Coelebs In Search of a Wife Part 10

"I believe," said Mr. Stanley, "the example is rare, and the exertion difficult; but that which is difficult to us, is not impossible to him who has the hearts of all men in his hand. And I am happy to resolve Lady Belfield's doubt by a case in point.

"You can not, Sir John, have forgotten our old London acquaintance, Carlton?" "No," replied he, "nor can I ever forget what I have since heard of his ungenerous treatment of that most amiable woman, his wife.

I suppose he has long ago broken her heart."

"You know," resumed Mr. Stanley, "they married not only without any inclination on either side, but on her part with something more than indifference, with a preference for another person. _She_ married through an implicit obedience to her mother's will, which she had never in any instance opposed: _He_, because his father had threatened to disinherit him if he married any other woman; for as they were distant relations, there was no other way of securing the estate in the family."

"What a motive for a union so sacred and so indissoluble!" exclaimed I, with an ardor which raised a smile in the whole party. I asked pardon for my involuntary interruption, and Mr. Stanley proceeded.

"She had long entertained a partiality for a most deserving young clergyman, much her inferior in rank and fortune. But though her high sense of filial duty led her to sacrifice this innocent inclination, and though she resolved never to see him again, and had even prevailed on him to quit the country, and settle in a distant place, yet Carlton was ungenerous and inconsistent enough to be jealous of her without loving her. He was guilty of great irregularities, while Mrs. Carlton set about acquitting herself of the duties of a wife, with the most meek and humble patience, burying her sorrows in her own bosom, and not allowing herself even the consolation of complaining.

"Among the many reasons for his dislike, her piety was the princ.i.p.al. He said religion was of no use but to disqualify people for the business of life; that it taught them to make a merit of despising their duties, and hating their relations; and that pride, ill-humor, opposition, and contempt for the rest of the world, were the meat and drink of all those who pretended to religion.

"At first she nearly sunk under his unkindness; her health declined, and her spirits failed. In this distress she applied to the only sure refuge for the unhappy, and took comfort in the consideration that her trials were appointed, by a merciful Father, to detach her from a world which she might have loved too fondly, had it not been thus stripped of its delights.

"When Mrs. Stanley, who was her confidential friend, expressed the tenderest sympathy in her sufferings, she meekly replied, 'Remember who are they whose robes are washed white in the kingdom of glory, _it is they who come out of great tribulation_. I endeavor to strengthen my faith with a view of what the best Christians have suffered, and my hope with meditating on the shortness of all suffering. I will confess my weakness,' added she: 'of the various motives to patience under the ills of life, which the Bible presents, though my reason and religion acknowledge them all, there is not one which comes home so powerfully to my feelings as this--_the time is short_.'

"Another time Mrs. Stanley, who had heard of some recent irregularities of Carlton, called upon her, and lamenting the solitude to which she was often left for days together, advised her to have a female friend in the house, that her mind might not be left to prey upon itself by living so much alone. She thanked her for the kind suggestion, but said she felt it was wiser and better not to have a confidential friend always at hand, 'for of what subject should we talk,' said she, 'but of my husband's faults? Ought I to allow myself in such a practice? It would lead me to indulge a habit of complaint which I am laboring to subdue.

The compa.s.sion of my friend would only sharpen my feelings, which I wish to blunt. Giving vent to a flame only makes it rage the more; if suppressing can not subdue it, at least the consciousness that I am doing my duty will enable me to support it. When we feel,' added she, 'that we are _doing_ wrong, the opening our heart may strengthen our virtue; but when we are _suffering_ wrong, the mind demands another sort of strength; it wants higher support than friends.h.i.+p has to impart. It pours out its sorrows in prayer with fuller confidence, knowing that he who sees can sustain; that he who hears will recompense; that he will judge, not our weakness, but our efforts to conquer it; not our success, but our endeavors; with him endeavor is victory.

