University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The state of my feelings may be easily conceived to
consist of mixed, but on the whole, of agreeable sensations.
The death of Hadwin and his elder daughter
could not be thought upon without keen regrets. These
it were useless to indulge, and were outweighed by reflections
on the personal security in which the survivor
was now placed. It was hurtful to expend my unprofitable
cares upon the dead, while there existed one to
whom they could be of essential benefit, and in whose
happiness they would find an ample compensation.

This happiness, however, was still incomplete. It
was still exposed to hazard, and much remained to be
done before adequate provision was made against the
worst of evils, poverty. I now found that Eliza, being
only fifteen years old, stood in need of a guardian, and
that the forms of law required that some one should make
himself her father's administrator. Mr. Curling being
tolerably conversant with these subjects, pointed out
the mode to be pursued, and engaged to act on this occasion
as Eliza's friend.

There was another topic on which my happiness, as well
as that of my friend, required us to form some decision. I
formerly mentioned, that during my abode at Malverton,
I had not been insensible to the attractions of this
girl. An affection had stolen upon me, for which, it

was easily discovered, that I should not have been denied
a suitable return. My reasons for stifling these
emotions, at that time, have been mentioned. It may
now be asked, what effect subsequent events had produced
on my feelings, and how far partaking and relieving her distresses, had revived a passion which may readily be supposed to have been, at no time, entirely extinguished.

The impediments which then existed, were removed.
Our union would no longer risk the resentment or
sorrow of her excellent parent. She had no longer a
sister to divide with her the property of the farm, and
make what was sufficient for both, when living
together, too little for either separately. Her youth
and simplicity required, beyond most others, a legal
protector, and her happiness was involved in the success
of those hopes which she took no pains to conceal.

As to me, it seemed at first view, as if every incident
conspired to determine my choice. Omitting all regard
to the happiness of others, my own interest could not
fail to recommend a scheme by which the precious benefits
of competence and independence might be honestly
obtained. The excurions of my fancy had sometimes
carried me beyond the bounds prescribed by my
situation, but they were, nevertheless, limited to that
field to which I had once some prospect of acquiring a
title. All I wanted for the basis of my gaudiest and
most dazzling structures, was an hundred acres of
plough-land and meadow. Here my spirit of improvement,
my zeal to invent and apply new maxims of
household luxury and convenience, new modes and instruments
of tillage, new arts connected with orchard,
garden and cornfield, were supplied with abundant
scope. Though the want of these would not benumb
my activity, or take away content, the possession
would confer exquisite and permanent enjoyments.

My thoughts have ever hovered over the images of
wife and children with more delight than over any other
images. My fancy was always active on this theme,
and its reveries sufficiently extatic and glowing; but

since my intercourse with this girl, my scattered visions
were collected and concentered. I had now a form and
features before me, a sweet and melodious voice vibrated
in my ear, my soul was filled, as it were, with her lineaments
and gestures, actions and looks. All ideas, possessing
any relation to beauty or sex, appeared to assume
this shape. They kept an immoveable place in
my mind, they diffused around them an ineffable complacency.
Love is merely of value as a prelude to a
more tender, intimate and sacred union. Was I not in
love, and did I not pant after the irrevocable bonds, the
boundless privileges of wedlock?

The question which others might ask, I have asked
myself. Was I not in love? I am really at a loss for an
answer. There seemed to be irresistible weight in the
reasons why I should refuse to marry, and even forbear
to foster love in my friend. I considered my youth,
my defective education and my limited views. I had
passed from my cottage into the world. I had acquired
even in my transient sojourn among the busy haunts of
men, more knowledge than the lucubrations and employments
of all my previous years had conferred.
Hence I might infer the childlike immaturity of my understanding,
and the rapid progress I was still capable of
making. Was this an age to form an irrevocable contract;
to chuse the companion of my future life, the
associate of my schemes of intellectual and benevolent
activity?

