Such was the effect of this incident on both: Natura, who till now had thought he loved only the soul of his mistress, found how dear her lovely person was also to him, by the knowledge that another was endeavouring to get possession of it; and Charlotte, by the secret satisfaction she felt on those indications Natura, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, had given of a more than ordinary admiration of her, discovered, for the first time, that he was indeed the only man whose love would not be displeasing to her.

After Natura came home, and had leisure to meditate on this affair, he began with thinking how terrible it would be to him, to see Charlotte in the arms of a husband; and when he reflected, that such a thing might be possible, even though he doubted not the sincerity of her present aversion, the idea was scarce to be borne:—from this he naturally fell on figuring to himself how great a blessing that man would enjoy, who should always have the sweet society of so amiable a companion;—and this made him cry out, 'Why then, what hinders me from endeavouring to become that happy man?—If I resolved against any future marriage, it was when I knew not the adorable Charlotte, nor believed there was so excellent a woman in the world.'—In this rapturous imagination did he continue for a moment, but then the improbability of succeeding in any such attempt, struck him with an adequate despair.—'Though the uncommon merit of the woman I adore,' said he, 'compels me to change the resolution I had taken, there is not the same reason to prevail on her to recede from her's.—Past the bloom of life, and already twice a husband, can I flatter myself with the fond hope she will not reject the proposals I should make with the same scorn she did those of the councillor?'

Charlotte, on the other hand, was engrossed by reflections vastly different from those she was accustomed to entertain:—never woman was more free from vanity, or thought less of the power of her charms, yet she could not hinder herself from thinking there was somewhat in the behaviour of Natura, in his last visit, that denoted a regard beyond an ordinary friendship for her.—This apprehension, at first, a little startled her, or at least she imagined it did so, and she said to herself, 'If he should really harbour any inclinations for me of that sort, how unhappy should I be in being obliged to break off my acquaintance with a person so every way agreeable to me; and to continue it, would be to countenance a passion I have determined never to give the least attention to.'—'Yet wherefore did I determine?' pursued she, with a sigh, 'but because I found the generality of men mere wandering, vague, inconstant creatures;—were guided only by fancy;—never consulted their judgment, whether the object they pretended to admire, had any real merit or not, and often too treated those worst who had the best claim to their esteem;—besides, one seldom finds a man whose person and qualifications are every way suited to one's liking:—Natura is certainly such as I should wish a husband to be, if I were inclined to marry again;—I have not taken a vow of celibacy, and have nobody to controul my actions':—'then,' said she again, 'what foolish imaginations comes into my head; perhaps he has not the least thought of me in the way I am dreaming of;—no, no, he has suffered too much by the imprudence of one woman, to put it in the power of another to treat him in the same manner;—be trembles at marriage;—I have heard him declare it, and I am deviating into a vanity I never before was guilty of.'

She was debating in this fashion within herself, when Natura came to pay his morning visit: she blushed at his approach, conscious of the meditations she had been in on his account.—He, full of the sentiments I have described, saluted her with an air more grave and timid than he had been accustomed, and which all who are judges of the tender passion, know to be the surest symptom of it.—They sat down, and on his beginning to renew some discourse concerning the counsellor's pretensions, she desired him to forbear so disagreeable a topic, telling him at the same time, he could say nothing else she would not listen to with satisfaction.—'How, madam,' cried he, 'are you sure of that?—Alas, you little know what passes in my heart, or you would not permit me this toleration.' This might have been sufficient to make some women convinced of the truth; but Charlotte either fearful of being deceived by her own vanity, or willing he should be more explicit, answered, 'I have too high an opinion of your good sense, and too flattering an idea of your friendship to me, to imagine your heart will ever suggest any thing which would be offensive to me from your tongue.'