"'The grace I most want,' added she, 'is humility. A partial friend, in order to support my spirits, would flatter my conduct: gratified with her soothing, I should, perhaps, not so entirely cast myself for comfort on G.o.d. Contented with human praise, I might rest in it. Besides, having endured the smart, I would not willingly endure it in vain. We know who has said, 'If you suffer with me, you shall also reign with me.' It is not, however, to mere suffering that the promise is addressed, but to suffering for his sake, and in his spirit.' Then turning to the Bible which lay before her, and pointing to the sublime pa.s.sage of St Paul, which she had just been reading, 'Our light affliction which is but for a moment worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' 'Pray,' said she, 'read this in connection with the next verse, which is not always done. _When_ is it that it works for us this weight of glory? _Only_ 'while we are looking at the things which are not seen.' Do admire the beauty of this position, and how the good is weighed against the evil, like two scales differently filled; the affliction is light, and but for a moment; the glory is a _weight_, and it is _forever_. 'Tis a feather against lead, a grain of sand against the universe, a moment against eternity. Oh, how the scale which contains this world's light trouble kicks the beam, when weighed against the glory which shall be revealed.'

"At the end of two years she had a little girl; this opened to her a new scene of duties, and a fresh source of consolation. Her religion proved itself to be of the right stamp, by making her temper still more sweet, and diffusing the happiest effects through her whole character and conversation. When her husband had staid out late, or even all night, she never reproached him. When he was at home, she received his friends with as much civility as if she had liked them. He found that his house was conducted with the utmost prudence, and that while she maintained his credit at his table, her personal expenses were almost nothing: indeed, self seemed nearly annihilated in her. He sometimes felt disappointed, because he had no cause of complaint, and was angry that he had nothing to condemn.

"As he has a very fine understanding, he was the more provoked, because he could not help seeing that her blameless conduct put him continually in the wrong. All this puzzled him. He never suspected there was a principle, out of which such consequences could grow, and was ready to attribute to insensibility, that patience which nothing short of Christian piety could have inspired. He had conceived of religion as a visionary system of words and phrases, and concluded that from so unsubstantial a theory, it would be a folly to look for practical effects.

"Sometimes, when he saw her nursing his child, of whom he was very fond, he was almost tempted to admire the mother, who is a most pleasing figure; and now and then when his heart was thus softened for a moment, he would ask himself, what reasonable ground of objection there was either to her mind or person?

"Mrs. Carlton, knowing that his affairs must necessarily be embarra.s.sed, by the extraordinary expenses he had incurred, when the steward brought her usual year's allowance she refused to take more than half, and ordered him to employ the remainder on his master's account. The faithful old man was ready to weep, and could not forbear saying, 'Madam, you could not do more for a kind husband. Besides, it is but a drop of water in the ocean.' 'That drop,' said she, 'it is my duty to contribute.' When the steward communicated this to Carlton, he was deeply affected, refused to take the money, and again was driven to resort to the wonderful principle from which such right but difficult actions could proceed."

Here I interrupted Mr. Stanley. "I am quite of the steward's opinion,"

said I. "That a woman should do this and much more for the man who loved her, and whom she loved, is quite intelligible to every being who has a heart. But for a cruel, unfeeling tyrant! I do not comprehend it. What say you, Miss Stanley?"

"Under the circ.u.mstance you suppose," said she, blus.h.i.+ng, "I think the woman would have no shadow of merit; her conduct would be a mere gratification, an entire indulgence of her own feelings. The triumph of affection would have been cheap; Mrs. Carlton's was the triumph of religion; of a principle which could subdue an attachment to a worthy object, and act with such generosity toward an unworthy one."

Mr. Stanley went on. "Mrs. Carlton frequently sat up late, reading such books as might qualify her for the education of her child, but always retired before she had reason to expect Mr. Carlton, lest he might construe it into upbraiding. One night, as he was not expected to come home at all, she sat later than usual, and had indulged herself with taking her child to pa.s.s the night in her bed. With her usual earnestness she knelt down and offered up her devotions by her bed-side, and in a manner particularly solemn and affecting, prayed for her husband. Her heart was deeply touched, and she dwelt on these pet.i.tions in a strain peculiarly fervent. She prayed for his welfare in both worlds, and earnestly implored that she might be made the humble instrument of his happiness. She meekly acknowledged her own many offenses; of his she said nothing.

