack, 'tis all your 
 own fault: for you know, you went tickle, 
 tickle, all the way with your whip, and 
 kept the poor beast on the fret." '* You 
 lie, Bess, confoundedly ! You know 
 about as much how to manage a horse, 
 as that child there." Poor Sophia shrunk 
 behind her mother's chair, and seemed 
 to meditate an escape. The young lady 
 rejoined, ** If I did not know better how 
 to manage a horse than you do, hang me 
 if ever I'd mount one again !'' *' Well, 
 
 I'll be c d if you shall not drive 
 
 home; — and I'll take care they shall all 
 fret enough !" in a low voice. 
 
 " But what do you all do pent up here, 
 such a fine day for driving ? My beasts 
 are not taken off; come, one of these 
 young ladies shall mount the box with 
 me, and I'll put Bess into the tub." '' O 
 yes, with your nasty greyhounds! — it 
 smells like a dog kennel." 
 
 " These young ladies do not mount 
 D 3 boxes :
 
 *4 SIR JOHN JEHU, 
 
 boxes; and they are now otherwise en- 
 gaged ;" said Lady J. ** O stuff!" said 
 the baronet. '* I'll halloo to my scoun- 
 drels to drive round," and was proceed- 
 ing to take the arm of Selina. Lady J. 
 arose, with some dignity; '* I beg you 
 will be seated, Sir John. If the young 
 tadies wish to go out, there is the interior 
 of a carriage for them." *' O, hang it, 
 that's de-uced dull. — But how is the old 
 boy ?" After a minute's pause : " I don't 
 exactly comprehend you, Sir John." — The 
 old baronet, where is he ?" — " If you 
 mean Sir William Jerningham, he has 
 rode out." Maria began tittering, when 
 her mother looked at her rather with 
 severity, and she instantly suppressed her 
 inclination to risibility. 
 
 Happily for us all, Sir John wanted to 
 see how Fidget and Slouch went on, 
 and ringing the bell : *^ Tell my fellows 
 to drive round." In a short time they 
 marched out of the room. We remained 
 for a little time fixed in mute atonish- 
 
 ment :
 
 SIR JOHX JEHU. 55 
 
 ment: the young ladies looked at their 
 mother, as if expecting a long and amus- 
 ing comment upon the curious pair ; but 
 she seemed too much shocked and dis- 
 composed, readily to find words. At 
 length, resuming her unaffected natural 
 gravity: ** It is really distressing to see one 
 who has some claim to be called a gen- 
 tleman, assume the manners and lan- 
 guage of the meanest coachman, or 
 groom : language, which were our coach- 
 man ever heard to use, he would cer- 
 tainly be dismissed with a reprimand. 
 But the lady ! — is to be considered as 
 the groom of her brother." 
 
 We were completely deranged and un- 
 settled in our occupations, and could not 
 easily resume them. ** Pi'ay, mamma," 
 said Selina, ** are there, among men of 
 fashion, many such characters as Sir 
 John?" " Not a few of that stamp, 
 though in different degrees of perfection. 
 Some turn into the gateway of an inn with 
 four in hand, better than others; and 
 B 4. some
 
 66 SIR JOHN JEHU. 
 
 some groom their own horses, I am told, 
 as capitally as if they had been bred in 
 a stable. Unfortunately, our young men 
 of fashion, tired, I imagine, of the insipid 
 character of a gentleman ; a distinction, 
 once so highly valued, as to be expressive 
 of every thing noble and right; have 
 taken a fancy to ape the lowest of their 
 servants, in dress, manners, and occupa- 
 tion. 
 
 " As it would be rather aukward for 
 master and man to be occasionally mis- 
 taken for each other, I do not see that 
 servants can do better than assume the 
 former manners and dress of gentlemen, 
 just to keep up the marked difference be- 
 tween them ; still receiving wages, and 
 behavincf rather better than their masters: 
 the complete change would soon be per- 
 fectly felt and understood, as the partial 
 one had been so long established." 
 
 " Cross over, change sides, figure in," 
 said Maria, taking three or four steps 
 across the room, and turning round, in 
 
 her
 
 SIR JOHN JEHU. 57 
 
 her lively manner, extending her arms 
 and shoulders, to shake off the rust of 
 her late company, as she said. " I 
 thought, Maria," said Lady Jerningham, 
 ** you seemed amused with the baronet's 
 conversation." ** Amused ! mamma, I 
 was so vexed, mortified, and disgusted, 
 that if I had not begun to laugh, I be- 
 lieve I should have cried ; particularly 
 when he spoke in so rude a manner of 
 my dear papa." 
 
 '^ No particular disrespect, I appre- 
 hend, was meant to him : the common 
 manner of many young persons of spirit, 
 speaking of respectable and affectionate 
 parents, is, the old boy — the old girl* 
 
 Would 
 
 * There is a very amusing dialogue among Lord 
 Clarendon's Tracts, upon the respect due to age, 
 which sets this subject much farther back than we 
 in general refer. The opening of the regular argu- 
 ment, by B , the old lawyer, contains many state- 
 ments worthy the notice of the young, concerning 
 their inattention in society ; and the whole dialogue 
 D 5 i»
 
 58 FILIAL OBEDIENCE. 
 
 Would we wish to contemplate a striking 
 contrast to this style of expression, we 
 must turn to the memoirs and letters of 
 one or two hundred years back, when 
 every letter to a parent was begun and 
 ended with the most unequivocal expres- 
 sions of the most profound respect ; and 
 not only so, but the conduct of the child, 
 a married son perhaps, w-as regulated by 
 the same deep-rooted sentiments : they 
 considered themselves as amenable to 
 their parents ; and did not imagine they 
 could prosper in the world without de- 
 serving and obtaining their blessing."* 
 
 "Do 
 
 is rich in that strong and elevated strain of thinking, 
 'which characterized this great man. 
 
 Editor, 
 
 * I cannot resist the desire to add this letter so 
 illustrative of what has been advanced. 
 
 In the time of Elizabeth, Mr. Talbot, M.P. thus 
 writes to his father :^— " I have found out a sober 
 maiden to wait upon my wife, if it shall please your 
 liordship. As it behoves me, I have been very in- 
 quisitive
 
 FILIAL OBEDIENCE. 69 
 
 '^ Do you not think, Lady Jerning- 
 ham/' said I, "that some degree of stiff- 
 ness and awe adhered to those mannets; 
 and that we gain now in affectionate in- 
 timacy, what we lose in unvarying re- 
 spect?" Lady J. " I cannot flatter myself 
 that we do : I do not think that affection 
 is ever gained by the sacrifice of re- 
 spect, but quite the contrary. We can 
 
 quisitive of the woman, and truly I do repose in her 
 to be very modest, and such a one as I trust your 
 Lordship will not mislike. Her name is Margaret 
 Butler ; she is about twenty-seven years old ; not very 
 beautiful, but very cleanly in doing any thing. I 
 liumbly pray your Lordship to send me word whe- 
 ther I shall make shift to send her down presently, 
 for she is very desirous not to spend her time idly. 
 Thus, most humbly desiring your Lordship's blessing, 
 with my wonted and continual prayers for your Lord- 
 ship's preservation in all honour and health long to 
 continue, I end. 
 
 Your Lordship's most humble and 
 obedient Son, 
 1573, GILBERT TALBOT. 
 
 Editor. 
 
 p 6 never
 
 60 MRS. CARTER AND 
 
 never long continue to love without re- 
 specting also; and too much freedom 
 and familiarity, would, in time, under- 
 mine tlie tenderest friendship. By too 
 much familiarity, I mean, the want of 
 habitual politeness ; the inconsiderate 
 practice of bluntly speaking our minds 
 upon all occasions, and turning to ridi- 
 cule our best friends before common ac- 
 quaintances." 
 
 Sir William now entered from his ride, 
 and their mutual address and conversa- 
 tioa afforded a striking pattern of that 
 respectful, tender, and polite freedom of 
 manners, which must ever, between two 
 such estimable persons, preserve, undi- 
 minished, that rationally affectionate in- 
 tercourse, which is so delightful to every 
 observer. 
 
 Monday, May 26. 
 
 We have substituted the letters of 
 Mrs. Carter and Miss Talbot, for those 
 
 of
 
 MISS Talbot's letters. 61 
 
 of Mrs. Montague; and find them ex- 
 tremely interesting and instructive ; those 
 of Miss Talbot, in my opinion, the most 
 so. But in these, as in all collections, 
 about one half might be left out with ad- 
 vantage to the book. We had been read- 
 ing some of them on Saturday afternoon, 
 and I could not help observing to Sir 
 William, that in publishing the letters 
 of women of geniuS; it would be ad- 
 visable to select only such as would 
 support the reputation they had already 
 gained. " I agree with you," said he; 
 ^* but Mrs. Carter was not a woman of 
 genius." I appeared surprised. ** She 
 had the early and uncommon advantage 
 of receiving a classical education, which 
 she however attained with difficulty, and 
 at the expense of a complaint, owing to 
 her forcible exertions in keeping herself 
 awake, which tormented her during life. 
 She laboured through the translation of 
 a Greek author, very difficult to render 
 into English, with great credit, indeed, to 
 
 her
 
 62 MRS. CARTER AND 
 
 her knowledge of the original ; but she 
 was never a woman of quick parts, as 
 her biographer acknowledges." 
 
 Lady J . *^ The most meritorious part 
 of her character, in my opinion, was, 
 that with the taste for literature, which 
 she had early imbibed, she could patiently 
 encounter the dull employment of making 
 linen for her father and brothers; and 
 still more, that to relieve an aged father 
 from fatigue and interruption, she should 
 willingly undertake to conduct her bro- 
 ther through the wearisome paths of 
 school learning, which she herself had 
 long since passed; and qualify him to 
 undergo with credit, the usual examina- 
 tions of an university: foregoing her 
 pleasant visits to town, in order to ac- 
 complish this object. She was certainly 
 altogether a most respectable and esti- 
 mable woman, and prosperous and happy 
 throughout life. Early initiated into 
 the temple of learning, courted and sur- 
 rounded by persons of high literary repu- 
 tation,
 
 MISS Talbot's letters. 6S 
 
 tation, nay, patronized and enriched by 
 them ; enjoying peaceably to a very pro- 
 tracted period, a good fame, strength of 
 constitution, freedom from domestic trials 
 and troubles, she sunk into the grave, 
 happy and beloved/' 
 
 In turning over these letters, a passage 
 struck me as particularly useful for ap- 
 plication. 
 
 Mrs. Carter says, ^' I called upon an 
 acquaintance, who seems to be in a dying 
 state : she has harassed out a tolerably 
 good constitution by the fashionable ex- 
 travagance of late hours, and racketing 
 parties; and to which she had no tempt- 
 ation but custom ; nor any enjoyment, 
 but in performing the indispensable duties 
 of a fine lady. It would surely be useful 
 to endeavour to persuade people, that 
 there is but a determinate quantity of 
 spirits and strength assigned to their 
 
 share,
 
 64 MRS. CARTER AND 
 
 share, and if they will lavish these away 
 to unprofitable purposes, it is not to be 
 wondered that their assistance should 
 fail for their necessary duties, and rational 
 enjoyments." 
 
 This appears to me a valuable reflec- 
 tion to treasure up in the mind. How 
 many persons waste their purest spirits; 
 their early freshness ; the beginning of 
 every day, in trifling lounging ; miscel- 
 laneous chit-chat; idle visiting ; till the 
 mind, languid and exhausted, has no 
 energy left for any valuable exercise of 
 the faculties ; and thus passes life. 
 
 How highly expedient is it to dedicate 
 the prime of each day to some serious 
 and useful thoughts and employment. 
 Some enlargement of knowledge, some 
 exercise of the faculties ; then, and then 
 only, relaxation is a real enjoyment : even 
 a walk in the fields becomes a positive 
 pleasure. 
 
 Miss Talbot afterwards observes, that 
 wishing for leisure and retirement is no 
 
 sign
 
 MISS Talbot's letters. 65 
 
 sign of an unhappy mind ; for that mind 
 must have a source of joy within itself, 
 whose cares can be dispersed, and its 
 cheerfulness restored by solitude. Ask 
 the gay world, whether it is to be found 
 in their broken cisterns of perpetual dis- 
 sipation." 
 
 Mrs. Montague says in a letter to Lord 
 Kaimes: ** Perhaps there is not any 
 thing more delightful than passing from 
 the bustle of society, to the quiet of so- 
 litude ; unless it be the returning to so- 
 ciety, after having been long confined to 
 solitude. I m\[ own to your lordship, 
 that my transitions from one to the other 
 are very delightful to me. In a sweet 
 retirement I imagine the mind keeps time 
 to the music of the spheres: its move- 
 ments are not affected by prejudices or 
 bad examples ; but keep even and true 
 measure with its appointed duties. In 
 the bustle of the world, we are often im- 
 pelled to what is wrong, diverted from 
 what is right, and carried about in the 
 
 whirl
 
 66 MR. JERNINGHAM. 
 
 whirl of fashion, and predominant opi- 
 nion." 
 
 Mai/ 29. 
 
 Ouf family party is enlivened by the 
 company of a cousin of Sir William's, Mr. 
 Edward Jerningham, many years younger 
 than himself; not much beyond thirty, 
 I imagine. 
 
 It is early to form any judgmeijit of 
 him ; but there is much life, variety, and 
 originality, in his character, with a vein 
 of sly humour, and amusing volubility. 
 Of his principles, and habits of life, I 
 cannot possibly form any judgment. I 
 do not believe they are particularly 
 starch. (One of his own phrases.) 
 He seems half in awe of his elder cousin, 
 and greatly respects and admires Lady 
 J. I am told that he has greatly injured 
 a good estate ; and not much improved a 
 good constitution, by fashionable habits 
 
 of
 
 MR. JERNINGHAM. 67 
 
 of life. To me, he has the air of having 
 exhausted all the novelty and early charm 
 of life, without having substituted any 
 other interesting pursuits in their stead : 
 of not looking forward to any thing which 
 shall keep the mind pleasantly agitated, 
 and form an object and occupation to 
 its faculties. 
 
 For instance, if a man looks forward to 
 building a house, or settling with a fa- 
 mily; to select a library, or arrange a 
 collection of shells and fossils ; to write a 
 book, or to enlarge a piece of water, &c. 
 any one of these will keep his mind from 
 torpor : sometimes we see the pleasing 
 occupation of active benevolence form an 
 interesting variety, as many living cha- 
 racters I might name would testify : and, 
 perhaps, a more praise-worthy occupation 
 can scarcely be presented to the mind. 
 
 One or other of these objects is a re- 
 quisite to make a man happy: but a 
 woman — it is a very different thing with 
 her. A sort of appropriate business na- 
 turally
 
 6s MR. JER'NINGHAM. 
 
 turally fills up her tiaie. A young lady, 
 for instance, has various important en- 
 gagements, almost every morning, with 
 some other young lady; to prepare for 
 the evening's ball; continually to be al- 
 tering, snipping, and chipping her clothes, 
 according to the fashion of the last Belle 
 Assemblee : writinoj to about a dozen 
 particular friends ; and reading the two 
 or three last novels. To the elder ladies, 
 if not particularly engaged with a family, 
 newspapers, magazines, visiting, and cards, 
 are very pretty stop-gaps. " Got in one 
 of her pert moods," I think I hear my 
 good aunt say. Do you play cards 
 sometimes? Yes, to be sure; but then 
 your mornings are usually passed in 
 rational and solid pursuits. 
 
 One observation of Miss Talbot's upon 
 that subject, and I have done. 
 
 " You ask me, if I like cards ; I say no : 
 for myself, I do not; but in mixed com- 
 panies I reverence them, for people who 
 want something to do ; and for a mighty 
 
 harmless
 
 MR. JERN INGHAM. GQ 
 
 harmless good sort of people, who are 
 very cheerful and merry, without being 
 conversable." 
 
 I quote from memory, the idea pleased 
 me, I cannot answ^er for the words. 
 Ever, my dear aunt, 
 Your affectionate niece, 
 
 A. S. 
 
 CHAP,
 
 70 MRS, COOPER AND SON. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON. — ON THE 
 APPROPRIATION OF TIME. 
 
 June 2. 
 
 One inhabitant of Jerningham Hall, 
 and not the least respectable of them, is 
 an aunt of Lady Jerningham, who, in a 
 very infirm and precarious state of health, 
 has resided with them many years. The 
 trials that Mrs. Cooper has suffered, have 
 been singularly severe; and have been 
 borne in such a manner, as to furnish use- 
 ful and edifying lessons to all who are ac- 
 quainted with her history. Her sorrows 
 have softened and subdued her mind, but 
 not irritated it. They have rendered her 
 indifferent to the froth of life, but not to 
 its salutary beverage, nor to the delights of 
 friendship and benevolence. Long since 
 dead to its follies, she has a heart still 
 
 susceptible
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 71 
 
 susceptible of tenderness and attachment. 
 Alas ! how has that susceptibility been 
 tried ! how has that heart been probed ! 
 
 An early attachment occupied it for 
 the man she afterwards married : difficul- 
 ties and objections at first occured to her 
 friends, but were afterwards given up to 
 her steady regard for a man, very attrac- 
 tive in his person, manners, and conver- 
 sation ; and warmly devoted to her. 
 
 Mr. Cooper had much the advantage 
 of her in years, but not in stabihty of 
 character. He had quick parts ; a warm 
 heart ; but that regulation of mind, that 
 firm principle was wanting, which alone 
 can produce a character respectable in 
 itself, and conducive to happiness in its 
 near connections. Early habits of thought- 
 less extravagance, contracted by asso- 
 ciating with men much above him in rank 
 and fortune, had considerably embar- 
 rassed him. Cheerful and social, he was 
 occasionally influenced by every fool or 
 coxcomb with whom he made an acquain- 
 tance.
 
 72 MRS. COOPER AND SON* 
 
 tance. It was hoped, by his friends, that 
 tlie prudence of such a wife as he was 
 about to marry, might influence and 
 change his conduct, as well as amend his 
 fortune; but, long-continued bad habits 
 are powerful streams to struggle against. 
 Expensive equipages, elegant furniture, 
 sumptuous entertainments, were thought 
 but necessary honours to his beautiful 
 bride. These became permanent evils ; 
 and a lamentable inattention to his private 
 affairs, rendered him insensible how 
 deeply he was involving himself. Debts 
 were contracted ; and the accumulating 
 interest became a heavy burthen upon 
 his annual income. He was also full of 
 projects, adopting the schemes of every 
 visionary for the ultimate improvement, 
 but present depreciation of his property. 
 His estate was entailed; and when he 
 was blessed with a son, instead of such an 
 event proving a stimulus to him to regu- 
 late and retrieve his affairs, if possible, 
 he conceived the baneful project of cut- 
 ting,
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON^ 73 
 
 ting off the entail when he should come of 
 age, in order to sell a small estate, and to 
 restore to his wife the property which she 
 had insisted u])on giving up to his neces- 
 sities. 
 
 The company into which his social dis- 
 position had led him, had induced drink- 
 ing, among other destructive and bad 
 habits; his constitution became injured ; 
 his temper soured ; and the peaceful 
 delights of domestic life, the calm sweet- 
 ness of his wife, and the endearing live- 
 liness of his children, had no longer any 
 charms for him. 
 
 This amiable woman, in a few years, 
 too sensibly experienced that a man of 
 a feeling heart, and fascinating manners, 
 may, through the want of proper prin- 
 ciple, become gloomy, reserved, morose, 
 and joyless. 
 
 There were, I believe, some other se- 
 vere trials, which were hinted at by Lady 
 J. but not dwelt upon, out of delicacy to 
 this relation by marriage. He was very 
 
 VOL. I. E much
 
 74 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 
 
 much from home ; solid principles were 
 wanting ; early habits of dissipation are 
 powerful. The once highly-raised fabric 
 of domestic happiness, and confidence, 
 had sunk to the ground, and scarcely 
 could the unhappy wife discern the ruin. 
 Still her heart could not renounce its 
 former tenderness ; she could not forget 
 the sentiments with which she gave him 
 her hand ; nor could she ever hear him 
 enter his own house, after a long absence, 
 without feeling her heart beat strongly, 
 with sensations of delight Unable to 
 render him happy in himself, she pa- 
 tiently endured her own disappointed feel- 
 ings, and turned all her thoughts to the 
 care and education of her two childreji, 
 a girl and a boy ; and passed a few yeans 
 in some degree of happiness ; and most 
 amply did she hope to be rewarded by 
 their growing excellence. I would spare 
 myself the recital of the sorrows that 
 must follow. A lovely girl of seventeen, 
 formed to be all that is good and attractive, 
 
 was.
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 75 
 
 was, after an illness of ten days, snatched 
 from her by a fever. The afflicted mo- 
 ther had caught the disorder : grief and 
 sickness united, entirely deprived her of 
 her reason. For a long time, her life 
 was despaired of, and upon her gradual 
 recovery a distressing circumstance oc- 
 curred. All recollection of the death of 
 her daughter was fled ; but some con- 
 fused ideas occasioned her incessantly to 
 ask for her. Long did they evade her 
 inquiries; but were forced at length to 
 bring before her mind this afflicting fact. 
 The struggle was long and doubtful. 
 
 These deep afflictions probed, and re- 
 vived the long dormant feelings of Mr. 
 Cooper : could it be otherwise, if a spark 
 of affection remained ? As the common 
 joys of ease and security recede from us, 
 those of the finer feelings, of tenderness 
 and humanity, resume their power over 
 our hearts. It is in adversity that our 
 most exquisite and valuable sensations 
 are called forth and exercised. The dis- 
 £ 2 tressed
 
 76 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 
 
 tressed husband wept over his angelic 
 wife; and, with trembling tenderness, 
 watched her long doubtful, but at length 
 complete recovery. 
 
 A considerable change took place in 
 his manners and habits; their mutual 
 loss, her long and meekly-endured suffer- 
 ings, excited a fresh flow of tenderness 
 in his heart. 
 
 *^ Alas ! " said Mrs. Cooper to Lady J. 
 " that the loss of my darling offspring 
 should have been the source of a return 
 of tenderness from my William; but God 
 is merciful in his own wa}^, and often 
 substitutes one comfort for another. I 
 was thankful for the blessing, and highly 
 prized it; I also indulged myself with 
 strong hopes that my increased in- 
 fluence might prevail upon him to make 
 such curtailments and arrangements in 
 our mode of living, as might tend in 
 time to retrieve our affairs: but I was so 
 fearful and so apprehensive of interrupting 
 the peace and comfort we seemed to en- 
 joy,
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 77 
 
 joy, that the expected advantage was still 
 procrastinated. I feared to be too ur- 
 gent, yet still hoped, by degrees, to effect 
 something." 
 
 Amiable sufferer ! thy measure was not 
 yet full; thou wast to be perfected 
 through sufferings. It is painful to re- 
 late the overthrow of these tender hopes 
 and fears. 
 
 At the period of about three years 
 from this afflicting trial spoken of, the 
 object of her anxiety and attention was 
 suddenly taken from her, by a fall from 
 his horse. — He had only time to implore 
 her forgiveness for the troubles he had 
 caused her, and to express his high sense 
 of her excellence in agonizing terms, 
 when all sense fled. 
 
 When my thoughts dwell upon the 
 trials of this pious woman, for they are 
 not yet over, I am constrained to ease 
 myself, by recollecting, that what I relate 
 in continued succession, came upon her 
 at different periods ; intermixed, perhaps, 
 E 3 with
 
 78 MRS. COOPER AND SON, 
 
 with many tranquil moments and cheering 
 scenes. When I see her benignant and 
 sweet smiles upon the present objects of 
 her tenderness, I wonder that I feel so 
 much in recounting her former sorrows. 
 
 I cannot now finish my narrative; 
 another time I will resume my pen. 
 
 I must go and take a lesson of cheerful 
 fortitude in the chamber of this dear wo- 
 man, to lighten my heart again. 
 
 I found the young Eliza in the room 
 with her aunt, reading to her. I sat 
 down quietly till she had finished ; soon 
 after which the little girl went away, 
 ** Who shall presume to say that all their 
 earthly comforts are torn from them,'* 
 said the good lady, **when these sweet pro- 
 mising plants of my beloved niece cheer 
 my retired hours with their society ? My 
 former comforts and hopes seem in a de- 
 gree to be restored to me ; and the feel- 
 ings
 
 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 79 
 
 ings of early days seem to return." — Her 
 voice was a little affected. — ** What 
 cause have I to be thankful to Provi- 
 dence," she continued, " that these so- 
 laces are mine; that in the bosom of 
 this truly amiable family, I enjoy all that 
 this world can now give me ; the delights 
 of tender friendship ; the contemplation 
 of rising virtue ; the patient, but sure 
 hope of more perfect bliss T We con- 
 tinued a most delightful conversation, in 
 which I felt my heart lightened and 
 cheered by the bright and rational piety 
 of this most respectable woman. 
 
 I shall now proceed in my narra- 
 tive : — 
 
 Mrs. Cooper, by the death of her hus- 
 band, was left quite unprovided for; an 
 allowance was made to the son from the 
 estate by the guardians, of which he par- 
 took with his mottier. She removed into 
 £ 4 a
 
 80 MRS. COOPER AND SON. 
 
 a small cottage in the neighbourhood, 
 and, in resignation and hope, experienced 
 much tranquillity and composure of mind. 
 
 She was a woman of great resources, 
 had read much, and wrote elegantly. 
 
 Her darling son was very often her in- 
 mate; a peculiar degree of sympathy existed 
 in their minds. They talked with tranquil 
 j oyof the period of Edward's coming of 
 age, when he might make some arrange- 
 ments in his estates, and settle a com- 
 fortable provision upon his mother. Lady 
 Jerningham was intimately acquainted 
 with her cousin; he was, she says, a 
 sweet youth, affording every promise of 
 mature excellence : but a tender plant, 
 not apparently rooted in the soil it was 
 to flourish in. Douglas-like, he was the 
 child of another soil. An indifference to 
 common worldly matters; a contemplative 
 mind ; an elevated soul ; unobtrusive 
 piety, marked him for a probable early 
 inhabitant of a more perfect state. Of this 
 his mother, with tears, often expressed her 
 
 apprehension
 
 MRS. COOPER AXD SON", 81 
 
 apprehension lo her niece. In conse- 
 quence, as was supposed of extreme ex- 
 ertion, in riding home from Oxford, to 
 reach his mother and agreeably surprise 
 her, one wet evening, he fell sick; an 
 apparent cold, low fever, then wasting 
 debility, cough, and the distressing symp- 
 toms so frequently experienced, subdued 
 his strength, day by day ; and the fond 
 mother, with inexpressible anguish, saw 
 this amiable youth, her last hope, sink 
 into the tomb, five months previous to 
 his coming of age. 
 
 To speak of her situation were vain. — 
 Silent and unrepining resignation were 
 her's; but she had nearly sunk under 
 this stroke. She welcomed the looked- 
 for approach of death with brightening 
 smiles. 
 
 But it was the will of a merciful Provi- 
 dence again to raise her up; to prove 
 the power of faith and piet}^ and the 
 exemplary tenderness and attachment 
 e5 of
 
 82 MRS. COOPEH. 
 
 of these now most dear and near rela- 
 tives. 
 
 So long was Mrs. Cooper confined to 
 her bed by the fatal effects of this dis- 
 aster, that a total debility seized her 
 frame, succeeded by a nervous weakness, 
 from which she has never yet recovered ; 
 and accompanied by frequent instances of 
 paralytic affection. Her niece, who flew^ 
 to her upon this last shock, did not at- 
 tempt to check the torrent of her grief, 
 but in patient and sympathizing tender- 
 ness, awaited the gradual diminution of 
 it, pouring in occasionally such aids and 
 consolations, as her own tenderness and 
 piety suggested. 
 
 As soon as she was able to move, Lady 
 J. persuaded her to return home with 
 her ; she has ever since continued their 
 guest ; and has, dt all times, experienced 
 a degree of complacent cheerfulness. 
 
 I am particularly pleased in observing 
 the judicious manner, in which Mrs. C. 
 
 enjoys,
 
 MRS, COOPER. 83 
 
 enjoys, without exhausting, the affec- 
 tionate attentions of these her dearest con- 
 nections. Sensible that infirmities and 
 helplessness, will, eventually, weary the 
 best disposed hearts; she perseveres in 
 her resolution not to be too often one of 
 their party. 
 
 Lady J. "has often pressed her con- 
 stantly to dine, and pass the remainder 
 of the day with them. " No, my dear," 
 she says, " a weak and helpless being 
 can be no addition to the cheerfulness 
 of an active party ; I will not be a con- 
 stant, only an occasional clog. I enjoy 
 my little room up-stairs, and the visits of 
 my dear friends. I have some time to 
 myself, which an old woman should have, 
 calmly to look back on the past, and to 
 contemplate the future." Three days in 
 the week Mrs. Cooper makes us a visit 
 below, being seated in the drawing-room 
 before we return after dinner. With 
 what sweet alacrity is she welcomed and 
 received by the young folks, who slip out 
 E 6 from
 
 84 MRS. COOPER. 
 
 from table much sooner than usual, one 
 running to open the doors, another to 
 bring her cushions, set her footstool, and 
 bustle round her with pretty officiousness. 
 Thus are the mutual interchanges of all 
 these affectionate feelings, a source of 
 mutual improvement and enjoyment to 
 this happy family : the young being prac- 
 tised in that foundation of all youthful 
 excellence, respect and deference for ho* 
 nourable old age. 
 
