# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 32

CHAPTER XI.
"Fly these soft scenes! E'en now with playful art
Love wreaths the flowery ways with fatal snare."
Beattie.
Apathy of character, and an indifference to the common concerns of life moving around him, had for some time lessened in Philimore his wonted energies and desires of rendering himself useful in his ministry. He had long breathed a close and condensed atmosphere, but being suddenly transported to one more pure and clear, he found his drooping spirits revive.
Those effects, of which he was sensible, perhaps proceeded from another cause still stronger, but which he was as yet unwilling either to acknowledge or scrutinize.
His future destiny seemed to be involved in a mysterious spell, which he feared to penetrate, and which seemed to link his ideas in a pleasing connexion with The Bower. "That spot," thought he, "is surely consecrated to purer and more elevated joys than those which usually fall to the lot of erring man. Beings of a superior order are ​its inmates! How blessed, to pass one's life there, disencumbered of those restraints, those idle shows and vain exhibitions, affording delight to the worldling in his search to dissipate time, and lash the lingering hours into speed!"
Glowing as was the picture his fervent fancy was disposed to draw, yet some shades darkened the outline, when he considered that he placed the subject in a point of view only in harmony with his then existing feelings; his thoughts ran solely upon those enjoyments of retired life, when each sex, mutually participating in them, unite in common concord and association with the other. Precluded from such delightful intercourse, he wandered alone over the lovely country which lay before him, but which, however richly diversified, could afford no real charm for him. A life of continual industry might help to dispel the langour of ennui; but could it chase from the mind the image of joys entombed,—joys the highest that the human soul is capable of conceiving, adequate alone to give relish and stimulus to our wisest projects and pursuits? It is the voice of Nature and of Heaven, that nought can stifle but those morbid affections springing from the world, its allurements, and corruptions!
"Those amiable sisters!" again thought he, ​"surely a feeling of isolation must sometimes intrude upon their hearts, sensible and tender as they seem, and by exposing them to discontent, render even that lovely seclusion irksome."
Nevertheless, tranquillity, ease, and cheerfulness had dwelt around Oriana; on the contrary, dejection and pensive sadness had encompassed her sister. The sphere of the former was delightful to him; that of the latter affected him also; each sweetly harmonizing within him, produced feelings and impressions he was desirous to suppose would hereafter as then exist undefined and indistinct.
His further reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Dr. Lovesworth, equipped for a morning's ride.
"Come, Philimore," said he, "I have a horse in attendance for you; I mean to indulge you to-day in a little circuit round the country. We shall pass through some pleasing hamlets, and call upon some cottagers, whose unsophisticated manners will interest you."
Philimore with alacrity prepared to obey the Doctor, and, as they commenced their ride, observed, "Are, then, the peasantry of this neighbourhood of such an order, as that you. Doctor, can find pleasure in entering their poor abodes? Admit they of instruction? Are their minds in any ​way capable of receiving the life-giving spirit of truth? I had supposed them ignorant and illiterate beyond measure."
"If you allude," replied the Doctor, "to the extremely poor, they are as you describe them; they can but comprehend the harsh jargon of their native language; but these are few comparatively to the many honest and industrious families with whom I have formed acquaintance."
The road was inconveniently rugged for any other mode of conveyance than the one they had chosen, deviating from the open path to pursue new ones, making their route easy by occasionally resting as they proceeded, to dwell upon those conspicuous beauties that on all sides attracted the eye.
Having reached the village, they fastened their horses to a shed, where were some farmers' boys, to whom they gave them in charge, and then went on foot to visit the Welsh Curate, who weekly officiated in the small chapel contiguous to his dwelling. He was a man in low circumstances, but of somewhat acute comprehension,—yet much prejudiced, illiberal in his way of thinking, and, by gross misconceptions, perverting the truths of the Holy Word, in such a way as to make it but little intelligible to the ignorant, or satisfactory to ​the unbeliever. After some conversation, in which the Doctor and his friend discovered the ruling persuasions of the Curate, and how erroneously they were founded, they might have boldly combated his opinions, but rather preferred to accommodate to them for a time, than, by hasty and premature reasoning, disconcert their antagonist, and perhaps provoke in him a more tenacious adherence to his sentiments.
