The Project Gutenberg EBook of Munster Village, by Mary Hamilton 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: Munster Village Author: Mary Hamilton Release Date: September 16, 2013 [EBook #43743] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MUNSTER VILLAGE *** Produced by Delphine Lettau, Norbert Müller and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Notes The cover image was created by the transcriber and is dedicated without reservation to the public domain. On page 122 there was duplicated text of about 28 lines, which has been deleted. The page references in the footnotes do not correspondent to the page numbers in the used edition of the book. the targets of the hyperlinks have been set to the most probable positions Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error (see list after text). MUNSTER VILLAGE MARY HAMILTON CONTENTS Volume I 1 Volume II 65 VOLUME I Lord Munster devoted himself entirely to ambition: what has been said of Cinna might be applied to him, he had a head to contrive, a tongue to persuade, and a hand to execute any mischief. Weak people are only wicked by halves; and whenever we hear of high and enormous crimes, we may conclude that they proceeded from a power of soul, and a reach of thought, that are altogether unusual. He stuck at nothing to accomplish his political plans; and his success rendered him still more enterprising: But being at last refused a favor from his Sovereign, he retired disgusted with the court, and in vain sought that happiness in a retreat, which his crimes made it impossible he should ever find. He was so chagrined that everything became intolerable to him; and he continually vented his spleen on those of his friends, whose circumstances rendered them subservient to his caprices. He possessed good health, a large estate, and had fine children, that equalled his most sanguine expectations. In the opinion of the world, therefore, he was a very happy man, but in his own, quite the contrary. No man can judge of the happiness or infelicity of his neighbour. We only know the external causes of good and evil, which causes are not always proportionable to their effects: those which seem to us small, often occasion a strong sensation; and those which appear to us great, often produce only a faint sensation. The great advantages Lord Munster possessed, as they excited in him only indifference, in reality were inconsiderable in themselves. But the small evil, his having been refused a ribbon by his Sovereign, exciting in him insupportable uneasiness, was in reality a great evil. Lady Munster had been dead many years: Lord Finlay and Lady Frances were the only surviving children. Engrossed as the earl had been in public affairs, he still paid particular attention to their education. Though a man of the world, he was at the utmost pains in selecting those of distinguished worth, to whom only he committed the care of his children. Lord Finlay had promising parts; but force of mind makes a man capable of great vices or great virtues, but determines him to neither. Education, discipline, and accidents of life, constitute him either a profound philosopher, or a great knave. The probity and disinterestedness of Mr Burt's principles recommended him to Lord Munster, for a tutor to his son.—He had been brought up to the ministry, with an inclination to it, and entered into it with a fervent desire of being as useful as he could. His education being all his fortune, he subscribed, and took every step the church required, before he was sufficiently acquainted with the doctrines subscribed to;—their foundation in scripture, and the controversies which he afterwards found had been raised, and carried on about them in the christian world: and, after a diligent inquiry, was dissatisfied with some doctrines established in our articles, liturgy, &c. and declined accepting a considerable living in Lord Munster's gift, on which alone he depended for his future subsistence, and that of an amiable woman, whom he had espoused upon these expectations. I heartily wish that all who are disposed for the ministry of the church, were as careful to satisfy themselves about the lawfulness of conformity, and that the church of England laid fewer obstructions in the way of those who are both disposed and qualified for advancing the interests of religion and virtue; but dare not engage publicly in her service, for fear of violating the peace of their minds, and wounding their consciences. In such a situation what must a clergyman do? must he preach and maintain doctrines he disapproves of? this would be acting both against his persuasion, and his solemn promise at his ordination. Shall he preach or write against them? this he must not do neither, lest he should be judged guilty of impugning his subscription, and consequently incur the censures of the church. Shall he then be quite silent, and neither preach nor write about them at all? but how will this be consistent, with his other solemn promise, made likewise at his ordination, to be ready with all faithful diligence, to banish and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrines—all doctrines which he is persuaded, are contrary to God's word? He must therefore necessarily offend, either against the church, or against truth, and his own conscience. A sad alternative! when a man can neither speak, what he thinks to be truth, with safety, nor be silent without offence. These considerations induced Mr Burt to refuse a proffered establishment—by which conduct, he proved his belief in a future state, more firmly than a great many of them appear to do, by their immoderate desires of the good things in this: but his faith was founded, not on the fallacious arguments of too many of his brethren; but on that adorable conjunction of unbounded power and goodness, which must certainly someway recompense so many thousand innocent wretches, created to be so miserable here. He possessed that virtue in an eminent degree, which the christians call humility, and which the ancients were ignorant of.