Ira and Isabella, or, The natural children a novel, founded in fiction : a posthumous work |
IRA AND ISABELLA. |
 | Ira and Isabella, or, The natural children |  |
IRA AND ISABELLA.
The web of human life, says
the prince of dramatick poets, is a
mingled yarn. A metaphor is not
necessary to convince men that the
empire of life is divided by good and
ill. How easily are we persuaded of
this truth! How comprehensible to
the meanest capacity are the metaphysicks
of misfortune! We feel.
We judge.
Some calamities are inevitable. Fortitude
is the recipe for these. A determination
to acquiesce in the mandate
repining, smooths the forehead of discontent,
and dissipates the clouds of
anxiety from the prospect of mental
vision.
Of all the children of this world,
be they introduced to their existence
in what manner they may, the least
enviable is he, who, by the illicit commerce
of the sexes, is smuggled into
life; who passes through the world
with a borrowed name, and is entered
on the books of custom, not as a son,
but a bastard.
With a spirit superiour to undeserved
contempt, the poet Savage presumed
to ensumerate the imaginary
blessings to which he was heir, and
to exclaim:
The exultation was short: Visionary
frenzy died away, and he remained
enveloped in the reality of mortifying
reflection.
What has a man in possession which
endears him to himself, and reconciles
him to a quarrelsome life? The tender
charities of father, son and brother.
These were ties unknown to Ira and
Isabella. Without these, existence
was to them a burthen. There was
not a person whom they could address
by the endearing appellation of parent.
They were happy in their friendships,
but not independent, and though
guarded from penury by the hand of
by the curtain of obscurity.
An elderly matron, who had been
the nurse of Isabella's infancy, and
the directress of her childhood, still
continued to bestow attention on her
quondam ward, and confer counsel
upon the conduct of the woman.
Isabella had been removed from the
management of this lady to the superintendance
of the domestick concerns
of Mrs. Savage, a lady whose intrinsick
merit rendered her worthy of the
elevated and important sphere in which
she moved. Here Isabella had frequent
opportunities of improving her
mind, which was susceptible of cultivation;
and of ameliorating her heart,
which was feeling by nature.
To these attractions, invisible as
they are to the vulgar eye, she superinduced
those which are less abstract.
Her stature was of the middle size;
her person agreeable, easy with dignity,
and graceful without affectation.
Criticks in beauty, though they might
not discover that regularity of feature
and delicacy of complexion which are
supposed to be the constituents of a
handsome face, might immediately
observe a soul, which broke out at
the eyes and illuminated her whole
countenance. She was remarkable
for a frankness of disposition, for a capability
of pleasing and being pleased,
which were particularly admired by
Ira, because it met in him a congenial
sincerity, and a mutual talent for
the disinterested politeness of nature.
Ira was a youth, who, though of
amiable deportment, had much meekness,
but no humility. Steady, tractable,
ambitious of honesty, and despising
dissimulation, he had more morals
than manners. Had he been a
politician, he would have formed himself
upon the model of Sidney or Andrew
Marvell, rather than upon the
example of Machiavel or Lord Chesterfield.
In early youth, his ruling
passion had been friendship. Open,
liberal, candid, and communicative,
he had placed his delight in that passion
which is only characterized by a
reciprocal exchange of good offices.
Unknowing or unseeking the more
earthly pleasures of sense, it was for
the soul of Isabella he acknowledged
a friendship.
My dear madam, said he with a
more earnest tone of voice than usual,
to Mrs. Savage, you cannot conceive
how truly I am delighted with every
motion and act of the graceful Isabella.
No longer I feel in my heart
an unmeaning, and uninteresting vacancy.
I behold her, and the void is
filled up. She is the friend, whom I
have, in time passed, entertained a
presentiment that I should find, and
to whom I am firmly persuaded I
should ever remain indissolubly tied
by every sentiment of esteem. How
happy should I think myself, were I
allowed the privilege of calling in
daily, and being blest with her conversation!
He was indulged with several of
these conversations. He was entranced
in her presence; he was charmed
by the meaning so clearly expressed,
in words, the very sound of which
sunk into his unresisting heart. When
he departed he found himself enveloped
in melancholy. This was something
inexplicable to the deluded
youth. He had never experienced
sensations so anxious and perturbed
in the absence of his friends. Interview
had succeeded to interview, and
every interregnum was supplied by
her ideal presence.
“What ails me?” said Ira to his
friend Lorenzo. “The devil must be
in you,” answered he; “the god of
sleep disdains to visit your eyelids,
are you—in love?” “I really
believe I am,” replied the youth, “and
I must cure myself with all possible
haste.” So he went off, to pass the
evening with Isabella.
Too late for the security of his
heart, he now discovered the source of
his uneasiness: That he had drank
from the eyes of Isabella, those
draughts of love which intoxicated his
senses.
“How is your health?” said Lorenzo
with much solicitude, early the
next morning. “You know me better
than I am acquainted with myself;
it must be as you insinuate, and I am
irremediably in love.” “Poor fellow!”
Sir.” “Why so formal and proud,
Ira? I know very well the situation of
your mind; you are sick.”—“Heart
sick.” “You have unfortunately looked
upon Isabella with too amorous an
eye—and indeed I am really of opinion
she is a woman capable of inspiring
a real passion. You have heard
with rapture her words, you have seen
with desire”—“Desire!” “Yes, desire;
you sigh to possess”--“Possess!
Lorenzo why do you reiterate the
same idea? desire, possess! you shock
my delicacy!”—“Ha, ha, is it come
to this, my dear Platonick? Do you
think you have been conversing with
an angel? No, my friend, a mere mortal,
depend upon it. Why will you
tie yourself to a foolish old system, unphilosophical,
to me your stupid notions of false delicacy,
or rather untutored virtue, is ridiculous
in the extreme; absolutely
fighting against Nature herself, the informer
of our hearts, the directress of
our passions. Learn, my friend, a little
self-knowledge a little knowledge
of the world, and to unlearn a great
deal of your book-knowledge. For
books only instruct us in the interests
of human nature, the duties of philanthropy,
or, in other words, to regard
others, and forget ourselves. When
a young man has taught himself to
credit all those disinterested doctrines,
and launches upon the ocean of life,
how miserably disappointed will he be
in his enthusiastic expectations. He
enters upon the stage a philanthropist,
painful is this change of character!
Regulate your conduct early; make
up your opinions with judgment and
observation, and adopt a system which
will be fixed, firm, unalterable. To
effect this happy character, strike a
blow at the root. Begin this minute.
Remember, in your dealings with men,
that all love is self-love, and you will
never repent of being deceived; you
will never complain of those sons of
craft and collusion, who tender the hand
of friendship, but leave their prey the
dupe of credulity. Be not deceived
by apparent excellencies. The world
has infinitely more show and sound,
than real sense and stability. Merit is the
last thing regarded; goodness has assigned
her a very obscure nook for her
now-a-days, unless it be powdered?
And what is a heart worth, except it be
covered with a silk waistcoat, and a
ruffled-bosomed shirt? Not one woman
in ten thousand would deem it worth
the conquest!”
