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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16357-8.txt b/16357-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e120a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/16357-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2949 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mary, by Mary Wollstonecraft + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Mary + A Fiction + + +Author: Mary Wollstonecraft + + + +Release Date: July 24, 2005 [eBook #16357] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797). + + + + + +MARY, + +A Fiction + +L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie. + ROUSSEAU. + +London, +Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul's Church-Yard. + +MDCCLXXXVIII + + + + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +In delineating the Heroine of this Fiction, the Author attempts to +develop a character different from those generally portrayed. This woman +is neither a Clarissa, a Lady G----, nor a[A] Sophie.--It would be vain +to mention the various modifications of these models, as it would to +remark, how widely artists wander from nature, when they copy the +originals of great masters. They catch the gross parts; but the subtile +spirit evaporates; and not having the just ties, affectation disgusts, +when grace was expected to charm. + +Those compositions only have power to delight, and carry us willing +captives, where the soul of the author is exhibited, and animates the +hidden springs. Lost in a pleasing enthusiasm, they live in the scenes +they represent; and do not measure their steps in a beaten track, +solicitous to gather expected flowers, and bind them in a wreath, +according to the prescribed rules of art. + +These chosen few, wish to speak for themselves, and not to be an +echo--even of the sweetest sounds--or the reflector of the most sublime +beams. The[B] paradise they ramble in, must be of their own creating--or +the prospect soon grows insipid, and not varied by a vivifying +principle, fades and dies. + +In an artless tale, without episodes, the mind of a woman, who has +thinking powers is displayed. The female organs have been thought too +weak for this arduous employment; and experience seems to justify the +assertion. Without arguing physically about _possibilities_--in a +fiction, such a being may be allowed to exist; whose grandeur is derived +from the operations of its own faculties, not subjugated to opinion; but +drawn by the individual from the original source. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote A: Rousseau.] + +[Footnote B: I here give the Reviewers an opportunity of being very +witty about the Paradise of Fools, &c.] + + + + +MARY + + + + +CHAP. I. + + +Mary, the heroine of this fiction, was the daughter of Edward, who +married Eliza, a gentle, fashionable girl, with a kind of indolence in +her temper, which might be termed negative good-nature: her virtues, +indeed, were all of that stamp. She carefully attended to the _shews_ of +things, and her opinions, I should have said prejudices, were such as +the generality approved of. She was educated with the expectation of a +large fortune, of course became a mere machine: the homage of her +attendants made a great part of her puerile amusements, and she never +imagined there were any relative duties for her to fulfil: notions of +her own consequence, by these means, were interwoven in her mind, and +the years of youth spent in acquiring a few superficial accomplishments, +without having any taste for them. When she was first introduced into +the polite circle, she danced with an officer, whom she faintly wished +to be united to; but her father soon after recommending another in a +more distinguished rank of life, she readily submitted to his will, and +promised to love, honour, and obey, (a vicious fool,) as in duty bound. + +While they resided in London, they lived in the usual fashionable style, +and seldom saw each other; nor were they much more sociable when they +wooed rural felicity for more than half the year, in a delightful +country, where Nature, with lavish hand, had scattered beauties around; +for the master, with brute, unconscious gaze, passed them by unobserved, +and sought amusement in country sports. He hunted in the morning, and +after eating an immoderate dinner, generally fell asleep: this +seasonable rest enabled him to digest the cumbrous load; he would then +visit some of his pretty tenants; and when he compared their ruddy glow +of health with his wife's countenance, which even rouge could not +enliven, it is not necessary to say which a _gourmand_ would give the +preference to. Their vulgar dance of spirits were infinitely more +agreeable to his fancy than her sickly, die-away languor. Her voice was +but the shadow of a sound, and she had, to complete her delicacy, so +relaxed her nerves, that she became a mere nothing. + +Many such noughts are there in the female world! yet she had a good +opinion of her own merit,--truly, she said long prayers,--and sometimes +read her Week's Preparation: she dreaded that horrid place vulgarly +called _hell_, the regions below; but whether her's was a mounting +spirit, I cannot pretend to determine; or what sort of a planet would +have been proper for her, when she left her _material_ part in this +world, let metaphysicians settle; I have nothing to say to her unclothed +spirit. + +As she was sometimes obliged to be alone, or only with her French +waiting-maid, she sent to the metropolis for all the new publications, +and while she was dressing her hair, and she could turn her eyes from +the glass, she ran over those most delightful substitutes for bodily +dissipation, novels. I say bodily, or the animal soul, for a rational +one can find no employment in polite circles. The glare of lights, the +studied inelegancies of dress, and the compliments offered up at the +shrine of false beauty, are all equally addressed to the senses. + +When she could not any longer indulge the caprices of fancy one way, she +tried another. The Platonic Marriage, Eliza Warwick, and some other +interesting tales were perused with eagerness. Nothing could be more +natural than the developement of the passions, nor more striking than +the views of the human heart. What delicate struggles! and uncommonly +pretty turns of thought! The picture that was found on a bramble-bush, +the new sensitive-plant, or tree, which caught the swain by the +upper-garment, and presented to his ravished eyes a portrait.--Fatal +image!--It planted a thorn in a till then insensible heart, and sent a +new kind of a knight-errant into the world. But even this was nothing to +the catastrophe, and the circumstance on which it hung, the hornet +settling on the sleeping lover's face. What a _heart-rending_ accident! +She planted, in imitation of those susceptible souls, a rose bush; but +there was not a lover to weep in concert with her, when she watered it +with her tears.--Alas! Alas! + +If my readers would excuse the sportiveness of fancy, and give me credit +for genius, I would go on and tell them such tales as would force the +sweet tears of sensibility to flow in copious showers down beautiful +cheeks, to the discomposure of rouge, &c. &c. Nay, I would make it so +interesting, that the fair peruser should beg the hair-dresser to +settle the curls himself, and not interrupt her. + +She had besides another resource, two most beautiful dogs, who shared +her bed, and reclined on cushions near her all the day. These she +watched with the most assiduous care, and bestowed on them the warmest +caresses. This fondness for animals was not that kind of +_attendrissement_ which makes a person take pleasure in providing for +the subsistence and comfort of a living creature; but it proceeded from +vanity, it gave her an opportunity of lisping out the prettiest French +expressions of ecstatic fondness, in accents that had never been attuned +by tenderness. + +She was chaste, according to the vulgar acceptation of the word, that +is, she did not make any actual _faux pas_; she feared the world, and +was indolent; but then, to make amends for this seeming self-denial, she +read all the sentimental novels, dwelt on the love-scenes, and, had she +thought while she read, her mind would have been contaminated; as she +accompanied the lovers to the lonely arbors, and would walk with them by +the clear light of the moon. She wondered her husband did not stay at +home. She was jealous--why did he not love her, sit by her side, squeeze +her hand, and look unutterable things? Gentle reader, I will tell thee; +they neither of them felt what they could not utter. I will not pretend +to say that they always annexed an idea to a word; but they had none of +those feelings which are not easily analyzed. + + + + +CHAP. II. + + +In due time she brought forth a son, a feeble babe; and the following +year a daughter. After the mother's throes she felt very few sentiments +of maternal tenderness: the children were given to nurses, and she +played with her dogs. Want of exercise prevented the least chance of her +recovering strength; and two or three milk-fevers brought on a +consumption, to which her constitution tended. Her children all died in +their infancy, except the two first, and she began to grow fond of the +son, as he was remarkably handsome. For years she divided her time +between the sofa, and the card-table. She thought not of death, though +on the borders of the grave; nor did any of the duties of her station +occur to her as necessary. Her children were left in the nursery; and +when Mary, the little blushing girl, appeared, she would send the +awkward thing away. To own the truth, she was awkward enough, in a house +without any play-mates; for her brother had been sent to school, and she +scarcely knew how to employ herself; she would ramble about the garden, +admire the flowers, and play with the dogs. An old house-keeper told her +stories, read to her, and, at last, taught her to read. Her mother +talked of enquiring for a governess when her health would permit; and, +in the interim desired her own maid to teach her French. As she had +learned to read, she perused with avidity every book that came in her +way. Neglected in every respect, and left to the operations of her own +mind, she considered every thing that came under her inspection, and +learned to think. She had heard of a separate state, and that angels +sometimes visited this earth. She would sit in a thick wood in the park, +and talk to them; make little songs addressed to them, and sing them to +tunes of her own composing; and her native wood notes wild were sweet +and touching. + +Her father always exclaimed against female acquirements, and was glad +that his wife's indolence and ill health made her not trouble herself +about them. She had besides another reason, she did not wish to have a +fine tall girl brought forward into notice as her daughter; she still +expected to recover, and figure away in the gay world. Her husband was +very tyrannical and passionate; indeed so very easily irritated when +inebriated, that Mary was continually in dread lest he should frighten +her mother to death; her sickness called forth all Mary's tenderness, +and exercised her compassion so continually, that it became more than a +match for self-love, and was the governing propensity of her heart +through life. She was violent in her temper; but she saw her father's +faults, and would weep when obliged to compare his temper with her +own.--She did more; artless prayers rose to Heaven for pardon, when she +was conscious of having erred; and her contrition was so exceedingly +painful, that she watched diligently the first movements of anger and +impatience, to save herself this cruel remorse. + +Sublime ideas filled her young mind--always connected with devotional +sentiments; extemporary effusions of gratitude, and rhapsodies of +praise would burst often from her, when she listened to the birds, or +pursued the deer. She would gaze on the moon, and ramble through the +gloomy path, observing the various shapes the clouds assumed, and listen +to the sea that was not far distant. The wandering spirits, which she +imagined inhabited every part of nature, were her constant friends and +confidants. She began to consider the Great First Cause, formed just +notions of his attributes, and, in particular, dwelt on his wisdom and +goodness. Could she have loved her father or mother, had they returned +her affection, she would not so soon, perhaps, have sought out a new +world. + +Her sensibility prompted her to search for an object to love; on earth +it was not to be found: her mother had often disappointed her, and the +apparent partiality she shewed to her brother gave her exquisite +pain--produced a kind of habitual melancholy, led her into a fondness +for reading tales of woe, and made her almost realize the fictitious +distress. + +She had not any notion of death till a little chicken expired at her +feet; and her father had a dog hung in a passion. She then concluded +animals had souls, or they would not have been subjected to the caprice +of man; but what was the soul of man or beast? In this style year after +year rolled on, her mother still vegetating. + +A little girl who attended in the nursery fell sick. Mary paid her great +attention; contrary to her wish, she was sent out of the house to her +mother, a poor woman, whom necessity obliged to leave her sick child +while she earned her daily bread. The poor wretch, in a fit of delirium +stabbed herself, and Mary saw her dead body, and heard the dismal +account; and so strongly did it impress her imagination, that every +night of her life the bleeding corpse presented itself to her when the +first began to slumber. Tortured by it, she at last made a vow, that if +she was ever mistress of a family she would herself watch over every +part of it. The impression that this accident made was indelible. + +As her mother grew imperceptibly worse and worse, her father, who did +not understand such a lingering complaint, imagined his wife was only +grown still more whimsical, and that if she could be prevailed on to +exert herself, her health would soon be re-established. In general he +treated her with indifference; but when her illness at all interfered +with his pleasures, he expostulated in the most cruel manner, and +visibly harassed the invalid. Mary would then assiduously try to turn +his attention to something else; and when sent out of the room, would +watch at the door, until the storm was over, for unless it was, she +could not rest. Other causes also contributed to disturb her repose: her +mother's luke-warm manner of performing her religious duties, filled her +with anguish; and when she observed her father's vices, the unbidden +tears would flow. She was miserable when beggars were driven from the +gate without being relieved; if she could do it unperceived, she would +give them her own breakfast, and feel gratified, when, in consequence of +it, she was pinched by hunger. + +She had once, or twice, told her little secrets to her mother; they were +laughed at, and she determined never to do it again. In this manner was +she left to reflect on her own feelings; and so strengthened were they +by being meditated on, that her character early became singular and +permanent. Her understanding was strong and clear, when not clouded by +her feelings; but she was too much the creature of impulse, and the +slave of compassion. + + + + +CHAP. III. + + +Near her father's house lived a poor widow, who had been brought up in +affluence, but reduced to great distress by the extravagance of her +husband; he had destroyed his constitution while he spent his fortune; +and dying, left his wife, and five small children, to live on a very +scanty pittance. The eldest daughter was for some years educated by a +distant relation, a Clergyman. While she was with him a young gentleman, +son to a man of property in the neighbourhood, took particular notice of +her. It is true, he never talked of love; but then they played and sung +in concert; drew landscapes together, and while she worked he read to +her, cultivated her taste, and stole imperceptibly her heart. Just at +this juncture, when smiling, unanalyzed hope made every prospect bright, +and gay expectation danced in her eyes, her benefactor died. She +returned to her mother--the companion of her youth forgot her, they took +no more sweet counsel together. This disappointment spread a sadness +over her countenance, and made it interesting. She grew fond of +solitude, and her character appeared similar to Mary's, though her +natural disposition was very different. + +She was several years older than Mary, yet her refinement, her taste, +caught her eye, and she eagerly sought her friendship: before her return +she had assisted the family, which was almost reduced to the last ebb; +and now she had another motive to actuate her. + +As she had often occasion to send messages to Ann, her new friend, +mistakes were frequently made; Ann proposed that in future they should +be written ones, to obviate this difficulty, and render their +intercourse more agreeable. Young people are mostly fond of scribbling; +Mary had had very little instruction; but by copying her friend's +letters, whose hand she admired, she soon became a proficient; a little +practice made her write with tolerable correctness, and her genius gave +force to it. In conversation, and in writing, when she felt, she was +pathetic, tender and persuasive; and she expressed contempt with such +energy, that few could stand the flash of her eyes. + +As she grew more intimate with Ann, her manners were softened, and she +acquired a degree of equality in her behaviour: yet still her spirits +were fluctuating, and her movements rapid. She felt less pain on +account of her mother's partiality to her brother, as she hoped now to +experience the pleasure of being beloved; but this hope led her into new +sorrows, and, as usual, paved the way for disappointment. Ann only felt +gratitude; her heart was entirely engrossed by one object, and +friendship could not serve as a substitute; memory officiously retraced +past scenes, and unavailing wishes made time loiter. + +Mary was often hurt by the involuntary indifference which these +consequences produced. When her friend was all the world to her, she +found she was not as necessary to her happiness; and her delicate mind +could not bear to obtrude her affection, or receive love as an alms, the +offspring of pity. Very frequently has she ran to her with delight, and +not perceiving any thing of the same kind in Ann's countenance, she has +shrunk back; and, falling from one extreme into the other, instead of a +warm greeting that was just slipping from her tongue, her expressions +seemed to be dictated by the most chilling insensibility. + +She would then imagine that she looked sickly or unhappy, and then all +her tenderness would return like a torrent, and bear away all +reflection. In this manner was her sensibility called forth, and +exercised, by her mother's illness, her friend's misfortunes, and her +own unsettled mind. + + + + +CHAP. IV. + + +Near to her father's house was a range of mountains; some of them were, +literally speaking, cloud-capt, for on them clouds continually rested, +and gave grandeur to the prospect; and down many of their sides the +little bubbling cascades ran till they swelled a beautiful river. +Through the straggling trees and bushes the wind whistled, and on them +the birds sung, particularly the robins; they also found shelter in the +ivy of an old castle, a haunted one, as the story went; it was situated +on the brow of one of the mountains, and commanded a view of the sea. +This castle had been inhabited by some of her ancestors; and many tales +had the old house-keeper told her of the worthies who had resided there. + +When her mother frowned, and her friend looked cool, she would steal to +this retirement, where human foot seldom trod--gaze on the sea, observe +the grey clouds, or listen to the wind which struggled to free itself +from the only thing that impeded its course. When more cheerful, she +admired the various dispositions of light and shade, the beautiful tints +the gleams of sunshine gave to the distant hills; then she rejoiced in +existence, and darted into futurity. + +One way home was through the cavity of a rock covered with a thin layer +of earth, just sufficient to afford nourishment to a few stunted shrubs +and wild plants, which grew on its sides, and nodded over the summit. A +clear stream broke out of it, and ran amongst the pieces of rocks +fallen into it. Here twilight always reigned--it seemed the Temple of +Solitude; yet, paradoxical as the assertion may appear, when the foot +sounded on the rock, it terrified the intruder, and inspired a strange +feeling, as if the rightful sovereign was dislodged. In this retreat she +read Thomson's Seasons, Young's Night-Thoughts, and Paradise Lost. + +At a little distance from it were the huts of a few poor fishermen, who +supported their numerous children by their precarious labour. In these +little huts she frequently rested, and denied herself every childish +gratification, in order to relieve the necessities of the inhabitants. +Her heart yearned for them, and would dance with joy when she had +relieved their wants, or afforded them pleasure. + +In these pursuits she learned the luxury of doing good; and the sweet +tears of benevolence frequently moistened her eyes, and gave them a +sparkle which, exclusive of that, they had not; on the contrary, they +were rather fixed, and would never have been observed if her soul had +not animated them. They were not at all like those brilliant ones which +look like polished diamonds, and dart from every superfice, giving more +light to the beholders than they receive themselves. + +Her benevolence, indeed, knew no bounds; the distress of others carried +her out of herself; and she rested not till she had relieved or +comforted them. The warmth of her compassion often made her so diligent, +that many things occurred to her, which might have escaped a less +interested observer. + +In like manner, she entered with such spirit into whatever she read, +and the emotions thereby raised were so strong, that it soon became a +part of her mind. + +Enthusiastic sentiments of devotion at this period actuated her; her +Creator was almost apparent to her senses in his works; but they were +mostly the grand or solemn features of Nature which she delighted to +contemplate. She would stand and behold the waves rolling, and think of +the voice that could still the tumultuous deep. + +These propensities gave the colour to her mind, before the passions +began to exercise their tyrannic sway, and particularly pointed out +those which the soil would have a tendency to nurse. + +Years after, when wandering through the same scenes, her imagination has +strayed back, to trace the first placid sentiments they inspired, and +she would earnestly desire to regain the same peaceful tranquillity. + +Many nights she sat up, if I may be allowed the expression, _conversing_ +with the Author of Nature, making verses, and singing hymns of her own +composing. She considered also, and tried to discern what end her +various faculties were destined to pursue; and had a glimpse of a truth, +which afterwards more fully unfolded itself. + +She thought that only an infinite being could fill the human soul, and +that when other objects were followed as a means of happiness, the +delusion led to misery, the consequence of disappointment. Under the +influence of ardent affections, how often has she forgot this +conviction, and as often returned to it again, when it struck her with +redoubled force. Often did she taste unmixed delight; her joys, her +ecstacies arose from genius. + +She was now fifteen, and she wished to receive the holy sacrament; and +perusing the scriptures, and discussing some points of doctrine which +puzzled her, she would sit up half the night, her favourite time for +employing her mind; she too plainly perceived that she saw through a +glass darkly; and that the bounds set to stop our intellectual +researches, is one of the trials of a probationary state. + +But her affections were roused by the display of divine mercy; and she +eagerly desired to commemorate the dying love of her great benefactor. +The night before the important day, when she was to take on herself her +baptismal vow, she could not go to bed; the sun broke in on her +meditations, and found her not exhausted by her watching. + +The orient pearls were strewed around--she hailed the morn, and sung +with wild delight, Glory to God on high, good will towards men. She was +indeed so much affected when she joined in the prayer for her eternal +preservation, that she could hardly conceal her violent emotions; and +the recollection never failed to wake her dormant piety when earthly +passions made it grow languid. + +These various movements of her mind were not commented on, nor were the +luxuriant shoots restrained by culture. The servants and the poor adored +her. + +In order to be enabled to gratify herself in the highest degree, she +practiced the most rigid oeconomy, and had such power over her +appetites and whims, that without any great effort she conquered them +so entirely, that when her understanding or affections had an object, +she almost forgot she had a body which required nourishment. + +This habit of thinking, this kind of absorption, gave strength to the +passions. + +We will now enter on the more active field of life. + + + + +CHAP. V. + + +A few months after Mary was turned of seventeen, her brother was +attacked by a violent fever, and died before his father could reach the +school. + +She was now an heiress, and her mother began to think her of +consequence, and did not call her _the child_. Proper masters were sent +for; she was taught to dance, and an extraordinary master procured to +perfect her in that most necessary of all accomplishments. + +A part of the estate she was to inherit had been litigated, and the heir +of the person who still carried on a Chancery suit, was only two years +younger than our heroine. The fathers, spite of the dispute, frequently +met, and, in order to settle it amicably, they one day, over a bottle, +determined to quash it by a marriage, and, by uniting the two estates, +to preclude all farther enquiries into the merits of their different +claims. + +While this important matter was settling, Mary was otherwise employed. +Ann's mother's resources were failing; and the ghastly phantom, poverty, +made hasty strides to catch them in his clutches. Ann had not fortitude +enough to brave such accumulated misery; besides, the canker-worm was +lodged in her heart, and preyed on her health. She denied herself every +little comfort; things that would be no sacrifice when a person is well, +are absolutely necessary to alleviate bodily pain, and support the +animal functions. + +There were many elegant amusements, that she had acquired a relish for, +which might have taken her mind off from its most destructive bent; but +these her indigence would not allow her to enjoy: forced then, by way of +relaxation, to play the tunes her lover admired, and handle the pencil +he taught her to hold, no wonder his image floated on her imagination, +and that taste invigorated love. + +Poverty, and all its inelegant attendants, were in her mother's abode; +and she, though a good sort of a woman, was not calculated to banish, by +her trivial, uninteresting chat, the delirium in which her daughter was +lost. + +This ill-fated love had given a bewitching softness to her manners, a +delicacy so truly feminine, that a man of any feeling could not behold +her without wishing to chase her sorrows away. She was timid and +irresolute, and rather fond of dissipation; grief only had power to make +her reflect. + +In every thing it was not the great, but the beautiful, or the pretty, +that caught her attention. And in composition, the polish of style, and +harmony of numbers, interested her much more than the flights of genius, +or abstracted speculations. + +She often wondered at the books Mary chose, who, though she had a lively +imagination, would frequently study authors whose works were addressed +to the understanding. This liking taught her to arrange her thoughts, +and argue with herself, even when under the influence of the most +violent passions. + +Ann's misfortunes and ill health were strong ties to bind Mary to her; +she wished so continually to have a home to receive her in, that it +drove every other desire out of her mind; and, dwelling on the tender +schemes which compassion and friendship dictated, she longed most +ardently to put them in practice. + +Fondly as she loved her friend, she did not forget her mother, whose +decline was so imperceptible, that they were not aware of her +approaching dissolution. The physician, however, observing the most +alarming symptoms; her husband was apprised of her immediate danger; and +then first mentioned to her his designs with respect to his daughter. + +She approved of them; Mary was sent for; she was not at home; she had +rambled to visit Ann, and found her in an hysteric fit. The landlord of +her little farm had sent his agent for the rent, which had long been due +to him; and he threatened to seize the stock that still remained, and +turn them out, if they did not very shortly discharge the arrears. + +As this man made a private fortune by harassing the tenants of the +person to whom he was deputy, little was to be expected from his +forbearance. + +All this was told to Mary--and the mother added, she had many other +creditors who would, in all probability, take the alarm, and snatch from +them all that had been saved out of the wreck. "I could bear all," she +cried; "but what will become of my children? Of this child," pointing to +the fainting Ann, "whose constitution is already undermined by care and +grief--where will she go?"--Mary's heart ceased to beat while she asked +the question--She attempted to speak; but the inarticulate sounds died +away. Before she had recovered herself, her father called himself to +enquire for her; and desired her instantly to accompany him home. + +Engrossed by the scene of misery she had been witness to, she walked +silently by his side, when he roused her out of her reverie by telling +her that in all likelihood her mother had not many hours to live; and +before she could return him any answer, informed her that they had both +determined to marry her to Charles, his friend's son; he added, the +ceremony was to be performed directly, that her mother might be witness +of it; for such a desire she had expressed with childish eagerness. + +Overwhelmed by this intelligence, Mary rolled her eyes about, then, with +a vacant stare, fixed them on her father's face; but they were no longer +a sense; they conveyed no ideas to the brain. As she drew near the +house, her wonted presence of mind returned: after this suspension of +thought, a thousand darted into her mind,--her dying mother,--her +friend's miserable situation,--and an extreme horror at taking--at being +forced to take, such a hasty step; but she did not feel the disgust, the +reluctance, which arises from a prior attachment. + +She loved Ann better than any one in the world--to snatch her from the +very jaws of destruction--she would have encountered a lion. To have +this friend constantly with her; to make her mind easy with respect to +her family, would it not be superlative bliss? + +Full of these thoughts she entered her mother's chamber, but they then +fled at the sight of a dying parent. She went to her, took her hand; it +feebly pressed her's. "My child," said the languid mother: the words +reached her heart; she had seldom heard them pronounced with accents +denoting affection; "My child, I have not always treated you with +kindness--God forgive me! do you?"--Mary's tears strayed in a +disregarded stream; on her bosom the big drops fell, but did not relieve +the fluttering tenant. "I forgive you!" said she, in a tone of +astonishment. + +The clergyman came in to read the service for the sick, and afterwards +the marriage ceremony was performed. Mary stood like a statue of +Despair, and pronounced the awful vow without thinking of it; and then +ran to support her mother, who expired the same night in her arms. + +Her husband set off for the continent the same day, with a tutor, to +finish his studies at one of the foreign universities. + +Ann was sent for to console her, not on account of the departure of her +new relation, a boy she seldom took any notice of, but to reconcile her +to her fate; besides, it was necessary she should have a female +companion, and there was not any maiden aunt in the family, or cousin of +the same class. + + + + +CHAP. VI. + + +Mary was allowed to pay the rent which gave her so much uneasiness, and +she exerted every nerve to prevail on her father effectually to succour +the family; but the utmost she could obtain was a small sum very +inadequate to the purpose, to enable the poor woman to carry into +execution a little scheme of industry near the metropolis. + +Her intention of leaving that part of the country, had much more weight +with him, than Mary's arguments, drawn from motives of philanthropy and +friendship; this was a language he did not understand; expressive of +occult qualities he never thought of, as they could not be seen or +felt. + +After the departure of her mother, Ann still continued to languish, +though she had a nurse who was entirely engrossed by the desire of +amusing her. Had her health been re-established, the time would have +passed in a tranquil, improving manner. + +During the year of mourning they lived in retirement; music, drawing, +and reading, filled up the time; and Mary's taste and judgment were both +improved by contracting a habit of observation, and permitting the +simple beauties of Nature to occupy her thoughts. + +She had a wonderful quickness in discerning distinctions and combining +ideas, that at the first glance did not appear to be similar. But these +various pursuits did not banish all her cares, or carry off all her +constitutional black bile. Before she enjoyed Ann's society, she +imagined it would have made her completely happy: she was disappointed, +and yet knew not what to complain of. + +As her friend could not accompany her in her walks, and wished to be +alone, for a very obvious reason, she would return to her old haunts, +retrace her anticipated pleasures--and wonder how they changed their +colour in possession, and proved so futile. + +She had not yet found the companion she looked for. Ann and she were not +congenial minds, nor did she contribute to her comfort in the degree she +expected. She shielded her from poverty; but this was only a negative +blessing; when under the pressure it was very grievous, and still more +so were the apprehensions; but when exempt from them, she was not +contented. + +Such is human nature, its laws were not to be inverted to gratify our +heroine, and stop the progress of her understanding, happiness only +flourished in paradise--we cannot taste and live. + +Another year passed away with increasing apprehensions. Ann had a hectic +cough, and many unfavourable prognostics: Mary then forgot every thing +but the fear of losing her, and even imagined that her recovery would +have made her happy. + +Her anxiety led her to study physic, and for some time she only read +books of that cast; and this knowledge, literally speaking, ended in +vanity and vexation of spirit, as it enabled her to foresee what she +could not prevent. + +As her mind expanded, her marriage appeared a dreadful misfortune; she +was sometimes reminded of the heavy yoke, and bitter was the +recollection! + +In one thing there seemed to be a sympathy between them, for she wrote +formal answers to his as formal letters. An extreme dislike took root in +her mind; the found of his name made her turn sick; but she forgot all, +listening to Ann's cough, and supporting her languid frame. She would +then catch her to her bosom with convulsive eagerness, as if to save her +from sinking into an opening grave. + + + + +CHAP. VII. + + +It was the will of Providence that Mary should experience almost every +species of sorrow. Her father was thrown from his horse, when his blood +was in a very inflammatory state, and the bruises were very dangerous; +his recovery was not expected by the physical tribe. + +Terrified at seeing him so near death, and yet so ill prepared for it, +his daughter sat by his bed, oppressed by the keenest anguish, which her +piety increased. + +Her grief had nothing selfish in it; he was not a friend or protector; +but he was her father, an unhappy wretch, going into eternity, depraved +and thoughtless. Could a life of sensuality be a preparation for a +peaceful death? Thus meditating, she passed the still midnight hour by +his bedside. + +The nurse fell asleep, nor did a violent thunder storm interrupt her +repose, though it made the night appear still more terrific to Mary. Her +father's unequal breathing alarmed her, when she heard a long drawn +breath, she feared it was his last, and watching for another, a dreadful +peal of thunder struck her ears. Considering the separation of the soul +and body, this night seemed sadly solemn, and the hours long. + +Death is indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The +compassionate heart finds not any comfort; but dreads an eternal +separation. No transporting greetings are anticipated, when the +survivors also shall have finished their course; but all is black!--the +grave may truly be said to receive the departed--this is the sting of +death! + +Night after night Mary watched, and this excessive fatigue impaired her +own health, but had a worse effect on Ann; though she constantly went to +bed, she could not rest; a number of uneasy thoughts obtruded +themselves; and apprehensions about Mary, whom she loved as well as her +exhausted heart could love, harassed her mind. After a sleepless, +feverish night she had a violent fit of coughing, and burst a +blood-vessel. The physician, who was in the house, was sent for, and +when he left the patient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, insisted on +knowing his real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in +a critical state; and if she passed the approaching winter in England, +he imagined she would die in the spring; a season fatal to consumptive +disorders. The spring!--Her husband was then expected.--Gracious Heaven, +could she bear all this. + +In a few days her father breathed his last. The horrid sensations his +death occasioned were too poignant to be durable: and Ann's danger, and +her own situation, made Mary deliberate what mode of conduct she should +pursue. She feared this event might hasten the return of her husband, +and prevent her putting into execution a plan she had determined on. It +was to accompany Ann to a more salubrious climate. + + + + +CHAP. VIII. + + +I mentioned before, that Mary had never had any particular attachment, +to give rise to the disgust that daily gained ground. Her friendship for +Ann occupied her heart, and resembled a passion. She had had, indeed, +several transient likings; but they did not amount to love. The society +of men of genius delighted her, and improved her faculties. With beings +of this class she did not often meet; it is a rare genus; her first +favourites were men past the meridian of life, and of a philosophic +turn. + +Determined on going to the South of France, or Lisbon; she wrote to the +man she had promised to obey. The physicians had said change of air was +necessary for her as well as her friend. She mentioned this, and added, +"Her comfort, almost her existence, depended on the recovery of the +invalid she wished to attend; and that should she neglect to follow the +medical advice she had received, she should never forgive herself, or +those who endeavoured to prevent her." Full of her design, she wrote +with more than usual freedom; and this letter was like most of her +others, a transcript of her heart. + +"This dear friend," she exclaimed, "I love for her agreeable qualities, +and substantial virtues. Continual attention to her health, and the +tender office of a nurse, have created an affection very like a maternal +one--I am her only support, she leans on me--could I forsake the +forsaken, and break the bruised reed--No--I would die first! I must--I +will go." + +She would have added, "you would very much oblige me by consenting;" but +her heart revolted--and irresolutely she wrote something about wishing +him happy.--"Do I not wish all the world well?" she cried, as she +subscribed her name--It was blotted, the letter sealed in a hurry, and +sent out of her sight; and she began to prepare for her journey. + +By the return of the post she received an answer; it contained some +common-place remarks on her romantic friendship, as he termed it; "But +as the physicians advised change of air, he had no objection." + + + + +CHAP. IX. + + +There was nothing now to retard their journey; and Mary chose Lisbon +rather than France, on account of its being further removed from the +only person she wished not to see. + +They set off accordingly for Falmouth, in their way to that city. The +journey was of use to Ann, and Mary's spirits were raised by her +recovered looks--She had been in despair--now she gave way to hope, and +was intoxicated with it. On ship-board Ann always remained in the cabin; +the sight of the water terrified her: on the contrary, Mary, after she +was gone to bed, or when she fell asleep in the day, went on deck, +conversed with the sailors, and surveyed the boundless expanse before +her with delight. One instant she would regard the ocean, the next the +beings who braved its fury. Their insensibility and want of fear, she +could not name courage; their thoughtless mirth was quite of an animal +kind, and their feelings as impetuous and uncertain as the element they +plowed. + +They had only been a week at sea when they hailed the rock of Lisbon, +and the next morning anchored at the castle. After the customary visits, +they were permitted to go on shore, about three miles from the city; and +while one of the crew, who understood the language, went to procure them +one of the ugly carriages peculiar to the country, they waited in the +Irish convent, which is situated close to the Tagus. + +Some of the people offered to conduct them into the church, where there +was a fine organ playing; Mary followed them, but Ann preferred staying +with a nun she had entered into conversation with. + +One of the nuns, who had a sweet voice, was singing; Mary was struck +with awe; her heart joined in the devotion; and tears of gratitude and +tenderness flowed from her eyes. My Father, I thank thee! burst from +her--words were inadequate to express her feelings. Silently, she +surveyed the lofty dome; heard unaccustomed sounds; and saw faces, +strange ones, that she could not yet greet with fraternal love. + +In an unknown land, she considered that the Being she adored inhabited +eternity, was ever present in unnumbered worlds. When she had not any +one she loved near her, she was particularly sensible of the presence +of her Almighty Friend. + +The arrival of the carriage put a stop to her speculations; it was to +conduct them to an hotel, fitted up for the reception of invalids. +Unfortunately, before they could reach it there was a violent shower of +rain; and as the wind was very high, it beat against the leather +curtains, which they drew along the front of the vehicle, to shelter +themselves from it; but it availed not, some of the rain forced its way, +and Ann felt the effects of it, for she caught cold, spite of Mary's +precautions. + +As is the custom, the rest of the invalids, or lodgers, sent to enquire +after their health; and as soon as Ann left her chamber, in which her +complaints seldom confined her the whole day, they came in person to pay +their compliments. Three fashionable females, and two gentlemen; the +one a brother of the eldest of the young ladies, and the other an +invalid, who came, like themselves, for the benefit of the air. They +entered into conversation immediately. + +People who meet in a strange country, and are all together in a house, +soon get acquainted, without the formalities which attend visiting in +separate houses, where they are surrounded by domestic friends. Ann was +particularly delighted at meeting with agreeable society; a little +hectic fever generally made her low-spirited in the morning, and lively +in the evening, when she wished for company. Mary, who only thought of +her, determined to cultivate their acquaintance, as she knew, that if +her mind could be diverted, her body might gain strength. + +They were all musical, and proposed having little concerts. One of the +gentlemen played on the violin, and the other on the german-flute. The +instruments were brought in, with all the eagerness that attends putting +a new scheme in execution. + +Mary had not said much, for she was diffident; she seldom joined in +general conversations; though her quickness of penetration enabled her +soon to enter into the characters of those she conversed with; and her +sensibility made her desirous of pleasing every human creature. Besides, +if her mind was not occupied by any particular sorrow, or study, she +caught reflected pleasure, and was glad to see others happy, though +their mirth did not interest her. + +This day she was continually thinking of Ann's recovery, and encouraging +the cheerful hopes, which though they dissipated the spirits that had +been condensed by melancholy, yet made her wish to be silent. The music, +more than the conversation, disturbed her reflections; but not at first. +The gentleman who played on the german-flute, was a handsome, well-bred, +sensible man; and his observations, if not original, were pertinent. + +The other, who had not said much, began to touch the violin, and played +a little Scotch ballad; he brought such a thrilling sound out of the +instrument, that Mary started, and looking at him with more attention +than she had done before, and saw, in a face rather ugly, strong lines +of genius. His manners were awkward, that kind of awkwardness which is +often found in literary men: he seemed a thinker, and delivered his +opinions in elegant expressions, and musical tones of voice. + +When the concert was over, they all retired to their apartments. Mary +always slept with Ann, as she was subject to terrifying dreams; and +frequently in the night was obliged to be supported, to avoid +suffocation. They chatted about their new acquaintance in their own +apartment, and, with respect to the gentlemen, differed in opinion. + + + + +CHAP. X. + + +Every day almost they saw their new acquaintance; and civility produced +intimacy. Mary sometimes left her friend with them; while she indulged +herself in viewing new modes of life, and searching out the causes which +produced them. She had a metaphysical turn, which inclined her to +reflect on every object that passed by her; and her mind was not like a +mirror, which receives every floating image, but does not retain them: +she had not any prejudices, for every opinion was examined before it was +adopted. + +The Roman Catholic ceremonies attracted her attention, and gave rise to +conversations when they all met; and one of the gentlemen continually +introduced deistical notions, when he ridiculed the pageantry they all +were surprised at observing. Mary thought of both the subjects, the +Romish tenets, and the deistical doubts; and though not a sceptic, +thought it right to examine the evidence on which her faith was built. +She read Butler's Analogy, and some other authors: and these researches +made her a christian from conviction, and she learned charity, +particularly with respect to sectaries; saw that apparently good and +solid arguments might take their rise from different points of view; and +she rejoiced to find that those she should not concur with had some +reason on their side. + + + + +CHAP. XI. + + +When I mentioned the three ladies, I said they were fashionable women; +and it was all the praise, as a faithful historian, I could bestow on +them; the only thing in which they were consistent. I forgot to mention +that they were all of one family, a mother, her daughter, and niece. The +daughter was sent by her physician, to avoid a northerly winter; the +mother, her niece, and nephew, accompanied her. + +They were people of rank; but unfortunately, though of an ancient +family, the title had descended to a very remote branch--a branch they +took care to be intimate with; and servilely copied the Countess's +airs. Their minds were shackled with a set of notions concerning +propriety, the fitness of things for the world's eye, trammels which +always hamper weak people. What will the world say? was the first thing +that was thought of, when they intended doing any thing they had not +done before. Or what would the Countess do on such an occasion? And when +this question was answered, the right or wrong was discovered without +the trouble of their having any idea of the matter in their own heads. +This same Countess was a fine planet, and the satellites observed a most +harmonic dance around her. + +After this account it is scarcely necessary to add, that their minds had +received very little cultivation. They were taught French, Italian, and +Spanish; English was their vulgar tongue. And what did they learn? +Hamlet will tell you--words--words. But let me not forget that they +squalled Italian songs in the true _gusto_. Without having any seeds +sown in their understanding, or the affections of the heart set to work, +they were brought out of their nursery, or the place they were secluded +in, to prevent their faces being common; like blazing stars, to +captivate Lords. + +They were pretty, and hurrying from one party of pleasure to another, +occasioned the disorder which required change of air. The mother, if we +except her being near twenty years older, was just the same creature; +and these additional years only served to make her more tenaciously +adhere to her habits of folly, and decide with stupid gravity, some +trivial points of ceremony, as a matter of the last importance; of +which she was a competent judge, from having lived in the fashionable +world so long: that world to which the ignorant look up as we do to the +sun. + +It appears to me that every creature has some notion--or rather relish, +of the sublime. Riches, and the consequent state, are the sublime of +weak minds:--These images fill, nay, are too big for their narrow souls. + +One afternoon, which they had engaged to spend together, Ann was so ill, +that Mary was obliged to send an apology for not attending the +tea-table. The apology brought them on the carpet; and the mother, with +a look of solemn importance, turned to the sick man, whose name was +Henry, and said; + +"Though people of the first fashion are frequently at places of this +kind, intimate with they know not who; yet I do not choose that my +daughter, whose family is so respectable, should be intimate with any +one she would blush to know elsewhere. It is only on that account, for I +never suffer her to be with any one but in my company," added she, +sitting more erect; and a smile of self-complacency dressed her +countenance. + +"I have enquired concerning these strangers, and find that the one who +has the most dignity in her manners, is really a woman of fortune." +"Lord, mamma, how ill she dresses:" mamma went on; "She is a romantic +creature, you must not copy her, miss; yet she is an heiress of the +large fortune in ----shire, of which you may remember to have heard the +Countess speak the night you had on the dancing-dress that was so much +admired; but she is married." + +She then told them the whole story as she heard it from her maid, who +picked it out of Mary's servant. "She is a foolish creature, and this +friend that she pays as much attention to as if she was a lady of +quality, is a beggar." "Well, how strange!" cried the girls. + +"She is, however, a charming creature," said her nephew. Henry sighed, +and strode across the room once or twice; then took up his violin, and +played the air which first struck Mary; he had often heard her praise +it. + +The music was uncommonly melodious, "And came stealing on the senses +like the sweet south." The well-known sounds reached Mary as she sat by +her friend--she listened without knowing that she did--and shed tears +almost without being conscious of it. Ann soon fell asleep, as she had +taken an opiate. Mary, then brooding over her fears, began to imagine +she had deceived herself--Ann was still very ill; hope had beguiled many +heavy hours; yet she was displeased with herself for admitting this +welcome guest.