'Suppose, madam,' said he, 'it should not be in my power to restrain my wishes in those bounds prescribed by you, to all who have the happiness of conversing with you; and that I were encroaching enough not to be content with the marks of friendship you are pleased to honour me':—'in fine,' continued he, 'suppose I were guilty of the very same presumption, you have so severely censured in the councellor!'

'That is impossible,' replied she, 'since you are a foe professed to marriage, as well as myself';—she was about to add something more, but was prevented by emotions, which she attempted, but in vain, to conceal; and Natura saw enough to keep him from despairing he had forfeited her esteem by aiming at her love.

Having thus made a beginning, it was easy for him to prosecute a suit, which he soon discovered he had a friend in her bosom to plead in favour of:—in a word, he left her not, till he had obtained her permission to entertain her on the same theme, and to use his endeavours to prevail on her to exchange the friendship she confessed for him into a warmer passion.

It would be altogether needless to make any repetition of the particulars of this courtship; the reader will easily believe, that both parties being animated with the same sentiments I have described, it could not be very tedious;—love had already done his work in their hearts, and required little the labour of the tongue. Charlotte had entirely compleated every thing appertaining to her law-suit, yet she seemed not in a hurry to quit the town; a business of a more tender nature now detained her;—she had resolved, or rather she could not help resolving, to give herself to Natura, and the shame of doing what she had so often, and so strenuously declared against, rendered the thoughts of returning into the country in a different state, from that with which she had left it, insupportable to her.

After having agreed to the sollicitations of her importunate lover, she expressed her sentiments to him on this head; on which it was concluded, that their nuptials should be solemnized as privately as possible in London, and that they should set out immediately after for his country seat, where Charlotte, being utterly a stranger, would not be subjected to any of those little railleries, she must have expected, in a place where every one knew of the aversion she had testified for a second marriage.

No cross accident intervening, what they designed was, in a short time, carried into execution;—never were any pair united by more indelible bonds; those of friendship sublimed into the most pure and virtuous tenderness, and a parity of principles, humours, and inclinations.

Thus does passion triumph over the most seemingly fixed and determined resolution; and though it must be confessed, that in this instance, both had reason, from the real merits of the beloved object, to justify their choice, yet nature would certainly have had the same force, and worked the same effect, if excited only by meer fancy, and imaginary perfections.

A Platonic and spiritual love, therefore, between persons of different sexes, can never continue for any length of time. Whatever ideas the mind may conceive, they will at last conform to the craving of the senses; and the soul, though never so elevated, find itself incapable of enjoying a perfect satisfaction, without the participation of the body.—As inclination then is not always guided by a right judgment, nor circumstances always concur to render the indulging an amorous propensity either convenient, or lawful, how careful ought every one be, not to be deceived by a romantic imagination, so far as to engage in an affection which, sooner or later, will bring them to the same point that Natura and Charlotte experienced.



CHAP. VI.

How the most powerful emotions of the mind subside and grow weaker in proportion, as the strength of the body decays, is here exemplified; and that such passions as remain after a certain age, are not properly the incentives of nature, but of example, long habitude or ill humour.

The bride and bridegroom were received by all the friends, tenants, and dependants of Natura, with the greatest demonstrations of joy; and the behaviour of the amiable Charlotte was such as made every one cease to wonder that he had ventured again on marriage, after the disquiets he had experienced in that state.

The kindred on neither side had nothing to condemn in the choice which each had made of the other; and though perhaps a motive of self-interest might make those nearest in blood, and consequently to the estates they should leave at their decease, wish such an union had not happened, yet none took the liberty to complain, or betray, by any part of their behaviour, the least dissatisfaction at it.—The sister and brother-in-law of Natura, it must be allowed, had the most cause, as they had a large family of children, who had a claim equally to the effects of both, in case they had died without issue; yet did not even they express any discontent, though Charlotte, within the first year of her marriage, brought two sons into the world, and a third in the next ensuing one, all which seemed likely to live, and enjoy their parents patrimony.

