LIBRARY
OF THL
U N I VER5ITY
or ILLl NOIS
62.3
V. I
\si^
i
(%j
^
V
VARIETIES
IN
WOMAN
A NOVEL,
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
^' Howsoever, it is a kind of policy in these days, to
prefix a phantastical title to a book which is to be sold ;
for as larks come down to a day-net, many vain readers
will tarry and stand gazing like silly passengers at an
antique picture in a Painter's shop, that will not look a
a judicious piece.
Burton."
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1819.
Fhated hf T. C. Ilaonrd, Peterboroc^cout, Fleet itrMt, Li rt f.
^^3
/^Z72-
4\ I
VARIETIES IN WOMAN,
CHAPTER I.
TO MY SON ALBERT.
• J.N choosing to address you, my
^ ' dear Albert, in this manner, — to speak
.to you when I have no longer the
J power of utterance, — to project plans
,^ for your future welfare, when the
1^ possibility of my witnessing their
""iarealization is completely withdrawn,
-^ — I am not influenced by the desire
^ of working on your mind whilst it is
/ enfeebled, perhaps, by sorrow for my
5 loss. I wish not to extort from you
any rash vow of yielding implicit
b Vol. I. B
•J VARIETIES
credence to my observations. I
bequeath to you the most valuable
legacy in my power, — the fruits of my
own experience. You have equal
capacity of judging what mode of life
is best adapted to you, as I had; —
you are the same free agent, the same
accountable being. I am not now
going to depart from that maxim
which has invariably regulated my
conduct to you, —
Hoc patrium est potius consuefacere filium,
Sua sponte recte facere, quam alieno raetu.
Believe that the only earthly object,
which has now the power of interest-
ing me, is your happiness. It is this
which diverts my soul from the con-
templation of that world which is to
be her eternal abode. 1 would smooth
your path to the great goal of human
life. I would point out the means of
happiness within your reach, and then
Ii!^ WOMAN-. d
call on your reason to approve or not,
accordingly as it shall agree or dis-
agree with me.
I am not addressing a youth just
starting into manhood, and I need not
expatiate on the principle, *' to be
virtuous is to be happy." If there
were any necessity of recalling this
to your mind, the work of your educa-
tion is indeed incomplete; I must
have failed miserably in the end
which I had always in view. Of late
years, my son, you have been my
friend, my cotifidential friend, — in
many instances my adviser, — in dis-
tress, always my consoler, because I
do not blush to avow, that you have a
greater strength of mind, and eleva-
tion of thought, than I ever had the
happiness to possess. In one word,
you are a man and a Christian, and I
desire, as such, to suggest to you
B 2
4 VARIETIES
what happiness you may reasonably
hope to attain.
The most important consideration
towards the attainment of such an
end, is marriage.
I believe, from your domestic incli-
nations, — from the strength and per-
haps from the infrequency of your
attachments, — from the natural sensi-
bility and enthusiasm of your tem-
perament, — that you are calculated
to enjoy extreme felicity, or extreme
misery in this state, accordingly as
you shall select a partner whose dis-
position may respond to your own,
or contrast with it.
Be careful then, — Oh, most careful.
The cautious mariner, who, in the
darkest night, continually sounds the
ocean, fearing to be grounded iu a
shallow, or to be dashed against a
hidden rock, should be your embleiB.
IN WOMAN.
On this point hangs your happiness,
and so nicely is it poised, that the
slightest touch — a breath — a sound —
may depress — may destroy it.
In this age of refinement and lux-
ury, glitter is too frequently substi-
tuted for the solid ore, — and so well
does it deceive, that the closest in-
spection only can detect the cheat.
Showy accomplishments occupy the
place of solid information. Gaudiness
of ornament is mistaken for beauty of
structure. The ill-proportion of the
column is carefully kept from obser-
vation by the laboured elegance of
the frieze. The multitude admire, —
the practised' artist smiles and passes
on. The mind bears the impress of
the hand that formed it ; — as is the
instructor, so are the instructed. To
the shameful laxity of morals that
prevails in seminaries appropriated to
6 VAUIETIES
the education of our females, may be
attributed most of the misery too
frequently found in wedded life, and
all the infamy that sometimes results
from it. Whilst girls, scarcely past
the years of childhood, are brought
into the vortex of pleasure,— even of
dissipation ; — whilst they are led
through the maze of festivities, and
luxury ; — whilst they are initiated in
all the arts that attract the admira-
tion, and ensure the attention of the
crowd ;— whilst their hearts are lured
to throb at applauses bestowed by
our sex ; — whilst they are taught to
abjure the blush of modesty, and to
substitute for it the flush of vanity, to
meet the ardent gaze of man; — he
who appreciates happiness'at its pro-
per price, shudders at the prospect
before him, — trembles as he sees the
ruin that awaited himself, — perhaps
IN WOMAN. 7
which he might have brought on one
whom heaven intended to be virtuous,
and whom education had prevented
from obtaining happiness, — thanks
God for his escape, and passes on
unloving and unloved.
