5. CHAP. V.
NOUVELLE SCENES.
Lady Mary was not an early riser; Rebecca
had been accustomed from earliest infancy to
leave her bed at fix o'clock; she had therefore arose at
her usual hour, and finding herself likely to be alone
till ten o'clock, went into the library, and selected
from among the many books there, Sir Charles Grandison
for her morning amusement; the interesting pen
of Richardson had so entirely charmed her attention,
that she thought not of time till Lady Mary made her
appearance.
“You have been reading, my love,” said she; “are
you fond of Novels?”
“I like these entertaining Histories, madam; they
always command my attention, and awaken my sensibility.”
“It is dangerous, Rebecca, to indulge that sensibility
too much; besides, my dear, you must not give
way to an excess of feeling, when the tale you read is
only a fiction.”
“A fiction! madam; you surprise me. I thought
they had been the Histories of persons who had really
existed.”
“Far from it, child; human nature can never arise
to such a pitch of excellence as this Sir Charles Grandison
is represented to be; nor will you among your
own sex, be able to find a woman like Miss Byron:
besides, if you accustom yourself to think these high
wrote scenes real, you will find the actual occurrences
of human life so flat and insipid, that the very disappointment
will render you disgusted with the world.”
Rebecca listened with attention, but still in her
heart she thought, surely, these amiable characters,
these interesting scenes, are not all fiction. I shall certainly
at some future period, meet with men and women
as amiable as these are represented. She nourished
this idea in silence, and dwelt on the delightful vision,
till at last too fatally convinced, that to be perfect
was not compatible with mortality. She wept over
the errors of her fellow creatures, and lamented that
reasonable beings placed in a world abounding with
every comfort, should ungratefully dash the cup of felicity
from their lips, and eagerly drink of that which
was strongly tinctured with gall. It is easily in our
own power to be happy, said she; but to render ourselves
really miserable, requires much art, contrivance
and solicitude; for, before we can be completely unhappy,
we must forsake the commandments of our all-wife
Creator; we must distrust his merciful Providence,
and render ourselves totally unworthy his heavenly protection.
But I am speaking of her maturer reflexions, and
forgetting that she is but just entered on the grand
theatre of life.—And to return:
The time was now nearly elapsed which Lady Mary
usually spent in Lincolnshire, which was two months
before and one after Christmas, at which period she
enlivened the hearts of all Sir George's tenants, and
made the smile of tranquillity sit on the countenances
of age, and softened the couch of pain and sickness.
And is not this the real incense to be offered at so
glorious a season? Will it not go up as a sweet smellling
sacrifice before the Most High? Oh! surely it is
the benevolent heart will ever be acceptable to him
whose heavenly benevolence led him to suffer an ignominious
death, that we might live for ever in glory unfading,
in bliss unchangeable.
It was with infinite pain that Rebecca parted from
her father; nor did he experience less anguish. “God
preserve you my child,” said he embracing her, “remember
the happiness of your poor father depends on
your well doing.”
“Good bye, Rebecca,” said the mother; “God
bless you, child, be careful, circumspect, and wary;
suspect every one of a design on you till you are convinced
of the contrary. You must think all men knaves,
and all women treacherous, and then you will avoid
many troubles. Trust no one; keep your thoughts
to yourself if you are unhappy, bear your sorrows in
silence, for no one will pity you if you tell them; the
happy will only laugh at you, and the miserable have
enough to do to feel for their own afflictions. If you
are happy, be silent also; for if you boast of your felicity,
some will ridicule the source from whence it follows,
and others will, from envy, endeavour to interrupt
that happiness they cannot themselves enjoy.
Keep your thoughts to yourself; have few acquaintances,
fewer intimates, and no bosom friends. Friendship
is a pretty word, but there is no such thing as a
true friend existing in the world. Remember what I
say; the world is full of deceit, and silence and suspicion
are the only things to secure you from its effects.”
“But suspicion is
incompatible with Christianity”
said Rebecca; “we are taught to `judge not that we
be not judged.”
Mrs. Littleton looked at her daughter with an air of
surprise, but remained silent. Lady Mary pressed her
hand, and led her to the chaise. Rebecca bowed to
her parents, and before she was from distance deprived
of the pleasure of beholding them, the tears had effectually
obscured them from her view.
Their journey was pleasant, and the novelty of the
objects she encountered, in a short time diverted her
ideas, and before she arrived at Twickenham she was
quite tranquil and happy; nay, she was even more
cheerful than Lady Mary had ever seen her before.
It was late when they alighted; but the elegance of
the house, the extent of the gardens, and the taste in
which they were laid out, was full and pleasurable
amusement to Rebecca the next morning. Her own
apartment commanded a view of the Thames and its
delightful banks; she thought she should never be weary
of standing at the window. “I will write my father
an ample account of this charming place,” said she;
but when she had rambled over all the pleasure grounds,
alas! thought she, it will be impossible to give him an
adequate idea of its beauties. I must even request him
to come next summer, and judge of it himself.
For eight months, happiness, pure, unallayed happiness,
took up her abode in the bosom of Rebecca.
She read, she worked, walked, or played on her lute
alternately, as inclination led, and during that time she
had been confined to her apartment but twice, once
when Lady Ossiter visited her mother, and once when
Sir George was expected to dinner.
