Duty and Inclination/Chapter 31
CHAPTER X.
"What scenes of glory rise
Before my dazzled eyes!
Young zephyrs wave their wanton wings,
And melody celestial rings."
Beattie.
If, upon a short acquaintance, Dr. Lovesworth made so favourable an impression upon the De Brookes, it greatly increased when his dignified character became still more unfolded to their view—when he exhibited the many virtues with which he was replete, and when his enlarged mind, intelligence, and wisdom became upon every interview more discernible.
In possession of friends and fortune, but above all distinguished for talent and worth, he had received church preferment, and taken his degree as Doctor of Divinity. He had been a widower about nine years, previous to which he had experienced all the felicity that the connubial state, when blessed with a kindred partner, can possibly afford,—when congenial minds unite in one, and form the true bond of reciprocal union. His parsonage had been the seat of every rural pleasure—every domestic enjoyment; life had seemed one delicious spring! Nor ever did he dream of the storm which lowered over his head and threatened to deprive him of his lovely partner. After a painful illness she departed this life, and was shortly followed by her child, when, like a blighted tree, he was left to bemoan his irreparable loss.
"When such friends part,
'Tis the survivor dies."
Time, the assuager of all human sufferings, at length restored him to health, exchanged his grief for composure, and recalled those sentiments of his religious belief which were previously imbibed, but which, in the first stage of his affliction, were partially obscured. He bowed with patience and submission to the will of a wise but inscrutable Providence, and his bosom swelled with gratitude for the many blessings surrounding him.
Few knew justly how to appreciate the merits of this excellent man, whose chief delight and constant care had been the study of the Sacred Scriptures; and well qualified was he to elucidate their mysteries, by penetrating through the veil of their literal sense; by this means, what might seem obscure was clearly understood, and apparent contradictions were reconciled. To the cursory peruser, who had only gazed at the casket, and not discovered the jewels it contains, he would unfold the inestimable treasures of true wisdom, and exhibit to his astonished mind the "pearls of great price," which had been concealed from his mental sight; then, by apt illustrations and demonstrations the most cogent, he would prove the author Infinite. How clearly would he show the whole is one beautiful, sublime, and connected chain of love and wisdom, which adapts itself to finite comprehension, yet not to be fully fathomed in its depths profound by mortal or angelic skill!
Such was the inestimable Lovesworth,—a faithful disciple, a truly rational and illuminated scribe of the Lord,—one who, like former messengers of their Divine Master, by the world deemed visionary because but little known or understood, was nevertheless warmly received, because rightly appreciated, by the discerning and unprejudiced few.
Framing his views and forming his entire life and conduct by this heavenly and enlightened model, Doctor Lovesworth simplified to the unlettered the purest philosophy, and the most exalted and edifying principles of theology. His parishioners were daily in the habit of resorting to him for instruction,—happy to disseminate truths he had it in his power so ably to expound, and particularly in the capital, where a free and extensive circulation was given to them, being truly the good shepherd who fed his flocks: "The fire within me must not be stifled; the voice which says within me, Speak, must receive obedience. Woe unto me if I preach not the Gospel!"
By this daily practice, and life of usefulness, the Doctor alleviated the recollections of the past.
So regular had been his custom of visiting his obscure retreat, that whenever he failed to do so his constitution suffered. The invigorating influence of country air he found to be essential, and the preference was given to his hermitage, prizing it more than any other of his possessions, it having witnessed the first scenes of his nuptial happiness. Accident had caused him to discover it, whilst making a tour with his bride through Wales, when charmed by the enchanting aspect of the spot, he had been induced to purchase it, and add decorations such as greatly embellished its picturesque beauty.
In possession of ample property, it was not from motives of retrenchment he had quitted the frequented scenes of life; sequestration during the first months of marriage had been his choice, equally as that of his partner;—'tis then, in that early period of near association, dependent upon each other, that affection grows, and the matrimonial tie is strengthened. The beautiful blossom of conjugal love becoming closely knit, firmly braves the buffet of the blast, and defies all future injury. By the adoption of this prudent plan, Dr. Lovesworth had secured to himself the choicest fruits of wedded life, the mutual harmony, based upon the firm principles of reciprocal unity, which he believed would exist even beyond the grave,—which the chilling hand of death would neither blight nor wither.
He had not for some time felt a pleasure so lively as that which he experienced upon his acquaintance with the De Brookes; even upon the first interview he felt sensible of an assimilating partiality, and which, upon a nearer intimacy, became confirmed, arising from the separate endowments and virtues of each harmonizing together in one common concord, interest, and union.