"Another time," thought Philimore, "and I will endeavour to persuade him out of the ideas he has formed. May an Infinite Power above aid my humble attempts to lead this man from the darkness of preconceived error, into a brighter and fuller illumination—the souls of so many looking up to him for instruction. How important the charge—how awful the consideration—amongst the mists in which he is himself wandering, to mislead his flock! Forbid it, Heaven!"
As Philimore thus reflected, he inwardly prayed to his Creator to grant him to be a humble instrument in promoting the good he so ardently desired, by converting the Curate to his opinions, and thereby a Divine sanction and blessing accompany him, while absent from his own ministerial labours, during his sojourn with the Doctor.
"Is it not to be remarked, Doctor," said he, in ​reference to the discourse he had just held with the Curate, "that all denominations of Christians, whatever religion they profess, all assert their doctrines to be true?"
"And why," asked the Doctor, "but because they have been educated in them, and brought up under such a persuasion, without giving themselves the trouble to examine whether such doctrines are true or otherwise?"
"Or if they do examine," again observed Philimore, "it is from a desire of confirming themselves in the particular tenets of their ancestors, in which they have been born and instructed: this I fear is too evident in the case of the Curate whom we have just left."
"Too truly, my young friend; and thus they but too often confirm themselves in error. 'Search the Scriptures,' we are expressly told; and when this is done from the pure affection of learning truth, man is enlightened by the Lord, and he becomes confirmed in the good in which he is principled."
"What a motive is this, my dear Doctor, for us to obey the injunctions of our Divine Master, and, with a meek, reverential spirit, quaff at the holy fountain He has given us, and satisfy our righteous thirst after true wisdom!"
​ "The wisdom of knowing and loving God," returned the Doctor, "and of exercising charity towards our neighbour, which is indeed true wisdom, and thus prove whether the doctrines that have been taught in childhood are true or false."
"The most common topics of dispute and of variance on religion are chiefly on the subject of Faith!" observed Philimore.
"Alas! because the flame which gave light to truth is withdrawn, obscurity is introduced, which would never have been the case had good, that is Charity, preserved the pre-eminence; if Faith had not assumed the priority, the evil of contention would have had no foundation for existence—opinions could not have differed, and the Church would have been one."
"How lamentable," returned Philimore, "that, in reading the Word of God, such misconceptions and perversions of its sacred contents should take place!"
"Were the eye single, my dear Philimore, and the heart deeply impressed with the conviction, that, in studying the Divine Volume, we are opening a communication with Heaven; did no preconceived opinions or warmth of party zeal predominate over the mind in its researches, ​a communication between the soul and its God would be the result!"
"What a privilege," exclaimed Philimore, "for a thinking being to meditate upon!"
"Most true," replied the Doctor, "it is a privilege within every one's reach, through that divine medium, to hold communion with our Maker, who, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, to effect his blessed intentions, has adapted the historical parts of the scriptures in a manner to render them agreeable and delightful to the mind; the prophetic parts are more obscure,—nevertheless, though indistinctly perceived by man, we have no less reason to suppose that they possess equally the virtue of drawing us near to the heavenly choir. While, with simple innocence and humble piety, we meditate upon them, in common with the whole contents of the inspired writings, angels become our attendant ministering friends, the sweet companions of our thoughts,—infuse into them the chastening ray of divine intelligence, which springs direct from the sun of Heaven,—the sun of suns, and resplendent orb of everlasting day."
The discourse was here interrupted, for, on returning homewards, they entered a few straggling huts and farm-houses that lay on the roadside; in all of which they were received with welcome, ​the praises of good Dr. Lovesworth resounding from every inmate; blessings followed him, and everywhere might be traced the effects of industry, arising from his charitable donations.
Secretly resolved to follow in the steps of so devout and heavenly a guide, Philimore dismounted from his horse, highly gratified, receiving new vigour, both mental and bodily, from his morning's excursion.
