Chapter 3

The shock which this disastrous occurrence occasioned to my mother, was
the foundation of a disease which carried her, in a few months, to the
grave. My brother and myself were children at this time, and were now
reduced to the condition of orphans. The property which our parents left
was by no means inconsiderable. It was entrusted to faithful hands,
till we should arrive at a suitable age. Meanwhile, our education was
assigned to a maiden aunt who resided in the city, and whose tenderness
made us in a short time cease to regret that we had lost a mother.

The years that succeeded were tranquil and happy. Our lives were
molested by few of those cares that are incident to childhood. By
accident more than design, the indulgence and yielding temper of our
aunt was mingled with resolution and stedfastness. She seldom deviated
into either extreme of rigour or lenity. Our social pleasures were
subject to no unreasonable restraints. We were instructed in most
branches of useful knowledge, and were saved from the corruption and
tyranny of colleges and boarding-schools.

Our companions were chiefly selected from the children of our
neighbours. Between one of these and my brother, there quickly grew the
most affectionate intimacy. Her name was Catharine Pleyel. She was rich,
beautiful, and contrived to blend the most bewitching softness with
the most exuberant vivacity. The tie by which my brother and she were
united, seemed to add force to the love which I bore her, and which
was amply returned. Between her and myself there was every circumstance
tending to produce and foster friendship. Our sex and age were the same.
We lived within sight of each other's abode. Our tempers were remarkably
congenial, and the superintendants of our education not only prescribed
to us the same pursuits, but allowed us to cultivate them together.

Every day added strength to the triple bonds that united us. We
gradually withdrew ourselves from the society of others, and found every
moment irksome that was not devoted to each other. My brother's advance
in age made no change in our situation. It was determined that his
profession should be agriculture. His fortune exempted him from the
necessity of personal labour. The task to be performed by him was
nothing more than superintendance. The skill that was demanded by this
was merely theoretical, and was furnished by casual inspection, or
by closet study. The attention that was paid to this subject did not
seclude him for any long time from us, on whom time had no other effect
than to augment our impatience in the absence of each other and of
him. Our tasks, our walks, our music, were seldom performed but in each
other's company.

It was easy to see that Catharine and my brother were born for each
other. The passion which they mutually entertained quickly broke those
bounds which extreme youth had set to it; confessions were made or
extorted, and their union was postponed only till my brother had
passed his minority. The previous lapse of two years was constantly and
usefully employed.

O my brother! But the task I have set myself let me perform with
steadiness. The felicity of that period was marred by no gloomy
anticipations. The future, like the present, was serene. Time was
supposed to have only new delights in store. I mean not to dwell on
previous incidents longer than is necessary to illustrate or explain
the great events that have since happened. The nuptial day at length
arrived. My brother took possession of the house in which he was born,
and here the long protracted marriage was solemnized.

My father's property was equally divided between us. A neat dwelling,
situated on the bank of the river, three quarters of a mile from my
brother's, was now occupied by me. These domains were called, from the
name of the first possessor, Mettingen. I can scarcely account for my
refusing to take up my abode with him, unless it were from a disposition
to be an economist of pleasure. Self-denial, seasonably exercised, is
one means of enhancing our gratifications. I was, beside, desirous of
administering a fund, and regulating an household, of my own. The short
distance allowed us to exchange visits as often as we pleased. The
walk from one mansion to the other was no undelightful prelude to our
interviews. I was sometimes their visitant, and they, as frequently,
were my guests.

Our education had been modelled by no religious standard. We were left
to the guidance of our own understanding, and the casual impressions
which society might make upon us. My friend's temper, as well as my own,
exempted us from much anxiety on this account. It must not be supposed
that we were without religion, but with us it was the product of
lively feelings, excited by reflection on our own happiness, and by the
grandeur of external nature. We sought not a basis for our faith, in
the weighing of proofs, and the dissection of creeds. Our devotion was
a mixed and casual sentiment, seldom verbally expressed, or solicitously
sought, or carefully retained. In the midst of present enjoyment,
no thought was bestowed on the future. As a consolation in calamity
religion is dear. But calamity was yet at a distance, and its only
tendency was to heighten enjoyments which needed not this addition to
satisfy every craving.

My brother's situation was somewhat different. His deportment was grave,
considerate, and thoughtful. I will not say whether he was indebted to
sublimer views for this disposition. Human life, in his opinion, was
made up of changeable elements, and the principles of duty were not
easily unfolded. The future, either as anterior, or subsequent to death,
was a scene that required some preparation and provision to be made for
it. These positions we could not deny, but what distinguished him was a
propensity to ruminate on these truths. The images that visited us were
blithsome and gay, but those with which he was most familiar were of
an opposite hue. They did not generate affliction and fear, but they
diffused over his behaviour a certain air of forethought and sobriety.
The principal effect of this temper was visible in his features and
tones. These, in general, bespoke a sort of thrilling melancholy. I
scarcely ever knew him to laugh. He never accompanied the lawless mirth
of his companions with more than a smile, but his conduct was the same
as ours.

