The Man of Feeling | Page 6

smallest affectation of learning, had as much sentiment in it as would
have puzzled a Turk, upon his principles of female materialism, to
account for. Her beneficence was unbounded; indeed the natural
tenderness of her heart might have been argued, by the frigidity of a
casuist, as detracting from her virtue in this respect, for her humanity
was a feeling, not a principle: but minds like Harley's are not very apt
to make this distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all that
benevolence which is instinctive in our nature.
As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had frequent
opportunities of seeing her. He looked on her for some time merely
with that respect and admiration which her appearance seemed to
demand, and the opinion of others conferred upon her from this cause,
perhaps, and from that extreme sensibility of which we have taken
frequent notice, Harley was remarkably silent in her presence. He heard
her sentiments with peculiar attention, sometimes with looks very
expressive of approbation; but seldom declared his opinion on the
subject, much less made compliments to the lady on the justness of her
remarks.
From this very reason it was that Miss Walton frequently took more

particular notice of him than of other visitors, who, by the laws of
precedency, were better entitled to it: it was a mode of politeness she
had peculiarly studied, to bring to the line of that equality, which is
ever necessary for the ease of our guests, those whose sensibility had
placed them below it.
Harley saw this; for though he was a child in the drama of the world,
yet was it not altogether owing to a want of knowledge on his part; on
the contrary, the most delicate consciousness of propriety often kindled
that blush which marred the performance of it: this raised his esteem
something above what the most sanguine descriptions of her goodness
had been able to do; for certain it is, that notwithstanding the laboured
definitions which very wise men have given us of the inherent beauty
of virtue, we are always inclined to think her handsomest when she
condescends to smile upon ourselves.
It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love: in
the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition; for there were
certain seasons when his ideas were flushed to a degree much above
their common complexion. In times not credulous of inspiration, we
should account for this from some natural cause; but we do not mean to
account for it at all; it were sufficient to describe its effects; but they
were sometimes so ludicrous, as might derogate from the dignity of the
sensations which produced them to describe. They were treated indeed
as such by most of Harley's sober friends, who often laughed very
heartily at the awkward blunders of the real Harley, when the different
faculties, which should have prevented them, were entirely occupied by
the ideal. In some of these paroxysms of fancy, Miss Walton did not
fail to be introduced; and the picture which had been drawn amidst the
surrounding objects of unnoticed levity was now singled out to be
viewed through the medium of romantic imagination: it was improved
of course, and esteem was a word inexpressive of the feelings which it
excited.

CHAPTER XIV
--HE SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY--THE BEGGAR AND HIS
DOG

He had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of his intended departure; but
the good lady's affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep, and early
as it was next morning when Harley came downstairs to set out, he
found her in the parlour with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup in
her hand. She knew enough of physic to prescribe against going abroad
of a morning with an empty stomach. She gave her blessing with the
draught; her instructions she had delivered the night before. They
consisted mostly of negatives, for London, in her idea, was so replete
with temptations that it needed the whole armour of her friendly
cautions to repel their attacks.
Peter stood at the door. We have mentioned this faithful fellow
formerly: Harley's father had taken him up an orphan, and saved him
from being cast on the parish; and he had ever since remained in the
service of him and of his son. Harley shook him by the hand as he
passed, smiling, as if he had said, "I will not weep." He sprung hastily
into the chaise that waited for him; Peter folded up the step. "My dear
master," said he, shaking the solitary lock that hung on either side of
his head, "I have been told as how London is a sad place." He was
choked with the thought, and his