by Edith Howes
You heard the gentleman who visited me this morning, very frequently usethe word Honour. Honour consists in respecting yourself; in doing as youwould be done by; and the foundation of honour is Truth.
When I can depend on the veracity of people, that is to say, am convincedthat they adhere to truth, I rely on them; am certain they have courage,because I know they will bear any inconvenience rather than despisethemselves, for telling a lie. Besides, it is not necessary to considerwhat you intend to say, when you have done right. Always determine, onevery occasion, to speak the truth, and you will never be at a loss forwords. If your character for this scrupulous attention is once fixed,your acquaintance will be courted; and those who are not particularlypleased with you, will, at least, respect your honourable principles. Itis impossible to form a friendship without making truth the basis; it isindeed the essence of devotion, the employment of the understanding, andthe support of every duty.
I govern my servants, and you, by attending strictly to truth, and thisobservance keeping my head clear and my heart pure, I am ever ready topray to the Author of good, the Fountain of truth.
While I am discussing the subject, let me point out to you another branchof this virtue; Sincerity.—And remember that I every day set you anexample; for I never, to please for the moment, pay unmeaningcompliments, or permit any words to drop from my tongue, that my heartdoes not dictate. And when I relate any matter of fact, I carefullyavoid embellishing it, in order to render it a more entertaining story;not that I think such a practice absolutely criminal; but as itcontributes insensibly to wear away a respect for truth, I guard againstthe vain impulse, lest I should lose the chief strength, and evenornament, of my mind, and become like a wave of the sea, drifted about byevery gust of passion.
You must in life observe the most apparently insignificant duties—thegreat ones are the pillars of virtue; but the constant concurrence oftrifling things, makes it necessary that reason and conscience shouldalways preside, to keep the heart steady. Many people make promises, andappointments, which they scruple not to break, if a more invitingpleasure occurs, not remembering that the slightest duty should beperformed before a mere amusement is pursued—for any neglect of this kindembitters play. Nothing, believe me, can long be pleasant, that is notinnocent.
As I usually endeavour to recollect some persons of my acquaintance, whohave suffered by the faults, or follies, I wish you to avoid; I willdescribe two characters, that will, if I mistake not, very stronglyenforce what I have been saying.
Last week you saw Lady Sly, who came to pay me a morning visit. Did youever see such a fine carriage, or such beautiful horses? How they pawedthe ground, and displayed their rich harnesses! Her servants woreelegant liveries, and her own clothes suited the equipage. Her house isequal to her carriage; the rooms are lofty, and hung with silk; nobleglasses and pictures adorn them: and the pleasure-grounds are large andwell laid out; beside the trees and shrubs, they contain a variety ofsummer-houses and temples, as they are called.—Yet my young friends, thisis _state_, not _dignity_.
This woman has a little soul, she never attended to truth, and obtaininggreat part of her fortune by falsehood, it has blighted all herenjoyments. She inhabits that superb house, wears the gayest clothes,and rides in that beautiful carriage, without feeling pleasure.Suspicion, and the cares it has given birth to, have wrinkled hercountenance, and banished every trace of beauty, which paint in vainendeavours to repair. Her suspicious temper arises from a knowledge ofher own heart, and the want of rational employments.
She imagines that every person she converses with means to deceive her;and when she leaves a company, supposes all the ill they may say of her,because she recollects her own practice. She listens about her house,expecting to discover the designs of her servants, none of whom she cantrust; and in consequence of this anxiety her sleep is unsound, and herfood tasteless. She walks in her paradise of a garden, and smells notthe flowers, nor do the birds inspire her with cheerfulness.—Thesepleasures are true and simple, they lead to the love of God, and all thecreatures whom He hath made—and cannot warm a heart which a maliciousstory can please.
She cannot pray to God;—He hates a liar! She is neglected by herhusband, whose only motive for marrying her was to clear an incumberedestate. Her son, her only child, is undutiful; the poor never have causeto bless her; nor does she contribute to the happiness of any humanbeing.
