Nature and Art | Page 9

sensation--he missed his brother. That heartfelt cheerfulness with
which Henry had ever given him joy upon every happy occasion--even
amidst all the politer congratulations of his other friends--seemed to the
dean mournfully wanting. This derogation from his felicity he was
resolved to resent; and for a whole year these brothers, whom adversity
had entwined closely together, prosperity separated.
Though Henry, on his marriage, paid so much attention to his brother's
prejudices as to take his wife from her public employment, this had not
so entirely removed the scruples of William as to permit him to think
her a worthy companion for Lady Clementina, the daughter of a poor
Scotch earl, whom he had chosen merely that he might be proud of her
family, and, in return, suffer that family to be ashamed of HIS.
If Henry's wife were not fit company for Lady Clementina, it is to be
hoped that she was company for angels. She died within the first year
of her marriage, a faithful, an affectionate wife, and a mother.
When William heard of her death, he felt a sudden shock, and a kind of
fleeting thought glanced across his mind, that
"Had he known she had been so near her dissolution, she might have
been introduced to Lady Clementina, and he himself would have called
her sister."
That is (if he had defined his fleeting idea), "They would have had no
objection to have met this poor woman for the LAST TIME, and would
have descended to the familiarity of kindred, in order to have wished
her a good journey to the other world."
Or, is there in death something which so raises the abjectness of the
poor, that, on their approach to its sheltering abode, the arrogant
believer feels the equality he had before denied, and trembles?

CHAPTER VII.

The wife of Henry had been dead near six weeks before the dean heard
the news. A month then elapsed in thoughts by himself, and
consultations with Lady Clementina, how he should conduct himself on
this occurrence. Her advice was,
"That, as Henry was the younger, and by their stations, in every sense
the dean's inferior, Henry ought first to make overtures of
reconciliation."
The dean answered, "He had no doubt of his brother's good will to him,
but that he had reason to think, from the knowledge of his temper, he
would be more likely to come to him upon an occasion to bestow
comfort, than to receive it. For instance, if I had suffered the misfortune
of losing your ladyship, my brother, I have no doubt, would have
forgotten his resentment, and--"
She was offended that the loss of the vulgar wife of Henry should be
compared to the loss of her--she lamented her indiscretion in forming
an alliance with a family of no rank, and implored the dean to wait till
his brother should make some concession to him, before he renewed
the acquaintance.
Though Lady Clementina had mentioned on this occasion her
INDISCRETION, she was of a prudent age--she was near forty--yet,
possessing rather a handsome face and person, she would not have
impressed the spectator with a supposition that she was near so old had
she not constantly attempted to appear much younger. Her dress was
fantastically fashionable, her manners affected all the various passions
of youth, and her conversation was perpetually embellished with
accusations against her own "heedlessness, thoughtlessness,
carelessness, and childishness."
There is, perhaps in each individual, one parent motive to every action,
good or bad. Be that as it may, it was evident, that with Lady
Clementina, all she said or did, all she thought or looked, had but one
foundation--vanity. If she were nice, or if she were negligent, vanity
was the cause of both; for she would contemplate with the highest
degree of self-complacency, "What such-a-one would say of her
elegant preciseness, or what such-a-one would think of her interesting
neglect."
If she complained she was ill, it was with the certainty that her languor

would be admired: if she boasted she was well, it was that the spectator
might admire her glowing health: if she laughed, it was because she
thought it made her look pretty: if she cried, it was because she thought
it made her look prettier still. If she scolded her servants, it was from
vanity, to show her knowledge superior to theirs: and she was kind to
them from the same motive, that her benevolence might excite their
admiration. Forward and impertinent in the company of her equals,
from the vanity of supposing herself above them, she was bashful even
to shamefacedness in the presence of her superiors, because her vanity
told her she engrossed all their observation. Through vanity she had no
memory, for she constantly forgot everything she heard others say,