— But he had real merit, and could easily be modest, which is almost impossible to those, who have only the affectation of it. With this respectable man was Lord Finlay placed, at five years old, when a considerable settlement was made on him, in compensation for relinquishing other pursuits, with a promise of its beings continued for life. Lord Munster from time to time examined his son, and was highly satisfied with the progress he made; and not a little surprised, to find him no way deficient in those accomplishments, which, though of less consequence in themselves, a late noble author has illustrated as being absolutely necessary, in compleating the character of a fine gentleman. For these Lord Finlay was indebted to Captain Lewis, father-in-law to Mr Burt. This old gentleman was of an antient family, and had retired from the army, disgusted at his situation, having been many years in a very subaltern station. The condition of many brave and experienced officers is to be lamented, who, after having passed through many various dangers in the service of their country, are subject to the command of boys and striplings. Whilst stations, which should be the reward of martial virtues, can be purchased, it is in vain to hope, that our officers can be animated like those of a neighbouring nation. [4] [5] Honour alone can support the soldier in a day of battle; without this invigorating principle, humanity will tremble at the sight of slaughter, and every danger will be avoided, which necessity does not impose. Captain Lewis retained that dignity of sentiment, which no misfortunes could surmount. Our hearts and understandings, are not subject to the vicissitudes of fortune. We may have a noble soul though our circumstances be circumscribed, and a superiority of mind without being of the highest rank. He had been much among the great world, in the early part of his life, having been aide-de-camp to Lord S——. Upon his daughter's marriage with Mr Burt, he resided entirely with him; and though she died of her first child, he continued with him, and became as fond of lord Finlay as his grand- daughter, who, after her mother's decease, became the object of his tenderest affection. Thus were Lord Finlay and Miss Burt brought up together; and from the time of her birth never separated until she was nine years old. At that period she was sent to a convent at Paris, and returned, after six years absence, highly accomplished; uniting in herself everything that could charm a heart that was disengaged. The consequences to Lord Finlay were inevitable, though never suspected. A student of about eighteen, full of the amours of Ovid, and the soft odes in Horace, has a heart very susceptible of love. These sensations were too agreeable to be repulsed; he delivered himself entirely over to his passion, which absorbed every other faculty of his soul. The most perfect affection soon subsisted between these young people: but the dignity of Miss Burt's manners inspired her lover with such respect as rendered him silent on the subject of his passion, as he could not enforce it without his father's sanction. But there is an intelligence between tender souls, and the most animated expression may be conveyed without the aid of words; and this dumb language is so eloquent, that it is generally understood where the heart is in unison. Friendship, indeed, was only spoke of; but their every look, their every action, bespoke the most ardent love. 'What transports,' (said he, one day to her) 'can friendship bestow! what refined feelings, what delightful sensations, actuate the human soul in such happy moments as these!' We contemplate each other in silence; but the soul is never more eloquent than under the influence of such a silence. She expresses, in a moment, a train of ideas and sensations, which would be but confounded by utterance. Miss Burt had a merit the more engaging, from its avoiding notice and parade: a refined genius, enriched with great knowledge and happy expression, united with the most candid sincerity and goodness of heart; these qualities entitled her to the esteem and friendship of every noble mind: and the thick veil, under which her too great modesty concealed her pre-eminence, exalted her in the penetrating eyes of her lover. She scarce ever laid this veil aside, except to him, whose approbation rendered her indifferent with respect to the commendations of every one else. He became every day more attached to her: and was so ignorant of the world as to expect his father's approbation of his passion, and that he would be propitious to it. Thus situated were the lovers, when Lord Munster disgusted with the court retired to the country. He immediately sent for Mr Burt and Lord Finlay: although the distance was only a few miles, it was very grievous for the latter to leave a place where he had access every minute of the day to behold the object of his wishes. Upon this occasion he was determined to disclose to her the situation of his heart. He threw himself at her feet, in that pathetic disorder of spirits which constitutes the true eloquence of love, and endeavoured to speak, but hesitated at every word. In the mean time she saw and pitied his confusion. 'I can read,' said she, 'my lord,' with an air of frankness, 'the sentiments of your heart: I am not insensible of your passion; but why hath fortune placed us at so great a distance from each other? how delightful it would have been to me, if—But,' said she, (stopping short in her discourse) 'let us not flatter ourselves with chimeras.—Let us suppress the emotions of our hearts; it may be dangerous to indulge them.' 