Such a mode of passing time became to Philimore daily replete with increased delight. Availing himself too of the privilege given, he was almost a constant visitor at The Bower. Often accompanying the family in their walks, they rambled together over that romantic country, where nature, bountiful in her treasures, afforded them a display more blooming and magnificent than the most splendid domain ever gave to the lordly eye of its opulent owner. Unconfined, free from intrusion, they could range the verdant vale, the lofty hill.
Sometimes the enraptured Philimore would pause and point out to his fair friends some striking beauty,—the Cynon pursuing its winding course between luxuriant banks, and irrigating the meadows. Sometimes wandering in the grove, its warbling tenants enlivened them by their strains.
"Pleasures such as these," softly whispered ​Philimore to Oriana, as she stood near him, "are reserved for those whom Providence has destined for retired life. The rural shade, though it may exclude from those circles festive and brilliant, so much esteemed by the votary of fashion, yet equally exempts from the fatigue of pomp and the satiety of luxury."
It was on one of these occasions, when a sentiment similar to the preceding one escaped Philimore, that, upon his leaving them to return to the Hermitage, Oriana, in discourse with her sister, observed, "It is not impossible that Edmund Philimore supposes the retirement of the life we lead to be that of our choice."
"Such, however," said Rosilia hastily, "is far from being the case with me; such complete isolation never was nor ever will be consonant to my taste."
"Nor was it to mine before Edmund came to the Hermitage; since which, the former monotony of each day has been so agreeably varied, that I now feel quite reconciled to forgo the pleasure usually attendant upon giving and receiving visits."
"As to the variety," replied Rosilia, "to be gratified by what is called seeing company, scenes so presented would truly afford me little satisfaction, indeed, would rather, I imagine, affect me with a feeling of satiety and ennui,"
​ "But the society of a few well-chosen guests," added Oriana, "of cultivated minds and agreeable manners, such as are found united in our two clerical friends, are not persons of such a description to be highly prized and appreciated?"
"In this I fully agree with you, dear Oriana; and it is my opinion also, that the less we incline to dissipated pleasures, the more social become our habits; and, in consequence, those who might render themselves congenial to me, are not to be met with in the confined circle of our neighbourhood. When the good Doctor and Edmund depart, called away to pursue their official duties in London, will not our solitude appear to you as irksome as it did formerly?"
"Oh! speak not of it, Rosilia," interrupted her sister; "loneliness in such a case would be far less intolerable than that insipidity to be met with from minds barren of all intellectual and rational resource."
"Though the struggle is hard," continued Rosilia, "it is my constant endeavour to resign myself to this solitude, ever desirous of appearing pleased and happy, for the sake of our dear parents, and to sacrifice all minor considerations to what they conceive necessary to the welfare and interests of the family."
​ "I must frankly confess," resumed Oriana, "the consciousness that it is in one's power to call sometimes upon a neighbour, and meet with the kind and friendly sympathies of the heart, manifested in the cordial and warm welcome, carries with it a certain delight which touches and affects the soul, makes an appeal to its feelings which is irresistible, and of which I never fail of being sensible when we visit at the Hermitage, or its inmates come to us. Edmund has the power of charming away time delightfully; this you must allow, my dear Rosilia, to be true."
"I do allow it to be true, and I will, if possible, no longer complain of my seclusion, or view it in the light of a sacrifice; such murmurings and repinings seem as though they sprung from the suggestions of vanity. And oh! what delight is there not still left for me in the contemplation of nature, in the expansion given to the mind by the survey of the wide and beautiful Creation around us! In the superior intelligences thus received, as the good Doctor said the other day, we learn to see the emptiness of all worldly things, and the grandeur and sublimity of an eternity."
"The Doctor seems to have strongly impressed you with his sentiments, dear Rosilia; and tell me ​now candidly, whether, in your religious range of thought, Edmund has no share."
"Certainly, in association with the Doctor, he has; it is not possible to conceive a mind more sublime, more indued with heavenly goodness, than his."
