Coelebs In Search of a Wife Part 21

When Lady Aston had done speaking, Sir George said, "I owe a thousand obligations to my mother, but not one so great as her introduction of me to Mr. Stanley. He has given a bent and bias to my sentiments, habit, and pursuits, to which I trust every day will add fresh strength. I look up to him as my model: happy if I may, in any degree, be able to form myself by it! Till I had the happiness of knowing you, sir, I preferred the company of Dr. Barlow and Mr. Stanley, to that of any _young_ man with whom I am acquainted."

After some further conversation, in which Sir George, with great credit to himself, bore a considerable part, Miss Aston took courage to ask me if I would accompany them all into the garden, as she wished me to carry home intelligence to Miss Stanley of the flouris.h.i.+ng state of some American plants which had been raised under her direction. To speak the truth, I had for some time been trying to bring Lucilla on the tapis, but had not found a plausible pretense. I now inquired if Miss Stanley directed their gardening pursuits. "She directs _all_ our pursuits,"

said the two bashful blus.h.i.+ng girls, who now, for the first time in their lives, spoke both at once; the subject kindling an energy in their affectionate hearts, which even their timidity could not rein in.

"I thought, Clara," said Sir George, "that Miss _Ph[oe]be_ Stanley too, had a.s.sisted in laying out the flower garden. Surely she is not behind her sister in any thing that is kind, or any thing that is elegant." His complexion heightened as he spoke, and he expressed himself with an emphasis, which I had not before observed in his manner of speaking. I stole a glance at Lady Aston, whose meek eye glistened with pleasure, at the earnestness with which her son spoke of the lovely Ph[oe]be. My rapid imagination instantly shot forward to an event which some years hence will probably unite two families so worthy of each other. Lady Aston, who already honors me with her confidence, afterward confirmed my suspicions on a subject about which nothing but the extreme youth of both parties made her backward to express the secret hope she fondly entertained.

In our walk round the gardens, the Miss Astons continued to vie with each other who should be warmest in the praise of their young friends at the Grove. To Miss Stanley, they gratefully declared, they owed any little taste, knowledge, or love of goodness which they themselves might possess.

It was delightful to observe these quiet girls warmed and excited by a subject so interesting. I was charmed to see them so far from feeling any shadow of envy at the avowed superiority of their young friends, and so unanimously eloquent in the praise of merit so eclipsing.

After having admired the plants of which I promised to make a favorable report, I was charged with a large and beautiful bouquet for the young ladies at the Grove. They then drew me to the prettiest spot in the grounds. While I was admiring it, Miss Clara, with a blush, and some hesitation, begged leave to ask my advice about a little rustic building which she and her sisters were just going to raise in honor of the Miss Stanleys. It was to be dedicated to them, and called the Temple of Friends.h.i.+p. "My brother," said she, "is kindly a.s.sisting us. The materials are all prepared, and we have now only to fix them up."

She then put into my hands a little plan. I highly approved it; venturing, however, to suggest some trifling alteration, which I told them I did, in order to implicate myself a little in the pleasant project. How proud was I when Clara added, "that Miss Stanley had expressed a high opinion of my general taste!" They all begged me to look in on them in my rides, and a.s.sist them with my further counsel; adding that, above all things, I must keep it a secret at the Grove.

Lady Aston said, "that she expected our whole party to dine at the Hall some day next week." Her daughters entreated that it might be postponed till the latter end, by which time they doubted not their little edifice would be completed. Sir George then told me, that his sisters had requested him to furnish an inscription, or to endeavor to procure one from me. He added his wishes to theirs that I would comply. They all joined so earnestly in the entreaty that I could not withstand them, "albeit unused to the _rhyming_ mood."

After some deliberation, Friday in the next week was fixed upon for the party at the Grove to dine at Aston-Hall, and I was to carry the invitation. I took a respectful leave of the excellent lady of the mansion, and an affectionate one of the young people, with whom the familiar intercourse of this quiet morning had contributed to advance my friendly acquaintance more than could have been done by many ceremonious meetings.

When I returned to the Grove, which was but just in time to dress for dinner, I spoke with sincere satisfaction of the manner in which I had pa.s.sed the morning. It was beautiful to observe the honest delight, the ingenuous kindness, with which Lucilla heard me commend the Miss Astons.