 An evening or two since, Mrs. Cooper 
 being our visitor, the family walked out 
 at the close of the day, Sophia re- 
 maining with her aunt, and I, wishing to 
 finish a letter for the next morning, was 
 seated in a corner of the room. After 
 some childish remarks, which I did not 
 attend to, the little girl said, " Dear 
 aunt, do not you feel very dull, that you 
 can't walk out, and move about, and 
 work, as other people do?" Mrs. C, 
 ** I feel a litde at times, my dearest, 
 the sorrow of that helplessness, which 
 
 renders
 
 MRS. COOPER. 85 
 
 renders me in a manner a burthen to my 
 friends ; and long often to be able to db 
 some good to some one ; but I check my 
 impatience ; for as the exertion of acti- 
 vity is one of the pleasantest duties of the 
 young, so patient endurance of weakness 
 and incapacity is one, not the least, of the 
 duties of the aged and infirm. I was 
 formerly very fond of my pen, and busy 
 enough with my needle ; but / have so 
 many alleviations and blessings accompa- 
 nying my infirmities and deprivations, 
 that it can hardly be called patience, 
 cheerfully to endure them." Sophia. 
 " O, dear aunt, if I were just as you are, 
 I think I should have no enjoyment of 
 life." Mrs. C. " Ah, my child, when I 
 reflect how many, far from having any 
 enjoyment of life, find it a heavy burthen ; 
 I am thankful and joyful : indeed, 1 have 
 many reasons to be so." Sopiiia. " Are 
 there any people, aunt, to whom life is a 
 burthen, who do not enjoy it at all?" Mrs. 
 C. " There are, my dear, thousands in 
 
 this
 
 S6 MRS, COOPER. 
 
 this country, not to mention those many 
 distressed nations, now deprived of all 
 repose and comfort : there are numbers 
 here who from age, infirmity, pain, dis- 
 tress of mind, &c, only endure life as a 
 heavy burthen : many dejected hopeless 
 prisoners, separated from all they hold 
 dear ; many aged and helpless souls, 
 lying for hours alone, in pain and want, 
 unknown, unsolaced, but by their God." 
 Sophia, " I cannot bear to think of it !" — 
 and tears began to flow. Mrs. C. *' Nor 
 could I, my dear love, did I not look 
 beyond a few years, when I always trust 
 and hope that those who have suffered 
 the heaviest privations here, will, under 
 patience and virtue, be most amply re- 
 warded hereafter. When I have seen a 
 poor, aged, decrepit female, tottering 
 under weakness and disease, creeping 
 from her solitary hut, to gather up a few 
 sticks to boil her kettle, pinched by the 
 want of comfortable nourishment and 
 cloathing, and have then turned my 
 
 thoughts
 
 MRS. COOPER. . 87 
 
 thoughts to a young gay female, in a 
 splendid assembly, attired in the most 
 expensive garments, panting with heat, 
 and feasting upon expensive dainties — it 
 has crossed my mind, Are these fellow- 
 beings, endued by their Maker with the 
 same sense of pain and pleasure, of want 
 and comfort; with a similar immortal 
 soul ; with the same expectations of 
 futurity? And again I have thought, 
 If my lot must be either of these, that of 
 the poor and destitute being was certainly 
 the safest." 
 
 Sophia. '* But, dear aunt, why do not 
 the rich always help the poor and dis- 
 tressed, as papa and mamma do ?" Mrs. C. 
 "There is, my dear, a great deal of general 
 charity in the kingdom, which is daily in- 
 creasing ; and there is much private cha- 
 rity, and a ready disposition to relieve 
 distress when known ; but still much re- 
 mains unknown, particularly in large and 
 populous cities, and in remote country 
 places." I had now joined the tete-a- 
 tete.
 
 88 MRS. COOPER. 
 
 lete. " I wish," said Mrs. Cooper, in 
 continuation, **some plan could be esta- 
 blished to place the poor more under the 
 knowledge and care of the rich; some- 
 thing according to the Roman plan, of 
 patron and client, by which a limited 
 number of poor should be, as it were, 
 placed under the influence of certain 
 persons of large property, to whom they 
 should feel themselves emboldened to 
 apply for advice and tetfiporary assistance 
 in any embarrassments under which they 
 might suffer. 
 
 ** I believe that ignorance of the ex- 
 treme distresses, under which many of the 
 lowest class labour, is oftener the cause 
 of their wanting common necessaries, than 
 actual want of benevolence : but then, I 
 wish there were some certain mode by 
 which those who abound might become 
 acquainted with the extreme want that 
 frequently exists at their very gates. I 
 have sometimes accidentally discovered 
 that poor persons have suffered a whole 
 
 day
 
 MRS. COOPER. 89 
 
 day without food; and once found a 
 large family, consisting of many little 
 ones, in the bitterest weather, without a 
 spark of fire; yet without complaint or 
 impatience : they should have some in 
 the evening, when their father came 
 home, they said. In sickness and old 
 age, many suffer for want of a few com- 
 forts, which we should encourige them 
 to apply for. I am convinced that many 
 a lady, if she h^pened oftener to look 
 into a poor cottage, would deny herself a 
 lace gown, or a few trinkets, for the sake 
 of covering from cold and misery, the 
 limbs of a fellow creature, who sickens 
 and languishes for w^ant of warmth and 
 nourishment. 
 
 '*The great evil is, I think, the desertion 
 of charming country residences ; enor- 
 mous sums spent on the road, or in lodg- 
 ing houses : a delightful and extensive 
 domain deserted, in order to have the 
 comfort of being cooped up in a little 
 dirty lodging, to sniff the sea mud, or 
 
 walk
 
 90 MRS. COOPER. 
 
 \valk up and down a town. Did the ge- 
 nerality of owners enjoy their country 
 seats during a greater part of the year, 
 and, like your excellent parents, my little 
 girl, dispense instruction and comfort 
 around them, we should see a different 
 state of things : and did the young ladies 
 of these families delight in now and then 
 working for their poor neighbours, instead 
 of eternally netting, spotting, and dotting, 
 much comfort would cdl"tainly ensue." 
 
 The family returned from their walk, 
 and music and cheerful conversation 
 concluded the evening. 
 
 Miss Jerningham is expected soon 
 from London ; I am not at all acquainted 
 with her character. Her sisters say she 
 is very handsome and elegant. 
 
 Lady Jerningham told me this morning 
 that her cousin Edward formed at college 
 an intimacy with a very valuable young 
 man, though some years older than him- 
 self, who has since favoured the world 
 with some excellent productions on se- 
 rious
 
 THE APPROPRIATION OF TIME. 9i 
 
 rious subjects. During his long illness 
 they kept up a constant correspondence, 
 and through Lady J. I am enabled to 
 send you a letter, which struck me as 
 containing many important reflections on 
 subjects of interest. 
 
 I shall enclose it in a packet by itself, 
 and you may read it at your leisure. 
 
 Ever, my dear madam, 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 A.S. 
 
 " My dear young Friend, 
 
 ** Since you desire my thoughts 
 in writing, and at large, on the subject 
 of our late conversation, viz, by what 
 particular methods in our daily conduct, 
 a life of devotion and usefulness may be 
 most happily maintained and secured: 
 
 I sit
 
 92 THE APPROPRIATIOI^r 
 
 1 sit down with cheerfulness to recollect 
 and digest the hints which I then gave 
 you, hoping it may be of some service 
 and comfort to you, in your most im- 
 portant interests; and may also fix in my 
 own mind a deeper sense of my obliga- 
 tion to govern my own life by the rules I 
 offer to others. 
 
 *' I esteem attempts of this kind among 
 the pleasantest proofs, and the sweetest 
 cements of friendship; a friendship which 
 I hope, in one instance, w^ill last for ever, 
 and will receive increased endearment 
 by the cherishing of these sentiments. 
 
 '* I will open my heart freely to you in 
 regard to the internal sense I feel, on the 
 manner in which we should endeavour to 
 employ our thoughts and time ; not exact- 
 ing from you, or from any one, a compli- 
 ance with my own habits ; but leaving to 
 your own feelings, and consequent in- 
 clinations, the adoption of what I have 
 found so conducive to my own internal 
 happiness. 
 
 **And
 
 OT TIME. 93 
 
 ** And first, my esteemed friend, in re- 
 gard to the regulation and disposal of 
 each day. 
 
 *' Can any Christian doubt as to the 
 expediency of dedicating our earliest mo- 
 ments and faculties to the great and 
 gracious Being who has blest us with 
 them? of lifting up our hearts to him, 
 as soon as our senses are restored to us, 
 from that painless prototype, as it were, 
 of death which we have unconsciously 
 enjoyed ? When we are sensible of that 
 ease and cheerfulness in which we awake; 
 that security we have been blessed with 
 in this defenceless state : when we reflect 
 what numbers have passed the night, des- 
 titute of all comfort, tossed on the bed of 
 pain and misery : when we behold the 
 cheering light of another day dawning 
 upon us : what, short of our warmest 
 thanks and joyful adoration, can we offer 
 up to the great Cause of this our joy and 
 safety? Should we suffer the mind in- 
 stantly to turn to subjects of worldly 
 
 irritation,
 
 94t THE APPROPRIATION 
 
 irritation, anxiety, or profit? Should we 
 not naturally wish, under this strong sense 
 of our blessings, that the first hour at least 
 of our renewed existence should be dedi- 
 cated to something superior to the dust 
 and soil of this earth, and the devotions 
 of the heart be followed by those of the 
 lips, when we pour forth our souls in the 
 closet to the great Giver of them, and of 
 all things. 
 
 "On the subject of these our devotions 
 it is unnecessary to lay down any fixed 
 rule; there are many beautiful prayers, 
 but from the fulness of the heart the 
 mouth speaketh. To these religious ex- 
 ercises it would certainly be desirable to 
 add, at some time, the perusal, either of 
 a portion of the Book of books, or some- 
 thing founded upon its pure and holy 
 precepts. 
 
 *' When once engaged in it, we are apt 
 to be so very much occupied by the 
 world, so engrossed by our family cares 
 and concerns, that it is highly expedient 
 
 to
 
 OF TIME. 95 
 
 to provide for the nourishment of our 
 immortal soul as our first object. This 
 dedication of an early portion of our day, 
 will, as it were, sanctify, and lend a 
 blessing to our future labours and neces- 
 sary business, which will be the next 
 subject claiming our attention, and must 
 not be neglected ; but all undertaken and 
 pursued with a reference to a something 
 ever superior to our own abilities, and 
 strength,* the assistance and blessing of 
 God, as we shall deserve it, by the sin- 
 cerity and purity of our intentions. And 
 here let me earnestly recommend the 
 avoidance of a drawling and sluggish 
 spirit ; that which nods over its work, 
 
 * ] must beg leave to recommend to my juvenile 
 reader, the beautiful prayer, as preparatory to his 
 studies, in the Memoirs of that most amiable youth, 
 KiRKE White ; a book which can never be perused 
 without advantage, and without exciting in the youth- 
 ful breast feelings of sympathy, admiration, and piety. 
 
 Editor. 
 
 and
 
 96 THE APPROPRIATION 
 
 and does only the business of one hour, 
 in two or three. Let us dispatch business 
 and literary labours, that the remaining 
 hours may be cheerfully given to health- 
 ful exercise and recreation ; to endearing 
 family parties, amusing books, and inno- 
 cent diversions. 
 
 ** Let us, my dear friend, endeavour, 
 each morning, to recollect, if we have it 
 not in our power to do some good ; to 
 comfort and solace some sick or distress- 
 ed person ; to instruct some ignorant 
 one ; to lessen some burthen; and, if such 
 thoughts occur, let not the bright spark 
 die away, for want of immediate fanning ; 
 follow it up by execution; let us do 
 good while it is in the power of our 
 hands to do it. 
 
 " There is one thing which I would 
 wish not to be unnoticed in the course of 
 the day, or even of the night : that which 
 I will call the Providences of God. I 
 think I recollect, my young friend say- 
 ing one day, ' that it appeared wonderful 
 
 by
 
 OF TIME. 97 
 
 by what apparently trifling circumstances 
 we were sometimes deterred from some 
 hurtful pursuit ; and led, at other times, 
 to something conducive to our welfare 
 and happiness.' 
 
 *' This I have observed and experien- 
 ced in various instances, and in different 
 ways. Often has an inclination, which I 
 could not account for, led me where I was 
 enabled to relieve and to comfort some 
 distressed object; to avert some calamity ; 
 to be the means of good to some fel- 
 low-creature. These instances I have 
 acknowledged with gratitude: and when 
 I have not listened to the inward bent 
 of my mind, have had cause to repent 
 it. Search for these leading providences, 
 my friend; fear not the sneers of the 
 thoughtless ; dread not the terrible word 
 * superstition.' A secret and wonderful 
 actuating cause does assist and lead the 
 faithful followers of their Maker, the 
 'VOL. I. F lovers 
 
 \
 
 9S THE APPROPRIATION 
 
 lovers of virtue and purity^. It aids 
 their good endeavours ; and sometimes 
 arrests their erring judgment. Let the 
 reprobate and insensible scoff; we will 
 follow the divine influence of the Spirit, 
 and thankfully acknowledge its salutary 
 warnings. 
 
 This thought is beautifully set forth in the 25th 
 Psalm. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Whoe'er with humble fear, 
 To God his duty pays ; 
 Shall find the Lord a faithful guide, 
 In all his righteous ways. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For God to all his saints, 
 His secret will imparts; 
 And does his gracious cov'nant write 
 In their obedient hearts. 
 
 XV. 
 To him I lift my eyes, 
 And wait his timely aid ; 
 Who breaks the string, and treachVous snare, 
 Which for my feet was laid.
 
 OF TIME. 99 
 
 ** In all that I have here spoken, my 
 worthy friend, I would not be thought to 
 impose a heavy burthen upon any one : 
 a few of these rules, as a beginning, might 
 be adopted. When we recommend that 
 which has proved salutary to our own 
 hearts, we speak from experience. It can- 
 not be considered as superfluously strict 
 to enjoin, before we retire to rest, some 
 scrutiny into the innocency and useful- 
 ness of the day past : when we recollect 
 how many have lain down to rise no 
 more. If any one should be apprehensive 
 that what I recommend is too strict, I 
 would only wish him for a moment to an- 
 ticipate that period, which may not be far 
 distant from any of us, when retrospect 
 will force itself upon us. Does he fear 
 he may then be induced to lament that 
 he has taken too much care for his immor- 
 tal soul ? Will he then say, 'The Author of 
 my being did not deserve all this from me ; 
 less diligence, less fidelity, less zeal would 
 have sufficed for Him, who hath given me 
 T ^ all
 
 100 APPROPRIATION OF TIME. 
 
 all my powers of thought, of action, of 
 enjoyment; who gave His Son for my 
 salvation, and hath covered me with 
 benefits from the day of my birth ? A 
 small part of my time would have sufficed 
 for Him, who has given me the glorious 
 hopes of an eternity of bliss/ 
 
 '* That this may finally be your lot, my 
 ever dear friend, is my earnest prayer 
 and hope. 
 
 ** The body is weak ; but the soul 
 daily strengthens, and soars on eagle 
 pinions, to that heavenly home, where 
 pain, and grief, and sadness shall not 
 enter. 
 
 *' Eternally and sincerely your friend, 
 
 "P. D E.''
 
 LORD KAMES. 101 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LORD KAMES. CRITICISM. ARRI- 
 VAL OF MISS JERNINGHAM. = 
 
 YOUNG PEOPLE. — LADY CASTLE- 
 TON. — TOWN LIFE. 
 
 June 15. 
 
 ''A LONG hiatus^' says my good 
 friend. Granted; matter has not pressed, 
 nor the scribbling fit been upon me. 
 
 I have been reading with some interest, 
 the Life of Lord Kames, by Lord Wood- 
 houselie : a work affording much subject 
 for reflection ; but not greatly touching 
 the tender feelings ; not interesting every 
 best emotion of the heart, as does the 
 life of the amiable Beat tie, that patient 
 Christian sufferer, under an almost un- 
 paralleled train of misfortunes. 
 
 F 3 Kames
 
 102 LORD KA^MXS. 
 
 Karnes was a critic, a metaphysician: 
 and both those professions tend, I think, 
 to dry and chill the heart ; though they 
 may strengthen the judgment. 
 
 His biographer, in speaking of his 
 Elements of Criticism, a work which he 
 composed and published at the age of 
 sixty-six, observes : " Criticism is a severe, 
 and if I may use the expression, an ascetic 
 employment of the faculties, which de- 
 mands a cool and dispassionate frame of 
 mind, and a sobriety of thought, remote 
 from all enthusiasm; and when the habit of 
 criticism prevails, the ardour of feeling is 
 proportionably abated and subdued." How 
 very just does this remark appear to be ; 
 the mind that adopts the habit of criticis- 
 ing works of taste, loses all that delight- 
 ful glow which a feeling mind naturally 
 enjoys upon the first perusal of a beau- 
 tiful composition. This is farther illus- 
 trated by a quotation from Allison, 
 upon taste. ** When we sit down to ap- 
 preciate the value of a poem, and attend 
 
 minutely
 
 CRITICISM. 103 
 
 minutely to the language and composi- 
 tion, we feel no longer the delight which 
 it at ^rst produced ; our imagination is, 
 by this employment, restrained. It is this 
 which makes it difficult for young persons, 
 possessed of warm imaginations, to judge 
 of the merits of any poem or fable. All 
 that glow of sentiment and feeling, in 
 which young people of sensibility are so 
 apt to indulge, and which often brings 
 them pleasure at the expense of their 
 taste, the labour of criticism destroys." 
 Who, then, would wish to be a critic, if 
 he is to lose by it that delight and tender 
 sympathy, which some little effusion of 
 the heart, perhaps a line or two, will 
 bring forth. Two short lines in a frag- 
 ment of KiRKE White's, have more 
 than once drawn tears from their source 
 in the perusal, and filled my mind with 
 tender and mournful feelings : perhaps, 
 no one else might notice them; but I 
 figure to myself this sweet youth at his 
 solitary window, apostrophising the moon ; 
 F 4 endeavouring,
 
 104 CRITICISM. 
 
 endeavouring, in the spirit of patient 
 sufferance, to calm the anxieties and 
 perturbations of his too sensible he^rt* 
 
 *' Mild visitant, I feel thee here. 
 
 It is not pain that brings this tear, 
 For thou hast bid it cease/* 
 
 If criticism is then so noxious an em- 
 ployment, what, will you say, is to become 
 of the tribe of critics by profession? Why, 
 those who are to live by it, must pursue 
 it; but surely this may be done with more 
 mildness and moderation than is usually 
 practised, and without quite losing sight 
 of taste and feeling. 
 
 It is not necessary that they should 
 hunt for defects, in order to please the 
 vitiated taste of the multitude; and by 
 wounding the heart of the sensible, modest 
 and too feeling writer, present savoury 
 meat to the palates of the fastidious. 
 
 What short of this butcher-like spirit is 
 it, that dictates the cold stinging criticisms 
 
 we
 
 CRITICISM. 105 
 
 we often notice, whose only object is to 
 be cruel, and not just? which is at the 
 same time manifested to the candid mind, 
 from the points of view to which they 
 direct their acumen, and often, not without 
 some recourse to mean subterfuge. 
 
 If I feel an innocent pleasure in perus- 
 ing a work, shall I be told that I ought 
 not to feel it ? Is there any thing more 
 attractive and beautiful than an embar- 
 rassed blush on the face of ingenuous 
 youth? and shall any one destroy that 
 charm by observing, that it is only guilt 
 that should blush ; that innocence has no 
 occasion? 
 
 The author of Lord Kames's life 
 concludes his observations on the subject 
 by a tacit acknowledgment, '* That he 
 was not embued with a hicrh degree of 
 sensibility, an acute and warm percep- 
 tion of the beauties of composition, or the 
 productions of the fine arts. 
 
 Defend me from the cool, watchful 
 
 critic, who, when you are repeating, or 
 
 F 5 reading
 
 106 CRITICISM. 
 
 reading some most touching effusion of 
 genius, stops you to remark, that such a 
 word was not appropriate or strictly gram- 
 matical; and some other not properly 
 pronounced by yourself. Sooner would 
 I remain for ever ignorant as a child, in 
 every principle of criticism, than lose 
 the delight which the first perception of 
 any thing beautiful, excellent, or affect- 
 ing, affords to the mind. 
 
 On bursting suddenly upon a most 
 romantic and fascinating display of the 
 wild beauties of nature, I should feel 
 almost angry at a fellow-traveller who 
 should immediately observe : " But it 
 •wants water. ** I should take the liberty 
 to think that he wanted that quick per- 
 ception of the sublime, which is possessed 
 before it perceives any deficiency — which 
 enjoys antecedently to criticizing.
 
 MISS JERNINGHAM. 107 
 
 20M Instant, 
 
 Miss Jerningham, the eldest child of 
 Sir William, is just arrived from London, 
 for the summer ; having passed the winter 
 with her aunt, Lady Wilson, in the me- 
 tropolis. She appears to me quite a dif- 
 ferent being — a detached person — from 
 the rest of the family. Peculiar circum- 
 stances, with perhaps, a liltle predisposi- 
 tion on her part, have produced this, in 
 my opinion, unfavourable distinction. 
 
 Harriet was early pronounced to be a 
 lively, smart, but, what some might term, 
 a forward child. Lady Wilson, a rich 
 widow, and elder sister of Sir William, 
 felt a fondness for her, and having no 
 child of her own, earnestly requested 
 that she might be allowed entirely to 
 adopt her. To this, Sir William could 
 not willingly assent, he could not hold 
 himself justified in resigning one of the 
 blessings with which providence had en- 
 F 6 riched
 
 108 MISS JERNINGHAM. 
 
 riched him. A compromise was made ; 
 the young lady, in compliance with her 
 aunt's wishes, was placed at a first-rate 
 London boarding-school, and was to pass 
 her vacations, alternately, in town and 
 country. 
 
 Upon her quitting school, a similar 
 plan was adopted, in regard to the sum- 
 mer and winter : dividing them according 
 to fashionable calculation. Sorry I am, but 
 not surprized, to observe, that the effect 
 of the town residence is, by no means, 
 that of rendering Miss Jerningham a plea- 
 sing and domestic inmate in her father's 
 house. With a frame injured and weak- 
 ened by continual dissipation ; a mind 
 satiated with high-seasoned amusements, 
 with admiration and flattery ; what relish 
 can remain for the quiet heart-felt joys 
 of family intercourse; the simple, but 
 never-fading delights of a country life ? 
 
 This was evident to me at the first 
 glance ; and though the two girls had 
 talked with much animation of their 
 
 sister's
 
 MISS JERNINGHAM. 109 
 
 sister's expected return, I am much mis- 
 taken if their feelings were not consider- 
 ably disappointed. A little time before 
 our dinner-hour, yesterday, LadyWilson s 
 travelling carriage stopped at the door. 
 All were in motion : but instead of a 
 young creature hastily escaping from the 
 carriage, to throw herself into the arms 
 of her mother, as I had naturally figured 
 to myself; I saw a young lady slowly ad- 
 vance, giving some orders to her maid 
 about her band-boxes; and again, stop* 
 ping on the steps to speak to the footman, 
 leisurely enter the Hall, where her mo- 
 ther waited to receive her with anxious 
 impatience. 
 
 '* How d'ye do, mamma, how d'ye do ? 
 heavens! — how fatigued I am! Rose at 
 eight o'clock. — Gracious, Maria ! how 
 you're grown, child — Why, Selina looks as 
 pale as if she had been spending a winter 
 in London ! (the dear girl's paleness was 
 hurry of spirits.) — How is SirWilliam ? — - 
 Where are the children ? — I hear Jerning- 
 
 ham's
 
 no MISS JERNINGHAM. 
 
 ham's here— am glad of it— he's very 
 amusing. What time do you dine ? 
 I must go and dress. — Any company 
 to day ?" Hardly, when we expected our 
 Harriet," said Lady Jerningham. ** O 
 ri import e pour cela /" 
 
 After this, and more such senseless 
 observations, I leave my aunt to judge of 
 the depth of this young lady's understand- 
 ing and feeling. Lady Jerningham looked 
 disappointed ; the two girls, grave and 
 surprized ; and the traveller went up to 
 dress. ''What a difference," said I, to 
 Mr. Jerningham, as we walked before the 
 house, ** between this one, and the rest 
 of the family !" ** Did you never see 
 Miss Jerningham before ? A town lady 
 becomes in time quite a different species 
 of being from what nature intended her 
 to be: unfit to herd with her country 
 fellow-beings ; and totally useless to them, 
 when she condescends so to do."
 
 JIfISS JERNINGHAM. HI 
 
 26th June. 
 
 I have taken time quietly to contem- 
 plate this added member of the family, 
 and think I pretty well developed her the 
 first day. There is not any thing farther 
 to discover. 
 
 Miss Jerningham appears to me to 
 have adopted a character the least amiable 
 that any young female can possibly as- 
 sume ; that of an independent young lady, 
 sufficient, in her own opinion seemingly, 
 for her own conduct and decisions. In- 
 stead of a sweet, modest girl, (Selina for 
 instance,) hanging upon her mother's 
 looks, and leaning to her mature sense 
 and judgment for encouragement and ap- 
 probation ; a young creature, scarcely 
 twenty-one, seems to consider herself as 
 competent to every thing. She declaims 
 in a pretty distinct, and not always a soft 
 voice, upon various matters, concerning 
 which her elders might chance to hesi- 
 tate ;
 
 112 MISS jerningham:. 
 
 tate ; decides, and gives her opinion often 
 unasked : takes the liberty to contradict 
 her mother, and to argue with her father 
 on manners and morals ; gives orders to 
 their servants ; banters and jests with Mr. 
 Jerningham ; is, in short, any thing but the 
 delicate retiring female, endeavouring to 
 form her manners and opinions upon the 
 wisdom and experience of her elders. 
 
 I have only just discovered an esta- 
 blished custom in this family : every morn- 
 ing, about eight o'clock, they assemble in 
 the library, and Sir William reads prayers 
 to them. Going out to take an early 
 walk, one beautiful -morning, I observed 
 the young folks hastening into the library, 
 and questioning them afterwards, I attack- 
 ed Lady Jerningham upon her not making 
 me one of the morning assemblage. **We 
 should not suppose," said she, '^that our 
 friends and guests required this mode of 
 
 offering
 
 MISS JERNINGHAM. H^ 
 
 offering up their morning devotions ; but 
 for our servants, we think it highly im- 
 portant that they shx)ulci daily join with 
 their guardians and conductors in mutual 
 M'orship of their mutual Protector; and 
 we wish that our children also should 
 attend ; we think it forms a delightful 
 union of different classes and ages ; the 
 effect must be good to all." 
 
 **And pray," said I, *'why am I to be 
 excluded from this good effect ?" ** Cer- 
 tainly not excluded," said Lady Jerning- 
 ham, " but I consider it as optional, and 
 not requisite." 
 
 **Superadditions of prayer and praise 
 can never, I said, be inexpedient to any 
 one ; joint worship is always grateful 
 and expanding to the heart ; therefore, 
 I beg I may be allowed always to join 
 
 you."'
 
 114 TOUKG PEOPLE. 
 
 Jiint 26. 
 
 Chance furnished me, yesterday morn- 
 ing, with a long and interesting conversa- 
 tion with Lady Jerningham, on the subject 
 of young people. Her own were gone to 
 their Saturday's employments, happy and 
 joyful; when 1 could not help saying, 
 ** How is it, my dear Madam, that your 
 young folks seem always busy, dispatching 
 their necessary tasks; yet always happy 
 and cheerful ?" " Why, perhaps, it is that 
 tasks and dry lectures are kept as much 
 as possible, out of sight After a little 
 schooling, consisting chiefly of reading, 
 and talking upon it, they are at liberty to 
 choose their own relaxations : and it 
 seems that often acts of charity and of 
 kindness form their most pleasant ones ; 
 but this is all voluntary, and not always 
 the same." ^^ But they never appear to 
 me to be idle.'* ** O yes," said Lady Jer- 
 ningham, ^^ they are ; at least they are al- 
 lowed
 
 TOUNG PEOPLE. 115 
 
 lowed to be so, if they wish it" *' Do 
 you recollect," I said, ** what Mrs. H. 
 MoR£ lays down upon that subject: 
 that young people should never be allowed 
 to be quite unemployed, but should be 
 habituated to pass directly from study 
 and business, to active and animate exer- 
 tions." Lady Jerningham, ^'I do, and 
 with all due deference to so high an autho- 
 rity, take the liberty to differ from her a 
 little in that point Children do not always 
 require, nor could they all bear this con- 
 tinued exertion : many may voluntarily 
 adopt it, but all may not feel inclined; 
 and when a child has finished its business, 
 it must be allowed to rest in its own way; 
 to be quiet, and even dull, if inclined. 
 I have had a little experience, and have 
 made some observations ; I have had to 
 do with minds and frames of that fine and 
 sensible cast that would have been injured 
 and overwhelmed by too much stimulus of 
 any kind ; minds which possessing native 
 energy and strength of thought, could not 
 
 have
 
 116 YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 have borne continued stretch; but requir- 
 ed periods of ease and relaxation. 
 