Ira was thunderstruck at this harangue
of Lorenzo. “Alas! I stand a
very indifferent chance to fall into the
good graces of Isabella. I am not so
happy as you, my friend, either in the
necessary knowledge of the human
character, or in the gay, futile, insignificant,
but sometimes needful acquirements
of dress, address, and the
graces. I am not a gallant.” “I am
extremely concerned to hear it, interrupted
Lorenzo, for without gallantry
in any amour.” “But, continued Ira, I
know my duty as a citizen, a friend,
and a christian.” And surely one
would imagine that such an one would
not be reduced to the grave of despair
in matters of love, because he would
more readily understand the important
duties of a husband and father.” “Alas!
Ira, my misguided companion, how
have you deceived yourself! I perceive
in you, notwithstanding, a good
heart and a good head; but I deplore
your misfortune, in not boasting the
advantage of a fashionable education.
I now, more than ever, lament that your
youth was unprotected by parental
care; that darkness overshadowed
your birth, and that, of consequence,
your youth and manhood are without
uncultivated. I look upon you as a
diamond at the bottom of the ocean.
Good morning, my friend, I wish you
well with all my soul.” Lorenzo concluded
his address with a look and accent
of infinite compassion; and left
the amazed lover standing in the street
without motion, thinking himself into
a statue.
The next time Ira visited Isabella,
he was more thoughtful than common.
“What disconcerts your gaiety?” said
she, in a cadence the sweetest in the
world. “I have had a conversation
with Lorenzo, and he has persuaded
me of a truth, of which I have been
hitherto ignorant. I love, I adore
you, Isabella.”—“Have you just discovered
“I am full of uneasiness, anxiety and
solicitude. I think of you, and am
seized with a tremor. My eyes
meet yours and my sensations are undescribable.”
“You have told me the
same thing by words and actions for
more than three weeks.” “Is it possible?
I have?”—Isabella was a little
confused, but seeing Ira more so, very
generously satisfied his scruples, and
quieted his apprehensions. Women
are more expert in love affairs than
men, and were all the sex as frank in
their dispositions as Isabella, ten times
more men would fall into the inextricable
snares of enticing love, than are
now entagled by its delusive influence.
Coquetry is a savage that kills
more than it conquers. It delights to
of the dead, while it neglects the true
interest of society and the sex, which
is only effected by naturalizing the captive,
and giving him the manners of
the victor. Isabella, whose only wish
was to secure the heart of her lover,
made no secret of her tenderness for a
man of worth.
“I see your emotions, I perceive
your sensibility. These things cannot
be done and acknowledged without reciprocal
feeling. Do you not draw
favourable inferences when my hand
trembles in yours? When our eyes
meet, do you not read something in
mine, tender and sorrowful? My
good friend, is it any harm to love?
If so, are we not equally guilty?”
Best of women! you overpower
my senses, when I would express my
gratitude, my voice denies its assistance.
Yet are you not deceived in
my passion, I have been led insensibly
into the snares of love, and have
attached myself to you without volition.
Friendship between our hearts
was an illusive barrier. Prompted to
visit you by the irresistible force of
Nature, I have imperceptibly engaged
my heart, and nothing shall wrest it
from you. I have been called a platonick,
but your eyes have disconcerted
the purity of celestial conversation and
friendship is adsorbed in love. My
REASON demonstrates that in you I admire
the friend: my PASSION persuades
me, that, with infinitely greater
ardour, I love the—woman.
Isabella blushed; but it was not the
blush of confusion, for she was not
embarrassed; neither was it the blush
of resentment, for she was not angry;
neither was it the blush of shame, for
she loved to hear truth. Was it the
blush of wantonness? I am loth to
think it, and yet why should Isabella
be more unnatural in my hands than
Juliet in those of Shakespeare. When
the ghostly father has proposed a
scheme for her union with Romeo,
Who without the imputation of dulness,
ignorance, or insensibility shall
undertake to delineate Nature, and
deviate into errour, by concealing the
consequences of the passions?
It was now manifest to Ira, that Isabella
was possest of a feeling heart, and
was in fact a woman, and not, as Lorenzo
had said, a pure intelligent spirit.
And when he comprehended the true
state of his own heart, and was convinced
of the faith and confidence of the
only woman he loved, to the perturbations
he once felt succeeded the happiest
moments of his life. Without a
rival, he was without jealousy; without
discord, he was without apprehension.
A mutual inclination characterized
the progress of this amour. Their
propensities were uniform, their manners
similar; some persons imagined
that they looked alike, and others that
they were inspired with one soul.
This intimate connexion was observed
by the nurse, who, in consequence
of her observation, held a particular
interview with Isabella. “Beware of
young men;” said the matron, “they
have always at hand a fund of fine
sayings, of illusive lies, and unmeaning
compliments, which are, upon every
occasion, poured forth without reserve.
They flatter where praise is
not due, and the trade fitted to their
talents, is deception. Hope built upon
the basis of promise is an unstable
fabrick. Let it not fall upon your
head. Take counsel betimes, and
avoid the conversation of young men.”
Isabella's judgment did not coalesce
with that of the nurse. Frank and
undisguised herself, she was induced
of Ira. Love inspires eloquence and
extends liberality: the young lady found
her heart willing to prompt, and her
tongue to plead, the cause of youth on
a general principle.
“I confess my astonishment, said she
to the nurse, to find you possessed of
such little knowledge of mankind.
Rigid, prejudiced and credulous, your
maxims are the opinions of a cloister.
By sending into the world bad characters
of men, we prepare them a model
for bad behaviour. Evil example is
not more dangerous than improper and
undeserved contempt. If a man finds
his exertions to acquire confidence ineffectual,
even by the practice of virtue,
he will change his character, and
the vices charged to his account.
What good, then, can possibly accrue
to society by the publication of your
sentiments, and by making the sexes
mutual enemies? Are they formed
for the destruction of each other? As
though perdition, or annihilation beamed
from the eye of either party, must
they fly all intercourse? Certainly not.
Why then abandon our inclinations
prompted by reason and nature, to
follow the footsteps of what caprice
and ignorance may call duty?”
The nurse kept up the conversation,
but not the argument. She presumed
not to give reasons, her talents
lay in giving advice. “Have a guard
upon your conduct in the company of
framed for our destruction. Be deaf
to their discourse; be reserved to their
advances; indifferent to their insinuations;
blind to their seeming excellences;
cold to their importunities;
unmoved at their flatteries; undisturbed
at their oaths; calm to their raging. If
they presume to speak of matrimony,
give the reins to your indignation, and
repay their presumption with the full
force of your merited resentment.”
“O unreasonable hetrodox!” cried
Isabella, stifling the laugh which was
just breaking out. “How various are
our ideas concerning matrimonial offers.
Such protestations have I heard,
but never with anger. I have attended
a discourse on marriage, the most
it with the greatest satisfaction imaginable!”—“Perhaps
you love the
preacher!” said the nurse. “There
may be truth in that; for what can
procure attention like a prepossession
in favour of the orator?”
The matron paused at this instance
of Isabella's unguarded sincerity; but
collecting all her might, made another
essay upon her young friend's arguments.
“The connexion for life is
important. It should never be finally
adjusted without the result of mature
consideration, the advice of age, and
the consent of friends.”
“I am not altogether convinced of
this. A mutual passion, a similarity
and a reciprocation of temper are undoubtedly
requisite, and stand a fairer
chance of success, than the things you
mention. Can friends advise us to be
happy? Or can the heart obey the
command? Happiness is within ourselves,
not in the opinions of others.”
Policy should ever govern the management
of concerns which interest
the peace and tranquillity of life.