No little disparaging hint on the one hand, gently to let down her friends, nor, on the other, no such exaggerated praise as I have sometimes seen employed as a screen for envy, or as a trap to make the hearer lower what the speaker had too highly raised.

I dropped in at Aston-Hall two or three times in the course of the week, as well to notice the progress of the work, as to carry my inscription, in which, as Lucilla was both the subject and the muse, I succeeded rather better than I expected.

On the Friday, according to appointment, our whole party went to dine at the Hall. In our way, Mr. Stanley expressed the pleasure it gave him, that Lady Aston was now so convinced of the duty of making home agreeable to her son, as delightfully to receive such of her friends as were warmly disposed to become his.

Sir George, who is extremely well bred, did the honors admirably for so young a man, to the great relief of his excellent mother, whom long retirement had rendered habitually timid in a party, of which some were almost strangers.

The Miss Astons had some difficulty to restrain their young guests from running directly to look at the progress of the American plants; but as they grew near the mysterious spot, they were not allowed to approach it before the allotted time.

After dinner, when the whole party were walking in the garden, Lady Aston was desired by her daughters to conduct her company to a winding gra.s.s-walk, near the little building, but from whence it was not visible. While they were all waiting at the appointed place, the two elder Miss Astons gravely took a hand of Lucilla, Sir George and I each presented a hand to Ph[oe]be, and in profound silence, and great ceremony, we led them up the turf steps into this simple, but really pretty temple. The initials of Lucilla and Ph[oe]be were carved in cypher over a little rustic window, under which was written,

"SACRED TO FRIENDs.h.i.+P."

In two niches prepared for the purpose, we severally seated the two astonished nymphs, who seemed absolutely enchanted. Above was the inscription in large Roman letters.

The Astons looked so much alive, that they might have been mistaken for Stanleys, who, in their turn, were so affected with this tender mark of friends.h.i.+p, that they looked as tearful as if they had been Astons.

After reading the inscription, "My dear Clara," said Lucilla to Miss Aston, "where _could_ you get these beautiful verses? Though the praise they convey is too flattering to be just, it is too delicate not to please. The lines are at once tender and elegant." "We got them," said Miss Aston, with a sweet vivacity, "where we get every thing that is good, from Stanley-Grove," bowing modestly to me.

How was I elated; and how did Lucilla blus.h.!.+ but though she now tried to qualify her flattery, she could not recall it. And I would not allow myself to be robbed of the delight it had given me. All the company seemed to enjoy her confusion and my pleasure.

I forgot to mention, that as we crossed the park, we had seen enter the house, through a back avenue, a procession of little girls neatly dressed in a uniform. In a whisper, I asked Lady Aston what it meant.

"You are to know," replied her ladys.h.i.+p, "that my daughters adopt all Miss Stanley's plans, and among the rest, that of a.s.sociating with all their own indulgences some little act of charity, that while they are receiving pleasure, they may also be conferring it. The opening of the temple of friends.h.i.+p is likely to afford too much gratification to be pa.s.sed over without some such a.s.sociation. So my girls give to-day a little feast, with prizes of merit to their village-school, and a few other deserving young persons."

When we had taken our seats in the temple, Ph[oe]be suddenly cried out, clasping her hands in an ecstacy, "Only look, Lucilla! There is no end to the enchantment. It is all fairy land." On casting our eyes as she directed, we were agreeably surprised with observing a large kind of temporary shed or booth at some distance from us. It was picturesquely fixed near an old spreading oak, and was ingeniously composed of branches of trees, fresh and green. Under the oak stood ranged the village maids. We walked to the spot. The inside of the booth was hung round with caps, ap.r.o.ns, bonnets, handkerchiefs, and other coa.r.s.e, but neat articles of female dress. On a rustic table was laid a number of Bibles, and specimens of several kinds of coa.r.s.e works, and little manufactures. The various performances were examined by the company; some presents were given to all. But additional prizes were awarded by the young patronesses, to the best specimens of different work; to the best knitters, the best manufacturers of split straw, and the best performers in plain work, I think they called it.

