CŒLEBS IN SEARCH OF A WIFE CHAPTER I. I HAVE been sometimes surprised, when, in conversation, I have been expressing my admiration of the character of Eve in her state of innocence, as drawn by our immortal poet, to hear objections started by those, from whom, of all critics, I should have least expected it-the ladies. I confess that, as the Sophia of Rousseau had her young imagination captivated by the character of Fenelon's Telemachus, so I early became enamored of that of Milton's Eve. I never formed an idea of conjugal happiness, but my mind involuntarily adverted to the graces of that finished picture. The ladies, in order to justify their censure, assert, that Milton, a harsh domestic tyrant, must needs be a very inadequate judge, and, of course, a very unfair delineator of female accomplishments. These fair cavillers draw their inference from premises from which I have always been accustomed to deduce a directly contrary conclusion. They insist that it is highly derogatory from the dignity of the sex, that the poet should affirm that it is the perfection of the character of a wife, To study household good, And good works in her husband to promote. Now, according to my notion of "household good," which does not include one idea of drudgery or servility, but which involves a large and comprehensive scheme of excellence, I will venture to affirm, that let a woman know what she may, yet if she knows not this, she is ignorant of the most indis pensable, the most appropriate branch of female knowledge. Without it, however she may inspire admiration abroad, she will never excite esteem, nor of course durable affection, at home, and will bring neither credit nor comfort to her illstarred partner. The domestic arrangements of such a woman as filled the capacious mind of the poet, resembles, if I may say it without profaneness, those of Providence, whose under-agent she is. Her wisdom is seen in its effects. Indeed it is rather felt than seen. It is sensibly acknowledged in the peace, the happiness, the virtue of the component parts; in the order, regularity and beauty of the whole system, of which she is the moving spring. The perfection of her character, as the divine poet intimates, does not arise from a prominent quality, or a showy talent, or a brilliant accomplishment; but it is the beautiful combination and result of them all. Her excellences consist not so much in acts as in habits, in Those thousand decencies which daily flow From all her words and actions a description more calculated than any I ever met with to convey an idea of the purest conduct resulting from the best principles. It gives an image of that tranquillity, smoothness, and quiet beauty, which is of the very essence of perfection in a wife; while the happily-chosen verb flow takes away any impression of dulness, or stagnant torpor, which the still idea might otherwise suggest. But the offence taken by the ladies against this uncourtly bard, is chiefly occasioned by his having presumed to intimate that conjugal obedience Is woman's highest honor and her praise. This is so nice a point, that I, as a bachelor, dare only just hint, that on this delicate question the poet has not gone an inch farther than the apostle. Nay, Paul is still more uncivilly explicit than Milton. If, however, I could hope to bring over to my side critics, who, being of the party, are too apt to prejudge the cause, I would point out to them, that the supposed harshness of the observation is quite done away by the recollection that this scrupled "obedience" is so far from implying degradation, that it is connected with the injunction to the woman "to promote good works" in her husband; an injunction surely inferring a degree of influence that raises her condition, and restores her to all the dignity of equality; it makes her not only the associate, but the inspirer of his virtues. But to return to the economical part of the character of Eve. And here she exhibits a consummate specimen and beautiful model of domestic skill and elegance. How exquisitely conceived is her reception and entertainment of Raphael! How modest, and yet how dignified! I am afraid I know some husbands who would have had to encounter very ungracious looks, not to say words, if they had brought home even an angel unexpectedly to dinner. Not so our general mother. Her despatchful looks, Her hospitable thoughts, intent all indicate not only the "prompt," but the cheerful "obedience." Though her repast consisted only of the fruits of paradise, Whatever earth, all-bearing mother, yields; yet of these, with a liberal hospitality, She gathers tribute large, and on the board The finest modern lady need not disdain the arrangement of her table, which was So contrived as not to mix Tastes not well joined, inelegant, but bring It must, however, I fear, be conceded, by the way, that this "taste after taste" rather holds out