--And she worked up her mind to such a degree of anxiety, +that she determined, once more, to seek medical aid. + +No sooner did she determine, than she ran down with a discomposed look, +to enquire of the ladies who she should send for. When she entered the +room she could not articulate her fears--it appeared like pronouncing +Ann's sentence of death; her faultering tongue dropped some broken +words, and she remained silent. The ladies wondered that a person of her +sense should be so little mistress of herself; and began to administer +some common-place comfort, as, that it was our duty to submit to the +will of Heaven, and the like trite consolations, which Mary did not +answer; but waving her hand, with an air of impatience, she exclaimed, +"I cannot live without her!--I have no other friend; if I lose her, what +a desart will the world be to me." "No other friend," re-echoed they, +"have you not a husband?" + +Mary shrunk back, and was alternately pale and red. A delicate sense of +propriety prevented her replying; and recalled her bewildered +reason.--Assuming, in consequence of her recollection, a more composed +manner, she made the intended enquiry, and left the room. Henry's eyes +followed her while the females very freely animadverted on her strange +behaviour. + + + + +CHAP. XII. + + +The physician was sent for; his prescription afforded Ann a little +temporary relief; and they again joined the circle. Unfortunately, the +weather happened to be constantly wet for more than a week, and confined +them to the house. Ann then found the ladies not so agreeable; when they +sat whole hours together, the thread-bare topics were exhausted; and, +but for cards or music, the long evenings would have been yawned away in +listless indolence. + +The bad weather had had as ill an effect on Henry as on Ann. He was +frequently very thoughtful, or rather melancholy; this melancholy would +of itself have attracted Mary's notice, if she had not found his +conversation so infinitely superior to the rest of the group. When she +conversed with him, all the faculties of her soul unfolded themselves; +genius animated her expressive countenance and the most graceful, +unaffected gestures gave energy to her discourse. + +They frequently discussed very important subjects, while the rest were +singing or playing cards, nor were they observed for doing so, as Henry, +whom they all were pleased with, in the way of gallantry shewed them all +more attention than her. Besides, as there was nothing alluring in her +dress or manner, they never dreamt of her being preferred to them. + +Henry was a man of learning; he had also studied mankind, and knew many +of the intricacies of the human heart, from having felt the infirmities +of his own. His taste was just, as it had a standard--Nature, which he +observed with a critical eye. Mary could not help thinking that in his +company her mind expanded, as he always went below the surface. She +increased her stock of ideas, and her taste was improved. + +He was also a pious man; his rational religious sentiments received +warmth from his sensibility; and, except on very particular occasions, +kept it in proper bounds; these sentiments had likewise formed his +temper; he was gentle, and easily to be intreated. The ridiculous +ceremonies they were every day witness to, led them into what are termed +grave subjects, and made him explain his opinions, which, at other +times, he was neither ashamed of, nor unnecessarily brought forward to +notice. + + + + +CHAP. XIII. + + +When the weather began to clear up, Mary sometimes rode out alone, +purposely to view the ruins that still remained of the earthquake: or +she would ride to the banks of the Tagus, to feast her eyes with the +sight of that magnificent river. At other times she would visit the +churches, as she was particularly fond of seeing historical paintings. + +One of these visits gave rise to the subject, and the whole party +descanted on it; but as the ladies could not handle it well, they soon +adverted to portraits; and talked of the attitudes and characters in +which they should wish to be drawn. Mary did not fix on one--when +Henry, with more apparent warmth than usual, said, "I would give the +world for your picture, with the expression I have seen in your face, +when you have been supporting your friend." + +This delicate compliment did not gratify her vanity, but it reached her +heart. She then recollected that she had once sat for her picture--for +whom was it designed? For a boy! Her cheeks flushed with indignation, so +strongly did she feel an emotion of contempt at having been thrown +away--given in with an estate. + +As Mary again gave way to hope, her mind was more disengaged; and her +thoughts were employed about the objects around her. + +She visited several convents, and found that solitude only eradicates +some passions, to give strength to others; the most baneful ones. She +saw that religion does not consist in ceremonies; and that many prayers +may fall from the lips without purifying the heart. + +They who imagine they can be religious without governing their tempers, +or exercising benevolence in its most extensive sense, must certainly +allow, that their religious duties are only practiced from selfish +principles; how then can they be called good? The pattern of all +goodness went about _doing_ good. Wrapped up in themselves, the nuns +only thought of inferior gratifications. And a number of intrigues were +carried on to accelerate certain points on which their hearts were +fixed: + +Such as obtaining offices of trust or authority; or avoiding those that +were servile or laborious. In short, when they could be neither wives +nor mothers, they aimed at being superiors, and became the most selfish +creatures in the world: the passions that were curbed gave strength to +the appetites, or to those mean passions which only tend to provide for +the gratification of them. Was this seclusion from the world? or did +they conquer its vanities or avoid its vexations? + +In these abodes the unhappy individual, who, in the first paroxysm of +grief flies to them for refuge, finds too late she took a wrong step. +The same warmth which determined her will make her repent; and sorrow, +the rust of the mind, will never have a chance of being rubbed off by +sensible conversation, or new-born affections of the heart. + +She will find that those affections that have once been called forth and +strengthened by exercise, are only smothered, not killed, by +disappointment; and that in one form or other discontent will corrode +the heart, and produce those maladies of the imagination, for which +there is no specific. + +The community at large Mary disliked; but pitied many of them whose +private distresses she was informed of; and to pity and relieve were the +same things with her. + +The exercise of her various virtues gave vigor to her genius, and +dignity to her mind; she was sometimes inconsiderate, and violent; but +never mean or cunning. + + + + +CHAP. XIV. + + +The Portuguese are certainly the most uncivilized nation in Europe. Dr. +Johnson would have said, "They have the least mind.". And can such serve +their Creator in spirit and in truth? No, the gross ritual of Romish +ceremonies is all they can comprehend: they can do penance, but not +conquer their revenge, or lust. Religion, or love, has never humanized +their hearts; they want the vital part; the mere body worships. Taste is +unknown; Gothic finery, and unnatural decorations, which they term +ornaments, are conspicuous in their churches and dress. Reverence for +mental excellence is only to be found in a polished nation. + +Could the contemplation of such a people gratify Mary's heart? No: she +turned disgusted from the prospects--turned to a man of refinement. +Henry had been some time ill and low-spirited; Mary would have been +attentive to any one in that situation; but to him she was particularly +so; she thought herself bound in gratitude, on account of his constant +endeavours to amuse Ann, and prevent her dwelling on the dreary prospect +before her, which sometimes she could not help anticipating with a kind +of quiet despair. + +She found some excuse for going more frequently into the room they all +met in; nay, she avowed her desire to amuse him: offered to read to him, +and tried to draw him into amusing conversations; and when she was full +of these little schemes, she looked at him with a degree of tenderness +that she was not conscious of. This divided attention was of use to her, +and prevented her continually thinking of Ann, whose fluctuating +disorder often gave rise to false hopes. + +A trifling thing occurred now which occasioned Mary some uneasiness. Her +maid, a well-looking girl, had captivated the clerk of a neighbouring +compting-house. As the match was an advantageous one, Mary could not +raise any objection to it, though at this juncture it was very +disagreeable to her to have a stranger about her person. However, the +girl consented to delay the marriage, as she had some affection for her +mistress; and, besides, looked forward to Ann's death as a time of +harvest. + +Henry's illness was not alarming, it was rather pleasing, as it gave +Mary an excuse to herself for shewing him how much she was interested +about him; and giving little artless proofs of affection, which the +purity of her heart made her never wish to restrain. + +The only visible return he made was not obvious to common observers. He +would sometimes fix his eyes on her, and take them off with a sigh that +was coughed away; or when he was leisurely walking into the room, and +did not expect to see her, he would quicken his steps, and come up to +her with eagerness to ask some trivial question. In the same style, he +would try to detain her when he had nothing to say--or said nothing. + +Ann did not take notice of either his or Mary's behaviour, nor did she +suspect that he was a favourite, on any other account than his +appearing neither well nor happy. She had often seen that when a person +was unfortunate, Mary's pity might easily be mistaken for love, and, +indeed, it was a temporary sensation of that kind. Such it was--why it +was so, let others define, I cannot argue against instincts. As reason +is cultivated in man, they are supposed to grow weaker, and this may +have given rise to the assertion, "That as judgment improves, genius +evaporates." + + + + +CHAP. XV. + + +One morning they set out to visit the aqueduct; though the day was very +fine when they left home, a very heavy shower fell before they reached +it; they lengthened their ride, the clouds dispersed, and the sun came +from behind them uncommonly bright. + +Mary would fain have persuaded Ann not to have left the carriage; but +she was in spirits, and obviated all her objections, and insisted on +walking, tho' the ground was damp. But her strength was not equal to her +spirits; she was soon obliged to return to the carriage so much +fatigued, that she fainted, and remained insensible a long time. + +Henry would have supported her; but Mary would not permit him; her +recollection was instantaneous, and she feared sitting on the damp +ground might do him a material injury: she was on that account positive, +though the company did not guess the cause of her being so. As to +herself, she did not fear bodily pain; and, when her mind was agitated, +she could endure the greatest fatigue without appearing sensible of it. + +When Ann recovered, they returned slowly home; she was carried to bed, +and the next morning Mary thought she observed a visible change for the +worse. The physician was sent for, who pronounced her to be in the most +imminent danger. + +All Mary's former fears now returned like a torrent, and carried every +other care away; she even added to her present anguish by upbraiding +herself for her late tranquillity--it haunted her in the form of a +crime. + +The disorder made the most rapid advances--there was no hope!--Bereft of +it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of +tranquillity. She stood to brave the approaching storm, conscious she +only could be overwhelmed by it. + +She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it +was only to find fault with herself for suffering a thought to have +strayed from Ann.--Ann!--this dear friend was soon torn from her--she +died suddenly as Mary was assisting her to walk across the room.--The +first string was severed from her heart--and this "slow, sudden-death" +disturbed her reasoning faculties; she seemed stunned by it; unable to +reflect, or even to feel her misery. + +The body was stolen out of the house the second night, and Mary refused +to see her former companions. She desired her maid to conclude her +marriage, and request her intended husband to inform her when the first +merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had just sailed, and +she determined not to stay in that hated place any longer than was +absolutely necessary. + +She then sent to request the ladies to visit her; she wished to avoid a +parade of grief--her sorrows were her own, and appeared to her not to +admit of increase or softening. She was right; the sight of them did not +affect her, or turn the stream of her sullen sorrow; the black wave +rolled along in the same course, it was equal to her where she cast her +eyes; all was impenetrable gloom. + + + + +CHAP. XVI. + + +Soon after the ladies left her, she received a message from Henry, +requesting, as she saw company, to be permitted to visit her: she +consented, and he entered immediately, with an unassured pace. She ran +eagerly up to him--saw the tear trembling in his eye, and his +countenance softened by the tenderest compassion; the hand which pressed +hers seemed that of a fellow-creature. She burst into tears; and, unable +to restrain them, she hid her face with both her hands; these tears +relieved her, (she had before had a difficulty in breathing,) and she +sat down by him more composed than she had appeared since Ann's death; +but her conversation was incoherent. + +She called herself "a poor disconsolate creature!"--"Mine is a selfish +grief," she exclaimed--"Yet; Heaven is my witness, I do not wish her +back now she has reached those peaceful mansions, where the weary rest. +Her pure spirit is happy; but what a wretch am I!" + +Henry forgot his cautious reserve. "Would you allow me to call you +friend?" said he in a hesitating voice. "I feel, dear girl, the tendered +interest in whatever concerns thee." His eyes spoke the rest. They were +both silent a few moments; then Henry resumed the conversation. "I have +also been acquainted with grief! I mourn the loss of a woman who was not +worthy of my regard. Let me give thee some account of the man who now +solicits thy friendship; and who, from motives of the purest +benevolence, wishes to give comfort to thy wounded heart." + +"I have myself," said he, mournfully, "shaken hands with happiness, and +am dead to the world; I wait patiently for my dissolution; but, for +thee, Mary, there may be many bright days in store." + +"Impossible," replied she, in a peevish tone, as if he had insulted her +by the supposition; her feelings were so much in unison with his, that +she was in love with misery. + +He smiled at her impatience, and went on. "My father died before I knew +him, and my mother was so attached to my eldest brother, that she took +very little pains to fit me for the profession to which I was destined: +and, may I tell thee, I left my family, and, in many different stations, +rambled about the world; saw mankind in every rank of life; and, in +order to be independent, exerted those talents Nature has given me: +these exertions improved my understanding; and the miseries I was +witness to, gave a keener edge to my sensibility. My constitution is +naturally weak; and, perhaps, two or three lingering disorders in my +youth, first gave me a habit of reflecting, and enabled me to obtain +some dominion over my passions. At least," added he, stifling a sigh, +"over the violent ones, though I fear, refinement and reflection only +renders the tender ones more tyrannic. + +"I have told you already I have been in love, and disappointed--the +object is now no more; let her faults sleep with her! Yet this passion +has pervaded my whole soul, and mixed itself with all my affections and +pursuits.--I am not peacefully indifferent; yet it is only to my violin +I tell the sorrows I now confide with thee. The object I loved forfeited +my esteem; yet, true to the sentiment, my fancy has too frequently +delighted to form a creature that I could love, that could convey to my +soul sensations which the gross part of mankind have not any conception +of." + +He stopped, as Mary seemed lost in thought; but as she was still in a +listening attitude, continued his little narrative. "I kept up an +irregular correspondence with my mother; my brother's extravagance and +ingratitude had almost broken her heart, and made her feel something +like a pang of remorse, on account of her behaviour to me. I hastened to +comfort her--and was a comfort to her. + +"My declining health prevented my taking orders, as I had intended; but +I with warmth entered into literary pursuits; perhaps my heart, not +having an object, made me embrace the substitute with more eagerness. +But, do not imagine I have always been a die-away swain. No: I have +frequented the cheerful haunts of men, and wit!--enchanting wit! has +made many moments fly free from care. I am too fond of the elegant arts; +and woman--lovely woman! thou hast charmed me, though, perhaps, it would +not be easy to find one to whom my reason would allow me to be constant. + +"I have now only to tell you, that my mother insisted on my spending +this winter in a warmer climate; and I fixed on Lisbon, as I had before +visited the Continent." He then looked Mary full in the face; and, with +the most insinuating accents, asked "if he might hope for her +friendship? If she would rely on him as if he was her father; and that +the tenderest father could not more anxiously interest himself in the +fate of a darling child, than he did in her's." + +Such a crowd of thoughts all at once rushed into Mary's mind, that she +in vain attempted to express the sentiments which were most predominant. +Her heart longed to receive a new guest; there was a void in it: +accustomed to have some one to love, she was alone, and comfortless, if +not engrossed by a particular affection. + +Henry saw her distress, and not to increase it, left the room. He had +exerted himself to turn her thoughts into a new channel, and had +succeeded; she thought of him till she began to chide herself for +defrauding the dead, and, determining to grieve for Ann, she dwelt on +Henry's misfortunes and ill health; and the interest he took in her fate +was a balm to her sick mind. She did not reason on the subject; but she +felt he was attached to her: lost in this delirium, she never asked +herself what kind of an affection she had for him, or what it tended to; +nor did she know that love and friendship are very distinct; she thought +with rapture, that there was one person in the world who had an +affection for her, and that person she admired--had a friendship for. + +He had called her his dear girl; the words might have fallen from him by +accident; but they did not fall to the ground. My child! His child, +what an association of ideas! If I had had a father, such a father!--She +could not dwell on the thoughts, the wishes which obtruded themselves. +Her mind was unhinged, and passion unperceived filled her whole soul. +Lost, in waking dreams, she considered and reconsidered Henry's account +of himself; till she actually thought she would tell Ann--a bitter +recollection then roused her out of her reverie; and aloud she begged +forgiveness of her. + +By these kind of conflicts the day was lengthened; and when she went to +bed, the night passed away in feverish slumbers; though they did not +refresh her, she was spared the labour of thinking, of restraining her +imagination; it sported uncontrouled; but took its colour from her +waking train of thoughts. One instant she was supporting her dying +mother; then Ann was breathing her last, and Henry was comforting her. + +The unwelcome light visited her languid eyes; yet, I must tell the +truth, she thought she should see Henry, and this hope set her spirits +in motion: but they were quickly depressed by her maid, who came to tell +her that she had heard of a vessel on board of which she could be +accommodated, and that there was to be another female passenger on +board, a vulgar one; but perhaps she would be more useful on that +account--Mary did not want a companion. + +As she had given orders for her passage to be engaged in the first +vessel that sailed, she could not now retract; and must prepare for the +lonely voyage, as the Captain intended taking advantage of the first +fair wind. She had too much strength of mind to waver in her +determination but to determine wrung her very heart, opened all her old +wounds, and made them bleed afresh. What was she to do? where go? Could +she set a seal to a hasty vow, and tell a deliberate lie; promise to +love one man, when the image of another was ever present to her--her +soul revolted. "I might gain the applause of the world by such mock +heroism; but should I not forfeit my own? forfeit thine, my father!" + +There is a solemnity in the shortest ejaculation, which, for a while, +stills the tumult of passion. Mary's mind had been thrown off its poise; +her devotion had been, perhaps, more fervent for some time past; but +less regular. She forgot that happiness was not to be found on earth, +and built a terrestrial paradise liable to be destroyed by the first +serious thought: when, she reasoned she became inexpressibly sad, to +render life bearable she gave way to fancy--this was madness. + +In a few days she must again go to sea; the weather was very +tempestuous--what of that, the tempest in her soul rendered every other +trifling--it was not the contending elements, but _herself_ she feared! + + + + +CHAP. XVII. + + +In order to gain strength to support the expected interview, she went +out in a carriage. The day was fine; but all nature was to her a +universal blank; she could neither enjoy it, nor weep that she could +not. She passed by the ruins of an old monastery on a very high hill she +got out to walk amongst the ruins; the wind blew violently, she did not +avoid its fury, on the contrary, wildly bid it blow on, and seemed glad +to contend with it, or rather walk against it. Exhausted she returned to +the carriage was soon at home, and in the old room. + +Henry started at the sight of her altered appearance; the day before her +complexion had been of the most pallid hue; but now her cheeks were +flushed, and her eyes enlivened with a false vivacity, an unusual fire. +He was not well, his illness was apparent in his countenance, and he +owned he had not closed his eyes all night; this roused her dormant +tenderness, she forgot they were so soon to part-engrossed by the +present happiness of seeing, of hearing him. + +Once or twice she essayed to tell him that she was, in a few days, to +depart; but she could not; she was irresolute; it will do to-morrow; +should the wind change they could not sail in such a hurry; thus she +thought, and insensibly grew more calm. The Ladies prevailed on her to +spend the evening with them; but she retired very early to rest, and sat +on the side of her bed several hours, then threw herself on it, and +waited for the dreaded to-morrow. + + + + +CHAP. XVIII. + + +The ladies heard that her servant was to be married that day, and that +she was to sail in the vessel which was then clearing out at the +Custom-house. Henry heard, but did not make any remarks; and Mary called +up all her fortitude to support her, and enable her to hide from the +females her internal struggles. She durst not encounter Henry's glances +when she found he had been informed of her intention; and, trying to +draw a veil over her wretched state of mind, she talked incessantly, she +knew not what; flashes of wit burst from her, and when she began to +laugh she could not stop herself. + +Henry smiled at some of her sallies, and looked at her with such +benignity and compassion, that he recalled her scattered thoughts; and, +the ladies going to dress for dinner, they were left alone; and remained +silent a few moments: after the noisy conversation it appeared solemn. +Henry began. "You are going, Mary, and going by yourself; your mind is +not in a state to be left to its own operations--yet I cannot, dissuade +you; if I attempted to do it, I should ill deserve the title I wish to +merit. I only think of your happiness; could I obey the strongest +impulse of my heart, I should accompany thee to England; but such a step +might endanger your future peace." + +Mary, then, with all the frankness which marked her character, explained +her situation to him and mentioned her fatal tie with such disgust that +he trembled for her. "I cannot see him; he is not the man formed for me +to love!" Her delicacy did not restrain her, for her dislike to her +husband had taken root in her mind long before she knew Henry. Did she +not fix on Lisbon rather than France on purpose to avoid him? and if Ann +had been in tolerable health she would have flown with her to some +remote corner to have escaped from him. + +"I intend," said Henry, "to follow you in the next packet; where shall I +hear of your health?" "Oh! let me hear of thine," replied Mary. "I am +well, very well; but thou art very ill--thy health is in the most +precarious state." She then mentioned her intention of going to Ann's +relations. "I am her representative, I have duties to fulfil for her: +during my voyage I have time enough for reflection; though I think I +have already determined." + +"Be not too hasty, my child," interrupted Henry; "far be it from me to +persuade thee to do violence to thy feelings--but consider that all thy +future life may probably take its colour from thy present mode of +conduct. Our affections as well as our sentiments are fluctuating; you +will not perhaps always either think or feel as you do at present: the +object you now shun may appear in a different light." He paused. "In +advising thee in this style, I have only thy good at heart, Mary." + +She only answered to expostulate. "My affections are involuntary--yet +they can only be fixed by reflection, and when they are they make quite +a part of my soul, are interwoven in it, animate my actions, and form +my taste: certain qualities are calculated to call forth my sympathies, +and make me all I am capable of being. The governing affection gives its +stamp to the rest--because I am capable of loving one, I have that kind +of charity to all my fellow-creatures which is not easily provoked. +Milton has asserted, That earthly love is the scale by which to heavenly +we may ascend." + +She went on with eagerness. "My opinions on some subjects are not +wavering; my pursuit through life has ever been the same: in solitude +were my sentiments formed; they are indelible, and nothing can efface +them but death--No, death itself cannot efface them, or my soul must be +created afresh, and not improved. Yet a little while am I parted from +my Ann--I could not exist without the hope of seeing her again--I could +not bear to think that time could wear away an affection that was +founded on what is not liable to perish; you might as well attempt to +persuade me that my soul is matter, and that its feelings arose from +certain modifications of it." + +"Dear enthusiastic creature," whispered Henry, "how you steal into my +soul." She still continued. "The same turn of mind which leads me to +adore the Author of all Perfection--which leads me to conclude that he +only can fill my soul; forces me to admire the faint image-the shadows +of his attributes here below; and my imagination gives still bolder +strokes to them. I knew I am in some degree under the influence of a +delusion--but does not this strong delusion prove that I myself 'am _of +subtiler essence than the trodden clod_' these flights of the +imagination point to futurity; I cannot banish them. Every cause in +nature produces an effect; and am I an exception to the general rule? +have I desires implanted in me only to make me miserable? will they +never be gratified? shall I never be happy? My feelings do not accord +with the notion of solitary happiness. In a state of bliss, it will be +the society of beings we can love, without the alloy that earthly +infirmities mix with our best affections, that will constitute great +part of our happiness. + +"With these notions can I conform to the maxims of worldly wisdom? can +I listen to the cold dictates of worldly prudence and bid my tumultuous +passions cease to vex me, be still, find content in grovelling pursuits, +and the admiration of the misjudging crowd, when it is only one I wish +to please--one who could be all the world to me. Argue not with me, I am +bound by human ties; but did my spirit ever promise to love, or could I +consider when forced to bind myself--to take a vow, that at the awful +day of judgment I must give an account of. My conscience does not smite +me, and that Being who is greater than the internal monitor, may approve +of what the world condemns; sensible that in Him I live, could I brave +His presence, or hope in solitude to find peace, if I acted contrary to +conviction, that the world might approve of my conduct--what could the +world give to compensate for my own esteem? it is ever hostile and armed +against the feeling heart! + +"Riches and honours await me, and the cold moralist might desire me to +sit down and enjoy them--I cannot conquer my feelings, and till I do, +what are these baubles to me? you may tell me I follow a fleeting good, +an _ignis fatuus_; but this chase, these struggles prepare me for +eternity--when I no longer see through a glass darkly I shall not reason +about, but _feel_ in what happiness consists." + +Henry had not attempted to interrupt her; he saw she was determined, and +that these sentiments were not the effusion of the moment, but well +digested ones, the result of strong affections, a high sense of honour, +and respect for the source of all virtue and truth. He was startled, if +not entirely convinced by her arguments; indeed her voice, her gestures +were all persuasive. + +Some one now entered the room; he looked an answer to her long harangue; +it was fortunate for him, or he might have been led to say what in a +cooler moment he had determined to conceal; but were words necessary to +reveal it? He wished not to influence her conduct--vain precaution; she +knew she was beloved; and could she forget that such a man loved her, or +rest satisfied with any inferior gratification. When passion first +enters the heart, it is only a return of affection that is sought after, +and every other remembrance and wish is blotted out. + + + + +CHAP. XIX. + + +Two days passed away without any particular conversation; Henry, trying +to be indifferent, or to appear so, was more assiduous than ever. The +conflict was too violent for his present state of health; the spirit was +willing, but the body suffered; he lost his appetite, and looked +wretchedly; his spirits were calmly low--the world seemed to fade +away--what was that world to him that Mary did not inhabit; she lived +not for him. + +He was mistaken; his affection was her only support; without this dear +prop she had sunk into the grave of her lost--long-loved friend;--his +attention snatched her from despair. Inscrutable are the ways of +Heaven! + +The third day Mary was desired to prepare herself; for if the wind +continued in the same point, they should set sail the next evening. She +tried to prepare her mind, and her efforts were not useless she appeared +less agitated than could have been expected, and talked of her voyage +with composure. On great occasions she was generally calm and collected, +her resolution would brace her unstrung nerves; but after the victory +she had no triumph; she would sink into a state of moping melancholy, +and feel ten-fold misery when the heroic enthusiasm was over. + +The morning of the day fixed on for her departure she was alone with +Henry only a few moments, and an awkward kind of formality made them +slip away without their having said much to each other. Henry was +afraid to discover his passion, or give any other name to his regard but +friendship; yet his anxious solicitude for her welfare was ever breaking +out-while she as artlessly expressed again and again, her fears with +respect to his declining health. + +"We shall soon meet," said he, with a faint smile; Mary smiled too; she +caught the sickly beam; it was still fainter by being reflected, and not +knowing what she wished to do, started up and left the room. When she +was alone she regretted she had left him so precipitately. "The few +precious moments I have thus thrown away may never return," she +thought-the reflection led to misery. + +She waited for, nay, almost wished for the summons to depart. She could +not avoid spending the intermediate time with the ladies and Henry; and +the trivial conversations she was obliged to bear a part in harassed her +more than can be well conceived. + +The summons came, and the whole party attended her to the vessel. For a +while the remembrance of Ann banished her regret at parting with Henry, +though his pale figure pressed on her sight; it may seem a paradox, but +he was more present to her when she sailed; her tears then were all his +own. + +"My poor Ann!" thought Mary, "along this road we came, and near this +spot you called me your guardian angel--and now I leave thee here! ah! +no, I do not--thy spirit is not confined to its mouldering tenement! +Tell me, thou soul of her I love, tell me, ah! whither art thou fled?" +Ann occupied her until they reached the ship. + +The anchor was weighed. Nothing can be more irksome than waiting to say +farewel. As the day was serene, they accompanied her a little way, and +then got into the boat; Henry was the last; he pressed her hand, it had +not any life in it; she leaned over the side of the ship without looking +at the boat, till it was so far distant, that she could not see the +countenances of those that were in it: a mist spread itself over her +sight--she longed to exchange one look--tried to recollect the +last;--the universe contained no being but Henry!--The grief of parting +with him had swept all others clean away. Her eyes followed the keel of +the boat, and when she could no longer perceive its traces: she looked +round on the wide waste of waters, thought of the precious moments +which had been stolen from the waste of murdered time. + +She then descended into the cabin, regardless of the surrounding +beauties of nature, and throwing herself on her bed in the little hole +which was called the state-room--she wished to forget her existence. On +this bed she remained two days, listening to the dashing waves, unable +to close her eyes. A small taper made the darkness visible; and the +third night, by its glimmering light, she wrote the following fragment. + +"Poor solitary wretch that I am; here alone do I listen to the whistling +winds and dashing waves;--on no human support can I rest--when not lost +to hope I found pleasure in the society of those rough beings; but now +they appear not like my fellow creatures; no social ties draw me to +them. How long, how dreary has this day been; yet I scarcely wish it +over--for what will to-morrow bring--to-morrow, and to-morrow will only +be marked with unvaried characters of wretchedness.--Yet surely, I am +not alone!" + +Her moistened eyes were lifted up to heaven; a crowd of thoughts darted +into her mind, and pressing her hand against her forehead, as if to bear +the intellectual weight, she tried, but tried in vain, to arrange them. +"Father of Mercies, compose this troubled spirit: do I indeed wish it to +be composed--to forget my Henry?" the _my_, the pen was directly drawn +across in an agony. + + + + +CHAP. XX. + + +The mate of the ship, who heard her stir, came to offer her some +refreshment; and she, who formerly received every offer of kindness or +civility with pleasure, now shrunk away disgusted: peevishly she desired +him not to disturb her; but the words were hardly articulated when her +heart smote her, she called him back, and requested something to drink. +After drinking it, fatigued by her mental exertions, she fell into a +death-like slumber, which lasted some hours; but did not refresh her, on +the contrary, she awoke languid and stupid. + +The wind still continued contrary; a week, a dismal week, had she +struggled with her sorrows; and the struggle brought on a slow fever, +which sometimes gave her false spirits. + +The winds then became very tempestuous, the Great Deep was troubled, and +all the passengers appalled. Mary then left her bed, and went on deck, +to survey the contending elements: the scene accorded with the present +state of her soul; she thought in a few hours I may go home; the +prisoner may be released. The vessel rose on a wave and descended into a +yawning gulph--Not slower did her mounting soul return to earth, +for--Ah! her treasure and her heart was there. The squalls rattled +amongst the sails, which were quickly taken down; the wind would then +die away, and the wild undirected waves rushed on every side with a +tremendous roar. In a little vessel in the midst of such a storm she +was not dismayed; she felt herself independent. + +Just then one of the crew perceived a signal of distress; by the help of +a glass he could plainly discover a small vessel dismasted, drifted +about, for the rudder had been broken by the violence of the storm. +Mary's thoughts were now all engrossed by the crew on the brink of +destruction. They bore down to the wreck; they reached it, and hailed +the trembling wretches; at the sound of the friendly greeting, loud +cries of tumultuous joy were mixed with the roaring of the waves, and +with ecstatic transport they leaped on the shattered deck, launched +their boat in a moment, and committed themselves to the mercy of the +sea. Stowed between two casks, and leaning on a sail, she watched the +boat, and when a wave intercepted it from her view--she ceased to +breathe, or rather held her breath until it rose again. + +At last the boat arrived safe along-side the ship, and Mary caught the +poor trembling wretches as they stumbled into it, and joined them in +thanking that gracious Being, who though He had not thought fit to still +the raging of the sea, had afforded them unexpected succour. + +Amongst the wretched crew was one poor woman, who fainted when she was +hauled on board: Mary undressed her, and when she had recovered, and +soothed her, left her to enjoy the rest she required to recruit her +strength, which fear had quite exhausted. She returned again to view the +angry deep; and when she gazed on its perturbed state, she thought of +the Being who rode on the wings of the wind, and stilled the noise of +the sea; and the madness of the people--He only could speak peace to +her troubled spirit! she grew more calm; the late transaction had +gratified her benevolence, and stole her out of herself. + +One of the sailors, happening to say to another, "that he believed the +world was going to be at an end;" this observation led her into a new +train of thoughts: some of Handel's sublime compositions occurred to +her, and she sung them to the grand accompaniment. The Lord God +Omnipotent reigned, and would reign for ever, and ever!--Why then did +she fear the sorrows that were passing away, when she knew that He would +bind up the broken-hearted, and receive those who came out of great +tribulation. She retired to her cabin; and wrote in the little book that +was now her only confident. It was after midnight. + +"At this solemn hour, the great day of judgment fills my thoughts; the +day of retribution, when the secrets of all hearts will be revealed; +when all worldly distinctions will fade away, and be no more seen. I +have not words to express the sublime images which the bare +contemplation of this awful day raises in my mind. Then, indeed, the +Lord Omnipotent will reign, and He will wipe the tearful eye, and +support the trembling heart--yet a little while He hideth his face, and +the dun shades of sorrow, and the thick clouds of folly separate us from +our God; but when the glad dawn of an eternal day breaks, we shall know +even as we are known. Here we walk by faith, and not by sight; and we +have this alternative, either to enjoy the pleasures of life which are +but for a season, or look forward to the prize of our high calling, and +with fortitude, and that wisdom which is from above, endeavour to bear +the warfare of life. We know that many run the race; but he that +striveth obtaineth the crown of victory. Our race is an arduous one! How +many are betrayed by traitors lodged in their own breasts, who wear the +garb of Virtue, and are so near akin; we sigh to think they should ever +lead into folly, and slide imperceptibly into vice. Surely any thing +like happiness is madness! Shall probationers of an hour presume to +pluck the fruit of immortality, before they have conquered death? it is +guarded, when the great day, to which I allude, arrives, the way will +again be opened. Ye dear delusions, gay deceits, farewel! and yet I +cannot banish ye for ever; still does my panting soul push forward, and +live in futurity, in the deep shades o'er which darkness hangs.--I try +to pierce the gloom, and find a resting-place, where my thirst of +knowledge will be gratified, and my ardent affections find an object to +fix them. Every thing material must change; happiness and this +fluctating principle is not compatible. Eternity, immateriality, and +happiness,--what are ye? How shall I grasp the mighty and fleeting +conceptions ye create?" + +After writing, serenely she delivered her soul into the hands of the +Father of Spirits; and slept in peace. + + + + +CHAP. XXI. + + +Mary rose early, refreshed by the seasonable rest, and went to visit the +poor woman, whom she found quite recovered: and, on enquiry, heard that +she had lately buried her husband, a common sailor; and that her only +surviving child had been washed over-board the day before. Full of her +own danger, she scarcely thought of her child till that was over; and +then she gave way to boisterous emotions. + +Mary endeavoured to calm her at first, by sympathizing with her; and she +tried to point out the only solid source of comfort but in doing this +she encountered many difficulties; she found her grossly ignorant, yet +she did not despair: and as the poor creature could not receive comfort +from the operations of her own mind, she laboured to beguile the hours, +which grief made heavy, by adapting her conversation to her capacity. + +There are many minds that only receive impressions through the medium of +the senses: to them did Mary address herself; she made her some +presents, and promised to assist her when they should arrive in England. +This employment roused her out of her late stupor, and again set the +faculties of her soul in motion; made the understanding contend with the +imagination, and the heart throbbed not so irregularly during the +contention. How short-lived was the calm! when the English coast was +descried, her sorrows returned with redoubled vigor.--She was to visit +and comfort the mother of her lost friend--And where then should she +take up her residence? These thoughts suspended the exertions of her +understanding; abstracted reflections gave way to alarming +apprehensions; and tenderness undermined fortitude. + + + + +CHAP. XXII. + + +In England then landed the forlorn wanderer. She looked round for some +few moments--her affections were not attracted to any particular part of +the Island. She knew none of the inhabitants of the vast city to which +she was going: the mass of buildings appeared to her a huge body without +an informing soul. As she passed through the streets in an +hackney-coach, disgust and horror alternately filled her mind. She met +some women drunk; and the manners of those who attacked the sailors, +made her shrink into herself, and exclaim, are these my fellow +creatures! + +Detained by a number of carts near the water-side, for she came up the +river in the vessel, not having reason to hasten on shore, she saw +vulgarity, dirt, and vice--her soul sickened; this was the first time +such complicated misery obtruded itself on her sight.--Forgetting her +own griefs, she gave the world a much indebted tear; mourned for a world +in ruins. She then perceived, that great part of her comfort must arise +from viewing the smiling face of nature, and be reflected from the view +of innocent enjoyments: she was fond of seeing animals play, and could +not bear to see her own species sink below them. + +In a little dwelling in one of the villages near London, lived the +mother of Ann; two of her children still remained with her; but they did +not resemble Ann. To her house Mary directed the coach, and told the +unfortunate mother of her loss. The poor woman, oppressed by it, and her +many other cares, after an inundation of tears, began to enumerate all +her past misfortunes, and present cares. The heavy tale lasted until +midnight, and the impression it made on Mary's mind was so strong, that +it banished sleep till towards morning; when tired nature sought +forgetfulness, and the soul ceased to ruminate about many things. + +She sent for the poor woman they took up at sea, provided her a lodging, +and relieved her present necessities. A few days were spent in a kind of +listless way; then the mother of Ann began to enquire when she thought +of returning home. She had hitherto treated her with the greatest +respect, and concealed her wonder at Mary's choosing a remote room in +the house near the garden, and ordering some alterations to be made, as +if she intended living in it. + +Mary did not choose to explain herself; had Ann lived, it is probable +she would never have loved Henry so fondly; but if she had, she could +not have talked of her passion to any human creature. She deliberated, +and at last informed the family, that she had a reason for not living +with her husband, which must some time remain a secret--they stared--Not +live with him! how will you live then? This was a question she could not +answer; she had only about eighty pounds remaining, of the money she +took with her to Lisbon; when it was exhausted where could she get more? +I will work, she cried, do any thing rather than be a slave. + + + + +CHAP. XXIII. + + +Unhappy, she wandered about the village, and relieved the poor; it was +the only employment that eased her aching heart; she became more +intimate with misery--the misery that rises from poverty and the want of +education. She was in the vicinity of a great city; the vicious poor in +and about it must ever grieve a benevolent contemplative mind. + +One evening a man who stood weeping in a little lane, near the house she +resided in, caught her eye. She accosted him; in a confused manner, he +informed her, that his wife was dying, and his children crying for the +bread he could not earn. Mary desired to be conducted to his +habitation; it was not very distant, and was the upper room in an old +mansion-house, which had been once the abode of luxury. Some tattered +shreds of rich hangings still remained, covered with cobwebs and filth; +round the ceiling, through which the rain drop'd, was a beautiful +cornice mouldering; and a spacious gallery was rendered dark by the +broken windows being blocked up; through the apertures the wind forced +its way in hollow sounds, and reverberated along the former scene of +festivity. + +It was crowded with inhabitants: som were scolding, others swearing, or +singing indecent songs. What a sight for Mary! Her blood ran cold; yet +she had sufficient resolution to mount to the top of the house. On the +floor, in one corner of a very small room, lay an emaciated figure of a +woman; a window over her head scarcely admitted any light, for the +broken panes were stuffed with dirty rags. Near her were five children, +all young, and covered with dirt; their sallow cheeks, and languid eyes, +exhibited none of the charms of childhood. Some were fighting, and +others crying for food; their yells were mixed with their mother's +groans, and the wind which rushed through the passage. Mary was +petrified; but soon assuming more courage, approached the bed, and, +regardless of the surrounding nastiness, knelt down by the poor wretch, +and breathed the most poisonous air; for the unfortunate creature was +dying of a putrid fever, the consequence of dirt and want. + +Their state did not require much explanation. Mary sent the husband for +a poor neighbour, whom she hired to nurse the woman, and take care of +the children; and then went herself to buy them some necessaries at a +shop not far distant. Her knowledge of physic had enabled her to +prescribe for the woman; and she left the house, with a mixture of +horror and satisfaction. + +She visited them every day, and procured them every comfort; contrary to +her expectation, the woman began to recover; cleanliness and wholesome +food had a wonderful effect; and Mary saw her rising as it were from the +grave. Not aware of the danger she ran into, she did not think of it +till she perceived she had caught the fever. It made such an alarming +progress, that she was prevailed on to send for a physician; but the +disorder was so violent, that for some days it baffled his skill; and +Mary felt not her danger, as she was delirious. After the crisis, the +symptoms were more favourable, and she slowly recovered, without +regaining much strength or spirits; indeed they were intolerably low: +she wanted a tender nurse. + +For some time she had observed, that she was not treated with the same +respect as formerly; her favors were forgotten when no more were +expected. This ingratitude hurt her, as did a similar instance in the +woman who came out of the ship. Mary had hitherto supported her; as her +finances were growing low, she hinted to her, that she ought to try to +earn her own subsistence: the woman in return loaded her with abuse. + +Two months were elapsed; she had not seen, or heard from Henry. He was +sick--nay, perhaps had forgotten her; all the world was dreary, and all +the people ungrateful. + +She sunk into apathy, and endeavouring to rouse herself out of it, she +wrote in her book another fragment: + +"Surely life is a dream, a frightful one! and after those rude, +disjointed images are fled, will light ever break in? Shall I ever feel +joy? Do all suffer like me; or am I framed so as to be particularly +susceptible of misery? It is true, I have experienced the most rapturous +emotions--short-lived delight!--ethereal beam, which only serves to shew +my present misery--yet lie still, my throbbing heart, or burst; and my +brain--why dost thou whirl about at such a terrifying rate? why do +thoughts so rapidly rush into my mind, and yet when they disappear +leave such deep traces? I could almost wish for the madman's happiness, +and in a strong imagination lose a sense of woe. + +"Oh! reason, thou boasted guide, why desert me, like the world, when I +most need thy assistance! Canst thou not calm this internal tumult, and +drive away the death-like sadness which presses so sorely on me,--a +sadness surely very nearly allied to despair. I am now the prey of +apathy--I could wish for the former storms! a ray of hope sometimes +illumined my path; I had a pursuit; but now _it visits not my haunts +forlorn_. Too well have I loved my fellow creatures! I have been wounded +by ingratitude; from every one it has something of the serpent's tooth. + +"When overwhelmed by sorrow, I have met unkindness; I looked for some +one to have pity on me; but found none!