In the course of a short period, as he had expected, he had the happiness of affording a welcome at his hermitage to his young friend the Rev. E. Philimore:—
"As bees mix'd nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight,—
Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun."
"I am heartily glad to see you," said the Doctor; "but I am sorry to see the invalid portrayed in your looks. You must needs require rest after your toilsome journey. I will not listen to anything you may have to tell me to-night; to-morrow we shall have ample leisure for discussions of various kinds; and to-morrow I promise you a gratification equal to that your company affords me, the introducing you to a family known to your parents, and who, I assure you, entertain a high regard and esteem for yourself."
"My good Doctor," replied Philimore, "I suspect your kind partiality has led you to speak far more in my praise than I deserve: you have overrated my poor abilities, and this amiable family will find I have but slight pretensions to the commendations you have given me."
Impressed with this idea, some check was given to the wonted self-possession of Philimore, when, the following day, he accompanied the Doctor on his walk to The Bower. Nevertheless, a feeling he had rarely of late experienced occupied his mind; his ideas, long saddened and oppressed, resumed a portion of their native vivacity, together with a wish to please, and an ardent desire to render himself agreeable, and support the good opinion his friend had excited in his favour, but which, as he was inclined to think it proceeded from vanity, he strove to subdue.
The air was fresh, and seemed in its breeze to waft a perfume from the wild flowers and heath, which grew in rich profusion along the verge of the hill, on one side bounding the path, while sheep and goats, browsing on the summit, were cropping the scented and nutritious herbage. The southern landscape widened into an extensive luxuriancy, and as the eye descended to the vale, on the opposite side of the Cynon, was seen the village, romantically situated, its whitewashed roofs*[1] occasionally intermingling with the darkened foliage.
Philimore slackened his pace, in order to contemplate the striking beauties such an assemblage of objects presented.
"What an enchanting country!" ejaculated he; "how diversified the scenery! calculated at once to delight the senses and beguile the imagination."
"Hark!" said the Doctor, interrupting him, "methought I heard sounds more tuneful than the village church is wont to afford us."
They paused, but all was silent; nothing was heard except the warbling of singing birds in an adjoining grove: they renewed their discourse. In a few moments they paused again, when the melody, as it came borne on the breeze to the ear of Philimore, infused sensations consonant to his nature—truth, virtue, and almost saintly purity being impressed upon his soul. And such the harmonious tones, now full and sonorous, now faint and mellow, were calculated to awaken.
They had reached the grove, the music continuing, heightened into strains of greater execution as they advanced; but this was surpassed by excellence still higher: it was accompanied by expression, energy, and pathos—the notes gradually swelled, and gradually in softer murmurs died away. In these intervals there was breathed forth a strain of such exquisite modulation, of such melting sweetness, as could not fail to have touched and vibrated upon the coldest breast. How great then must have been their power over the warm, the sensible, and enthusiastic Philimore, heightened as was their effect by the varied beauties which surrounding objects presented to his view!
It was Oriana who had attuned her voice in unison to her harp; when, upon seeing Dr. Lovesworth suddenly pass the window, she ceased, and the next moment Philimore stood before her.
The acquiescence of her mind to the enchanting harmony she had breathed was still displayed upon her countenance; its usual animation had vanished, an expression of seraphic meekness prevailed, a sweet tranquillity hung on her brow, a gentle smile played upon her lip. The soft breezes from the open casement had partially disarranged her nut-brown ringlets, her flowing scarf fell in tasteful drapery around her slight and graceful person. Those snowy fingers that had produced such rapturous strains still pressed upon the tuneful wire. Her look, her attitude, seemed the effect of inspiration. Thus perfectly did she realize, to the outward vision of Philimore, the enchantress his imagination had pictured.
Oriana rose and left her seat, dissolving the magic that had seemed to rivet her beholder to the spot; nevertheless, his heart beat high,—-joy, delight, ecstasy, was diffused through every member. She who for the last two years had filled every thought and perception of which his being was capable, was again before him. So intensely was he moved, he could scarcely make due acknowledgments for the kind greetings he received, or reply to the General and Mrs. De Brooke's inquiries concerning his parents. At length, however, with a modest and prepossessing grace, whilst satisfaction illumined his countenance, he was not deficient in offering remarks, naturally drawn from the occasion and circumstances under which he met the friends of his family.
"Your cottage. General," said he, "exhibits to my view all that the most enwrapt or glowing fancy might conceive of an Elysium; 'tis truly an earthly Paradise."