The matron evidently possest a fund
of this necessary collusion. In the
present conversation, it may be seen
that the advances of this policy had
been interrupted by the honest simplicity
of Isabella. The nurse was
about communicating a piece of intelligence
highly consequential, as she
her foster-child. She had introduced
the subject by an observation, which
Isabella had endeavoured to combat.
To suppress the intention of her visit
any longer she now thought an unpardonable
crime.
“Ira is not the young man for your
husband. It is in vain, to ask advice
of my age or experience. Even I,
though the only mother whom you
know, am not altogether capable of
granting a sanction to such a preposterous
union.” “Preposterous! you
understand not the meaning of words.”
“There is a gentleman whose advice
and consent must be first forthcoming.
Doctor Joseph is to you a guardian
invisible.”
No person breathing, of either sex,
was ever blest with a more independent
spirit than Isabella. “Why should
I trouble my head concerning Doctor
Joseph? With him I have never had
the honour of a personal interview.
If he was appointed my guardian, why
does he not condescend to tell me so?
Haughty in his carriage, distant in his
manner, he has the reputation of pride.
Am I too contemptible for the sublime
honour, of receiving the dignified advice
of this wonderful personification
of loftiness? Who feels more the necessity
of a friend than an orphan?
And am not I one of this hapless description?
This is the tale you tell
to protect from the assaults of danger,
or a house to defend from the beating
of the tempest, you received me to
the bosom of safety, and nourished my
tender years with the milk of benevolence.
Are obligations due from me
to any one, they are unquestionably
owing to you; to you, who reared
the suckling, and INSTILLED THE
ELEMENTARY IDEAS OF USEFUL
AND POLITE KNOWLEDGE INTO
THE HEAD AND HEART OF THE
FROLICKSOME GIRL; RESTRAINING
LEVITY WITHOUT BREAKING THE
SPIRIT, AND WATERING THE PLANT
OF GENIUS WITH WELL-TIMED APPLAUSE,
WITHOUT DROWNING IT
WITH FLATTERY. When I was able
to work, you fixed my situation in
of an amiable family, I am removed
from the apprehensions of penury, and
indulged with privileges above my
expectation.”
“Alas!” sighed the nurse, “I
grant the truth of all you have said.
But it is now time you should be informed,
that I was but the organ of
the Doctor, and, being the subject of
his will, have directed your steps
agreeable to his desire. He knows
you better than you know him.”
Isabella remained petrified with astonishment.
A wretched, distressing
alternative presented itself to her imagination.
“Shall I abandon Ira, whom
I love, to follow and obey Doctor Joseph,
whom I know not?”
“Why sing of Ira in this uncommon
strain? Is he not as well known
to me as to any human being? Was
I not the nurse of his infancy, as well
as that of thine? His history will be
very interesting to you, and hereafter
you shall hear it.” “It will please
me mightily; for whatever relates to
him, very intimately concerns me.”
The matron took her leave, and left
the young lady in that gloomy, perplexed
situation, which is the invariable
attendant of uncertainty. In the
evening this melancholy was dissipated
by the presence of Ira. To him she
communicated every circumstance of
her conversation with the nurse.
The lover, awakened by the alarm,
and influenced by a passion which
contemned difficulty, the proceeding
day waited upon Doctor Joseph to obtain
permission to marry his charge.
He was heard with civility without
cordiality, and an attention which
promised little success. The Doctor
proposed to hold a conference with
Isabella himself, and dismissed Ira
with a complaisance which conveyed
no idea, and a bow of formality as far
removed from indignity as from sincerity.
The promised interview took place.
The Doctor appeared, his gait stately,
circumspect, and majestick from long
habit; his eye was that of tenderness,
his voice condescension; and his hand
with an exact imitation of the
dignified beneficence of an Ahasuerus,
holding forth the life-giving sceptre to
the prostrate and beautiful Esther.
“I have the satisfaction, my child,
of hearing you spoken of in the language
of panegyrick. The world,
though not always partial to merit,
and sometimes malicious to beauty, is
unanimous in your praise. Highly
participating in whatever is, or may in
any manner be, relative to you, I acknowledge
myself flattered by its approbation
of your conduct.” “It is
my wish to deserve that applause, and
it shall be my aim to render your participation
of what the world may say
of me always agreeable.” “That
imperceptibly steals upon my
affection, and I exceedingly regret
that, busied as I have been in the avocations
of active and literary life, I
have hitherto been without personal
attestation of such modesty and loveliness.”
These compliments were tedious to
Isabella; not that she disdained flattery,
for she was a woman; but that her
patience was exhausted in waiting to
hear the name of Ira pronounced; a
name, far sweeter to her ears and her
heart than the complimentary effusions
of Doctor Joseph. An opportunity
presented itself, and she dilated upon
the subject with an enthusiasm that
aroused the attention of the guardian.
of her manner. “My child, I am
struck with wonder at your style and
expression. Modest and discreet as
you are, you launch into the praises of
a young man, of whom your character
appears rather too fine-spun. I acknowledge
my alarm at your want of
grave speech on this topick—a topick
every way disagreeable to me. For
without multiplying words for nought,
let me seriously caution you against
harbouring tender thoughts of Ira, and
to think not of him any more.”
Isabella's sensibility was disconcerted.
She was abashed; but recovering
herself after a short pause, she continued
the conversation and the praises
of her lover. “Is not virtue amiable?
tuition. He follows her cheerfully, because
she is the object of his choice.
Her fruit ripens with his age. The
traits of his character are of her finishing.
To vice unforgiving; to folly
sarcastick; of good men emulous,
and by evil example incorruptible, he
may enjoy a conscious satisfaction in
his own rectitude, and live in the applause,
the esteem, the love, and respect
of the world.”
The Doctor felt his surprise at the
talents of Isabella increase every moment.
He reprobated his indolence,
inattention, and pride, which had heretofore
held him a stranger to her, for
whom he now conceived an affectionate,
a paternal regard. “I cannot too
I wish the subject of your harmonious
discourse was, in my mind, equal to
the elegance of your rhetorick. I
perceive you have perused books, but
are not so well versed in the volume
of the world. To this world, so necessary,
so important that a young
woman of your understanding should
know, you are now, my child, speedily
to be introduced; and in a character,
too, much more elevated and respectable
than that, which you have
hitherto unfortunately sustained.”
Isabella was at a loss to comprehend,
how she could possibly have
been unfortunate, and not know it.
The Doctor was full of pity for the
errours of simplicity. Pride always
might have enjoyed; laments the imperfection
of its species, in not possessing
fore-knowledge; wishes, in
reviewing past actions, that it could
have known how things would have
turned out; and continually subverts
its present enjoyments by an infamous
retinue of ex post facto observations.
Isabella felt a struggle between delicacy
and sensibility; respect for the
gravity of her supposed guardian, and
obedience to the purity of her own
passion. This circumstance did not
escape the penetration of Joseph, but
actually hastened him to the communication
of a secret, the developement
of which was the sole purport of this
interview.
Earnest, solicitous, artless, and innocent,
she requested to be made acquainted
with the reasons which forbade
her desired union with Ira.
