The Rebels/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
That luve had been sae ill to win,
I had locked my heart in a kist of gold,
And pinned it wi' a siller pin.
Old Scotch Song.
For several weeks, our young friends kept the "noiseless tenor of their way," without meeting any other danger than that of frequent and delightful intercourse. Grace visited less and less frequently at Lucretia's lodgings, but the visits she received from Somerville were far too numerous to please her affectionate and judicious connections. Perfectly aware of this, and sometimes chilled by the fastidious reserve of the little beauty, Somerville became more absent, irritable and negligent, than Lucretia had ever seen him. The inattention, which originated entirely in thoughtlessness, seemed to her to be peculiarly pointed; and she began to fear that the gayety and frankness of her nature had been mistaken for undue levity. Painful as this idea might be, it was the medicine her diseased mind required. Pride took possession of a heart transparent as it was susceptible, and it was soon evident that she was exerting all her good sense to overcome the fascination to which she had so foolishly yielded. But when we have long allowed our feelings to spurn at restraint, it requires a giant's hand to curb them; and though Lucretia possessed great purity and rectitude of purpose, the important lesson of self-control was one she had never learned. The materials for a delightful and highly-finished character were rich and ample,—but want of judgment in the artist had marred the original design; and the mind that might have been a noble Corinthian pillar now only displayed a few beautiful specimens, which, like the Elgin marbles, served to betray the perfection of the column.
It has been well observed, that there is a time, in the lives of most people, when character fearfully fluctuates in the balance; and when circumstances, apparently accidental, may do much to decide it, either to good or evil. Henry Osborne was aware that the present period was a very important one to Miss Fitzherbert; and he feared that the influence of Somerville was anything but beneficial. The fearless reasoning, the contempt of quiet virtues, the restlessness under the salutary shackles of society, against which a vigorous understanding and a glowing imagination ought to be peculiarly guarded, were all increased by his bold and brilliant conversation. Perhaps a long-cherished attachment to Lucretia had made Mr. Osborne particularly keen-sighted to the faults of his rival; but so wise, so prudent, had he been, while under the dominion of that blind boy, who is wont to writhe and stamp so furiously in the chains of reason, that the state of his affections had never been suspected by their object. However, it had long been sufficiently obvious to Miss Sandford; and she could not so far overcome her established prejudices as to prefer his simple manners and unpretending good sense to the elegance and genius of the high-born Englishman. With constrained politeness, therefore, she received him, as he entered, according to his usual custom, just as the ladies had retired from the tea-table to the drawing-room. Governor Hutchinson was engaged in his library, and Mr. Osborne was too frequent a guest to disturb his arrangements. Somerville laid down the paper he was busily reading, and gave him a hearty welcome; and Lucretia, piqued at the silence and absent manner of her companion, received him with uncommon frankness and cordiality. He brought with him the spirited paper at that time edited by Edes and Gill; and smiled with much significance, as he pointed out to Somerville the bold resolutions that had been passed in most of the colonies.
"The spirit of New England may break, but you perceive that it will never bend," observed Osborne.
"I should despise them, if it did, after having gone thus far," rejoined Somerville. "Indeed, there is little danger of it, as long as you have such writers as this," pointing to the signature of Hyperion.
"Whom do you suppose it to be?"
"No one can hesitate to decide," said Somerville.
"Otis pours forth his eloquence like the streaming lava of Vesuvius, melting and scorching as it runs; Mayhow writes with the readiness of a scholar, and with a fiery and vehement zeal, strangely at variance with his mild, dispassionate character; but whose pages burn with a flame so strong, bright and fervent, as Quincy's? His style is lucid as a waveless lake, and it has the muscle of a Hercules."
"Perhaps you have altered your opinion, that it is not worth while for England to search for talents in so poor a market as her colonies," said Henry, smiling at his enthusiastic manner.
Lucretia gave an incredulous and significant look, as if she would say, "He does not always talk thus."
"That I have found more wealth, intellect, and refinement, in America, than my English education. taught me to expect, is certainly most true," replied Somerville; "and whatsoever I believe, I frankly con fess, notwithstanding Miss Fitzherbert expresses, by her looks, that I am guilty of double-dealing."
"These are sad times," observed Miss Sandford. "The king condescends too much, for the sake of pleasing his refractory subjects. It is a pity the good old days of Richard I. could not be restored, when the castles of the boldest barons belonged to the monarch, from the corner-stone to the topmost turret."
"Nay, Madam Sandford, the world is too old for such leading-strings," replied Henry Osborne. "You yourself would hardly wish for the return of old times, with all their appendages. I query whether the preaching of Doctor Byles would not be more acceptable to you than Hugh Latimer, when he proclaimed to the female part of his audience, 'Ye are underlings! underlings,―and must be obedient.""
