by Edith Howes
Mrs. Lofty was not a shining character—but I will read you a part of aletter, which her daughter, the lady we are to visit, wrote to me.
‘This being the anniversary of the day on which an ever loved, and muchrevered parent was released from the bondage of mortality, I observe itwith particular seriousness, and with gratitude; for her sorrows weregreat, her trials severe—but her conduct was blameless: yet the worldadmired her not; her silent, modest virtues, were not formed to attractthe notice of the injudicious crowd, and her understanding was notbrilliant enough to excite admiration. But she was regardless of theopinion of the world; she sought her reward in the source from whence hervirtue was derived—and she found it.—He, who, for wise and mercifulpurposes, suffered her to be afflicted, supported her under her trials;thereby calling forth the exercise of those virtues with which He hadadorned her gentle soul; and imparting to her a degree of heart-feltcomfort, which no earthly blessing could afford.’
This amiable parent died when Anna was near eighteen, and left her to thecare of her father, whose high spirit she had imbibed. However, thereligious principles which her mother had instilled regulated her notionsof honour, and so elevated her character, that her heart was regulated byher understanding.
Her father who had insensibly involved himself in debt, after hermother’s death, tried many different schemes of life, all of which, atfirst wore a promising aspect; but wanting that suppleness of temper,that enables people to rise in the world, his struggles, instead ofextricating, sunk him still deeper. Wanting also the support ofreligion, he became sour, easily irritated, and almost hated a worldwhose applause he had once eagerly courted. His affairs were at last insuch a desperate state, that he was obliged, reluctantly, to accept of aninvitation from his brother, who with his wife, a weak fine lady,intended to spend some time on the continent; his daughter was, ofcourse, to be of the party.
The restraint of obligations did not suit his temper, and feeling himselfdependent, he imagined every one meant to insult him.
Some sarcasms were thrown out one day by a gentleman, in a large company;they were not personal, yet he took fire. His sore mind was easily hurt,he resented them; and heated by wine, they both said more than their coolreason would have suggested. Mr. Lofty imagined his honour was wounded,and the next morning sent him a challenge—They met—and he killed hisantagonist, who, dying, pardoned him, and declared that the sentimentswhich had given him so much offence, fell from him by accident, and werenot levelled at any person.
The dying man lamented, that the thread of a thoughtless life had been sosuddenly snapped—the name of his wife and children he could notarticulate, when something like a prayer for them escaped his livid lips,and shook his exhausted frame—The blood flowed in a copious stream—vainlydid Mr. Lofty endeavour to staunch it—the heart lost its vitalnourishment—and the soul escaped as he pressed the hand of hisdestroyer.—Who, when he found him breathless, ran home, and rushed in ahurry into his own chamber. The dead man’s image haunted hisimagination—he started—imagined that he was at his elbow—and shook thehand that had received the dying grasp—yet still it was pressed, and thepressure entered into his very soul—On the table lay two pistols, hecaught up one,—and shot himself.—The report alarmed the family—theservants and his daughter, for his brother was not at home, broke openthe door,—and she saw the dreadful sight! As there was still someappearance of life, a trembling ray—she supported the body, and sent forassistance. But he soon died in her arms without speaking, before theservant returned with a surgeon.
Horror seized her, another pistol lay charged on the table, she caught itup, but religion held her hand—she knelt down by a dead father, andprayed to a superior one. Her mind grew calmer—yet still shepassionately wished she had but heard him speak, or that she had conveyedcomfort to his departing spirit—where, where would it find comfort? againshe was obliged to have recourse to prayer.
After the death of her father, her aunt treated her as if she were a meredependent on her bounty; and expected her to be an humble companion inevery sense of the word. The visitors took the tone from her ladyship,and numberless were the mortifications she had to bear.
The entrance of a person about business interrupted the narration; butMrs. Mason promised to resume it after dinner.