“His situation—” “Futile. The
inquiry ought never to be, Is a young
man rich? for without industry to augment,
and economy to preserve, the
most wealthy may, after a youth of
dissipation, wear out the winter of life
in the cave of poverty. But let the
question be, Is a youth prudent and
frugal? From small beginnings, these
virtues will raise their possessor to
honour and independence. There is
a boldness which sees only advantages,
and a prudence which perceives only
difficulties: let a young man avoid
both, by early observing them. Let
him be persuaded of this maxim, that
upon which turn the door to the temple
of Fortune.”
“Extremely well conquered,” said
Joseph, “but the other objections are
invincible. His family—”
Isabella sighed, and said nothing.
She attempted to speak, but the happy
fluency for which she was remarkable
was now withheld. “His family—
what of it! Is it not equal to mine?
Who is he? Who am I?”
These short but comprehensive
questions, flowing from the springs of
natural and spontaneous eloquence,
darted, with the rapid force of lightning,
to the conscious soul of Joseph.
her with infinite tenderness:
“Queen of pathos! throw away your
puerile, low-born ideas, I intreat, I
conjure you, and look on me as a
guardian, a protector, a friend and a
father.” “A father!” apostrophised
the astonished Isabella, with eyes
streaming in tears.
“Acknowledging you for my child,
and expecting from you the duty of a
daughter, indulge me with the freedom
of withholding my compliance.
For you, my self-educated, accomplished,
nature-prompted Isabel, I have
more enlarged, more extensive, more
liberal views. Your happiness is
mine. Depend, therefore, upon my
paternal love, and, at present, make no
to ask several questions; but Joseph
superseded the whole, by seriously acquainting
her that a perfect satisfaction
could only be obtained hereafter.
He kissed his newly acquired daughter,
and took his leave, bidding her,
with a dignified air, order her matters
to appear shortly in a style of magnificence,
worthy her intrinsick merit.
But these prospects of greatness, contemptible
to the eyes of love, could
not be contemplated by the distressed,
the sorrowing Isabella; the image of
Ira rushed between, and eclipsed every
object of grandeur.
Several days passed, in which the
young lady could hear nothing from
is the thief of time.”
Doctor Joseph was prevented from
accomplishing his benevolent designs,
by a sudden death, and no posthumous
notices remained, by which Isabella
could trace or vindicate her connexion
with him.
The lovers were reduced to the
most painful suspense. They endeavoured
to discover the cause of
the Doctor's prohibition, but were lost
and bewildered in the search. Slight
circumstances leave little effect where
passion is predominant. Love is bold,
and perceives only advantages; it sees
only self. Isabella, though alive to
the emotions of nature, had no sooner
found, but she had lost a father.
no token of paternal regard from him,
and was, though perhaps without design,
forgotton by him in his death.
Her lover was a friend, to whose tenderness
she felt her heart under obligations,
and to whose love she had
rendered the tribute of gratitude and
passion. At the idea of a parent, new
hopes and affections had arisen in her
bosom; but they now added strength
to the dependence and esteem, placed
by her partiality upon Ira.
The youth's heaven of happiness
had been overcast by a cloud of difficulty:
the shade disappeared, and the
sun of hope shone out with brighter
lustre and greater strength. He wished
to combine all the affections and
Joseph removed the obstruction to his
calling himself the husband of Isabella.
Without the control of haughty superiority,
the lovers imagined themselves
at liberty to pursue their inclinations.
Isabella consulted Mrs. Savage,
who behaved in a strain of accustomed
tenderness. The nuptial day
was appointed. Mr. Savage, also,
was pleased with the proposed connexion,
and promised to remember
her in a liberal manner at her entrance
on the stage of life. This gentleman
had been the particular inmate of Doctor
Joseph, and freely owned himself
at a loss to comprehend the reason
why his friend had objected to their
union. “But,” continued he, “this
eccentrick physician had a proud
bounds, and wore those supercilious
airs, and imperious carriage which
conscious dignity never fails to assume.
Perhaps, Isabel, he designed
for you a match more agreeable to his
high ideas. But the virtues of Ira,
which I have long observed with the
most satisfactory eye, will render you
happy, though in a less elevated sphere
of life. Greatness, birth, wealth will
not pluck one thorn from the pillow
of discontent. The bed of innocence
is not smoothed by the hand of luxury.
Blest therefore with the object
of choice, joy will smile in your eye,
health riot in your veins, and virtue
dignify your life.”
Such were the sentiments of the
man, whose house was the sanctuary
of Isabella; the regularity of whose
age atoned for the levities of youth:
a compensation which the world
readily allows, because rarely demanded.
Mr. Savage wished pleasure
might preside at their wedding and
the next morning commenced a journey
which he supposed would take
several weeks to accomplish.
The wedding day arrives. The
friends of the young couple behold
with raptures the little paraphernalia,
and the heart of honest Ira dances in
the bosom of expectation. The simple
Isabella anticipates the blush of the
bride. Happy in themselves, in their
prospects, and in their friends, they
are married.
With little ceremony in her manner,
and much business in her countenance,
suddenly enters the Nurse.
“Good news flies fast,” said Ira;
“you heard we were married, and
have come to visit us on our wedding
day.” My dear children, cried the
grave Matron, what is this I hear?
In contradiction to the Doctor's will,
are you thus suddenly—“What of
him?” interrupted Ira with a combination
of indignation and impatience;
“unwarped by his haughtiness, unconvinced
by his reasoning, unawed
by his authority, shall we bow to his
interdiction? If we regulate our lives
by the will of the world, we shall be
governed by the caprice of one, the
false delicacy of another, and the injustice
of a third. But we are more
own minds, infer with our own judgments,
and determine according to our
own ideas of happiness. Behold then
the happiest union in the world.”
“Heaven forbid the union,” exclaimed
the matron with more zeal
than prudence. “The Doctor forbade
it, and he had weightier reasons for
his conduct than those he condescended
to give you. Hear me, my children,
for so I call, so I think you: did
not these arms support your infancy?
did not my breast supply your helpless
state with life-sustaining food?
Interest does not prompt my solicitude;
ambition does not cause any
anxiety at this time. Why then will
you not believe me sincere? Your
my concern.
All took fire at this alarm, and
were thrown into silent attention.
The trembling bride, mute and pale,
was tortured with doubt and fear.
“Heaven forbid the union!” reiterated
Ira, with astonishment and apprehension.
The nurse prepared herself to discover
the secret. “Are you not already
connected by the tie of Nature?
Is not the cause of Doctor Joseph's
aversion to your marriage easy to be
understood? Convinced you were
both his own children, he withheld his
consent to a junction at which Nature
herself is offended. From him I received
his desire nourished you, and brought
you up. How could the Doctor grant
his leave to such a marriage?
A pathetick scene followed this declaration.
Lorenzo, with all the art
and assiduity of friendship, consoled
the frantick Ira. The powers of consolation
were exerted by the benevolent
Mrs. Savage in behalf of the distrest
bride; whose soul, was in truth
capable of receiving the balm of compassion;
whose soul, like a rock which
resists the impetuosity of a torrent,
might indeed be overwhelmed but not
rent asunder.
Three days intervened, and the lovers
had no interview. In the hour of
multiplicity of thoughts to disburthen
the mind either by writing or conversation,
gives relief to pain, and transquillity
to the unquiet. Borne down with
sorrowing reflections, Ira took the
determination of communicating his
thoughts to Isabella.
