LETTER LXXV.
From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
I am, my dear friend, so powerfully impressed by the perusal of Miss Flint’s confession, as her legacy to Lady Maclairn may with truth be called, that I cannot divert my mind from the subject. What a scene of iniquity have I sent you! and how rejoiced am I, that I prevailed on Lady Maclairn not to tear open those wounds afresh by reading a detailed account of actions and artifices which her brother employed to defraud Mr. Flint’s children of their rights. Surely, my Lucy, the death of Flamall was “a consummation devoutly to be wished.” To be removed from the indignation of the injured, to be spared from the abhorrence of the virtuous; to be saved from the constant dread of living an object amenable to the most vigorous laws of his country; to be freed from the horrors of his dying bed! But how momentary is this delusion of feeling! My reason and my faith point out this disembodied spirit in its next state of existence. With trembling awe I follow it to the tribunal of an all-wise, omnipotent, and pure Judge. There do I contemplate this forlorn and sullied soul, as rushing uncalled into the presence of that Being, whose merciful purposes he has counteracted; and whose laws he has insulted. Nature stands appalled, at the magnitude of offences like these; and humanity must deplore the sinner thus cut off in the midst of his sins.
I cannot however help being of opinion that, useful as the contemplation of a Flamall’s life may be to beings who fearlessly follow the impulse of every disorderly passion, we, my beloved Lucy, shall not be unwise, to direct our thoughts from such shocking depravity of creatures like ourselves. I wish so to do; and yet not lose the lesson of wisdom as applicable to myself. In what, I would ask you, consisted the difference between Miss Flint and Rachel Cowley at two years of age. The general lineaments of our minds have a near affinity. What has produced the moral differences which from that period have discriminated us? Education, and the habits resulting from our respective situations: in the one instance, the soil was left uncultured; in the other, it was judiciously cultivated. Lucretia had been overlooked by her mother in the early period of her life. Indolence and indulgence were this mother’s faults. She found, in cultivating the docile and mild Percival, a gratification of her own taste, and an object of amusement, as well as for exclusive tenderness. This mother wanted firmness, and the vigilance necessary for her duty. When passion had taken its root, this unhappy creature was consigned over to the care and tuition of a schoolmistress. I mean not to be illiberal; for I believe many women in that class of life are not only accomplished women, but conscientiously disposed to be useful to their pupils; but I cannot think that in a large school, either the temper, or peculiar moral defects of a girl are likely to meet with that nice and accurate observation which are necessary for their correction. I will however admit that in this seminary Miss Flint acquired the outward habits of decorum, and that knowledge, which, with experience, and a different temper, might have conducted her, as it does multitudes of our sex, in the common routine of private and domestic life. She then returned to her parents, slenderly furnished by the gifts of nature, with a spirit unsubdued, and a mind without any fixed principle of action, beyond a confidence in herself. She was next a candidate for favour in the world; and she proudly conceived that no one would dare refuse it; but she found a rival, even in the cradle, and under the parental roof. Is it to be expected, that from such a disposition, and under such circumstances, envy and malice could be long a stranger to her? The mother perceived their baneful influence; and she opposed to their growth, nothing but remedies which relieved herself from trouble and vexation. She flattered instead of reproving, and gave to her daughter an authority which she knew she would abuse. Uncontrouled and domineering over those about her; irritated by the neglect of those whom she could not subjugate to her imperious will, she became soured, disappointed, and vindictive; and she finished by becoming the fit instrument in the hands of a Flamall, for the ruin of the innocent, and the perpetration of injustice, cruelty, and deceit.
