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diff --git a/15820.txt b/15820.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..92d41f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/15820.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4258 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book For The Young, by Sarah French + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Book For The Young + +Author: Sarah French + +Release Date: May 12, 2005 [EBook #15820] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK FOR THE YOUNG *** + + + + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +A BOOK FOR THE YOUNG. + + +DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, +TO THE HON. MRS. MANNERS SUTTON. + + +By A LADY. + + + +1856. + +Saint John, N.B., +Printed By J. & A. McMillan, Phoenix House, +78, Prince Wm. Street. + + + + +TO THE HON. MRS. MANNERS SUTTON. + +MADAM,-- + +With every feeling of deference and respect, do I beg to offer my +grateful acknowledgments for your kindness in according me the honor +of your influential name, in offering my Little Book to the public; +and I can only regret my humble efforts are not more worthy your +patronage. + +I have the honour to be, Madam, + +Your obliged and obedient servant, + +SARAH FRENCH. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +COURTEOUS READER, + +In offering a second effort from her pen, the Writer begs, most +humbly, to deprecate all criticism; for much of which, there will, +doubtless, be found ample room. + +This little book has been written in the hope that notwithstanding its +many imperfections, it will not be altogether useless to those for +whom it is especially intended,--the Young; and should the Authoress +fail in effecting all the good she desires, she trusts, she may take +refuge under the negative merit, of not having written one word that +_can_ do _harm_. + +If it be objected to, that the Poetry is not original; it is, she +would beg to say, not only good, but far better than that which, had +it depended on her own efforts, could have been in its place. It will +be seen that the Book was intended to have been brought out for +Christmas and New Year's Days: this desirable end could not be +accomplished, but as recommended to do, she has inserted the "Address +to the Young." + + + + +CONTENTS + + +An Address to the Young, +The Dying Horse, +Coquetry, +Lines on seeing in a list of new Music "The Waterloo Waltz," +The Boy of Egremont, +Lines written on the Prospect of Death, +An Embarkation Scene, +The Execution of Montrose, +A Ghost Story, +Lord Byron, +Self Reliance, +Idle Words, +The Maniac of Victory, +God doeth all things well, +How old art thou, +Time, +The Young Man's Prayer, + + + + +AN ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG. + + +A heartfelt greeting to you, my young friends; a merry Christmas and a +happy New Year to you all. Of all the three hundred and sixty-five +days none are fraught with the same interest--there is not one on +which all mankind expect so great an amount of enjoyment, as those we +now celebrate: for all now try not only to be happy themselves, but to +make others so too. All consider themselves called on to endeavour to +add to the aggregate of human happiness. Those who have been +estranged, now forget their differences and hold out the hand of +amity; even the wretched criminal and incarcerated are not forgotten. + +Yes, to both the Christian and the worlding, it is equally the season +for rejoicing. Oh yes! view them in any of their bearings, joyful are +the days that mark the anniversary of the Redeemer's Nativity, and the +commencement of the New Year. Fast as the last twelve months have sped +their circling course, yet they have, brought changes to many. Numbers +of those we so gaily greeted at their beginning, now sleep in the +silent dust, and the places they filled know them no more! And we are +spared, the monuments of God's mercy; and how have we improved that +mercy, I would ask? or how do we purpose doing it? Have such of us as +have enjoyed great and perhaps increased blessings, been taught by +them to feel more gratitude to the Giver of all good. If the sun of +prosperity has shone more brightly, has our desire to do good been in +any way proportionate. Has God in his infinite wisdom seen fit to send +us trials,--have they done their work, have they brought us nearer to +Him, have they told us this is not our abiding place, have they shown +us the instability of earthly happiness? Have you reflected for one +moment, amidst your late rejoicings, of the hundreds whose hearths +have been desolated by cruel but necessary war, and then with a full +and grateful heart humbly thanked the God who has not only spared you +these heavy inflictions, but preserved all near and dear to you. + +Oh ye young and happy! have you looked around you and thought of all +this, and then knelt in thankfulness for the blessings spared you? +Remembering _all this_, have ye on bended knees prayed, and fervently, +that this day may be the epoch on which to date your resolves to be +and to do better. Oh, may the present period be eventful, greatly +eventful, for time and eternity. + +Let us pause awhile ere we commence another year, and take a +retrospective glance at the past. Can we bear to do so, or will day +after day, and hour after hour, rise up in judgment against us? Can we +bear to bring them into debtor and creditor account,--what offsets can +we make against those devoted to sin and frivolity? + +Has every blessing and every mercy been taken as a matter of course, +and every pleasure been enjoyed with a thankless forgetfulness of the +hand from which it flowed? If such has been the case, let it be so no +longer; but awake and rouse ye from your lethargic slumber, be true to +yourselves, and remember that you are responsible beings, and will +have to account for all the time and talents misspent and misapplied. +Reflect seriously on the true end of existence and no longer fritter +it away in vanity and folly. Think of all the good you might have +done, not only by individual exertion, but by the influence of your +example. Then reverse the picture and ask if much evil may not +actually have occurred through these omissions in you. + +To many of you too, life now presents a very different aspect to what +it did in the commencement of the year. A most important day has +dawned, and momentous duties devolved on you. The ties that bound you +to the homes of your youth have been severed, and new ones formed, aye +stronger ones than even to the mother that bare you. Yes, there is one +who is now _dearer_ than the parent who cherished, or the sister who +grew up with you, and shared your father's hearth. Oh! could I now but +impress upon your minds, how much, how _very much_ of your happiness +depends on the way you begin. If I could but make you sensible how +greatly doing so might soften the trials of after life. Trials? I hear +each of you exclaim in joyous doubt, What trials? I am united to the +object of my dearest affections; friends all smile on, and approve my +choice; plenty crowns our board: have I not made a league with sorrow +that it should not come near our dwelling? I hope not; for it might +lead you to forget the things that belong to your peace. I should +tremble for you, could I fancy a life-long period without a trouble. +You are mortal and could not bear it, with safety to your eternal +well-being. This life being probationary, God has wisely ordained it a +chequered one. Happy, thoroughly happy as you may be now, you are not +invulnerable to the shafts of sorrow;--think how very many are the +inlets through which trial may enter, and pray that whenever and +however assailed, you may as a Christian, sanctify whatever befalls +you to your future good. + +But while prepared to meet those ills "the flesh is heir to" as +becomes a Christian, it is well to remember that you may greatly +diminish many of the troubles of life, by forbearance and +self-command, for certain it is, that more than one half of mankind +make a great deal of what they suffer, and which they might avoid. +Yes, much of what they endure are actually self inflictions. + +There is a general, and alas! too true an outcry, that trouble is the +lot of all, and that "man is born to trouble as the sparks fly +upward;" but let me ask, Is there not a vast amount made by ourselves? +and do we not often take it up in anticipation, too often indulge and +give way to it, when by cheerful resignation, we might, if not wholly +avert, yet greatly nullify its power to mar our peace. Mind, I now +speak of self-created and minor troubles; not those coming immediately +from God. Are we not guilty of ingratitude in acting thus; in throwing +away, or as it were thrusting from us the blessings he has sent--merely +by indulging in, or giving way to these minor trials. It may be said +of these sort of troubles, as of difficulties, "Stare them in the +face, and you conquer them; yield to, and they overcome you, and form +unnecessary suffering." + +If we could only consider a little when things annoy us, and reflect +how much worse they might be, and how differently they would affect us +even under less favourable circumstances than those in which we are +placed; but instead of making the best of every thing, we only dwell +on the annoyance, regardless of many extenuations that may attend it. + +As one of the means to happiness, I would beg of you, my fair young +Brides, not to fix too high a standard by which to measure either the +perfections of your beloved partners or your own hopes of being happy. +Bear in mind that those to whom you are united are subject to the same +infirmities as yourself. Look well to what are your requirements as +wives, and then prayerfully and steadily act up to them, and if your +hopes are not built too high, you may, by acting rightly and +rationally, find a well spring of peace and enjoyment that _must_ +increase. Think what very proud feelings will be yours, to find you +are appreciated and esteemed for the good qualities of the heart and +endowments of the mind, and to hear after months of trial, the _wife_ +pronounced _dearer_ than the _bride_. + +Look around at the many who have entered the pale of matrimony before +you, equally buoyant with hope; with the same loving hearts and the +same bright prospects as you had,--and yet the stern realities of life +have sobered down that romance of feeling with which they started; yet +they are perhaps more happy, though it is a quiet happiness, founded +on esteem. Oh, you know not the extent to which the conduct I have +urged you to pursue, may affect your well-being, and that of him to +whom you are united. + +And now with the same greeting I commenced with, will I take my +leave--a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all, and may each +succeeding return find you progressing in all that can give you peace +and happiness, not only here but hereafter! + + + + +THE DYING HORSE. + + + Heaven! what enormous strength does death possess! + How muscular the giant's arm must be + To grasp that strong boned horse, and, spite of all + His furious efforts, fix him to the earth! + Yet, hold, he rises!--no--the struggle's vain; + His strength avails him not. Beneath the gripe + Of the remorseless monster, stretched at length + He lies with neck extended; head hard pressed + Upon the very turf where late he fed. + His writhing fibres speak his inward pain! + His smoking nostrils speak his inward fire! + Oh! how he glares! and hark! methinks I hear + His bubbling blood, which seems to burst the veins. + Amazement! Horror! What a desperate plunge, + See! where his ironed hoof has dashed a sod + With the velocity of lightning. Ah!-- + He rises,--triumphs;--yes, the victory's his! + No--the wrestler Death again has thrown him + And--oh! with what a murdering dreadful fall! + Soft!--he is quiet. Yet whence came that groan, + Was't from his chest, or from the throat of death + Exulting in his conquest! I know not, + But if 'twas his, it surely was his last; + For see, he scarcely stirs! Soft! Does he breathe? + Ah no! he breathes no more. 'Tis very strange! + + How still he's now! how fiery hot--how cold + How terrible! How lifeless! all within + A few brief moments!--My reason staggers! + Philosophy, thy poor enlightened dotard, + Who canst for every thing assign a cause, + Here take thy stand beside me, and explain + This hidden mystery. Bring with thee + The head strong Atheist; who laughs at heaven + And impiously ascribes events to chance, + To help to solve this wonderful enigma! + First, tell me, ye proud haughty reasoners, + Where the vast strength this creature late possessed + Has fled to? how the bright sparkling fire, + Which flashed but now from those dim rayless eyes + Has been extinguished? Oh--he's dead you say. + I know it well:--but how, and by what means? + Was it the arm of chance that struck him down, + In height of vigor, and in pride of strength, + To stiffen in the blast? Come, come, tell me: + Nay shake not thus the head's that are enriched + With eighty years of wisdom, gleaned from books, + From nights of study, and the magazines + Of knowledge, which your predecessors left. + What! not a word!--I ask you, once again, + How comes it that the wond'rous essence, + Which gave such vigour to these strong nerved limbs + Has leaped from its enclosure, and compelled + This noble workmanship of nature, thus + To sink Into a cold inactive clod? + Nay sneak not off thus cowardly--poor fools + Ye are as destitute of information + As is the lifeless subject of my thoughts! + + The _subject of my thoughts_? Yes--there he lies + As free from life, as if he ne'er had lived. + Where are his friends and where his old acquaintance + Who borrowed from his strength, when in the yoke, + With weary pace the steep ascent they climbed? + Where are the gay companions of his prime, + Who with him ambled o'er the flowery turf, + And proudly snorting, passed the way worn hack, + With haughty brow; and, on his ragged coat + Looked with contemptuous scorn? Oh yonder see, + Carelessly basking in the mid-day sun + They lie, and heed him not;--little thinking + While there they triumph in the blaze of noon. + How soon the dread annihilating hour + Will come, and death seal up their eyes, + Like his, forever. Now moralizer + Retire! yet first proclaim this sacred truth; + _Chance_ rules not over Death; but, when a fly + Falls to the earth, 'tis _Heaven_ that gives the blow. + + --BLACKETT. + + + + +COQUETRY. + + +It was in one of the most picturesque parts of South Wales, on the +banks of the lovely Towy, that two ladies sat working at an open +casement, which led into a veranda, covered with clematis and +honey-suckle. The elder of the two might be about fifty, perhaps not +so much, for her features bore traces of suffering and sadness, which +plainly told, that sorrow had planted far deeper wrinkles there than +time alone could have done. The younger, an interesting girl of +nineteen, bore a strong resemblance to her mother; they were both +dressed in deep mourning. The room which they occupied, though plainly +and simply furnished, had yet an air of taste and elegance. + +Mrs. Fortescue was the widow of an officer, who died of cholera in the +East Indies, leaving her with one daughter, and no other means of +support than a small annuity and her pension. An old servant of her +own had married a corporal in the same regiment, who having purchased +his discharge, now followed the trade of a carpenter, to which he had +been brought up, previous to enlisting, and was settled in his native +place, and the faithful Hannah, hearing of the Captain's death wrote +to Mrs. Fortescue, telling her, not only of the beauty of the spot, +but the cheapness of living in that part of the world, concluding by +saying, a house was then vacant, and could be had on very reasonable +terms. Mrs. Fortescue immediately wrote and engaged it. Though a +common looking building, yet by putting a veranda round, and making a +few alterations inside, it soon, with a little painting and papering, +was transformed into a pretty cottage. The work required was an +advantage to Mrs. Fortescue, inasmuch as it occupied her mind and thus +prevented her dwelling on her recent affliction, in other respects +too, she felt that a kind providence had directed her steps to the +little village in which we find her--and the good she found to do, was +the greatest balm her wounded spirit could receive: for though her +means were so limited, still, a wide field of usefulness lay before +her. + +Mrs. Fortescue had a strong mind, and though her trial was hard, very +hard to bear, she remembered from whom it came, and not a murmur +escaped her. Devotedly attached to her husband, she deeply lamented +her loss, still she sorrowed not as one without hope: she had the +consolation of knowing few were better prepared for the change; and +she strove to take comfort in reflecting how greatly her grief would +have been augmented, were not such the case. But she felt that her +shield had been taken from her; and knowing how precarious was her own +health, she saw how desolate would be her child, should it please God +to remove her also, but a true Christian cannot mourn long; and as the +tears of agony would force themselves down her cheek, and her feelings +almost overpower her, she flew to her bible and in its gracious +promises to the afflicted, found that support and consolation, the +mere worldling can neither judge of, nor taste. Some delay, though no +actual doubt, as to ultimately obtaining her pension, had caused +inconvenience, as all their ready money had been absorbed in the +alterations of their house, though they had observed the utmost +economy, and demands were made which they had not at the time funds to +meet. Ethelind was miserable, but Mrs. Fortescue bore against all, +trusting something would turn up,--and so it did; for while discussing +the matter, a letter came, with an enclosure, from an old school +fellow, begging them to procure her board and lodging in the village +for a few months, intimating how much she would like it, if they could +accommodate her themselves. The terms for the first quarter were +highly remunerative and they gladly acceded to Miss Trevor's +proposition, and the few requisite preparations being made, we will, +if our reader pleases, go back to the evening when mother and daughter +sat awaiting the arrival of their new inmate. + +Mrs. Fortescue had never seen Beatrice Trevor, but Ethelind was loud +in her praises. They sat in anxious expectation much beyond the usual +time for the arrival of the stage, and were just giving her up for the +night, when the rumbling of wheels was heard, and a post chaise drove +up, out of which sprang a young lady who in another moment was clasped +in Ethelind's arms, and introduced to her mother, who welcomed her +most kindly. + +"Oh what a little Paradise!" said Beatrice, looking round her, "how +happy you must be here. Do Ethelind let me have one peep outside ere +daylight is gone;" so saying, she darted through the French casement, +on to the lawn, which sloped down to the water's edge. "Well I +declare, this is a perfect Elysium, I am so glad I made up my mind to +come here, instead of going with the Fultons to Cheltenham." + +"I am indeed rejoiced that you are so pleased with our retreat, my +dear Miss Trevor, it is indeed a lovely spot." + +"No Miss Trevor, if you please, my dear madam: it must be plain +Beatrice, and you must regard me as you do Ethelind, and be a mother +to me; for I know I greatly need a monitress; for you will find me, I +fear a sad giddy mad-cap." + +Mrs. Fortescue smiling benignly promised acquiescence, and taking her +hand, which she grasped affectionately; led her into the next room, +where tea was waiting. After which, Ethelind took her up stairs, and +showed her the little bedroom prepared for her. They remained here +some time, chatting over their old school days, till summoned to +prayers. On taking leave for the night, Mrs. Fortescue begged if at +all heavy in the morning, that Beatrice would not hurry up. But she +arose early, much refreshed and delighted with all she saw. Ethelind +soon joined her, and offered to help her unpack, and arrange her +things, while the only servant they had, prepared the breakfast. + +Soon as the morning meal was over, and little necessary arrangements +made, Ethelind proposed a ramble, which was gladly acceded to on the +part of Beatrice. They passed through an orchard into a lane, and as +they crossed a rustic bridge, the village church came in view. It was +a small gothic structure, standing in the burial ground, and as they +approached it, Beatrice was struck with admiration at the beds of +flowers, then blooming in full perfection on the graves; this is a +very beautiful, and, by no means, uncommon sight in South Wales; but +she had never seen it before. "Well, I declare, this is lovely; +really, Ethelind, to render the charm of romance complete, you ought +to have a very interesting young curate, with pale features and dark +hair and eyes." + +"And so we have," said Ethelind, "and had he sat for his picture, you +could not have drawn a more correct likeness; but I regret to say, Mr. +Barclay's stay is not likely to be permanent, as one of Lord Eardly's +sons is to have the living, soon as the family returns from the +Continent, which we are all sorry for; as short as the time is, that +Mr. Barclay has been among us, he is generally liked, and from his +manner, we think the curacy, little as it is, an object to him; though +even now, he does a great deal of good, and you would hardly believe +all he has accomplished. I wish he were here, for I am sure you would +like him." + +"I think," said Beatrice, "it is well he is not, for I might fall in +love with him, and then--" + +"And then, what?" asked Ethelind. + +"Why it must end in disappointment to both; for if he is poor and I am +poor, it would be little use our coming together; but were I rich, as +I expected to have been, then I might have set my cap at your young +curate, and rewarded his merit." + +"Oh!" said Ethelind, "he deserves to be rich, he would make such good +use of wealth, for even now, he is very charitable." + +"Charitable!" re-echoed Beatrice, "a curate, on perhaps less than a +hundred a year, must have a deal to be charitable with. Absurd: I +grant you he may have the heart, but certainly not the means." + +"I know not," said Ethelind, "but I hear continually of the good he +does, and his kindness to the poor, and doubt if the Honourable +Frederic Eardly will do as much." + +"Out upon these proud scions of nobility, I have not common patience +with the younger members of the aristocracy, taking holy orders solely +for the sake of aggrandizing the elder branches of the family; they +are rarely actuated by pious motives." + +"We had only one service a-day till Mr. Barclay came, and now he +officiates morning and evening, besides managing to do duty, in the +afternoon, for a sick clergyman, who lives five miles off, and has a +large family, two of whom our worthy curate educates,--" + +"No more," Ethelind, or my heart will be irrecoverably gone; but what +large house is that I see among the trees?" + +"That is Eardly House." + +"And do the family ever reside there?" + +"They have not, since we have been in this part of the world, but when +in England, I am told, they spend part of every summer here." + +"And if they come, they will spoil both our pleasure and our privacy; +say what you will, great people are a nuisance in a small village." + +"To those who are situated like us, I grant it is unpleasant, but they +may do a great deal of good to their poor