Scarcely had Rosilia ceased speaking than the delighted Oriana, with heart palpitating, observed Philimore in his approach to the cottage; shortly after, the sisters, mutually cheered and soothed by the short dialogue they had held, descended to meet him.
Sometimes, to diversify amusement, whilst his young friends and their mother were occupied with the needle, Philimore, reaching down a favourite author from the shelf, stocked with well-assorted works, selected passages to read, the most beautiful, tender, and pathetic, in narrative and description, so abundantly to be found in Young, Thomson, and Milton. The latter, it is true, was oftener preferred, perhaps arising from association of feeling influencing the taste; instinctively the pages were thrown open at the Fourth Book.
Philimore possessed by nature a voice full and flexible; but when the soul was engaged, entering into the sublime genius of the author, so replete with tender charity, the pure union and harmony ​existing between our first parents, his pronunciation, emphasis, and delivery, varying with the subject, rendered the effect complete. He paused at intervals to exchange ideas, or to answer remarks as they occurred. Again the blissful scenes of Paradise were discussed—the graces, the intellectual and submissive charms of the incomparable Eve. The ineffable delight felt by Philimore awakened consonant sensations in his fair and susceptive auditors.
The frugal meal brought with it a cessation of these morning pleasures; twilight succeeded to the evening walk, when Oriana, at her harp, gave Philimore unbounded delight. Though possessing little skill in music, yet his natural but accurate taste afforded him the highest relish for compositions unfolding the language of sentiment. Oriana's voice penetrated his heart, and vibrated through every inmost fibre. This intense feeling, amounting almost to pain, generally succeeded the first impression of pleasure which her vocal airs inspired. These airs, perhaps, equally well performed by another, might not have produced the same effect. The charming Oriana, it is true, ever associating in the train of his ideas, greatly tended to heighten those softening emotions which her songs excited.
​ Sometimes, in compliance with entreaties, he would join in chorus, when the mellow bass of his harmonious voice gave an effect surpassing conception. The various, the powerful sentiments that thrilled in his heart breathed rapturously forth, giving energy and expression to his tones.
Often did the wandering shepherd, passing The Bower, hitherto accustomed to the sound only of the village harper, linger in the pathway beyond the plantations, listening to those strains of such inspiring tendency, so enchanting to his rustic senses; and when, at last, the dusk of evening warned him to retire, still resounding through the grove, even though remote and beyond their reach, the sounds in fancy met his ravished ears.
It was after such occasions as these, when returning to the Hermitage unaccompanied by the Doctor, that Philimore traced to their source those powerful sensations by which he was agitated; and poignantly, most sensibly alive did he then feel to the danger attending the encouragement of his passion. Should he take upon himself courage, and fly,—fly from the too fatal, but pleasing snare that enchained him? How could he resolve upon such a step! All other earthly charms or flattering allurements he might resist, but how could he stem the tide of those self-approving, virtuous ​feelings which knit his destiny to that of the beloved Oriana! As the voyager securely sinks to rest, whilst the vessel bearing him calmly floats upon the unruffled surface of the deep, and dreams not of the tempest that may suddenly expose him to the fury of the elements, so Philimore, reposing on the bliss of the moment, yielded himself a willing captive to the fervour of love, whilst every thought of care or anxiety for the future was banished from his breast.
The sisters had each conceived the highest opinion of Philimore; their confidence in his virtue was unbounded, they thought it impossible he could err,—so replete with goodness, possessing morality without bigotry, the profoundest intellectual attainments without pride or self-superiority; with his equals gentle yet gay, with his inferiors mild and condescending; though his person might not be termed handsome, his tout ensemble was highly agreeable. With recommendations such as these, was it possible for him not to excite an interest proportionate to his talents and virtues?
Oriana deeply acknowledged their sway; and Rosilia, oh! how often had she wished in secret that Douglas, to his more polished, fascinating, and brilliant manners and mien, had united the ​blameless life of Philimore, and in sentiment, truth, and morals resembled him! Freely then could she have admitted his suit, and have avowed without blushing that partiality with which he had so fervently sought to inspire her; that partiality even then existing, having outlived the hopes which had formerly given it strength—though deprecating her weakness, yet unable to subdue it.