I had reason to contemn my own acquisitions; but were
not those of Eliza still more slender? Could I rely upon
the permanence of her equanimity and her docility to
my instructions? What qualities might not time unfold,
and how little was I qualified to estimate the character
of one, whom no vicissitude or hardship had approached
before the death of her father? Whose ignorance
was, indeed, great, when it could justly be said
even to exceed my own.

Should I mix with the world, enrol myself in different
classes of society; be a witness to new scenes;
might not my modes of judging undergo essential variations?

Might I not gain the knowledge of beings
whose virtue was the gift of experience and the growth
of knowledge? Who joined to the modesty and charms
of woman, the benefits of education, the maturity and
steadfastness of age, and with whose character and sertiments
my own would be much more congenial than
they could possibly be with the extreme youth, rustic
simplicity and mental imperfections of Eliza Hadwin?

To say truth, I was now conscious of a revolution in
my mind. I can scarcely assign its true cause. No
tokens of it appeared during my late retreat to Malverton.
Subsequent incidents, perhaps, joined with the
influence of meditation, had generated new views. On
my first visit to the city, I had met with nothing but
scenes of folly, depravity and cunning. No wonder
that the images connected with the city, were disastrous
and gloomy; but my second visit procuced somewhat
different impressions. Maravigli, Estwick, Medlicote
and you, were beings who inspired veneration and love.
Your residence appeared to beautify and consecrate this
spot, and gave birth to an opinion that if cities are the
chosen seats of misery and vice, they are likewise the
soil of all the laudable and strenuous productions of
mind.

My curiosity and thirst of knowledge had likewise
received a new direction. Books and inanimate nature
were cold and lifeless instructors. Men, and the works
of men, were the objects of rational study, and our
own eyes only could communicate just conceptions of
human performances. The influence of manners, professions
and social institutions, could be thoroughly
known only by direct inspection.

Competence, fixed property and a settled abode, rural
occupations and conjugal pleasures, were justly to be
prized; but their value could be known, and their benefits
fully enjoyed only by those who have tried all
scenes; who have mixed with all classes and ranks;
who have partaken of all conditions; and who have visited
different hemispheres and climates and nations.
The next five or eight years of my life, should be devoted

to activity and change: it should be a period of
hardship, danger and privation: it should be my apprenticeship
to fortitude and wisdom, and be employed to fit
me for the tranquil pleasures and steadfast exertions of
the remainder of my life.

In consequence of these reflections, I determined to
suppress that tenderness which the company of Miss
Hadwin produced, to remove any mistakes into which
she had fallen, and to put it out of my power to claim
from her more than the dues of friendship. All ambiguities,
in a case like this, and all delays were hurtful. She
was not exempt from passion, but this passion I thought
was young, and easily extinguished.

In a short time her health was restored, and her
grief melted down into a tender melancholy. I chose a
suitable moment, when not embarrassed by the presence
of others, to reveal my thoughts. My disclosure
was ingenuous and perfect. I laid before her the whole
train of my thoughts, nearly in the order, though in different
and more copious terms than those in which I
have just explained them to you. I concealed nothing.
The impression which her artless lovelines had made
upon me at Malverton; my motives for estranging
myself from her society; the nature of my present feelings
with regard to her, and my belief of the state of
her heart; the reasonings into which I had entered; the
advantages of wedlock and its inconveniences; and,
finally, the resolution I had formed of seeking the city,
and perhaps, of crossing the ocean, were minutely detailed.

She interrupted me not, but changing looks, blushes,
flutterings and sighs, shewed her to be deeply and variously
affected by my discourse. I paused for some observation
or comment. She seemed conscious of my expectation,
but had no power to speak. Overpowered, at
length, by her emotions, she burst into tears.

I was at a loss in what manner to construe these
symptoms. I waited till her vehemence was somewhat
subsided, and then said—what think you of
my schemes? Your approbation is of some moment:
do you approve of them or not?