He partook of our occupations and amusements with a zeal not less than
ours, but of a different kind. The diversity in our temper was never
the parent of discord, and was scarcely a topic of regret. The scene
was variegated, but not tarnished or disordered by it. It hindered the
element in which we moved from stagnating. Some agitation and concussion
is requisite to the due exercise of human understanding. In his studies,
he pursued an austerer and more arduous path. He was much conversant
with the history of religious opinions, and took pains to ascertain
their validity. He deemed it indispensable to examine the ground of
his belief, to settle the relation between motives and actions, the
criterion of merit, and the kinds and properties of evidence.

There was an obvious resemblance between him and my father, in their
conceptions of the importance of certain topics, and in the light in
which the vicissitudes of human life were accustomed to be viewed.
Their characters were similar, but the mind of the son was enriched by
science, and embellished with literature.

The temple was no longer assigned to its ancient use. From an Italian
adventurer, who erroneously imagined that he could find employment
for his skill, and sale for his sculptures in America, my brother had
purchased a bust of Cicero. He professed to have copied this piece from
an antique dug up with his own hands in the environs of Modena. Of the
truth of his assertions we were not qualified to judge; but the marble
was pure and polished, and we were contented to admire the performance,
without waiting for the sanction of connoisseurs. We hired the same
artist to hew a suitable pedestal from a neighbouring quarry. This was
placed in the temple, and the bust rested upon it. Opposite to this was
a harpsichord, sheltered by a temporary roof from the weather. This was
the place of resort in the evenings of summer. Here we sung, and talked,
and read, and occasionally banqueted. Every joyous and tender scene most
dear to my memory, is connected with this edifice. Here the performances
of our musical and poetical ancestor were rehearsed. Here my brother's
children received the rudiments of their education; here a thousand
conversations, pregnant with delight and improvement, took place; and
here the social affections were accustomed to expand, and the tear of
delicious sympathy to be shed.

My brother was an indefatigable student. The authors whom he read were
numerous, but the chief object of his veneration was Cicero. He was
never tired of conning and rehearsing his productions. To understand
them was not sufficient. He was anxious to discover the gestures and
cadences with which they ought to be delivered. He was very scrupulous
in selecting a true scheme of pronunciation for the Latin tongue, and in
adapting it to the words of his darling writer. His favorite occupation
consisted in embellishing his rhetoric with all the proprieties of
gesticulation and utterance.

Not contented with this, he was diligent in settling and restoring the
purity of the text. For this end, he collected all the editions and
commentaries that could be procured, and employed months of severe study
in exploring and comparing them. He never betrayed more satisfaction
than when he made a discovery of this kind.

It was not till the addition of Henry Pleyel, my friend's only brother,
to our society, that his passion for Roman eloquence was countenanced
and fostered by a sympathy of tastes. This young man had been some years
in Europe. We had separated at a very early age, and he was now returned
to spend the remainder of his days among us.

Our circle was greatly enlivened by the accession of a new member. His
conversation abounded with novelty. His gaiety was almost boisterous,
but was capable of yielding to a grave deportment when the occasion
required it. His discernment was acute, but he was prone to view every
object merely as supplying materials for mirth. His conceptions
were ardent but ludicrous, and his memory, aided, as he honestly
acknowledged, by his invention, was an inexhaustible fund of
entertainment.

His residence was at the same distance below the city as ours was above,
but there seldom passed a day without our being favoured with a visit.
My brother and he were endowed with the same attachment to the Latin
writers; and Pleyel was not behind his friend in his knowledge of the
history and metaphysics of religion. Their creeds, however, were in many
respects opposite. Where one discovered only confirmations of his faith,
the other could find nothing but reasons for doubt. Moral necessity,
and calvinistic inspiration, were the props on which my brother thought
proper to repose. Pleyel was the champion of intellectual liberty, and
rejected all guidance but that of his reason. Their discussions were
frequent, but, being managed with candour as well as with skill, they
were always listened to by us with avidity and benefit.

Pleyel, like his new friends, was fond of music and poetry. Henceforth
our concerts consisted of two violins, an harpsichord, and three voices.
We were frequently reminded how much happiness depends upon society.
This new friend, though, before his arrival, we were sensible of no
vacuity, could not now be spared. His departure would occasion a void
which nothing could fill, and which would produce insupportable regret.
Even my brother, though his opinions were hourly assailed, and even the
divinity of Cicero contested, was captivated with his friend, and laid
aside some part of his ancient gravity at Pleyel's approach.