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to think that, in the hurry and indecision of the moment, they would probably catch him instead of the rider.
When a large party cross this river, and when it is deep, it is truly amusing, after one has got across, to observe the sudden change of countenance of one's friends as they ride through it; sometimes perched up on the top of a fragment of rock barely covered, expecting the next step to be their last ; and sometimes scrambling out of a hole, with uplifted eyebrows, open mouth, and an earnest expression of uneasiness and apprehension and these are really situations into which the traveller in the Andes is often thrown, though they disconcert the gravity and solemnity of his “ Personal Narrative.”
The three days previous to my leaving London were passed with Sir John and Lady Belfield. Knowing I was on the wing for Hampshire, they promised to make their long intended visit to Stanley-Grove during my stay there.
On the first of these days, we were agreeably surprised at the appearance of Dr. Barlow, an old friend of Sir John, and the excellent rector of Mr. Stanley's parish. Being obliged to come to town on urgent business for a couple of days, he was charged to as sure me of the cordial welcome which awaited me at the Grove. I was glad to make this early acquaintapce with this highly respectable diyine, I made a thousand enquiries about his neighbours, and ex pressed my impatience to know more of a family, ip whose characters I already felt a more than comigon interest.
" Sir,' said he, w if you set me talking of Mr. Stanley, you must abide by the consequences of your indiscretion, and bear with the loquacity, of which that subject never fails to make me guilty. He is a greater blessing to me as a friend, and to my parish as an example and a benefactor, thap I can describe.”' I assured him that he could not be too minute in speaking of a man, whom I had been eaply taught to admire, by that exact judge of merit, my late father,
of Mr, Stanley,' said the worthy doctor, “ is about six and forty, his admirable wife is about six or seven years younger. He passed the early part of his life in London, in the best society. His commerce with the world was, to a miņd like his, all pure gain; før be brought away from it all the good it had to give, without exchanging for it one particle of his own integrity. He acquired the air, manpers, and sentiments of a gentleman without any sacrifice of his sineerity. Indeed he may be said to have turned
his knowledge of the world to a religious account, for it has enabled him to recommend religion to those, who did not like it well enough, to forgive, for its sake, the least awkwardness of gesture, or inelegance of manner.
“When I became acquainted with the family,” continued he, “I told Mrs. Stanley that I was afraid her husband hurt religion in one sense as much as he recommended it in another; for that some men who would forgive him his piety for the sake of his agreeableness, would be led to dislike religion more than ever in other men, in whom the jewel was not so well set. "We should like your religious men well enough, will they say, if they all resembled Stanley.' Whereas the truth is, they do not so much like Mr. Stanley's religion, as bear with it for the pleasure which his other qualities afford them. She assured me, that this was not altogether the case, for that his other qualities having pioneered his way, and hewed down the prejudices which the reputation of piety naturally raises, his endeavours to be useful to them were much facilitated, and he not only kept the ground he had gained, but was often able to turn this influence over his friends to a better account than they had intended. He converted their admiration of him into arms against their own errors.
“ He possesses in perfection,” continued Dr. Barlow, “ that sure criterion of abilities, a great power over the minds of his acquaintance, and has in a high degree that rare talent, the art of conciliation without the aid of flattery. I have seen more men brought over to his opinion by a management derived from his knowledge of mankind, and by a principle which forbad his ever using this knowledge but for good purposes, than I ever observed in any other instance ; and this without the slightest deviation from his scrupulous probity.
“ He is master of one great advantage in conversation, that of not only knowing what to say that may be useful, but exactly when to say it; in knowing when to press a point and when to forbear; in his sparing the self-love of a vain man, whom he wishes to reclaim, by contriving to make him feel himself wrong without making him appear ridiculous. The former he knows is easily pardoned, the latter never. He has studied the human heart long enough to know that to wound pride is not the way to cure, but to inflame it; and that exasperating self-conceit will never subdue it. He seldom, I believe, goes into company without an earnest desire to be useful to some one in it; but if circumstances are adverse ; if the mollia tempora fandi does not present itself; he knows he should lose more than they would gain, by trying to make the occasion when he does not find it. And I have often heard him say, that when he cannot benefit others, or be benefited by them, he endeavours to benefit himself by the disappointment, which does his own mind as much good by humbling
him with the sense of his own uselessness, as the subject he wished to have introduced, might have done them.
“ The death of his only son, about six years ago, who had just entered his eighth year, is the only in. terruption his family has bad to a felieity so unbroken, that I told Mr. Stanley some such calamity was ner cessary to convince bim that he was not to be put off with so poor a portion as this world has to give. I added, that I should have been tempted to doubt his being in the favour of God, if he had totally escaped ehastisement. A circumstance which to many pa. rents would have greatly aggravated the blow, rather lightened it to him. The boy, had he lived to be of age, was to have had a large independent fortune from a distant relation, which will now go to a remote branch, unless there should be another son. • This wealth,' said he to me, ' might have proved the boy's snare, and this independence his destruc. tion. He who does all things well bas afflicted the parents, but he has saved the child. The loss of an only son, however, sat heavy on his heart, but it was the means of enabling him to glorify God by his submission, I should rather say, by his acquiescence. Submission is only yielding to what we cannot help. Acquiescence is a more sublime kind of resignation. It is a conviction that the divine will is boly, just, and good. He once said to me, we were too fond of the mercy, but not sufficiently grateful for it. We