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THE HISTORY OF THE Countess of Dellwyn.
The writing a Preface to a Book seems to be invented for the Purpose of introducing the Author to the Acquaintance of the Reader; and hath been so general a Practice, that from Custom it appears to be established almost as a necessary Rule; and as every well-bred Man, when he presents Strangers to each other, informs them who they are to address, so doth the Author, in his Preface, acquaint his Reader in some degree what is the Nature of his Design; or what he thinks so necessary to avoid, that he is careful it shall not be found in his Writing.
The following Sheets are composed of the Histories of Persons, whose Conduct in Life gives abundant Opportunity of dissplaying the natural Tendency of Virtue towards the Attainment of Happiness; and, on the contrary, that Misery is the unavoidable Consequence of vicious Life; and tho' it is hoped the Characters are really to be found in human Nature, otherwise they would indeed deserve no other Appellation than Chimeras, yet are they universal, and not pointed at Individuals.
It is amazing with what Celerity Conjectures are formed, by which the Incidents that befal, or the Behaviour of, the Personages in these kinds of Histories of Life and Manners, are dragged by the most far-fetched Deductions to mean a Reflexion on Mr. — or Mrs. —, somebody whom they know; and this often when there is less Resemblance than in Fluellin's Parallel between Henry the Fifth and Alexander; that they were born in Places which began with the same Letter; that there were Rivers in each Country, and Fish in the Rivers of both, is some Degree beyond what these judicious Discoverers can boast; who have often no other Foundation for their Comparison, than that the Two Persons, being both of the human Species, have each the Features in common to their Kind. But as it is requisite for a Writer, whenever he compares one Object to another, or illustrates a Thought by something else that resembles it, that he should first acquaint himself thoroughly with every minute Difference, lest he should confuse, instead of clearing his Meaning; so also it is necessary that the Reader, who delights in making Applications, should first be cautious in considering whether he hath informed himself of every Circumstance relating to the Two Pictures which he would represent as like each other, before he draws the Parallel, and remember well, that
If we were but to reflect on the strange Confusion the contrary Practice to what I am recommending would make in our common Converse with Mankind, we should immediately perceive the Absurdity of it in the most glaring Light; for there we find it necessary, in order to know our Friends and Acquaintance, not only to be acquainted with the Formation of human Features in general, but also with the different Modifications of those of every Individual; otherwise the whole World would be in one continued Perplexity, and Mankind would never be able to distinguish one Person from another; for Men would run about challenging each other for Acquaintance, only because they had Mouths or Eyes, or any other human Feature. Nor is this in any degree too strong a Picture of Mens common Practice in their Judgments of Books, where not only a single Feature, but even Dress, or the Colour of a Ribbon, serves to prove a Likeness entirely to their Satisfaction.
It is also very observable that these Conjecturers are very generous in bestowing on others those Characters which they can spare without any Reluctance, as they are by no means desirous of applying them to themselves; but those exemplary Pictures of human Nature, which are drawn as proper to shew forth what ought to be imitated, are very uncommonly given away, every one appearing to have some convenient Situation in which they can place it at home: But this is done in Silence; for tho' they wish others to perceive what is very visible to their own Eyes; namely, that they themselves have sat for such Pictures; yet they think it would be a small Breach of Modesty to declare their Thought on that head; but a Compliment of that kind is received with the same sort of Backwardness to acknowledge its Justice, as a young Lady often shews towards the Flattery of her Admirer, when it is impossible for his Praise to out-run her own fixed Opinion of herself.
The Uniformity of Character is allowed to be one of the principal, and most necessary Ingredients to this kind of Writing.
The great Master, and the deepest Penetrator into the inmost Recesses of human Nature, in the Instructions which he with such great Propriety and Judgment introduces from the Mouth of Hamlet to the Players, may, if the Writer pleases, be most Part of it adopted also by him for his own Advantage. Hamlet, amongst many others, gives the following Instructions to the Players:
"With this special Observance, that you o'er-step not the Modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone is from the Purpose of playing; whose End, both at the first and now, was and is to hold, as it were, the Mirror to Nature; to shew Virtue her own Feature, Scorn her own Image, and the very Age and Body of the Time his Form and Pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy of, tho' it make the Unskilful laugh, cannot but make the Judicious grieve."
If the Word Writing was substituted instead of Playing, the Speech in general would be full as applicable to the Author as the Player; and when the former deviates from the Paths of Nature, in either stopping short of her Mark, or wildly running beyond the Limits she prescribes, it is natural for the Reader, as well as for the Spectator at the Theatre, to join with Hamlet in his Observation, that
"Some of Nature's Journeymen have made Men, and not made them well; they imitate Humanity so abominably."
It is necessary also that the Writers of Characters, as well as the Actors who personate them on the Theatre, should, as is expressed finely in the same Author, "Speak no more than is set down for them;" for, as the Actor must be faithful to the Words he finds in his Author, so also must the Writer be careful neither to diminish nor exceed in the characteristical Strokes which are drawn by Nature herself: And such as are peculiarly distinguished by the Name of Characters of Humour, should no more be distorted by any fantastic Whim of the Poet's Brain, than any other Character whatever; tho' a greater Latitude seems necessary to be given in them than in others of a more serious Cast. The Word Humour itself is understood so variously by very ingenious Men, that it appears difficult to fix to it a certain Idea.
Ben Johnson, in Every Man out of his Humour, hath led the Way into a little Path, by which perhaps it may in some measure be traced; for, after an Enquiry into the Nature of Humour in the Abstract, he says
If this be true, and is by any means a proper Explanation of the Word, what we call Humour in an Author is the Capacity of penetrating that peculiar Quality, which hath taken such strong Possession of the Character he would represent to his Reader, that it in a great Degree flows through every Action of his Life, and even influences him in the Workings of all his Passions.
The Combination of Circumstances, which is necessary to display characteristic Humours, and set them a flowing into their proper Chanel, is at the Option of the Author; and when these Circumstances are judiciously chosen, the Fact will appear to the Reader not only as a Probability, but also will carry with it an Air of real Truth.
To illustrate this by an Instance: If an Author hath an Inclination to display the Characteristic of various Persons under the Influence of the Passion of Fear, and should therefore contrive to place them all together in a House on Fire (which is very adequate to the raising the greatest Consternation); the Fire must not walk to the House, and burn it, "will he, nill he," as the Clown says; but natural Circumstances must combine for that Purpose: And even in such a Calamity, when the Bent of the Disposition is strong, it will not fail to display itself.
The Miser, even if he had before been confined to his Bed with the Gout or Stone, will break through all Obstacles to preserve his darling Treasure from Danger. The enamoured Swain will fly as if he had borrowed Wings, to bear his Fair-one, as Æneas did Anchises his Father, safe from the Terrors of devouring Flames. Friends will fly to Friends Apartments to secure the Joy of their affectionate Hearts. The fond Parents, forgetful of their own own Danger, will bear in their Remembrance no other Part of the House than that wherein their little innocent darling Treasure is deposited.
The fine Lady, who has an Antipathy to half God's Creation, who screams at the Sight of a Mouse, faints at a Spider, and breaks the Rest of her Family with a Thousand needless Apprehensions, would here indeed be somewhat out of her usual Conceit, and shew the Effect of true Fear, by being too much frighted to make a clamorous Noise; but yet I am much mistaken, if her beloved Affectation would not break forth, before such a Scene was concluded; and in all Probability her apparent Fears would greatly increase, as her Apprehensions and the real Danger lessened, and her vociferous Screams would break most abundantly forth, when indeed there was no need of any such Matter. But if, on the contrary, it was to be related of the Miser, that, forgetting his Money, his whole Care was placed on the Safety of the Lady; of the Lover, that, neglecting his Mistress, his Attention was all employed on any other Treasure, but her; or that the Parent abandoned all Thoughts of his Offspring; the Whole would be perplexed, and Nature would be intirely banished from such an absurd Representation. But here it may be observed, that as the Writer must be thoroughly acquainted with the Bent of the Dispositions of the Miser, the Lover, the Friend, and the Parent, before he can make any of them act with Propriety on this or any other Occasion, so must the Reader also have some Degree of Knowlege of them before he can judge truly whether they are represented right or wrong, or distinguish what is natural from the wild Fancies of the Poet's Brain.
Characters, which are drawn up by Historians, are often perplexed and confused by Party Spirit; Prejudice or Partiality too often swaying the Authors, either to lash them with unreasonable Satire, or to smooth them over with a kind of glittering Varnish, so that it is as difficult to trace the real Features of the Man, who is transmitted to Posterity in a Figure perfectly different from what he really bore in his Life-time, as it would be to discover a Roman Senator dressed like a modern fine Gentleman.
Amongst all the Biographers, whose Characters were taken from real Life, none seem to have in so very intelligible a Manner acquainted their Readers with the true Characteristic of their Heroes, as Plutarch; in Admiration of whom Montaigne expresses himself so warmly, that he acknowleges his Obligation to the French Translator of him in this very remarkable Expression: "He hath," says he, "lifted us Dunces out of the Dust;" as if understanding Plutarch was of itself enough to give a Man a Claim to Knowlege, and to baffle the dark Clouds of Ignorance.
The short and pointed Story of Alexander the Great's enquiring of the Philosopher, "What a Man must do to become a God?" throws more Light on the inward Recess of the proud Hero's Mind, than if Plutarch had blazoned forth his own Parts by all the most pompous Descriptions of Alexander's Conquests; for as the little, almost imperceptible, Wheels generally influence the greatest worldly Machines, in like manner do the smallest Incidents most clearly unravel the intricate Labyrinths of the human Mind; and this Story, as it is the strongest Proof of his unbounded Ambition, is also a sort of Key to every Action which is recorded of his Life.
The Perspicuity and Propriety of the Moral is allowed to be another Ingredient absolutely necessary to this, and indeed to all kinds of Writings of Invention.
Bossu declares it to be the Opinion of both Aristotle and Horace, That Poets teach moral Philosophy; and that the latter even gives the Preference in this respect to Homer over the Philosophers themselves.
Then Bossu assigns the Cause why the Poets thus excel simple Philosophers, and says, that it arises from the Nature of the Poetry, which in every kind is wholly an Imitation; now Imitation, continues he, is extremely agreeable and natural to Man; for which Reason this Manner of treating any Subject is much more engageing, and more properly adapted to gain Attention. Besides Imitation gives Instruction by the Force of Examples; and Examples are so much the more powerful to persuade, as they prove the Possibility of following them; to all which Bossu also adds, that Imitation is so much of the intrinsic Nature of Poetry, that Aristotle declares the Art itself to that Cause owes its Birth.
Thus it is visibly the unanimous Opinion of those great Men, that Poets are, as it were, the Imitators, I had almost said the Mimicks, of Nature; an Appellation which, in its present Use, carries with it indeed very little Dignity, and seems to imply only a Capacity at catching at some Peculiarity of Gesture or Behaviour, in order to point out an Object of Derision. But the Poets were considered as Imitators of Nature in a very different Light from that narrow and confined Sense; as Searchers into the inmost Labyrinths of the human Mind; as penetrating the Force of the different characteristic Bent of the various Dispositions of Men towards their Conduct in Life, and then placing them in such Circumstances, as give an ample Field to display, by the Examples they bring into Action, the fatal Effects of indulged Passions, and the happy Result of restraining all Passions and Tumults of the human Breast within the proper Limits prescribed by Reason; for Monsieur Rochefocault truly says, "It is difficult to conquer the Passions, but it is impossible to satisfy them;" that is, when they rebel against their proper Guide, and forcibly snatch the Reins out of the Hands of that Governor appointed to restrain and keep them within their own prescribed Bounds. Every Vice, by which a bad Man is actuated, as well as every Virtue which animates the Bosom of a good Character, tends, if properly managed, to produce the Moral, which is essentially necessary to render any Writing useful to the Reader.
