"This was the firſt time I had viſited my native village, ſince my marriage. But with what different emotions did I return from the buſy world, with a heavy weight of experience benumbing my imagination, to ſcenes, that whiſpered recollections of joy and hope moſt eloquently to my heart! The firſt ſcent of the wild flowers from the heath, thrilled through my veins, awakening every ſenſe to pleaſure. The icy hand of deſpair ſeemed to be removed from my boſom; and—forgetting my huſband—the nurtured viſions of a romantic mind, burſting on me with all their original wildneſs and gay exuberance, were again hailed as ſweet realities. I forgot, with equal facility, that I ever felt ſorrow, or knew care in the country; while a tranſient rainbow ſtole athwart the cloudy ſky of deſpondency. The pictureſque form of ſeveral favourite trees, and the porches of rude cottages, with their ſmiling hedges, were recognized with the gladſome playfulneſs of childiſh vivacity. I could have kiſſed the chickens that pecked on the common; and longed to pat the cows, and frolic with the dogs that ſported on it. I gazed with delight on the windmill, and thought it lucky that it ſhould be in motion, at the moment I paſſed by; and entering the dear green lane, which led directly to the village, the ſound of the well-known rookery gave that ſentimental tinge to the varying ſenſations of my active ſoul, which only ſerved to heighten the luſtre of the luxuriant ſcenery. But, ſpying, as I advanced, the ſpire, peeping over the withered tops of the aged elms that compoſed the rookery, my thoughts flew immediately to the church-yard, and tears of affection, ſuch was the effect of my imagination, bedewed my mother's grave! Sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. I wandered through the church in fancy, as I uſed ſometimes to do on a Saturday evening. I recollected with what fervour I addreſſed the God of my youth: and once more with rapturous love looked above my ſorrows to the Father of nature. I pauſe—feeling forcibly all the emotions I am deſcribing; and (reminded, as I regiſter my ſorrows, of the ſublime calm I have felt, when in ſome tremendous ſolitude, my ſoul reſted on itſelf, and ſeemed to fill the univerſe) I inſenſibly breathe ſoft, huſhing every wayward emotion, as if fearing to ſully with a ſigh, a contentment ſo extatic.
"Having ſettled my father's affairs, and, by my exertions in his favour, made my brother my ſworn foe, I returned to London. My huſband's conduct was now changed; I had during my abſence, received ſeveral affectionate, penitential letters from him; and he ſeemed on my arrival, to wiſh by his behaviour to prove his ſincerity. I could not then conceive why he acted thus; and, when the ſuſpicion darted into my head, that it might ariſe from obſerving my increaſing influence with my uncle, I almoſt deſpiſed myſelf for imagining that ſuch a degree of debaſing ſelfiſhneſs could exiſt.
"He became, unaccountable as was the change, tender and attentive; and, attacking my weak ſide, made a confeſſion of his follies, and lamented the embarraſſments in which I, who merited a far different fate, might be involved. He beſought me to aid him with my counſel, praiſed my underſtanding, and appealed to the tenderneſs of my heart.
"This conduct only inſpired me with compaſſion. I wiſhed to be his friend; but love had ſpread his roſy pinions, and fled far, far away; and had not (like ſome exquiſite perfumes, the fine ſpirit of which is continually mingling with the air) left a fragrance behind, to mark where he had ſhook his wings. My huſband's renewed careſſes then became hateful to me; his brutality was tolerable, compared to his diſtaſteful fondneſs. Still, compaſſion, and the fear of inſulting his ſuppoſed feelings, by a want of ſympathy, made me diſſemble, and do violence to my delicacy. What a taſk!
"Thoſe who ſupport a ſyſtem of what I term falſe refinement, and will not allow great part of love in the female, as well as male breaſt, to ſpring in ſome reſpects involuntarily, may not admit that charms are as neceſſary to feed the paſſion, as virtues to convert the mellowing ſpirit into friendſhip. To ſuch obſervers I have nothing to ſay, any more than to the moraliſts, who inſiſt that women ought to, and can love their huſbands, becauſe it is their duty. To you, my child, I may add, with a heart tremblingly alive to your future conduct, ſome obſervations, dictated by my preſent feelings, on calmly reviewing this period of my life. When noveliſts or moraliſts praiſe as a virtue, a woman's coldneſs of conſtitution, and want of paſſion; and make her yield to the ardour of her lover out of ſheer compaſſion, or to promote a frigid plan of future comfort, I am diſguſted. They may be good women, in the ordinary acceptation of the phraſe, and do no harm; but they appear to me not to have thoſe 'finely faſhioned nerves,' which render the ſenſes exquiſite. They may poſſeſs tenderneſs; but they want that fire of the imagination, which produces active ſenſibility, and poſitive virtue. How does the woman deſerve to be characterized, who marries one man, with a heart and imagination devoted to another? Is ſhe not an object of pity or contempt, when thus ſacrilegiouſly violating the purity of her own feelings? Nay, it is as indelicate, when ſhe is indifferent, unleſs ſhe be conſtitutionally inſenſible; then indeed it is a mere affair of barter; and I have nothing to do with the ſecrets of trade. Yes; eagerly as I wiſh you to poſſeſs true rectitude of mind, and purity of affection, I muſt inſiſt that a heartleſs conduct is the contrary of virtuous. Truth is the only baſis of virtue; and we cannot, without depraving our minds, endeavour to pleaſe a lover or huſband, but in proportion as he pleaſes us. Men, more effectually to enſlave us, may inculcate this partial morality, and loſe ſight of virtue in ſubdividing it into the duties of particular ſtations; but let us not bluſh for nature without a cauſe!
