LETTER LV
MISS HOWE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.THURSDAY, OCT. 12.
SIR,
I am incapable of doing justice to the character of my beloved friend;and that not only from want of talents, but from grief; which, I think,rather increases than diminishes by time; and which will not let me sitdown to a task that requires so much thought, and a greater degree ofaccuracy than I ever believed myself mistress of. And yet I so wellapprove of your motion, that I will throw into your hands a fewmaterials, that may serve by way of supplement, as I may say, to thoseyou will be able to collect from the papers themselves; from Col.Morden's letters to you, particularly that of Sept. 23;* and from theletters of the detestable wretch himself, who, I find, has done herjustice, although to his own condemnation: all these together will enableyou, who seem to be so great an admirer of her virtues, to perform thetask; and, I think, better than any person I know. But I make it myrequest, that if you do any thing in this way, you will let me see it.If I find it not to my mind, I will add or diminish, as justice shallrequire. She was a wonderful creature from her infancy: but I supposeyou intend to give a character of her at those years when she wasqualified to be an example to other young ladies, rather than a historyof her life.
*See Letter XLV. of this volume.
Perhaps, nevertheless, you will choose to give a description of herperson: and as you knew not the dear creature when her heart was easy,I will tell you what yet, in part, you can confirm:
That her shape was so fine, her proportion so exact, her features soregular, her complexion so lovely, and her whole person and manner sodistinguishedly charming, that she could not move without being admiredand followed by the eyes of every one, though strangers, who never sawher before. Col. Morden's letter, above referred to, will confirm this.
In her dress she was elegant beyond imitation; and generally led thefashion to all the ladies round her, without seeming to intend it, andwithout being proud of doing so.*
* See Vol. VII. Letter LXXXI.
She was rather tall than of a middling stature; and had a dignity in heraspect and air, that bespoke the mind that animated every feature.
This native dignity, as I may call it, induced some superficial persons,who knew not how to account for the reverence which involuntarily filledtheir hearts on her appearance, to impute pride to her. But these weresuch as knew that they should have been proud of any one of herperfections: judging therefore by their own narrowness, they thought itimpossible that the lady who possessed so many, should not think herselfsuperior to them all. Indeed, I have heard her noble aspect found faultwith, as indicating pride and superiority. But people awed andcontrouled, though but by their own consciousness of inferiority, willfind fault, right or wrong, with those, whose rectitude of mind andmanners their own culpable hearts give them to be afraid. But, in thebad sense of the word, Miss Clarissa Harlowe knew not what pride was.
You may, if you touch upon this subject, throw in these sentences ofher's, spoken at different times, and on different occasions:
'Persons of accidental or shadowy merit may be proud: but inborn worthmust be always as much above conceit as arrogance.'
'Who can be better, or more worthy, than they should be? And, who shallbe proud of talents they give not to themselves?'
'The darkest and most contemptible ignorance is that of not knowing one'sself; and that all we have, and all we excel in, is the gift of God.'
'All human excellence is but comparative--there are persons who excel us,as much as we fancy we excel the meanest.'
'In the general scale of beings, the lowest is as useful, and as much alink of the great chain, as the highest.'
'The grace that makes every other grace amiable, is HUMILITY.'
'There is but one pride pardonable; that of being above doing a base ordishonourable action.'
Such were the sentiments by which this admirable young lady endeavouredto conduct herself, and to regulate her conduct to others.
And, in truth, never were affability and complacency (graciousness, somehave called it) more eminent in any person, man or woman, than in her, tothose who put it in her power to oblige them: insomuch that thebenefitted has sometimes not known which to prefer--the grace bestowed,or the manner in which it was conferred.
It has been observed, that what was said of Henry IV. of France, might besaid of her manner of refusing a request: That she generally sent fromher presence the person refused nearly as well satisfied as if she hadgranted it.
Then she had such a sacred regard to truth.--You cannot, Sir, expatiatetoo much upon this topic. I dare say, that in all her letters, in allthe letters of the wretch, her veracity will not once be foundimpeachable, although her calamities were so heavy, the horrid man'swiles so subtle, and her struggles to free herself from them so active.
Her charity was so great, that she always chose to defend or acquit wherethe fault was not so flagrant that it became a piece of justice tocondemn it; and was always an advocate for an absent person, whosediscretion was called in question, without having given manifest proofsof indiscretion.
Once I remember, in a large circle of ladies, every one of which [I amongthe rest] having censured a generally-reported indiscretion in a younglady--Come, my Miss Howe, said she, [for we had agreed to take each otherto task when either thought the other gave occasion for it; and when byblaming each other we intended a general reprehension, which, as she usedto say, it would appear arrogant or assuming to level more properly,] letme be Miss Fanny Darlington. Then removing out of the circle, andstanding up, Here I stand, unworthy of a seat with the rest of thecompany, till I have cleared myself. And now, suppose me to be her, letme hear you charge, and do you hear what the poor culprit can say to itin her own defence. And then answering the conjectural and unprovedcircumstances, by circumstances as fairly to be supposed favourable, shebrought off triumphantly the censured lady; and so much to every one'ssatisfaction, that she was led to her chair, and voted a double rank inthe circle, as the reinstated Miss Fanny Darlington, and as Miss ClarissaHarlowe.