--The healing balm of sympathy is +denied; I weep, a solitary wretch, and the hot tears scald my cheeks. I +have not the medicine of life, the dear chimera I have so often chased, +a friend. Shade of my loved Ann! dost thou ever visit thy poor Mary? +Refined spirit, thou wouldst weep, could angels weep, to see her +struggling with passions she cannot subdue; and feelings which corrode +her small portion of comfort!" + +She could not write any more; she wished herself far distant from all +human society; a thick gloom spread itself over her mind: but did not +make her forget the very beings she wished to fly from. She sent for the +poor woman she found in the garret; gave her money to clothe herself +and children, and buy some furniture for a little hut, in a large +garden, the master of which agreed to employ her husband, who had been +bred a gardener. Mary promised to visit the family, and see their new +abode when she was able to go out. + + + + +CHAP. XXIV. + + +Mary still continued weak and low, though it was spring, and all nature +began to look gay; with more than usual brightness the sun shone, and a +little robin which she had cherished during the winter sung one of his +best songs. The family were particularly civil this fine morning, and +tried to prevail on her to walk out. Any thing like kindness melted her; +she consented. + +Softer emotions banished her melancholy, and she directed her steps to +the habitation she had rendered comfortable. + +Emerging out of a dreary chamber, all nature looked cheerful; when she +had last walked out, snow covered the ground, and bleak winds pierced +her through and through: now the hedges were green, the blossoms adorned +the trees, and the birds sung. She reached the dwelling, without being +much exhausted and while she rested there, observed the children +sporting on the grass, with improved complexions. The mother with tears +thanked her deliverer, and pointed out her comforts. Mary's tears flowed +not only from sympathy, but a complication of feelings and recollections +the affections which bound her to her fellow creatures began again to +play, and reanimated nature. She observed the change in herself, tried +to account for it, and wrote with her pencil a rhapsody on sensibility. + +"Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is +susceptible: when it pervades us, we feel happy; and could it last +unmixed, we might form some conjecture of the bliss of those +paradisiacal days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of +reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction. + +"It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to +relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this, +which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with +tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a +good action. The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail +the returning sun, and the consequent renovation of nature; when the +flowers unfold themselves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of +music is heard in the land. Softened by tenderness; the soul is +disposed to be virtuous. Is any sensual gratification to be compared to +that of feelings the eves moistened after having comforted the +unfortunate? + +"Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happiness; but these +raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by +what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature +escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections.--But it +is only to be felt; it escapes discussion." + +She then returned home, and partook of the family meal, which was +rendered more cheerful by the presence of a man, past the meridian of +life, of polished manners, and dazzling wit. He endeavoured to draw Mary +out, and succeeded; she entered into conversation, and some of her +artless flights of genius struck him with surprise; he found she had a +capacious mind, and that her reason was as profound as her imagination +was lively. She glanced from earth to heaven, and caught the light of +truth. Her expressive countenance shewed what passed in her mind, and +her tongue was ever the faithful interpreter of her heart; duplicity +never threw a shade over her words or actions. Mary found him a man of +learning; and the exercise of her understanding would frequently make +her forget her griefs, when nothing else could, except benevolence. + +This man had known the mistress of the house in her youth; good nature +induced him to visit her; but when he saw Mary he had another +inducement. Her appearance, and above all, her genius, and cultivation +of mind, roused his curiosity; but her dignified manners had such an +effect on him, he was obliged to suppress it. He knew men, as well as +books; his conversation was entertaining and improving. In Mary's +company he doubted whether heaven was peopled with spirits masculine; +and almost forgot that he had called the sex "the pretty play things +that render life tolerable." + +He had been the slave of beauty, the captive of sense; love he ne'er had +felt; the mind never rivetted the chain, nor had the purity of it made +the body appear lovely in his eyes. He was humane, despised meanness; +but was vain of his abilities, and by no means a useful member of +society. He talked often of the beauty of virtue; but not having any +solid foundation to build the practice on, he was only a shining, or +rather a sparkling character: and though his fortune enabled him to +hunt down pleasure, he was discontented. + +Mary observed his character, and wrote down a train of reflections, +which these observations led her to make; these reflections received a +tinge from her mind; the present state of it, was that kind of painful +quietness which arises from reason clouded by disgust; she had not yet +learned to be resigned; vague hopes agitated her. + +"There are some subjects that are so enveloped in clouds, as you +dissipate one, another overspreads it. Of this kind are our reasonings +concerning happiness; till we are obliged to cry out with the Apostle, +_That it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive in what it +could consist_, or how satiety could be prevented. Man seems formed for +action, though the passions are seldom properly managed; they are +either so languid as not to serve as a spur, or else so violent, as to +overleap all bounds. + +"Every individual has its own peculiar trials; and anguish, in one shape +or other, visits every heart. Sensibility produces flights of virtue; +and not curbed by reason, is on the brink of vice talking, and even +thinking of virtue. + +"Christianity can only afford just principles to govern the wayward +feelings and impulses of the heart: every good disposition runs wild, if +not transplanted into this soil; but how hard is it to keep the heart +diligently, though convinced that the issues of life depend on it. + +"It is very difficult to discipline the mind of a thinker, or reconcile +him to the weakness, the inconsistency of his understanding; and a +still more laborious task for him to conquer his passions, and learn to +seek content, instead of happiness. Good dispositions, and virtuous +propensities, without the light of the Gospel, produce eccentric +characters: comet-like, they are always in extremes; while revelation +resembles the laws of attraction, and produces uniformity; but too often +is the attraction feeble; and the light so obscured by passion, as to +force the bewildered soul to fly into void space, and wander in +confusion." + + + + +CHAP. XXV. + + +A few mornings after, as Mary was sitting ruminating, harassed by +perplexing thoughts, and fears, a letter was delivered to her: the +servant waited for an answer. Her heart palpitated; it was from Henry; +she held it some time in her hand, then tore it open; it was not a long +one; and only contained an account of a relapse, which prevented his +sailing in the first packet, as he had intended. Some tender enquiries +were added, concerning her health, and state of mind; but they were +expressed in rather a formal style: it vexed her, and the more so, as it +stopped the current of affection, which the account of his arrival and +illness had made flow to her heart--it ceased to beat for a moment--she +read the passage over again; but could not tell what she was hurt +by--only that it did not answer the expectations of her affection. She +wrote a laconic, incoherent note in return, allowing him to call on her +the next day--he had requested permission at the conclusion of his +letter. + +Her mind was then painfully active; she could not read or walk; she +tried to fly from herself, to forget the long hours that were yet to run +before to-morrow could arrive: she knew not what time he would come; +certainly in the morning, she concluded; the morning then was anxiously +wished for; and every wish produced a sigh, that arose from expectation +on the stretch, damped by fear and vain regret. + +To beguile the tedious time, Henry's favorite tunes were sung; the books +they read together turned over; and the short epistle read at least a +hundred times.--Any one who had seen her, would have supposed that she +was trying to decypher Chinese characters. + +After a sleepless night, she hailed the tardy day, watched the rising +sun, and then listened for every footstep, and started if she heard the +street door opened. At last he came, and she who had been counting the +hours, and doubting whether the earth moved, would gladly have escaped +the approaching interview. + +With an unequal, irresolute pace, she went to meet him; but when she +beheld his emaciated countenance, all the tenderness, which the +formality of his letter had damped, returned, and a mournful +presentiment stilled the internal conflict. She caught his hand, and +looking wistfully at him, exclaimed, "Indeed, you are not well!" + +"I am very far from well; but it matters not," added he with a smile of +resignation; "my native air may work wonders, and besides, my mother is +a tender nurse, and I shall sometimes see thee." + +Mary felt for the first time in her life, envy; she wished +involuntarily, that all the comfort he received should be from her. She +enquired about the symptoms of his disorder; and heard that he had been +very ill; she hastily drove away the fears, that former dear bought +experience suggested: and again and again did she repeat, that she was +sure he would soon recover. She would then look in his face, to see if +he assented, and ask more questions to the same purport. She tried to +avoid speaking of herself, and Henry left her, with, a promise of +visiting her the next day. + +Her mind was now engrossed by one fear--yet she would not allow herself +to think that she feared an event she could not name. She still saw his +pale face; the sound of his voice still vibrated on her ears; she tried +to retain it; she listened, looked round, wept, and prayed. + +Henry had enlightened the desolate scene: was this charm of life to fade +away, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wreck +behind? These thoughts disturbed her reason, she shook her head, as if +to drive them out of it; a weight, a heavy one, was on her heart; all +was not well there. + +Out of this reverie she was soon woke to keener anguish, by the arrival +of a letter from her husband; it came to Lisbon after her departure: +Henry had forwarded it to her, but did not choose to deliver it +himself, for a very obvious reason; it might have produced a +conversation he wished for some time to avoid; and his precaution took +its rise almost equally from benevolence and love. + +She could not muster up sufficient resolution to break the seal: her +fears were not prophetic, for the contents gave her comfort. He informed +her that he intended prolonging his tour, as he was now his own master, +and wished to remain some time on the continent, and in particular to +visit Italy without any restraint: but his reasons for it appeared +childish; it was not to cultivate his taste, or tread on classic ground, +where poets and philosophers caught their lore; but to join in the +masquerades, and such burlesque amusements. + +These instances of folly relieved Mary, in some degree reconciled her +to herself added fuel to the devouring flame--and silenced something +like a pang, which reason and conscience made her feel, when she +reflected, that it is the office of Religion to reconcile us to the +seemingly hard dispensations of providence; and that no inclination, +however strong, should oblige us to desert the post assigned us, or +force us to forget that virtue should be an active principle; and that +the most desirable station, is the one that exercises our faculties, +refines our affections, and enables us to be useful. + +One reflection continually wounded her repose; she feared not poverty; +her wants were few; but in giving up a fortune, she gave up the power of +comforting the miserable, and making the sad heart sing for joy. + +Heaven had endowed her with uncommon humanity, to render her one of His +benevolent agents, a messenger of peace; and should she attend to her +own inclinations? + +These suggestions, though they could not subdue a violent passion, +increased her misery. One moment she was a heroine, half determined to +bear whatever fate should inflict; the next, her mind would recoil--and +tenderness possessed her whole soul. Some instances of Henry's +affection, his worth and genius, were remembered: and the earth was only +a vale of tears, because he was not to sojourn with her. + + + + +CHAP. XXVI. + + +Henry came the next day, and once or twice in the course of the +following week; but still Mary kept up some little formality, a certain +consciousness restrained her; and Henry did not enter on the subject +which he found she wished to avoid. In the course of conversation, +however, she mentioned to him, that she earnestly desired to obtain a +place in one of the public offices for Ann's brother, as the family were +again in a declining way. + +Henry attended, made a few enquiries, and dropped the subject; but the +following week, she heard him enter with unusual haste; it was to inform +her, that he had made interest with a person of some consequence, whom +he had once obliged in a very disagreeable exigency, in a foreign +country; and that he had procured a place for her friend, which would +infallibly lead to something better, if he behaved with propriety. Mary +could not speak to thank him; emotions of gratitude and love suffused +her face; her blood eloquently spoke. She delighted to receive benefits +through the medium of her fellow creatures; but to receive them from +Henry was exquisite pleasure. + +As the summer advanced, Henry grew worse; the closeness of the air, in +the metropolis, affected his breath; and his mother insisted on his +fixing on some place in the country, where she would accompany him. He +could not think of going far off, but chose a little village on the +banks of the Thames, near Mary's dwelling: he then introduced her to his +mother. + +They frequently went down the river in a boat; Henry would take his +violin, and Mary would sometimes sing, or read, to them. She pleased his +mother; she inchanted him. It was an advantage to Mary that friendship +first possessed her heart; it opened it to all the softer sentiments of +humanity:--and when this first affection was torn away, a similar one +sprung up, with a still tenderer sentiment added to it. + +The last evening they were on the water, the clouds grew suddenly black, +and broke in violent showers, which interrupted the solemn stillness +that had prevailed previous to it. The thunder roared; and the oars +plying quickly, in order to reach the shore, occasioned a not +unpleasing sound. Mary drew still nearer Henry; she wished to have +sought with him a watry grave; to have escaped the horror of surviving +him.--She spoke not, but Henry saw the workings of her mind--he felt +them; threw his arm round her waist--and they enjoyed the luxury of +wretchedness.--As they touched the shore, Mary perceived that Henry was +wet; with eager anxiety she cried, What shall I do!--this day will kill +thee, and I shall not die with thee! + +This accident put a stop to their pleasurable excursions; it had injured +him, and brought on the spitting of blood he was subject to--perhaps it +was not the cold that he caught, that occasioned it. In vain did Mary +try to shut her eyes; her fate pursued her! Henry every day grew worse +and worse. + + + + +CHAP. XXVII. + + +Oppressed by her foreboding fears, her sore mind was hurt by new +instances of ingratitude: disgusted with the family, whose misfortunes +had often disturbed her repose, and lost in anticipated sorrow, she +rambled she knew not where; when turning down a shady walk, she +discovered her feet had taken the path they delighted to tread. She saw +Henry sitting in his garden alone; he quickly opened the garden-gate, +and she sat down by him. + +"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary; +but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon +portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in +the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to +thee--and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my +heart.--I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou +art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined +existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass +me--ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed +the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course--try to add +to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that +we could have died together--or that I could live to shield thee from +the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an asylum in +these arms--a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy +griefs--" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure--he felt her +throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the +conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow--too surely do I +feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so +pure, that death cannot extinguish it--or tear away the impression thy +virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee--" + +"Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee +and Ann--while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"--She grasped +his hand. + +"There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's--" His voice +faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost +suffocated--they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked +slowly to the garden-gate (Mary would not go into the house); they could +not say farewel when they reached it--and Mary hurried down the lane; to +spare Henry the pain of witnessing her emotions. + +When she lost sight of the house she sat down on the ground, till it +grew late, thinking of all that had passed. Full of these thoughts, she +crept along, regardless of the descending rain; when lifting up her eyes +to heaven, and then turning them wildly on the prospects around, without +marking them; she only felt that the scene accorded with her present +state of mind. It was the last glimmering of twilight, with a full moon, +over which clouds continually flitted. Where am I wandering, God of +Mercy! she thought; she alluded to the wanderings of her mind. In what a +labyrinth am I lost! What miseries have I already encountered--and what +a number lie still before me. + +Her thoughts flew rapidly to something. I could be happy listening to +him, soothing his cares.--Would he not smile upon me--call me his own +Mary? I am not his--said she with fierceness--I am a wretch! and she +heaved a sigh that almost broke her heart, while the big tears rolled +down her burning cheeks; but still her exercised mind, accustomed to +think, began to observe its operation, though the barrier of reason was +almost carried away, and all the faculties not restrained by her, were +running into confusion. Wherefore am I made thus? Vain are my +efforts--I cannot live without loving--and love leads to madness.--Yet +I will not weep; and her eyes were now fixed by despair, dry and +motionless; and then quickly whirled about with a look of distraction. + +She looked for hope; but found none--all was troubled waters.--No where +could she find rest. I have already paced to and fro in the earth; it is +not my abiding place--may I not too go home! Ah! no. Is this complying +with my Henry's request, could a spirit thus disengaged expect to +associate with his? Tears of tenderness strayed down her relaxed +countenance, and her softened heart heaved more regularly. She felt the +rain, and turned to her solitary home. + +Fatigued by the tumultuous emotions she had endured, when she entered +the house she ran to her own room, sunk on the bed; and exhausted +nature soon closed her eyes; but active fancy was still awake, and a +thousand fearful dreams interrupted her slumbers. + +Feverish and languid, she opened her eyes, and saw the unwelcome sun +dart his rays through a window, the curtains of which she had forgotten +to draw. The dew hung on the adjacent trees, and added to the lustre; +the little robin began his song, and distant birds joined. She looked; +her countenance was still vacant--her sensibility was absorbed by one +object. + +Did I ever admire the rising sun, she slightly thought, turning from the +Window, and shutting her eyes: she recalled to view the last night's +scene. His faltering voice, lingering step, and the look of tender woe, +were all graven on her heart; as were the words "Could these arms +shield thee from sorrow--afford thee an asylum from an unfeeling world." +The pressure to his bosom was not forgot. For a moment she was happy; +but in a long-drawn sigh every delightful sensation evaporated. +Soon--yes, very soon, will the grave again receive all I love! and the +remnant of my days--she could not proceed--Were there then days to come +after that? + + + + +CHAP. XXVIII. + + +Just as she was going to quit her room, to visit Henry, his mother +called on her. + +"My son is worse to-day," said she, "I come to request you to spend not +only this day, but a week or two with me.--Why should I conceal any +thing from you? Last night my child made his mother his confident, and, +in the anguish of his heart, requested me to be thy friend--when I shall +be childless. I will not attempt to describe what I felt when he talked +thus to me. If I am to lose the support of my age, and be again a +widow--may I call her Child whom my Henry wishes me to adopt?" + +This new instance of Henry's disinterested affection, Mary felt most +forcibly; and striving to restrain the complicated emotions, and sooth +the wretched mother, she almost fainted: when the unhappy parent forced +tears from her, by saying, "I deserve this blow; my partial fondness +made me neglect him, when most he wanted a mother's care; this neglect, +perhaps, first injured his constitution: righteous Heaven has made my +crime its own punishment; and now I am indeed a mother, I shall loss my +child--my only child!" + +When they were a little more composed they hastened to the invalide; but +during the short ride, the mother related several instances of Henry's +goodness of heart. Mary's tears were not those of unmixed anguish; the +display of his virtues gave her extreme delight--yet human nature +prevailed; she trembled to think they would soon unfold themselves in a +more genial clime. + + + + +CHAP. XXIX. + + +She found Henry very ill. The physician had some weeks before declared +he never knew a person with a similar pulse recover. Henry was certain +he could not live long; all the rest he could obtain, was procured by +opiates. Mary now enjoyed the melancholy pleasure of nursing him, and +softened by her tenderness the pains she could not remove. Every sigh +did she stifle, every tear restrain, when he could see or hear them. She +would boast of her resignation--yet catch eagerly at the least ray of +hope. While he slept she would support his pillow, and rest her head +where she could feel his breath. She loved him better than herself--she +could not pray for his recovery; she could only say, The will of Heaven +be done. + +While she was in this state, she labored to acquire fortitude; but one +tender look destroyed it all--she rather labored, indeed, to make him +believe he was resigned, than really to be so. + +She wished to receive the sacrament with him, as a bond of union which +was to extend beyond the grave. She did so, and received comfort from +it; she rose above her misery. + +His end was now approaching. Mary sat on the side of the bed. His eyes +appeared fixed--no longer agitated by passion, he only felt that it was +a fearful thing to die. The soul retired to the citadel; but it was not +now solely filled by the image of her who in silent despair watched for +his last breath. Collected, a frightful calmness stilled every turbulent +emotion. + +The mother's grief was more audible. Henry had for some time only +attended to Mary--Mary pitied the parent, whose stings of conscience +increased her sorrow; she whispered him, "Thy mother weeps, disregarded +by thee; oh! comfort her!--My mother, thy son blesses thee.--" The +oppressed parent left the room. And Mary _waited_ to see him die. + +She pressed with trembling eagerness his parched lips--he opened his +eyes again; the spreading film retired, and love returned them--he gave +a look--it was never forgotten. My Mary, will you be comforted? + +Yes, yes, she exclaimed in a firm voice; you go to be happy--I am not a +complete wretch! The words almost choked her. + +He was a long time silent; the opiate produced a kind of stupor. At +last, in an agony, he cried, It is dark; I cannot see thee; raise me up. +Where is Mary? did she not say she delighted to support me? let me die +in her arms. + +Her arms were opened to receive him; they trembled not. Again he was +obliged to lie down, resting on her: as the agonies increased he leaned +towards her: the soul seemed flying to her, as it escaped out of its +prison. The breathing was interrupted; she heard distinctly the last +sigh--and lifting up to Heaven her eyes, Father, receive his spirit, she +calmly cried. + +The attendants gathered round; she moved not, nor heard the clamor; the +hand seemed yet to press hers; it still was warm. A ray of light from +an opened window discovered the pale face. + +She left the room, and retired to one very near it; and sitting down on +the floor, fixed her eyes on the door of the apartment which contained +the body. Every event of her life rushed across her mind with wonderful +rapidity--yet all was still--fate had given the finishing stroke. She +sat till midnight.--Then rose in a phrensy, went into the apartment, and +desired those who watched the body to retire. + +She knelt by the bed side;--an enthusiastic devotion overcame the +dictates of despair.--She prayed most ardently to be supported, and +dedicated herself to the service of that Being into whose hands, she had +committed the spirit she almost adored--again--and again,--she prayed +wildly--and fervently--but attempting to touch the lifeless hand--her +head swum--she sunk-- + + + + +CHAP. XXX. + + +Three months after, her only friend, the mother of her lost Henry began +to be alarmed, at observing her altered appearance; and made her own +health a pretext for travelling. These complaints roused Mary out of her +torpid state; she imagined a new duty now forced her to exert herself--a +duty love made sacred!-- + +They went to Bath, from that to Bristol; but the latter place they +quickly left; the sight of the sick that resort there, they neither of +them could bear. From Bristol they flew to Southampton. The road was +pleasant--yet Mary shut her eyes;--or if they were open, green fields +and commons, passed in quick succession, and left no more traces behind +than if they had been waves of the sea. + +Some time after they were settled at Southampton, they met the man who +took so much notice of Mary, soon after her return to England. He +renewed his acquaintance; he was really interested in her fate, as he +had heard her uncommon story; besides, he knew her husband; knew him to +be a good-natured, weak man. He saw him soon after his arrival in his +native country, and prevented his hastening to enquire into the reasons +of Mary's strange conduct. He desired him not to be too precipitate, if +he ever wished to possess an invaluable treasure. He was guided by him, +and allowed him to follow Mary to Southampton, and speak first to her +friend. + +This friend determined to trust to her native strength of mind, and +informed her of the circumstance; but she overrated it: Mary was not +able, for a few days after the intelligence, to fix on the mode of +conduct she ought now to pursue. But at last she conquered her disgust, +and wrote her _husband_ an account of what had passed since she had +dropped his correspondence. + +He came in person to answer the letter. Mary fainted when he approached +her unexpectedly. Her disgust returned with additional force, in spite +of previous reasonings, whenever he appeared; yet she was prevailed on +to promise to live with him, if he would permit her to pass one year, +travelling from place to place; he was not to accompany her. + +The time too quickly elapsed, and she gave him her hand--the struggle +was almost more than she could endure. She tried to appear calm; time +mellowed her grief, and mitigated her torments; but when her husband +would take her hand, or mention any thing like love, she would instantly +feel a sickness, a faintness at her heart, and wish, involuntarily, that +the earth would open and swallow her. + + + + +CHAP. XXXI. + + +Mary visited the continent, and sought health in different climates; but +her nerves were not to be restored to their former state. She then +retired to her house in the country, established manufactories, threw +the estate into small farms; and continually employed herself this way +to dissipate care, and banish unavailing regret. She visited the sick, +supported the old, and educated the young. + +These occupations engrossed her mind; but there were hours when all her +former woes would return and haunt her.--Whenever she did, or said, any +thing she thought Henry would have approved of--she could not avoid +thinking with anguish, of the rapture his approbation ever conveyed to +her heart--a heart in which there was a void, that even benevolence and +religion could not fill. The latter taught her to struggle for +resignation; and the former rendered life supportable. + +Her delicate state of health did not promise long life. In moments of +solitary sadness, a gleam of joy would dart across her mind--She thought +she was hastening to that world _where there is neither marrying_, nor +giving in marriage. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY*** + + +******* This file should be named 16357-8.txt or 16357-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/3/5/16357 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Mary</p> +<p> A Fiction</p> +<p>Author: Mary Wollstonecraft</p> +<p>Release Date: July 24, 2005 [eBook #16357]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net/)</h4> +<p> </p> +<div class="trans-note"> + Transcriber's Note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft. + The Table of Contents was added by the transcriber. + </div> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<h1>MARY,</h1> + +<h3>A<br /> +FICTION.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.—Rousseau.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class='center'><b>LONDON,</b></p> + +<p class='center'>PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.</p> + +<p class='center'>MDCCLXXXVIII.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> </p> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ADVERTISEMENT"><b>ADVERTISEMENT.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_I"><b>CHAP. I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_II"><b>CHAP. II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_III"><b>CHAP. III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_IV"><b>CHAP. IV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_V"><b>CHAP. V.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_VI"><b>CHAP. VI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_VII"><b>CHAP. VII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_VIII"><b>CHAP. VIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_IX"><b>CHAP. IX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_X"><b>CHAP. X.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XI"><b>CHAP. XI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XII"><b>CHAP. XII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XIII"><b>CHAP. XIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XIV"><b>CHAP. XIV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XV"><b>CHAP. XV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XVI"><b>CHAP. XVI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XVII"><b>CHAP. XVII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XVIII"><b>CHAP. XVIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XIX"><b>CHAP. XIX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XX"><b>CHAP. XX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXI"><b>CHAP. XXI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXII"><b>CHAP. XXII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXIII"><b>CHAP. XXIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXIV"><b>CHAP. XXIV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXV"><b>CHAP. XXV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXVI"><b>CHAP. XXVI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXVII"><b>CHAP. XXVII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXVIII"><b>CHAP. XXVIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXIX"><b>CHAP. XXIX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXX"><b>CHAP. XXX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAP_XXXI"><b>CHAP. XXXI.</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><a name="Page_-6" id="Page_-6"></a></p><p><a name="Page_-5" id="Page_-5"></a></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_-4" id="Page_-4"></a></p><p><a name="Page_-3" id="Page_-3"></a></p> +<h3><a name="ADVERTISEMENT" id="ADVERTISEMENT"></a>ADVERTISEMENT.</h3> + + +<p>In delineating the Heroine of this Fiction, the Author attempts to +develop a character different from those generally portrayed. This woman +is neither a Clarissa, a Lady G——, nor a<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Sophie.—It would be vain +to mention the various modifications of these models, as it would to +remark, how widely artists wander from nature, when they copy the +originals of great masters. They catch the gross parts; but the subtile<a name="Page_-2" id="Page_-2"></a> +spirit evaporates; and not having the just ties, affectation disgusts, +when grace was expected to charm.</p> + +<p>Those compositions only have power to delight, and carry us willing +captives, where the soul of the author is exhibited, and animates the +hidden springs. Lost in a pleasing enthusiasm, they live in the scenes +they represent; and do not measure their steps in a beaten track, +solicitous to gather expected flowers, and bind them in a wreath, +according to the prescribed rules of art.</p> + +<p>These chosen few, wish to speak for themselves, and not to be an<a name="Page_-1" id="Page_-1"></a> +echo—even of the sweetest sounds—or the reflector of the most sublime +beams. The<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> paradise they ramble in, must be of their own creating—or +the prospect soon grows insipid, and not varied by a vivifying +principle, fades and dies.</p> + +<p>In an artless tale, without episodes, the mind of a woman, who has +thinking powers is displayed. The female organs have been thought too<a name="Page_0" id="Page_0"></a> +weak for this arduous employment; and experience seems to justify the +assertion. Without arguing physically about <i>possibilities</i>—in a +fiction, such a being may be allowed to exist; whose grandeur is derived +from the operations of its own faculties, not subjugated to opinion; but +drawn by the individual from the original source.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Rousseau.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> I here give the Reviewers an opportunity of being very +witty about the Paradise of Fools, &c.</p></div> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>MARY</h1> +<p> </p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_I" id="CHAP_I"></a>CHAP. I.</h3> + + +<p>Mary, the heroine of this fiction, was the daughter of Edward, who +married Eliza, a gentle, fashionable girl, with a kind of indolence in +her temper, which might be termed negative good-nature: her virtues, +indeed, were all of that stamp. She carefully attended to the <i>shews</i> of +things, and her opinions, I should have said prejudices, were such as +the generality approved of. She was educated with the expectation of a +large fortune, of course became a mere machine: the homage of her<a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a> +attendants made a great part of her puerile amusements, and she never +imagined there were any relative duties for her to fulfil: notions of +her own consequence, by these means, were interwoven in her mind, and +the years of youth spent in acquiring a few superficial accomplishments, +without having any taste for them. When she was first introduced into +the polite circle, she danced with an officer, whom she faintly wished +to be united to; but her father soon after recommending another in a +more distinguished rank of life, she readily submitted to his will, and +promised to love, honour, and obey, (a vicious fool,) as in duty bound.</p> + +<p>While they resided in London, they lived in the usual fashionable style, +and seldom saw each other; nor were they much more sociable when they +wooed rural felicity for more than half the year, in a delightful<a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a> +country, where Nature, with lavish hand, had scattered beauties around; +for the master, with brute, unconscious gaze, passed them by unobserved, +and sought amusement in country sports. He hunted in the morning, and +after eating an immoderate dinner, generally fell asleep: this +seasonable rest enabled him to digest the cumbrous load; he would then +visit some of his pretty tenants; and when he compared their ruddy glow +of health with his wife's countenance, which even rouge could not +enliven, it is not necessary to say which a <i>gourmand</i> would give the +preference to. Their vulgar dance of spirits were infinitely more +agreeable to his fancy than her sickly, die-away languor. Her voice was +but the shadow of a sound, and she had, to complete her delicacy, so<a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a> +relaxed her nerves, that she became a mere nothing.</p> + +<p>Many such noughts are there in the female world! yet she had a good +opinion of her own merit,—truly, she said long prayers,—and sometimes +read her Week's Preparation: she dreaded that horrid place vulgarly +called <i>hell</i>, the regions below; but whether her's was a mounting +spirit, I cannot pretend to determine; or what sort of a planet would +have been proper for her, when she left her <i>material</i> part in this +world, let metaphysicians settle; I have nothing to say to her unclothed +spirit.</p> + +<p>As she was sometimes obliged to be alone, or only with her French +waiting-maid, she sent to the metropolis for all the new publications, +and while she was dressing her hair, and she could turn her eyes from +the glass, she ran over <a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>those most delightful substitutes for bodily +dissipation, novels. I say bodily, or the animal soul, for a rational +one can find no employment in polite circles. The glare of lights, the +studied inelegancies of dress, and the compliments offered up at the +shrine of false beauty, are all equally addressed to the senses.</p> + +<p>When she could not any longer indulge the caprices of fancy one way, she +tried another. The Platonic Marriage, Eliza Warwick, and some other +interesting tales were perused with eagerness. Nothing could be more +natural than the developement of the passions, nor more striking than +the views of the human heart. What delicate struggles! and uncommonly +pretty turns of thought! The picture that was found on a bramble-bush, +the new sensitive-plant, or tree, which caught the swain by the +upper-<a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>garment, and presented to his ravished eyes a portrait.—Fatal +image!—It planted a thorn in a till then insensible heart, and sent a +new kind of a knight-errant into the world. But even this was nothing to +the catastrophe, and the circumstance on which it hung, the hornet +settling on the sleeping lover's face. What a <i>heart-rending</i> accident! +She planted, in imitation of those susceptible souls, a rose bush; but +there was not a lover to weep in concert with her, when she watered it +with her tears.—Alas! Alas!</p> + +<p>If my readers would excuse the sportiveness of fancy, and give me credit +for genius, I would go on and tell them such tales as would force the +sweet tears of sensibility to flow in copious showers down beautiful +cheeks, to the discomposure of rouge, &c. &c. Nay, I would make it so +interesting, that the <a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>fair peruser should beg the hair-dresser to +settle the curls himself, and not interrupt her.</p> + +<p>She had besides another resource, two most beautiful dogs, who shared +her bed, and reclined on cushions near her all the day. These she +watched with the most assiduous care, and bestowed on them the warmest +caresses. This fondness for animals was not that kind of +<i>attendrissement</i> which makes a person take pleasure in providing for +the subsistence and comfort of a living creature; but it proceeded from +vanity, it gave her an opportunity of lisping out the prettiest French +expressions of ecstatic fondness, in accents that had never been attuned +by tenderness.</p> + +<p>She was chaste, according to the vulgar acceptation of the word, that +is, she did not make any actual <i>faux pas</i>; she <a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>feared the world, and +was indolent; but then, to make amends for this seeming self-denial, she +read all the sentimental novels, dwelt on the love-scenes, and, had she +thought while she read, her mind would have been contaminated; as she +accompanied the lovers to the lonely arbors, and would walk with them by +the clear light of the moon. She wondered her husband did not stay at +home. She was jealous—why did he not love her, sit by her side, squeeze +her hand, and look unutterable things? Gentle reader, I will tell thee; +they neither of them felt what they could not utter. I will not pretend +to say that they always annexed an idea to a word; but they had none of +those feelings which are not easily analyzed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_II" id="CHAP_II"></a>CHAP. II.</h3> + + +<p>In due time she brought forth a son, a feeble babe; and the following +year a daughter. After the mother's throes she felt very few sentiments +of maternal tenderness: the children were given to nurses, and she +played with her dogs. Want of exercise prevented the least chance of her +recovering strength; and two or three milk-fevers brought on a +consumption, to which her constitution tended. Her children all died in +their infancy, except the two first, and she began to grow fond of the +son, as he was remarkably handsome. For years she divided her time +between the sofa, and the card-table. She thought not of <a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>death, though +on the borders of the grave; nor did any of the duties of her station +occur to her as necessary. Her children were left in the nursery; and +when Mary, the little blushing girl, appeared, she would send the +awkward thing away. To own the truth, she was awkward enough, in a house +without any play-mates; for her brother had been sent to school, and she +scarcely knew how to employ herself; she would ramble about the garden, +admire the flowers, and play with the dogs. An old house-keeper told her +stories, read to her, and, at last, taught her to read. Her mother +talked of enquiring for a governess when her health would permit; and, +in the interim desired her own maid to teach her French. As she had +learned to read, she perused with avidity every book that came in her +way. Neglected in <a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>every respect, and left to the operations of her own +mind, she considered every thing that came under her inspection, and +learned to think. She had heard of a separate state, and that angels +sometimes visited this earth. She would sit in a thick wood in the park, +and talk to them; make little songs addressed to them, and sing them to +tunes of her own composing; and her native wood notes wild were sweet +and touching.</p> + +<p>Her father always exclaimed against female acquirements, and was glad +that his wife's indolence and ill health made her not trouble herself +about them. She had besides another reason, she did not wish to have a +fine tall girl brought forward into notice as her daughter; she still +expected to recover, and figure away in the gay world. Her husband was +very tyrannical and passionate; indeed so <a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>very easily irritated when +inebriated, that Mary was continually in dread lest he should frighten +her mother to death; her sickness called forth all Mary's tenderness, +and exercised her compassion so continually, that it became more than a +match for self-love, and was the governing propensity of her heart +through life. She was violent in her temper; but she saw her father's +faults, and would weep when obliged to compare his temper with her +own.—She did more; artless prayers rose to Heaven for pardon, when she +was conscious of having erred; and her contrition was so exceedingly +painful, that she watched diligently the first movements of anger and +impatience, to save herself this cruel remorse.</p> + +<p>Sublime ideas filled her young mind—always connected with devotional +sentiments; extemporary effusions of grati<a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>tude, and rhapsodies of +praise would burst often from her, when she listened to the birds, or +pursued the deer. She would gaze on the moon, and ramble through the +gloomy path, observing the various shapes the clouds assumed, and listen +to the sea that was not far distant. The wandering spirits, which she +imagined inhabited every part of nature, were her constant friends and +confidants. She began to consider the Great First Cause, formed just +notions of his attributes, and, in particular, dwelt on his wisdom and +goodness. Could she have loved her father or mother, had they returned +her affection, she would not so soon, perhaps, have sought out a new +world.</p> + +<p>Her sensibility prompted her to search for an object to love; on earth +it was not to be found: her mother had often disappointed her, and the +apparent par<a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>tiality she shewed to her brother gave her exquisite +pain—produced a kind of habitual melancholy, led her into a fondness +for reading tales of woe, and made her almost realize the fictitious +distress.</p> + +<p>She had not any notion of death till a little chicken expired at her +feet; and her father had a dog hung in a passion. She then concluded +animals had souls, or they would not have been subjected to the caprice +of man; but what was the soul of man or beast? In this style year after +year rolled on, her mother still vegetating.</p> + +<p>A little girl who attended in the nursery fell sick. Mary paid her great +attention; contrary to her wish, she was sent out of the house to her +mother, a poor woman, whom necessity obliged to leave her sick child +while she earned her daily bread. The poor wretch, in a <a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>fit of delirium +stabbed herself, and Mary saw her dead body, and heard the dismal +account; and so strongly did it impress her imagination, that every +night of her life the bleeding corpse presented itself to her when the +first began to slumber. Tortured by it, she at last made a vow, that if +she was ever mistress of a family she would herself watch over every +part of it. The impression that this accident made was indelible.</p> + +<p>As her mother grew imperceptibly worse and worse, her father, who did +not understand such a lingering complaint, imagined his wife was only +grown still more whimsical, and that if she could be prevailed on to +exert herself, her health would soon be re-established. In general he +treated her with indifference; but when her illness at all interfered +with his pleasures, he expostulated in the most <a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>cruel manner, and +visibly harassed the invalid. Mary would then assiduously try to turn +his attention to something else; and when sent out of the room, would +watch at the door, until the storm was over, for unless it was, she +could not rest. Other causes also contributed to disturb her repose: her +mother's luke-warm manner of performing her religious duties, filled her +with anguish; and when she observed her father's vices, the unbidden +tears would flow. She was miserable when beggars were driven from the +gate without being relieved; if she could do it unperceived, she would +give them her own breakfast, and feel gratified, when, in consequence of +it, she was pinched by hunger.</p> + +<p>She had once, or twice, told her little secrets to her mother; they were +laughed at, and she determined never to do it <a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>again. In this manner was +she left to reflect on her own feelings; and so strengthened were they +by being meditated on, that her character early became singular and +permanent. Her understanding was strong and clear, when not clouded by +her feelings; but she was too much the creature of impulse, and the +slave of compassion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_III" id="CHAP_III"></a>CHAP. III.</h3> + + +<p>Near her father's house lived a poor widow, who had been brought up in +affluence, but reduced to great distress by the extravagance of her +husband; he had destroyed his constitution while he spent his fortune; +and dying, left his wife, and five small children, to live on a very +scanty pittance. The eldest daughter was for some years educated by a +distant relation, a Clergyman. While she was with him a young gentleman, +son to a man of property in the neighbourhood, took particular notice of +her. It is true, he never talked of love; but then they played and sung +in concert; drew landscapes together, and while she worked he read to +her, culti<a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>vated her taste, and stole imperceptibly her heart. Just at +this juncture, when smiling, unanalyzed hope made every prospect bright, +and gay expectation danced in her eyes, her benefactor died. She +returned to her mother—the companion of her youth forgot her, they took +no more sweet counsel together. This disappointment spread a sadness +over her countenance, and made it interesting. She grew fond of +solitude, and her character appeared similar to Mary's, though her +natural disposition was very different.</p> + +<p>She was several years older than Mary, yet her refinement, her taste, +caught her eye, and she eagerly sought her friendship: before her return +she had assisted the family, which was almost reduced to the last ebb; +and now she had another motive to actuate her.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>As she had often occasion to send messages to Ann, her new friend, +mistakes were frequently made; Ann proposed that in future they should +be written ones, to obviate this difficulty, and render their +intercourse more agreeable. Young people are mostly fond of scribbling; +Mary had had very little instruction; but by copying her friend's +letters, whose hand she admired, she soon became a proficient; a little +practice made her write with tolerable correctness, and her genius gave +force to it. In conversation, and in writing, when she felt, she was +pathetic, tender and persuasive; and she expressed contempt with such +energy, that few could stand the flash of her eyes.</p> + +<p>As she grew more intimate with Ann, her manners were softened, and she +acquired a degree of equality in her behaviour: yet still her spirits +were fluc<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>tuating, and her movements rapid. She felt less pain on +account of her mother's partiality to her brother, as she hoped now to +experience the pleasure of being beloved; but this hope led her into new +sorrows, and, as usual, paved the way for disappointment. Ann only felt +gratitude; her heart was entirely engrossed by one object, and +friendship could not serve as a substitute; memory officiously retraced +past scenes, and unavailing wishes made time loiter.