The unfortunate bride was sitting
heavy, melancholy, musing. 'Twas
at the decline of day. The parting
sun shot a horizontal beam through
the crimson curtains. Ira entered and
beheld in the person of his beloved
the figure of “Patience on a monument,”
as described by Shakespeare,
“smiling at Grief.” He took her
hand. She looked up; arose, “My
husband, my brother.” The young
grew gradually composed. “Isabella,
I must see you no more. How are
my senses bewildered in this meeting.
I find, even now, that to meet your
eye is at once my pleasure and my perdition.
Why do I suppress my feelings;
why check the tears which involuntarily,
burst from my eyes.”
“Peace, Ira, peace. Give liberty to
your sensations to act themselves.
Why dam up the streams of thy tears?
Are they not the characteristicks of Nature
to designate an honest heart?”[1]
“To remain in your presence, my sister,
my wife, is willingly to swim into
the vortex of destruction. I have imposed
upon myself a resolve, therefore,
to see you no more, convinced that
welfare.”
Isabella manifested evident symptoms
of dislike at this resolution.
“Will you fly, and suffer me to sink
into the gulf of despair? For never
more shall I appear in the world if uncomforted,
uncountenanced, unsupported
by you. No matter by what
title I call you, still are you my stay
and my staff.
The young husband imagined he
proceeded systematically. “Let us
be ruled by reason. In all distress
mankind imbibe consolation from two
sources: In dissipation is sought a
temporary forgetfulness, but experience
evinces there is no Lethe for love.
but how vain the hope of future repose.
I will strike a blow at the root.
I will depart with all imaginable expedition.
I will seek redress in the bosom
of the mercantile world. Busied
with novelty and engaged in regular
pursuits, I will teach my mind to contemplate
other objects, and to forget
the image of Isabella, which has so
long possest my heart, and obtruded
itself into every action of my life.
Perhaps my future conduct may be
tinged with the melancholy of this adventure.
I will yet remember you
with respect, what is more with tenderness.
A new era is commenced
in the history of my life. I am no
more what I was. Hitherto I have
conceived of human nature a character
them as they are, and feel myself a
better man, a better citizen, though
less philanthropick. Regarding myself,
I shall be rich, and be capacitated
to fulfil those offices of tenderness and
charity which I have heretofore only
known in theory. For one favourable
circumstance, I pay my gratitude to
the bounty of heaven. The discovery
and termination of an unfortunate passion
has not sunk me to that stupid
apathy which absorbs the senses, but
has inspired me with that resolution
which is the soul of action. Doomed
to look on you only in the light, and
to call you only by the appellation of
sister; reminded by every object of
the calamitous event of our loves—I
go. Lorenzo, in the ardour of friendship,
forthwith to embark.”
Isabella viewed the project of her
friend with pity, and a smile which indicated
her contempt of its practicability.
“Your forced, pretended resolution,
my dear Ira, is of little consequence.
I know your character, Ira, better than
you know it yourself. Honest, sincere,
impetuous, yet meek and candid,
I can conceive how far you may be
driven by the strength of passion, how
far deluded by the well-intended, but
wrong-headed advice of friendship.
Do you love, and yet think to forget
one by mixing with the world of business?
Impossible. Personal presence
is not necessary to inspire or continue
love. We love those whom we have
by absence. The characters
of the great and the good picture to
us ideas of beauty, and beauty is the
cause of love. How are we struck
with the awful virtue of a Brutus or
a Cato; how delighted with the more
gentle, more amiable graces of a
Scipio; how do we exult in the honest
heart and unambitious mind of a
Cincinnatus, a La Fayette, and a
Washington. To come up to our
times still nearer, how are our breasts
warmed with sympathetick benevolence
at the name of Howard: Do we
not figure to ourselves, in the solemnity
of sacred anticipation, the Son of
Heaven seated at the right of the
throne of Grace, extending the hand
of welcome to the disciple of charity,
“I was in prison and you
came unto me.” We love those
whom we have not seen, because we
entertain in our hearts an idea of beauty
caused by their virtues. Surely,
therefore, if you are possessed of such
an idea, it will follow you to the uttermost
parts of the earth. Haunted
continually with the ideal presence of
the beloved object, you will change
your climate, but not your mind. Remembering
me, is the retrospect painful,
matters it in what place you take
this retrospect? Better be here,
though surrounded with disappointment
and solemn thought, than among
strangers. Let the mind be employed,
but do not go.”
Ira perceived in the argument of
Isabella that sublime which not only
persuades, but transports.[2]
He owned
himself convinced of the folly of
absence, where there is a real passion,
and suffered the ship to depart on her
voyage without him.
Ira was always attracted by the busy
hum of men.[3]
He had now the most
forcible incitements to visit the haunts
of social intercourse. To mingle in
the herd of the undiscerning, the foppish,
the vain, and the coxcombical,
may deceive the pangs of repining.
Always vacant, trifling, empty, but
ceremonious, the manners of Ira had
a fairer opportunity of being polished
than his morals of being perfected.
rites of fashion, and the duties of etiquette,
and remember his virtue and
himself? 'Tis absolutely serving two
masters, and it often happens that we
neglect ourselves to flatter the world,
and sacrifice our conveniences and our
wishes to the caprice of folly, and the
delusions of vice. The snares of
wantonness were spread for the virtuous
brother of Isabella. Let us see
how he behaved in temptation.
No one exhibited more attention
and politeness to Ira than the volatile
Florio. “My friend! I am told you
had like to have been married—what
a lucky escape.” “Ah! my friend,
you deceive yourself — a cruel —”
“That is the general cant of stupid
promised land of matrimony, a country
of which strangers wish to be inhabitants,
and where the natives long
to be exiled.[4] Thank your beneficent
stars for this deliverance. Reckon it
as the greatest happiness that chance
could have brought about for you.
But I see plainly you have not the art
of concealing your mortifications. I
will bet ten to one, and make them
hundreds, that you deem this lucky
adventure, a reverse of fortune. For
I can read physiognomies, but that is
a Chesterfieldian mystery. Yes!
down, absolutely down.”
Ira thought, very justly, that this
harangue was the most insipid of any
penetration is not necessary to find
out when a man is gay and when serious.”
“Is it possible for love to
make one serious? To me it is the
funniest thing in nature, and in all my
negotiations I am the happiest fellow
in the world. I defy any one to boast
of being so well with ladies of all descriptions
as I am. Would you know
the secret? Flattery. Is the first
dose disagreeable, depend upon it 'tis
not strong enough. Redouble the
potion. Impudence and perseverance
conquer difficulty. Throw yourself
upon the bended knee of encomiastick
rapture, and pour out the incense
of adulation without reserve.
Never mind the truth, for hang it, Ira,
when one is really in love, what signifies
lies.” “How do you make up accounts
with your conscience?”—“I
never read any thing of conscience in
Stanhope. Ninon says not a syllable
of conscience. I never heard the
name of conscience prophaned in the
polite world, consequently I know
nothing of it. I believe conscience is
discarded from the train of love. But
for aught I know, it may be one of
the ex-ministers of the Cytherean
court.” “Honour”—“Why as to
honour it is the soul of a gallant man.
It is honourable to win an elegant
woman, consequently all the means
employed in the operation must be so
too. To pay gambling debts on demand,
and bid Honesty call again is
a sign of a man of honour.” “Suppose
“Do you assert and let him prove to
the contrary.” “That done, what
next?” “Challenge him for his insolence
in pretending to dispute with
a gentleman.” “Where have I been
all my life that I am unacquainted
with the tenets of honourable politeness?