The narrow-minded and illiberal Peruser of Books, who searches only for pointed Satire, and can relish no Character, but such as he finds, or imagines he finds, to partake of the Nature of an abusive Libel on some particular Person, is incapable of being pleased with general Pictures of Nature; but, like the Palate vitiated by habitual Luxury, he requires sharp and seasoned Sauce before he can relish any Food whatsoever; and it is more Matter of Triumph to such Readers to find out a Similitude in any Individual of their Acquaintance to some ridiculous Story, or bad Character, than if they could discover all the Verisimilitudes that were ever thought of.
Perhaps a Beau or a Belle, who run thro' Writings for this Purpose, would at the same time look down, with supercilious Contempt, on the Seaman who read Virgil with no other View but to observe whether or no he understood Geography; and as soon as he discovered that he was not ignorant in the only Point in which he himself could claim any Knowlege, he admitted Virgil to be a very fine Writer; and yet the same Belle or Beau might be told, with great Truth, that their own Manner of dealing with Books is much more confined and illiberal than the Seaman's, and an undoubted Proof of a smaller Degree of Understanding than that which belonged to the honest Tar, added to that Failure of Candour and Benignity of Heart, which is a much greater Blemish in their Nature, than the highest Degree of mere Ignorance and Want of Taste can ever deserve to be accused of.
If an Author happens to live in an Age when a general Fashion of Dissipation banishes Reflexion, and the View in Reading at all is circumscribed within such narrow Limits, that the Pleasure thereby proposed seems to be no other than to discover some Reference to particular Objects, and universal Resemblances to human Nature are overlooked, he ought to content himself without such Applause as is only to be obtained by the Forfeiture of his own moral Character; and would make a very injudicious Bargain, if he so far adapted his Practice to their Taste, that he must necessarily be conscious of being a bad Man, in order to be accounted by such Readers a pleasing Writer. Well said Horace, when he prefers any thing to this Manner of Writing:
And more commendable yet is the same good-humoured Roman Bard in his Declaration, that
There is a peculiar Care necessary concerning the Purity of Language; I do not here mean any thing which is called Elegance or Beauty of Style; but only that the Terms, which are ever applied to whatsoever is deservedly laudable, should on no account be used so equivocally, as to be made applicable indifferently to what is either vicious or virtuous.
I cannot forbear translating a Passage from Bossu, which is so exactly adapted to the present Purpose, that it is perfectly expressive of the Ideas I would wish on this Occasion to convey to the Reader.
" The Poet hath also this in common with Orators and Philosophers, that he ought, like them, to appear a wise, prudent, and virtuous Man; for this Reason, and more especially because he ought to teach Virtue, he is obliged to be perfectly acquainted with Morality, and to be truly virtuous. This Science consists in Practice; it is not learned by simple Speculations only. If a good and solid Morality doth not correct our Passions, it is almost impossible but that our Passions will lead us into a false Morality. We do not blame, with a good Grace, the Faults in which we delight: We love better to believe that they are not Vices, than to acknowlege to ourselves that we are vicious.
"If Horace judged rightly, in saying that Homer would have praised Wine less, if he had not loved it; what can be thought of those who dwell with so much Pleasure and Affectation on whatsoever is most shameful and criminal in our Passions? who from thence form the most interesting and pathetic Parts of their Poems; and who represent infamous Amours under the Appellation of Gallantries, which an honest Man, and a real fine Gentleman, can place among the Number of his fortunate Adventures?
"To represent Vice only under soft and amiable Colours, is not the Method to make it hated. Those who set them forth under beautiful Masques, give sufficient Cause to believe that they view them only in that Light, and that their Lives are consonant to their Morality and their Writings.
"If there are Readers who have the same Taste, it is not to them that an Author ought to accommodate himself; for this would be to corrupt the most essential Rules of Poetry and Fable. A pernicious Art is not an Art, or at least ought not to be tolerated. If there are no other Readers, and a Poet is obliged to be corrupt, in order to please, it is unfortunate for those who cherish this Corruption; and who prefer the Glory of being a Poet to that of being a good Man.
"These Reflexions are not foreign to my Subject, because they serve to illustrate what is the Conduct of Homer and Virgil. These Heathens have not sullied the Majesty of their epic Poems by criminal Delicacies. Ulysses is cold towards Circe; melancholy when with Calypso: Briseis and Chryseis inflame Achilles and Agamemnon with Anger only; Camilla hath no Lovers; the Love of Turnus for Lavinia is scarcely mentioned; and the whole Passion of Dido is treated as a criminal Infidelity, for which that wretched Queen is cruelly punished."
The Moral should most clearly manifest what seems to be evidently the Fact, That the Mind, under the Influence of any indulged vicious Passion, is of itself and essentially unhappy, even without the Consideration of any Consequences, as truly as the Body is unhealthy whilst it labours under any Distemper whatsoever; for Virtue is as certainly the Strength of the Mind, as Health is visibly the Cause of the Vigour of the Body; and the Soul is as much diseased by Vice, as the Body is by a Fever.
The various Manner in which the greatest Geniuses have personified almost all the different evil Passions by which the Mind of Man is ever actuated, whether in the Forms of Furies, or in any other Shape, with all the proper Circumstances with which they have surrounded such Personages; giving them Power to inflict the Stings of Serpents, the Venom of Snakes, with all that is dreadful to human Nature; plainly prove, that those elevated and uncommon Capacities meant to display, under such allegorical Descriptions, the immediate Misery which accompanies the cherishing such evil Passions; and it would be dealing very unjustly by such Writers, to suppose that they had no other View therein, than to give a Loose to their enlarged Imaginations: For if such was indeed the Fact, it would greatly lessen the Absurdity of that trite Saying, that "Wit and Judgment never go together."
The Story of Amata, in Virgil's Seventh Book of the Æneid, affords abundant Proof of that Poet's Judgment, in joining this Moral to the luxuriant Flights of the Imagination.
When Juno resolves to carry her Point, and gratify her inexorable Revenge against the Trojans, agreeable to this noble Determination, she says,
And then she immediately calls the Fury best fitted for the destined Purpose from her infernal Habitation, and Alecto comes forth thus beautifully described:
Thus, armed with Serpents, is Rage properly personified; because into whatsoever Bosom Rage ever gets Admittance, mental Pain, such as resembles that which follows on the Sting of Serpents in the Body, certainly accompanies her; and when the Fury arrives at Amata's Door, how finely she insinuates herself, while she keeps concealed from the Queen's Sight; for the View of her was sure to make her avoided:
If this Description was to be considered very particularly, every Instance of the Manner in which the Monster glides, might perhaps be visibly full of Meaning. We now almost see the Fury at work:
And Virgil leaves her to complete her Design, whilst he declares what Amata was before her Arrival; but there seems to be an inimitable Beauty in the Description of Amata before she was thus envenomed; when, tho' disappointed in her Desire of marrying her Daughter Lavinia to Turnus, by her Husband's Determination to give her to Æneas, yet she was afflicted without being irritated, and only complained in such a Manner as became a Matron:
But while the Fury is working in her Mind, we see her rise by degrees in her Language; and the first visible Instance we perceive of her Change, is in her reproaching the old King her Husband:
But when the Fury hath thoroughly insinuated the Venom through her whole Mind, then we see her come forth in all the Height of Misery:
Perhaps there cannot be a stronger or finer Contrast described than this, between the harmless Effects, and the very supportable Affliction, of mild Sorrow, when placed in the Comparison with the dreadful Consequences, as well as the insupportable Pain, of furious Rage. But here Virgil takes great Care to paint in the most glaring Colours the Misery that Amata suffered from the Moment she had admitted this furious Passion, even whilst she was yet ignorant of all the future Misfortunes that might happen from it; for nothing can give us so strong an Idea of the Misery of a Woman, as to suppose her under the Power of her own Passions, in such a manner as to bear a Resemblance to the Top, which is whipped about at the Will and Pleasure of the Boys. And every human Creatre, under the Lash of their own furious Passions, doth bear a very strong Resemblance to the Top so whirled about, except in one very disadvantageous Circumstance on the Side of Mankind, that of feeling the Strokes, whilst they perturb and rend from the Bosom every peaceful Thought, and every Possibility of enjoying one Moment's Pleasure.
Perhaps, by reflecting on every Circumstance which attends this Action of the whirling the Top about by the Strokes given by the Children, we should find there is no Simile more adapted to illustrate the inward Perturbation of the human Mind under the Influence of unrestrained Passion; which might be Virgil's Reason for admitting into his Poem a Simile, which, on a cursory View, and without these Considerations, appears of too little Importance to be worth his peculiar Notice.
There is no Person, who reads this Story with any Attention, but what must conclude the Sufferings of Amata, whilst she was only sorrowfully complaining, and gently remonstrating against her Husband's Determination, were very trifling in comparison of what she endured when her whole Soul was inflamed with Fury, and she was raging through the Streets: Yet Virgil does not stop even there; but completes the whole by displaying the last Effects of such Fury, by working Amata up to that Height of Madness which results naturally from such a Beginning.
And thus the fond Mother, who at first seemed to have placed all her future Hopes of Happiness, all her Prospect of Comfort in her old Age, on one only Child, is actuated by Rage, and the Virulence of Passion, to such a Height of Madness, as, rather than see her Husband's Determination take place, voluntarily to devote this Daughter, this Darling of her Heart, to Bacchus.
This Story of Amata is surrounded with every Circumstance that can possibly raise our Aversion to Rage and Virulence; and more particularly when it irritates and inflames the female Bosom, and eradicates thence that Gentleness which is the characteristic Beauty of the female Mind.
To the judicious Reader the Moral of this Story is very conspicuous; tho' the Manner of Virgil's Writing, and the Dignity of Epic Poetry, might require Allegories, and that his Stories should be surrounded with such Incidents as were necessary to his whole Purpose. But when we stop at those outward Circumstances, and perceive not the farther Intention, we read as Children see Tragedies, who place their chief Delight in the Noise of the Kettle drums and Trumpets; or as the Multitude in Holiday-time throng to see Shakespeare's Play of Harry the Eighth, and attend only to the Show of the Coronation, passing over all the beautiful Strokes therein contained, as little worthy of their Notice.
I have somewhere read an Observation, I believe it is in La Bruyero, to this Effect, That many Persons have endeavoured to teach Men to write; but none have taught, them to read; as if Reading consisted only in distinguishing the Letters and Words from each other.
A manuscript Essay on this Subject, which was found in the Study of an old Gentleman, who was well known by his Acquaintance to have been a curious Observer of Nature, may not perhaps be unentertaining to the Reader.
"A curious Eye might perhaps as justly trace Mens different Dispositions, from the Delight they place in, or the Observations they make on, the various Parts of the Writings of Imagination, as in observing them in any other Situation whatever. And I never went into any Man's Library, but, by casting an Eye on those kind of Books, I could employ my Fancy with forming Conjectures on the Man's Bent of Disposition, by seeing what Characters, and what Parts of such Writings, shewed visible Marks of having been oftenest opened; and I have really found, on farther Acquaintance, that these Conjectures were built on a good Foundation.
"The Hero's Homer or Virgil will certainly shew the Marks of being most used, where all the Thunder of the War breaks forth: And this will happen, not only to the actual Hero, who hath already shewn his Prowess in the Field; for that is nothing more than taking a Pleasure in his own Picture, as Alexander the Great admired Homer for his Celebration of Achilles, whom he thought proper to fix on as a worthy Object of Admiration; but the would-be Hero, that young Mind in which the Seeds of Ambition for martial Glory begin to struggle and shoot forth, will also find his Heart beat with Joy, when Hector arms for the Battle, or Achilles takes the Field.