"Thinking herself secure from interruption, her pet.i.tions were uttered aloud; her voice often faltering, and her eyes streaming with tears.

Little did she suspect that the object of her prayers was within hearing of them. He had returned home unexpectedly, and coming softly into the room, heard her pious aspirations. He was inexpressibly affected. He wept, and sighed bitterly. The light from the candles on the table fell on the blooming face of his sleeping infant, and on that of his weeping wife. It was too much for him. But he had not the virtuous courage to give way to his feelings. He had not the generosity to come forward and express the admiration he felt. He withdrew unperceived, and pa.s.sed the remainder of the night in great perturbation of spirit. Shame, remorse, and confusion, raised such a conflict in his mind, as prevented him from closing his eyes; while she slept in quiet, and awoke in peace.

"The next morning, during a very short interview, he behaved to her with a kindness which she had never before experienced. He had not resolution to breakfast with her, but promised, with affection in his words and manners, to return to dinner. The truth was, he never quitted home, but wandered about his woods to compose and strengthen his mind. This self-examination was the first he had practiced; its effects were salutary.

"A day or two previous to this, they had dined at our house. He had always been much addicted to the pleasures of the table. He expressed high approbation of a particular dish, and mentioned again when he got home how much he liked it. The next morning Mrs. Carlton wrote to Lucilla to beg the receipt for making this ragout; and this day, when he returned from his solitary ramble and 'compunctuous visitings,' the favorite dish, most exquisitely dressed, was produced at his dinner. He thanked her for this obliging attention, and turning to the butler, directed him to tell the cook that no dish was ever so well dressed.

Mrs. Carlton blushed when the honest butler said, 'Sir, it was my mistress dressed it with her own hands, because she knew your honor was fond of it.'

"Tears of grat.i.tude rushed into Carlton's eyes, and tears of joy overflowed those of the old domestic, when his master, rising from the table, tenderly embraced his wife, and declared he was unworthy of such a treasure. 'I have been guilty of a public wrong, Johnson,' said he to his servant, 'and my reparation shall be as public. I can never deserve her, but my life shall be spent in endeavoring to do so.'

"The little girl was brought in, and her presence seemed to cement this new formed union. An augmented cheerfulness on the part of Mrs. Carlton invited an increased tenderness on that of her husband. He began every day to discover new excellences in his wife, which he readily acknowledged to herself, and to the world. The conviction of her worth had been gradually producing esteem, esteem now ripened into affection, and his affection for his wife was mingled with a blind sort of admiration of that piety which had produced such effects. He now began to think home the pleasantest place, and his wife the pleasantest companion.

"A gentle censure from him on the excessive frugality of her dress, mixed with admiration of the purity of its motive, was an intimation to her to be more elegant. He happened to admire a gown worn by a lady whom they had visited. She not only sent for the same materials, but had it made by the same pattern. A little attention of which he felt the delicacy.

"He not only saw, but in no long time acknowledged, that a religion which produced such admirable effects, could not be so mischievous a principle as he had supposed, nor could it be an inert principle. Her prudence has accomplished what her piety began. She always watched the turn of his eye, to see how far she might venture, and changed the discourse when the look was not encouraging. She never tired him with lectures, never obtruded serious discourse unseasonably, nor prolonged it improperly. His early love of reading, which had for some years given way to more turbulent pleasures, he has resumed; and frequently insists, that the books he reads to her shall be of her own choosing. In this choice she exercises the nicest discretion, selecting such as may gently lead his mind to higher pursuits, but which at the same time are so elegantly written as not to disgust his taste. In all this Mrs.

Stanley is her friend and counselor.