CHAPTER XVII
The Benefits arising from Devotion.—The History of the VillageSchool-mistress concluded.
As soon as the cloth was removed, Mrs. Mason concluded the narration; andthe girls forgot their fruit whilst they were listening to the sequel.
Anna endured this treatment some years, and had an opportunity ofacquiring a knowledge of the world and her own heart. She visited hermother’s father, and would have remained with him; but she determined notto lessen the small pittance which he had anxiously saved out of a scantyincome for two other grand-children. She thought continually of hersituation, and found, on examining her understanding, that thefashionable circle in which she moved, could not at any rate haveafforded her much satisfaction, or even amusement; though the neglect andcontempt that she met with rendered her very uncomfortable. She had herfather’s spirit of independence, and determined to shake off the gallingyoke which she had long struggled with, and try to earn her ownsubsistence. Her acquaintance expostulated with her, and represented themiseries of poverty, and the mortifications and difficulties that shewould have to encounter. Let it be so, she replied, it is muchpreferable to swelling the train of the proud or vicious great, anddespising myself for bearing their impertinence, for eating their bitterbread;—better, indeed, is a dinner of herbs with contentment. My wantsare few. When I am my own mistress, the crust I earn will be sweet, andthe water that moistens it will not be mingled with tears of sorrow orindignation.
To shorten my story; she came to me, after she had attempted severalplans, and requested my advice. She would not accept of any considerablefavour, and declared that the greatest would be, to put her in a way ofsupporting herself, without forfeiting her highly valued independence. Iknew not what to advise; but whilst I was debating the matter withmyself, I happened to mention, that we were in want of a school-mistress.She eagerly adopted the plan, and persevering in it these last ten years,I find her a most valuable acquisition to our society.
She was formed to shine in the most brilliant circle—yet she relinquishedit, and patiently labours to improve the children consigned to hermanagement, and tranquillize her own mind. She succeeds in both.
She lives indeed alone, and has all day only the society of children; yetshe enjoys many true pleasures; dependence on God is her support, anddevotion her comfort. Her lively affections are therefore changed into alove of virtue and truth: and these exalted speculations have given anuncommon dignity to her manners; for she seems above the world, and itstrifling commotions. At her meals, gratitude to Heaven supplies theplace of society. She has a tender, social heart, and, as she cannotsweeten her solitary draught, by expressing her good wishes to herfellow-creatures, an ejaculation to Heaven for the welfare of her friendsis the substitute. This circumstance I heard her mention to hergrandfather, who sometimes visits her.
I will now make some alteration in my dress, for when I visit those whohave been reduced from their original place in society by misfortunes, Ialways attend a little to ceremony; lest too much familiarity shouldappear like disrespect.
CHAPTER XVIII
Visit to the School-mistress.—True and false Pride.
Their dress was soon adjusted, and the girls plucked flowers to adornthemselves, and a nosegay to present to the school-mistress, whose gardenwas but small.
They met the children just released from confinement; the swarm camehumming round Mrs. Mason, endeavouring to catch her eye, and obtain thenotice they were so proud of. The girls made their best courtesies,blushing; and the boys hung down their heads, and kicked up the dust, inscraping a bow of respect.
They found their mistress preparing to drink tea, to refresh herselfaft
er the toils of the day; and, with the ease peculiar to well-bredpeople, she quickly enabled them to partake of it, by giving thetea-board a more sociable appearance.
The harvest-home was soon the subject of conversation, and the harper wasmentioned. The family pride of the Welsh, said Anna, has often divertedme; I have frequently heard the inhabitants of a little hut, that couldscarcely be distinguished from the pig-sty, which stood in the front ofit, boast of their ancestors and despise trade. They have informed me,that one branch of their family built the middle aisle of the church;that another beautified the chancel, and gave the ten commandments, whichblaze there in letters of gold. Some rejoice that their forefatherssleep in the most conspicuous tombs—and that their ashes have aninscription to point out where they are returning to their mother earth.And those graves, which only a little stone at the head gives consequenceto, are adorned every Sunday with flowers, or ever-greens. We perceive,in all the various customs of men, a desire to live in the past and inthe future, if I may be allowed the expression.
