Part 11 (1/2)
”'Tut!' said Mountford, 'do you eat macaroni--'”
[At this place had the greatest depredations of the curate begun.
There were so very few connected pa.s.sages of the subsequent chapters remaining, that even the partiality of an editor could not offer them to the public. I discovered, from some scattered sentences, that they were of much the same tenor with the preceding; recitals of little adventures, in which the dispositions of a man, sensible to judge, and still more warm to feel, had room to unfold themselves. Some instruction, and some example, I make no doubt they contained; but it is likely that many of those, whom chance has led to a perusal of what I have already presented, may have read it with little pleasure, and will feel no disappointment from the want of those parts which I have been unable to procure. To such as may have expected the intricacies of a novel, a few incidents in a life undistinguished, except by some features of the heart, cannot have afforded much entertainment.
Harley's own story, from the mutilated pa.s.sages I have mentioned, as well as from some inquiries I was at the trouble of making in the country, I found to have been simple to excess. His mistress, I could perceive, was not married to Sir Harry Benson; but it would seem, by one of the following chapters, which is still entire, that Harley had not profited on the occasion by making any declaration of his own pa.s.sion, after those of the other had been unsuccessful.
The state of his health, for some part of this period, appears to have been such as to forbid any thoughts of that kind: he had been seized with a very dangerous fever, caught by attending old Edwards in one of an infectious kind. From this he had recovered but imperfectly, and though he had no formed complaint, his health was manifestly on the decline.
It appears that the sagacity of some friend had at length pointed out to his aunt a cause from which this might be supposed to proceed, to wit, his hopeless love for Miss Walton; for, according to the conceptions of the world, the love of a man of Harley's fortune for the heiress of 4,000 pounds a year is indeed desperate.
Whether it was so in this case may be gathered from the next chapter, which, with the two subsequent, concluding the performance, have escaped those accidents that proved fatal to the rest.]
CHAPTER LV--HE SEES MISS WALTON, AND IS HAPPY
Harley was one of those few friends whom the malevolence of fortune had yet left me; I could not therefore but be sensibly concerned for his present indisposition; there seldom pa.s.sed a day on which I did not make inquiry about him.
The physician who attended him had informed me the evening before, that he thought him considerably better than he had been for some time past. I called next morning to be confirmed in a piece of intelligence so welcome to me.
When I entered his apartment, I found him sitting on a couch, leaning on his hand, with his eye turned upwards in the att.i.tude of thoughtful inspiration. His look had always an open benignity, which commanded esteem; there was now something more--a gentle triumph in it.
He rose, and met me with his usual kindness. When I gave him the good accounts I had had from his physician, ”I am foolish enough,”
said he, ”to rely but little, in this instance, upon physic: my presentiment may be false; but I think I feel myself approaching to my end, by steps so easy, that they woo me to approach it.
”There is a certain dignity in retiring from life at a time, when the infirmities of age have not sapped our faculties. This world, my dear Charles, was a scene in which I never much delighted. I was not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the dissipation of the gay; a thousand things occurred, where I blushed for the impropriety of my conduct when I thought on the world, though my reason told me I should have blushed to have done otherwise.--It was a scene of dissimulation, of restraint, of disappointment. I leave it to enter on that state which I have learned to believe is replete with the genuine happiness attendant upon virtue. I look back on the tenor of my life, with the consciousness of few great offences to account for. There are blemishes, I confess, which deform in some degree the picture. But I know the benignity of the Supreme Being, and rejoice at the thoughts of its exertion in my favour. My mind expands at the thought I shall enter into the society of the blessed, wise as angels, with the simplicity of children.” He had by this time clasped my hand, and found it wet by a tear which had just fallen upon it.--His eye began to moisten too--we sat for some time silent.--At last, with an attempt to a look of more composure, ”There are some remembrances,” said Harley, ”which rise involuntary on my heart, and make me almost wish to live. I have been blessed with a few friends, who redeem my opinion of mankind. I recollect, with the tenderest emotion, the scenes of pleasure I have pa.s.sed among them; but we shall meet again, my friend, never to be separated. There are some feelings which perhaps are too tender to be suffered by the world.--The world is in general selfish, interested, and unthinking, and throws the imputation of romance or melancholy on every temper more susceptible than its own. I cannot think but in those regions which I contemplate, if there is any thing of mortality left about us, that these feelings will subsist;- -they are called,--perhaps they are--weaknesses here;--but there may be some better modifications of them in heaven, which may deserve the name of virtues.” He sighed as he spoke these last words. He had scarcely finished them, when the door opened, and his aunt appeared, leading in Miss Walton. ”My dear,” said she, ”here is Miss Walton, who has been so kind as to come and inquire for you herself.” I could observe a transient glow upon his face. He rose from his seat--”If to know Miss Walton's goodness,” said he, ”be a t.i.tle to deserve it, I have some claim.” She begged him to resume his seat, and placed herself on the sofa beside him. I took my leave. Mrs. Margery accompanied me to the door. He was left with Miss Walton alone. She inquired anxiously about his health. ”I believe,” said he, ”from the accounts which my physicians unwillingly give me, that they have no great hopes of my recovery.”- -She started as he spoke; but recollecting herself immediately, endeavoured to flatter him into a belief that his apprehensions were groundless. ”I know,” said he, ”that it is usual with persons at my time of life to have these hopes, which your kindness suggests; but I would not wish to be deceived. To meet death as becomes a man, is a privilege bestowed on few.--I would endeavour to make it mine;-- nor do I think that I can ever be better prepared for it than now: - -It is that chiefly which determines the fitness of its approach.”
”Those sentiments,” answered Miss Walton, ”are just; but your good sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper value.--As the province of virtue, life is enn.o.bled; as such, it is to be desired.- -To virtue has the Supreme Director of all things a.s.signed rewards enough even here to fix its attachment.”