Unfortunately for Rosilia, she was thrown into solitude in that susceptible period when, with a native enthusiasm of character, her heart had first opened to a youthful impression. Secluded from the possibility of ever beholding another who could in the least dispute with Douglas his reign over her fancy, those imperfections, originating in the love of the world and pride of shining, formerly so regretted by her, were then, if not wholly forgotten, at least considerably softened to her view.
No longer present to excite the blush of confusion by his obvious notice of her, she could invest him with a thousand graces, a thousand irresistible qualities; his radiant expression, his frank and open mien, his whole dazzling and manly deportment rendered him to her fancy what ancient historians combined in description to paint their knights of chivalry; effects arising, she was willing ​to imagine, from more interior and mental causes than those merely of habit, good-breeding, and an enlarged intercourse with the world.
Thus infatuated, she conceived that the recollection of Douglas would ever oppose her entertaining any attachment for another, while, in fact, this being of her idolatry proceeded from no other cause of existence than imagination, the active and exalted powers of which created a phantom gifted with endowments rare and excellent! She loved in thought, in idea! It was the vision of imagination which she loved, nurtured by retirement, and its soft breathing, inspiring scenes! Where is the being who has ever met with the object formed to bear an affinity to that perfect image which the heart and its affections paint as best calculated to assimilate with all its dearest wishes, tenderest feelings, and nicest sensibilities? Vain is the hope, and rarely in this world of disorder is the picture realized.
Contrary to Philimore's usual custom of passing a portion of each day at The Bower, several had passed without any of the family having seen him. The good Doctor had entirely engrossed his company, which he willingly bestowed upon him as due to his kind partiality. The time they spent ​together was in general at a distance from home, in making excursions about the neighbourhood, either in the Doctor's gig or on horseback, when Philimore ever profited by the occasion of soothing, cheering, or exhorting his fellow-pilgrims in their journey through life. The Welsh Curate had drawn from him many controversial discussions, in which, by his mild suavity, he had happily succeeded, if not wholly to convince his antagonist, yet at least to weaken several of his apparently most inveterate prejudices.
After one of these visits, upon meeting the Doctor, and in commenting with him upon the conversation he had held with the Curate, "How, very disinclined," said Philimore, "is the human mind, generally speaking, to set the understanding right in points of religion! 'No matter,' said the Curate to me this morning, 'whether I am wrong or otherwise, it is of little importance, and cannot tell against me hereafter; provided I have faith and attend to my conduct, it is all that is required of me to ensure a state of happiness in another life.'"
"Such, unhappily," returned the Doctor, "are the fallacious reasonings of many; supposing the understanding to be sufficiently employed if it enables them to check evil affections, they have no ​idea of exalting it, or of raising it from the darkness and superstition in which it may be immersed."
"Such was my argument against my opponent," continued Philimore, "who strongly persisted he had quite as good a chance of being fit for Heaven as those who were ever seeking to form acquaintance with, or gain a knowledge of that Infinite and Eternal Being and his ways, with whom he supposed his principles of Faith and a life of external piety merely, were alone necessary to insure him an introductory passport to His throne."
"Sad perversion of the mental powers," answered the Doctor, "to leave them thus unemployed, unexercised. Why should not every organ of the human mind, receptive of the attributes of Deity, be cleansed of its dross? why, in purifying the more interior regions of the affections, should we not also refine and enlighten our understandings? and why thus willingly turn aside and close the ears, because the system that would enlighten us is not drawn from the source and channel of that fountain at which we have hitherto drunk?"
"Alas! so it is, Doctor; how often have I heard the knell rung in my ears—the generally received opinion shall be mine; that upon which wiser ​heads have determined, to that only will I accede! Thus, under a plausible and specious humility, circumscribing the bounds of human reason, neglecting its powers, and leaving it wholly devoid of that sustentation which would lead to its expansion and culture."
"Chaining itself to a system," returned the Doctor, "and limiting its researches, instead of enlarging the sphere of its contemplations, and of ranging into the boundless regions of that eternity for which we are preparing, and to which this world is but as a nursery."