That the mind of women should be
cultivated, even to its highest pitch
of capacity, is essential to the happi-
ness of that man who unites the
scholar to the gentleman. Such a
one, on engaging himself for life to a
being in whom is vested so large a
portion of man's felicity, seeks not a
play-thing, not a source of amusement,
but a rational companion, to whom
he can communicate all his projects,
all his sentiments, without fear of
being misunderstood or derided. Her
converse is to sooth him on escaping
from the fatigues and the anxieties of
public life ; and he turns with delight
S VAKIETIES
from the lofty altitude which he is^
obliged to assume in his intercourse
with his fellows, to the period of
relaxation and delight; when his
mind, released from that extreme
tension to which it had been excited,
bends to the elegance, the softness,
and the refined humility of her who
is his solace — his hope — his dearer
life.
All this, my son, your mother was
to me. What I describe as possible,
I have felt to be real. It is no un-*
manly tear that stains my paper,
Albert; — I have lost her; we parted,
** like two travellers;" — she has long
reached the port to which all our pro-
jects, our cares, must ultimately
bring us ; — the Almighty witnesses
for nje, that I bowed in humble resig-
nation to his will; — I have not re-
pined; — but the time of my rejoicing
IN WOMAN. y
is at hand ; — for the wind that is
to waft me to the sea of eternity,
already breathes around me, — I hiow,
that I am to meet her again.
From a plan of rational felicity, do
not understand, that I, by any means,
imagine, that the lighter accomplish-
ments are to be excluded. When the
mind is harassed by the cares of life,
the substitution of elegance for utili-
ty is a grateful relief to it. She who
delights in employing her talents for
the amusement of her husband — who
desires no louder praise than his
smile — and who seeks no other re-
ward than his approbation —has no
ignoble mind, and is entitled to the
highest respect. Mere utiUtif sup-
poses a coarseness, a umnt of polls li,
which our sex cannot easily forgive
in the other. She who unites k hmti
avcc Ciitiky is the woman whom a man
10 VARIETIES
of genius and of religion would call
hip:iself eminently happy to secure.
I am not going to select, from all
those little peculiarities and grada-
tions of mind which distinguish one
female from another, that precise
point which will be the most likely
to confer happiness on you. The
bent and the form of your own mind
must determine for you. I might as
well decide on the stature and the
features of your future wife. I do
not dictate, — I desire only to advise.
Choose for yourself, — bearing in mind
only, that on your decision depends
vour happiness.
I have before alluded to the infre-
quency of your attachments. At
present, of the female part of creation
you have seen very little. Engrossed
by a fond father, and occupied by
pursuits of the most absorbing arid
IN WOMAN. 11
extensive nature, you are, at eight-
and'-twenty, a novice in the sex. — ^I
imagine that I, at this moment, re-
ceive from you a promise, not to
engage yourself to any woman who
may attract you, however lovely,
however amiable she may appear,
until you shall have been acquainted
w^ith her, at least, six months. During
that time, see her in her family ; for it
is in a domestic circle that the cha-
racter is to be developed. Study her
minutely, and if it be possible to
avoid it, do not let her suspect the
interest you take in her. From that
moment, you no longer see her as she
is. She recollects all those graces
and amiabilities which she has heard
admired in others, and immediately
she adopts them all. She appears
always in a false semblance. She
feels that you observe her, and she
}2 VARIETIFS
holds up to'you continually the fairest
side of the portrait.
My friend Grafton
It appeared, that the hand of death
had arrested the writer ; — the un-
finished letter was discovered in his
escritoire, nearly three months after
his interment, by the son to whom it
was addressed.
IN WOMAN. 13
CHAPTER II.