"That the Story of Dido, in the Fourth Book of Virgil's Æneid, hath the Leaves generally most soiled in the Closets of young Gentlemen and Ladies, who will have no other Employment but that of seeking after Pleasure, is an Observation that I am not singular in; but have often heard it remarked also by others; and have looked with an Eye of Compassion on the Parents of such Sons and Daughters, as could find nothing in Virgil but that Story (excellent as it is in its Kind) on which they could fix their Thoughts, or employ their Imaginations; whilst, on the other hand, I rejoiced in my Heart over the Son of a Friend, whom it was impossible, with the utmost Art, whilst the Conversation ran on Virgil, to keep long from turning his Thoughts with Admiration on Æneas, when he was bearing his old Father through the raging Flames. Tears of Pleasure started from his Eyes, and his whole Countenance glowed with generous Warmth, when the old Anchises was safely paced out of the Reach of Danger: And, 'O that Ascanius may return the same filial Piety to his Father', flowed from his Lips so naturally, that it seemed to come from his inward Heart, and to result from the Strength of his Feeling. My Friend, the Father of this Youth, sympathized with every Parent he read of who was blessed with a worth Son; and his old Eyes sent forth Floods of Tears on every Story which represented an unfortunate Father. The whole Lives of this Father and Son were the strongest Proofs that Men feel in Reading what they feel in Life; for they were indeed Pictures of that Happiness, which parental Kindness and filial Duty and Affection can reciprocally bestow.
"The active beautiful Youth will delight in the Description of Ascanius, accompany him with Wishes for his Victory in the Games, be fearful for his Danger in the Battle, and rejoice over his Safety with an uncommon Degree of Gladness.
"The Bosom which is warmed with generous Friendship, will with a trembling Heart follow Nisus and Euryalus Step by Step. All their Fears will be alarmed in Pity for each, should the other be slaughtered; and when young Euryalus is slain, will rejoice that Nisus doth not survive him, to be himself to this Friend's Memory a mournful feeling Monument, till he could almost wish to be as insensible as that Stone of which the [Page xxxviii] Monuments for the Dead are composed.
"The fond Mother will shudder with Apprehensions with the only remaining Parent of Euryalus, and feel by Sympathy every Pang which she knows must overwhelm her with Sorrow, when her Son's Destruction shall reach her Knowlege: And should she herself have a beloved young Son armed for the Fight, and initiated in the Trade of War, the Picture of the Head of Euryalus, borne home by his Enemies in Triumph, would haunt here in her Dreams, and rob her even of her peaceful Slumbers.
"The mournful Lady, who is widowed by the Fate of Arms, will lament with Andromache, answer her Sigh for Sigh, join in every pathetic Word, and feel with a bleeding Heart every Stroke in which her Sorrows are represented by the lively Pen of Homer.
"The Father who is so unfortunate as to have undutiful Children, will doubly feel all King Lear's Calamities. He will immediately forget every Difference of Circumstance between himself and the old King; and, by the Application of every Pang which Lear endures, to his own Sufferings, will, tho' unknowingly, bear Testimony to the inimitable Strokes of Shakespeare: Whilst the Daughter who is treated harshly, only because she hath not the Gift of Flattery, when she is conscious of the most affectionate and dutiful Heart, will thoroughly sympathize with Cordelia, when she is forced to leave her Father, thro' his own Incapacity of judging between Love and Flattery, in the Hands of those deceitful Sisters, with whose treacherous Hearts she was well acquainted.
"The moral Philosopher of Taste will find the most abundant Matter for his Entertainment in the Descent of Æneas into the infernal Shades, where he will be almost astonished at the judicious adapting of the Punishments to the Crimes; and where he will feel the vast Force of Virgil, by imagining that he sees and hears what is described so much to the Life, that for the present he forgets every other Idea that hath ever passed thro' his Mind, or fixed on his Memory.
"The truly softened Heart hath a Tear ready for every human Misfortune which is represented to his Imagination by Reading; and the truly hardened Heart supplies no Moisture which can flow from the Eyes, but when poor Self alone is disappointed of any favourite Pursuit; and then indeed Sorrow is poured forth in such abundance, that every dear Friend is welcome to take his full Share of such Abundance.
"There are indeed Men, who, being insensible to every characteristical and every pathetic Stroke in the finest Writers, seek only to laugh, and at the same time overlook whatever naturally tends thereto; and are sure always to laugh where it would become them better to stifle such unseasonable Mirth.
"There are also Men who pass by every Stroke of Humour; and are so fearful of losing that Reputation for Sense, which they have built on what they call Gravity, whilst all the rest of Mankind name it Dullness, that they would not for the World ruffle their settled Features into a Smile, which they deem only fit for the Vulgar, and greatly below their Dignity.
"There are also fine Gentlemen and fine Ladies, who, being full of the Knowlege of the World, wonder at the vulgar Notions of a Writer who makes even a Shepherdess of Arcadia talk a rural, which they call a rustic, Dialect; and are desirous to see the Shepherdess drop the Sheep-hook, assume the Fan, and talk a courtly Language. These Critics would like it the better, were the Scene laid in England, if Corydon, whose only Care had been tending his Flock, should every now and then intermix a French Phrase, to embellish his Discourse, and give it the Air of being a la mode de Paris.
"There are also Men, who, in reading old Satires, search from Book to Book, and pore over Notes and Commentators without End, in order to find the Name of a Man who has once lived, on whom to fix Abuse; and plume themselves as greatly on such a Discovery, as if they had found something very useful to Mankind: And the same Readers, who deal thus with the Writings of Antiquity, fail not to peruse modern Books with equal, or rather with a superior Degree of Eagerness, to find an Individual on whom to bestow a Character justly satirized; for if the Pleasure is great to affix an Abuse on the Name of a Man who hath once lived, it must certainly be much greater to point out a Man whom he makes sit for a bad or ridiculous Picture, who is now feeling and living at this present Writing.
"But with no such Man would my Soul wish to hold Acquaintance : I say not, Friendship; because it would be the highest Absurdity to suppose such a one in the least degree capable of being animated with the generous Warmth which that Appellation requires.
"And if any one should think I am tracing this Matter too curiously, I, who have considered it in various Shapes, can only answer with Hamlet, on Horatio's making the same Objection to his philosophical Reflexions, in the Scene of the Grave-digger, that, in my Opinion, I can truly say,
"it being no more than the natural Result of examining and considering the Subject."
A Wedding.
At that Period of the Year, when, in poetic Language,
And in plain Prose, At that Season when all Pleasure-hunters are following their Pursuits from one public Assembly to another, having almost wearied themselves with rambling to and fro, Lord Dellwyn arrived at his magnificent Habitation in London. His Lordship was in his grand Climacteric, labouring under a Complication of Diseases, the melancholy Effect of a luxurious and intemperate Manner of wasting the joyous Spring, the pleasant Bloom, of Life. By the Assistance of Attendants Lord Dellwyn was moved from his Bed into a Chair, or rather a Machine, so artfully contrived, that he could vary his Postures, either lay himself almost at length, or sit upright, as his various Pains required: This very Machine, invented for the Assistance of Imbecility, by its Adornments sufficiently indicating that the Grandeur of its Owner was on no account to be forgot.
My Lord was wheeled, by his Servants, into another Apartment, for a Purpose which, if Truth did not prompt me to reveal, its Improbability would never suffer me to invent.
My Lord's Purpose was to be married. A special Licence permitted him to perform the Ceremony at his own House, and such extraordinary Circumstances prevailed on the Lady (as her own Father was to give her to my Lord in Marriage) to waive the Female Privilege of being flattered, and attended, in that one Hour of Matrimony. My Lord therefore, in the Apartment which he had appointed for the Solemnization of his Nuptials, found assembled Mr. Lucum, his Daughter the destined Bride, the Clergyman, and all Things requisite for his Purpose.
A Contrast in Nature is said to afford the Mind of Man much Entertainment. Imagination cannot form a greater than that between the noble Bridegroom, and the young Lady who stood ready to present him her Hand, and devote herself to him for Life, by the most solemn Vows.
Miss Lucum had just entered her Seventeenth Year. The warmest Lover, with the most poetical Imagination, ranging, like the Bee, through all the various Flowers in Nature, extracting Beauties to which he might compare his Mistress, would fall short in the Description of the natural Glow and Freshness which adorned Miss Lucum's Complexion. Her Eyes shone with Lustre all their own, and required not the borrowed Ornaments of Dress, or Diamonds, to set them off to Advantage; her Person was perfect Symmetry and Proportion; and her Neck was the exact Model of that of the beautiful Statue of History, placed on the Duke of Argyle's Monument in Westminster-Abbey .
His Lordship pronounced his Assent to take to Wife his destined Prey (in the Words, I will), with a Voice as audible, as generally breaks forth from a Mouth vacated by the Inhabitants, its Teeth: The Voice, at that Season of Life, losing the sonorous, full, mellow Sound, and resolving itself into a kind of sharp Treble; a harsher, and at the same time a less intelligible, Sound.
When the Bridegroom was to place the Ring on the Finger of his Bride, the Spirit was indeed so willing, that his Eyes made a Sort of Effort towards expressing a Sense of Joy; yet was the Flesh so truly weak, that thrice, oh! fatal Number! Thrice
And had his Lordship received no Assistance, his purposed Marriage had been absolutely baffled; but Mr. Lucum, the Lady's Father, thrice eagerly presented it to his Right Honourable Son-in-law.
The Number Three, even from ancient Times, has been suspected by the Superstitious, to involve in it some fatal Mystery of ill boding Destiny. On this Occasion the learned Augurs would have thought it unnecessary to consult the Entrails of Birds or Beasts. A Soothsayer less instructed than he was, who warned Cæsar to "Beware the Ides of March," might have read a Prophecy in the different Countenances of the beauteous Bride, and the noble Bridegroom. The very Gold seemed endued with Sense, and as if it had learned all the Knowlege of the moral Philosopher Square, appeared to be so fully acquainted with the Fitness of Things, as with great Indignation to decline being placed on the taper Finger of the blooming Virgin, by that withered Hand, so visibly inadequate to its destined Purpose.
All Difficulties were at length conquered; and every Obstacle being removed, Lord Dellwyn obtained his Desire, and made Miss Lucum his Bride.
It was remarkable, that, during the Performance of the whole Ceremony, Miss Lucum never once changed Countenance, but preserved an unalterable Steadiness, rather inclined to the gay, than to that mixed Concern which generally attends so young a Lady on such Occasions. It is not improbable but that her Thoughts were wandering on some future Scenes of Grandeur; and that, in fact, neither the noble Bridegroom, nor the solemn Vows she was making at the Altar, were even once in her Thoughts, which were far otherwise employed. She also obtained her Desire, and became a Countess.
Whatever ludicrous Expressions may have been made use of in this Chapter, no Reader can, I think, so far misconstrue them, as to suppose they mean any Intimation, that old Age is, in itself, a proper Object of Ridicule.
Which two Lines can never be too often quoted, as they are so strikingly applicable to such various Characters amongst Mankind . Old Age, after a well spent Life, if attended with tolerable Ease, hath in many Particulars the Advantage even of Youth itself; inasmuch as calm, even-flowing animal Spirits, are to be preferred to the frantic Flights arising from the Intoxication of sparkling Champagne. The whimsical Sallies of Wit are the natural Productions of the latter; but the Fruits of the former are pleasing Comfort, and settled Content.
I know not a more amiable Sight than a chearful old Gentleman, his Family looking up to him for Lessons of Wisdom, acquired by his Experience; and whose Authority is founded on grateful Affection, and not on the slavish Terror of a tyrannic Master; all Fear concerning him, in the Hearts of those who are so happy as to be placed under his Direction, being confined to his own Welfare, and Safety. When Reflexion is attended with the infinite Pleasure of approving his own past Conduct, and the Power of Forethought (which, in this World, seems confined to Man alone), becomes to him the greatest of Blessings, by filling him with pleasing Hopes, and joyful Expectations.
And this is a Happiness which it is in the Power of every young Man to provide for himself, against the Time of his old Age, with much more Certainty than any of those Advantages which Mankind labour under and struggle for, with such unabated Anxiety.
The Power of an Englishman of Fortune.