To kill time, and drive away the pangs of remorse, she goes from onehouse to another, collecting and propagating scandalous tales, to bringothers on a level with herself. Even those who resemble her are afraidof her; she lives alone in the world, its good things are poisoned by hervices, and neither inspire joy nor gratitude.
Before I tell you how she acquired these vicious habits, and enlarged herfortune by disregarding truth, I must desire you to think of Mrs.Trueman, the curate’s wife, who lives in yonder white house, close to thechurch; it is a small one, yet the woodbines and jessamins that twineabout the windows give it a pretty appearance. Her voice is sweet, hermanners not only easy, but elegant; and her simple dress makes her personappear to the greatest advantage.
She walks to visit me, and her little ones hang on her hands, and clingto her clothes, they are so fond of her. If any thing terrifies them,they run under her apron, and she looks like the hen taking care of heryoung brood. The domestic animals play with the children, finding her amild attentive mistress; and out of her scanty fortune she contrives tofeed and clothe many a hungry shivering wretch; who bless her as shepasses along.
Though she has not any outward decorations, she appears superior to herneighbours, who call her the _Gentlewoman_; indeed every gesture shews anaccomplished and dignified mind, that relies on itself; when deprived ofthe fortune which contributed to polish and give it consequence.
Drawings, the amusement of her youth, ornament her neat parlour; somemusical instruments stand in one corner; for she plays with taste, andsings sweetly.
All the furniture, not forgetting a book-case, full of well-chosen books,speak the refinement of the owner, and the pleasures a cultivated mindhas within its own grasp, independent of prosperity.
Her husband, a man of taste and learning, reads to her, while she makesclothes for her children, whom she teaches in the tenderest, and mostpersuasive manner, important truths and elegant accomplishments.
When you have behaved well for some time you shall visit her, and ramblein her little garden; there are several pretty seats in it, and thenightingales warble their sweetest songs, undisturbed, in the shade.
I have now given you an account of the present situation of both, and oftheir characters; listen to me whilst I relate in what manner thesecharacters were formed, and the consequence of each adhering to adifferent mode of conduct.
Lady Sly, when she was a child, used to say pert things, which theinjudicious people about her laughed at, and called very witty. Findingthat her prattle pleased, she talked incessantly, and invented stories,when adding to those that had some foundation, was not sufficient toentertain the company. If she stole sweetmeats, or broke any thing, thecat, or the dog, was blamed, and the poor animals were corrected for herfaults; nay, sometimes the servants lost their places in consequence ofher assertions. Her parents died and left her a large fortune, and anaunt, who had a still larger, adopted her.
Mrs. Trueman, her cousin, was, some years after, adopted by the samelady; but her parents could not leave their estate to her, as itdescended to the male heir. She had received the most liberal education,and was in every respect the reverse of her cousin; who envied her merit,and could not bear to think of her dividing the fortune which she hadlong expected to inherit entirely herself. She therefore practised everymean art to prejudice her aunt against her, and succeeded.
A faithful old servant endeavoured to open her mistress’s eyes; but thecunning niece contrived to invent the most infamous story of the olddomestic, who was in consequence of it dismissed. Mrs. Trueman supportedher, w
hen she could not succeed in vindicating her, and suffered for hergenerosity; for her aunt dying soon after, left only five hundred poundsto this amiable woman, and fifty thousand to Lady Sly.
They both of them married shortly after. One, the profligate Lord Sly,and the other a respectable clergyman, who had been disappointed in hishopes of preferment. This last couple, in spite of their mutualdisappointments, are contented with their lot; and are preparingthemselves and children for another world, where truth, virtue andhappiness dwell together.
For believe me, whatever happiness we attain in this life, must faintlyresemble what God Himself enjoys, whose truth and goodness produce asublime degree, such as we cannot conceive, it is so far above ourlimited capacities.
