University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The shock which this disastrous occurrence
occasioned to my mother, was the foundation of a
disease which carried her, in a few months, to the
grave. My brother and myself were children at
this time, and were now reduced to the condition
of orphans. The property which our parents left
was by no means inconsiderable. It was entrusted
to faithful hands, till we should arrive at a suitable
age. Meanwhile, our education was assigned to a
maiden aunt who resided in the city, and whose
tenderness made us in a short time cease to regret
that we had lost a mother.

The years that succeeded were tranquil and
happy. Our lives were molested by few of those
cares that are incident to childhood. By accident
more than design, the indulgence and yielding temper
of our aunt was mingled with resolution and
stedfastness. She seldom deviated into either extreme
of rigour or lenity. Our social pleasures
were subject to no unreasonable restraints. We
were instructed in most branches of useful knowledge,
and were saved from the corruption and
tyranny of colleges and boarding-schools.

Our companions were chiefly selected from the
children of our neighbours. Between one of these
and my brother, there quickly grew the most affectionate
intimacy. Her name was Catharine Pleyel.
She was rich, beautiful, and contrived to blend the
most bewitching softness with the most exuberant
vivacity. The tie by which my brother and she
were united, seemed to add force to the love which

I bore her, and which was amply returned. Between
her and myself there was every circumstance
tending to produce and softer friendship. Our sex
and age were the same. We lived within sight of
each other's abode. Our tempers were remarkably
congenial, and the superintendants of our education
not only prescribed to us the same pursuits, but
allowed us to cultivate them together.

Every day added strength to the triple bonds
that united us. We gradually withdrew ourselves
from the society of others, and found every moment
irksome that was not devoted to each other. My
brother's advance in age made no change in our
situation. It was determined that his profession
should be agriculture. His fortune exempted him
from the necessity of personal labour. The task to
be performed by him was nothing more than superintendance.
The skill that was demanded by this
was merely theoretical, and was furnished by casual
inspection, or by closet study. The attention that
was paid to this subject did not seclude him for
any long time from us, on whom time had no other
effect than to augment our impatience in the absence
of each other and of him. Our tasks, our
walks, our music, were seldom performed but in
each other's company.

It was easy to see that Catharine and my brother
were born for each other. The passion which
they mutually entertained quickly broke those
bounds which extreme youth had set to it; confessions
were made or extorted, and their union was
postponed only till my brother had passed his minority.
The previous lapse of two years was constantly
and usefully employed.

O my brother! But the task I have set myself
let me perform with steadiness. The felicity of

that period was marred by no gloomy anticipations.
The future, like the present, was serene.
Time was supposed to have only new delights in
store. I mean not to dwell on previous incidents
longer than is necessary to illustrate or explain the
great events that have since happened. The nuptial
day at length arrived. My brother took possession
of the house in which he was born, and
here the long protracted marriage was solemnized.

My father's property was equally divided between
us. A neat dwelling, situated on the bank
of the river, three quarters of a mile from my brother's,
was now occupied by me. These domains
were called, from the name of the first possessor,
Mettingen. I can scarcely account for my refusing
to take up my abode with him, unless it were
from a disposition to be an economist of pleasure.
Self-denial, seasonably exercised, is one means of
enhancing our gratifications. I was, beside, desirous
of administering a fund, and regulating an
household, of my own. The short distance allowed
us to exchange visits as often as we pleased. The
walk from one mansion to the other was no undelightful
prelude to our interviews. I was sometimes
their visitant, and they, as frequently, were
my guests.

Our education had been modelled by no religious
standard. We were left to the guidance of
our own understanding, and the casual impressions
which society might make upon us. My friend's
temper, as well as my own, exempted us from
much anxiety on this account. It must not be
supposed that we were without religion, but with
us it was the product of lively feelings, excited by
reflection on our own happiness, and by the grandeur
of external nature. We sought not a basis

for our faith, in the weighing of proofs, and the
dissection of creeds. Our devotion was a mixed
and casual sentiment, seldom verbally expressed, or
solicitously fought, or carefully retained. In the
midst of present enjoyment, no thought was bestowed
on the future. As a consolation in calamity
religion is dear. But calamity was yet at a distance,
and its only tendency was to heighten
enjoyments which needed not this addition to
satisfy every craving.

My brother's situation was somewhat different
His deportment was grave, considerate, and thoughtful.
I will not say whether he was indebted to
sublimer views for this disposition. Human life,
in his opinion, was made up of changeable elements,
and the principles of duty were not easily unfolded.
The future, either as anterior, or subsequent to
death, was a scene that required some preparation
and provision to be made for it. These positions
we could not deny, but what distinguished him
was a propensity to ruminate on these truths. The
images that visited us were blithsome and gay, but
those with which he was most familiar were of an
opposite hue. They did not generate affliction and
fear, but they dissused over his behaviour a certain
air of forethought and fobriety. The principal
effect of this temper was visible in his features and
tones. These, in general, bespoke a sort of thrilling
melancholy. I scarcely ever knew him to
laugh. He never accompanied the lawless mirth
of his companions with more than a smile, but his
conduct was the same as ours.