My Lord Dellwyn was in Possession of his Title and Fortune at the Age of Two-and-twenty; his Father had carefully provided him a Tutor, whose principal Charge consisted in an absolute Prohibition of contradicting his Pupil, even although his Desires should be highly unreasonable. His Will was to be absolutely his Law: He had
and ten thousand frantic Frolicks which he put in Practice.
From this hopeful Beginning, his Lordship, at the proper Time, was sent to make the Tour of Europe; from whence he return'd, full fraught with all such Knowlege as
The Earl his Father, who had taken such Care to give his Inclinations their full Scope, was the first Person who contradicted his Desires. For at One-and-twenty, the young Man thought it a Hardship on him to be kept from the full Possession of his Fortune, and was strongly fixed in his Opinion, that the Season of Youth is the only Time in which a Man can enjoy Life; and that his Father, who was in his Fiftieth Year, had reached the Extremity of old Age. However, his Father did not long continue this stubborn Contradiction; for, within a short Time, he died of the Effects of a violent Surfeit, and very complaisantly left the World for his Son, as Shakespeare expresses it in Richard the Third, to bustle in.
The Power of an English Nobleman, or Gentleman, of a large Fortune, is of a very great Extent. He may have a little Territory or Kingdom of his own, where the Obedience of all his Subjects would be voluntary; the Blessings of Thousands would attend his Comings-in, and his Goings-out; he may gratify every innocent Wish, preserving, by Temperance, the best Health his natural Constitution will admit of; he may (if he pleases) pass through this Life with Peace and Pleasure, and lay it down without a Sigh, or trembling Terror; he may have the inexpressible Pleasure of Self-Approbation, and the joyous Hope that he is acceptable even to God Himself.
But no Englishman is so devoid of Liberty, as to be constrained to accept such Advantages. Free Choice is left him to do as he pleases: he hath Power to destroy his Health by riotous Living, and his Fortune by Gaming; he may half starve the Poor, who belong to the Places where his Property lies, by draining away all his Money to waste either in public Places, or in the Metropolis. No one has Authority to prevent his destroying the Peace of his own Mind, by all manner of Iniquities; he cannot be used like Children, from whom wise Parents take Knives, and all Instruments of Mischief. He must be suffered to follow the Career of his Inclinations, though it lead him to live a wretched, painful, turbulent, and unhappy Life; when
He may arrive at real and lasting Pain, through the Road of imaginary and momentary Pleasures; purchase Contempt, by assiduous Search of Praise; reduce himself to Beggary, by grasping at the Wealth of others; and die a Death of Terror, unlamented by every human Creature but himself.
Of these two Sketches of human Pictures, is it credible that any Man should hesitate which to chuse? and yet such is the Fact, that Lord Dellwyn embraced the latter; and from the Time of his coming into the Possession of his Fortune, he gave a Loose to every Gratification, that either his Inclination or his Whims could suggest. He hunted himself out of Breath in Pursuit of Happiness; but unfortunately sought her only in every Corner where she was not to be found. He eagerly pursued Pleasure, but constantly ran beyond the Mark, and left her far behind him.
As the untamed and high-mettled Steed, who scorns his Rider's Curb, runs swiftly through Lawns and Vallies, leaps over Hedges and Ditches, surmounting every Hill and Mountain; yet leaves the Race to be won by the well-governed Courser, who obeys the Rein, and, in the Track marked out for his Progress, reaches the Goal: so might Lord Dellwyn, by setting a Curb on his whimsical Inclinations, with a very small Degree of the Labour he imposed on himself, in his vain Pursuit of Pleasure, have attained the Summit of human Happiness.
He was sometimes seized with Astonishment, to find himself unhappy in the midst of such an unbounded Power, when suddenly some new Idea of Pleasure would strike his Imagination, and drive before it all Power of Reflexion.
The Life his Lordship chose, brought him to that Condition in which we have seen him enter the married State. In his grand Climacteric he discovered, that to live soberly, with a virtuous young Wife, might possibly render him more solid Happiness, than he had ever hitherto enjoyed. Even this Piece of Wisdom did not find its Way into his Mind by Reflexion (that Passage for its Entrance had long been too closely barricadoed), but came in at his Eyes, and engaged his constant Counsellors, his Inclinations, on the Side of a fair Object he had accidentally beheld, at the House of a neighbouring Gentleman. One Circumstance unluckily slipt his Memory, namely, the Impropriety of his own Age for carrying into Practice the Wisdom of his late Discovery; and tho' he formerly thought Fifty was the Extremity of old Age, yet was his Lordship now convinced of the Errors of his Youth, and clearly perceived, that a Man is not declined much into the Vale of Years at the Age of Sixty-three; and comforted himself with reflecting, that the Judgment strengthens, in proportion as the Imagination decays.
In the mean time, the destined Bride was ignorant of her approaching Honour. My Lord had concluded the Match in his own Mind, and was fully satisfied, that such pecuniary Advantages and such Dignities, as were to be obtained by the Lady, in her Nuptials with him, could not possibly be rejected by her.
Philosophy put to flight by Ambition, without daring to hazard a Battle.
Mr. Lucum, the young Lady's Father, was from his Youth a promising State-Genius. The whole Multitude of Prophets, who make it their Study to foretel future political Events, were unanimously of Opinion, that he was destined to great Power and Honours. He was often the Subject of Coffee-house Debates, and was generally introduced to the Tea-table Conversations of female Politicians. These Prophecies were in part fulfilled; for at Times he enjoyed both Power and Honour. No Man had more Experience of the Vicissitudes of human Life, amongst all the great Variety of Parties which were formed from his first Appearance on the political Theatre; there was not one to which he had not at particular Seasons connected himself, and, when he judged proper, as surely forsaken. He had in his Possession a certain Kind of political Weather-glass, which he consulted on all Occasions, and made the constant Guide of his Actions; and so assiduously he watched its Motions, that the least Tendency towards rising or falling was immediately perceptible to his searching Eye. This Thermometer was closely concealed, and some plausible Reason ever ready to account for his sudden Alteration of Opinion; for, like Hudibras's Disputant, he could with exquisite Art,
And, like Hudibras's Politician, he was
And,
Experience of his Conduct taught others Knowlege, and he became a second-hand Weather-glass to those, who observed carefully with what Dexterity he could veer about to all Parts of the Compass. But to drop the Metaphor. Mr. Lucum at length became the Contempt of all Parties, and experienced all the Affliction that public Neglect can inflict on an ambitious Mind. This political Star sat in an obscure Corner, filled with the restless Uneasiness which attends a forced Retirement from the World. Surely Force alone hath the Power to extract from a rural Retreat its sweet, calm Contentment.
Mr. Lucum had a paternal Estate, sufficient for the Enjoyment of the Comforts and Conveniences of Life, but not to admit of tinsel Show or glittering Pomp; which, in his Imagination, reduced him to as great Want, as if a real State of wretched Poverty had been his melancholy Fate. Ambition has the Property of the strongest Poison, and envenoms every thing with which it is surrounded.
Time, the great Healer of the unfortunate Mind, at length afforded him a little Respite; he began to open his Eyes on the natural Beauties of the Country, and discovered that he could enjoy the Light of the Sun, without being Pilot to any political Vessel.
Mr. Lucum had one only Daughter, who had indeed hitherto been almost unnoticed, and unthought of by her Father, the consulting his Weather-glass having constituted his chief Employment. The Voice of Ambition had surmounted the Voice of Nature; and he was surprized to find what Pleasure it was in the Power of a Child's innocent Prattle to bestow. He had lost his Wife, whilst he was in one of the frantic Dreams of Ambition, when he had no Idea of the Comfort of an amiable domestic Companion, nor indeed of any other real Enjoyment.
Ambition, like a Conjurer's Wand, had so confined his Mind within one Circle, that he could no more give his Thoughts free Liberty to range out of that Boundary, than if he had really been under the Power of Enchantment: nor was the famous Knight of La Mancha ever bound stronger in all the imaginary Whims of his own Invention.
The Lady slipt out of the World and her Husband's Remembrance at one and the same Moment; the Day of her Death being the Day of his Advancement to some new Honour.
Mr. Lucum had had the Advantage of a liberal Education, was endued naturally with a lively Capacity, and also had acquired a large Share of Knowlege in the dead Languages: at length between the new-born Pleasure afforded him by his little engaging Child, and that Delight which Reading has so great a Power to bestow, some Degree of Tranquility found an Entrance into his long worried Bosom.
The great Disturbers of his present Peace were those diurnal Histories, commonly called News-papers. The Days of their Arrival were black-lettered Days in his Calendar. A Paragraph, beginning with the Words, We hear his Majesty has been pleased to appoint, was sufficient to raise a Tumult in his Breast; he could bite his nether Lip, and roll his Eye-balls like Othello; for some Rival must be preferred, because he was so unfortunate as to make himself a Rival to all Mankind. On those Days his Library was neglected, his fatherly Affection abated, and his only Refuge was fixing his Thoughts very philosophically on the short Duration of human Life. He could fly to that Reflection as to an Asylum from present Sorrow, and yet stop there without any Consideration of another World.
Oh! thou squint-ey'd, half-sighted Ambition, that canst shut in all thy Views with such a bounded, narrow, and contemptible Prospect! well might one of thy most submissive Slaves, on whom thou bestowed'st all the Honours in thy Power to grant, weep, to find of how little Value was all that his Labour had obtained† .
The Death of his chief Competitor, in the Fifth Year of his Retirement, contributed greatly to his Ease. It abated the Edge of his Curiosity for News-papers; and he then fixed himself to read Philosophy and History, as his most serious Study, and relaxed his Mind at times with the Flights of Poetry. History afforded some Consolation, in helping him to a Discovery, which, strange as it may appear, was quite new to him; namely, that he was not the first ambitious Man who had been disappointed; and he began to consider, that his Misfortunes were not singular; but that
But, with all these Assistances, it was Nine Years (One short of the Siege of Troy) before he could even make himself believe, that his Mind was truly calm. Then, indeed, he strutted, and plumed himself in his Philosophy, fancied he despised the World, and resolved, that no Temptation should ever allure him back again into such a Scene of Confusion; but yet his Memory was faithful in retaining the sharpest Satire he had read against Mankind, which he delighted to heighten; and this Practice he admitted as a strong Proof of his being filled with the greatest Contempt for the World, and its Manners. In this State was his Mind, when Lord Dellwyn, with a splendid Retinue, arrived at his Gate. His Lordship's Business was to claim Mr. Lucum's Daughter in Marriage. A sudden Proposal of this Kind (for my Lord could not suppose such an Offer required much Ceremony) so astonished Mr. Lucum, that it was some Moments before he could return an Answer. That Ambition, which Disappointment had lulled to sleep, roused itself, suddenly shook off its Heaviness, and, in an Instant, was restored again to its original Activity; and that Philosophy, which was so lately admitted a Guest into Mr. Lucum's Mind, shrunk, and hid its diminished Head; not daring to advance to the Combat against so potent an Adversary.
Bargains are soon made, when both Sides agree in the same Opinion; and, as soon as Mr. Lucum could recover his Astonishment, he acknowleged the Honour conferred on his Family, in Terms which fully satisfied his Lordship. Thus was the Match between Two of the Parties concluded, almost as soon as mentioned. Lord Dellwyn gave Mr. Lucum some Hints of a lucrative Employment, he imagined it might be in his Power to procure for his Father-in-law; for they were already Father and Son in their own Imaginations.
Lord Dellwyn did not request the Sight of his fair Mistress on the first Visit, but left her Father to prepare her for the intended Honour; chusing rather to address her, when her Consent was already obtained, than to undertake the Trouble of what is called Courtship; for his Lordship imagined there must be some small Degree of Speech-making from him to the Lady, unless she was first acquainted with his Design by her Father.