"While Mrs. Carlton is advancing her husband's relish for books of piety, he is forming hers to polite literature. She herself often proposes an amusing book, that he may not suspect her of a wish to abridge his innocent gratifications; and by this complaisance she gains more than she loses, for, not to be outdone in generosity, he often proposes some pious one in return. Thus their mutual sacrifices are mutual benefits. She has found out that he has a highly cultivated understanding, and he has discovered that she has a mind remarkably susceptible of cultivation. He has by degrees dropped most of his former a.s.sociates, and has entirely renounced the diversions into which they led him. He is become a frequent and welcome visitor here. His conduct is uniformly respectable, and I look forward with hope to his becoming even a s.h.i.+ning character. There is, however, a pertinacity, I may say a sincerity, in his temper, which somewhat keeps him back. He will never adopt any principle without the most complete conviction of his own mind; nor profess any truth of which he himself does not actually feel the force."

Lady Belfield, after thanking Mr. Stanley for his interesting little narrative, earnestly requested that Sir John would renew his acquaintance with Mr. Carlton, that she herself might be enabled to profit by such an affecting example of the power of genuine religion as his wife exhibited; confessing that one such living instance would weigh more with her than a hundred arguments. Mrs. Stanley obligingly promised to invite them to dinner the first leisure day. Mr. Stanley now informed us that Sir George Aston was arrived from Cambridge on a visit to his mother and sisters; that he was a youth of great promise whom he begged to introduce to us as a young man in whose welfare he took a lively concern, and on the right formation of whose character much would depend, as he had a large estate, and the family interest in the county would give him a very considerable influence; to this influence it was, therefore, of great importance to give a right direction. We next morning took a ride to Aston Hall, and I commenced an acquaintance with the engaging young baronet, which I doubt not, from what I saw and heard, will hereafter ripen into friends.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER XIX.

The good rector joined the party at dinner. The conversation afterward happened to turn on the value of human opinion, and Sir John Belfield made the hackneyed observation, that the desire of obtaining it should never be discouraged, it being highly useful as a motive of action.

"Yes," said Dr. Barlow, "it certainly has its uses in a world, the affairs of which must be chiefly carried on by worldly men; a world which is itself governed by low motives. But human applause is not a Christian principle of action; nay, it is so adverse to Christianity that our Saviour himself a.s.signs it as a powerful cause of men's not believing, or at least not confessing Him; _because they loved the praise of men_. The eager desire of fame is a sort of separation line between Paganism and Christianity. The ancient philosophers have left us many s.h.i.+ning examples of moderation in earthly things, and of the contempt of riches. So far the light of reason, and a n.o.ble self-denial carried them; and many a Christian may blush at these instances of their superiority; but of an indifference to fame, of a deadness to human applause except as founded on loftiness of spirit, disdain of their judges, and self-sufficient pride, I do not recollect any instance."

"And yet," said Sir John, "I remember Seneca says in one of his epistles, that no man expresses such a respect and devotion to virtue as he who forfeits the _repute_ of being a good man, that he may not forfeit the _conscience_ of being such."

"They might," replied Mr. Stanley, "incidentally express some such sentiment, in a well turned period, to give ant.i.thesis to an expression, or weight to an apothegm; they might declaim against it in a fit of disappointment in the burst of indignation excited by a recent loss of popularity; but I question if they ever once acted upon it. I question if Marius himself, sitting amid the ruins of Carthage, actually felt it.

Seldom, if ever, does it seem to have been inculcated as a principle, or enforced as a rule of action: nor could it--it was against the canon law of their foundation."

"Yet," said Sir John, "a good man struggling with adversity is, I think, represented by one of their authors as an object worthy of the attention of the G.o.ds."

"Yes," said Mr. Stanley, "but the divine approbation alone was never proposed as the standard of right, or the reward of actions, except by divine revelation."

"Nothing seems more difficult," said I, "to settle than the standard of right. Every man has a standard of his own, which he considers as of universal application. One makes his own tastes, desires, and appet.i.tes, his rule of right; another the example of certain individuals, fallible like himself; a third, and indeed the generality, the maxims, habits, and manners of the fas.h.i.+onable part of the world."