tenants. But, hark, it is +striking two,--our dinner hour,--mamma will wonder what is become of +us; there is a short cut through the Park, which we will take, it will +save, at least, a quarter of a mile." So through the Park they went, +and as they left it, to cross the road, a gentleman suddenly turned +the corner, and Mr. Barclay stood full before them. + +"Why, Mr. Barclay," exclaimed Ethelind, "where, in the name of wonder, +did you come from? did you rise from the lake, or drop from the +clouds? I thought you were many miles away." + +"And so I expected to be," said he, shaking hands with her, and bowing +to Beatrice, "but circumstances wholly unexpected, compelled me to +return." + +"And are you going to remain?" + +"For some months, I believe." + +"I am really glad to hear it, and so, I am sure, will mamma be; but in +the agreeable surprise your unlooked for return gave, I forgot to +introduce Miss Trevor." The conversation now took a general turn, and +Mr. Barclay accompanied them to their door, where he only staid to +shake hands with Mrs. Fortescue, and then took his leave, promising to +return in the evening. + +As may naturally be supposed, many weeks followed of delightful +intercourse; Mr. Barclay, when ever it did not interfere with his +duties, was the constant attendant of Ethelind, and Beatrice; he spent +every evening at Mrs. Fortescue's cottage, affording much speculation +to the village gossips, as to which of the two young ladies would +ultimately become the curate's choice. With their aid he carried out +his much cherished object of establishing a Sunday School, and +everything was going on quietly, till, at length, an unusual bustle +was observed in the village; artizans of every description were sent +from London, and the news was soon spread, that after the necessary +repairs and preparations were completed, the family might be expected. + +This was anything but welcome intelligence to Ethelind and Beatrice, +who feared all their enjoyment would be disturbed. When Mr. Barclay +came in the evening, he confirmed the report and little else was +talked of. + +"It is really provoking," said Ethelind "I am quite of Beatrice's +opinion, and think great folks anything but desirable in such a small +place, at least, to people circumstanced as we are." + +"I am of opinion," said Mr. Barclay, "you will find it quite the +reverse." + +"Shall you remain as curate," asked Mrs. Fortescue. + +"Frederic Eardly purposes to make poor Bennet his curate." + +"But if he is so ill he will not be able to do the duty," said +Beatrice. + +"It is not hard, and Eardly is well able to do it himself." + +"But will he," said she, "I really feel curious, to see how this +embryo bishop will get on, as I suppose nothing less is the object of +his taking orders." + +"Oh, Miss Trevor, judge not so harshly. Is it not possible that in +singleness of heart, he may have gone into the Church, unmindful of +all but the sacred calling? I do not pretend to judge, but I believe +no worldly honour or pecuniary consideration influenced his choice, as +I know his grandfather left him quite independent." + +"Oh, don't tell me, Mr. Barclay, it is very unlikely; but it is +natural that you should take his part because--" + +"Because, what?" responded Mr. Barclay, "do you think money or +interest would prompt me to say what I don't think or mean?" + +"No," said Beatrice, "I think you the last person in the world to +truckle to the great,--but no more of this; what kind of a being is +this Frederic Eardly?" + +"I am a poor judge of character, besides, you would hardly give me +credit for being impartial. They say he is spoilt by his mother and +sisters, by whom he is perfectly idolized and to whom he is, in +return, devotedly attached." + +"Come, that and helping poor Bennet, are certainly very redeeming +traits; but will his giving him a preference be doing justice to you, +who have done so much, and will it not--" here feeling she was going +too far, she coloured. + +Mr. Barclay too, was much confused; and Beatrice was greatly relieved +when Mrs. Fortescue turned the conversation. She had long remarked to +herself, there was a mystery about Mr. Barclay which she could not +understand. There was, at times, a reserve she attributed to pride. If +not well born, he was quite _au fait_ in all the usages of well-bred +society. He never spoke of his family, but Mrs. Fortescue once asked +him if he had any sisters, when he replied, "Two, such as any brother +might be proud of;" but, while he spoke, the blood mantled in his +forehead, and fearing it might result from pride, she dropped the +subject, and, for the future, avoided saying anything that might +recall it, trusting that, in time, she might win his confidence. + +Almost unconsciously to herself, was Ethelind, under the garb of +friendship, indulging a preference from which her delicacy shrank. She +could plainly see a growing attachment in Mr. Barclay to Beatrice, and +could not, for a moment, suppose he could be insensible to her +friend's fascinations, which certainly were very great. She was the +more convinced that Mr. Barclay loved Beatrice, for his manners +evidently changed, and, at times, he was absent and thoughtful, and +she sometimes fancied unhappy. Once it struck her, his affections +might be engaged elsewhere, and that Beatrice had shaken his faith to +her to whom it was plighted. She observed Beatrice using all her +efforts to attract and win Mr. Barclay, and yet she doubted if she +were sincere. Many things in her conduct led to this conclusion, and +showed no little coquetry in her disposition. Be it as it may, she met +Mr. Barclay's attentions more than half way, and seemed never in such +spirits as when with him; at any rate, poor Ethelind's delicacy took +the alarm, and she resolved to crush her own growing attachment in the +bud, and hide her feelings in reserve, and so great was her +self-command, that her love for Mr. Barclay, was unsuspected by all +save her mother. + +As Beatrice and Ethelind were returning one evening from a long walk, +and being very tired, they sat down on a bank facing the Towy to rest +themselves, and watch the setting sun sink behind the undulating +mountains that almost surrounded them. They were, for some minutes, so +absorbed in the scene before them, that neither spoke; at last +Beatrice exclaimed:-- + +"What a pity it is, Ethelind, that you and Mr. Barclay never took it +into your heads to fall in love with each other; you would make such a +capital clergyman's wife." + +"Beatrice!" said Ethelind, "why talk thus; do you mean to say that you +have been insensible to his attachment to you?" + +"I do not mean to say that," replied she, "but I can assure you, that +if there is such a feeling, it is only on his side." + +"And yet, you have not only received, but met his attentions with such +evident pleasure, and given him such decided encouragement." + +"Now, Ethy, how could I resist a flirtation with such an interesting +character?" + +"Oh, Beatrice, did you never think of the pain you might inflict by +leading him to suppose his affection was reciprocated." + +"Never, my consciencious little Ethelind, he is too poor, nay, too +good, for me to think seriously of becoming his wife." + +"Oh, Beatrice! I thought you had a more noble heart than to trifle +with the affections of such a man, particularly now there is a chance +of recovering your property; you might be so happy, and make him so +too." + +"And do, you think, if I do recover it, I should throw myself away on +a poor curate, and that I should like to lead such a quiet hum-drum +life. No, my dear girl, I was never made to appreciate such goodness +or imitate it either." + +"Then, of course, you will alter your conduct, ere you go too far, and +not render him wretched, perhaps for life." + +"Of course, I shall do no such thing, his attentions are too pleasing; +it does not appear he will be here long, so I must make the most of +the time." + +"Oh, Beatrice, think what havoc you may make in the happiness of a +worthy man; look at his character; see his exemplary conduct; and +could you, for the paltry gratification of your vanity, condemn him to +the pangs of unrequited love. He has now, I fear, the ills of poverty +to struggle against; did you notice his emotion when speaking of his +mother and sisters? perhaps they are dependant on him,--you must not, +shall not trifle with him thus." + +"And why not, dearest Ethelind; I shall really begin to suspect you +like him yourself; oh, that tell tale blush, how it becomes you." + +"I think," said Ethelind, "any one would colour at such an +accusation." + +"Well then, to be honest, I have no heart to give." + +"No heart to give! surely you are not engaged, and act thus?" + +"I am, indeed." + +"Cruel, heartless Beatrice," said Ethelind, "you cannot mean what you +say." + +"I do most solemnly affirm it; but I will tell you all bye and bye: +now I cannot. I am smarting too much under you severe philippic, you +shall indeed know all,--but," said the thoughtless girl, "let us go +home, as your mother will be waiting tea, and Mr. Barclay with her." + +"How can you face one you have so injured," said Ethelind, "I could +not." + +"When you see a little more of the world, you will call these little +flirtations very venial errors." + +"I hope," said Ethelind, "I shall never call _wrong right_, or _right +wrong_; neither, I trust, shall I ever act as if I thought so." + +They reached home, and found tea ready, but Mr. Barclay was not there, +nor did he visit them that evening, but about eight o'clock Mrs. +Fortescue received a note, begging her to excuse him, as he had so +much to attend to, preparatory to the family coming to the Park. + +They saw no more of him during the week. On Sunday, he looked, +Ethelind thought, very pale. Coming out of church he spoke to her +mother, and she thought there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke, +as if concealing some internal emotion. They made many conjectures as +to the cause of this extraordinary conduct, but both Mrs. Fortescue +and Ethelind felt certain there must be some good reason, as caprice +had, never since they had known him, formed any part of his conduct; +they were, therefore, obliged to come to the conclusion, that if they +knew it, they would find he had good reason for his conduct. + +To Ethelind, when he met her alone, his manner was friendly as ever, +but she fancied he had often avoided them, when she and Beatrice were +together; sometimes she suspected he doubted Beatrice's sincerity. He +sent books and fruit to Mrs. Fortescue, as usual, but rarely went to +the cottage, and if he did, always timed his visits, so as to go when +the younger ladies were out. He would however, saunter home with +Ethelind, if alone, after the duties of the Sunday School, and consult +her on many of his plans; in short, he daily became more like his +former self. + +The fact was, that the day on which Beatrice and Ethelind held the +discussion, he had started to meet them, but feeling tired, sat down +to rest on the very same bank they afterwards occupied: but the sun +shining fully on it, he had retreated behind a large tree, and having +fallen asleep, was awakened by their talking, and thus became an +unintentional auditor of their conversation. + +It was a thunderbolt to him, to hear Beatrice acknowledge herself +positively engaged, and yet wilfully resolve to encourage his +attentions, and thus trifle with his feelings. Before Beatrice came, +he had been much pleased with the unaffected manner of Ethelind, whose +character he highly respected; but her reserve made him conclude she +was indifferent to him, but how did she rise in his estimation, as he +heard the conversation. Not a word of her advice to Beatrice was lost +on him, and he only wondered he had not done her more justice; how +grateful he felt for the noble indignation she expressed at her +friend's levity, and the honest warmth with which she took his part, +and strove, as it were, to prevent his being betrayed by the heartless +coquetry of Beatrice. He regarded all that had occurred as a special +intervention of Providence to save him from future misery. His regard +for Beatrice was daily increasing and believing her good and amiable, +he desired to win the affection, which he fully thought was +reciprocal; and how did the discovery of her treachery dash the cup of +happiness from his lips; but as it was because he believed her truly +amiable that he loved her, he thought, now the veil was drawn aside, +he should soon get over his disappointment. But, unworthy as she was, +she had so entwined herself in his heart, that it was no easy task to +tear her image from it--however, he was strong-minded, and soon +reflected that instead of grieving, he ought to be thankful for his +escape. Ethelind saw he was wretched, and fancied Beatrice was, some +how or other, the cause. She pitied him, and prayed for him, but it +was all she could do; but she was not sorry to hear Beatrice say she +had an invitation to Miss Fulton's wedding, which she was determined +to accept. The night previous to her departure, Mr. Barclay, unasked, +remained to tea, and when he took leave, he put a letter into the hand +of Beatrice, which she slipped into her pocket, she thought, unseen by +any one, but Ethelind saw it, though she took no notice, nor did +Beatrice mention it Before retiring to rest, she read as follows:-- + + "MY DEAR MISS TREVOR, + + "I should ill act up to that fearless line of duty my sacred + calling prescribes, were I not, as a friend, to urge you to reflect + on your present line of conduct, and ask you to pause on it, ere + you wreck, not only the happiness of others but your own, at the + shrine of inordinate vanity. Shall I honestly own, that mine has + narrowly escaped being wrecked; and that, from your own lips, I + learnt such was the case. Believing you good and amiable, as you + seemed, I was fascinated, and allowed my feelings to outrun my + judgment, and yet I can hardly say that such was the case, for I + thought you all a woman should be. Let me warn and entreat you, on + all future occasions, as you wish to be happy, to deal fairly and + truly with him who may seek to win your affection. I was an + unwilling listener to your conversation with Miss Fortescue, the + other day, and there, from your own lips, learnt that while engaged + to another, you scrupled not to receive and encourage my + attentions; and more than that, you declared your resolution, of + holding out hopes you never meant to realize. Had I known you were + bound to another, whatever my feelings had been for you, I had + never sought to win your love, but I fully believed you ingenuous + as you seemed. Had you not met the advances so sincerely made by + me, with such seeming pleasure, whatever the struggle might have + cost me, it had passed in silence. I will candidly own, that while + my respect is lessened, I cannot forget what my feelings towards + you have been. Time alone can heal the peace of mind you have so + recklessly wounded; but I again advise you to reflect seriously on + the past, and be assured, that she who pursues such a line of + conduct as you have done, will ever find it militate against her + own happiness, as well as that of others; and I fear, it has done + so in the present instance, for while smarting under the bitter + feelings your behaviour called forth, I wrote to an intimate + friend, and spoke of my disappointment, and the struggle I had to + obtain such a mastery over myself, as would prevent it interfering + with my duty. Unfortunately, that friend was the very man to whom + you are engaged; which I did not know at the time, nor am I + prepared to say if I had, how I should have acted. George Graham is + an honourable fellow, who believed you as faithful as himself. Thus + has your thoughtless, nay, I will go farther, and say highly + culpable levity, sacrificed the happiness of two as honest hearts + as ever beat in the human breast; I would say I pity you, but I can + hardly expect your own peace to have suffered. + + "Mine is a responsible and sacred calling; and feeling it to be + such, I want, when I marry, a woman who will _aid_, not _hinder_ me + in my arduous duties; I have, as far as human infirmity permits, + done with the world and its pleasures; but I am but mortal, and who + knows to what frivolity, nay to what sin, but for the merciful + interposition of God, you might have led me; and that, while bound + to teach and guide others, I might, in my daily conduct, have + contradicted the truths I was bound to enforce. + + "On first coming to reside here, I was much pleased with Miss + Fortescue, and I felt that with her, I could be happy, but her + reserve made me fancy her indifferent to me, and I judged she could + not return my love; and while her conduct increased my esteem, I + resolved that I would not forfeit her friendship by persevering in + attentions, I feared, she cared not for. You came: your beauty + struck me; your fascinating manners made an impression I could not + resist; your seeming pleasure in my attentions misled me, and my + heart was enslaved ere my judgment could act. But no more! you have + yourself, undrawn the veil, and humbly do I thank the merciful + Providence that has thus over-ruled things, and interfered to save + me from--, I hardly know what. You can scarcely wonder that I + avoided you, after what I heard; and it was not till to-day I could + sufficiently command my feelings, to stay at Mrs. Fortescue's, and + see you; it is not that I still love you, for I cannot love the + woman I no longer respect. I do not hate you; but I do sincerely + pity you, and humbly, and fervently do I pray that you may, ere too + late, see the errors of your conduct. You, by your own confession, + deem coquetry a venial error; can that be such, from which come + such cruel and mischievous results. But no more. I forgive you most + freely, and shall ever fervently pray that you may see and feel how + inimical to peace _here_, as well as _hereafter_, is such conduct + as you have shown. + + "Ever your sincere friend, F.B." + +No words can do justice to the agony of Beatrice's feelings, as she +read the foregoing letter. She was thunderstruck; here was a blow to +her happiness, how completely was she caught in her own toils; she +could but feel the retribution just. Of all men, she knew, George +Graham to be one of the most fastidious, and that of all things he +held the most despicable, she well knew, was a coquette. She loved him +with passionate devotion, but knew, if the effort cost him his life, +he would cast her from his affections. She was almost maddened with +the thought. She did indeed feel that Mr. Barclay was amply revenged, +and in feeling every hope of happiness was lost, she could judge to +what she had nearly brought him; though she perhaps forgot that he had +a support in the hour of trial to which she could not look, for she +had wilfully erred. It had always been her practice to go daily to the +village post office, consequently, no suspicions could arise on the +part of Ethelind, as they would have done, had she seen the frequency +of her friend's receiving letters. She rose early, and went the +morning she was to leave. She started, as the well known writing met +her eye on the address: her limbs trembled, and she feared to open the +packet put into her hands. Her own letters were returned with the +accompanying note:-- + + "FAITHLESS, BUT STILL DEAR BEATRICE, + + "Farewell, and for ever! May you never know the bitter pangs you + have inflicted! I may be too fastidious, but I could never unite my + fate with yours; the woman I marry I must respect, or I can never + be happy; and miserable as I shall be without you, I feel that I + should be still more wretched did I unite my fate with yours. My + whole heart was, and is yours only, and had your feelings been what + they ought, you would have spurned the paltry gratification of + winning the affection you could not return, I sail for India + to-morrow; to have seen you would be worse than useless; as we can + never now, be anything, to each other.--Once more, adieu! + + "Your once devoted, + + "GEORGE GRAHAM." + +Beatrice's eyes were red with weeping when she returned from the +village. She hesitated whether or not to show Ethelind the letters; +but she well knew her disposition and that although she highly +disapproved her conduct, still she would feel for her, and she needed +consolation; accordingly, calling her into her bed room, she put both +epistles into the hand of her friend, begging her to try and read them +through before the carriage came that was to take her away. Ethelind +was little less astonished than Beatrice had been, and truly did she +feel for her mortification. Many and bitter were the tears she shed on +reading Mr. Barclay's letter, for she well knew how strongly he must +have felt. Most thankful, too, was she that, by striving to overcome +her own attachment she had spared herself from having it even +suspected. Without a remark she returned the letters to Beatrice, who +could only beg to hear from her, and she promised to write, when the +post chaise drove up, and after affectionately embracing Mrs. +Fortescue and Ethelind, she was soon out of sight. + +Mrs. Fortescue was, for some days, very poorly, and at length took to +her bed. Mr. Barclay was daily in attendance, affording her all the +religious consolation in his power, but he saw, although resigned, +there was something on her mind; and was not mistaken. She felt her +earthly race was well nigh run, and she was anxious as to Ethelind's +future fate. She knew God had said, "leave thy fatherless children to +me," and she felt she could do so, and she knew also, that it was +written, "commit thy way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to +pass;" he had said, and would he not surely do it? She was one on whom +sorrow had done a blessed work. + +Mr. Barclay calling one morning, found Ethelind out. It was an +opportunity he had long desired, and having read and prayed with Mrs. +F., he told her he feared some anxiety was still pressing on her mind. + +"Yes," said she, "though I feel it to be wrong, I cannot help wishing +to be permitted to linger a little longer here, for Ethelind's sake, +though I know that God is all sufficient, still it is the infirmity of +human nature." + +"Make your mind easy on that head, my dear Mrs. Fortescue, for if +Ethelind will but trust her happiness with me, gladly will I become +her protector." + +"Oh, Mr. Barclay how thankfully would I trust my child in such +keeping, but would your means support the incumbrance of a wife." + +"Believe in my truth, at such a moment; I have sufficient for both." + +"Almighty God, I thank thee!" exclaimed the invalid. + +Mr. Barclay now insisted on her taking her medicine, which had such a +soothing effect that she soon after fell into a peaceful slumber. He +sat sometime musing, when Hannah, who had alone been helping Ethelind +nurse her mother, came in, and Mr. Barclay rose to go. + +He met Ethelind at the door, and finding she was going to her mother, +told her she was asleep, and asked to speak with her in the parlour. +Only requesting permission to be assured that he was not mistaken as +to Mrs. Fortescue not being awake, she promised to join him +immediately. + +"Ethelind," said he with some emotion, "will you, dare you, trust your +happiness with me? Can you be contented to share my lot, and help me +in the discharge of my duties. Will the retired life I lead, be +consonant with your tastes and wishes. Tell me honestly; you, I know, +will not deceive me. Your mother, I fear, is seriously ill, and if, as +I sometimes dare hope, you