</p> + +<p>Mary was often hurt by the involuntary indifference which these +consequences produced. When her friend was all the world to her, she +found she was not as necessary to her happiness; and her delicate mind +could not bear to obtrude her affection, or receive love as an alms, the +offspring of pity. Very frequently has she ran to her with de<a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>light, and +not perceiving any thing of the same kind in Ann's countenance, she has +shrunk back; and, falling from one extreme into the other, instead of a +warm greeting that was just slipping from her tongue, her expressions +seemed to be dictated by the most chilling insensibility.</p> + +<p>She would then imagine that she looked sickly or unhappy, and then all +her tenderness would return like a torrent, and bear away all +reflection. In this manner was her sensibility called forth, and +exercised, by her mother's illness, her friend's misfortunes, and her +own unsettled mind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_IV" id="CHAP_IV"></a>CHAP. IV.</h3> + + +<p>Near to her father's house was a range of mountains; some of them were, +literally speaking, cloud-capt, for on them clouds continually rested, +and gave grandeur to the prospect; and down many of their sides the +little bubbling cascades ran till they swelled a beautiful river. +Through the straggling trees and bushes the wind whistled, and on them +the birds sung, particularly the robins; they also found shelter in the +ivy of an old castle, a haunted one, as the story went; it was situated +on the brow of one of the mountains, and commanded a view of the sea. +This castle had been inhabited by some of her ancestors; and <a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>many tales +had the old house-keeper told her of the worthies who had resided there.</p> + +<p>When her mother frowned, and her friend looked cool, she would steal to +this retirement, where human foot seldom trod—gaze on the sea, observe +the grey clouds, or listen to the wind which struggled to free itself +from the only thing that impeded its course. When more cheerful, she +admired the various dispositions of light and shade, the beautiful tints +the gleams of sunshine gave to the distant hills; then she rejoiced in +existence, and darted into futurity.</p> + +<p>One way home was through the cavity of a rock covered with a thin layer +of earth, just sufficient to afford nourishment to a few stunted shrubs +and wild plants, which grew on its sides, and nodded over the summit. A +clear stream broke out <a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>of it, and ran amongst the pieces of rocks +fallen into it. Here twilight always reigned—it seemed the Temple of +Solitude; yet, paradoxical as the assertion may appear, when the foot +sounded on the rock, it terrified the intruder, and inspired a strange +feeling, as if the rightful sovereign was dislodged. In this retreat she +read Thomson's Seasons, Young's Night-Thoughts, and Paradise Lost.</p> + +<p>At a little distance from it were the huts of a few poor fishermen, who +supported their numerous children by their precarious labour. In these +little huts she frequently rested, and denied herself every childish +gratification, in order to relieve the necessities of the inhabitants. +Her heart yearned for them, and would dance with joy when she had +relieved their wants, or afforded them pleasure.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>In these pursuits she learned the luxury of doing good; and the sweet +tears of benevolence frequently moistened her eyes, and gave them a +sparkle which, exclusive of that, they had not; on the contrary, they +were rather fixed, and would never have been observed if her soul had +not animated them. They were not at all like those brilliant ones which +look like polished diamonds, and dart from every superfice, giving more +light to the beholders than they receive themselves.</p> + +<p>Her benevolence, indeed, knew no bounds; the distress of others carried +her out of herself; and she rested not till she had relieved or +comforted them. The warmth of her compassion often made her so diligent, +that many things occurred to her, which might have escaped a less +interested observer.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>In like manner, she entered with such spirit into whatever she read, +and the emotions thereby raised were so strong, that it soon became a +part of her mind.</p> + +<p>Enthusiastic sentiments of devotion at this period actuated her; her +Creator was almost apparent to her senses in his works; but they were +mostly the grand or solemn features of Nature which she delighted to +contemplate. She would stand and behold the waves rolling, and think of +the voice that could still the tumultuous deep.</p> + +<p>These propensities gave the colour to her mind, before the passions +began to exercise their tyrannic sway, and particularly pointed out +those which the soil would have a tendency to nurse.</p> + +<p>Years after, when wandering through the same scenes, her imagination has +strayed back, to trace the first placid <a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>sentiments they inspired, and +she would earnestly desire to regain the same peaceful tranquillity.</p> + +<p>Many nights she sat up, if I may be allowed the expression, <i>conversing</i> +with the Author of Nature, making verses, and singing hymns of her own +composing. She considered also, and tried to discern what end her +various faculties were destined to pursue; and had a glimpse of a truth, +which afterwards more fully unfolded itself.</p> + +<p>She thought that only an infinite being could fill the human soul, and +that when other objects were followed as a means of happiness, the +delusion led to misery, the consequence of disappointment. Under the +influence of ardent affections, how often has she forgot this +conviction, and as often returned to it again, when it struck her with +redoubled <a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>force. Often did she taste unmixed delight; her joys, her +ecstacies arose from genius.</p> + +<p>She was now fifteen, and she wished to receive the holy sacrament; and +perusing the scriptures, and discussing some points of doctrine which +puzzled her, she would sit up half the night, her favourite time for +employing her mind; she too plainly perceived that she saw through a +glass darkly; and that the bounds set to stop our intellectual +researches, is one of the trials of a probationary state.</p> + +<p>But her affections were roused by the display of divine mercy; and she +eagerly desired to commemorate the dying love of her great benefactor. +The night before the important day, when she was to take on herself her +baptismal vow, she could not go to bed; the sun broke in on her +<a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>meditations, and found her not exhausted by her watching.</p> + +<p>The orient pearls were strewed around—she hailed the morn, and sung +with wild delight, Glory to God on high, good will towards men. She was +indeed so much affected when she joined in the prayer for her eternal +preservation, that she could hardly conceal her violent emotions; and +the recollection never failed to wake her dormant piety when earthly +passions made it grow languid.</p> + +<p>These various movements of her mind were not commented on, nor were the +luxuriant shoots restrained by culture. The servants and the poor adored +her.</p> + +<p>In order to be enabled to gratify herself in the highest degree, she +practiced the most rigid œconomy, and had such power over her +appetites and whims, that without any great effort she conquered <a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>them +so entirely, that when her understanding or affections had an object, +she almost forgot she had a body which required nourishment.</p> + +<p>This habit of thinking, this kind of absorption, gave strength to the +passions.</p> + +<p>We will now enter on the more active field of life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_V" id="CHAP_V"></a>CHAP. V.</h3> + + +<p>A few months after Mary was turned of seventeen, her brother was +attacked by a violent fever, and died before his father could reach the +school.</p> + +<p>She was now an heiress, and her mother began to think her of +consequence, and did not call her <i>the child</i>. Proper masters were sent +for; she was taught to dance, and an extraordinary master procured to +perfect her in that most necessary of all accomplishments.</p> + +<p>A part of the estate she was to inherit had been litigated, and the heir +of the person who still carried on a Chancery suit, was only two years +younger than our heroine. The fathers, spite of the <a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>dispute, frequently +met, and, in order to settle it amicably, they one day, over a bottle, +determined to quash it by a marriage, and, by uniting the two estates, +to preclude all farther enquiries into the merits of their different +claims.</p> + +<p>While this important matter was settling, Mary was otherwise employed. +Ann's mother's resources were failing; and the ghastly phantom, poverty, +made hasty strides to catch them in his clutches. Ann had not fortitude +enough to brave such accumulated misery; besides, the canker-worm was +lodged in her heart, and preyed on her health. She denied herself every +little comfort; things that would be no sacrifice when a person is well, +are absolutely necessary to alleviate bodily pain, and support the +animal functions.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>There were many elegant amusements, that she had acquired a relish for, +which might have taken her mind off from its most destructive bent; but +these her indigence would not allow her to enjoy: forced then, by way of +relaxation, to play the tunes her lover admired, and handle the pencil +he taught her to hold, no wonder his image floated on her imagination, +and that taste invigorated love.</p> + +<p>Poverty, and all its inelegant attendants, were in her mother's abode; +and she, though a good sort of a woman, was not calculated to banish, by +her trivial, uninteresting chat, the delirium in which her daughter was +lost.</p> + +<p>This ill-fated love had given a bewitching softness to her manners, a +delicacy so truly feminine, that a man of any feeling could not behold +her without wishing to chase her sorrows away.<a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a> She was timid and +irresolute, and rather fond of dissipation; grief only had power to make +her reflect.</p> + +<p>In every thing it was not the great, but the beautiful, or the pretty, +that caught her attention. And in composition, the polish of style, and +harmony of numbers, interested her much more than the flights of genius, +or abstracted speculations.</p> + +<p>She often wondered at the books Mary chose, who, though she had a lively +imagination, would frequently study authors whose works were addressed +to the understanding. This liking taught her to arrange her thoughts, +and argue with herself, even when under the influence of the most +violent passions.</p> + +<p>Ann's misfortunes and ill health were strong ties to bind Mary to her; +she wished so continually to have a home to <a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>receive her in, that it +drove every other desire out of her mind; and, dwelling on the tender +schemes which compassion and friendship dictated, she longed most +ardently to put them in practice.</p> + +<p>Fondly as she loved her friend, she did not forget her mother, whose +decline was so imperceptible, that they were not aware of her +approaching dissolution. The physician, however, observing the most +alarming symptoms; her husband was apprised of her immediate danger; and +then first mentioned to her his designs with respect to his daughter.</p> + +<p>She approved of them; Mary was sent for; she was not at home; she had +rambled to visit Ann, and found her in an hysteric fit. The landlord of +her little farm had sent his agent for the rent, which had long been due +to him; and he threatened to seize the stock that still <a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>remained, and +turn them out, if they did not very shortly discharge the arrears.</p> + +<p>As this man made a private fortune by harassing the tenants of the +person to whom he was deputy, little was to be expected from his +forbearance.</p> + +<p>All this was told to Mary—and the mother added, she had many other +creditors who would, in all probability, take the alarm, and snatch from +them all that had been saved out of the wreck. "I could bear all," she +cried; "but what will become of my children? Of this child," pointing to +the fainting Ann, "whose constitution is already undermined by care and +grief—where will she go?"—Mary's heart ceased to beat while she asked +the question—She attempted to speak; but the inarticulate sounds died +away. Before she had recovered herself, her father called him<a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>self to +enquire for her; and desired her instantly to accompany him home.</p> + +<p>Engrossed by the scene of misery she had been witness to, she walked +silently by his side, when he roused her out of her reverie by telling +her that in all likelihood her mother had not many hours to live; and +before she could return him any answer, informed her that they had both +determined to marry her to Charles, his friend's son; he added, the +ceremony was to be performed directly, that her mother might be witness +of it; for such a desire she had expressed with childish eagerness.</p> + +<p>Overwhelmed by this intelligence, Mary rolled her eyes about, then, with +a vacant stare, fixed them on her father's face; but they were no longer +a sense; they conveyed no ideas to the brain. As she drew near the +house, her wonted presence <a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>presence of mind returned: after this +suspension of thought, a thousand darted into her mind,—her dying +mother,—her friend's miserable situation,—and an extreme horror at +taking—at being forced to take, such a hasty step; but she did not feel +the disgust, the reluctance, which arises from a prior attachment.</p> + +<p>She loved Ann better than any one in the world—to snatch her from the +very jaws of destruction—she would have encountered a lion. To have +this friend constantly with her; to make her mind easy with respect to +her family, would it not be superlative bliss?</p> + +<p>Full of these thoughts she entered her mother's chamber, but they then +fled at the sight of a dying parent. She went to her, took her hand; it +feebly pressed her's. "My child," said the languid mother: the words +reached her heart; <a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>she had seldom heard them pronounced with accents +denoting affection; "My child, I have not always treated you with +kindness—God forgive me! do you?"—Mary's tears strayed in a +disregarded stream; on her bosom the big drops fell, but did not relieve +the fluttering tenant. "I forgive you!" said she, in a tone of +astonishment.</p> + +<p>The clergyman came in to read the service for the sick, and afterwards +the marriage ceremony was performed. Mary stood like a statue of +Despair, and pronounced the awful vow without thinking of it; and then +ran to support her mother, who expired the same night in her arms.</p> + +<p>Her husband set off for the continent the same day, with a tutor, to +finish his studies at one of the foreign universities.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>Ann was sent for to console her, not on account of the departure of her +new relation, a boy she seldom took any notice of, but to reconcile her +to her fate; besides, it was necessary she should have a female +companion, and there was not any maiden aunt in the family, or cousin of +the same class.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_VI" id="CHAP_VI"></a>CHAP. VI.</h3> + + +<p>Mary was allowed to pay the rent which gave her so much uneasiness, and +she exerted every nerve to prevail on her father effectually to succour +the family; but the utmost she could obtain was a small sum very +inadequate to the purpose, to enable the poor woman to carry into +execution a little scheme of industry near the metropolis.</p> + +<p>Her intention of leaving that part of the country, had much more weight +with him, than Mary's arguments, drawn from motives of philanthropy and +friendship; this was a language he did not understand; expressive of +occult qualities <a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>he never thought of, as they could not be seen or +felt.</p> + +<p>After the departure of her mother, Ann still continued to languish, +though she had a nurse who was entirely engrossed by the desire of +amusing her. Had her health been re-established, the time would have +passed in a tranquil, improving manner.</p> + +<p>During the year of mourning they lived in retirement; music, drawing, +and reading, filled up the time; and Mary's taste and judgment were both +improved by contracting a habit of observation, and permitting the +simple beauties of Nature to occupy her thoughts.</p> + +<p>She had a wonderful quickness in discerning distinctions and combining +ideas, that at the first glance did not appear to be similar. But these +various pursuits <a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>did not banish all her cares, or carry off all her +constitutional black bile. Before she enjoyed Ann's society, she +imagined it would have made her completely happy: she was disappointed, +and yet knew not what to complain of.</p> + +<p>As her friend could not accompany her in her walks, and wished to be +alone, for a very obvious reason, she would return to her old haunts, +retrace her anticipated pleasures—-and wonder how they changed their +colour in possession, and proved so futile.</p> + +<p>She had not yet found the companion she looked for. Ann and she were not +congenial minds, nor did she contribute to her comfort in the degree she +expected. She shielded her from poverty; but this was only a negative +blessing; when under the pressure it was very grievous, and still more +so were the apprehensions; but when <a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>when exempt from them, she was not +contented.</p> + +<p>Such is human nature, its laws were not to be inverted to gratify our +heroine, and stop the progress of her understanding, happiness only +flourished in paradise—we cannot taste and live.</p> + +<p>Another year passed away with increasing apprehensions. Ann had a hectic +cough, and many unfavourable prognostics: Mary then forgot every thing +but the fear of losing her, and even imagined that her recovery would +have made her happy.</p> + +<p>Her anxiety led her to study physic, and for some time she only read +books of that cast; and this knowledge, literally speaking, ended in +vanity and vexation of spirit, as it enabled her to foresee what she +could not prevent.</p> + +<p>As her mind expanded, her marriage appeared <a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>appeared a dreadful +misfortune; she was sometimes reminded of the heavy yoke, and bitter was +the recollection!</p> + +<p>In one thing there seemed to be a sympathy between them, for she wrote +formal answers to his as formal letters. An extreme dislike took root in +her mind; the found of his name made her turn sick; but she forgot all, +listening to Ann's cough, and supporting her languid frame. She would +then catch her to her bosom with convulsive eagerness, as if to save her +from sinking into an opening grave.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_VII" id="CHAP_VII"></a>CHAP. VII.</h3> + + +<p>It was the will of Providence that Mary should experience almost every +species of sorrow. Her father was thrown from his horse, when his blood +was in a very inflammatory state, and the bruises were very dangerous; +his recovery was not expected by the physical tribe.</p> + +<p>Terrified at seeing him so near death, and yet so ill prepared for it, +his daughter sat by his bed, oppressed by the keenest anguish, which her +piety increased.</p> + +<p>Her grief had nothing selfish in it; he was not a friend or protector; +but he was her father, an unhappy wretch, going into eternity, depraved +and thought<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>less. Could a life of sensuality be a preparation for a +peaceful death? Thus meditating, she passed the still midnight hour by +his bedside.</p> + +<p>The nurse fell asleep, nor did a violent thunder storm interrupt her +repose, though it made the night appear still more terrific to Mary. Her +father's unequal breathing alarmed her, when she heard a long drawn +breath, she feared it was his last, and watching for another, a dreadful +peal of thunder struck her ears. Considering the separation of the soul +and body, this night seemed sadly solemn, and the hours long.</p> + +<p>Death is indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The +compassionate heart finds not any comfort; but dreads an eternal +separation. No transporting greetings are anticipated, when the +survivors also shall have finished their <a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>their course; but all is +black!—the grave may truly be said to receive the departed—this is the +sting of death!</p> + +<p>Night after night Mary watched, and this excessive fatigue impaired her +own health, but had a worse effect on Ann; though she constantly went to +bed, she could not rest; a number of uneasy thoughts obtruded +themselves; and apprehensions about Mary, whom she loved as well as her +exhausted heart could love, harassed her mind. After a sleepless, +feverish night she had a violent fit of coughing, and burst a +blood-vessel. The physician, who was in the house, was sent for, and +when he left the patient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, insisted on +knowing his real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in +a critical state; and if she passed the approaching winter in England, +he <a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>imagined she would die in the spring; a season fatal to consumptive +disorders. The spring!—Her husband was then expected.—Gracious Heaven, +could she bear all this.</p> + +<p>In a few days her father breathed his last. The horrid sensations his +death occasioned were too poignant to be durable: and Ann's danger, and +her own situation, made Mary deliberate what mode of conduct she should +pursue. She feared this event might hasten the return of her husband, +and prevent her putting into execution a plan she had determined on. It +was to accompany Ann to a more salubrious climate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_VIII" id="CHAP_VIII"></a>CHAP. VIII.</h3> + + +<p>I mentioned before, that Mary had never had any particular attachment, +to give rise to the disgust that daily gained ground. Her friendship for +Ann occupied her heart, and resembled a passion. She had had, indeed, +several transient likings; but they did not amount to love. The society +of men of genius delighted her, and improved her faculties. With beings +of this class she did not often meet; it is a rare genus; her first +favourites were men past the meridian of life, and of a philosophic +turn.</p> + +<p>Determined on going to the South of France, or Lisbon; she wrote to the +man she had promised to obey. The <a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>physicians had said change of air was +necessary for her as well as her friend. She mentioned this, and added, +"Her comfort, almost her existence, depended on the recovery of the +invalid she wished to attend; and that should she neglect to follow the +medical advice she had received, she should never forgive herself, or +those who endeavoured to prevent her." Full of her design, she wrote +with more than usual freedom; and this letter was like most of her +others, a transcript of her heart.</p> + +<p>"This dear friend," she exclaimed, "I love for her agreeable qualities, +and substantial virtues. Continual attention to her health, and the +tender office of a nurse, have created an affection very like a maternal +one—I am her only support, she leans on me—<a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>could I forsake the +forsaken, and break the bruised reed—No—I would die first! I must—I +will go."</p> + +<p>She would have added, "you would very much oblige me by consenting;" but +her heart revolted—and irresolutely she wrote something about wishing +him happy.—"Do I not wish all the world well?" she cried, as she +subscribed her name—It was blotted, the letter sealed in a hurry, and +sent out of her sight; and she began to prepare for her journey.</p> + +<p>By the return of the post she received an answer; it contained some +common-place remarks on her romantic friendship, as he termed it; "But +as the physicians advised change of air, he had no objection."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_IX" id="CHAP_IX"></a>CHAP. IX.</h3> + + +<p>There was nothing now to retard their journey; and Mary chose Lisbon +rather than France, on account of its being further removed from the +only person she wished not to see.</p> + +<p>They set off accordingly for Falmouth, in their way to that city. The +journey was of use to Ann, and Mary's spirits were raised by her +recovered looks—She had been in despair—now she gave way to hope, and +was intoxicated with it. On ship-board Ann always remained in the cabin; +the sight of the water terrified her: on the contrary, Mary, after she +was gone to bed, or when she fell asleep in the day, went on deck, +conversed <a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>with the sailors, and surveyed the boundless expanse before +her with delight. One instant she would regard the ocean, the next the +beings who braved its fury. Their insensibility and want of fear, she +could not name courage; their thoughtless mirth was quite of an animal +kind, and their feelings as impetuous and uncertain as the element they +plowed.</p> + +<p>They had only been a week at sea when they hailed the rock of Lisbon, +and the next morning anchored at the castle. After the customary visits, +they were permitted to go on shore, about three miles from the city; and +while one of the crew, who understood the language, went to procure them +one of the ugly carriages peculiar to the country, they waited in the +Irish convent, which is situated close to the Tagus.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>Some of the people offered to conduct them into the church, where there +was a fine organ playing; Mary followed them, but Ann preferred staying +with a nun she had entered into conversation with.</p> + +<p>One of the nuns, who had a sweet voice, was singing; Mary was struck +with awe; her heart joined in the devotion; and tears of gratitude and +tenderness flowed from her eyes. My Father, I thank thee! burst from +her—words were inadequate to express her feelings. Silently, she +surveyed the lofty dome; heard unaccustomed sounds; and saw faces, +strange ones, that she could not yet greet with fraternal love.</p> + +<p>In an unknown land, she considered that the Being she adored inhabited +eternity, was ever present in unnumbered worlds. When she had not any +one she loved near her, she was particularly sen<a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>sible of the presence +of her Almighty Friend.</p> + +<p>The arrival of the carriage put a stop to her speculations; it was to +conduct them to an hotel, fitted up for the reception of invalids. +Unfortunately, before they could reach it there was a violent shower of +rain; and as the wind was very high, it beat against the leather +curtains, which they drew along the front of the vehicle, to shelter +themselves from it; but it availed not, some of the rain forced its way, +and Ann felt the effects of it, for she caught cold, spite of Mary's +precautions.</p> + +<p>As is the custom, the rest of the invalids, or lodgers, sent to enquire +after their health; and as soon as Ann left her chamber, in which her +complaints seldom confined her the whole day, they came in person to pay +their compli<a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>ments. Three fashionable females, and two gentlemen; the +one a brother of the eldest of the young ladies, and the other an +invalid, who came, like themselves, for the benefit of the air. They +entered into conversation immediately.</p> + +<p>People who meet in a strange country, and are all together in a house, +soon get acquainted, without the formalities which attend visiting in +separate houses, where they are surrounded by domestic friends. Ann was +particularly delighted at meeting with agreeable society; a little +hectic fever generally made her low-spirited in the morning, and lively +in the evening, when she wished for company. Mary, who only thought of +her, determined to cultivate their acquaintance, as she knew, that if +her mind could be diverted, her body might gain strength.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>They were all musical, and proposed having little concerts. One of the +gentlemen played on the violin, and the other on the german-flute. The +instruments were brought in, with all the eagerness that attends putting +a new scheme in execution.</p> + +<p>Mary had not said much, for she was diffident; she seldom joined in +general conversations; though her quickness of penetration enabled her +soon to enter into the characters of those she conversed with; and her +sensibility made her desirous of pleasing every human creature. Besides, +if her mind was not occupied by any particular sorrow, or study, she +caught reflected pleasure, and was glad to see others happy, though +their mirth did not interest her.</p> + +<p>This day she was continually thinking of Ann's recovery, and encouraging +<a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>the cheerful hopes, which though they dissipated the spirits that had +been condensed by melancholy, yet made her wish to be silent. The music, +more than the conversation, disturbed her reflections; but not at first. +The gentleman who played on the german-flute, was a handsome, well-bred, +sensible man; and his observations, if not original, were pertinent.</p> + +<p>The other, who had not said much, began to touch the violin, and played +a little Scotch ballad; he brought such a thrilling sound out of the +instrument, that Mary started, and looking at him with more attention +than she had done before, and saw, in a face rather ugly, strong lines +of genius. His manners were awkward, that kind of awkwardness which is +often found in literary men: he seemed a thinker, and delivered his +<a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>opinions in elegant expressions, and musical tones of voice.</p> + +<p>When the concert was over, they all retired to their apartments. Mary +always slept with Ann, as she was subject to terrifying dreams; and +frequently in the night was obliged to be supported, to avoid +suffocation. They chatted about their new acquaintance in their own +apartment, and, with respect to the gentlemen, differed in opinion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_X" id="CHAP_X"></a>CHAP. X.</h3> + + +<p>Every day almost they saw their new acquaintance; and civility produced +intimacy. Mary sometimes left her friend with them; while she indulged +herself in viewing new modes of life, and searching out the causes which +produced them. She had a metaphysical turn, which inclined her to +reflect on every object that passed by her; and her mind was not like a +mirror, which receives every floating image, but does not retain them: +she had not any prejudices, for every opinion was examined before it was +adopted.</p> + +<p>The Roman Catholic ceremonies attracted her attention, and gave rise to +conversations when they all met; and <a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>one of the gentlemen continually +introduced deistical notions, when he ridiculed the pageantry they all +were surprised at observing. Mary thought of both the subjects, the +Romish tenets, and the deistical doubts; and though not a sceptic, +thought it right to examine the evidence on which her faith was built. +She read Butler's Analogy, and some other authors: and these researches +made her a christian from conviction, and she learned charity, +particularly with respect to sectaries; saw that apparently good and +solid arguments might take their rise from different points of view; and +she rejoiced to find that those she should not concur with had some +reason on their side.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XI" id="CHAP_XI"></a>CHAP. XI.</h3> + + +<p>When I mentioned the three ladies, I said they were fashionable women; +and it was all the praise, as a faithful historian, I could bestow on +them; the only thing in which they were consistent. I forgot to mention +that they were all of one family, a mother, her daughter, and niece. The +daughter was sent by her physician, to avoid a northerly winter; the +mother, her niece, and nephew, accompanied her.</p> + +<p>They were people of rank; but unfortunately, though of an ancient +family, the title had descended to a very remote branch—a branch they +took care to be <a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>intimate with; and servilely copied the Countess's +airs. Their minds were shackled with a set of notions concerning +propriety, the fitness of things for the world's eye, trammels which +always hamper weak people. What will the world say? was the first thing +that was thought of, when they intended doing any thing they had not +done before. Or what would the Countess do on such an occasion? And when +this question was answered, the right or wrong was discovered without +the trouble of their having any idea of the matter in their own heads. +This same Countess was a fine planet, and the satellites observed a most +harmonic dance around her.</p> + +<p>After this account it is scarcely necessary to add, that their minds had +received very little cultivation. They were taught French, Italian, and +Spanish; English <a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>was their vulgar tongue. And what did they learn? +Hamlet will tell you—words—words. But let me not forget that they +squalled Italian songs in the true <i>gusto</i>. Without having any seeds +sown in their understanding, or the affections of the heart set to work, +they were brought out of their nursery, or the place they were secluded +in, to prevent their faces being common; like blazing stars, to +captivate Lords.</p> + +<p>They were pretty, and hurrying from one party of pleasure to another, +occasioned the disorder which required change of air. The mother, if we +except her being near twenty years older, was just the same creature; +and these additional years only served to make her more tenaciously +adhere to her habits of folly, and decide with stupid gravity, some +trivial points of ceremony, as a <a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>matter of the last importance; of +which she was a competent judge, from having lived in the fashionable +world so long: that world to which the ignorant look up as we do to the +sun.</p> + +<p>It appears to me that every creature has some notion—or rather relish, +of the sublime. Riches, and the consequent state, are the sublime of +weak minds:—These images fill, nay, are too big for their narrow souls.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, which they had engaged to spend together, Ann was so ill, +that Mary was obliged to send an apology for not attending the +tea-table. The apology brought them on the carpet; and the mother, with +a look of solemn importance, turned to the sick man, whose name was +Henry, and said;</p> + +<p>"Though people of the first fashion are frequently at places of this +kind, inti<a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>mate with they know not who; yet I do not choose that my +daughter, whose family is so respectable, should be intimate with any +one she would blush to know elsewhere. It is only on that account, for I +never suffer her to be with any one but in my company," added she, +sitting more erect; and a smile of self-complacency dressed her +countenance.</p> + +<p>"I have enquired concerning these strangers, and find that the one who +has the most dignity in her manners, is really a woman of fortune." +"Lord, mamma, how ill she dresses:" mamma went on; "She is a romantic +creature, you must not copy her, miss; yet she is an heiress of the +large fortune in ——shire, of which you may remember to have heard the +Countess speak the night you had on the danc<a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>ing-dress that was so much +admired; but she is married."</p> + +<p>She then told them the whole story as she heard it from her maid, who +picked it out of Mary's servant. "She is a foolish creature, and this +friend that she pays as much attention to as if she was a lady of +quality, is a beggar." "Well, how strange!" cried the girls.</p> + +<p>"She is, however, a charming creature," said her nephew. Henry sighed, +and strode across the room once or twice; then took up his violin, and +played the air which first struck Mary; he had often heard her praise +it.</p> + +<p>The music was uncommonly melodious, "And came stealing on the senses +like the sweet south." The well-known sounds reached Mary as she sat by +her friend—she listened without knowing that she did—and shed tears +<a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>almost without being conscious of it. Ann soon fell asleep, as she had +taken an opiate. Mary, then brooding over her fears, began to imagine +she had deceived herself—Ann was still very ill; hope had beguiled many +heavy hours; yet she was displeased with herself for admitting this +welcome guest.—And she worked up her mind to such a degree of anxiety, +that she determined, once more, to seek medical aid.</p> + +<p>No sooner did she determine, than she ran down with a discomposed look, +to enquire of the ladies who she should send for. When she entered the +room she could not articulate her fears—it appeared like pronouncing +Ann's sentence of death; her faultering tongue dropped some broken +words, and she remained silent. The ladies wondered that a person of her +sense should be so little <a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>mistress of herself; and began to administer +some common-place comfort, as, that it was our duty to submit to the +will of Heaven, and the like trite consolations, which Mary did not +answer; but waving her hand, with an air of impatience, she exclaimed, +"I cannot live without her!—I have no other friend; if I lose her, what +a desart will the world be to me." "No other friend," re-echoed they, +"have you not a husband?"</p> + +<p>Mary shrunk back, and was alternately pale and red. A delicate sense of +propriety prevented her replying; and recalled her bewildered +reason.—Assuming, in consequence of her recollection, a more composed +manner, she made the intended enquiry, and left the room. Henry's eyes +followed her while the females very freely animadverted on her strange +behaviour.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XII" id="CHAP_XII"></a>CHAP. XII.</h3> + + +<p>The physician was sent for; his prescription afforded Ann a little +temporary relief; and they again joined the circle. Unfortunately, the +weather happened to be constantly wet for more than a week, and confined +them to the house. Ann then found the ladies not so agreeable; when they +sat whole hours together, the thread-bare topics were exhausted; and, +but for cards or music, the long evenings would have been yawned away in +listless indolence.</p> + +<p>The bad weather had had as ill an effect on Henry as on Ann. He was +frequently very thoughtful, or rather melancholy; this melancholy would +of <a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>itself have attracted Mary's notice, if she had not found his +conversation so infinitely superior to the rest of the group. When she +conversed with him, all the faculties of her soul unfolded themselves; +genius animated her expressive countenance and the most graceful, +unaffected gestures gave energy to her discourse.</p> + +<p>They frequently discussed very important subjects, while the rest were +singing or playing cards, nor were they observed for doing so, as Henry, +whom they all were pleased with, in the way of gallantry shewed them all +more attention than her. Besides, as there was nothing alluring in her +dress or manner, they never dreamt of her being preferred to them.</p> + +<p>Henry was a man of learning; he had also studied mankind, and knew many +of the intricacies of the human heart, from <a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>having felt the infirmities +of his own. His taste was just, as it had a standard—Nature, which he +observed with a critical eye. Mary could not help thinking that in his +company her mind expanded, as he always went below the surface. She +increased her stock of ideas, and her taste was improved.</p> + +<p>He was also a pious man; his rational religious sentiments received +warmth from his sensibility; and, except on very particular occasions, +kept it in proper bounds; these sentiments had likewise formed his +temper; he was gentle, and easily to be intreated. The ridiculous +ceremonies they were every day witness to, led them into what are termed +grave subjects, and made him explain his opinions, which, at other +times, he was neither ashamed of, nor unnecessarily brought forward to +notice.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XIII" id="CHAP_XIII"></a>CHAP. XIII.</h3> + + +<p>When the weather began to clear up, Mary sometimes rode out alone, +purposely to view the ruins that still remained of the earthquake: or +she would ride to the banks of the Tagus, to feast her eyes with the +sight of that magnificent river. At other times she would visit the +churches, as she was particularly fond of seeing historical paintings.</p> + +<p>One of these visits gave rise to the subject, and the whole party +descanted on it; but as the ladies could not handle it well, they soon +adverted to portraits; and talked of the attitudes and characters in +which they should wish to be drawn. Mary did not fix on one—when<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a> +Henry, with more apparent warmth than usual, said, "I would give the +world for your picture, with the expression I have seen in your face, +when you have been supporting your friend."</p> + +<p>This delicate compliment did not gratify her vanity, but it reached her +heart. She then recollected that she had once sat for her picture—for +whom was it designed? For a boy! Her cheeks flushed with indignation, so +strongly did she feel an emotion of contempt at having been thrown +away—given in with an estate.</p> + +<p>As Mary again gave way to hope, her mind was more disengaged; and her +thoughts were employed about the objects around her.</p> + +<p>She visited several convents, and found that solitude only eradicates +some passions, to give strength to others; the <a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>most baneful ones. She +saw that religion does not consist in ceremonies; and that many prayers +may fall from the lips without purifying the heart.</p> + +<p>They who imagine they can be religious without governing their tempers, +or exercising benevolence in its most extensive sense, must certainly +allow, that their religious duties are only practiced from selfish +principles; how then can they be called good? The pattern of all +goodness went about <i>doing</i> good. Wrapped up in themselves, the nuns +only thought of inferior gratifications. And a number of intrigues were +carried on to accelerate certain points on which their hearts were +fixed:</p> + +<p>Such as obtaining offices of trust or authority; or avoiding those that +were servile or laborious. In short, when they could be neither wives +nor mothers, <a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>they aimed at being superiors, and became the most selfish +creatures in the world: the passions that were curbed gave strength to +the appetites, or to those mean passions which only tend to provide for +the gratification of them. Was this seclusion from the world? or did +they conquer its vanities or avoid its vexations?</p> + +<p>In these abodes the unhappy individual, who, in the first paroxysm of +grief flies to them for refuge, finds too late she took a wrong step. +The same warmth which determined her will make her repent; and sorrow, +the rust of the mind, will never have a chance of being rubbed off by +sensible conversation, or new-born affections of the heart.</p> + +<p>She will find that those affections that have once been called forth and +<a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>strengthened by exercise, are only smothered, not killed, by +disappointment; and that in one form or other discontent will corrode +the heart, and produce those maladies of the imagination, for which +there is no specific.</p> + +<p>The community at large Mary disliked; but pitied many of them whose +private distresses she was informed of; and to pity and relieve were the +same things with her.</p> + +<p>The exercise of her various virtues gave vigor to her genius, and +dignity to her mind; she was sometimes inconsiderate, and violent; but +never mean or cunning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XIV" id="CHAP_XIV"></a>CHAP. XIV.</h3> + + +<p>The Portuguese are certainly the most uncivilized nation in Europe. Dr. +Johnson would have said, "They have the least mind.". And can such serve +their Creator in spirit and in truth? No, the gross ritual of Romish +ceremonies is all they can comprehend: they can do penance, but not +conquer their revenge, or lust. Religion, or love, has never humanized +their hearts; they want the vital part; the mere body worships. Taste is +unknown; Gothic finery, and unnatural decorations, which they term +ornaments, are conspicuous in their churches and dress. Reverence for +<a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>mental excellence is only to be found in a polished nation.</p> + +<p>Could the contemplation of such a people gratify Mary's heart? No: she +turned disgusted from the prospects—turned to a man of refinement. +Henry had been some time ill and low-spirited; Mary would have been +attentive to any one in that situation; but to him she was particularly +so; she thought herself bound in gratitude, on account of his constant +endeavours to amuse Ann, and prevent her dwelling on the dreary prospect +before her, which sometimes she could not help anticipating with a kind +of quiet despair.</p> + +<p>She found some excuse for going more frequently into the room they all +met in; nay, she avowed her desire to amuse him: offered to read to him, +and tried to draw him into amusing conversations; <a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>and when she was full +of these little schemes, she looked at him with a degree of tenderness +that she was not conscious of. This divided attention was of use to her, +and prevented her continually thinking of Ann, whose fluctuating +disorder often gave rise to false hopes.</p> + +<p>A trifling thing occurred now which occasioned Mary some uneasiness. Her +maid, a well-looking girl, had captivated the clerk of a neighbouring +compting-house. As the match was an advantageous one, Mary could not +raise any objection to it, though at this juncture it was very +disagreeable to her to have a stranger about her person. However, the +girl consented to delay the marriage, as she had some affection for her +mistress; and, besides, looked forward to Ann's death as a time of +harvest.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>Henry's illness was not alarming, it was rather pleasing, as it gave +Mary an excuse to herself for shewing him how much she was interested +about him; and giving little artless proofs of affection, which the +purity of her heart made her never wish to restrain.</p> + +<p>The only visible return he made was not obvious to common observers. He +would sometimes fix his eyes on her, and take them off with a sigh that +was coughed away; or when he was leisurely walking into the room, and +did not expect to see her, he would quicken his steps, and come up to +her with eagerness to ask some trivial question. In the same style, he +would try to detain her when he had nothing to say—or said nothing.</p> + +<p>Ann did not take notice of either his or Mary's behaviour, nor did she +suspect <a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>that he was a favourite, on any other account than his +appearing neither well nor happy. She had often seen that when a person +was unfortunate, Mary's pity might easily be mistaken for love, and, +indeed, it was a temporary sensation of that kind. Such it was—why it +was so, let others define, I cannot argue against instincts. As reason +is cultivated in man, they are supposed to grow weaker, and this may +have given rise to the assertion, "That as judgment improves, genius +evaporates."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XV" id="CHAP_XV"></a>CHAP. XV.</h3> + + +<p>One morning they set out to visit the aqueduct; though the day was very +fine when they left home, a very heavy shower fell before they reached +it; they lengthened their ride, the clouds dispersed, and the sun came +from behind them uncommonly bright.</p> + +<p>Mary would fain have persuaded Ann not to have left the carriage; but +she was in spirits, and obviated all her objections, and insisted on +walking, tho' the ground was damp. But her strength was not equal to her +spirits; she was soon obliged to return to the carriage so much +fatigued, that she fainted, and remained insensible a long time.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>Henry would have supported her; but Mary would not permit him; her +recollection was instantaneous, and she feared sitting on the damp +ground might do him a material injury: she was on that account positive, +though the company did not guess the cause of her being so. As to +herself, she did not fear bodily pain; and, when her mind was agitated, +she could endure the greatest fatigue without appearing sensible of it.</p> + +<p>When Ann recovered, they returned slowly home; she was carried to bed, +and the next morning Mary thought she observed a visible change for the +worse. The physician was sent for, who pronounced her to be in the most +imminent danger.</p> + +<p>All Mary's former fears now returned like a torrent, and carried every +other care away; she even added to her pre<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>sent anguish by upbraiding +herself for her late tranquillity—it haunted her in the form of a +crime.</p> + +<p>The disorder made the most rapid advances—there was no hope!—Bereft of +it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of +tranquillity. She stood to brave the approaching storm, conscious she +only could be overwhelmed by it.</p> + +<p>She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it +was only to find fault with herself for suffering a thought to have +strayed from Ann.—Ann!—this dear friend was soon torn from her—she +died suddenly as Mary was assisting her to walk across the room.—The +first string was severed from her heart—and this "slow, sudden-death" +disturbed her reasoning faculties; she seemed stunned by it; unable to +reflect, or even to feel her misery.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>The body was stolen out of the house the second night, and Mary refused +to see her former companions. She desired her maid to conclude her +marriage, and request her intended husband to inform her when the first +merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had just sailed, and +she determined not to stay in that hated place any longer than was +absolutely necessary.</p> + +<p>She then sent to request the ladies to visit her; she wished to avoid a +parade of grief—her sorrows were her own, and appeared to her not to +admit of increase or softening. She was right; the sight of them did not +affect her, or turn the stream of her sullen sorrow; the black wave +rolled along in the same course, it was equal to her where she cast her +eyes; all was impenetrable gloom.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XVI" id="CHAP_XVI"></a>CHAP. XVI.