Now Plato and Aristotle might moulder on the Shelf, all their Precepts forgotten. Mr. Lucum's Contempt of the World, when he could no longer make a Figure in it, was the last Refuge his Pride could find to keep him from sinking. Such a rotten Foundation was naturally undermined by the first alluring Prospect Ambition presented, and down fell the mighty Superstructure into that Nothing from which it was raised; and that Imagination, which had been so long forcibly confined within a narrow Boundary, now made its Way through every Obstacle, and in a Moment found itself hovering around St. James's .
Miss Lucum's Consent to be a Countess was so entirely depended on by her Father, that the least Doubt of it never entered his Thoughts; but here, very unexpectedly, he met with a steady Resistance to his Will; for Miss Lucum absolutely refused the Honour intended her. Lord Dellwyn was highly disagreeable in her Sight; and she chose rather to submit to any State of Life, than to shine in the highest Sphere on such Terms; she called it Prostitution, and heroically defied all such Temptations.
Miss Lucum's Life had hitherto passed in one continual Round of Tranquility; but now the whole Scene was changed, and ruffling Storms succeeded that pleasant Calmness. The Words perverse, stubborn, disobedient, undutiful, pitiful, paultry, were the Epithets liberally bestowed on her by her Father; and tho' the lively Capacity of his Daughter had often gratified his Vanity, yet was she now suddenly transformed into the greatest of Fools. To refuse such an Honour, appeared so unnatural and monstrous in his Sight, that he declared he would turn such an insipid mean-spirited Creature from under his Roof, being perfectly convinced that if his Daughter would not be a a Countess, it was very reasonable that she should be abandoned to any Misfortunes or Miseries whatsoever. And now his Ambition was again roused from that Lethargy, wherein it had been lately lulled, he saw no Medium between Grandeur and Distress, and determined with himself, that if his Daughter would not shew her Obedience, by accepting of the former, she should suffer enough of the latter to satisfy his Anger.
Mr. Lucum had not been long conveyed, in Fancy, to St. James's, before he determined to convey the heavier Part, his Person, also thither.
Miss Lucum received her Father's Commands to prepare herself to wait on him to London, without the least Degree of Pleasure, being rather concerned to quit a Place she had so long enjoyed; but, without Hesitation, obey'd him. He would have chose to have seen her filled with Raptures she could not contain; for he accounted himself an unfortunate Father, because his Daughter could be satisfied with a rural retired Life.
Nothing remarkable happened during their Journey; except only that Miss Lucum, at the Age of Seventeen, regretted the pleasant Situation she had left, and was totally indifferent to all the gay Scenes, of which her Father told her she should be a Partaker; and that Mr. Lucum, in the Decline of Life, thought the Horses went too slow, and rejoiced greatly in every Advance towards the Metropolis.
Miss Lucum's First Introduction into the gay World.
Mr. Lucum's Lady was of a very good Family, and related to many Persons of Fashion; but from the time of her Death, and his Retirement, his Intercourse with them had been dropped. Miss Lucum's native Elegance, and Dignity of Person, recommended her greatly at first View; and she was now introduced to all her Relations. Some of them, before they had seen her, expected to find in their Country Cousin an Object of Mirth and Derision; but immediately perceived, that she did not afford them many Opportunities of displaying their darling Talent of Ridicule: And her Beauty was so greatly admired by the Gentlemen, that the Ladies too began to express for her an uncommon Friendship; and, when it was known that the Earl of Dellwyn had cast an Eye of Favour on her, it is almost incredible how much Respect she obtained, by the Reflexion of that Honour, amongst those, who, with a sharp darting Eye, foresaw a future Countess.
Rumour, indeed, with her hundred babbling Tongues, had spread abroad various Reports; but amongst the Number, that which gained most Credit, was, that Miss Lucum was endeavouring to allure my Lord into the State of Matrimony; but that his Lordship was Proof against her Charms, and would not be so drawn in; but her refusing my Lord was esteemed to be so very incredible, that it was utterly rejected, as a ridiculous Invention, and most People were too wise to be so duped.
Miss Lucum, from her Infancy, was so accustomed to early Hours, constant Employment, and a regular Manner of Life, that the turning Night into Day, the flying from Place to Place, to Routs, Drums, &c. &c. and the being Mistress of no One Moment of her Time, so wearied and fatigued her animal Spirits, that she was always languid, and felt something that bore a very near Resemblance to being ill, yet she did not give it that Name; and altho' the most curious Observers could find nothing in her elegant Form, to which they could possibly give the Name of Aukwardness or Rusticity, yet the Uneasiness with which she went to public Amusements, rendered her so lifeless at them, that she soon obtained the Appellation of being dull, which ran like a Watch-word from one Person to another; so that, where-ever she was the Subject of Conversation, the just Praises of her Beauty were generally accompanied by the Words, But she is very dull.
Notwithstanding this Reluctance for Gaiety, either the Fear of being rude, or her Father's Commands to oblige her Mother's Relations, kept her continually present where she seemed to have no Business, and exemplified in her the Truth of The Spectator's Observation, that "No Labour is so insupportable as that of doing nothing." She often slipt from her Company as early as possible, and came home to spend the Evening with her Father.
Mr. Lucum, since his Arrival in London, had been tolerably good-humoured, and seemed to have relinquished all Thoughts of Lord Dellwyn. This caused his Daughter to come home to him with much Pleasure; but she was greatly astonished, when she perceived, that her leaving her Company so early displeased her Father, and rendered him peevish, morose, and churlish. Whenever she expressed a Satisfaction at having left a Croud for the sake of his Conversation, instead of approving her Conduct, he called her Fool, and upbraided her with the total Want of genteel Taste; and it might justly be applied to him, what the Steward, in King Lear, reports of his Master the Duke of Albany:
A Multitude of Wishes, attended with a Multitude of Mortifications.
Mr. Lucum now never mentioned Lord Dellwyn, but by a perpetual Ill-humour at his Daughter's Insensibility to all polite Assemblies. He at last drove her to seek for Shelter from that almost insupportable Misfortune, a disagreeable Home, by staying more abroad; but the being thus in a manner excluded, by the Fears of her Father's Anger, from returning early in the Evening to his Company, instead of a Croud, was highly disagreeable to her; till, by almost imperceptible Degrees, the Force of Custom rendered that Manner of Life tolerable, to which at first she had been so averse; then, the first Step being surmounted, she advanced another, and it became pleasing: And, from thence, it was not long before she was totally wrapped up in it. Public Morning Diversions were the last dissipating Habit she obtained; but when that was accomplished, her Time was squandered away, the Power of Reflection was lost, her Ideas were all centered in Dress, Drums, Routs, Operas, Masquerades, and every kind of public Diversion. Visionary Schemes of Pleasure were continually present to her Imagination, and her Brain was whirled about by such a Dizziness, that she might properly be said to labour under the Distemper called the Vertigo. The World appeared, in her Eyes, in quite a different Light; and she perceived herself to be a fine gay Thing, that before, as Nell says in the Farce,
Mr. Lucum had supplied his Daughter with what was necessary to make a genteel Appearance; which, at her first coming to Town, sufficiently satisfied all her Wishes: But the new Revolution in her Mind and Heart, was attended with a new and large Train of Desires. She was introduced amongst a Set of Acquaintance, to whose Splendor in Dress she could by no means arrive, and consequently she often
Like Viola, in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night; But it could not be said, with Propriety, that, like Viola,
For, however possible it may be to support disappointed Love with Patience, it is one of the characteristical Marks of disappointed Vanity, to throw the Mind into Perturbation and Impatience.
Her Father seldom absolutely refused her any thing tolerably reasonable; but taxed the Grant of her Request with such a heavy Proportion of Ill-humour, as rendered it very painful to her to ask a Favour. It is a common Practice of Persons, who are endowed with the Power of either bestowing or with-holding Benefits, to make all Complaints of them apparently without a Cause, by declaring they have never refused any thing they were asked; but the Heart-aches that are endured before the Request, break forth into Utterance; and the Pain that is given by a Compliance, which they make more afflicting to a gentle Mind than a mild Refusal, is a Part of the Story they chuse to keep closely concealed within themselves.
Lady Fanny Fashion was a distant Relation of Miss Lucum, and admitted her to a great Degree of Intimacy; but, unfortunately, she was fond of Dress (even in these our Days) to an uncommon Degree. Every Change of Fashion, every expensive Ornament, was continually purchased by Lady Fanny; and every such Purchase was Wormwood to Miss Lucum. It was impossible for her to follow her Ladyship through all her various Changes; and whenever she pleased herself with the Imagination that she had obtained something like Lady Fanny, by the time she could get it made up, some later Invention, some newer Whim, appeared on her Ladyship, and renewed her Mortification. Fungoso, in Ben Johnson's Comedy of Every Man out of his Humour, was not more unfortunate in his Imitations of Fastidius Brisk, the Courtier, nor oftener disappointed: Had the Poet known her, she might have made a Character in that Play; for she was truly out of Humour; and so totally changed, that it would have puzzled any of the Philosophers, who have written on the Subject of Identity, to have discovered whether or no she was the same Person.
Public Assemblies, altho', in Appearance, the Scenes of Gaiety and Delight, are generally fatal to the inward Peace of many of the Individuals of which they are composed; and while the Feet dance after, and attend the Harmony of, the Music, the Heart often beats out of Tune, and is at Discord within itself.
Miss Lucum had been presented at Court, and was to accompany Lady Fanny thither on a Birth-night. Many Days were spent in anxious Preparation for the Occasion, and our young Beauty made there a most elegant Figure; but Lady Fanny that Evening unfortunately appeared in a new Pair of brilliant Ear-rings, of the finest Water, with a very large Cross of the like Diamonds on her Bosom: Their Lustre so dazled Miss Lucum's Sight, that she could behold no other Object; her Eyes spontaneously rolled after Lady Fanny, or rather after her Jewels, on her every Motion, or Change of Posture: She was pierced to her Heart; and, by the turbulent Pangs raised there, fully justified the common proverbial Expression, and proved, that, to cut like a Diamond, is to cut with no small Degree of Sharpness; and what is very remarkable, its Sharpness reaches even at a great Distance, and, while it gives Pleasure to the Wearer, it often wounds its Beholder, who seems too far off to be within its Reach.
An Indisposition, perfectly unaffected, alternately changed Miss Lucum's Complexion into a languid Paleness, and a flushing Vermilion; and, telling Lady Fanny that a sudden Pain in her Head would not permit her to remain any longer in public, she left the Drawing-room, and retired: But altho' her Indisposition was by no means feigned, yet was the Pain in her Head a Pretence only to conceal that in her Heart.
Mr. Lucum finding it was not Inclination, but Illness, that brought his Daughter home so early, received her with unusual Good-humour and Pleasure; but was not deeply concerned with the Apprehension of Danger from her Distemper.
Miss Lucum, as soon as possible, retired to the Apartment in which she was accustomed to find Rest; but no Rest was that Night to be found: Not Macbeth, but
Diamonds, as adequate to the Purpose as any Ruffians whatsoever. The painful Vision of Lady Fanny's Jewels was, by Memory, faithfully presented to her View, baffled every Attempt to close her Eyes, and chased from her disturbed Mind all Possibility of Slumber or Repose. She could start with as much Terror and Anguish, as if she had seen all the Ghosts in Richard the Third; and her Mind, at that time, might be likened to a Theatre, on which the Tragedy of a glittering Cross, and a Pair of Diamond Ear-rings, was acting, with much more Propriety than the envious Critic called Othello The Tragedy of the Handkerchief.
Miss Lucum's Beauty was too conspicuous to suffer her to appear in public, without being the Object of Observation; and, as she was now pretty well known in Town, her suddenly leaving the Drawing-room so early, occasioned many Surmises the next Morning.
A young Nobleman, who had distinguished Miss Lucum by his Gallantry at many public Assemblies, that Night attached himself wholly to another Lady; and to this was her sudden Illness imputed by many; and poor innocent Love (as is customary) was accused and condemned, altho' totally ignorant of the whole Matter.
