Matters proceeded in this train till our once social pair had scarcely a neighbour with whom they interchanged the usual hospitalities. They were, however, so absorbed by their domestic interests, that no void was felt, and the only serious grief which disturbed their happiness was the want of a companion about his own age for their idol Algernon, who improved in beauty as he advanced in growth, and gave evidence of talents at five years old which might have been deemed uncommon at double that age.
As may be imagined, Algernon experienced the very worst effects of the spoiling system. Every possible error in education seemed likely to lend its aid in making the child selfish, and the man, if he lived to become one, insignificant and disagreeable. Mrs. Hartland read every treatise which had ever been published on her favourite theme, and endeavoured to put every theory in practice. Like all late converts to any thing from its opposite, she was mad upon the subject of reading. Literature, next to the love of young Algernon, became her ruling passion, and the most tiresome pedantry of language succeeded her natural manner of expressing herself. Exercising a limited capacity on topics new to her understanding, and often above its calibre, our good dame's mind became the strangest mass that could be conceived of ill-digested systems, the principles of which she could not comprehend, but the practical results of which, however contradictory, she attempted to realize. Algernon was to be a miracle of early knowledge; yet his mind was not to be over-wrought. He was to be a prodigy of courage, while every living animal was banished from his presence, lest any injury should reach the child. Of self-denial he was to be a shining example, because Mrs. Hartland found that quality much insisted upon in the works which were now her chief delight; but at the same time her son's spirit was not to be broken by opposition, nor his temper soured by contradiction. From this specimen it is easy to judge of the whole, and the reader has no need of further insight into the chaos which we have sufficiently described.
Mr. Hartland, though Greek and Latin had been driven into his cranium, and he was rather proud of his skill in prosody, was a person of still flatter intellect than his wife. Constitutional indolence also added lead to the dullness of his faculties. It is therefore not to be wondered at, that, mistaking his fair partner's activity for genius, and her dictatorial harangues, delivered in words, each of which was as long as a tape-worm, for the profoundest wisdom; he honestly believed that Minerva herself had stepped down from her niche in the celestial Pantheon, to assume the outward similitude of his better half.
Now it so happened that, about the period of which we are speaking, a monstrous quarto, with prodigious margins, which professed to impart the newest and most approved method of teaching the young idea how to shoot like a vine along the march of modern intellect, arrived at Henbury-lodge. Mrs. Hartland flew at the prize, and disinterring the volume from the superincumbent mass of brown paper and twine by which it was environed, hastened to her sanctum, and opening at random, after the manner of the Virgilian lots, she chanced to light upon the following paragraph, which struck upon her eye and understanding as especially directed to her peculiar case:
"Nothing is more essential to the healthful developement of infant mind, than congenial society. A child should associate with his fellows, and while the bodily organs are kept in wholesome exercise, the mental energies are thus directed to the natural objects of childish pursuit. To this end children should be allowed to consort together, and exhibit the true bearings of individual character, uncontrolled by the bias which is given to youth by a constant and injurious companionship with adults. In fine, a child should always be provided with at least one playmate of his own age."
This paragraph rested on the mother's mind, and was the Mordecai of her peace. Her intercourse with the neighbouring gentry was reduced to an occasional exchange of morning visits, which afforded no opportunity of introducing her boy to the children of her acquaintance, and there seemed to be no probability of his having brother or sister with whom to associate at home. In this dilemma Mrs. Hartland often turned in her mind the temporary adoption of a peasant-child, who might serve the desired purpose; but as frequently rejected the idea, through dread of vulgar habits and low thoughts coming in contact with the mind of her son.
While anxiously ruminating on what was best to be done, it happened that Mr. Ackland, a gentleman who lived a few miles distant from Henbury, called to enquire for the family, and in the course of conversation of that miscellaneous kind which morning visits usually supply, turned to Mrs. Hartland, and asked whether she had been to Hazle-moor?
"Why to that desolate heath?" replied she. "I should not prefer a drive to Hazle-moor for any beauty which that part of the country can boast."
"No," said Mr. Ackland, "the landscape is certainly not very alluring; but you have heard of the lovely little Spaniard. Have you not?"
"I have not the least idea of what you allude to," answered Mrs. Hartland. "What Spaniard do you speak of?"