love me, let us give her the satisfaction +of seeing us united ere she is called hence." + +"Mr. Barclay," said Ethelind, soon as she could speak, "were I +differently circumstanced, gladly would I unite my fate with yours, +but with your present limited means, I should only be a burden. You +have, perhaps, a mother and sisters dependent on you, with whose +comfort I might interfere." + +"They are," said he, "perfectly independent of me; but tell me if I +have that interest in your affections that alone can make me happy, +tell me the truth, I shall not respect you the less." + +"Oh, Mr. Barclay, I shall be but too happy," said Ethelind, bursting +into tears, "but can I really believe you." + +"I was never more earnest, and I will add, more happy in my life; but +my Ethelind," continued he, "your mother's health is so precarious +that I must insist on your consulting her, and naming an early day to +be mine." + +"But I cannot, will not leave her; no, we must wait." + +"You shall not, my sweet girl, leave your respected parent. No, while +it pleases God to spare her life, you shall not be separated from her +one hour; she shall live with us, But I shall write to my mother and +sisters, who must witness my happiness;--but you are agitated, +dearest, do you repent or desire to rescind?" + +"Oh! no;" said Ethelind, "but this is so unexpected. Oh, let me go to +my beloved mother, pray do, Mr. Barclay," said she, drawing away the +hand he still strove to retain in his. + +"Have done with Mr. Barclay, and call me Frederic." Waiting only till +she assented to this, he took his leave; and Ethelind went, with a +heart overcharged with joy, to her mother, who had just awakened from +a tranquil slumber. It is needless to say how truly thankful Mrs. +Fortescue was. Her child's happiness seemingly so well secured, she +had only now to prepare for the solemn change that she felt was not +far distant. + +From this time, however, her health gradually amended, and the day was +fixed for the union of Ethelind and Mr. Barclay. He settled that they +should, for the present, reside at the Rectory. Ethelind's countenance +brightened, for she fancied she had solved part of the mystery, and +that Mr. Eardly was not yet coming, and till his arrival they would be +permitted to reside there. + +The evening before the ceremony was to take place, Mr. Barclay came in +with two ladies. One, a benign but august looking personage; the +other, a sylph-like, beautiful creature of eighteen, whom he +introduced as his mother and younger sister. Ethelind timidly but +gracefully received them. Their kind and easy manner soon removed the +little restraint there was at first, but she was still bewildered, and +could hardly fancy she was not dreaming; their appearance, too, +increased rather than diminished her wonder, for they were most +elegantly attired. After allowing a short time for conversation, she +went out and fetched her mother, and all parties seemed delighted with +each other. After sitting some time, Mr. Barclay, looking at his +mother, rose, and taking Ethelind's hand, said, "now, my disinterested +girl, allow me to introduce myself as Frederic Barclay Eardly!" + +"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Mrs. Fortescue and Ethelind at once, +and with the utmost surprise, while Lady Eardly and her daughter sat +smiling and pleased spectators. + +"Yes, my dear Ethelind; but the deception has been very unpremeditated +on my part, as you shall hear. Arriving in England alone, I came down, +merely intending to look round, having had some reason to be +dissatisfied with Mr. Jones, the acting curate, by whom, when I got to +the inn, I was supposed to be the new curate, and as such, I believe, +received very differently to what I should have been as the rector; +and anxious to know exactly the state of my parishioners, thought, in +the humble capacity, they had taken me, I might better do this. In +calling to see your mother, who, I thought, from her previous good +deeds in the parish, was likely to be an efficient adviser, I was +invited to tea, and from the conversation of both you and her, I +found, that while as the curate I should have free intercourse at the +cottage, as the Hon. Frederic Eardly the doors would be closed on me; +added to this, was a lurking hope that I might, eventually, gain your +affections, and know that you loved me for myself alone. Your reserve +however, dispelled, for a time, that illusion. Beatrice Trevor came +and threw out lures I could not resist, and I was fairly entrapped; +however, I will not dwell on what has led to such happy results. +Bennet, alone, knows my secret." + +Lady Eardly now took an affectionate leave. She had brought a splendid +wedding dress for Ethelind, but her son insisted on her wearing the +plain white muslin she had herself prepared. + +A union founded on such a basis, could not fail to bring as much real +happiness as mortals, subject to the vicissitudes of life, could +expect. Frederic Eardly passed many years of usefulness in his native +place, aided, in many of his good works, by his amiable wife. But +though blessed with many earthly comforts, they were not without their +trials, they had a promising family, but two or three were early +recalled; and in proportion to their affection for these interesting +children, was their grief at the severed links in the chain of earthly +love. The mother, perhaps, felt more keenly than the father, but both +knew they were blessings only lent, and they bowed submissively. + +Beatrice was not heard of for some time, though Ethelind wrote +repeatedly, and named her second girl after her, and some eight or ten +years afterwards a letter came, written by Beatrice as she lay on her +death-bed, to be given to her little namesake on her seventeenth +birth-day. She left her all her jewels and a sum of money, but the +letter was the most valuable bequest, as it pointed out the errors +into which she had fallen, and their sad results. She had, it would +seem, accompanied the friend abroad to whose marriage she had gone, +and had once more marred her own prospects of happiness by her folly, +and once more had she injured the peace of others. Farther she might +have gone on, had she not sickened with the small-pox, of a most +virulent kind; she ultimately recovered; but her transcendent beauty +was gone, and she had now time to reflect on the past. Her affliction +was most salutary, and worked a thorough reformation, which, had her +life been spared, would have shown itself in her conduct. + +Although Ethelind needed it not, it was a lesson to her to be, if +possible, more careful and anxious in the formation of her daughters' +principles as they grew up, and more prayerful that her efforts to +direct their steps aright, might be crowned with success. Her prayers +were heard, and the family proved worthy the care of their excellent +mother. + + + + +LINES, ON SEEING IN A LIST OF NEW MUSIC, "THE WATERLOO WALTZ." + +BY A LADY. + + + A moment pause, ye British fair + While pleasure's phantom ye pursue, + And say, if sprightly dance or air, + Suit with the name of Waterloo? + Awful was the victory, + Chastened should the triumph be; + Midst the laurels she has won, + Britain mourns for many a son. + + Veiled in clouds the morning rose, + Nature seemed to mourn the day, + Which consigned before its close + Thousands to their kindred clay; + How unfit for courtly ball, + Or the giddy festival, + Was the grim and ghastly view, + E're evening closed on Waterloo. + + See the Highland Warrior rushing + Firm in danger on the foe, + Till the life blood warmly gushing + Lays the plaided hero low. + His native, pipe's accustomed sound, + Mid war's infernal concert drowned, + Cannot soothe his last adieu, + Or wake his sleep on Waterloo. + + Charging on, the Cuirassier, + See the foaming charger flying + Trampling in his wild career, + On all alike the dead and dying, + See the bullet through his side, + Answered by the spouting tide, + Helmet, horse and rider too, + Roll on bloody Waterloo. + + Shall scenes like these, the dance inspire; + Or wake th' enlivening notes of mirth, + Oh shivered be the recreant lyre, + That gave the base idea birth; + Other sounds I ween were there, + Other music rent the air, + Other waltz the warriors knew, + When they closed on Waterloo. + + + + +THE BOY OF EGREMONT. + + +The founders of Embsay were now dead, and left a daughter, who adopted +the mother's name of Romille, and was married to William FitzDuncan. +They had issue a son, commonly called the Boy of Egremont, who +surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the family. + +In the deep solitude of the woods, betwixt Bolton and Barden the river +suddenly contracts itself into a rocky channel, little more than four +feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure, with a rapidity +equal to its confinement. This place was then, as it now is, called +the Strid, from a feat often exercised by persons of more agility than +prudence, who stride from brink to brink, regardless of the destruction +which awaits a faltering step. Such, according to tradition, was the +fate of young Romille, who, inconsiderately, bounding over the chasm +with a greyhound in his leash, the animal hung back, and drew his +unfortunate master into the torrent. The Forester, who accompanied +Romille and beheld his fate, returned to the Lady Aaliza, and with +despair in his countenance, enquired, "what is good for bootless +Bene," to which the mother, apprehending some great misfortune, had +befallen her son, instantly replied, "endless sorrow." + +The language of this question is almost unintelligible at present. But +bootless bene, is unavailing prayer; and the meaning, though +imperfectly expressed, seems to have been, what remains when prayer +avails not? + + --_Vide. Whitaker's History of Craven_ + + Lady! what is the fate of those + Whose hopes and joys are failing? + Who, brooding over ceaseless woes, + Finds prayer is unavailing? + The mother heard his maddening tone, + She marked his look of horror; + She thought upon her absent son, + And answered, "endless sorrow." + + How fair that morning star arose! + And bright and cloudless was its ray; + Ah! who could think that evening's close, + Would mark a frantic mother's woes, + And see a father's hopes decay? + + Inhuman Chief! a judgment stern + Hath stopped thee in thy mad career; + And thou, who hast made thousands mourn. + Must shed, thyself, the hopeless tear, + And long, in helpless grief, deplore + Thy only child is now no more. + + Long ere the lark his matin sung, + Clad in his hunting garb of green, + The brave, the noble, and the young, + The Boy of Egremont was seen! + Who in his fair form could not trace, + The youth was born of high degree; + He was the last of Duncan's race, + The only hope of Romille. + + In his bright eye the youthful fire + Was glowing with unwonted brightness; + Warm in friendship, fierce in ire, + Yet spoke of all its bosom's lightness. + His mother marked his brilliant cheek, + And blessed him as he onward past; + Ah! did no boding feeling speak, + To tell that look would be her last. + He held the hound in silken band, + The merlin perched upon his hand, + And frolic, mirth and wayward glee + Glanced in the heart of Romille. + + And oft the huntsman by his side, + Would warn him from the fatal tide, + And whisper in his heedless ear, + To think upon his mother's tear, + Should aught of ill or harm befall + Her child, her hope, her life, her all; + And bade him, for more sakes than one, + The desperate, dangerous leap to shun. + He smiled, and gave the herdsman's prayer. + And all his counsel to the air, + And laughed to see the old man's eye, + Fix'd in imploring agony. + + Where the wild stream's eternal strife, + Wake the dark echoes into life, + Where rudely o'er the rock it gushes, + Lost in its everlasting foam; + And swift the channeled water rushes, + With ceaseless roar and endless storm; + And rugged crags, dark, grey, and high, + Hang fearful o'er the darkened sky; + And o'er the dim and shadowy deep, + Yawning, presents a deathful leap. + The boy has gained that desperate brink, + And not a moment will he think + Of all the hopes, and joys, and fears + That are entwined in his young years. + + The old man stretched his arms in air, + And vainly warned him to forbear: + Oh! stay, my child, in mercy stay, + And mark the dread abyss beneath; + Destruction wings thee on thy way, + And leads thee to an awful death. + + He said no more, for on the air + Rose the deep murmuring of despair; + One shriek of agonizing woe + Broke on his ear, and all was o'er; + For midst the waves' eternal flow, + The boy had sank to rise no more. + + When springing from the dizzy steep, + He winged his way 'twixt earth and sky, + The affrighted hound beheld the deep, + And starting back, he shunned the leap, + And by this fatal check he drew + Death on himself and master too. + + But those wild waves of death and strife + Flowed deeply, wildly as before, + Though he was reft of light and life, + And sunk in death to rise no more. + + And he was gone! his mother's smile + No more shall welcome his return. + Ah! little did she think the while, + Her fate through life would be to mourn! + And his stern sire; how will he brook + The tale that tells his child is low! + How will the haughty tyrant look, + And writhe beneath the hopeless blow! + While conscience, with his vengeance sure, + Shall grant no peace, and feel no cure. + Aye, weep! for thee, no pitying eye + Shall shed the sympathizing tear; + Hopeless and childless shalt thou die, + And none shall mourn above thy bier. + Thy race extinct; no more thy name + Shall proudly swell the lists of fame. + + Thou art the last! with thee shall die + Thy proud descent and lineage high; + No more on Barden's hills shall swell + The mirth inspiring bugle note; + No more o'er mountain, vale and, dell, + Its well known sounds shall wildly float. + Other sounds shall steal along, + Other music swell the song; + The deep funeral wail of wo, + In solemn cadence, now shall spread + Its strains of sorrow, sad and slow, + In requiem dirges for the dead. + + Why has the Lady left her home, + And quitted every earthly care, + And sought, in deep monastic gloom, + The holy balm that centres there? + Oh! ill that Lady's eye could brook + On those deserted scenes to look, + Where she so oft had marked her child, + With all a mother's joy and smiled, + For not a shrub, or tree or flower, + But brought to mind some happy hour, + And called to life some vision fair. + When her young hope stood smiling there. + + But he was gone! and what had she + To do with love, or hope, or pride, + For every feeling, warm and free, + Had left her when young Duncan died; + And she had nought on earth beside. + One single throb was lingering yet, + And that forbade her to forget; + Forget! what spell can calm the soul? + Should memory o'er its pulses roll + Through almost every night of grief, + We still hope for the morrow; + But what to those can bring relief, + Who pine in endless sorrow. + + --EMMA TUCKER. + + + + +LINES WRITTEN ON THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. + + + Sad solitary thought! that keeps thy vigils, + Thy solemn vigils in the sick man's mind; + Communing lonely with his sinking soul, + And musing on the dim obscurity around him! + Thee! rapt in thy dark magnificence, I call + At this still midnight hour, this awful season, + When on my bed in wakeful restlessness, + I turn me, weary: while all around, + All, all, save me, sink in forgetfulness, + I only wake to watch the sickly taper that lights, + Me to my tomb. Yes, 'tis the hand of death + I feel press heavy on my vitals; + Slow sapping the warm current of existence; + My moments now are few! e'en now + I feel the knife, the separating knife, divide + The tender chords that tie my soul + To earth. Yes, I must die, I feel that I _must_ die + And though to me has life been dark and dreary + Though smiling Hope, has lured but to deceive, + And disappointment still pursued its blandishments, + Yet do I feel my soul recoil within me, + As I contemplate the grim gulf,-- + + The shuddering blank, the awful void futurity. + Aye, I had planned full many a sanguine scheme, + Romantic schemes and fraught with loveliness; + And it is hard to feel the hand of death + Arrest one's steps; throw a chill blast + O'er all one's budding hopes, and hurl one's soul + Untimely to the grave, lost in the gaping gulf + Of blank oblivion. Fifty years hence, + And who will think of Henry? ah, none! + Another busy world of beings will start up + In the interim, and none will hold him + In remembrance. I shall sink as sinks + A stranger in the crowded streets of busy London, + A few enquiries, and the crowds pass on, + And all's forgotten. O'er my grassy grave + The men of future times will careless tread + And read my name upon the sculptured stone; + Nor will the sound, familiar with their ears, + Recall my vanished memory. I had hoped + For better things; I hoped I should not leave + This earth without a vestige. Fate decrees + It shall be otherwise, and I submit. + Henceforth, oh, world! no more of thy desires, + No more of hope, that wanton vagrant hope; + Now higher cares engross me, and my tired soul, + With emulative haste, looks to its God, + And prunes its wings for heaven. + + --KIRKE WHITE. + + + + +AN EMBARKATION SCENE. + + +A short time since, I found among other papers, one containing an +account of the embarkation of a few detachments to join their +respective regiments, then engaged in the Burmese war, in India. It +was written almost verbatim, from the description by one, who was not +only an eye witness, but who took an active part in the proceedings of +the morning. As so very many similar and trying scenes are occurring +at the present time, among our devoted countrymen, leaving for the +Crimea, it may not be wholly uninteresting now; as it is founded on +facts, which alas, must be far, very far, out-numbered by parallel +facts and circumstances. + +Having business at Gravesend, I arrived there late at night, and took +a bed at an Inn in one of the thoroughfares of that place; I retired +early to rest, and was awakened in the morning by the sound of martial +music; and ever delighting in the "soul-stirring fife and drum," I +jumped out of bed and found it was troops, about to sail for India; I +therefore, dressed myself and strolled down to the beach to witness +what, to me, was quite a novel sight, the embarkation. + +It was a clear bright morning in June, and the sun was shining in full +splendor, while the calm bosom of the beautiful Thames reflected back +all its dazzling effulgence. The river was studded with shipping, and +to add to the beauty of the scene, two or three East Indiamen had just +anchored there, and as I viewed them majestically riding, I could +easily fancy the various feelings their arrival would create, not only +in the breasts of those who were in these stately barks, but of the +hundreds of expectant friends, who were anxiously awaiting their +return. With how many momentous meetings was that day to be filled. +How many a fond and anxious mother, who had, perhaps, for years, +nightly closed her eyes in praying for a beloved son, was in a few +hours to clasp him to the maternal breast. Here, too, might be +pictured, the husband and father returning, not as he left his wife +and children, in the vigour of health and manhood, but with his cheeks +pallid and his constitution enfeebled by hard service in a tropical +climate. Some few had, doubtless, realized those gorgeous dreams of +affluence and greatness which first tempted them to leave their native +land. I once knew one myself, whose hardy sinews had for nearly sixty +years, braved the fervid heat of the torrid sun; but he returned to +_endure_ life, not to _enjoy_ it. He told me, he had left England at +the early age of fourteen. He had, as it were, out grown his young +friendships. Eastern habits and associations had usurped the place of +those domestic feelings, which his early banishment had not allowed to +take root, we might question if the seeds were even sown in his young +breast, for he was an orphan, with no other patrimony than the +interest of connexions, which procured him a cadetcy in the East India +Company's Service. On his departure, he earned no parent's blessing +for him, no anxious father sighed, no fond indulgent mother wept and +prayed. As I stood musing on the scene, a gentleman, a seeming idler, +like myself, joined me, and after many judicious remarks on what was +passing around, informed me he was there to meet a widowed sister, who +only three years before, had gone out in the very ship in which she +now returned, to join her husband,--the long affianced of her early +choice. For a short period, she had enjoyed all earthly happiness, but +it was only for a brief space; for soon, alas! was she taught in the +school of sorrow, that this world is not our abiding place. + +But the Blue Peter,[1] gently floating in the scarcely perceptible +breeze, betokened the vessel from which it streamed, destined for a +far different purpose. It told not of restoring the fond husband to +his wife, the father to his children, or the lover to his mistress; it +was, in this instance, to sever, for a time, all these endearing ties; +for very soon would the father, the husband, and the lover be borne +many miles on the trackless ocean, far, very far, from all they hold +dear, and some with feelings so deep and true, that for a time, not +all the brilliant prospects of wealth or glory, will restore their +spirits to their wonted tone. + + [1] A flag hoisted always when a ship is preparing to sail. + +There was one detachment which greatly struck me; it consisted of +about one hundred and fifty fine athletic young men, who though only +recruits, were particularly soldier-like in appearance. There was +throughout, a sort of determined firmness in their countenances, which +seemed to say, "Away with private feelings! we go on glory's errand, +and at her imperious bidding, and of her alone we think!" Yet to +fancy's eye, might be read an interesting tale in every face. We might +trace, in all, some scarcely perceptible relaxation of muscle, that +would say, "With the deportment of the _hero_, we have the feelings of +the _man_. One young officer was there, belonging to a different +regiment, who, certainly, seemed to have none of those amiable +weaknesses, none of those home feelings, which characterize the +husband or the father. He had not even pains of the lover to contend +with. Glory was indeed _his_ mistress, the all absorbing ruling +passion of his mind; he dreamt not, talked not of, thought not of +aught, but glory!" + +Panting to distinguish himself with his corps, he would gladly have +annihilated time and space to have reached it, without spending so +many tedious months in making the voyage. Led away by his military +ardor, he thought not of his anxious parents; little recked he of his +mother's sleepless nights, and how her maternal fears would fancy +every breeze a gale, and every gale a storm, while he was subject to +their influence. + +Among those waiting to embark, was one who had just parted from his +wife and children; care and anxiety had set their marks on him. He was +a man of domestic habits, and was now, perhaps, to be severed for +years, from all that gave any charm to life; but the fiat for +separation had gone forth, and was inevitable! Soon would immense +oceans roll between them; their resources, which, while they were +together, were barely sufficient for their wants, were now to be +divided; and the pang of parting, severe enough in itself, was +sharpened by