I look upon the
famed Brutus, when he thought it a matter of conscience to witness, as
well as order, his sons' execution, to have been a vain unfeeling fool
or a madman. Let us have no prate about conscience proceeding from a
hard heart; these are frightful notions when they become infectious. A
handful of such madmen are enough, if allowed to have their way, to
enact the horrors of a French Revolution. All this you know, Eusebius,
better than I do, and will knit your brows at this too serious vein of
thought. I will come, therefore, a little nearer our common homes. You
shall have a scene from domestic life, as I had it the other day, from a
lady with whom I was conversing upon this subject, who tells me it is a
veritable fact, and took place some seventy years back. "It will want
its true power," said my friend, "because that one solitary trait could
give you no idea of the rich humour of the lady, the subject of this
incident--her simplicity, shrewdness, art, ignorance, quickness,
mischief, made lovely by exceeding beauty, and a most amusing
consciousness of it. Seventy years ago, too, it happened--there are no
such ladies in the better ranks of society now. She lived at Margate. It
came to pass that the topping upholsterer there got a new-shaped chest
of drawers from London--the very first that had appeared in Margate--and
gave madam, she being one of the high top-families, the first sight of
it. With the article she fell in love, and entreated her husband to buy
it; but the sensible gentleman, having his house capitally and fully
furnished, would not. The lady still longed, but had not money enough to
make the purchase--begged to have her _quarter_ advanced. This was not
granted. She pouted a little, and then, like a wise woman, made up her
mind to be disappointed, and resumed her more than wonted cheerfulness;
but, alas! she was a daughter of Eve, as it will be seen. Christmas-day
came--it was the invariable custom of the family to receive the
sacrament. Before church-time she sent for her husband. She had a sin on
her conscience--she must confess before she could go to the altar. Her
husband was surprised. "What is it?" "You must promise not to be very
angry." "But what is it? Have you broken my grandmother's china
tea-pot?" "Oh! worse than that." "Have you thrown a bank-note in the
fire?" "Worse than that." "Have you run in debt to your abominable
smuggling lace-woman?" "Worse than that." "Woman!" quoth he stern