Let me observe, before I proceed further, that Mrs Mowbray scrupulously confined herself to theory, even in her wisest speculations; and being too timid, and too indolent, to illustrate by her conduct the various and opposing doctrines which it was her pride to maintain by turns, her practice was ever in opposition to her opinions.
Hence, after haranguing with all the violence of a true Whig on the natural rights of man, or the blessings of freedom, she would 'turn to a Tory in her elbow chair', and govern her household with despotic authority; and after embracing at some moments the doubts of the sceptic, she would often lie motionless in her bed, from apprehension of ghosts, a helpless prey to the most abject superstition.
Such was the mother of Adeline Mowbray! such was the woman who, having married the heir of Rosevalley, merely to oblige her parents, saw herself in the prime of life a rich widow, with an only child, who was left by Mr Mowbray, a fond husband, but an ill-judging parent, entirely dependent on her!
At the time of Mr Mowbray's death, Adeline Mowbray was ten years old, and Mrs Mowbray thirty; and like an animal in an exhausted receiver, she had during her short existence been tormented by the experimental philosophy of her mother.
Now it was judged right that she should learn nothing, and now that she should learn every thing. Now, her graceful form and well-turned limbs were to be free from any bandage, and any clothing save what decency required,—and now they were to be tortured by stiff stays, and fettered by the stocks and the back-board.
All Mrs Mowbray's ambition had settled in one point, one passion, and that was Education. For this purpose she turned over innumerable volumes in search of rules on the subject, on which she might improve, anticipating with great satisfaction the moment when she should be held up as a pattern of imitation to mothers, and be prevailed upon, though with graceful reluctance, to publish her system, without a name, for the benefit of society.
But, however good her intentions were, the execution of them was continually delayed by her habits of abstraction and reverie. After having over night arranged the tasks of Adeline for the next day,—lost in some new speculations for the good of her child, she would lie in bed all the morning, exposing that child to the dangers of idleness.
At one time Mrs Mowbray had studied herself into great nicety with regard to the diet of her daughter; but, as she herself was too much used to the indulgences of the palate to be able to set her in reality an example of temperance, she dined in appearance with Adeline at one o'clock on pudding without butter, and potatoes without salt; but while the child was taking her afternoon's walk, her own table was covered with viands fitted for the appetite of opulence.
Unfortunately, however, the servants conceived that the daughter as well as the mother had a right to regale clandestinely; and the little Adeline used to eat for her supper, with a charge not to tell her mamma, some of the good things set by from Mrs Mowbray's dinner.
It happened that, as Mrs Mowbray was one evening smoothing Adeline's flowing curls, and stroking her ruddy cheek, she exclaimed triumphantly, raising Adeline to the glass, 'See the effect of temperance and low living! If you were accustomed to eat meat, and butter, and drink any thing but water, you would not look so healthy, my love, as you do now. O the excellent effects of a vegetable diet!'