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diff --git a/old/64405-h/64405-h.htm b/old/64405-h/64405-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d39b2a7..0000000 --- a/old/64405-h/64405-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8060 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lady Maclairn, Vol. 1 of 4, by Mrs. Hunter,</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; } - h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; } - h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; } - h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; } - .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver; - text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; - border: thin solid silver; 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} - .c004 { margin-top: 4em; } - .c005 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; } - .c006 { margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c007 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c008 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; } - .c009 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c010 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; } - .c011 { margin-top: 1em; text-align: right; } - .c012 { text-align: right; } - .c013 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c014 { page-break-before: auto; margin-top: 2em; } - .c015 { margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c016 { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA; - border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif; - } - .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; } - div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; } - .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; } - h1,h2,h3 { clear: both; } - .chapter { clear: both; page-break-before: always; } - .section { page-break-before: always; } - .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; } - .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; } - body {font-family: Georgia, serif, 'DejaVu Sans'; text-align: justify; } - table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid; - clear: both; } - div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; } - div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } - .ph1 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; - margin: .67em auto; page-break-before: always; } - .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; - page-break-before: always; } - .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lady Maclairn, the Victim of Villany: A Novel, Volume I (of 4), by Rachel Hunter</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lady Maclairn, the Victim of Villany: A Novel, Volume I (of 4)</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Rachel Hunter</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 27, 2021 [eBook #64405]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing, Mary Glenn Krause, Charlene Taylor, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY MACLAIRN, THE VICTIM OF VILLANY: A NOVEL, VOLUME I (OF 4) ***</div> - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c001'>LADY MACLAIRN,<br /> <span class='small'>THE</span><br /> <span class='xlarge'><em>VICTIM OF VILLANY</em>.</span><br /> <span class='large'>A NOVEL.<br /> <br /> IN FOUR VOLUMES.</span></h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='large'>BY MRS. HUNTER,</span></div> - <div><span class='small'>OF NORWICH,</span></div> - <div class='c003'><span class='xsmall'>AUTHOR OF LETITIA; THE UNEXPECTED LEGACY; THE HISTORY OF THE GRUETHORPE FAMILY; PALMERSTONE’S LETTERS, &c., &c.</span></div> - <div class='c002'><span class='large'>VOL. I.</span></div> - <div class='c002'><em>LONDON</em>:</div> - <div><span class='small'>PRINTED FOR W. EARLE AND J. W. HUCKLEBRIDGE;</span></div> - <div class='c003'><span class='xsmall'>AND SOLD BY W. EARLE, NO. 47, ALBEMARLE STREET; GEORGE ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER ROW; B. CROSBY AND CO. STATIONER’S COURT; THO. OSTELL, AVE MARIA LANE; AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS.</span></div> - <div class='c003'>1806.</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>[<em>Barnard & Sultzer, Water Lane, Fleet Street.</em>]</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_iii'>iii</span> - <h2 class='c005'>INTRODUCTION.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>In presenting the following pages -to the Public, I conceive it to be -incumbent on me to say, that Miss -Cowley’s letters to her friend will -be found to contain nearly the whole -of a narrative, from which, I trust, -my readers may draw a lesson of -morality, as well as of gratification to -that curiosity which a <em>new Novel</em> often -excites, but sometimes disappoints. -My claims to candour are consequently -few; for as the Editor, rather -than the Author, I beg leave to -observe, that with the materials -before me, I have balanced, pretty -equally as I think, my hopes of my -readers’ favour, with my fears of their -frowns; and I stand chargeable with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_iv'>iv</span>no more than an error in judgment, -or too much partiality for Miss -Cowley’s talents, in having preferred -her pen to my own.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is, however, indispensably necessary, -that I should prepare the way -for her appearance as a candidate -for public notice; and with as much -of brevity as of fidelity, do I intend -to make my first chapter useful to -this purpose, by detailing such particulars -of her family, birth, and -circumstances of fortune, as are requisite -for the better knowledge and -illustration of those occurrences -which engaged her time and attention, -and furnished the principal -subjects for her pen.</p> - -<div class='section ph1'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>LADY MACLAIRN,</div> - <div class='c003'><span class='small'>THE</span></div> - <div class='c003'><span class='xlarge'><em>VICTIM OF VILLANY</em>.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP. I.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>Mr. Cowley, father of Miss Cowley, -was, at an early age, left an orphan, -with an ample inheritance in Jamaica, -the place of his birth. He was consigned -by the will of his father, who had survived -his mother, to the guardianship of -a gentleman who resided in London, and -who, in his commercial concerns, had for -a course of years evinced an integrity, -founded on the liberal principles of an -enlightened mind and a cultivated understanding. -The care of his estate was -left in the hands of a friend, not less -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>qualified for this more subordinate office. -He lived on the spot; and was enriched -by the vigilance and honesty with which -he discharged his duty. His first care -after his benefactor’s decease, was to send -the young heir to England, for the purpose -of his improvement; and his London -guardian, not only placed him within -the reach of the attainments requisite for -his future happiness, but by his truly -parental care and tenderness, gave him -the fairest example of the influence and -benefits resulting from a conduct governed -by virtue and solid wisdom. Thus -secured on all sides by a gracious Providence, -Henry Cowley lived to reach his -twenty-first year; when, by the sudden -death of his benevolent friend, -he found himself master of his time, his -fortune, and his amusements. But love -had provided an armour of defence -against the seductions of the world; and -the difficulties he had to surmount in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>attaining the object of his affections, -gave to his youthful ardour pursuits far -remote from the dangers of dissipation. To -conquer the reluctance of Mrs. Dawson, -the young lady’s mother, to her daughter’s -marrying him, or any other pretender to -her favour, was a trial, not only of his -patience and perseverance, but also of -her daughter’s health and spirits; for she -had long since given her heart to young -Cowley, and well knew that the only -impediment in the way to her union with -the man she loved, was the excessive and -fond attachment of her mother to her -society, and the wish of having no competitor -for a heart which she conceived -to be made only for herself. The young -lady’s declining spirits, and the arguments -urged by her lover, at length gained -a cold consent, to which were annexed -conditions that Cowley cheerfully agreed -to. These were principally confined to -the young couple’s residence under her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>roof, and a promise, never to hazard a -voyage to Jamaica without her concurrence. -Satisfied on these essential points, -she hastened the nuptials, in order to -expedite her removal with her daughter -to Bristol Hot-Wells, whither she was -ordered by her physician; and entirely -regardless of procuring settlements, her -daughter being an only child, the party -proceeded from the altar to their destined -abode at Clifton; where health, peace, -and gaiety met the happy pair. Mrs. -Dawson’s apprehensions for the life of her -beloved daughter had not long subsided -before she became alarmed for herself: -the honey-moon continued longer than -her forbearance; she imagined herself -neglected. Fears and explanations were -succeeded by altercations, and fits of sullenness -and even rudeness to poor Cowley; -who, in consideration of his wife’s -tranquillity, redoubled his attentions to -her mother. This tribute of true affection -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>gained him nothing with Mrs. Dawson, -for it unfortunately gave her daughter -an opportunity of observing, more than -once, that “Mr. Cowley’s behaviour to -her mother was of itself sufficient to engage -her love, her esteem and gratitude.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>During the space of three years the -amiable wife bore with patience these -jealous caprices of her mother; not so -acquiescent was the husband: he was -weary of the contest, and the tender -Marian trembled for her husband’s peace -and her own future happiness. The -death of Mr. Cowley’s faithful agent in -Jamaica, which happened at this period, -rendered a voyage thither indispensible -to Mr. Cowley. He explicitly placed -before his wife and her mother his intentions -to visit his patrimony; and left -them to decide whether he was to go unaccompanied -by the only person who could -solace him in his absence from England. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>Mrs. Cowley firmly declared her purpose -of going with him, and to every argument -and entreaty used by her mother, -applied the same answer:—“My duty, my -affection, my very life, urge me to undertake -a voyage which my husband -hazards; and were it round the world I -would cheerfully share the dangers with -my Cowley.” Let it suffice that Mrs. -Cowley persevered, and from the hour of -her daughter’s departure, her mother -nourished an irreconcilable hatred to Mr. -Cowley; attributing to his cruelty and -undue authority the absence of his wife, -“who was not permitted to love even her -mother, nor that mother to shelter her -from his tyrannical temper.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Candour, as well as the proofs before me, -exact from my pen, however, some qualifications, -which will soften down to the -weakness of human nature these severe -traits in Mrs. Dawson’s character; for it -would be unjust not to give it more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>favourable lineaments, and amongst several, -it is proper to distinguish one, namely, -her generous cares in sheltering under her -roof a young lady, who was left an orphan -for more than three years, at the end of -which period she married happily. As -this act of friendship and benevolence on -Mrs. Dawson’s part produced a course of -active and important duties on the young -lady’s, and as these are materially connected -with my narrative, it must be -allowed me to mention more particularly -the advantages which had, at this period -of my history, accrued to Mrs. Dawson -from her kind protection of Miss Otway. -Her age, her various talents, and her attractive -virtues, had contributed to form -Marian Dawson’s mind, and to obviate the -evils of her mother’s unlimited indulgence. -Till her marriage with Mr. -Hardcastle, to whom she had been engaged -before she lost her father, and -whom from prudential motives she refused -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>to marry when deprived of this support, -her whole attention had been given -to Miss Dawson’s education; and although -the instructress and the pupil -differed not in age more than two or -three years, nothing less than the blindest -folly could have overlooked the rich -recompence which Mrs. Dawson derived -from her kindness to Miss Otway: the most -perfect friendship and confidence subsisted -between the young women. Cowley was -the intimate friend of Mr. Hardcastle, -though several years younger than himself, -and few of Mrs. Dawson’s connections -doubted of the share which the -Hardcastles had taken in the unhappy -dissentions caused by Mrs. Dawson’s ill-regulated -fondness to her child. It is -certain, that both Mr. and Mrs. Cowley -had the concurrence of these friends in -regard to the measures they pursued; -and with the most sanguine hopes of -succeeding, they both engaged to spare -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>no pains in reconciling Mrs. Dawson to the -temporary absence of her son and daughter, -nor in preparing her to expect Mr. -Cowley to have an establishment of his -own at his return. Faithful to their engagements, -they in part effected their purpose. -Their attentions soothed the afflicted -mother. She found that she was not -wholly abandoned; she talked of her -poor unhappy child till compassion had -subdued resentment, and time had banished -tears and bewailings; and Mrs. -Dawson again tasted the comforts of -health, affluence, and friendship, although -still dead to the pleasure of <em>forgiveness</em>, -probably, because it was less painful to -hate Cowley than to reproach herself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mr. Hardcastle’s succession to his uncle’s -estate of about five or six hundred -pounds per annum, induced a change -in his plans of life. He gave up his profession -in the law, and retired to his inheritance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>with his lady and child, then an -infant, Mrs. Dawson suffered little from -this change, for she passed months at a -time with them in the country, and enjoyed -the variety of the seasons with -health, and few regrets beyond her -usual topic for discontent. “Seven years -a wife without the chance of being a -mother,” had not been unfrequently adverted -to by Mrs. Dawson, as a proof of -Mr. Cowley’s demerits in the sight of -Heaven. “He, that so fervently wished for -children! But his wretched temper would -have its punishments.” Alas! his fond -and too eager wishes had most unquestionably -their disappointment in the hour -of their fruition; for, in consequence of -a fever which no skill could overcome, he -lost his wife six weeks after she had given -him a daughter. Mrs. Dawson sunk under -this heavy stroke. Nothing remained -but her enmity to Cowley; and in -order to gratify this, she made her will. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>To Rachel Marian Cowley, her grand-daughter, -she bequeathed all her property; -but subjected it to conditions, which -sufficiently marked her hatred to the -infant’s father. In case Mr. Cowley submitted -to relinquish the rights of a -parent, and to place his daughter under -Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle’s care, the child -was immediately after her decease to be -conveyed to England, and given into -their protection. On this condition, she -was entitled to the annual interest resulting -from the sum which constituted her -fortune, and which was vested in the -public funds, to the amount of a capital -which produced more than six hundred -pounds per annum. The father’s refusal -to concede to these terms, restricted her -from the fortune till she was twenty-one, -or till she married with the consent of Mr. -Hardcastle and the other trustee appointed -to this duty. In case of her death -before she could claim her fortune, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>whole sum, with its accumulations, was -left to Mr. Hardcastle and his family. Satisfied -with this disposition of her worldly -possessions, she appeared to have recovered -her usual health and composure, -except when speaking of her grand-child. -On these affecting occasions, her only -consolation appeared to rise from Mr. -and Mrs. Hardcastle’s reiterated promises -to receive the child, whenever Mr. Cowley -should think it proper to claim their -kind offices. They repeated this assurance -in the most solemn terms, and Mrs. Hardcastle, -with ceaseless labour, endeavoured -to fix on her mind the persuasion, that -Mr. Cowley would think of no one but -himself for so precious a charge. Mrs. -Dawson was suddenly removed by an -apoplectic fit the following winter; and -Counsellor Steadman, her executor and -trustee, in communicating to Mr. Hardcastle -the contents of Mrs. Dawson’s last -will and testament, was neither surprised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>nor offended at the sentiments his old -friend so warmly expressed, though they -were so opposite to the gratitude usually -bestowed even on <em>contingent</em> donations; -and having informed Mr. Cowley of this -event, and its consequences, he left him -to determine at his leisure, on the fitness -of Mrs. Dawson’s arrangements for his -daughter’s benefit and security.</p> - -<p class='c007'>During this period of time, the unhappy -Mr. Cowley was giving the most unequivocal -and melancholy proofs to those -about him, of the affection he cherished -for his amiable and lost Marian. A long -and dangerous illness had succeeded to -her death, the consequence of his attendance, -fatigue, and grief; and when -rescued from the grave by the vigour of his -constitution, his friends found his mind -sunk into the deepest gloom. From this -deplorable condition, he was gradually -roused by the sight of his infant daughter. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>Happily the child was healthy, and had -for its preservation an attendant well -qualified to supply a mother’s cares. -Mrs. Cowley, on quitting England, had -fortunately secured in the female attendant -who accompanied her, more than the -talents and fidelity of a domestic. Mrs. -Allen was a widow; she had been well -instructed in her youth, and matured in -wisdom and knowledge by a natural good -sense, and the discipline of adversity. -The <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de chambre</span></i> was forgotten -in the usual friend and companion of the -voyage, and Mrs. Cowley introduced -Mrs. Allen to her new circle in a manner suitable -to her merits. To this excellent -woman she in some sort bequeathed her -infant, engaging her, in the most affecting -terms, to watch over the child till it -was safe with Mrs. Hardcastle, who had -promised her to be its parent when in -England. This request was enforced by -Mr. Cowley also; and Mrs. Allen forgot -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>not her obligations in the performance of -her duty. From the time of her lady’s -death, as she always called Mrs. Cowley, -she regularly corresponded with Mrs. -Hardcastle; and from her letters to this -lady, I have learned to judge both of Mr. -Cowley’s attachment to his wife and child, -and of Mrs. Allen’s good sense. I shall -transcribe a part of one of the letters she -wrote to Mrs. Hardcastle, when the child -was something more than three years old: -it delineates the condition of a father -seeking refuge from sorrow in the indulgence -of fondness, the fruits of which -are too often found in bitter repentance. -After an account of Mr. Cowley’s improved -health, and incessant demands on -her little charge for the cheerfulness he -still needed, she thus proceeds: “Judge, -my dear Madam, what must be the result -of this excessive fondness! what -must be the condition of a being, liable -to contradiction and disappointment from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>the very tenure on which she holds her -being, who must never be controuled in -her will, whose tears put Mr. Cowley -into a fever, and whose infant caprices -are laws which no one dare to disobey. -Nature, my dear Madam, has formed her -for a better purpose, than subduing her -father’s judgment by her attractive person -and irresistible vivacity. But with -all the sportive charms of infancy, with, -I may say, redundant health and activity, -with beauty to dazzle all sober judgment -that views her in her happy moments, she -cannot impose on me, nor quiet my apprehensions -for her future life; for she has -passions which need the curb, and -those are hourly strengthening. Already -she is more despotic with her father than -he is with his slaves; and my influence -with her depends only on her generous -nature. She cannot bear to see me -‘grieve,’ to use her language: she has -been just making her dear Allen ‘<em>well</em>.’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>This was the occasion: a young and -sweet-tempered negro girl in the house, -has been with my concurrence promoted -to her nursery; she plays with her, and -is docile to my instructions. This, with -the singular beauty she possesses, have -gained her an interest with me, and I -have taught her to read, and the habits of -order. Marian was busy in making a cap -for her doll this morning, when summoned -to romp with her little tyrant. -She begged for <em>a moment</em>—it was granted; -but Marian still plied her needle: a blow -on her face was the rebuke her tardiness -met with, and the poor girl’s tears -followed it. No ways softened, ‘her dear -Missee’ cuffed and kicked her, till I -interposed, and, with a sorrowful tone, -said, ‘I must leave you, my child, you -will make me sick and sorrowful, for I -cannot love you.’ The storm was allayed; -and taking Marian by the hand, -she left me without speaking a single -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>word. In a short time she returned, -leading the poor girl laden with toys and -her finery. ‘Marian loves me now,’ -said she, creeping to my knees, ‘she has -kissed me—will not you? I am sorry. I -will be good, if it will make you well;—do -smile, only smile once.’ Such is the -child that claims your forming hand: -have pity on her, Madam; use your influence -over her father, urge him to perform -his duty; every day she remains -with him will render your task of love -and friendship more difficult.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This letter produced its desired effect; -for, some months after its date, the following -one appears to have been addressed -to Mr. Hardcastle, from Mr. Cowley. -As it will serve to ascertain his character, -I shall transcribe its contents.—“Your -wife has conquered, my dear friend. I have -at length summoned up resolution to be -a parent and a man. Good God! thou -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>only knowest the price of the sacrifice to -my duty! and thou only canst render it -propitious to thy creature! But I will still -hope in thy mercies. My child, Hardcastle, -has been spared hitherto; she has -happily encountered, not only the diseases -peculiar to her tender age, but also the -small-pox, which she has had, since our -last dispatches, in the mildest form, and -is now in <em>perfect health</em>. To what purpose -has she been thus preserved? Not to -be the victim of my doating fondness. -My promise to her dear mother shall be -fulfilled, and whilst it is yet time to save -her from a father’s weakness. Captain -Vernon, who loved her mother, and whose -attachment to this child is little less than -my own, shall be entrusted with her; -and Mrs. Allen will attend her. You -may expect to see her with the next -Jamaica fleet.