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Page 24
Emerging out of a dreary chamber, all nature looked cheerful; when she
had last walked out, snow covered the ground, and bleak winds pierced
her through and through: now the hedges were green, the blossoms adorned
the trees, and the birds sung. She reached the dwelling, without being
much exhausted and while she rested there, observed the children
sporting on the grass, with improved complexions. The mother with tears
thanked her deliverer, and pointed out her comforts. Mary's tears flowed
not only from sympathy, but a complication of feelings and recollections
the affections which bound her to her fellow creatures began again to
play, and reanimated nature. She observed the change in herself, tried
to account for it, and wrote with her pencil a rhapsody on sensibility.
"Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is
susceptible: when it pervades us, we feel happy; and could it last
unmixed, we might form some conjecture of the bliss of those
paradisiacal days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of
reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction.
"It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to
relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this,
which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with
tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a
good action. The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail
the returning sun, and the consequent renovation of nature; when the
flowers unfold themselves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of
music is heard in the land. Softened by tenderness; the soul is
disposed to be virtuous. Is any sensual gratification to be compared to
that of feelings the eves moistened after having comforted the
unfortunate?
"Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happiness; but these
raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by
what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature
escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections.--But it
is only to be felt; it escapes discussion."
She then returned home, and partook of the family meal, which was
rendered more cheerful by the presence of a man, past the meridian of
life, of polished manners, and dazzling wit. He endeavoured to draw Mary
out, and succeeded; she entered into conversation, and some of her
artless flights of genius struck him with surprise; he found she had a
capacious mind, and that her reason was as profound as her imagination
was lively. She glanced from earth to heaven, and caught the light of
truth. Her expressive countenance shewed what passed in her mind, and
her tongue was ever the faithful interpreter of her heart; duplicity
never threw a shade over her words or actions. Mary found him a man of
learning; and the exercise of her understanding would frequently make
her forget her griefs, when nothing else could, except benevolence.
This man had known the mistress of the house in her youth; good nature
induced him to visit her; but when he saw Mary he had another
inducement. Her appearance, and above all, her genius, and cultivation
of mind, roused his curiosity; but her dignified manners had such an
effect on him, he was obliged to suppress it. He knew men, as well as
books; his conversation was entertaining and improving. In Mary's
company he doubted whether heaven was peopled with spirits masculine;
and almost forgot that he had called the sex "the pretty play things
that render life tolerable."
He had been the slave of beauty, the captive of sense; love he ne'er had
felt; the mind never rivetted the chain, nor had the purity of it made
the body appear lovely in his eyes. He was humane, despised meanness;
but was vain of his abilities, and by no means a useful member of
society. He talked often of the beauty of virtue; but not having any
solid foundation to build the practice on, he was only a shining, or
rather a sparkling character: and though his fortune enabled him to
hunt down pleasure, he was discontented.
Mary observed his character, and wrote down a train of reflections,
which these observations led her to make; these reflections received a
tinge from her mind; the present state of it, was that kind of painful
quietness which arises from reason clouded by disgust; she had not yet
learned to be resigned; vague hopes agitated her.
"There are some subjects that are so enveloped in clouds, as you
dissipate one, another overspreads it. Of this kind are our reasonings
concerning happiness; till we are obliged to cry out with the Apostle,
_That it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive in what it
could consist_, or how satiety could be prevented. Man seems formed for
action, though the passions are seldom properly managed; they are
either so languid as not to serve as a spur, or else so violent, as to
overleap all bounds.
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