Three grown up young women, neatly dressed, and of modest manners, stood behind. It appeared that one of them had taken such good care of her young sisters and brothers, since their mother's death, and had so prudently managed her father's house, that it had saved him from an imprudent choice. Another had postponed, for many months, a marriage in which her heart was engaged, because she had a paralytic grandmother whom she attended day and night, and whom nothing, not even love itself, could tempt her to desert. Death having now released the aged sufferer, the wedding was to take place next Sunday. The third had, for above a year, worked two hours every day, over and above her set time, and applied the gains to clothe the orphan child of a deceased friend. She was also to accompany her lover to the altar on Sunday, but had made it a condition of her marrying him, that she should be allowed to continue her supernumerary hours' work, for the benefit of the poor orphan. All three had been exemplary in their attendance at church, as well as in their general conduct. The fair patronesses presented each with a handsome Bible, and with a complete, plain, but very neat suit of apparel.

While these gifts were distributing, I whispered Sir John that one such ticket as we were each desired to take for Squallini's benefit, would furnish the cottages of these poor girls. "And it _shall_," replied he, with emphasis. "How little a way will that sum go in superfluities, which will make two honest couple happy! How costly is vanity! how cheap is charity!"

"Can these happy, useful young creatures be my little inactive, insipid Astons, Charles?" whispered Mr. Stanley, as we walked away to leave the girls to sit down to their plentiful supper, which was spread on a long table under the oak, without the green booth. This group of figures made an interesting addition to the scenery, when we got back to the temple, and often attracted our attention while we were engaged in conversation.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

The company were not soon weary of admiring the rustic building, which seemed raised as if by the stroke of a magician's wand, so rapidly had it sprung up. They were delighted to find that their pleasure was to be prolonged by drinking tea in the temple.

While we were at tea Mr. Stanley, addressing himself to me, said, "I have always forgotten to ask you, Charles, if your high expectations of pleasure from the society in London had quite answered?"

"I was entertained, and I was disappointed," replied I. "I always found the pleasure of the moment not heightened, but effaced by the succeeding moment. The ever restless, rolling tide of new intelligence at once gratified and excited the pa.s.sion for novelty, which I found to be _le grand poisson qui mange les pet.i.ts_. This successive abundance of fresh supply gives an ephemeral importance to every thing, and a lasting importance to nothing. We skimmed every topic, but dived into none. Much desultory talk, but little discussion. The combatants skirmished like men whose arms are kept bright by constant use; who were accustomed to a flying fight, but who avoided the fatigue of coming to close quarters.

What was old, however momentous, was rejected as dull, what was new, however insignificant, was thought interesting. Events of the past week were placed with those beyond the flood; and the very existence of occurrences which continued to be matter of deep interest with us in the country, seemed there totally forgotten.

"I found, too, that the inhabitants of the metropolis had a standard of merit of their own. That knowledge of the town was concluded to be knowledge of the world; that local habits, reigning phrases, temporary fas.h.i.+ons, and an acquaintance with the surface of manners, was supposed to be knowledge of mankind. Of course, he who was ignorant of the topics of the hour, and the anecdotes of a few modish leaders, was ignorant of human nature."

Sir John observed, that I was rather too young to be a _praiser of past times_, yet he allowed that the standard of conversation was not so high as it had been in the time of my father, by whose reports my youthful ardor had been inflamed. He did not indeed suppose that men were less intellectual now, but they certainly were less colloquially intellectual. "For this," added he, "various reasons may be a.s.signed. In London man is every day becoming less of a social, and more of a gregarious animal. Crowds are as little favorable to conversation as to reflection. He finds, therefore, that he may figure in the ma.s.s with less expense of mind; and as to women, they are put to no expense at all. They find that by mixing with myriads, they may carry on the daily intercourse of life, without being obliged to bring a single idea to enrich the common stock."

"I do not wonder," said I, "that the dull and the uninformed love to shelter their insignificance in a crowd. In mingling with the mult.i.tude, their deficiencies elude detection. The vapid and the ignorant are like a bad play; they owe the little figure they make to the dress, the scenery, the music, and the company. The noise and the glare take off all attention from the defects of the work. The spectator is amused, and he does not inquire whether it is with the piece or with the accompaniments. The end is attained, and he is little solicitous about the means. But an intellectual woman, like a well written drama, will please at home without all these aids and adjuncts; nay, the beauties of the superior piece, and of the superior woman, will rise on a more intimate survey. But you were going, Sir John, to a.s.sign other causes for the decline and fall of conversation."