This question excited some little resentment, and
she answered—you have left me nothing to say. Go
and be happy: no matter what becomes of me. I hope
I shall be able to take care of myself.

The tone in which this was said, had something in it
of upbraiding. Your happiness, said I, is too dear to
me to leave it in danger. In this house you will not
need my protection, but I shall never be so far from you,
as to be disabled from hearing how you fared, by letter,
and of being active for your good. You have some money
which you must husband well. Any rent from
your farm cannot be soon expected; but what you have
got, if you remain with Mr. Curling, will pay your
board and all other expences for two years: but you
must be a good economist. I shall expect, continued
I, with a serious smile, a punctual account of all your
sayings and doings. I must know how every minute is
employed, and every penny is expended, and if I find
you erring, I must tell you so in good round terms.

These words did not dissipate the sullenness which
her looks had betrayed. She still forebore to look at me,
and said—I do not know how I should tell you every
thing. You care so little about me that—I should only
be troublesome. I am old enough to think and act for
myself, and shall advise with no body but myself.

That is true, said I. I shall rejoice to see you independent
and free. Consult your own understanding,
and act according to its dictates. Nothing more is
wanting to make you useful and happy. I am anxious
to return to the city; but, if you will allow me, will
go first to Malverton, see that things are in due order,
and that old Caleb is well. From thence, if you please,
I will call at your uncle's, and tell him what has happened.
He may, otherwise, entertain pretensions and
form views, erroneous in themselves and injurious to
you. He may think himself entitled to manage your
estate. He may either suppose a will to have been
made, or may actually have heard from your father, or
from others, of that which you burnt, and in which he
was named executor. His boisterous and sordid temper

may prompt him to seize your house and goods, unless
seasonably apprised of the truth; and, when he
knows the truth, he may start into rage, which I shall
be more fitted to encounter than you. I am told that
anger transforms him into a ferocious madman. Shall
I call upon him?

She shuddered at the picture which I had drawn of
her uncle's character; but this emotion quickly gave place to self-upbraiding, for the manner in which she
had repelled my proffers of service. She melted once
more into tears and exclaimed:

I am not worthy of the pains you take for me. I
am unfeeling and ungrateful. Why should I think ill
of you for despising me, when I despise myself?

You do yourself injustice, my friend. I think I see
your most secret thoughts; and these, instead of exciting
anger or contempt, only awaken compassion and
tenderness. You love; and must, therefore, conceive
my conduct to be perverse and cruel. I counted on
your harboring such thoughts. Time only and reflection
will enable you to see my motives in their true
light. Hereafter you will recollect my words, and
find them sufficient to justify my conduct. You will
acknowledge the propriety of my engaging in the cares
of the world, before I sit down in retirement and
ease.

Ah! how much you mistake me! I admire and
approve of your schemes. What angers and distresses
me is, that you think me unworthy to partake of your
cares and labors; that you regard my company as an
obstacle and incumbrance; that assistance and counsel
must all proceed from you; and that no scene is fit for
me, but what you regard as slothful and inglorious.

Have I not the same claims to be wise, and active,
and courageous as you? If I am ignorant and weak, do
I not owe it to the same cause that has made you so; and
will not the same means which promote your improvement
be likewise useful to me? You desire to obtain
knowledge, by travelling and conversing with many
persons, and studying many sciences; but you desire

it for yourself alone. Me, you think poor, weak, and
contemptible; fit for nothing but to spin and churn.
Provided I exist, am screened from the weather, have
enough to eat and drink, you are satisfied. As to
strengthening my mind and enlarging my knowledge,
these things are valuable to you, but on me they are
thrown away. I deserve not the gift.