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have only to observe to you, as I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>have done to Counsellor Steadman, that -I consider Mrs. Dawson’s legacy to my -daughter, as totally remote from any calculations -of her expences as my child; -I shall never interfere with him as to the -disposal of the money. I have long since -forgotten Mrs. Dawson’s weaknesses and -prejudices, nor did I need any inducement -for my conduct of the nature she -supposed. My wife’s dying request in -regard to her infant, shall be religiously -observed; and it is an unspeakable consolation -to me to know, that the friend -whom she appointed as her substitute, is -as willing to engage in the duty as she -expected. I shall remit you annually -eight hundred per annum for her and -Mrs. Allen’s maintenance under your roof. -You know that this excellent woman is -bound by her engagement to her mother -to serve her. You know the station she -has filled in my house since the death of -my wife. Mrs. Hardcastle is prepared to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>meet in her a valuable addition to her -family: she will not be disappointed; for -her modest worth will ensure her a welcome -in any abode where virtue dwells.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I entreat you, my dear Hardcastle, to -curb your disinterested spirit, whilst I indulge -my provident one, as it relates to -my child’s accommodations. She must -have a nursing maid, she will need a carriage; -and I have explained myself fully -to the counsellor on these points. In regard -to my expectations as these relate to -my child’s advantage, they are incalculable! -I fondly hope when we meet again -to behold her adorned in the attractive -graces of modesty and gentleness, rich in -piety, and principled in duty: such was -her mother, and to Mrs. Hardcastle was -she indebted for the example she rivalled. -Forget not to prepare her for wealth, she -will be probably amongst the number of -those whom the world envies. Teach her, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>Hardcastle, the <em>duties</em> annexed to wealth, -and give her those treasures that will amply -supply the want of gold.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The remaining part of the letter is suppressed -as useless to the subject before us, -although it marks the utmost anxiety and -tenderness for the object of Mr. Cowley’s -cares.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rachel Cowley had nearly attained -her fifth year, when she was joyfully received -in London by Mrs. Hardcastle. -Mrs. Allen had prudently refused to have -any attendant with her on the voyage, -and had not Captain Vernon’s fondness -for her pupil frustrated her designs, it is -probable the little rebel to authority -might have appeared to greater advantage -in the eyes of wisdom than she did. -But the extreme loveliness of her person, -her near affinity to a friend still tenderly -regretted, and the circumstances under -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>which she beheld her, soon rendered Mrs. -Hardcastle favourably disposed towards a -child whose misfortune it had been, to be -from her birth the idol of slaves, and the -ruler of their master. A few days were -given to Mrs. Allen’s business and the -child’s repose in town, when they were -conducted to the home which Heaven had -graciously destined for them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mr. Hardcastle’s house was a fit abode -for its inmates, and from the hour it became -the family residence, Mr. Hardcastle -had given up a profession he never -loved, and relinquished the pursuits of -the barrister for those of the farmer, and -the indulgence of a taste which had rendered -his habitation an ornament to the -adjacent country. The little stranger -was met at Worcester by Mr. Hardcastle -and his two children. This excursion was -short for them, but its delights were of -importance, for it prepared the new -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>comer for the pleasures of Heathcot-Farm; -and by the time the little group -had reached the room appointed for their -recreation, the epithets of brother and -sister were become favourites. It may -appear useless minutia to delineate the -characters of the children thus become -our heroine’s playmates; but no author -is without opinions of his own: and in -consequence of the privileges which my -own pen at this period of my history -gives me, I think it necessary to describe -Mrs. Hardcastle’s pupils.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lucy Hardcastle had nearly attained -her eighth year, when her mother’s duties -were called upon in favour of Miss -Cowley. Horace, her brother, was not -yet seven, and of a disposition so similar -to that of the little stranger, that he soon -engrossed her favour and preference. Of -Lucy it might be said, that nature had -cast her in a mould so perfect, that for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>every proof of punctual care and tenderness, -she paid “love—fair looks—and true -obedience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Still thinking all too little payment -for so great a debt,” the judicious mother -of these children had, from the first -indications of the difference which nature -had marked in their characters, -applied to each the peculiar culture which -each demanded; and though the bold -and vigorous shoots of her son’s ardent -spirit were still unsubdued, yet she had -trained him to obedience and docility by -the firmness and gentleness of her guiding -hand; and force could meet contradiction -without petulance. His activity, -his gay and volatile spirits, endeared -him to a companion as fearless -of danger and fatigue as himself, and -whose ingenuity rivalled his own in expedients -to direct and enjoy every interval -of time allotted to play. In the first -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>instance of Mrs. Hardcastle’s exercise of -her jurisdiction, she had found Horace -a very useful agent in her purposes of -wisdom. Her new pupil, with infantile -fondness, was ambitious of learning all -that Horace learnt, and she became stationary -at his elbow with her lesson -whilst he studied his, in order that she -might run and frolic with him when his -task was accomplished. Without tracing -the probable effects of these early -impressions on minds constituted to love -and harmonize with each other, it shall -suffice, that it was frequently observed -in the family, that the habit of yielding -up her will to Horace, was become so -easy a lesson to Rachel Cowley, that she -practised compliance even with her maid-servant. -As she advanced in age, this -preference became more useful to her, and -more noticed by those around her; and -the obvious stimulus to every exertion of -her talents, was the wish to please her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>“brother Horace.” Mrs. Hardcastle -was gratified by the effects which had -resulted from the uniform principles of -her pupil’s mind, and from which had -sprung the most promising of her hopes, -as these fondly contemplated the future -excellencies and happiness of a young -creature endeared to her heart by time, -and ties not less strong than those of the -mother to a favoured child. The good -Mrs. Allen, engaged in her subordinate -duties of watching over the personal -comforts of the children, saw with delight -the impetuosity of her darling’s -temper gradually yielding to the mild -controul of the timid Lucy, and every -angry passion bowing down to the check -of Horace’s eye. But Mr. Hardcastle, -alive to every suggestion of a mind scrupulously -just, and whose acquaintance -with the human heart was founded on experience -more than on the speculations of -theorists and philosophers, could without -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>difficulty recal the period, at which, in -the elegant language of our poetress, he -might himself have addressed his wife -when a girl of eleven or twelve years old -with these harmonious lines:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“When first upon your tender cheek</div> - <div class='line'>I saw the morn of beauty break</div> - <div class='line in2'>With mild and cheering beam,</div> - <div class='line'>I bow’d before your infant shrine,</div> - <div class='line'>The earliest sighs you had were mine,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And you my darling theme.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I saw you in that opening morn,</div> - <div class='line'>For beauty’s boundless empire born,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And first confess’d your sway;</div> - <div class='line'>And e’er your thoughts, devoid of art,</div> - <div class='line'>Could learn the value of a heart,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I gave my heart away.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The peculiar circumstances of fortune -in which Miss Cowley had been left by -Mrs. Dawson’s will, her prospects in life, -and above all, the confidence which her -father had placed in her principles, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>strengthened his apprehensions for his -son’s future conduct, and the consequences -to be expected from so apparent -an attachment and sympathy in character, -as his vigilant eye detected in the -mutual, though childish conversation of -a boy and a girl. He communicated his -fears to his wife; and the separation -which followed, was the tribute which -virtue and rectitude exacted from the -tender parents. Horace was sent to his -maternal uncle’s, to complete his education; -and the same year Mrs. Hardcastle -commenced her annual visit to London, -for three months, in order to give her -young charge, then in her twelfth year, -the advantages of the first-rate masters -in those accomplishments which her fortune -rendered necessary. A circle of -friends, who, like herself, conceived that -no girl beyond the age of infancy could -be better placed than in the drawing-room, -in a society composed of both -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>sexes, qualified and disposed to be useful -to their innocence and improvement, -bounded Mrs. Hardcastle’s town amusements, -and spared her the lessons necessary -to the young candidate for notice, -who at a certain age is emancipated from -the routine of a school, or a nursery in -the attic; or in other words, “brought -out” for the gaze of idle curiosity, and -to be disposed of to the highest bidder.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Rachel Cowley’s introduction to the -world was unmarked by any <em>eclat</em> of this -kind; and whilst probably she and her -friend Lucy were daily acquiring good -manners and knowledge, they neither -suspected nor thought of the extent of -the obligations they were under to those -who were forming their minds, and determining -their future taste for the enjoyments -of <em>rational</em> and responsible -beings.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>During this period of Miss Cowley’s -life, her father had gradually recovered -his health and spirits; urged by the remonstrances -and arguments of his friends, -he had, on parting with his daughter, employed -his leisure, and diverted his mind -by building a house on a newly purchased -plantation nearer to Kingston, and within -the reach of a friend to whom he was -peculiarly attached. Amused by this -object of pursuit, he was led to other -improvements of the spot; and in his new -abode he saw another Eden bloom, -without the sad recollection which had -haunted his footsteps in the favourite -retreat of his still regretted wife and his -beloved child. Mr. Cowley, in consequence -of his multiplied avocations, and -the renewal of his social feelings, became -satisfied with mentioning from time to -time his <em>intention</em> of visiting England.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Hardcastle was no stranger to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>the real cause of his friend’s delay, but -his prudence concealed from his ward a -subject of regret to himself, and of concern -to his wife and Mrs. Allen. The -negro girl who had been selected, for the -sweetness of her temper and the graces -of nature, as the playmate in Miss Cowley’s -nursery, had gained the notice of -her father, and had enjoyed Mrs. Allen’s -attentions to her improvement in useful -learning. It had been debated whether -Marian might not have been serviceable -to her young lady during the voyage: -the proposal had been rejected; for -Mrs. Allen perfectly understood that the -compliances of a slave were not of that -sort which her pupil needed. She therefore -left the girl to the care of the housekeeper, -and in a condition of ease and -comfort under Mrs. Cowley’s roof. Poor -Cowley was soothed in his first depression -of spirits on losing sight of his idol, -by finding he had a sharer in his sorrow; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>and he gratified his benevolence by being -Marian’s consoler. She in her turn -solaced his lonely hours by talking of -her “dear missee,” and accompanying -him in his walks. Habits of affection -and kindness were thus mutually formed, -and gave rise to an attachment incompatible -with innocence and honour. At an -early age Marian was formally emancipated -from her chains as a <em>negro slave</em>, -in order to bear the shackles of a mistress. -But in this deviation from his hitherto -regular and moral conduct, Mr. Cowley -forgot not <em>decorum</em>; his favourite resided -with privacy at the more remote plantation, -which was called the Creek Savannah, -and he lived in the new house already -mentioned. His friends, who loved him, -overlooked a frailty which unfortunately -was not particularly Mr. Cowley’s weakness: -but they did more; for they attributed -his conduct to the steady purpose of remaining -unmarried for his daughter’s sake. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>Mr. Hardcastle’s opinions were not of -this pliant sort; but he well knew that -his arguments would be lost on a man -who had silenced his own principles of -religious observances: certain that Miss -Cowley had experienced no failure of -her father’s affection or generosity, he -contented himself with performing his -duty, and providing against the consequences -so unavoidably connected with -Mr. Cowley’s absence from his child. -He well knew, that without the reciprocal -acts of love and duty, the ties of consanguinity -would be feeble. He had -daily proofs that Miss Cowley was little -affected by the protracted promises contained -in her father’s letters; that her -happiness was centered in the bosom of -his family, and that the thought of being -separated from it, never occurred as within -the line of probability. Every means -of prudence had been applied to obviate -this evil. Conversations had been purposely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>appointed, to keep up in her memory -“her dear father,” his affection for -her, “his sacrifice of his comforts for -her benefit.” “His generosity and amiable -temper” were traced with minuteness; -and her petitions to Heaven included -mercies for a parent, so justly entitled -to her duty and love. These lessons -of wisdom had not been lost on the -docile heart of the child. She listened -with pleasure to these tales of her “good -papa,” and forgot him when clinging to -her “mamma Hardcastle.” As she advanced -in age, Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle -more assiduously attended to the views -before them; and with the entire persuasion -of their own minds, that the time -was rapidly approaching, when Mr. -Cowley would recal his daughter, they -endeavoured to prepare her for the summons. -To this intent, Mrs. Hardcastle -sometimes read to her extracts from her -mother’s letters, in which she described -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>the natural beauties of Jamaica; the society -she had met with; the estimation -in which her husband was held; her -own amusements and happy life; and -the activity and benevolent cares which -supplied to her husband an indemnification -for the absence of his London -friends. Unacquainted with disguise, -Miss Cowley left no doubt on Mrs. -Hardcastle’s mind as to the impressions -which these letters and her conversations -produced. Anxious wishes for her -father’s settling in London, and a declared -repugnance to living in Jamaica, were -the constant result of these attempts; -and it was now become necessary to call -upon a reason sufficiently cultivated to -yield an assent to every argument of -duty. Alarmed by an earnestness which -she considered as immediately springing -from Mr. Hardcastle’s knowing her father’s -intention of recalling her home, -she wrote to him a letter expressive of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>her fears, and to implore him to leave a -country in which <em>she</em> should be miserable. -The reply to this letter is before -me. Mr. Cowley assures his daughter, -that he has no intention of endangering -her health and safety in a voyage to -him, nor any plans before him which -will remove her from the protecting arms -of “her dear Mrs. Hardcastle.” He -thus proceeds: “The habits of many -years have made my avocations pleasurable: -indecision and indolence stand -in the way of your wishes and my own -views; yet I hope to be with you next -year in your dear foggy island. Be satisfied, -my dear Rachel, with this assurance, -and believe that my procrastination -proceeds from my regard for -your happiness, not from any abatement -of my tenderness. You are, my child, -under the eye of a mother, qualified to -render you worthy of the one who bore -you. I am not jealous of her ascendancy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>over you; tell her so; and that you -have my permission to love her as tenderly -as you can. She will be too just -and too generous to monopolize your -whole heart; but she will not forget to -decorate that corner of it which your -father occupies, and which a husband -may share, with the ornament which -passeth shew. Continue, as you have -done, to deserve her maternal cares, and -remain the hope of your truly affectionate -father,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Henry Cowley</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“P. S. I write to Hardcastle, and -Captain Vernon will inform you of my -good looks, tho’ not in the rapturous -style in which he speaks of my lovely -girl, and his Heathcot holidays.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP II.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>Thus passed the first transient cloud -which had depressed the gaiety of Miss -Cowley’s temper; and, delighted by the -contents of her father’s letter, the glow -of gratitude gave him an interest in her -bosom which she had never before felt, -and supplied her with a never-failing -motive for proving herself worthy of such -a father. In the following winter all was -gloom and sadness at Heathcot. Mrs. -Hardcastle was at first, to use her own -encouraging words, “only slightly indisposed -with a cold;” but the malady was -of that sort which, whilst it represses -hope, fallaciously invites it; and the calm -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>and patient invalid, unwilling to break -down its deceitful promises, aided the deceiver -by her endearing smiles and uniform -serenity, till her strength was subdued, -and medicine was found useless. Month -had thus succeeded to month: during this -period Mrs. Hardcastle contemplated, -with a foresight of that recompense she -was shortly to reach, the fruits of welldoing, -by witnessing the conduct of a -child who had for so many years shared -her maternal cares, and had been so peculiarly -an object of her solicitude and vigilance. -She beheld the restless, and volatile -girl, stationed in the sick room, -sedate, tender, and assiduous; prompt -in every soothing, kind office; dexterous -in every expedient to relieve and alleviate; -patient of all opposition, and unwearied -in watching by her side. She -saw her character rising into magnanimity -as the danger augmented; supporting -by her fortitude the sinking spirits -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>of Lucy, and cheering the despondency -of Mr. Hardcastle by arguments drawn -from a faith in which she herself trusted -for support. She saw the pang of anguish -checked by a smile of tender sympathy; -and with the greetings of love -and assumed cheerfulness, she saw the -cheek of her beloved pupil pale with fatigue -and grief. Horace could not be -kept from a scene of this kind; he had -been summoned home some weeks before -his mother’s case was judged hopeless; -and Mrs. Hardcastle, either too -much occupied with different thoughts, -or too happy in the presence of her son -to attend to those cautions which had -banished him from his home, saw, without -shewing any inquietude, that time -had not weakened the affection of her -children. Miss Cowley seemed rather to -invite her animadversions on her conduct, -as this related to Horace; and one day -she even ventured to observe to the contented -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>mother, who had been gratified -by some tender office in which Horace -had assisted, “that <em>she at least</em> could -not be surprised by seeing that Horace -Hardcastle was still Rachel Cowley’s -<em>favourite</em>.” The smile with which this -observation was received had in it nothing -for discouragement; and Mrs. -Hardcastle added, “that she hoped he -would always be the favourite with the -wise and virtuous.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>A few days before she expired, she -found, on awaking from a lethargic slumber, -Miss Cowley and Horace watching -at her bedside. “You have been sleeping, -my dear mother,” said Horace, “and -we have insisted on Lucy and Mrs. Allen’s -going into the garden for a little -air.” Miss Cowley during this time -was prepared with a cordial for the patient; -and she, raising herself, was supported -by her son. She took the offered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>medicine in her feeble hands, and fixing -her eyes on Miss Cowley, said something, -but so low, that neither of the interested -witnesses of this scene could understand -it. “Oh, it was her blessing,” cried the -agonized Horace, “her <em>last</em> blessing on”——“<em>my -children</em>,” said the subdued -mother, sinking on her pillow, and -convulsively holding their hands in her -own. Horace, unable to maintain any -longer his self-command, hastily left the -room, and Miss Cowley silently gave -herself up to tears. The exhausted -invalid again dosed; and she breathed -her last sigh, without further confirming -the ardent wishes of those to whom her -concurrence would have been a sanction -for that affection which both believed -she wished not to oppose, and which -both as fondly hoped would have rendered -her happy.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Hardcastle’s death appeared for a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>time to have overwhelmed the family -with all the force of a sudden and unexpected -blow; every one wanted consolation, -but none was found who could -administer it. Mr. Hardcastle was the -first who was capable of exertions; he -recollected Lucy, and the feelings of -the husband awakened those of the father. -Religion sheds its balm on its true -votaries: domestic comfort succeeded; -and Mr. Hardcastle in contemplating the -child before him, blessed Heaven for the -solace it gave to his sorrow.</p> - -<p class='c009'>Lucy was not long without discovering, -that her brother had found a sweet -consolation in Miss Cowley’s sympathy -and society; and she began to wonder, -that her father should have so apparently -overlooked what had so recently called -forth her observation, namely, that Horace, -near twenty years old, was a more -dangerous guest than when short of fifteen. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>Perfectly acquainted with the motives -which had led her father to submit to -his absence, she took an opportunity -of remarking to her friend, that Horace’s -unguarded behaviour would soon -banish him again from Heathcot; and -that she was surprised he had been permitted -to stay so long, which she solely -attributed to his father’s state of mind, -and his being so much alone. “If you -had been as observant of my conduct -as of your brother’s,” replied Miss -Cowley with seriousness, “you would -have perceived what you call the same -indiscretion on my part: for the truth -is, we wish not to conceal an affection -on which our happiness depends. Horace -knows that I love him, and I -know he loves me, and whether at -Heathcot or in the deserts of Arabia, we -shall live for each other. I am too -young, you will say,” continued she -with increased seriousness of manner, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>“to decide thus positively on a business -of such importance to my future happiness. -But I answer, that I am not a -romantic girl. I will stand the test of -time with cheerfulness; for either I have -no title to the name of a natural being, -or I am qualified to judge of Horace’s -title to my esteem and regard. I shall -place before my father, as soon as we -meet, the <em>solid</em> grounds I have for my -preference of your brother: I will leave -to his judgment and liberality of mind -to determine the time when I may be -supposed to know my own heart, and to -consider whether Mr. Hardcastle’s son -will be any disgrace to Mr. Cowley or -his supposed wealth. But I have no -apprehensions on this point. My father -is a generous minded man. He married -for happiness himself, and he would -revolt at the idea of sacrificing his -daughter at the shrine of avarice or -ambition. No, no, Lucy,” added she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>with animation, “in attaching my affections -to an honest and worthy man, I -have not sinned against that authority -which my father claims; and to give me -to a Hardcastle for life will be the consummation -of that parental love which -consigned me into the hands of your -excellent mother. He will soon be here; -he will appeal to your father’s understanding -and tried friendship; Mr. Hardcastle -will discard his scruples, and sanction, -with his consent, my right to the -name I revere.” “We shall be sisters,” -continued she, fondly kissing Lucy’s -cheek. “One bond of love will unite -us for life. I have no fears.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Miss Hardcastle, fully convinced that -nothing could be gained in favour of -prudence and circumspection during the -influence of hopes so sanguine in favour -of love, suffered her friend’s earnestness -to abate, without opposing her fond belief -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>by producing those difficulties which -she foresaw would arise to baffle her intentions -and to disturb her brother’s -happiness. She soon quitted the room, -in order to consider those steps necessary -to its security, and the conduct she had -to pursue. But Lucy Hardcastle had -been taught to consider a positive duty -as liable to no appeal from inclination. -She knew, that, in order to prevent Miss -Cowley’s growing attachment to her -brother, her parents had yielded up a -point, on which depended their highest -satisfactions. Her mother had frequently -mentioned losing sight of her son, as one -of those privations which had exercised -her fortitude in a peculiar degree; and -that she could never have supported his -absence from his father’s tuition, and her -own love, but from the considerations -of the duty she owed to Mr. Hardcastle, -and the reverence she felt for his judgment. -With this example before her, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>Lucy hastily repaired to her father and -ingenuously imparted to him her own -suspicions. “Disposed as I am,” continued -she smiling, “to favour those -lovers, I think it my duty, my dear Sir, -to refer myself to you. I shall soon be -Rachel’s confidant, and governed as I -shall be, by my affection for her and for -my brother, I may be led to oppose your -will, and frustrate your plans of wisdom -and prudence. I am certain that their -early attachment is confirmed and -strengthened by their respectively discovering -the improvements which time has -produced in both.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>“I would rather see your brother <em>dead</em>, -than the husband of this young creature!” -replied Mr. Hardcastle, rising with -emotion; “or rather, let me implore death -for my relief, before I see him pointed -at as the base and interested purloiner of -this girl’s affections! I know too well, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>my child, the malignity of human nature. -In a case like this, no allowance -would be made, by far the greater part -of the world, for motives more pure and -honourable than a sordid consideration -of her wealth,—her attractive beauty, and -his age of passion. The natural results of -undepraved youth and innocence would -be set aside, in order to brand that father -with infamy, who thus provided for -his own son, by cheating another of -his daughter. But this is not all: you -know the tenor of Mrs. Dawson’s will. -My honour and reputation have hung on -this child’s life from the hour she has been -under my roof; for her death would secure -to me her grandmother’s property. -Your dear mother, in this single instance, -opposed her opinion to mine. On pointing -out to her the <em>hazard</em> of receiving -into our hands a child thus circumstanced, -she laughed at my fears, and -asked me, whether her husband had so -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>lived, as to be in danger of any imputation -on his integrity. ‘Be more just to -yourself,’ said she, with honest pride; -‘the virtue which has marked your life, -will be your security. You stand beyond -the reach of that malice which -would dare to conceive that Hardcastle -would take advantage of the helpless innocence -of an infant committed to his -care.’ She urged her promise to Mrs. -Cowley, and to Mrs. Dawson, and with -dignity, added, that Rachel Cowley could -be no where so secure as with <em>her heirs</em>. -‘We will perform our duty, my dear -husband,’ said she, ‘and trust to Heaven -for a recompence, of more value than -her money.’ I was conquered; and Heaven -in its mercy has preserved this child’s -life. But what think you would be the -conclusions drawn from Horace’s marrying -her? They are too apparent not -to be seen. ‘Foiled in one expectation,’ -it will be said, ‘Hardcastle has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>succeeded in a more lucrative project. -<em>A marriage</em> will not only secure to his -son Mrs. Dawson’s fortune, but Mr. -Cowley’s princely revenue also; and by -favouring his son’s views, and entangling -the girl’s heart, he has enriched his family.’ -How would you repel a scandal -of this nature, my dear child? Not by -saying, that Miss Cowley loved your -brother; for that would only prove that -she had been betrayed by the insidious -flattery to which she was exposed.—I -have been too heedless,” added Mr. -Hardcastle, “my mind of late has been——!” -Mr. Hardcastle’s firmness yielded—he -pressed Lucy to his bosom, and -wept audibly.</p> - -<p class='c009'>On reassuming his composure, he proceeded -to inform his daughter, that he -had, for nearly a week, been hesitating -in what manner to answer an application, -which Mr. Freeman, her uncle, had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>transmitted to his consideration, relative -to Horace. “You have, my dear girl, -been useful to your father; by your information,” -added he, “I shall no longer -want resolution. In regard to Miss Cowley, -remember that I wish not to interrupt -the confidence which subsists between -you, nor will I tempt your honesty -by a single question. You know -the reasons which force me to refuse to -your brother an object so worthy of his -admiration, and my tender regard. I -leave to your prudence to point out the -conduct you ought to pursue with your -friend; and after you have perused your -uncle’s letter, you will be prepared to -mention to her Horace’s removal from -England.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Poor Lucy felt that virtue had its conflicts -in her bosom; and hastily retiring, -gave herself up to the regret of having, -by her interference, doomed her brother -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>to an undetermined course of banishment.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The subject of the letter in question -necessarily requires some information relative -to the character and situation of -the writer, Horace’s uncle. The Rev. -Mr. Freeman having succeeded to a village -living, of about four hundred pounds -per annum, in the vicinity of Exeter, at an -advanced period of his life, and with the -peculiar habits of a man who had for -many years lived in his college, appeared, -on settling in his excellent parsonage-house, -to have forgotten that “it was not -good for man to be alone.” His friends -and neighbours frequently reminded him, -notwithstanding, that his house was too -large for a bachelor, and that he was -<em>losing time</em>. Mr. Freeman had already -experienced the justness of this latter -observation; for, with painful regret, it -recalled to his memory, that his season for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>happiness was irrecoverably passed. He -had been tenderly attached to an amiable -young woman at an early period of his -life; and whilst his expectations were undecided -in regard to that provision necessary -for her security, his talents and -conduct soon distinguished him at the -university; and, supported by mutual -esteem and hope, the lovers looked forwards -to happiness. The death of the -lady interrupted this calm prospect. Mr. -Freeman became a “book-worm,” “a -quiz,” and a tutor in his college, who -suited no young man of spirit. Notwithstanding -this character, he had, with -all his singularities to boot, acquired -such a reputation for learning, and the -happy talent of communicating it, that -his friends seemed determined to pursue -him to his retreat; and he at length -yielded to the plan they proposed, of -receiving four pupils under his roof. -These were young men whose fathers -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>conceived a couple of years noviciate, -passed with Mr. Freeman, fully adequate -to the advantages of being freed from the -restraints of a grammar-school, for the -enjoyment of a fellow-commoner’s gown. -Amongst the number of those who had -respected the “sanctified” tutor at —— -college, was the Duke of J——, then at -the university. Some short time after -Horace Hardcastle had become an inmate -in Mr. Freeman’s house, this nobleman’s -son was also consigned to his uncle’s -care, for the twofold purposes of his -education and the preservation of his -health. Lord William S—— had, from his -cradle, been extremely delicate; and in -proportion as he grew up, consumptive -symptoms had appeared. Scotland had -been judged too unfriendly a climate for -so tender a plant, and the duchess had -serious arguments to produce against -every public seminary of learning. The -young man’s father had not forgotten -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>his college tutor, and the mild air of -Devonshire promised an amendment in -health for his son. Mr. Freeman yielded -to a solicitation thus urged; and although -the pupil was not yet fourteen, -and intruded on the fixed number, he -was admitted. The amiable boy reached -the priory before Horace had ceased -to repent his absence from Heathcot-Farm; -and the young nobleman soon -found in him a companion more peculiarly -attractive to his gentleness of temper, -from the absence of that gaiety and -activity of spirit, which was so distinguished -a characteristic of Horace’s -mind. Grateful to a youth, who, although -his senior, did not overlook him, as the -more advanced pupils did; and who was -neither too wise for his amusement, nor -too insignificant for his associate, he -attached himself to Hardcastle, with all -the enthusiasm which results from warm -affections and an unperverted nature; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>and leaving to themselves the young -men whose attainments placed them -beyond their sphere of action, the newly -arrived pupils gradually cemented those -bonds of friendship, which, with the virtuous, -not unfrequently prove the most -indissoluble. When Horace was summoned -to his mother’s sick room, he had -left his companion under a severe attack -of the unrelenting cough; and so -serious were now the symptoms of decay, -that it was determined he should try the -effects of sea-air and a voyage. A vessel -was prepared with the sole view to his -accommodation; a medical gentleman was -engaged to accompany him, and a tutor -was appointed for his guide and companion. -Frequent voyages and short intervals -of refreshment in more southern -latitudes, were the objects of these arrangements; -and the mild and uncomplaining -invalid looked forwards with -delight to the prospect of thus visiting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>every port in the Mediterranean. Nothing -was absent from this sanguine -picture of hope, but his friend Horace; -and without him, the gay colouring sunk -at once into the flat and insipid sameness -of a ship’s cabin, or was charged -with the desponding tints of never beholding -him again. His father, who was -with him, soon discovered his wishes; -and immediately applied to Mr. Freeman -for his good offices with Mr. Hardcastle, -assuring him, that neither the young -gentleman’s time nor interest should be -lost by a compliance with his request. -This proposal was the subject of Mr. -Freeman’s letter to Horace’s father; and -the plan recommended, was not only -favourable to Horace’s future views, but -also advantageous to his further improvement. -The difficulties which had suspended -Mr. Hardcastle’s decision, will be -easily imagined: his honour silenced the -fond remonstrances of his heart; and he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>determined on a separation, which would -at once exclude his son from all personal -intercourse with Miss Cowley for a longer -time than he conceived her father -would permit her to remain unmarried.</p> - -<p class='c009'>He lost no time in placing before his -son his uncle’s proposal, and his own entire -concurrence in the plan. “In this -sacrifice of my own comforts for your -advantage,” added the father, “I shall, -I must be amply indemnified by seeing -you escape from the danger which menaces -you under my roof. In the duties -of <em>friendship</em>, you may, my son, safely -indulge the sensibility of a warm and -affectionate nature; but in the presence -of a beautiful girl, endeared to you by -the sweet ties of infant sportiveness and -familiar approach, you have forgotten, -Horace, that passion and imagination -are the usual rocks on which the honour -and security of a young man are shipwrecked. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>I know that your principles -are sound; I also know, that in the present -delusion of your senses, there is no -mixture of a sordid consideration in regard -to Miss Cowley’s wealth. No, Horace, -you are too generous for such views, -and she is too attractive to need them. -But tell me, with what arguments would -you confute the charge so strongly to be -inferred from the circumstances in which -we are placed relatively to this young -lady, by her grandmother’s will? I -know Mr. Cowley, and I believe him to -be a liberal-minded man; but would -Horace Hardcastle find in an <em>extorted</em> -consent to his union with his daughter, -the approbation needful for his <em>honour</em>? -Recollect, that a gift not freely bestowed, -is, and must be, oppressive to a noble -mind; and the tenderness and weakness -of a parent, who yields to the importunities -of a fond, love-sick girl, furnish -no excuse for the man who has fraudulently -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>counteracted her parent’s views and -expectations, by gaining an empire over -her affections. Be more just to yourself, -my son. You want not wealth to elevate -you, nor firmness to conquer your -present feelings. Be not deceived by the -enthusiasm which now governs you. -The good report of your fellow-creatures -is of more importance to your happiness -than you believe; and from the censure -which will involve you and myself of -having made a property of this lovely -girl, and cheated her unsuspecting and -generous father, there will be no appeal -even to the candid.” “I will go,” answered -Horace, his face crimsoned with -blushes, “I will go to the farthest part -of the globe, to spare you from such calumny. -But I must love Rachel Cowley, -or cease to live. Suffer me to depart -with this shield to guard my youth, -with this invigorating hope, that I may -one day convince her father that I am -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>worthy <em>of her</em>, if not of <em>his fortune</em>. Let -him, if it please him, build hospitals -with his money: I shall not want it!” -“Trusting to the effects of time and absence,” -answered Mr. Hardcastle, “I -will finish this conversation, by my positive -prohibition of your corresponding -with Miss Cowley, either directly or indirectly, -during your absence. I wish -you to receive this command, as qualified -by parental love. She is young, my -dear Horace, as well as yourself; trust -to your father; you may both change -your present sentiments. Leave her to -the only test of a permanent affection—more -acquaintance with the world, and -more knowledge of herself. Her situation -and sphere in life will soon be very -different from what they are at present. -The society and the pleasures of the -world will solicit her attention, and although -I do not believe she will ever -forget her early friends, time and absence -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>may, and will weaken the present impressions -of her mind. Trust also something -to my experience; even <em>you</em>, my dear -Horace, may forget to a certain degree, -this amiable young woman. You will be -engaged in pursuits, which may, without -any miracle, direct your thoughts from -present objects; and you may live to -feel, that Mr. Cowley’s daughter is not -necessary to your happiness.” Poor -Horace’s agitations were not concealed. -“Before we part,” added the tender father, -“let me assure you, that were this -young creature <em>any</em> but what she <em>is</em>, I -would select her from amidst thousands -as a wife for my son. Let this assertion -content you, and convince you of the -importance I affix to the <em>firm</em> opposition -I make to your affection. Be then <em>a -Hardcastle</em>; and submit your passions -to that controul which will secure to you -the blessings of <em>a Hardcastle</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>A short interval was allotted for the -young man’s preparations in order to his -joining Lord William. Miss Cowley’s -firmness not only supported this hour, -but also her friend Lucy’s more tender -spirits. She spoke of Horace’s departure -with calmness, and observed from time -to time, that he could not better fill up -a year or two than by travelling. On -the morning he left the parental roof, -she further manifested her resolution and -spirit. Poor Horace rose to obey the -third or fourth summons which had announced -that “all was ready.” “We -part,” said she, offering him her glowing -cheek, “as brother and sister—such be -our adieux. But when next we meet, -Horace, this hand shall testify the faith -and truth of Rachel Cowley. <em>Thus</em> I -plight it!” She raised her eyes to heaven, -grasped his hand a moment, and -then darted from the room, leaving Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>Hardcastle to his surprise, and to comfort -his son.</p> - -<p class='c009'>A few weeks after Horace had quitted -England, Miss Cowley’s tranquillity was -again interrupted. She had sent her -father, with some specimens of her own -talents in drawing, her picture at full -length; this was the work of the first -artist in London, and was acknowledged -to be not only a capital picture, but also -a striking resemblance of her by those -friends who had seen it. Mr. Cowley, -on receiving it, appears to have given -indulgence to all the feelings of nature, -in beholding the portrait of a child so -dear to him, an object of delight and -admiration to his friends. He praises the -design, the attitude; in a word, the skill -of the painter in the highest terms. -“But,” adds he, “if such be thy external -endowments, he has had a subject for -his labours worthy of them.” He continues -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>in this stile of gaiety to inform -her, that, notwithstanding “the hazel -eyes,” which are said to be his gift, he -thinks she so much resembles her mother, -that he had placed her picture opposite -to her mother’s portrait; and that he -passes from one to the other, with sensations -at once pleasurable and painful. -“Your arrival, in the mean time,” continues -he, “has been celebrated by a -grand dinner, to which my friends resorted -in crowds. Curiosity and admiration -at length gave place to a contest -between the ‘dove-like blue eyes,’ and -the ‘saucy hazel ones.’ Your champions -were Captain Vernon and your -old friend Oliver Flint, whom you will -remember as your favourite, although -you threw your wax doll at his head, -because he said it was prettier than Marian. -As to your other valorous knight, -I have only to recommend to you, when -you next see him with his cargo of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>sweetmeats, to caution him to be more -moderate in his zeal for your glory; for -had he not been arrack-proof as completely -as he is salt-water proof, he had -been a dead man; for by maintaining -your cause he has had a fever, which -frightened his poor wife into a sick bed.” -This letter finishes by mentioning the -arrival of two strangers in Jamaica; -namely, a gentleman of the name of -Flamall, with his nephew, Mr. Philip -Flint, the posthumous brother of Mr. -Oliver Flint, the gentleman already mentioned -in his letter. “My worthy old -friend,” continues Mr. Cowley, “has -drooped ever since the loss of his sons. -I do not wonder that this has been the -case. They had been his support under -the severe trials of losing a good wife, -and several other children. They had -attained to an age in which he might, -and had reasonably hoped to find in -them a support and comfort to his grave. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>In one week an epidemic fever rendered -him <em>childless</em>. Poor Oliver was for a time -overwhelmed by this dreadful blow; but -the constitution of his mind and body -have saved him. He turned his thoughts -to remedy his grief, not to repinings for -an affliction sent him, as he said, ‘for -his good;’ and he has found one in this -young brother, whom he never knew till -lately. This child was the fruit of his -father’s second marriage, who died at an -advanced age, leaving his young widow -pregnant. The young man’s name is -Philip, and his age nearly that of poor -Oliver’s eldest son, who was also christened -Philip. On this slight conformity -the good old man erected his hopes of -supplying to himself an heir and a consolation. -The appearance of this young -man, who is accompanied by his maternal -uncle Mr. Flamall, has renovated -poor Oliver. He is, indeed, a most promising -and handsome young man, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>my friend already fancies he resembles -his son: no one contests this point with -him; nor is there any one who does not -think the young man worthy of his -brother’s protection. He is well educated, -and his manners are pleasing and polite, -though rather too reserved and circumspect -for some amongst us. These strangers -have made a rake of me for some -time; but I have refused to dine with -the <em>heir apparent</em>, in order to write to -you more at my leisure. Since your -picture has graced my saloon, your old -friend Oliver can talk of nothing but -getting a wife for his idol; and this -morning Mr. Flamall explicitly began a -negotiation for my girl, stating his -nephew’s great expectations from his -sister, an old maiden lady, whose name -is Lucretia Flint. This, with Mr. Flint’s -fortune, is a <em>bait</em>, but not one for your -father, my child. I have not forgotten -your dear mother: to her undivided affection, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>not <em>her money</em>, was I indebted -for my happiness; and, instead of years -passed in contention and wretchedness, -I had the satisfaction of knowing that -my wife preferred her husband to his -rival, although that rival was <em>her mother</em>. -I do not believe you have been instructed -to despise a man, simply because he -stands well in your father’s opinion; nor -will that father, my dear child, bargain -away your happiness, in order to add -acre to acre. I told Mr. Flamall, with -more jocularity than seriousness, that -I meant to see my girl before I gave her -away, and to know the value of my -merchandise before I <em>sold it</em>. Be not, -however, surprised should you see your -old friend Mr. Flint; for, coward as he -is, I verily believe he would cross the -Atlantic in a boat to plead with you for -his darling Philip.