</h3> + + +<p>Soon after the ladies left her, she received a message from Henry, +requesting, as she saw company, to be permitted to visit her: she +consented, and he entered immediately, with an unassured pace. She ran +eagerly up to him—saw the tear trembling in his eye, and his +countenance softened by the tenderest compassion; the hand which pressed +hers seemed that of a fellow-creature. She burst into tears; and, unable +to restrain them, she hid her face with both her hands; these tears +relieved her, (she had before had a difficulty in breathing,) and she +sat down by him more composed <a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>than she had appeared since Ann's death; +but her conversation was incoherent.</p> + +<p>She called herself "a poor disconsolate creature!"—"Mine is a selfish +grief," she exclaimed—"Yet; Heaven is my witness, I do not wish her +back now she has reached those peaceful mansions, where the weary rest. +Her pure spirit is happy; but what a wretch am I!"</p> + +<p>Henry forgot his cautious reserve. "Would you allow me to call you +friend?" said he in a hesitating voice. "I feel, dear girl, the tendered +interest in whatever concerns thee." His eyes spoke the rest. They were +both silent a few moments; then Henry resumed the conversation. "I have +also been acquainted with grief! I mourn the loss of a woman who was not +worthy of my regard. Let me give thee some <a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>account of the man who now +solicits thy friendship; and who, from motives of the purest +benevolence, wishes to give comfort to thy wounded heart."</p> + +<p>"I have myself," said he, mournfully, "shaken hands with happiness, and +am dead to the world; I wait patiently for my dissolution; but, for +thee, Mary, there may be many bright days in store."</p> + +<p>"Impossible," replied she, in a peevish tone, as if he had insulted her +by the supposition; her feelings were so much in unison with his, that +she was in love with misery.</p> + +<p>He smiled at her impatience, and went on. "My father died before I knew +him, and my mother was so attached to my eldest brother, that she took +very little pains to fit me for the profession to which I was destined:<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a> +and, may I tell thee, I left my family, and, in many different stations, +rambled about the world; saw mankind in every rank of life; and, in +order to be independent, exerted those talents Nature has given me: +these exertions improved my understanding; and the miseries I was +witness to, gave a keener edge to my sensibility. My constitution is +naturally weak; and, perhaps, two or three lingering disorders in my +youth, first gave me a habit of reflecting, and enabled me to obtain +some dominion over my passions. At least," added he, stifling a sigh, +"over the violent ones, though I fear, refinement and reflection only +renders the tender ones more tyrannic.</p> + +<p>"I have told you already I have been in love, and disappointed—the +<a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>object is now no more; let her faults sleep with her! Yet this passion +has pervaded my whole soul, and mixed itself with all my affections and +pursuits.—I am not peacefully indifferent; yet it is only to my violin +I tell the sorrows I now confide with thee. The object I loved forfeited +my esteem; yet, true to the sentiment, my fancy has too frequently +delighted to form a creature that I could love, that could convey to my +soul sensations which the gross part of mankind have not any conception +of."</p> + +<p>He stopped, as Mary seemed lost in thought; but as she was still in a +listening attitude, continued his little narrative. "I kept up an +irregular correspondence with my mother; my brother's extravagance and +ingratitude had almost broken her heart, and <a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>made her feel something +like a pang of remorse, on account of her behaviour to me. I hastened to +comfort her—and was a comfort to her.</p> + +<p>"My declining health prevented my taking orders, as I had intended; but +I with warmth entered into literary pursuits; perhaps my heart, not +having an object, made me embrace the substitute with more eagerness. +But, do not imagine I have always been a die-away swain. No: I have +frequented the cheerful haunts of men, and wit!—enchanting wit! has +made many moments fly free from care. I am too fond of the elegant arts; +and woman—lovely woman! thou hast charmed me, though, perhaps, it would +not be easy to find one to whom my reason would allow me to be constant.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>"I have now only to tell you, that my mother insisted on my spending +this winter in a warmer climate; and I fixed on Lisbon, as I had before +visited the Continent." He then looked Mary full in the face; and, with +the most insinuating accents, asked "if he might hope for her +friendship? If she would rely on him as if he was her father; and that +the tenderest father could not more anxiously interest himself in the +fate of a darling child, than he did in her's."</p> + +<p>Such a crowd of thoughts all at once rushed into Mary's mind, that she +in vain attempted to express the sentiments which were most predominant. +Her heart longed to receive a new guest; there was a void in it: +accustomed to have some one to love, she was alone, and comfortless, if +not engrossed by a particular affection.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>Henry saw her distress, and not to increase it, left the room. He had +exerted himself to turn her thoughts into a new channel, and had +succeeded; she thought of him till she began to chide herself for +defrauding the dead, and, determining to grieve for Ann, she dwelt on +Henry's misfortunes and ill health; and the interest he took in her fate +was a balm to her sick mind. She did not reason on the subject; but she +felt he was attached to her: lost in this delirium, she never asked +herself what kind of an affection she had for him, or what it tended to; +nor did she know that love and friendship are very distinct; she thought +with rapture, that there was one person in the world who had an +affection for her, and that person she admired—had a friendship for.</p> + +<p>He had called her his dear girl; the words might have fallen from him by +<a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>accident; but they did not fall to the ground. My child! His child, +what an association of ideas! If I had had a father, such a father!—She +could not dwell on the thoughts, the wishes which obtruded themselves. +Her mind was unhinged, and passion unperceived filled her whole soul. +Lost, in waking dreams, she considered and reconsidered Henry's account +of himself; till she actually thought she would tell Ann—a bitter +recollection then roused her out of her reverie; and aloud she begged +forgiveness of her.</p> + +<p>By these kind of conflicts the day was lengthened; and when she went to +bed, the night passed away in feverish slumbers; though they did not +refresh her, she was spared the labour of thinking, of restraining her +imagination; it sported uncontrouled; but took its colour from her +waking train of thoughts. One in<a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>stant she was supporting her dying +mother; then Ann was breathing her last, and Henry was comforting her.</p> + +<p>The unwelcome light visited her languid eyes; yet, I must tell the +truth, she thought she should see Henry, and this hope set her spirits +in motion: but they were quickly depressed by her maid, who came to tell +her that she had heard of a vessel on board of which she could be +accommodated, and that there was to be another female passenger on +board, a vulgar one; but perhaps she would be more useful on that +account—Mary did not want a companion.</p> + +<p>As she had given orders for her passage to be engaged in the first +vessel that sailed, she could not now retract; and must prepare for the +lonely voyage, as the Captain intended taking advantage of the first +fair wind. She had too much <a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>strength of mind to waver in her +determination but to determine wrung her very heart, opened all her old +wounds, and made them bleed afresh. What was she to do? where go? Could +she set a seal to a hasty vow, and tell a deliberate lie; promise to +love one man, when the image of another was ever present to her—her +soul revolted. "I might gain the applause of the world by such mock +heroism; but should I not forfeit my own? forfeit thine, my father!"</p> + +<p>There is a solemnity in the shortest ejaculation, which, for a while, +stills the tumult of passion. Mary's mind had been thrown off its poise; +her devotion had been, perhaps, more fervent for some time past; but +less regular. She forgot that happiness was not to be found on earth, +and built a terrestrial paradise liable to be destroyed by the <a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>first +serious thought: when, she reasoned she became inexpressibly sad, to +render life bearable she gave way to fancy—this was madness.</p> + +<p>In a few days she must again go to sea; the weather was very +tempestuous—what of that, the tempest in her soul rendered every other +trifling—it was not the contending elements, but <i>herself</i> she feared!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XVII" id="CHAP_XVII"></a>CHAP. XVII.</h3> + + +<p>In order to gain strength to support the expected interview, she went +out in a carriage. The day was fine; but all nature was to her a +universal blank; she could neither enjoy it, nor weep that she could +not. She passed by the ruins of an old monastery on a very high hill she +got out to walk amongst the ruins; the wind blew violently, she did not +avoid its fury, on the contrary, wildly bid it blow on, and seemed glad +to contend with it, or rather walk against it. Exhausted she returned to +the carriage was soon at home, and in the old room.</p> + +<p>Henry started at the sight of her altered appearance; the day before her +com<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>plexion had been of the most pallid hue; but now her cheeks were +flushed, and her eyes enlivened with a false vivacity, an unusual fire. +He was not well, his illness was apparent in his countenance, and he +owned he had not closed his eyes all night; this roused her dormant +tenderness, she forgot they were so soon to part-engrossed by the +present happiness of seeing, of hearing him.</p> + +<p>Once or twice she essayed to tell him that she was, in a few days, to +depart; but she could not; she was irresolute; it will do to-morrow; +should the wind change they could not sail in such a hurry; thus she +thought, and insensibly grew more calm. The Ladies prevailed on her to +spend the evening with them; but she retired very early to rest, and sat +on the side of her bed several hours, then threw herself on it, and +waited for the dreaded to-morrow.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XVIII" id="CHAP_XVIII"></a>CHAP. XVIII.</h3> + + +<p>The ladies heard that her servant was to be married that day, and that +she was to sail in the vessel which was then clearing out at the +Custom-house. Henry heard, but did not make any remarks; and Mary called +up all her fortitude to support her, and enable her to hide from the +females her internal struggles. She durst not encounter Henry's glances +when she found he had been informed of her intention; and, trying to +draw a veil over her wretched state of mind, she talked incessantly, she +knew not what; flashes of wit burst from her, and when she began to +laugh she could not stop herself.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>Henry smiled at some of her sallies, and looked at her with such +benignity and compassion, that he recalled her scattered thoughts; and, +the ladies going to dress for dinner, they were left alone; and remained +silent a few moments: after the noisy conversation it appeared solemn. +Henry began. "You are going, Mary, and going by yourself; your mind is +not in a state to be left to its own operations—yet I cannot, dissuade +you; if I attempted to do it, I should ill deserve the title I wish to +merit. I only think of your happiness; could I obey the strongest +impulse of my heart, I should accompany thee to England; but such a step +might endanger your future peace."</p> + +<p>Mary, then, with all the frankness which marked her character, explained +her situation to him and mentioned her <a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>fatal tie with such disgust that +he trembled for her. "I cannot see him; he is not the man formed for me +to love!" Her delicacy did not restrain her, for her dislike to her +husband had taken root in her mind long before she knew Henry. Did she +not fix on Lisbon rather than France on purpose to avoid him? and if Ann +had been in tolerable health she would have flown with her to some +remote corner to have escaped from him.</p> + +<p>"I intend," said Henry, "to follow you in the next packet; where shall I +hear of your health?" "Oh! let me hear of thine," replied Mary. "I am +well, very well; but thou art very ill—thy health is in the most +precarious state." She then mentioned her intention of going to Ann's +relations. "I am her representative, I have duties to fulfil for her: +during my voyage I <a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>have time enough for reflection; though I think I +have already determined."</p> + +<p>"Be not too hasty, my child," interrupted Henry; "far be it from me to +persuade thee to do violence to thy feelings—but consider that all thy +future life may probably take its colour from thy present mode of +conduct. Our affections as well as our sentiments are fluctuating; you +will not perhaps always either think or feel as you do at present: the +object you now shun may appear in a different light." He paused. "In +advising thee in this style, I have only thy good at heart, Mary."</p> + +<p>She only answered to expostulate. "My affections are involuntary—yet +they can only be fixed by reflection, and when they are they make quite +a part of my soul, are interwoven in it, <a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>animate my actions, and form +my taste: certain qualities are calculated to call forth my sympathies, +and make me all I am capable of being. The governing affection gives its +stamp to the rest—because I am capable of loving one, I have that kind +of charity to all my fellow-creatures which is not easily provoked. +Milton has asserted, That earthly love is the scale by which to heavenly +we may ascend."</p> + +<p>She went on with eagerness. "My opinions on some subjects are not +wavering; my pursuit through life has ever been the same: in solitude +were my sentiments formed; they are indelible, and nothing can efface +them but death—No, death itself cannot efface them, or my soul must be +created afresh, and not improved.<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a> Yet a little while am I parted from +my Ann—I could not exist without the hope of seeing her again—I could +not bear to think that time could wear away an affection that was +founded on what is not liable to perish; you might as well attempt to +persuade me that my soul is matter, and that its feelings arose from +certain modifications of it."</p> + +<p>"Dear enthusiastic creature," whispered Henry, "how you steal into my +soul." She still continued. "The same turn of mind which leads me to +adore the Author of all Perfection—which leads me to conclude that he +only can fill my soul; forces me to admire the faint image-the shadows +of his attributes here below; and my imagination gives still bolder +strokes to them. I knew I am in some de<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>gree under the influence of a +delusion—but does not this strong delusion prove that I myself 'am <i>of +subtiler essence than the trodden clod</i>' these flights of the +imagination point to futurity; I cannot banish them. Every cause in +nature produces an effect; and am I an exception to the general rule? +have I desires implanted in me only to make me miserable? will they +never be gratified? shall I never be happy? My feelings do not accord +with the notion of solitary happiness. In a state of bliss, it will be +the society of beings we can love, without the alloy that earthly +infirmities mix with our best affections, that will constitute great +part of our happiness.</p> + +<p>"With these notions can I conform to the maxims of worldly wisdom?<a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a> can +I listen to the cold dictates of worldly prudence and bid my tumultuous +passions cease to vex me, be still, find content in grovelling pursuits, +and the admiration of the misjudging crowd, when it is only one I wish +to please—one who could be all the world to me. Argue not with me, I am +bound by human ties; but did my spirit ever promise to love, or could I +consider when forced to bind myself—to take a vow, that at the awful +day of judgment I must give an account of. My conscience does not smite +me, and that Being who is greater than the internal monitor, may approve +of what the world condemns; sensible that in Him I live, could I brave +His presence, or hope in solitude to find peace, if I acted contrary to +conviction, that the world <a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>might approve of my conduct—what could the +world give to compensate for my own esteem? it is ever hostile and armed +against the feeling heart!</p> + +<p>"Riches and honours await me, and the cold moralist might desire me to +sit down and enjoy them—I cannot conquer my feelings, and till I do, +what are these baubles to me? you may tell me I follow a fleeting good, +an <i>ignis fatuus</i>; but this chase, these struggles prepare me for +eternity—when I no longer see through a glass darkly I shall not reason +about, but <i>feel</i> in what happiness consists."</p> + +<p>Henry had not attempted to interrupt her; he saw she was determined, and +that these sentiments were not the effusion of the moment, but well +digested ones, the result of strong affections, a high sense of honour, +and respect for the <a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>source of all virtue and truth. He was startled, if +not entirely convinced by her arguments; indeed her voice, her gestures +were all persuasive.</p> + +<p>Some one now entered the room; he looked an answer to her long harangue; +it was fortunate for him, or he might have been led to say what in a +cooler moment he had determined to conceal; but were words necessary to +reveal it? He wished not to influence her conduct—vain precaution; she +knew she was beloved; and could she forget that such a man loved her, or +rest satisfied with any inferior gratification. When passion first +enters the heart, it is only a return of affection that is sought after, +and every other remembrance and wish is blotted out.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XIX" id="CHAP_XIX"></a>CHAP. XIX.</h3> + + +<p>Two days passed away without any particular conversation; Henry, trying +to be indifferent, or to appear so, was more assiduous than ever. The +conflict was too violent for his present state of health; the spirit was +willing, but the body suffered; he lost his appetite, and looked +wretchedly; his spirits were calmly low—the world seemed to fade +away—what was that world to him that Mary did not inhabit; she lived +not for him.</p> + +<p>He was mistaken; his affection was her only support; without this dear +prop she had sunk into the grave of her lost—long-loved friend;—his +attention <a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>snatched her from despair. Inscrutable are the ways of +Heaven!</p> + +<p>The third day Mary was desired to prepare herself; for if the wind +continued in the same point, they should set sail the next evening. She +tried to prepare her mind, and her efforts were not useless she appeared +less agitated than could have been expected, and talked of her voyage +with composure. On great occasions she was generally calm and collected, +her resolution would brace her unstrung nerves; but after the victory +she had no triumph; she would sink into a state of moping melancholy, +and feel ten-fold misery when the heroic enthusiasm was over.</p> + +<p>The morning of the day fixed on for her departure she was alone with +Henry only a few moments, and an awkward kind of formality made them +slip away <a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>without their having said much to each other. Henry was +afraid to discover his passion, or give any other name to his regard but +friendship; yet his anxious solicitude for her welfare was ever breaking +out-while she as artlessly expressed again and again, her fears with +respect to his declining health.</p> + +<p>"We shall soon meet," said he, with a faint smile; Mary smiled too; she +caught the sickly beam; it was still fainter by being reflected, and not +knowing what she wished to do, started up and left the room. When she +was alone she regretted she had left him so precipitately. "The few +precious moments I have thus thrown away may never return," she +thought-the reflection led to misery.</p> + +<p>She waited for, nay, almost wished for the summons to depart. She could +<a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>not avoid spending the intermediate time with the ladies and Henry; and +the trivial conversations she was obliged to bear a part in harassed her +more than can be well conceived.</p> + +<p>The summons came, and the whole party attended her to the vessel. For a +while the remembrance of Ann banished her regret at parting with Henry, +though his pale figure pressed on her sight; it may seem a paradox, but +he was more present to her when she sailed; her tears then were all his +own.</p> + +<p>"My poor Ann!" thought Mary, "along this road we came, and near this +spot you called me your guardian angel—and now I leave thee here! ah! +no, I do not—thy spirit is not confined to its mouldering tenement! +Tell me, thou soul of her I love, tell me, ah! whither art thou fled?" +Ann <a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>occupied her until they reached the ship.</p> + +<p>The anchor was weighed. Nothing can be more irksome than waiting to say +farewel. As the day was serene, they accompanied her a little way, and +then got into the boat; Henry was the last; he pressed her hand, it had +not any life in it; she leaned over the side of the ship without looking +at the boat, till it was so far distant, that she could not see the +countenances of those that were in it: a mist spread itself over her +sight—she longed to exchange one look—tried to recollect the +last;—the universe contained no being but Henry!—The grief of parting +with him had swept all others clean away. Her eyes followed the keel of +the boat, and when she could no longer perceive its traces: she looked +round on the wide waste of waters, thought of the <a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>precious moments +which had been stolen from the waste of murdered time.</p> + +<p>She then descended into the cabin, regardless of the surrounding +beauties of nature, and throwing herself on her bed in the little hole +which was called the state-room—she wished to forget her existence. On +this bed she remained two days, listening to the dashing waves, unable +to close her eyes. A small taper made the darkness visible; and the +third night, by its glimmering light, she wrote the following fragment.</p> + +<p>"Poor solitary wretch that I am; here alone do I listen to the whistling +winds and dashing waves;—on no human support can I rest—when not lost +to hope I found pleasure in the society of those rough beings; but now +they appear not like my fellow creatures; no social ties draw me to +<a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>them. How long, how dreary has this day been; yet I scarcely wish it +over—for what will to-morrow bring—to-morrow, and to-morrow will only +be marked with unvaried characters of wretchedness.—Yet surely, I am +not alone!"</p> + +<p>Her moistened eyes were lifted up to heaven; a crowd of thoughts darted +into her mind, and pressing her hand against her forehead, as if to bear +the intellectual weight, she tried, but tried in vain, to arrange them. +"Father of Mercies, compose this troubled spirit: do I indeed wish it to +be composed—to forget my Henry?" the <i>my</i>, the pen was directly drawn +across in an agony.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XX" id="CHAP_XX"></a>CHAP. XX.</h3> + + +<p>The mate of the ship, who heard her stir, came to offer her some +refreshment; and she, who formerly received every offer of kindness or +civility with pleasure, now shrunk away disgusted: peevishly she desired +him not to disturb her; but the words were hardly articulated when her +heart smote her, she called him back, and requested something to drink. +After drinking it, fatigued by her mental exertions, she fell into a +death-like slumber, which lasted some hours; but did not refresh her, on +the contrary, she awoke languid and stupid.</p> + +<p>The wind still continued contrary; a week, a dismal week, had she +struggled <a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>with her sorrows; and the struggle brought on a slow fever, +which sometimes gave her false spirits.</p> + +<p>The winds then became very tempestuous, the Great Deep was troubled, and +all the passengers appalled. Mary then left her bed, and went on deck, +to survey the contending elements: the scene accorded with the present +state of her soul; she thought in a few hours I may go home; the +prisoner may be released. The vessel rose on a wave and descended into a +yawning gulph—Not slower did her mounting soul return to earth, +for—Ah! her treasure and her heart was there. The squalls rattled +amongst the sails, which were quickly taken down; the wind would then +die away, and the wild undirected waves rushed on every side with a +tremendous roar. In a little vessel in the midst of <a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>such a storm she +was not dismayed; she felt herself independent.</p> + +<p>Just then one of the crew perceived a signal of distress; by the help of +a glass he could plainly discover a small vessel dismasted, drifted +about, for the rudder had been broken by the violence of the storm. +Mary's thoughts were now all engrossed by the crew on the brink of +destruction. They bore down to the wreck; they reached it, and hailed +the trembling wretches; at the sound of the friendly greeting, loud +cries of tumultuous joy were mixed with the roaring of the waves, and +with ecstatic transport they leaped on the shattered deck, launched +their boat in a moment, and committed themselves to the mercy of the +sea. Stowed between two casks, and leaning on a sail, she watched the +boat, and when a wave intercepted it from her <a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>view—she ceased to +breathe, or rather held her breath until it rose again.</p> + +<p>At last the boat arrived safe along-side the ship, and Mary caught the +poor trembling wretches as they stumbled into it, and joined them in +thanking that gracious Being, who though He had not thought fit to still +the raging of the sea, had afforded them unexpected succour.</p> + +<p>Amongst the wretched crew was one poor woman, who fainted when she was +hauled on board: Mary undressed her, and when she had recovered, and +soothed her, left her to enjoy the rest she required to recruit her +strength, which fear had quite exhausted. She returned again to view the +angry deep; and when she gazed on its perturbed state, she thought of +the Being who rode on the wings of the wind, and stilled the noise of +the sea; and the madness of the people—He <a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>only could speak peace to +her troubled spirit! she grew more calm; the late transaction had +gratified her benevolence, and stole her out of herself.</p> + +<p>One of the sailors, happening to say to another, "that he believed the +world was going to be at an end;" this observation led her into a new +train of thoughts: some of Handel's sublime compositions occurred to +her, and she sung them to the grand accompaniment. The Lord God +Omnipotent reigned, and would reign for ever, and ever!—Why then did +she fear the sorrows that were passing away, when she knew that He would +bind up the broken-hearted, and receive those who came out of great +tribulation. She retired to her cabin; and wrote in the little book that +was now her only confident. It was after midnight.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>"At this solemn hour, the great day of judgment fills my thoughts; the +day of retribution, when the secrets of all hearts will be revealed; +when all worldly distinctions will fade away, and be no more seen. I +have not words to express the sublime images which the bare +contemplation of this awful day raises in my mind. Then, indeed, the +Lord Omnipotent will reign, and He will wipe the tearful eye, and +support the trembling heart—yet a little while He hideth his face, and +the dun shades of sorrow, and the thick clouds of folly separate us from +our God; but when the glad dawn of an eternal day breaks, we shall know +even as we are known. Here we walk by faith, and not by sight; and we +have this alternative, either to enjoy the pleasures of life <a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>which are +but for a season, or look forward to the prize of our high calling, and +with fortitude, and that wisdom which is from above, endeavour to bear +the warfare of life. We know that many run the race; but he that +striveth obtaineth the crown of victory. Our race is an arduous one! How +many are betrayed by traitors lodged in their own breasts, who wear the +garb of Virtue, and are so near akin; we sigh to think they should ever +lead into folly, and slide imperceptibly into vice. Surely any thing +like happiness is madness! Shall probationers of an hour presume to +pluck the fruit of immortality, before they have conquered death? it is +guarded, when the great day, to which I allude, arrives, the way will +again be opened. Ye dear delusions, gay deceits, fare<a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>wel! and yet I +cannot banish ye for ever; still does my panting soul push forward, and +live in futurity, in the deep shades o'er which darkness hangs.—I try +to pierce the gloom, and find a resting-place, where my thirst of +knowledge will be gratified, and my ardent affections find an object to +fix them. Every thing material must change; happiness and this +fluctating principle is not compatible. Eternity, immateriality, and +happiness,—what are ye? How shall I grasp the mighty and fleeting +conceptions ye create?"</p> + +<p>After writing, serenely she delivered her soul into the hands of the +Father of Spirits; and slept in peace.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXI" id="CHAP_XXI"></a>CHAP. XXI.</h3> + + +<p>Mary rose early, refreshed by the seasonable rest, and went to visit the +poor woman, whom she found quite recovered: and, on enquiry, heard that +she had lately buried her husband, a common sailor; and that her only +surviving child had been washed over-board the day before. Full of her +own danger, she scarcely thought of her child till that was over; and +then she gave way to boisterous emotions.</p> + +<p>Mary endeavoured to calm her at first, by sympathizing with her; and she +tried to point out the only solid source of comfort but in doing this +she encountered many difficulties; she found her grossly <a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>ignorant, yet +she did not despair: and as the poor creature could not receive comfort +from the operations of her own mind, she laboured to beguile the hours, +which grief made heavy, by adapting her conversation to her capacity.</p> + +<p>There are many minds that only receive impressions through the medium of +the senses: to them did Mary address herself; she made her some +presents, and promised to assist her when they should arrive in England. +This employment roused her out of her late stupor, and again set the +faculties of her soul in motion; made the understanding contend with the +imagination, and the heart throbbed not so irregularly during the +contention. How short-lived was the calm! when the English coast was +descried, her sorrows returned with redoubled vigor.—She was to visit +and comfort the mother <a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>of her lost friend—And where then should she +take up her residence? These thoughts suspended the exertions of her +understanding; abstracted reflections gave way to alarming +apprehensions; and tenderness undermined fortitude.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXII" id="CHAP_XXII"></a>CHAP. XXII.</h3> + + +<p>In England then landed the forlorn wanderer. She looked round for some +few moments—her affections were not attracted to any particular part of +the Island. She knew none of the inhabitants of the vast city to which +she was going: the mass of buildings appeared to her a huge body without +an informing soul. As she passed through the streets in an +hackney-coach, disgust and horror alternately filled her mind. She met +some women drunk; and the manners of those who attacked the sailors, +made her shrink into herself, and exclaim, are these my fellow +creatures!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>Detained by a number of carts near the water-side, for she came up the +river in the vessel, not having reason to hasten on shore, she saw +vulgarity, dirt, and vice—her soul sickened; this was the first time +such complicated misery obtruded itself on her sight.—Forgetting her +own griefs, she gave the world a much indebted tear; mourned for a world +in ruins. She then perceived, that great part of her comfort must arise +from viewing the smiling face of nature, and be reflected from the view +of innocent enjoyments: she was fond of seeing animals play, and could +not bear to see her own species sink below them.</p> + +<p>In a little dwelling in one of the villages near London, lived the +mother of Ann; two of her children still remained with her; but they did +not resemble Ann.<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a> To her house Mary directed the coach, and told the +unfortunate mother of her loss. The poor woman, oppressed by it, and her +many other cares, after an inundation of tears, began to enumerate all +her past misfortunes, and present cares. The heavy tale lasted until +midnight, and the impression it made on Mary's mind was so strong, that +it banished sleep till towards morning; when tired nature sought +forgetfulness, and the soul ceased to ruminate about many things.</p> + +<p>She sent for the poor woman they took up at sea, provided her a lodging, +and relieved her present necessities. A few days were spent in a kind of +listless way; then the mother of Ann began to enquire when she thought +of returning home. She had hitherto treated her with the greatest +respect, and concealed <a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>her wonder at Mary's choosing a remote room in +the house near the garden, and ordering some alterations to be made, as +if she intended living in it.</p> + +<p>Mary did not choose to explain herself; had Ann lived, it is probable +she would never have loved Henry so fondly; but if she had, she could +not have talked of her passion to any human creature. She deliberated, +and at last informed the family, that she had a reason for not living +with her husband, which must some time remain a secret—they stared—Not +live with him! how will you live then? This was a question she could not +answer; she had only about eighty pounds remaining, of the money she +took with her to Lisbon; when it was exhausted where could she get more? +I will work, she cried, do any thing rather than be a slave.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXIII" id="CHAP_XXIII"></a>CHAP. XXIII.</h3> + + +<p>Unhappy, she wandered about the village, and relieved the poor; it was +the only employment that eased her aching heart; she became more +intimate with misery—the misery that rises from poverty and the want of +education. She was in the vicinity of a great city; the vicious poor in +and about it must ever grieve a benevolent contemplative mind.</p> + +<p>One evening a man who stood weeping in a little lane, near the house she +resided in, caught her eye. She accosted him; in a confused manner, he +informed her, that his wife was dying, and his children crying for the +bread he could not <a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>earn. Mary desired to be conducted to his +habitation; it was not very distant, and was the upper room in an old +mansion-house, which had been once the abode of luxury. Some tattered +shreds of rich hangings still remained, covered with cobwebs and filth; +round the ceiling, through which the rain drop'd, was a beautiful +cornice mouldering; and a spacious gallery was rendered dark by the +broken windows being blocked up; through the apertures the wind forced +its way in hollow sounds, and reverberated along the former scene of +festivity.</p> + +<p>It was crowded with inhabitants: som were scolding, others swearing, or +singing indecent songs. What a sight for Mary! Her blood ran cold; yet +she had sufficient resolution to mount to the top of the house. On the +floor, in one <a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>corner of a very small room, lay an emaciated figure of a +woman; a window over her head scarcely admitted any light, for the +broken panes were stuffed with dirty rags. Near her were five children, +all young, and covered with dirt; their sallow cheeks, and languid eyes, +exhibited none of the charms of childhood. Some were fighting, and +others crying for food; their yells were mixed with their mother's +groans, and the wind which rushed through the passage. Mary was +petrified; but soon assuming more courage, approached the bed, and, +regardless of the surrounding nastiness, knelt down by the poor wretch, +and breathed the most poisonous air; for the unfortunate creature was +dying of a putrid fever, the consequence of dirt and want.</p> + +<p>Their state did not require much expla<a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>nation. Mary sent the husband for +a poor neighbour, whom she hired to nurse the woman, and take care of +the children; and then went herself to buy them some necessaries at a +shop not far distant. Her knowledge of physic had enabled her to +prescribe for the woman; and she left the house, with a mixture of +horror and satisfaction.</p> + +<p>She visited them every day, and procured them every comfort; contrary to +her expectation, the woman began to recover; cleanliness and wholesome +food had a wonderful effect; and Mary saw her rising as it were from the +grave. Not aware of the danger she ran into, she did not think of it +till she perceived she had caught the fever. It made such an alarming +progress, that she was prevailed on to send for a physician; but the +disorder was so violent, that for some days it <a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>baffled his skill; and +Mary felt not her danger, as she was delirious. After the crisis, the +symptoms were more favourable, and she slowly recovered, without +regaining much strength or spirits; indeed they were intolerably low: +she wanted a tender nurse.</p> + +<p>For some time she had observed, that she was not treated with the same +respect as formerly; her favors were forgotten when no more were +expected. This ingratitude hurt her, as did a similar instance in the +woman who came out of the ship. Mary had hitherto supported her; as her +finances were growing low, she hinted to her, that she ought to try to +earn her own subsistence: the woman in return loaded her with abuse.</p> + +<p>Two months were elapsed; she had not seen, or heard from Henry. He <a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>was +sick—nay, perhaps had forgotten her; all the world was dreary, and all +the people ungrateful.</p> + +<p>She sunk into apathy, and endeavouring to rouse herself out of it, she +wrote in her book another fragment:</p> + +<p>"Surely life is a dream, a frightful one! and after those rude, +disjointed images are fled, will light ever break in? Shall I ever feel +joy? Do all suffer like me; or am I framed so as to be particularly +susceptible of misery? It is true, I have experienced the most rapturous +emotions—short-lived delight!—ethereal beam, which only serves to shew +my present misery—yet lie still, my throbbing heart, or burst; and my +brain—why dost thou whirl about at such a terrifying rate? why do +thoughts so rapidly rush into my mind, and yet when they disappear +<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>leave such deep traces? I could almost wish for the madman's happiness, +and in a strong imagination lose a sense of woe.</p> + +<p>"Oh! reason, thou boasted guide, why desert me, like the world, when I +most need thy assistance! Canst thou not calm this internal tumult, and +drive away the death-like sadness which presses so sorely on me,—a +sadness surely very nearly allied to despair. I am now the prey of +apathy—I could wish for the former storms! a ray of hope sometimes +illumined my path; I had a pursuit; but now <i>it visits not my haunts +forlorn</i>. Too well have I loved my fellow creatures! I have been wounded +by ingratitude; from every one it has something of the serpent's tooth.</p> + +<p>"When overwhelmed by sorrow, I have <a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>met unkindness; I looked for some +one to have pity on me; but found none!—The healing balm of sympathy is +denied; I weep, a solitary wretch, and the hot tears scald my cheeks. I +have not the medicine of life, the dear chimera I have so often chased, +a friend. Shade of my loved Ann! dost thou ever visit thy poor Mary? +Refined spirit, thou wouldst weep, could angels weep, to see her +struggling with passions she cannot subdue; and feelings which corrode +her small portion of comfort!"</p> + +<p>She could not write any more; she wished herself far distant from all +human society; a thick gloom spread itself over her mind: but did not +make her forget the very beings she wished to fly from. She sent for the +poor woman she found in the garret; gave her money to clothe <a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>herself +and children, and buy some furniture for a little hut, in a large +garden, the master of which agreed to employ her husband, who had been +bred a gardener. Mary promised to visit the family, and see their new +abode when she was able to go out.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXIV" id="CHAP_XXIV"></a>CHAP. XXIV.</h3> + + +<p>Mary still continued weak and low, though it was spring, and all nature +began to look gay; with more than usual brightness the sun shone, and a +little robin which she had cherished during the winter sung one of his +best songs. The family were particularly civil this fine morning, and +tried to prevail on her to walk out. Any thing like kindness melted her; +she consented.</p> + +<p>Softer emotions banished her melancholy, and she directed her steps to +the habitation she had rendered comfortable.</p> + +<p>Emerging out of a dreary chamber, all nature looked cheerful; when she +had last walked out, snow covered the <a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>ground, and bleak winds pierced +her through and through: now the hedges were green, the blossoms adorned +the trees, and the birds sung. She reached the dwelling, without being +much exhausted and while she rested there, observed the children +sporting on the grass, with improved complexions. The mother with tears +thanked her deliverer, and pointed out her comforts. Mary's tears flowed +not only from sympathy, but a complication of feelings and recollections +the affections which bound her to her fellow creatures began again to +play, and reanimated nature. She observed the change in herself, tried +to account for it, and wrote with her pencil a rhapsody on sensibility.</p> + +<p>"Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is +susceptible: when it pervades us, we feel <a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>happy; and could it last +unmixed, we might form some conjecture of the bliss of those +paradisiacal days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of +reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction.</p> + +<p>"It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to +relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this, +which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with +tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a +good action. The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail +the returning sun, and the consequent renovation of nature; when the +flowers unfold themselves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of +music is heard in the land. Softened by tenderness; the soul is +dis<a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>posed to be virtuous. Is any sensual gratification to be compared to +that of feelings the eves moistened after having comforted the +unfortunate?</p> + +<p>"Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happiness; but these +raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by +what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature +escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections.—But it +is only to be felt; it escapes discussion."</p> + +<p>She then returned home, and partook of the family meal, which was +rendered more cheerful by the presence of a man, past the meridian of +life, of polished manners, and dazzling wit. He endeavoured to draw Mary +out, and succeeded; she entered into conversation, and some of her +artless flights of genius struck <a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>him with surprise; he found she had a +capacious mind, and that her reason was as profound as her imagination +was lively. She glanced from earth to heaven, and caught the light of +truth. Her expressive countenance shewed what passed in her mind, and +her tongue was ever the faithful interpreter of her heart; duplicity +never threw a shade over her words or actions. Mary found him a man of +learning; and the exercise of her understanding would frequently make +her forget her griefs, when nothing else could, except benevolence.</p> + +<p>This man had known the mistress of the house in her youth; good nature +induced him to visit her; but when he saw Mary he had another +inducement. Her appearance, and above all, her genius, and cultivation +of mind, roused his curiosity; but her dignified manners <a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>had such an +effect on him, he was obliged to suppress it. He knew men, as well as +books; his conversation was entertaining and improving. In Mary's +company he doubted whether heaven was peopled with spirits masculine; +and almost forgot that he had called the sex "the pretty play things +that render life tolerable."</p> + +<p>He had been the slave of beauty, the captive of sense; love he ne'er had +felt; the mind never rivetted the chain, nor had the purity of it made +the body appear lovely in his eyes. He was humane, despised meanness; +but was vain of his abilities, and by no means a useful member of +society. He talked often of the beauty of virtue; but not having any +solid foundation to build the practice on, he was only a shining, or +rather a sparkling character: and though his <a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>fortune enabled him to +hunt down pleasure, he was discontented.</p> + +<p>Mary observed his character, and wrote down a train of reflections, +which these observations led her to make; these reflections received a +tinge from her mind; the present state of it, was that kind of painful +quietness which arises from reason clouded by disgust; she had not yet +learned to be resigned; vague hopes agitated her.</p> + +<p>"There are some subjects that are so enveloped in clouds, as you +dissipate one, another overspreads it. Of this kind are our reasonings +concerning happiness; till we are obliged to cry out with the Apostle, +<i>That it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive in what it +could consist</i>, or how satiety could be prevented. Man seems formed for +action, though the <a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>passions are seldom properly managed; they are +either so languid as not to serve as a spur, or else so violent, as to +overleap all bounds.</p> + +<p>"Every individual has its own peculiar trials; and anguish, in one shape +or other, visits every heart. Sensibility produces flights of virtue; +and not curbed by reason, is on the brink of vice talking, and even +thinking of virtue.</p> + +<p>"Christianity can only afford just principles to govern the wayward +feelings and impulses of the heart: every good disposition runs wild, if +not transplanted into this soil; but how hard is it to keep the heart +diligently, though convinced that the issues of life depend on it.</p> + +<p>"It is very difficult to discipline the mind of a thinker, or reconcile +him <a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>to the weakness, the inconsistency of his understanding; and a +still more laborious task for him to conquer his passions, and learn to +seek content, instead of happiness. Good dispositions, and virtuous +propensities, without the light of the Gospel, produce eccentric +characters: comet-like, they are always in extremes; while revelation +resembles the laws of attraction, and produces uniformity; but too often +is the attraction feeble; and the light so obscured by passion, as to +force the bewildered soul to fly into void space, and wander in +confusion."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXV" id="CHAP_XXV"></a>CHAP. XXV.</h3> + + +<p>A few mornings after, as Mary was sitting ruminating, harassed by +perplexing thoughts, and fears, a letter was delivered to her: the +servant waited for an answer. Her heart palpitated; it was from Henry; +she held it some time in her hand, then tore it open; it was not a long +one; and only contained an account of a relapse, which prevented his +sailing in the first packet, as he had intended. Some tender enquiries +were added, concerning her health, and state of mind; but they were +expressed in rather a formal style: it vexed her, and the more so, as it +stopped the current of affection, which the account of his arrival and +illness had made flow to her <a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>heart—it ceased to beat for a moment—she +read the passage over again; but could not tell what she was hurt +by—only that it did not answer the expectations of her affection. She +wrote a laconic, incoherent note in return, allowing him to call on her +the next day—he had requested permission at the conclusion of his +letter.</p> + +<p>Her mind was then painfully active; she could not read or walk; she +tried to fly from herself, to forget the long hours that were yet to run +before to-morrow could arrive: she knew not what time he would come; +certainly in the morning, she concluded; the morning then was anxiously +wished for; and every wish produced a sigh, that arose from expectation +on the stretch, damped by fear and vain regret.</p> + +<p>To beguile the tedious time, Henry's favorite tunes were sung; the books +<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>they read together turned over; and the short epistle read at least a +hundred times.—Any one who had seen her, would have supposed that she +was trying to decypher Chinese characters.</p> + +<p>After a sleepless night, she hailed the tardy day, watched the rising +sun, and then listened for every footstep, and started if she heard the +street door opened. At last he came, and she who had been counting the +hours, and doubting whether the earth moved, would gladly have escaped +the approaching interview.</p> + +<p>With an unequal, irresolute pace, she went to meet him; but when she +beheld his emaciated countenance, all the tenderness, which the +formality of his letter had damped, returned, and a mournful +presentiment stilled the internal conflict. She caught his hand, and +looking wist<a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>fully at him, exclaimed, "Indeed, you are not well!"</p> + +<p>"I am very far from well; but it matters not," added he with a smile of +resignation; "my native air may work wonders, and besides, my mother is +a tender nurse, and I shall sometimes see thee."