What now was wanting to compleat the happiness of this worthy pair, equally loving and beloved by each other, respected by all who knew them, in need of no favours from any one, and blessed with the power of conferring them on as many as they found wanted, or merited their assistance.—Charlotte lost no part of her beauty, nor vivacity, by becoming a mother, nor did Natura find any decrease in the strength, or vigour, either of his mind or body, till he was past fifty-six years of age.—The same happy constitution had doubtless continued a much longer time in him, as nature had not been worn out by any excesses, or intemperance, if by unthinkingly drinking some cold water, when he was extremely hot, he had not thrown himself into a surfeit, which surfeit afterward terminated in an ague and fever, which remained on him a long time, and so greatly impaired all his faculties, as well as person, that he was scarce to be known, either by behaviour, or looks, for the man who, before that accident, had been infinitely regarded and esteemed for the politeness of the one, and the agreeableness of the other.

His limbs grew feeble, his body thin, and his face pale and wan, his temper sour and sullen, seldom caring to speak, and when he did it was with peevishness and ill-nature;—every thing was to him an object of disquiet; nothing of delight; and he seemed, in all respects, like one who was weary of the world, and knew he was to leave it in a short time.

It is so natural to feel repugnance at the thoughts of being what they call no more; that is, no more as to the knowledge and affections of this world; that even those persons who labour under the severest afflictions, wish rather to continue in them, than be eased by death:—they are pleased at any flattering hopes given of a prolongation of their present misery, and are struck with horror at the least mention of their life and pains being drawing to a period.—More irksome, doubtless, it must still be to those, who having every thing they could wish for here, find they must soon be torn from all the blessings they enjoy.—This is indeed a weakness; but it is a weakness of nature, and which neither religion nor philosophy are sufficient to arm us against; and the very endeavours we make to banish, or at least to conceal our disquiets on this score, occasion a certain peevishness in the sweetest temper, and make us behave with a kind of churlishness, even to those most dear to us.

Few, indeed, care to confess this truth, tho' there are scarce any, who do not shew it in their behaviour, even at the very time they are forcing themselves to an affectation of indifference for life, and a resignation to the will of Heaven.

The great skill of his physicians, however, and the yet greater care his tender consort took to see their prescriptions obeyed with the utmost exactitude, at length recovered Natura from the brink of the grave.—He was out of danger from the disease which had so long afflicted him; but though it had entirely left him, the attack had been too severe for a person at the age to which he was now arrived, to regain altogether the former man.—He had, in his sickness, contracted habits, which he was unable to throw off in health, and he could no more behave, than look, as he had done before.

The mind would certainly be unalterable, and retain the same vigour it ever had in youth, even to extreme old age, could the constitution preserve itself entire.—It is that perishable part of us, which every little accident impairs, and wears away, preparing, as it were, by degrees, for a total dissolution, which hinders the nobler moiety of the human species from actuating in a proper manner:—those organs, which are the vehicles, through which its meanings shoot forth into action, being either shrivelled, abraded by long use, or clogged up with humours, shew the soul but in an imperfect manner, often disguise it wholly, and it is for want of a due consideration only, that we are so apt to condemn the mind, for what, in reality, is nothing but the incumbrances laid on it by the infirmities of the body.

It is true, that as we grow older, the passions naturally subside; yet that they do so, is not owing to themselves, as I think may be easily proved by this argument.

Every one will acknowledge, because he knows it by experience, that while he is possessed of passions, his reason alone has the power of keeping them within the bounds of moderation; if then we have less of the passions in old age, or rather, if they seem wholly extinguished in us, we ought to have a greater share of reason than before; whereas, on the contrary, reason itself becomes languid in the length of years, as well as the passions, it is supposed to have subdued: it is therefore meerly the imbecility of the organical faculties, and from no other cause, that we see the aged and infirm dead, in appearance, to those sensations, by which their youth was so strongly influenced.