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Kind as this letter was, it alarmed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Miss Cowley. She once more renewed -her entreaties on the subject of her father’s -leaving Jamaica; and in the most unequivocal -terms declared her repugnance -to any matrimonial overtures. “Let me -conjure you, my dear Sir,” urged the apprehensive -pleader, “to return to England, -and to renew with me those endearing -ties of an undivided duty and -the purest gratitude. I seek to emulate -my mother, but it shall be in first shewing -that I am your child, and not as a -wife. Oh, let me for a time be your own -Rachel Cowley!”</p> - -<p class='c009'>The father’s reply to this appeal to his -heart restored Miss Cowley to her usual -cheerfulness. He good-humouredly rallies -her on the needless rhetoric she employed -to restrain the ardours of a lover, -apparently as little disposed to be -shackled as her herself. “From the -little I have seen of this young philosopher,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>adds Mr. Cowley, “I believe he -left his heart behind him; for our notable -mothers, who are nibbling at the -prize, can make nothing of him, and the -girls already call him the stoic. I was -much amused the other day by Captain -Vernon’s and Mr. Flamall’s debate, in -which you were the subject of contention. -The uncle insisted that his nephew -had been engaged in taking a drawing -from your picture whilst I was at Oliver’s -with a gay party of ladies and gentlemen, -and from which young Philip had contrived -to absent himself for a long time. -Vernon doubted of this employment of -the youngster’s time; ‘but be this as it -may,’ added he, with his usual bluntness, -‘I tell you that young Flint will -never do for a suitor for Miss Cowley, -whatever he may for her picture; she -would laugh at him.’ Mr. Flamall was -not much pleased by this frankness, and -he coldly replied, that he presumed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>Miss Cowley had not made a confession -of her faith to Captain Vernon. ‘There -is no need she should,’ answered he; -‘her spirit and sense speak for themselves: -and whilst all the world acknowledge -her beauty, she shews them that she will -not easily be won.’ I shall spare my -pen the labour of writing the remainder -of his rhapsodies; but he finished by -telling Flamall that he could recommend -a wife to his nephew, who would exactly -suit him; and that was Miss Lucy Hardcastle. -His description of the young -lady satisfied Flamall that the honest -captain did not think his nephew undeserving -of <em>a good wife</em>, though disqualified -to manage <em>a saucy one</em>. I have, -however, reason to believe I shall hear no -more of Mr. Philip Flint’s <em>passion</em> for -Miss Rachel Cowley; therefore she may -take one feather from vanity’s plume.”</p> - -<p class='c009'>Mr. Cowley finishes this letter by mentioning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>the steps he had taken preparatory -to quitting the island; and, with -much satisfaction, informs his daughter -that he has retained Mr. Flamall as his -agent: he enlarges on this gentleman’s -talents and capacity for business, and -concludes with the highest eulogium on -his manners and agreeable qualities.</p> - -<p class='c009'>It appears that the honourable veteran -in the service of Neptune and Bacchus, -delivered, as was usual, this packet and -his sweetmeats, in person, at Heathcot, -where he passed a few days with a young -creature, who, from her birth, had shared -in his warm heart an affection which he -had carried to idolatry for her mother.</p> - -<p class='c009'>His account of his patron, Mr. Cowley, -by no means tallied with the apparent -ease and gaiety contained in the letters -he brought; and Mr. Hardcastle was -told that Mr. Cowley had been seized -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>with a fit whilst at Mr. Flint’s table, -which dreadfully alarmed all present: -happily a medical gentleman was one of -the guests, and immediate relief was -given. “It has shaken him,” added the -captain; “but we hope he will rally -again. I saw him the day I embarked; -he made me promise not to say a word -of this business to you; but I did not -like his looks, and I thought he walked -but poorly: God grant I may see him in -my next trip! It should be the last -labour of the Charlotte. She was launched -to carry him and his angel wife to -Jamaica; and if she swims safely till he -is with his daughter, she will have been a -lucky vessel to me.” He passed his hand -over his eyes, and whistled away an emotion -that he could not otherwise conquer.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The captain’s apprehensions were but -too well founded. Mr. Cowley lived not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>to reach England. A second and third -attack of the palsy proved fatal; and -poor Vernon found at his return many -mourners to sympathize with him in a -sorrow legitimately founded on his knowledge -of the man, and on gratitude to -his benefactor. We will pass over in -silence the effects which this melancholy -intelligence produced at Heathcot-Farm. -Miss Cowley was roused from the deepest -dejection of spirits by the events -which succeeded to the first shock. Mr. -Steadman summoned her and Mr. Hardcastle -to London; and with precautions, -which he judged necessary, placed before -the orphan a copy of her late father’s -will, which, with all its requisite documents, -had been formerly sent to him by -the executor, Mr. Flamall.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The contents were, indeed, calculated -to astonish and afflict his daughter. She -was named as the successor to his fortune -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>in the usual terms. His property stood -answerable, however, for the provision of -his two natural children and their mother. -These children were boys, the eldest not -yet ten years old. To each was bequeathed -five thousand pounds; to the -mother three hundred pounds per annum. -To the survivor of the boys this property -devolved, unless the mother lived till the -children had both reached twenty-one, -in which case her annuity was to be divided -between them. To Mrs. Allen two -thousand pounds; bequests to some domestics, -and hundred-pounds rings to -several friends; amongst these Counsellor -Steadman, Mr. Hardcastle, and Mr. Oliver -Flint were named. Mr. Flamall, with -a thousand pounds legacy, was named as -the guardian of his two sons, and appointed -agent for the trust of superintending -his concerns in Jamaica. An income -of five hundred pounds per annum -was annexed to this trust; and provision -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>was made for Mr. Flamall’s residence at -whichever of the plantations he chose -for his abode. The important clause -next follows, and in these words nearly: -“Having had the most unequivocal -proofs of the integrity of those trustees -named by Mrs. Dawson, for the security -of her property in favour of Rachel Cowley, -he still leaves to their wisdom the -entire management of the trust in their -hands; but it behoved him to shew to -the world, and to his daughter, that he -had neither relinquished his rights as a -parent, nor been unmindful of the duties -annexed to the name of a father; and, not -doubting his child’s ready obedience to -his commands, he had, with the concurrence -of the parties most nearly concerned, -chosen her a husband in the person of Philip -Flint, &c.” On the celebration of this marriage -Mr. Flamall’s jurisdiction terminated, -as far as it related to Miss Cowley. -She was immediately to enter into -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>the full and unconditional enjoyment of -her fortune when she became Mr. Philip -Flint’s wife.</p> - -<p class='c009'>The penalty of a refusal to comply -with the terms thus briefly specified, was -a minority, which reached to her twenty-fifth -year; and in case she married any -other man, save the aforesaid Philip Flint, -without the consent of Mr. Flamall, the -whole of the Jamaica property was tied -up for her children’s benefit; and in case -of no issue, devolved to his two sons. -He further enjoins his daughter’s obedience -to this <em>his representative</em>, even as -it regards her place of residence: stipulating, -however, that he has conditioned -for her remaining in England, not only -while she bears the name of Cowley, but -also under that of Mrs. Flint, having received -the most satisfactory assurances -that Philip Flint will not live in Jamaica. In -a word, Mr. Cowley’s will firmly makes -Mr. Flamall the sovereign arbitor of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>Miss Cowley’s fate till she becomes his -niece; and the harsh and dictatorial language -of the law was exhausted to sanction -and confirm this excess of parental -authority.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Cowley, with indignation, pronounced -the will a forgery; and she produced -as evidence for this opinion her -father’s character, his unlimited affection -for her, his confidence in Mr. Hardcastle, -and his letters, in which Philip Flint had -been named. Her friends admitted her -reasoning, but the will was legally executed -and witnessed by Oliver Flint, Mr. -Cowley’s <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">valet de chambre</span></i>, and two of -the most respectable gentlemen in the -island. Juba, the faithful Juba, had carried -Rachel Cowley in his arms. He -had long been a free man, and he had -written the first letter to England of his -beloved master’s death; in which he -dwelt with comfort on the calmness and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>clearness of the deceased man’s faculties -till the last moment. She persisted in -her opinion, and with great firmness said, -she would seek redress in a court of -Chancery, ordering the counsellor to -enter a caveat to the will immediately. -The dignity which she assumed, the -acuteness of her observations, and the -absence of those fears which the gentlemen -were prepared to expect, gave them -at once to understand that the client was -not a minor in good sense. The counsellor -was struck with a character so superior -to what he expected in a girl not -much more than eighteen; and he told -her candidly, that his opinion and Mr. -Hardcastle’s entirely agreed with her -own. “I have gained,” continued he, -“some information respecting this Flamall. -He was, I find, one of those men -who in the practice of the law are its disgrace; -he is expert in all the tricks and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>chicanery of his tribe; and your property -is too valuable a trust to be wrested -from him without a struggle on his part. -The means of justice are slow, and we -must contrive to counteract his villainy, -not to dispute his right to be <em>a villain</em>. -Have patience, my dear Miss Cowley, I -have more than once caught a rascal in -his own toils. A false will cannot easily -be produced without confederates; something -may transpire, for rogues are rarely -faithful to each other. Be satisfied -that you are at liberty to refuse the husband -he has so carefully provided for -you. You want nothing from Jamaica, -and in a few years you will be mistress -of your father’s fortune, and in a situation -to support your brothers in their -difficulties with a man certainly disqualified -for their guardian. We will know -more of him, and appear his dupes for a -season; he will only rob you with the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>more avidity from finding he is suspected.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Cowley assented to this advice, -and determined to be governed by her -zealous friend; secretly hoping, that -the restrictions of her father’s will, to -which she appeared disposed to submit, -would at least secure her from the solicitations -of lovers; and thus silence Mr. -Hardcastle’s scruples in regard to his -son.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Before she left Mr. Steadman, she saw -her formal rejection of Mr. Philip Flint -dispatched to her new guardian. Counsellor -Steadman wrote this letter, and -Miss Cowley’s attestation of its being -dictated by her, satisfied her, that she -had crushed the hopes of the insolent -pretender to her hand. Her natural -cheerfulness returned, and Lucy found -her friend the better for the little journey. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>But this season of tranquillity -lasted not many months; a letter from -Mr. Flamall, which it is necessary to -transcribe here, will assign the cause of -new anxieties at Heathcot-Farm. Mr. -Flamall, who seemed to consider Mr. -Steadman as the only friend of Miss -Cowley, and, as a professional man, the -proper medium through which his authority -was to be announced to the heiress, -thus writes to him:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bound as I am by the duties of my -appointed trust, and prompted by my -veneration and gratitude to fulfil in every -point Mr. Cowley’s intentions, as these -related to his daughter, I think it proper -to remove Miss Cowley from her -present residence. From the period of -Mrs. Hardcastle’s death, her father had -this intention; and I have frequently -heard him regret, that his delay, and her -reluctance to visit Jamaica, had postponed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>a resolution he thought indispensibly -incumbent on him to execute. In -his last illness he requested me to make -it my first concern to place his daughter -with a lady qualified to protect and guide -her. I have, in consequence, written to -my sister, Lady Maclairn, on this subject, -and you will prepare my ward for her -removal to Tarefield, the place of my -sister’s residence. I am not discouraged -by Miss Cowley’s refusal of my nephew. -She does not know Philip Flint, who -will, I am confident, convince her, and -her friends, that her father was not less -attentive to her happiness than to her -fortune, in selecting him as her protector -for life. More on this subject does not -become me to say, less would be injustice -to a man whose merits are acknowledged -wherever he is known. I will not, -however, pursue this subject further at -present than by observing, that Miss -Cowley may be led by her knowledge -<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>of Mr. Philip Flint’s connections in England, -to consider more favourably of her -good father’s <em>wishes</em>. In the mean time, -my nephew has cheerfully acceded to -<em>mine</em>; and flatters himself, that by postponing -his voyage to England for some -months, he is not only gratifying Miss -Cowley’s delicacy in this hour of filial -sorrow, but also offering her an homage -which will not be unacceptable to her, -as it will be of use to her interest; Mr. -Cowley’s large concerns requiring an inspection, -and an arrangement which, in -the first pressure of business, is more -than I am equal to. The retirement in -which Sir Murdock Maclairn’s family -lives, will not, in the present state of -affairs, be irksome to <em>my ward</em>; the society -of an accomplished woman will, I -hope, compensate her for the temporary -suspension of more unconfined amusements. -Taking it for granted, that you -will still hold the trust committed to you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>by Mrs. Dawson’s will, I shall annually -remit to Sir Murdock Maclairn the same -sum which Mr. Cowley assigned for his -daughter’s maintenance with Mr. Hardcastle, -from the age <em>of infancy</em>. Being -willing to shew my respect for Miss Cowley’s -wish, as this relates to Mrs. Allen’s -continuance in her service, I have prepared -Lady Maclairn to receive what she -might otherwise judge an useless appendage -in a house regulated as Tarefield-hall -is.” Mr. Flamall concludes by informing -his correspondent, that Miss -Cowley’s fortune is very ample; that he -has to encounter the obstinacy of the -boys’ mother, who will not be parted -from the children, nor suffer them to -remain in their father’s house. Mr. Philip -Flint had, however, compromised -matters; and the mother and children -were placed by him in the family of a -Mr. Dalrymple, a Scotchman, whom he -had known at the university, in Edinburgh, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>and who kept a school in Kingston, -with reputation. The boys were -handsome, promising children; and he -had no fears for them, but such as arose -from the ignorance and excessive fondness -of their mother, whom he always -thought unworthy of the place she had -held in Mr. Cowley’s heart. It was, however, -his intention to send the children -to England for education, with his nephew, -if he could prevail on the mother -to consult their real good. Statements -of effects in a general way, and details -of his conduct, as regulated by the dying -words of Mr. Cowley, in regard to -the negroes on the plantations, to whom -he had been a father, finish Mr. Flamall’s -letter.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mr. Hardcastle, judging of the effects -of this letter on Miss Cowley, from the -sorrow with which it filled his anxious -bosom, and justly apprehending the danger -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>which might result from his “<em>child’s</em>” -removal to a family devoted to Mr. Flamall’s -views, strenuously concurred with -Mr. Steadman, in advising Miss Cowley -to take such steps as would at least secure -her person from Mr. Flamall’s controul. -But she was not to be moved in -her resolution of complying with his -orders. “The future happiness of my -life,” said she, “depends on my compliance -with this act of usurped authority. -He will find,” added she, with an air of -triumph, “that in the hands of Providence -the vilest instrument is made subservient -to the purposes of mercy. I must quit -Mr. Hardcastle’s house; I have for some -time <em>wished</em> to do so. Yes, I have wished it. -I will convince that world which Mr. Hardcastle -so much fears, that Rachel Cowley -has not been influenced by those who -have been her protectors, to prefer Horace -Hardcastle for her future guardian. -I will shew my independence, and maintain -my claims to a choice which virtue -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>sanctions. It is of no moment where I -pass this term of my banishment from -all whom I love,” continued she, melting -into tears. “These people will soon -discover, that I am not a girl to be trampled -on, and their own advantage will -secure to me civility. When I am five-and-twenty -years of age, I presume the -<em>world</em>, as well as the laws of my country, -will deem me a free agent; and I should -be the first to laugh at an attachment -that could not stand my trial of its permanency. -It is possible, that in the first -instance Mr. Hardcastle’s scruples will -yield to his sorrow for my absence, and -my own firmness, to some censures of -his wisdom and circumspection; but we -shall both find consolation in those principles -which require the sacrifice of present -security and happiness, to a more -lasting and greater advantage.” Mr. -Hardcastle, unequal to the conflict, retired, -not daring to trust his integrity -with so irresistible a pleader.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>Soon after, the following letter was -in his hands; its contents will evince to -the reader, the solicitude of Miss Cowley’s -friends at once to ascertain the safety -of her removal from them.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>“<em>To Counsellor Steadman.</em></h3> -<div class='c011'>“Bishops-Auckland, Durham.</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='fss'>MY DEAR FRIEND</span>,</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“My short residence in this part of -the world, will unavoidably subject the -intelligence you require to errors, notwithstanding -my zeal and diligence. -The truth is, that, as I have only the -voice of the parish of Tarefield and its -environs for my authorities, I am forced -to place before you the history of a family -at once peculiarly marked as the object -of a fond partiality, and of inveterate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>hatred. I leave to you to sift and resift -the documents thus obtained: for my -history includes a number of years and -facts which are still the topics of conversation -in this neighbourhood.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Flamall was, as you have heard, for -some years a practitioner in the law; and -succeeded his father in the business of an -attorney, with the credit which that father -left him, who was an honest and an able -man. His sister, now Lady Maclairn, was -left to his direction, and, to the surprise of -old Flamall’s connections, to her brother’s -generosity. She was young and -remarkably handsome, had been carefully -and liberally educated, and was a virtuous -and elegant young woman; but from -some proofs of her brother’s intentions, -of making her subservient to his ambition -or vices, she sheltered her own innocence -by accepting the hand of old -Mr. Flint, then in his seventieth year; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>and in the full blaze of beauty, not being -more than four or five and twenty, she -appeared as a bride at Tarefield-hall. -Mr. Flint at this period had four children. -Oliver, his eldest son, was settled -in Jamaica, had married there, and was -the father of a family. Lucretia, the -present despot at the hall, was single; -but something older than the bride. -Percival Flint, the second son, had just -finished his academical studies, and had -quitted Oxford. Mary Flint, the youngest -of the family, was then about seventeen, -and in one word, a <em>paragon of perfection</em>, -for such my authorities proclaim -her. Domestic feuds and discontents -still kept their ground, in spite of the -young mother-in-law; who, it appears, -was little calculated to maintain even her -own rights: she sunk into a nurse to -her husband. Percival Flint left his -father’s house secretly, and for some -years, whilst serving his country as an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>officer in the marines, was supposed by -the neighbourhood to have fallen a victim -to misery. Mr. Flamall had an -active part in all the transactions at -this period. He was useful to the infirm -father of the family, in managing his -business; and his ill treatment of his -own sister, gave him favour with Miss -Lucretia Flint. Love now engaged in -the struggle for power. A new curate, -of the name of Howard, appeared at -Tarefield. Miss Lucretia made love to -him; and he made love to the beautiful -Mary Flint. Here again I could fill -volumes with the praises and blessings -still given to this matchless pair! After -many trials, and the utmost cruelty from -the jealous sister, the lovers married. -Mr. Flint’s death is the next event. He -left a will, which utterly excluded Percival -Flint and Mrs. Howard, his darling -child, from any portion of his property -beyond a shilling. The Jamaica estate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>became his eldest son’s, and Miss Lucretia -became the mistress of Tarefield-hall, -with a large sum in money, some say, -not less than thirty thousand pounds. -The young widow had her provision of -four hundred pounds per annum, for her -life, on the Tarefield estate, and her name -was not even in the will but in order to -ascertain this claim. A new wonder succeeded -to this. In a short time after the -funeral, Mrs. Flint declared herself pregnant; -and to the astonishment of every -one, Miss Flint received the intelligence -with joy, and observed, it was an event -for which Mr. Flint had prepared her. -She was happy; for it would now appear, -that her father had chosen her for the -stewardship of that fortune destined to -be shared with a child who had not -offended him. The odious title of mother-in-law -was forgotten, and she called -Mrs. Flint her <em>friend</em> and <em>sister</em>: by -this <em>latter</em> appellation they still call each -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>other. Anxious for the preservation of -the infant, Miss Flint removed her sister, -whose health was in a very precarious -state, to London. There Philip Flint -was born; I need not add, that this posthumous -child is the young man who -pretends to Miss Cowley’s hand. I have -suppressed the affecting stories of Mr. -and Mrs. Howard’s difficulties, and their -untimely death. They left a daughter, -who is the idol of her parents’ partial -friends: till lately, she has lived with a -wealthy farmer, where also boards her -uncle Percival. She is now, I am told, -noticed at the hall, and I believe she is -under Miss Lucretia’s protection. But to -proceed.