Very few persons, she used to say, would be condemned, or even accused,in the circles of ladies, were they present; it is generous, therefore,nay, it is but just, said she, to take the part of the absent, if notflagrantly culpable.
But though wisdom was her birthright, as I may say, yet she had not livedyears enow to pretend to so much experience as to exempt her from thenecessity of sometimes altering her opinion both of persons and things;but, when she found herself obliged to do this, she took care that theparticular instance of mistaken worthiness in the person should notnarrow or contract her almost universal charity into general doubt orjealousy. An instance of what I mean occurs to my memory.
Being upbraided, by a severe censure, with a person's proving base, whomshe had frequently defended, and by whose baseness my beloved friend wasa sufferer; 'You, Madam,' said she, 'had more penetration than such ayoung creature as I can pretend to have. But although human depravitymay, I doubt, oftener justify those who judge harshly, than humanrectitude can those who judge favourably, yet will I not part with mycharity. Nevertheless, for the future, I will endeavour, in cases wherethe judgment of my elders is against me, to make mine consistent withcaution and prudence.'
Indeed, when she was convinced of any error or mistake, (howeverseemingly derogatory to her judgment and sagacity,) no one was ever soacknowledging, so ingenuous, as she. 'It was a merit,' she used to say,'next in degree to that of having avoided error, frankly to own an error.And that the offering at an excuse in a blameable manner, was theundoubted mark of a disingenuous, if not of a perverse mind.'
But I ought to add, on this head, [of her great charity where characterwas concerned, and where there was room for charity,] that she was alwaysdeservedly severe in her reprehensions of a wilful and studied vileness.How could she then forgive the wretch by whose premeditated villany shewas entangled?
You must every where insist upon it, that had it not been for
the stupidpersecutions of her relations, she never would have been in the power ofthat horrid Lovelace. And yet, on several occasions, she acknowledgedfrankly, that were person, and address, and alliance, to be allowedly theprincipal attractives in the choice of a lover, it would not have beendifficult for her eye to mislead her heart.
When she was last with me, (three happy weeks together!) in every visitthe wretch made her, he left her more dissatisfied with him than in theformer. And yet his behaviour before her was too specious to have beenvery exceptionable to a woman who had a less share of that charmingdelicacy, and of that penetration, which so much distinguished her.
In obedience to the commands of her gloomy father, on his allowing her tobe my guest, for that last time, [as it most unhappily proved!] she neverwould see him out of my company; and would often say, when he was gone,'O my Nancy! this is not THE man!'--At other times, 'Gay, giddy creature!he has always something to be forgiven for!'--At others, 'This man willmuch sooner excite one's fears than attract one's love.' And then wouldshe repeat, 'This is not THE man. All that the world says of him cannotbe untrue. But what title have I to call him to account, who intend notto have him?'
In short had she been left to a judgment and discretion, which nobodyever questioned who had either, she would soon have discovered enough ofhim to cause her to discard him for ever.
She was an admirable mistress of all the graces of elocution. The handshe wrote, for the neat and free cut of her letters, (like her mind,solid, and above all flourish,) for its fairness, evenness, andswiftness, distinguished her as much as the correctness of herorthography, and even punctuation, from the generality of her own sex;and left her none, among the most accurate of the other, who excelledher.
And here you may, if you please, take occasion to throw in one hint forthe benefit of such of our sex as are too careless in their orthography,[a consciousness of a defect which generally keeps them from writing.]--She was used to say, 'It was a proof that a woman understood thederivation as well as sense of the words she used, and that she stopt notat sound, when she spelt accurately.'
On this head you may take notice, that it was always matter of surpriseto her, that the sex are generally so averse as they are to writing;since the pen, next to the needle, of all employments, is the mostproper, and best adapted to their geniuses; and this, as well forimprovement as amusement: 'Who sees not,' would she say, 'that thosewomen who take delight in writing excel the men in all the graces of thefamiliar style? The gentleness of their minds, the delicacy of theirsentiments, (improved by the manner of their education, and theliveliness of their imaginations, qualify them to a high degree ofpreference for this employment;) while men of learning, as they arecalled, (that is to say, of mere learning,) aiming to get above thatnatural ease and freedom which distinguish this, (and indeed every otherkind of writing,) when they think they have best succeeded, are gotabove, or rather beneath, all natural beauty.'
Then, stiffened and starched [let me add] into dry and indelectableaffectation, one sort of these scholars assume a style as rough asfrequently are their manners; they spangle over their productions withmetaphors; they tumble into bombast: the sublime, with them, lying inwords, and not in sentiment, they fancy themselves most exalted whenleast understood; and down they sit, fully satisfied with their ownperformances, and call them MASCULINE. While a second sort, aiming atwit, that wicked misleader, forfeit all title to judgment. And a third,sinking into the classical pits, there poke and scramble about, neverseeking to show genius of their own; all their lives spent incommon-place quotation; fit only to write notes and comments upon otherpeople's texts; all their pride, that they know those beauties of twothousand years old in another tongue, which they can only admire, but notimitate, in their own.