He partook of our occupations and amusements
with a zeal not less than ours, but of a different
kind. The diversity in our temper was never the
parent of discord, and was scarcely a topic of regret.

The scene was variegated, but not tarnished
or disordered by it. It hindered the element in
which we moved from stagnating. Some agitation
and concussion is requisite to the due exercise of
human understanding. In his studies, he pursued
an austerer and more arduous path. He was much
conversant with the history of religious opinions,
and took pains to ascertain their validity. He
deerned it indispensable to examine the ground of
his belief, to settle the relation between motives and
actions, the criterion of merit, and the kinds and
properties of evidence.

There was an obvious resemblance between him
and my father, in their conceptions of the importance
of certain topics, and in the light in which the
vicissitudes of human life were accustomed to be
viewed. Their characters were similar, but the
mind of the son was enriched by science, and embellished
with literature.

The temple was no longer assigned to its ancient
use. From an Italian adventurer, who erroneously
imagined that he could find employment for
his skill, and sale for his sculptures in America,
my brother had purchased a bust of Cicero. He
professed to have copied this piece from an antique
dug up with his own hands in the environs of Modena.
Of the truth of his assertions we were not
qualified to judge; but the marble was pure and
polished, and we were contented to admire the performance,
without waiting for the sanction of connoisseurs.
We hired the same artist to hew a suitable
pedestal from a neighbouring quarry. This was
placed in the temple, and the bust rested upon it.
Opposite to this was a harpsichord, sheltered by a
temporary roof from the weather. This was the
place of resort in the evenings of summer. Here

we sung, and talked, and read, and occasionally banqueted.
Every joyous and tender scene most dear
to my memory, is connected with this edifice. Here
the performances of our musical and poetical ancestor
were rehearsed. Here my brother's children received
the rudiments of their education; here a
thousand conversations, pregnant with delight and
improvement, took place; and here the social affections
were accustomed to expand, and the tear
of delicious sympathy to be shed.

My brother was an indefatigable student. The
authors whom he read were numerous, but the
chief object of his veneration was Cicero. He
was never tired of conning and rchearsing his productions.
To understand them was not sufficient.
He was anxious to discover the gestures and cadences
with which they ought to be delivered. He
was very scrupulous in selecting a true scheme of
pronuciation for the Latin tongue, and in adapting
it to the words of his darling writer. His
favorite occupation consisted in embellishing his
rhetoric with all the proprieties of gesticulation
and utterance.

Not contented with this, he was diligent in settling
and restoring the purity of the text. For this
end, he collected all the editions and commentaries
that could be procured, and employed months of
severe study in exploring and comparing them. He
never betrayed more satisfaction than when he
made a discovery of this kind.

It was not till the addition of Henry Pleyel, my
friend's only brother, to our society, that his passion
for Roman eloquence was countenanced and fostered
by a sympathy of tastes. This young man
had been some years in Europe. We had separated

at a very early age, and he was now returned
to spend the remainder of his days among us.

Our circle was greatly enlivened by the accession
of a new member. His conversation abounded
with novelty. His gaiety was almost boisterous,
but was capable of yielding to a grave deportment,
when the occasion required it. His discernment
was acute, but he was prone to view every object
merely as supplying materials for mirth. His conceptions
were ardent but ludicrous, and his memory,
aided, as he honestly acknowledged, by his
invention, was an inexhaustible fund of entertainment.

His residence was at the same distance below the
city as ours was above, but there seldom passed a
day without our being favoured with a visit. My
brother and he were endowed with the same attachment
to the Latin writers; and Pleyel was not behind
his friend in his knowledge of the history and
metaphysics of religion. Their creeds, however,
were in many respects opposite. Where one discovered
only confirmations of his faith, the other
could find nothing but reasons for doubt. Moral
necessity, and calvinistic inspiration, were the props
on which my brother thought proper to repose.
Pleyel was the champion of intellectual liberty,
and rejected all guidance but that of his reason.
Their discussions were frequent, but, being managed
with candour as well as with skill, they
were always listened to by us with avidity and benefit.

Pleyel, like his new friends, was fond of music
and poctry. Henceforth our concerts consisted of
two violins, an harpsichord, and three voices.
We were frequently reminded how much happiness

depends upon society. This new friend,
though, before his arrival, we were sensible of no
vacuity, could not now be spared. His departure
would ocension a void which nothing could till,
and which would produce insupportable regrer,
Even my brother, though his opinions were hourly
assailed, and even the divinity of Cicero contested,
was captivated with his friend, and laid aside
some part of his ancient gravity at Pleyel's approach.