the fear that poverty and privation might overtake them, +ere he could send remittances to his family. + +A post chaise now came in sight, when an officer stepped forward, as +it drove to the water's edge, and assisted a lady to alight from it. +Her eyes were red with weeping and her trembling limbs seemed scarcely +able to support her sinking frame. Her husband, for such I found he +was, who had gone towards the vehicle, showed little less emotion than +herself, which he, however, strove hard to suppress. These were +parents, whom each successive wave would bear still further from their +lovely offspring, towards whom their aching hearts would yearn, long +after their childish tears had ceased to flow. They, poor little +things, knew not the blessings they were about to lose, but their fond +and anxious father and mother could not forget, that they had +consigned them to strangers, who might or who might not be kind to +them, and who had too many under their care, to feel, or even show the +endearing tenderness that marks parental love. + +In regimental costume, also, stood one, quite aloof, and from his +history, (which I afterwards learnt,) I found that his position on the +beach corresponded with that in which he stood in the world--alone; +cared for by none, himself indifferent to all around him; every +kindlier affection had withered in his breast. He was careless whither +he went or what became of him. Yet was he not always so, for he had +known a parent's and a husband's love. His now blighted heart had +often beaten with rapture, as the babe, on which he doted, first +lisped a father's name, taught by a mother, whose smile of affection +was, for years, the sun that gladdened his existence. But these bright +visions of happiness had all flown; that being whom he had so fondly +loved had dishonoured him, and neglected his boy, and on his return, +he found one in the grave, the other living in infamy. + +Among the soldiers, I noticed one, on whom not more than nineteen +summers had shone; nay, less than that. His light and joyous heart +seemed bounding with delight, as he witnessed the busy scene that met +his wondering eyes. An aged woman stood near him, whose blanched and +withered cheek but ill accorded with the cheerful look of her +light-hearted thoughtless son. She took his hand, and sobbed out, "Oh, +George, my poor boy, little thought I to see the day when I should be +thus forsaken; I did hope you would now have staid with me, and been a +comfort in my old days." + +"Hush, hush! grand-mother, the boys are all looking at you. Come, now, +don't be blubbering so foolishly, I shall soon come back again." + +"Come back again, boy! afore that day comes, these poor old bones will +be mouldering in the dust. But God's will be done, and may his +blessings be upon you; I know there must be soldiers, but oh, 'tis +hard, so very hard, to part with one's only child. Oh, after the care +I have taken to bring you up decently, to lose you thus; and how I +worked, day and night, to buy you off before, and yet you listed +again, though a month had not passed over your head. God help me," +said she sighing, "for even this trial could not be without God's +will, for without that, not a sparrow could fell to the ground. But +stay, do wait a bit longer," said she, catching him by the belt, as he +was manifesting a restless impatience to join the busy throng. + +"You will promise to write to me, George, you will not forget that?" + +"Yes, yes, to be sure, mother, I'll write." + +The sergeant now began to call the muster roll, and the poor old +creature's cheek grew whiter still as the lad exclaimed: + +"Now, mother, I must fall into the ranks; good bye, good bye." + +"May God Almighty preserve thee, my child; you may one day be a parent +yourself, and will then know what your poor old grandmother feels this +day." + +The lad had by this time passed muster, and was soon after on board. +The afflicted grand-mother stood, with her eyes transfixed on the +vessel, gazing on her unheeding boy, who, insensible to the agonizing +feelings that rent her breast, felt not one single throe of regret, +his mind being entirely engrossed in contemplating the bright future, +which the sergeant, who enlisted him, had drawn. + +Captain Ormsby, who commanded the detachment, was a man of feeling; he +had particularly noticed the poor woman's distress. + +"Be comforted," said he, "I will watch over the lad, for your sake, +and will try and take him under my immediate charge, and if he behaves +well, I may be able to serve him. I will see that he writes to you." + +"Heaven bless and reward your honour," she exclaimed, "surely you are +a parent yourself. Oh, yes, I knew it," said she, as she saw him wipe +off the starting tear. "May God spare you such a trial as has this day +been my lot." + +"Thank you, thank you, my good woman," said he hardly able to speak. + +She had touched a tender chord, and its vibration shook his very +frame, for he had in the last few days, taken leave of four motherless +girls, pledges of love by a wife whom he had fondly loved, and of whom +he had been suddenly bereaved. Well might he feel for this poor +wretch, for _he_ had known parting in all its bitterness. + +A soldier and his wife stood side by side, apparently ready to embark, +whose looks told unutterable things; they both seemed young, but their +faces betokened the extreme of agony. The name of Patrick Morgan being +called, the distracted wife clung to her husband, uttering the most +piercing and heartrending cries. + +"Sure, and what'll become of me," cried she, "will you then lave me, +Pat, dear, lave your own poor Norah to die, as, sure I will, when you +go in that big ship? Oh, my dear Captain, and where will I go if your +honour isn't plazed to go without him this time? Oh, do forgive me, +but do not, oh, do not, in pity, part us. Sure, an' its your honours +dear self as knows what it is to part from them ye loves; an' so you +thought, when ye tuk lave of the dear childer, t'other day, an' saw +the mother's swate face, God rest her sowl, in the biggest of 'em, for +sure they're like, as two pays in a bushel, only one is little an' +t'other big, barring she's in heaven. Sure, and if your honour's self +had to bid 'em good bye over agin you'd, may be, think how hard it was +for me to stay behind when Pat goes." + +Patrick, who, with national keen-sightedness, saw the internal working +which his wife's home appeal had created, now came forward, and said, +"Oh, yer honour, if as how I dare be so bowld as jist to ax you this +wan'st, to take compassion on us; may be, next time, we could go +together, and if Norah was but wid me, what do I care where I goes. +Here's Jem O'Connor wouldn't mind going in my stead, and he's neither +wife, as I have, nor childer, like your honour to part from." Jem +O'Conner now came forward and testified his readiness to go all the +world over to serve a comrade. + +Words could but poorly convey an idea of the looks of the anxious +couple, as they watched the varying countenance of the Captain. The +situation of the soldier and his wife touched him to the quick, and +the appeal proved irresistible. Jem O'Connor was permitted to go +instead of Pat. Morgan, who, triumphantly led off his wife, both of +them invoking blessings on his head, whose humanity had thus spared +them the pangs of separation. + +I stood, perhaps, twenty minutes musing on the scenes that had just +been passing before me and was returning, to retrace my steps to the +inn breakfast, when I noticed a wretched looking woman, with a baby in +her arms. She was walking very fast, towards the water's edge, where +the boats were still waiting to take the last of the soldiers on board +ship. She had an anxious, nay, a despairing look as she looked around, +as I judged, for the Captain, who was not to be seen. + +Hushing her little one, whose piteous cry would almost have made one +think it was uttered in sympathy with its mother's distress. Casting +one more despairing glance, she was, apparently, about to retrace her +weary steps with a look that completely baffles description, when her +eye fell on a boat returning from the vessel, which that moment neared +the water's edge, and she saw Captain Ormsby jump out. Hastily going +up to him, she exclaimed, in a tone that seemed almost to forbid +comfort. + +"Oh, Sir, I am ashamed to be so troublesome, indeed I am, and I fear +to ask you if I have any chance this time?" + +"Why Kitty, my good girl, had you asked me that question half, nay, a +quarter of an hour ago, I could not have given you any hope, but I can +now put you in place of Timothy Brennan's wife, who has just altered +her mind." + +"Sergeant Browne," cried he, "here is Hewson's wife, who went out in +the 'Boyne.' Do the best you can for her, she can take Hetty Brennan's +place." Joyfully did Kitty Hewson step into the boat, beckoning to a +lad who was holding a small deal box, which he placed beside her; but +she seemed as if she could hardly believe herself about to follow her +husband, till actually on board. + +The worthy Captain was, indeed, to be envied such a disposition to +lessen the aggregate of human misery, by entering into their feelings. +In how very short a space (three hours) had he the power of cheering +the desponding hearts of several fellow creatures, without either +detriment to the service, or swerving, in the least, from his duty. + + + + +THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. + + +This Narrative is supposed to be addressed by an aged Highlander to +his Grandson shortly before the battle of Killiecrankie. + + Come hither, Evan Cameron,-- + Come stand beside my knee; + I hear the river roaring down + Towards the wintry sea. + There's shouting on the mountain side; + There's war within the blast; + Old faces look upon me, + Old forms go riding past. + I hear the pibrock wailing + Amidst the din of fight, + And my dim spirit wakes again + Upon the verge of night. + + 'Twas I, that led the Highland host + Through wild Lochaber's snows, + What time the plaided clans came down + To battle with Montrose. + I've told thee how the South'rons fell + Beneath his broad claymore, + And how he smote the Campbell clan + By Inverlocky's shore. + I've told thee how we swept Dundee + And tamed the Lindsay's pride; + But never have I told thee yet + How the great Marquis died. + + A traitor sold him to his foes: + Oh, deed of deathless shame! + I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet + With one of Assynt's name, + Be it upon the mountain side, + Or yet within the glen, + Stand he in martial gear alone, + Or backed by armed men; + Face him as thou wouldst face a man + That wronged thy sire's renown; + Remember of what blood thou art, + And strike the caitiff down + + They brought him to the watergate + Hard bound, with hempen span. + As though they held a lion there, + And not a 'fenceless man: + They set him high upon a cart, + The hangman rode below, + They drew his hands behind his back + And bared his noble brow. + Then as a hound is slipped from leash + They cheered the common throng, + And blew the note with yell and shout + And bade him pass along. + + It would have made a brave man's heart + Grow sad and sick that day, + To watch the keen malignant eyes + Bent down on that array. + There stood the whig west country lord + In Balcony and Bow; + There sat three gaunt and withered Dames + And daughters in a row, + And every open window + Was full, as full might be, + With black robed covenanting carles, + That goodly sport to see. + + And when he came, so pale and wan + He looked, so great and High, + So noble was his manly front, + So calm his steadfast eye, + The rabble rout, forbore to shout, + And each man held his breath, + For well they knew the hero's soul + Was face to face with death. + And then a mournful shuddering + Through all the people crept, + And some that came to scoff at him + Now turned aside and wept. + + But onward, always onward, + In silence and in gloom, + The dreary pageant labored + Till it reached the house of doom. + Then first a woman's voice was heard + In jeer and laughter loud, + An angry cry and hiss arose, + From the lips of the angry crowd. + Then as the Graeme looked upward + He saw the bitter smile + Of him who sold his king for gold, + The master fiend Argyle. + + The Marquis gazed a moment + And nothing did he say; + But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale, + And he turned his eyes away. + The painted frail one by his side, + She shook through every limb, + For warlike thunder swept the streets, + And hands were clenched at him, + And a Saxon soldier cried, aloud, + Back coward, from thy place! + For seven long years thou hast not dared + To look him in the face! + + Had I been there with sword in hand + And fifty Cameron's by, + That day, through high Dunadin's streets, + Had pealed the Slogan cry + Not all their troops of trampling horse, + Nor might of mailed men; + Nor all the rebels of the South + Had borne us backward then. + Once more his, foot on highland heath + Had trod, as free as air, + Or I and all who bore my name, + Been laid around him there. + + It might not be! they placed him next, + Within the solemn hall, + Where once the Scottish kings were throned + Amidst their nobles all. + But there was dust of vulgar feet + On that polluted floor + And perjured traitors filled the place, + Where good men sat before. + With savage glee came there, + To read the murderous doom + And then up rose the great Montrose + In the middle of the room,-- + + Now by my faith as belted knight, + And by the name I bear, + And by the bright St. Andrew's Cross, + That waves above us there; + Yea, by a greater mightier oath, + And oh! that such should be-- + By that dark stream of royal blood, + That lies 'twixt you and me, + I have not sought in battle field + A wreath of such renown, + Or dared to hope my dying day + Would win a martyr's crown. + + There is a chamber far away, + Where sleeps the good and brave + But a better place ye have named for me + Than by my fathers grave, + For truth and right 'gainst treason's might + This hand has always striven, + And ye raise it up for a witness still + For the eye of earth and heaven. + Then nail my heart on yonder tower, + Give every town a limb + And God who made, shall gather them;-- + I go from you to him! + + The morning dawned full darkly, + The rain came flashing down + And the forky streak of lightning's bolt, + Lit up the gloomy town. + The thunders' crashed across the heaven, + The fatal hour was come; + Yet aye broke in with muffled beat + The 'larum of the drum: + There was madness on the earth below, + And anger in the sky, + And young and old and rich and poor + Came forth to see him die. + + Oh God! that ghastly gibbet, + How dismal 't is to see, + The great spectral skeleton-- + The ladder and the tree. + Hark! hark! the clash of arms + The bells begin to toll,-- + He is coming! He is coming! + God have mercy on his soul! + One last long peal of thunder,-- + The clouds are cleared away + And the glorious sun once more look'd down + Upon the dazzling day. + + He is coming! he is coming!-- + Like a bridegroom from his room, + Came the hero, from his prison + To the scaffold and the doom. + There was glory on his forehead,-- + There was lustre in his eye, + And he never walked to battle + More proudly than to'die. + There was colour in _his_ visage, + Though the cheeks of all were wan, + And they marvelled as he passed them, + That great and goodly man. + + He mounted up the scaffold, + And he turned him to the crowd; + But they dared not trust the people, + So he might not speak aloud. + But he look'd up toward heaven, + And it all was clear and blue, + And in the liquid ether + The eye of God shone through. + Yet a black and murky battlement + Lay resting on the hill, + As though the thunder slept therein, + All else was calm and still. + + Then radiant and serene he rose, + And cast his cloak away; + For he had taken his latest look + Of earth and sun and day. + + A beam of light fell o'er him, + Like a glory round the shriven, + And he climbed the lofty ladder, + As it were a path to heaven. + Then came a flash from out the cloud, + And a stunning thunder's roll, + And no man dared to look aloft, + Fear was on every soul. + There was another heavy sound, + A hush!--and then--a groan, + And darkness swept across the sky,-- + The work of death was done! + + + + +A GHOST STORY, FOR THE YOUNG. + + +MY DEAR CHARLES-- + +When I promised to write to you during the holidays, I little thought +I should have so much to put in my letter. I actually fancied it would +be difficult to find enough to fill one sheet; and now I do really +believe two will not be sufficient for all I have to say: but to +commence my story, which you must know, is a real Ghost Story! But to +begin:-- + +While we were at breakfast the other morning, papa showed mamma an +advertisement in the "Times" newspaper, remarking, at the same time, +that it appeared just the thing he had long wanted; and that he would +go to the Solicitor's and make enquiries, and if it seemed still +eligible, would go immediately and see about it. Upon asking what it +was; + +I was told it was an estate in South Wales to be disposed of; on which +was a large commodious dwelling house, which at a trifling expence, +might be converted into a family mansion. It commanded, the paper +said, a picturesque view, with plenty of shooting and fishing.--It +further stated, that on one part of the grounds, were the ruins of a +castle, and a great deal more, in its favor, but you know the glowing +descriptions with which these great London auctioneers always set off +any property they have to dispose of. + +Papa had every reason to be satisfied, that it was what he desired; so +it was settled he should start by railway that very evening. And you +may judge how delighted I was when he asked if I should like to +accompany him. You may be sure I did not refuse; so we got ready, and +started by the eight o'clock train. + +We travelled all night and arrived at our destination about four next +day. Papa thought I should sleep during the night, but I found it +impossible, for a gentleman, whom we met in the cars, knew the place, +and said so much in favour of it, that I could think of nothing else, +but he admitted there was a drawback, and that a great prejudice +existed against it, which caused no little difficulty in the disposal +of. It was reported to be haunted, and one or two people, who had +bought it, had actually paid money to get off the bargain. Of course, +hearing this, my mind dwelt much on it, though I said nothing, lest I +might be suspected of being afraid. Now, you know, it is not a little, +frightens me at school, but I was greatly puzzled at all I heard, and +determined I would rally my courage. After dinner, we strolled out to +take a look at the proposed purchase. Papa was very much pleased with +all he saw. House, grounds, and prospect were, he said, all he could +wish, and not even the report of a ghost, did he consider, any +disadvantage, but quite the contrary, as he certainly would never else +be able to buy it for double the sum they now asked for it. + +By the time we got back to the inn, Mrs. Davis, our landlady, had +learnt the purport of our visit, and we, consequently, found her in +great consternation. We had hardly entered, than she exclaimed:-- + +"Why surely, Sir, you are not going to buy Castle Hill? Why it is +haunted, as sure as my name is Peggy Davis!" + +"Well, my dear madam," said Papa, "haunted or not, such is my present +intention." + +"Why, sir, nobody can live there. Don't you know there's a ghost seen +there every night." + +"Oh," replied papa, "we shall soon, I think, send the ghost off +packing." + +"Send a ghost off packing! really, sir, you must pardon me, but you +are a strange gentleman. Dear! dear! why do you know that four or five +have tried to live there and couldn't, for the ghost wouldn't let 'em. +You may laugh, but it's a real truth, that it drove every mother's son +away; yes not one of them could stay." + +"Well, my good Mrs. Davis, we shall soon see whether I can or not; at +any rate I shall try." + +"Well you certainly are a stout-hearted gentleman, and you must please +remember, whatever comes of it, I warned you. Why, there was James +Reece, a bold reckless fellow and a very wicked one into the bargain, +who feared nothing nor nobody, agreed, for five pounds to stay the +night, and was never heard of any more, and some go so far as to say, +his ghost has been seen alongside the others once or twice." + +"The others," repeated papa, "why you don't mean to say there is more +than one?" + +"Yes, sure sir, two or three; but 'tis no use telling you, for I +really think you are unbelieving as a Jew," and away trotted the old +dame, talking to herself as fast as she chatted to papa. + +The next morning, after another ineffectual effort from Mrs. Davis, to +persuade him to give it up, papa went and concluded, what appeared to +him, an excellent bargain, with the lawyer, who was too anxious to +serve his employer, not to try and make light of the reports, and not +only this, but to fix papa so, that he could not possibly retract. + +He came to the Inn and dined with us. Poor Mrs. Davis appeared rather +in awe of him; as she never spoke a word, but as she came in and out +with different things, she gave papa some very significant looks; but +always behind Mr. Crawford's back. No sooner had that gentleman left +us, than papa told me, he had made up his mind to take possession of +his new purchase, by passing the night in the haunted house. + +Charles you are my most intimate friend; and therefore, I may open my +heart to you, and tell you honestly, (but mind, not a word to the other +boys, when we get back to school) that my heart began to fail me; I +know it ought not, for I had been taught better things, and should not +have suffered myself to have been influenced, by an ignorant old +woman. + +There was a bedstead left in one of the rooms, put up by a gentleman +who had nearly bought the place, and who, hearing such dreadful +stories, determined to try and pass a night there, ere he finally +closed:--but people said he heard such strange noises, and saw such +odd sights, that he ran away and never returned; the bed and bedding +had, the country people believed, all vanished at the bidding of the +ghost; indeed, some scrupled not to say, that he had himself been +spirited away. Papa said when _he_ heard it, that most likely he was +ashamed of his cowardice, and that this prevented his going again to +the village. + +Papa sent for Mr. Davis, or Griffy Davis, as his wife was pleased to +call him; but the old body herself came, and entreated of papa not to +try and entice him to accompany us; for it seems that papa's cool and +determined manner had made a great impression on Griffy, who, perhaps, +got more sceptical on these matters, on account of it. Mrs. Davis was +so importunate on the subject, that she obtained the desired +assurance, viz., that Griffeth Davis should not be directly or +indirectly tempted to encounter the ghost or ghosts, as the case might +be. The old man soon came, and you would have laughed to see the old +dame's rubicond face, with her large grey eyes, peering over his +shoulder; for, notwithstanding; the promise given, she had some doubts +that he might be induced to try his prowess in the haunted chamber. +Papa asked him if he knew any strong bodied young man whom a good sum +of money would induce to accompany him and stay the night. Griffy +scratched his head, and pondered some short time; till at length, he +said he knew, but one at all likely; they were he said