And these, truly, must be learned men, and despisers of our insipid sex!
But I need not mention the exceptions which my beloved friend always made[and to which I subscribe] in favour of men of sound learning, truetaste, and extensive abilities; nor, in particular, her respect even toreverence for gentlemen of the cloath; which, I dare say, will appear inevery paragraph of her letters wherever any of the clergy are mentioned.Indeed the pious Dr. Lewen, the worthy Dr. Blome, the ingenious Mr.Arnold, and Mr. Tompkins, gentlemen whom she names, in one article of herwill, as learned divines with whom she held an early correspondence, welldeserved her respect; since to their conversation and correspondence sheowed many of her valuable acquirements.
Nor were the little slights she would now-and-then (following, as I mustown, my lead) put upon such mere scholars [and her stupid and pedanticbrother was one of those who deserved those slights] as despised not onlyour sex, but all such as had not had their opportunities of beingacquainted with the parts of speech, [I cannot speak low enough of such,]and with the dead languages, owing to that contempt which some affect forwhat they have not been able to master; for she had an admirable facilityfor learning languages, and read with great ease both in Italian andFrench. She had begun to apply herself to Latin; and having such acritical knowledge of her own tongue, and such a foundation from the twoothers, would soon have made herself an adept in it.
But, notwithstanding all her acquirements, she was an excellent ECONOMISTand HOUSEWIFE. And those qualifications, you must take notice, she wasparticularly fond of inculcating upon all her reading and writingcompanions of the sex: for it was a maxim with her, 'That a woman whoneglects the useful and the elegant, which distinguish her own sex, forthe sake of obtaining the learning which is supposed more peculiar to theother, incurs more contempt by what she foregoes, than she gains creditby what she acquires.'
'All that a woman can learn,' she used to say, [expatiating on thismaxim,] 'above the useful knowledge proper to her sex, let her learn.This will show that she is a good housewife of her time, and that she hasnot a narrow or confined genius. But then let her not give up for thesethose more necessary, and, therefore, not meaner, employments, which willqualify her to be a good mistress of a family, a good wife, and a goodmother; for what can be more disgraceful to a woman than either, throughnegligence of dress, to be found a learned slattern; or, throughignorance of household-management, to be known to be a stranger todomestic economy?'
She would have it indeed, sometimes, from the frequent ill use learnedwomen make of that respectable acquirement, that it was no great matterwhether the sex aimed at any thing but excelling in the knowledge of thebeauties and graces of their mother-tongue; and once she said, that thiswas field enough for a woman; and an ampler was but endangering herfamily usefulness. But I, who think our sex inferior in nothing to theother, but in want of opportunities, of which the narrow-minded mortalsindustriously seek to deprive us, lest we should surpass them as much inwhat they chiefly value themselves upon, as we do in all the graces of afine imagination, could never agree with her in that. And yet I wasentirely of her opinion, that those women, who were solicitous to obtainthat knowledge of learning which they supposed would add to theirsignificance in sensible company, and in their attainment of it imaginedthemselves above all domestic usefulness, deservedly incurred thecontempt which they hardly ever failed to meet with.
Perhaps you will not think it amiss further to observe on this head, asit will now show that precept and example always went hand and hand withher, that her dairy at her grandfather's was the delight of every one whosaw it; and she of all who saw her in it.
Her grandfather, in honour of her dexterity and of her skill in all theparts of the dairy management, as well as of the elegance of the officesallotted for that use, would have his seat, before known by the name ofThe Grove, to be called The Dairy-house.* She had an easy, convenient,and graceful habit made on purpose, which she put on when she employedherself in these works; and it was noted of her, that in the same hourthat she appeared to be a most elegant dairy-maid, she was, when calledto a change of dress, the finest lady that ever graced a circle.
* See Vol. I. Letter II.
Her grandfather, father,
mother, uncles, aunt, and even her brother andsister, made her frequent visits there, and were delighted with hersilent ease and unaffected behaviour in her works; for she always, out ofmodesty, chose rather the operative than the directive part, that shemight not discourage the servant whose proper business it was.
Each was fond of a regale from her hands in her Dairy-house. Her motherand aunt Hervey generally admired her in silence, that they might notgive uneasiness to her sister; a spiteful, perverse, unimitating thing,who usually looked upon her all the time with speechless envy.Now-and-then, however, the pouting creature would suffer extorted andsparing praise to burst open her lips; though looking at the same timelike Saul meditating the pointed javelin at the heart of David, the gloryof his kingdom. And now, methinks, I see my angel-friend, (too superiorto take notice of her gloom,) courting her acceptance of the milk-whitecurd, from hands more pure than that.