 " There is, in the present time, a rage 
 for premature acquirement ; and many a 
 young creature has, I am convinced, been 
 over educated. 
 
 *' Not content with the gradual deve- 
 lopement and growth of faculties; we 
 want them to be wonders of erudition, in 
 order to shew them about. It is as if we 
 should tear open a blooming rose, early, 
 to admire its beauties, and by that means 
 destroy them. For young persons, with 
 hands unemployed, to be quietly listen- 
 ing to the conversation of their superiors, 
 or even thinking upon what they have 
 heard or read, cannot, I think, be pro- 
 perly termed idleness. Never can I for- 
 get the mortification and vexation I ex- 
 perienced, when a girl of twelve years 
 old, upon some accidental visits, in being, 
 by the polite officiousness of the lady of 
 the house, dragged out, by some little 
 
 Miss
 
 YOUNG PEOPLE. 117 
 
 Miss, to be amused in a dull garden or 
 orchard, when I was attending to the 
 conversation that was going on ; and 
 had not courage to beg I might remain. 
 And once was actually condemned to be 
 some time engaged with a parcel of dolls 
 and trifles, that I could with pleasure 
 have put upon the fire. 
 
 "From the fear of idleness," continued 
 Lady Jerningham, many young persons 
 are certainly over exercised. 
 
 ** The amiable Kirke White was 
 absolutely destroyed by being injudicious- 
 ly stimulated to make exertions, which he 
 w^as sensible at the time that he was not 
 equal to, in order to obtain honours and 
 distinctions, which must, had he patiently 
 pursued his studies, have awaited him. 
 
 " Could any judicious friend have per- 
 suaded him to allay his eagerness for lite- 
 rary distinction, he might, perhaps, have 
 been now enjoying health, and well-earn- 
 ed fame," 
 
 « He
 
 118 LADY CASTLETON. 
 
 ** He is," said I, " enjoying, we may 
 presume, the fruits of that earnest de- 
 votion of his heart to his Maker ; that 
 glowing piety, superseding every other 
 wish and feeling, which marked the latter 
 period of his existence. We can hardly 
 wish to recal him from endless peace and 
 joy, to partake of fickle fame, and unsa- 
 tisfactory enjoyments/' 
 
 ** All very true," said Lady Jerning- 
 ham, *' but we cannot help regretting 
 the loss of genius and excellence ; when 
 we reflect upon the good example that 
 would have been presented ; as well as the 
 innocent and classical entertainment, which 
 such talents would have afforded us, we 
 cannot be quite disinterested ; a little 
 selfishness will obtrude itself." 
 
 July 1. 
 
 We were all much surprized yesterday, 
 when assembled ready for dinner in the 
 
 drawing
 
 LADY CASTLETON* M^ 
 
 drawing-room, by a visit from Lady 
 Castleton and her daughter. 
 
 I am inclined to believe this visit was 
 chiefly intended for Miss Jerningham; as 
 they are very intimate in town. She ran 
 to meet them with rather more alertness 
 than she exhibited in meeting her mother; . 
 and a superabundance of pretty senseless 
 frivolity and joy passed on this happy 
 occasion ; for it was full a fortninght 
 since the young ladies had met. Miss 
 Castleton exhibited a tall, pale, scanty 
 figure, with a charming fashionable slouch, 
 and a pretty droop of the head. 
 
 The mother, though I suppose scarcely 
 fifty, appeared the battered, shattered 
 woman of fashion, of course a little 
 assisted by art ; but still looking so very ill, 
 that Lady Jerningham said, with inquir- 
 ing eyes: "Your ladyship is, I hope, 
 returned pretty well !" *' Well !" exclaim- 
 ed Lady C. with a sort of scream, " I'm 
 dead !" " And buried to every useful 
 purpose," muttered Jerningham, " Hea- 
 vens 1"
 
 120 LADY CASTLETON. 
 
 vens 1" continued Lady C. *^it will be im- 
 possible to exist in town, if they go on so 
 — hours later and later — rooms more and 
 more crowded — engagements more and 
 more numerous. Why, if it was not for 
 the country to recruit me a little, positive- 
 ly, I should not live a twelvemonth. I 
 am quite knocked up ! then this reviving 
 air sets me up again a little." 
 
 " As your ladyship," said ]\Ir. Jerniug- 
 ham, ** acknowledges yourself so much in- 
 debted to the country, of course it is but 
 fair that the country should acknowledge 
 its obligations to your ladyship for visit- 
 ing it." Lady C. *^ Of course ; 'tis the 
 only use the country is of." Jerningham. 
 *' Certainly, Madam," wdth a most amus- 
 ing solemnity. Lady C. *' But we shall not 
 stay long here ; the beginning of August 
 we go to Weymouth ; there, you know, 
 we shall not be killed by late hours- 
 only go on the water — sit at the libraries 
 — walk on the Esplanade — go to Hcrvey's 
 rooms, and so forth." Jerningham. **Quite 
 
 moderate
 
 AND TOWN LIFE. l2l 
 
 moderate and retired." Lady C. " And 
 the sea air is, you know, so very reviving 
 and recruiting to the constitution." Jer- 
 ningham. *' True, and to exhaust the 
 constitution, and to recruit it again, is 
 business enough for any human being. '^ 
 All this was said with a gravity that put 
 me more at a loss to keep my counte- 
 nance, than I ever remember. Lady C. 
 ** Now to give you an instance of town 
 miseries ; At the ^larchioness of L.'s grand 
 route, I protest I did not leave home til 
 near twelve o'clock, and I was very ill at 
 the time; we were kept jammed up in 
 the streets till near two ; we contrived 
 to squeeze through the rooms with sonie 
 difficulty by about three, and got home, 
 with equal difficulty, by four. '^ Exqui- 
 site !" said Jerningham, '' what an ex- 
 alted pleasure; how desirable the entree 
 to such a house !" Lady C. *^ Why, one 
 must, you know, keep good company ; 
 though, to be sure, I have sometimes 
 wished one could now and then do as one 
 VOL. I. G likes/'
 
 122 LADY CASTLETON, 
 
 likes." Jerningham, " Could not your 
 ladyship — it would be a truly patriotic 
 motion — procure an act of parliament to 
 pass both houses, authorising people of 
 fashion to do as they like for one winter, 
 just by way of a trial?" Lady C. *' O it 
 would be charming I but I'm afraid it 
 would not do." Miss C. '' Don't talk of 
 it, mamma, it is too tantalizing. If I 
 were to do as I liked, I should lie in bed 
 all day, to rise fresh just for the evening 
 parties f" but then, one should never go 
 into the Park, nor have any time to 
 transact business with one's dress-maker, 
 nor to buy flowers and beads.' 
 
 • The Editor once knew a beautiful young creature, 
 who, labouring under an alarming state of weakness 
 and disease, kept her bed till evening, and then arose, 
 her maid dressing her on the side of the bed, to go with 
 her mother into public, Happy had it been, if these 
 exertions had been directed to the attainment of divine 
 wisdom. She afterwards married a young Baronet, and 
 died of a lingering disorder, after giving birth to a son, 
 an early victim of fashionable infatuation. 
 
 Lady
 
 AND TOWN LIFE. 123 
 
 Lady C. " Quite impracticable, child. 
 This winter, to be sure, I have been par- 
 ticularly badly off; for, in addition to my 
 own indispensable engagagements, as Ce- 
 lestina came out^ I was obliged to go 
 every 'it'here with her, and that is a 
 horrible /<?^." Miss C. *^ Nay,[you know, 
 mamma, there were plenty of kind friends 
 that would have taken me out ; grand* 
 mamma, you know, offered to take me 
 out every night, but — " Lady C. ''Well, 
 
 child, enough of that." A suppressed 
 
 yawn by Sir William caused her ladyship 
 to observe, *' I dare say it is near your 
 dinner hour;" and ringing the bell, to our 
 great satisfaction, moved off; the meal 
 which we were waiting to partake of, 
 being a very acceptable succedaneum to 
 such senseless prattle. 
 
 *' That any rational being, who has the 
 power of regulating her own actions, 
 should choose to live in vassallage to a 
 multitude, and render herself distressed 
 and miserable, because others do, does ap- 
 G 2 pear
 
 124 LADY CASTLETON, &C. 
 
 pear to me inexplicable," said Lady J. 
 ** I do not apprehend," I said, '*that 
 these complaints are made in sincerity. 
 Characters of that stamp, if they did not 
 run into public every night, would not, I 
 believe, employ themselves to any useful 
 purpose ; it is not in them. And when 
 they complain of this tyranny, it is only 
 for want of something to say. They would 
 be as ready to complain of dulness, if 
 they had not this source of lamentation." 
 
 Adieu, my dear Madam, 
 
 A. S.
 
 MRS. CONYERS. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MRS. CONYERS.— CHARACTER OF 
 
 WOMEN. — HENRY JERNINGHAM. 
 
 SUNDAY. — SABBATICAL YEAR, 
 
 July 5. 
 
 Our social party is augmented by the 
 arrival of an old friend of Lady Jerning- 
 ham's. This lady being just at the time 
 of life when females are usually suspended 
 between the term Miss, and Mrs, no one 
 presuming to give them the latter, chooses 
 to assume the dignified title of Mrs. Ann 
 CoNYERS, there being many Misses in 
 the family, sooner than she is necessitated 
 to do so ; and her cast of character and 
 of countenance, is more appropriate to 
 that appellation, than to the airy one of 
 Miss. - 
 
 G 3 Though
 
 126 MRS. CONYERS. 
 
 Though I am not, in general, fond of 
 picking out the only one defect in a com- 
 position ; or being dissatisfied with one 
 person, because they are not like another; 
 yet, in delineating characters to my aunt, 
 I must sketch them as they appqar to me, 
 or she cannot know, or understand them. 
 Mrs. Conyers is, certainly, a woman of 
 strong and clear sense — of originality of 
 thought, and a well cultivated mind : her 
 opinions seem, in general, correct and 
 just; but they would come forth more 
 pleasantly, and with better effect, if they 
 came with Jess decision, and vehemence 
 of expression. With her, there does not 
 seem to be a question of any thing ; but 
 the law is laid down. It is not with her, 
 in general, conversation, or an inter- 
 change of thoughts between persons, but, 
 an harangue; and though she is well 
 enough furnished with ideas and words, 
 still, it is very possible to be tired of an 
 haranguer: and the reason is obvious. 
 Conversation is a kind of commerce — a 
 
 mutual
 
 MRS. CONYERS. 127 
 
 mutual traffic in thoughts and sentiments, 
 in which every one capable of reflection 
 and observation, is at liberty to express 
 his sentiments, as occasion and matter 
 draw them forth. Harangues are there- 
 fore, monopolies, and few can be guilty 
 of these with impunity ; that is, who can 
 furnish matter so interesting as to gratify 
 the wishes of the company, and suspend, 
 for a time, the natural desire every one 
 feels of now and then contributing their 
 part. Could our sex be fully aware 
 how much interest they gain to their 
 cause, by gentlewoman-like manners, and 
 a mild tone of voice, how deeply soft- 
 ness and elegance occasion sentiments to 
 sink into the heart; they would never 
 adopt the forensic style, so little suited to 
 private companies, and small rooms. "^ 
 
 Mr. 
 
 •I beg to recommend to the attention of my female 
 readers, the beginning of the last chapter of the 2d 
 part of that very charming little book, "The History 
 
 g4 o^
 
 128 MRS. CONYERS. 
 
 Mr. Jerningham, who is not, I believe, 
 particularly fond of very talkative ladies, 
 and occasionally exhibits symptoms of 
 impatience when Mrs. Conyers is holding 
 forth, had laid a wager, the other day, in 
 how long a period he would detect her 
 preaching sola. She began yesterday, 
 upon the present habits and modes of life, 
 the indolent lounorinoj manner in which 
 even men of education pass their time; the 
 excessive dissipation of the women ; the 
 diminished respect shewn to age, &c. — 
 and, to do her justice, she made many 
 good and pointed observations : when, 
 upon her resting at a well-turned period, 
 Jerningham, looking at his watch, ex- 
 claimed in a low voice, '* Twenty minutes, 
 by Jupiter!'* The lady stared — Lady J. 
 looked grave and embarrassed ; but I, 
 
 of the Widow Placid;" a book full of improvement 
 and attraction, but to which the upholder of our es- 
 tablishment might venture to make a small exception, 
 if he entered freely upon the subject. 
 
 who
 
 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 129 
 
 who comprehended his meaning, unable 
 properly to command my features, found 
 the room too warm,' and walked on the 
 the lawn. 
 
 Yesterday, after dinner, we fell into 
 discourse upon the characters of women 
 of the present day. — Mr. Jerningham 
 launched forth with satirical acrimony, 
 but not entirely without reason on his 
 side, upon the frivohty, uselessness, and 
 sometimes licentious manners of women 
 in the higher circles ; he spoke in general, 
 and in a sweeping style. " I cannot en- 
 tirely undertake their cause," said Sir 
 William, ** nor can I allow a sinde man. 
 particularly if he has lived long single, 
 and been much abroad, to be a fair and 
 impartial judge of the characters of wo- 
 men, for many reasons. Let me hear a 
 man who has, early in life, married an 
 estimable female, rail at the sex in ge- 
 nial, and I will say, that either the turn 
 G 5 of
 
 130 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 
 
 of his mind is satirical and discontented ; 
 or, that he is ungrateful for the happiness 
 and comfort which he has, or might have 
 enjoyed, if it were not his own fault. 
 Marry, Jerningham, a virtuous and lovely 
 young woman, and then I shall hear your 
 tone softened on that score.'* Jerning- 
 ham. ** Marry a virtuous young woman ! 
 In these times he must be a sanguine 
 man^ who could hope to meet with the 
 virtuous daughter of a virtuous mother.'* 
 Sir William. '* Harsh, severe, and un- 
 warranted. — What ! because a few score, 
 or a few hundreds of women of a certain 
 rank have set a pernicious example, and 
 violated all moral principles, shall we 
 therefore condemn in the mass ? What 
 are those few, in comparison to the mul- 
 titudes of virtuous, regular, and useful 
 characters, that are spread over the coun- 
 try at large, unknown, untalked of? Vice 
 and folly are noisy and obtrusive, their 
 deeds and misdeeds are proclaimed by 
 sound of trumpet ; whilst a far larger 
 
 proportion
 
 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 131 
 
 proportion of excellence, of talents, of 
 exemplary goodness, flourishes in quiet 
 retirement, unknown beyond a very small 
 circle. It would be great injustice to 
 the sex, to estimate their character as a 
 body, by the manners and conduct of the 
 higher ranks. Elevated station, riches, 
 and independence, with all their baneful 
 train of flattery, dissipation, and continued 
 self-indulgence, are great snares to virtue 
 and purity of heart. 
 
 ** Let us look to the numerous private 
 families, chiefly resident in the country, 
 or in moderate-sized towns, for regularity, 
 virtue, and happiness: there may we often 
 see one woman the blessing of a whole 
 house, which looks up to her with reve- 
 rence and affection ; the guardian of her 
 children, the protector of her domestics, 
 the delight of her husband.'* Sir William's 
 eyes brightened, and his voice softened ; 
 while Lady Jerningham looked down,— 
 but after a minute's pause — ** Indeed, 
 G 6 you
 
 132 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 
 
 you and I, Sir William, have known 
 numbers of this inestimable class, in dif- 
 ferent places; many exemplary wives of 
 clergymen, beneficed and not beneficed, 
 who were a blessing to all around them ; 
 some in a still more humble sphere; and 
 some, I must insist, in the higher ranks, 
 exemplary and happy wives and mothers. 
 And indeed, among my numerous inti- 
 mate acquaintance, in different places 
 where we have resided, I must aver, that 
 virtuous propensity, and general good 
 conduct, have been more predominant 
 than the contrary." Jerningham. ** Your 
 ladyship has chosen your society.'' Lady 
 J. ^* And so may every one ; so may you, 
 cousin ; no one is compelled to keep bad 
 company.'' Mrs. Conyers, *' When I 
 liear any one declaim with severe and 
 general condemnation of our sex, I form 
 my own opinion of the kind of company 
 he has kept." Mr. Jerningham hummed 
 
 a tune^
 
 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 133 
 
 a tune, with a kind of contemptuous air.* 
 Sir William, *'We should always avoid 
 too general censures, and never justify 
 particular delinquents ; but so far I will 
 venture to assert, that out of six wives 
 who have swerved from the right path, 
 four have been led to so unjustifiable a 
 dereliction by the cold negligence and 
 absence of their husbands, who do not 
 even join with them in their dissipations." 
 Lady Jerningham. *'I am afraid we can- 
 not 
 
 * Mr. Macdonald, a very pleasing and intelligent 
 traveller in Sweden and Denmark, in iSOp, thus 
 candidly expresses himself : " The scandalous chroni- 
 cle of Gothenburg is abundantly dwelt upon by those 
 who have taken more pleasure in such speculations, 
 and may have been more fortunate, or unfortunate, 
 than myself. Here, however, as in other places, I 
 have generally found that nine-tenths of the reports 
 are lies ; and that of the remaining tenth part, those 
 very men who brag most loudly of being concerned 
 in gallantry, are generally very innocent. 1 believe 
 that Gothenburg, like many other towns of the same 
 
 wealth
 
 134 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 
 
 not allow that to be any excuse for mis- 
 conduct — we must act from a superior 
 principle ; we are Christians, amenable 
 to a great tribunal ; deficiency of conduct 
 on one side, cannot justify it on the oihen 
 — If no woman was to preserve her alle- 
 giance longer than her husband preserved 
 his obliging attention, I am afraid" — Sir 
 
 wealth and population, has many excellent and vir- 
 tuous couples, and a few much otherwise ; and that 
 of one of the latter,fameis more noisy than of fifty of 
 the former. The man and woman who pass quietly 
 and virtuoubly through their domestic routine of 
 duties, solicit no public notice, and are seldom fa- 
 voured with it. Those who act otherwise, and make 
 confusion in society, are heard of by every body. — 
 All I think necessary to add, is, that if well-regulated 
 families, decent orderly behaviour in public and in 
 private, good taste in dress, genteel and obliging 
 manners, interesting and amusing conversation, all 
 set off by real feminine softness and delicacy, render 
 the female character desirable ; the ladies with whom 
 I was acquainted in Gothenburg, possess them in an 
 eminent degree." 
 
 William,
 
 CHARACTER OF WOMEN. 135 
 
 William. '^See there novy, I am forming 
 an excuse for the delinquents of her sex, 
 and Maria, instead of thanking me for 
 it, is pointing a small battery at our's." 
 Lady J. ^* I do not wish to excuse the 
 delinquents of our sex — I only protest 
 against those chain-shot tliat carry every 
 thing before them." Jerningham. ** Dis- 
 interestedness is not a common virtue : 
 we cannot expect, Lady Jerningham, 
 to possess it in so eminent a degree, as to 
 catch at a justification of the class just 
 mentioned. What we can receive no 
 benefit from, we are apt to be indifferent 
 about, and even sometimes to oppose." 
 
 We moved into the drawing-room ; 
 Mrs. Convers making a ludicrous stitf 
 courtesy to Mr. Jerningham, who open- 
 ed the door for us, which was returned 
 by a bow equally amusing : a sort of 
 cwil war seems to have commenced be- 
 tween them.
 
 136 CHARACTER OF WOMEN, 
 
 Juhj 9. 
 
 Extremely amusing to an observ- 
 ing mind, is the great variety of cha- 
 racters which human nature presents to 
 us, even in the same family : though there 
 may be a similar cast, as in features or 
 countenance, still, the discriminating ob- 
 server will discern an endless variety in 
 the lights and shades; though there may 
 be a general tendency to good or bad, to 
 wise or foolish, according to the leading 
 character of the heads of it; still this 
 will shew itself in different w^ays. I 
 have often thought, that were it in our 
 power to correct what we call the failings 
 of our friends, and lop off what w^e do not 
 like in their characters, we should pro- 
 duce, instead of agreeable and interest- 
 ing beings, a sameness and insipidity of 
 manners, a maukish amiableness of ex- 
 terior ; not to mention that the failings 
 and inequalities of those we love, furnish 
 an exercise for our best qualities, and 
 
 afford,
 
 HENRY JERNINGHAM. 13/ 
 
 afford, sometimes, an occasion of inwardly 
 exulting in the triumph of tenderness and 
 patience, over irascibility, impatience, and 
 discontent. 
 
 I am very much, as Miss Talbot recom- 
 mends, for taking people as they are, and 
 not fretting ourselves and others by a fruit- 
 less v^ish, or endeavour, to make them 
 more perfect. 
 
 Another Jerningham is introduced into 
 the family, of a colouring somewhat dif- 
 ferent from those I have before contem- 
 plated, and one that is not to be read at 
 sight. 
 
 I have taken some days to study this 
 young man, and do not feel myself yet 
 competent to the delineation of his cha- 
 racter; yet he is perfectly natural, only 
 rather reserved and unobtrusive; more of 
 a thinker, than a talker; for they are 
 different characters, and not often united, 
 in young people particularly. This, the 
 eldest son of Sir William, is called neither 
 after him, nor his father, but after iiis 
 
 lamented
 
 138 HENRY JERNINGHAM. 
 
 lamented friend Henry Fitzosborne : and 
 his father once said, he seemed to be the 
 inheritor of his own pensive feelings on 
 this subject. To gain attention and no- 
 tice seems to be the very least of his 
 wishes ; he appears even incommoded by 
 it. To please, by the surrender of his 
 own opinions to another's judgment, is 
 the last thing he would think of. He 
 will not, I think, become a popular cha- 
 racter, but a highly correct and estimable 
 one. 
 
 He will be the imitator of no one; the 
 follower of no fools nor fops. A vigo- 
 rous and clear perception of right and 
 wrong seems to mark the character of his 
 mind; though he so seldom delivers his opi- 
 nion in company, that I began to doubt, 
 wJiether he had an opinion on many sub- 
 jects, till by chance I heard him, in a con- 
 versation with his mother, in walking 
 yesterday evening, express himself in a 
 manner that left me astonished at the 
 extent of his reflections, the strength of 
 
 his
 
 HENRY JERN'IXGHAM. 139 
 
 his language, and the animated flow of 
 his ideas. All in his mind appears dis- 
 tinct, and decided; no indeterminate 
 sentiments ; no vacillating betvYcen 
 right and wrong. If I were inclined 
 to find a fault, I should say, that 
 there was a want of graciousness about 
 him; a little abruptness at times; a 
 carelessness of the lesser graces of do- 
 mestic life and manners. I had made up 
 my mind that my young philosopher, as 
 I term him, possessed the most invincible 
 and invariable gravity, till this morning, 
 as I approached our library, up-stairs, 
 I heard shouts of laughter : on entering, 
 I found the table strewed with odd 
 sketches and caricatures, which I learned 
 from his two sisters, for the young man 
 had decamped, were representations, de- 
 lineated by him, of some whimsical mor- 
 tals at Oxford ; and illustrated by appro- 
 priate action and gesture, at the time I 
 was approaching. I have not yet, thought 
 I, read my young philosopher. 
 
 la
 
 140 HENRY JERNINGHAM. 
 
 In conversing with Lady Jerningham, 
 upon her son's character — ''Henry," said 
 she, " does not do himself justice; the 
 interior of his mind is infinitely superior 
 to what his general manners would give 
 reason to expect: they are sometimes 
 cold and careless ; but his heart is tender, 
 pious, and affectionate. I know him, I 
 enter into his character: he very much 
 resembles, in many points, ray amiable 
 cousin Cooper: some are all manners- 
 Henry is all mind. I hope, however, that 
 a little more general intercourse with the 
 world, will impress him with a sense of 
 the necessity, at least the expediency, of 
 adding complacent manners to a fine 
 mind, in order to communicate more ge- 
 neral influence, by his own correct prin» 
 ciples ; and to render a bright example 
 more winning and imitable.
 
 SUNDAY. 141 
 
 Monday f July 10. 
 
 In that excellent work, Ccelebs, when 
 the narrator is made to observe, that he 
 never saw the difficulty of spending a 
 Sunday, properly and pleasantly sur- 
 mounted, (or to that effect, I mean) till 
 he got to Stanley Grove, I cannot help 
 regretting that the author did not, with 
 more particularity, give us a description 
 of the peculiar manner in which this 
 great object was attainable; for cer- 
 tainly, as Lady Beltield remarks, it is 
 one of the many right things which are 
 difficult to accomplish, in preserving an 
 intercourse with the world, to pass the 
 Sunday consistently with our own strong 
 conviction of the holiness of the day, and 
 with the attentions and sacrifices we 
 sometimes think it necessary to make to 
 our inmates and visitors. 
 
 "I could never," said Lady Jerning- 
 ham once to me, " pass my Sunday, (at 
 the head of a family I mean) to the sa- 
 tisfaction
 
 142 SUNDAY. 
 
 tisfaction of my own mind, till I acted 
 upon the principle that there is a para- 
 mount duty to that of amusing our friends, 
 and keeping them from being weary on 
 .that day." 
 
 There is, to my feelings, something pe- 
 culiarly delightful and gratifying in a 
 Sunday at Jerningham Hall. An equal 
 cheerful joy, but more regulated and 
 tranquil, less connected with trifles, seems 
 to reign throughout the house. We are 
 rather less together ; have less miscel- 
 laneous conversation ; but meet with 
 equal pleasure. A few rules are adhered 
 to : — there is no letter-writing, no com- 
 mon visiting, no reading or discussing of 
 trifling books, on that day. One regula- 
 tion I did not disover till a short time 
 since. The letters which are brought about 
 breakfast-time, and arrive a little before 
 church-time, are left upon the library 
 table, instead of being brought in at that 
 time, and we take them after church. 
 Miss Jerninghani; expressing her chagrin 
 
 at
 
 SUNDAY. 14S 
 
 at not having a letter of her's, a few days 
 since, immediately as it arrived : " I, 
 my dear," said her mother, ' " find my 
 thoughts but too apt to wander, without 
 any excitements ; and, if you please, the 
 letters shall remain as your father has 
 arranged ; and those who wish to go to 
 church with a letter in their head, or per- 
 haps in their hahd, must fetch them." 
 After church, the young ladies, with 
 their mother, visit the Sunday School ; 
 where it is truly delightful to see these 
 young scions of such a tree, instructing 
 and catechising children often older than 
 themselves, under the eye of their mo- 
 ther. — It is a rule, that all the servants 
 but two shall attend each service. There 
 is, of course, no dressing in the middle of 
 the day, every one being plainly neat at 
 breakfast. 
 
 Between dinner and tea, I observe 
 Lady Jerningham generally goes to her 
 dressing-room, and some of her daughters 
 follow her. I believe the greater part 
 
 of
 
 144 SUNDAY. 
 
 of her maid-servanls attend, and read al- 
 ternately in the Bible. 
 
 After tea, we generally take a pleasant 
 walk, which always includes the village, 
 first or last. 
 
 ** I peculiarly enjoy," says Lady Jer- 
 ningham, the general look of neatness, 
 tranquil joy, and content, which seems 
 to brighten every do(5r-way and rural 
 seat: it is the jubilee of the poor, their 
 happy day." 
 
 The two younger girls, not joining in 
 the ceremony of the tea-table, generally 
 set out a little before us, to visit some of 
 their aged friends. 
 
 As we entered the village yesterday, 
 Eliza ran out from a pretty cottage, and 
 joined us. Putting her arm into Lady 
 Jerningham's : ^^AYhat is the reason, dear 
 mamma, that Sunday always seems a 
 more delightful day than any other ? " 
 
 The tender mother, for a few minutes, 
 fixed her eyes upon her in silent com- 
 placency: at length — " It is with no 
 
 small
 
 SUNDAY. 145 
 
 small pleasure," said she, '^ that I see in 
 my child feelings so consonant with my 
 own. It was at an early period of my 
 youth I experienced that the evening 
 of a sabbath, passed as it ought to be, 
 and tranquilly concluding in the bosom 
 of an orderly family, was a period of the 
 truest enjoyment to the soul ; of the hap- 
 piest and most welcome feelings. I can 
 only account for this upon the principle, 
 that the more we are detached from the 
 vanities, anxieties, and bustle t)f the 
 world, the more we are employed in the 
 worship and contemplation of perfec- 
 tion ; the more happy we are in the 
 praise and service of the 07ie Great 
 Cause : the soul enjoys its sabbath here, 
 and still more the thought of that eternal 
 sabbath, when praise, benevolence, and 
 love, shall be the endless and joyful 
 occupation of our souls. 
 
 *' The observation also of that com- 
 fortable rest, and cessation from labour 
 and anxiety, which our domestics, poor 
 
 VOL. I. H neighbours^
 
 146 SUNDAY. 
 
 neighbours, and even our cattle, enjoy, 
 is no small addition to our pleasurable 
 feelings. And the cottagers, as we now see, 
 pacing their little gardens and orchards 
 in tranquil comfort." 
 
 ** O mamma," said Sophia, '* Goody 
 Brown's roses are so beautiful that you 
 gave us to plant for her last year! She 
 was sitting in the midst of them — and so 
 pleased — you can't think how pleased 
 she looked !" 
 