'' AND I am alone in the world !"
said Albert Beverley to himself, as he
stood at the window of the large oak-
pannelled parlour, watching the last
faint lines of the twilight. The wind
murmured through the casement, and
seemed to respond to his melancholy.
" Yes, I am indeed alone, — with none
to love, none by whom to be loved !
There sate my father, there he watch-
ed the fading day, from whose glories
he was so soon to be shut out for ever.
It seems but as now, and he was here
— elevating my hopes, advising, en-
couraging me. And that voice is
still, and that countenance which
always beamed on me with kindness
14 VARIETIES
and affection, is cold and immutably
fixed ! — That hand which has so often
been clasped in mine, that impres-
sive action — I see it now — the finger
extended — the arm leaning on the
table— ^M^^, dust! — Take, takeaway,
Philip, — I cannot eat."
The venerable domestic obeyed
with a sigh. " The will of God must
be done, sir," said he, " my poor
master thought so when my lady
died."
Albert passed his hand over his
eyes, — " man is born to trouble ;" —
** and what am I, that I should dare to
repine at being included in the com-
mon lot? the most illustrious, the
most virtuous, the ornaments and
the benefactors of mankind — all, all
have their portion of suffering !" said
he.
*' And my master too, sir," added
IN WOMAN. IB
Philip, — *' to lose my lady — so young,
so beautiful, — and three blooming
young gentlemen in one year, — it was
not a little, sir, it was not a little. —
But, God's will be done ! he made us,
and he does with us as it pleases
him."
The servant quitted the apartment,
and Albert paced across it with slow
and melancholy steps.
His mind still dwelt on the parent
he had lost. Gradually his memory
recalled the precepts and the exam-
ple that parent had given him. He
asked himself, if the line of conduct
he was pursuing, was such as would
have obtained his father's approba-
tion. His conscience reproached him,
that he had suffered his better facul-
ties to slumber, whilst his mind had
been enveloped in a mist of vain and
sinful regret. The selfishness of his
ftt VARIETIES
grief, for the first time, distinctly
struck him. He had spent that time
in impious repinings against Provi-
dence, which ought to have been de-
voted to the benefit of mankind or
to his own.
— " Man, fool man ! here buries all liis thoughts,
" Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.
" Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon,
" Here pinions all his wishes ; wing'd by heaven
" To fly at infinite, and reach it there,
*< Where seraphs gather immortality,
" On Life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
" VVliat golden joys ambrosial clust'riug glow
" In his full beam, and ripen for the just,
" Where momentary ages are no more ! !,
^' Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death
expire !
<' And is it in the flight of threescore year»
** To push eternity from human thought,
« And smother souls immortal in the dust '^
« A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
" Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness,
" Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarmed,
m WOMAK* 17
" At aught this scene can threaten or indulge,
*' Resembles ocean into tempest wrought,
" To waft a feather, or to drown a fly."
The mind of Albert had been bowed
by the pressure of affliction, so new
and so poignant ; but it had not been
enervated or overwhelmed. His rea-
son, once awakened, gradually re-
gained its ascendancy. He accus-
tomed himself to contemplate the
future as a source from which hap-
piness was to be derived. That
strength of mind, and that calmness
of appearance, which had been his
distinguishing characteristics, again
returned. He resumed his usual oc-
cupations, — his habits of study and of
observation. To enlarge his views,
and completely to shake off the me-
lancholy that still clung to him, he
visited the greater part of Europe.
There he gathered a stock of obser-
18 VARIETIES
vations, which he considered as
sources of future pleasure, of which
nothing could deprive him. He re-
visited England, and that seat which
w^as now his. zih ./
It was a spot highly favoured by
nature, and improved by art. The
prospects from every aspect were
delightful and the embellishments
were so exquisitely disposed, that the
eye of taste discerned no defect. The
house was spacious, and magnificent.
It contained the best private library
in the kingdom, A happy and flou-
rishing tenantry blessed the bountiful
hand 'that contributed so largely to
their comforts. *' And yet with all
this, there wants something," thought
Albert, and he read over the Ig^st let-
ter of his father.
The abrupt conclusion embarrassed
him. At what the allusion to Mr,
IN WOMAN. 19
Grafton pointed, it was not in his
power to conjecture. The extreme
intimacy that had always existed
between this gentleman and the Be-
verley family, had of late years been
somewhat interrupted by Mr. Graf-
ton's residence on the continent. He
and Albert were personally strangers,
but the character of each had been
displayed to the other, as far as con-
fidential correspondence can develope
it. " I will visit him," thought
Albert ; " possibly he can supply this
deficiency."
