Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

The following extract occurs in the course of a dialogue, in which Vivian had described him as his "guide, philosopher, and friend, though by much too young, and infinitely too handsome for a philosopher:" from which insinuation, with respect to the incompatibility of wisdom with personal beauty, we suspect that the writer must be ignorant of the rapid progress which philosophy is making amongst the young and the beautiful of her own sex, who are blessed with the means of subscribing for it.

"After all, I don't know whether I ought not to lay the blame of my faults on my masters, more than on my poor mother.'

"Lay the blame where we will,' said Russell, remember, that the punishment will rest on ourselves. We may, with as much philosophic justice as possible, throw the blame of our faults on our parents and preceptors, and on the early mismanagement of our minds; yet, after we have made out our case in the abstract, to the perfect satisfaction of a jury of metaphysicians, when we come to overt actions, all our judges, learned and unlearned, are so awed, by the ancient precedents and practice of society, and by the obsolete law of common sense, that they finish by pronouncing against us the barbarous sentence, that every man must suffer for his own faults.'' (Vol. iv. p. 8.)

After the completion of Vivian's education, Russell had preferred the task of educating Lord Glistonbury's son to " a state of dependent idleness," of which his former pupil's gratitude gave him the option. In this situation he shews an honourable delicacy, which we cannot recommend too strongly to those who are similarly occupied.

“In the mean time, tell me how you go on yourself,' said Vivian; "how you like your situation here, and your pupil, and all the Glistonbury family. Let me behind the scenes at once; for you know, I see them only on the stage.'

"Russell replied, in general terms, that he had hopes Lord Lidhurst would turn out well; and that therefore he was satisfied with his situation; but avoided entering into particulars, because he was a confidential person in the family. He thought that a preceptor and a physician were, in some respects, bound, by a similar species of honour, to speak cautiously of the maladies of their patients, or the faults of their pupils. Admitted into the secrets of families, they should never make use of the confidence reposed in them, to the disadvantage of any by whom they are trusted. Russell's strictly honourable reserve, upon this occasion was rather provoking to Vivian, who, to all his questions, could obtain only the dry an swer of—' Judge for yourself." (P. 77.)

His delicate and honourable sentiments on another subject,

in which delicacy and honour can never be too strictly regarded, do him equal credit, and are well pourtrayed in a dialogue with his pupil (p. 81, & seq.) on the meanness and want of principle exhibited in the conduct of a man, who can consent to trifle with the affections of a woman from thoughtless vanity, or any of those selfish motives, which the refinements of polished society do but very ill conceal. When we add that Russell's conduct throughout the tale is in unison with these sentiments; that, when put to the proof himself, he exemplifies the principles he had incul cated upon others, we have surely given him as much vantageground as the warmest advocate of his character could desire. And yet we want but one evidence to establish the truth of the accusation we have brought against him. The following correspondence between him and his former pupil, who was living in a state of adultery with the wife of his intimate, though profligate friend, is to us a sufficient testimony, that if Vivian's instability of character overcame the principles he had imbibed from his tutor, it was no less from the weakness of those principles, than from the strength of the habit.

"To the Rev. Henry Russell.

"Indignant as you will be, Russell, at all you hear of me, you cannot be more shocked than I am myself. I do not write to palliate, or apologize my conduct admits of no defence-I shall attempt none, private or public-I have written to my lawyer to give directions, that no sort of defence shall be set up, on my part, when the affair comes into Doctors Commons-as it shortly will; for, I understand, that poor Wharton has commenced a prosecution. As to damages, he has only to name them-Any thing within the compass of my fortune he may command-Would to God that money could make him amends!-But he is too generous, too noble a fellow-profligate as he is in some things, how incapable would he be of acting as basely as I have done! There is not, perhaps, at this moment, a human being, who has so high an opinion of the man I have injured, as I have myself:-he did not love his wife-but that is no excuse for me—his honour is as much wounded, as if I had robbed him of her during the time he loved her most fondly;-he once doated upon her, and would have loved her again, when he was tired of his gallantries; and they might then have lived together, as happily as ever, if I had not been What was I-What am I?-Not a villain-or I should glory in what I have done-but the weakest of human beings-And how true it is, Russell, that "all wickedness is weakness!".