all so plaguey +timerous, or timmersome I believe was the word; but he thought Davy +Evans might go if well paid, if he were certain papa would remain too; +but another doubt was started; Davy had talked of taking some cattle +to a fair some miles off, and might be gone: however, it turned out, +that he was on hand, and agreeable to go, with the understanding, that +he was to have his money, even if papa was conquered by the ghost, or +had to run for his ghostship. This was soon obviated; by papa's +depositing the money in Mrs. Davis' hands; an arrangement that seemed +to give great satisfaction to Davy. The next difficulty was the +bedding necessary, this, as Mrs. Davis never expected to see it again, +had to be paid for. Davy Evans, seemed a stout stalwart fellow, who +had rather a good countenance. Papa who had put the same question +before; again asked, "if he were sure he was not afraid." + +"Oh no, sir," said Davy, "not a bit, thank God, I never intentionally +harmed man, woman, or child, or wronged them, that I of, in any way, +and therefore, I may trust in Providence, go wherever I will, and I +certainly ain't afraid of the ghosts up there." + +"But your courage may fail you, my friend, at the last." + +"There's nothing like trying, sir, I haven't been in these parts long; +and I know there's strange noises to be heard, but then a little noise +breaks no bones and can't hurt me; and as to a ghost, why, seeing its +made of air, that can't do much mischief either, especially to flesh +and blood, can it now?" + +"Well, my friend, we'll try the question, however, very soon," said my +father. + +I must own, Charles, I again began to feel a little queer, and I think +papa noticed it, for he told me to please myself as to going with him +or staying at the inn. I was nervous, though I felt sure nothing could +really harm me, and then, I recollected, I should always repent, if my +courage failed me, so I said boldly out, + +"I shall certainly go with you, papa." + +"Very well, my son, but even now, if you had rather stay behind, I do +promise not to reflect on you afterwards, therefore, act just as your +feelings prompt you. I am, myself, so fully persuaded that not +anything supernatural can or will harm us, that I am determined to +find out what can have led to such extraordinary reports." + +"But papa, do you not think ghosts are sometimes to be seen?" + +"Frederic," said he, "I will not pretend to say what a guilty +conscience or over-heated imagination may have conjured up and +fancied, but as I have neither, I do not expect to see anything +supernatural; but, as I said before, having heard so much about the +mysteries of this place, I think, that even had I not made the +purchase, I should like to find them out." + +"But if you see the ghost, papa, will you then believe in such +things?" + +"Wait till, to-morrow, Fred; these are silly suppositions for a +religious well educated boy to make, from whom far better things might +be expected. Now, only reflect a moment, and then ask yourself what +good can these appearances do." + +I really now began to be quite ashamed of myself, and thought I was +not only foolish, but wicked, in giving credence to the superstitious +nonsense I had heard. + +Mrs. Davis now coming in with some things papa had ordered to take +with him; again ventured to say she hoped he would not repent going to +Castle Hill, adding she would pay every attention to the young +gentleman, meaning myself, in his absence. + +"If I am not mistaken, he would rather accompany me Mrs. Davis, he has +been early taught to fear nothing but acting wickedly; and I feel very +sure be will not shrink from passing the night where I do; however he +can please himself." + +Mrs. Davis actually looked aghast! and though I again expressed my +readiness and determination to go, I own I was a _little, a very +little_ afraid. + +"Well, it must be as you please, I see you are a gentleman not very +soon turned, when you make up your mind to do a thing." + +"What time may we expect, this said ghost to visit us. When does it +usually appear?" + +"Why, Sir, generally they say from twelve till two; well you may +smile," said she seeing papa unable to control his features, "but its +not once I have warned you, nor twice either." + +"You have done so" said papa "and I feel certainly much obliged by +your kind intentions. I always heard the Welsh were superstitious; but +could not have believed they carried it to such an extent as you do in +this neighbourhood." + +"It may be so; but you are so very unbelieving. May be you don't +believe in corpse candles." + +"Oh yes, when they're lighted I do." + +"And ain't they always lighted." + +"What do you mean," said papa, "are they not the lights you burn +during the night, while a dead body lies unburied." + +"Bless your innocent heart! No. The corpse candies, are seen burning +and moving of themselves, afore people die; coming down the roads from +the houses they live in as a warning." + +"A warning for what my dear Mrs. Davis? what earthly purpose can they +answer? have we not warning enough in the daily events of our lives to +impress us with the instability of life, and yet how rarely does death +find us prepared." + +"Well, well; you may be as unbelieving as you like, and talk as you +will: I shall always believe when I see a corpse candle, there'll be a +death but just wait till you pass one night in Castle Hill; may be +you'll tell a different story then!" + +"The long and the short of the matter, Mrs. Davis is this, I liked the +property, and have bought it; and am determined to reside in it if +God, spares my life. As to the ghost or ghosts, I am well persuaded +that, although some natural causes may render the house and premises +untenable; supernatural ones I am sure have nothing to do with it." + +Time passed on and the clock struck eight; the hour fixed on, to leave +the inn, for Castle Hill: when papa brought a large trunk and basket, +which he had tried to fix on Davy's shoulders; but strong as he was, +he was unable to carry them both, he therefore got a wheel barrow, for +the trunk; while papa and I carried the basket between us, and off we +started. A great concourse of people were at the door; many of whom +accompanied us to the foot of the hill, and there left us. + +We went in and took up our quarters in the room, in which was the +bedstead and which was considered to be the most constant rendezvous +of the ghost. Davy lighted a good fire and found a table and three +chairs one of which however proved rickety, so Davy had to seat +himself on the trunk. To our surprise we found the bedstead not in the +same place in which we saw it in the morning. This rather, at least so +I thought, astonished papa; however he made no comment on the +circumstance. + +Papa had taken care to bring a good supper; He also brought a large +pair of pistols, and we had a blunderbuss, the latter, the property of +our friend Davy. These with a sword he arranged to his own +satisfaction under the pillow, and in about an hour, we sat down to a +good and substantial supper. Davy offered to replace what was left in +the basket but papa jokingly told him to leave it for the ghost. We +now sat for nearly an hour and a half, and except some occasional out +burst of merriment, as Davy told us some droll things, about the +ghost, which were current in the village, we were as still as we well +could be. + +At last I got very sleepy, as well I might, for it was nearly twelve +o'clock. Papa made me lie down and said he thought he would do so +himself; not thinking he said, it was necessary to shew so much +courtesy to the ghost, as wait for it. We did not undress. Davy fixed +himself before the, fire and soon gave proof, that he was asleep, by +snoring most loudly. + +Mind my dear Charles, in giving you this account, that papa told me +about it afterwards; for I had fallen asleep too. + +Till five minutes to twelve all was quiet as the grave, and then +commenced the slamming of the doors and knockings, and thumpings, as +if done with the instrument the paviours use to beat down the stones +they pave with. This continued some minutes, and then the door +gradually opened, and a female, tall and thin, entered, dressed in an +old fashioned yellow brocade, with a sweeping train. Over her head was +thrown an immense gauze veil; her features were sharp and she was very +pale. She paused as she entered, and advancing half way from the door +to the bed she again made a full stop, upon which papa rose up and sat +on the bed, when she threw out her arms, exclaiming: + +"Impious and daring mortal; why presumest thou to intrude here, where +none like thee are permitted to come? Of all those who have attempted +it. None have ever been left to tell the tale!" + +"Indeed!" said my father advancing towards her. "I trust you will make +me an exception, however." + +"Hold!" said she "nor dare come nigh to one, whose nature is so +different to thine own." + +"Aye!" said my father "who then and what art thou?" + +"Not flesh and blood as thou art; again I ask, rash mortal, why are +_thou_ here?" + +"I remained this night, madam, in the hopes of meeting you, that I +might inform you that having purchased this property, I purpose +residing on it, at least six months of the year, consequently, I must +request you and your friends, supernatural or human, to quit the place +altogether." + +"Many before," said she, "have tried, but vainly, to retain possession +and to attempt it would be fatal." + +"Enough," said my father drawing a pistol from a belt under his coat, +"if you are really of a spiritual nature, my weapon will be harmless, +if you are not, the consequences be upon your own head." As he spoke +he pointed the pistol at her heart. With a courage worthy a better +cause, she darted by him and tried one or two of the wainscot panels +as if seeking a private spring, which Davy who, was fully awake by +this time perceiving, sprang up, and caught hold of her, grasping her +tightly; she wrestled with him with the strength of a lioness, and but +for papa's help, she must have escaped; he now fired the pistol at the +wainscot, to show her it really contained a slug, which he thought she +might doubt, and taking the fellow instrument from his pocket, told +her it was loaded like the other and that, unless she that moment +really and truly confessed who and what she was, and by whom employed, +her hours were numbered. + +Trembling and almost gasping for breath, she fell on her knees and +implored mercy. + +"It can be shown," said my father "only on one condition, a full +confession of every thing connected with your being here." + +"But," faltered she, "if I do shall I be given up to _them_ and they +will surely kill me if I am." + +"Tell the truth," said my father, "and if, as I judge from your last +words; you are the tool of others, you shall be protected, and if +deserving, or even repentant, shall be cared for: but stay," said he, +pouring out a glass of wine, "you are greatly agitated, take this and +then sit down. Now, if you will tell the truth, you may dismiss your +fears, and by making the only reparation in your power, a full +disclosure, you may also make a friend of me." + +"Indeed Sir I will, for I feel sure you will keep your word." + +"You see before you one, who till the last few years, knew not the +ways of sin. I was carefully and tenderly brought up some miles from +here; but forming an acquaintance with a young man, I married him +against the wishes of my parents. I soon found out he was a smuggler, +for he brought me to these parts, where I have been compelled to act +the character you saw this evening, to prevent any body buying the +place, it being so near the sea and having a passage under ground it +just suited for the purpose. The gang consists of six men who are all +but one gone out with a boat to fetch a cargo; the moon sets about +half past three, when they will bring it in. Had you been here last +night they were all in the cave." + +"Would you like to return to the paths of duty and virtue?" asked my +father. + +"Oh yes Sir, but how can I, who will now look on me, how can I leave +one, who though so wicked and I fear hardened in wickedness is still +very dear to me?" + +"Only purpose to do rightly," said my father, and God will surely open +a way for you. All you have to do, is to pray to and trust in him." + +"Oh Sir that is what my poor old father would say, that is just how he +used to talk to me;" and she fell to crying bitterly. + +"Is he still living?" + +"He is Sir, for a letter I wrote begging his forgiveness, was returned +to a neighbouring post-office, only the other day." + +Papa then insisted on her taking some more refreshment, and looking at +his watch perceived it was nearly one o'clock: much was to be done, +ere the smugglers returned. The woman informed him that only one then +remained who ought to have been on the watch, to light a beacon +prepared in case of any danger, but that there was so little fear of +any thing of the kind, that he had freely indulged in spirits, of +which there were plenty in the cave and was now fast asleep, in a +state of intoxication, consequently, could be secured without any +difficulty. She accompanied papa and Davy to the bed, but on reaching +it started back with horror, and would have fallen, had not the latter +caught her; for the wretched being that lay before them, was her +husband who had returned wounded and from the state of exhaustion he +was in, it appeared dangerously so. She was alarmed, and both papa and +Davy were so too, least the man they expected to find had escaped, and +given the alarm; but it was not the case; for at a little distance, +they found him lying on the ground, so completely under the influence +of drink, that he was easily secured. Papa now concluded it better to +light the beacon, particularly when he learnt that doing so would +deter the smugglers from running their cargo, till another signal was +given. The poor creature entreated that something might be done for +her husband, and papa much moved by her distress, told her a surgeon +should be sent for, but that he did not consider it safe for either +Davy Evans or himself to remain alone. She then pointed to a door +which contained the arms and ammunition of the gang, in case of being +discovered. He secured the key of this, and then despatched Davy to +the village, who soon roused Griffy Davis to whom he triumphantly +announced the capture of the ghost, and speedily returned with several +of the villagers, whom he assured should be well rewarded from the +spoils of the smugglers. The latter soon after seeing the light +announcing danger sent a secret emissary, who finding all was +discovered, returned to the others, who immediately left the country; +and although a strict search has been made, no tidings have yet been +heard of them, and it is supposed they have flown to foreign parts. + +It was ludicrous to see and hear Mrs. Davis, she thought papa an +extraordinary man before, but now, she knew not how to express her +admiration of his courage and discernment even I, fell in for a share +of her praises. "Who could," she said "have thought it!" indeed, every +one seemed surprised, and wondered they never suspected the truth, as +papa did, but I must leave all their surmises and curious remarks till +we meet, only telling you, Jenkins the wounded man lived long enough +to testify sincere repentance and poor Mary his wife, was restored to +her parents through the intercession of papa who thinks she will +now-become a respectable character. The man who was taken, was +doubtless more guilty than could be proved, however he was found +sufficiently so, to be sent to hard labour for three months in the +neighbouring Penitentiary. He proved to be the identical Jamie Reece, +who was said to have been spirited away by the ghost, but who, in +fact, joined the gang which had just lost one of their number. + +An immense quantity of contraband goods were found secreted. + +I must now conclude this voluminous epistle and trust we shall soon +meet, when I have a great deal more to say. And next summer you will I +hope be able to come spend a month here. + +I remain, my dear Charles, + +Yours sincerely, + +FRED. GRAYSON. + + + + +LORD BYRON. + + + A man of rank and of capacious soul, + Who riches had, and fame beyond desire, + An heir to flattery, to titles born, + And reputation and luxurious life; + Yet not content with his ancestral name, + Or to be known, because his fathers were, + He, on this height hereditary, stood, + And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart + To take another step. Above him, seemed + Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat + Of canonized bards; and thitherward, + By nature taught, and native melody, + In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye. + No cost was spared--what books he wished, he read; + What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see + He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days + Britannia's mountain walks and heath girt lakes, + And story telling glens, and founts, and brooks, + And maids as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul, + With grandeur filled, and melody, and love. + Then travel came and took him where he wished; + He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp, + And mused alone on ancient mountain brows, + And mused on battle fields, where valor fought + In other days: and mused on men, grey + With years: and drank from old and fabulous wells, + And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked; + And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave + Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste, + The heavens and earth of every country; saw + Where'er the old inspiring genii dwelt, + Aught that could expand, refine the soul, + Thither he went, and meditated there. + He touched his harp and nations heard, entranced, + As some vast river of unfailing source. + Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed + And ope'd new fountains in the human heart + Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, + In other men, _his_ fresh as morning rose, + And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home + Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great, + Beneath their arguments seemed struggling, while + He from above descending, stopped to touch + The loftiest thought, and proudly stooped as though + It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self + He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest + At will, with all her glorious Majesty; + He laid his hand upon "the ocean's wave," + And played familiar with his hoary locks; + Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, + And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend, + And wove his garland of the light'ning's wing, + In sportive twist;--the light'ning's fiery wing, + Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, + Marching up the storm in vengeance, seemed + Then turned: and with the grasshopper, who song + His evening song beneath his feet, conversed, + Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters were, + Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms, + His brothers; younger brothers, whom he scarce + As equals deemed. All passions of all men, + The wild, the same, the gentle, the severe; + All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane, + All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity: + All that was hated, and all that was dear, + All that was hoped, all that was feared by man, + He tossed about as tempest withered leaves. + Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made. + With terror now he froze the cowering blood, + And now dissolved the heart in tenderness, + Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself, + But back into his soul retired, alone. + Dark sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously + On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet, + So ocean from the plains, his waves had late + To desolation swept, retired in pride, + Exulting in the glory of his might, + And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought, + As some fierce comet of tremendous size, + To which the stars did reverence as it passed, + So he, through learning and through fancy took + His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top + Of fame's dread mountain sat. Not soiled and worn + As if he from the earth had labored up, + But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair + He looked, which down from higher regions came, + And perched it there to see what lay beneath. + The nations gazed and wondered much and praised; + Critics before him fell in humble plight, + Confounded fell and made debasing signs + To catch his eye; and stretched, and swelled themselves + To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words + Of admiration vast: and many, too + Many, that aimed to imitate his flight, + With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made, + And gave abundant sport to after days. + + Great man! the nations gazed and wondered much, + And praised and many called his evil good. + Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness; + And kings to do him honor took delight: + Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame, + Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full; + He died!