To Henry Mandeville, Esq;
Roseberry-House.
Tuesday.
IT gives me the warmest pleasure, my
dear son, to find you are pleased with
the expensive education I have given you,
though it reduces your fortune considerably
below what it might otherwise have
been: I considered that wealth, if necessary
to happiness, which I do not believe,
might be acquired; but that the flying
hours of youth, the season of instruction,
are never to be recalled.
I have the happiness to see you reward
and justify my cares by a generous freedom
of thinking, and nobleness of sentiment,
which the common methods of education
might have crampt, or perhaps totally destroy'd.
It has always appear'd to me, that
our understandings are fettered by systems,
and our hearts corrupted by example: and
that there needs no more to minds well
disposed than to recover their native freedom,
and think and act from themselves.
Full of this idea, I have instructed you
how, but never what to think; I have
pointed out the road which leads to truth,
but have left you to discover her abode
by your own strength of mind: even on the
most important of all subjects, I have said
no more, than that conviction must be on
the side of that religion, which teaches the
purest and most benevolent morality, it
most conducive to the general happiness of
mankind, and gives the most sublime idea
of the Deity.
Convinced that the seeds of virtue are
innate, I have only watched to cherish the
rising shoot, and prune, but with a trembling
hand, the too luxuriant branches.
By virtue I would here be understood to
mean, not a partial attention to any one
duty of life, but that rectitude of heart,
which leads us to fulfil all, as far as the
frailty of human nature will permit, and
which is a constant monitor of our faults.
Confucius has well observed, that virtue
does not consist in never erring, which is
impossible, but in recovering as fast as we
can from our errors.
With what joy, my dearest Harry, did I
early see in you that warmth of temper,
which is alone productive of every extraordinary
exertion of the human mind, the
proper foil of genius and the virtues; that
heat from which light is inseparable!
I have only one fear for you; inured to
a habit of profuse expence, I dread your
being unable to practice that frugality,
which will now be indispensable. To Lady
Mary's intended settlement, I will add a
third of my estate, but even that is below
your birth, and the manner of life to which
you are habituated. But why do I doubt
you? I know your generosity of spirit,
and scorn of every species of slavery; that
you will not descend to be indebted to
with-hold a moment the price of laborious
industry, or lessen the honest profit of the
trader, by a delay yet more destructive to
yourself than to him.
Intended to become a part of the legislative
power, you are doubly bound to keep yourself
from all temptation of corruption or dependence,
by living within your income;
the amplest estate is wretched penury, if exceeded
by the expences of its possessor.
Need I say more to recommend œconomy
to a spirit like yours, than that it is
the fountain of liberality, and the parent of
independence?
You enquire after the place where I am:
it is, except Belmont, the sweetest spot I
ever beheld, but in a different style: the
situation is rather beautiful than magnificent.
There is a mild elegance, a refined
simplicity in the air all around, strongly
expressive of the mind of its amiable possessor;
a poetic wildness, a luxuriant glow,
like that of primeval nature, adorned by
the hand of the Graces.
The same spirit of liberty breathes here
as with you: we are all perfectly at home;
our time is subject to no restraint but that
which our desire of obliging each other
makes a voluntary imposition.
I am now alone, sitting in an arbour,
attentive to the lively chant of the birds,
who swell in their little throats with a morning
hymn of gratitude to their Creator:
whilst I listen, I think of those sweet lines
of Cowley:
"All round the little winged choir,
Pathetic tender thoughts inspire:
With ease the inspiration I obey,
And sing as unconcern'd and as well pleas'd as they."
'Tis yet early day: the flocks and herds
are spreading over the distant meadows,
and joining the universal song of praise to
the beneficent Lord of nature.
Rejoicing in the general joy, I adore the
God who has expanded so wide the circle
of happiness; and endeavour to regulate
my own desires by attending to the simplicity
of theirs.
When I see the dumb creation, my dear
Harry, pursuing steadily the purposes of
their being, their own private happiness,
and the good of their peculiar species, I am
astonished at the folly and degeneracy of
man, who acts in general so directly contrary
to both; for both are invariably united.
The wise and benevolent Creator has
placed the supreme felicity of every individual
in those kind domestic social affections,
which tend to the well being of the
whole. Whoever presumes to deviate from
this plan, the plan of God and nature,
shall find satiety, regret, or disappointment,
his reward.
I this moment receive your letter: you
judge perfectly well in saying, there is an
activity and restlessness in the mind of man,
which makes it impossible for him to be
happy in a state of absolute inaction: some
point of view, some favourite pursuit, is
necessary to keep the mind awake. 'Tis on
this principle alone one can account for
what seems so extraordinary to the eyes of
impartial reason, that avarice and ambition
should be the vices of age, that men should
most ardently pursue riches and honours at
the time when they have the least prospect
of enjoying them; the lively passions of
youth subsiding, some active principle must
be found to replace them; and where that
warm benevolence of heart is wanting,
which is a perpetual source of ever-new
delight, I do not wonder they engage in the
chace of wealth and power, though sure so
soon to melt from their grasp.
The first purpose of my heart, next to
that superior and general one of making
myself acceptable to my Creator, was to
render the most angelic of women, your
lovely mother, happy: in that, Heaven was
pleased to disappoint my hopes, by taking
her to itself. My second has been to make
you the most amiable of men; inn which, I
am not afraid to say to yourself, I have
been successful, beyond my most sanguine
wishes.
Adieu, my dear son! may you succeed
in every purpose of your soul as fully as
I have done in this, and be as happy as
your virtues have made your father!
I am, &c.
J. Mandeville.