</p> - -<p class='c009'>“Soon after the birth of Philip, Mrs. -Flint chose a second husband, and married -Sir Murdock Maclairn, with whom -she became acquainted during her residence -in or near London. The baronet -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>was poor, and Mr. Flamall was for a time -averse to this union; and for the reasons -my Irishman assigns, namely, ‘that -Flamall knew of no standard by which -to appreciate honour and intrepidity.’ -<em>Observe</em> here, that the Duke of —— -gave me <em>this</em> observation, who formerly -knew the baronet. Miss Flint, whose -best actions are viewed only in one direction -by the circle of her irritated -judges, was however useful to the poor -widow Flint on this occasion. The -union was effected by her mediation, -without an open rupture with the domineering -brother. ‘But she took care -of herself, for she wished to attach Mr. -Flamall, and conditioned for Sir Murdock -and his lady, living with her at -Tarefield, by which means the lover had -a pretence for his visits.’ I shall pass -over this lady’s supposed frailty, and the -motives assigned for her not marrying -the man whom she favoured. These are -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>contained in the following hints: ‘<em>They -knew one another too well for that folly, -&c.</em>’ I have even continued to suppress -the current report of the hall being -haunted by the unquiet spirit of old -Mr. Flint, ‘who knows the will produced, -was never made by him.’ Compassion -for Lady Maclairn has not been -worn out. Her conduct to her unfortunate -husband during many years infirmity -of mind, nearly approaching to -insanity, has obliterated the remembrance -of her neglect of Mr. and Mrs. Howard, -and every one concurs in believing, that, -to her love and unremitting tenderness, -the poor baronet stands indebted for his -present amendment in his health and -faculties. She has one son by her second -marriage. It is enough that I say this -young man is the reigning favourite here; -for ‘Malcolm Maclairn is in no favour -with Miss Flint, or his uncle Flamall.’ I -suspect he has more of his father’s blood -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>in his views than suits his dependant fortune; -for he has been from his childhood -constantly attached to Percival Flint, -and Miss Howard, the orphan child of -Mary Flint, who is the admiration of -the parish, and the cherished object of -compassion.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is no unpleasing nor unprofitable -reflection, my good friend, to trace in -my gleanings relative to this family, the -pure and genuine love of justice with -which the heart of man is endowed by -his gracious Maker. Neither the wealth -nor station of Miss Flint have been able to -screen her from the odium of those about -her. Percival Flint has more homage paid -him than if lord of the manor-house; -and with the stipend annexed to an invalid -captain of marines, a wooden leg, -and his niece Howard in his hand, confers -an honour on every cottage he enters. -The farmer, at whose house they live, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>has acquired an influence and authority -in the parish beyond what his opulence -would give him; ‘for every thing has -prospered with Mr. Wilson from the -hour he sheltered Mr. and Mrs. Howard.’ -Such is the belief here.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To conclude. It appears that Mr. -Philip Flint has been carefully educated, -and is a young man of spirit. The -usual comments on him finish with, -‘Aye he is too good for those to whom -he belongs! they could not spoil him; -but he will never be worthy to carry his -brother Malcolm’s shoes.’ You will -translate these expressions to this young -man’s advantage, for they bespeak his -worth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Depend, however, on one thing as -certain: Sir Murdock Maclairn is no fit -instrument for cunning or baseness. His -wife is an unoffending, depressed woman: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>I am told she is highly accomplished. -Miss Howard is now I find with her aunt -Miss Lucretia. The captain occasionally -visits the hall. The baronet is regaining -his health; and Malcolm is a second -Æneas. Whatever be the result of your -measures, recollect that Miss Cowley is -within my reach; and prepare her to -expect a steady and vigilant protector</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>“In your sincere friend,</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='c012'> “<span class='sc'>George Woodley</span>.”</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP III.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>Mr. Hardcastle read the above letter -to his attentive hearer: he waited for -some moments for her observations on -its contents; but finding she remained -silent, he said, “My dear child, recollect -that you are not obliged to comply with -Mr. Flamall’s orders.” “I have never -for an instant supposed myself in his -power,” answered she calmly. “This -account of his connections, however, -gives me satisfaction, because it will -serve to remove from your mind all fears -for my personal safety. It is of no importance -to me what are the characters of -this Flamall’s relations at present, it is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>sufficient that they appear neither dangerous, -nor interested in using me ill; -for the rest I am prepared.” “Be also -prepared to be just,” replied Mr. Hardcastle. -“Mr. Woodley says his information -rests on public rumour and public -opinion. Your father knew Mr. Philip -Flint and Mr. Flamall: suppose, for a -minute only, that his will was the result -of that knowledge, and that the man -he recommends to your notice is one -that is worthy of you; without binding -yourself to any conditions, you ought to -see this young man whenever he arrives, -and to listen dispassionately to whatever -he has to plead, both for his honour and -his pretensions. Consider him only as -Oliver Flint’s brother, and as standing -remote from Mr. Flamall and the family -at Tarefield. His affinity to worthless -people, granting it be so, is no proof of -his worthlessness; and surely the estimation -in which he is held even by your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>father’s report of him, entitles him to a -fair hearing whenever he appears at Tarefield.” -“I shall, whenever that happens,” -replied Miss Cowley, “receive him without -resentment or caprice, and soon convince -him that my resolution is unalterable.” -“And what answer am I to make -to this letter?” asked Mr. Hardcastle, -producing a renewed application from -a young baronet in the neighbourhood. -“If you will have the goodness to -transmit my answer to Sir George,” -replied Miss Cowley, “you will oblige -me; it is a brief one: I am an engaged -woman; and should not this silence him, -he will prove that he is not a gentleman, -nor a man of sense.—To what purpose -should I conceal from him, or the world,” -added she, throwing her arms around -Mr. Hardcastle’s neck, “an attachment -in which I glory? To what purpose -refrain from telling my father, and my -friend, that I love Horace Hardcastle? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>He knows that I love him, and have -loved him for years.” “My dear child!” -said the subdued Mr. Hardcastle, tenderly -returning her embrace, “endowed as -you are, I would with pride acknowledge -you as my daughter were you pennyless; -but circumstanced as I am, I dare not -listen to your pleadings. I am too old, -and too tenacious of a good name, to -risk it by a compliance so evidently in -favour of my son’s fortune: and you are -too young, and too inexperienced, to -know whether that compliance would -secure to you the happiness it promises. -I will imitate you in frankness: regard -me as your best friend, not as Horace’s -father. Leave to time the discussion of -a subject of which you are at present -disqualified to judge. Horace, like -yourself, is young, I advise you to avoid -entering into any engagements with him -till more acquaintance with life shall -have decided his character and rendered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>you a better judge of his merit. Remember -also, that should you persist in -cherishing the sentiments you now entertain -of this young man, that you -cannot give to your friends any apology -for your preference more ostensible, -than that of placing no temptation in -the way of his integrity. It will be the -only wealth he can bring to the account -of yours; and although many will say it -is nothing in the scale they judge by, -<em>some</em> will be candid enough to confess, -that virtue knows no inequality of condition. -But let me say yet a few words -more,” added he; “and think you are -listening to your <em>mother</em>, to that being -who trained you to be what you are.”—He -paused for a moment.—“She would -tell you, my dear Rachel, that there is -no period of a young woman’s life, in -which she is less qualified to judge for -her own happiness, than the one in which -you are at present. You are under an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>influence which renders your judgment -weak. Unacquainted with vice, and -with all the affections of nature and innocence -glowing in your bosom, you -give to imagination an office with which -it ought never to be trusted; and to the -lover it selects the qualities of your own -pure heart. For a time, this delusion -passes; but what is often the conclusion? -Sometimes, a too late conviction that -what had been cherished as a supreme -<em>good</em>, is a certain <em>ruin</em>; and still as frequently, -that what had been called a -permanent affection, is discovered to be -nothing more than a flight of youthful -inclination. I may surprise you by -saying, that, without any imputation -on your principles, or degradation of -your understanding, you may cease to -love Horace Hardcastle.” “Never!” -exclaimed the impatient Miss Cowley. -“We are not the children of folly, nor -the slaves of passion! Read that letter -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>which I received from your son, and -then judge of the basis on which our -hopes rest. I have promised Horace to -respect his father’s honour, and to preserve -his, and I will never write to him -till I have your consent.” “I am satisfied,” -answered Mr. Hardcastle, hastily -rising to quit the room. “Oh hear -me!” cried Miss Cowley; detaining him -by his clothes: “as a <em>sister</em>, as to my -<em>early friend</em>, surely now and then I may -be indulged.” “You shall want no information -of his safety,” answered the retreating -Mr. Hardcastle, interrupting her and -instantly retiring. “Inflexible man!” -said she, bursting into tears. “Ah, -would to Heaven that mother to whom -he referred, lived to confute his arguments! -She only knew Rachel Cowley—she -only knew her Horace.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Relieved by this effusion of sorrow, -her spirit took its natural bias, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>though disappointed in her wishes of -gaining permission to write to her -<em>brother</em> Horace, it may be at least -conjectured, that the opposition she -had been unable to conquer, did the -lover no injury; for it is most certain, -that she attributed Mr. Hardcastle’s -conduct to a pride and scrupulosity -far removed from good sense, -and deficient in kindness to her.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP. IV.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>Miss Cowley lost nothing of her -firmness in relating the above conversation -to her friend Lucy. “I must think -Mr. Hardcastle too rigid,” said she, “in -prohibiting all correspondence between -me and Horace; but I will obey him as -my father. I leave you, my dear Lucy, -but it is to defeat malice. The honour -of Mr. Hardcastle is not less dear to -me than my own, and I will prove to -the world that I am qualified to judge, -and to determine. I have now duties -before me that will give solidity to my -mind. My father has left two children -besides myself, and convinced as I am, -that Flamall is a villain, I will omit no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>occasion of detecting his artifices. -Sheltered under this roof, I can never do -this; but by bending to his authority I -may make him tremble. Should I fail -in this purpose, I am still secure; for -Horace will not want my father’s wealth -to make him happy; and when I am of -age, it will depend on you to determine -whether Mrs. Dawson’s legacy to her -grand-daughter is to be <em>a curse</em>.” Poor -Lucy, unable to reply, only wept, and -saw with bitter regret her friend’s preparations -for leaving Heathcot. A letter -from Sir Murdock Marlain hastened her -departure; and Mrs. Allen and Miss Cowley -were escorted to London by Mr. -Hardcastle a few days previous to the -baronet’s arrival, and took up their -temporary abode at Counsellor Steadman’s.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Few of my readers will refuse their -sympathy to the dejected and faithful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>guardian during this anxious period. -With a father’s apprehensions, Mr. Hardcastle -saw youth and beauty torn -from his protecting care; and with -anguish of soul, did he now contemplate -the traits of his pupil’s mind, and the -charms of her person; but of this person -no more will be said, than applying to -Rachel Cowley the poet’s interrogation,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Can Virgil’s verse, can Raphel’s touch impart,</div> - <div class='line'>Those finer features of the feeling heart,</div> - <div class='line'>Those tend’rer tints, that shun the careless eye,</div> - <div class='line'>And in the world’s contagious circle die?</div> - <div class='line in18'><cite>Rogers’s Pleasures of Memory</cite>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Having now brought my readers to -the point in which my history may be -said to commence, I hasten to place -before them a correspondence, which -will better serve my purpose than any -talents I possess. I shall content myself -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>in future with supplying the few breaks -I find in the narrative; and leave the -reader to judge of my discernment in -thinking the unstudied language of -truth and nature better than any I could -substitute in their place. Miss Cowley -shall speak for herself.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER I.<br /> <em>From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.</em></h3> - -<div class='lg-container-r c003'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Tarefield, June</span> 24th.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The short note which your father has, -before this, delivered to you, and which -I trust you have destroyed, my dear -Lucy, as a proof unworthy to be preserved -of your poor Rachel’s little -advancement in self-knowledge, shall, if -it be possible, be rendered useful to me -as a warning against presumption. But -although I have been taught by experience -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>not to think too highly of my -wisdom, yet I mean not, Lucy, to give -up the reins to folly. You will have no -more despairing rhapsodies from me. -The question has been decided, and -reason tells me, that in a difficulty which -admits of no other alternative but that -of either laughing or crying, it is but to -take that which will least disagree with -my constitution. You have, my dear -Lucy, called me many times a twin -sister of my favourite Beatrice. Whether -you meant to compliment me as -having a portion of her wit, or meant -to repress in me the superabundance of -her spirit and flippancy, remains with -you to settle. I am contented with the resemblance, -and I will, if I can, preserve -a light heart, and <em>her</em> disdain of fools -and knaves. I will, however, effect my -purpose of breaking through the web of -mischief which now entangles me, without -wishing “I were a man,” or “eating -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>Mr. Flamall’s heart in the market-place;” -a more severe punishment will only satiate -my vengeance. He shall <em>live</em> to feel -the stings of a wounded conscience, and -to see me <em>happy</em>.—But again Heathcot -rises between me and my heroic intentions! -Alas, my Lucy, it will, for a -time at least, defeat every purpose of -wisdom! I must weep! Its beloved inmates -are before me! I see them silently -glancing their humid eyes to my vacant -place at their peaceful table; and, with -looks of sympathy, pitying each other -for the absence of their fondled, cherished -Rachel. Who will now, my Lucy, defend -you in your walks from the terrific -cows? Who will now guard you from -the wasp’s approach? Who will now -explore your path in your evening’s ramble, -and secure your timid footsteps from -the tremendous frog? Alas! you have -no Rachel Cowley to guard and to -laugh at you! She is, and well may I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>say, alas! and alas! far remote from -these her accustomed and sweet duties! -She is too remote, also, to hear the gentle -and persuasive admonitions of her Lucy. -Who is there <em>here</em> to repress with a smile -my too volatile spirits, “to divert my petulance -and check my pride?” Where -am I now to seek that friend, whose approbation, -like the dew from heaven, -tempered my rough elements with her -own simple and mild virtues? We were -formed, Lucy, to be each other’s aid and -support. We are made for Heathcot -and contentment. Will Mr. Hardcastle -persist, think you, in thus defeating, as it -appears to me, the designs of Providence? -Oh no! nor can he long remain unconvinced -that my father was incapable of -defrauding his child of those rights of -nature which he granted to his slaves. -He cannot, Lucy, persist long in prohibiting -Horace from writing to me. He -must perceive the injustice, as well as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>severity, of his present conduct. Never -to write to the companion of my youth, -to a <em>brother</em> endeared to me by a thousand -and a thousand fond remembrances -of pure and unimpassioned affection! -Surely this is being too rigid! Such is -not Mr. Hardcastle’s mind. He will -relent in compassion to himself. In this -hope only can I find a relief from my -present state of mind. I cannot, Lucy, -support my plan of conduct with fortitude -whilst I find your father thinks -meanly of me; and is it not obvious, -that he believes me weak and childish? -Why am I not to be confided in? His -honour is my own; Horace’s disgrace -would be my destruction; and, again I -repeat it, I would not now marry your -brother were the <em>world</em> your father so -much dreads, to solicit me to be his wife. -No, Lucy, Horace Hardcastle shall have -no accounts to settle with my new <em>guardian</em>! -Farewell, I cannot proceed. Mrs. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>Allen’s blessing and your Rachel’s must -not be omitted. She is contended with -me, and bids me tell you that I am a -very good girl. Will not this please -you? You smile.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER II.<br /> <em>Miss Cowley, in continuation.</em></h3> - -<div class='lg-container-r c003'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Tarefield.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Finding myself somewhat the wiser -for a few hours repose, I will profit by -the unavoidable delay of my yesterday’s -letter to add to its bulk, and to pour into -your patient ear a larger portion of those -thoughts which I know not what to do -with till they are communicated to you. -I shall therefore inform you, that I lost -no time in giving Sir Murdock Maclairn -a specimen of that damsel’s <em>temper</em> whom -it had cost him so many wearisome miles -to seek. But I will be modest, and tell -you also, that I had been spirited up to this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>undertaking by Counsellor Steadman; -for as he has no son to beguile me of my -heart, and is too old himself to wish for -more of it than he has, he was determined, -without consulting your father, to see -whether I could fight my own battles. -Thus prepared, I asked the courteous -baronet, before my dear counsellor, when -he meant to commence his journey to -Tarefield. A solemn bow prefaced his -reply.—“He was at my directions on -that point.”—“Indeed,” answered I, -smiling, “you surprise me! I suspect -my new guardian has ill-chosen you for -his substitute. I fancy he would not -altogether approve of your complaisance -to your <em>prisoner</em>.” He fixed his eyes on -my face, but was silent. “I mean not -to bribe you,” continued I, “for you -appear too indulgent to need it; but I -do wish to make our journey to Tarefield -pleasant; and that cannot be unless -we travel as good friends. By a will now -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>substantiated as legal, and called <em>my father’s -will</em>, Sir Murdock, I am committed -to the controul of a man, who, till within, -a few months, was a stranger to that parent -I deplore, and to whose name and office -was affixed a post at Mr. Cowley’s writing-desk. -It ought not to surprise you, -therefore, if I think it necessary to act -with <em>caution</em> under these circumstances. -I am an entire stranger to Mr. Flamall’s -character and principles; and yet I am -ready to accept of your house, Sir Murdock, -as an asylum proper for me. But, -understand me: motives absolutely remote -from Mr. Flamall’s power and -authority over me, have induced me to -give up a protection under which I have -been safe and happy from my infancy. -I trust to you <em>voluntarily</em>, for I believe -you to be a man of honour. To Mr. -Flamall I leave the provision he may -judge necessary for his <em>master’s daughter</em> -whilst under your roof. If I am to give -<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>credit to my partial friends, I am not -capricious; but I am very jealous of my -independence. Lady Maclairn, as well -as yourself, Sir Murdock, must be told -that I have <em>decidedly and firmly refused -the husband</em> provided for me by my father’s -will. I expect to be exempted -from all importunities on the subject of -Mr. Philip Flint. These would not only -tend to make my residence with you -unpleasant, but also short; for I shall -without delay convince Mr. Flamall that -Rachel Cowley’s person is not included -in his <em>extraordinary</em> trust. I have only -to add, that I am ready to set out whenever -you please, and shall with cheerfulness -attend you to an abode which I -promise not to disturb by any discontents.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Sir Murdock, who had not for an <em>instant</em> -taken his eyes off me, started when I -ceased speaking, and for <em>several</em> moments -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>appeared extremely agitated; his countenance -varied with the oppression within, -and he paced the room once or twice -in profound silence. At length, with -collected firmness, he said, I had surprised -him. “I am not prepared to -answer Miss Cowley’s suspicions of Mr. -Flamall,” said he, addressing the counsellor, -“but I know that I have had no -sinister views in coming hither. I have -no designs either on her person or property; -nor can I easily conceive that -Mr. Flamall has. We were strangers -till very lately, to all that regards this -young lady. The proposed alliance was -transmitted to us, as an argument in -favour of the plan now under consideration. -It produced the effect Mr. Flamall -wished, it conquered our reluctance to -receiving under our roof a stranger to -our habits of life. These are so retired, -that we naturally judged they could not -be agreeable to a young lady; and we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>should have persisted in our refusal, had -not Mr. Flamall pointed out to us the -propriety of the measure he recommended. -If Miss Cowley, or Miss Cowley’s -friends, be not satisfied with what I have -asserted,” added he, spreading his hand -on his chest and colouring, “I would -not for all the riches in the world have -her under my protection; but I have yet -to learn, that Sir <em>Murdock Maclairn</em> has -been judged a fit agent for dishonour!” -His eyes were again turned on me, they -instantly softened, and I saw he trembled. -“Say no more, my good Sir,” cried I -with my usual eagerness, and taking his -hand, “I bless Providence for conducting -me to you, under the necessity which -forces me to quit Heathcot. I will love -Lady Maclairn for <em>your sake</em>, and tell -her, that I am grateful to you for hearing -me with so much patience.” Never -shall I forget him, Lucy, when with a -countenance expressive of the utmost -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>sensibility, he said to Counsellor Steadman -with solemnity—“She will be safe -as the child of my bosom. She will be -guarded by a vigilance equal to your -own and Mr. Hardcastle’s. As a deposit -sent by Heaven, I will receive her.” Do -you know that I was so affected that I -wept, and repented of having urged -him to this explanation. Mr. Steadman -assured him, that he was perfectly satisfied, -and the conversation gradually -became less interesting. I mentioned -with diffidence my friend Mrs. Allen. -“My wife will rejoice to find you bring a -companion with you,” said he; “she -fears that you will think Tarefield very -dull. My bad health has produced a -love of home in her, as well as myself, -that will not easily be overcome.” “Be -under no fears on that head,” observed I, -smiling, “I am one of those profound -philosophers who are never alone.” He -smiled in his turn at my vivacity. “You -<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>will like my wife, Miss Cowley,” said he, -“she is the gentlest and the best of -women. One so peaceable, that she will -not quarrel with you for your barbarity -to her son. I am not yet at home,” -added he with more cheerfulness, “therefore -not yet <em>tongue-tied</em>; but permit me -to assure you, that Philip Flint is not -undeserving of your good opinion, though -he may be too presumptuous in his hopes. -I have, however, nothing to do with this -affair,” continued he; “having from his -cradle strictly adhered to one rule of -conduct, namely, that of leaving him to -his tender mother’s care, and the direction -of his more immediate connections. -Happily his education has not been neglected. -But I was unequal to the -duties of a father, even to <em>my own Malcolm</em>.” -His poor head mechanically sunk, -and he took, greedily, three or four -pinches of Scotch snuff. We finished by -settling the hour of our departure; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>for I found he wished to leave London.