--he died of what? of wretchedness! + Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump + Of fame; drank early, deeply drank, drank draughts + That millions might have quenched, then died + Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. + His goddess, nature, woo'd, embrac'd, enjoy'd; + Fell from his arms abhorred! + + + + +SELF-RELIANCE. + + +"Well, my dear Miss Willoughby, how is your mother this morning," said +a venerable looking clergyman as he pressed the hand of a fair young +girl, apparently, not more than eighteen. Her face was pale with +watching, and her eyes were red with weeping, and though she seemed in +deep distress, there was a subdued and resigned manner about her, as +she replied: + +"Not any better, sir, I fear; she has had a very bad night, her cough +has been so very troublesome." Saying this, she opened a door which +led to an inner apartment, into which Mr. Montgomery entered, and +approached the bed, followed by the afflicted daughter, who now tried +to assume a composure of manner, very foreign to her feelings, as +faintly smiling, she exclaimed, "Here, dear mamma, is our kind friend +again." The poor sufferer looked anxiously at him. Her attenuated +frame and sharpened features told the sad tale, that consumption had +done its work, and the hand of death was upon her. + +"Well, my dear madam," said the good pastor, "I will not ask if you +are better; I will only hope the same spirit of resignation to the +Divine Will fills your mind as when I left you, yesterday. Remember in +_whom_ you trust, and for _whom_. There are never-failing promises +recorded there," pointing to a Bible that lay on the bed, "and thrice +happy are they who can rely on them in affliction's hour. I have read +them to you, and your own eye, you tell me, has often rested on them; +you have only, therefore, to 'commit your way unto the Lord, and he +shall bring it to pass.'" + +"Oh, yes," replied the suffering woman, in a feeble tone, "I know it +all; I know He is able and willing to take care of my hapless +children. I _can_ and _do_ trust them to Him; feeling sure He will +more than supply the place of the only parent left them; but, oh, my +dear sir, convinced, as I am, of all this, it is, nevertheless, hard +to leave them; may He forgive my weakness; but human nature is such, +that--" here she paused from exhaustion. + +"It is, my dear madam, meant that we should do so; and trial would +lose the object for which it is sent, did we not feel its bitterness; +but you must try, and rejoice that you are allowed to manifest both +faith and hope, under so severe and trying a dispensation. Let me +entreat you to remember the many instances recorded in scripture, +where answer has been given from on high to the prayers of those who +can faithfully cling to them." But while the worthy man strove to lead +the sufferer beyond this sublunary sphere, his heart bled for the poor +children she was leaving. The first blow she received, was the sudden +news of her husband's death in the Crimea, which came to her ears so +abruptly, that her nerves received a shock, from which she did not +rally for months. This was followed by a letter, informing her that +some property which had been left to her a few months previous to +Captain Willoughby's departure, had been claimed by a distant branch +of the family, as heir at law, the testamentary document being found +invalid. These circumstances, joined to delicate health, following +each other so quickly, proved too much for feeble nature, and she sunk +under them. + +Her excellent daughter, whose fragile form seemed little calculated to +breast the storms of adversity that now threatened her, was unwearied +in attention to her dying parent. She saw there were heavy trials +before her, and knew they could not be averted, though she could not +tell how she was to meet them; but there was a trusting feeling in her +young heart, that must ever be inseparable from a trust in God's +over-ruling providence; and as she sat through the long nights, +watching by her mother's bed, a thousand vague shadows of the future +flitted before her, and many schemes offered themselves to her mind; +she tried to drive them off, for it seemed to her sinful. She durst +not _think_, but she could _pray_; and she did so; and oh! the +eloquence of that simple trusting prayer, that her God would protect +and bless her and the two young beings, whose sole dependance she was +soon to be. How widely changed was her position in a few short months! +The petted, and almost idolized child of doting parents, whose every +wish had been anticipated, must now soon exert herself to support her +orphan brother and sister. + +Mrs. Willoughby, as is often the case with those suffering from +pulmonary affection, went off very suddenly; and now was every +threatened evil likely to burst on poor Helen's devoted head; but +though weak in the flesh, she was strong in faith. Relying, as she had +been early led to do, on her God, she seemed to rise with fresh energy +under accumulated trials. She soothed and kissed the weeping children +by turns, but their grief was so violent, they refused to be +comforted. + +The night her mother was consigned to the grave, was indeed a trying +one to Helen. The good clergyman, who had gone back to the house after +the funeral, now knelt in prayer with the bereaved ones, and +commending them to the care of their Heavenly Father, took leave, +promising to be with them early next day. + +"Farewell, my child," said he, to Helen, "fear not for the future, for +it is a merciful and loving God who lays his rod upon you; and though +the clouds of darkness loom heavily around you, with Him nothing is +impossible; and He could, in one moment, disperse them, if it were +better for you. May you be purified by the affliction He sends. Good +night, once more, and remember that not a sparrow falls to the ground +unheeded by Him who made it." + +How was it that this feeble child of affliction, went to bed that +night in some degree composed? For every earthly hope seemed blighted. +Her parents, one by one were re-called; her little patrimony taken +away; and she and the little ones left almost friendless. Was it to +make her the better feel where she could and must place her sole +dependance? Doubtless it was. Oh! ye happy sons and daughters of +prosperity, do you read this description, which many an afflicted one +is now realizing, with apathy? Do ye regard it as an over-wrought +scene of trial? Believe me it is no such thing. While you are +surrounded by every earthly comfort, I will say by every earthly +luxury; lolling, perhaps, on your sofas, or in your easy chairs, your +cup filled to overflowing with every blessing, hundreds of your fellow +creatures, young as you, are suffering privations, you hardly like to +_think_ of, but which they, alas! have _to bear_. + +Helen rose early, refreshed by a long sleep, brought on by many nights +of broken rest. She kissed the tears off her sleeping brother and +sister's cheeks, and having recommended herself and them to God, +proceeded to commence the arduous duties that now devolved on her. +When Mr. Montgomery came, he found her doing that which he was about +to suggest, viz., preparing for an immediate sale of the furniture, by +taking an inventory, while the faithful servant was busily employed +cleaning the house, for which a tenant was luckily found. The two +young ones were doing their best to aid their sister. Mr. Montgomery +wished them sent to the vicarage, but Helen would not hear of it till +the day of, or after the sale. Well has it been said, that God tempers +the wind to the shorn lamb; and so did she find it; for on applying, +through Mr. Montgomery, to a neighbouring auctioneer, he, +gratuitously, attended, and did all in his power to dispose of the +things to advantage. Mr. Willoughby had taken the house on coming into +possession of the property and furnished it throughout, so that being +in good order, most of the furniture fetched a fair price. The day +after Mrs. Willoughby died Mr. Montgomery had written to a sister of +his, who lived twenty miles off, to enquire for a small house, should +there be such in her neighbourhood. She sent word there was a cottage +in the suburbs, which she thought would just suit, and, therefore, had +taken it for one year certain, it being a very moderate rent. Although +greater part of the things sold, had obtained a fair price, there were +several useful articles that would have gone for little, and but for +the good clergyman, have been completely sacrificed, these he bought +in; among them was a large carpet and the piano; he thought they +might, if the money were needed, be privately and more advantageously +disposed of. The funeral expenses were, comparatively, small; for +although Helen desired to pay every respect to her mother's memory, +Mr. Montgomery convinced her it was an imperative duty on her, to +avoid unnecessary expenditure, as she knew not what calls might yet be +made on her resources. It next became a consideration how the things +reserved from the sale, could be got, with the least expense, to their +new place of residence; but Nancy who was present said there was a +distant relative of hers, a farmer, who volunteered to take them in +his large waggon, which he said, by starting at midnight, could be +accomplished in one day, and as it was anything but a busy time, he +could do it with little loss; added to which, he expressed himself +right glad to be able to serve a young lady, who, with her mother, had +been so uncommonly kind to his only parent, during a long illness. +When did a good action ever lose its reward? Helen thankfully accepted +Mr. Montgomery's kind offer of taking the young ones to stay with him +till she was settled in their new abode, but Henry would not hear of +it; he insisted on remaining with his sister and doing all he could to +help her. So that not liking to leave Fanny alone, it was agreed they +both should accompany her. She was not sorry for this, as she thought +the bustle and novelty would divert their minds from their sorrow; for +herself, so much was required of her, both to think and to do, that +she had no time to dwell on the desolation of her position. + +I must not here forget to state, that, though only eighteen, Helen had +experienced other troubles than those which now bowed her down; and +they were such as the youthful mind ever feels most keenly. She had, +with the sanction of her parents, been engaged to Edward Cranston; he +was himself considered unexceptionable, and the match was thought a +very eligible one; he was five years Helen's senior, and had just +entered the practice of the law, with every prospect of being called +to the bar. He was first attracted by her beauty and afterwards won by +her amiable and pleasing manner. Idolized by his own family, where she +first met him, and unremitting in his attention to herself, she soon +felt attached, and, confidingly, plighted her troth, and all seemed +the _couleur de rose_. His stay was some time prolonged, but he had, +at length, to leave; it was a hard struggle to him to part from her; +and he did not do so without many promises of fidelity. To see him +leave her, was the first trial she knew. The pang was severe; but his +devotion was such, that she doubted not his faith, and most +indignantly would she have repudiated the idea that his love for her +could lessen; but his disposition was naturally volatile, and once +away from her, and within the blandishments of other beauty, he could +not resist its power. He became enslaved by the fascinations of +another, and poor Helen was almost forgotten. Painfully did the +conviction force itself upon her, as his letters became first, less +frequent, and then less affectionate. Love is generally quicksighted; +but Helen's own heart was so pure, and so devoted, that it was hard to +believe she was no longer beloved. Hers was, indeed, a delicate +position. She noticed the alteration in Edward Cranston's style of +writing, and fancied it proceeded from any cause but diminution of +regard for her; that, she thought, could not be possible; but soon, +alas! did she learn, the (to her) sad truth, that her affianced lover +was devoted to another, a most beautiful girl, residing in the same +town, and it was said, they were engaged, and too true were the +reports, which the following letter confirmed. + + "MY DEAR HELEN, + + "How shall I write, or where find words to express all I desire to + say. Shall I commence by hoping that absence has led you to regard + me with less affection, or shall I honestly say, I no longer love + you as you deserve to be loved, and that I am no longer worthy your + affection. It costs me much to say this; but you would not wish me + to deceive you; you would not wish me to go perjured from the altar + with you. I most earnestly hope, nay, I feel sure, you will not + regret that I have discovered this mistake ere too late for the + peace of both. I have opened my heart and most bitterly do I regret + its delinquency; but our affections are involuntary, and not under + our control. Till the last two months, I believed mine to be + inviolably yours. I know I am betrothed to you, and, if you require + it, am bound, in honour, to fulfil my engagement; but I will ask + you, ought I to do so, feeling I no longer love you as I ought? Is + it not more really honourable to lay myself open and leave the + matter to your decision? If we are united, three individuals are + miserable for life; but it shall rest with you, oh, my excellent + Helen; forgive and pity + + "Your still affectionate, + + "EDWARD." + +What a blow was this to her warm and sanguine heart! What a return to +love, so trustingly bestowed! She uttered not one reproach in her +reply, but merely released him from every promise, and wished him +every happiness. + +She had, from the tenor of all his late letters, had a presentiment of +coming evil; but she could hardly, till that cruel one, just given to +the reader, realize its full extent; but the young do, and must feel +keenly in these matters,--females in particular,--and, if +right-minded, their all is embarked, and, if founded on esteem, the +affections are not given by halves; and I firmly believe the author, +who says, "Man is the creature of ambition and interest; his nature +leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but +the embellishment of his early life, or a song, piped between the +intervals, But a woman's whole life is a history of her affections; +the heart is _her world_; it is there, her ambition strives for +empire; it is there, her avarice seeks for treasures. She sends forth +her sympathies on adventures, and embarks her all in the traffic of +affection, and, if shipwrecked, unless she be strongly supported by +religious principles, it is a complete bankruptcy of her happiness." + +But let the young remember, there is often in these disappointments, +so hard to meet, the most wholesome and salutary chastenings. How very +many happy wives can look back with thankfulness and gratitude, to the +all directing hand of providence, that, by a blasting of their +seemingly fair prospects, they are directed to happier fate, than +their own inexperience would lead them. How often does their Heavenly +Father manifest his care, by leading them from the shoals and rocks of +misery, which are oft times hidden, not only from themselves, but even +from the anxious eye of parental vigilance. + +When Helen had paid the funeral expenses and some trifling debts, she +found she had but a small sum left. It was now her all for the present +support of three individuals; and for the future? poor girl! did she +think of that? it did indeed cross her mind; but she suppressed the +murmuring sigh that arose; and her beloved mother's precepts were +remembered, and her injunctions, that in every trial, she would cling +to her God for help. And truly, and wonderfully was this lone girl +supported; and almost superhuman were the efforts she was enabled to +make. Fortunately, much manual labour was saved by the faithful +servant, Nancy, whom no entreaties could force to quit. She insisted +on accompanying the children of her beloved mistress to their new +home. She, therefore, went with the waggon, and the next day, Mr. +Montgomery drove the three young ones to their destination. They were +to spend the first night with Mrs. Cameron, whom Helen found the +counterpart of her worthy brother. Less refined in manner, it is true, +and with few advantages of education, but she had much common sense, +and a most benevolent disposition, and was able to judge most sensibly +of things passing around her. Greatly prepossessed by all she had +heard of Helen, she received her with the warmth of an old friend. +Little Henry soon became an especial favourite; he was delighted with +the change, and the natural buoyancy of his disposition, soon led him +to forget past sorrows; the farm yard, the garden, the promised +fishing from the neighbouring trout stream, were all novelties that +enchanted him. Nancy was up early, and with the aid of Mrs. Cameron's +servant, had got nearly everything into the different rooms, ere that +lady and Helen could get there. The cottage was very small, but nature +had done much for the situation, which was indeed beautiful. There was +a small bed room off Helen's that was exactly the thing for Henry, and +a back one, which Nancy took for granted would be hers, and had, +accordingly, put all her things in it. + +Everything was soon nicely arranged, and but little had to be bought. +Mrs. Cameron sent a great many things from her house that, she said, +were superfluous, causing much extra trouble to keep in order. This, +Helen knew, was only intended to lessen the sense of obligation. +Naturally active in her habits, she soon made the little place +comfortable, and while she thought how different it was, to what she +had been used to, she also remembered how much better it was, far +better than she could expect under existing circumstances. + +Her next consideration was the possibility of getting something to do +for their support before their little money was expended. She +consulted with Mrs. Cameron, as to the probability of obtaining +needlework, at which she was very expert; though she feared the +confinement might injure her health, of which, it behoved, her to take +especial care, for the sake of little Fanny and Henry. However, if any +could be obtained, at once, she resolved to take it, till she could +fix on something else; and early the next day Mrs. Cameron called to +say, Mrs. Sherman, the Doctor's wife, would have some ready, if Miss +Willoughby would call at three in the afternoon. Helen's pride rose, +and her heart beat high; was she to go for it herself? She, for the +moment, revolted at the idea; but principle soon came to her aid, and +she accused herself of want of moral courage. + +"What!" said she to Mrs. Cameron, "has it pleased God to place me in a +position, at which I dare to murmur? oh, my dear friend, what would my +beloved mother say, could she witness my foolish struggle between +principle and pride. Were it not for my good, should I be called on to +do it?" + +"No, my dear girl; and that Being who sees principle triumph, will +reward it. Go then, my child; you see and feel what you ought to do, +therefore, act up to it. It is only when the right path is rugged, +there is any merit in walking in it." + +"You are right, my excellent friend; may God direct this rebellious +heart of mine. Oh, how unlike am I to that dear departed one, +who,----" here she burst into tears. Mrs. Cameron now rose to go, and +Helen promised to call after she had been to Mrs. Sherman's. + +In the afternoon, she dressed herself to go for the work. Her deep +mourning added, if possible, to her lady-like appearance. When in +health, she was extremely lovely; but it was a beauty, one can hardly +describe, since it arose not from regularity of feature. Suffice it to +say, she found Mrs. Sherman alone, who received her, not only kindly, +but with a degree of feeling and respect, that is rarely accorded +those, whom adversity has depressed. She apologized for not having +sent the work, and said, that indisposition, alone, induced her to +trouble Helen to call for the directions as to making the shirts, +about which the doctor was very particular. While pointing out how +they were to be done, a little girl, about eleven, burst into the +room, and threw herself on the sofa. On her mother desiring her to +leave, she cried out in a wayward tone, "No, I shan't, I want to stay +here, because I like it, and I will, too; papa would let me if he was +at home, and if you turn me out, I'll tell him, so I will." + +"Susan, my child, you must, indeed you must leave me, I want to speak +to Miss Willoughby alone." + +"Oh, yes, I know you do; you don't want me to hear you tell her how to +make papa's shirts." + +"Fie! my dear, how can you act thus perversely," said Mrs. Sherman, as +she forcibly led her to the door, which had no sooner closed on the +petulant child, than she apologized, with much feeling, and seemed +greatly mortified at this _contre temps_ of her little girl. "In fact, +my dear Miss Willoughby," she said, "she is, with several others, +running almost wild, for want of a good school in the place." + +"Oh, madam!" cried Helen, in almost breathless haste, "do you say a +school is wanted here? oh, tell me, would they think me too young, if +I were deemed capable, which I feel I am; for my beloved mother spared +no pains in grounding me thoroughly in the essential points, and, for +accomplishments, I have had the best masters." + +"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sherman, "could you undertake to impart the +rudiments of music?" + +"I am sure I could," said Helen, blushing as she spoke, at the idea of +having, thus, to praise herself, "for when I left off learning, I +could play anything off at sight." + +"If that be the case, I can easily get you a few pupils to commence +with, but how will you manage for a room?" + +"Oh," replied the enthusiastic girl, cheered by these opening +prospects, "there is a room at the back of our parlour, which, being +so large, I did not care to furnish, it would make an admirable school +room." + +"It is, indeed, a lucky thought, my dear Miss Willoughby, and may be, +not only of benefit to yourself, but to the inhabitants of the place; +that is, if you are capable and attentive." + +"Indeed! indeed! I will be both. Only permit me to make the trial," +said the excited Helen. + +"That you shall, and have my little Susan to begin with; and the +sooner you do so, the better; but let me beg of you not to be too +sanguine, for fear of disappointment. Let me see, this is Wednesday; +you could not manage to get your room in order by Monday, could you?" + +"At any rate," said Helen, "I would take the few who would attend, at +the first, in our little parlour." + +Helen, then after thanking Mrs. Sherman for the suggestion, rose to +go; when that lady invited her back to tea, wishing to get more +insight into her plans and capability, before she ventured to +recommend her to others; and she wished that her husband the Doctor, +should see and converse with Helen, for whom she began to feel great +interest, as she had much reliance on his judgment, and penetration +into character. Having gleaned from the early part of her conversation +with Mrs. Sherman, her anxiety about the shirts, which were a new, and +difficult pattern, Helen insisted on taking and doing them at her +leisure, which after repeated refusals, she at length agreed to. + +In returning home, she called, agreeably to her promise, on Mrs. +Cameron, who was as much pleased with the result of her visit as +herself. + +"See, my dear Miss Willoughby," said she, "how your conduct was +rewarded, as I was sure it would be, for adhering to the right. Had +you sent Nancy for the work, perhaps you would never have got it, and +your qualification as a teacher might never been known. Was there not +my dear Helen, a special providence here? yes indeed there was." + +Here, I must beg to digress a little, to urge the advantage of a +thorough education; which can never be too highly appreciated, or too +strongly enforced. Under any reverse of fortune, who can calculate on +the benefits? to say nothing of the gratification it affords in so +many ways. "Knowledge is power," and always secures its possessor, a +degree of influence, that wealth can never command. Oh! would that all +mothers, as well as daughters, could but be duly impressed, with a +sense of its _vital_ importance. Then we should not see girls, day +after day, permitted on any frivolous excuse, to absent themselves +from school: for if time be so truly valuable, as we know it really +is; how doubly, nay trebly, is it, in the period devoted to education. +If we could only rightly reflect, on the true end of education, this +serious waste could never be. What is it I ask? is it merely to +acquire a certain amount of rudimental information, and perhaps a +superficial acquaintance with showy accomplishments? assuredly not: it +is to learn how to think rightly, that we may by thinking rightly, +know how to act so. Rudimental instruction is necessarily the +foundation; and as such, must be duly and _fully_ appreciated; but it +is the _application_ of knowledge that education is meant to teach, +and this must be acquired by "line upon line and precept upon precept; +here a little and there a little," it is not the work of a day; nor is +it to be gained by alternate periods at school. Who know but those who +teach, half the time that is required to recover what is lost in these +frequently recurring, temporary absences. It is not only a large +portion of rudimental instruction that is lost; but those _many_ +opportunities, which every conscientious teacher eagerly, and +anxiously, avails herself of, to enforce good principles. This can be +done at no stated periods, but they must be seized as circumstances +call them forth, whether