CHAP. III.
LETTER XV.
From the same to the same.
"Nothing new from Horace." Why, my dear Lucy, what could put it into your head that I wanted novelties from him? I only ask for his thrice, and thrice told tale of faith and love. I only want to know that he is cheerful and well. Did his last epistle resemble the letter which Mrs. Platman gave by mistake to her forty scholars to copy, and which had been composed on the subject of death, for the special purpose of supplying one of the girls with suitable language on the death of her grandfather, a man of ninety? But I am petulant, forgive me, Lucy. The incessant rain without, and the dearth of amusement within, had led me to hope you would have sympathetically felt that I wanted a cordial. I am disappointed, and I have yet to learn where to find your grand and infallible nostrum, patience: nay, what is more, I am disposed to think at this moment, that it resembles many other quack medicines, and promises more than it can perform. All constitutions are not alike, and I believe this specific, would do me more harm than good, from the quantity I should be forced to take in the experiment: so you must be contented with me, and recollect, that a fire may burn cheerfully and usefully, although from time to time a coal bounces out, and startles you; you have only to move from the annoyance a moment, the transient danger passes, and you may return again in safety to the snug warm corner you had left. I was much disposed last Sunday to say with Miss Trotter, "that fifty fair-weather Sundays were scarcely an equivalent for two rainy ones." Ours was dreary: the poor baronet was out of spirit, and remarked twice at dinner, that we did not need so large a table for four people. He might have added, nor half the dishes for three, for he ate nothing. My harp and Handel's music, did something, but I could not sing hymns and psalms forever. We therefore each took up a book. Lady Maclairn soon after entered from her visit to her sister. "How is Miss Flint?" asked Mrs. Allen, raising her meek eyes from her bible. "Much better," answered her ladyship, in a low key. "She would have dined below to-day, but she was afraid of catching cold." "I should hope that shame had its share in this discretion," said Sir Murdock with vivacity.—"I am certain it had," replied she, with mildness, "and not only shame, but repentance."—There is no resisting this woman, Lucy! In saying these few words, she disarmed me, and I refrained from saying what would have hurt her, and done the offender no good. But, for the hundreth time, I will not say she is undefinable! no, but she is unfathomable! After tea, she surprised me by her unwonted gaiety and spirit in conversation; she drew me into arguments and debates with an address nearly equal to your father's, and, between ourselves, seemed to have his art of angling to perfection; for when she found the poor fish flouncing with fatigue, she gently set it free, and restored it to the clear stream. Malcolm, like a dutiful son, was with us at supper; and a dessert of politics, and about manuring sterile land, sent us to bed cheerful, if not gay.
I passed yesterday at the Abbey. Our commissions were arrived from Durham; and no one was permitted "to see the fashions" till Miss Cowley arrived. She had taken the whim of decorating two puppets, instead of one; and she was paid cent. per cent. for her money. The same robes, the same bonnets, cloaks, sashes, shoes, &c. "And so elegant!" exclaimed Mary. "How kind! how considerate is our sister!"—"Not exactly so," replied I, "for I forgot to consult Miss Heartley's taste in regard to the ribbands for her hat, and her milliner has sent blue; but as she is herself the emblem of constancy, she may prefer your favourite colour, Mary: and in that case, what is to be done? You must wear the true blue." "Just as she pleases," cried she from the looking glass, before which she was fitting her lawful prize; "only I doubt, whether Mr. Malcolm will not prefer the true blue, and I can do without it." The gratified uncle smiled on her, and said, "I believe you, my love." Alice preferred her own colour, and each disappeared with their fashions and finery.
I have engaged to meet Mary's friends on Sunday; Mr. Greenwood, her godfather, and a doctor Douglas, who annually celebrate her birth-day at Mrs. Wilson's table. She will be seventeen on that day. On my leaving her, she fondly kissed my cheek, and whispered, "Does my sister wish me to be dressed on Sunday like her happy protégée?"—"Always as my sister ought to appear," answered I, with emotion: "and as she will be enabled to appear; for the rest, she is to direct her own toilet." "Then I think on my birth-day, it will be proper to wear"——"the lilac," cried I gaily, retreating, having exceeded my promised hour of returning home.
On reaching the hall, I instantly entered the dining-parlour, in order to make my peace with my friends; but instead of them, I found Miss Flint and the Reverend Mr. Snughead tête-à-tête. I slightly curtseyed, and said I was glad to see her below stairs; and was retiring with all possible speed, when Sir Murdock, with his wife and Mrs. Allen, entered from my apartment. The "truant" was welcomed; and supper served up immediately. Malcolm, with head erect, and glowing face, joined us; and our repast was coldly and ceremoniously finished. The servants were no sooner withdrawn, than Mr. Snughead pressed Miss Lucretia to drink a glass of Mountain wine. "He was afraid she lived too low."—"He was sorry to see her so out of spirits." The restrained tears gushed from her eyes. Yes, Lucy, genuine salt tears came from the eyes of this Flint! The miracle I can attest; and you may believe it with the same faith which you give to Moses's striking the rock, and causing the water to flow. I am the veriest fool in nature; for I found, like the obdurate Jews, that my heart softened: and indeed, what must have been the conflict within, before these signs of grace could appear?