* Albert felt that he had the power
of acting on this resolution whenever
he pleased, and he constantly post-
poned it. He became immersed in
scientific speculations and discove-
ries; — a new world seemed to open
around him, and he sought no society
but that which he had always at
20 VARIETIES
command — of philosophers and his-
torians, who have enlightened man-
kind, and detailed the progress of
knowledge. That polish of manner,
which a residence on the continent
had given to him, was rapidly resolv-
ing itself into the ease of conscious
superiority. There was nothing in
him that aimed at effect. A certain
quietude that was visible in every
action and in every motion, declared,
at once, his elevation above the com-
mon mass of mankind, and his perfect
indifference to opinion. There were
few who durst aspire to his intimacy,
because they felt that his peculiar
habit of retiring into self, threw them
at an invincible distance. His was
one of those *' master spirits " which
require absolute dominion over others,
without departing, in the slightest
degree, from their usual track in order
IN WOMAK. 21
to ascertain it. His inferiors vene-
rated him ; — the few who were his
equals aippreciated him; — he knew
not a superior.
2 VARIETIES
CHAPTER III.
TO SIR ALBERT BEVERLEY, BART.
IT is to you, my excellent old friend,
that I turn in this last agonizing mo-
ment of life, and of distress, for as-
sistance and for consolation.
When I left France I was immersed
in speculations which completely
absorbed me. I lost my usual habits ;
my mind became estranged from
common objects ; I forgot even rny
existence, and frequently neglected
the means of supporting it. I no
longer remembered ** the charities of
life ;" — I inhabited the same house as
my wife and my daughter, seldom see-
ing them, and conversing only in mo-
nosyllables. At length I was com-
IK WOMAN. 23
pletely abstracted from ordinary oc-
cupations. I was no longer capable
of understanding the sentiments of
others. Medical assistance was
deemed necessary. I confounded
visions and realities ; I imagined that
speculation was fact, and distinction
identity ; — I mistook axioms for pos-
tulates, and acted on so absurd a
theory. In short, I was a lunatic ;
and though my madness was of a
harmless species, medical attendance
was absolutely requisite, and change
of scene was ordered for me.
At this time we were at Venice,
and we proceeded immediately to
the republic of the Seven Islands.
We returned again to Italy, and
thence to Montpellier. My mind
began to approach more nearly to
a healthful tone, but my frame was
gradually declining. I desired to re-
24 VARIETIES
visit England ; — 1 did so, — and found
myself a beggar.
You knew my agent, and you
warned me constantly against him.
Still I was completely infatuated,
and I considered your prepossessions
against him, prejudice. My pursuits
hourly demanded fresh supplies of
money, and I entrusted to this man
the negotiation of a mortgage on my
estate in Shropshire. He himself
became the mortgagee ; loan after
loan I obtained from him ; — he fore-
closed; — his brother was the pur-
chaser.
My next step takes me to my
grave, and I leave to my wife and
my child — beggary.
Oh, Beverley, you know not, none
but the sufferer can know, the agony,
the deep, heart-breaking agony, of
such a conviction. I have squandered
IN WOMAN. 25
in useless speculations that which
was not my own, — that which my
child expected from me, clear and
unincumbered as I received it from
my father. And this child so young,
— lovely, — and poor : — beauty,
education, and poverty 1 — dreadful
union ! —
That dependence must be the lot
of this daughter so dear, and yet,
despoiled by me of her inheritance, I
am aware. But to you I look, —
without any false delicacy (for surely
this is not an hour for it), I call on
you, Beverley, to be her guardian,
to watch over her, to protect her from
those tremendous dangers I fear for
her, and to act by her, in every re-
spect, as I would have done by your
son, if it had been the pleasure of
Heaven to reverse our situations. I
consign her to you : both my trea-
VOL. I. C
26 VARIETIES
sures, the mother and her child, have
been taught to look on you as their
sole friend on earth. Beverley, you
will not refuse them your advice and
your assistance, — I know you will
not.
I have charged my wife to dispatch
this letter to you immediately that I
am consigned to my parent dust. If
you cannot go to her, at least write,
— and write kindly, my friend.
Bereaved as they both are, they want
soothing and consolation. I know I
need not leave this charge with you.