 *' Have you, Lady Jerningham," said 
 I, **that kind of enjoyment of the Sunday 
 in London, which you speak of so feel- 
 ingly here ?" She shook her head — *' In 
 the contemplation of peaceful and pious 
 rest, is it possible 1 should have, my 
 good friend ? I can with ease and com- 
 fort twice attend our church service ; hear 
 it well and impressively performed, and, 
 in general an excellent discourse follow- 
 ing; I can avoid visiting and parties, 
 and spend the remainder of the day with 
 ^y family. But to witness the racket 
 
 in
 
 SUNDAY. 147 
 
 in the streets, the increased number of 
 morning visits, and the Park — alas, the 
 Park !— is sufficiently painful to a reflect- 
 ing mind. If it were only filled by those, 
 who being necessarily confined by business 
 during the week, require, and must enjoy 
 some relaxation, the most fastidious 
 could not complain. 
 
 But when we regularly see those who 
 have satiated themselves with pleasure 
 and exhibition during the week, make 
 this their grand display of gay equipages 
 — draw forth all their show — servants, in 
 their new liveries, not one of w^hom has 
 perhaps entered a church — it is indeed a 
 lamentable subject of contemplation." 
 
 ** Is it possible,'' said i\Irs. Conyers, 
 ** to observe with indifference the habit, 
 becoming every day more and more pre- 
 valent in the higher circles, amongst 
 those in office particularly, of giving 
 public dinners on a Sunday ? With what 
 sentiment and feeling must we peruse the 
 following list, which I copied verbatim 
 H 2 from
 
 148 SUNDAY. 
 
 from a newspaper, only omitting three 
 dinners on the Monday. 
 
 '^ On Sunday, — the — — 
 
 of — entertained a select party with 
 an elegant dinner, at his seat at • 
 
 *' Sunday, the Earl of ■ gave a 
 
 grand dinner to a select party, at his 
 house in P y. 
 
 "The E — 1 of ' gave a grand 
 
 dinner on Sunday, to the E — Is of C n 
 
 and B 1, Lord M e, Lord L 
 
 G r, at his house in G r-S . 
 
 " Lord had a grand dinner- 
 party on Sunday, at his house at W— — 1. 
 
 ** The M and M , 
 
 gave a grand dinner on Sunday to a large 
 
 party of friends, at L H- e, B— 
 
 S e. 
 
 " Lord — entertained the E — 1 
 
 of C m, and a large party of military 
 
 officers on Sunday, with an elegant dinner, 
 
 at his house in H S— — t. 
 
 "The
 
 SUNDAY. 149 
 
 ** The E— 1 of had a select 
 
 dinner-party, on Sunday, at his seat, 
 
 C— b W d. 
 
 ** Now, why all this select elegance 
 might not," continued Mrs. Conyers, 
 "have been exhibited on any other day, 
 with equally good effect, I am quite at a 
 loss to comprehend. As none of these 
 leaders of fashion are compelled to stand 
 behind the counter, or labour at the desk, 
 for the whole of the week ; I cannot see 
 why they should be so very anxious to 
 proclaim to the world, that they can, and 
 will, break the sabbath, and cause their 
 domestics to do the same. And in re- 
 gard to the supreme pleasure of display- 
 ing themselves in the Park; if there must 
 be a day of exhibition of new carriages, 
 and four-in-hand drivers, why should not 
 Monday be the day fixed ? I imagine 
 the sun in general shines equally bright 
 upon that day." 
 
 H 3 Mr.
 
 150 SUNDAY. 
 
 Mr. Jerningharn. " Every thing of 
 this sort may be carried too far : my no- 
 tion is, that if people have gone once or 
 twice to church, they may spend the rest 
 of the day as they please." 
 
 Sir William. " What shall we do then 
 with the fourth commandment, Jerning- 
 ham ? * Remember the sabbath-day, to 
 keep it holy.' Can any thing we have 
 BOW been speaking of accord with that 
 command ? It is not an optional, but a po- 
 sitive precept. What shall we do with 
 those beautiful injunctions at the end of 
 the 58th chapter of Isaiah ? * If thou 
 turn away thy foot from the sabbath, from 
 doing thy axon pleasure on my holy day, 
 and call the sabbath a delight, the holy 
 of the Lord, honourable, and shalt ho- 
 nour him, not finding thine own plea- 
 sure, nor speaking thine own words; then 
 shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord ; 
 and I will cause thee to ride upon the 
 high places.' Is it possible, upon the 
 most charitable construction, to suppose 
 
 that
 
 SUNDAY. 151 
 
 that the classes we have been speaking of 
 can ever look to the rewards here held 
 out?" 
 
 Mrs. Conyers. " No ; provided they 
 can ride in the Park on a Sunday, they 
 will take their chance for riding in the 
 high places, A lady with whom I was 
 on a visit in town, upon the clouds ga- 
 thering in a threatening manner, ex- 
 claimed : ' I hate a wet Sunday in town, 
 because one cannot go to — the Park T 
 I, in my simple imagination, thought to 
 church was coming, but I proved a bad 
 guesser. Another lady said, with perfect 
 gravity, upon my asking what church she 
 went to : * Why, really one can't well go 
 to church in London ; it does extremely 
 well in the country, and I generally go ; 
 but in town — ihqre is the opera on Satur- 
 day night— one is always very late from 
 home, and then one is too much fag g'd to 
 bustle up and be ready for church in 
 the morning.' But the evening service ? 
 h4 *Of
 
 152 SUKDAY. 
 
 * O ! one has generally so many visitors, or 
 visits to make oneself." Mr. Jerningham^ 
 ** Then do you mean to assert, madam, 
 that nobody ever goes to church in Lon- 
 don ?'* Mrs. C. " No, Mr. Jerningham ; 
 I am only speaking o^ facts.'' 
 
 Soon after we returned from our walk, 
 Sir William read to his family a short 
 sermon and prayers in the library. After 
 a cheerful supper, reference being made 
 by some one to a part of our conver- 
 sation before prayers : " If our great 
 folk&,'' said Mrs. Conyers, ** so ejitirely 
 reject the divine command, to appro- 
 priate one day in seven to a holy rest ; 
 in what manner can we suppose they 
 would receive a command for the ob- 
 servance of a Sabbatical year, as given 
 to the IsraeHtes? As they were en- 
 joined to abstain from the cultivation of 
 the earth, and the labours of the harvest ; 
 let us suppose, for a moment, our dcTO- 
 tees of pleasure to be restrained from 
 
 the
 
 SABBATICAL YEAR. 153 
 
 the only labour their tender frames ever 
 encounter — the labour of pleasure. Let 
 us reflect for one moment upon the mise- 
 ries of a year, in which operas, plays, 
 balls, grand routes, &c. should be pro- 
 hibited ! A whole year, in which nothing 
 but moderate friendly parties were al- 
 lowed as lawful ! The very thought makes 
 one's hair stand an end. I am afraid we 
 should have an absolute insurrection in 
 the fashionable circles, were the com- 
 mand human or divine. A second his- 
 tory of the rebellious angels, whom they 
 now so nearly resemble in their primeval 
 state of purity and holiness." 
 
 Mr. Jerningham. '' Upon my soul, ma- 
 dam, I owe you a grudge for the very 
 thought; it has throv/n me into a cold 
 sudorific torpor, that I shall not recover 
 for this month. A whole year without 
 any other source of enjoyment than can 
 be afforded by the cultivation of science, 
 taste, literature, family affection, and 
 H 5 friendship!
 
 154 SABBATICAL YEAK. 
 
 friendship ! No charming opera lounge 
 with the dancers ! no amusing lounge 
 at the theatre ! nor entertaining obser- 
 vations or remarks upon the witty hits 
 in a new performance ! Upon my life, 
 the number of suicides would be increased 
 beyond all calculation !'* 
 
 Sir William. ** If I may be allowed to 
 calculate with an older head, I should be 
 inclined to hope that, cards and dice, and 
 many other sources of exhausted fortunes 
 and constitutions being prohibited, the 
 number of suicides in high life miirht 
 more probably be diminished." Mr. 
 Jerningham. '* I am glad, however, that 
 you are not to be our legislator. Sir 
 William : for upon such an emergency, 
 what would become of us poor devils of 
 loungers, who have little taste for any 
 thing else." ** Mercy !" exclaimed Miss 
 Jerningham, ** what a horrible sort of 
 conversation this is ! Who can possibly 
 live without amusements in London?" 
 
 Sir
 
 SABBATICAL YEAR, 155 
 
 Sir William. *' It is more than possible 
 that in case of an absolute necessity, a 
 new taste might be superinduced ; I 
 have heard of such things as persons 
 rather advanced in life, driven by neces- 
 sity, actually learning to read, and get- 
 ting on tolerably. 
 
 " In such cases, it would be, I imagine, 
 expedient to begin with short articles in 
 a magazine, the Gentleman's, for in- 
 stance ; some of those could tire no one : 
 they might then go to the first act of a 
 farce, or after-piece, and gradually get 
 through a play ; and so on to a novel, or 
 tale, of one volume; by degrees, they 
 might be able to get through the life of 
 some illustrious statesman." 
 
 Jerningham. " Thank you, Sir Wil- 
 liam, you have just hit upon the dullest 
 of all possible reading. When a man 
 came into parliament, and when he went 
 out; when he made a speech, and when 
 he did not ; the zips and the doxvns, the 
 H 6 ins
 
 156 SABBATICAL YEAR. 
 
 ins 2ind the outs: very amusing, faith T 
 Maria burst into a hearty laugh, and 
 every one seemed much amused with the 
 turn of the conversation. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Aunt, 
 
 Ever, with sincere respect, 
 
 A.S.
 
 SIR HENRY, Sec. 157 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 SIR HEXRY AND LADY CHARLOTTE 
 WEST. LORD EDWARD CLAREN- 
 DON. — SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. 
 — FASHIONS. 
 
 July 15. 
 
 For this day or two, all our ideas and 
 discourse have been occupied with a most 
 uncommon, but interesting event. I must 
 go back, in order to introduce it pro- 
 perly to your knowledge. 
 
 Do you remember, my dear madam, 
 how busy the town was, last winter, on 
 the subject of Sir Henry and Lady 
 Charlotte West? Their marriage, which 
 took place early in the winter, and the 
 sudden and quick appearance of estrange^ 
 ment, or indifference, which followed ; 
 yet it was a romantic love-match, as every 
 one had imagined ; she having been sup- 
 posed
 
 158 SIR HEXRY AND 
 
 posed to have refused, at least, discou- 
 raged, the addresses of a very amiable 
 young man, Lord Edward Clarendon, in 
 favour of Sir Henry, who was many years 
 older than herself. She was not of a^e, 
 I believe, but obtained the consent of 
 her guardian, (her mother being married 
 a second time) upon the first application, 
 without his having seen, or knowing any 
 thins of the man in favour of whom she 
 applied. 
 
 Sir Henry West had travelled much; 
 had been resident in several courts, in a 
 diplomatic character, and was entirely 
 the man of fashion ; gay, gallant, polished, 
 possessing that insinuating easy confidence, 
 which seldom fails to make its way in 
 fashionable society. 
 
 He had been in the habit of paying 
 flattering attentions, it was said, to ladies 
 of various descriptions ; yet, it was whis- 
 pered, that he would be very nice in his 
 choice ; and that choice, it was added, 
 would be a very flattering distinction, if 
 
 he
 
 LADY CHARLOTTE WEST. 159 
 
 he should ever bring himself to think of 
 matrimony. Lady Charlotte appeared 
 to be the fair one so greatly distinguished, 
 and was congratulated upon her con- 
 quest. No flattering adulations were 
 omitted to convince her that she was the 
 goddess of his adoration, and excelled 
 air her sex in beauty, elegance, and ta- 
 lents : in public he seemed her very sha- 
 dow ; and to see one was to see the 
 other. Lady Charlotte was not destitute 
 of sense or good qualities; but a roman- 
 tic fondness for attention and distinction, 
 an unregulated sensibihty, and some 
 share of vanity, were her predominant 
 foibles. She imagined these airy flights 
 of rapturous admiration and approbation 
 would be everlasting in their duration, 
 and in the flattering distinction she re- 
 ceived, she forgot what she had often 
 heard, that Sir Henry was a man of gal- 
 lantry, and even of intrigue. She flat- 
 tered herself that this habitual character 
 w^s changed in consequence of his ex- 
 alted
 
 I60 SIR HENRY AND 
 
 alted affection for her; and she dreamt 
 of nothing but eternal attachment: words 
 so often in his mouth, that they must be 
 in his heart. Perhaps, indeed, she was 
 little aware, that the man who is most 
 lavish of his adulations before marriage, 
 is in general most deficient of them af- 
 terwards. 
 
 She gave him, however, her heart, and 
 in a short time after, her hand. As 
 usual, they passed the early period of 
 their marriage at a villa of Sir Henry's, 
 near town ; but it was soon rumoured 
 that he had fallen into habits of ennuiy 
 and that he was obliged to have recourse 
 to chess and backgammon to fill up the 
 hours of their retirement. 
 
 In due time they launched into the 
 circle of fashionable life, and Lady Char- 
 lotte was not very long in discovering 
 that the goddess was sunk into the wife ; 
 and that she should not be too much 
 troubled with her shadow — they were 
 never seen together; he troubled not her 
 
 parties,
 
 lADY CHARLOTTE WEST. l6l 
 
 parties, nor she his. They had both, it 
 seems, made a small mistake ; she had 
 married to have a flattering and constant 
 admirer, — he, to have a beautiful and 
 elegant young woman ; and neither for 
 a friend, companion, or confident. 
 
 It was kindly intimated to Lady Char- 
 lotte, by some particular friends, that 
 Sir Henry was not averse to attending any 
 ladies in public, since he had been at 
 some, not very select entertainments, 
 much frequented by females of a secon- 
 dary class. 
 
 Her sensibility was deeply wounded ; 
 her vanity mortified; her beauty lessened, 
 and her good humour destroyed by cha- 
 grin. She wandered from one public 
 place to another, a prey to discontent, a 
 faint shadow of her former self. Lord 
 Edward Clarendon frequently met her 
 in company : his behaviour w^as respect- 
 ful, but his eyes followed her with com- 
 passionate assiduity; he read the anguish 
 of her heart, and deeply pitied her. Com- 
 passion
 
 162 SIR HENRY AND 
 
 passion for a once-loved and attractive 
 woman, is a dangerous sentiment; it too 
 plainly spoke in his eyes, and once un- 
 warily escaped from his tongue. Finding 
 her in an aukward embarrassment on the 
 stairs of the Opera-House, endeavouring 
 to get to her chair, amongst a parcel of 
 wrangling footmen and chairmen, he flew 
 to her succour. " I am, indeed," said 
 she, " distressed ! I feel the want of a 
 protecting friend." ** Would to heaven," 
 exclaimed he, as he seized her hand, 
 *^ that I had been the legal protector of 
 so much beauty and sensibility !" he 
 placed her in her chair, and pressing her 
 hand, took leave for the present. 
 
 From various causes, the health of Lady 
 Charlotte became so alarmingly derang- 
 ed, that it was deemed, by her physician, 
 absolutely requisite that she should go 
 down to their country seat earlier than 
 any fashionable person would think of 
 leaving town, that is in May; and she 
 was expressly enjoined to ride on horse- 
 back,
 
 LADY CHARLOTTE WEST. l63 
 
 back, regularly. It might seem possible 
 that a husband should accompany her 
 under these circumstances; but the nu- 
 merous indispensable engagements of Sir 
 Henry, rendered it, as he imagined, ab- 
 solutely impracticable. A female friend 
 accompanied her, who was no horse- 
 woman, and she commenced her soUtary 
 prescribed rides. 
 
 Lord Edward's country seat, as you 
 know, is not far from Sir Henry's. — He, 
 it seems, this season chose to leave town 
 earlier than usual, and to pass the greater 
 part of his mornings in riding about the 
 country ; where he chanced frequently to 
 meet Lady Charlotte, and sometimes to 
 accompany her to her own house; but 
 never to enter it. 
 
 Lord Edward was a man of education, 
 of taste, of upright principle; but not 
 free from human weakness. He had not; 
 resolution enough to renounce the com- 
 pany of a woman so very interesting ; but 
 who, he should have reflected, could be 
 
 nothing
 
 164 SIR HENRY AKD 
 
 nothing to him. Their conversation turn- 
 ed upon various interesting topics of mo- 
 dern habits and manners ; in the course 
 of which she could not fail to discover 
 deep reflection, sound principle, and 
 gentlemanly sensibility. Alas! this was 
 an unfortunate period to make these dis- 
 coveries. Sir Henry, hearing that his 
 goddess was recovering her health, was 
 content to follow her down in about three 
 weeks. In this period many painful re- 
 grets, and invidious comparisons had 
 taken deep root in her breast. 
 
 At length he appeared at his country 
 seat: but numerous engagements at home 
 and abroad, seemed to occupy his time 
 and thoughts. Sir Henry was a man of 
 much vivacity and lively conversation; 
 but his wife and he seemed to have no 
 opportunity for friendly intercourse, 
 , and rational communication; on the 
 foolish pretence of bad health, they had 
 recourse to separate chambers, or it 
 is more than probable that the powerful 
 
 feelings
 
 LADY CHARLOTTE WEST. 165 
 
 feelings that oppressed her heart, would, 
 at some time, have found their way to 
 her lips, and an explanation might have 
 followed. Lord Edward frequently made 
 one of their large parties at home, when 
 he witnessed, with feelings too clearly ex- 
 pressed in his eyes, the cold negligence 
 of her husband, and her deep sense of it. 
 
 About ten days since, Sir Henry went 
 from home, as for the day only ; but at 
 night, his servant returned to say that he 
 should come home to dinner the next day, 
 and bring a friend with him. The hour 
 of dinner arrived, and no one appeared. 
 Two hours Lady Charlotte waited in faint 
 and exhausted impatience, and then say- 
 ing she should want no dinner, taking a 
 few biscuits and a glass of wine, she 
 rambled about the park in restless dejec- 
 tion. Coffee was ordered, but scarcely 
 tasted ; her mind was worked up to a 
 state of irritation and disgust. 
 
 Unfortunately, this young creature, then 
 but twenty, had not been in the habit of 
 
 recurring
 
 166 LORD EDW. CLARENDON. 
 
 recurring to the only resource in trials 
 and difficulties — a patient endurance of 
 them, under a firm reliance in the mercy 
 and assistance of him who will not for- 
 sake those who uprightly and piously trust 
 in him. 
 
 " I cannot,'* said she to herself, '*bear 
 this wretched life ; — I must leave the 
 house." 
 
 She ordered her carriage, and telling 
 her own woman to attend her, stepped 
 into it, and soon after they left the park, 
 were met by Lord Edward Clarendon, 
 who stopped, and addressed her — ''Your 
 ladyship is late in your airing." She was 
 in tears, and in a tremulous voice repeat- 
 ed : '* Airing ! Alas ! I am a wretched and 
 deserted woman — I can no longer endure 
 my sufferings— I am going to my aunt, 
 Lady G. I shall reach her by morning — 
 but almost fear to travel by night, unpro- 
 tected." " Shall I accompany you ?" — 
 "Will you venture, and return to-mor- 
 row?"—*^ Undoubtedly I will." 
 
 It
 
 LORD EDW, CLARENDON^ 16/ 
 
 It was hastily said — he proceeded— 
 shortly after, a better thought, one more 
 worthy of the name he bore, crossed his 
 mind. The two front blinds were up; Lady 
 Charlotte leaning back in the carriage; — it 
 w^as growing dark. — Lord Edward desired 
 the postillions to follow him ; he would se- 
 cure them from any future displeasure. 
 He took a turn in the road, which led 
 circuitously towards Sir Henry's, and in 
 less than an hour the carriage stopped, 
 and the door was opened. '^ Whyjr how 
 is this ?" exclaimed Lady C. '* we are 
 at home !" ** Be composed ; all is well," 
 said Lord Edward. Sir Henry was then 
 just returned, and did not understand 
 where his wife was gone. The young Lord 
 hastened to his apartment. — *'Sir Henry, 
 here is some mistake and confusion — 
 Lady Charlotte" — " What of her— is she 
 ill?" — '*Not very — but very wretched." 
 " What ! how ?" *' She is not aware how 
 much you love her ; — in her distress of 
 mind, she thought of going to Lady G.'s ; 
 
 she
 
 l68 LORD EDW. CLARENDON. 
 
 she consulted me — I advised her to throw 
 herself upon him who is, or ought to be, 
 her best friend." *' Where is she? What 
 is all this?'' **She is coming in — will you 
 meet her ? But it must be with kindness; 
 she is very weak, and greatly agitated ; 
 she is not well." " Poor dear soul ! I 
 thought she had been quite recovered !" 
 Lord Edward went to the carriage, and 
 Avith difficulty led her in. Sir Henry met 
 her in the hall. Overpowered by a variety 
 of emotions, she fainted in his arms: his 
 tenderness and compassion were strongly 
 excited; he carried her into his study, and 
 placed her on "a sofa — a beauteous image. 
 She gradually recovered. He looked at 
 her and at Lord Edward for farther ex- 
 planation, and seated himself by her : 
 *' Only promise," said she, as he took 
 her hand, '' that you will pardon my cul- 
 pable impetuosity, and I will freely open 
 my heart to you." ''Pardon what, my 
 angel ?" *' Nothing," said Sir Edward ; 
 ''all will now be right: only encourage 
 
 Lady
 
 LORD EDW. GLARENDOX. iGQ 
 
 Lady C. by your tenderness to open her 
 heart" He was preparing to take his 
 leave. — ** You must not leave us," said 
 Sir Henry ; "we shall be quite at a loss." 
 *'No, believe me, Sir, you will best un- 
 derstand one another." — ^'But will you, 
 Sir Henry, breakfast with me to-morrow ? 
 I have something farther to mention, and 
 it will put an end to idle rumour." 
 ** Most certainly, I will." When Lord 
 Edward was gone, Lady C. exclaimed, 
 *' O my dear Sir Henry, what misery 
 have we escaped ! When I should have 
 found myself at a distance from home, 
 what would have been my feelings ?" 
 *^ Dear Ladj C. we w ill no more be 
 at a distance from one another : one 
 house, one room, one sentiment; — 1 have 
 been to blame,"— In the course of the 
 evening, she frankly opened her heart to 
 him, on the source of her sorrow and 
 disappointment in the expected return of 
 her fond regard for him. The most ten- 
 <ler reconciliation followed, mutual self- 
 VOL. I. T crimination
 
 170 LORD EDW. CLARENDON. 
 
 crimination, and mutual forgiveness. 
 Early in the morning, Sir Henry proceed- 
 ed, according to his engagement, to Cla- 
 rendon Place. He entered with eager- 
 ness, and grasping Lord Edward's hand, 
 — ** \yhat are my obligations to you, my 
 dear Lord ! — your noble conduct !" — 
 *' Stop," said his lordship : *'this was only a 
 proper atonement for the former impru- 
 dence I had been guilty of; I was much 
 to blame." — " Be seated, my dear Sir. — 
 Indeed, if you will allow me to say so, 
 we have been all to blame. We seemed 
 none of us to be sufficiently aware of 
 the weakness of human nature ; or you. 
 Sir Henry, having married a lovely 
 woman, with the highest professions of 
 adoration, would not, when she had given 
 you this decided proof of her love, have 
 appeared less sensible of the power 
 of her charms than you had been ; and 
 have given her reason to suspect that you 
 only praised to obtain, and then left her 
 unprotected from the dangerous admira- 
 tion
 
 LOUD EDM'. CLARENDON. 171 
 
 tion of fops and libertines. Lady Char- 
 lotte erred in forming too romantic ideas 
 of the unabating passion and attentions 
 of a husband ; the chagrin of her disap- 
 pointment deprived her of those cheer- 
 ful and endearing manners, which might, 
 had any opportunity been found, have 
 converted the once ardent lover, into 
 the complacent and affectionate husband. 
 And I, O how greatly I erred, in allowing 
 my e3^es to follow, w-ith soft compassion, 
 a woman so attractive and so unhappy ! 
 — in supposing I could ever enjoy, with 
 impunity to either of us, the conversa- 
 tion of one, formerly so much admired, 
 nay, beloved. And now, Sir Henry, I 
 will complete my confessions, by acknow- 
 ledging to you, that when this lovely 
 woman accepted my offered protection, 
 my heart bounded with rapture ; at that 
 moment I only thought of my passion I 
 But my protecting angel happily present- 
 ed before me, in strong colours, the des- 
 pair of a deserted husband, the bitter 
 I 2 remorse
 
 172 LORD EDW. CLARENDON. 
 
 remorse of a fugitive wife ; the endless 
 sorrow and shame that must have clouded 
 the remainder of my days, had I continu- 
 ed so desperate a pursuit — not to say 
 fallen into the dangerous snares of vicious 
 passion. 
 
 *' Thanks to heaven, we are all pre- 
 served from such misery." ** And thanks 
 to you, my dear friend," returned the ba- 
 ronet. "How can I requite you?" **By 
 allowing me still to suggest a few hints, 
 which present circumstances will, I trust, 
 excuse: Lady C. has great sensibility; 
 she has been much admired and followed : 
 transfuse a little of the ardent lover into 
 the tender husband ; let her be sensible 
 that you still admire and love her. A 
 woman is gratified by little polite com- 
 placencies : — she is gratified when her 
 husband sometimes declines dining out, 
 where women are not to be of the party : 
 she is gratified when he returns home to 
 her with visible joy and cheerfulness ; 
 when he occasionally joins her rides or 
 
 walks ;
 
 LORD EDW. CLAREMBON. 173 
 
 walks ; in short, she is gratified with any 
 thing that proves his enjoyments are en- 
 creased by her participation." Sir Henry, 
 in the warmest manner, expressed his 
 gratitude to the worthy young man, and 
 added : " You must return with me; you 
 must dine with us, and witness our com- 
 fort and happiness.'* *^ No, Sir Henry, 
 you must excuse me ; I am too sensible 
 of the nice delicacy of Lady C.'s feelings 
 at this time, to present myself I am also 
 too sensible of the weakness of my own 
 heart, to risque the recalling of newly- 
 conquered weakness. I shall leave home 
 to-morrow; return to town, and then 
 take a little tour. But allow me to add 
 one word of advice : Your home, and 
 the country around, from various circum- 
 stances, will present painful ideas to the 
 mind of Lady C. ; go, for a month, to 
 some cheerful watering-place ; mix in 
 society together, and return to enjoy 
 your own charming place in the plea- 
 sant season that will still remain." 
 
 - I 3 What
 
 174 LORD EDW. CLARENDON, 
 
 What say you, my aunt, does not your 
 pulse beat quicker ? Noble Clarendon ! 
 who would not envy thy heart-felt happi- 
 ness? Thy own unsulHed peace, the ho- 
 nour and domestic happiness of two 
 others, all derived from thy exalted rec- 
 titude ! Who would wish to be selfish 
 and wicked, when such enjoyment may 
 be theirs by the contrary conduct ? This 
 may, indeed, be called protection^ not 
 the infamous prostitution of that word, 
 now so fashionable. 
 
 We speak with much caution and cha- 
 rity here of Lady C. : certainly, her con- 
 duct was highly imprudent; had she 
 pursued her intentions, her reputation 
 must have been the sacrifice, even had 
 she escaped guilt; and with any man but 
 Lord Edward, what was to have been 
 expected ? — But, happily, all is right 
 now, and Lady Jerningham proposes 
 
 visiting
 
 SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, 175 
 
 visiting her, as soon as possible. I ob- 
 served, that when this was first spoken 
 of, she did not enlarge upon the subject ; 
 the young folks being present, it was a 
 delicate affair to discuss quite freely ; she 
 could not excuse Lady C.'s conduct, and 
 she did not wish to condemn her openly ; 
 being a neighbour, and likely to become 
 an acquaintance. 
 
 Jui^ 18. 
 