suggested by the teachings of the sacred +writings, or from the ample pages of history: or even from the lesson +she may convey from the sentiment that often heads a child's simple +copy book. If these, lost and frittered away periods, be of no +account, then there is both time and money thrown away by those who +are regular in their scholastic attendance. + +Most amply was Mrs. Willoughby's sedulous care in the education of her +daughter, repaid; what comforts it brought to her orphan children; and +to how many would it prove equally serviceable, and save them from +eating the bitter bread of dependence. + +It was but little in consonance with the state of Helen's feelings, to +mix with strangers so soon after her beloved mother's death, and most +gladly would she have declined going back in the evening, and proposed +to send an apology, and say she would be with Mrs. Sherman early the +following day; but Mrs. Cameron, whom she consulted, and upon whose +advice she generally acted, strongly advised her to go, and take Fanny +with her, as Mrs. Sherman had requested. + +"Situate as you are my dear," said she, "you owe it to yourself, and +the dear children, to make as many friends as you can. The Shermans +are kind-hearted, and I may say influential people, and may do you a +great deal of good. I have known them many years as worthy and sincere +characters." This was enough: and Helen was punctual to the time named. + +The Doctor was in to tea, and his frank good humoured manner, +completely won Helen's heart. He too, on his part, was much pleased +with her. After conversing for some time, he appeared thoughtful, and +then put several questions to her; among others, asked, if she had +ever applied for the allowance from the "Compassionate Fund," for +herself and the children; saying, he knew some who received it; and +that he would inquire what forms were necessary for obtaining it: +adding, + +"I believe it is not much; not more than ten pounds a year each, but +as there are three of you, thirty pounds is worth trying for." + +Helen was very grateful for the suggestion, and the good Doctor +promised to make the requisite inquiries next day. While they were +thus chatting together, the two little girls were amusing themselves +in the drawing room, which communicated with the parlour by folding +doors, and just as the Doctor was remarking how quiet they were, the +piano was struck, and a pretty sonata played. Mrs. Sherman was +surprised to find it was Fanny, and still more so, on hearing that +Helen had been her sole instructress, as she played very prettily. The +Doctor, who was passionately fond of music, was then very anxious to +hear Helen play, and asked her to do so, but kind feeling restrained +him from urging her, when she gave her reason, which, I need not tell +the reader, was the recent death of her mother. + +The evening passed off very cheerfully, and Helen found, ere she left +Mrs. Sherman's, she had secured warm friends in her and her excellent +husband. It was agreed that, on the following day, she should her +introduced to several families, where she would be likely to obtain +pupils; and so successful were Mrs. Sherman's efforts, that she had +the promise of six to commence with on the following Monday, and ere a +month had elapsed, three more were added to the number. + +I should before have mentioned, that, on the death of her mother, +Helen had written to an aunt, who was in great affluence, informing +her of the sad event, from whom she received a cool letter of +condolence, but not the slightest offer of assistance. + +Finding it necessary to forward certificates of her parents' marriage, +as well as those of her own and the children's baptism, she wrote to +her aunt, for information as to where she might obtain them. In reply, +she informed her where she could get them, and then concluded, by +offering her and Fanny an asylum, for such she termed it, if for their +board, Helen would instruct her three cousins. She took care to +insinuate, that as doing this, would involve additional expense, she +must be content to be received as a mere stranger; she would be +expected even to assist in the family needle work. Fanny, Mrs. Selwyn +said, would not require much clothing to be purchased, as two of her +cousins were older than she, was, and never half wore their things +out, adding, as Helen, would in all probability, obtain the +compassionate allowance, it might, with care, clothe her and help +Henry, if he needed anything. She finished her heartless letter, by +saying: of course, Helen would try and find a place for him, as he +must not, she said, be too particular _now_. Helen read, and re-read +it, and then bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and thanked her +Heavenly Father, who had given her the means, by honest industry, of +saving herself and little ones the bitter pang of eating the bread of +dependence. After this, with what heartfelt thankfulness, did she sit +down with them, to their frugal meal. + +She wrote and respectfully declined her aunt's offer. The fact of the +matter was this: Mrs. Selwyn had heard of Helen's successful attempt, +and though she held no communication with her sister,--Willoughby, +after that lady had offended her father by marrying, yet she had +little doubt of Helen's capability; and thought, after the energy and +self reliance she had manifested, she might, for she was, though rich, +a most parsimonious woman, turn it to her own account and for a few +years, at least, get her children cheaply educated. It was Helen's +determination, if she obtained the compassionate allowance, to keep +it, as a reserve for her brother's education. She mentioned her +intention to Dr. Sherman, who expressed his warm approval of her plan. + +One day, Nancy, who had been to the shop for groceries, came in, very +hastily, to the room Helen and Mrs. Cameron were sitting in. + +"Oh, Miss Helen! do you know, while I was waiting in Mrs. Conway's +shop, who should come in, but Peggy Smith, to say she was going to +leave, the place, and go to her mother, a long way off, as she was, +all along, so sickly, and she herself but a lone woman here; well +she's going to sell that nice cow, and let the field that joins our +little paddock, which she holds on lease. Now, I know that cow is a +first-rate milker, and I thought if you would buy her, as I have a +good deal of time, I could soon clear the five pounds, which is all +she asks for it; she will calve in a month, and Mrs. Conway will take +all the butter we don't want." + +"It will be a capital thing, Helen," said Mrs. Cameron, "if Nancy +understands how to manage her." + +"I should think, ma'am, I did, when I was brought up in a dairy all my +life, till I went to live with Mrs. Willoughby, and mother's been sick +two months at a time, and I made all the butter and cheese too." + +Mrs. Cameron told Helen, she had no doubt it might be made quite a +profitable investment, as Nancy was such a good manager, and even +offered to lend the money, but Helen had so well economised her little +stock, this was not required. + +Weeks and months passed away, but no satisfactory, or indeed, any +answer at, all could be obtained as to the compassionate allowance. At +last, Dr. Sherman wrote again to the War Office, and received an +answer, saying, the request could not be complied with, on the ground +that Captain Willoughby's death was not properly authenticated, though +it was not, in the least, doubted, as a miniature of Mrs. Willoughby, +and his pocket book, were found in the breast of a dead major, a +friend of his, and in the same regiment, it was supposed, that he +consigned them to the major, in his dying moments. The grant, +therefore, could not be allowed while the essential document was +wanting. + +Among her pupils, she gave lessons in music at their own house, to the +Misses Falkner. One morning, being tired of waiting which she +invariably had to do, she sat down to the instrument to pass away the +time. One of her favorite songs lay before her on the Piano, and she +almost unconsciously struck the keys and played the accompaniment, and +sang it. Hardly had she finished, than Miss Falkner came in; +exclaiming, as she did so, "what, you here, Mr. Mortimer! how long +have you been waiting?" not taking the slightest notice of Helen. + +"Some time," said he, "but both my apology, and thanks, are due to +this lady, for the high treat, she has afforded me. I was standing +outside the veranda, when she entered and seeing it was a stranger, +was going off, when she commenced a favorite air of mine, and I was +spell bound! but you will introduce me, will you not? + +"Oh yes, certainly," said Miss Falkner in a hesitating tone. "It is +the young person to whom Julia goes to school, and who gives me, and +Eliza lessons in music; Miss Willoughby," here she stopped; she did +not even add the gentleman's name. "I am sorry Miss Willoughby," said +she "I cannot take my lesson to-day, and therefore need not detain +you." + +Helen colored, and bowing left the room, the stranger rose, opened the +door for her, and accompanied her to the street door, when he again +bowed his head respectfully. + +When he returned to the room, Miss Falkner rallied him on his +politeness, to the village governess, as she contemptuously, styled +Helen. + +"Village queen! I think," said he, "for she certainly has a most +dignified, and ladylike bearing, and is very good looking too." + +"Well, I do declare Mr. Mortimer, you have quite lost your heart." + +"By no means my dear Miss Falkner, it is not quite so vulnerable. A +lovely face and graceful form alone, will never win it: even with the +addition of such a syren's voice as Miss Willoughby possesses; she +sings, not only sweetly, but scientifically." + +"Of course," said she, "if people are to get their living by their +talents, they ought to be well cultivated." + +So little accustomed, since the death of her mother, to kindness from +the world in general, and made to feel, so keenly, her dependant +situation, Helen fully appreciated the respectful deference accorded +to her by the stranger. + +Her pupils increased so, that in a short time, she had twelve, besides +several for accomplishments but the Misses Falkner, for reasons best +known to themselves, declined her future instructions, and just as she +was preparing to go to them a day or two after being, so cavalierly +dismissed, Mrs. Falkner was announced at the cottage. She came, she +said, to pay the bill, and say her daughters would discontinue their +lessons: + +"Of course," she said, "you will only charge for the time you actually +came to them." + +Helen quietly replied, "that she should certainly expect the quarter +they had commenced, to be paid for." She knew they could afford it, +and she felt it due to those she laboured for, not to throw away one +penny. + +"Well," said Mrs. Falkner, "this comes of patronizing nobody knows +who, it is just what one might expect." + +"Madam," said Helen, her colour rising as she spoke, "had you thought +proper to have done so, you might have known who I was." + +"I think," said the unfeeling woman, "as Julia's quarter is up, I +shall keep her at home too, for the present." + +"As you think proper," said the agitated girl. + +"Well, well, you are mighty high, I think, for a person obliged to +work for her bread. You are come down pretty low, and may----" + +"Hold!" said Helen, "let me intreat you, Mrs. Falkner, to desist these +cruel taunts. God has been pleased to place me in my present position; +and it is, with thankfulness, nay, with pride, I exert the talents he +has given me for the support of myself and the dear children, he has +committed to my care. Poverty, madam, may _try_ us, and that severely; +but while we act rightly, it can never _degrade_ us, but in the eyes +of those, unfeeling as yourself." + +"Mighty fine and heroic, to be sure! Is it not a pity Mr. Mortimer +isn't hidden somewhere to hear you, as he was when you sung, and +pretended not to know he was listening. He could see through it, +though, as well as we did; and let, me tell you, artful as you are, +that he is not a bird to be caught with chaff. But there's your money, +so give me a receipt." This, she no sooner received than off she +started. + +Helen, who had, with difficulty, restrained her tears, now gave way to +her feelings, and thus relieved her over-charged heart. At this +moment, Mrs. Cameron came in, and having heard all that had passed, +said: + +"Never mind, my dear child, we must all be tried, some way or other, +and even this cruel heartless woman could not vex you thus did not God +permit her to do so; we have all, yes, the very best of us, proud, +rebellious hearts, that need chastisement; and it is not for us to +choose, how it is to be done. God knows best; meet it, therefore, my +dear, humbly, as from _Him_, and not _man_; all will yet come right. +You are a good girl; still Helen dear, you need, as we all do, the +chastening of the Almighty, for we every one of us, come short, and +'when weighed in His balance, are found wanting,'" + +A few days after this, Henry, who had been out fishing, came in, with +his basket full of trout." + +"Look there, Helen," said he, "what do you think of that? There's +trout for you?" + +"Why, Henry dear, are you already so expert at fishing?" asked his +sister. + +"No," replied Henry, "but a gentleman joined me, and we angled +together. See, what beautiful flies he has given me! He caught three +fish to my one, but he would make me take all. Oh, he's a real nice +fellow. He has hired Mr. Bently's hunting lodge for the season, and +says I may go with him, whenever I please, if you will let me. + +"Whenever it does not interfere with your studies, Henry, but you must +mind and not be troublesome to him." + +"I'll take care of that; but I forgot to tell you, I met Mrs. Sherman, +as I was coming home, and she wants you to go to tea there, and Susan +is to come down and stay with Fanny." + +Mrs. Sherman had seen Mrs. Cameron, and learnt from her the cruel +manner in which Mrs. Falkner had behaved, and kindly desired to have a +chat with Helen, in order to soothe and strengthen her mind, and; if +it were possible, render her less vulnerable to these shafts of +malice. After they had, for some time, discussed the matter: + +"Now," said Mrs. Sherman, "let us forget all unpleasantries, and give +me one of your nice songs; I wonder where the Doctor is? he promised +to be in to tea; but, I suppose, he has taken it where he is +detained." + +Helen sat down, and played and sang. At length, the Doctor's voice was +heard in the passage; but Mrs. Sherman insisted on her going on, and +held up her finger, as her husband entered, in token of silence. The +Doctor sent Mrs. Sherman to the parlour door, where stood Mr. +Mortimer; when Helen had finished, she turned and saw him. He bowed +and went across to her, and expressed his pleasure in meeting her +again, in such a frank off-hand manner, that our heroine, if such she, +may be called, soon lost all feeling of embarrassment, and went on +playing and singing and the evening passed imperceptibly away. When +the Doctor escorted Helen home, Mr. Mortimer accompanied them to the +gate, leading to the cottage and took his leave. + +Their meeting at Dr. Sherman's was entirely the result of accident. +Mr. Mortimer had been on friendly terms at the house ever since he had +been in the neighbourhood, but as both the Doctor and his wife +concluded he was engaged to Miss Falkner, they never thought to ask +him, when Helen was expected, and so tenacious was he, not to win her +affections, till assured he could make her his, that he carefully +assumed an indifference he was far from feeling. He pitied her +position; which he saw was a trying one; and he greatly admired the +way she acquitted herself in it. He gained a great insight into her +character, in his conversations with Henry, who, entirely off his +guard, was very communicative. The following letter, however, from Mr. +Mortimer to an old friend, will best elicit his views and opinions: + + "MY DEAR EMMERSON, + + "I promised to let you know where I brought up, and here I am, + domiciled in a pretty little country village, where Bently has + property, and I have hired his snug hunting lodge, and, in the mind + I am in, I shall remain the next six months, that is, if when the + term for renting this said lodge expires, I can find a place to + which I can bring my sister Emily, Here there is hardly room enough + for myself and Philips, who is still my factotum, valet, groom, and + I know not what besides; however, he is content, and so am I. + Heartily sick of town, and its conventualities, and tired of being + courted and feted, not for _myself_, but my _fortune_, I care not, + if I never see it again. I am weary, too, of 'single blessedness,' + and yet afraid to venture on matrimony; why is it so few are happy, + who do? There is some grand evil somewhere; but where? 'Aye there's + the rub.' I look narrowly into every family I visit, especially, + the newly married ones, and I see the _effect_, but not the + _cause_. Now, _one_ cannot be without the _other_, we well know. I + fear I expect too much from the other sex, and begin to think there + is more truth than poetry in your observation, that I 'must have a + woman made on purpose for me,' for I certainly do want to find one + very different from most that I have yet seen. + + "Travelling between London and Bath, I met my father's old friend + and college chum, Falkner, who finding I had no settled plans, + persuaded me to take Bently's hunting lodge, which is in the + vicinity of his villa. Falkner is a worthy good creature, whom I + should give credit for a great deal of common sense, were he not so + completely under the dominion of his wife, a perfect Xantippe; by + the bye, I think, however wise he might be in some respects, that + Master Socrates was a bit of a goose, particularly if, as history + maintains, he did, he knew what a virago he was taking. But, + however deficient in her duty as a wife, Mrs. Falkner goes to the + other extreme, and overacts her part as a mother; but I am very + ungrateful in thus animadverting on her behaviour, for you must + know, she has singled out your humble servant as a most especial + favourite; and though _she does not wish her girls married_, takes + right good care to let me know that she thinks the woman who gets + me, will be lucky; and that, much as she would grieve to part from + one of her daughters, yet, were an eligible chance to offer, she + would throw no obstacles in the way. I do verily believe she has + discarded a little girl who taught her daughters music, solely for + fear I should fall in love with her; and certainly, she is as far + superior to the Misses Falkner as she well can be, both in + attainments and personal attractions. I am so afraid of coming to a + hasty conclusion, but own myself greatly prepossessed in her + favour. She has been well and carefully brought up; I have watched + her in church, and have marked an unaffected devotion, which I have + seen carried to the sick and suffering poor around her. She has + lost both parents, and now by her talents, supports an orphan + brother and sister. The former, an intelligent interesting boy of + thirteen, is a frequent companion of mine, and if I can, without + wounding the delicacy of the sister, I trust to be of some future + service to him. I have, indirectly, and, perhaps, you will say, + unfairly questioned the boy, and all tells in her favour; now, here + it must be genuine. Miss Willoughby plays and sings like a Syren; + but then, so does many a pretty trifler. Beauty and accomplishments + are very well to pass an evening away; but in a companion for life, + _far more_ is required; much more than these must _I_ find in a + woman, ere I venture to ask her to be mine. I am heartily tired of + my present life; it is a lonely stupid way of living; living! I + don't live, I merely vegetate! I have no taste for dissipation; + neither have I any great predilection for field sports. + + "Miss Willoughby is, I think, far superior to the generality of her + sex, but she shall never have an idea of my partiality, till I am + thoroughly persuaded she can make me happy; for although she may + not come up to my standard of female perfection, she is far too + amiable and too forlorn to be trifled with; and, therefore, I will + not try to win her affections, till I know I can reciprocate them. + With regard to the Falkners, I will be guarded. I respect the old + man sincerely, and his family; farther, deponent sayeth not. He is + the beau ideal of a country squire, and I think you will like him! + They are all remarkably civil, and I must, for many reasons, keep + up an intercourse, or give room elsewhere of having my plans + suspected, The whole village, I believe have given me to one of the + Falkners. I do not wish even the worthy Dr. Sherman and his + excellent wife to suspect that I feel more than a common interest + in their protegee. I wish you would come down for a month, I think + you would like this part of the country, and I am sure you and Mr. + Falkner would get on together. Neither have I the slightest doubt, + but you would be pleased with the Shermans; they are gems, perfect + gems, in their way. And as to Miss Willoughby,--but come and judge + for yourself. You are engaged, or I might not, perhaps, be so + pressing. + + "Just as I was concluding this, a letter was brought by the mail, + from a distant relative, who is just returned from India. It was + hastily written, and sent off while the ship was laying in the + Downs, requesting me, if possible, to meet him at Deal. So I am off + for a short time, and will write to you directly I return. Till + when, farewell. + + "Ever faithfully yours, + + "GEORGE." + +Every meeting increased Helen's respect for Mr. Mortimer; she often +met him at Dr. Sherman's, but it seemed always the result of chance, +nor had she the slightest idea that he felt for her other, than the +esteem of a friend. The village gave him to one of the Misses Falkner, +and Helen took it for granted it was so. She rather regretted it, as +she thought him too good, and feared they could, neither of them, +appreciate his worth. She occasionally met the Falkners at Dr. +Sherman's, when the eldest young lady always took care to monopolize +him, which, for reasons of his own, he readily fell into. When he took +leave to go to Deal, Helen could not help fancying there was a +tenderness and peculiarity in his tone, as he addressed her, and yet +she thought she must be mistaken, and that it was only his natural +friendly warmth of manner, for she had none of that silly vanity, that +leads many girls to fancy, because a man is kind and attentive, he +must be in love. + +She missed him greatly, for latterly he had accompanied her in her +songs, and supplied her with music and books; still, all was done +under the mask of friendship, and duplicates of these little presents +were generally procured for Falkner Villa. Also, Henry, too, was sadly +at a loss for his companion; all his out door amusements seemed to +have lost their interest, and he began to look anxiously for the time +proposed for his return. A room was prepared both for Mr. Mortimer, +and his cousin, at Mr. Falkner's. On his return, however, he preferred +going to his own quarters, leaving Sir Horace Mortimer, his relative, +to the hospitalities of Falkner Villa. + +Sir Horace Mortimer's stay with them, opened a fresh field for Mrs. +Falkner's speculations, and not being either so fastidious or +clear-sighted as his cousin George, Sir Horace, at one time, bid fair +to set the former an example. + +They were all assembled at