Pardon the anxiety of a mind, torn
by the terrible conflict of repentance
and anticipation of future evil to the
dearest objects of affection. Our's
has been no common friendship; it
has been proved by a thousand cir-
cumstances. On your part one more
trial is to be made: — Ah, Beverley!
IN WOMAN, 27
I would have selected you from a
thousand to'meet such a trial.
You will find this sad legacy which
I bequeath to you, at Warnesley Cot-
tage, on the common that runs up to
the mansion of my fathers. Oh, my
friend, what a terrible fall has our
house sustained ! — and my own im-
prudence was the very source of it.
Farewell, Beverley ! — Be to my
child what we have been to one
another. — The dying man confidently
reposes his hope on you.
We shall meet again, — I believe,
and I rely on the eternal promise of
God,
Farewell !
Eustace Grafton.
" And he is gone to whose friend-
ship you so confidently trusted, poor
c2
28 VARIETIES
Grafton !" thought Albert, as he read
the letter, evidently intended for his
father — ** Ye have indeed, met again,
after a short separation !— And I will
be a brother to thy wife, and a father
to thy child. My house shall be
theirs — my fortune, theirs. — Thou
who art gone wouldst not have ren-
dered them sincerer service than I
will."
Albert, on that very day, set out
for Warnesley Cottage. The journey
was long, and he amused himself during
its progress with reflections on the
novel character which he was called
on to sustain. He was about to in-
trbduce himself to two desolate beings
as their voluntary and sole protector.
He marked out various plans of con-
duct. He was to be the instructor
of the child and the friend of the
mother. In the former character, he
IN WOMAN. 29
traced for himself a path, which he
would inviolably pursue, and he pro-
mised to himself that no consideration
should induce him to swerve from it.
He arrived. Mrs. Grafton received
him with surprise. He related, as
briefly as possible, the melancholy
event which had placed him in the si-
tuation of his father. He oifered, with
earnestness and with sincerity, his
friendship and his protection. Mrs.
Grafton was grateful : all other re-
sources were denied to her. Mr.
Grafton had been dead more than
two months when the letter was dis-
patched to sir Albert Beverley. It
was not natural that her grief for the
loss she had sustained, should be so
great as it would have been, if alarm-
ing symptoms of that loss had not
often appeared. During Mr. Graf-
ton's melancholy estrangement, he
30 VARIETI£S
had been dead to his family, or in a
state more afflicting than even death.
The mind of his wife had been gra-
dually bent to meet the blow, and
its pressure consequently was not so
violent.
** I will be your friend— your bro-
ther, if you permit me, and the father
of your child," said Albert.
Mrs. Grafton looked at him for a
moment, and slightly smiled.
It was not a smile of gratitude, but
Albert received it as such.
IN WOMAN. 31
CHAPTER IV.
BEVERLEY returned home to
raake preparations for his new in-
mates.
He was pleased with what he had
seen of Mrs. Grafton. Her manners
were polished, and her conversation
sufficiently agreeable. Nevertheless,
he was, on reflection, somewhat sur-
prised that she had not shown him
her child, — the child of his adoption.
Six weeks were yet to elapse ere
they should arrive, and he returned
former pursuits.
Sometimes, in the evening, he cal-
culated with impatience on the time
when female society would enliven
the hour in which its influence is most
32 VARIETIES
felt. He began to project improve-
ments, which would require the in-
spection and the assistance of Mrs.
Grafton. His fathers letter was less
frequently recurred to. Albert had
listened to tales of ivooing and of
winuwg, and he desired ardently to
escape from both. He liked the
freedom with which he could roam
from place to place; and he also
liked the prospect of Mrs. Grafton's
residence with him, because he should
at once enjoy all the comforts of
domestic life, with the power of
changing the scene whenever inclina-
tion or caprice prompted.
She arrived. — He assisted her out
of the carriage.
*' My daughter ! — Sir Albert Be-
verley !"
Albert could not entirely repress a
smile. In place of the blooming
IN WOMAN. 33
little fairy, the docile pupil, the gay
and sportive child he had pictured to
himself, he saw a tall and not un-
graceful figure, though deformed, in
his opinion, by a certain reserved
stateliness of air, v^hich w^as percep-
tible in every motion. She accepted
his assistance with a slight bow, and
she did not speak more than mono-
syllables during the whole evening.