Many Reasons were traced, and many Causes assigned; but the only true one, which was indeed no-where to be found but in Lady Fanny Fashion's Ears, and on her Bosom, was never once suspected, except by Lady Fanny herself; who perceived, from the Beginning, the Ray of Discomfort her dazling Jewels had darted into Miss Lucum's Bosom.
Perhaps the friendly Sympathy between these Two young Ladies, rendered it easy for them to penetrate each other's Thoughts; for Miss Lucum also perceived, in Lady Fanny's Countenance, a Triumph of Contempt over her Weakness: But whatever Lady Fanny knew, or conjectured, she never discovered the Secret, but chose to impute Miss Lucum's Disappointment to Lord Dellwyn's Behaviour; who had not that Evening honoured her with any particular Notice. This was spread abroad amongst all her Acquaintance; and Miss Lucum was not so entirely friendless, but that the Report reached her own Ears also.
The first Rumour, or even Insinuation, to her Disadvantage, that comes to a young Lady's Knowlege, is always attended with great Uneasiness; she presently imagines, that her Story is uppermost in the Thoughts of every Company, and that Politeness alone prevents her being treated with reproachful Language: She imagines every Whisper contains some Reflections on her Conduct; and on every Look she puts some Construction, which tends to her own Disadvantage.
Miss Lucum's Pride was greatly mortified at the Report of her being desirous, but in vain, to be Countess of Dellwyn. She had treasured up a small Portion of Comfort in the midst of her Misfortunes, by preserving the Power of reflecting, that she had had the Honour of refusing Lord Dellwyn, and that, if she would have consented to so preposterous a Union, she might have appeared in greater Lustre than her Friend. She praised her own Courage for suffering all her Father's Anger on that Account; and then to have all this Honour clandestinely purloined from her, if considered in all its aggravating Circumstances, must be confessed to be so heavy a Weight of Affliction, as no young Woman, in Miss Lucum's Situation, could possibly bear with any tolerable Degree of Patience.
The fatal Birth-night, which had given the young Charlotte so much Uneasiness, brought some flying Notions into her Imagination concerning the Gratification she might have given her new-acquired Taste, had she complied with her Father's Commands of marrying Lord Dellwyn; and her Resolution against being Countess was, in a small Degree, staggered; but this was not very perceptible to herself; for she thought not on any one of her various Desires, except that of having Jewels equal to Lady Fanny's, long enough to be perfectly acquainted with what she wished with most Ardency: But the first time any Inclination to his Lordship became at all predominant, was the Moment in which she became acquainted with the Rumour, that it was not in the Power of her Charms to make so desireable a Conquest. The Words, I will not, were as pleasant to her as to Cæsar; but the Expression, I cannot, was as hard for her to assent to, as it was to the Roman Hero to acknowlege that he dared not. Her Confusion was too great to suffer her to make any positive Determination as to her future Conduct; but, whatever was reported or thought by others, she herself imagined, that it was in her Power, whenever she chose it, to recall my Lord Dellwyn; and therefore her Aversion to him was not entirely eradicated.
An Exemplification of the Truth of Montaigne's Observation, That we laugh and cry for the same Thing.
Whilst Miss Lucum's Mind was fluctuating to and fro, being greatly desirous at once of various Things, which were in direct Opposition to each other, her Father informed her, that his Business in Town was finished; and commanded her to prepare to return into the Country at an appointed Time, not exceeding Three Days.
Miss Lucum started at this Summons, like the Ghost of Hamlet's Father at the Crowing of the Cock, the Harbinger of Day. In vain she cry'd out, with Hamlet,
for the Perturbation of her Spirit could not be calmed. A resigned and well-regulated Mind can patiently suffer many Afflictions; but that which is burthened with many Griefs, and at the same time is turmoiling and bustling, under the insupportable Labour of determining exactly what those Griefs are, is miserable enough to raise some Degree of Compassion, even in those prudent Persons, who, finding their Stock of Pity but small, take great Care lest they should spend it extravagantly; and therefore,
Miss Lucum, when her Father left her, could find no Language capable of expressing the quick Motions and Beatings of her labouring Heart; her Sighs were heavy, and she cry'd out, Ah! oh! oh! Ah! the Exclamation King Arthur, and Queen Dollalolla, in the Tragedy of Tom Thumb, when they were in a painful Suspense to discover, whether their Distemper was Love, or the Wind Cholic.
Lord Dellwyn spent that Evening with Mr. Lucum; who gave his Daughter her free Liberty, either to remain in her own Apartment, or do the Honours of the Table. Her Choice was immediately fixed; she had not Art enough even to appear indifferent; but, without Hesitation, declared, that she would attend him at Supper, with such an Air of Pleasure, that her Father could not forbear smiling.
In the small intermediate Space before the Arrival of Lord Dellwyn, Miss Lucum found Employment by viewing and reviewing herself before the Glass; her Form of Dress was several times varied, and she perceived great Difficulty in giving herself any tolerable Satisfaction.
During the Evening, Mr. Lucum took frequent Opportunities of hinting an intended Marriage between his Lordship and Lady Fanny Fashion; and at last his Lordship explicitly declared the Truth of this Conjecture, and requested Mr. Lucum to defer his Journey into the Country for another Fortnight, that he might be present on the joyful Occasion; and at the same time desired the Favour of his Daughter's Company, and that she would perform the Part of a Bride-maid to Lady Fanny.
Both Lord Dellwyn and Mr. Lucum looked with a fixed Attention on the blushing Charlotte at that Instant; her Eyes rolled quick on every Side, to avoid their Observation; till at last, as if tired of Motion, they bent down steadily towards the Ground; and the Swelling of her Passions became so uncontroulable, that she burst into a Flood of Tears, to give some Vent to her inward Sufferings.
Miss Lucum had not been introduced into the fashionable World yet quite Three Months; and altho' she had improved herself miraculously for that Time, yet she had not acquired so quick a Command of herself as to be able, with the same Volubility of Speech as if she had been really pleased, to thank his Lordship for the Honour he intended her, to be very much obliged to him, and all that, as Mr. Bays expresses himself; but was forced to leave the Room, overcome with Shame at her own Behaviour.
When Lord Dellwyn took his Leave, Mr. Lucum went to his Daughter's Apartment, and entered, uttering the comfortable Words, that he hoped now his dear Charlotte would be happy; for as she would herself be a Witness of my Lord's Marriage, she could never fear any farther Persecution on that Account.
These aggravating Expressions deprived her of all Power of Reflection; and, without any Consideration of what she was saying, she replied:
"For what Insults am I reserved! Carry me, my Father, into the most distant Country, where I may never behold a human Face again; for certainly I am the most wretched and unfortunate of all Mortals."
"What! is the Girl mad?" replied her Father. "You were courted and importuned to accept of a Coronet; to roll almost in the highest Sphere of Life; to command the most magnificent Equipage your Fancy could invent; a House in Town equal to a Palace; your Person adorned with the highest Splendor, by the Number and Richness of your Jewels."
At every new Instance enumerated by Mr. Lucum, of those great Advantages his Daughter had refused, she wept and sobbed louder and louder; and, at the last-mentioned Article, she could no longer contain within any Bounds, but broke forth so vehemently, that her Father could not for some time be heard; but when her Passion was a little subsided, he thus continued his Remonstrances:
"All these Honours you rejected; you chose your Books, and a calm rural Retirement. Against my own Judgment, I complied with your Humour; and now you are lamenting and ranting, like a Queen in a Tragedy, for no other Reason that I can imagine, but because you have been left at Liberty to follow your own Inclinations. Cease weeping for nothing; stay this Fortnight chearfully in Town to oblige my Friend, and then I will immediately carry you to your beloved Retreat; where you shall freely range through all the serene Pleasures the Country can afford."
These Words would indeed have sounded pleasantly in the Ears of Miss Lucum, had her Father given them Utterance at a more seasonable Time: For some little Space after her Arrival in London, they would have been highly joyful; but now the Scene was quite reversed, and they were as bitter in the Digestion as Coloquintida ; and her Father left her in a State of Mind so miserable, that Envy itself could not well wish to make any Addition to the Weight of her Affliction.
A complete Metamorphosis, without the Assistance of any supernatural Power.
When such a Genius as Homer seems to be entering the vast wild Field of Romance, and bestows on his Circe the Power of depriving Men of their Senses, and stupefying them into Stocks or Stones; or either to extend their Arms into Wings, by the Help of which they cut the yielding Air, or, by another Kind of Transformation, to make them proper Companions for the four-footed Beasts of the Field; doth not Homer, by giving Men their Choice, whether or no they will drink of the Circæan Cup, plainly indicate, that he means nothing more than that the natural Intoxication, which is the Consequence of vicious Pleasures, has the Power of divesting Mankind of Humanity, and of changing Men into the Likeness of irrational Animals?
Ovid, with his unbounded Imagination, finds a Resemblance almost to every Vice in some different Animal; into the Likeness of which he puts the human Form.
These ingenious Men undoubtedly fell into this Method of displaying the fatal Effects of unbridled Inclinations, from the Difficulty they found of relating common Occurrences with Elegance, or of giving such an Energy to their Moral as would gain the Attention of any Number of Readers, without adding the pleasing Arts of Fancy. The bodily Changes they relate lead the few into the Contemplation of the intricate Labyrinths of the human Mind, and the Multitude have a marvellous Story for their Diversion.
Miss Lucum was mentally transformed into another Creature: From that State of calm Tranquility, with which she left the Country, her whole Mind was now overwhelmed with black Clouds and tempestuous Storms.
An Amphisbena is said, by the Naturalists, to be a Creature so unfortunate as to be formed with Two Heads; the one continually striving to lead it forward, and the other as strenuously endeavouring to drag it backward. It has been remarked, that every Individual amongst Mankind bears a Resemblance to some Species of the animal Creation; and Physiognomists say, that the human Mind hath the characteristical Disposition of the animal Species to which its Countenance bears a Similitude. As no Amphisbena's are to be seen in this Part of the World, it is impossible to determine whether Miss Lucum's Face was like either of those of the miserable double-headed Creature; but it is certain that her Inclinations were draging her into such different Paths, that Ovid, with great Consistency with his manner of Writing, might have clapped her on a Pair of Heads, with the utmost Facility.
No Egyptian Task-master can in Cruelty exceed the Tyrant Vanity; for she delivers, at one and the same time, Two opposite Commands; expects implicit Obedience; flatters her Subjects with some gay Reward of their Labours; and, in the End, all those Persons, who have unhappily chosen such a Leader, find, to their great Mortification, that, like Macbeth's Dagger,
Alps rise o'er Alps, "and Cloud-capt Mountains" are to be surmounted; and, when the Summit is gained, it is as slippery as Ice; and there is no Method to gain a resting Place, but to descend again as fast as possible.
The Tyrant had informed Miss Lucum, that Equipage and Magnificence of all kinds were necessary to her Well-being; and that all other Things were beneath the Inclinations of a Woman of Spirit. There was but One visible Means by which she could obtain this valuable Gratification; and the same Vanity forbad her that Road. To condescend to court the Man she had refused; to confirm the Truth of the Rumour that was spread through the Town, that she wished to allure my Lord Dellwyn to be her Husband; this was a Mortification too great to support with any Degree of Patience. Sometimes a small Remembrance of a Possibility of returning into the Country, would appear for a Moment almost an eligible Alternative; and if, at that Instant, Lord Dellwyn had sollicited her Favour, in all Probability vain would have been his Sollicitation; but, on the other Hand, the Possibility of its not being in her Power to regain his Lordship, the dreadful Catastrophe of Lady Fanny Fashion's becoming his Countess, the Fear that she herself could not, together with that most alarming of all Fears, that Lady Fanny could, were Inducements too powerful to be withstood. She lost the Consideration of all the Consequences that must unavoidably attend such a Marriage, and determined to give her Hand to Lord Dellwyn, as a less Evil than what she otherwise apprehended.