Dr. Sherman's a few nights after Mr. +Mortimer's return, when Sir Horace was introduced, to Helen. He almost +started, but said nothing; however his eyes were so completely riveted +on her, that he became quite absent--in short, his fixed gaze became +painful. Dr. Sherman was, during the evening, called to the door, when +he received a parcel from London, carriage paid, which the man said he +had promised to place in the Doctor's own hand. The worthy man +wondering from whom it could possibly come, retired to his own room +and opened it. It contained Mrs. Willoughby's portrait and the pocket +book; the latter he locked up carefully; the former he was carrying to +Helen: who being engaged with Mrs. Sherman in the adjoining room, he +showed it to Sir Horace Mortimer, with whom he had just been +conversing about Helen, and her orphan charge. + +"Can it be possible," said he "or do my eyes deceive me?" + +The Doctor looked inquiringly, but Sir Horace said no more. At last he +went up to the Doctor, and asked if Helen was expecting the arrival of +the miniature? Dr. Sherman replied, she knew it was safe, but was +quite uncertain when it might arrive. + +"Then my dear sir, would you trust me with it till to-morrow morning? +when I will restore it at an early hour," I would not ask, but for +very particular reasons, connected it may be, of much moment to that +dear girl: if as I strongly suspect, I have seen that miniature +before, there is a secret and very minute spring, which I could not +well ascertain without my glasses. Believe me, my dear Doctor, I have +very cogent reasons for my request, and I feel no common interest in +Miss Willoughby: but we are attracting the notice of those people I am +staying with, who are not at all friendly disposed towards her; in +fact, they have done all in their power to prejudice me against her. + +The Doctor marvelled much at the request; but readily acceeded to +it--and then both he and Sir Horace Mortimer, joined in the general +conversation. + +When the little party broke up, Sir Horace Mortimer undertook to be +Helen's escort, and offered her his arm. Miss Falkner having come with +him, quietly took the other. When they reached Helen's abode, which +was in the way to Falkner Villa, at parting, Sir Horace requested +permission to call and see her at an hour he named next day, and she +promised to be ready. + +"Will you send your young brother for me? I have heard much of him; +and must make his acquaintance." + +"Oh," said Miss Falkner, "we are going to call at the cottage +to-morrow, and I will be your guide. We have long been intending to +pay a visit to Miss Willoughby, mamma is anxious to apologize for some +little misunderstanding." Helen tried to speak, but her words could +find no utterance, in reply to the impertinent speech of Miss Falkner, +but shaking Sir Horace warmly by the hand, she bowed and went into her +home. + +At breakfast Miss Falkner told her mother, that as Sir Horace +Mortimer, had made an appointment to visit Miss Willoughby; they could +avail themselves of his escort, and go with him. This I beg leave to +say, though apparently the thought of the moment, was a _preconcerted_ +proposition: but one which Sir Horace declared impossible! as he had +particular business with Miss Willoughby, at which none but Dr. +Sherman, and Mrs. Cameron could be present. This was spoken so +decidedly, that no further opposition was made to his wish to go +alone. + +But both mother and daughters were sadly puzzled. Conjecture was rife +among them the whole morning: at last they came to the conclusion that +he had made up his mind to propose for Helen--it must be so, else why +Dr. Sherman and Mrs. Cameron present?--this point, therefore, was +settled--at least with the Falkners, of her acceptance of him, a rich +East Indian, oh there could be no doubt of that. And the elder Miss +Falkner could breathe again, since she was free to captivate Mr. +George Mortimer, with whom she was desperately in love. Thus do vain +and silly people jump at conclusions and thus is half the business of +a country town, or village, settled without any concurrence, or even +knowledge of those most concerned. + +The request of Sir Horace Mortimer set Helen wondering, and certainly +deprived her of some hours sleep. His peculiar manner and his ardent +gaze, too, recurred to her mind, as she lay thinking on the subject. + +She was completely puzzled, he was a perfect stranger whom she had +never before seen, nor he her, what could it mean? Would not some have +concluded he was in love with her, but a man old enough to be her +father! Such an idea never entered her head: in fact she could make no +probable guess, so she determined to make a virtue of necessity, and +wait quietly, till he came. Early the next day, she sent for Mrs. +Cameron, and told her of the appointment Sir Horace had made, and as +she thought it more than probable, the Falkners might accompany him, +as they spoke of doing so over night, she wished her friend to be with +her. But we have already seen that Sir Horace had decidedly expressed +his determination to go alone. Mrs. Cameron was equally perplexed with +Helen, as to his object. She thought perhaps he had mistaken Helen's +likeness, to some one he was attached to in his early years, and +applying her favorite well-founded maxim and belief in an over-ruling +Providence, made up her mind, that however the mistake might be; it +would end in the orphans finding a sincere friend in the Baronet or +the rich Nabob, as the people termed him. + +Whatever were the surmises of Sir Horace Mortimer, he was perfectly +satisfied with the result of his private examination of the miniature +for he exclaimed to himself, "God be praised! it must indeed be so," +saying this, he put it in his pocket, and joined the Falkner family at +breakfast, where the conversation before related, took place. + +On his way to Helen's, he met his cousin, and they walked on together. +At length Sir Horace Mortimer asked, "George, my boy do you not begin +to think of marrying; it is in my opinion, high time you should--let +me see; you must be eight and twenty, why you are losing time sadly, +take care I don't get spliced first, as sailors say." + +"Why sir, they do say Maria Falkner has certainly made a conquest of +you." + +"They do, do they: its very kind of them to settle so important a +point for me. Do you approve the match." + +"I think there are many who would make you happier." + +"Miss Willoughby, for instance!" said Sir Horace. + +"Miss Willoughby! sir." + +"Yes, Miss Willoughby, George, what objection? Should I be the first +old man, who has married a young girl? and made her happy too. I +intend to make her a proposal to-day." + +"You! sir; you surely don't mean what you say!" + +"But I do, though; I was never more in earnest in my life. But, eh, +George! what is the matter? you change colour. You don't want her +yourself? You know you can't marry her and Miss Falkner too." + +"I marry Miss Falkner? Never; I would sooner be wedded to--" + +"Hold! my boy; I know the workings of that wayward heart of yours, +better than you think; and, therefore, let us understand each other; +at any rate, let me be clearly understood, when I say, that unless you +make up your mind to marry Helen Willoughby, I shall." + +"But, my dear Sir Horace, though I greatly admire and esteem her far +beyond any woman I ever saw. Yet I am,----" and he paused. + +"You are what? Shall I tell you? You are so very fastidious, that you +are refining away your happiness, like anything but a sensible man. +You don't expect perfection, do you? The long and the short of the +matter, is this: in your haste to answer my letter from the Downs, you +sent me, by mistake, a confidential epistle, which you had intended +for some intimate friend. Not having any signature, I went on reading +it, nor till you adverted to my arrival off Deal, was I aware who was +the writer. It was a lucky _contre temps_, it gave me a better insight +into your views and character, than years of common intercourse could +have done. I admire your principles, though I think you carry them a +little too far. Now don't blame me, as I again repeat, you omitted +your name at the end. So no more nonsense, my lad; 'screw up your +courage to the sticking point,' and go, and propose for the girl at +once. You must do it, I tell you, or I disinherit you, and give her +every penny; and, as I before said, myself into the bargain. But I am +off to Sherman's and thence, to Miss Willoughby, where I shall expect +you in an hour, so you had best be on the alert. You will not be the +first young man who has been outwitted by an old one, so mind." Saying +this, he left his young relative, who was not, however, very tardy in +following advice so consonant to his own wishes. + +It may be thought George Mortimer was too particular, but be it +remembered, it was a most honorable feeling that led to his +deliberation; viz., the firm resolve not to win Helen's, affections, +and then leave her. No, he nobly resolved first to learn the state of +his own feelings; and well would it be if many others would act +equally generous. But no! however men decry beauty, they are all its +slaves, and it ever wins a willing homage from them. They are won by +the attractions of a pretty face, and are in consequence, most +particular in their attentions to its possessor; who is thus singled +out, and in all probability, is subject to the jokes of her friends +till from so constantly hearing, she is beloved, she believes it to be +so, nor awakes from her dream, till she sees herself supplanted by a +newer or prettier face. This is a crying evil: a bad state of things; +and in regretting it, we must not lay the blame wholly on the opposite +sex. There is doubtless too much credulity in the ladies, but this +credulity would be greatly diminished, were they more frequently met +and treated as rational beings, and they would much sooner become so: +for they would have an object in it. How much would the state of +society be improved, could there be a little reform on the side of +each sex. Let the man, as the superior, commence; he will find his +young female friends, beings capable of more than the small talk, with +which they are too generally amused; and I think they will soon be +better prepared for sensible conversation; and then let the ladies on +their part be a little more sceptical in believing the flattery and +adulation of the men, and not fancy every gentleman, who is friendly +and attentive in perhaps merely a general way, in love with her. As in +everything else, there are exceptions, here I only speak of +generalities, and I trust not with acerbity. A very little of mutual +effort, would bring about a great improvement in these matters. The +_young_ have great influence on the _young_, particularly in the +formation of character, and well for those who exercise it +beneficially. + +When Sir Horace Mortimer went into the cottage, he had hardly shaken +hands than he asked Helen her mother's maiden name. + +"Brereton," she replied. + +"Brereton?" said he "not Anna Brereton, for she married a Lieutenant +Bateson; am I wrong then, after all?" + +"Papa changed his name," said Helen, "on receiving some, property, +which we afterwards found he had no claim to." + +"Then, my beloved girl, in me you behold your uncle William. You have +heard your mother speak of me." + +"Oh, yes, frequently! she always said, had you been at home, you would +have brought about a reconciliation with grand-papa." + +"Do you ever see or hear of your Aunt Elinor; she was engaged when I +went away, to a Mr. Selwyn, and it was thought to be a good match." + +Helen told him she had received two letters from Mrs. Selwyn. + +"Which two letters I must see, for I suspect she has slighted you. As +to you, my dear Mrs. Cameron, what can I ever say to you and your +worthy brother, or the kind Mrs. Sherman, I meant to have had the +Doctor with me; but just as we were leaving his door, he was called +away to somebody taken suddenly ill. Helen, there is your mother's +portrait, which was taken for me, but I sailed before it was +completed. I gave the order myself and a pattern; Sherman received it +last night, and this led to my discovering you. Though I was much +struck when I first saw you, by your strong likeness, to your mother, +I never expected, to see any of you." + +"But why, dearest uncle have we heard, nothing of you for so long a +time?" + +"That my child is a long story, which time will not allow me to go +into now: you shall have it some of these days; as I see George +coming, whom I desired to follow me here, as I recommended him to +consult you about his proposing to Miss Falkner." + +"Me!" said Helen, "consult _me_?" and she colored deeply. + +"Why not, you are second or third cousins; and he has a great opinion +of your judgement." + +"Well sir," said the Baronet to Mr. Mortimer, as he entered, "the hour +has not yet expired: however you have given me time to tell Helen, how +nearly she and I are related, for her mother was my own sister!" + +"Is it possible!" cried the astonished George. + +"Yes, and I told her you were coming to consult her upon several +matters." As he spoke this, he stole his hat and slipped off giving a +significant look at Mrs. Cameron, who followed the old gentleman to +the garden, and there learnt what he had gleaned from George +Mortimer's letter, to Mr. Emmerson, viz., that he was much attached to +Helen--and added he had no doubt but they should soon have a job for +Mr. Montgomery, to marry them. + +"At any rate we must have him here." + +The remainder of my tale, is soon told, viz.: that Helen and Mortimer, +were united, and Mrs. Falkner, insisted on removing to a place where +she would be more likely to settle her girls. Sir Horace bought the +villa which still retained its name. + + + + +IDLE WORDS. + + + "My God!" the beauty oft exclaimed, + In deep impassioned tone; + But not in humble prayer, she named + The High and Holy One; + 'Twas not upon the bended knee, + With soul upraised to Heaven, + Pleading with heartfelt agony, + That she might be forgiven. + + 'Twas not in heavenly strains + She raised, to the great Source of Good, + Her daily offering of praise, + Her song of gratitude. + But in the gay and thoughtless crowd, + And in the festive Hall, + 'Midst scenes of mirth and mockery proud + She named the Lord of All. + + The idlest thing that flattery knew, + The most unmeaning jest, + From her sweet lips profanely drew, + Names of the Holiest! + I thought how sweet that voice would be, + Breathing this prayer to Heaven, + "My God, I worship only thee, + Oh be my sins forgiven!" + + + + +THE MANIAC OF VICTORY. + + + But here comes one, that seems to out-rejoice + All the rejoicing tribe! wild is her eye, + And frantic is her air, and fanciful + Her sable suit; and round, she rapid rolls + Her greedy eyes upon the spangled street. + And drinks with greedy gaze upon the sparkling scene! + "And see!" she cries how they have graced the hour + That gave _him_ to his grave! hail lovely lamps, + In honor of that hour a grateful land + Hath hung aloft! and sure he well deserves + The tributary splendor--for he fought + Their battles well--ah! he was valor's self-- + Fierce was the look with which he faced the foe + But on his Harriet, when my hero bent it, + 'Twas so benign! and beautiful he was-- + And he was young; too young in years, to die! + 'Twas but a little while his wing had thrown + Its guardian shadow o'er me--but 'tis gone-- + Fall'n is my shield, yet see now if I weep. + A British warrior's widow should not weep-- + Her hero sleeps in honor's fragrant bed-- + So they all tell me, and I have nobly learned + Their gallant lesson--all my tears are gone-- + Bright glory's beam has dried them every drop + No,--No,--I scorn to weep--high is mine heart! + + Hot are mine eyes! there's no weak water there! + 'Tis time I should have joyed--what mother would not? + To have shown him that sweet babe o'er which he wept + When last he kissed it--yes he did--he wept; + My warrior wept!--as the weak woman's tears + From off this cheek, where now I none can feel, + He kissed away--he wet it with his own; + Oh! yes 'twould--'twould have been sweet to have shown him + How his dear lovely boy had: grown, since he + Beheld it cradled, and to have bid it call him + By the sweet name that I had taught it utter + In softest tones, while he was thunder hearing, + And thunder hurling round him--for his hand + Would not be idle amid deeds of glory; + Yes _glory--glory--glory_ is the word-- + See how it glitters all along the street!-- + And then she laughs, and wildly leaps along + With tresses all untied. Fair wretch--adieu: + In mercy--heaven thy shattered peace repair. + + --FAWCETT. + + + + +"GOD DOETH ALL THINGS WELL." + + + I remember how I loved her, as a little guileless child; + I saw her in the cradle, as she looked on me, and smiled. + My cup of happiness was full; my joy, no words can tell, + And I bless the Glorious Giver, "who doeth all things well." + + Months passed, that bud of promise, was unfolding every hour. + I thought that earth had never smiled upon a fairer flower. + So beautiful! it well might grace the bowers, where angels dwell, + And waft its fragrance to His throne, "who doeth all things well." + + Years fled; that little sister then was dear as life to me, + And woke, in my unconscious heart a wild idolatry. + I worshipped at an earthly shrine, lured by some magic spell, + Forgetful of the praise of Him "who doeth all things well." + + She was like the lovely Star, whose light around my pathway shone, + Amid this darksome vale of tears through which I journey on; + No radiance had obscured the light, which round His throne doth dwell, + And I wandered far away from Him, who "doeth all things well." + + That star went down, in beauty, yet, it shineth, sweetly now, + In the bright and dazzling coronet that decks the Saviour's brow, + She bowed to that destroyer, whose shafts none may repel; + But we know, for God has told us, that "He doeth all things well." + + I remember well, my sorrow, as I stood beside her bed, + And my deep and heartfelt anguish when they told me she was dead. + And, oh! that cup of bitterness--but let not this heart rebel, + God gave; he took; he can restore; "He doeth all things well." + + + + +HOW OLD ART THOU? + + + Count not the days that have idly flown, + The years that were vainly spent; + Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, + When thy spirit stands before the throne + To account for the talents lent. + + But number the hours redeemed from sin, + The moments employed for heaven; + Oh, few and evil thy days have been, + Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, + For a nobler purpose given. + + Will the shade go back on thy dial plate? + Will thy sun stand still on his way? + Both hasten on, and thy spirit's fate + Rests on the point of life's little date, + Then live while 'tis called to-day. + + Life's waning hours, like the Sybil's page, + As they lessen, in value rise; + Oh, then rouse thee, and live nor deem that man's age + Stands in the length of his Pilgrimage, + But in days that are _truly wise_. + + + + +ON TIME. + + + Who needs a teacher to admonish him + That flesh is grass! that earthly things, but mist! + What are our joys, but dreams? And what our hopes? + But goodly shadows in the summer cloud? + There's not a wind that blows, but bears with it + Some rainbow promise. Not a moment flies, + But puts its sickle in the fields of life, + And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares. + + 'Tis but as yesterday, since on those stars, + Which now I view, the Chaldean shepherd gazed, + In his mid watch observant, and disposed + The twinkling hosts, as fancy gave them shape; + Yet, in the interim, what mighty shocks + Have buffeted mankind; whole nations razed, + Cities made desolate; the polished sunk + To barbarism, and _once_ barbaric states, + Swaying the wand of science and of arts. + Illustrious deeds and memorable names, + Blotted from record, and upon the tongues + Of gray tradition, voluble no more. + + Where are the heroes of the ages past,-- + Where the brave chieftans; where the mighty ones + Who flourished in the infancy of days? + Ah to the grave gone down! On their fallen fame + Exultant, mocking, at the pride of man, + Sits grim Forgetfulness. The warrior's arm + Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame, + Hushed is the stormy voice, and quenched the blaze + Of his red eye-ball. + + Yesterday, his name + Was mighty on the earth; to-day,--'tis what? + The meteor of the night of distant years, + That flashed unnoticed, save by wrinkled eld, + Musing, at midnight, upon prophecies, + Who at her only lattice, saw the gleam + Point to the mist-poised shroud, then quietly + Closed her pale lips, and locked the secret up, + Safe in the charnel's treasure. + + Oh! how weak + Is mortal man! how, trifling! how confined + His scope of vision! Puffed with confidence + His phrase grows big with immortality; + And he, poor insect of a summer's day, + Dreams of eternal honours to his name, + Of endless glory and perennial bays, + He idly reasons of eternity. + As of the train of ages; when, alas! + Ten thousand thousand of his centuries + Are in comparison, a little point, + Too trivial for account. + + Oh it is strange; + 'Tis very strange to mark men's fallacies. + Behold him proudly view some pompous pile, + Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, + And smile, and say, my name shall live with this, + Till time shall be no more; while at his feet, + Yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust + Of the fallen fabric of the other day, + Preaches the solemn lesson.--He should know + That time must conquer; that the loudest blast + That ever filled renown's obstreperous trump, + Fades in the lap of ages, and expires. + Who lies, inhumed, in the terrific gloom + Of the gigantic pyramid? Or who + Reared its huge wall? Oblivion laughs, and says, + The prey is mine. They sleep, and never more + Their names shall strike upon the ear of man, + Or memory burst its fetters. + + Where is Rome? + She lives but in the tale of other times; + Her proud pavilions, are the hermits' home, + And her long colonades, her public walks, + Now faintly echo to the pilgrims' feet, + Who comes to muse in solitude, and trace + Through the rank moss revealed, her honoured dust. + + But not to Rome, alone, has fate confined + The doom of ruin; cities numberless. + Tyre, Sidon, Carthage, Babylon, and Troy, + And rich Phoenicia; they are blotted out + Half razed,--from memory razed; and their very name + And being, in dispute. + + --WHITE + + + + +THE YOUNG MAN'S PRAYER. + + + One stood upon the threshold of his life; + A life all bright with promise,--and he prayed, + "Father of Heaven! this beautious world of thine, + Is trod in sorrow by my race." The shade + Of sin and grief darken the sunshine, Thou + Around us with a lavish hand, hast spread. + Man only walks this breathing glowing earth, + With spirit crushed,--with bowed and stricken head. + I ask not, Father, why these things be so, + I only ask, that thou will make of me + A messenger of joy, to lift the woe + From hearts that mourn, and lead them up to Thee. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book For The Young, by Sarah French + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK FOR THE YOUNG *** + +***** This file should be named 15820.txt or 15820.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/8/2/15820/ + +Produced by Early Canadiana Online, Robert Cicconetti, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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