 Yesterday, we fell again upon the sub- 
 ject which last occupied my pen. I will 
 give you the result Sir WiUiam. " This 
 noble action of Lord Edward's is quite 
 a la Grandison. We have hardly any 
 inducement, in these days, to look for 
 a trait of character so exalted, par 
 ticularly after the excellent pleadings of 
 Mr. G— w, in the case of Sir A. P— t** 
 Mr. Jerningham, ''For heaven's sake, 
 do not compare any living character to 
 I 4 that
 
 176 SIR CHARLES GRANDISONr 
 
 that formal fellow, Sir C. who moved 
 by clock work, untouched by any of the 
 common feelings of humanity ; bowing 
 and parading about like a dancing-mas- 
 ter." Sir William laughed heartily, and 
 added : " It must be confessed, that the 
 manners of Sir Charles present a striking 
 contrast to those assumed by the present 
 fashionable loungers, of which respect 
 and true gallantry to women, form no 
 part ; of this. Lady Jerningham can give 
 an instance or two. Where two parallels 
 run so very wide apart, it is, perhaps, 
 difficult to hit the central medium. There 
 is, indeed, a striking difference in the man- 
 ners of half a century back, and the pre- 
 sent period; but if you will allow me to 
 speak freely, I think our moderns would 
 be gainers by adopting a little of the real 
 gentleman from Sir Charles. But, leav- 
 ing the manners, which are an unimpor- 
 tant part of the book, can we find in any 
 other work of the kind, such noble prin- 
 ciples of action, such heroic, yet engag- 
 ing
 
 SIR CHARLES GRANDISO^^ 177 
 
 ing conduct; such true dignity of charac- 
 ter ; such high christian morality ; so 
 many maxims and rules of conduct, use- 
 ful to both sexes ?" Jerningham. " And 
 to be sure, those high flights of heroism 
 are very natural, and very practicable !" 
 Sir William. *' There is no one noble 
 action of Sir Charles's that might not be 
 performed, and which numbers of men 
 would not be ready to perform in the 
 same situation." Jerningham. ^* I deny 
 that ; can a man refuse a challenge ?" sir 
 William, changing colour, "Would to 
 heaven he could, and did ! — and that 
 young men would read once, and again, 
 Sir Charles's fine letter on that subject, 
 to Sir Hargrave. But let us dwell upon 
 his generous, noble principles, his de- 
 lighting in the society and friendship 
 of the most wise and virtuous, and 
 resolutely shunning that of the vicious 
 and degraded part of the species. Im- 
 possible ! I deny that. Cousin Everard." 
 1 5 Mr.
 
 178 SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. 
 
 Mr. J. looked grave, and rather angry. 
 Sir William, **I beg your pardon, Sir, 
 I know not how that word escaped me : 
 similarity of the names, I suppose. But 
 when you speak, Jerningham, of Sir 
 Charles, * untouched by any of the feel- 
 ings of humanity,' do you not forget the 
 distressing scenes in the noble Bologna 
 family, where every tender feeling of 
 softest pity and sympathy, almost rent 
 his heart asunder; his tears — his illness — " 
 Mrs. Conyers. ** O, the divine Clemen- 
 tina ! the sweet maniac ! her noble strug- 
 gles with a refined passion ; her distresses ; 
 her harsh treatment; her sweet wanderings, 
 almost deprive the heart of peace for a 
 time : — I know nothing equal to it. Miss 
 Byron appears, for a while, a charming 
 and exalted creature; but when we con- 
 template Clementina, she seems to sink 
 into nothing. The noble Italian's digni- 
 fied parting from Sir Charles, in the first 
 instance, forms a striking contrast to the 
 
 extreme
 
 SIR CHARLES GRANDTSON. 179 
 
 extreme frankness of Miss Byron, in so 
 repeatedly dwelling upon her high regard 
 for the wonderful man. Less of that 
 would, I think, have been as well." 
 
 Sir William, " Certainly, there are 
 many parts that we may find fault with, 
 and many that we may laugh at ; but, all 
 in all, it is a work *we ne'er shall look upon 
 its like again ;' and highly calculated to 
 interest the best feelings of young persons, 
 and furnish them with exalted motives of 
 action." '' I can never forget," said 
 Henry, '' the glow of delight with which, 
 as a school-boy, under my father's recom- 
 mendation, I contemplated so bright a 
 pattern of excellence, to me not appear- 
 ing impracticable, held out in the charac- 
 ter of Sir Charles: it seemed to raise my 
 respect for human nature ; to increase 
 the value of existence." The countenance 
 of this amiable youth glowed as he spoke. 
 Lady Jerningham's was brightened by one 
 of her sweetest expressions. Sir William. 
 *' My cousin is silent on a sudden." Jer- 
 1 6 ningham,
 
 180 SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. 
 
 ningham. "Yes, SirCharles"— "Yes, Sir 
 Charles?" "You are severe, Edward/* 
 Jerningham. ** As we are all, I suppose, 
 to speak in character, I would not wish 
 to keep up the amiable one which you 
 kindly favoured me with." Sir William. 
 " Again pardon me, Jerningham, it was 
 a hasty word, caused by your mode 
 of arguing at the moment." Jerningham. 
 "Young Beauchamp has expressed his 
 admiration of the great man, and I give 
 him credit for it ; but do you think that 
 setting up so very high a standard can 
 be of any use to mortals unable to reach 
 it ?" Sir William. " It is not thought to 
 be any objection to the example set us by 
 our great Master, that it was perfect; that 
 he was without sin." 
 
 "No danger can, I think, accrue from 
 setting up too high a standard, but the 
 greatest from being content with a low 
 one : sheltering ourselves under the gene- 
 ral depravity and vicious habits of the 
 multitude, and making the extreme cor- 
 ruption
 
 SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. 181 
 
 rupdon of our nature an excuse for ex- 
 treme wickedness. Besides, allow me to 
 add, Sir Charles is by no means repre- 
 sented as a perfect character : his heart 
 is nobly upright; but, in the scrutinizing 
 judgment of a strict Christian, the pride 
 which he acknowledges, and which 
 he does not pretend to conquer, might 
 be thought highly reprehensible. — He 
 prides himself on his family — on his repu- 
 tation, and he is avowedly passionate.** 
 Lady Jerningham. '* I agree with you, 
 Sir William, in that view of his ckaracter ; 
 but there is one point, in which we must 
 all agree : that the heart of the writer who 
 could describe such generous and disin- 
 terested goodness, such touching scenes^ 
 must glow with the noblest feelings, with 
 the finest sensibilities of our nature." 
 Selina looked with an anxious eye upon 
 her mother, '' O, when may I read this 
 admirable work, mamma ?" " Perhaps, 
 next winter, if we should be alone, we 
 may begin with it for our evenings' amuse- 
 ment,
 
 182 FASHIONS. 
 
 ment, when your two younger sisters are 
 retired.** *' But, Lady Jerningham," said 
 Mrs. Conyers, *' we call upon you for 
 the instances of polite gallantry in our 
 modern beaux." ** One," said her lady- 
 ship, *' occurs to me : many years ago, 
 returning with a young lady from a great 
 morning musical festival, we were thrown 
 into an aukward embarrassment, from 
 not finding my carriage at the place we 
 expected it ; the day was wet — the streets 
 miserably dirty ; we took shelter in a 
 shop, hoping every moment to see the 
 carriage. There was some mistake, and 
 we were engaged at a certain hour at a 
 distance. A gentleman passed, whom we 
 both knew ; we congratulated ourselves, 
 spoke to him, and represented our em- 
 barrassment. — ' Indeed ! — I am very 
 sorry — fear it is not in my power to help 
 you,' and with a polite bow, wished us 
 good morning. Our looks at each other 
 v/ould have amused any body. * And 
 this/ said I, * is a man of ton /' * exactly 
 
 so,'
 
 FASHIONS. 183 
 
 SO,' said my companion, * and one who 
 has been residing in my father's house/ 
 This is a simple fact'' 
 
 Mrs. Conyers. " We may, indeed, ex- 
 claim with Burke, that the age of chi- 
 valry is past." " I should imagine, ma- 
 dam," said Maria, ^* that it did not 
 require the age of chivalry, for a gentle- 
 man to offer to assist two ladies in an 
 aukward dilemma." Jerningham. " A 
 speech from the youngest lady in com- 
 pany, and very much to the purpose, 
 well pointed ;" (with a most ridiculous 
 formal bow.) ''Goon, sweet Maria, an- 
 other little phiHppic." Here ended our 
 conversation. 
 
 But it does strike me, my dear aunt, 
 that there is a great proneness in human 
 nature, to run from one extreme to an- 
 other. Finding ourselves wrong one 
 way, we run into an opposite error, still 
 more dangerous and censurable ; because 
 our great grandfathers bowed and scrap- 
 ed rather more than was necessary, and 
 
 would
 
 IS-i FASHION?. 
 
 would not suffer a lady to walk down 
 stairs without handing her in white gloves; 
 is the present race to affect a contemp- 
 tuous negligence, leave an unprotected 
 female to struggle for herself, and imi- 
 tate the clownish rudeness and vulgar 
 attire and phraseology of the very lowest 
 classes? — And because our grandmothers 
 made their daughters' heads ache, and 
 their cheeks look pale, with sitting to em- 
 broider immense beds, and work car- 
 pets; are our young nymphs to spend 
 the mornings in singing, playing the harp, 
 and running about, as at Bath for instance, 
 ignorant how to make a pocket, and 
 ashamed to wear one ? I every day dread 
 their being ashamed to wear a petticoat ; 
 and begin to wonder what mode of dress 
 we must next adopt, to keep young ladies 
 alive in the winter, as so many have 
 died already for want of cloathing. A 
 young lady can never appear, in my 
 opinion, either respectable or sensible, 
 
 or
 
 FASHIONS. 1S5 
 
 or be entitled to our esteem, till she rises 
 above the petty folly of running into the 
 extreme of every absurd fashion ; short 
 stays and long gowns — long stays and 
 short gowns — the hair hanging down, 
 then dragged up, as if every hair would 
 come out, — crops and no crops — long 
 sleeves and short — all succeeding with 
 such unspeakable rapidity. — But you 
 may say, perhaps, " Must not a young 
 person submit to the fashion ?'* It is not 
 in general, I answer, the most sensible, 
 interesting, and truly worthy young wo- 
 men, who are the first and most striking 
 pattern dolls of every new whim ; but 
 the contrary. There is a certain genteel 
 and moderate adoption of unexception^ 
 able modes, which marks the woman of 
 sense and delicacy. — It is unneces- 
 sary to observe, that the present pre- 
 vailing style is in direct opposition to 
 those characteristics, and is lowering 
 the dignity and estimation of the fe- 
 male
 
 186 FASHIONS, ' 
 
 male character beyond any possible cal- 
 culation. 
 
 A long preachment, — and to whom? 
 and for what purpose ? — 
 
 Pardon me, dearest Madam^ 
 and believe me ever, 
 
 A.&
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 187 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. — SIR THOMAS 
 MORE. 
 
 Thursday^ July 20. 
 
 I THINK you must remember, my 
 dear aunt, some conversation that passed 
 at a party, at Lady Gordon's, last winter, 
 concerning a young man, of the name of 
 Campbell, residing on the borders of 
 Scotland ; who, it was supposed, would 
 be, 'ere long, nearly allied to the Jerning- 
 ham family. 
 
 Many circumstances that were men- 
 tioned, excited my curiosity, and I have 
 now gained from Lady Jerningham 
 some farther particulars, which I shall 
 join together for your amusement. 
 
 The father of this young man. General 
 Campbell, was a very particular friend 
 of Sir William's in early days, and their 
 
 increasing
 
 188 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 increasing years only tended to promote 
 the increase of their attachment. It was 
 during a long visit, which the General 
 made to his friend, nearly ten years since, 
 that Sir William was the providential 
 means of saving his life. 
 
 As they were one day hunting to- 
 gether, a furious steed having entirely 
 got the mastery of his rider, the General, 
 was proceeding to the edge of a precipice, 
 which Sir William being aware of, as a 
 last resource, crossed him ; they were 
 both thrown: the shock was great; the 
 General was much hurt ; Sir William, 
 for a time, insensible. Upon their com- 
 plete recovery, the General, earnestly 
 pressing his hand, ** My dear friend, you 
 have saved my life, at the imminent ha- 
 zard of your own ; we must be more than 
 friends; we must be brothers. You 
 have a lovely daughter, approaching to- 
 wards womanhood, (Miss Jerningham) I 
 have a noble and promising son ; let us 
 think of future connections." No more 
 
 was
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 189 
 
 was said at that time. A few years af- 
 terwards, the General, in consequence 
 of a fever caught abroad, languished, 
 and died in the prime of life. 
 
 He left his son to the joint guardianship 
 of Sir William and of a Doctor Burton; 
 but under the immediate tutorage of the 
 latter; a man of exemplary life, and con- 
 siderable learning ; a professor in the 
 University of Edinburgh ; under whom 
 his education has been completed. 
 
 A private request was found among 
 the General's papers, addressed to Dr. 
 Burton only, to this effect. — 
 
 ** It has been long the wish of my heart 
 that a close union should be formed be* 
 tween mine and the family of my dear 
 Jerningham. I cast my eyes with earnest 
 hope on the charming lovely girl, who 
 won my heart in my last visit there ; and 
 wish, that, at a proper time, the young 
 persons may have the opportunity of 
 being in each other's company ; that is, 
 when they are most likely to be pleased 
 
 with
 
 190 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 with each other : without any intimation 
 being given of my wishes/' 
 
 It seems, there is an expectation of 
 this young man soon making us a visit, 
 accompanied by his respectable tutor. 
 
 Sir William mentioned this expectation 
 a few days since, in the presence of his 
 family. 
 
 *" Frederick Campbell coming!" said 
 Harriet; *^ I am glad to hear it: he is a 
 pretty fellow, I am told ; (and I thought 
 she looked somewhat conscious ;) One 
 wants a little variety in these country 
 places." I suspect her aunt must have 
 given her some slight hint on this sub- 
 ject. 
 
 July 29. 
 
 Yesterday, in consequence of a let- 
 ter from Dr. Burton, in the morning, the 
 probability of their being with us that day 
 to dinner was announced by Sir William, 
 
 To
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. IQl 
 
 To me it was pretty evident, that Miss 
 Jerningham did not expect the arrival of 
 the young stranger with her usual ease 
 and indifference. One of her most ele- 
 gant light town draperies was brought 
 forth, well calculated, by its scanty thin- 
 ness, to shew to advantage her fine form : 
 her hair was arrans^ed with the most care- 
 less elegance; and, for a wonder, she 
 was ready in the drawing-room some 
 time before dinner. I never saw her 
 appear to such advantage ; she really 
 looked very pretty : and, instead of that 
 listless coldness which generally appears 
 in her countenance, a pleasing animation 
 had diffused itself over her whole exterior. 
 Just before our dinner hour, instead of 
 a carriage appearing, a gentleman on 
 horseback hastily alighted at the door, 
 and was in the house the next moment. 
 It was Campbell. Sir William met him 
 in the hall, and in the most graceful man- 
 ner, he introduced himself to his know- 
 ledge, and followed him into the drawing- 
 room-
 
 192 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 room, Sir William introducing him to 
 his daughter : Lady Jerningham was not 
 present. 
 
 He bowed politely, and continued as 
 he was, speaking, when he entered, 
 ** You will excuse, Sir, my impetuous in- 
 formality ; but patience was never one 
 of my virtues. My eagerness to be re- 
 ceived in your house, looking earnestly 
 at Harriet, will, I hope, plead my ex- 
 cuse. No post-liorses being at hand, I 
 persuaded my good friend that he wanted 
 his dinner; and, having ordered it, took 
 my servant's horse, and telling him I 
 would proceed to prevent you waiting 
 dinner, gallopped off." The exercise 
 and hurry had given a fine glow to his 
 countenance. A riding dress is the most 
 becoming habiliment of a gentleman. I 
 never saw Miss Jerningham look so 
 pleased, or so agreeable. Lady Jerning- 
 ham and Maria entered. Selina returned 
 so late from a visit of charity, that she 
 could not change her dress, and not 
 
 choosing
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 193 
 
 ciioosing to enter the drawing-room, re- 
 mained, as the dinner was going up, in 
 a corner of the dining-room. 
 
 Mr. Campbell appeared extremely 
 struck with Harriet, and continued in 
 lively conversation with her during din- 
 ner : it was not till that business was 
 partly over, that he perceived Selina, 
 who had seated herself close to her fa- 
 tiier ; and with a bow, expressive of the 
 most softened surprize, he acknowledged 
 her as one of the family: a lovely blush 
 heightened the modest sweetness of her 
 countenance ; but she scarcely spoke the 
 whole day; nor did Campbell address 
 a single word to her, that I recollect. 
 Her sister continued extremely fluent: 
 all that languid indifference, which so 
 generally marks her manners, was seem- 
 ingly fled. 
 
 " But the young man," I hear my aunt 
 exclaim, ** something more of him." Fre- 
 derick Campbell has a striking figure, a 
 fine expression of countenance, an ani- 
 voL. T. K mated
 
 194 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 mated openness of nmnner; but it is 
 the animation of an intelligent mind and 
 a glowing heart ; not the vacant and un- 
 meaning stare of a fashionable lounger. 
 He thinks and feels, he sees things as they 
 really are, and expresses himself with 
 warmth and freedom : he is now and then 
 fanciful and erroneous, but never posi- 
 tive nor petulant. His worthy master, 
 the truly respectable Dr. Burton, arrived 
 to tea. It is very delightful to see 
 youth and age living so pleasantly to- 
 gether. The young man ran to the 
 chaise to meet him, and, a little conscious 
 of the half-incivility of his flight, was full 
 of affectionate attention. The good 
 Doctor gave him a significant nod : " I 
 have been ordering a small chain to se- 
 cure my young fellow-traveller, for fear I 
 should lose him on our return." ** O, 
 talk not of return, Sir;" aod^^ that mo- 
 ment he fixed his eyes, as I thought — 
 not upon Harriet. Doctor Burton is a 
 respectable, and peculiarly pleasant man, 
 
 I imagine,
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 19^ 
 
 I imagine, turned of sixty; naturally 
 grave, plain, and simple in his manners : 
 but, if I may be allowed so soon to form 
 a judgment, endowed with a considerable 
 degree of penetration and insight into 
 character; especially that of young 
 people, whom he seems peculiarly to 
 have studied; and the affectionate in- 
 fluence he appears to maintain over the 
 mind of his pupil, strongly testifies the 
 moderation and good judgment of his 
 conduct towards him. There is a plea- 
 sant archness occasionally in his eye, as 
 he regards him; particularly when the 
 former runs on too volubly in disscuss- 
 ing some argument of which he is not 
 perfectly master, and is now and then 
 perhaps on the wrong side. The Doctor 
 frequently smiles, and sometimes shakes 
 his head with an amusing expression ; the 
 young man watching his eye. 
 
 K 2
 
 \96 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 Saturday, July 23. 
 In continuation. — 
 
 Our young Caledonian hero did not, 
 I think, the day after his arrival, appear 
 so much attracted by our town elegatite^ 
 as on the first interview. 
 
 The charm seemed to have lost its 
 power; the effect of the fine figure and 
 easy manner seemed to die away ; and 
 his quick eye is more frequently cast 
 upon another, not deficient in elegance. 
 Thus it is invariably. An attractive ex- 
 terior never fails of its power at first; but 
 if we do not discover strong indications 
 of something estimable within; of thought, 
 of feeling, of qualities which we want to 
 draw forth, and know more and more of, 
 the illusion vanishes gradually, like the tints 
 of a passing rainbow ; and we only won- 
 der, when it is gone by, that it had, even 
 for so short a period, arrested our at- 
 tention, 
 
 A young
 
 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 197 
 
 A young man of mind, for such is 
 Campbell, can only be fixed by mind 
 united with exterior loveliness, which is 
 always so aided and brightened by the 
 power just mentioned, that it is a pity 
 they cannot be always united. 
 
 It is for the dissipated libertine to 
 think only of beauty, which he is, how- 
 ever, generally, the first to neglect and 
 despise, leaving it for the gaze and ho- 
 mage of every fop, unprotected by ap- 
 proving and affectionate attentions. 
 
 But I have made a great acquaintance 
 with Doctor Burton, (not very a-propos 
 to the preceding sentence) — you know I 
 am fond of elderly gentlemen. In our 
 walk yesterday evening, we happened to 
 be a little behind our party; and fa- 
 vouring the accident, I began to speak 
 in praise of his young pupil. His coun- 
 tenance brightened : *' I dearly love 
 Frederick," said he; ** he is of a noble 
 and generous disposition ; endowed with 
 liberal feelings, and good propensities; 
 K 3 but
 
 198 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 but — he is not perfect. I have been 
 obliged to use some management : to give 
 him * a little line' now and then, that I 
 might still maintain my hold of him. He is 
 naturally somewhat impetuous, somewhat 
 self-willed ; too fond of novelties and 
 singularities in his opinions ; sometimes 
 a great stickler for the independence of 
 the mind. At one time this took a turn, 
 which caused me a good deal of uneasi- 
 ness. It led him to withhold, or to appear 
 to withhold his full assent to those great 
 and important truths, upon which rests 
 our happiness here and hereafter; truths 
 founded rather on strong internal evi- 
 dence, than on any thing presented to 
 our senses. An immortal soul, amenable 
 to a great and future tribunal ; to a small 
 still voice, which would lead it, through 
 virtue and holiness, to peace and inward 
 joy; to future reward and blessedness. 
 
 " I was obliged to employ a good deal 
 of patience, and give him * a long line' 
 at times, that he might entangle himself, 
 
 which'
 
 FREDERICK CAMP15ELL. 1^9 
 
 ivhich he did at last, and acknowledged 
 the weakness of his own unsettled ideas; 
 which I allowed him to open to me, in 
 order to expose them more fully to him- 
 self. What, said I, is the independence 
 and strength of that judging faculty, of 
 which you talk so proudly? is it that 
 which an hour's fever, which a sudden 
 blow may destroy, or turn to idiotic dri- 
 velling ? What are we, for any one mo- 
 ment, without the constant support and 
 influence of a great unseen Cause ? 
 
 " Under the pressure of that severe 
 fever, which long threatened his life, 
 what was my Campbell but a slumbering 
 child, that knew not the nurse who 
 attended him. The divine spark was 
 dormant. Do you forget, my boy, the 
 rapturous joy, with which, on my knees 
 I thanked God, when the first rational 
 word announced returning reason? 
 * O, dear Sir, never can I forget it ;' 
 seizing my hand, his eyes filled with 
 tears ; * pardon my petulant folly j what 
 K 4 should
 
 ^00 FREDERICK CAMPBELL. 
 
 should I have been without your good- 
 ness !' If you have en'ed, Frederick, 
 there is a power superior to mine, with 
 whom you must settle your accounts. He 
 was thoughtful and humble for a long 
 while. The perusal of Beattie's Essay 
 on Truth, was recommended by me. 
 
 " This was some years since : now, I 
 firmly believe, there is not a young man 
 more completely convinced of the inimi- 
 table strength and beauty of the gospel- 
 dispensation, foretold by such a host of 
 prophecies; the power of grace; the di- 
 vine responsibility of the soul ; and fu- 
 ture rewards and punishments. All these, 
 I am convinced, will have their influence 
 on his life; and, should he fortunately 
 marry some amiable young woman, in 
 whom the sweetness of piety and benevo- 
 lence are illustrated, I should feel that he 
 was safely landed on the coast of happi- 
 ness. The influence of such an one, on 
 the man who loves her, is powerful in- 
 deed to all good,"
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. 201 
 
 July 28. 
 
 Yesterday evening the rain pre- 
 vented our walking, and Mrs. Cooper 
 having joined our party, we were turning 
 over a book of very fine prints, of our 
 most exalted British characters. We all 
 rested, as if by common consent, on a 
 very captivating one of Sir Thomas More. 
 *^ Of all our English worthies," said Sir 
 William, **he is, perhaps, the most attrac- 
 tive and amiable in his general character 
 and manners. There was a singular mix- 
 ture of solidity and playfulness; an 
 union of deep learning and religious zeal, 
 with facetiousness, with mild urbanity of 
 disposition and manners/' Dr. Burton. 
 ** Have you, Sir Willian), read Die den's 
 life of him ; it is well spoken of." Sir 
 William. ** I have not seen it; but I 
 must confess myself very partial to the 
 old lives of old worthies, written by 
 contemporaries and near connections. 
 You have them 4n their own dress, with 
 K 5 their
 
 202 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 their own cast of countenance, and the 
 peculiar phraseology of the times; in 
 short, a complete original. But in the 
 garbled, though polished sketches of the 
 day, you have a something which you 
 scarcely know ; a varnished old hero. 
 
 " It is as if a painter were to dress up 
 one of these bearded, whiskered, erect, 
 firm-looking warriors, in the groomish crop 
 costume of our modern sparks of fashion ; 
 such fine countenances would ill accord 
 ■with such a degrading disguise." Dr. 
 Burton. ** The strong outlines of every 
 character, are marked with most spirit in 
 the time in which they lived ; and I must 
 also confess myself partial to the simple 
 quaint style of the limes we now speak of; 
 — the fearless openness, with which their 
 biographers pourtrayed them ; their care 
 that they and all their household should 
 serve the Lord in regular and stated devo- 
 tions, iinterrified by the alarming modern 
 term methodist, or any similar one; their 
 zeal for the dissemination of piety and virtue 
 
 throughout
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE, 203 
 
 throughout their families, without the 
 fear of being thought righteous over 
 much. Sir Thomas More's son-in-law 
 says of him: — 'Although a courtier and 
 a layman, yet he never failed, both even- 
 ing and morning, to say in his chapel, 
 certain prayers, devoutly, on his knees, 
 with his wife, children, and family ; and 
 because he was desirous sometimes to be 
 solitarie, to recollect himself, and shake 
 off the dust of earthly businesses, which 
 otherwise would easily defile his soul, he 
 built for himself a chappel, alibrarie, and 
 a gallerie, called the new building, a dis- 
 tance from his mayne house, wherein it 
 was his custom to employ himself in 
 prayer and meditation.' 
 
 Mrs. Cooper. " I like the idea of this 
 occasional * wiping off the dust of the 
 world;' it is of that noxious quality that 
 will soil or obscure, in time, our brightest 
 virtues, and totally change their best co- 
 lours." Sir William. " Erasmus thus 
 nobly speaks of his way of life. After 
 K 6 mentioning
 
 204 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 mentioning his house at Chelsea, he pro- 
 ceeds : * There he converseth affably with 
 his family, his wife, his son and daughter- 
 in-law, his three daughters, and their 
 husbands, with eleven grand-children: 
 there is not any man living so loving to 
 his children as he is, and he loveth his 
 old wife, as if shew ere a young mayde; 
 and such is the excellency of his temper, 
 that whatsoever happeneth, that could 
 not be helped, he loveth it as if nothing 
 could have happened more happily. I 
 should do this house an injury in com- 
 paring it to Plato's academy, but should 
 rather call it a school of Christian reli- 
 gion ; for there is none therein but read- 
 eth or studieth the liberal sciences; their 
 principal care is pietie and virtue : — no 
 quarrelling or intemperate word heard : 
 none seen idle : which household disci- 
 pline that worthie gentleman doth not 
 give by proud and loftie words, but with 
 all kind and courteous benevolence. 
 Mrs. Cooper. *' I am much amused 
 
 with
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. 205 
 
 with his persuading his second wife, who 
 was rather a shrew, and * somewhat 
 worldlie,' to play upon the lute, in 
 order to soften her harsh nature ; * every 
 day performing therein her task : and so 
 with the like gentleness he ordered his 
 whole familie.' 
 
 Lady Jerningham. " Who would not 
 wish to have been of such a family, re- 
 gulated by so mild and admirable a 
 ruler?" Henry. ^^ Any one who is not 
 so happy as to be of a family regulated 
 much after the same model ;" looking at 
 his father. Campbell. " What, scold 
 and all?" Henry. " No, I deny the 
 scold, and trust there is no one of that 
 class (softening his voice) in this 
 house." Jerningham. ** Have you a lute, 
 in the house, Sir William, if we should 
 happen to want one? — Maria looks as 
 if she would like to take a lesson." 
 Maria. ** Thank you, cousin : — will you 
 give me one ? and I should like to help 
 you to peep through it, as Catherine's 
 
 master
 
 206 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 master did in the Taming of a Shrew,'' 
 Mrs. Conyers. " Much obliged to you, 
 my dear ; don't spare the lute-master !" 
 Lady Jerningham's countenance did not 
 encourage the witty vein, and we re- 
 turned to our favourite, Sir Thomas 
 More.' 
 
 Sir William. *^ Erasmus says of his 
 friend : * If any were desirous to have a 
 perfect pattern of friendship, none can 
 give it better than More. In his com- 
 pany there is such a rare affabilitie, and 
 such sweet behaviour, that no man is of 
 so harsh a nature, but that his talke is 
 able to make him merrie — no matter so 
 unpleasing, but he, with his witt, can 
 shake from it all tediousness." 
 
 Lady Jerningham. ** His beloved 
 daughter, Margaret Roper, thus writes 
 to him when he was confined in the 
 Tower : * What do you think, my 
 most dear father, doth comfort us at 
 Chelsea, in this your absence? surely 
 the remembrance of your manner of life 
 
 passed
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. 207 
 
 passed among us: your holy conversa- 
 tion; your wholesome counsels; your 
 examples of virtue, of which there is 
 hope that they do not only persevere 
 with you, but that they are by God's 
 grace much encreased." Sir William. 
 *' These, and many more testimonies 
 of his excellence, are warmly and ex- 
 ultingly pourtrayed by his great grand- 
 son, Mr. More; himself, perhaps, in- 
 heriting a p^irtion of his virtue, and 
 filled with veneration for his character, 
 unabashed by the dread of being termed 
 one of the Saints, The apprehension 
 of incurring that reproach is, I fear, 
 doing more mischief than can possibly 
 be calculated, by deterring masters oi 
 families from that degree of pious regu- 
 lation, and becoming family devotion, 
 the omission of which would formerly 
 have drawn upon a man the imputation 
 of heretic, or heathen. By what means 
 can we get back to that zealous regard 
 for true religion which marked those 
 
 times ?"
 