Her skill and dexterity in every branch of family management seem to bethe only excellence of her innumerable ones which she owed to her family;whose narrowness, immensely rich, and immensely carking, put them uponindulging her in the turn she took to this part of knowledge; while herelder sister affected dress without being graceful in it; and the finelady, which she could never be; and which her sister was without studyingfor it, or seeming to know she was so.
It was usual with the one sister, when company was expected, to be halfthe morning dressing; while the other would give directions for the wholebusiness and entertainment of the day; and then go up to herdressing-room, and, before she could well be missed, [having all herthings in admirable order,] come down fit to receive company, and withall that graceful ease and tranquillity as if she had nothing else tothink of.
Long after her, [hours, perhaps, of previous preparation having passed,]down would come rustling and bustling the tawdry and awkward Bella,disordering more her native disorderliness at the sight of her serenesister, by her sullen envy, to see herself so much surpassed with suchlittle pains, and in a sixth part of the time.
Yet was this admirable creature mistress of all these domesticqualifications, without the least intermixture of narrowness. She knewhow to distinguish between frugality, a necessary virtue, andniggardliness, an odious vice; and used to say, 'That to definegenerosity, it must be called the happy medium betwixt parsimony andprofusion.'
She was the most graceful reader I ever knew. She added, by hermelodious voice, graces to those she found in the parts of books she readout to her friends; and gave grace and significance to others where theywere not. She had no tone, no whine. Her accent was always admirablyplaced. The emphasis she always forcibly laid as the subject required.No buskin elevation, no tragedy pomp, could mislead her; and yet poetrywas poetry indeed, when she read it.
But if her voice was melodious when she read, it was all harmony when shesung. And the delight she gave by that, and by her skill and greatcompass, was heightened by the ease and gracefulness of her air andmanner, and by the alacrity with which she obliged.
Nevertheless she generally chose rather to hear others sing or play, thaneither to play or sing herself.
She delighted to give praise where deserved; yet she always bestowed itin such a manner as gave not the least suspicion that she laid out for areturn of it to herself, though so universally allowed to be her due.
She had a talent of saying uncommon things in such an easy manner thatevery body thought they could have said the same; and which yet requiredboth genius and observation to say them.
Even severe things appeared gentle, though they lost not their force,from the sweetness of her air and utterance, and the apparent benevolenceof her purpose.
We form the truest judgment of persons by their behaviour on the mostfamiliar occasions. I will give an instance or two of the correction shefavoured me with on such a one.
When very young, I was guilty of the fault of those who want to becourted to sing. She cured me of it, at the first of our happy intimacy,by her own example; and by the following correctives, occasionally, yetprivately enforced:
'Well, my dear, shall we take you at your word? Shall we suppose, thatyou sing but indifferently? Is not, however, the act of obliging, (thecompany so worthy!) preferable to the talent of singing? And shall notyoung ladies endeavour to make up for their defects in one part ofeducation, by their excellence in another?'
Again, 'You must convince us, by attempting to sing, that you cannotsing; and then we will rid you, not only of present, but of futureimportunity.'--An indulgence, however, let me add, that but tolerablesingers do not always wish to meet with.
Again, 'I know you will favour us by and by; and what do you by yourexcuses but raise our expectations, and enhance your own difficulties?'
At another time, 'Has not this accomplishment been a part of youreducation, my Nancy? How, then, for your own honour, can we allow ofyour excuses?'
And I once pleading a cold, the usual pretence of those who love to beentreated--'Sing, however, my dear, as well as you can. The greater thedifficulty to you, the higher the compliment to the company. Do youthink you are among those who know not how to make allowances? you shouldsing, my love, lest there should be any body present who may think yourexcuses owing to affectation.'
At another time, when I had truly observed that a young lady present sungbetter than I; and that, therefore, I chose not to sing before that lady--'Fie, said she, (drawing me on one side,) is not this pride, my Nancy?Does it not look as if your principal motive to oblige was to obtainapplause? A generous mind will not scruple to give advantage to a personof merit, though not always to her own advantage. And yet she will havea high merit in doing that. Supposing this excellent person absent, who,my dear, if your example spread, shall sing after you? You know everyone else must be but as a foil to you. Indeed I must have you as muchsuperior to other ladies in these smaller points, as you are in greater.'So she was pleased to say to shame me. She was so much above reserve asdisguise. So communicative that no young lady could be in her companyhalf an hour, and not carry away instruction with her, whatever was thetopic. Yet all sweetly insinuated; nothing given with the air ofprescription; so that while she seemed to ask a question forinformation-sake, she dropt in the needful instruction, and left theinstructed unable to decide whether the thought (which being started,she, the instructed, could improve) came primarily from herself, or fromthe sweet instructress.
She had a pretty hand at drawing, which she obtained with very littleinstruction. Her time was too much taken up to allow, though to so finean art, the attention which was necessary to make her greatly excel init: and she used to say, 'That she was afraid of aiming at too manythings, for fear she should not be tolerable at any thing.'