"For the love of quiet," said Lucretia, "do not set that ball a rolling; for do but name the words 'female inferiority' before Aunt Sandford, and it will go like a bullet on an inclined plane, every step accelerating its motion."
"In my youth, children were not in the habit of dictating what should be said to their elders," rejoined Miss Sandford.
Lucretia whispered something that seemed to conciliate the offended maiden; and Somerville resumed the conversation by saying, "One must be difficult to please, if they are not satisfied with the preaching of Doctor Byles. His style unites the elegance of Addison with the fervent piety of Flavel."
"Of his warm and genuine devotion I have no doubt," replied Henry; "though most of his audience remember his jests better than they do his religious advice; but I must confess that his style is too florid to meet my ideas of pulpit eloquence. So rich an imagination is singular in a man of his years and deep learning. In his sermons it shows itself in language fanciful and brilliant; and in his conversation it bursts forth in the boldest and most eccentric comparisons. To this we owe the continual flashing of his wit; and though I know him to possess uncommon erudition, sincere piety, and the most unyielding integrity, I cannot but think this sparkling trait of character is too luxuriantly overgrown. I never see any one quality of the mind standing forth so prominently, without thinking of one of the finest passages in Bacon's philosophy: 'In forming the human character,' says he, 'we must not proceed as a statuary does in forming a statue, who works sometimes on the face, sometimes on the limbs, sometimes on the folds of the drapery; but we must proceed (and it is certainly in our power) as nature does in forming a flower, or any other of her productions; she throws out, altogether, and at once, the whole system of being, and the rudiments of all the parts.'"
"It is a beautiful passage, indeed," rejoined Somerville; "but a character formed on such a plan must be intolerably flat. In good truth, I dislike a character formed at all. Give me nature, bold, impetuous, and unrestrained. It is as much preferable to all your artificial modes, as the foaming cataracts and towering mountains of Switzerland are to the well-built dikes and the dead level of the Netherlands."
"If it were possible for nature to pursue an unbiased course," replied Osborne, "to give her the reins would be a hazardous experiment, though in some instances it might prove a fortunate one; but the fact is, we are so much the creatures of adventitious circumstance, that it is utterly impossible. She is always receiving impulses from surrounding objects; and if the impetus is violent, it is two-fold; for it gives the tendency to rebound to the other extreme. I admire an harmonious, welladjusted character, be it formed as it may. He who gives himself up to the absorbing power of any one single passion, may draw the eyes of all mankind toward him; but qualities of a milder and more consistent cast constitute the chief charm of domestic life."
"I repeat that I dislike everything like made-up goodness," said Somerville. "It is apt to be like brass plated with silver—in the long run, it will show its materials."
"You are very right, Captain Somerville," answered Miss Sandford. "Your over-righteous ones generally prove to be the most consummate hypocrites."
"Perhaps hypocrisy is the real name of what the world generally calls virtue," rejoined the young sceptic.
"It is too much the case, in these days, to be sure," answered the maiden.
Henry was about to enter into a vindication of aspersed humanity; but he well knew Lucretia's disdain of all beaten tracks, and he feared the effect of new and bold ideas elicited from the daring mind of Somerville.
"Doctor Franklin is a good example of the system I have supported," said he. "Such a character, instead of plated brass, is solid silver, taken from the mine, and skilfully fashioned into useful forms. Never was there a man who owed so much to self-exerted discipline as he does. I remember, in the long conversation I had with him the night before he sailed to England, he minutely detailed the process by which he had attained so much self-control. He made a list of the thirteen virtues he thought most necessary, and to each one he paid particular and undivided attention, for one week. Thus, one week he would refrain from speaking evil of others; another, he would abstain from everything not absolutely necessary to life and comfort; and so on. At the end of every quarter, the circle commenced anew. There was sound philosophy in this,—for as each virtue was successively impressed upon the mind at succeeding intervals, no one had a chance to attain a giant growth at the expense of others.
"If I found any virtue peculiarly stinted, I would give it a double portion of cultivation. Those who are prone to do heedless things would do well to appropriate two weeks, in every quarter, to the very necessary virtue called prudence."
"You look as if you wished that remark should be individually appropriated," said Lucretia; "and perhaps you would tell the same person to foster judgment as if it were a hot-house plant, and trust imagination to its own wild, spontaneous growth."
"Since you understand me so well," replied Osborne, smiling, "I will add, that whatever point of character we find the weakest should be the most sedulously fortified; and, for this purpose, the choice of friends and of books is equally important."
"Ah, well!" said Lucretia, in the careless gayety of her heart, "you must bear with me just as I am, a few years longer; and then I will promise to be so collected, so prudent!—My feelings shall be just as calm as the river in summer's moonlight. I will choose my friends among the Quakers, and read nothing but 'The Saint's Rest,' or 'Universal Love Established on a Right Foundation.'"