Avarice is, indeed, frequently distinguishable in old men; but this I do not look upon as a passion but a propensity, arising from ill-nature and self-love.—Gain, and the sordid pleasure of counting over money, and reckoning up rents and revenues, is the only lust of age; and since we cannot be so handsome, so vigorous, cannot indulge our appetites, like those who are younger, we take all manner of ways to be richer, and pride ourselves in the length of our bags, and the number of our tenants.

I know it may be objected, that this vice is not confined to age, that youth is frequently very avaritious, and grasps at money with a very unbecoming eagerness:—this, I grant, is true; but, if we look into the conduct of such men in other respects, I believe we shall generally find their avarice proceeds from their prodigality;—they are lavish in the purchase of pleasures, and must therefore be parsimonious in acts of generosity and justice:—they are guilty of meanness in some things, only for the sake of making a great figure in others; and are not ashamed to be accounted niggards, where they ought to be liberal, in order to acquire the reputation of open-handedness, where it would better become them to be sparing.

Natura, however, had never discovered any tendency to this vice, either in youth or age; yet did that peevishness, which the infirmities of his body had occasioned, make him behave sometimes, as if he were tainted with it.

Charlotte observed this alteration in her husband's temper with an infinite concern; yet bore it with an equal patience;—making it her whole study to divert and sooth his ill humour:—he was not so lost to love and gratitude, and even reason too, as not to acknowledge the tender proofs he continually received of her unshaken affections, and would sometimes confess the errors he was guilty of, in point of behaviour towards her, and intreat her pardon; but then the least trifle would render him again forgetful of all he had said, and make him relapse into his former frowardness.

It is certain, notwithstanding, that his love for her was the same as ever, though he could not shew it in the same manner; and to what can this be imputed, but to the effect which the ailments of his external frame had on his internal faculties.

Though, as well as those about him, he found a decay within himself, which made him think he had not long to live; yet could he not be prevailed upon, for a great while, to settle his affairs after his decease, by making any will; and whenever it was mentioned to him, discovered a dissatisfaction, which at last made every one desist from urging any thing on that score.

It was in vain that they had remonstrated to him, that the estate being to descend entire to his eldest son, the two youngest would be left without any provision, and consequently must be dependants on their brother, by his dying intestate:—in vain they pleaded, that taking so necessary a precaution for preserving the future peace of his family, would no way hasten his death, but, on the contrary, render the fatal hour, whenever it should arrive, less dreadful, he had only either answered not at all, or replied in such a fashion, as could give them no room to hope for his compliance.

In this unhappy disposition did he continue between two and three years; but as his latter days came on, he grew much more calm and resigned, reason began to recover its former dominion over him; and, when every one had left off all importunities on the account of his making a will, he, of himself, mentioned the necessity of it, and ordered a lawyer to be sent for to that end.

Having settled all his affairs, relating to this world, in the most prudent manner, he began to prepare for another, with a zeal which shewed, that whatever notions people may have in health, concerning futurity, they become more convinced, in proportion as they grow nearer their dissolution.

He finished his course in the sixty-third, or what is called the grand climacteric year of life;—had the blessing to retain the use of all his senses to the last; and as death had long before assailed, though not totally vanquished him, he was too much decayed by continual wastings, to feel any of those pangs, which persons who die in their full vigour must unavoidably go through, when the vital springs burst at once.

He took leave of his dear wife and children with great serenity and composure of mind; and afterwards turned himself from them, and passed into eternity, as if falling into a gentle slumber.

Thus have I attempted to trace nature in all her mazy windings, and shew life's progress thro' the passions, from the cradle to the grave.—The various adventures which happened to Natura, I thought, afforded a more ample field, than those of any one man I ever heard, or read of; and flatter myself, that the reader will find many instances, that may contribute to rectify his own conduct, by pointing out those things which ought to be avoided, or at least most carefully guarded against, and those which are worthy to be improved and imitated.



FINIS.