Thus have we seen the fatal torrent of unchecked passions flow! but suppose this wretched victim of their fury had been in Mrs. Hardcastle’s hands. Oh Lucy, we want no supposition! We have seen a torrent, not less impetuous, directed by her wisdom, to the salutary purposes for which Heaven gave it strength and abundance; and instead of desolating all within its reach, it has been led to supply delight, and satisfaction! How often has her patient firmness subdued my angry passions? How often has she detected them before I knew their power! With what skill did she temper and mix the warm affections of my nature with the rougher elements which composed me. How sweet, how endearing was her notice of every little triumph I gained over myself; and with what discrimination did she effect that bond of love, which made her children useful to each other. Her Lucy’s gentleness was opposed to her Rachel’s courage; and Horace’s self-command was the only point to which emulation was recommended. Is it wonderful, that I have escaped the fate of a Miss Flint? Is it wonderful that I should love virtue, and reverence a faith thus exemplified? No, Lucy. But I have to fear, lest I should disgrace Mrs. Hardcastle. We may, and I hope we shall, live to be wives and mothers. Let us in that case, aim at being something better than mere teeming animals; and like some in that class, who, following their instinct, squeeze their offspring to death through fondness. I am persuaded that we are weak and fallible creatures; but I cannot for an instant admit, that an all-wise and merciful Being has exacted any one duty, or enforced any one command, without having bestowed upon us the faculties and capacity for fulfilling our obligations. Every mother whose mind is sound, is called upon to perform the duties of a mother; and without any better guide than her own reason and attention, she will soon perceive that something more is required, than merely watching over the preservation of her children. I am, and I wish to remain, a stranger to that humility which represses, as beyond me, all that is arduous and praise-worthy. I believe, that by applying my heart to wisdom, I may become wise; and the mother who diligently watches over the first openings of moral existence in the beings entrusted to her, will soon discover, that she has the necessary talents for governing them safely. Attention and experience will enlighten her; and should she never reach to the accomplishment of all she wishes, she will at least secure to herself the favour of God, and her own peace of mind. It pleases me, my Lucy, to look forward to that period, when, with the name of Hardcastle, I may be treading in the same path of duty which our mother pursued in her road to Heaven. Will you wish me to suppress my hopes, that I may one day be able, with the pure joy of an accepted spirit in her abode of bliss, to point to her those inmates, whom her virtues trained for happiness? Yet why this tear? I cannot erase the blot it has made. Wherefore is it that my spirit faints? You must come and chide me; you will find me paler and thinner than when I last saw you; and, it may be, less the heroine, since there has been less to oppose me. But I hate sea voyages!
Oh sweet Valentine! hasten to us! hasten and bring to me my Lucy! thou shalt then be crowned as the harbinger of spring and Horace. Tell my “lily,” that we expect no tears nor sighs. She is desired to wear the same face she did with her lilac ribbands. We are all learning to be philosophers, except Malcolm, who is daily in danger of losing his good humour; and rates the work people for not being at Wenland, at the same time that they are here. I believe in my conscience that Miss Hardcastle and Miss Howard might sleep in the stable for him. But we do not mind his pouting; and your apartment, which was Miss Flint’s, is to be made worthy of the captain’s guests. Adieu, my dear girl; the good people here send their blessings with
Rachel Cowley’s.
CHAP. XIII.
LETTER LXXVI.
From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
January 24.
My dear Lucy will not expect to find me in the broad road of folly and laughter, with so many admonitions of wisdom as I have of late been favoured with; I repeat the word favoured; for poor and weak must be the mind which does not profit from such lessons as I have had to study! Do not, however, take the alarm; I hope, I shall escape dullness, although I am become somewhat graver than in the days of my flippancy, and rude health. My poor Horace! But I dare not trust myself with the subject! But is it not wonderful that no one can be found to comfort the Earl of S——, but his son’s friend, whose heart is pierced with an anguish as bitter and acute as his own! I am selfish, I am ashamed to tell you that I am become fretful and nervous. You must come, my Lucy; I want you to sustain and to chide me. My spirits are weakened, and my mind is assailed by apprehensions which I dare not give to you. This news from Lisbon has been hurtful to me. I send you enclosed a letter which may make you smile: it did not move a muscle in my face. Lady Maclairn undertook to reply to it for me. She was obliged to answer a letter of condolence which Mrs. Serge thought it polite to send to her “dear cousin.” I believe her ladyship hazarded to give her correspondent a little wholesome advice, which will be well for her if she understands its value. Mrs. Heartley has received letters from her son Henry; he is coming home. His friend’s death, with his dying advice to the young man, make only a part of those motives which induce Henry to quit his present situation. Mr. Bembridge, the deceased, has left him an estate in Berkshire of three hundred pounds per annum; and Henry wisely thinks, that with this provision and Mary Howard, he shall be as rich as a Nabob, with a ruined constitution, and twenty lacks of rupees. “He will have letters before he embarks, which will dash from his lips this cup of happiness,” observed the anxious mother. “Miss Howard is now in a very different situation from that, under which my poor boy vowed to live, and to labour for her. I would not on any account have the captain made acquainted with my son’s hopes. He thinks Henry is right to return home; but I now wish him to remain where he is for a few years.” “Leave him to Providence,” replied I, “and enjoy the blessings before you. Alice will be soon happy, and who knows whether one wedding may not be followed by another? a little money will not spoil Mary Howard, or change Captain Flint’s nature.” “I shall take care,” observed she thoughtfully, “to prevent Henry from coming hither; I wish Alice were settled, I should immediately go to town, and wait there for my son’s arrival.” Cannot you, Lucy, find out whether Mary’s colour is yet lilac. Alice thinks it is; but we may be conjecturing on false grounds; for Alice Heartley and Rachel Cowley are very simple girls; yet I do believe the captain wishes to see Henry united to him by the tenderest ties. He even proposed the other day to Malcolm to wait for his brother’s arrival before he married. Malcolm smiled; but declined the advice.