"After theſe remarks, I am aſhamed to own, that I was pregnant. The greateſt ſacrifice of my principles in my whole life, was the allowing my huſband again to be familiar with my perſon, though to this cruel act of ſelf-denial, when I wiſhed the earth to open and ſwallow me, you owe your birth; and I the unutterable pleaſure of being a mother. There was ſomething of delicacy in my huſband's bridal attentions; but now his tainted breath, pimpled face, and blood-ſhot eyes, were not more repugnant to my ſenſes, than his groſs manners, and loveleſs familiarity to my taſte.
"A man would only be expected to maintain; yes, barely grant a ſubſiſtence, to a woman rendered odious by habitual intoxication; but who would expect him, or think it poſſible to love her? And unleſs 'youth, and genial years were flown,' it would be thought equally unreaſonable to inſiſt, [under penalty of] forfeiting almoſt every thing reckoned valuable in life, that he ſhould not love another: whilſt woman, weak in reaſon, impotent in will, is required to moralize, ſentimentalize herſelf to ſtone, and pine her life away, labouring to reform her embruted mate. He may even ſpend in diſſipation, and intemperance, the very intemperance which renders him ſo hateful, her property, and by ſtinting her expences, not permit her to beguile in ſociety, a weariſome, joyleſs life; for over their mutual fortune ſhe has no power, it muſt all paſs through his hand. And if ſhe be a mother, and in the preſent ſtate of women, it is a great miſfortune to be prevented from diſcharging the duties, and cultivating the affections of one, what has ſhe not to endure?—But I have ſuffered the tenderneſs of one to lead me into reflections that I did not think of making, to interrupt my narrative—yet the full heart will overflow.
"Mr. Venables' embarraſſments did not now endear him to me; ſtill, anxious to befriend him, I endeavoured to prevail on him to retrench his expences; but he had always ſome plauſible excuſe to give, to juſtify his not following my advice. Humanity, compaſſion, and the intereſt produced by a habit of living together, made me try to relieve, and ſympathize with him; but, when I recollected that I was bound to live with ſuch a being for ever—my heart died within me; my deſire of improvement became languid, and baleful, corroding melancholy took poſſeſſion of my ſoul. Marriage had baſtilled me for life. I diſcovered in myſelf a capacity for the enjoyment of the various pleaſures exiſtence affords; yet, fettered by the partial laws of ſociety, this fair globe was to me an univerſal blank.
"When I exhorted my huſband to economy, I referred to himſelf. I was obliged to practiſe the moſt rigid, or contract debts, which I had too much reaſon to fear would never be paid. I deſpiſed this paltry privilege of a wife, which can only be of uſe to the vicious or inconſiderate, and determined not to increaſe the torrent that was bearing him down. I was then ignorant of the extent of his fraudulent ſpeculations, whom I was bound to honour and obey.
"A woman neglected by her huſband, or whoſe manners form a ſtriking contraſt with his, will always have men on the watch to ſoothe and flatter her. Beſides, the forlorn ſtate of a neglected woman, not deſtitute of perſonal charms, is particularly intereſting, and rouſes that ſpecies of pity, which is ſo near akin, it eaſily ſlides into love. A man of feeling thinks not of ſeducing, he is himſelf ſeduced by all the nobleſt emotions of his ſoul. He figures to himſelf all the ſacrifices a woman of ſenſibility muſt make, and every ſituation in which his imagination places her, touches his heart, and fires his paſſions. Longing to take to his boſom the ſhorn lamb, and bid the drooping buds of hope revive, benevolence changes into paſſion: and ſhould he then diſcover that he is beloved, honour binds him faſt, though foreſeeing that he may afterwards be obliged to pay ſevere damages to the man, who never appeared to value his wife's ſociety, till he found that there was a chance of his being indemnified for the loſs of it.