[ocr errors]

"I understand, that W, wherever he goes, calls me a coward, as well as a scoundrel; and says, that I have kept out of the way to avoid fighting him.-He is mistaken. It is true, I had the utmost dread of having his life to answer for—and nothing should have provoked me to fire upon him;-but I had determined

how to act-I would have met him, and have stood his fire.-I should not be sorry, at present, to be put out of the world; and would rather fall by his hand, than by any other. But, since this is out of the question, and that things have taken another turn, I have only to live, as long as it shall please God, a life of remorseand, at least, to try to make the unfortunate woman, who has thrown herself upon my protection, as happy as I can.

"If you have any remaining regard for a pupil, who has so disgraced you, do me one favour-Go to Miss Sidney, and give her what comfort you can. Say nothing for me, or of me, but that I wish her to forget me, as soon as possible. She discarded me from her heart, when she first discovered this intrigue-before this last fatal step.-Still I had hopes of recovering her esteem and affection; for I had resolvedBut no matter what I resolyed-all my resolutions failed; and now I am utterly unworthy of her love. This, and all that is good and happy in life; all the fair hopes and virtuous promises of my youth, I must give up. Early as it is in my day, my sun has set. I truly desire, that she should forget me-for you know I am bound in honour-Honour! How dare I use the word?-I am bound, after the divorce, to marry the woman I have seduced. Oh, Russell! what a wife for your friend!-What a daughter-in-law for my poor mother, after all her care of my education! all her affection! all her pride in me! It will break her heart! Mine will not break. I shall drag on, perhaps, to a miserable old age. I am of too feeble a nature to feel those things as strong minds would-as you will for me; but do not blame yourself for my faults. All that man could do for me, you did. This must be some consolation to you, my dear and excellent friend! May I still call you friend?-or have I no friend left upon Earth?

C. VIVIAN.'

"Return to your country, your friends, and yourself, Vivian! Your day is not yet over! Your sun is not yet set! Resume your energy- -recover your self-confidence-carry your good resolutions into effect—and you may yet be an honour to your family, a delight to your fond mother, and the pride of your friend Russell.-Your remorse has been poignant and sincere; let it be salutary and permanent in it's consequences; this is the repentance which religion requires. The part of a man of sense and virtue is to make his past errours of use to his future conduct.-Whilst I had nothing to say, that could give you pleasure, I forbore to answer your letterI forbore to overwhelm a mind sinking under remorse. My sacred duty is to waken the sinner to repentance, not to shut the gates of mercy on the penitent. Now, I can relieve your mind from part of the load, by which it has been justly oppressed. You know, that nothing can palliate your conduct in an intrigue with a married woman-from this, I had hoped your moral and religious education would have preserved you. But of the premeditated guilt of deceiving the husband, and laying a plan to seduce the wife, I