"The description may be somewhat exalted," replied the General; "I must confess, however, I have rarely beheld more fascinating scenery than that in the vicinity of your friend's cottage and mine."
"How few," continued Philimore, "take pleasuire in exploring beauties near their homes! Admirers of nature might, by a tour through Wales, be gratified according to the prevalence of their taste; whether the interesting and engaging, the lovely and the picturesque charm them. South Wales displays such landscapes in abundance. If to grandeur they give the preference, how bold are those sublime and stupendous objects in the North! Commanding indeed are its scenes, the misty summits of its towering hills, its cataracts, and steep perpendicular cliffs."
"The many ruined castles," added Dr. Lovesworth, "and once noble structures, mouldering into decay, variously dispersed about the country, must very much tend to augment the delight experienced by a traveller of taste."
"I think," remarked Mrs. De Brooke, "the country we inhabit is reputed to possess a very beautiful pile of antiquity, the second with respect to vastness in Great Britain."
"The observation is just," replied the Doctor: "I have had the pleasure of exploring Cherpihilly Castle, that truly stupendous fabric; no part of which is in any great state of preservation. The fox may howl beneath its once spacious and now broken roof, and may build its covert there, without being in the least danger of disturbance."
"These old romantic relics," said the General, "seem scarcely more ancient than are the genealogical descents of the inhabitants in some of the remote parts of the country."
"Such who style themselves Flemings," answered the Doctor; "they are a race proud and tenacious of their antiquity, and, in consequence, treat their neighbours with scorn and asperity, preserving those animosities and feuds which occasioned so much division amongst them in former times."
Thus time fled, when the Doctor, with reluctance, rose to take his leave; Philimore followed, but not until he had glanced at Oriana a look in which his soul spoke, indicating a desire still to linger near her; whilst his ear caught the welcome invitation made by the General to renew his visits frequently.
"It will be my delight, my happiness," replied he with emphasis, "to accompany the Doctor in his usual walks to The Bower."
His heart fondly vibrated to what he uttered, and whispered, "To-morrow I shall see her again,—that sensible, animated, that accomplished girl! and perchance be indulged by her exquisite strains again!" The thought was exhilarating; the languor of convalescence departed, the bright hues of pleasure succeeded; and Dr. Lovesworth, unsuspicious of the cause, congratulated his young friend upon his very improved appearance.
The change also struck forcibly upon Rosilia, who remarked to her mother and sister, that when they had departed for Bath, on account of Oriana's indisposition, he was entirely lost and absorbed in melancholy reveries. "I hope," continued she, "he will not resume those downcast moods again, but be ever as he has been to-day."
She looked at Oriana, who would have said, "lively, agreeable, intelligent," but checking the words ere they escaped her, she flung aside her work, and fled to the occupations of her garden. Philimore possessed by nature a temper warm and inflammable, perhaps ungovernable; yet by an intense application to the duties of a profession loved with ardour, the one of his choice, and for which the enthusiasm of his character had led him to qualify himself, he had induced his natural disposition to yield to the control of reason's dictates, and to the mild discipline of true Christian rules. By his frequent study and contemplation of the sublime truths of Christianity, he had restrained every inferior principle of the mind within its due bounds, and often practised a rigid austerity in constraining himself to an habitual and scrutinizing review of his actions, that so he might subdue every inclination which was not strictly sanctioned by enlightened reason.
The preaching of Christianity he wisely considered a species of profanation, were he not to illustrate by his own example the sacredness of those precepts he enforced. This world, thought he, is our state of trial and probation—it is to fit and prepare us for another!
Thus was he animated by zeal, hope, fervour—not for the popularity of mortal praise, but for the more glorious views of rendering himself worthy of that Supreme Being whose disciple he was, whose ministry he had taken upon himself to fulfil, and in whose presence he was continually acting. Could a steady adherence to such exalted precepts be too great, too rigid for him to practise? Was the gratification of the senses so powerful, so imposing, as that they could not be brought into subjection and obedience?
These questions he had often asked himself, but the proof was still wanting. The ordinary regulations of each day he might not have found difficult, the dissipations of midnight he might have forgone, the mind might be disciplined to undergo privations of various sorts, attendant upon those whose revenues are circumscribed.
Such he had been—such was Philimore—an ornament to his family and profession, correct and simple in his life. It was now to be seen how he would conduct himself for the future, and whether he could resist and combat those stronger passions, connected, as it were, with the inmost links of his being.
- ↑ *The roofs of the cottages in parts of Wales are white-washed.