"'Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils, for wherein is he to be accounted of?'"
As Sir John repeated these words, I saw Lucilla, who was sitting next Lady Belfield, snatch one of her hands, and kiss it, with a rapture which she had no power to control. It was evident that nothing but our presence restrained her from rising to embrace her friend. Her fine eyes glistened, but seeing that I observed her, she gently let go the hand she held, and tried to look composed. I can not describe the chastised, but not less fervent, joy of Mr. and Mrs. Stanley. Their looks expressed the affectionate interest they took in Sir John's honest declaration. Their hearts overflowed with gratitude to him without whom "nothing is strong nothing is holy." For my own part, I felt myself raised
Above this visible diurnal sphere.
Sir John afterward said, "I begin more and more to perceive the scantiness of all morality which has not the love of God for its motive. That virtue will not carry us safely, and will not carry us far, which looks to human estimation as its reward. As it was a false and inadequate principle which first set it a going, it will always stop short of the true ends of goodness."
"Sir John," said Lady Belfield, "I have been seriously thinking that I ought not to indulge in the expense of this intended conservatory. We will, if you please, convert the money to the building of a charity school. I can not consent to incur such a superfluous expense for my amusement."
"My dear Caroline," replied Sir John, "through the undeserved goodness of God, my estate is so large, and through your excellent management it is so unimpaired, that we will not give up the conservatory, unless Mr. Stanley thinks we ought to give it up. But we will adopt Lucilla's idea of combining a charity with an indulgence—we will associate the charity school with the conservatory. This union will be a kind of monument to our friends at the Grove, from whom you have acquired the love of plants, and I of religious charity."
We all looked with anxious expectation at Mr. Stanley. He gave it as his opinion, that as Lady Belfield was now resolved to live the greater part of the year in the country, she ought to have some amusements in lieu of those she was going to give up. "Costly decorations and expensive gardens," continued he, "at a place where the proprietors do not so much as intend to reside, have always appeared to me among the infatuations of opulence. To the expenses which they do not want, it is adding an expense which they do not see. But surely, at a mansion where an affluent family actually live, all reasonable indulgences should be allowed. And where a garden and green-house are to supply to the proprietor the place of the abdicated theatre and ball-room; and especially when it is to be a means in her hands of attaching her children to the country, and of teaching them to love home, I declare myself in favor of the conservatory."
Lucilla's eyes sparkled, but she said nothing.
"It would be unfair," continued Mr. Stanley, "to blame too severely those, who, living constantly in the country, give a little in to its appropriate pleasures. The real objects of censure seem to be those who, grafting bad taste on bad habits, bring into the country the amusements of the town, and superadd to such as are local, and natural, and innocent, such as are foreign, artificial, and corrupt."
"My dear Stanley," said Sir John, "we have resolved to indemnify our poor neighbors for two injuries which we have been doing them. The one is, by our having lived so little among them: for I have now learned, that the mere act of residence is a kind of charity even in the uncharitable, as it necessarily causes much money to be spent, even where little is given. The other is, that we will endeavor to make up for our past indifference to their spiritual concerns, by now acting as if we were aware that the poor have souls as well as bodies; and that in the great day of account, the care of both will attach to our responsibility."