Self-control. Mary Brunton
he is so warm-hearted—so generous.' 'I shall not dispute that point with you just now,' replied Laura, 'though my opinion differs materially from yours; but Tom Jones's warmth of heart and generosity do not appear to me of that kind which quality a man for adorning domestic life. His seems a constitutional warmth, which in his case, and I believe, in most others, is the concomitant of a warm temper—a temper as little favourable to gentleness in those who command, as to submission in those who obey. If by generosity you mean the cheerful relinquishing of something which we really value, it is an abuse of the term to apply it to the profusion with which your favourite squanders his money.'
'If it is not generous to part with one's money,' said Miss Julia, 'I am sure I don't know what is.'
'The quiet domestic generosity which is of daily use,' replied Laura, 'is happily not confined to those who have money to bestow;—but may appear in any of a thousand little acts of self-denial.' Julia, whose ideas of generosity, culled from her favourite romances, were on that gigantic kind of scale that makes it unfit for common occasions, and therefore in danger of total extinction, was silent for some moments, and then said, 'I am sure you must allow that it was very noble in Jones to bury in his own miserable bosom his passion for Sophia, after he knew that she felt a mutual flame.' 'If I recollect right,' said Laura, smiling at the oddity of Julia's phrases, 'he broke that resolution; and I fancy the merely resolving to do right, is a degree of virtue, to which even the most profligate attain many times in their lives.'
Miss Dawkins, by this time more than half-suspected her companion of being a Methodist. 'You have such strict notions,' said she, 'that I see Tom Jones would never have done for you.' 'No,' said Captain Montreville, 'Sir Charles Grandison would have suited Laura infinitely better.' 'Oh no, papa,' said Laura, laughing; 'if two such formal personages as Sir Charles and I had met, I am afraid we should never have had the honour of each other's acquaintance.'
'Then, of all the gentlemen who are mentioned in novels,' said Miss Julia, 'tell me who is your favourite?—Is it Lord Orville, or Delville, or Valancourt, or Edward, or Mortimer, or Peregrine Pickle, or'—and she ran on till she was quite out of breath, repeating what sounded like a page of the catalogue of a circulating library.
'Really,' said Laura, when a pause permitted her to speak, 'my acquaintance with these accomplished persons is so limited that I can scarcely venture to decide; but, I believe, I prefer the hero of Miss Porter's new publication—Thaddeus of Warsaw. Truly generous, and inflexibly upright, his very tenderness has in it something manly and respectable; and the whole combination has an air of nature that interests one as for a real friend.' Miss Dawkins had never read the book, and Laura applied to her father for a confirmation of her opinion. 'Yes, my dear,' said the Captain, 'your favourite has the same resemblance to a human character which the Belvidere Appollo has to a human form. It is so like man that one cannot absolutely call it divine, yet so perfect, that it is difficult to believe it human.'
At this moment Miss Julia was seized with an uncontrollable desire to read the book, which, she declared, she should not sleep till she had done; and she went to dispatch a servant in quest of it.
Laura followed her down stairs, to ask from Mrs. Dawkins a direction to a picture-dealer, to whom she might dispose of her performance. Mrs. Dawkins said she knew of no such person; but directed Laura to a printshop, the master of which was her acquaintance, where she might get the intelligence she wanted.
On the following morning, as soon as Captain Montreville had set out for Richmond, his daughter, sending for a hackney coach, departed on the most interesting business she had ever undertaken. Her heart fluttered with expectation—her step was buoyant with hope, and she sprung into the carriage with the lightness of a sylph. Stopping at the shop which her landlady recommended, she was there directed to several of the professional people for whom she was enquiring, and she proceeded to the habitation of the nearest. As she entered the house, Laura changed colour, and her breath came quick. She stopped a moment to recover herself, and then followed her conductor into the presence of the connoisseur. Struck with the sight of so elegant a woman, he rose, bowed very low, and supposing that she came to make some addition to her cabinet, threw open the door of his picture-room, and obsequiously hoped that she might find something there worthy of her attention. Laura modestly undeceived him, saying, that she had brought in the carriage which waited for her, a picture which she wished to dispose of. This statement instantly put to flight the servility of her hearer; who, with completely recovered consequence, inquired the name of the artist; and being answered, that the picture was not the work of a professional man, wrinkled his nose into an expression of ineffable contempt, and said—'I make it a rule never to buy any of these things—they are generally such vile daubs. However to oblige so pretty a lady,' added he, (softening his contumelious aspect into a leer), 'I may look at the thing, and if it is at all tolerable'—'There is no occasion to give you that trouble,' said Laura, turning away with an air which again half convinced the man that she must be a person of consequence. He muttered something of 'thinking it no trouble;' to which she gave no attention, but hastened to her carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive to the show-room of an Italian.
Laura did not give him time to fall into the mistake of the other, but instantly opened her business; and Mr. Sonini was obligingly running himself to lift the picture from the carriage, when it was brought in by Mrs. Dawkins' maid, whom Laura had requested to attend her. Having placed the picture, the Italian retreated a few paces to examine the effect, and then said—'Ah! I do see—dis is leetle after de manner of Correggio—very pretty—very pretty, indeed.' The hopes of Laura rose high at these encouraging words; but suffered instantaneous depression, when he continued, with a shake of his head, 'but 'tis too new—quite moderne—painted in dis contri.—Painter no name—de picture may be all so good as it vil—it never vil sell. Me sorry,' added he, reading Laura's look of disappointment, 'me sorry displease such bell angela; but cannot buy.' 'I am sorry for it,' said Laura, and sighing heavily, she courtesied and withdrew.
Her next attempt was upon a little pert-looking man, in a foreign dress, and spectacles. 'Hum,' said he, 'a picture to sell—well, let us see't.—There, that's the light. Hum—a poor thing enough—no keeping—no costûme. Well, Ma'am, what do you please to ask for this?' 'I should be glad, Sir, that you would fix a price on it.' 'Hum—well—let me think—I suppose five guineas will be very fair.' At this proposal, the blood mounted to the cheeks of Laura; and she raised her eyes to examine whether the proposer really had the confidence to look her in the face. But finding his eye steadily fixed on her, she transferred her suspicions from the honesty of the bidder to the merits of her piece, and mildly answering, 'I shall not, I think, be disposed to part with it at that price,' she motioned to the servant to carry it back to the coach.
One trial still remained; and Laura ordered her carriage to an obscure street in the city. She was very politely received by Mr. Collins—a young man who had himself been an artist; but whom bad health had obliged to relinquish a profession which he loved. 'This piece has certainly great merit,' said he, after examining it, 'and most gladly would I have made the purchase; but my little room is at present overstocked, and, to own the truth to you, the picture is worth more than my wife and four little ones can afford to venture upon speculation, and such is the purchase of the work, however meritorious, of an unknown artist. But if you were to place it in the exhibition, I have no doubt that it would speedily find a purchaser.' The prospect which the Exhibition held forth, was far too distant to meet the present exigency; for Laura well knew that her father would find almost immediate occasion for the price of her labours; and with a heavy sigh she returned to her carriage.
What now remained but to return home with the subject of so much fruitless toil. Still, however, she determined to make one effort more, and returned to inquire of the printseller, whether he knew any other person to whom she could apply? He had before given his whole list, and could make no addition to it. But observing the expression of blank disappointment which overcast her face, he offered, if she would trust him with the picture, to place it where it would be seen by his customers, and expressed a belief that some of them might purchase it. Laura thankfully accepted the offer, and after depositing with him her treasure, which had lost much of its value in her eyes, and naming the price she expected, she returned home; making on her way as many sombrous reflections on the vanity and uncertainty