'How? dangerous!' replied Lord Finlay, 'why suppress them? do not those emotions constitute our happiness? It is the duty of love to repair the injustice of fortune. How enraptured should I be to make happy the object I love. Prejudice might object to it perhaps: but that shall never enslave my understanding, especially as it must be founded only in pride.' With these sentiments they parted. It may be easily conceived how impatient Lord Finlay was to see the idol of his heart, but he could not with propriety propose quitting his father, for the first days after his arrival in the country. He at last fell upon the expedient of suggesting, whether, as he was under such obligations to Captain Lewis, it would not be proper to call, and invite him to Munster house. This Lord Munster agreeing to, he and his son called one morning; when Miss Burt entertaining them with a little music, the light-winged god took one of the sharpest arrows from the fair- one's quiver, applied it to his bow, and swift as the forked lightning of Jove, fixed it in the old man's heart. Lord Munster became desperately in love, and determined to make her his wife. It is not at all surprising that a young woman makes an impression on an old man. While we have life we have our passions; age represses, but does not extinguish them. As in maturer years, the fire lurks under the ashes of prudence; so, if that be wanting, love burns up and blazes fiercely; and is generally inextinguishable, if it takes hold of the dry and worm-eaten wood of old-age. Persons of languid passions (it has been observed) have few partialities; they neither love, nor hate, nor look, nor move, with the energy of a man of sense. People of real genius, and strong passions, have great partialities. The blamelessness of the former should be weighed with their insignificancy; and the faults of the latter balanced with their superiority. Lord Munster made proposals to Mr Burt that very day, never doubting but that Hymen would soon rekindle his torch. —But the same principles determined him respecting his daughter, which had influenced him in his own affairs. He thanked Lord Munster for the honor he intended him, which he should acquaint her of—but that in an affair in which her [6] [7] [8] happiness for life was so immediately concerned, he must forgive his interfering further. When he acquainted her with it; instead of enforcing the acceptance of the honor proposed to her, he was at great pains to precaution her, against many disagreeable consequences of such an unequal alliance, both in age and condition, lest she should be dazzled by wealth or titles, to sacrifice her inclinations! Miss Burt, with unfeigned concern, was greatly chagrined to hear of Lord Munster's proposals: she, therefore, with great warmth, declared herself totally unfit, for such an exalted station. 'I can neither,' said she, 'adopt the virtues, or the vices of the great: the former are too conspicuous, the other too obscure. A round of peaceable employments, proper to satisfy the mind, and to soothe the heart, is the kind of happiness for which I find myself inclined.' 'With such principles and inclinations, I could not be happy in the great world, where the general way of life is solely calculated, to flatter the senses, and where a superior genius is contemned, or at least only permitted to exhibit itself in lively sallies, or smart repartees.' Mr Burt informed the earl of his daughter's sentiments. But his lordship's self-love prevailed so far as to render it impossible to conceive that he could be refused. He, therefore, made preparations for his nuptials, and sent for his daughter home to be present on that occasion. Lord Munster had taken the same pains on Lady Frances's education, as her brother's. Mrs Norden, a distant relation, had the entire charge of her. She resided in London until Lady Frances was fourteen years old: at that time she accompanied her to Rome, where she had the best masters, and where Santerello improved her taste in music. After remaining three years at Rome, they went to Paris, from which they were just returned at the period above mentioned. Lord Munster was greatly charmed, both with the personal, and acquired perfections of his daughter: and professed himself much indebted to Mrs Norden, for the very great attention she had paid to her. The day after Lady Frances's arrival, she went to Mr Burt's to pay her respects to her intended mother-in-law. No servant happening to be in the way to announce her, she walked forwards into a room, the door of which she saw open, with an intention to ring the bell, when she found Miss Burt in her father's library, weeping bitterly: never before had she seen such an air of languid softness, mixed with so much beauty. What an affecting sight! She was going to retire, to save her from that confusion which a sensible heart is apt to feel at having its afflictions perceived by a stranger; but the lovely mourner, observing her, endeavoured to suppress her emotions: but her grief was too violent to be checked; and her tears burst forth the more, for having been an instant subdued. She could only say, 'That she could be no stranger to who did her the honour of waiting on her, from the likeness Lady Frances had to her brother.' The thoughts of Lord Finlay then renewed her affliction; and asking pardon for her rudeness, she again shed a torrent of tears. Lady Frances answered, 'That apologies were only due on her part, for breaking in upon her retirement, and witnessing emotions she might have wished to conceal.' After a few general things, she told her the pleasure it gave her of having so near a prospect of being entitled to take an interest in all her concerns; when she would be happy in her friendship. In this Lady Frances was perfectly sincere; for though she had been alarmed at the intended marriage taking place, and although she was of a very shy disposition, yet, at first sight, feeling the greatest partiality for Miss Burt, she echoed her sighs, and her eyes bore testimony of the feelings of her heart. With all the confidence of an ancient friendship, she conjured her to acquaint her with the cause of her sorrows; and took upon her to console, soothe, and comfort her. Miss Burt had only time to express the sense she entertained of her goodness, and to add, her miseries were too great to be alleviated; when her grand-father entering the room, the conversation turned upon general topics. Upon Lady Frances's return home, her father gayly enquired, What she thought of his intended bride? She answered, Every thing that was charming; and that she had prepared for her an eternal habitation in the warmest part of her heart: 'There is every thing in her,' added she, 'that can engage the affections, or command the respect, of people of taste and judgment.' Lord Finlay