an encouragement to second courses. When this unmatched trio had finished their repast, which, let it be observed, before they tasted, Adam acknowledged that These bounties from our Nourisher are given, Milton, with great liberality to that sex, against which he is accused of so much severity, obligingly permitted Eve to sit much longer after dinner than most modern husbands would allow. She had attentively listened to all the historical and moral subjects so divinely discussed between the first Angel and the first Man; and perhaps there can scarcely be found a more beautiful trait of a delicately-attentive wife, than she exhibits, by withdrawing at the exact point of propriety. She does not retire in consequence of any look or gesture, any broad sign of impatience, much less any command or intimation of her husband; but with the ever-watchful eye of vigilant affection and deep humility, When by his countenance he seemed Entering on thoughts abstruse, instructed only by her own quick intuition of what was right and delicate, she withdrew. And here again, how admirably does the poet sustain her intellectual dignity, softened by a most tender stroke of conjugal affection! Yet went she not, as not with such discourse Of what was high: such pleasures she reserved, On perusing, however, the tête-a-tête which her absence occasioned, methinks I hear some sprightly lady, fresh from the Royal Institution, express her wonder why Eve should be banished by her husband from Raphael's fine lecture on astronomy, which follows: was not she as capable as Adam of understanding all he said, of Cycle and epicycle, orb on orb? If, however, the imaginary fair objector will take the trouble to read to the end of the eighth book of this immortal work, it will raise in her estimation both the poet and the heroine, when she contemplates the just propriety of her being absent, before Adam enters on the account of the formation, beauty and attractions of his wife, and of his own love and admiration. She will further observe, in her progress through this divine poem, that the author is so far from making Eve a mere domestic drudge, an unpolished housewife, that he pays an invariable attention even to external elegance, in his whole delineation, ascribing grace to her steps and dignity to her gesture. He uniformly keeps up the same combination of intellectual worth and polished manners ;— For softness she, and sweet attractive grace. And her husband, so far from a churlish insensibility to her perfections, politely calls her Daughter of God and man, accomplished Eve. I will not, however, affirm that Adam, or even Milton, annexed to the term accomplished precisely the idea with which it is associated in the mind of a true modern-bred lady. If it be objected to the poet's gallantry, that he remarks, How beauty is excelled by manly grace And wisdom, which alone is truly fair! let it be remembered, that the observation proceeds from the lips of Eve herself, and thus adds to her other graces the crowning grace of humility. But it is high time that I should proceed from my criticism to myself. The connection, and of course the transition, will be found more natural than may appear, till developed by my slight narrative. CHAPTER II. I AM a young man, not quite four-and-twenty, of an ancient and respectable family, and considerable estate in one of the northern counties. Soon after I had completed my studies in the university of Edinburgh, my father fell into a lingering illness. I attended him with an assiduity which was richly rewarded by the lessons of wisdom, and the example of piety, which I daily received from him. After languishing about a year, I lost him, and in him the most affectionate father, the most enlightened companion, and the most Christian friend. The grief of my mother was so poignant, and so lasting, that I could never prevail on myself to leave her even for the sake of attaining those advantages, and enjoying those pleas ures, which may be reaped by a wider range of observation, by a more extended survey of the multifarious tastes, habits, pursuits, and characters, of general society. I felt, with Mr. Gray, that we can never have but one mother, and postponed from time to time the moment of leaving home. I was her only child; and though it was now her sole remaining wish to see me happily married, yet I was desirous of first putting myself in a situation which might afford me a more extensive field of inquiry, before I ventured to take so irretrievable a step-a step which might perhaps affect my happiness in both worlds. But time did not hang heavy on my hands if I had little society, I had many books. My father had left me a copious library, and I had learnt from him to select whatever was most valuable in that best species of literature, which tends to form the principles, the understanding, the taste, and the character. My father had |