For her years, and her opportunities, she was an extraordinary judge ofpainting. In this, as in every thing else, nature was her art, her artwas nature. She even prettily performed in it. Her grandfather, forthis reason, bequeathed to her all the family pictures. Charming was herfancy: alike sweet and easy was every touch of her pencil and her pen.Yet her judgment exceeded her performance. She did not practise enoughto excel in the executive part. She could not in every thing excel.But, upon the whole, she knew what every subject required according tothe nature of it; in other words, was an absolute mistress of theshould-be.
To give a familiar instance for the sake of young ladies; she (untaught)observed when but a child, that the sun, moon, and stars, never appearedat once; and were therefore never to be in one piece; that bears, tigers,lions, were not natives of an English climate, and should not thereforehave place in an English landscape; that these ravagers of the forestconsorted not with lambs, kids, or fawns; nor kites, hawks, and vultures,with doves, partridges, or pheasants.
And, alas! she knew, before she was nineteen years of age, by fatalexperience she knew! that all these beasts and birds of prey wereoutdone, in treacherous cruelty, by MAN! Vile, barbarous, plotting,destructive man! who, infinitely less excusable than those, destroys,throu
gh wantonness and sport, what those only destroy through hunger andnecessity!
The mere pretenders to those branches of science which she aimed atacquiring she knew how to detect; and from all nature. Propriety,another word for nature, was (as I have hinted) her law, as it is thefoundation of all true judgment. But, nevertheless, she was alwaysuneasy, if what she said exposed those pretenders to knowledge, even intheir absence, to the ridicule of lively spirits.
Let the modern ladies, who have not any one of her excellent qualities;whose whole time, in the short days they generally make, and in theinverted night and day, where they make them longer, is wholly spent indress, visits, cards, plays, operas, and musical entertainments, wonderat what I have written, and shall further write; and let them look uponit as an incredible thing, that when, at a mature age, they cannot boastone of her perfections, there should have been a lady so young, who hadso many.
These must be such as know not how she employed her time; and cannot formthe least idea of what may be done in those hours in which they lieenveloped with the shades of death, as she used to call sleep.
But before I come to mention the distribution she usually made of hertime, let me say a few words upon another subject, in which she excelledall the young ladies I ever knew.
This was her skill in almost all sorts of fine needleworks; of which,however, I shall say the less, since possibly you will find it mentionedin some of the letters.
That piece which she bequeaths to her cousin Morden is indeed a capitalpiece; a performance so admirable, that that gentleman's father, whoresided chiefly abroad, (was, as is mentioned in her will,) very desirousto obtain it, in order to carry it to Italy with him, to show the curiousof other countries, (as he used to say,) for the honour of his own, thatthe cloistered confinement was not necessary to make English women excelin any of those fine arts upon which nuns and recluses value themselves.
Her quickness at these sort of works was astonishing; and a greatencouragement to herself to prosecute them.
Mr. Morden's father would have been continually making her presents,would she have permitted him to do so; and he used to call them, and sodid her grandfather, tributes due to a merit so sovereign, and notpresents.
As to her diversions, the accomplishments and acquirements she wasmistress of will show what they must have been. She was far from beingfond of cards, the fashionable foible of modern ladies; nor, as will beeasily perceived from what I have said, and more from what I shallfurther say, had she much time for play. She never therefore promotedtheir being called for; and often insensibly diverted the company fromthem, by starting some entertaining subject, when she could do it withoutincurring the imputation of particularity.
Indeed very few of her intimates would propose cards, if they couldengage her to read, to talk, to touch the keys, or to sing, when any newbook, or new piece of music, came down. But when company was sonumerous, that conversation could not take that agreeable turn which itoftenest does among four or five friends of like years and inclinations,and it became in a manner necessary to detach off some of it, to make therest better company, she would not refuse to play, if, upon casting in,it fell to her lot. And then she showed that her disrelish to cards wasthe effect of choice only; and that she was an easy mistress of everygenteel game played with them. But then she always declared againstplaying high. 'Except for trifles,' she used to say, 'she would notsubmit to chance what she was already sure of.'
At other times, 'she should make her friends a very ill compliment,' shesaid, 'if she supposed they would wish to be possessed of what of rightbelonged to her; and she should be very unworthy, if she desired to makeherself a title to what was theirs.'
'High gaming, in short,' she used to say, 'was a sordid vice; animmorality; the child of avarice; and a direct breach of thatcommandment, which forbids us to covet what is our neighbour's.'
She was exceedingly charitable; the only one of her family that knew themeaning of the word; and this with regard both to the souls and thebodies of those who were the well-chosen objects of her benevolence. Shekept a list of these, whom she used to call her Poor, entering one uponit as another was provided for, by death, or any other way; but alwaysmade a reserve, nevertheless, for unforeseen cases, and for accidentaldistresses. And it must be owned, that in the prudent distribution ofthem, she had neither example nor equal.