I did not intend to detain you so long, said Mrs. Mason; have youfinished _Mrs. Trimmer’s Fabulous Histories_? Indeed we have, answeredCaroline, mournfully, and I was very sorry to come to the end. I neverread such a pretty book; may I read it over again to Mrs. Trueman’slittle Fanny? Certainly, said Mrs. Mason, if you can make her understandthat birds never talk. Go and run about the garden, and remember thenext lie I detect, I shall punish; because lying is a vice;—and I oughtto punish you if you are guilty of it, to prevent your feeling Lady Sly’smisery.
CHAPTER VI
Anger.—Folly produces Self-contempt, and the Neglect of others.
Mrs. Mason had a number of visitors one afternoon, who conversed in theusual thoughtless manner which people often fall into who do not considerbefore they speak; they talked of Caroline’s beauty, and she gave herselfmany affected airs to make it appear to the best advantage. But Mary,who had not a face to be proud of, was observing some peculiarities inthe dress or manners of the guests; and one very respectable old lady,who had lost her teeth, afforded her more diversion than any of the rest.
The children went to bed without being reproved, though Mrs. Mason, whenshe dismissed them, said gravely, I give you to-night a kiss of peace, anaffectionate one you have not deserved. They therefore discovered by herbehaviour that they had done wrong, and waited for an explanation toregain her favour.
She was never in a passion, but her quiet steady displeasure made themfeel so little in their own eyes, they wished her to smile that theymight be something; for all their consequence seemed to arise from herapprobation. I declare, said Caroline, I do not know what I have done,and yet I am sure I never knew Mrs. Mason find fault without convincingme that I had done wrong. Did you, Mary, ever see her in a passion? No,said Mary, I do believe that she was never angry in her life; when Johnthrew down all the china, and stood trembling, she was the first to saythat the carpet made him stumble. Yes, now I do remember, when we firstcame to her house, John forgot to bring the cow and her young calf intothe cow-house; I heard her bid him do it directly, and the poor calf wasalmost frozen to death—she spoke then in a hurry, and seemed angry. Nowyou mention it, I do recollect, replied Caroline, that she was angry,when Betty did not carry the poor sick woman the broth she ordered her totake to her. But this is not like the passion I used to see nurse in,when any thing vexed her. She would scold us, and beat the girl whowaited on her. Poor little Jenny, many a time was she beaten, when wevexed nurse; I would tell her she was to blame now if I saw her—andI would not tease her any more.
I declare I cannot go to sleep, said Mary, I am afraid of Mrs. Mason’seyes—would you think, Caroline, that she who looks so very good-naturedsometimes, could frighten one so? I wish I were as wise and as good asshe is. The poor woman with the six children, whom we met on the common,said she was an angel, and that she had saved her’s and her children’slives. My heart is in my mouth, indeed, replied Caroline, when I thinkof to-morrow morning, and yet I am much happier than I was when we wereat home. I cried, I cannot now tell for what, all day; I never wished tobe good—nobody told me what it was to be good. I wish to be a woman,said Mary, and to be like Mrs. Mason, or Mrs. Trueman,—we are to go tosee her if we behave well.
Sleep soon over-powered them, and they forgot their apprehensions. Inthe morning they awoke refreshed, and took care to learn their lessons,and feed the chickens, before Mrs. Mason left her chamber.
CHAPTER VII
Virtue the Soul of Beauty.—The Tulip and the Rose.—TheNightingale.—External Ornaments.—Characters.
The next morning Mrs. Mason met them first in the garden; and she desiredCaroline to look at a bed of tulips, that were then in their higheststate of perfection. I, added she, choose to have every kind of flowerin my garden, as the succession enables me to vary my daily prospect, andgives it the charm of variety; yet these tulips afford me less pleasurethan most of the other sort which I cultivate—and I will tell youwhy—they are only beautiful. Listen to my distinction;—good features,and a fine complexion, I term _bodily_ beauty. Like the streaks in thetulip, they please the eye for a moment; but this uniformity soon tires,and the active mind flies off to something else. The soul of beauty, mydear children, consists in the body gracefully exhibiting the emotionsand variations of the informing mind. If truth, humanity, and knowledgeinhabit the breast, the eyes will beam with a mild lustre, modesty willsuffuse the cheeks, and smiles of innocent joy play over all thefeatures. At first sight, regularity and colour will attract, and havethe advantage, because the hidden springs are not directly set in motion;but when internal goodness is reflected, every other kind of beauty, theshadow of it, withers away before it—as the sun obscures a lamp.