"I am astonished," observed Mr. Snughead, looking round him with an air which he thought dignified, and which I pronounced insolent, "I am grieved, my dear Madam, to see you give so much importance to a circumstance of so little consequence to your character and station! I always foresaw what would be the result of your generosity in interfering in Miss Howard's concerns: all your real friends were of my opinion."—He looked at Lady Maclairn.—"I know you are quick in feeling, and warm in your temper, and that on perceiving your goodness slighted, you must be unhappy."—Malcolm left the room. "Pursue your good intentions," continued he, "allow this niece a trifle for her support, and leave her to those friends whom she so unhappily prefers to your protection and prudence. She has been taught to hate you from her cradle."—"I know it, I know it well!" said she sobbing; "but I am sorry I struck her; it was wrong; and although she provoked me, I ought not to have done so. Indeed, Miss Cowley, if you knew all, you would pity, as well as blame me. But I see how it is; my forgetfulness of myself has confirmed in your mind all that my enemies have said to my prejudice. Mary has her revenge, and the Heartleys their triumph!"—"I am sorry, Madam," said I, "to be called upon in a question of this kind; but qualified as I am to support the innocent, it behoves me to endeavour at least to rectify your opinions. Miss Howard, whatever were her discontents under this roof, kept them from her friends at the Abbey. She never has directly, nor indirectly, discovered them to me since I have been here. She is at this hour more concerned by the discovery of your harsh treatment, than for the loss of your favour. She speaks of you with respect, nay more, with tenderness and sorrow. She dwells with eagerness on the concessions which you generously made; and attributes your warmth of resentment, to your misconception of the supposed offence. Mrs. Heartley supports her, Madam, in this moderation, and labours to convince Mr. Flint that he has taken up this matter too painfully. Mary Howard cannot balance many favours with one offence. She is affectionate, placable, and unoffending; her heart is too pure for malice or ill-will; and her principles are too solid to permit her to slander you. To Mrs. Heartley's lessons and example she is principally indebted for these excellencies;—to nature, for a temper unrivalled in meekness."—"You appear," observed the puppy at my left hand, and on whom I had turned my back, "to be as able an advocate for Mrs. Heartley, as for Miss Howard. May I presume to ask you, how long you have known this all-accomplished Lady, to whom Miss Mary is obliged for her sentiments of love and veneration for her aunt?"—"Mrs. Heartley wants no advocate," replied I, darting upon him my contemptuous eyes. "It is sufficient for me to know her; and were other evidences of the excellencies of her character necessary, I should find them in the solicitude of my guardian, Counsellor Steadman, to recommend me to her favour and notice. He has known Mrs. Heartley from a girl; and if you are still curious, Sir, in regard to a person whom you appear to wish to know, I refer you to Mr. Steadman. He will probably satisfy you, that Captain Flint has been singularly fortunate in his amours; and that Mrs. Heartley is a kept mistress of as singular a kind. Are you satisfied, Sir? or shall I give you any further indications of Mrs. Heartley's singularities?"—"Oh, by all means!" cried he, affecting an aukward laugh; "you are an excellent encomiast."—"I can be no otherwise with such a subject for praise," retorted I; "but what I most admire in Mrs. Heartley's character, is her contempt of malice, and her compassion for ignorance: with me, this is the test, not only of her understanding, but of the purity of her life. With a steady hand, Lucy, I took my taper, and calmly wishing the company a good night, retired; the confounded Mr. Snughead, receiving my last look as he stood erect to let me pass. He observed, when I was departed, that for so very young a lady, I had a very decided spirit; and to say the truth, added he, rising and turning to the baronet, I am sorry I called out so much of Miss Cowley's warmth, on a subject of so little concern to me. Sir Murdock coldly bowed. Miss Cowley must remember, continued he, my having declared that I knew nothing of Mrs. Heartley but from common report. I am surprised, that a lady of her quickness, could not see the motives for my conduct there, and also to night.—So should I be, returned the baronet, if she did not, for they were pretty obvious; and Miss Cowley is not often dull in her observations, nor slow in her conclusions. The servant announced the parson's horse, who recommending to Miss Flint to think no more of such nonsense, retreated."
I will spare you the trouble of writing me an essay on anger. I know all you would say on such a topic, but it would be out of season; for I was not angry, Lucy: I am never angry, but where I could like, and love, were it necessary. You must demonstrate some specific remedy for antipathies, before I can be benefited by the lecture you will be prompted to send me. Now, collect all the antipathies in nature, and they will not amount to that which this reptile Mr. Snughead has produced in Rachel Cowley's mind. Perhaps I was too warm; but what is to be done with antipathies? I have no talent at a fainting fit; I cannot scream, and look terrified when I want only the strength of a man, in order to grasp a despicable foe. Nature, nature, my Lucy, is my divinity! to her do I owe my aversion of the Snugheads' race; and when they do fall in my way, what is to be done? I cannot crush them, as many do a poor harmless spider; but I would probe them to the quick, without flinching. Some vices I can pity, but a spirit of defamation is my abhorrence; and an unworthy minister of a religion to which I am attached, as my supreme good, is my antipathy. So I beg you will recollect yours to a toad, and pardon your