Believe me, Florio, I have all
my days been adoring truth, sincerity,
and honesty, and thought if these were
planted in the juvenile mind, happiness
would be the fruit. But now
when I look upon the world, and find
my adversities more and heavier than
those of men less true, less sincere,
and less honest, I am tempted to cry
out, as Brutus exclaimed on the bed
of death, O Virtue, I have worshipped
thee as a real good, and I find
thee an empty shade.”
Florio knew not how to reply: he
had turned over more pages of novels
than of Roman history—“Devil take
Brutus, nobody cares what he says.
Talk about death and you give me
the vapours. Let us live, my dear
boy, all the days of our lives. I see
now you are far gone yourself; I will
prescribe you a cure. Hang it, what
signifies being a miser in pleasure. I
am high in favour with several sweet
Thaïses, and I will do myself the
honour to announce you to a dear little
enchantress who shall console you
for your loss in the wife that was to
be. Let us seek in love the cordial
of all care; and lose in the soft intoxication
the remembrance of former severity.”
Ira felt an emotion of tenderness at
the last words of Florio. “Severity!
indeed — but what is the proposed
remedy? Is it not truly contemptible?
What is love without sentiment?”
“I see you are afflicted with the sentimentals,
which are absolutely as prejudicial
to life as the vapours. Discard
these idle notions, for what is human
being but a game of crib? Mind
what I say then: discard thought; for
thinking is the most tedious thing to
me in the world. Let pleasure be
your trump card, and let your hand
boast a flush of dissipation. This is
the way I spend my time. Now I
will tell you the divine company I
keep, and demonstrate to you that
I live, while you, with your morals
and such trash only vegetate. In the
divinity, with the most beautiful complexion
in the whole female world.
'Tis true she has rather injured it of
late by the application of too much
paint. Flirtilla, a pretty, vivacious
thing that you may love with convenience.
Cynthia, very handsome, but
fickle and pettish, very apt to change
her mind and her lover; a true coquette,
and to fall in love with her
may be dangerous; for women are
such creatures, that if they see you au
despori they are like speculators in the
stocks, they never sell out without a
high advance. Diana is a capital figure,
not so handsome as some; more
majestick than beautiful. However,
not of quite so good a character, being
turned out of the house of a kind of
gentleman had missed half a dozen
guineas. Now Diana had never suspected
that the old fool had counted
them.[5] Besides these there are Fidelia
Froth, Prudence Slammerkin, Desire
Goodale, Love Midnight, Patience
Couzens, Tabitha Sly, Silence Tickle—”
“Enough, enough, my dear
Florio. What mean you by giving
this long catalogue of respectable ladies?”
“To these I expect the
pleasure shortly to present you. In
this gay and vivacious society, you
shall lose your melancholy. Time shall
never trouble you. Your soul shall
be so fixed to the delusive enchantment,
that the white-winged hours
shall fly on unperceived. [6] Your
sickening, shall vanish like a disagreeable
dream. You have been sleeping
on the bed of care, but you are now
to be gently waked by the voice of
enchanting Love.
Ira had heard more than he really
comprehended. “My dear Florio, I
perceive you draw the most flattering
pictures. You have indeed an exquisite
imagination, but your postulata
follow one another in such rapid
succession, that I am at a loss to draw
a classical inference.”
Florio had in him nothing of the
scholar: but he thought it a greater
absurdity to hold his tongue, than to
answer nonsensically. “At it again,
will ruin you for this world. What
a happiness to be delivered from the
sentimentals! Had this been my misfortune,
I should possibly have been
as weak and ignorant as you are.
Excuse me, Sir, but I speak my
mind. I might then have lived by
anticipation as you do, and neglected
to catch the pleasures as they pass.
My notion of existence is this: Let
us live all the days of our life.”—Ira
heard this self-sufficiency of his new
acquaintance with some contempt and
conscious superiority; and if he had
any resentment, it was smothered by
the novelty of the sentiments and fascinating
prospects held up to view by
the fanciful manner of Florio. Though
his friend began to grow tautologous,
gentleman of modern manners thus
proceeded, giving mischievous utterance
to his immoral imaginations.
“How I hate your dull sons of stupidity
and hypocrisy, who, by dissembling
their intentions by crafty gravity,
think to deceive us and pass for
good men. I never conceal my designs
be they what they may. I hide
not my meaning in hypocritical dissimulation,
and love to behold men
mix in their amusements without disguise.
My cheeks are never coloured
by the blush of shame. To throw off
ridiculous constraint, the manners of
a clown, the absurd mauvaise honte
should be the first consideration of a
gentleman. Who shall fear the sarcasm
of ill-bred censure; who apprehend
the infamous tongue of sanctified slander?
Surely these presentiments can
never pervade the heart of a man of
honour, who is just upon the point of
engaging in the cause of gallantry, and
acquiring a competent knowledge of
the world.
“Why then, my dear Ira, do you
hesitate to be introduced to those real
pleasures, which shall hush every sigh
in the bosom of regret; which shall
supplant those tender, those delicate
and sorrowful ideas which prey upon
your vitals; which shall fill up the
vacuum of unfortunate love; which
shall drive from the reflective mind all
remembrance of past expectation;
which shall render you a balance of
of blasted hopes, and which
shall give you, in the undisturbed possession
of unresisting beauty, a factitious
substitute, for the beloved Isabella.”
The virtuous Ira stood congealed
with amazement, confusion and horror.
“According to your system, (if
vice can be systematical) I may visit
the temple of obscenity, and associate
myself with a daughter of prostitution,
a child of infamy, the contempt and
disgrace of her species. Is there no
virtue extant?”[7]
—Florio stood abashed
and confounded. The solemnity,
the enthusiasm of Ira's manner of
speaking disconcerted the native impudence
The honest sentimentalist continued
without interruption.
“Can I look upon a woman without
virtue, and see in her, or persuade
myself by deceptious and fallacious
reasoning that I see, the copy of my
lost Isabella? What a description of
vile characters have you given me,
and with what tame, unmanly patience
have I borne it! Believe me, Sir,
whenever I am informed of a woman,
who, possessed of uncommon graces
and exteriour attractions, exposes
herself for sale, the victim of avarice,
or the martyr of voluptuousness,
my soul sinks within me, oppressed
with a combination of compassion
pity, of indignation and contempt.
“The virtues of a beautiful woman
are an ornament and an honour to
her sex; but her indiscretion is the
shame and the degradation of human
nature. We may follow up the
streams of dishonour to this fountain
of vice. Shameless, profane, unprincipled,
and disobedient children:
Penurious, faithless, obscene, and dishonest
husbands: Unprofitable, idle,
disaffected, and seditious subjects.
The bane of domestick happiness,
the pest of society, a woman of bad
morals is the destruction of the credulous
and the simple; the terror of
the man and the politician. Tell me
therefore, my friend, shall the duty I
compact, be oblivioned by delusive
temptation; and by a fancy wavering,
incautious, and, when indulged, dangerous
and ungovernable?”
Florio hung down his head, and
did not answer. Vice is always
ashamed when opposed with vigour.
Ira felt the triumph of virtue: the
glow of satisfaction suffused his face,
and a dignified resentment lightened
in his eye. With an assiduity productive
of the happiest consequences,
he determined to preserve and keep
alive that sacred flame of virtue,
which, if unextinguished by despair,
and unquenched by temptation, will illuminate
the path of frailty, and light
the way to victory and happiness.
