Christian fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction
The more I conversed with Lucilla, the more I saw that good breeding in
her was only the outward expression of humility, and not an art employed
for the purpose of enabling her to do without it. We continued to
converse on the subject of Miss Flam's fondness for the gay world. This
introduced a natural expression of my admiration of Miss Stanley's
choice of pleasures and pursuits so different from those of most other
women of her age.
With the most graceful modesty she said, "Nothing humbles me more than
compliments; for when I compare what I hear with what I feel, I find the
picture of myself drawn by a flattering friend so utterly unlike the
original in my own heart, that I am more sunk by my own consciousness of
the want of resemblance, than elated that another has not discovered it.
It makes me feel like an imposter. If I contradict this favorable
opinion, I am afraid of being accused of affectation; and if I silently
swallow it, I am contributing to the deceit of passing for what I am
not." This ingenious mode of disclaiming flattery only raised her in my
esteem, and the more, as I told her such humble renunciation of praise
could only proceed from that inward principle of genuine piety and
devout feeling which made so amiable a part of her character.
"How little," said she, "is the human heart known except to him who made
it! While a fellow creature may admire our apparent devotion, he who
appears to be its object, witnesses the wandering of the heart, which
seems to be lifted up to him. He sees it roving to the ends of the
earth, busied about any thing rather than himself, running after trifles
which would not only dishonor Christian, but would disgrace a child. As
to my very virtues, if I dare apply such a word to myself, they
sometimes lose their character by not keeping their proper place. They
become sins by infringing on higher duties. If I mean to perform an act
of devotion, some crude plan of charity forces itself on my mind, and
what with trying to drive out one, and to establish the other, I rise
dissatisfied and unimproved, and resting my sole hope, not on the duty I
have been performing, but on the mercy I have been offending."
I assured her with all the simplicity of truth, and all the sincerity of
affection, that this confession only served to raise my opinion of the
piety she disclaimed; that such deep consciousness of imperfection, so
quick a discernment of the slightest deviation, and such constant
vigilance to prevent it, were the truest indications of an humble
spirit; and that those who thus carefully guarded themselves against
small errors, were in little danger of being betrayed into great ones.
She replied, smiling, that "she should not be so angry with vanity, if
it would be contented to keep its proper place among its vices; but her
quarrel with it was, that it would mix itself among our virtues, and
rob us of their reward."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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