The aged, the blind, the lame, the widow, the orphan, the unsuccessfulindustrious, were particularly the objects of it; and the contributingto the schooling of some, to the putting out to trades and husbandry thechildren of others of the labouring or needy poor, and setting themforward at the expiration of their servitude, were her great delights; aswas the giving good books to others; and, when she had opportunity, theinstructing the poorer sort of her honest neighbours, and father'stenants, in the use of them. 'That charity,' she used to say, 'whichprovides for the morals, as well as for the bodily wants of the poor,gives a double benefit to the public, as it adds to the number of thehopeful what it takes from that of the profligate. And can there be, inthe eyes of that God, she was wont to say, who requires nothing so muchfrom us as acts of beneficence to one another, a charity more worthy?'
Her uncle Antony, when he came to settle in England with his vast fortuneobtained in the Indies, used to say, 'This girl by her charities willbring down a blessing upon us all.' And it must be owned they trustedpretty much to this presumption.
But I need not say more on this head: nor perhaps was it necessary to sayso much; since the charitable bequests in her will sufficiently set forthher excellence in this branch of duty.
She was extremely moderate in her diet. 'Quantity in food,' she used tosay, 'was more to be regarded than quality; that a full meal was thegreat enemy both to study and industry: that a well-built house requiredbut little repairs.'
But this moderation in her diet, she enjoyed, with a delicate frame ofbody, a fine state of health; was always serene, lively; cheerful, ofcourse. And I never knew but of one illness she had; and that was by aviolent cold caught in an open chaise, by a sudden storm of hail andrain, in a place where was no shelter; and which threw her into a fever,attended with dangerous symptoms, that no doubt were lightened by hertemperance; but which gave her friends, who then knew her value, infiniteapprehensions for her.*
* In her common-place book she has the following note upon therecollection of this illness in the time of her distress:
'In a dangerous illness, with which I was visited a few years before Ihad the unhappiness to know this ungrateful man! [would to Heaven I haddied in it!] my bed was surrounded by my dear relations--father, mother,brother, sister, my two uncles, weeping, kneeling, round me, then put uptheir vows to Heaven for my recovery; and I, fearing that I should dragdown with me to my grave one or other of my sorrowing friends, wished andprayed to recover for their sakes.--Alas! how shall parents in such casesknow what to wish for! How happy for them, and for me, had I then beendenied to their prayers! But now I am eased of that care. All thosedear relations are living still--but not one of them (such as they think,has been the heinousness of my error!) but, far from being grieved, wouldrejoice to hear of my death.'
In all her readings, and her conversations upon them, she was fonder offinding beauties than blemishes, and chose to applaud but authors andbooks, where she could find the least room for it. Yet she used tolament that certain writers of the first class, who were capable ofexalting virtue, and of putting vice out of countenance, too generallyemployed themselves in works of imagination only, upon subjects merelyspeculative, disinteresting and unedifying, from which no useful moral orexample could be drawn.
But she was a severe censurer of pieces of a light or indecent turn,which had a tendency to corrupt the morals of youth, to convey pollutedimages, or to wound religion, whether in itself, or through the sides ofits professors, and this, whoever were the authors, and how admirablesoever the execution. She often pitied the celebrated Dr. Swift for soemploying his admirable pen, tha
t a pure eye was afraid of looking intohis works, and a pure ear of hearing any thing quoted from them. 'Suchauthors,' she used to say, 'were not honest to their own talents, norgrateful to the God who gave them.' Nor would she, on these occasions,admit their beauties as a palliation; on the contrary, she held it as anaggravation of their crime, that they who are so capable of mending theheart, should in any places show a corrupt one in themselves; which mustweaken the influences of their good works; and pull down with one handwhat they build up with the other.
All she said and all she did was accompanied with a natural ease anddignity, which set her above affectation, or the suspicion of it;insomuch that that degrading fault, so generally imputed to a learnedwoman, was never laid to her charge. For, with all her excellencies, shewas forwarder to hear than speak; and hence, no doubt, derived no smallpart of her improvement.
Although she was well read in the English, French, and Italian poets, andhad read the best translations of the Latin classics; yet seldom did shequote or repeat from them, either in her letters or conversation, thoughexceedingly happy in a tenacious memory; principally through modesty, andto avoid the imputation of that affectation which I have just mentioned.
Mr. Wyerley once said of her, she had such a fund of knowledge of herown, and made naturally such fine observations upon persons and things,being capable, by the EGG, [that was his familiar expression,] of judgingof the bird, that she had seldom either room or necessity for foreignassistances.
But it was plain, from her whole conduct and behaviour, that she had notso good an opinion of herself, however deserved; since, whenever she wasurged to give her sentiments on any subject, although all she thought fitto say was clear an intelligible, yet she seemed in haste to have donespeaking. Her reason for it, I know, was twofold; that she might notlose the benefit of other people's sentiments, by engrossing theconversation; and lest, as were her words, she should be praised intoloquaciousness, and so forfeit the good opinion which a person alwaysmaintains with her friends, who knows when she has said enough.--It was,finally, a rule with her, 'to leave her hearers wishing her to say more,rather than to give them cause to show, by their inattention, anuneasiness that she had said so much.'--
You are curious to know the particular distribution of her time; whichyou suppose will help you to account for what you own yourself surprisedat; to wit, how so young a lady could make herself mistress of so manyaccomplishments.