mean while was under the greatest oppression of spirits. A thousand conflicting passions tortured his (until then) undisturbed bosom. Love and filial piety alternatively took possession of his soul. Each in their turn was rejected. —When sentiments are nearly of equal force, the soul, as if unsettled, and wavering between contrary emotions, knows not which to resolve on; its decrees destroy each other; scarce is it freed from its troubles when it is involved in them anew; this undetermined state does not always terminate to the advantage of the most powerful sentiment. After a long conflict, the soul wearied out with the efforts it has made, gradually loses its sensibility and force together; and finally yields to the last impression, which thus remains master of the field. After many struggles, Lord Finlay was determined to sacrifice his inclinations, or in other words, (what he thought, his life, to his father.) This pious resolution, no doubt, was strengthened by his supposing Miss Burt had acquiesced to the proposed marriage. His resentment supported his prudence. Such was the situation of Lord Finlay's mind, when Lady Frances received the following letter from Miss Burt. 'Madam, You found me in tears, and kindly insinuated your desire to mitigate my distress; receive from me all the acknowledgments which can proceed from a full heart, raised from the lowest distress, to a glimmering prospect of avoiding misery, while that superior Power which witnesses your generosity, will reward it. Thus, when unhappy, we grasp at the least shadow of relief! we seize upon it with eagerness, and in a moment raise ourselves above our afflictions. When an unhappy drowning wretch is carried away by the current, while intimidated by the steepness [9] [10] [11] of the banks, and the rapidity of the torrent, he looks upon death as inevitable; his sinews relax, his heart fails him, he looks forward to an awful dreaded futurity: but if the least twig presents its friendly assistance, his courage at last revives, he raises his head, he seizes upon it with a hasty avidity, and makes a sudden and violent effort to save himself from destruction. Such is my application to your ladyship. Heaven grant you may avert from me those evils I so much dread! even the horror of involving my respectable parents in want and misery. My father's probity has entailed on him poverty; and my grandfather's half-pay is our sole dependance, exclusive of the salary Lord Munster settled on my respectable parent when he undertook to superintend the education of his son; and which he promised to continue for life, in compensation for his giving up all other pursuits. I flatter myself, the frowardness of his unhappy daughter will not frustrate his lordship's beneficence, and which he judged his labours entitled him to. May I intreat your ladyship will soften, through the medium of your influence, the refusal of the honor intended me! An attempt to deceive would wring my soul to torture: Can I then take upon me vows at the altar, incompatible with the feelings of my heart, and the possibility of conforming myself to? forbid it, gratitude, truth, and justice! let me sooner become a martyr to these, as my unfortunate father. In every event of my life, integrity and honor shall influence me. If my refusal is not founded upon the most advantageous, yet it is upon the most worthy terms: if that of embracing tranquility before profit, and preferring probity of mind, even attended with the greatest inconveniences, before its opposite, although surrounded with every outward accommodation, be deserving of that epithet. I ask pardon for this intrusion, and have the honor to be Your Ladyship's Obliged humble servant, Mary Ann Burt.' The little tenderness Lord Munster had ever shewn Lady Frances, the impressions she entertained of the sourness of his disposition, and the severity of his temper; all conspired to fill her with the greatest awe and dread of his displeasure. It may then be easily judged how badly qualified she was for the office enjoined her in the letter. To add to her distress, her valuable friend Mrs Norden was absent, and she dared not conceal the receipt of it until her return, as it was a subject that admitted of no delay. She accordingly summoned up sufficient courage to take the letter in her hand, and to present herself before her father; when her timidity and confusion were sufficient vouchers of her unwillingness to be an agent in such a disagreeable business. Her apprehensions were considerably increased, when the earl asked her, in a harsh tone, her business with him? Being unable to reply, and trembling from head to foot, she gave him the letter—which he eagerly pursued, while he was alternately agitated with indignation, pride, and confusion! He at length broke into a great rage, loading Lady Frances with invectives, for having innocently produced these emotions, adding, that he then discovered the cause of her partiality for Miss Burt: but that if she, or Lord Finlay, ever presumed, from that time forward, to hold any communication with the Burt family, he should consider them as aliens to his! Where friendship is reversed, and turned to enmity, the latter is generally as extreme, as the former was fervent. If we were more regular in our affections, we should be more moderate in our aversions, and, without consulting our interest, should hate nothing but what is really odious: but we are so unjust, that we judge only of things by their relation to us; we approve of them when agreeable to us, and, by a strange infatuation, do not esteem them as good or bad, but by the satisfaction of disgust they give us: we would have them alter their quality according to our caprices, and cameleon like, assume our colours, and accommodate themselves to our desires. We fain would be the center of the world, and have all creatures join with us in inclination. Lord Munster was not only disappointed in his affections, but piqued in pride, that, after he had by his intrigues led some of the first princes in Europe, and made them subservient to his views, a little obscure girl should render him the laughing-stock of the country. Lady Frances retired, not daring to return him any answer. Lord Finlay met her, and, alarmed at her appearance, followed her into her apartment, intreating to know the subject of the letters she had received from Miss Burt! She informed him of it, and the disagreeable task she had just executed; when his looks very soon (to one of her penetration) betrayed the situation of his heart. He owned to Lady Frances that his life depended on Miss Burt, their mutual affection, and the violence he had done his inclinations, by the obligations he had imposed on himself to subdue his passion whilst it interfered with his father: but remarked with joy, that he was now relieved from such a painful effort. 