Miss Lucum's Determination on Marriage by no means removed all her Perplexity; for altho', during her short Stay in London, she had so much profited, that her Inclination for Grandeur had totally extinguished all her Love of Simplicity and Retirement; yet she was not Proficient enough to be perfectly versed in all the Arts of bringing about her own Purposes; but was greatly at a Loss in what manner to begin the Courtship on her Side, which was before begun on the proper Part, that of her Lover.
It must be confessed that her Circumstances were aukward enough to have puzzled a much greater Adept in the Knowlege of the gay World; her Refusal of Lord Dellwyn whilst her Father was continually urging the Advantage of such a Proposal, and she flattering herself, that it was meritorious steadily to resist that she termed Persecution, had indeed been attended with too much Scorn and Contempt; which rendered the new Part she had now undertaken the more difficult to perform.
Lord Dellwyn now came frequently to Mr. Lucum's; for which Cause Miss Lucum went but little abroad; for she was greatly apprehensive, lest, by that means, she should miss some favourable Opportunity of putting in Practice her late-formed Resolution: Besides Lord Dellwyn's formal Manner of treating her, and his peculiar Attention to Lady Fanny in public, was too mortifying to her Pride, and she was too apt on such Occasions to expose herself: But a daily epistolary Correspondence, expressing the highest Friendship; passed between these Two young Ladies; tho' Miss Lucum, still unknown to herself, became much more formal, and Your Ladyship dropped much oftener from her Pen than had been her usual Custom; but Lady Fanny was profuse in her Professions of Affection, which at last became so high, that there were very few Degrees left for Improvement, if the Correspondence had continued to the End of a long Life.
When first Miss Lucum came to London, Lady Fanny Fashion taking more particular Notice of her than any other of her Mother's Relations, these Two young Ladies seldom passed a Day without seeing each other, or sending a Billet of Inquiry concerning each other's Health. Their Style then can in this Manner:
I had many Things to say to dear Miss Lucum last Night; but you disappointed me by staying at home. I hope you will not continue in the same solitary Mood To-night. I shall be at Madam De—'s till you come.
Your affectionate
F. Fashion.
I am obliged to dear Lady Fanny for her kind Desire to see me, and will certainly be at Madam De—'s this Evening. I am
Your Ladyship's
sincere humble Servant,
C. Lucum.
But this was their present Style:
I cannot imagine, dear Miss Lucum, why you did not come to the Assembly last Night. I had no Pleasure there; for the insupportable Loss of your Company made every thing around me insipid. I could not sleep all Night for the alarming Fears which oppressed me, lest you should be ill. Why, when you know how much my Heart is wrapped up in your Safety, will you ever absent yourself without letting me know the Cause. Pray, dear Miss Lucum, write me a Line, to set my Heart at Ease, that you are well: For I am
Your most affectionate,
sincere, and faithful Friend,
F. Fashion.
Your Ladyship's Notice does me great Honour; but a little Cold and Indisposition prevents me the Pleasure of seeing your Ladyship often in public. Your Ladyship is not ignorant how little I love going abroad when I am indisposed; but I hope your Ladyship will not impute it to any Slight; for I am, Madam,
Your Ladyship's
Most obedient humble Servant,
Charlotte Lucum.
One Evening Mr. Lucum being called abroad, on some Business of Importance, when Lord Dellwyn was at his House, he made an Apology to his Lordship, and left him alone with his Daughter. Now the much-desired Opportunity seemed to be favourable; but instead of being able to give her Thoughts Utterance, Miss Lucum blushed, and hesitated, like Lady Charlotte, in the Comedy of The Funeral . She was actuated with Love as much as Lady Charlotte in the Play, altho' the Object indeed was not her Lover; but the Grandeur and Triumph over her Rival it was in his Power to bestow. Miss Lucum started several Subjects; but could not, with any Propriety, mention that which was uppermost in her Thoughts; till Lord Dellwyn expressed his Desire that she would continue her Friendship to the Lady he hoped shortly—Miss Lucum had not Patience to suffer him to proceed any farther; but, interrupting him, replied, "Is it customary, my Lord, amongst Men educated in the fashionable World, to take the bashful Reserve of a Country Girl for an absolute Refusal?"
These Words were not spoken by Miss Lucum without the utmost Hesitation; nor could she have made such an Advance to any Man of her Choice; and would perhaps have even let this Opportunity slip, without any further Attempts to accomplish her Purpose, than secretly wishing so to do, had not Lord Dellwyn raised all her Fears concerning Lady Fanny; and that so suddenly, that she was ready to run into any Danger, rather than suffer the Pain of that Apprehension.
This gave his Lordship a Key to her Behaviour, which he had long wished for: He only desired the Shadow of some other Reason for her apparent Contempt, than that which his Inclination had strictly forbidden him to behold; namely, his own Disagreeableness. She had now afforded him that Gratification, and he gave Utterance to these Words:
"If, Madam, I could hope that bashful Modesty was your only Motive for rejecting my Offer, and that the most earnest Sollicitation for your Favour would not be in vain, my Thoughts henceforward should center in you alone."
Either Miss Lucum's Looks, or her Answer, were so agreeable to his Lordship, that he seized her Hand, and kissed it, with an Imitation of youthful Warmth. But here the Struggle between Nature and Vanity was again renewed; the former being very unwilling, totally and irretrievably to yield up so fair a Prize to her avowed and constant Enemy; and the Lady's Hand, like the sensitive Plant, spontaneously shrunk back to avoid his Touch; and at that Moment she almost despaired of her own Power to keep her Resolution.
Lady Macbeth's Reproach to her Husband, when she perceived that he wavered in his Purpose, and wanted an additional Spur to induce him to perpetrate his horrid Purpose, is applicable to many Motions of the human Mind.
So it was with Miss Lucum; but then the Fear of Lady Fanny again presented itself to her Thoughts, and gave the complete Triumph to Vanity; and Lord Dellwyn was so reasonable in his Demands of Marks of her Affection, that he was perfectly satisfied with her Behaviour.
They made an Appointment to meet the next Evening at a public Assembly, where Miss Lucum knew Lady Fanny was to be present. There her Eyes sparkled with all the triumphant Lustre, that having obtained a desirable Victory over a Rival could inspire them with. It is very doubtful, whether the Conquest of the most agreeable and truly valuable Lover, could have thrown her Heart into a higher Flutter of Rapture. Her Joy on that Occasion was so complete, it could admit of no Addition.
Miss Lucum's Mind was too much engrossed by Pleasure to make room for Reflexion, or she would have perceived, that, if Lord Dellwyn was really engaged to Lady Fanny Fashion, as he had given her sufficient Reason to conclude, he must necessarily now act a most dishonourable Part; and that, therefore, she had no Reason to place any Confidence in him; but must be certain, that his Conduct was solely regulated by his own whimsical wavering Inclinations. Perhaps indeed Vanity had so entirely extinguished the Rectitude of her Mind, that his Baseness to others, and more particularly to her Rival, whilst it gave her an Opportunity of triumphing in her Success, might not have appeared worthy her Consideration.
The Pangs this short-lived Triumph must cost her, were also at that time banished from her Thoughts. Our Minds or Bodies are capable of going but one Road, and that a narrow Path, at one and the same time; and, when our Imaginations are elated with any favourite Pursuit, we are generally so indulgent to ourselves, as to suppress all troublesome and conscious Admonitions, till the Consequences of our Actions forcibly intrude Consideration upon us; and then we awake, as out of a Dream, and wonder whence all those Sufferings proceed.
Miss Lucum was perfectly indifferent as to my Lord's Virtues: She requested but one Favour of his Lordship; namely, that he would be an humble Instrument, in the Hand of Fortune, to gratify her Ambition, and serve her present desireable Purpose of heaping up for herself future Misery.
From henceforward all Things agreeable both to Lord Dellwyn's and Miss Lucum's Wish succeeded: A new-born but short-lived Sympathy; and even that was caused by their seeing each other but seldom: Miss Lucum was so thoroughly employed in the essential Preparations for her Wedding, that she forgot the Bridegroom.
Mr. Lucum was lavish in adorning his now again dear Child, even to Profuseness, on this Occasion; for he also sympathised with her and his future Son-in-law, full as much as they did with each other. A general Good-humour reigned in all their Hearts, and was visible in their Countenances.
The Day was appointed for her Wedding. During the intermediate Space, Miss Lucum was under the most perfect Intoxication of Vanity: Cloaths were bought, new Equipages were ordered, new Schemes of Grandeur passed in continual Succession in her Mind, even Lord Dellwyn, for that small Portion of Time, became agreeable; for he seldom approached her, without securing himself a favourable Reception by some dazling Present.
Visionary Schemes of Happiness, built on magnificent State, gaudy Equipages, glittering Shew, and glaring Pomp, were ever swimming before her Eyes, and dazled all her poor intoxicated Senses.
The Wedding was completed, as described in the First Chapter of this Book; and, from this visionary State of the Bride's Mind, arose that vacant Look, which indicated such a total Insensibility at the Ceremony of her Marriage: For when she answered I will, she never imagined that she had promised more than that she would thenceforward follow implicitly wheresoever Vanity should lead; and add to the Liberty of a free-born Briton, all the Privileges of an English Woman of Quality.
Human Happiness.
Now, taking Leave of Miss Lucum, it is time to acknowlege her in her more exalted Station, and consider her as Countess of Dellwyn . A Change of the utmost Importance to herself, as her new-acquired Dignity was ever present to her Memory, and elated her Imagination.
Mr. Lucum's Transformation was full as visible as that of his Daughter; he was become, as the Clown in Shakespeare expresses it, "A tall Man of his Hands;" and the characteristical Description Ulysses gives Achilles, in the same Author's Troilus and Cressida, without straining the Sense, will bear an Application to Mr. Lucum in his State of "new-blown Honours."
Lord Dellwyn, his new Bride, and Mr. Lucum, all Three equally promised themselves a full Gratification of all their Desires. The Lady, indeed, when the Time approached of her returning home in the Evening, was not totally divested of all Uneasiness; but the many Schemes of Pleasure, that played in her Fancy, assisted her to fix her Thoughts on future Magnificence; and yet more particularly was she elated with the Prospect of a certain Triumph over Lady Fanny Fashion : But that young Lady somewhat disappointed her Hopes; for she congratulated her on her Marriage, with a Politeness that indicated no very deep Affliction on the Occasion.
Lady Dellwyn was truly sensible, that, had Lady Fanny married her Lord, she could by no means have been thus calm in her Behaviour; and therefore was somewhat surprised at her Rival's Indifference. Whether that Indifference was really in Lady Fanny's Heart, or only the Effect of a superior Education, which had taught her, with great Facility, to disguise the inward Movements of her Mind, cannot be easily determined.
Now each Day produced some new Joy; receiving and returning Visits was for some time a constant Employment; and Complaints of the great Fatigue of doing that, which her Ladyship would have thought a serious Misfortune to have omitted, furnished sufficient Matter for Conversation during the few Minutes she remained in any one Place, without varying the Subject; and every Company she left, found Entertainment sufficient in criticising the Dress and Behaviour of the new Countess: Many Ladies heartily sympathised with Lady Dellwyn, in bemoaning her Fatigue, and declared that they should rejoice, for her Sake, when her insupportable Labour of visiting was ended. No Day intervened till Lady Dellwyn had appeared at every public Assembly; her glaring Equipage was known by the whole Town, and she had the Honour of becoming the general Subject of Conversation, and filling up all the Time which could possibly be spared from Cards.
It was very observable, that altho', but a few Months before, the Incredibility of Lord Dellwyn's marrying Miss Lucum was so very apparent, that almost every Person was ashamed of exposing such a Mark of Weakness, as to be duped into the Belief of so high an Improbability; yet now it appeared plainly, that the Fact was as well known before it happened, as afterwards; for every Lady declared it was what she had always imagined, she had foreseen it from the Beginning; nay, Hints were dropped by some very extraordinary Prophetesses, of their knowing of the Marriage so long before its being accomplished, that they unfortunately fixed the Period of their Forecast, even before Lord Dellwyn was acquainted with his present Countess. It became a Matter of Debate, whose Property this Prophecy was; and those Persons contended most strongly for the Honour of having been the first Authors of it, who had originally the most vehemently insisted on its Impossibility.