I will premise, that she was from infancy inured to rise early in amorning, by an excellent, and, as I may say, a learned woman, Mrs.Norton, to whose care, wisdom, and example, she was beholden for theground-work of her taste and acquirements, which meeting with suchassistances from the divines I have named, and with such a genius, madeit the less wonder that she surpassed most of her age and sex.
Her sex, did I say? What honour to the other does this imply! When onemight challenge the proudest pedant of them all, to say he has beendisciplined into greater improvement, than she had made from the mereforce of genius and application. But it is demonstrable to all who knowhow to make observations on their acquaintance of both sexes, arrogant assome are of their superficialities, that a lady at eighteen, take theworld through, is more prudent and conversable than a man at twenty-five.I can prove this by nineteen instances out of twenty in my own knowledge.Yet how do these poor boasters value themselves upon the advantages theireducation gives them! Who has not seen some one of them, just come fromthe university, disdainfully smile at a mistaken or ill-pronounced wordfrom a lady, when her sense has been clear, and her sentiments just; andwhen he could not himself utter a single sentence fit to be repeated, butwhat he had borrowed from the authors he had been obliged to study, as apainful exercise to slow and creeping parts? But how I digress:
This excellent young lady used to say, 'it was incredible to think whatmight be done by early rising, and by long days well filled up.'
It may be added, that she had calculated according to the practice of toomany, she had actually lived more years at sixteen, than they had attwenty-six.
She was of opinion, 'that no one could spend their time properly, who didnot live by some rule: who did not appropriate the hours, as nearly asmight be, to particular purposes and employments.'
In conformity to this self-set lesson, the usual distribution of thetwenty-four hours, when left to her own choice, were as follows:
For REST she allotted SIX hours only.
She thought herself not so well, and so clear in her intellects, [so muchalive, she used to say,] if she exceeded this proportion. If she sleptnot, she chose to rise sooner. And in winter had her fire laid, and ataper ready burning to light it; not loving to give trouble to theservants, 'whose harder work, and later hours of going to bed,' she usedto say, 'required consideration.'
I have blamed her for her greater regard to them than to herself. Butthis was her answer; 'I have my choice, who can wish for more? Whyshould I oppress others, to gratify myself? You see what free-willenables one to do; while imposition would make a light burden heavy.'
Her first THREE morning hours
were generally passed in her study, and in her closet duties: and wereoccasionally augmented by those she saved from rest: and in these passedher epistolary amusements.
Two hours she generally allotted to domestic management.
These, at different times of the day, as occasions required; all thehousekeeper's bills, in ease of her mother, passing through her hands.For she was a perfect mistress of the four principal rules of arithmetic.
FIVE hours to her needle, drawings, music, &c.
In these she included the assistance and inspection she gave to her ownservants, and to her sister's servants, in the needle-works required forthe family: for her sister, as I have above hinted, is a MODERN. Inthese she also included Dr. Lewen's conversation-visits; with whomlikewise she held a correspondence by letters. That reverend gentlemandelighted himself and her twice or thrice a week, if his healthpermitted, with these visits: and she always preferred his company to anyother engagement.
Two hours she allotted to her two first meals.
But if conversation, or the desire of friends, or the falling in ofcompany or guests, required it to be otherwise, she never scrupled tooblige; and would on such occasions borrow, as she called it, from otherdistributions. And as she found it very hard not to exceed in thisappropriation, she put down
ONE hour more to dinner-time conversation,
to be added or subtracted, as occasions offered, or the desire of herfriends required: and yet found it difficult, as she often said, to keepthis account even; especially if Dr. Lewen obliged them with his companyat their table; which, however he seldom did; for, being avaletudinarian, and in a regimen, he generally made his visits in theafternoon.
ONE hour to visits to the neighbouring poor;
to a select number of whom, and to their children, she used to give briefinstructions, and good books; and as this happened not every day, andseldom above twice a-week, she had two or three hours at a time to bestowin this benevolent employment.
The remaining FOUR hours
were occasionally allotted to supper, to conversation, or to readingafter supper to the family. This allotment she called her fund, uponwhich she used to draw, to satisfy her other debits; and in this sheincluded visits received and returned, shows, spectacles, &c. which, in acountry life, not occurring every day, she used to think a greatallowance, no less than two days in six, for amusements only; and she waswont to say, that it was hard if she could not steal time out of thisfund, for an excursion of even two or three days in a month.
If it be said, that her relations, or the young neighbouring ladies, hadbut little of her time, it will be considered, that besides these fourhours in the twenty-four, great part of the time she was employed in herneedle-works she used to converse as she worked; and it was a custom shehad introduced among her acquaintance, that the young ladies in theirvisits us
ed frequently, in a neighbourly way, (in the winter eveningsespecially,) to bring their work with them; and one of half a dozen of herselect acquaintance used by turns to read to the rest as they were atwork.
This was her usual method, when at her own command, for six days in theweek.