Mrs. Mason then observed, that of all the species of pride which carry aman out of himself, family pride was the most beneficial to society.Pride of wealth produces vanity and ostentation; but that of blood seemsto inspire high notions of honour, and to banish meanness. Yet it isproductive of many ill consequences, the most obvious is, that it rendersindividuals respectable to the generality, whose merit is only reflected:and sometimes the want of this accidental advantage throws the mostshining personal virtues and abilities into obscurity. In weak mindsthis pride degenerates into the most despicable folly; and the wise willnot condescend to accept of fame at second-hand, replied Anna. We oughtto be proud of our original, but we should trace it to our HeavenlyFather, who breathed into us the breath of life.—We are His children whenwe try to resemble Him, when we are convinced that truth and goodnessmust constitute the very essence of the soul; and that the pursuit ofthem will produce happiness, when the vain distinctions of mortals willfade away, and their pompous escutcheons moulder with more vulgar dust!But remember, my young friends, virtue is immortal; and goodness arisesfrom a quick perception of truth, and actions conformable to theconviction.
Different subjects beguiled the time, till the closing evening admonishedthem to return home; and they departed reluctantly, filled with respect.
CHAPTER XIX
Charity.—The History of Peggy and her Family.—The Sailor’s Widow.
I have often remarked to you, said Mrs. Mason, one morning, to herpupils, that we are all dependent on each other; and this dependence iswisely ordered by our Heavenly Father, to call forth many virtues, toexercise the best affections of the human heart, and fix them intohabits. While we impart pleasure we receive it, and feel the grandeur ofour immortal soul, as it is constantly struggling to spread itself intofuturity.
Perhaps the greatest pleasure I have ever received, has arisen from thehabitual exercise of charity, in its various branches: the view of adistressed object has made me now think of conversing about one branch ofit, that of giving alms.
You know Peggy, the young girl whom I wish to have most about my person;I mean, I wish it for her own sake, that I may have an opportunity ofimproving her mind, and cultivating a good capacity. As to attendance, Inever give much trouble to any fellow-creature; for I choose to beindependent of caprice and artificial wants; unless indeed, when I amsick; then, I thankfully receive the assistance I would willingly give toothers in the same situation. I believe I have not in the world a morefaithful friend than Peggy; and her earnest desire to please me gratifiesmy benevolence, for I always observe with delight the workings of agrateful heart.
I lost a darling child, said Mrs. Mason, smothering a sigh, in the depthof winter—death had before deprived me of her father, and when I lost mychild—he died again.
The wintery prospects suiting the temper of my soul, I have sat lookingat a wide waste of trackless snow for hours; and the heavy sullen fog,that the feeble rays of the sun could not pierce, gave me back an imageof my mind. I was unhappy, and the sight of dead nature accorded with myfeelings—for all was dead to me.
As the snow began to melt, I took a walk, and observed the birds hoppingabout with drooping wings, or mute on the leafless boughs. The mountain,whose sides had lost the snow, looked black; yet still some remained onthe summit, and formed a contrast to diversify the dreary prospect.
I walked thoughtfully along, when the appearance of a poor man, who didnot beg, struck me very forcibly. His shivering limbs were scarcelysheltered from the cold by the tattered garments that covered him; and hehad a sharp, famished look. I stretched out my hand with some relief init, I would not enquire into the particulars of such obvious distress.The poor wretch caught my hand, and hastily dropping on his knees,thanked me in an extacy, as if he had almost lost sight of hope, and wasovercome by the sudden relief. His attitude, for I cannot bear to see afellow-creature kneel, and eager thanks, oppressed my weak spirits, sothat I could not for a moment ask him any more questions; but as soon asI recollected myself, I learned from him the misfortunes that had reducedhim to such extreme distress, and he hinted, that I could not easilyguess the good I had done. I imagined from this hint that he wasmeditating his own destruction when I saw him, to spare himself themisery of seeing his infant perish,—starved to death, in every sense ofthe word.