'The Almighty,' said he, 'my dear sister,' (for he was in a state of mind which both inclined him to be wise and kind) 'implanted both reason and the passions in human nature, mutually to conduce to men's happiness. But, in order to become a happy creature, man is not blindly to follow the impulses of his passion to the exclusion of reason: nor is he to contradict his natural desires but when they invert the order of nature, and oppose the common good of society, the dictates of right reason, and the manifest design of Providence.—I have done what man could do,' added he; 'I did not interfere when my father was concerned; but I will not relinquish the object of my affections to any other man breathing.' This was Lord Finlay's philosophy, which he strictly adhered to—Tremblingly alive to his interest, Lady Frances told him the risque he would run of his father's displeasure; but the impetuosity of his passion rendered him deaf to her remonstrances; and, regardless of everything but its gratification, he sat down and wrote the following letter to Miss Burt. 'Madam, The strict injunctions of my father, that all communication should cease between our families, renders it necessary for me to write, instead of waiting on you in person. Alas, how poor a substitute is the former for the latter! To [12] [13] [14] express my sorrow, or paint my grief, is impossible! Were you to know my distress, you would be sensible of my sufferings, and compassionate my wretchedness! To be debarred from the presence of your respectable parents, to whom I have a thousand obligations, and for whom I feel the greatest respect and tenderest regard, is a very great hardship: but to be prevented from beholding you, is downright tyranny, and forces me to rebel! Could I see Mr Burt, I would intreat him to pardon, what I am mortified to call the injustice of my father, and assure him that nothing shall be wanting, on my part, to soften, and bring him to reason. But I know too well the inflexibility of his virtue, he will not see me contrary to the inhibitions I have received. Permit me on my knees to intreat from you that favor I dare not request from him! We may meet at—any day before seven in the morning. My life depends on your answer! Let us at least enjoy the soothing pleasure, the melancholy consolation of mingling griefs, and bearing a part in each other's sorrows; satisfaction that even renders despair itself more tolerable! Be persuaded there is nothing, not even my father, that can divert my eye, my heart, or hand, from an opportunity of expressing how much I am, with the greatest respect, Your devoted Humble servant, FINLAY' After dispatching the above letter, Lord Finlay spent his time, fluctuating every moment between hope and despair, agitated with all the pains of a solicitous suspence; but Miss Burt was too much attached to him not to agree to his proposal, nor did her condescension at all infringe on her delicacy.—She could not suppose that the good qualities so distinguishable in her lover, and which had been so studiously cultivated by her father, could be only violated to the dishonor of his daughter. Lord Finlay's passion was too ardent to submit to prudence, and could not be long concealed: they met often, and remained long together; time is easily forgot in the society of those we love—In Cupid's dial, hours are but minutes.—Their interviews were discovered. Captain Lewis being informed of it, jealous of his honor, insisted on Lord Finlay's instantly espousing his grand- daughter; who, loaded with his reproaches, led away by his passion, and the fears of being interdicted from steering her more—forgot every thing but the justification of his honorable intentions. The indignation with which Lord Munster was seized when informed of this marriage, is easier to be conceived than delineated. He swore he would never see his son more, or contribute to his support! The passions are more easily excited in the young than in the old; in women, as being of a frame more delicate than in men; in the poor and distressed, than in the rich and fortunate, for prosperity hardens the heart; in the illiterate than in the learned, because more prone to admire; and for the same reason in those who have lived privately, than in men of large experience; but when once fixed, are not so easily eradicated as in the others. The indiscreet solicitations of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, served only to exasperate him the more. A weak friend, if he will be kind, ought to go no further than wishes: if he either says or does more, it is dangerous. Good intentions are indispensable to constitute a good man; but other adjuncts are necessary to form the man who interferes in our behalf. An excellent cause has often suffered through an indifferent advocate; and I once heard of a lawyer retained by his client, to hold his peace for him. In consequence of Lord Munster's implacability, Lord and Lady Finlay were involved in a variety of wretchedness, and most affecting distress; under all which they bore up with becoming fortitude, and never departed from that dignity of behaviour, which innate virtue, and conscious innocence inspire; strengthened by true principles of religion, and a rational trust in providence, tempered with genuine humility, and unfeigned resignation to whatever fate should be alloted them. In every action of their lives they had a view to each other: if they were serious, or cheerful, amused or grieved, still by their