</p> + +<p>Mary felt for the first time in her life, envy; she wished +involuntarily, that all the comfort he received should be from her. She +enquired about the symptoms of his disorder; and heard that he had been +very ill; she hastily drove away the fears, that former dear bought +experience suggested: and again and again did she repeat, that she was +sure he would soon recover. She would then look in his face, to see if +he assented, and ask more questions to the same purport. She tried to +avoid speaking of <a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>herself, and Henry left her, with, a promise of +visiting her the next day.</p> + +<p>Her mind was now engrossed by one fear—yet she would not allow herself +to think that she feared an event she could not name. She still saw his +pale face; the sound of his voice still vibrated on her ears; she tried +to retain it; she listened, looked round, wept, and prayed.</p> + +<p>Henry had enlightened the desolate scene: was this charm of life to fade +away, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wreck +behind? These thoughts disturbed her reason, she shook her head, as if +to drive them out of it; a weight, a heavy one, was on her heart; all +was not well there.</p> + +<p>Out of this reverie she was soon woke to keener anguish, by the arrival +of a letter from her husband; it came to Lisbon after her departure: +Henry had <a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>forwarded it to her, but did not choose to deliver it +himself, for a very obvious reason; it might have produced a +conversation he wished for some time to avoid; and his precaution took +its rise almost equally from benevolence and love.</p> + +<p>She could not muster up sufficient resolution to break the seal: her +fears were not prophetic, for the contents gave her comfort. He informed +her that he intended prolonging his tour, as he was now his own master, +and wished to remain some time on the continent, and in particular to +visit Italy without any restraint: but his reasons for it appeared +childish; it was not to cultivate his taste, or tread on classic ground, +where poets and philosophers caught their lore; but to join in the +masquerades, and such burlesque amusements.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>These instances of folly relieved Mary, in some degree reconciled her +to herself added fuel to the devouring flame—and silenced something +like a pang, which reason and conscience made her feel, when she +reflected, that it is the office of Religion to reconcile us to the +seemingly hard dispensations of providence; and that no inclination, +however strong, should oblige us to desert the post assigned us, or +force us to forget that virtue should be an active principle; and that +the most desirable station, is the one that exercises our faculties, +refines our affections, and enables us to be useful.</p> + +<p>One reflection continually wounded her repose; she feared not poverty; +her wants were few; but in giving up a fortune, she gave up the power of +comforting the miserable, and making the sad heart sing for joy.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>Heaven had endowed her with uncommon humanity, to render her one of His +benevolent agents, a messenger of peace; and should she attend to her +own inclinations?</p> + +<p>These suggestions, though they could not subdue a violent passion, +increased her misery. One moment she was a heroine, half determined to +bear whatever fate should inflict; the next, her mind would recoil—and +tenderness possessed her whole soul. Some instances of Henry's +affection, his worth and genius, were remembered: and the earth was only +a vale of tears, because he was not to sojourn with her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXVI" id="CHAP_XXVI"></a>CHAP. XXVI.</h3> + + +<p>Henry came the next day, and once or twice in the course of the +following week; but still Mary kept up some little formality, a certain +consciousness restrained her; and Henry did not enter on the subject +which he found she wished to avoid. In the course of conversation, +however, she mentioned to him, that she earnestly desired to obtain a +place in one of the public offices for Ann's brother, as the family were +again in a declining way.</p> + +<p>Henry attended, made a few enquiries, and dropped the subject; but the +following week, she heard him enter with unusual haste; it was to inform +her, that <a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>he had made interest with a person of some consequence, whom +he had once obliged in a very disagreeable exigency, in a foreign +country; and that he had procured a place for her friend, which would +infallibly lead to something better, if he behaved with propriety. Mary +could not speak to thank him; emotions of gratitude and love suffused +her face; her blood eloquently spoke. She delighted to receive benefits +through the medium of her fellow creatures; but to receive them from +Henry was exquisite pleasure.</p> + +<p>As the summer advanced, Henry grew worse; the closeness of the air, in +the metropolis, affected his breath; and his mother insisted on his +fixing on some place in the country, where she would accompany him. He +could not think of going far off, but chose a little vil<a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>lage on the +banks of the Thames, near Mary's dwelling: he then introduced her to his +mother.</p> + +<p>They frequently went down the river in a boat; Henry would take his +violin, and Mary would sometimes sing, or read, to them. She pleased his +mother; she inchanted him. It was an advantage to Mary that friendship +first possessed her heart; it opened it to all the softer sentiments of +humanity:—and when this first affection was torn away, a similar one +sprung up, with a still tenderer sentiment added to it.</p> + +<p>The last evening they were on the water, the clouds grew suddenly black, +and broke in violent showers, which interrupted the solemn stillness +that had prevailed previous to it. The thunder roared; and the oars +plying quickly, in order to reach the shore, occasioned a <a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>not +unpleasing sound. Mary drew still nearer Henry; she wished to have +sought with him a watry grave; to have escaped the horror of surviving +him.—She spoke not, but Henry saw the workings of her mind—he felt +them; threw his arm round her waist—and they enjoyed the luxury of +wretchedness.—As they touched the shore, Mary perceived that Henry was +wet; with eager anxiety she cried, What shall I do!—this day will kill +thee, and I shall not die with thee!</p> + +<p>This accident put a stop to their pleasurable excursions; it had injured +him, and brought on the spitting of blood he was subject to—perhaps it +was not the cold that he caught, that occasioned it. In vain did Mary +try to shut her eyes; her fate pursued her! Henry every day grew worse +and worse.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXVII" id="CHAP_XXVII"></a>CHAP. XXVII.</h3> + + +<p>Oppressed by her foreboding fears, her sore mind was hurt by new +instances of ingratitude: disgusted with the family, whose misfortunes +had often disturbed her repose, and lost in anticipated sorrow, she +rambled she knew not where; when turning down a shady walk, she +discovered her feet had taken the path they delighted to tread. She saw +Henry sitting in his garden alone; he quickly opened the garden-gate, +and she sat down by him.</p> + +<p>"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary; +but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon +<a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in +the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to +thee—and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my +heart.—I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou +art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined +existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass +me—ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed +the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course—try to add +to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that +we could have died together—or that I could live to shield thee from +the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an <a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>asylum in +these arms—a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy +griefs—" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure—he felt her +throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the +conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow—too surely do I +feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so +pure, that death cannot extinguish it—or tear away the impression thy +virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee—"</p> + +<p>"Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee +and Ann—while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"—She grasped +his hand.</p> + +<p>"There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's—" His voice +<a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost +suffocated—they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked +slowly to the garden-gate (Mary would not go into the house); they could +not say farewel when they reached it—and Mary hurried down the lane; to +spare Henry the pain of witnessing her emotions.</p> + +<p>When she lost sight of the house she sat down on the ground, till it +grew late, thinking of all that had passed. Full of these thoughts, she +crept along, regardless of the descending rain; when lifting up her eyes +to heaven, and then turning them wildly on the prospects around, without +marking them; she only felt that the scene accorded with her present +state of mind. It was the last glimmering of twilight, with a full moon, +over which clouds continually <a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>flitted. Where am I wandering, God of +Mercy! she thought; she alluded to the wanderings of her mind. In what a +labyrinth am I lost! What miseries have I already encountered—and what +a number lie still before me.</p> + +<p>Her thoughts flew rapidly to something. I could be happy listening to +him, soothing his cares.—Would he not smile upon me—call me his own +Mary? I am not his—said she with fierceness—I am a wretch! and she +heaved a sigh that almost broke her heart, while the big tears rolled +down her burning cheeks; but still her exercised mind, accustomed to +think, began to observe its operation, though the barrier of reason was +almost carried away, and all the faculties not restrained by her, were +running into confusion. Wherefore am I made thus? Vain are my +<a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>efforts—I cannot live without loving—and love leads to madness.—Yet +I will not weep; and her eyes were now fixed by despair, dry and +motionless; and then quickly whirled about with a look of distraction.</p> + +<p>She looked for hope; but found none—all was troubled waters.—No where +could she find rest. I have already paced to and fro in the earth; it is +not my abiding place—may I not too go home! Ah! no. Is this complying +with my Henry's request, could a spirit thus disengaged expect to +associate with his? Tears of tenderness strayed down her relaxed +countenance, and her softened heart heaved more regularly. She felt the +rain, and turned to her solitary home.</p> + +<p>Fatigued by the tumultuous emotions she had endured, when she entered +the <a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>house she ran to her own room, sunk on the bed; and exhausted +nature soon closed her eyes; but active fancy was still awake, and a +thousand fearful dreams interrupted her slumbers.</p> + +<p>Feverish and languid, she opened her eyes, and saw the unwelcome sun +dart his rays through a window, the curtains of which she had forgotten +to draw. The dew hung on the adjacent trees, and added to the lustre; +the little robin began his song, and distant birds joined. She looked; +her countenance was still vacant—her sensibility was absorbed by one +object.</p> + +<p>Did I ever admire the rising sun, she slightly thought, turning from the +Window, and shutting her eyes: she recalled to view the last night's +scene. His faltering voice, lingering step, and the look of tender woe, +were all graven <a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>on her heart; as were the words "Could these arms +shield thee from sorrow—afford thee an asylum from an unfeeling world." +The pressure to his bosom was not forgot. For a moment she was happy; +but in a long-drawn sigh every delightful sensation evaporated. +Soon—yes, very soon, will the grave again receive all I love! and the +remnant of my days—she could not proceed—Were there then days to come +after that?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXVIII" id="CHAP_XXVIII"></a>CHAP. XXVIII.</h3> + + +<p>Just as she was going to quit her room, to visit Henry, his mother +called on her.</p> + +<p>"My son is worse to-day," said she, "I come to request you to spend not +only this day, but a week or two with me.—Why should I conceal any +thing from you? Last night my child made his mother his confident, and, +in the anguish of his heart, requested me to be thy friend—when I shall +be childless. I will not attempt to describe what I felt when he talked +thus to me. If I am to lose the support of my age, and be again a +widow—may I call her <a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>Child whom my Henry wishes me to adopt?"</p> + +<p>This new instance of Henry's disinterested affection, Mary felt most +forcibly; and striving to restrain the complicated emotions, and sooth +the wretched mother, she almost fainted: when the unhappy parent forced +tears from her, by saying, "I deserve this blow; my partial fondness +made me neglect him, when most he wanted a mother's care; this neglect, +perhaps, first injured his constitution: righteous Heaven has made my +crime its own punishment; and now I am indeed a mother, I shall loss my +child—my only child!"</p> + +<p>When they were a little more composed they hastened to the invalide; but +during the short ride, the mother related several instances of Henry's +goodness of heart. Mary's tears were not <a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>those of unmixed anguish; the +display of his virtues gave her extreme delight—yet human nature +prevailed; she trembled to think they would soon unfold themselves in a +more genial clime.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXIX" id="CHAP_XXIX"></a>CHAP. XXIX.</h3> + + +<p>She found Henry very ill. The physician had some weeks before declared +he never knew a person with a similar pulse recover. Henry was certain +he could not live long; all the rest he could obtain, was procured by +opiates. Mary now enjoyed the melancholy pleasure of nursing him, and +softened by her tenderness the pains she could not remove. Every sigh +did she stifle, every tear restrain, when he could see or hear them. She +would boast of her resignation—yet catch eagerly at the least ray of +hope. While he slept she would support his pillow, and rest her head +where she could feel his breath. She <a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>loved him better than herself—she +could not pray for his recovery; she could only say, The will of Heaven +be done.</p> + +<p>While she was in this state, she labored to acquire fortitude; but one +tender look destroyed it all—she rather labored, indeed, to make him +believe he was resigned, than really to be so.</p> + +<p>She wished to receive the sacrament with him, as a bond of union which +was to extend beyond the grave. She did so, and received comfort from +it; she rose above her misery.</p> + +<p>His end was now approaching. Mary sat on the side of the bed. His eyes +appeared fixed—no longer agitated by passion, he only felt that it was +a fearful thing to die. The soul retired to the citadel; but it was not +now solely filled by the image of her who in silent <a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>despair watched for +his last breath. Collected, a frightful calmness stilled every turbulent +emotion.</p> + +<p>The mother's grief was more audible. Henry had for some time only +attended to Mary—Mary pitied the parent, whose stings of conscience +increased her sorrow; she whispered him, "Thy mother weeps, disregarded +by thee; oh! comfort her!—My mother, thy son blesses thee.—" The +oppressed parent left the room. And Mary <i>waited</i> to see him die.</p> + +<p>She pressed with trembling eagerness his parched lips—he opened his +eyes again; the spreading film retired, and love returned them—he gave +a look—it was never forgotten. My Mary, will you be comforted?</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, she exclaimed in a firm voice; you go to be happy—I am not <a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>a +complete wretch! The words almost choked her.</p> + +<p>He was a long time silent; the opiate produced a kind of stupor. At +last, in an agony, he cried, It is dark; I cannot see thee; raise me up. +Where is Mary? did she not say she delighted to support me? let me die +in her arms.</p> + +<p>Her arms were opened to receive him; they trembled not. Again he was +obliged to lie down, resting on her: as the agonies increased he leaned +towards her: the soul seemed flying to her, as it escaped out of its +prison. The breathing was interrupted; she heard distinctly the last +sigh—and lifting up to Heaven her eyes, Father, receive his spirit, she +calmly cried.</p> + +<p>The attendants gathered round; she moved not, nor heard the clamor; the +hand seemed yet to press hers; it still <a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>was warm. A ray of light from +an opened window discovered the pale face.</p> + +<p>She left the room, and retired to one very near it; and sitting down on +the floor, fixed her eyes on the door of the apartment which contained +the body. Every event of her life rushed across her mind with wonderful +rapidity—yet all was still—fate had given the finishing stroke. She +sat till midnight.—Then rose in a phrensy, went into the apartment, and +desired those who watched the body to retire.</p> + +<p>She knelt by the bed side;—an enthusiastic devotion overcame the +dictates of despair.—She prayed most ardently to be supported, and +dedicated herself to the service of that Being into whose hands, she had +committed the spirit she almost adored—again—<a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>and again,—she prayed +wildly—and fervently—but attempting to touch the lifeless hand—her +head swum—she sunk—</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXX" id="CHAP_XXX"></a>CHAP. XXX.</h3> + + +<p>Three months after, her only friend, the mother of her lost Henry began +to be alarmed, at observing her altered appearance; and made her own +health a pretext for travelling. These complaints roused Mary out of her +torpid state; she imagined a new duty now forced her to exert herself—a +duty love made sacred!—</p> + +<p>They went to Bath, from that to Bristol; but the latter place they +quickly left; the sight of the sick that resort there, they neither of +them could bear. From Bristol they flew to Southampton. The road was +pleasant—yet Mary shut her eyes;—or if they were <a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>open, green fields +and commons, passed in quick succession, and left no more traces behind +than if they had been waves of the sea.</p> + +<p>Some time after they were settled at Southampton, they met the man who +took so much notice of Mary, soon after her return to England. He +renewed his acquaintance; he was really interested in her fate, as he +had heard her uncommon story; besides, he knew her husband; knew him to +be a good-natured, weak man. He saw him soon after his arrival in his +native country, and prevented his hastening to enquire into the reasons +of Mary's strange conduct. He desired him not to be too precipitate, if +he ever wished to possess an invaluable treasure. He was guided by him, +and allowed him to follow Mary to Southampton, and speak first to her +friend.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>This friend determined to trust to her native strength of mind, and +informed her of the circumstance; but she overrated it: Mary was not +able, for a few days after the intelligence, to fix on the mode of +conduct she ought now to pursue. But at last she conquered her disgust, +and wrote her <i>husband</i> an account of what had passed since she had +dropped his correspondence.</p> + +<p>He came in person to answer the letter. Mary fainted when he approached +her unexpectedly. Her disgust returned with additional force, in spite +of previous reasonings, whenever he appeared; yet she was prevailed on +to promise to live with him, if he would permit her to pass one year, +travelling from place to place; he was not to accompany her.</p> + +<p>The time too quickly elapsed, and <a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>she gave him her hand—the struggle +was almost more than she could endure. She tried to appear calm; time +mellowed her grief, and mitigated her torments; but when her husband +would take her hand, or mention any thing like love, she would instantly +feel a sickness, a faintness at her heart, and wish, involuntarily, that +the earth would open and swallow her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a></p> +<h3><a name="CHAP_XXXI" id="CHAP_XXXI"></a>CHAP. XXXI.</h3> + + +<p>Mary visited the continent, and sought health in different climates; but +her nerves were not to be restored to their former state. She then +retired to her house in the country, established manufactories, threw +the estate into small farms; and continually employed herself this way +to dissipate care, and banish unavailing regret. She visited the sick, +supported the old, and educated the young.</p> + +<p>These occupations engrossed her mind; but there were hours when all her +former woes would return and haunt her.—Whenever she did, or said, any +thing she thought Henry would have <a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>approved of—she could not avoid +thinking with anguish, of the rapture his approbation ever conveyed to +her heart—a heart in which there was a void, that even benevolence and +religion could not fill. The latter taught her to struggle for +resignation; and the former rendered life supportable.</p> + +<p>Her delicate state of health did not promise long life. In moments of +solitary sadness, a gleam of joy would dart across her mind—She thought +she was hastening to that world <i>where there is neither marrying</i>, nor +giving in marriage.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 16357-h.txt or 16357-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/3/5/16357">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/5/16357</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Mary + A Fiction + + +Author: Mary Wollstonecraft + + + +Release Date: July 24, 2005 [eBook #16357] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797). + + + + + +MARY, + +A Fiction + +L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus eleve et nourrit le genie. + ROUSSEAU. + +London, +Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul's Church-Yard. + +MDCCLXXXVIII + + + + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +In delineating the Heroine of this Fiction, the Author attempts to +develop a character different from those generally portrayed. This woman +is neither a Clarissa, a Lady G----, nor a[A] Sophie.--It would be vain +to mention the various modifications of these models, as it would to +remark, how widely artists wander from nature, when they copy the +originals of great masters. They catch the gross parts; but the subtile +spirit evaporates; and not having the just ties, affectation disgusts, +when grace was expected to charm. + +Those compositions only have power to delight, and carry us willing +captives, where the soul of the author is exhibited, and animates the +hidden springs. Lost in a pleasing enthusiasm, they live in the scenes +they represent; and do not measure their steps in a beaten track, +solicitous to gather expected flowers, and bind them in a wreath, +according to the prescribed rules of art. + +These chosen few, wish to speak for themselves, and not to be an +echo--even of the sweetest sounds--or the reflector of the most sublime +beams. The[B] paradise they ramble in, must be of their own creating--or +the prospect soon grows insipid, and not varied by a vivifying +principle, fades and dies. + +In an artless tale, without episodes, the mind of a woman, who has +thinking powers is displayed. The female organs have been thought too +weak for this arduous employment; and experience seems to justify the +assertion. Without arguing physically about _possibilities_--in a +fiction, such a being may be allowed to exist; whose grandeur is derived +from the operations of its own faculties, not subjugated to opinion; but +drawn by the individual from the original source. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote A: Rousseau.] + +[Footnote B: I here give the Reviewers an opportunity of being very +witty about the Paradise of Fools, &c.] + + + + +MARY + + + + +CHAP. I. + + +Mary, the heroine of this fiction, was the daughter of Edward, who +married Eliza, a gentle, fashionable girl, with a kind of indolence in +her temper, which might be termed negative good-nature: her virtues, +indeed, were all of that stamp. She carefully attended to the _shews_ of +things, and her opinions, I should have said prejudices, were such as +the generality approved of. She was educated with the expectation of a +large fortune, of course became a mere machine: the homage of her +attendants made a great part of her puerile amusements, and she never +imagined there were any relative duties for her to fulfil: notions of +her own consequence, by these means, were interwoven in her mind, and +the years of youth spent in acquiring a few superficial accomplishments, +without having any taste for them. When she was first introduced into +the polite circle, she danced with an officer, whom she faintly wished +to be united to; but her father soon after recommending another in a +more distinguished rank of life, she readily submitted to his will, and +promised to love, honour, and obey, (a vicious fool,) as in duty bound. + +While they resided in London, they lived in the usual fashionable style, +and seldom saw each other; nor were they much more sociable when they +wooed rural felicity for more than half the year, in a delightful +country, where Nature, with lavish hand, had scattered beauties around; +for the master, with brute, unconscious gaze, passed them by unobserved, +and sought amusement in country sports. He hunted in the morning, and +after eating an immoderate dinner, generally fell asleep: this +seasonable rest enabled him to digest the cumbrous load; he would then +visit some of his pretty tenants; and when he compared their ruddy glow +of health with his wife's countenance, which even rouge could not +enliven, it is not necessary to say which a _gourmand_ would give the +preference to. Their vulgar dance of spirits were infinitely more +agreeable to his fancy than her sickly, die-away languor. Her voice was +but the shadow of a sound, and she had, to complete her delicacy, so +relaxed her nerves, that she became a mere nothing. + +Many such noughts are there in the female world! yet she had a good +opinion of her own merit,--truly, she said long prayers,--and sometimes +read her Week's Preparation: she dreaded that horrid place vulgarly +called _hell_, the regions below; but whether her's was a mounting +spirit, I cannot pretend to determine; or what sort of a planet would +have been proper for her, when she left her _material_ part in this +world, let metaphysicians settle; I have nothing to say to her unclothed +spirit. + +As she was sometimes obliged to be alone, or only with her French +waiting-maid, she sent to the metropolis for all the new publications, +and while she was dressing her hair, and she could turn her eyes from +the glass, she ran over those most delightful substitutes for bodily +dissipation, novels. I say bodily, or the animal soul, for a rational +one can find no employment in polite circles. The glare of lights, the +studied inelegancies of dress, and the compliments offered up at the +shrine of false beauty, are all equally addressed to the senses. + +When she could not any longer indulge the caprices of fancy one way, she +tried another. The Platonic Marriage, Eliza Warwick, and some other +interesting tales were perused with eagerness. Nothing could be more +natural than the developement of the passions, nor more striking than +the views of the human heart. What delicate struggles! and uncommonly +pretty turns of thought! The picture that was found on a bramble-bush, +the new sensitive-plant, or tree, which caught the swain by the +upper-garment, and presented to his ravished eyes a portrait.--Fatal +image!--It planted a thorn in a till then insensible heart, and sent a +new kind of a knight-errant into the world. But even this was nothing to +the catastrophe, and the circumstance on which it hung, the hornet +settling on the sleeping lover's face. What a _heart-rending_ accident! +She planted, in imitation of those susceptible souls, a rose bush; but +there was not a lover to weep in concert with her, when she watered it +with her tears.--Alas! Alas! + +If my readers would excuse the sportiveness of fancy, and give me credit +for genius, I would go on and tell them such tales as would force the +sweet tears of sensibility to flow in copious showers down beautiful +cheeks, to the discomposure of rouge, &c. &c. Nay, I would make it so +interesting, that the fair peruser should beg the hair-dresser to +settle the curls himself, and not interrupt her. + +She had besides another resource, two most beautiful dogs, who shared +her bed, and reclined on cushions near her all the day. These she +watched with the most assiduous care, and bestowed on them the warmest +caresses. This fondness for animals was not that kind of +_attendrissement_ which makes a person take pleasure in providing for +the subsistence and comfort of a living creature; but it proceeded from +vanity, it gave her an opportunity of lisping out the prettiest French +expressions of ecstatic fondness, in accents that had never been attuned +by tenderness. + +She was chaste, according to the vulgar acceptation of the word, that +is, she did not make any actual _faux pas_; she feared the world, and +was indolent; but then, to make amends for this seeming self-denial, she +read all the sentimental novels, dwelt on the love-scenes, and, had she +thought while she read, her mind would have been contaminated; as she +accompanied the lovers to the lonely arbors, and would walk with them by +the clear light of the moon. She wondered her husband did not stay at +home. She was jealous--why did he not love her, sit by her side, squeeze +her hand, and look unutterable things? Gentle reader, I will tell thee; +they neither of them felt what they could not utter. I will not pretend +to say that they always annexed an idea to a word; but they had none of +those feelings which are not easily analyzed. + + + + +CHAP. II. + + +In due time she brought forth a son, a feeble babe; and the following +year a daughter. After the mother's throes she felt very few sentiments +of maternal tenderness: the children were given to nurses, and she +played with her dogs. Want of exercise prevented the least chance of her +recovering strength; and two or three milk-fevers brought on a +consumption, to which her constitution tended. Her children all died in +their infancy, except the two first, and she began to grow fond of the +son, as he was remarkably handsome. For years she divided her time +between the sofa, and the card-table. She thought not of death, though +on the borders of the grave; nor did any of the duties of her station +occur to her as necessary. Her children were left in the nursery; and +when Mary, the little blushing girl, appeared, she would send the +awkward thing away. To own the truth, she was awkward enough, in a house +without any play-mates; for her brother had been sent to school, and she +scarcely knew how to employ herself; she would ramble about the garden, +admire the flowers, and play with the dogs. An old house-keeper told her +stories, read to her, and, at last, taught her to read. Her mother +talked of enquiring for a governess when her health would permit; and, +in the interim desired her own maid to teach her French. As she had +learned to read, she perused with avidity every book that came in her +way. Neglected in every respect, and left to the operations of her own +mind, she considered every thing that came under her inspection, and +learned to think. She had heard of a separate state, and that angels +sometimes visited this earth. She would sit in a thick wood in the park, +and talk to them; make little songs addressed to them, and sing them to +tunes of her own composing; and her native wood notes wild were sweet +and touching. + +Her father always exclaimed against female acquirements, and was glad +that his wife's indolence and ill health made her not trouble herself +about them. She had besides another reason, she did not wish to have a +fine tall girl brought forward into notice as her daughter; she still +expected to recover, and figure away in the gay world. Her husband was +very tyrannical and passionate; indeed so very easily irritated when +inebriated, that Mary was continually in dread lest he should frighten +her mother to death; her sickness called forth all Mary's tenderness, +and exercised her compassion so continually, that it became more than a +match for self-love, and was the governing propensity of her heart +through life. She was violent in her temper; but she saw her father's +faults, and would weep when obliged to compare his temper with her +own.--She did more; artless prayers rose to Heaven for pardon, when she +was conscious of having erred; and her contrition was so exceedingly +painful, that she watched diligently the first movements of anger and +impatience, to save herself this cruel remorse. + +Sublime ideas filled her young mind--always connected with devotional +sentiments; extemporary effusions of gratitude, and rhapsodies of +praise would burst often from her, when she listened to the birds, or +pursued the deer. She would gaze on the moon, and ramble through the +gloomy path, observing the various shapes the clouds assumed, and listen +to the sea that was not far distant. The wandering spirits, which she +imagined inhabited every part of nature, were her constant friends and +confidants. She began to consider the Great First Cause, formed just +notions of his attributes, and, in particular, dwelt on his wisdom and +goodness. Could she have loved her father or mother, had they returned +her affection, she would not so soon, perhaps, have sought out a new +world. + +Her sensibility prompted her to search for an object to love; on earth +it was not to be found: her mother had often disappointed her, and the +apparent partiality she shewed to her brother gave her exquisite +pain--produced a kind of habitual melancholy, led her into a fondness +for reading tales of woe, and made her almost realize the fictitious +distress. + +She had not any notion of death till a little chicken expired at her +feet; and her father had a dog hung in a passion. She then concluded +animals had souls, or they would not have been subjected to the caprice +of man; but what was the soul of man or beast? In this style year after +year rolled on, her mother still vegetating. + +A little girl who attended in the nursery fell sick. Mary paid her great +attention; contrary to her wish, she was sent out of the house to her +mother, a poor woman, whom necessity obliged to leave her sick child +while she earned her daily bread. The poor wretch, in a fit of delirium +stabbed herself, and Mary saw her dead body, and heard the dismal +account; and so strongly did it impress her imagination, that every +night of her life the bleeding corpse presented itself to her when the +first began to slumber. Tortured by it, she at last made a vow, that if +she was ever mistress of a family she would herself watch over every +part of it. The impression that this accident made was indelible. + +As her mother grew imperceptibly worse and worse, her father, who did +not understand such a lingering complaint, imagined his wife was only +grown still more whimsical, and that if she could be prevailed on to +exert herself, her health would soon be re-established. In general he +treated her with indifference; but when her illness at all interfered +with his pleasures, he expostulated in the most cruel manner, and +visibly harassed the invalid. Mary would then assiduously try to turn +his attention to something else; and when sent out of the room, would +watch at the door, until the storm was over, for unless it was, she +could not rest. Other causes also contributed to disturb her repose: her +mother's luke-warm manner of performing her religious duties, filled her +with anguish; and when she observed her father's vices, the unbidden +tears would flow. She was miserable when beggars were driven from the +gate without being relieved; if she could do it unperceived, she would +give them her own breakfast, and feel gratified, when, in consequence of +it, she was pinched by hunger. + +She had once, or twice, told her little secrets to her mother; they were +laughed at, and she determined never to do it again. In this manner was +she left to reflect on her own feelings; and so strengthened were they +by being meditated on, that her character early became singular and +permanent. Her understanding was strong and clear, when not clouded by +her feelings; but she was too much the creature of impulse, and the +slave of compassion. + + + + +CHAP. III. + + +Near her father's house lived a poor widow, who had been brought up in +affluence, but reduced to great distress by the extravagance of her +husband; he had destroyed his constitution while he spent his fortune; +and dying, left his wife, and five small children, to live on a very +scanty pittance. The eldest daughter was for some years educated by a +distant relation, a Clergyman. While she was with him a young gentleman, +son to a man of property in the neighbourhood, took particular notice of +her. It is true, he never talked of love; but then they played and sung +in concert; drew landscapes together, and while she worked he read to +her, cultivated her taste, and stole imperceptibly her heart. Just at +this juncture, when smiling, unanalyzed hope made every prospect bright, +and gay expectation danced in her eyes, her benefactor died. She +returned to her mother--the companion of her youth forgot her, they took +no more sweet counsel together. This disappointment spread a sadness +over her countenance, and made it interesting. She grew fond of +solitude, and her character appeared similar to Mary's, though her +natural disposition was very different. + +She was several years older than Mary, yet her refinement, her taste, +caught her eye, and she eagerly sought her friendship: before her return +she had assisted the family, which was almost reduced to the last ebb; +and now she had another motive to actuate her. + +As she had often occasion to send messages to Ann, her new friend, +mistakes were frequently made; Ann proposed that in future they should +be written ones, to obviate this difficulty, and render their +intercourse more agreeable. Young people are mostly fond of scribbling; +Mary had had very little instruction; but by copying her friend's +letters, whose hand she admired, she soon became a proficient; a little +practice made her write with tolerable correctness, and her genius gave +force to it. In conversation, and in writing, when she felt, she was +pathetic, tender and persuasive; and she expressed contempt with such +energy, that few could stand the flash of her eyes. + +As she grew more intimate with Ann, her manners were softened, and she +acquired a degree of equality in her behaviour: yet still her spirits +were fluctuating, and her movements rapid. She felt less pain on +account of her mother's partiality to her brother, as she hoped now to +experience the pleasure of being beloved; but this hope led her into new +sorrows, and, as usual, paved the way for disappointment. Ann only felt +gratitude; her heart was entirely engrossed by one object, and +friendship could not serve as a substitute; memory officiously retraced +past scenes, and unavailing wishes made time loiter. + +Mary was often hurt by the involuntary indifference which these +consequences produced. When her friend was all the world to her, she +found she was not as necessary to her happiness; and her delicate mind +could not bear to obtrude her affection, or receive love as an alms, the +offspring of pity. Very frequently has she ran to her with delight, and +not perceiving any thing of the same kind in Ann's countenance, she has +shrunk back; and, falling from one extreme into the other, instead of a +warm greeting that was just slipping from her tongue, her expressions +seemed to be dictated by the most chilling insensibility. + +She would then imagine that she looked sickly or unhappy, and then all +her tenderness would return like a torrent, and bear away all +reflection. In this manner was her sensibility called forth, and +exercised, by her mother's illness, her friend's misfortunes, and her +own unsettled mind. + + + + +CHAP. IV. + + +Near to her father's house was a range of mountains; some of them were, +literally speaking, cloud-capt, for on them clouds continually rested, +and gave grandeur to the prospect; and down many of their sides the +little bubbling cascades ran till they swelled a beautiful river. +Through the straggling trees and bushes the wind whistled, and on them +the birds sung, particularly the robins; they also found shelter in the +ivy of an old castle, a haunted one, as the story went; it was situated +on the brow of one of the mountains, and commanded a view of the sea. +This castle had been inhabited by some of her ancestors; and many tales +had the old house-keeper told her of the worthies who had resided there. + +When her mother frowned, and her friend looked cool, she would steal to +this retirement, where human foot seldom trod--gaze on the sea, observe +the grey clouds, or listen to the wind which struggled to free itself +from the only thing that impeded its course. When more cheerful, she +admired the various dispositions of light and shade, the beautiful tints +the gleams of sunshine gave to the distant hills; then she rejoiced in +existence, and darted into futurity. + +One way home was through the cavity of a rock covered with a thin layer +of earth, just sufficient to afford nourishment to a few stunted shrubs +and wild plants, which grew on its sides, and nodded over the summit. A +clear stream broke out of it, and ran amongst the pieces of rocks +fallen into it. Here twilight always reigned--it seemed the Temple of +Solitude; yet, paradoxical as the assertion may appear, when the foot +sounded on the rock, it terrified the intruder, and inspired a strange +feeling, as if the rightful sovereign was dislodged. In this retreat she +read Thomson's Seasons, Young's Night-Thoughts, and Paradise Lost. + +At a little distance from it were the huts of a few poor fishermen, who +supported their numerous children by their precarious labour. In these +little huts she frequently rested, and denied herself every childish +gratification, in order to relieve the necessities of the inhabitants. +Her heart yearned for them, and would dance with joy when she had +relieved their wants, or afforded them pleasure. + +In these pursuits she learned the luxury of doing good; and the sweet +tears of benevolence frequently moistened her eyes, and gave them a +sparkle which, exclusive of that, they had not; on the contrary, they +were rather fixed, and would never have been observed if her soul had +not animated them. They were not at all like those brilliant ones which +look like polished diamonds, and dart from every superfice, giving more +light to the beholders than they receive themselves. + +Her benevolence, indeed, knew no bounds; the distress of others carried +her out of herself; and she rested not till she had relieved or +comforted them. The warmth of her compassion often made her so diligent, +that many things occurred to her, which might have escaped a less +interested observer. + +In like manner, she entered with such spirit into whatever she read, +and the emotions thereby raised were so strong, that it soon became a +part of her mind. + +Enthusiastic sentiments of devotion at this period actuated her; her +Creator was almost apparent to her senses in his works; but they were +mostly the grand or solemn features of Nature which she delighted to +contemplate. She would stand and behold the waves rolling, and think of +the voice that could still the tumultuous deep. + +These propensities gave the colour to her mind, before the passions +began to exercise their tyrannic sway, and particularly pointed out +those which the soil would have a tendency to nurse. + +Years after, when wandering through the same scenes, her imagination has +strayed back, to trace the first placid sentiments they inspired, and +she would earnestly desire to regain the same peaceful tranquillity. + +Many nights she sat up, if I may be allowed the expression, _conversing_ +with the Author of Nature, making verses, and singing hymns of her own +composing. She considered also, and tried to discern what end her +various faculties were destined to pursue; and had a glimpse of a truth, +which afterwards more fully unfolded itself. + +She thought that only an infinite being could fill the human soul, and +that when other objects were followed as a means of happiness, the +delusion led to misery, the consequence of disappointment. Under the +influence of ardent affections, how often has she forgot this +conviction, and as often returned to it again, when it struck her with +redoubled force. Often did she taste unmixed delight; her joys, her +ecstacies arose from genius. + +She was now fifteen, and she wished to receive the holy sacrament; and +perusing the scriptures, and discussing some points of doctrine which +puzzled her, she would sit up half the night, her favourite time for +employing her mind; she too plainly perceived that she saw through a +glass darkly; and that the bounds set to stop our intellectual +researches, is one of the trials of a probationary state. + +But her affections were roused by the display of divine mercy; and she +eagerly desired to commemorate the dying love of her great benefactor. +The night before the important day, when she was to take on herself her +baptismal vow, she could not go to bed; the sun broke in on her +meditations, and found her not exhausted by her watching. + +The orient pearls were strewed around--she hailed the morn, and sung +with wild delight, Glory to God on high, good will towards men. She was +indeed so much affected when she joined in the prayer for her eternal +preservation, that she could hardly conceal her violent emotions; and +the recollection never failed to wake her dormant piety when earthly +passions made it grow languid. + +These various movements of her mind were not commented on, nor were the +luxuriant shoots restrained by culture. The servants and the poor adored +her. + +In order to be enabled to gratify herself in the highest degree, she +practiced the most rigid oeconomy, and had such power over her +appetites and whims, that without any great effort she conquered them +so entirely, that when her understanding or affections had an object, +she almost forgot she had a body which required nourishment. + +This habit of thinking, this kind of absorption, gave strength to the +passions. + +We will now enter on the more active field of life. + + + + +CHAP. V. + + +A few months after Mary was turned of seventeen, her brother was +attacked by a violent fever, and died before his father could reach the +school. + +She was now an heiress, and her mother began to think her of +consequence, and did not call her _the child_. Proper masters were sent +for; she was taught to dance, and an extraordinary master procured to +perfect her in that most necessary of all accomplishments. + +A part of the estate she was to inherit had been litigated, and the heir +of the person who still carried on a Chancery suit, was only two years +younger than our heroine. The fathers, spite of the dispute, frequently +met, and, in order to settle it amicably, they one day, over a bottle, +determined to quash it by a marriage, and, by uniting the two estates, +to preclude all farther enquiries into the merits of their different +claims. + +While this important matter was settling, Mary was otherwise employed. +Ann's mother's resources were failing; and the ghastly phantom, poverty, +made hasty strides to catch them in his clutches. Ann had not fortitude +enough to brave such accumulated misery; besides, the canker-worm was +lodged in her heart, and preyed on her health. She denied herself every +little comfort; things that would be no sacrifice when a person is well, +are absolutely necessary to alleviate bodily pain, and support the +animal functions. + +There were many elegant amusements, that she had acquired a relish for, +which might have taken her mind off from its most destructive bent; but +these her indigence would not allow her to enjoy: forced then, by way of +relaxation, to play the tunes her lover admired, and handle the pencil +he taught her to hold, no wonder his image floated on her imagination, +and that taste invigorated love. + +Poverty, and all its inelegant attendants, were in her mother's abode; +and she, though a good sort of a woman, was not calculated to banish, by +her trivial, uninteresting chat, the delirium in which her daughter was +lost. + +This ill-fated love had given a bewitching softness to her manners, a +delicacy so truly feminine, that a man of any feeling could not behold +her without wishing to chase her sorrows away. She was timid and +irresolute, and rather fond of dissipation; grief only had power to make +her reflect. + +In every thing it was not the great, but the beautiful, or the pretty, +that caught her attention. And in composition, the polish of style, and +harmony of numbers, interested her much more than the flights of genius, +or abstracted speculations. + +She often wondered at the books Mary chose, who, though she had a lively +imagination, would frequently study authors whose works were addressed +to the understanding. This liking taught her to arrange her thoughts, +and argue with herself, even when under the influence of the most +violent passions. + +Ann's misfortunes and ill health were strong ties to bind Mary to her; +she wished so continually to have a home to receive her in, that it +drove every other desire out of her mind; and, dwelling on the tender +schemes which compassion and friendship dictated, she longed most +ardently to put them in practice. + +Fondly as she loved her friend, she did not forget her mother, whose +decline was so imperceptible, that they were not aware of her +approaching dissolution. The physician, however, observing the most +alarming symptoms; her husband was apprised of her immediate danger; and +then first mentioned to her his designs with respect to his daughter. + +She approved of them; Mary was sent for; she was not at home; she had +rambled to visit Ann, and found her in an hysteric fit. The landlord of +her little farm had sent his agent for the rent, which had long been due +to him; and he threatened to seize the stock that still remained, and +turn them out, if they did not very shortly discharge the arrears. + +As this man made a private fortune by harassing the tenants of the +person to whom he was deputy, little was to be expected from his +forbearance. + +All this was told to Mary--and the mother added, she had many other +creditors who would, in all probability, take the alarm, and snatch from +them all that had been saved out of the wreck. "I could bear all," she +cried; "but what will become of my children? Of this child," pointing to +the fainting Ann, "whose constitution is already undermined by care and +grief--where will she go?"