 208 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 times ?'' Dr. Burton. *' By none but an 
 open and fearless avowal, that we are 
 Christians ; and that * we and our house 
 will serve the Lord,' fearless of the re- 
 proachful term Methodist; a word, which 
 is bandied about by persons as unable 
 to tell you what it means, as that ca- 
 pering colt in the park." Mrs. Conyers. 
 " There is a letter of Sir Thomas More's 
 to the preceptor of his children, wherein 
 he says : * I intreat you to persuade all my 
 children to this, that avoiding all the 
 gulphs and downfalls of pride, they walk 
 through the pleasant meadows of mo- 
 desty ; and not to lessen the beauty 
 which they have by nature, by neglecting 
 it; nor to make it more by iinseemlie 
 art : to think virtue their chief happi- 
 ness ; learning and good qualities the 
 next; of which the chief are piety 
 towards God, charity towards men, and 
 christian humility in themselves, by 
 which they shall reap from God the 
 rewards of an innocent life; and enjoying 
 
 true
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. ^OQ 
 
 true alacritiCf shall never be puffed 
 up with the vain praises of men, nor 
 dejected by any slander of disgrace; 
 these I esteem the true and solid fruits 
 of learning." " I know no reading/' said 
 Mrs. Cooper, " so truly amusing and in- 
 structive to young people, as biography, 
 well selected : it may either precede, 
 or go hand in hand with regular his- 
 tory ; but let it be genuine biography, 
 not the garbled, mixed, factitious his- 
 tories, which are sometimes presented 
 to our youth, under the idea of mak- 
 ing them more interesting; where, in 
 a mixture of truth and falsehood, some 
 great hero of former times is loaded 
 with a mass of fopperies, and frivolity 
 of sentiment, enough to weigh to the 
 ground a much stronger man than him- 
 self. Dr. Zouch's Life of Sir Philip 
 Sydney, cannot possibly be perused by 
 a young man, without feeling his breast 
 glow with the love of virtue and true 
 nobleness of spirit. My Selina has read 
 
 it
 
 210 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 
 it through to me." *'With the greatest 
 delight to myself," said the sweet girl ; 
 and in a lower voice, looking at him : 
 ** I left it in Henry's room." Campbell, 
 turning his head suddenly to look 
 at her, she blushed, as if she had 
 said something wrong; and addressing 
 himself to Henry, — ^* Where is that 
 book?'* with eagerness: " In my room ; 
 I am looking it over." Doctor Burton. 
 *' I own I perused it with *an increas- 
 ed degree of respect for the author, 
 since I was assured he had refused a 
 bishopric. A man who does that upon 
 the principle of enjoying a learned and 
 useful retirement, must be free from the 
 love of distinction and exaltation." Sir 
 William. '* But, Doctor, if all men are 
 to act upon that principle, what is to 
 become of our bishoprics ?" ** True, 
 I had not calculated for that provision.*' 
 
 It is time to drop my packet, lest it 
 should run to a tiresome length. 
 Adieu, dear madam, 
 
 A. S.
 
 DANCING MASTERS. f I I 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 dancing-masters' balls. SUPER- 
 STITION. HENRY IV. MADAME 
 
 DE ST. EVREMOND. — THE LOVER's 
 CHANGE. 
 
 August 2. 
 
 Lady Jerningham and myself fell, yes- 
 terday, upon the subject of dancing-mas* 
 ters' balls, in consequence of a lady who 
 had called here, speaking with rapture of 
 one which she had attended at Bath, and 
 at which, a young lady of seventeen had 
 danced a hornpipe to the admiration of the 
 whole assembly, crowded beyond former 
 example ; her father, the most delighted 
 in the room. **This to me," said Lady 
 Jerningham, afterwards, " did appear 
 wonderful : a judicious parent would, h 
 should rather suppose, have trembled for 
 the probable effects on a youthful mind 
 of such an exhibition ; if we were edu" 
 
 eating
 
 212 DANCING MASTERS, 
 
 eating a child for the public stage, is not 
 this exactly what we should think a 
 proper step to it ? — In fact, it is dancing 
 on the stage, without gaining money by 
 it; for can any stage be more public? 
 
 " I once witnessed at Bath, a morning 
 rehearsal of one of these exhibitions ; the 
 space for dancing was surrounded by 
 loungers, and fops of all ages and de- 
 scriptions; I thought 'garish day' added 
 a distressing tinge of boldness to the 
 whole scene ; great girls, who had quitted 
 the dancing school, lending their alluring 
 aid to this indescribable scene, which I 
 could not but consider as the hot-bed of 
 every licentious disposition : every error 
 that is in direct opposition to the genuine 
 object of education, by nurturing vanity, 
 self-consequence, boldness, and a love of 
 dress. Noverre, the dancing- master, 
 once said a good thing, by accident, on 
 this subject, in his foreign English : * De 
 public dance for de little lady is ami- 
 rabkf for cast off all shame*' 
 
 «In
 
 PANCING MASTERS. 213 
 
 ** In my opinion, many a delinquent 
 wife may be indebted to her 'casting off 
 all shame,' to this dangerous vanity of dan- 
 cing-masters and parents, which made her 
 an object of exhibition, and flattery from 
 the other sex, at a time when she should 
 have been in modest retirement, imbibing 
 principles and habits of religious humility, 
 gaining and digesting knowledge. When 
 the natural retiring modesty of female 
 youth is removed, the beautiful enamel 
 is gone, which might have preserved 
 the valued substance, uninjured, to ad- 
 .vanced life. In short, the winning period 
 o^ girlhood is lost to us; and we step 
 from puling infancy to a sort of imma- 
 ture womanhood, with none of the ad- 
 vantages of that period." 
 
 " Mrs. More," said I, **has an obser- 
 vation to that effect, in her chapter on 
 Baby Balls at home; the whole of which 
 should be printed, framed and glazed, 
 for the use of large families : it is fraught 
 with wit and sense." " For a little child 
 
 of
 
 ^14 DANCING MASTERS. 
 
 of four or five years old," continued Lady 
 J. '' to be set up in the midst of a nu- 
 merous assembly, the object of attention 
 and applause, is bad enough ; but it must 
 be allowed to be still worse, when a girl 
 of sevent»Ben or eighteen, arrayed in 
 fashionable transparencies and scantiness, 
 is exhibiting her person in a variety of 
 attitudes, for the gaze of fops and liber- 
 tines. The evil is beyond calculation", 
 the mind is absolutely t^uined. 
 
 '* Think for a moment of our timid 
 Selina, who cannot enter a room full of 
 company without embarrassment, in such 
 a situation." 
 
 ** The thing is impossible,*' said I ; '* her 
 physical strength would not carry her 
 through it : — but would your ladyship 
 then entirely banish all dancing-school 
 balls ?" " As they are now conducted, I 
 would. I cannot admit of any thing be- 
 yond a sort of open day at the school, 
 on which, the friends of the children may 
 enjoy the satisfaction of witnessing their 
 
 progress
 
 DANCING MASTERS. 215 
 
 progress in an art, which is, after all, of 
 no consequence in itself; and should only 
 be learned as a means of acquiring ease 
 and grace, not as an incentive to vanity 
 and boldness; therefore, at my balls I 
 cannot admit loungers and stragglers." 
 
 You may have observed, my dear ma- 
 dam, that my most interesting communi- 
 cations from Lady Jerningham, have 
 been when we were alone. She is then 
 most open, most explicit, most delight- 
 fully free in her sentiments. This I have 
 also observed of many delicate and ani- 
 mated minds, who generally feel a diffi- 
 dence and embarrassment in mixed par- 
 ties; but open their rich stores most 
 easily to one friend. — Many of these 
 delightful intercourses have I experi- 
 enced, where a third person would have 
 broken the charm, even had she been a 
 friend equally estimable. Yet, Lady Jer- 
 ningham enjoys conversation, and joins 
 in it with feminine delicacy; and con- 
 versation is to be enjoyed : but there are 
 
 sometimes
 
 ^I^ DANCING MASTERS. 
 
 sometimes great subtractions from that full 
 enjoyment which one would suppose peo- 
 ple of sense and politeness would always 
 afford to each other. Great vehemency, 
 endless arguments about words or accents; 
 not seldom, sharp pertinacity of opinions; 
 personalities, inuendos, and politics. De- 
 fend me from politics in mixed company! 
 though two people scarcely ever think 
 alike, yet every one believes that he alone 
 thinks to any purpose : and then such 
 eagerness and battling, as if they were 
 going to act upon their opinions that very 
 moment, and thought it necessary to 
 take up arms in defence of them ; fight- 
 ing the battles of their country with 
 knives and forks, and shedding their 
 blood in port 
 
 This may be said to be an easy way 
 of fighting battles, but in truth it is not 
 amusing ; and as it can produce no 
 change in our positions on the continent, 
 had better not be suffered too much to 
 interrupt our domestic harmony. **What," 
 
 you
 
 SUPERSTITION. 21? 
 
 50U will ask, perhaps, ** is the subject, 
 the most interesting at present, of all 
 others, to be excluded from our tables ?" 
 For that v^ry reason, that it is so interest- 
 ing, that we cannot discuss it with mo- 
 deration, we must be content to take up 
 with subjects that can be considered and 
 debated with more ease and indifference ; 
 for instance, manners, morals, and re- 
 ligion. 
 
 July 28. 
 
 Yesterday, as evening drew in, that 
 short, but soothing and grateful period 
 between bright garish day, and dazzling 
 substituted light, after various preceding 
 conversations. Sir William asked Dr. 
 Burton what was his opinion concerning 
 the second sight, so confidently spoken 
 of by many persons travelling in Scot- 
 land ? Dr. Burton. " I must confess 
 myself a little puzzled by many stories 
 I have heard, and rather at a loss to 
 
 VOL, I. L make
 
 218 SUPERSTITION. 
 
 make up my mind entirely ; and this, I 
 think, I may venture to acknowledge, 
 since the great Johnson did not he- 
 sitate to acknowledge as much. He 
 gives us two or three remarkable stories, 
 and leaves his readers to decide for 
 themselves: but it is, I think, pretty 
 evident, that he does not positively 
 reject these remarkable instances; nor 
 does he in general deny the possibility 
 of many extraordinary divine interpo- 
 sitions, through the medium of spirits, 
 in different ways, to us mortals," Mrs, 
 Conyers. ** The mind of Johnson was 
 certainly tinctured with superstition : 
 he was of an apprehensive, and rather 
 gloomy turn!" Lady Jerningham. " Su- 
 perstition is a long sweeping word, and 
 may be often, and indeed is, applied by 
 the gay and thoughtless, to the belief 
 of any thing which is not apparent to 
 our outward senses, and which cannot 
 be proved by demonstration. But can 
 it properly be called superstition, to sup- 
 pose
 
 SUPERSTITION. 219 
 
 pose that an omniscient Being, watching 
 over his faithful servants, often fore- 
 warns them of possible evil, and leads 
 them to good, by means rather extraor- 
 dinary, and sometimes incomprehensible 
 to their weak minds ? We read in holy 
 writ, that God speaketh to his faithful 
 servants in dreams and visions of the 
 nitjht 1" Sir William. " Strikino; and cu- 
 rious circumstances have sometimes 
 puzzled the coolest reasoners; but we 
 nmst always act in fear of the abuse of 
 things in the mass of society. We 
 must be careful of opening the door to 
 a superstitious pursuit after warnings 
 and presentiments, on common occa- 
 sions. This might lead to great de- 
 pression and unhappiness in weak minds, 
 which constitute the majority." Camp- 
 bell. " I am much delighted with the 
 idea of inward revelations and warnings 
 to the chosen few ; but what is to be- 
 come of the mass of overlooked and 
 rejected poor creatures, who are to wait 
 L S for
 
 220 SUPERSTITION. 
 
 for impulses and assistances? What is 
 to become of the independence of the 
 human mindy (a significant smile from 
 Dr. Burton) which, with the aid of 
 reason and revelation, is to conduct us 
 through all the intricacies and difficul- 
 ties, with which our passions and the 
 vices of the world surround us?" Dr. 
 Burton. ** If we were not assisted and 
 supported by something superior to that 
 friend of your's, Frederick — by the as- 
 sisting grace of God, I fear we should 
 make but a poor figure in our difficul- 
 ties." Campbell. '' Then are we not, 
 Sir, to make use of our reason?" '* Yes, 
 my boy, but with the humblest reliance 
 on a power who can aid, or can render 
 it all futile in an instant." Campbell. 
 *' And are we, Sir, to be waiting for 
 warnings and impulses ?" Dr. B. ** Not 
 exactly ; nor proudly to reject all that 
 we happen not to have experienced 
 ourselves. It cannot be denied that his- 
 tory furnishes us with many remarkable 
 
 circumstances
 
 HENRY IV. 221 
 
 circumstances of this kind. What shall 
 we say to the extraordinary presentiment 
 that Henry IV. of France had of his 
 approaching massacre, * and his inward 
 aversion to the coronation of the Queen, 
 convinced that it was connected with his 
 death. Visiting his friend Sully, to 
 whom he opened his whole heart ; * Ah^ 
 mon amiy que ce sacrc me deplait ! — Je 
 ne sgais ce que c'est — le cceur me dit 
 quil m answer a quelque malheur : and 
 another time : On me dit queje mourois 
 dans un carrosse. 
 
 It appears extraordinary, that under 
 these apprehensions of her husband. 
 Monsieur de Sully should have been 
 three days importuning the Queen, in 
 vain, to relinquish the ceremony she had 
 set her heart upon. She was crowned 
 on the 13th of the month; and on the 
 14th, as they were preparing for her 
 
 * Vide the last vol. of Sully's Memoirs. 
 
 L 3 entrance
 
 222 HENRY IV. 
 
 entrance into Paris, the King was stabbed 
 in his coach, which had been stopped in 
 a narrow street. He had said to Mons. 
 de Guise, after assisting at the corona- 
 tion with apparent gaiety : Vous ne me 
 connaissez pas ; Je mou7'ai un de ces 
 jours; and when, to dissipate his melan- 
 choly, . they enumerated all his blessings 
 and advantages, he answered with a sigh : 
 Mon ami, it faut quitter tout, cela^ 
 The morning previous to this stroke, 
 after passing a restless sleepless night, 
 his majesty went early to mass, where 
 he was remarked to be actuated by a 
 more than usual earnestness of devotion. 
 He twice attempted, but in vain, to 
 repose himself during the day; and was 
 at length, faint and wearied, persuaded 
 to take the air in his coach. Does it 
 not seem extraordinary, under the dread 
 before-mentioned, that he could have 
 been induced to enter it ?" " Can it be 
 properly called superstition," said Lady 
 Jerningham, " to suppose that, in some 
 
 instances,
 
 HENRY IV. 223 
 
 instances, God deigns, in these secret 
 presentiments, to prepare the souls of his 
 faithful servants for the important change 
 which is to take place ? and that we are 
 sometimes led by a hidden and undefi- 
 nable influence to actions conducive to 
 the good of ourselves or of others ? I 
 think I have really experienced instances 
 of the kind." Sir William. " I am 
 afraid of opening the door, Maria." 
 Lady Jerningham, '* Then pray keep it 
 shut, dear Sir William, from others; 
 at least, only allow me to feel the joyful 
 gratitude that such a thought inspires, 
 when I reflect on the extraordinary 
 circumstance of our meeting at Norton 
 Grove, just at that time, and the hap- 
 piness and comfort that have resulted 
 from it." Sir William. *^Ah, there indeed, 
 my dear Maria — ever must I thank 
 God for that happy providential meet- 
 ing, for the cheering comforts he poured 
 into my dejected soul, 1 yield, a con- 
 verted infidel ; I will not shut the door f * 
 L 4 with
 
 224 HENRY IV, 
 
 with a tender regard. Mrs. Conyers, 
 ** The daemon of Socrates, Dr. Burton, 
 in what way do you account for it ? 
 He speaks with great confidence of this 
 friendly voice, which never failed to 
 guide and direct him, in all difficult 
 cases " Dr. Burton. *' I am inclined 
 to suppose the strong inherent sense of 
 right and wrong, which we call con- 
 science, was the assisting spirit to which 
 he alluded." Campbell, '' But accord- 
 ing to Mr. Locke, Sir, we have no more 
 innate idea or sense of right and wrong, 
 than that skreen." Dr. B. '* Mr. Locke 
 was a man, Frederick, and therefore no 
 unerring guide." Campbell. '* But how 
 do some persons, even multitudes, appear 
 so totally without this guide ?" ** I can- 
 not say. They may have crushed, or 
 destroyed it: but for myself, I find it 
 cheering to believe, that a merciful Cre- 
 ator, in breathing into man an immortal 
 soul, endued him with a light that might 
 aid his feeble powers, and help to lead 
 
 him
 
 THE LOVERS CHANGE. 225 
 
 hitn to goodness and happiness." ** Sir 
 William. ** I must confess I cannot 
 rely upon any light, but that of the 
 Gospel." Mrs. Conyers. " Think of 
 the multitudes that have never heard 
 of it, and perhaps never may !" Dr. 
 Burton. ** God is merciful — he expects 
 not to reap where he has not sown. 
 Those unfortunate numbers in darkness 
 and ignorance, will, I hope, every day 
 be lessened, through the blessing of 
 God upon the zealous exertions of nu- 
 merous pious societies in their labour 
 of love." 
 
 August 5. 
 
 These young folks do not advance; 
 no lover-like symptoms — no conscious 
 blushes — no timid side-glances — no un- 
 necessary reserves, mark to any common 
 observer, a passion, which often throws 
 young persons at a greater seeming dis- 
 L 5 tance
 
 226 THE lover's change. 
 
 tance from each other, in order to draw 
 them into nearer and closer affinity. 
 
 Our young folks seem very much at 
 their ease ; and, if I am not greatly mis- 
 taken, are at their leisure searching for 
 faults and imperfections in each other, 
 which partial affection would not be so 
 quick-sighted to discover. Miss Jer- 
 ningham said, the other day, to ]\Irs. 
 Conyers, that Mr. Campbell, for a young 
 man of a good person and family, was 
 surprisingly deficient in the air of a man 
 of fashion ; and I am much mistaken, 
 if he does not find her little more than a 
 woman of fashion. She cannot conceal 
 how cheaply she holds him, for never 
 having spent a winter in London; nor 
 he his distate at her seeming to take no 
 interest in rural delights ; in all the 
 sweet solacing village-cares of this amiable 
 family. In short, it is pretty evident to 
 me, that Harriet Jerningham is not the 
 object of Frederick's tender solicitude. 
 
 Maria
 
 THE lover's change, 227 
 
 Maria is a very lively amusing girl. 
 The other day, upon her eldest sister 
 making a silly unfeeling speech, about 
 some poor woman, who was waiting to 
 see Lady Jerningham, Frederick lifted 
 up his hands and eyes, joined with a 
 most expressive shrug of the shoulders. 
 Maria was mimicking him, in the back- 
 ground, with infinite humour, and then 
 whispering in his ear, *' A pretty sort of 
 a lover, truly !'* He whisked round to 
 seize her by the arm; but the young mad- 
 cap was out of the room in an install. 
 She appeared at the window with another 
 shrug; Frederick followed her out, and 
 we were amused with a little race round 
 the clumps. *' What a romp that girl 
 is !" said Harriet, yawning; "she'll grow 
 as coarse as a milk-maid, with running 
 about in that hoydenish manner." I went 
 out to meet the merry girl, and bring 
 her in. Frederick joined me out of 
 breath : " What a miserable, useless, joy- 
 less creature is a fine lady !" " Meaning 
 L 6 your
 
 228 THE lover's change. 
 
 your humble servant," said I with a^ 
 curtesy? "No, faith! the farthest from 
 my thoughts ; but — it is not necessary to 
 explain. 
 
 "In truth, if inaipid Jine- lady ism were 
 the only bad consequence of a fashion- 
 able life, one might pity the unhappy 
 objects; but, when we see it render 
 hearts, naturally, as one might suppose, 
 endued with sensibilities, cold, unfeeling, 
 unthoughtful of the wants and claims of 
 the poor and humble, one cannot but 
 lament its influence. Once displace the 
 natural and spontaneous feelings of the 
 heart; the simple and rural modes of 
 life ; and the most attractive character 
 of human nature is lost. All is art^ 
 affectation, uselessness : distortion and 
 insipidity take place of beauty and ener- 
 gy ; cold unmeaning professions, of warm 
 and active benevolence ; a senseless flow 
 of polite expressions stand in the stead 
 of those feelings, which are rather seen 
 in the eyes and actions, than expressed 
 
 by
 
 THE LOVERS CHANGE. 229 
 
 by the tongue." ** All very true,'' said I ; 
 " but, I am in hopes ^liss Jerningham 
 is not destitute of valuable qualities ; 
 though they are so obscured by the 
 varnish of fashion, as not to be quite 
 so clear to common observers as might 
 be wished : can she be a Jerningham, 
 and be destitute of excellence ?*' " A 
 Jerningham !'' said he with peculiar soft- 
 ness of expression: — '^ Name conveying 
 all that is excellent and lovely in wo- 
 man ! When I contemplate the elegant 
 mother, followed by her charming daugh* 
 ters, (those who do follow her) in all 
 that adorns and endears life, I felicitate 
 myself on the perfection of goodness — 
 of hopes — of hopes — I know not — But 
 where is this wanton Maria?'* '^She has 
 entered the house long since," said I ; 
 and we soon reached the hall door^ 
 and parted.
 
 230 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 
 
 July S. 
 
 A VERY intelligent sensible woman who 
 called here yesterday, as we happened 
 to fall upon French affairs, produced a 
 letter she had received, some considerable 
 time since, from a friend of her's, well 
 known to Lady Jerningham, who had 
 been long detained in France ; a story it 
 contained interested me, and I begged 
 leave to copy it for your perusal: le void. 
 
 "Prior to the revolution, the daughter 
 of a man of small fortune, Monsieur de 
 Santerre, accepted the offer of ]\Ionsieur 
 de St. Evremond, at sixteen, to marry 
 her, and to relinquish her fortune to her 
 two younger sisters. 
 
 "St. Evremond being a dissipated man, 
 soon grew weary of the sameness of do- 
 mestic life, and placing his wife with her 
 father, in less than a year after their 
 marriage, departed for Italy. 
 
 " Madame thus left in a situation deli- 
 cate and dangerous for a young and pretty 
 
 woman,
 
 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 231 
 
 woman, was exposed to the attentions of 
 a young man, who was her distant rela- 
 tion, and was much at the house of her 
 father; to whose merit and tenderness 
 she could not be insensible, though she 
 conducted herself with the most perfect 
 prudence. 
 
 *' About three years after her husband s 
 departure, the revolution took place, and 
 he was on the list of emigrants. Soon 
 after, the law passed which sanctioned 
 and facilitated divorces. Her friends 
 earnestly persuaded her to avail herself of 
 it, but she could not be prevailed upon 
 to consider it as a justifiable step: her 
 husband had been generous and kind, 
 she said, though he now deserted her; her 
 lover, in despair, joined the republican 
 army. At the general arrest of the no- 
 blesse, madame and her sisters were con- 
 fined in the town where they resided; 
 their father was sent to Paris : and a 
 letter from one of his female relations, 
 who had emigrated, being found among 
 
 his
 
 232 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 
 
 his papers, he was executed, without 
 being able to see or write to his chil- 
 dren. Monsieur de St. Evremond, who 
 had returned about the same time, in 
 the disguise of a post-boy, was discover- 
 ed, and shared the same fate. These 
 events reached the lover, still in the army : 
 but it was impossible for him to quit his 
 post; in a few days after, he was mor- 
 tally wounded, and died, recommending 
 Eugenia de St. Evremond to the protec- 
 tion of his father. A brother officer, 
 who engaged to execute this commission, 
 wrote immediately to the old man — it was 
 too late : — he had been arrested on suspi- 
 cion, and guillotined, with many other 
 persons, for a pretended conspiracy in 
 prison, the very day in which his son had 
 fallen in the performance of an act of un- 
 common bravery. It might naturally have 
 been supposed, that Madame de St. Evre- 
 mond must have sunk under such repeat- 
 ed shocks of distress— that life or reason 
 must have been the sacrifice. 
 
 '^t
 
 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOXJJ. £33 
 
 ** It were, indeed, happy for the suf- 
 ferer, if our days were always terminated 
 when they become embittered ; but we 
 continue to exist, when we have lost 
 the desire of existence, or our trials 
 would be short and light. Madame de 
 St. E. still lives in heavy affliction, and is 
 now with an aunt in this neighbourhood, 
 watching the decay of her eldest sister, 
 and educating the youngest. Clementina 
 was consumptive when they were first 
 arrested; grief and ill-treatment in prison, 
 have established her disorder past hope 
 of relief. She is scarcely eighteen, and 
 one of the most lovely young crea- 
 tures I ever saw. Grief and sickness 
 have indeed ravaged her features, but 
 still tender compassion and fancy sup- 
 ply more to the mind, than is lost to the 
 eye: she suffers without complaining — 
 mourns without ostentation — and hears 
 her father spoken of with such solemn 
 silent floods of tears, as pierce one's 
 heart. 
 
 ^'The
 
 234 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 
 
 " The letter which condemned the 
 father, was, it seems, addressed to a 
 deceased brother, and found among his 
 papers. On this ground, application has 
 been made to rescind the act of confisca- 
 tion; but in vain. Madame de St. E. 
 is now reduced to a few livres, and talks 
 of making advantage of her musical ta- 
 lents, to support herself and youngest 
 sister. Alas 1 a distressing resource. 
 
 "I do not know that I ever passed a 
 more melancholy day, than with these 
 amiable victims. 
 
 **In the afternoon, we walked into the 
 village church-yard. The church was 
 shut up, the windows were broken — all 
 was desolation and ruin, 
 
 " Two labourers, and a blacksmith in 
 his working garb, came, while we were 
 there, and threw a sort of uncouth wood- 
 en coffin into a hole, dug for the pur- 
 pose, which they covered, and left with- 
 out farther ceremony. Yet this was the 
 body of a lady, whom a whole family re- 
 gretted
 
 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. ^35 
 
 gretted Vv^ith deep affliction, and who were 
 compelled thus to conceal their decent 
 sorrow and religious prejudices, and inter 
 her like a brute. 
 
 ** All bore the horrid marks of revolu- 
 tion, — the melancholy object I held on 
 my arm, the feeble and tottering Cle- 
 mentina ! Alas ! that such a scourge 
 should render wretched so many amiable 
 and helpless beings ! In England this is 
 the season for festivity* among the little, 
 and beneficence in the great; but here the 
 sterile dasmon of atheism has repressed 
 the sounds of mirth, and closed the hands 
 of charity. No season is consecrated 
 either to the one or the other ; and the 
 unvaried year is but an uniform round of 
 gloom and selfishness. 
 
 ** The philosopher may treat with con- 
 tempt the notion of periodical benefi- 
 cence, and assert, that we should not 
 
 * The letter from France must have been dated 
 in December. 
 
 want
 
 ^36 MADAME D£ ST. EVREMOND. 
 
 want to be reminded by the calendar, to 
 contribute to the relief of our fellow- 
 creatures ; yet there are people who are 
 influenced by custom, and perhaps, by 
 an amiable prejudice, who are not always 
 awake to compassion ; and indolence or 
 avarice may yield a too ready obedience 
 to prohibitions which favour both. 
 
 ** The poor are certainly no gainers 
 here, by the substitution of philosophy 
 for religion ; and many of those who are 
 forbid to celebrate Christmas or Easter 
 by a mass, will forget to do it by do- 
 nations. 
 
 '* For my part, I think it an advantage, 
 that any period of the year is more par- 
 ticularly signalized by charity ; and I re- 
 joice when I hear of the annual gifts of 
 meat, or firing, of such or such a great 
 personage : and I do not think it neces- 
 sary to inquire, whether they would still 
 continue their beneficence if Christianity 
 were abolished.''
 
 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 237 
 
 Heaven defend us from revolutions ! 
 whenever I meet with any fresh traits of 
 that most horrible of all revolutions, it 
 makes my blood run cold ; — I feel petri- 
 fied. A whole country streaming with 
 blood, and forbid to pray to their God : 
 misery overwhelming them in every shape, 
 and their only consolation prohibited! and 
 now, though the features of wretchedness 
 are somewhat varied, yet they are most 
 clearly marked. The dreadful law, which 
 drags every young man, fit to march, from 
 the bosom of his family, to perish in other 
 countries ; the insatiable thirst for aggran- 
 dizement which perpetually torments the 
 destroyer of mankind, and suffers not 
 his wretched subjects to taste repose ! 
 