I will now hasten to the sequel of the account. His wife had lately hada child, she was very ill at the time, and want of proper food, and adefence against the inclemency of the weather, hurried her out of theworld. The poor child, Peggy, had sucked in disease and nourishmenttogether, and now even that wretched source had failed—the breast wascold that had afforded the scanty support; and the little innocentsmiled, unconscious of its misery. I sent for her, added Mrs. Mason, andher father dying a few years after, she has ever been a favourite chargeof mine, and nursing of her, in some measure, dispelled the gloom inwhich I had been almost lost.—Ah! my children, you know not how many,‘houseless heads bide the pitiless storm!’
I received soon after a lesson of resignation from a poor woman, who wasa practical philosopher.
She had lost her husband, a sailor, and lost his wages also, as she couldnot prove his death. She came to me to beg some pieces of silk, to makesome pin-cushions for the boarders of a neighbouring school. Her lowerweeds were patched with different coloured rags; but they spoke notvariety of wretchedness, on the contrary, they shewed a mind so content,that want, and bodily pain, did not prevent her thinking of the opinionof casual observers. This woman lost a husband and a child suddenly, andher daily bread was precarious.—I cheered the widow’s heart, and my ownwas not quite solitary.
But I am growing melancholy, whilst I am only desirous of pointing out toyou how very beneficial charity is—because it enables us to find comfortwhen all our worldly comforts are blighted: besides, when our bowelsyearn to our fellow-creatures, we feel that the love of God dwelleth inus—and then we cannot always go on our way sorrowing.
CHAPTER XX
Visit to Mrs. Trueman.—The Use of Accomplishments.—Virtue the Soul ofall.
In the afternoon they visited Mrs. Trueman unexpectedly, and found hersitting in the garden playing to her children, who danced on the greensod. She approached to receive them, and laid aside her guitar; but,after some conversation, Mrs. Mason desired her to take it up again, andthe girls joined in the request. While she was singing Mary whisperedMrs. Mason, that she would give the world to be able to sing as well.The whisper was not so low but a part of it reached Mrs. Trueman’s ears,who said to her, smiling, my young friend, you value accomplishments muchtoo highly—they may give grace to virtue—but are nothing without solidworth.—Indeed, I may say more, for any thing like perfection in the artscannot be attained, where a relish; nay, a delight in what is true andnoble is wanting. A superficial observer may be pleased with a picturein which fine colours predominate; and quick movements in music maytickle the ear, though they never reach the heart: but
it is the simplestrain which affection animates, that we listen to with interest anddelight. Mr. Trueman has a taste for the fine arts; and I wish in everything to be his companion. His conversation has improved my judgment,and the affection an intimate knowledge of his virtues has inspired,increases the love which I feel for the whole human race. He livesretired from the world; to amuse him after the business of the day isover, and my babes asleep, I sing to him. A desire to please, and thepleasure I read in his eyes, give to my music energy and tenderness.When he is ruffled by worldly cares, I try to smooth his wrinkled brow,and think mine a voice of melody, when it has had that effect.
Very true, replied Mrs. Mason, accomplishments should be cultivated torender us pleasing to our domestic friends; virtue is necessary; it mustever be the foundation of our peace and usefulness; but when we arecapable of affection, we wish to have something peculiar to ourselves.We study the taste of our friends, and endeavour to conform to it; but,in doing so, we ought rather to improve our own abilities than servilelyto copy theirs. Observe, my dear girls, Mrs. Trueman’s distinction, heraccomplishments are for her friends, her virtues for the world ingeneral.