With much emphasis, Mr. Osborne replied, "I should rather see particular love established on a right foundation."
Fearing he had trusted himself too far, he rose, and opening Thomson's Seasons, which lay on the worktable of the ladies, he carelessly looked over its contents, and then observed he must return home to write a letter, before the evening was far advanced. Somerville immediately proposed to Miss Fitzherbert that they should both accompany him. Lucretia coldly declined, pretending she feared the effects of evening dampness; and the young men, having expressed their regret, took their hats, and bade good-evening.
None of us are to blame for having selfish and evil thoughts; for imperfections will cling to our fallen nature but when we cherish them for a moment—more especially, when we give utterance to them—we are guilty of giving form and permanence to what would otherwise be fleeting and shadowy.
Miss Sandford was too apt to do this; and scarcely had the door closed, before she exclaimed, "I do not like that Grace Osborne, with all the sweetness and modesty she chooses to put on."
Lucretia had, unconsciously, been tying knot after knot in her thread, little aware that her friend suspected all that was passing in her mind. The tears started to her eyes, as she replied, "I am sure, dear aunt, she is every thing that is amiable and lovely."
"Nevertheless, with all her pretty diffidence, I do not doubt she tries her best to get Somerville away from you."
"Away from me!" said Lucretia, with a look of extreme surprise.
"I mean," answered Miss Sandford, laying down the screen she had been working, and sweeping up the hearth in a great flurry, "I mean that Somerville respects you very much, and would marry you, if those deuced Osbornes were out of the way."
Lucretia smiled at the good old lady's perturbation. "Captain Somerville's heart," said she, "is like the waves cut by a passing vessel—a moment after, you can find no traces of an impression. Grace Osborne can never be in my way. I have always loved her;—and if Somerville can win her heart, and she can keep his, I shall surely be rejoiced to see a man I value so much united to a being so pure and lovely."
"The whole family are over good, and very prodigal of their advice," rejoined the matron. "I wonder what right Henry has to direct the books you shall read, and the friends you shall choose."
"He did not mean to direct, dear madam; but I am so much with Grace, that he feels the same freedom in talking to me that he does to her. I am sure I thank him for his friendship and candor."
"It is more than I do," retorted the maiden, whose fretfulness was not to be speedily appeased. "Grace, with all her perfections, is the veriest little coquette. Don't look me in the face with as much wonder as if I had said you had not common sense! I know they are all your oracles; and I dare say you will finish the business by marrying the prosing young man who has given you so sage a lecture to-night."
"There seems very little chance for it," replied Lucretia,—"since such a thought probably never entered the young gentleman's brain."
"You need not tell me that. I have seen this thing coming on, for more than three years. He would have made proposals, before now, if he had known of the large fortune you are to have."
The attempt to vindicate her friends from such unfounded charges, would have been, just at that time, entirely useless. Lucretia, who well understood the avenues to her heart, gave a more pleasant turn to the conversation, by acknowledging the old lady's experience in the affairs of the heart, and thus leading her to dwell, for the thousandth time, on the rejected addresses of her youth.
When Miss Fitzherbert retired to her chamber, she took with her the book which Mr. Osborne had opened, intending to search for a passage particularly admired by Somerville. The volume opened of itself, and displayed a note neatly folded, and directed to herself. She opened it, and read as follows:
"Dear Madam:
"I hardly know how to account for the diffidence I feel in addressing you. The usual exaggerated language of affection would, I well know, appear ridiculous to you; and coldness, or reserve, is but ill suited to the present state of my feelings. The declaration that I have been, for years, most sincerely and devotedly attached to you, may not perhaps be entirely unexpected; and I once hoped it would not be entirely disagreeable. You do not owe your influence over me to a sudden freak of fancy; it results from a long and intimate knowledge of your character. Yet I will not flatter you by saying I consider you faultless;—on the contrary, I think you have defects, which may prove very dangerous to yourself and friends, unless timely corrected. But 1 cannot imagine a character more elevated than might be formed from a mind so vigorous, and a heart so generous and candid, as yours.
"How largely I think you would contribute to domestic happiness, is proved by the step I have now taken. Whether the lovely garland of hope, that my heart has so long been weaving, is to be scattered to the winds, depends on your answer. At all events, ever your affectionate friend, and obedient servant, Henry Osborne."
"Umph," said Lucretia, as she folded the letter, "I say, with Cowley,
With a promptitude for which she did not stop to account to her own heart, she thanked Mr. Osborne for the confidence he had placed in her, and expressed an affectionate interest in his welfare and happiness; but declared that it was utterly impossible for her ever to reciprocate his attachment.