"One very affecting reason," replied he; "is that the alarming state of public affairs fills all men's minds with one momentous object. As every Englishman is a patriot, every patriot is a politician. It is natural that that subject should fill every mouth which occupies every heart, and that little room should be left for extraneous matter."

"I should accept this," said I, "as a satisfactory vindication, had I heard that the same absorbing cause had thinned the public places, or diminished the attraction of the private resorts of dissipation."

"There is a third reason," said Sir John. "Polite literature has in a good degree given way to experimental philosophy. The admirers of science a.s.sert, that the last was the age of words, and that this is the age of things. A more substantial kind of knowledge has partly superseded these elegant studies, which have caught such hold on your affections."

"I heartily wish," replied I, "that the new pursuits may be found to make men wiser; they certainly have not made them more agreeable."

"It is affirmed," said Mr. Stanley, "that the prevailing philosophical studies have a religious use, and that they naturally tend to elevate the heart to the great Author of the universe."

"I have but one objection to that a.s.sertion," replied Sir John, "namely, that it is not true. This would seem indeed to be their direct tendency, yet experiment, which you know is the soul of philosophy, has proved the contrary."

He then adduced some instances in our own country, which I forbear to name, that clearly evinced that this was not their necessary consequence; adding, however, a few great names on the more honorable side. He next adverted to the Baillies, the Condorcets, the D'Alemberts, and the Lalandes, as melancholy proofs of the inefficacy of mere science to make Christians.

"Far be it from me," said Sir John, "to undervalue philosophical pursuits. The modern discoveries are extremely important, especially in their application to the purposes of common life; but where these are pursued exclusively, I can not help preferring the study of the great cla.s.sic authors, those exquisite masters of life and manners, with whose spirit conversation, twenty or thirty years ago, was so richly impregnated."

"I confess," said I, "there may be more matter; but there is certainly less mind in the reigning pursuits. The reputation of skill, it is true, may be obtained at a much less expense of time and intellect. The comparative cheapness of the acquisition holds out the powerful temptation of more credit with less labor. A sufficient knowledge of botany or chemistry to make a figure, is easily obtained, while a thorough acquaintance with the historians, poets, and orators of antiquity requires much time, and close application."

"But," exclaimed Sir John, "can the fas.h.i.+onable studies pretend to give the same expansion to the mind, the same elevation to the sentiments, the same energy to the feelings, the same stretch and compa.s.s to the understanding, the same correctness to the taste, the same grace and spirit to the whole moral and intellectual man."

"For my own part," replied I, "so far from saying with Hamlet, 'Man delights not me, nor woman neither,' I confess I have little delight in any thing else. As a man, man is the creature with whom I have to do, and the varieties in his character interest me more than all the possible varieties of mosses, sh.e.l.ls and fossils. To view this compound creature in the complexity of his actions, as portrayed by the hand of those immortal masters, Tacitus and Plutarch; to view him in the struggle of his pa.s.sions, as displayed by Euripides and Shakspeare; to contemplate him in the blaze of his eloquence, by the two rival orators of Greece and Rome, is more congenial to my feelings than the ablest disquisition of which matter was ever the subject." Sir John, who is a pa.s.sionate, and rather too exclusive, admirer of cla.s.sic lore, warmly declared himself of my opinion.

"I went to town," replied I, "with a mind eager for intellectual pleasure. My memory was not quite unfurnished with pa.s.sages which I thought likely to be adverted to, and which might serve to embellish conversation, without incurring the charge of pedantry. But though most of the men I conversed with were my equals in education, and my superiors in talent, there seemed little disposition to promote such topics as might bring our understandings into play. Whether it is that business, active life, and public debate, absorb the mind, and make men consider society rather as a scene to rest than to exercise it, I know not; certain it is that they brought less into the treasury of conversation than I expected; not because they were poor, but proud, or idle, and reserved their talents and acquisitions for higher occasions.

The most opulent possessors, I often found the most penurious contributors."

"_Rien de trop_," said Mr. Stanley, "was the favorite maxim of an author[3] whom I am not apt to quote for rules of moral conduct. Yet its adoption would be a salutary check against excess in all our pursuits.

If polite learning is undervalued by the mere man of science, it is perhaps over-rated by the mere man of letters. If it dignifies retirement, and exalts society, it is not the great business of life; it is not the prime fountain of moral excellence."