Ira soliloquised as he walked away:
“Let me learn resolution and stability
of character. To acquire these,
to strengthen myself in these habits,
so necessary in my present perturbed
situation, I must cease to associate
with the dissipated. I will visit the
friends of decency, of truth, and of
sobriety. These alone can open the
sluices of tranquillity. These alone
are virtuous. These alone are happy.
To whom shall I apply but to her? I
will go to Isabella.”
He immediately went, and communicated,
without reserve, his battle
with Florio, and his conquest. “Tell
me,” continued he, agitated with his
own narrative, “whether stability be
not the only method of my redemption.
enforce, and describe it.”
Isabella was affected at the wildness
of his manner, and the strength
of his passionate exclamation. “It is
an acquirement of the first magnitude.
Stability of character, for its importance,
may be ranked among the virtues.
A firm, determined, unconquerable
mind is a friend which will
not abandon us in distress, but is ever
ready to shut the door against horror
and despair.” “I will be stable,” said
Ira, with firmness. “But be not a
cynick. Avoid the danger of being
over tenacious in your opinions. Obstinacy
is never amiable; if linked
with errour, ridiculous. Do not imagine,
that, to sustain the character of
“I beg your pardon, but I must interrupt
you.—I will defend pride, for I
myself am proud. Reverence thyself
is a maxim said to be descended
from heaven. I am happy to see it
universally flourish; for where is it
not visible? It unfurls the banners of
commerce; tempts the dangers of
the ocean, and the sands of the desert;
it sustains society, and peoples the
world; it pervades the bosom of innocence,
and the closet of the recluse;
it ascends the pulpit with the teacher
of divinity, and the main-top-gallant
mast with the ship-boy.”—“I grant
you,” said Isabella smiling, “there is
an honest pride, which exults in a conciousness
of its own dignity and worth,
and which can be extinguished only
this which can despise calamity, and is
therefore necessary for us.” “But I
meant to caution you against that obstinate
pride which refused consolation,
and a false delicacy which sinks
the soul to apathy.
“This is the character of an irresolute
man. Undetermined and wavering,
he no sooner commences the
work of his own happiness, than he
drops it unfinished. He contemplates
the difficulties, and seldom the advantages
of exertion. Fatigued in idea,
frightened by the imaginary toil of
honest stability, he looks on labour
with loathing, and leaves it with disgust.
Averse to industry, his finances
decrease, his credit sinks. Scorning
from others. The hand of
friendship is never extended to the
son of indigence; and however we
may lament this parsimony of benevolence,
he who is blind to his own interest
calls unregarded on his neighbour.
Despised by those whom he once contemned,
the pity and the abhorrence of
the world, he is reduced to penury,
rags, and wretchedness.
“His misery terminates not here.
Hitherto, he has been only the enemy
of himself; now, neglected and insulted
by the whole human race, he turns
the foe of mankind. Poverty is the
mother of vice. Well has a wise man
made it his prayer to be removed from
are his reasons: Lest I be poor and
steal, and take the name of my God
in vain. Thus then the indolent,
wavering, insolute man, reduced by
his profligacy and inert disposition to
ignominy and contempt, raises his
sacrilegious hand against the property
of his neighbour, and his more profane
tongue against the sovereignty
of Heaven.”
Every word of this descriptive character
penetrated the heart of Ira.
“Shall I suffer myself to be borne
down by misfortune, and shall your
picture, Isabel, be the prophecy of
my life? No, I will be stable.”
“And happy,” added she. “But
teacher, merely by the exercise of
those morals which resist temptation?
Is there not something greater necessary
to render the work complete?
Isabella smiled, “you mean religion?”
“I do.” “Religion is an ornament and
a bulwark. Is it not the soul of
stability? take it then, and find in
your own mind the firm, unshaken
character you wish to assume.
“Be a man of stability. Be not
brow-beaten by difficulty, nor intimidated
by danger. Be not the dupe
of passion, nor the bubble of temptation.
Add cheerfulness to labour;
vigour to industry, tenderness to
charity, and dignity to benevolence.
In your commerce with the world be
without temerity. To yourself be
severe without indiginity, and correcting
without irreverence. To
mankind, be candid without weakness,
and resolute without insolence. To
your God be pious without hypocrisy,
and faithful without—shame.”
The unfortunate youth, gazed upon
his beautiful monitor with eyes
swimming in tears, and with a soul,
lost in wonder and ecstacy. She continued
her address with a steady voice,
for Ira was beyond the power of interruption.
“What a miserable contrast is here
exhibited: The indolent in misfortune,
like a wave, without rest; the
and giving way to opposition. The
resolute permanent as a rock, unawed
at the howling of the tempest, and unmoved
at the dashing of mighty waters.
“Ira, my friend! my brother! be
stable, be religious. By attention, be
cautious; by habit, vigilant; by principle,
honest. Then will your eye
pervade those recesses, where the indolent
perceive clouds and darkness.
You will see with satisfaction the prosperous
work of your hands and
rejoice in the greatness of your
strength.[9]
Be encouraged to persevere.
Be persuaded that stability
is the offspring of a serious mind,
Father of Lights, with whom is no
variableness neither shadow of turning.”[10]
As Isabella pronounced these words,
her posture was firm, and her eye fixed
upon her brother; her right hand
placed upon her breast, and her left
pointing towards heaven.
At this moment the nurse, who
had been regulated in all her conduct
by the most honest intentions, entered
the apartment. She saw the distress
of the parties, condoled with them
on their present condition, and recommended
with infinite sincerity patience
necessity.
The company was further enlarged
by the appearance of Mrs. Savage,
whose ideas of the unfortunate adventure
ran in a train similar to those of
the matron. She acquainted them of
the return of her husband, and of his
extraordinary emotion at the history
she had given him.
In the midst of her speech, Mr.
Savage himself entered. A cadaverous
hue overspread his countenance,
grief beamed from his eye, and on his
lip quivered the accents of anguish.
“At my departure I wished pleasure
might preside at your nuptials. I
regret exceedingly the journey I have
infinite disappointment to a pair of
feeling hearts, and because in the developing
of this plot and reconciling
your junction, I myself shall not sustain
the most amiable character. Be
quiet, my children; rest satisfied that
you are connected at this moment by
no other bond than that which the
parson has tied. Your foster-mother,
notwithstanding the uneasiness effected
by her obtrusion on your wedding
day, is right and honest in her representation.
Other men would make a
circumlocution in declaring this matter,
and in stating the particulars so
as to convince all present and the
world of the real circumstances of this
unfortunate affair; the obscurity of
which has caused such an egregious
paim on his newly-married couple.
“Suffer me, Mrs. Savage, to come
to the matter at once; to open the
day upon the darkness which clouds
the happiness of all here, by giving
you the paternity of Ira. It is the
discovery of this alone which can be
of ease to my mind, clear the character
of the nurse, bring contentment
to the bosom of this young man, joy
and health to the soul of his bride,
and satisfaction to yourself.
“If, in declaring the catastrophe of
this story, I should describe myself
in a situation in which I may have
forgotten my respect and honour to
the best of wives, you, madam, will
this before I proceed, and I promise
not to hesitate in telling you who is
the real father of this amiable young
man.”