By the time Lady Dellwyn had shown herself in every Scene of Gaiety and Diversion, the Season approached for the Rising of the Parliament, when the public Places, constituted by the Discovery of various salutary Waters, began to divide the Company; which had flocked together in the Winter to the Metropolis, as Bees to their Hives, when the Flowers droop, and afford them no longer an Opportunity to extract the liquid Sweets to make their Honey.
At this Season of the Year some Families retire to their Country Seats, and are welcomed by the rejoicing Hearts of their neighbouring Poor; who have suffered dreary Want through a long laborious Winter, having no other Employment, by which they can support themselves, but what they can obtain from each other: A Welcome which must expand and delight the beneficent Mind beyond the Power of Expression. The Ease with which this Pleasure is to be attained by every Gentleman, who is endued with any considerable Property in his Country (for it requires neither Labour nor Anxiety to purchase it) may perhaps be one Reason why it is so often neglected; but it is very probable that many Gentlemen would not be of Opinion that Pleasure is every-where to be found but in the midst of their own Possessions, were they not unfortunately, by the Prevalence of Fashion, too often kept from their Youth in absolute Ignorance of the joyful Scenes it is in the Power of their own Home to bestow. But it is time to finish this Chapter; which, beginning with human Happiness, must naturally come to a short Conclusion.
An old Castle fashioned to a modern Taste, and made tolerably habitable.
Lady Dellwyn most willingly consented to accompany her Lord to his Country Seat; for she now apprehended, that there was no Probability any Company would remain in Town, whom she could have any Desire to see; or, to speak with greater Propriety, to whom she could have any Inclination to shew herself. Her Father's House, which had afforded her a pleasant Retirement during his imaginary Contempt of Grandeur, was at so small a Distance from her Lord's Castle, that there she might visit all her old Acquaintance, the Companions and Friends of her Youth; with whom her Hours of calm Serenity had glided on through many revolving Years, without one ruffling Storm to disturb or irritate her gentle Bosom.
I would not be misunderstood, as if I intended to relate any thing so truly unnatural, as it would be for the Countess of Dellwyn, in her transformed State, to have the least Inclination to share the rural Pleasures of the former Friends of Miss Lucum; but she imagined she should receive more refined Delight by displaying her Magnificence to the Eyes of those Persons she had once esteemed her Equals, than to such new Acquaintance as were ignorant of her former Situation. She promised herself a double Joy by the Consideration that it must be firmly fixed in their Memory, that it was Miss Lucum herself who was raised to so exalted a Station.
There is nothing so constantly disappoints its own Purposes as Vanity; and here Lady Dellwyn met with a very unexpected Mortification; her former Friends did not look on her with near so high an Admiration as she did on herself: They had not breathed in the Air of London, no Electricity had inflamed them with the Love of Grandeur, neither had they undergone any Circæan Transformation; they paid her as much Respect as they thought her Due, but did not continually acknowlege her Dignity; nay, her chief Favourite, Miss Cummins, was even so rusticated, that she attempted talking to her Ladyship in the affectionate Language with which she was accustomed to express her Sentiments to Miss Lucum. She was soon made sensible that the Countess disliked her ill-bred Familiarity; but, being too unpolite to acknowlege her Error, she avoided that Company which would not condescend to her Peculiarity of Disposition; and so much doth Vanity throw us into the Power of every Individual of the human Species, however contemptibly we may think proper to treat them, that Lady Dellwyn was inwardly hurt by this steady Behaviour of her Friend; and Indignation, which is ever accompanied by a painful Sensation, crept into her Bosom, and in a Moment drove thence all her former fancied Friendship: I say fancied; for Friendship, which is real, and built on right Principles, where just Esteem is the strong Foundation, is unalterable by Time or Accident, whilst Life itself endures.
Lady Dellwyn, however, met with as much Flattery as she could desire from great Part of her Neighbourhood; but yet, so greatly doth Difficulty enhance the Pleasure, one flattering Expression from Miss Cummins would have been received by her with more Joy, than all the creeping Servility that others could treat her with; but this, unfortunately for her Ladyship's Desires, was not to be purchased; for Miss Cummins could not possibly give what she had not to bestow, and she had never cultivated any Degree of Flattery in her Mind. This Behaviour of Miss Cummins was the second Incident, which lowered, in her own Eyes, the Value of the Title so dearly purchased.
Lady Dellwyn now employed herself in reversing every thing in her Lord's Castle, as totally as her own Mind had been changed. She seemed to have laid it down as her chief Rule, to consider first what was most useful; and whatever she found so, she gave immediate Orders for dismissing from under her Roof, as being too vulgar Furniture to have a Place there. Substantial Pieces of Goods (which perhaps were greatly valued by my Lord's Ancestors) were also very offensive to her Ladyship's Sight; they, for their Clumsiness, were discarded, and in their room were placed China Images, and all manner of Chinese Figures; some that stood still, and some that, by pulling a String, might be put into such insignificant Shakings and Motions, as made the Heads of the Beholders giddy, when it happens that their Dizziness is not too great before to admit of any Addition from outward Objects. And thus was this noble ancient Castle, which, in its old Form, struck the Imagination both with Dignity and Simplicity, filled with such trifling Gew-gaws, that it was dangerous to move, lest some of the Clock-work Trumpery should be thrown down and put out of Joint; the constant Consequence of which was a thorough Discomposure of all the Lady's Features. In this manner the Lady of the Mansion was so happy as to rid herself of some small Portion of Time with tolerable Self-satisfaction; whilst the exquisite Elegance of her own Taste was the daily Subject of her Admiration.
Speaking Truth not only shames the D—l, but prevents us a great deal of unnecessary Trouble.
When Lady Dellwyn finished the new furnishing her Castle, she began to be at a great Loss for Employment; she had now no Refuge from a languid, wearisome Melancholy, which is often called a Fever upon the Spirits; she had no Food from outward Objects, to employ her animal Spirits, and they therefore prey'd at home; and oppressed her own Mind.
This being haunted with Ghosts, dejected with an unaccountable Melancholy, and afflicted with a Variety of Distempers, tho' we are at a Loss to discover what Appellation to give them, is very often the Result of nothing more than a strong Imagination unimployed, which could be all alive and merry if it was not confined to some Scene of Dullness, which curbs all its Pleasures; and then, rather than be motionless, it chuses to be mischievous, bearing in that respect a strong Resemblance to the Activity of the Monkey, whose chief Glory is to mimick Man, and who, as far as that Mimickry goes, is a most perfect Master of that Branch of Ridicule.
Lady Dellwyn was now as totally incapable of enjoying the Country, as she was, at her first Arrival in London, of tasting the Pleasures to which she had then been wholly unaccustomed.
Lord Dellwyn's distempered State of Body was constantly attended with Peevishness; but yet, to prove that he had the Power of commanding himself when he pleased, and only vented his Passions when, and on whom, he thought proper, he confined the Impetuosity of his Rage to his Servants alone, and his Fondness for his young Lady restrained him from bestowing on her any Share of his Displeasure: But this was by no means an Alleviation to her Melancholy; perhaps had it been otherwise, and she had been also a Partaker of his Wrath, an Opportunity of Contention might have raised her Spirits, and relieved her from her Languidness. Her Lord's Fondness was beyond Comparison more odious to her than his Anger; and, if the Choice had been given her, she would greatly have preferred the latter; and have thought she had made a very advantageous Exchange, if by that means she might have been freed from the former.
Lady Dellwyn had now brought herself into a State, in which she was in a manner under an Obligation to live a Lye; not only her Language, but every Look, every Gesture, must indicate some Falsehood: She had not been instructed young enough in this Sort of Commerce, to have the Advantage of Custom to lighten such an insupportable Burthen; it was to her lively Imagination more than an Herculean Labour: She fainted under the heavy Load, and consumed away almost to a Skeleton.
My Lord now, as an Aggravation to his Lady's Misfortunes, began to express a great Satisfaction in the Country; which he thought better suited to his Time of Life than the Hurry and Confusion of a Town. He was so perfectly happy in his Countess, that it was unnecessary to put himself to the Trouble of long Journies in pursuit of other Pleasures.
Lady Dellwyn was too conscious of the Conclusion which must naturally follow an earnest Sollicitation on her Part for public Places, to dare to undertake importuning her Lord on that Account. The Pains she was obliged to undergo to avoid the Appearance of Truth, and to conceal her want of Affection to her Husband, rendered it almost impossible for her at the same time to venture to declare she was miserable, unless a Variety of Company might, in some measure, ease her of the Burthen of being continually confined to her Lord's Conversation.
At the Time that Lady Dellwyn lived with her Father Mr. Lucum in the Country, he imputed all his Mortifications to the various treacherous Parts he had acted, and therefore had a kind of temporary Rage against that Vice by which he had suffered so much; which Rage had as long a Continuance as his imaginary Philosophy and Contempt of the World; for which Reason he pointed all his Endeavours to breed up his Daughter with a peculiar Hatred to all Manner of Falsehood: It was, therefore, doubly barbarous to place her in a Station of Life, for which she was absolutely unqualified.
Ladies have sometimes thrown their whole House into an Uproar, and themselves into Fits, if their Husbands, by any Accident, have been prevented from returning home at the appointed Time, for fear they should have been swallowed up, like Tom Thumb, by a red Cow; and the next Day renewed the same Confusion, because it was not convenient for them to shew themselves that Season at London, Bath, Bristol, or any other public Place, which chanced at that Time to be uppermost in their Inclinations; nay, and what is still more wonderful, they have expected their Husbands to be convinced, that the Affliction in both Instances was real, and without any Degree of Affectation; and in fact sometimes this contradictory Practice hath succeeded, and they have been perfectly credited.
Lady Dellwyn was not adept enough in the new Trade she had undertaken; and unfortunately penetrated so far, that she was truly aukward at this kind of Craftiness: Neither had she any Prompter, who could give her Assistance to perform her Part; for she never thought of the Expedient of making a whispering Party in her Lord's House against him, or of placing such a Confidence in her Servant, as to reveal to her the inward State of her Mind: Altho' she could not attain an absolute Command over her Inclinations, yet she guarded the Door of her Lips so strictly, that she never suffered herself to give Utterance to any contemptuous Expressions of her Lord; and in this Particular, her Example was then worthy of Imitation.
And now the Lady was again metamorphosed from the gay, fluttering, admired young Woman of Quality (the Form she had last appeared in at London) into a lamenting Niobe; she wasted herself with weeping; not for any Loss she had sustained, but for the unfortunate Acquisition of the very Husband she had sought with careful Anxiety.
There is perhaps no greater Difficulty, than to enter into Conversation under the Terror of betraying any hidden Secret of the Heart; the Discovery of which may probably be attended with some dreaded Consequence: And Lady Dellwyn was obliged to take every Thought into serious Consideration before she permitted to her Tongue the Liberty of Utterance, lest her Indifference, not to say Aversion, to her Lord, should peep out and be discovered unawares.
In fact, whilst the Lady was eagerly pursuing the Fortune and Rank to which it was in Lord Dellwyn's Power to exalt her, she had fixed her whole Imagination on her own favourite Prospect; and overlooking every other Object, she had absolutely forgot the heavy Tax she must pay for the Indulgence of her fancied Scheme of Happiness; and even that, by her own Act and Deed, she was bringing herself under an Obligation to spend her Life with her Lord, was a Truth that found no room for Entrance at that time into her Consideration.
This Discovery was reserved for the Time of Leisure. And now in her Retirement from those gay Pleasures, which had dazled her Understanding and turned her Head giddy, it became so glaring in her Sigh