sympathy and love, every trifle made a pleasure, and every pleasure was heightened into rapture, by their mutual participation of it. Their hearts exulted with that joy which is built on the strong foundation of undissembled tenderness. Happy it is for mortals, that grief is only an exotic in the human breast—the soil does not naturally afford nutriment for its constant growth. A perfect similarity of sentiment soon produced that mutual happiness which arises from loving another better than one's self: they were no longer anxious for events they could not direct, nor tasted pain from the disappointment of their hopes. The half-pay of Captain Lewis, was the only ostensible support of his unfortunate family, increased by the birth of several children: but their income had been enlarged, by Mr Burt's literary productions. His greatest enjoyment was in study—pleasures vary with each different age; for God and nature never made any faculty, either in soul or body, but he prepared a suitable object in order to its regular gratification. The follies of men of a certain age, on this account, have the pre-eminence to all others, a ridiculous dignity, that gives them a right to be laughed at in the first place. The phenomenon of feeling amorous pursuits under grey hairs, may as much astonish us, as to see those mountains whose top is covered with snow, and whose bowels abound with flames. Mr Burt had a happy temper, formed on the principles of Christian philosophy. Such was his cheerfulness, that none of the accidents of life could discompose him; such his fortitude, that not even the severest trials could unman him. He had a collected spirit, and on no occasion wanted a resource. He could retire within himself, and hold the world at defiance. His amiable daughter possessed also these qualities in an eminent degree. Captain Lewis dying, their circumstances were reduced; but Lady Finlay, by her ingenuity supplied the loss they sustained in his half-pay. She had a fine genius for painting, and in that art did wonders. By the sale only of a Crucifixion, and an Arcadia, she maintained her family for two years. She concealed her name, lest she should irritate Lord Munster more against her; but had too much good [15] [16] sense to be ashamed of employing those talents, bestowed on her by nature for so natural a purpose. And the hours that the indolent devote to rest, and the licentious to pleasure, she dedicate to providing bread for her family. Good blood cannot be kept up, without the shambles of the market, so it is no scandal to procure that by ingenuity or industry, when the appendages of gentility are so far reduced as not to afford it otherwise. The picture called Arcadia, is in the possession of the Marquis of P——. In it there is exhibited a view of the most delightful region, with the grandest rural scenery in the world; and a romantic wildness runs through the whole, which gives uncommon beauties to the piece. Her happy fancy, and the prospects in the country (they had retired to Wales for cheapness) supplied her with vales more charming than those of Juan Fernandez, with lawns like those of Tinian, and finer water-falls than those of Quibo. She copied the greatest beauties in nature, and formed the finest imitations. The invention of the whole is extremely pleasing; and has been applauded by all who have seen it, as a master piece in the landscape way. Lady Finlay's health decreasing she could no longer exert this talent; and the miserable situation to which her Lord was reduced, in consequence of his attachment to her, afforded her constant uneasiness. The griping hand of poverty, produced painful fears, and corroding cares, while the anxiety of mind each suffered for the other, increased their mutual calamity. The death of two fine children at last entirely subdued Lady Finlay's remaining spirits—She died in child-bed, (the infant surviving her a few hours) leaving behind her only two children. It was then Lord Finlay's cup of affliction was filled. He had reason to fear, the deceased, dearest object of his tenderest affections, had perished for want of proper assistance. Assistance! their scanty circumstances denied! If previous to this, when he perceived in her any marks of sorrow, it was to him as if all nature had been eclipsed; what must have been his sensations then? they were too great for humanity to support! His reason forsook him; and the third day after her decease, he expired in the delirium of madness. Nothing can give a better sense of the consideration man ought to have of his latter end, than the following lines of Sir Thomas More: 'You'd weep, if sure you'd but one month to stay; Yet laugh, uncertain of a single day!' Few are the happy marriages contracted contrary to the consent of parents.—Disobedience to them, like murder, seldom goes unpunished in this life[1]. Mr Burt wrote Lady Frances Finlay a letter informing her of the melancholy catastrophe of this unfortunate couple, and beseeching her interest with Lord Munster, in behalf of their helpless progeny. 'Could tears, Madam,' said he, 'write as legibly as ink, my streaming eyes would be an inexhaustible fund, to assist me to send you the woes of a poor old man, and to pour forth the sorrows of my soul! But Cicero could not have described, Apelles could not have painted, nor Roscius have represented, the heartrending scenes I have lately witnessed.' Lord Munster died the day before his daughter received the above letter. He had for some time before lost all sensation. The pleasures or pains of others were to him of so little importance, that he lived as if he had been the only creature himself in the universe. He could not bear to hear of the applause some of his opponents in politics had acquired, and grudged them a reputation he thought only suitable to his own distinguished abilities. Different from that conqueror, of whom it is said he silenced the whole earth, he fancied that the whole world must talk of his disgrace. He could not support it; and a pistol put an end to his wretched existence. A careful observer of events will frequently see, that flagrant vices are punished by some remarkable strokes of wretchedness, and bad dispositions made sensible of the evils they bring on others. Never did any Greek or Roman commit suicide, from too quick a sense of private misfortunes.