THE SEVENTH DAY
she kept as it ought to be kept; and as some part of it was frequentlyemployed in works of mercy, the hour she allotted to visiting theneighbouring poor was occasionally supplied from this day, and added toher fund.
But I must observe, that when in her grandfather's lifetime she was threeor four weeks at a time his housekeeper or guest, as also at either ofher uncles, her usual distribution of time was varied; but still she hadan eye to it as nearly as circumstances would admit.
When I had the happiness of having her for my guest, for a fortnight orso, she likewise dispensed with her rules in mere indulgence to myfoibles, and idler habits; for I also, (though I had the benefit of anexample I so much admired) am too much of a modern. Yet, as to morningrisings, I had corrected myself by such a precedent, in the summer-time;and can witness to the benefit I found by it in my health: as also to themany useful things I was enabled, by that means, with ease and pleasure,to perform. And in her account-book I have found this memorandum, sinceher ever-to-be-lamented death:--'From such a day, to such a day, allholidays, at my dear Miss Howe's.'--At her return--'Account resumed, sucha day,' naming it; and then she proceeded regularly, as before.
Once-a-week she used to reckon with herself; when, if within the 144hours, contained in the six days, she had made her account even, shenoted it accordingly; if otherwise, she carried the debit to the nextweek's account; as thus:--Debtor to the article of the benevolent visits,so many hours. And so of the rest.
But it was always an especial part of her care that, whether visiting orvisited, she showed in all companies an entire ease, satisfaction, andcheerfulness, as if she had kept no such particular account, and as ifshe did not make herself answerable to herself for her occasionalexceedings.
This method, which to others will appear perplexing and unnecessary, herearly hours, and custom, had made easy and pleasant to her.
And indeed, as I used to tell her, greatly as I admired her in allmethods, I could not bring myself to this, might I have had the world formy reward.
I had indeed too much impatience in my temper, to observe such aregularity in accounting between me and myself. I satisfied myself in alump-account, as I may call it, if I had nothing greatly wrong toreproach myself, when I looked back on a past week, as she had taught meto do.
For she used indulgently to say, 'I do not think ALL I do necessary foranother to do; nor even for myself; but when it is more pleasant for meto keep such an account, than to let it alone, why may I not proceed inmy supererogatories?--There can be no harm in it. It keeps up myattention to accounts; which one day may be of use to me in more materialinstances. Those who will not keep a strict account, seldom long keepany. I neglect not more useful employments for it. And it teaches me tobe covetous of time; the only thing of which we can be allowablycovetous; since we live but once in this world; and, when gone, are gonefrom it for ever.'
She always reconciled the necessity under which these interventions, asshe called them, laid her, of now-and-then breaking into some of herappropriations; saying, 'That was good sense, and good manners too, inthe common lesson, When at Rome, do as they do at Rome. And that to beeasy of persuasion, in matters where one could oblige without endangeringvirtue, or worthy habits, was an apostolical excellency; since, if aperson conformed with a view of making herself an interest in herfriend's affections, in order to be heeded in greater points, it wasimitating His example, who became all things to all men, that He mightgain some.' Nor is it to be doubted, had life been spared her, that thesweetness of her temper, and her cheerful piety, would have made virtueand religion appear so lovely, that her example would have had no smallinfluence upon the minds and manners of those who would have had thehonour of conversing with her.
O Mr. Belford! I can write no further on this subject. For, lookinginto the account-book for other particulars, I met with a most affectingmemorandum; which being written on the extreme edge of the paper, with afine pen, and in the dear creature's smallest hand, I saw not before.--This it is; written, I suppose, at some calamitous period after the daynamed in it--help me to curse, to blast the monster who gave occasion forit!----
APRIL 10. The account concluded! And with it all my worldly hopes and prospects!
***
I take up my pen; but not to apologize for my execration.--Once more Ipray to God to avenge me of him!--Me, I say--for mine is the loss--her'sthe gain.
O Sir! you did not--you could not know her, as I knew her! Never wassuch an excellence!--So warm, yet so cool a friend!--So much what I wishto be, but never shall be!--For, alas! my stay, my adviser, my monitress,my directress, is gone!--for ever gone!--She honoured me with the titleof The Sister of her Heart; but I was only so in the love I bore her, (alove beyond a sister's--infinitely beyond her sister's!) in the hatred Ihave to every mean and sordid action; and in my love of virtue; for,otherwise, I am of a high and haughty temper, as I have acknowledgedheretofore, and very violent in my passions.
In short, she was the nearest perfection of any creature I ever knew.She never preached to me lessons which she practised not herself. Shelived the life she taught. All humility, meekness, self-accusing, othersacquitting, though the shadow of the fault was hardly hers, the substancetheir's, whose only honour was their relation to her.
To lose such a friend--such a guide.--If ever my violence wasjustifiable, it is upon this recollection! For she lived only to make mesensible of my failings, but not long enough to enable me to conquerthem; as I was resolved to endeavour to do.
Once more then let me execrate--but now violence and passion againpredominate!--And how can it be otherwise?
But I force myself from the subject, having lost the purpose for which Iresumed my pen.
A. HOWE.