Mrs. Savage blushed at the compliment,
and perceiving the consternation
of all was raised, and their
hopes eager to be satisfied, consented
with dignity, observing she should be
tempted never to upbraid him with a
violation of the most sacred obligation,
if, in the estrangement of juvenile
passion, his illicit amour had been unwarrantably
blest in a son like Ira.
“Which,” said Mr. Savage, advancing
to the young man, “is really
from you the duties, the acknowledgments
of your new relationship.”
Joy and surprise illumined the countenance
of Ira. The hands of the
father and son were imperceptibly
locked in each other. The youth,
snatched from despair, and overcome
with sentiments of gratitude, prayed
that no misconduct on his part might
ever dishonour the title with which
Mr. Savage had been pleased to grace
him.
“I see,” said the father, “you are
all solicitous to be acquainted with the
secret history of Ira. Let us first
congratulate one another on the happy
issue which this gloomy incident has
be fully gratified.”
Mr. Savage began:
“There was a fete champetre at the
seat of Torrismond, at which all the
villagers of both sexes were invited.
The city poured forth the friends of
this liberal gentleman to behold or
participate in the rustick festival.
“Among the village girls who danced
on the green, Lucinda was distinguished
for beauty of person and grace
of motion. Her stature was not remarkable
for height. There was
natural ease, and rural neatness was
its ornament. Her face, though it
had regular features, was a little freckled
and sun-burnt. With a happy
harmlessness, she was not awkwardly
shy. Nothing presuming, nothing
bashful, she hit as happy a medium
of agreeable carriage, as nature could
teach, or education encourage and
sanction. When familiarity had worn
off the constraint which innocence feels
at the approach of superiority, she was
frank without presumption, and communicative
without impertinence.—
Spirit and animation beamed from her
eye. The cadence of love fell from
her tongue.
“Those, whom luxury nurses in the
effeminacy of refinement, find relaxation
in the charms of nature. We are
indeed intoxicated by the deleterious
cup of luxury, and gradually become
rectifies the errour, and recalls the
wandering mind to nature's unadorned
beauty. It was thus I imagined
myself a philosophical admirer of Lucinda.
But Lucinda had eyes more
deleterious than luxury, and which
disconcerted the gravity of philosophy.
“The dance ended. Lucinda took
her seat, and I placed myself by her
side. “You dance so genteelly, my
dear, that if your agreeable manner
were to wake up the jealousy of the
whole of this female circle it would
be no matter of astonishment to me.”
“People in this part of the country are
very apt to be jealous”—“But if you,
Lucinda, lived in town you would be
the general object of admiration instead
Every thing you could desire would
be laid at your feet. How happy
should I be, if I had the good fortune
to conduct you there.”—“I there—
what for?” “To please all eyes, and
enchant all hearts. To receive the
homage due to your charms, to be
adorned in the ornaments of elegant
dress, and command my heart which
now bows a slave to thee.”
“Lucinda thought all this very fine,
but did not acquiesce with much readiness
to the scheme of taking the journey.
I continued the conversation:
“You have doubtless a father who
delights in your opening beauty.”
“No, he died in the wars!” “Indeed!
How happy are the lost in battle!
and the regret of their friends.”
“Patriotism, and the love of our
country's benefactors, are excellent
virtues; the most often praised, and
the most seldom practised. I made
an eloge on the dead father of Lucinda,
but ceased not to feed the daughter
with the poison of flattery. “If
you have no near friend to behold with
pleasure your accomplishments, you
will, beyond dispute, grow up in your
own estimation—” “While I continue
discreet.” This was an answer
which checked, but did not confuse
me. I took it for the language of
simplicity. But remember, Ira, it is
not yet time to blush for my villany,
or your mother's weakness; keep
satisfied of the whole truth, which I
will give in a very concise manner.
“For why should I repeat to you the
solicitations on my part, or the objections
on hers: it is sufficient to remark
that the former were successful and
the latter surmounted.
“Great cities are always liberally
furnished with those officious minions
of vice, who for pecuniary compensation,
sacrifice that which the world
calls an honest character to the convenience
of licentiousness. Nobody
hears conscience, when the sound of
money is made, and these wretches
answer the inquiry of scrutiny, when
their conduct is examined, by repeating
vocation: tis no sin for a man to labour
in his vocation.” The traps of
craft are secretly laid by these hellborn
contrivers, for the artless feet of
those in whom meet beauty and poverty.
After we had flown from the seat of
Torrismond, we were received in
town to the apartments of elegance.
I wonder at those curious novels
where artless simplicity is represented
the dupe of libertinism. The seduction
of innocence is the vilest subject
in the world. None but a dull, melancholy,
saternine temper would presume
to take up the dismal narration.
Lucinda, lively, affable and simple as
for me. She was not won from the
way of prudence by my means, but
had had the fortune to have been apparently
beguiled three or four times.
Our union was however blest with
the presence of the Loves and Graces.
Till at length this evanescent retinue
was augmented by the company of
Lucinda. My rural disciple, with
the greatest pleasantry imaginable,
told me it was her intention to make
me the father of a child. It was in
vain to remonstrate, for I, like all gentlemen
in my honourable situation,
had accustomed myself to comply
with all the whims of my mistress.
From an apprehension, notwithstanding,
that this circumstance might
was for my peace and interest to flatter,
I applied to my friend and confederate
Doctor Joseph. He was seldom
at a loss in matters of gallantry,
physick, and gravity. He undertook
to ease my complaint, and stand father
to the little destitute stranger himself.
“This measure,” said the friendly
physician, “will necessarily exclude
suspicion from the bosom of Mrs.
Savage, by damming up every avenue
of communication through which the
affair must pass. When we are ashamed
of the consequences of any folly or
misconduct the best way is to conceal
them. I will therefore case your
shoulders of a burden which you deem
a disgrace to carry.
The prolifick Lucinda was easily
persuaded to accede to the project.
As soon as the infant was born she
gave him the name of Ira, which he
has borne ever since. This nurse,
who now stands before me, as she
may very well recollect, had previously
performed a peculiar service for
the Doctor in the care of a daughter
named Isabella. This nurse took Ira,
and by the fiction which I have related
was her credulity imposed upon.
One observation more I am compelled
to make on gentlemen who
edify the world by writing novels.
They presume it for the interest of
morality to represent misfortune and
death as the consequences of indiscretion.
The vivacity of Lucinda could
opinions of those novelists. She did
not find it in her heart to die out of
complaisance to these rulers of nature.
But notwithstanding her slip found
means to secure an honest, industrious
husband. I would not willingly
make one remark inimical to good
morals, but as I am not a professed
dealer in literature, I may be allowed
to speak the truth.
I suppose now, you must be all satisfied
of the real situation of this intricate
adventure. Let mirth and good
nature kiss each other, and peace
spread her wings over this house.
Mr. Savage concluded his narrative,
and sincerity and joy were predominant.
and sensibility are interested, how
weak are the efforts of dissimulation!
An interchange of embraces testified
the transports of all the parties, but
the manner in which Isabella received
the cordiality of her husband was the
most striking, being mingled with tenderness,
feeling, sentiment and love.
It was tempered with that passion yet
modesty, as to remind Mr. Savage of
the description of a Roman poet,
where a lady meets the embraces of
her husband in a state between that of
a maid and a wife; but in which the
blush of the virgin disappears and becomes
lost in the chaste desires of the
tender spouse.
| Ira and Isabella, or, The natural children | |