You are certainly handsome, Caroline; I mean, have good features; but youmust improve your mind to give them a pleasing expression, or they willonly serve to lead your understanding astray. I have seen some foolishpeople take great pains to decorate the outside of their houses, toattract the notice of strangers, who gazed, and passed on; whilst theinside, where they received their friends, was dark and inconvenient.Apply this observation to mere personal attractions. They may, it istrue, for a few years, charm the superficial part of your acquaintance,whose notions of beauty are not built on any principle of utility. Suchpersons might look at you, as they would glance their eye over thesetulips, and feel for a moment the same pleasure that a view of thevariegated rays of light would convey to an uninformed mind. The lowerclass of mankind, and children, are fond of finery; gaudy, dazzlingappearances catch their attention; but the discriminating judgment of aperson of sense requires, besides colour, order, proportion, grace andusefulness, to render the idea of beauty complete.
Observe that rose, it has all the perfections I speak of; colour, grace,and sweetness—and even when the fine tints fade, the smell is grateful tothose who have before contemplated its beauties. I have only one bed oftulips, though my garden is large, but, in every part of it, rosesattract the eye.
You have seen Mrs. Trueman, and think her a very fine woman; yet her skinand complexion have only the clearness that temperance gives; and herfeatures, strictly speaking, are not regular: Betty, the housemaid, has,in both these respects, much the superiority over her. But, though it isnot easy to define in what her beauty consists, the eye follows herwhenever she moves; and every person of taste listens for the modulatedsounds which proceed out of her mouth, to be improved and pleased. It isconscious worth, _truth_, that gives dignity to her walk, and simpleelegance to her conversation. She has, indeed, a most excellentunderstanding, and a feeling heart; sagacity and tenderness, the resultof both, are happily blended in her countenance; and taste is the polish,which makes them appear to the best advantage. She is more thanbeautiful; and you see her varied excellencies again and again, withincreasing pleasure. They are not obtruded on you, for knowledge hastaught her true humility: she is not like the flaunting tulip, thatforces itself forward into notice; but resembles the modest rose, you seeyonder, retiring under its elegant foliage.
I have mentioned flowers—the same order is observed in the higherdepartments of nature. Think of the birds; those that sing best have notthe finest plumage; indeed just the contrary; God divides His gifts, andamongst the feathered
race the nightingale (sweetest of warblers, whopours forth her varied strain when sober eve comes on) you would seek invain in the morning, if you expected that beautiful feathers should pointout the songstress: many who incessantly twitter, and are only tolerablein the general concert, would surpass her, and attract your attention.
I knew, some time before you were born, a very fine, a very handsomegirl; I saw she had abilities, and I saw with pain that she attended tothe most obvious, but least valuable gift of heaven. Her ingenuityslept, whilst she tried to render her person more alluring. At last shecaught the small-pox—her beauty vanished, and she was for a timemiserable; but the natural vivacity of youth overcame her unpleasantfeelings. In consequence of the disorder, her eyes became so weak thatshe was obliged to sit in a dark room. To beguile the tedious day sheapplied to music, and made a surprising proficiency. She even began tothink, in her retirement, and when she recovered her sight grew fond ofreading.
Large companies did not now amuse her, she was no longer the object ofadmiration, or if she was taken notice of, it was to be pitied, to hearher former self praised, and to hear them lament the depredation thatdreadful disease had made in a fine face. Not expecting or wishing to beobserved, she lost her affected airs, and attended to the conversation,in which she was soon able to bear a part. In short, the desire ofpleasing took a different turn, and as she improved her mind, shediscovered that virtue, internal beauty, was valuable on its own account,and not like that of the person, which resembles a toy, that pleases theobserver, but does not render the possessor happy.