never suspected you; and I may now tell you, that you have not be trayed Mr. Wharton-he has betrayed you. You have not seduced Mrs. Wharton-you have been seduced by her. You are not bound to marry her-Wharton cannot obtain a divorce-he dare not bring the affair to trial; if he does, he is undone. There has been collusion between the parties. The proof of this you will find in the enclosed paper, which will be sworn to, in due, legal form, whenever it is necessary. Even when you see them, you will scarcely believe these "damning proofs" of Wharton's baseness. But I always knew, I always told you, that this pretence to honour and candour, frankness and friendship, with this avowed contempt of all principle and all virtue, could not be safe, could not be sincere, would not stand the test. -No-nothing should make me trust to the private honour of a man, so corrupt in public life as Mr. Wharton. A man, who sells his conscience for his interest, will sell it for his pleasure. A man, who will betray his country, will betray his friend. It is in vain to palter with our conscience: there are not two honours-two honesties. How I rejoice, at this moment, in the reflection, that your character, as a public man, is yet untarnished. You have still this great advantage:-feel its value.-Return, and distinguish yourself among your countrymen: distinguish yourself by integrity, still more than by talents. A certain degree of talents is now cheap in England: integrity is what we want-true patriotism, true public spirit, noble ambition; not that vile scramble for places and pensions, which some men call ambition; not that bawling, brawling Thersites character, which other men call public spirit; not that marketable commodity, with which Wharton, and such as he, cheat popular opinion for a season; -but that fair virtue, which will endure, and abide by it's cause to the last; which, in place or out, shall be the same, which successful or unsuccessful, shall sustain the possessor's character through all changes of party; which, whilst he lives, shall command respect from even the most profligate of his contemporaries; upon which, when he is dying, he may reflect with satisfaction; which, after his death, shail be the consolation of his friends, and the glory of his country. All this is yet in your power, Vivian.-Come, then, and fulfil the promise of your early years! Come, and restore to your mother a son worthy of her! Come, and surpass the hopes of your true friend(P. 161.) H. RUSSELL.' '

Had this been the letter of a heathen philosopher, addressed to his friend under similar circumstances, its tone would have been suitable to the writer's necessarily limited and indistinct. views of the nature and consequences of sin. But the christian divine, who could be so well contented with the degree and kind of remorse expressed in Vivian's letter, who could speak in such vague and general terms on this important subject, and who, supposing him penitent, could point to no richer source of consolation than the career still left open to him by his un

tarnished political integrity;-however generous, honourable, and independent, was not likely to have laid in the mind of his pupil that broad and deep foundation of sound religious principle, which could alone have resisted the force of habit, and redeemed him from the pernicious influence of the weakness to which he fell a victim. We do not expect a treatise on repentance in a work of this nature; but we do demand in any work, that pretends to moral utility, an attention and a general reference to the only stable and satisfactory grounds of morality to which a christian can resort. What would be thought of the writer who, in a work calculated, though but incidentally, to illustrate some of the truths of natural philosophy, should refer to the erroneous or imperfect data of systems long since exploded, and neglect to avail himself of the light of recent discoveries, and the sagacity of the great luminaries of science? Surely he would come off cheaply with the imputation of having laboured in vain, and might rather expect to be called to account for a practice so likely to mislead the inexpert, and delude the ignorant with an unsubstantial form of knowledge. If such a proceeding would be reprobated in this case, how much more so in the case of moral philosophy, where the practical inferences are of so much higher importance. There is in the human mind such au alacrity in sinking, where the moral principle is concerned; such a bias towards the system least incumbered with the duties of self-denial, that we must think any work of a moral tendency dangerous, which holds out the possibility of attaining to high degrees of perfection, without going through the humiliating and mortifying, but most indispensable steps of christian discipline. It is in this view that we have dwelt so long on the character of Russell, which is more likely than any other in these volumes to be regarded, and especially by a mind of feeling and generosity, as a model of imitation, and standard of excellence. We also looked to his characters of clergyman and tutor, which not only authorized, but peremptorily demanded the introduction of higher principles, on the occasion to which we have alluded. Had he viewed the conduct of Vivian, and its consequences, with the eyes of a man who takes his religion from the Bible, he never could have written a letter so calculated to mislead him with respect to the nature and effects of his remorse; he never would have thought, on a subsequent occasion, that a personal offence, committed under the influence of mistaken jealousy, was a sufficient reason for disclaiming his friendship,-nor the profession of political integrity, the proper ground of reconciliation;-he never would so pointedly have omitted the subject of religion, in the last hours of a friend and pupil, dying under such awful cir

« AnteriorContinuar »