--Mary's heart ceased to beat while she asked +the question--She attempted to speak; but the inarticulate sounds died +away. Before she had recovered herself, her father called himself to +enquire for her; and desired her instantly to accompany him home. + +Engrossed by the scene of misery she had been witness to, she walked +silently by his side, when he roused her out of her reverie by telling +her that in all likelihood her mother had not many hours to live; and +before she could return him any answer, informed her that they had both +determined to marry her to Charles, his friend's son; he added, the +ceremony was to be performed directly, that her mother might be witness +of it; for such a desire she had expressed with childish eagerness. + +Overwhelmed by this intelligence, Mary rolled her eyes about, then, with +a vacant stare, fixed them on her father's face; but they were no longer +a sense; they conveyed no ideas to the brain. As she drew near the +house, her wonted presence of mind returned: after this suspension of +thought, a thousand darted into her mind,--her dying mother,--her +friend's miserable situation,--and an extreme horror at taking--at being +forced to take, such a hasty step; but she did not feel the disgust, the +reluctance, which arises from a prior attachment. + +She loved Ann better than any one in the world--to snatch her from the +very jaws of destruction--she would have encountered a lion. To have +this friend constantly with her; to make her mind easy with respect to +her family, would it not be superlative bliss? + +Full of these thoughts she entered her mother's chamber, but they then +fled at the sight of a dying parent. She went to her, took her hand; it +feebly pressed her's. "My child," said the languid mother: the words +reached her heart; she had seldom heard them pronounced with accents +denoting affection; "My child, I have not always treated you with +kindness--God forgive me! do you?"--Mary's tears strayed in a +disregarded stream; on her bosom the big drops fell, but did not relieve +the fluttering tenant. "I forgive you!" said she, in a tone of +astonishment. + +The clergyman came in to read the service for the sick, and afterwards +the marriage ceremony was performed. Mary stood like a statue of +Despair, and pronounced the awful vow without thinking of it; and then +ran to support her mother, who expired the same night in her arms. + +Her husband set off for the continent the same day, with a tutor, to +finish his studies at one of the foreign universities. + +Ann was sent for to console her, not on account of the departure of her +new relation, a boy she seldom took any notice of, but to reconcile her +to her fate; besides, it was necessary she should have a female +companion, and there was not any maiden aunt in the family, or cousin of +the same class. + + + + +CHAP. VI. + + +Mary was allowed to pay the rent which gave her so much uneasiness, and +she exerted every nerve to prevail on her father effectually to succour +the family; but the utmost she could obtain was a small sum very +inadequate to the purpose, to enable the poor woman to carry into +execution a little scheme of industry near the metropolis. + +Her intention of leaving that part of the country, had much more weight +with him, than Mary's arguments, drawn from motives of philanthropy and +friendship; this was a language he did not understand; expressive of +occult qualities he never thought of, as they could not be seen or +felt. + +After the departure of her mother, Ann still continued to languish, +though she had a nurse who was entirely engrossed by the desire of +amusing her. Had her health been re-established, the time would have +passed in a tranquil, improving manner. + +During the year of mourning they lived in retirement; music, drawing, +and reading, filled up the time; and Mary's taste and judgment were both +improved by contracting a habit of observation, and permitting the +simple beauties of Nature to occupy her thoughts. + +She had a wonderful quickness in discerning distinctions and combining +ideas, that at the first glance did not appear to be similar. But these +various pursuits did not banish all her cares, or carry off all her +constitutional black bile. Before she enjoyed Ann's society, she +imagined it would have made her completely happy: she was disappointed, +and yet knew not what to complain of. + +As her friend could not accompany her in her walks, and wished to be +alone, for a very obvious reason, she would return to her old haunts, +retrace her anticipated pleasures--and wonder how they changed their +colour in possession, and proved so futile. + +She had not yet found the companion she looked for. Ann and she were not +congenial minds, nor did she contribute to her comfort in the degree she +expected. She shielded her from poverty; but this was only a negative +blessing; when under the pressure it was very grievous, and still more +so were the apprehensions; but when exempt from them, she was not +contented. + +Such is human nature, its laws were not to be inverted to gratify our +heroine, and stop the progress of her understanding, happiness only +flourished in paradise--we cannot taste and live. + +Another year passed away with increasing apprehensions. Ann had a hectic +cough, and many unfavourable prognostics: Mary then forgot every thing +but the fear of losing her, and even imagined that her recovery would +have made her happy. + +Her anxiety led her to study physic, and for some time she only read +books of that cast; and this knowledge, literally speaking, ended in +vanity and vexation of spirit, as it enabled her to foresee what she +could not prevent. + +As her mind expanded, her marriage appeared a dreadful misfortune; she +was sometimes reminded of the heavy yoke, and bitter was the +recollection! + +In one thing there seemed to be a sympathy between them, for she wrote +formal answers to his as formal letters. An extreme dislike took root in +her mind; the found of his name made her turn sick; but she forgot all, +listening to Ann's cough, and supporting her languid frame. She would +then catch her to her bosom with convulsive eagerness, as if to save her +from sinking into an opening grave. + + + + +CHAP. VII. + + +It was the will of Providence that Mary should experience almost every +species of sorrow. Her father was thrown from his horse, when his blood +was in a very inflammatory state, and the bruises were very dangerous; +his recovery was not expected by the physical tribe. + +Terrified at seeing him so near death, and yet so ill prepared for it, +his daughter sat by his bed, oppressed by the keenest anguish, which her +piety increased. + +Her grief had nothing selfish in it; he was not a friend or protector; +but he was her father, an unhappy wretch, going into eternity, depraved +and thoughtless. Could a life of sensuality be a preparation for a +peaceful death? Thus meditating, she passed the still midnight hour by +his bedside. + +The nurse fell asleep, nor did a violent thunder storm interrupt her +repose, though it made the night appear still more terrific to Mary. Her +father's unequal breathing alarmed her, when she heard a long drawn +breath, she feared it was his last, and watching for another, a dreadful +peal of thunder struck her ears. Considering the separation of the soul +and body, this night seemed sadly solemn, and the hours long. + +Death is indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The +compassionate heart finds not any comfort; but dreads an eternal +separation. No transporting greetings are anticipated, when the +survivors also shall have finished their course; but all is black!--the +grave may truly be said to receive the departed--this is the sting of +death! + +Night after night Mary watched, and this excessive fatigue impaired her +own health, but had a worse effect on Ann; though she constantly went to +bed, she could not rest; a number of uneasy thoughts obtruded +themselves; and apprehensions about Mary, whom she loved as well as her +exhausted heart could love, harassed her mind. After a sleepless, +feverish night she had a violent fit of coughing, and burst a +blood-vessel. The physician, who was in the house, was sent for, and +when he left the patient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, insisted on +knowing his real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in +a critical state; and if she passed the approaching winter in England, +he imagined she would die in the spring; a season fatal to consumptive +disorders. The spring!--Her husband was then expected.--Gracious Heaven, +could she bear all this. + +In a few days her father breathed his last. The horrid sensations his +death occasioned were too poignant to be durable: and Ann's danger, and +her own situation, made Mary deliberate what mode of conduct she should +pursue. She feared this event might hasten the return of her husband, +and prevent her putting into execution a plan she had determined on. It +was to accompany Ann to a more salubrious climate. + + + + +CHAP. VIII. + + +I mentioned before, that Mary had never had any particular attachment, +to give rise to the disgust that daily gained ground. Her friendship for +Ann occupied her heart, and resembled a passion. She had had, indeed, +several transient likings; but they did not amount to love. The society +of men of genius delighted her, and improved her faculties. With beings +of this class she did not often meet; it is a rare genus; her first +favourites were men past the meridian of life, and of a philosophic +turn. + +Determined on going to the South of France, or Lisbon; she wrote to the +man she had promised to obey. The physicians had said change of air was +necessary for her as well as her friend. She mentioned this, and added, +"Her comfort, almost her existence, depended on the recovery of the +invalid she wished to attend; and that should she neglect to follow the +medical advice she had received, she should never forgive herself, or +those who endeavoured to prevent her." Full of her design, she wrote +with more than usual freedom; and this letter was like most of her +others, a transcript of her heart. + +"This dear friend," she exclaimed, "I love for her agreeable qualities, +and substantial virtues. Continual attention to her health, and the +tender office of a nurse, have created an affection very like a maternal +one--I am her only support, she leans on me--could I forsake the +forsaken, and break the bruised reed--No--I would die first! I must--I +will go." + +She would have added, "you would very much oblige me by consenting;" but +her heart revolted--and irresolutely she wrote something about wishing +him happy.--"Do I not wish all the world well?" she cried, as she +subscribed her name--It was blotted, the letter sealed in a hurry, and +sent out of her sight; and she began to prepare for her journey. + +By the return of the post she received an answer; it contained some +common-place remarks on her romantic friendship, as he termed it; "But +as the physicians advised change of air, he had no objection." + + + + +CHAP. IX. + + +There was nothing now to retard their journey; and Mary chose Lisbon +rather than France, on account of its being further removed from the +only person she wished not to see. + +They set off accordingly for Falmouth, in their way to that city. The +journey was of use to Ann, and Mary's spirits were raised by her +recovered looks--She had been in despair--now she gave way to hope, and +was intoxicated with it. On ship-board Ann always remained in the cabin; +the sight of the water terrified her: on the contrary, Mary, after she +was gone to bed, or when she fell asleep in the day, went on deck, +conversed with the sailors, and surveyed the boundless expanse before +her with delight. One instant she would regard the ocean, the next the +beings who braved its fury. Their insensibility and want of fear, she +could not name courage; their thoughtless mirth was quite of an animal +kind, and their feelings as impetuous and uncertain as the element they +plowed. + +They had only been a week at sea when they hailed the rock of Lisbon, +and the next morning anchored at the castle. After the customary visits, +they were permitted to go on shore, about three miles from the city; and +while one of the crew, who understood the language, went to procure them +one of the ugly carriages peculiar to the country, they waited in the +Irish convent, which is situated close to the Tagus. + +Some of the people offered to conduct them into the church, where there +was a fine organ playing; Mary followed them, but Ann preferred staying +with a nun she had entered into conversation with. + +One of the nuns, who had a sweet voice, was singing; Mary was struck +with awe; her heart joined in the devotion; and tears of gratitude and +tenderness flowed from her eyes. My Father, I thank thee! burst from +her--words were inadequate to express her feelings. Silently, she +surveyed the lofty dome; heard unaccustomed sounds; and saw faces, +strange ones, that she could not yet greet with fraternal love. + +In an unknown land, she considered that the Being she adored inhabited +eternity, was ever present in unnumbered worlds. When she had not any +one she loved near her, she was particularly sensible of the presence +of her Almighty Friend. + +The arrival of the carriage put a stop to her speculations; it was to +conduct them to an hotel, fitted up for the reception of invalids. +Unfortunately, before they could reach it there was a violent shower of +rain; and as the wind was very high, it beat against the leather +curtains, which they drew along the front of the vehicle, to shelter +themselves from it; but it availed not, some of the rain forced its way, +and Ann felt the effects of it, for she caught cold, spite of Mary's +precautions. + +As is the custom, the rest of the invalids, or lodgers, sent to enquire +after their health; and as soon as Ann left her chamber, in which her +complaints seldom confined her the whole day, they came in person to pay +their compliments. Three fashionable females, and two gentlemen; the +one a brother of the eldest of the young ladies, and the other an +invalid, who came, like themselves, for the benefit of the air. They +entered into conversation immediately. + +People who meet in a strange country, and are all together in a house, +soon get acquainted, without the formalities which attend visiting in +separate houses, where they are surrounded by domestic friends. Ann was +particularly delighted at meeting with agreeable society; a little +hectic fever generally made her low-spirited in the morning, and lively +in the evening, when she wished for company. Mary, who only thought of +her, determined to cultivate their acquaintance, as she knew, that if +her mind could be diverted, her body might gain strength. + +They were all musical, and proposed having little concerts. One of the +gentlemen played on the violin, and the other on the german-flute. The +instruments were brought in, with all the eagerness that attends putting +a new scheme in execution. + +Mary had not said much, for she was diffident; she seldom joined in +general conversations; though her quickness of penetration enabled her +soon to enter into the characters of those she conversed with; and her +sensibility made her desirous of pleasing every human creature. Besides, +if her mind was not occupied by any particular sorrow, or study, she +caught reflected pleasure, and was glad to see others happy, though +their mirth did not interest her. + +This day she was continually thinking of Ann's recovery, and encouraging +the cheerful hopes, which though they dissipated the spirits that had +been condensed by melancholy, yet made her wish to be silent. The music, +more than the conversation, disturbed her reflections; but not at first. +The gentleman who played on the german-flute, was a handsome, well-bred, +sensible man; and his observations, if not original, were pertinent. + +The other, who had not said much, began to touch the violin, and played +a little Scotch ballad; he brought such a thrilling sound out of the +instrument, that Mary started, and looking at him with more attention +than she had done before, and saw, in a face rather ugly, strong lines +of genius. His manners were awkward, that kind of awkwardness which is +often found in literary men: he seemed a thinker, and delivered his +opinions in elegant expressions, and musical tones of voice. + +When the concert was over, they all retired to their apartments. Mary +always slept with Ann, as she was subject to terrifying dreams; and +frequently in the night was obliged to be supported, to avoid +suffocation. They chatted about their new acquaintance in their own +apartment, and, with respect to the gentlemen, differed in opinion. + + + + +CHAP. X. + + +Every day almost they saw their new acquaintance; and civility produced +intimacy. Mary sometimes left her friend with them; while she indulged +herself in viewing new modes of life, and searching out the causes which +produced them. She had a metaphysical turn, which inclined her to +reflect on every object that passed by her; and her mind was not like a +mirror, which receives every floating image, but does not retain them: +she had not any prejudices, for every opinion was examined before it was +adopted. + +The Roman Catholic ceremonies attracted her attention, and gave rise to +conversations when they all met; and one of the gentlemen continually +introduced deistical notions, when he ridiculed the pageantry they all +were surprised at observing. Mary thought of both the subjects, the +Romish tenets, and the deistical doubts; and though not a sceptic, +thought it right to examine the evidence on which her faith was built. +She read Butler's Analogy, and some other authors: and these researches +made her a christian from conviction, and she learned charity, +particularly with respect to sectaries; saw that apparently good and +solid arguments might take their rise from different points of view; and +she rejoiced to find that those she should not concur with had some +reason on their side. + + + + +CHAP. XI. + + +When I mentioned the three ladies, I said they were fashionable women; +and it was all the praise, as a faithful historian, I could bestow on +them; the only thing in which they were consistent. I forgot to mention +that they were all of one family, a mother, her daughter, and niece. The +daughter was sent by her physician, to avoid a northerly winter; the +mother, her niece, and nephew, accompanied her. + +They were people of rank; but unfortunately, though of an ancient +family, the title had descended to a very remote branch--a branch they +took care to be intimate with; and servilely copied the Countess's +airs. Their minds were shackled with a set of notions concerning +propriety, the fitness of things for the world's eye, trammels which +always hamper weak people. What will the world say? was the first thing +that was thought of, when they intended doing any thing they had not +done before. Or what would the Countess do on such an occasion? And when +this question was answered, the right or wrong was discovered without +the trouble of their having any idea of the matter in their own heads. +This same Countess was a fine planet, and the satellites observed a most +harmonic dance around her. + +After this account it is scarcely necessary to add, that their minds had +received very little cultivation. They were taught French, Italian, and +Spanish; English was their vulgar tongue. And what did they learn? +Hamlet will tell you--words--words. But let me not forget that they +squalled Italian songs in the true _gusto_. Without having any seeds +sown in their understanding, or the affections of the heart set to work, +they were brought out of their nursery, or the place they were secluded +in, to prevent their faces being common; like blazing stars, to +captivate Lords. + +They were pretty, and hurrying from one party of pleasure to another, +occasioned the disorder which required change of air. The mother, if we +except her being near twenty years older, was just the same creature; +and these additional years only served to make her more tenaciously +adhere to her habits of folly, and decide with stupid gravity, some +trivial points of ceremony, as a matter of the last importance; of +which she was a competent judge, from having lived in the fashionable +world so long: that world to which the ignorant look up as we do to the +sun. + +It appears to me that every creature has some notion--or rather relish, +of the sublime. Riches, and the consequent state, are the sublime of +weak minds:--These images fill, nay, are too big for their narrow souls. + +One afternoon, which they had engaged to spend together, Ann was so ill, +that Mary was obliged to send an apology for not attending the +tea-table. The apology brought them on the carpet; and the mother, with +a look of solemn importance, turned to the sick man, whose name was +Henry, and said; + +"Though people of the first fashion are frequently at places of this +kind, intimate with they know not who; yet I do not choose that my +daughter, whose family is so respectable, should be intimate with any +one she would blush to know elsewhere. It is only on that account, for I +never suffer her to be with any one but in my company," added she, +sitting more erect; and a smile of self-complacency dressed her +countenance. + +"I have enquired concerning these strangers, and find that the one who +has the most dignity in her manners, is really a woman of fortune." +"Lord, mamma, how ill she dresses:" mamma went on; "She is a romantic +creature, you must not copy her, miss; yet she is an heiress of the +large fortune in ----shire, of which you may remember to have heard the +Countess speak the night you had on the dancing-dress that was so much +admired; but she is married." + +She then told them the whole story as she heard it from her maid, who +picked it out of Mary's servant. "She is a foolish creature, and this +friend that she pays as much attention to as if she was a lady of +quality, is a beggar." "Well, how strange!" cried the girls. + +"She is, however, a charming creature," said her nephew. Henry sighed, +and strode across the room once or twice; then took up his violin, and +played the air which first struck Mary; he had often heard her praise +it. + +The music was uncommonly melodious, "And came stealing on the senses +like the sweet south." The well-known sounds reached Mary as she sat by +her friend--she listened without knowing that she did--and shed tears +almost without being conscious of it. Ann soon fell asleep, as she had +taken an opiate. Mary, then brooding over her fears, began to imagine +she had deceived herself--Ann was still very ill; hope had beguiled many +heavy hours; yet she was displeased with herself for admitting this +welcome guest.--And she worked up her mind to such a degree of anxiety, +that she determined, once more, to seek medical aid. + +No sooner did she determine, than she ran down with a discomposed look, +to enquire of the ladies who she should send for. When she entered the +room she could not articulate her fears--it appeared like pronouncing +Ann's sentence of death; her faultering tongue dropped some broken +words, and she remained silent. The ladies wondered that a person of her +sense should be so little mistress of herself; and began to administer +some common-place comfort, as, that it was our duty to submit to the +will of Heaven, and the like trite consolations, which Mary did not +answer; but waving her hand, with an air of impatience, she exclaimed, +"I cannot live without her!--I have no other friend; if I lose her, what +a desart will the world be to me." "No other friend," re-echoed they, +"have you not a husband?" + +Mary shrunk back, and was alternately pale and red. A delicate sense of +propriety prevented her replying; and recalled her bewildered +reason.--Assuming, in consequence of her recollection, a more composed +manner, she made the intended enquiry, and left the room. Henry's eyes +followed her while the females very freely animadverted on her strange +behaviour. + + + + +CHAP. XII. + + +The physician was sent for; his prescription afforded Ann a little +temporary relief; and they again joined the circle. Unfortunately, the +weather happened to be constantly wet for more than a week, and confined +them to the house. Ann then found the ladies not so agreeable; when they +sat whole hours together, the thread-bare topics were exhausted; and, +but for cards or music, the long evenings would have been yawned away in +listless indolence. + +The bad weather had had as ill an effect on Henry as on Ann. He was +frequently very thoughtful, or rather melancholy; this melancholy would +of itself have attracted Mary's notice, if she had not found his +conversation so infinitely superior to the rest of the group. When she +conversed with him, all the faculties of her soul unfolded themselves; +genius animated her expressive countenance and the most graceful, +unaffected gestures gave energy to her discourse. + +They frequently discussed very important subjects, while the rest were +singing or playing cards, nor were they observed for doing so, as Henry, +whom they all were pleased with, in the way of gallantry shewed them all +more attention than her. Besides, as there was nothing alluring in her +dress or manner, they never dreamt of her being preferred to them. + +Henry was a man of learning; he had also studied mankind, and knew many +of the intricacies of the human heart, from having felt the infirmities +of his own. His taste was just, as it had a standard--Nature, which he +observed with a critical eye. Mary could not help thinking that in his +company her mind expanded, as he always went below the surface. She +increased her stock of ideas, and her taste was improved. + +He was also a pious man; his rational religious sentiments received +warmth from his sensibility; and, except on very particular occasions, +kept it in proper bounds; these sentiments had likewise formed his +temper; he was gentle, and easily to be intreated. The ridiculous +ceremonies they were every day witness to, led them into what are termed +grave subjects, and made him explain his opinions, which, at other +times, he was neither ashamed of, nor unnecessarily brought forward to +notice. + + + + +CHAP. XIII. + + +When the weather began to clear up, Mary sometimes rode out alone, +purposely to view the ruins that still remained of the earthquake: or +she would ride to the banks of the Tagus, to feast her eyes with the +sight of that magnificent river. At other times she would visit the +churches, as she was particularly fond of seeing historical paintings. + +One of these visits gave rise to the subject, and the whole party +descanted on it; but as the ladies could not handle it well, they soon +adverted to portraits; and talked of the attitudes and characters in +which they should wish to be drawn. Mary did not fix on one--when +Henry, with more apparent warmth than usual, said, "I would give the +world for your picture, with the expression I have seen in your face, +when you have been supporting your friend." + +This delicate compliment did not gratify her vanity, but it reached her +heart. She then recollected that she had once sat for her picture--for +whom was it designed? For a boy! Her cheeks flushed with indignation, so +strongly did she feel an emotion of contempt at having been thrown +away--given in with an estate. + +As Mary again gave way to hope, her mind was more disengaged; and her +thoughts were employed about the objects around her. + +She visited several convents, and found that solitude only eradicates +some passions, to give strength to others; the most baneful ones. She +saw that religion does not consist in ceremonies; and that many prayers +may fall from the lips without purifying the heart. + +They who imagine they can be religious without governing their tempers, +or exercising benevolence in its most extensive sense, must certainly +allow, that their religious duties are only practiced from selfish +principles; how then can they be called good? The pattern of all +goodness went about _doing_ good. Wrapped up in themselves, the nuns +only thought of inferior gratifications. And a number of intrigues were +carried on to accelerate certain points on which their hearts were +fixed: + +Such as obtaining offices of trust or authority; or avoiding those that +were servile or laborious. In short, when they could be neither wives +nor mothers, they aimed at being superiors, and became the most selfish +creatures in the world: the passions that were curbed gave strength to +the appetites, or to those mean passions which only tend to provide for +the gratification of them. Was this seclusion from the world? or did +they conquer its vanities or avoid its vexations? + +In these abodes the unhappy individual, who, in the first paroxysm of +grief flies to them for refuge, finds too late she took a wrong step. +The same warmth which determined her will make her repent; and sorrow, +the rust of the mind, will never have a chance of being rubbed off by +sensible conversation, or new-born affections of the heart. + +She will find that those affections that have once been called forth and +strengthened by exercise, are only smothered, not killed, by +disappointment; and that in one form or other discontent will corrode +the heart, and produce those maladies of the imagination, for which +there is no specific. + +The community at large Mary disliked; but pitied many of them whose +private distresses she was informed of; and to pity and relieve were the +same things with her. + +The exercise of her various virtues gave vigor to her genius, and +dignity to her mind; she was sometimes inconsiderate, and violent; but +never mean or cunning. + + + + +CHAP. XIV. + + +The Portuguese are certainly the most uncivilized nation in Europe. Dr. +Johnson would have said, "They have the least mind.". And can such serve +their Creator in spirit and in truth? No, the gross ritual of Romish +ceremonies is all they can comprehend: they can do penance, but not +conquer their revenge, or lust. Religion, or love, has never humanized +their hearts; they want the vital part; the mere body worships. Taste is +unknown; Gothic finery, and unnatural decorations, which they term +ornaments, are conspicuous in their churches and dress. Reverence for +mental excellence is only to be found in a polished nation. + +Could the contemplation of such a people gratify Mary's heart? No: she +turned disgusted from the prospects--turned to a man of refinement. +Henry had been some time ill and low-spirited; Mary would have been +attentive to any one in that situation; but to him she was particularly +so; she thought herself bound in gratitude, on account of his constant +endeavours to amuse Ann, and prevent her dwelling on the dreary prospect +before her, which sometimes she could not help anticipating with a kind +of quiet despair. + +She found some excuse for going more frequently into the room they all +met in; nay, she avowed her desire to amuse him: offered to read to him, +and tried to draw him into amusing conversations; and when she was full +of these little schemes, she looked at him with a degree of tenderness +that she was not conscious of. This divided attention was of use to her, +and prevented her continually thinking of Ann, whose fluctuating +disorder often gave rise to false hopes. + +A trifling thing occurred now which occasioned Mary some uneasiness. Her +maid, a well-looking girl, had captivated the clerk of a neighbouring +compting-house. As the match was an advantageous one, Mary could not +raise any objection to it, though at this juncture it was very +disagreeable to her to have a stranger about her person. However, the +girl consented to delay the marriage, as she had some affection for her +mistress; and, besides, looked forward to Ann's death as a time of +harvest. + +Henry's illness was not alarming, it was rather pleasing, as it gave +Mary an excuse to herself for shewing him how much she was interested +about him; and giving little artless proofs of affection, which the +purity of her heart made her never wish to restrain. + +The only visible return he made was not obvious to common observers. He +would sometimes fix his eyes on her, and take them off with a sigh that +was coughed away; or when he was leisurely walking into the room, and +did not expect to see her, he would quicken his steps, and come up to +her with eagerness to ask some trivial question. In the same style, he +would try to detain her when he had nothing to say--or said nothing. + +Ann did not take notice of either his or Mary's behaviour, nor did she +suspect that he was a favourite, on any other account than his +appearing neither well nor happy. She had often seen that when a person +was unfortunate, Mary's pity might easily be mistaken for love, and, +indeed, it was a temporary sensation of that kind. Such it was--why it +was so, let others define, I cannot argue against instincts. As reason +is cultivated in man, they are supposed to grow weaker, and this may +have given rise to the assertion, "That as judgment improves, genius +evaporates." + + + + +CHAP. XV. + + +One morning they set out to visit the aqueduct; though the day was very +fine when they left home, a very heavy shower fell before they reached +it; they lengthened their ride, the clouds dispersed, and the sun came +from behind them uncommonly bright. + +Mary would fain have persuaded Ann not to have left the carriage; but +she was in spirits, and obviated all her objections, and insisted on +walking, tho' the ground was damp. But her strength was not equal to her +spirits; she was soon obliged to return to the carriage so much +fatigued, that she fainted, and remained insensible a long time. + +Henry would have supported her; but Mary would not permit him; her +recollection was instantaneous, and she feared sitting on the damp +ground might do him a material injury: she was on that account positive, +though the company did not guess the cause of her being so. As to +herself, she did not fear bodily pain; and, when her mind was agitated, +she could endure the greatest fatigue without appearing sensible of it. + +When Ann recovered, they returned slowly home; she was carried to bed, +and the next morning Mary thought she observed a visible change for the +worse. The physician was sent for, who pronounced her to be in the most +imminent danger. + +All Mary's former fears now returned like a torrent, and carried every +other care away; she even added to her present anguish by upbraiding +herself for her late tranquillity--it haunted her in the form of a +crime. + +The disorder made the most rapid advances--there was no hope!--Bereft of +it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of +tranquillity. She stood to brave the approaching storm, conscious she +only could be overwhelmed by it. + +She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it +was only to find fault with herself for suffering a thought to have +strayed from Ann.--Ann!--this dear friend was soon torn from her--she +died suddenly as Mary was assisting her to walk across the room.--The +first string was severed from her heart--and this "slow, sudden-death" +disturbed her reasoning faculties; she seemed stunned by it; unable to +reflect, or even to feel her misery. + +The body was stolen out of the house the second night, and Mary refused +to see her former companions. She desired her maid to conclude her +marriage, and request her intended husband to inform her when the first +merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had just sailed, and +she determined not to stay in that hated place any longer than was +absolutely necessary. + +She then sent to request the ladies to visit her; she wished to avoid a +parade of grief--her sorrows were her own, and appeared to her not to +admit of increase or softening. She was right; the sight of them did not +affect her, or turn the stream of her sullen sorrow; the black wave +rolled along in the same course, it was equal to her where she cast her +eyes; all was impenetrable gloom. + + + + +CHAP. XVI. + + +Soon after the ladies left her, she received a message from Henry, +requesting, as she saw company, to be permitted to visit her: she +consented, and he entered immediately, with an unassured pace. She ran +eagerly up to him--saw the tear trembling in his eye, and his +countenance softened by the tenderest compassion; the hand which pressed +hers seemed that of a fellow-creature. She burst into tears; and, unable +to restrain them, she hid her face with both her hands; these tears +relieved her, (she had before had a difficulty in breathing,) and she +sat down by him more composed than she had appeared since Ann's death; +but her conversation was incoherent. + +She called herself "a poor disconsolate creature!"--"Mine is a selfish +grief," she exclaimed--"Yet; Heaven is my witness, I do not wish her +back now she has reached those peaceful mansions, where the weary rest. +Her pure spirit is happy; but what a wretch am I!" + +Henry forgot his cautious reserve. "Would you allow me to call you +friend?" said he in a hesitating voice. "I feel, dear girl, the tendered +interest in whatever concerns thee." His eyes spoke the rest. They were +both silent a few moments; then Henry resumed the conversation. "I have +also been acquainted with grief! I mourn the loss of a woman who was not +worthy of my regard. Let me give thee some account of the man who now +solicits thy friendship; and who, from motives of the purest +benevolence, wishes to give comfort to thy wounded heart." + +"I have myself," said he, mournfully, "shaken hands with happiness, and +am dead to the world; I wait patiently for my dissolution; but, for +thee, Mary, there may be many bright days in store." + +"Impossible," replied she, in a peevish tone, as if he had insulted her +by the supposition; her feelings were so much in unison with his, that +she was in love with misery. + +He smiled at her impatience, and went on. "My father died before I knew +him, and my mother was so attached to my eldest brother, that she took +very little pains to fit me for the profession to which I was destined: +and, may I tell thee, I left my family, and, in many different stations, +rambled about the world; saw mankind in every rank of life; and, in +order to be independent, exerted those talents Nature has given me: +these exertions improved my understanding; and the miseries I was +witness to, gave a keener edge to my sensibility. My constitution is +naturally weak; and, perhaps, two or three lingering disorders in my +youth, first gave me a habit of reflecting, and enabled me to obtain +some dominion over my passions. At least," added he, stifling a sigh, +"over the violent ones, though I fear, refinement and reflection only +renders the tender ones more tyrannic. + +"I have told you already I have been in love, and disappointed--the +object is now no more; let her faults sleep with her! Yet this passion +has pervaded my whole soul, and mixed itself with all my affections and +pursuits.--I am not peacefully indifferent; yet it is only to my violin +I tell the sorrows I now confide with thee. The object I loved forfeited +my esteem; yet, true to the sentiment, my fancy has too frequently +delighted to form a creature that I could love, that could convey to my +soul sensations which the gross part of mankind have not any conception +of." + +He stopped, as Mary seemed lost in thought; but as she was still in a +listening attitude, continued his little narrative. "I kept up an +irregular correspondence with my mother; my brother's extravagance and +ingratitude had almost broken her heart, and made her feel something +like a pang of remorse, on account of her behaviour to me. I hastened to +comfort her--and was a comfort to her. + +"My declining health prevented my taking orders, as I had intended; but +I with warmth entered into literary pursuits; perhaps my heart, not +having an object, made me embrace the substitute with more eagerness. +But, do not imagine I have always been a die-away swain. No: I have +frequented the cheerful haunts of men, and wit!--enchanting wit! has +made many moments fly free from care. I am too fond of the elegant arts; +and woman--lovely woman! thou hast charmed me, though, perhaps, it would +not be easy to find one to whom my reason would allow me to be constant. + +"I have now only to tell you, that my mother insisted on my spending +this winter in a warmer climate; and I fixed on Lisbon, as I had before +visited the Continent." He then looked Mary full in the face; and, with +the most insinuating accents, asked "if he might hope for her +friendship? If she would rely on him as if he was her father; and that +the tenderest father could not more anxiously interest himself in the +fate of a darling child, than he did in her's." + +Such a crowd of thoughts all at once rushed into Mary's mind, that she +in vain attempted to express the sentiments which were most predominant. +Her heart longed to receive a new guest; there was a void in it: +accustomed to have some one to love, she was alone, and comfortless, if +not engrossed by a particular affection. + +Henry saw her distress, and not to increase it, left the room. He had +exerted himself to turn her thoughts into a new channel, and had +succeeded; she thought of him till she began to chide herself for +defrauding the dead, and, determining to grieve for Ann, she dwelt on +Henry's misfortunes and ill health; and the interest he took in her fate +was a balm to her sick mind. She did not reason on the subject; but she +felt he was attached to her: lost in this delirium, she never asked +herself what kind of an affection she had for him, or what it tended to; +nor did she know that love and friendship are very distinct; she thought +with rapture, that there was one person in the world who had an +affection for her, and that person she admired--had a friendship for. + +He had called her his dear girl; the words might have fallen from him by +accident; but they did not fall to the ground. My child! His child, +what an association of ideas! If I had had a father, such a father!--She +could not dwell on the thoughts, the wishes which obtruded themselves. +Her mind was unhinged, and passion unperceived filled her whole soul. +Lost, in waking dreams, she considered and reconsidered Henry's account +of himself; till she actually thought she would tell Ann--a bitter +recollection then roused her out of her reverie; and aloud she begged +forgiveness of her. + +By these kind of conflicts the day was lengthened; and when she went to +bed, the night passed away in feverish slumbers; though they did not +refresh her, she was spared the labour of thinking, of restraining her +imagination; it sported uncontrouled; but took its colour from her +waking train of thoughts. One instant she was supporting her dying +mother; then Ann was breathing her last, and Henry was comforting her. + +The unwelcome light visited her languid eyes; yet, I must tell the +truth, she thought she should see Henry, and this hope set her spirits +in motion: but they were quickly depressed by her maid, who came to tell +her that she had heard of a vessel on board of which she could be +accommodated, and that there was to be another female passenger on +board, a vulgar one; but perhaps she would be more useful on that +account--Mary did not want a companion. + +As she had given orders for her passage to be engaged in the first +vessel that sailed, she could not now retract; and must prepare for the +lonely voyage, as the Captain intended taking advantage of the first +fair wind. She had too much strength of mind to waver in her +determination but to determine wrung her very heart, opened all her old +wounds, and made them bleed afresh. What was she to do? where go? Could +she set a seal to a hasty vow, and tell a deliberate lie; promise to +love one man, when the image of another was ever present to her--her +soul revolted. "I might gain the applause of the world by such mock +heroism; but should I not forfeit my own? forfeit thine, my father!" + +There is a solemnity in the shortest ejaculation, which, for a while, +stills the tumult of passion. Mary's mind had been thrown off its poise; +her devotion had been, perhaps, more fervent for some time past; but +less regular. She forgot that happiness was not to be found on earth, +and built a terrestrial paradise liable to be destroyed by the first +serious thought: when, she reasoned she became inexpressibly sad, to +render life bearable she gave way to fancy--this was madness. + +In a few days she must again go to sea; the weather was very +tempestuous--what of that, the tempest in her soul rendered every other +trifling--it was not the contending elements, but _herself_ she feared! + + + + +CHAP. XVII. + + +In order to gain strength to support the expected interview, she went +out in a carriage. The day was fine; but all nature was to her a +universal blank; she could neither enjoy it, nor weep that she could +not. She passed by the ruins of an old monastery on a very high hill she +got out to walk amongst the ruins; the wind blew violently, she did not +avoid its fury, on the contrary, wildly bid it blow on, and seemed glad +to contend with it, or rather walk against it. Exhausted she returned to +the carriage was soon at home, and in the old room. + +Henry started at the sight of her altered appearance; the day before her +complexion had been of the most pallid hue; but now her cheeks were +flushed, and her eyes enlivened with a false vivacity, an unusual fire. +He was not well, his illness was apparent in his countenance, and he +owned he had not closed his eyes all night; this roused her dormant +tenderness, she forgot they were so soon to part-engrossed by the +present happiness of seeing, of hearing him. + +Once or twice she essayed to tell him that she was, in a few days, to +depart; but she could not; she was irresolute; it will do to-morrow; +should the wind change they could not sail in such a hurry; thus she +thought, and insensibly grew more calm. The Ladies prevailed on her to +spend the evening with them; but she retired very early to rest, and sat +on the side of her bed several hours, then threw herself on it, and +waited for the dreaded to-morrow. + + + + +CHAP. XVIII. + + +The ladies heard that her servant was to be married that day, and that +she was to sail in the vessel which was then clearing out at the +Custom-house. Henry heard, but did not make any remarks; and Mary called +up all her fortitude to support her, and enable her to hide from the +females her internal struggles. She durst not encounter Henry's glances +when she found he had been informed of her intention; and, trying to +draw a veil over her wretched state of mind, she talked incessantly, she +knew not what; flashes of wit burst from her, and when she began to +laugh she could not stop herself. + +Henry smiled at some of her sallies, and looked at her with such +benignity and compassion, that he recalled her scattered thoughts; and, +the ladies going to dress for dinner, they were left alone; and remained +silent a few moments: after the noisy conversation it appeared solemn. +Henry began. "You are going, Mary, and going by yourself; your mind is +not in a state to be left to its own operations--yet I cannot, dissuade +you; if I attempted to do it, I should ill deserve the title I wish to +merit. I only think of your happiness; could I obey the strongest +impulse of my heart, I should accompany thee to England; but such a step +might endanger your future peace." + +Mary, then, with all the frankness which marked her character, explained +her situation to him and mentioned her fatal tie with such disgust that +he trembled for her. "I cannot see him; he is not the man formed for me +to love!" Her delicacy did not restrain her, for her dislike to her +husband had taken root in her mind long before she knew Henry. Did she +not fix on Lisbon rather than France on purpose to avoid him? and if Ann +had been in tolerable health she would have flown with her to some +remote corner to have escaped from him. + +"I intend," said Henry, "to follow you in the next packet; where shall I +hear of your health?" "Oh! let me hear of thine," replied Mary. "I am +well, very well; but thou art very ill--thy health is in the most +precarious state." She then mentioned her intention of going to Ann's +relations. "I am her representative, I have duties to fulfil for her: +during my voyage I have time enough for reflection; though I think I +have already determined." + +"Be not too hasty, my child," interrupted Henry; "far be it from me to +persuade thee to do violence to thy feelings--but consider that all thy +future life may probably take its colour from thy present mode of +conduct. Our affections as well as our sentiments are fluctuating; you +will not perhaps always either think or feel as you do at present: the +object you now shun may appear in a different light." He paused. "In +advising thee in this style, I have only thy good at heart, Mary." + +She only answered to expostulate. "My affections are involuntary--yet +they can only be fixed by reflection, and when they are they make quite +a part of my soul, are interwoven in it, animate my actions, and form +my taste: certain qualities are calculated to call forth my sympathies, +and make me all I am capable of being. The governing affection gives its +stamp to the rest--because I am capable of loving one, I have that kind +of charity to all my fellow-creatures which is not easily provoked. +Milton has asserted, That earthly love is the scale by which to heavenly +we may ascend." + +She went on with eagerness. "My opinions on some subjects are not +wavering; my pursuit through life has ever been the same: in solitude +were my sentiments formed; they are indelible, and nothing can efface +them but death--No, death itself cannot efface them, or my soul must be +created afresh, and not improved. Yet a little while am I parted from +my Ann--I could not exist without the hope of seeing her again--I could +not bear to think that time could wear away an affection that was +founded on what is not liable to perish; you might as well attempt to +persuade me that my soul is matter, and that its feelings arose from +certain modifications of it." + +"Dear enthusiastic creature," whispered Henry, "how you steal into my +soul." She still continued. "The same turn of mind which leads me to +adore the Author of all Perfection--which leads me to conclude that he +only can fill my soul; forces me to admire the faint image-the shadows +of his attributes here below; and my imagination gives still bolder +strokes to them. I knew I am in some degree under the influence of a +delusion--but does not this strong delusion prove that I myself 'am _of +subtiler essence than the trodden clod_' these flights of the +imagination point to futurity; I cannot banish them. Every cause in +nature produces an effect; and am I an exception to the general rule? +have I desires implanted in me only to make me miserable? will they +never be gratified? shall I never be happy? My feelings do not accord +with the notion of solitary happiness. In a state of bliss, it will be +the society of beings we can love, without the alloy that earthly +infirmities mix with our best affections, that will constitute great +part of our happiness. + +"With these notions can I conform to the maxims of worldly wisdom? can +I listen to the cold dictates of worldly prudence and bid my tumultuous +passions cease to vex me, be still, find content in grovelling pursuits, +and the admiration of the misjudging crowd, when it is only one I wish +to please--one who could be all the world to me. Argue not with me, I am +bound by human ties; but did my spirit ever promise to love, or could I +consider when forced to bind myself--to take a vow, that at the awful +day of judgment I must give an account of. My conscience does not smite +me, and that Being who is greater than the internal monitor, may approve +of what the world condemns; sensible that in Him I live, could I brave +His presence, or hope in solitude to find peace, if I acted contrary to +conviction, that the world might approve of my conduct--what could the +world give to compensate for my own esteem? it is ever hostile and armed +against the feeling heart! + +"Riches and honours await me, and the cold moralist might desire me to +sit down and enjoy them--I cannot conquer my feelings, and till I do, +what are these baubles to me? you may tell me I follow a fleeting good, +an _ignis fatuus_; but this chase, these struggles prepare me for +eternity--when I no longer see through a glass darkly I shall not reason +about, but _feel_ in what happiness consists." + +Henry had not attempted to interrupt her; he saw she was determined, and +that these sentiments were not the effusion of the moment, but well +digested ones, the result of strong affections, a high sense of honour, +and respect for the source of all virtue and truth. He was startled, if +not entirely convinced by her arguments; indeed her voice, her gestures +were all persuasive. + +Some one now entered the room; he looked an answer to her long harangue; +it was fortunate for him, or he might have been led to say what in a +cooler moment he had determined to conceal; but were words necessary to +reveal it? He wished not to influence her conduct--vain precaution; she +knew she was beloved; and could she forget that such a man loved her, or +rest satisfied with any inferior gratification. When passion first +enters the heart, it is only a return of affection that is sought after, +and every other remembrance and wish is blotted out. + + + + +CHAP. XIX. + + +Two days passed away without any particular conversation; Henry, trying +to be indifferent, or to appear so, was more assiduous than ever. The +conflict was too violent for his present state of health; the spirit was +willing, but the body suffered; he lost his appetite, and looked +wretchedly; his spirits were calmly low--the world seemed to fade +away--what was that world to him that Mary did not inhabit; she lived +not for him. + +He was mistaken; his affection was her only support; without this dear +prop she had sunk into the grave of her lost--long-loved friend;--his +attention snatched her from despair. Inscrutable are the ways of +Heaven! + +The third day Mary was desired to prepare herself; for if the wind +continued in the same point, they should set sail the next evening. She +tried to prepare her mind, and her efforts were not useless she appeared +less agitated than could have been expected, and talked of her voyage +with composure. On great occasions she was generally calm and collected, +her resolution would brace her unstrung nerves; but after the victory +she had no triumph; she would sink into a state of moping melancholy, +and feel ten-fold misery when the heroic enthusiasm was over. + +The morning of the day fixed on for her departure she was alone with +Henry only a few moments, and an awkward kind of formality made them +slip away without their having said much to each other. Henry was +afraid to discover his passion, or give any other name to his regard but +friendship; yet his anxious solicitude for her welfare was ever breaking +out-while she as artlessly expressed again and again, her fears with +respect to his declining health. + +"We shall soon meet," said he, with a faint smile; Mary smiled too; she +caught the sickly beam; it was still fainter by being reflected, and not +knowing what she wished to do, started up and left the room. When she +was alone she regretted she had left him so precipitately. "The few +precious moments I have thus thrown away may never return," she +thought-the reflection led to misery. + +She waited for, nay, almost wished for the summons to depart. She could +not avoid spending the intermediate time with the ladies and Henry; and +the trivial conversations she was obliged to bear a part in harassed her +more than can be well conceived. + +The summons came, and the whole party attended her to the vessel. For a +while the remembrance of Ann banished her regret at parting with Henry, +though his pale figure pressed on her sight; it may seem a paradox, but +he was more present to her when she sailed; her tears then were all his +own. + +"My poor Ann!" thought Mary, "along this road we came, and near this +spot you called me your guardian angel--and now I leave thee here! ah! +no, I do not--thy spirit is not confined to its mouldering tenement! +Tell me, thou soul of her I love, tell me, ah! whither art thou fled?" +Ann occupied her until they reached the ship. + +The anchor was weighed. Nothing can be more irksome than waiting to say +farewel. As the day was serene, they accompanied her a little way, and +then got into the boat; Henry was the last; he pressed her hand, it had +not any life in it; she leaned over the side of the ship without looking +at the boat, till it was so far distant, that she could not see the +countenances of those that were in it: a mist spread itself over her +sight--she longed to exchange one look--tried to recollect the +last;--the universe contained no being but Henry!