When not thus employed, during moments of leisure, with renewed ardour Philimore hastened to visit those so valued at The Bower; and often while proceeding thither, various reflections took possession of him—at one time in self-reproaches, for having thoughtlessly allowed himself to become the victim of a passion now too violent to suppress; but though unfortunate and disastrous, as he feared it might prove to him, yet he felt himself ennobled by it! It was the adversity of his circumstances only which he deplored, and the restraints it rendered necessary for him to throw upon his conduct.
From various pecuniary losses, his family had become so completely reduced as to be under the ​necessity of deriving their chief support from his ministerial labours; "And how," thought he, in pursuing the train of his reflections, "how withdraw from my father the benefits he receives from me! Should I cease to befriend him, how unnatural would it be for a son on whose education he has so liberally expended his means, and in whom all his hopes centre!"
The General, he conceived, might be more easily led to countenance his attachment to his daughter than his father, who, independently of his fallen fortunes, had a temper naturally covetous of wealth, and who, even in his prosperous days, could never admit the idea of his eldest son uniting himself to any but a woman of fortune; sooner, had he heard him say, would he follow him to the grave! Alas! it was this cruel exception even to the family of De Brooke that had so deeply affected his mind with gloom during the period of Rosilia's sojourn in London.
Esteemed as might be the General by his father, and however he had acknowledged that Oriana was perfectly desirable in herself, there was nothing, Philimore felt persuaded, his father would be more obstinately bent upon opposing than a union with her.
Alas! the perversity of human things! Oriana ​had inspired him with a pure and virtuous attachment;—to be blessed with such a solace and companion, through the chequered scenes of joy and sorrow, had often been represented to his mind when dreams of the future had dawned upon his fancy; and whenever that vision so dear had passed away, leaving but the semblance of an empty shadow, he had been sensible of a chill pervading his system, arising from the dread caused by the uncertainty that such a bliss might ever be his. Exulting, therefore, in the treasure he had found, the fear of losing her, of never seeing Oriana reflect lustre on his parsonage, occupied his inmost thoughts, when, on entering within the boundary of her simple dwelling, he instantly beheld her.
A prey to contending feelings, Philimore hesitated; perplexed and undecided whether to advance, conscious of having drawn upon himself the notice of Oriana, a sudden dizziness overcoming him, his spirits sank within him; he reclined against a tree for support; an ashy paleness overspread his countenance, which Oriana perceiving, sprang forward, betraying in her looks and accents the most tender concern. In such a moment every former suggestion of duty and discretion vanished; his lips faltered, but the sounds, however indistinctly uttered, fell in intelligible accents on the ​heart of Oriana: a smile of satisfaction beamed upon her lover; the amiable Philimore had already won upon her confidence, and she was too unreserved to dissemble. Joy, ecstasy taking possession of Philimore, he imagined he had arrived at the summit of his wishes; but in the next moment the whole train of his former reflections and disquietude, respecting the necessity of concealment, rushed upon his mind.
Mrs. De Brooke and Rosilia appeared in view; he essayed to speak, but could not; the dread of meeting displeasure forcibly intimidated him, and he could scarcely venture to pronounce what he felt to be so essential, and upon which he entirely founded his hopes of future success.
"Pardon me, excuse me," at length he ejaculated: "the unfortunate circumstances under which I am at present placed, render of the utmost importance your compliance with the sacrifice I am about demanding of you; and that you will not reveal to any the disclosure I have just made you, if you have the least regard for my happiness: such an indiscretion would be destruction to it! I should be banished your presence, and an everlasting separation would be the consequence! The mere thought is distraction! In the course of a few months I may have the certainty ​of church preferment, and till then I dare not make my pretensions known."
He had no leisure to explain himself further, nor Oriana, prepossessed as she was in favour of Philimore, to weigh the subject with that maturity it demanded:—fatal inconsideration, unbecoming Oriana! Her lover anxiously waiting her reply, she expressed her full consent, when her mother and sister joined her.