This strain, simple and just as it was, was wholly
unexpected. I was surprized and disconcerted. In
my previous reasonings I had certainly considered her
sex as utterly unfitting her for those scenes and pursuits,
to which I had destined myself. Not a doubt of
the validity of my conclusion had insinuated itself;
but now my belief was shaken, though it was not subverted.
I could not deny, that human ignorance was
curable by the same means in one sex as in the other;
that fortitude and skill was of no less value to one than
to the other.

Questionless, my friend was rendered, by her age
and inexperience, if not by sex, more helpless and dependent
than I; but had I not been prone to overrate
the difficulties which I should encounter? Had I not
deemed unjustly of her constancy and force of mind?
Marriage would render her property joint, and would
not compel me to take up my abode in the woods, to
abide forever in one spot, to shackle my curiosity, or
limit my excursions.

But marriage was a contract awful and irrevocable.
Was this the woman with whom my reason enjoined
me to blend my fate, without the power of dissolution?
Would no time unfold qualities in her which I did not
at present suspect, and which would evince an incurable
difference in our minds? Would not time lead me to
the feet of one who more nearly approached that standard
of ideal excellence which poets and romancers had
exhibited to my view?

These considerations were powerful and delicate. I
knew not in what terms to state them to my companion,
so as to preclude the imputation of arrogance or
indecorum. It became me, however, to be explicit,

and to excite her resentment rather than mislead her
judgment. She collected my meaning from a few
words, and, interrupting me, said:

How very low is the poor Eliza in your opinion!
We are, indeed, both too young to be married. May I
not see you, and talk with you, without being your
wife? May I not share your knowledge, relieve your
cares, and enjoy your confidence, as a sister might do?
May I not accompany you in your journeys and studies,
as one friend accompanies another? My property
may be yours; you may employ it for your benefit
and mine; not because you are my husband, but my
friend. You are going to the city. Let me go along
with you. Let me live where you live. The house
that is large enough to hold you, will hold me. The
fare that is good enough for you will be luxury to me.
Oh! let it be so, will you? You cannot think how
studious, how thoughtful, how inquisitive I will be.
How tenderly I will nurse you when sick: it is possible
you may be sick, you know, and no one in the
world will be half so watchful and affectionate as I
shall be. Will you let me?

In saying this, her earnestness gave new pathos to
her voice. Insensibly she put her face close to mine,
and, transported beyond the usual bounds of reserve,
by the charms of that picture which her fancy contemplated,
she put her lips to my cheek, and repeated,
in a melting accent, will you let me?

You, my friends, who have not seen Eliza Hadwin,
cannot conceive what effect this entreaty was adapted to produce in me. She has surely the sweetest voice,
the most speaking features, and most delicate symetry,
that ever woman possessed. Her guileless simplicity
and tenderness made her more enchanting. To
be the object of devotion to an heart so fervent and
pure, was, surely, no common privilege. Thus did she
tender me herself; and was not the gift to be received
with eagerness and gratitude?

No. I was not so much a stranger to mankind as
to acquiesce in this scheme. As my sister or my wife,

the world would suffer us to reside under the same roof;
to apply, to common use, the same property; and daily
to enjoy the company of each other: but she was not
my sister, and marriage would be an act of the grossest
indiscretion. I explained to her, in few words, the
objections to which her project was liable.

Well, then, said she, let me live in the next house,
in the neighborhood, or, at least, in the same city.
Let me be where I may see you once a day, or once a
week, or once a month. Shut me not wholly from
your society, and the means of becoming, in time, less
ignorant and foolish than I now am.

After a pause, I replied, I love you too well not to
comply with this request. Perhaps the city will be as
suitable a residence as any other for you, as it will, for
some time, be most convenient to me. I shall be better
able to watch over your welfare, and supply you
with the means of improvement, when you are within
a small distance. At present, you must consent to remain
here, while I visit your uncle, and afterwards go
to the city. I shall look out for you a suitable lodging,
and inform you when it is found. If you then
continue in the same mind, I will come, and, having
gained the approbation of Mr. Curling, will conduct
you to town. Here ended our dialogue.