--The grief of parting +with him had swept all others clean away. Her eyes followed the keel of +the boat, and when she could no longer perceive its traces: she looked +round on the wide waste of waters, thought of the precious moments +which had been stolen from the waste of murdered time. + +She then descended into the cabin, regardless of the surrounding +beauties of nature, and throwing herself on her bed in the little hole +which was called the state-room--she wished to forget her existence. On +this bed she remained two days, listening to the dashing waves, unable +to close her eyes. A small taper made the darkness visible; and the +third night, by its glimmering light, she wrote the following fragment. + +"Poor solitary wretch that I am; here alone do I listen to the whistling +winds and dashing waves;--on no human support can I rest--when not lost +to hope I found pleasure in the society of those rough beings; but now +they appear not like my fellow creatures; no social ties draw me to +them. How long, how dreary has this day been; yet I scarcely wish it +over--for what will to-morrow bring--to-morrow, and to-morrow will only +be marked with unvaried characters of wretchedness.--Yet surely, I am +not alone!" + +Her moistened eyes were lifted up to heaven; a crowd of thoughts darted +into her mind, and pressing her hand against her forehead, as if to bear +the intellectual weight, she tried, but tried in vain, to arrange them. +"Father of Mercies, compose this troubled spirit: do I indeed wish it to +be composed--to forget my Henry?" the _my_, the pen was directly drawn +across in an agony. + + + + +CHAP. XX. + + +The mate of the ship, who heard her stir, came to offer her some +refreshment; and she, who formerly received every offer of kindness or +civility with pleasure, now shrunk away disgusted: peevishly she desired +him not to disturb her; but the words were hardly articulated when her +heart smote her, she called him back, and requested something to drink. +After drinking it, fatigued by her mental exertions, she fell into a +death-like slumber, which lasted some hours; but did not refresh her, on +the contrary, she awoke languid and stupid. + +The wind still continued contrary; a week, a dismal week, had she +struggled with her sorrows; and the struggle brought on a slow fever, +which sometimes gave her false spirits. + +The winds then became very tempestuous, the Great Deep was troubled, and +all the passengers appalled. Mary then left her bed, and went on deck, +to survey the contending elements: the scene accorded with the present +state of her soul; she thought in a few hours I may go home; the +prisoner may be released. The vessel rose on a wave and descended into a +yawning gulph--Not slower did her mounting soul return to earth, +for--Ah! her treasure and her heart was there. The squalls rattled +amongst the sails, which were quickly taken down; the wind would then +die away, and the wild undirected waves rushed on every side with a +tremendous roar. In a little vessel in the midst of such a storm she +was not dismayed; she felt herself independent. + +Just then one of the crew perceived a signal of distress; by the help of +a glass he could plainly discover a small vessel dismasted, drifted +about, for the rudder had been broken by the violence of the storm. +Mary's thoughts were now all engrossed by the crew on the brink of +destruction. They bore down to the wreck; they reached it, and hailed +the trembling wretches; at the sound of the friendly greeting, loud +cries of tumultuous joy were mixed with the roaring of the waves, and +with ecstatic transport they leaped on the shattered deck, launched +their boat in a moment, and committed themselves to the mercy of the +sea. Stowed between two casks, and leaning on a sail, she watched the +boat, and when a wave intercepted it from her view--she ceased to +breathe, or rather held her breath until it rose again. + +At last the boat arrived safe along-side the ship, and Mary caught the +poor trembling wretches as they stumbled into it, and joined them in +thanking that gracious Being, who though He had not thought fit to still +the raging of the sea, had afforded them unexpected succour. + +Amongst the wretched crew was one poor woman, who fainted when she was +hauled on board: Mary undressed her, and when she had recovered, and +soothed her, left her to enjoy the rest she required to recruit her +strength, which fear had quite exhausted. She returned again to view the +angry deep; and when she gazed on its perturbed state, she thought of +the Being who rode on the wings of the wind, and stilled the noise of +the sea; and the madness of the people--He only could speak peace to +her troubled spirit! she grew more calm; the late transaction had +gratified her benevolence, and stole her out of herself. + +One of the sailors, happening to say to another, "that he believed the +world was going to be at an end;" this observation led her into a new +train of thoughts: some of Handel's sublime compositions occurred to +her, and she sung them to the grand accompaniment. The Lord God +Omnipotent reigned, and would reign for ever, and ever!--Why then did +she fear the sorrows that were passing away, when she knew that He would +bind up the broken-hearted, and receive those who came out of great +tribulation. She retired to her cabin; and wrote in the little book that +was now her only confident. It was after midnight. + +"At this solemn hour, the great day of judgment fills my thoughts; the +day of retribution, when the secrets of all hearts will be revealed; +when all worldly distinctions will fade away, and be no more seen. I +have not words to express the sublime images which the bare +contemplation of this awful day raises in my mind. Then, indeed, the +Lord Omnipotent will reign, and He will wipe the tearful eye, and +support the trembling heart--yet a little while He hideth his face, and +the dun shades of sorrow, and the thick clouds of folly separate us from +our God; but when the glad dawn of an eternal day breaks, we shall know +even as we are known. Here we walk by faith, and not by sight; and we +have this alternative, either to enjoy the pleasures of life which are +but for a season, or look forward to the prize of our high calling, and +with fortitude, and that wisdom which is from above, endeavour to bear +the warfare of life. We know that many run the race; but he that +striveth obtaineth the crown of victory. Our race is an arduous one! How +many are betrayed by traitors lodged in their own breasts, who wear the +garb of Virtue, and are so near akin; we sigh to think they should ever +lead into folly, and slide imperceptibly into vice. Surely any thing +like happiness is madness! Shall probationers of an hour presume to +pluck the fruit of immortality, before they have conquered death? it is +guarded, when the great day, to which I allude, arrives, the way will +again be opened. Ye dear delusions, gay deceits, farewel! and yet I +cannot banish ye for ever; still does my panting soul push forward, and +live in futurity, in the deep shades o'er which darkness hangs.--I try +to pierce the gloom, and find a resting-place, where my thirst of +knowledge will be gratified, and my ardent affections find an object to +fix them. Every thing material must change; happiness and this +fluctating principle is not compatible. Eternity, immateriality, and +happiness,--what are ye? How shall I grasp the mighty and fleeting +conceptions ye create?" + +After writing, serenely she delivered her soul into the hands of the +Father of Spirits; and slept in peace. + + + + +CHAP. XXI. + + +Mary rose early, refreshed by the seasonable rest, and went to visit the +poor woman, whom she found quite recovered: and, on enquiry, heard that +she had lately buried her husband, a common sailor; and that her only +surviving child had been washed over-board the day before. Full of her +own danger, she scarcely thought of her child till that was over; and +then she gave way to boisterous emotions. + +Mary endeavoured to calm her at first, by sympathizing with her; and she +tried to point out the only solid source of comfort but in doing this +she encountered many difficulties; she found her grossly ignorant, yet +she did not despair: and as the poor creature could not receive comfort +from the operations of her own mind, she laboured to beguile the hours, +which grief made heavy, by adapting her conversation to her capacity. + +There are many minds that only receive impressions through the medium of +the senses: to them did Mary address herself; she made her some +presents, and promised to assist her when they should arrive in England. +This employment roused her out of her late stupor, and again set the +faculties of her soul in motion; made the understanding contend with the +imagination, and the heart throbbed not so irregularly during the +contention. How short-lived was the calm! when the English coast was +descried, her sorrows returned with redoubled vigor.--She was to visit +and comfort the mother of her lost friend--And where then should she +take up her residence? These thoughts suspended the exertions of her +understanding; abstracted reflections gave way to alarming +apprehensions; and tenderness undermined fortitude. + + + + +CHAP. XXII. + + +In England then landed the forlorn wanderer. She looked round for some +few moments--her affections were not attracted to any particular part of +the Island. She knew none of the inhabitants of the vast city to which +she was going: the mass of buildings appeared to her a huge body without +an informing soul. As she passed through the streets in an +hackney-coach, disgust and horror alternately filled her mind. She met +some women drunk; and the manners of those who attacked the sailors, +made her shrink into herself, and exclaim, are these my fellow +creatures! + +Detained by a number of carts near the water-side, for she came up the +river in the vessel, not having reason to hasten on shore, she saw +vulgarity, dirt, and vice--her soul sickened; this was the first time +such complicated misery obtruded itself on her sight.--Forgetting her +own griefs, she gave the world a much indebted tear; mourned for a world +in ruins. She then perceived, that great part of her comfort must arise +from viewing the smiling face of nature, and be reflected from the view +of innocent enjoyments: she was fond of seeing animals play, and could +not bear to see her own species sink below them. + +In a little dwelling in one of the villages near London, lived the +mother of Ann; two of her children still remained with her; but they did +not resemble Ann. To her house Mary directed the coach, and told the +unfortunate mother of her loss. The poor woman, oppressed by it, and her +many other cares, after an inundation of tears, began to enumerate all +her past misfortunes, and present cares. The heavy tale lasted until +midnight, and the impression it made on Mary's mind was so strong, that +it banished sleep till towards morning; when tired nature sought +forgetfulness, and the soul ceased to ruminate about many things. + +She sent for the poor woman they took up at sea, provided her a lodging, +and relieved her present necessities. A few days were spent in a kind of +listless way; then the mother of Ann began to enquire when she thought +of returning home. She had hitherto treated her with the greatest +respect, and concealed her wonder at Mary's choosing a remote room in +the house near the garden, and ordering some alterations to be made, as +if she intended living in it. + +Mary did not choose to explain herself; had Ann lived, it is probable +she would never have loved Henry so fondly; but if she had, she could +not have talked of her passion to any human creature. She deliberated, +and at last informed the family, that she had a reason for not living +with her husband, which must some time remain a secret--they stared--Not +live with him! how will you live then? This was a question she could not +answer; she had only about eighty pounds remaining, of the money she +took with her to Lisbon; when it was exhausted where could she get more? +I will work, she cried, do any thing rather than be a slave. + + + + +CHAP. XXIII. + + +Unhappy, she wandered about the village, and relieved the poor; it was +the only employment that eased her aching heart; she became more +intimate with misery--the misery that rises from poverty and the want of +education. She was in the vicinity of a great city; the vicious poor in +and about it must ever grieve a benevolent contemplative mind. + +One evening a man who stood weeping in a little lane, near the house she +resided in, caught her eye. She accosted him; in a confused manner, he +informed her, that his wife was dying, and his children crying for the +bread he could not earn. Mary desired to be conducted to his +habitation; it was not very distant, and was the upper room in an old +mansion-house, which had been once the abode of luxury. Some tattered +shreds of rich hangings still remained, covered with cobwebs and filth; +round the ceiling, through which the rain drop'd, was a beautiful +cornice mouldering; and a spacious gallery was rendered dark by the +broken windows being blocked up; through the apertures the wind forced +its way in hollow sounds, and reverberated along the former scene of +festivity. + +It was crowded with inhabitants: som were scolding, others swearing, or +singing indecent songs. What a sight for Mary! Her blood ran cold; yet +she had sufficient resolution to mount to the top of the house. On the +floor, in one corner of a very small room, lay an emaciated figure of a +woman; a window over her head scarcely admitted any light, for the +broken panes were stuffed with dirty rags. Near her were five children, +all young, and covered with dirt; their sallow cheeks, and languid eyes, +exhibited none of the charms of childhood. Some were fighting, and +others crying for food; their yells were mixed with their mother's +groans, and the wind which rushed through the passage. Mary was +petrified; but soon assuming more courage, approached the bed, and, +regardless of the surrounding nastiness, knelt down by the poor wretch, +and breathed the most poisonous air; for the unfortunate creature was +dying of a putrid fever, the consequence of dirt and want. + +Their state did not require much explanation. Mary sent the husband for +a poor neighbour, whom she hired to nurse the woman, and take care of +the children; and then went herself to buy them some necessaries at a +shop not far distant. Her knowledge of physic had enabled her to +prescribe for the woman; and she left the house, with a mixture of +horror and satisfaction. + +She visited them every day, and procured them every comfort; contrary to +her expectation, the woman began to recover; cleanliness and wholesome +food had a wonderful effect; and Mary saw her rising as it were from the +grave. Not aware of the danger she ran into, she did not think of it +till she perceived she had caught the fever. It made such an alarming +progress, that she was prevailed on to send for a physician; but the +disorder was so violent, that for some days it baffled his skill; and +Mary felt not her danger, as she was delirious. After the crisis, the +symptoms were more favourable, and she slowly recovered, without +regaining much strength or spirits; indeed they were intolerably low: +she wanted a tender nurse. + +For some time she had observed, that she was not treated with the same +respect as formerly; her favors were forgotten when no more were +expected. This ingratitude hurt her, as did a similar instance in the +woman who came out of the ship. Mary had hitherto supported her; as her +finances were growing low, she hinted to her, that she ought to try to +earn her own subsistence: the woman in return loaded her with abuse. + +Two months were elapsed; she had not seen, or heard from Henry. He was +sick--nay, perhaps had forgotten her; all the world was dreary, and all +the people ungrateful. + +She sunk into apathy, and endeavouring to rouse herself out of it, she +wrote in her book another fragment: + +"Surely life is a dream, a frightful one! and after those rude, +disjointed images are fled, will light ever break in? Shall I ever feel +joy? Do all suffer like me; or am I framed so as to be particularly +susceptible of misery? It is true, I have experienced the most rapturous +emotions--short-lived delight!--ethereal beam, which only serves to shew +my present misery--yet lie still, my throbbing heart, or burst; and my +brain--why dost thou whirl about at such a terrifying rate? why do +thoughts so rapidly rush into my mind, and yet when they disappear +leave such deep traces? I could almost wish for the madman's happiness, +and in a strong imagination lose a sense of woe. + +"Oh! reason, thou boasted guide, why desert me, like the world, when I +most need thy assistance! Canst thou not calm this internal tumult, and +drive away the death-like sadness which presses so sorely on me,--a +sadness surely very nearly allied to despair. I am now the prey of +apathy--I could wish for the former storms! a ray of hope sometimes +illumined my path; I had a pursuit; but now _it visits not my haunts +forlorn_. Too well have I loved my fellow creatures! I have been wounded +by ingratitude; from every one it has something of the serpent's tooth. + +"When overwhelmed by sorrow, I have met unkindness; I looked for some +one to have pity on me; but found none!--The healing balm of sympathy is +denied; I weep, a solitary wretch, and the hot tears scald my cheeks. I +have not the medicine of life, the dear chimera I have so often chased, +a friend. Shade of my loved Ann! dost thou ever visit thy poor Mary? +Refined spirit, thou wouldst weep, could angels weep, to see her +struggling with passions she cannot subdue; and feelings which corrode +her small portion of comfort!" + +She could not write any more; she wished herself far distant from all +human society; a thick gloom spread itself over her mind: but did not +make her forget the very beings she wished to fly from. She sent for the +poor woman she found in the garret; gave her money to clothe herself +and children, and buy some furniture for a little hut, in a large +garden, the master of which agreed to employ her husband, who had been +bred a gardener. Mary promised to visit the family, and see their new +abode when she was able to go out. + + + + +CHAP. XXIV. + + +Mary still continued weak and low, though it was spring, and all nature +began to look gay; with more than usual brightness the sun shone, and a +little robin which she had cherished during the winter sung one of his +best songs. The family were particularly civil this fine morning, and +tried to prevail on her to walk out. Any thing like kindness melted her; +she consented. + +Softer emotions banished her melancholy, and she directed her steps to +the habitation she had rendered comfortable. + +Emerging out of a dreary chamber, all nature looked cheerful; when she +had last walked out, snow covered the ground, and bleak winds pierced +her through and through: now the hedges were green, the blossoms adorned +the trees, and the birds sung. She reached the dwelling, without being +much exhausted and while she rested there, observed the children +sporting on the grass, with improved complexions. The mother with tears +thanked her deliverer, and pointed out her comforts. Mary's tears flowed +not only from sympathy, but a complication of feelings and recollections +the affections which bound her to her fellow creatures began again to +play, and reanimated nature. She observed the change in herself, tried +to account for it, and wrote with her pencil a rhapsody on sensibility. + +"Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is +susceptible: when it pervades us, we feel happy; and could it last +unmixed, we might form some conjecture of the bliss of those +paradisiacal days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of +reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction. + +"It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to +relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this, +which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with +tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a +good action. The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail +the returning sun, and the consequent renovation of nature; when the +flowers unfold themselves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of +music is heard in the land. Softened by tenderness; the soul is +disposed to be virtuous. Is any sensual gratification to be compared to +that of feelings the eves moistened after having comforted the +unfortunate? + +"Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happiness; but these +raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by +what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature +escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections.--But it +is only to be felt; it escapes discussion." + +She then returned home, and partook of the family meal, which was +rendered more cheerful by the presence of a man, past the meridian of +life, of polished manners, and dazzling wit. He endeavoured to draw Mary +out, and succeeded; she entered into conversation, and some of her +artless flights of genius struck him with surprise; he found she had a +capacious mind, and that her reason was as profound as her imagination +was lively. She glanced from earth to heaven, and caught the light of +truth. Her expressive countenance shewed what passed in her mind, and +her tongue was ever the faithful interpreter of her heart; duplicity +never threw a shade over her words or actions. Mary found him a man of +learning; and the exercise of her understanding would frequently make +her forget her griefs, when nothing else could, except benevolence. + +This man had known the mistress of the house in her youth; good nature +induced him to visit her; but when he saw Mary he had another +inducement. Her appearance, and above all, her genius, and cultivation +of mind, roused his curiosity; but her dignified manners had such an +effect on him, he was obliged to suppress it. He knew men, as well as +books; his conversation was entertaining and improving. In Mary's +company he doubted whether heaven was peopled with spirits masculine; +and almost forgot that he had called the sex "the pretty play things +that render life tolerable." + +He had been the slave of beauty, the captive of sense; love he ne'er had +felt; the mind never rivetted the chain, nor had the purity of it made +the body appear lovely in his eyes. He was humane, despised meanness; +but was vain of his abilities, and by no means a useful member of +society. He talked often of the beauty of virtue; but not having any +solid foundation to build the practice on, he was only a shining, or +rather a sparkling character: and though his fortune enabled him to +hunt down pleasure, he was discontented. + +Mary observed his character, and wrote down a train of reflections, +which these observations led her to make; these reflections received a +tinge from her mind; the present state of it, was that kind of painful +quietness which arises from reason clouded by disgust; she had not yet +learned to be resigned; vague hopes agitated her. + +"There are some subjects that are so enveloped in clouds, as you +dissipate one, another overspreads it. Of this kind are our reasonings +concerning happiness; till we are obliged to cry out with the Apostle, +_That it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive in what it +could consist_, or how satiety could be prevented. Man seems formed for +action, though the passions are seldom properly managed; they are +either so languid as not to serve as a spur, or else so violent, as to +overleap all bounds. + +"Every individual has its own peculiar trials; and anguish, in one shape +or other, visits every heart. Sensibility produces flights of virtue; +and not curbed by reason, is on the brink of vice talking, and even +thinking of virtue. + +"Christianity can only afford just principles to govern the wayward +feelings and impulses of the heart: every good disposition runs wild, if +not transplanted into this soil; but how hard is it to keep the heart +diligently, though convinced that the issues of life depend on it. + +"It is very difficult to discipline the mind of a thinker, or reconcile +him to the weakness, the inconsistency of his understanding; and a +still more laborious task for him to conquer his passions, and learn to +seek content, instead of happiness. Good dispositions, and virtuous +propensities, without the light of the Gospel, produce eccentric +characters: comet-like, they are always in extremes; while revelation +resembles the laws of attraction, and produces uniformity; but too often +is the attraction feeble; and the light so obscured by passion, as to +force the bewildered soul to fly into void space, and wander in +confusion." + + + + +CHAP. XXV. + + +A few mornings after, as Mary was sitting ruminating, harassed by +perplexing thoughts, and fears, a letter was delivered to her: the +servant waited for an answer. Her heart palpitated; it was from Henry; +she held it some time in her hand, then tore it open; it was not a long +one; and only contained an account of a relapse, which prevented his +sailing in the first packet, as he had intended. Some tender enquiries +were added, concerning her health, and state of mind; but they were +expressed in rather a formal style: it vexed her, and the more so, as it +stopped the current of affection, which the account of his arrival and +illness had made flow to her heart--it ceased to beat for a moment--she +read the passage over again; but could not tell what she was hurt +by--only that it did not answer the expectations of her affection. She +wrote a laconic, incoherent note in return, allowing him to call on her +the next day--he had requested permission at the conclusion of his +letter. + +Her mind was then painfully active; she could not read or walk; she +tried to fly from herself, to forget the long hours that were yet to run +before to-morrow could arrive: she knew not what time he would come; +certainly in the morning, she concluded; the morning then was anxiously +wished for; and every wish produced a sigh, that arose from expectation +on the stretch, damped by fear and vain regret. + +To beguile the tedious time, Henry's favorite tunes were sung; the books +they read together turned over; and the short epistle read at least a +hundred times.--Any one who had seen her, would have supposed that she +was trying to decypher Chinese characters. + +After a sleepless night, she hailed the tardy day, watched the rising +sun, and then listened for every footstep, and started if she heard the +street door opened. At last he came, and she who had been counting the +hours, and doubting whether the earth moved, would gladly have escaped +the approaching interview. + +With an unequal, irresolute pace, she went to meet him; but when she +beheld his emaciated countenance, all the tenderness, which the +formality of his letter had damped, returned, and a mournful +presentiment stilled the internal conflict. She caught his hand, and +looking wistfully at him, exclaimed, "Indeed, you are not well!" + +"I am very far from well; but it matters not," added he with a smile of +resignation; "my native air may work wonders, and besides, my mother is +a tender nurse, and I shall sometimes see thee." + +Mary felt for the first time in her life, envy; she wished +involuntarily, that all the comfort he received should be from her. She +enquired about the symptoms of his disorder; and heard that he had been +very ill; she hastily drove away the fears, that former dear bought +experience suggested: and again and again did she repeat, that she was +sure he would soon recover. She would then look in his face, to see if +he assented, and ask more questions to the same purport. She tried to +avoid speaking of herself, and Henry left her, with, a promise of +visiting her the next day. + +Her mind was now engrossed by one fear--yet she would not allow herself +to think that she feared an event she could not name. She still saw his +pale face; the sound of his voice still vibrated on her ears; she tried +to retain it; she listened, looked round, wept, and prayed. + +Henry had enlightened the desolate scene: was this charm of life to fade +away, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wreck +behind? These thoughts disturbed her reason, she shook her head, as if +to drive them out of it; a weight, a heavy one, was on her heart; all +was not well there. + +Out of this reverie she was soon woke to keener anguish, by the arrival +of a letter from her husband; it came to Lisbon after her departure: +Henry had forwarded it to her, but did not choose to deliver it +himself, for a very obvious reason; it might have produced a +conversation he wished for some time to avoid; and his precaution took +its rise almost equally from benevolence and love. + +She could not muster up sufficient resolution to break the seal: her +fears were not prophetic, for the contents gave her comfort. He informed +her that he intended prolonging his tour, as he was now his own master, +and wished to remain some time on the continent, and in particular to +visit Italy without any restraint: but his reasons for it appeared +childish; it was not to cultivate his taste, or tread on classic ground, +where poets and philosophers caught their lore; but to join in the +masquerades, and such burlesque amusements. + +These instances of folly relieved Mary, in some degree reconciled her +to herself added fuel to the devouring flame--and silenced something +like a pang, which reason and conscience made her feel, when she +reflected, that it is the office of Religion to reconcile us to the +seemingly hard dispensations of providence; and that no inclination, +however strong, should oblige us to desert the post assigned us, or +force us to forget that virtue should be an active principle; and that +the most desirable station, is the one that exercises our faculties, +refines our affections, and enables us to be useful. + +One reflection continually wounded her repose; she feared not poverty; +her wants were few; but in giving up a fortune, she gave up the power of +comforting the miserable, and making the sad heart sing for joy. + +Heaven had endowed her with uncommon humanity, to render her one of His +benevolent agents, a messenger of peace; and should she attend to her +own inclinations? + +These suggestions, though they could not subdue a violent passion, +increased her misery. One moment she was a heroine, half determined to +bear whatever fate should inflict; the next, her mind would recoil--and +tenderness possessed her whole soul. Some instances of Henry's +affection, his worth and genius, were remembered: and the earth was only +a vale of tears, because he was not to sojourn with her. + + + + +CHAP. XXVI. + + +Henry came the next day, and once or twice in the course of the +following week; but still Mary kept up some little formality, a certain +consciousness restrained her; and Henry did not enter on the subject +which he found she wished to avoid. In the course of conversation, +however, she mentioned to him, that she earnestly desired to obtain a +place in one of the public offices for Ann's brother, as the family were +again in a declining way. + +Henry attended, made a few enquiries, and dropped the subject; but the +following week, she heard him enter with unusual haste; it was to inform +her, that he had made interest with a person of some consequence, whom +he had once obliged in a very disagreeable exigency, in a foreign +country; and that he had procured a place for her friend, which would +infallibly lead to something better, if he behaved with propriety. Mary +could not speak to thank him; emotions of gratitude and love suffused +her face; her blood eloquently spoke. She delighted to receive benefits +through the medium of her fellow creatures; but to receive them from +Henry was exquisite pleasure. + +As the summer advanced, Henry grew worse; the closeness of the air, in +the metropolis, affected his breath; and his mother insisted on his +fixing on some place in the country, where she would accompany him. He +could not think of going far off, but chose a little village on the +banks of the Thames, near Mary's dwelling: he then introduced her to his +mother. + +They frequently went down the river in a boat; Henry would take his +violin, and Mary would sometimes sing, or read, to them. She pleased his +mother; she inchanted him. It was an advantage to Mary that friendship +first possessed her heart; it opened it to all the softer sentiments of +humanity:--and when this first affection was torn away, a similar one +sprung up, with a still tenderer sentiment added to it. + +The last evening they were on the water, the clouds grew suddenly black, +and broke in violent showers, which interrupted the solemn stillness +that had prevailed previous to it. The thunder roared; and the oars +plying quickly, in order to reach the shore, occasioned a not +unpleasing sound. Mary drew still nearer Henry; she wished to have +sought with him a watry grave; to have escaped the horror of surviving +him.--She spoke not, but Henry saw the workings of her mind--he felt +them; threw his arm round her waist--and they enjoyed the luxury of +wretchedness.--As they touched the shore, Mary perceived that Henry was +wet; with eager anxiety she cried, What shall I do!--this day will kill +thee, and I shall not die with thee! + +This accident put a stop to their pleasurable excursions; it had injured +him, and brought on the spitting of blood he was subject to--perhaps it +was not the cold that he caught, that occasioned it. In vain did Mary +try to shut her eyes; her fate pursued her! Henry every day grew worse +and worse. + + + + +CHAP. XXVII. + + +Oppressed by her foreboding fears, her sore mind was hurt by new +instances of ingratitude: disgusted with the family, whose misfortunes +had often disturbed her repose, and lost in anticipated sorrow, she +rambled she knew not where; when turning down a shady walk, she +discovered her feet had taken the path they delighted to tread. She saw +Henry sitting in his garden alone; he quickly opened the garden-gate, +and she sat down by him. + +"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary; +but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon +portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in +the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to +thee--and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my +heart.--I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou +art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined +existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass +me--ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed +the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course--try to add +to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that +we could have died together--or that I could live to shield thee from +the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an asylum in +these arms--a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy +griefs--" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure--he felt her +throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the +conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow--too surely do I +feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so +pure, that death cannot extinguish it--or tear away the impression thy +virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee--" + +"Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee +and Ann--while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"--She grasped +his hand. + +"There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's--" His voice +faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost +suffocated--they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked +slowly to the garden-gate (Mary would not go into the house); they could +not say farewel when they reached it--and Mary hurried down the lane; to +spare Henry the pain of witnessing her emotions. + +When she lost sight of the house she sat down on the ground, till it +grew late, thinking of all that had passed. Full of these thoughts, she +crept along, regardless of the descending rain; when lifting up her eyes +to heaven, and then turning them wildly on the prospects around, without +marking them; she only felt that the scene accorded with her present +state of mind. It was the last glimmering of twilight, with a full moon, +over which clouds continually flitted. Where am I wandering, God of +Mercy! she thought; she alluded to the wanderings of her mind. In what a +labyrinth am I lost! What miseries have I already encountered--and what +a number lie still before me. + +Her thoughts flew rapidly to something. I could be happy listening to +him, soothing his cares.--Would he not smile upon me--call me his own +Mary? I am not his--said she with fierceness--I am a wretch! and she +heaved a sigh that almost broke her heart, while the big tears rolled +down her burning cheeks; but still her exercised mind, accustomed to +think, began to observe its operation, though the barrier of reason was +almost carried away, and all the faculties not restrained by her, were +running into confusion. Wherefore am I made thus? Vain are my +efforts--I cannot live without loving--and love leads to madness.--Yet +I will not weep; and her eyes were now fixed by despair, dry and +motionless; and then quickly whirled about with a look of distraction. + +She looked for hope; but found none--all was troubled waters.--No where +could she find rest. I have already paced to and fro in the earth; it is +not my abiding place--may I not too go home! Ah! no. Is this complying +with my Henry's request, could a spirit thus disengaged expect to +associate with his? Tears of tenderness strayed down her relaxed +countenance, and her softened heart heaved more regularly. She felt the +rain, and turned to her solitary home. + +Fatigued by the tumultuous emotions she had endured, when she entered +the house she ran to her own room, sunk on the bed; and exhausted +nature soon closed her eyes; but active fancy was still awake, and a +thousand fearful dreams interrupted her slumbers. + +Feverish and languid, she opened her eyes, and saw the unwelcome sun +dart his rays through a window, the curtains of which she had forgotten +to draw. The dew hung on the adjacent trees, and added to the lustre; +the little robin began his song, and distant birds joined. She looked; +her countenance was still vacant--her sensibility was absorbed by one +object. + +Did I ever admire the rising sun, she slightly thought, turning from the +Window, and shutting her eyes: she recalled to view the last night's +scene. His faltering voice, lingering step, and the look of tender woe, +were all graven on her heart; as were the words "Could these arms +shield thee from sorrow--afford thee an asylum from an unfeeling world." +The pressure to his bosom was not forgot. For a moment she was happy; +but in a long-drawn sigh every delightful sensation evaporated. +Soon--yes, very soon, will the grave again receive all I love! and the +remnant of my days--she could not proceed--Were there then days to come +after that? + + + + +CHAP. XXVIII. + + +Just as she was going to quit her room, to visit Henry, his mother +called on her. + +"My son is worse to-day," said she, "I come to request you to spend not +only this day, but a week or two with me.--Why should I conceal any +thing from you? Last night my child made his mother his confident, and, +in the anguish of his heart, requested me to be thy friend--when I shall +be childless. I will not attempt to describe what I felt when he talked +thus to me. If I am to lose the support of my age, and be again a +widow--may I call her Child whom my Henry wishes me to adopt?" + +This new instance of Henry's disinterested affection, Mary felt most +forcibly; and striving to restrain the complicated emotions, and sooth +the wretched mother, she almost fainted: when the unhappy parent forced +tears from her, by saying, "I deserve this blow; my partial fondness +made me neglect him, when most he wanted a mother's care; this neglect, +perhaps, first injured his constitution: righteous Heaven has made my +crime its own punishment; and now I am indeed a mother, I shall loss my +child--my only child!" + +When they were a little more composed they hastened to the invalide; but +during the short ride, the mother related several instances of Henry's +goodness of heart. Mary's tears were not those of unmixed anguish; the +display of his virtues gave her extreme delight--yet human nature +prevailed; she trembled to think they would soon unfold themselves in a +more genial clime. + + + + +CHAP. XXIX. + + +She found Henry very ill. The physician had some weeks before declared +he never knew a person with a similar pulse recover. Henry was certain +he could not live long; all the rest he could obtain, was procured by +opiates. Mary now enjoyed the melancholy pleasure of nursing him, and +softened by her tenderness the pains she could not remove. Every sigh +did she stifle, every tear restrain, when he could see or hear them. She +would boast of her resignation--yet catch eagerly at the least ray of +hope. While he slept she would support his pillow, and rest her head +where she could feel his breath. She loved him better than herself--she +could not pray for his recovery; she could only say, The will of Heaven +be done. + +While she was in this state, she labored to acquire fortitude; but one +tender look destroyed it all--she rather labored, indeed, to make him +believe he was resigned, than really to be so. + +She wished to receive the sacrament with him, as a bond of union which +was to extend beyond the grave. She did so, and received comfort from +it; she rose above her misery. + +His end was now approaching. Mary sat on the side of the bed. His eyes +appeared fixed--no longer agitated by passion, he only felt that it was +a fearful thing to die. The soul retired to the citadel; but it was not +now solely filled by the image of her who in silent despair watched for +his last breath. Collected, a frightful calmness stilled every turbulent +emotion. + +The mother's grief was more audible. Henry had for some time only +attended to Mary--Mary pitied the parent, whose stings of conscience +increased her sorrow; she whispered him, "Thy mother weeps, disregarded +by thee; oh! comfort her!--My mother, thy son blesses thee.--" The +oppressed parent left the room. And Mary _waited_ to see him die. + +She pressed with trembling eagerness his parched lips--he opened his +eyes again; the spreading film retired, and love returned them--he gave +a look--it was never forgotten. My Mary, will you be comforted? + +Yes, yes, she exclaimed in a firm voice; you go to be happy--I am not a +complete wretch! The words almost choked her. + +He was a long time silent; the opiate produced a kind of stupor. At +last, in an agony, he cried, It is dark; I cannot see thee; raise me up. +Where is Mary? did she not say she delighted to support me? let me die +in her arms. + +Her arms were opened to receive him; they trembled not. Again he was +obliged to lie down, resting on her: as the agonies increased he leaned +towards her: the soul seemed flying to her, as it escaped out of its +prison. The breathing was interrupted; she heard distinctly the last +sigh--and lifting up to Heaven her eyes, Father, receive his spirit, she +calmly cried. + +The attendants gathered round; she moved not, nor heard the clamor; the +hand seemed yet to press hers; it still was warm. A ray of light from +an opened window discovered the pale face. + +She left the room, and retired to one very near it; and sitting down on +the floor, fixed her eyes on the door of the apartment which contained +the body. Every event of her life rushed across her mind with wonderful +rapidity--yet all was still--fate had given the finishing stroke. She +sat till midnight.--Then rose in a phrensy, went into the apartment, and +desired those who watched the body to retire. + +She knelt by the bed side;--an enthusiastic devotion overcame the +dictates of despair.--She prayed most ardently to be supported, and +dedicated herself to the service of that Being into whose hands, she had +committed the spirit she almost adored--again--and again,--she prayed +wildly--and fervently--but attempting to touch the lifeless hand--her +head swum--she sunk-- + + + + +CHAP. XXX. + + +Three months after, her only friend, the mother of her lost Henry began +to be alarmed, at observing her altered appearance; and made her own +health a pretext for travelling. These complaints roused Mary out of her +torpid state; she imagined a new duty now forced her to exert herself--a +duty love made sacred!-- + +They went to Bath, from that to Bristol; but the latter place they +quickly left; the sight of the sick that resort there, they neither of +them could bear. From Bristol they flew to Southampton. The road was +pleasant--yet Mary shut her eyes;--or if they were open, green fields +and commons, passed in quick succession, and left no more traces behind +than if they had been waves of the sea. + +Some time after they were settled at Southampton, they met the man who +took so much notice of Mary, soon after her return to England. He +renewed his acquaintance; he was really interested in her fate, as he +had heard her uncommon story; besides, he knew her husband; knew him to +be a good-natured, weak man. He saw him soon after his arrival in his +native country, and prevented his hastening to enquire into the reasons +of Mary's strange conduct. He desired him not to be too precipitate, if +he ever wished to possess an invaluable treasure. He was guided by him, +and allowed him to follow Mary to Southampton, and speak first to her +friend. + +This friend determined to trust to her native strength of mind, and +informed her of the circumstance; but she overrated it: Mary was not +able, for a few days after the intelligence, to fix on the mode of +conduct she ought now to pursue. But at last she conquered her disgust, +and wrote her _husband_ an account of what had passed since she had +dropped his correspondence. + +He came in person to answer the letter. Mary fainted when he approached +her unexpectedly. Her disgust returned with additional force, in spite +of previous reasonings, whenever he appeared; yet she was prevailed on +to promise to live with him, if he would permit her to pass one year, +travelling from place to place; he was not to accompany her. + +The time too quickly elapsed, and she gave him her hand--the struggle +was almost more than she could endure. She tried to appear calm; time +mellowed her grief, and mitigated her torments; but when her husband +would take her hand, or mention any thing like love, she would instantly +feel a sickness, a faintness at her heart, and wish, involuntarily, that +the earth would open and swallow her. + + + + +CHAP. XXXI. + + +Mary visited the continent, and sought health in different climates; but +her nerves were not to be restored to their former state. She then +retired to her house in the country, established manufactories, threw +the estate into small farms; and continually employed herself this way +to dissipate care, and banish unavailing regret. She visited the sick, +supported the old, and educated the young. + +These occupations engrossed her mind; but there were hours when all her +former woes would return and haunt her.--Whenever she did, or said, any +thing she thought Henry would have approved of--she could not avoid +thinking with anguish, of the rapture his approbation ever conveyed to +her heart--a heart in which there was a void, that even benevolence and +religion could not fill. The latter taught her to struggle for +resignation; and the former rendered life supportable. + +Her delicate state of health did not promise long life. In moments of +solitary sadness, a gleam of joy would dart across her mind--She thought +she was hastening to that world _where there is neither marrying_, nor +giving in marriage. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY*** + + +******* This file should be named 16357.txt or 16357.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/3/5/16357 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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