Sir John remarked, "That since it is so difficult to discriminate between allowable indulgence and criminal conformity, the life of a conscientious man, if he be not const.i.tutionally temperate, or habitually firm, must be poisoned with solicitude, and perpetually racked with the fear of exceeding his limits."

"My dear Belfield," replied Mr. Stanley, "the peace and security of a Christian, we well know, are not left to depend on const.i.tutional temperance, or habitual firmness. These are, as the young Numidian says,

Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves.

There is a higher and surer way to prevent the solicitude, which is, by correcting the principle; to get the heart set right; to be jealous over ourselves; to be careful never to venture to the edge of our lawful limits; in short, and that is the only infallible standard, to live in the conscientious practice of measuring all we say, and do, and think, by the unerring rule of G.o.d's word."

"The impossibility of reaching the perfection which that rule requires,"

said Sir John, "sometimes discourages well-meaning men, as if the attempt were hopeless."

Dr. Barlow replied, "That is, sir, because they take up with a hearsay Christianity. Its reputed pains and penalties drive them off from inquiring for themselves. They rest on the surface. If they would go deeper, they would see that the Spirit which dictated the Scriptures is a Spirit of power, as well as a Spirit of promise. All that he requires us to do, he enables us to perform. He does not prescribe 'rules'

without furnis.h.i.+ng us with 'arms.'"

In answer to some further remarks of Sir John, who spoke with due abhorrence of any instance of actual vice, but who seemed to have no just idea of its root and principle, Dr. Barlow observed: "While every one agrees in reprobating wicked actions, few, comparatively, are aware of the natural and habitual evil which lurks in the heart. To this the Bible particularly directs our attention. In describing a bad character, it does not say that his actions are flagitious, but that 'G.o.d is not in all his _thoughts_.' This is the description of a thoroughly worldly man. Those who are given up completely to the world, to its maxims, its principles, its cares, or its pleasures, can not entertain thoughts of G.o.d. And to be unmindful of his providence, to be regardless of his presence, to be insensible to his mercies, must be nearly as offensive to him as to deny his existence. Excessive dissipation, a supreme love of money, or an entire devotedness to ambition, drinks up that spirit, swallows up that affection, exhausts that vigor, starves that zeal, with which a Christian should devote himself to serve his Maker.

"Pray observe," continued Dr. Barlow, "that I am not speaking of avowed profligates, but of decent characters; men who, while they are pursuing with keen intenseness the great objects of their attachment, do not deride or even totally neglect religious observances, yet think they do much and well, by affording some odd sc.r.a.ps of refuse time to a few weary prayers, and sleepy thoughts, from a mind worn down with engagements of pleasure, or projects of acc.u.mulation, or schemes of ambition. In all these several pursuits, there may be nothing which, to the gross perceptions of the world, would appear to be moral turpitude.

The pleasure may not be profligacy, the wealth so cherished may not have been fraudulently obtained, the ambition, in human estimation, may not be dishonorable; but an alienation from G.o.d, an indifference to eternal things, a spirit incompatible with the spirit of the gospel, will be found at the bottom of all these restless pursuits."

"I am entirely of your opinion, Doctor," said Mr. Stanley; "it is taking up with something short of real Christianity; it is an apostacy from the doctrines of the Bible; it is the subst.i.tution of a spurious and popular religion for that which was revealed from heaven; it is a departure from the faith once delivered to the saints, that has so fatally sunk our morality; and given countenance to that low standard of practical virtue which prevails. If we lower the principle, if we obscure the light, if we reject the influence, if we sully the purity, if we abridge the strictness of the divine law, there will remain no ascending power in the soul, no stirring spirit, no quickening aspiration after perfection, no stretching forward after that holiness to which the beatific vision is specifically promised. It is vain to expect that the practice will rise higher than the principle which inspires it; that the habits will be superior to the motives which govern them."