Читать книгу Alicia and Her Aunt: Think before you Speak - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 6

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When Charles found himself in the situation he had desired, he yet was sensible of some difficulty; and it was not till after a period of silence unusual with him, that he at length unhesitatingly said—"Pray, mamma, do you think that one ought to love their relations, just because they are one's relations, better than any body in the world?"

"Certainly not, Charles; but I think it very natural and proper to give one's relations a decided preference; for, even if we make no allowance for ties of blood as a cause for affection, yet they are our oldest acquaintance, and we have probably received from them great kindness before we were able to return them any; so that gratitude, as well as social habits and early impressions, ought to influence us in our feelings towards them."

"Very true, mamma; but if people have a relation that they really cannot like, what can they do?"

"You mean, of course, a relation who is wicked in his conduct or disposition: in that case, all one can do is to pray to God to change his heart, and so to soften our own towards him, that although we abhor his sins, we may yet feel pity and regard for his person."

Charles gave a deep sigh—he felt as if he was farther from the point than ever; and his mother, sorry to see his mind in a state of doubt and anxiety, continued to say—"Young people are very apt to forget the two first lessons of religion and reason, when they are thinking on their fellow-creatures, and their relations among the rest: the first tells us that man is a fallen creature—of course, liable to fall into error; and the second confirms this doctrine, by pointing out every day proofs of petulance, misconduct, passion, extravagance, meanness, even in those whom we yet deem estimable in many points, and feel to be exceedingly dear to ourselves. Of course our own relations are human beings, and, like the rest of their species, may be sometimes vicious, and often disagreeable; but if they bear with us, we surely ought to bear with them, and even to love them. Don't you see the truth and the necessity of this, Charles?"

"Ye—es," replied the boy, with another deep sigh.

"It is happy for you, since you think so deeply on this subject, that you have so few relations—and most assuredly not one, at this moment, of whom you may not be proud."

"Do you think so, mamma?"

"Undoubtedly; for your sisters are all too young to have done wrong materially; and in the few connections we have beside, few families are equally happy."

"Oh! as to my sisters, poor little things! they are the sweetest children that ever were born—and my papa is a man of a thousand—and you, mamma, so good, and so handsome, too! Then your great-uncle Powis, when he was alive, what a nice old gentleman he was!—he had such a beautiful pair of noble greys in his carriage!—and he gave me a Welch pony when I was such a little boy!—and left you an estate, too!—Ah! he was, indeed, something like a relation!"

"Something like a relation certainly," said Mrs. Parry, "but he was a very distant one; and as I did not know him until after my marriage with your papa, although I am sensible of his kindness, and grateful for his bequest, yet I am apt to forget he was my relation."

"But you always remember aunt Launceston was a very near relation, though, in point of fact, they were the same akin to you exactly?"

"Yes, Charles, I do indeed feel that she is very near to me; and it has ever been a source of the purest pleasure I have enjoyed as a mother, to think that my son felt her equally near and dear to him. In your grateful attentions to her comfort, the delight with which you have listened to her precepts, the patience with which you have amused her lonely hours, or supported her tottering steps, I have seen the foundation of many virtues in your own character, and have been led to hope that you would one day resemble your father."

Charles's usually-open countenance did not beam with its wonted smiles, when such hopes were uttered by his beloved mother; on the contrary, he appeared rather depressed than elated, and yet not able to relieve his mind by a confession of any errors he might have been guilty of. Mrs. Parry was therefore led to guess what might be passing in his mind, and she added, in a very earnest tone of inquiry—"I cannot for one moment suppose, Charles, that you conclude that your aunt Launceston's deficiency, in not having a carriage and noble greys, and an estate to leave, are reasons why she should be neglected—why she should be thrown at a greater distance from our hearts."

"Oh no, mamma—I did not think that; for surely those who need us the most are the very people to whom we ought to attend the first. But yet we are the most obliged, you know, to those who do the most for us; so that, in one case, there is gratitude, as you said yourself, to be added to love and duty, which, in the other, there is not. I must have a more exalted sense of what I owe my uncle Powis when I am a man, than I can have towards aunt Launceston; though I know her very well indeed, and him very little."

"I will venture to assure you to the contrary, because I know you to be most tenderly attached to myself, and that, for my sake, you will love her the best. I see that something unpleasant is rankling in your mind, and I would wish your own good sense to overcome it, without being compelled to say more than you choose, and without implicating any other person: and in order to prove to you my opinion of the manliness of your mind and your power of discrimination, I will write out for you a manuscript, which you may read, if you please, in company with Edward Eyre, next Wednesday evening. If, after reading it, you are not of opinion that your aunt Launceston is a person of equal value with your uncle Powis, say to me—'Mamma, I wish to keep my birthday at home;' a request I shall certainly comply with, although, at present, I have arranged matters for our dining at her cottage, where Mrs. Captain Eyre, her excellent mother-in-law, and Edward, would join us, since my dear aunt cannot come hither."

Charles thanked his mamma most cordially for her kindness in taking so much trouble for him, and retired, impressed with sincere thankfulness for the confidence that she reposed in him, and particularly glad that his own had not been violated towards Edward; he felt sure that although his young friend had not asked him for secrecy, even by a look, yet that he would not have liked that Mrs. Parry (whom he dearly loved, and whom his mother held dear as a sister) should have thought him capable of influencing her son's mind towards a person she esteemed so highly as this aged relation; and by this time Charles was fully aware that his friend Edward had done very wrong. Under this view of the affair he remained, until he received the promised manuscript from his mother, when, summoning Edward to the reading, he sat down, and with great interest perused the following story, which he soon perceived to be the early history of his excellent mother, which she had designated, "Alicia and her Aunt."