 The increased number of lotteries, 
 diffused all over the empire, from the 
 effects of which, it is asserted, that one 
 hundred suicides had resulted in Paris, 
 
 in one year ; the increased spirit of 
 
 gambling
 
 238 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. 
 
 gambling, of course ! A writer=^ who had 
 resided in Paris, says : ** I know not that 
 any spectacle, annong the varieties of 
 vice and misery, which I had occasion 
 to contemplate in Europe, struck me 
 with more horror than the gambling 
 orgies of the Palais Royal, where 
 apartments of immense extent are at all 
 hours of the night filled with persons 
 of both sexes, indiscriminately engaged 
 in games of the merest hazard ; and 
 exhibiting, by their gestures and physi- 
 ognomy, all the keenest anguish, and 
 the tumultuous agitation, which the ex- 
 tremes of despair and elation can pro- 
 duce. Mixed with designing sharpers, 
 with spies of the police, with famished 
 mendicants, and abandoned prostitutes : 
 they form altogether, a group which 
 might have served as a model to the pic- 
 tures of Dante's Inferno \ and than 
 
 * An American, on the French government. 
 
 which
 
 MADAME DE ST. EVREMOND. ^39 
 
 which nothing more disgusting is to be 
 found in the dehneations of the pencil, 
 or the fictions of poetic fancy,'* 
 
 I should really imagine a gaming house 
 to be a better representation of the infer- 
 nal regions than any thing else ; and, in- 
 deed, it cannot well be doubted, that it 
 has sent many there, as far as we are 
 allowed to judge. Many a poor wretch, 
 after staking his last guinea, has, by one 
 daring and horrible crime, rushed into 
 eternity, " unanointed, unannealed" — 
 no lingering possible death-bed repent- 
 ance. 
 
 " O it is horrible— most horrible !** 
 
 Ever my dear madam, 
 
 with sincere regard, 
 A. S.
 
 240 METCALF FAMILY, 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 -^ METCALF FAMILY. — RELIGIOUS 
 • SECTS. POOR. 
 
 August 15. 
 
 It is some days, my dear aunt, since 
 I have made any use of my pen. A 
 visit, long talked of, to a family, at some 
 distance, for one night, was fixed to take 
 place last Monday. 
 
 Lady Jerningham, I plainly perceived, 
 did not wish that any of her young people 
 should be of the party ; and, as I knew 
 she did not like a young set (a stranger 
 also being added at this time) to be left 
 to themselves without one older head to 
 preside, I offered my services as such. 
 Mrs. Conyers, however, professing that 
 common visiting was irksome to her, in- 
 sisted upon being the home chaperon. 
 Accordingly, Sir William and Lady Jer- 
 ningham,
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 241 
 
 ningham, Dr. Burton, and myself, set 
 out for Mr. Metcalfs, about one, having 
 near twenty miles to go. We had 
 much pleasant conversation ; the Doctor 
 opened more than usual in this little 
 party. At length, I said, " What sort, of 
 a family may this be, that you are taking 
 us to ?" Sir William smiled, I thought : 
 '* Mrs. Metcalf," said Lady Jerningham, 
 ** is spoken of, as the most good-natured 
 of women, the most indulgent of mothers 
 • — but, to say the truth, it is not the very 
 best regulated of families." 
 
 We arrived there just before the hour 
 fixed by their note ; but, as the hall- 
 door opened, I heard distinctly some 
 confusion and bustling. As we entered, it 
 was pretty evident, that one or two of the 
 young ladies had just made their escape, 
 by the heap of various implements, 
 threadpapers, scissars^ and numerous odds 
 and ends, which marked the course they 
 had taken : the foot of one indeed ap- 
 peared at the top of the stairs. We 
 
 VOL. I. M were
 
 $E42 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 were ushered into an empty drawing- 
 room, always a disappointment to an 
 inquisitive visitor. 
 
 After a little time, hurried down Mrs. 
 Metcalf, and not long after, entered her 
 husband, and, at a convenient distance, 
 one young lady. 
 
 Some other company arriving, dinner 
 was ordered to be served. " Mn 
 Henry," said the butler, ** is but just 
 come in from riding." ** Very well, we 
 are not to wait all day for him." 
 
 Just as the dinner was announced, 
 another young female bounced in, out of 
 breath : and when we had been seated 
 about five minutes, Mr. Henry, and a 
 third young lady, at different doors ; she 
 tying her sash, and fastening her bracelet : 
 their introduction was aukward enough, 
 but they seemed used to such modes; 
 and Mrs. Metcalf saying, " The young 
 folks here are never ready," seemed quite 
 a sufficient reason for this confusion and 
 hurry. 
 
 I forgot
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 243 
 
 I forgot to mention, that a school-boy 
 slid in at some interval, but I declare, 
 I don't know when. Common mis- 
 cellaneous conversation filled up the pe- 
 riod of dinner and its accompaniments : 
 but I could not help observing, that the 
 young folks did not hesitate upon any 
 occasion to contradict their father and 
 mother point-blank. Upon some story 
 being alluded to, Miss Sophia said, " O, 
 mamma is the greatest simpleton living !" 
 I opened my eyes a little wider than 
 usual : " If she sees a cow move, she 
 takes to her heels, as if she were pursued 
 by twenty bulls." 
 
 The room being rather warm : *' Open 
 one of the windows, William," said Mrs. 
 Metcalf, which he was proceeding to 
 do, when Miss Seraphina, a fine young 
 plant, about fifteen, started up ; ** Not 
 this, the side-window must be opened." 
 " It shall be this one^ I tell you," said 
 William.—" It shall— It shall not:" a 
 scuffle followed ; the windows were 
 M 2 banged
 
 244 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 banged up and down, and the contest 
 ended in their being both open, and both 
 broken, at least a large pane in each. 
 IMr. Metcalf, in a rage, told them both 
 to get out of the room, which tliey did, 
 hallooing and laughing, as if they had 
 been exercising wit, instead of mischief. 
 When we removed to the drawing-room, 
 the young ladies dispersed, seemingly 
 unconscious that there were any visitors 
 of their mother's in the house. Two of 
 them ran tittering out into the garden, 
 another went up to clean her teeth and 
 wash her hands. 
 
 The afternoon proving rainy, we w^ere 
 at length seated in quiet converse, when 
 suddenly a ball came in at the window, 
 and instantly followed a large Newfound- 
 land dog, dripping wet, and ran among 
 us, to the great discomposure of our dra- 
 pery, for his ball. This unexpected ac- 
 cident threw us into no little confusion ; 
 but we recovered it in time ; and by a 
 loud laugh from behind a tree, dis- 
 covered
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 245 
 
 covered that we were indebted to the 
 witty window-breaker for this amuse- 
 ment. Mrs. Metcalf made apologies for 
 the playfuhiess of her young progeny : she 
 had better have made a good rod, and 
 have authorized some one to make use of 
 it properly. 
 
 Presently tea was ordered. — ^* Sophia, 
 will you make the tea ?" " No, indeed, 
 mamma, not in such hot weather as this ; 
 let it be made and sent in." This im- 
 portant matter being easily enough set- 
 tled, the gentlemen joined us, and the 
 ceremony of the cups, not the tea table, 
 being soon over, the next question, as 
 we could not walk out, was whether 
 cards or music should form the amuse- 
 ment of the evening. As the young 
 people could not amicably settle this 
 matter, (for the parents seemed to have 
 no voice in it,) they determined each to 
 support their own system. Two ladies 
 began singing and playing with all their 
 force; while the other, joined by her 
 M 3 brothers,
 
 246 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 brothers, began preparing the card-table, 
 with all imaginable racket and clamour : 
 calling upon us to join in this arrange- 
 ment. ** These girls are always in some 
 fun or other," said Mrs. Metcalf. "1 am 
 glad you find it such, madam," said her 
 husband, with a peevish air. 
 
 Some of us were induced, for peace- 
 sake, to join the card-table, which was, 
 however, sufficiently noisy and turbulent. 
 After supper, the gentlemen fell into 
 some interesting conversation ; in the 
 midst of it, Miss Diana exclaimed : *' O 
 Sophia, we never thought of that new 
 song that Rumbold gave us — we can have 
 it now." *' Not after supper," said their 
 mother ; *' this is the time for a little com- 
 fortable chat." Remonstrance was in 
 vain. We were all surprised, discom- 
 posed, and fattened, if I may use the ex- 
 pression : Dr. Burton had one of his arch 
 smiles playing about his face; and a 
 shrug of the shoulders followed. 
 
 We began to be heartily fatigued, and 
 
 would
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 247 
 
 would fain have retired ; but one of the 
 young tyrants did not choose to indulge us, 
 and refused to order candles; at length re- 
 peated yawns, and " Prax/y my dear, 
 ring for the chamber-lights/' set us at 
 liberty, and we retired for the night. 
 
 Knowing that this family were not very 
 early at the breakfast-table, and being 
 kept awake the early part of the night by 
 a fit of thoughtfulness ; I was enjoying the 
 comfort of a little calm repose, in the 
 morning early, when the sound of a 
 grand piano, just under my head, accom- 
 panied by a voice not particularly soft, 
 roused me. As one young lady did not 
 choose we should go to rest early at night, 
 so another chose we should wake early 
 in the morning. Tormented with her 
 tiresome noise, I thought I might as well 
 arise : — the morning being uncommonly 
 beautiful, I rambled out : ** Perhaps," said 
 I, ** they. will be earlier than I imagined;" 
 they were, however, rather later. I walk- 
 ed about till faintness deprived me of all 
 M 4 power
 
 S48 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 power of admiration or enjoyment. After 
 sitting some time in the breakfast room, 
 and having repeatedly read the news- 
 paper, the family began to drop in, one 
 by one ; and Mrs. Metcalf ordered the 
 breakfast, saying, *' It is in vain to wait 
 for these girls to make it." At length 
 the last of the three actually sauntered in, 
 a bed feather sticking in her hair, her 
 eyes scarcely open. We had fallen, by 
 some chance, into an interesting conver- 
 sation, when a little wild thing, in a dirty 
 dress, burst in, and squeezed up between 
 her mamma and me, treading upon my 
 foot. '* O, my little darling !" said the 
 fond mother ; *^ what, are you here ? Al- 
 ways ready at the breakfast-table, though 
 you have had your's two hours ago." 
 ** And that's the reason why I want more 
 now." ^* Will you have toast, or cake, or 
 muffin, my jewel?" She reached over me, 
 and was conveying a large greasy piece 
 of toast to her mouth, when Seraphina 
 jumped up ; " You shan't have either, 
 
 you
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 249 
 
 you little plague, you do nothing but gut- 
 tle from morning to night;" and seizing 
 her by the arm, was proceeding to drag 
 her out. The little savage, naturally 
 enough, caught fast hold of the breakfast- 
 cloth; her sister, in spite of all her mo- 
 ther could say, continued pulling; and, 
 in an instant, a tolerably hot bason of 
 tea was entirely emptied over me. I 
 jumped up in my own defence, and about 
 a dozen little articles, knives, forks, &c. 
 came rattling about our heels. Our 
 school-boy started up, and seizing the 
 unfortunate cause of all this confusion, 
 threw her over his shoulder, and carried 
 her off, kicking and screaming in a most 
 amusing manner. I was forced to make 
 my escape to the house-keeper's room to 
 be wrung out, and napkin'd up, as well 
 as might be. ♦ 
 
 On my entrance, Mr. Metcalf was 
 
 bouncing about and swearing — ** No 
 
 man was ever so plagued by his children 
 
 as he was." A wrangling, recriminating 
 
 M 5 scene
 
 250 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 scene ensued, which ended in tears on 
 the lady's part. A little judicious stea* 
 diness, my good Sir, thought I, might 
 save you both a good deal of trouble. 
 We seated ourselves again quietly at the 
 table, and resumed our operations ; when 
 our young Etonian entered with a large 
 Newfoundland puppy in his arms. **This 
 is my little darling, worth a thousand 
 naughty little girls — it shall have some 
 breakfast:" and seating himself, began 
 to feed it with tea and toast in his 
 own saucer. I had breakfasted ; at least 
 my gown had, or this delicate sight would 
 not have helped my appetite. At this 
 moment entered the son and heir of the 
 family, and exclaiming, " What have we 
 here ! a beast at the table r" took it by the 
 legs, and sans ceremonie threw it out of 
 the window. The turf was soft ; and the 
 poor little brute was not hurt, I believe ; 
 but rolling over and over, like a ball, 
 gave a yelp at every turn, to the great 
 amusement of the young ladies. Mr. 
 
 Metcalf
 
 METCALF FAMILY, 251 
 
 Metcalf forgot his swearing fit, and 
 laughed heartily ; till the younger genius 
 giving the elder a thump on the back, 
 scrambled out of the window after his 
 darling. Well, if the evil had ended here ; 
 but, unluckily, in his exit the young gen- 
 tleman overturned two or three flower- 
 pots, and the carpet was happily varie- 
 gated with a striking representation of 
 land and sea. Fresh confusion ; a rush 
 of servants with pans and shovels. 
 
 The old gentleman now ceased his 
 laughter, and turning to his son, with a 
 peevish air, said ; " Rather late, Mr. 
 Metcalf, for your first appearance !'* 
 ** Ye — s. Sir," with a long yawn ; '' 'tis all 
 the fault of the girls — I got that stupid 
 novel, which they had from the library, 
 in my room, and could not help reading 
 it when I went up to bed. I had pretty 
 nearly finished, when falling accidentally 
 asleep, the book fell from my hand, threw 
 down the candle, and left me in total 
 M 6 darkness.
 
 252 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 darkness. — It was a long while before 
 I could recollect where or who I was 
 — whether I was Lord Fairlove, the hero 
 of my book; the rascally attorney, or 
 some other poor devil. 
 
 *' At length, a sensation of cold and 
 wretchedness convinced me I was no 
 hero ; and groping the way to my bed, I 
 scrambled in, half undressed, slept very 
 
 little, and am scarcely awa — ke, yet " 
 
 *'Soit seems," said his father, **and your 
 head has not been much annoyed Hy 
 combs, nor your face by water, I appre- 
 hend." "No ti — me, Sir; all will be 
 done by-and-by." " But 'tis a mercy we 
 were not all burnt in our beds;" added 
 Mr. M. "This is one of the blessed fruits 
 of subscribing to a circulating library,when 
 there is plenty of books in our own." 
 ** La! papa, and so we are to have no books, 
 and be obliged tc rummage out your old 
 trumpery, because Henry is such a stupid 
 sleepy-head that he can't read a charm- 
 ing book, without throwing his candle 
 
 down ;
 
 METCALr FAMILY. 255 
 
 down : I declare I'd sooner never read 
 at all, than be obliged to pore over the 
 dull history and divinity in your library." 
 Mr. M. ** I believe I shall put you to it, 
 though, and stop the subscription." *' No, 
 indeed you won't," said Miss Diana: "I 
 would sooner go without a gown for the 
 next twelvemonth, than go without the 
 dear books." *' Why, as you seem to 
 wear little else but a gown, at present," 
 said sleepy-head, " it would not, I sup- 
 pose, be quite so convenient to go with- 
 out that." Miss Diana. ** Who made 
 you a judge of what would be convenient 
 for me ?" reddening. " Pray, Sir, take 
 care of your own book and candle, and 
 don't busy yourself about my affairs." 
 Mrs. Metcalf laughed ; — we looked at 
 one another. The well-dressed beau, 
 having finished his yawns and his tea, va- 
 nished ; the young belles also disappear 
 ed. We talked of walking, when the 
 carriage appeared at the door. ** Mercy 
 upon us," said the lady of the house, 
 
 "we
 
 254 METCALF FAMILY. 
 
 " we grow later, and later every day : — 
 to be sure, breakfast and dinner will 
 soon meet in our house." ^' Perhaps," 
 said Sir William, " a trifling concession 
 on the part of each, might accommodate 
 the family with one lengthened meal, 
 consisting of all the delicacies of the 
 season^ and of various countries." When 
 we were ready to depart, not one of the 
 young people was to be found. The 
 hope of the family was gone to the stable ; 
 the second prop, to the dogs ; and the 
 three graces — no one knew where. We 
 took a willing leave of our happy host 
 and hostess, and hurried to the carriage. 
 As we drove off, I could not refrain 
 from lifting up my hands and eyes — "Not 
 indeed, the best regulated of families," 
 said I to Lady Jerningham. " I think," 
 said her ladyship, ** that as the young 
 plants increase in strength and years, the 
 confusion increases : they have, certainly, 
 exceeded their former selves, on this oc- 
 casion." *' These are indeed, the rights of 
 
 boys
 
 METCALF FAMILY. 255 
 
 boys and girls, with a witness," said the 
 Doctor : ** any one may, if he pleases, 
 take a lesson on the evils of insubordi- 
 nation from this family.'* 
 
 ** It is, indeed, a pity," said Sir William, 
 "that the master of a family, (if he can 
 be so called), should make no use of the 
 power delegated to ,him by heaven, to 
 prevent a parcel of young creatures 
 making themselves, and their parents, 
 miserable. Unfortunately, the evil does 
 not stop there : not one of this family can 
 ever be fit to be the head of another. 
 Totally unacquainted, practically, with 
 the first principles of harmony and happi- 
 ness, regulation and control, woe be- 
 tide the family, into which any one of 
 this is ingrafted !" 
 
 ** Is it not extraordinary, that any two 
 people should choose to be so miserable? 
 But I am inclined to think," said Lady 
 Jerningham, **that the grand error has 
 been in the outset, in the want of firm 
 ^arly subordination. A child should 
 
 never
 
 255 METCALF FAHflLY. 
 
 never feel its independence ; early ju- 
 dicious restraint is the great point ; and 
 as they advance in intellect, finding them- 
 selves happy and beloved, reason kindly 
 co-operating, fixes, and renders palatable, 
 early good habits." 
 
 " Rousseau did not argue quite so well 
 as your ladyship," said the Doctor. '*Let 
 your pupil run wild," said he, ^' and 
 then tame him (if you can:) let him be 
 entirely without restraint, and then you 
 will know his disposition; let him be idle, 
 dissipated, and foolish, and then desire 
 him to sit down to regular study, and be 
 wise. Give him no idea of any religion, 
 of any necessity for any; and then he 
 will be at liberty to make choice of that 
 which he likes best : and he may either 
 worship dogs, or horses, or dice, or 
 handsome women, or any other vagar3\" 
 
 *' There are few rational followers, I 
 apprehend, of the Rousseau or the Edge- 
 worth schooly" said the Baronet: **few 
 persons of any reflection or experience, 
 
 who
 
 KELIGIOUS SECTS. 257 
 
 who are not perfectly sensible, that if 
 they do not sow good seed in time, the 
 evil-one will sow his tares : and that as 
 we sow we shall reap, with young minds, 
 generally speaking ; and that early good 
 prepossessions are the only probable 
 foundations of virtue and happiness." 
 
 August 20. 
 
 We fell, yesterday evening, upon the 
 subject of sects. *' They have too much 
 liberty in this country," said Jerningham, 
 ** and will soon get the upper hand of 
 the establishment, encreasinor in numbers 
 as they do." Dr. Burton. ** Not if we 
 do our duty with mildness and modera- 
 tion." Jerningham. '^ I would allow 
 'them no public meetings; their groanings 
 should be in private, in their own dwell- 
 ings, most particularly the methodists! 
 I detest them ! One mode of faith is 
 enough for one kingdom." Dr. B. 
 " Unity among brethren is a blessed 
 
 thing;
 
 f 
 258 RELIGIOUS SECTS. 
 
 thing; but it has been doubted by many, 
 and is by myself, I must confess, whe- 
 ther, if it were possible to have but one 
 mode of worship and belief, the spirit 
 of true religion and zeal would be there- 
 by encreased ? I fear we should doze in 
 security." Campbell. " Is not that, Sir, a 
 sort of justification of separation from the 
 establishment?" Dr. B. ** No, it does 
 not amount to that; but only to an in- 
 ducement to suppose, that what can- 
 not be otherwise effected than by per- 
 secution, may at length produce some 
 good effects." Sir William. " One 
 consideration ought, I think, to lessen 
 our acrimony against other Protestant 
 sects, who differ from us in small matters; 
 it is that we do not term ourselves an 
 original, but a reformed church ; and 
 that if our forefathers had strenuously 
 set themselves against any change or al- 
 teration, we should be still oppressed 
 with all the bigotry and superstition of 
 the Papal church: We have, indeed, 
 
 thrown
 
 RELIGIOUS SECTS. 55^ 
 
 thrown off much error, and even boast 
 of the purity and simplicity of our fa*- 
 brie; but we do not pretend to infalli- 
 bility : and it is true, I believe, that the 
 original church looks upon us with more 
 harshness and severity, than even we do 
 upon minor seceders from our tenets ; 
 though in truth there is enough of that." 
 Jerningham, " But ought we not to keep 
 down, as much as we can, all those who 
 would not spare us if they had the upper 
 hand ?" Dr. B. '' That is begging the 
 question : but in truth, I would not put 
 power and ostensibility into the hands 
 of any but the established church; yet 
 I would wish to see a more general spirit 
 of mildness and sociability between the 
 milder sectaries and ourselves. By de- 
 claring war, as it were, each exhibits the 
 worst parts of its disposition and charac- 
 ter to each other, and to the world; a 
 narrow jealousy takes place of mild bene- 
 volence ; and we attach suspicion to the 
 best actions and societies, because a 
 
 trifling
 
 ^60 RELIGIOUS SECTS* 
 
 trifling difference exists between us. I am 
 convinced we might gain much good from 
 one another in a variety of particulars, 
 were this hostile temper kept down. I 
 happen to have known many estimable 
 persons of diiferent sects, from whom, I 
 am convinced, I have imbibed many 
 good sentiments." Mrs. Conyers. " There 
 are many^ who consider the general abuse 
 of all modes but their own, as tanta- 
 mount to genuine zeal for Christianity; 
 whereas nothing can be farther distant 
 from it : it is not the spirit of it, and can 
 never promote it." Lady Jerningham, 
 " It has indeed often struck me, that in 
 vehement contention for particular modes, 
 we entirely lose sight of that mild spirit 
 of charity ; that peace and forbearance, 
 which can alone constitute any true 
 religion." Campbell. *' The only sect 
 to which I can scarcely allow any quar- 
 ter, are the rigid Calvinists. That any 
 one man should impudently set himself 
 up as the chosen of God, elected, with- 
 out
 
 RELIGIOUS SECTS. 26l 
 
 out his own exertions or efforts, to certain 
 salvation, is to me, the very pinnacle of 
 presumption ; and that an}^ should per- 
 mit themselves to suppose a fellow- 
 creature to be reprobate, or cast off 
 by his Maker, is the very 72e plus ultra 
 of uncharitableness." 
 
 Sir William. *' It is much to be la- 
 mented, that the amiable and fine-feeling 
 Cow PER, should have adopted the gloomy 
 principles of this sect, which, in his hours 
 of dejection, led him to suppose that 
 any human creature would be cut off 
 from hopes of salvation, by that merci- 
 ful Being, who had created him for eternal 
 felicity." Mrs. Conyers. ^^ I apprehend, 
 that a constitutional tendency to dejec- 
 tion was the cause of this state of mind, 
 rather than any particular tenets. 
 
 *' The strong-minded and enlightened 
 Johnson, whom no one can accuse of 
 being a Calvinist, weighed down by a 
 morbid melancholy, which no effort could 
 entirely shake off, beheld not the bright 
 
 countenance
 
 262 RELIGIOUS SECTS. 
 
 countenance of Religion decked in smiles. 
 A constant depressing sense of his inabi- 
 lity to act up to his own high ideas of 
 practical devotion, filled him with gloom 
 and despondency; perhaps it is often so 
 with the finest minds : the high standard 
 which they set up to themselves, is scarce- 
 ly attainable by human infirmity, and 
 the failure is magnified to their own 
 minds, out of all proportion to the in- 
 ward piety, which they do, in fact, ex- 
 perience. A strong sense of their wan- 
 derings and deficiencies, is not the least 
 of their daily trials." Jerningham. ** Bet- 
 ter to be without religion, than to be 
 rendered miserable by it." 
 
 Sir William. *' Not so, Edward, with 
 the eternal Judge of all men. He com- 
 passionates his humble followers; with 
 him a deep sense of our own insuffi- 
 ciency is the bf.st quality we can pos- 
 sess. With joy can I imagine the tender 
 and dejected Cowper, in an instant, 
 removed from the regions of mist and 
 
 obscurity —
 
 ' RELIGIOUS SECTS. 263 
 
 obscurity — all clouds of anxiety and terror 
 dispersed — his countenance brightened 
 by smiles of heavenly joy; surrounded 
 by unspeakable brightness and glory, by 
 myriads of beautiful and happy spirits. 
 It is for the self- confiding and easily 
 satisfied Christian, who appears gay and 
 joyful here, that we have most reason 
 to fear hereafter." 
 
 Jerningham. ** Meaning to say. Sir 
 William, that no Christian who is happy 
 here, is likely to be so hereafter ?" Sir 
 William. " Not so, altogether; but that 
 dejection here, is no presumption of 
 defective piety ; for though piety naturally 
 tends to inward cheerfulness, yet dark 
 clouds are sometimes suffered to obscure 
 the brightness of the most pious hearts ; 
 as trials, I believe, of their faith and 
 stedfastness." Sir William looked out 
 of the window — Lady Jerningham chang- 
 ed colour.
 
 264 POOR. 
 
 August 29. 
 
 Sir William acts as a Magistrate ; but 
 instead of allotting one day in the 
 week, to receive the complaints of the 
 poor, or distressed ; a sort of selfish 
 subterfuge, by which the poor are pre- 
 vented from gaining redress at the time 
 they require it, for fear one who has 
 little else to do, should be interrupted ; 
 he hears them at any hour, if at home ; 
 and should he be in his own grounds, 
 there is a small room that they wait in. 
 This morning, at breakfast, he mentioned 
 a distressing case which came before 
 him yesterday, from a distant parish. 
 
 *^ A young woman had been suddenly 
 seized with an alarming fever, and hap- 
 pening not to be in her own parish, 
 the overseers declined to give her relief, 
 or to send a nurse to her; but proposed 
 removing her. Application could not 
 be made to their nearest magistrate 
 under six days, his time for receiving 
 complaints, and she had lain a day and 
 
 a night
 
 POOH. 265 
 
 a night unassisted with medical advice, 
 or nursing. A humane neighbour had 
 walked five miles, and, with tears, repre- 
 sented her case. Sir William sent im- 
 mediate relief, and a summons to the 
 overseers. 
 
 ** The difficulties of the poor are occa- 
 sionally very distressing," said Lady 
 Jerningham, " and call for all our at- 
 tention and commiseration." Miss Jer- 
 ningham. " I cannot imagine, why poor 
 people should be so full of complaints 
 and dissatisfaction, when there are such 
 excellent poor-laws for their relief: I 
 have often heard that tl>e provision for 
 them bears very hard upon tho parishes, 
 thei^efoi^e it must be competent for their 
 relief and comfort." *' Capital reasoning 1" 
 muttered Campbell in a low voice. 
 
 Sir William. " I am not desirous to 
 find defects in our laws; but pray, Har- 
 riet, allow me to ask what you should 
 consider as a comfortable provision, if 
 you were ill, to buy you every thing ?'' 
 
 VOL. I. N IVIi^?
 
 £66 POOR. 
 
 Miss Jerningham. '' Oh ! why, mdeed, I 
 don't know ; but the poor people are not 
 used to so many indulgencies; and they 
 are not so often ill as we are." Sir 
 William. " But when they are ill, or 
 aged, or infirm, they w^ant some indul- 
 gencies, I suppose. Could you, as an old 
 and sickly woman, makevyourself com- 
 fortable with half-a-crown a week, a 
 common allowance ?" Miss Jerningham. 
 *' Oh mercy! I should die the second 
 day : but I don't know much about their 
 wants, they are different from our's ; I 
 -was always afraid of catching disorders 
 and complaints : my aunt says they are 
 always dirty and diseased." Campbell 
 turned short round from her, with such 
 
 an expression of countenance The 
 
 young lady continued. ** I have heard 
 a great many people say, that they are 
 a discontented complaining tribe, and 
 that if they were industrious, and would 
 work, they need never want. But if 
 people zvill be idle" — Campbell bounced 
 
 up,
 
 POOR. ^67 
 
 up, and marched out of the room. Mrs. 
 Conyers. *' But if they happen to be ill ?" 
 Jerningham. '* Oh ! they have no busi- 
 ness to be ill : indeed, as they cannot over- 
 eat themselves, or drink too much, the 
 cause of most disorders, I don't see how 
 they can pretend to be ill." " True," said 
 Miss Jerningham, '^ Temperance is the 
 only source of health." *' And activity 
 and industry, Madam, '^ added her cou- 
 sin, with such a ludicrous and impo- 
 sing gravity, that, I believe, Harriet 
 was completely taken in, and really 
 supposed he was advocating her weak 
 cause. Lady Jerningham looked mor- 
 tified and hurt; the girls spoke not; 
 we saw Campbell pacing the grounds 
 a tongue pas^ and we arose and broke 
 up the party. Sir William repeating, as 
 he left the room, those touching lines 
 of Crabbe : 
 
 O, trifle nqt with wants you cannot feel. 
 Nor mock the misery of a stinted meal : 
 Homely, yet wholesome ; plain, not plenteous ; such 
 As you who praise, would never deign to touch. 
 N 2
 
 \6S alarmi>:g accident, 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ALARMING ACCIDENT, AND CONSE- 
 QUENCES. ATTENDING DIVINE 
 
 SERVICE. 
 
 Septembers. 
 
 We have been thrown into consider- 
 able trouble and confusien, my dear 
 madam: — but I must proceed regularly 
 in my narrative. 
 
 Mr. Jerningham and Campbell made 
 a party to join Sir Henry West's hounds ; 
 a sort of airing, preparatory to the hunt- 
 ing season. Sir William had furnished 
 the latter with a fine animal, which had 
 been very little exercised for a consider- 
 able time. Frederick is an excellent 
 horseman, but rather too daring a one. 
 Yesterday, at breakfast, the horse was 
 rode round by the groom, prancing and 
 curvetting in a most alarming manner. 
 