—Vain glory in the vulgar may be supportable, nay, may be diverting; but in a great man it is intolerable: nothing is greater in a man, than to be above even greatness itself. Lady Frances was left by her father the entire possession of the family estate.—She immediately wrote to Mr Burt, desiring he would leave a place which must necessarily revive in him such melancholy ideas, and bring her nephew and niece to Munster house; enclosing him a sum of money to discharge debts, and to defray the expenses of the journey. He instantly complied with her request, and resided with her, though she immediately not only settled on him the annuity he had formerly been promised, but also paid the arrears due on it. Had Lord and Lady Finlay lived a few weeks longer, Lady Frances would have cheerfully assigned to them the estate bequeathed to her, and which their virtues so justly entitled them to. It is a strong argument for a state of retribution hereafter, that in this world virtuous people are often very miserable, and vicious ones happy, which is wholly repugnant to the nature of a Being, who appears infinitely wise and good in all his works, unless we may suppose, that such a promiscuous and undistinguishing distribution of good and evil, which was necessary for carrying on the designs of Providence in this life, will be rectified and made amends for in another. Lady Frances possessed the most attractive beauty, was surrounded with every grace, and blessed with every virtue, that could enslave the affections, and captivate the soul of the most stubborn philosophers. The sound of her voice had an engaging sweetness; and her expressions were well chose, without being affected.—In a word, it was her character and mind that gave charms to her person. Lord Darnley made his addresses to her, in which he had been countenanced by Lord Munster, and every preparation was making for their nuptials, before her father's death. [17] [18] [19] Lord Darnley was one of the most amiable of men. He gave a grace to every thing he said—a refined and delicate wit enlivened all his discourse, and the vivacity of his imagination discovered itself continually in fresh sallies. But what irresistibly fixed Lord Munster's partiality; was the art with which he disguised his own wit and knowledge to make him shine. He conformed entirely to that pleasing criterion of true humour which Mr Addison gave,—'That it looks grave itself, while it makes all others laugh.' He had a turn for placing things in a ridiculous point of view, which was highly diverting—but by this he never offended; he formed his ridicule on a circumstance, which the party attacked, was not in his heart unwilling to grant him; that he was guilty of an excess in something which in itself was laudable[2]. He very well understood what he chose to be, what was his predominant passion, and knew he need not fear his anger, for declaring he was a little too much the thing. Nice raillery is a decent mixture of praise and reproach; it touches slightly upon little failings, only to dwell the more upon great qualities. I believe what renders courtiers pleasing, is the attention they pay to the self-love of others. I shall only add, that the politeness of Lord Darnley's manners would not suffer him to omit any of those engaging attentions which are so capable of pleasing; and as he was deeply in love with Lady Frances, he inspired her with mutual sentiments. How then must it surprise the world to find, that upon her sudden acquisition of wealth, the marriage did not take place! The philosopher, experienced in the vicissitudes of human events, views such sudden dissolutions of the most intimate connections without surprise or amazement. In regard to the moral and political world, it is not always great and adequate causes that produce strange and surprising events; on the contrary, they often are the result of things seemingly small, and utterly disproportionate to their effects. The same constant fluctuation that attends the seasons, and all the appendages of the globe we inhabit, affects the heart of man, making it a prey, by turns, to different passions. The well-regulated mind alone, can boast of any degree of consistency, and that too often late in life, the product of long experience, and unnumbered cares. It was in vain Lord Darnley declared the disinterestedness of his passion, and intreated Lady Frances to settle the property of the family out of his power, previous to her marriage. She remained unmoved; only assured him, that nothing but what she apprehended was her first duty, could alienate her from him, and that she never would dispose of herself to any other: but advised him to marry. She applied herself entirely to the care of her family, and to the improvement of that property invested in her person. Living entirely in the country, she sought, in the beauty of nature, in science, and the love of order, that satisfaction, which in the world (where people are the slaves of apology, and the dupes of caprice) is eagerly pursued, but never found. It is principally on this account, that people in general are so often declaiming against human life. She considered society is manifestly maintained by a circulation of kindness: we are all of us, in some way or other, wanting assistance, and in like manner qualified to give it. None are in a state of independency on their fellow-creatures. The most slenderly endowed are not a mere burthen on the community; even they can contribute their share to the common good. We learn what are justly our mutual claims, from this mutual dependency; that on its account, as well as for other reasons, our life is not to pass in a round of pleasure of idleness, or according to the suggestions of mere fancy, or in sordid or selfish pursuits. Can there be any thing more evidently our duty than that we should return the kindness we receive; than that, if many are employed in promoting our interest, we should be as intent in advancing theirs? All men are by nature equal: their common passions and affections, their common infirmities, their common wants, give such constant remembrances of this equality, even to those who are most disposed to forget it, that they cannot, with all their endeavours, render themselves unmindful of it. They cannot become insensible, how unwilling soever they may be to consider, that their debt is as much their demands, as they owe to others as much as they reasonably can expect from them. It is not to be supposed that Providence would have made such distinctions among men, such unequal distributions, but that they might endear themselves to one another by mutual helps and obligations. Gratitude is the surest bond of love, friendship, and society. The various conditions of human life seem so admirably adapted to the several dispositions of individuals, that if our happiness in this life were intended, the unequal distribution of the gifts of fortune affords the most plausible means to effect it. Through nature, indeed, love is centered at home, and not improperly, though the most amiable and God-like is the most diverged. But as the principle regards of human love, are, for the much greater part, over selfish and contracted, the divine goodness has so directed its operations, as to render them necessary, and very often unintentionally productive of common social good. I have often observed, that people favoured by fortune seldom feel for the pain of the mind, even though they themselves are the authors of it; their pity alone is excited by certain disgraces, certain exterior evils, such as sickness and poverty. This was by no means the case with Lady Frances, who interested herself in the distresses of the soul, with a goodness equally noble and judicious, and offered to the unhappy, all those labouring under any species of innocent distress, consolation and relief. Her education taught her, that virtue and abilities can only procure us real happiness, and that nothing but doing good, in that sphere of life in which we are placed, can afford the true felicity to a noble soul. Upon her father's death she found herself possessed of an estate of twenty thousand pounds a year, and three hundred thousand pounds in mortgages. The house and pleasure grounds were in great disrepair, from the late Earl's constant residence in London and the environs. Lady Frances sent for Mr Brown, who found great capabilities in the situation: under his direction it is now one of the finest places in England. She acquainted him of her intention of building a number of houses for the reception of artificers, and the introduction of certain manufactures. He fixed upon a beautiful situation, at the side of a navigable river. Mr Adams approved very much of the plan Lady Frances submitted to his inspection—he perfected and improved it. It consisted of one hundred houses; and a tribuna[3] in the center. Upon the solid foundation of the Doric, the Ionic, and Corinthian orders rise gradually with all their beauty, proportion, and ornaments. [20] [21] [22] The fabric seizes the most incurious eye. No modern building is comparable to it for the outward decorations; and for the disposition within, it has been formed from whatever ancient and modern times afford most adapted and suitable to the purpose of the structure, not excluding decorations, which are distributed with equal taste and economy. The sciences and arts are assembled together in this fine building, and connected (if I may be allowed the expression) by a large and well chosen library in all faculties: Here is whatever the lower people's interest, or the man of taste's curiosity can desire. The first object that presents itself to the eye, on entering into this noble hall, which is no less spacious than splendid, is the statue of the founder, inviting the lovers of literature to make use of the helps which she has provided for them. This statue is of white marble, as large as life, and entirely worthy of Mr More, the artist; who has improved the exact likeness with an air of grandeur and benevolence, dignity and affability. And what is a very well chosen ornament for such a place, there is a representation of nine of the most eminent libraries —the Babylonian, Athenian, Alexandrian, Palatine, etc.—with short inscriptions giving an account of each. And to set in view, the origin and first advance of learning in several countries—there are painted on large pilasters ranged along the middle of the library, those persons who were reputed to have been the inventor of letters in several languages. Adam, Abraham, Moses, Mercurius, Ægyptius, Hercules, Cadmus, Cecrops, Pythagoras, and several others, with the letters which each of these are said to have invented written under their pictures. This library is open at stated times, (like that of the Vatican, and the French king's) with every proper accommodation to all strangers. This was greatly wanted in this kingdom. London, after so many ages, remains without any considerable public library. The best is the Royal Society's: but even that is inconsiderable; neither is it open to the public; nor are the necessary conveniences afforded strangers for reading or transcribing. The British Museum is rich in manuscripts, the Harleian Collection, the Cottonian Library, the collection of Charles I. and many others, especially on our own history; but it is wretchedly poor in printed books: and it is not sufficiently accessible to the public; their revenue not being sufficient to enable them to pay a proper number of attendants.[4] An ingenious Persian lately in England, gave an account of many thousand Arabian manuscripts, totally unknown to the gentlemen of the university of Oxford. It is to be wished these were procured. The Orientals and Hebrews were the parents of knowledge, and the Greeks no more than their scholars: how gross were their notions of prudence and virtue, till Orpheus, and the travelled philosophers taught them better! The institutions of modern nations are not to be compared to those of the ancients, as almost all these had the advantage of being founded by philosophers. Athens and Sparta were the two first formed states of Greece. Solon and Lycurgus, who...