 ** Surely
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. 9,69 
 
 ** Surely, you are not going to mount that 
 ungovernable animal, Mr. Campbell," 
 said Selina. *' And pray, why not?'* 
 said Miss Jerningham : "would you have 
 a young man of spirit, afraid to mount 
 a spirited steed ?" '* Why, I should 
 think there was such a thing as common 
 prudence," said Selina. " Not for hun- 
 ters — come along, Campbell," said Jer- 
 ningham ; and we walked out to see 
 them mount: Selina remaining alone at 
 the breakfast-room window. *' He only 
 wants to stretch his legs, said Frederick ; 
 we will indulge him ;" and mounting with 
 great agility, the graceful youth, with a 
 bow, evidently not directed to Harriet, 
 gallop ped down the park. 
 
 We went up stairs; Selina appeared 
 unhappy ; took up a book — laid it down; 
 took out a drawing she was about to 
 finish — spoiled it; looked for her work 
 — lost her needle. 
 
 After a time, Lady Jerningham joined 
 
 us, and we got into a somewhat more 
 
 N 5 settled
 
 1270 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 settled employment We had been read- 
 ing some time, when Lady Jerningham 
 seeing a man gallop up the park, went 
 out. Sir William was out, riding. In a 
 few minutes, Sophia came running in — 
 '* O, sister, what do you think ! a sad 
 accident has happened to Frederick ! 
 The groom is come home, and says he 
 has been thrown from his horse, and has 
 broken his leg; !" *'0, la ! what a sad 
 thing!" said Harriet; "how shocking! 
 '* Bless me, what can be done?" I won- 
 dered that Selina spoke not — I turned 
 round — she Kad fainted, and had sunk 
 on the floor apparently senseless. Maria 
 had fled at the first word, and Harriet 
 was now gone to display her feeling, with- 
 out observing her sister. I rose and 
 assisted the poor girl ; she began gra- 
 dually to revive.— " Alas! where am 1? 
 something sad has happened !" " Nothing 
 fatal, my dear — compose yourself." A 
 chaise came slowly up ; I pulled down 
 the window-blind. 
 
 On
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. 2? 1 
 
 On Frederick's being brought into the 
 hall, they all crowded round him with 
 affectionate solicitude. '* Where is 
 Selina ?" said he. *' I know not," said 
 Lady Jerningham, " suffer yourself, dear 
 Frederick, to be quietly conveyed to your 
 chamber." The surgeon soon arrived. 
 Lady Jerningham returned to Selina's 
 apartment, on being informed of her indis- 
 position — *' How is this, my child ? You 
 are not subject to faint !" '*0, no, mamma, 
 I never did before — I don't know how it 
 was ; I had not been well all day : So- 
 phia running in — the galloping horse : 
 I can't think how it was — I did not hear 
 all she said: but was not somebody 
 dangerously hurt?" ^'Somebody is hurt, 
 but we hope not dangerously. The sur- 
 geon is with him ; we must await his re- 
 port." The poor girl looked alarmingly 
 pale again. Lady Jerningham led her 
 to her room, and remained some time 
 with her. 
 
 Sir William came in, and spoke with 
 N 4 the
 
 272 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 the most tender emotion, of the fortitude 
 which the young man had shewn under 
 the painful operation of setting his leg; 
 and added : *' I am thankful to announce 
 that the surgeon finds it a simple frac- 
 ture, and hopes, under proper caution 
 and quiet, that it will be attended with 
 no dangerous consequences.'' I went to 
 Lady Jerningham, and as quietly as pos- 
 sible, spoke of these good hopes. Seiina, 
 tranquil before, burst into a flood of 
 tears, which she in vain attempted to 
 check ; and again saying, " I can't think 
 what's the matter with me to day !" 
 (** Pretty plain," whispered Lady Jer- 
 ningham to me.) ** But that ugly horse, 
 in the morning, put me in such a flutter!" 
 " What with the ugly horse," said I, 
 " and the handsome young man, the 
 whole house seems to be in a sort of a 
 flutter." *' O, pray go, mamma," said 
 the tender girl, *' I shall soon be quite 
 well." We could now venture to leave 
 her, and returned to the sitting-room, 
 
 where
 
 AXD COKSEQUEXCES. 273 
 
 where Miss Jerningham was displaying 
 her own concern and indisposition, as 
 strongly as words could do it. Lady J. 
 went to the patient, and continued some 
 time with him. It seems that his ser\^nt 
 had told him, very imprudently, that 'Miss 
 Selina had fainted away, and was very ill ; 
 and so prepossessed was he of something 
 serious and alarming, that Lady Jer- 
 ningham could not pacify him without 
 his seeing her; and m order to keep him 
 composed, had given half a promise to 
 that effect. After dinner, she said : " Our 
 patient is so restless, that I am afraid he 
 will not be very manageable ; he cannot 
 be satisfied without seeing more of the 
 family: it must be two at a time only:* 
 ** O, not me,"' said Harriet, '•' the very 
 thought of a broken bone makes me ilL** 
 Turning to me — '* I think,'' said her lady- 
 ship, '•' you and Selina shall follow me, 
 in about ten minutes" — and left the room. 
 The poor girl changed countenance two 
 or three times before we proceeded. 
 N 5 The
 
 «$i74 ALAHMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 The young man was laid upon the bed, 
 a li^ht covering thrown over him. How 
 did his countenance brighten as we ap- 
 proached ! How did he appear to ad- 
 mire the tender paleness that hung upon 
 the countenance of Selina, apprized, as 
 he had been, of the cause of it. '* I am 
 truly grieved," said he ** to have created 
 so much confusion and distress to my 
 good friends ;" fixing his eye upon Selina, 
 — " but there is a consolation even in 
 this : it is delightful to know how much 
 kindness one can experience: no com- 
 mon matter could have proved it :" (his 
 eyes still expressively fixed on the same 
 object.) '' I fear I am not sufficiently 
 punished for my vanity and fool-hardi- 
 ness, in undertaking the management of 
 an animal, with whose power and impe- 
 tuosity I was so little acquainted, con- 
 trary to the advice of so kind a friend : — 
 and in the field — you see I am going to 
 confess all my sins — though the groom 
 warned me not to let my horse lead, I 
 
 foolishly
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. 275 
 
 foolishly suffered him : we came to an 
 aukwardleap: the horsemen were close 
 behind me — without deliberating, I gave 
 him his head— we fell together i** "Oh !" 
 said Selina, involuntarily. ** I shall learn," 
 continued he *' to check my foolish im« 
 petuosity, at the expense of two or three 
 broken limbs, I suppose." ** It is high 
 time," said Lady Jerningham, " that you 
 should learn to check the impetuosity of 
 your tongue;" and looking at me, M^e re- 
 tired : Frederick promised he would not 
 speak for an hour if we would sit down ; 
 but in vain— we were gone. 
 
 September 4. 
 
 We are very anxious for poor Fre- 
 derick : his man, who sat up with 
 him, reported that he had a very restless 
 night, appeared feverish and unable to 
 lie so quiet as the state of his limb re- 
 quired ; dozed, and talked in his sleep, 
 n6 The
 
 276 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 The surgeon, who has just been here, 
 does not find him, by any means, so well 
 as he had reason to hope ; and says 
 that the most perfect quiet is absolutely 
 necessary : he must see no one but Dr. 
 Burton and the old nurse, who is now 
 with him. Mr. Lambert adds, that he 
 talked in a strange incoherent manner, 
 about this not being an unfortunate cir- 
 cumstance. " That will be according as 
 you make it, Sir ; you are not so com- 
 posed as I wish to see you : the orders 
 I leave, will, I hope, be implicitly 
 obeyed." It is plain to Lady Jerning- 
 ham and myself, that the discovery, a 
 hope of Selina's interest for him, has 
 thrown him into this agitated state ; for, 
 we both, it seems, had observed his at- 
 tention to her ; but, as a delicate sub- 
 ject, had not spoken of it, nor do we 
 now, openly.
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. 277 
 
 Campbell is no better this evening; 
 and so restless, that they fear the limb 
 cannot properly unite. Dr. Burton is 
 just come down — he looks distressed and 
 anxious — Selina is the image of grief; — 
 Harriet full of words and exclamations ; 
 but going on very assiduously in finish- 
 ing a pair of handsome sleeves, in the last 
 new fashion. 
 
 I have been taking a turn in the shrub- 
 bery, with Lady Jerningham; *' Alas I 
 my friend," said she, ** instead of joy and 
 hope, I fear sorrow and distress are visit- 
 ing our mansion — and perhaps a compli- 
 cated distress — two young creatures in- 
 volved at once, perhaps — this discovery 
 distresses me — and its consequences, with 
 this unfortunate accident, I tremble for.'* 
 
 " Take care of Frederick," said I ; 
 '* tranquillize him, if possible, and do not 
 fear for your eldest daughter — one hour's 
 observation would convince any one, that 
 her heart is perfectly untouched — her 
 loquacity — her steady employment." — ** I 
 
 agree
 
 278 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 agree with you, in that supposition," said 
 her ladyship — but I feel as if distress 
 was coming upon us — we must not long~ 
 dwell with joy upon any earthly hope. 
 I love Campbell as if he were my son ; 
 he is a noble fellow — perhaps, even if 
 he live, he never 7nay be — " 
 
 Tears overpowered her, and we re- 
 turned in silence to seek Sir William, 
 who had retired to his own room. I left 
 them together. 
 
 Evening, August 6, 
 
 Alas! my dear Madam, we are all 
 in the greatest distress. — Our dear Fre- 
 derick became, yesterday m.orning, quite 
 delirious : a most alarming fever threatens 
 his life. The physician and surgeon have 
 continued here ever since ; his uncontrol- 
 able restlessness will, they fear, endanger 
 the limb, independent of the high fever. 
 They have found it necessary to admini- 
 ster
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. Q7g 
 
 ster large doses of opiates combined with 
 antimonials — they are now beginning to 
 have effect, he is falling into a more com- 
 posed and quiet state ; but even this is to be 
 dreaded, I fear, procured by such means. 
 How poor is human skill ! — how short- 
 lived human joys ! This amiable youth, 
 a few hours since, so full of health and 
 confidence — so full of intoxicating joy 
 at the discovery of Selina's regard for 
 him, is, perhaps, now on his death-bed. 
 
 August 8. 
 
 We are still in a state of the most de- 
 pressing anxiety — Campbell sunk into a 
 stupor, the night before last, which has 
 continued ever since ; as long now as 
 was his delirium. God only knows and 
 can determine the event. Dr. Burton 
 never leaves him. The physician is in 
 the next room. — Sir William ventured to 
 question him once, yesterday, — ** I can- 
 
 not
 
 280 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 not speak," said he, ** to any purpose ; I 
 dislike confidence : his skin is moist — his 
 pulse regular, but weak. JVe can do 
 nothing more, but must patiently await 
 the will of heaven." 
 
 You may imagine, dear madam, the 
 effect of this distressing crisis upon the 
 whole house. — Sir William is seldom to 
 be seen — we meet not at meals — Selina, 
 after wandering about, like a restless 
 spirit, has taken to her rooms and Maria 
 with her. — Lady Jerningham moves from 
 room to room, in speechless anxiety. 
 Harriet is occupied with the Sorrows of 
 JVerter, because he could not have his 
 friend's wife ; and is writing letters eter- 
 nally. Jerninghani has manifested so 
 
 much feeling and sympathy, and is so 
 totally unlike his former voluble self, 
 that Mrs. Conyers says, she could half 
 forgive him for his flippant sneers at our 
 sex, if he should not return to them 
 again.
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. £81 
 
 * - 
 
 August g. 
 
 This morning, Dr. Thomson inform- 
 ed us that the complexion of his patient 
 wore a more healthful appearance, and 
 his breathing was more free — at noon, a 
 profuse perspiration came on, and still 
 continues ; the Doctor is under great 
 anxiety. — Lady Jerningham is very poor- 
 ly — I am going to her room. 
 
 Evening, 
 
 Thank God I we are flattered with 
 cheering hopes — our dead silent sorrow 
 is broken in upon. — Dear Frederick has 
 moved, and spoken — an hour since, he 
 turned a little, and opened his eyes gra- 
 dually upon Dr. Burton, but, as if weak 
 and heavy, shut them again ; the Doctor 
 trembling with joy, glided into the next 
 room to communicate this dawn of hope ; 
 Dr. Thomson took his seat ; the worthy 
 
 Dr.
 
 282 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 Dr. B. feared to trust his own feelings, 
 should he look up or speak to him ; again 
 he looked up, but seemed to miss his 
 valued friend : at length, he uttered : 
 ** Have I not been long asleep, Sir?" 
 The words were caught by his anxious 
 Mentor : his feelings were too rapturous 
 to make it quite prudent for him to re- 
 turn; and after venting them in pious gra- 
 titude to his God, he flew to communicate 
 the joyful intelligence. *' Frederick has 
 spoken,'" ran like lightning through the 
 house — never was joy more general. The 
 young man, at last, asked for his friend, 
 and he again entered, having gained perfect 
 composure and command of himself; but 
 no conversation was allowed; he took 
 some nourishment, and again sunk into 
 
 a slumber. Our family devotion?, 
 
 •which had suffered the interruption of 
 three days, from the absolute inability of 
 any one composedly to join them, were 
 gratefully renewed. At ten o'clock, when 
 all was quiet up-stairs, Dr. Burton joined 
 
 us
 
 AND CONSEQUENCES. 28S 
 
 US in the library, and went through the 
 whole service with a solemn and com- 
 posed dignity, that touched us all : his 
 voice was often affected, but never failed 
 entirely, and with mutual congratula- 
 tions and gratitude, we are retired to our' 
 rooms. 
 
 May God perfect our hopes ! 
 
 September 12« 
 
 Again, my dear aunt, have tranquil 
 joy and cheerful thankfulness resumed 
 their places in this truly respectable family. 
 
 Our young Caledonian has continued 
 very regularly to amend, and gather 
 strength ; and every gradual progression 
 is, you know, most safe and sure. Lady 
 Jerningham and I made him a visit to- 
 (iay — it was an affecting one — he -is 
 'indeed greatly reduced, subdued, and 
 softened ; composure had taken place of 
 
 that
 
 284 ALARMING ACCIDENT, 
 
 that elation, that agitated state of spiritSj 
 the giving way to which had nearly 
 proved fatal to him ;— after looking at 
 Lady Jerningham for a minute — '' Alas ! 
 how plainly do I read in the counte- 
 nances of my dear friends, the anxiety 
 and pain that I have caused them : 
 NoWy indeed, am I punished for my 
 childish impetuosity, in more than one 
 instance : how thankful am I, that they 
 are spared a greater shock — I trust in 
 God, I may live to correct my faults, 
 and amend my conduct." Dr. Burton 
 pressed his hand on the bed, but did 
 not speak. 
 
 *' We are all thankful, dear Frede- 
 rick," said Lady Jerningham, " for this 
 happy change !" *' What return, dear 
 madam, can I make you — I fear — only 
 fresh anxieties — but — may I not see the 
 rest of your family ? I want to be con- 
 vinced they are not materially injured 
 in health." '^ In a few days, you shall 
 see all — no one is materially injured, I 
 
 hope«"
 
 AND COXSEQUENCES. Q85 
 
 hope." He began to look a little fe- 
 verish : we retired. 
 
 During these periods of anxiety, and 
 for many days, particularly, in which 
 Lady Jerningham was much indisposed, 
 Henry has appeared in tlie most amiable 
 light. His unobtrusive feeling for Camp- 
 bell ; his tenderness, and anxiety for his 
 mother; his cheerful attention to his 
 father, drawing him out to ride and 
 walk occasionally : all prove him to be 
 rich in that innate goodness, which 
 requires not words to prove its ex- 
 istence. 
 
 We are, once more, a social family 
 at our stated times ; all except Campbell, 
 who, however, continues on the recovery. 
 Selina looks very pale and thin ; but 
 
 patient,
 
 286 ATTENDING 
 
 patient, silent, and thankful. The most 
 delicate reserve has, throughout, marked 
 her conduct, in regard to Campbell, 
 whose eyes too plainly spoke the pre- 
 ference of his heart. To an observing 
 mind, however, extreme reserve speaks 
 as plain a language as words can. 
 
 Maria, whose heart is free, has been 
 all gaiety and ease, and her playful raillery 
 began at times to annoy Frederick, and 
 make him a little peevish; but Selina 
 gave her a few looks, occasionally bor- 
 dering upon anger. 
 
 September \6. 
 
 In returning from church, yesterday, 
 Sir WiUiam spoke of a gentleman, of this 
 parish, who never attends divine wor- 
 ship. ** I have often been surprised," 
 said he, " that Mr. B. who was blessed 
 with so pious and good a father, should 
 himself appear to be so defective in 
 
 religious
 
 DIVINE WORSHIP. 287 
 
 religious practice." Jerningham. *' And 
 do yon, Sir William, take upon you to 
 judge of any man's inward piety, by his 
 attendance on, or neglect of public wor- 
 ship ?" Sir William. " Observe, Jer- 
 ningham, 1 say appear to be defective." 
 Mrs. C. " As Mr. Jerningham has de- 
 cidedly given his opinion, upon a former 
 occasion, that solely attending public 
 worship, is sufficient to constitute a Sun- 
 day being well-spent ; we have a right 
 to conclude, that he attaches consi- 
 derable consequence to that act ; and 
 moreover to argue, that not attending 
 public worship, leaves it rather ill" 
 spent." Jerningham, rather peevishly, 
 " I do not judge my neighbours quite 
 so harshly," Mrs. C. " Nay, I am only 
 combating you with your own weapons ; 
 the first position established, it follows, 
 of course, that the entire neglect of that 
 attendance, cannot be denominated piety 
 in any shape." Jerningham. " Certainly, 
 
 a man
 
 288 ATTENDING 
 
 a man ^iiay spend his Sunday very de- 
 voutly, without going to church." 
 
 Dr. Burton. " It would be rather 
 presuming, as a general principle, and, 
 knowing of no particular hindrance, 
 to conclude that he does ; since no one, 
 I imagine, has any reason to be ashamed 
 or afraid of openly professing himself 
 a Christian in this country." Jerning- 
 ham, ** And moreover, a man may go 
 to Church, and not feel a spark of 
 genuine piety." Dr. Burton. ** That is 
 possible, I will allow : but I cannot as 
 readily admit, that a genuinely bene- 
 volent Christian should live in the 
 habitual neglect of congregated worship. 
 There is an expansive satisfaction and 
 benefit attached to community of reli- 
 gious profession, which the solitary wor- 
 shipper cannot possibly enjoy. Stated 
 places and times, are valuable helps to 
 the religious spirit ; and, I think, I 
 might defy any one, not deficient in 
 sense or feeling, to follow the officiating 
 
 clergyman
 
 DIVINE WORSHIP. 289 
 
 Clergyman through our beautiful liturgy, 
 without experiencing many pious and 
 expanding impressions. Can we suppli- 
 cate for the ' fatherless children and 
 widows, and all that are desolate and 
 oppressed,' without thinking of them, 
 and compassionating them? Can we 
 pray to God to forgive our enemies, 
 without ourselves forgiving them ?" Mrs. 
 C. ** Perhaps, Mr. Jerningham thinks 
 with the pious and liberal author of 
 Nubilia, that it is better to go by our- 
 selves, and worship God in woods and 
 dells, than to be pent up in a close 
 church, listening to a dull monotonous 
 preacher. (I don t answer for exact 
 words.) These liberal sentiments, and 
 the still more liberal one, that married 
 people, of different families and sexes, 
 should more freely cultivate particular 
 friendships one with another, will, it is 
 hoped, equally enlighten and improve 
 the rising generation ; though, according 
 to my simple judgment, neither the one 
 nor the other hint was wanting.'* 
 
 VOL, I. o Jerningham
 
 290 ATTEXDiyG 
 
 Jerningham. *' That's right ! Select 
 every tritling defect, and let it go through 
 the riery ordeal." Mr<. C. "I do not 
 call any thing trifling, or a defect, which 
 in the ieait militates against practical reli- 
 gion, and possibly against morality*. We 
 are justified in noticing such, as a warning 
 to voung or thoughtless minds, who 
 sometimes unwarily imbibe the errors of 
 a book, while perusing an interesting 
 siorv. or admiring sentiments dressed in 
 elegant language. 
 
 *• As I have, myself, heard that work 
 praised for possessing a morality more 
 simple, and less bearing upon religious 
 precepts, than Calebs, I feel less scru- 
 pulous in speaking of its errors." 
 
 *•' So it is," said Lady Jerningham to 
 me in a low voice. " Upon subjects that 
 people are quite indifferent about, they 
 have a wonderful share of chanty and 
 cando'jr al^.ays ready; and be it right, or 
 be it wrongj mere is some good-natured 
 excuse at hand, for fear the standard of 
 
 practice
 
 DIVINE WORSHIP. QQl 
 
 practice should rise too high. — But let 
 the same people be attacked personally 
 in some tender point — in worldly wisdom 
 or honour — and you will not find them 
 quite so tame or candid. 
 
 ''M^hen we truly and warmly feel in- 
 terested in any important object, we can- 
 not 'spread plaster of Paris' over good 
 and evil, rendering all surfaces equal. 
 We are allowed, cordially to hate vice 
 and gross error, without wishing to in- 
 jure the persons who disseminate them." 
 
 This appeared to me to be just reason- 
 ing ; and there is, I think, much canting 
 candour spread over the notorious and 
 unblushing enormities of these times. 
 With what indignation have I often heard 
 the following, or similar expressions : 
 '* Poor thing, she is much to be pitied ! 
 she married very young — her husband 
 was a good deal from home — her children 
 too young to be interesting company for 
 her, — and B — so attractive and accom- 
 plished a man !" "This would be excel- 
 o Q lent
 
 2i)2 ATTENDING, &C 
 
 lent reasoning, if we lived for no other 
 purpose than to follow our own fancies, 
 and amuse ourselves. I blush, to ac- 
 knowledge, that I have heard a young 
 lady say, in speaking of two young men 
 in one family; the one, exemplary for 
 his regularity and good conduct; the 
 other, for every thing contrary to that — 
 *'0 ! I like, — he is a good-natured, open* 
 hearted fellow — you know the worst of 
 him ; while his brother is only more sly 
 and demure.'* 
 
 I entreat ladies, who sport such senti- 
 ments, to reflect in what manner they 
 must expect to be acted by — thought of — 
 and spoken to. 
 
 My allowance of paper warns me to 
 draw to a conclusion. My next will, I 
 hope, my dear aunt, be more comfort- 
 able and satisfactory. 
 
 Ever, with sincere respect, 
 
 A.S.
 
 FAMILY EMBARRASSMENTS. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FAMILY EMBARRASSMENTS. — FRANK 
 DECLARATION. 
 
 September 24, 
 
 Though joy and gratitude fill our 
 hearts for the recovery of our young 
 favourite; yet the discovery which the 
 late distressing scenes have made, in re- 
 gard to the sentiments of two young per- 
 sons, has thrown the family into an 
 aukward embarrassment: for though it 
 has been long evident that Miss Jerning- 
 ham felt no interest for Campbell, she is 
 determined this shall not be conclusively- 
 depended upon. Though thoroughly 
 aware that his heart is attached to 
 another, she is not willing to resign even 
 the imaginary claim, which she pretends 
 o 3 to
 
 294 FAMILY EMBARRASSMENTS. 
 
 to have upon it ; and is now playing 
 off some delicate love-sick airs, pretend- 
 ing to be unhappy at the coldness and 
 inattention of the swain, whom she al- 
 ways appeared to despise. She has just 
 adopted a pretty trick of sighing, and 
 looking down with a melancholy de- 
 jection. 
 
 I fear that the disappointment of her 
 silly vanity in having a fine young man 
 considered as her humble servant, is the 
 only feeling, that at present occupies her 
 heart. 
 
 The sentiments of the other young 
 people are more unequivocal, though 
 shaded by the most exemplary prudence 
 and reserve ; in short, what with the 
 pretty affected languor of Harriet — the 
 natural, though aukward restraint of the 
 other two — the melancholy face of Camp- 
 bell, and the silence of Selina — we might 
 defy the most dolorous romance to pre- 
 sent scenes superior to what are now 
 exhibited at Jerningham Hall.
 
 FRANK DECLARATION. 295 
 
 Sir William determined, in a walk with 
 his eldest daughter ye&terday, to discover, 
 if possible, her real sentiments. This is a 
 sketch of the conversation : Sir William. 
 " I believe my Harriet is not a stranger 
 to the views with which our young friend, 
 Campbell, entered this house." Harriet. 
 "I had heard some rumour of the earnest 
 wishes of his father." Sir William. " The 
 wishes of fathers are one thing, the in- 
 clinations of their children another." 
 Harriet. *'The question does not seem 
 to rest upon my inclinations." Sir Wil- 
 liam. " It must rest upon the inclinations 
 of two persons." Harriet — with a tender 
 sigh, and a downcast look : '* Had there 
 been only two^ perhaps — but when a 
 pretty younger sister — I don't wish to 
 be too particular — ^Pray, Sir William, do 
 you think Campbell will go to town this 
 
 winter !"
 
 S96 FRANK DECLARATION. 
 
 winter?" Sir William. *' Why does 
 Harriet ask that question ; can it be any 
 thing to the purpose ?'* Harriet. *' A 
 tall unfashioned Caledonian might make 
 a curious variety in the train of beaux I 
 He is a line fellow, I must confess, and 
 had he been a little more in the fashion- 
 able world, might pass very well." Sir 
 William. '* After such observations, you 
 must allow me. Miss Jerningham, to 
 consider the affair of the heart to be 
 entirely settled." Harriet — with a little 
 affected laugh. **Why, really, I see no 
 reason why I should break my heart for 
 one who does not appear to care for 
 me." Sir William. '* Nor I neither; 
 but allow me to observe, that every 
 woman's manners should be the index 
 of her mind ; and that no affectation of 
 sentimental feelings should appear in the 
 countenance, when the heart is free and 
 at ease; though the contrary, may some- 
 times be unavoidably the case." Sir Wil- 
 liam walked into the house.
 
 fEANK DECLARATION. S&7 
 
 What a difference in these two sisters ! 
 And will you say, my dear aunt, that 
 nature has made this difference ? I cannot 
 think so, altogether. A town school — 
 town manners and habits — a town aunt 
 (a woman devoted to fashionable gaieties) 
 have contributed to form this contrast. 
 Under the eye of her excellent mother, 
 Harriet might probably not have been 
 exactly Selina; but she might have been, 
 perhaps, something equally estimable, 
 though varying in shade and character. 
 
 September 30. 
 
 Yesterday, just before dinner, the 
 drawing-room door was opened by Sophia; 
 and Frederick, leaning upon Henry, walk- 
 ed
 
 298 FRANK DECLARATION. 
 
 ed slowly in ; Selina arose suddenly- 
 sat down again — rose once more — "I am 
 
 very glad — very sorry — hope '' when 
 
 Campbell interrupted this eloquent speech 
 by taking her and Maria's hand at the 
 same time, and with manly warmth and 
 energy, expressing his gratitude that he 
 was once more their happy inmate. Lady 
 Jerningham entered at this moment, and 
 embraced her young friend, with her own 
 modest frankness. I never saw Campbell 
 look more delicfhted. 
 
 Dr. Burton joined me in the bow- 
 window — ** You might wonder I was. not 
 at church; but my good boy made his 
 request, that I would to-day, before he 
 left his room, read the church service; 
 Henry, his own man, the old nurse, and 
 Sophia, by her particular desire, attend- 
 ing. You may suppose that I was not 
 unwilling nor displeased. Noble fellow ! 
 how composed and heart-felt was his 
 piety. If there w^as any thing wanting 
 before, these trials have deeply impressed 
 
 in
 
 FRANK DECLARATION. 299 
 
 in his heart, a conviction of our own in- 
 sufficiency and weakness, and our entire 
 dependence on one, powerful to help 
 us; — the cause we have for gratitude 
 under our most painful trials, that we 
 are not crushed by our own temerity, and 
 lost through self-confidence. I trust this 
 has effected more towards the perfecting 
 of his character, than all the dry lessons 
 of philosophy.*' 
 
 As the dinner-bell rang, Miss Jerning- 
 ham tripped in — " O la ! Campbell 
 here, I declare ! Well, I'm glad you have 
 got down at last. Your confinement 
 must have been horridly dull ! But upon 
 my life, Campbell, if you mean to pre- 
 serve your good looks, you must not 
 break any more limbs !'* 
 
 " I don t particularly wish it," drily. 
 Miss Jerningham. ** O heavens, IVe for- 
 got my bracelets," jumping up. "We 
 can dispense with ihem to-day, Harriet,'* 
 said Lady Jerningham : ** you are suf- 
 ficiently dressed, I think, already," But 
 
 the
 
 500 FRAITK nECLARATIONi 
 
 the young lady was gone, and dinner was 
 announced. 
 
 Excuse my abrupt conclusion, and 
 believe me, dear aunt, 
 
 Your's most affectionately, 
 
 A, S. 
 
 END OF VOL. I,
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 042046992