</p> - -<p class='c007'>My next letter shall place before you -more particularly this <em>interesting</em> Sir -Murdock Maclairn, the originality of -whose person and manners has so powerfully -excited my compassion and curiosity, -that I cannot but bless fortune for -throwing him in my way. He is no -common character, Lucy; and the peculiar -sadness which from moment to moment -pervades his countenance, is to me -inexpressibly touching. I should have -detested a stupid laughing face for <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le -compagnon du voyage</span></i>, that conveyed -me from <em>my Heathcot</em>; and as the next -best thing to being happy oneself, is -making others so, I forgot in my endeavours -to make Sir Murdock comfortable -that every milestone was to me a <em>memento -mori</em>. It is yet rather problematical, -whether I shall like his lady as well as I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>do him. But I know not how it happens, -that I am less disposed to fall in love -with my own sex than with the other. -I have loved, dearly loved, men old -enough for my <em>great-great</em>-grand-father, -but rarely have I been attached to <em>old -ladies</em>. Must we acknowledge the truth, -Lucy? We may as well; the poet has -spoken it: “most women have no characters -at all.” So farewell, and be sure -to love even the follies of your own -Rachel Cowley, for they are not borrowed, -at least, my dear girl. Supply -for me kind words to Sedley.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER III.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>Your father’s wisdom in hurrying -you away to Barton-lodge, instead of -permitting you to remain at Heathcot, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>like another Niobe, dissolving in tears, is -so like him, that it neither surprises me -nor Mrs. Allen; and if the cheerful -mistress of the most cheerful mansion -contentment ever found, cannot comfort -you, I shall be angry and chide my -Lucy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>You tell me your father smiles, and -refers you “to Rachel’s pen” for all that -relates to Sir Murdock Maclairn’s first -interview in town; “<em>he</em> (Mr. Hardcastle) -being too jealous of the baronet’s -favour with me, to be impartial.” In -reply to Mr. Hardcastle I make him one -of my best and most saucy curtesies; -and tell him that I understand perfectly -the cause of his <em>discretion</em> and <em>humility</em>. -He is like many other sinners, willing to -compromise matters with conscience, -and to tempt others to do that which he -dare not do himself, in order to share the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>gratification of wickedness at a less price. -How often have we seen him check his -mirth and spoil a good story, by saying, -“this is folly, neither the weaknesses nor -the frailties of our fellow-creatures, my -children, are proper subjects for mirth:” -and yet he can lay a snare for me. However, -I have neither his charity nor -benevolent toleration, and think folly -fair game. But I have not folly to laugh -at, in the subject before me; yet, Lucy, -in the dearth of all rational amusement, in -a separation from all whom I love, do you -think I can want an excuse for my pen, -should it offend charity? Self-preservation -is a duty no less obligatory than -self-government; and as I am cut off -from the banquet of wisdom, have I not -a right to cater for myself? “Certainly:” -and if I can live upon worse fare, and can -be contented with what is wholesome, -though not delicate, will any one blame -me? “No:” well then, this privilege -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>being granted, please to understand, that -neither my compassion nor good nature -are yet starved out; for were that the -case, Sir Murdock Maclairn would be -the most unsuitable dish for the cravings -of my hunger. It is, however, most assuredly -true, that this gentleman’s first -appearance produced on me not only -surprise, but the most powerful incitements -to be <em>wicked</em>. Figure to yourself -a very tall large-boned man, meagre as -“pining atrophy;” high cheek-bones, -which still more hollowed his sunk features; -a complexion jaundiced by sickness and -tinged by Scotch snuff, which he takes -in immoderate quantities; a long crane -neck, which is tightly bound with a -narrow black stock; a few scattered -hairs, which still maintain their carroty -colour, tyed in a queue; a sunk, -though broad chest, and a plaintive -voice, in which however are cadences to -please the ear whilst attending to an articulation -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>slow, and sometimes laboured. -Add to this picture, an abstracted manner, -and an air of sadness; and you will not -be astonished that I should for a few -minutes fancy Malvolio present, and that -I looked for “his yellow stockings and -cross garters.” The eagerness with which -he gazed upon me strengthened my -imagination, and I did not dare to smile, -lest I should hear him say—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>“Thou canst not chuse but know who I am:</div> - <div class='line'>If thou entertainest my love, let it appear by thy smiling.——</div> - <div class='line'>Thy smiles become thee well.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>At this moment my eyes encountered -those of Sir Murdock’s, and my heart -smote me; for in language more touching -than sounds of harmony could impart, -they said, “Pity me, for I am the -child of sorrow; respect me, for I am -acquainted with grief.” I blushed, and -forgot Malvolio.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>For several days, however, I could not -reconcile myself to the <em>keenness</em> and peculiar -attention with which these large -blue eyes surveyed me. An expression -in them of a famished look (I cannot -better define its eagerness) yielded, as he -continued to gaze on my face, to a -melancholy softness, not unfrequently -heightened by a tear; but I found that -he was subject to an absence of mind, -which it appears has resulted from many -years bad health and low spirits. This, -with his ceremonious demeanour, and the -no inconsiderable degree of his national -accent, render him peculiarly singular. -Not expecting much amusement on the -road with a companion to whom you -may speak half a score times before he is -sensible you expect an answer, I took -care to provide myself with a book; and, -by chance, I robbed the counsellor of -Macpherson’s Ossian. The united libraries -of the ancient and modern world, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>could not have better supplied me with -an author calculated to rouse the attention -of Sir Murdock. I was tempted to -read aloud some passages, and he listened -with a feeling that surprised me to -the sorrows of Malvina. “Have you -never read Ossian?” asked I. “If I -have,” replied he, “I have forgotten -him during an indisposition that left me -nothing but a capacity to feel my own -wretchedness.” A deep sigh and the -depression of his head silenced me. He -soon urged me for more of my book; -but I was grieved that I had introduced -to his acquaintance a work so powerfully -calculated to “awaken fancy, and to -touch the heart” of the poor baronet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I cannot describe to you the enthusiastic -bursts of feeling and admiration -which followed every sublime passage I -selected; and his tears flowed to the pathetic -touches of the poet. “I will read -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>no more to you,” said I, with good humour -and closing the book: “Ossian is, -to a mind like yours, a bad writer.” -“There is a joy in grief, when peace -dwells in the breast of the mourner,” answered -he in a plaintive tone. “It may -be so,” replied I, “but the mourner -ought to remember, ‘that sorrow wastes -him.’” “I do not attribute my faintness -to grief,” observed Mrs. Allen laughing, -“but to downright hunger; and I must -beg to stop at the next stage for something -more substantial than Ossian.” Sir -Murdock instantly began his apology -for his omission at the last inn. “I forgot,” -said he, “that every one could not -like myself fast twenty-four hours without -inconvenience. Early habit has -made abstemiousness of no account with -me,” added he, “I have fasted six-and-thirty -hours formerly, without experiencing -any considerable diminution of -strength.” “Have you never thought -<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>such a disregard to the wants of nature -pernicious?” asked I, surveying with -compassion his lank figure. “I had then -other cares,” answered he; “my soul, -like that of Oithana, was not as careless -as the sea which lifts its blue waves -to every wind, and rolls beneath the -storm.” He fixed his eyes on my face, -and spoke no more till we reached our -destined post-house. Here Mrs. Allen’s -orders were quickly obeyed, and we -pressed him to take some refreshment -with us; and to judge by the voraciousness -of his appetite, he must have exceeded -his usual time of fasting. We -were, however, too well pleased with the -effects of ham and cold chicken on him, -as well as on ourselves, to trust to his -memory for a repetition of the cordial; -and Mrs. Allen undertook the management -of us for the remainder of the -journey. The replenished baronet became -more and more conversible as we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>proceeded. He had even transient gleams -of cheerfulness, and finding that I persisted -in keeping back the “tales of the -times of old,” till he, like other poor -mortals, eat three meals a day, he contented -himself, and amused us by describing -in glowing colours the grand and -picturesque scenery he remembered in the -western isles of his beloved Scotland; -and with evident delight he traced a -similarity of manners and customs between -his country and ancient Greece, -marking with precision the common -features of resemblance that had struck -him between the heroes of Ossian and -Homer. From this learned dissertation -he condescended to talk of France, in -which country he had passed his youth. -He praised my accent, and seemed pleased -that I knew the language, speaking -with rapture some passages from Racine. -“Do you also understand Italian?” asked -he. I replied, “As <em>a school-girl</em>.” He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>smiled most graciously—I wish you could -see him smile, Lucy! and with a suppressed -sigh he said, “It may serve to fill -up your time, my dear Miss Cowley, to -accept of the assistance of ‘<em>a school-boy</em>’ -in this language; there was a time, -when it was as familiar to me as my -mother tongue, or the French; but my -memory has been many years <em>lost</em> to me -as a source of pleasure.” A reverie succeeded -to this observation, and Mrs. -Allen and I insensibly retraced our steps -and got to Heathcot-Farm. We talked of -Lucy Hardcastle; when, to our surprise, -the good baronet interrupted us by -observing, that our friends at Heathcot -had an advantage of which it was probable -they were not aware. “Heathcot,” -added he mournfully, “will never recede -from your mind whilst you are at Tarefield.—This -is my fear: yet still I think -you will be pleased with my Harriet. -She is as gentle and pure-hearted as your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>dear Lucy. She will be miserable, if she -fail in making you comfortable.” You -will supply our answer. He continued -to talk of his wife, and told us, that to -her persuasions he had yielded reluctantly -to undertake a journey which had -separated him from her more hours, than -for many years before he had been minutes: -“but she thought,” added he, “that -it would be beneficial to my health and -spirits; and these are of value to me, -because essential to her happiness.” He -spoke with animation of her faithful love, -and added, “She is now counting the -hours till she sees me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>When arrived within five miles of -Durham we left the road, and pursued our -way through a flat country, unmarked by -any thing cheerful; and reached Tarefield-hall -at about eight o’clock in the -evening of our third day’s journey. The -house, as we approached it, struck me -<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>as having been originally built in that -style of architecture for which we are -indebted to William the III. and Dutch -taste; but as each successive proprietor -conceived his own to be as good, and -had money for its indulgence, it exhibits -at present samples of all: turrets and -chimneys: high roofs and flat ones; -latticed bows and Venetian windows, and -wings added to wings.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I find, however, many good-sized -rooms within; and when we get acquainted -with the five staircases, and as -many thresholds, we shall, I believe, have -seen all that is curious in the manor-house, -commonly called Tarefield-hall. -I must not, however, omit as its beauty, -a noble avenue of elms and horse-chesnuts, -the latter in full bloom, and which -embellishes the dull scenery around. -This avenue is flanked on each side by a -rising plantation of some extent, and is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>devoted to modern improvement; the -walks are neat and trim, and it is filled -with shrubs.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now mark me, Lucy: here I am at -Tarefield; and here does my history finish, -unless you are good and tractable. -Horace was not even named in your last -letter.—This will not do. You had better -not provoke me: I have rich materials -before me, but I will have my price for -them. Take in the mean time the kiss -of peace from your</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP. V.</h2> -</div> - -<h3 class='c014'>LETTER IV.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c015'>Your dear letter, in which I find you -<em>can be reasonable</em> and good, was delivered -to me yesterday, by a gentleman -who lives in this neighbourhood; the -Mr. Woodley, our Counsellor’s correspondent. -He is, I find, land-steward to -the Duke ——, and resides at Bishop’s-Auckland, -the nearest market town from -hence. He was frank and cordial in his -offers of service, and we soon settled our -terms of amity. He will be our postmaster, -and from this time you may -<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>swell your budget at your pleasure, and -send it to Counsellor Steadman’s. Our -servants will carry mine to Mr. Woodley’s, -for we have daily intercourse with -the market.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But now for your reward. It shall be -ample, for I wish to encourage young -beginners; and being positively convinced -myself, that you may, without -breaking any one commandment in the -decalogue, fill a page with intelligence -relative to my <em>brother</em> Horace, I do hope -to convert you, and strengthen your -faith in my tenets. A mistaken and -punctilious observance of an injunction, -which your father’s <em>fears</em>, rather than his -<em>reason</em>, have given you, would be downright -sinning against friendship; so -“look to your ways and be wise.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was evident, that some ceremony -<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>had been judged necessary for the reception -of the heiress; and I was received -with much form and some parade -in the <em>best parlour</em>. But as nature had -not been consulted in these arrangements, -she chose to spoil them; for poor lady -Maclairn, instead of remembering her -compliments, rushed into her husband’s -arms and wept. It was no longer <em>Malvolio</em>, -Lucy! No; it was the toil-worn -<em>Ulysses</em> soothing his faithful Penelope. -The picture was complete; for an old -spaniel was licking his feet at the -moment. I cannot take a more favourable -time for giving you a sketch of -Lady Maclairn’s person; for whilst her -beautiful black eyes were still humid -with tears of joy, and her delicate face -suffused with the mixed emotions of -contentment and a recollection of her -neglect of the strangers, I forgot she -was Flamall’s sister.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>I should judge Lady Maclairn to be -nearly fifty years old; she is of the middle -size and elegantly formed. Her beauty -is of that sort which I have heard called -<em>pure English</em>; namely, hair approaching -to black, black eyes, and a complexion -of the finest texture and colour. Her -features are small and regular. She is -extremely pale, but not with the hue of -sickness; and it behoves Lady Maclairn -to think aright, for every feeling of her -mind is accompanied by a soft blush on -her face. This, with a certain timidity -and peculiar gentleness of manners, renders -her appearance more feminine and -youthful than matronly; yet she is -graceful, and speaks with propriety and -judgment. So far my conscience acquits -me of malice.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She had no sooner finished her fluttered -welcome, than she presented to me -the Brobdingnagian, Miss Lucretia Flint, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>who, in a stiff green damask gown and -petticoat, might have conveyed to a -soberer imagination than mine the idea -of a mountain clothed in the livery of -spring; but on raising my eyes to measure -its elevation, a stern countenance of -“Burdoth’s” sort intercepted my curiosity, -and I caught only a glimpse of its -snowy summit. She condescended to -bend, and offered me her glowing cheek, -which I approached with fear and trembling. -In order to recover myself, I -begged Sir Murdock to introduce me to -his son, who had modestly kept at a distance. -He made his bow; and we began -to chat on the little occurrences of the -journey. “You must have found it -very tiresome,” observed the stately -Miss Flint, fixing her eyes on the contented -baronet, “I am sure I have pitied -you, Miss Cowley.” “Pitied me!” repeated -I, with an air of astonishment, -“I wished our journey had been as long -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>again! and could Sir Murdock have forgotten -the road to Tarefield, I would have -kidnapped him, and made the tour of -England.” The saver of links and -torches was silenced, and I talked with -Malcolm Maclairn of a country and a -route which he appeared to know perfectly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Flint at length with much gravity -asked how long we should have to -wait for supper. Mrs. Allen requested -permission to retire to her room before it -was served, pleading a slight sense of -fatigue. The courteous mistress of the -mansion accompanied us to the destined -apartments, and with the utmost solicitude -for Mrs. Allen’s accommodation, -urged her to have a maid-servant to -assist her. This she declined; and I -returned to the family party with her -ladyship, well knowing that Mrs. Allen’s -<em>whim</em>, not the <em>head-ach</em>, was at the bottom -of the business; for she will have it that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>the spoiled child does not sleep unless -she places the pillow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Malcolm Maclairn is the image of his -mother; but he is glowing with health, -and his manly countenance is embrowned -by air and exercise: I do not believe -that Sidney’s Arcadia has a handsomer -shepherd than this village beau.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In a few minutes my attention was -called from Malcolm, by the appearance -of a beautiful apparition, which gliding -softly by me, told Lady Maclairn that -supper was served. She was retreating -with the same light foot, when she hesitated, -and courtesying to Sir Murdock, -she said with gentle accents, she was -rejoiced to see him. “Thank you, my -dear Mary,” was his laconic reply, at the -same time taking her hand. As the -beautiful phantom passed me, she blushed, -and quickened her pace. “Good -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>Heavens!” cried I, “why, Sir Murdock, -how has it happened that you did not -prepare me for the sight of that angelic -creature, now gone out of the room! I -I never beheld so lovely a girl!” “She is -indeed, a very beautiful creature,” answered -Lady Maclairn in an under-toned -voice. “She is Miss Flint’s niece, and -lives with her here.” We moved to the -supping room; and I eagerly looked for -the niece, recollecting Mr. Woodley’s -history. “Do we not wait for the young -lady?” asked I. “Oh, dear no,” answered -Miss Flint, commencing with a -hot lobster, “Mary does not sup with -us.” Malcolm pursed up his rosy lips, -as if to whistle, and his knuckles gave -the tune of “The Babes in the Wood.” -I became tired in a minute, and as <em>dry</em> -as the dry toast I swallowed. Willing -to reserve my petulant humour for this -ungracious aunt’s sole use, I retired to my -room as soon as the cloth was removed.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>I found, as I had suspected, the indefatigable -Mrs. Allen still engaged in -arranging her <em>pet’s</em> clothes. Before I -could begin my lecture she eagerly asked -me whether I had seen Miss Flint’s orphan -niece. “I never was more ashamed -of a mistake in my life,” pursued she; -“but after you left me I began to unpack -what I knew you would want in the -morning.” A maid-servant entered to -take my orders for supper; she mentioned -several things, but I requested a sandwich -and a glass of table beer: these -were brought and placed on the table. -Some little time after, some one tapped -at the door, and the prettiest girl I ever -saw in my life entered with a small -waiter, on which was a tart and some -cream. “I have ventured to intrude, -Madam,” said she, “in the hopes that -you may be induced to add something to -your supper.” She glanced her eyes to -the sandwich, which had remained untouched. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>“Permit me to assist you,” -added she, placing her dainties on the -table, “let me try to uncord that box -whilst you take some refreshment.” -Thinking from her dress that she was a -domestic, I complied and sat down to -eat my supper: during this interval I -looked at her with admiration; which -soon changed to pity, when I saw how -delicate she was, and what hands I had -employed. “I beg,” said I, “you will -cut the cord, you seem no more equal -to it than myself. You are not strong, -my poor child; your labours, I trust are -light here.” She blushed, and her sweet -eyes filled with tears. “My feebleness -is a misfortune,” replied she, “which I -owe in part to the tenderness with which -I was reared. I lament it, although my -station in this family imposes no labour -on me: I am Miss Flint’s niece.” I made -a thousand excuses. “Indeed, Madam, -you have given no offence,” said she, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>wiping her eyes. “On the contrary, I -envy the condition of those in every class -of life, who are able to fill up usefully -that station to which Providence calls -them; too much care, too much tenderness -have, I fear, unfitted me for mine.” -She again dissolved into tears. “I -should not have said thus much,” added -she, “for I have nothing to regret, but -being a burden to my relations. Your -residence here, however, would soon inform -you that Mary Howard lost every -thing at the death of her mother.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear young lady,” answered I, -endeavouring to sooth her, and now -observing that she wore a black cotton -gown, “you must not despair; your loss -has probably been recent; time will do”——She -interrupted me. “Oh, no!” -cried she. The chamber door opened, -and the chamber-maid hastily said, “My -dear Mary, you forget how time goes; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>your aunt will be enquiring.” The poor -girl took the friendly hint and hastily -withdrew. I now employed the maid to -untie the trunk, and, with my praise of -Miss Howard, mentioned something of -my error. “No wonder,” said she, with -honest indignation, “dressed as she is! -But she is Mr. Howard’s child for all -that, and would be so in rags. Such -relations! say I: I would weed in a ditch -rather than owe my bread to such.” A -bell sounded, and the girl withdrew, -saying, “You will soon see, Madam, -that I am right.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good God!” continued the anxious -Mrs. Allen, “what will you do, my dear -child, in a house where <em>a niece</em> envies -the condition of a servant, and where a -servant is kinder treated than <em>an aunt</em>?” -“Do!” replied I, “why I will make -those who are in it <em>blush</em>.” She shook -her head, and I took it into mine that she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>had not met with proper deference. The -storm of passion was rising, Lucy; but -I was pacified by Mrs. Allen’s assurance -that she had not been overlooked, and I -found there had been no difference made -in the accommodations prepared for the -heiress and her <em>friend</em>. It was well; for, -is she not my friend? Did not my dying -mother give me to her? Did not yours -bid me cherish her? and when I fail, may -Heaven abandon me! Let these people -dare to be impertinent, you will soon see -us at Heathcot; at present, however, -my anger flows only in one channel. My -first employment here shall be to teach -Miss Flint a lesson, and to shew her that -Rachel Cowley abhors oppression.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I will finish this three day’s journal by -sending you a description of the damsel, -for whom I mean to draw <em>my sword</em> -should it be necessary; you will say it -has an edge; so much the better when -employed to correct cruelty.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>In stature, Miss Howard is about my -height, but in symmetry and proportion -of form, so completely Grecian that you -must look for her model in the gallery -at Florence. To perfect the resemblance -the more, she wears her light-brown -locks, nearly flaxen, braided up and -fastened round her head, whilst a black -ribband confines the redundancy of the -ringlets from covering her snowy forehead; -her eyes are the darkest blue I ever -saw, and, perhaps, to their colour it is -owing that I never yet saw eyes so expressive -at once of spirit and softness: -at one moment they make their appeal -to the heart by the imploring look of -infant-trust and confidence; at another, -they bespeak a soul within, equal to the -duty of checking insolence; but these -emanations are transient, and a melancholy -expression of tenderness, rather -than of sorrow, more commonly beams -from them. To what shall I liken her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>complexion? I can find nothing but a -white rose newly refreshed by the dew -of heaven: its delicate smoothness and -modest blush exactly correspond with -Mary’s skin; for its tints would confound -the painter to imitate; her smile would -convert frenzy to peace, though lost on -Miss Flint’s flinty heart; and her voice -would soften the tigress when robbed of -her young.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I know what you will say: “This is a -sketch in Rachel Cowley’s style, when -compassion guides her pencil. It is a -thousand to one that this poor girl is -any thing more than a pretty one; her -youth and depressed fortune have lent -their aid to an imagination that always -employs vivid colours. We must place -Miss Howard’s picture by the side of -Miss Flint’s.” Do so, Lucy; the time may -come, and I hope will come, when you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>shall recant, and the triumph of truth -shall be that of your</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER V.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>Without entering into your comments -on the power of bribery when in such -hands as mine, I will content myself -with my influence over an affection which -can be just to friendship and yet faithful -to duty. I appeal to your understanding, -Lucy; has there been one wish to -render your good offices hurtful to your -father, or pernicious to Horace and myself, -yet offered to ensnare you? I have -a right to hear of his welfare; and by -detailing the little occurrences which -mark our respective existences, you are -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>doing no harm. Your conditions are -accepted with joy, as the means of producing -comfort to my <em>brother</em>. You -shall have my day-journals, and night-journals, -if you will; my very dreams -shall be sent you. Ah! would to Heaven -you could give me Horace’s!</p> - -<p class='c007'>To begin, however, with your “<em>method</em>.” -My first night’s repose at Tarefield -was disturbed by Mary Howard’s -image and my own fretfulness. The -dawn of day presented to my sight -Solomon, in his judgment-seat, who grinned -upon me with an aspect not less -savage than that of the two viragoes -who held the sprawling boy between -them; for, sooth to say, no one could -have traced the mother’s features, or the -clemency of the judge in the mass of -worsted employed; and I believe the face -of the lions that decorated the ascent to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>the throne, was the common one for the -whole multitude of countenances that -filled the room. Weary of looking at -this odious tapestry, I arose, and explored -my way into the garden. Here, indeed, -I found the sweet perfumes of nature and -the god of day; but for the rest let the -poet speak—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,</div> - <div class='line'>And half the platform just reflects the other;</div> - <div class='line'>The suffering eye inverted Nature sees,</div> - <div class='line'>Trees cut as statues, statues cut as trees.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>This being too much in the style of the -tapestry in the bed-chamber, soon tired -me; and seeing the servants about, -I sauntered into the avenue. Here the -horse-chesnut trees, in all their pride, -attracted my attention for a few minutes; -but I was soon allured towards an object -still more inviting. Mary was before me, -walking with the light-foot of a Dryad, -and your not inactive friend bounded -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>after her. Exercise and surprise heightened -the vermillion in her cheek, and -with a sweet and graceful modesty she -saluted me with the usual compliments. -I gave the reins to my heart, and it was -not idle. She said I was very good; -that indeed it would greatly enhance to -her the pleasure of walking in a morning -if she were <em>permitted</em> to attend me, but -her aunt frequently wanted her services. -She would, however, endeavour to gain -an hour sometimes, for the honour of -walking with me. A certain trepidation -and looking on all sides marked some -fear; and I was on the point of encouraging -more confidence, when we saw the -baronet approaching us. He was wrapped -up in an old plaid morning gown, -his head enveloped in a black silk cap, -and his attention was engaged by clearing -a tattered silk sash from the interposing -brambles. He started on seeing -me, and would, I believe, have retracted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>had not my voice detained him. On -accosting him his poor sallow face was -in confusion, and with a forced smile he -asked me whether he had not frightened -me, glancing his eyes to his uncouth habiliments. -I took his arm, and rattled -over some account of my having frightened -Miss Howard. He became easy -and cheerful, and told me that Mary and -he had very often an assignation to keep -in the avenue at too early an hour for -the business of the toilet. The turret -clock sounded eight, and Mary left us. -You may suppose she became the subject -of our conversation. “She is,” said he, -“as faultless in mind as in person; my -wife says she is the image of her mother’s -pure and now beatified soul; but that -she is also like her father, not only in -her person, but in a firmness of character -which her mother wanted. Her parents -were unfortunate,” continued he, with -his usual depression of voice and head -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>when afflicted. “She is in the hands of -an aunt who hated them; a woman naturally -harsh and violent. We cannot -controul her power, without danger to -ourselves; but we suffer deeply from being -the witnesses of this poor girl’s mortifications. -My wife, Miss Cowley, is a -mother; her son Philip is Miss Flint’s -favourite; she has called him <em>her heir</em> -from her cradle, and she has exacted in -return from his mother, a submission -which has annihilated even the wish of -being independent. She is gentle, humane, -and unambitious, but she is—a -slave——! These domestic grievances will -not long escape your observation. I am -passive; for my Harriet wishes me not to -interfere. I only dread lest you should -despise us.” “Be assured, Sir Murdock,” -answered I with seriousness, “that this -fear is groundless; I am more disposed -to pity than to blame. As a stranger I -remarked Miss Flint’s ungracious and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>petulant manner, and I honestly confess -I pitied <em>her</em>. She might yet be corrected; -a little wholesome contradiction is all that -is necessary.” “You have only to try an -easier experiment,” replied he, smiling, -“and you will succeed by only engaging -to marry her idol.” “Were I but privileged,” -answered I, “you should see -her perfectly tamed by my employing -nothing more than her own arts of tormenting. -I doubt not but in the first instance -<em>her idol</em>, as you call her young -brother, secured his power in this way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed you are mistaken,” said he, -“Philip Flint was ever mindful of his -own honour, though grateful for an affection, -unbounded in its liberality to -him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lady Maclairn’s appearance prevented -more. She came to summons us to breakfast, -and with the utmost frankness told -me that she had been to pay her respects -to Mrs. Allen, who was very busy with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>her band-boxes, and had ordered a breakfast -and a maid-servant into her apartment. -She conducted me, whilst chatting, -to the “Old Wing,” in which Miss -Flint more particularly holds her state; -and we found her richly decorated, and -waiting for us at a tea-board most splendidly -set out. Sir Murdock had mechanically, -I suspect, followed our steps, -and entered the room with us. Miss -Lucretia’s face flushed a deeper dye. -“Good God, Sir Murdock!” exclaimed -she, “you are enough to frighten one in -<em>that trim</em>.” “Did I frighten you?” -asked he in a plaintive tone, and with a -look which would have softened any -Flint but the one before him. He was -retreating. “I will have no infringement -of our treaty of amity,” cried I -gaily, and gently placing him on the -sofa beside me. “It is my turn to -frighten you to-morrow morning, by -shewing myself in my wrapping gown -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>and night-cap. We have nothing to do -with ceremony and constraint: let those -have it who fancy they are never dressed -without white-fingered gloves.” I -glanced my saucy eyes on Miss Flint’s -starched muslins; she perceived the application, -but I was <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en train</span></i>; and affecting -to be hungry, I took a roll and divided -it between my silent neighbour and -myself; and finding Lady Maclairn was -to preside at the silver tea-board, I impatiently -begged a cup of chocolate. -Then, with well-counterfeited recollection, -I said, “But where is Miss Howard? -she is better entitled to her breakfast -than I am, for she was walking before -me.” “Mary does not breakfast with me,” -replied Miss Flint, “she has it in her own -room.” “I am glad I have so good a -precedent to produce for my humour,” -answered I, “though it deprives me of -present pleasure; I also usually breakfast -in my own room, for I regard an hour -<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>in the morning as the most precious in -the day. But as a stranger,” added I, -smiling, “may I presume to ask when, -and at what hour, I may hope to see this -beautiful creature? Does she dine also in -her own room?” This question was answered -with much haughtiness. “As a -stranger, Miss Cowley,” said she gravely, -“it may <em>surprise</em> you, to find so near a relation -of mine under restrictions which I -deem proper. Mary knows my views; -these extend no farther than to make her -useful, and to qualify her for the station -in life which the imprudent conduct of -her parents has destined her to fill. She -must be humble. Besides,” continued -she, relaxing into more civility, “your -praises of her beauty quite alarm me, -and would turn her silly head. She is -young, and vain and silly enough to -think herself a very pretty girl.” “Why, -my dear Madam,” asked I, laughing -at the extreme gravity of this remark, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“how in the name of common sense, can -Miss Howard think otherwise of a face -and a person so exquisitely formed, and -so consonant to every idea she can have -of beauty and grace?” “Oh, as to that -point,” answered she with a toss of her -head, “she will soon discover, if her -pride do not stand in her way, that -beauty is all fancy, and the face she -worships may not be thought worth a -second look by another.” “I grant,” -answered I, “the justness of your observation -in a general way: I know that -our ideas of beauty are in many instances -local, and depend on taste; I will do -more, I will grant, that in many parts of -the habitable globe Miss Howard’s personal -charms might be regarded as <em>deformities</em>: -but as she is in a country which -secures her from any competition with -flat-nosed, long-eared, and black-skinned -beauties, I do not see how you can prevent -her knowing that she is peculiarly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>endowed with those external advantages, -to which her situation and the acknowledged -taste and opinion of those around -her, have given the power of attraction -and the tribute of admiration.” “You -may say what you will,” replied Miss -Lucretia, with an asperity of tone in -unison with her harsh features; “but I -wish from my soul this poor girl had no -beauty. We have had enough of that -perishable commodity in our family! -Besides,” added she, softening her voice, -“you appear to have overlooked a lesson -which every handsome girl ought to -know. I have heard many <em>sensible men</em>, -Miss Cowley, observe, that the best -sauce for the relish of beauty, is the -<em>ignorance</em> which the possessor has of its -power to call forth admiration, or to -attract notice and favour.” “I should -have told ‘your sensible men,’” replied -I, “that I well knew the taste for ‘Moliere’s -Agnes’ was not yet worn out. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>Ignorance is more friendly to the sensualist -than to the moralist; and I always -suspect those who wish to see a young -woman unconscious of her own advantages. -It is also, in my opinion, illiberal, -and unjust to conclude that a woman -is vain because she is handsome. A -weak understanding has, in numberless -instances, given to even ugly and deformed -women a conceit of themselves, which -is as pitiable as it is ridiculous; and we -see them daily exhibiting faces and persons -with the most entire persuasion of -their being attractive, which excite only -disgust and ill-natured animadversions. -No, no, Madam,” continued I, “beauty -does not of necessity make a woman -a fool; a plain understanding and a very -little experience will teach her to appreciate -it justly; but she will, and she -ought to bring it into that account of -gratitude she owes to her Maker; for it -is a good gift, inasmuch as it renders -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>us pleasing in the eyes of our fellow-creatures, -and conciliates that affection -which would otherwise be languid and -careless.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The baronet had not apparently given -his attention to one word of this conversation, -for though his eyes were fixed -on me, he seemed totally absorbed in his -own reflexions. “You have not listened -to this debate, my dear Sir Murdock,” -observed his wife, pressing his passive -hand, “otherwise I would call upon you -as umpire between the contending parties.” -“You are mistaken,” answered -he smiling, “I have not lost a syllable -of what has passed, and my decision is -ready. No adventitious advantages will -engender conceit or vanity in a mind -that has solidity, and that rests upon -those principles which alone can bestow -<em>real excellence</em> and produce <em>permanent -esteem</em>. But I am curious to know by -what means Miss Cowley has acquired -the wisdom to estimate so justly an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>advantage which it must be confessed, -with her face and at her age, one would -not have expected.”—“I will convince -you,” replied I with gravity, “that if I -am not vain, it is because I am proud. I -was educated by a woman, who, to good -sense, joined every virtue that adorns -the female character.” Her example, as -much as her precepts, contributed to -form me: and such was her influence, -that to resemble Mrs. Hardcastle was -the purpose of my life, even before I was -qualified to judge of her merit, or to -measure the ascent I had to gain in my -approaches to her perfections. Mrs. -Hardcastle was a handsome woman; but -she was neither vain nor affected. Yet -I will confess, I wished to be as handsome -as Mrs. Hardcastle, who was indeed -a beautiful woman; for I particularly noticed -the consideration her elegant person -produced before strangers. But a lesson, -which I still remember, checked, it may -<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>be, the vanity of the girl. I was, when -about twelve or thirteen years old, one -morning alone with my mother, as I -called Mrs. Hardcastle, when our reading -was interrupted by the visit of a neighbouring -gentleman, who had however -been some months on a tour. No sooner -had he received the frank and easy -welcome of Mrs. Hardcastle, than he -examined me; and with the most elaborate -praise spoke of my improvement, -growth, and <em>extraordinary beauty</em>. During -these commendations, which, although -they made me blush, did not -offend me, my maternal friend was good -humouredly caressing his dog, which was -a very ugly cur. “You have not lost your -enthusiasm for beauty I perceive,” observed -she smiling. “But what is become -of your pretty Italian grey-hound? and -how happens it that her post is filled up -by this miserable looking animal?” “I -would not give that dog,” replied he, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>“for an hundred Italian grey-hounds, -each more beautiful than Fidêle. She -was not worth the keeping, except as a -plaything to my little nephew: but this -dog has qualities which are inestimable.” -Mrs. Hardcastle laughed, and turning -towards me said, with that sweetness -which so distinguished her, “You see, my -dear girl, the <em>worth of beauty</em> when unfriended -by <em>useful talents</em>: remember -poor Fidêle, and take heed to be something -better than a plaything for a <em>school-boy</em>.” -I did not forget this lesson, and it -was the more useful to me, from finding, -in the gentleman’s subsequent visits, that -whether it was a piece of old china, a -tulip, or a young lady’s eyes or complection, -he was equally liberal of his praise, -and employed much the same language. -I was therefore offended by his encomiums; -and I am become so proud and -fastidious on this point, that I always -think the compliments paid to my person, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>include a sarcasm on my understanding.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All this argues nothing against my -opinion,” said the inflexible virgin. “With -your understanding, beauty may not be -a dangerous gift, but in ninety and nine -instances out of a hundred it is so, and -leads the possessor into danger.” “So -you may say of health, of spirits, of intellectual -endowments, nay, even of life -itself,” replied I; “for each in its turn -is abused by the folly and passions of a -mind unchecked, and uncultivated. But -our neglect of a blessing does not lessen -the value of the gift; and for my part, -were I in your place, I would recommend -to Miss Howard, in the enumeration of -those mercies she owes to her Maker, <em>gratitude</em> -for a form and a face which open -to her every bosom in which humanity -resides.”—“You ought to be very pious -indeed,” replied she, with an air of pique, -“for most assuredly there is no comparison -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>between your beauty and Mary’s. -She has a pretty baby-face”——“For -charity’s sake stop there,” cried I, “I am -contented with my face at present, but I -do not know what your comparison may -produce. I think it too good a one to -be mended by cold cream or Spanish -wool; and I know it is too honest a one -for a deceitful heart. As a good title -page I am thankful for it, and I will -take heed that the work within shall not -disgrace it, when read by the eye of -truth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>What, my Lucy, could occasion the -deep blush which suffused Lady Maclairn’s -countenance when I said this, -merely with a view to finish a conversation -I was weary of, and which detained -me from going to Mrs. Allen? I had risen -from my seat whilst speaking, and saw -a tear escape from her eye. Would a -mind unacquainted with guilt have felt so -random a dart? I know what will be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>your answer. However, it was evident -I had touched a sensitive plant; and my -retreat was necessary. I reminded the baronet -of his promise to assist me in arranging -our books, without any diminution -of my gaiety. “Do with me what -you please,” replied he, “so that I am -not in your way: but shall I not surprise -Mrs. Allen by my appearance?” He -glanced his eyes to his tattered gown, -“We will run the hazard,” said I, passing -my arm through his, “for it is -ten to one but she is in her night-cap, -and chiding my idleness.” He smiled. -“Lucy, I would you could see this man’s -countenance when thus lightened up! -Surely, never did Heaven more graciously -decorate the face of woe! It is with an -expression, which not only awakens -compassion, but which also produces -reverence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As I had foreseen, Mrs. Allen had -made our task light. It was well she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>had; for to say the truth, the baronet -was so entirely engaged by Humphrey -Clinker as to forget his office altogether. -Lady Maclairn soon after -found Mrs. Allen and myself busily -engaged in our work. She with alacrity -assisted us, and, with a look of sweet and -composed tranquillity directed to her -husband, she said, in a half whisper, -“Are you aware, my dear Miss Cowley, -that I am incurring a debt which I can -never pay? Heaven, who appears to have -commissioned you to heal the broken-in-spirit, -can alone recompense you. But -you will know more of the being you -will save; and you will understand that -my gratitude must need language, for I -have not words that can express my -feelings.” She pressed my hand with -fervour. “What will you say,” continued -she, “when I tell you that he has -been inquiring after his turning-wheel, -and talking to me of renewing an employment -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>in which he formerly delighted! -You are the spring of his activity; -he means to make you a reading-desk. -Are not these blessed indications of his -amendment?” I found no difficulty, Lucy, -in translating Lady Maclairn’s language -or expression while she was thus speaking. -She loves her husband. <em>Time</em>, your grand -specific, will settle my opinions as they -relate to this lady; in the meanwhile, I -cannot well account for her secret in -making me like and dislike her by turns. -Sometimes she appears the most artless -and ingenuous of her sex; her conversation -becomes animated, and her thoughts -flow with a frankness as unpremeditated -as your giddy Rachel’s. The next hour -I see her, she is silent and ceremonious, -conceding to all that is done, tremblingly -alive to all that is said. To-day she -offended me at dinner. Miss Flint sharply -reprimanded her niece, for not being -in the room before the last bell rang. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>The innocent creature mildly said, she -had been in the garden with Sir Murdock, -who had detained her. Why was -Lady Maclairn silent? Ought she not to -have checked Miss Flint in the display -of an ill humour, for which the cause was -so trifling? I wish to see more of a decided -protection in her manner to this -poor girl. Her civility does not content -me, and I sometimes fancy there is a <em>servility</em> -in her observances, that marks a -little mind.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I have well earned my promised recompence. -I shall expect a long detail -of Horace’s adventures by sea and land: -if you fail, farewell to your gossiping -historian,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP VI.</h2> -</div> - -<h3 class='c014'>LETTER VI.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c015'>Since my last, I have had some conversation -with Mr. Malcolm Maclairn, -which, as it interested me, will make the -subject of my present lucubrations. He -returned home last night from an excursion -which almost immediately followed -my arrival here. I met him this morning -in the garden, and he joined me. -After civilly apologizing for an absence -from home so soon after I was his mother’s -guest, he said, his father had not -been for many years in a state of health -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>which admitted of any interruption by -business. “But,” added he, with seriousness, -“with what satisfaction do I -now devote my time to his ease and comfort, -when I compare his present condition -with the sufferings of his mind that -I have witnessed! This morning he was -not only curious to learn the success of -my little journey, but conversed with -me on the subject of it with precision -and interest. In time his long habits of -seclusion and indolence will yield to the -natural energy of his character, and the -activity of his mind. I have cherished -this hope, Miss Cowley, from the hour I -was capable of reflecting on the nature -and operations of my father’s malady. I -never could believe he was what he was -called, nor that his case was incurable -lunacy. The event has justified my opinion. -After many years of suffering -under the most afflicting hypochondriacal -attacks, he was suddenly seized by a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>violent fever, which for many days baffled -medicine, and repressed every hope; the -crisis was favourable. We were prepared -to expect not only extreme weakness in -his bodily powers, but also that debility -of mind which inseparably belongs to a -state of nearly renovated existence. He -remained for a time a mere infant; but -we perceived that with his increasing -strength, his mind was clear from those -gloomy images which had so long obscured -it. He continued to gain strength; -but unfortunately his memory, too faithful -for his advantage, represented the -scenes which had passed. He became -painfully susceptible to a sense of humiliation -the most unfriendly to his perfect -recovery. No arguments could prevail -on him to appear, even before the servants -of the family, for a considerable -time, lest he should terrify them; and -his persuasion was so strong that he -was disqualified to appear in society, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>that my dear mother ceased to importune -him on the subject. Unsupported, and -I may add, friendless as we are on the -side of connections, no efforts were made -to combat opinions which were more the -result of extreme delicacy and habitual -indulgence, than of a still disturbed -imagination. I was convinced that my -father wanted only a stimulus sufficiently -powerful to rouse his mind, and to -recover his native powers of acting. -About this time, we received Mr. Flamall’s -letters, with his plan of your becoming -an inmate at the hall. My -father was extremely averse to the proposal. -He affectingly drew a picture of -himself, and with tears appealed to -his wife to determine whether he was a -fit object for the observation of a girl -who had no acquaintance with misery, -and who would shun him as an object of -dread and disgust, or laugh at his eccentricities. -Miss Flint’s wishes were answered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>with firmness. ‘He should quit -Tarefield.’ I had arguments more potent.—Let -it suffice for the present,” -continued Malcolm with emotion, “that -<em>I know Mr. Flamall</em>; and that my father -knows him to be a villain. I urged, and -seriously urged, that by his rejection -of the proposal Flamall had made, you -might fall into less honourable hands; -that he might, by an apparent acquiescence -circumvent designs, which, as -originating in a mind devoid of every -principle, must be liable to suspicion. -‘You may not,’ added I, ‘be able altogether -to redress the grievances which -this young lady will have to endure under -the controul of such a guardian; but -under your protection she will be secure. -Convince Miss Flint, and let Mr. Flamall -understand, that you are no longer -the ‘idiot,’ ‘the lunatic,’ they have -proclaimed. At no period of his life was -Sir Murdock Maclairn better qualified to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>become the defender of innocence. My -arguments prevailed, and his journey to -London to receive you, was determined -on. My poor mother’s spirits sunk into -terror. She resolved to attend Sir Murdock, -and urged with many tears, the -danger of his going by himself; but I -was resolute. It was indispensibly requisite -to renew in my father’s mind a -confidence in his own strength, and to -permit him experimentally to feel that -he was a rational being, and fully competent -to the care of himself and of you. -He departed alone; and with a solicitude -and terror which I will not attempt to -describe. I followed his carriage. I -had the comfort of finding on the road, -that although the singularity of his manners -excited curiosity, no one called in -question his faculties of action, or suspected -he had been deranged. I lodged -at the same coffee-house in which he did, -and slept in the next room to him. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>followed his footsteps, and watched his -return from Counsellor Steadman’s by -means of a young man who was in his -office. From this gentleman I also learned, -Madam, some particulars relative to -your situation at Mr. Hardcastle’s, and, -with this information to appreciate justly -your character, and that of the friends -from whom you were to be separated. I -reached the hall not more than two hours -before your arrival, with the unpleasant -conviction on my spirits, that you would -experience under its roof many privations -of your accustomed enjoyments. -But I also knew, that nothing would be -omitted on my mother’s part to render -your banishment from your friends as -easy and as secure as possible.—This mother,” -continued Malcolm, “you must -love; for she merits your esteem, and -you are just. No language I can employ -can describe her conduct as a wife -or a mother. Judge then of her gratitude -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>to you, for the humane and delicate -attention you give to a husband, for -whose sake and for whose comfort she -has lived! You will no longer be surprised, -my dear Madam, by the singularities -of Sir Murdock, or at the retirement -in which we live.—Observe those -grated windows,” continued Malcolm, -directing my notice to two in the attics, -“in that apartment did my mother, like -an angel of peace administer every tender, -soothing balm to the desponding -and disturbed imagination of her beloved, -idolized husband! There it was, -Madam, that I perceived from time to -time the emanations of a mind which -neither sickness nor sorrow could entirely -extinguish. There it was, that I saw -the spirit of a Maclairn struggling with -affliction, and nobly sustaining its claims -to the meed of virtue!”—He spoke with -an animation which proved his affinity -to his father.—“Need I,” pursued he, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>“recommend to Miss Cowley the continuance -of those acts of kindness which -have already produced the most flattering -hopes to my dejected mother’s spirits. She -tells me Sir Murdock delights in your society, -and that he talks of you as a blessing -sent to comfort her, and to heal him.” -“God Almighty grant it may prove so!” -said I, with fervour. “To be an agent in -such a work would make a prison pleasant -to me! But I find nothing at Tarefield,” -added I, “to put my philosophy -to the trial. I am perfectly contented in -my banishment, except on one point; -and I bespeak your good offices, Mr. -Maclairn, to remedy this grievance. -Contrive to conquer Miss Flint’s dread -of my being an improper associate for -her niece. From the precautions that are -used, I should have thought those grated -windows to have been poor Miss Howard’s -boundaries.”—“She is another of -my dear mother’s cares,” replied Malcolm -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>with eagerness——“But see, Lady -Maclairn approaches.” He bowed and -turned towards the gate, whilst I quickened -my steps to meet her Ladyship. -“I come a petitioner,” said she with -cheerfulness; “my husband wants to see -you, and to have your recommendation -of another book. I dread lest he should -become too importunate; but only give -me a hint, and I will prevent his intruding.” -“Let me at once,” answered -I, taking her hand, “tell you, in unequivocal -language, that my enjoyments -at Tarefield are so dependent on Sir Murdock, -that <em>I</em> shall have no spirits, but -in proportion as I find myself useful to -the return of <em>his</em>. From the first day we -met, I promised that we should be mutually -useful to each other. He shall -teach me wisdom, and in requital I will -endeavour to cure him of his indolence.” -“God will reward you!” said her Ladyship, -with emotion.—“The endeavour -alone,” answered I, “will be a recompence; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>yet I am on the point of shewing -you I can be selfish. I entreat you to -assure Miss Flint that I am a very harmless -young woman, and that she may -with safety permit her niece to be familiar -with me.”—“Would to Heaven,” said -she, “it was in my power, Miss Cowley, -not only to oblige you in this request, but -also to convince you of my own opinions, -as they relate to this amiable girl! But -I can only deplore her aunt’s harshness -of temper. I have neither the authority -nor the influence necessary to remedy -the evil. Lucretia must be left to the -bitter experience which will result from -her temper; and Miss Howard must be -satisfied with knowing, that she is not -the only one under this roof who suffers -from its caprices. I am this poor girl’s -friend, but I cannot lessen the oppression -under which she lives, although I abhor -it.” The Baronet appeared, and I thought -his wife was not displeased by the relief -his presence brought her. He gladly accepted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>my invitation to breakfast, and it -was no sooner finished than he became so -engaged with a book as to resemble a -statue.</p> - -<p class='c007'>You say you do not yet know where to -find me, should you be favoured with -the gift of the renowned <em>Puss and her -Boots</em>, and take it into your head to <em>step</em> -from Heathcot to Tarefield. Conceiving -that, in the fancy of the moment, your -imagination had conquered the difficulty -of the staircases and thresholds, I will -in my turn, fancy you are now in my -<em>domicile</em>. My apartment forms the south -wing of this irregular building, in which -are two specious parlours, which command -the east and south, by which means I -have the avenue and the garden for my -solace. But on discovering that Lady -Maclairn had, from indulgence, a more -peculiar privilege in the appropriation of -these rooms to her own use, I have insisted -on their being regarded as <em>hers</em>; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>and I have erected my throne of independence -on the second floor, where the -rooms are correspondent, only divided -into three. It is in the south room you -must look for your Rachel Cowley: but -you may, if it please you, imagine you -are still at home; for all in this <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">sanctum -sanctorum</span></i> is <em>Heathcot</em>. My work-table, -the drawings we did together, Horace’s -biographical chart—<em>all</em> present to my -mind those</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Friends of reason, and my guides of youth,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose language breath’d the eloquence of truth;</div> - <div class='line'>Whose life beyond preceptive wisdom taught,</div> - <div class='line'>The wise in conduct, and the pure in thought.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To gratify Sir Murdock, who by no -means relished my preference of the second -floor for my domain, I have placed -my books and the piano-forte in one of the -parlours, which has wonderfully domesticated -us to that room. He is too well bred -to intrude on my private hours; but he often -induces me to shorten them, for there is a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>pleasure which belongs to sympathy; -and when I see the poor baronet’s eyes -brighten at my approach, I feel the gaiety -which I often assume, settling into contentment. -Have I said enough to satisfy -your curiosity? Will it not be my own -fault if I am dissatisfied with a prison -regulated by order and neatness, and inhabited -by people who wish to make it -pleasant? I promise you, Lucy, that I -will be all you wish me to be; but I -must have intelligence of our dear wanderer. -Neither Tarefield-hall, nor <em>Heathcot</em> -itself, would content me, without this -indulgence; and, to say the truth, I -would rather be the “Wet sea-boy” in -Lord William’s yacht, “even when the -visitation of the winds takes the billows -by the top,” than dwell in a terrestrial paradise. -But this is the romance of a girl! -and as Solomon, from the next room, is -glaring his large eyes on me, I will profit -from the admonition they give me, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>close this letter and my own eyes for the -night. Heaven will, in its mercy, receive -the petition I offer for all that is dear to -Rachel Cowley, for in that confidence do -I live.</p> - -<p class='c007'>P. S. Mrs. Allen bids me tell you that -she finds Tarefield has a worse report -than it deserves. It is haunted only by -<em>one</em> unquiet spirit, and that may be said -of nine hundred and ninety-nine houses -out of a thousand. She has, by her usual -address, found the means of quieting this -nuisance as it approaches her; for Miss -Flint affects to have a great veneration -for Mrs. Allen’s judgment, particularly in -physic, in which she is or seems to be an -adept. I heartily wish she may be converted -to Mrs. Allen’s creed, of being -“good to all,” it would do more for her -weak <em>nerves</em>—could you but see this -woman!—than a course of valerian and -bark.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span> - <h3 class='c010'>LETTER VII.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>Obedience in most cases is the best -test of love; and as you <em>command</em> me, my -Lucy, to continue faithfully to detail all -the <em>minutiæ</em> of my domestic comforts, -till you are certain I want only you, I -will continue to please you. In time you -will, I presume, wish for other subjects; -and I beg you will point out to me the -means of attaining any more important -than my present one. What think you -of my studying heraldry, for the purpose -of amusing you? I should have a good -preceptor in Sir Murdock; he frequently -descants very learnedly on armorial bearings, -and with much philosophical precision -traces the influence of “<em>blude</em>,” -from the father to the son, for centuries -past. According to Sir Murdock’s favourite -hypothesis, every cardinal virtue -depends on having “<em>gude blude</em>” in our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>veins; but a truce with nonsense. I believe -the good people I am with will -please me in all essential points. They -have already forgotten that I am a <em>stranger</em>. -Miss Flint has put aside her damask -gown and laced suit, and I saw her -this morning walking in the garden, in a -<em>dishabille</em> not far removed from dirty -negligence. By the way, the baronet -now exhibits a new wrapping gown with -Morocco slippers; and as we walk before -breakfast, he usually continues to -take that repast in the parlour with us. -This hour is gradually becoming useful to -him, and his wife also, for she appears to -enjoy it as much as he does. I am now -convinced that I have innocently occasioned -to Miss Howard the privation of -her morning exercise. I caught a glimpse -of her to-day in the garden, and instantly -availing myself of the opportunity, -took a direction which led me to her. -When remote from the windows, I at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>once entered upon the subject of my -fears, and told her that I had been vexed -and disappointed by not seeing her in -the avenue. “I must not abridge you of -liberty,” added I, “and unless your -aunt becomes more reasonable, I shall -lose my temper. What can be the humour -she gratifies by opposing my wish -to enjoy your society?” The poor girl -was confused—“You are very kind, -Madam,” replied she, “but my situation -here does not admit of the honour -you wish to confer on me. I have -to learn many things, and my time -is necessarily engaged by my duties. -I have unfortunately been reared with -too much tenderness for the station of -life to which Providence has destined -me, and it is sometimes difficult for me -to forget.”—She could not proceed.—“Say -rather,” observed I with indignation, -“that it is difficult for you to bear, -unmoved, a cruelty which disgraces your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>aunt, and will destroy you.”—“Indeed,” -answered she, with an alarm which -surprised me, “your generous nature -and sympathising temper have misled -you. My aunt is not cruel: she thinks -I want a discipline to fit me for the world -and a low condition of fortune. Perhaps -she judges right. In the mean time, I -would not, on any account, give her -room to imagine that I am discontented -or ungrateful for the shelter she affords -my helpless youth. But I must leave -you,” added she, whilst her eyes swam -in tears. “I have walked an hour, and -my aunt likes to see me exact.” You -will believe that this short interview was -not the <em>exact</em> preparation I needed for -the scene I witnessed at dinner. Her -aunt actually sent her from table with -the soup and beef, neither of which she -had tasted, because she had not done her -allotted task. God, I hope, will forgive -me for the thought that half choaked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>me, and which would have finally choaked -Miss Lucretia, had it been successful. -I was so angry with Lady Maclairn, that -I believe she perceived it; for nothing -escapes her observation. After dinner -we were by ourselves; and, in the most -unqualified terms, I noticed Miss Flint’s -want of humanity and good manners to -a girl whom she was bound to treat as a -daughter. “I am astonished at your -forbearance,” added I; “for these instances -of her unfeeling temper put me -into a fever.”—“You are mistaken,” answered -she with seriousness, “if you -suppose I suffer the less for being patient. -I am as sensible as you can be of the improper -treatment Miss Howard has to -support: but I know I am more effectually -serving her by being silent, than -I could be by opposing her aunt. You -know not this woman so well as I do; -nor the necessity which forces me to -witness her harshness and severity to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>this sweet and innocent girl. I must be -passive, Miss Cowley. Yet there is a -fault in Mary. She has been taught to -dread Miss Flint. She is too much under -the impressions given to her mind -when with her uncle, to perceive that -there is in Lucretia’s temper a jealousy in -regard to the affections of those about -her. With less timidity, and more apparent -contentment, she would remove -from her aunt’s mind the suspicion which -interposes between her niece and every -act of kindness her natural generosity -would prompt. She believes Mary detests -her.”—“Good Heaven!” cried I, -“she must so believe, for her conscience -accuses her of deserving to be hated!—But, -you say, Mary has been taught to -dread this aunt. Are Miss Flint’s <em>tender -mercies</em> calculated to rectify her opinions? -And would you wish to see a girl at <em>her -age</em> practise an address which would -contaminate the rectitude of a mind at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span><em>any age</em>, in order to gain favour, and to -sleep and eat in peace? I should see this -girl trampled upon without pity, were I -to see her for one moment smile and <em>lick</em> -the hand which oppresses her!”—“Ah, -my dear Miss Cowley,” replied the agitated -Lady Maclairn, “in this sentiment -are contained the genuine feelings of -nature, and the language of an untried -spirit. May you never know the pressure -of those circumstances in life which -leave the principle vigorous, and fetter -down the power of exerting it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Howard entered the room. Her -eyes were red with weeping. She brought -Miss Flint’s request that we would take -our tea in her apartment. In the humour -I was in, I would as soon have paid -a visit to a felon in Newgate! I sent my -negative, and left the room abruptly. -You will perceive that your Rachel -Cowley had lost sight of wisdom. Tell -me not, Lucy, that I am an enthusiast: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>I will maintain, to my dying day, that -there is language which hypocrisy can -never speak. Lady Maclairn is a <em>Flamall</em>! -not one line in her face corresponded -with a feeling of mine. I told -my tale to Mrs. Allen.—What a contrast! -The glow of indignation, the look of -pity, with which she listened to my -story, made me thankful that a slight -cold had kept her in her room at the -dining hour.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I had scarcely recovered my <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sang froid</span></i> -before Lady Maclairn, with a countenance -as placid and gentle as the pleased -infant’s, entered to <em>chat</em>, and enquire -about the rebel tooth which had teazed -Mrs. Allen; and, with a calm and easy -good humour, she asked my permission -for Sir Murdock’s visit. “I am going,” -added she, smiling, “to bring Miss -Flint into good humour; and if I should -be so fortunate as to succeed, Mary shall -have a holiday and walk with you.” I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>could only bow: but in spite of nature -this woman subdued me; for she checked -a sigh that I could not resist, and left -me, to send in my guest. Sir Murdock -finding I was “at home,” joined me; and, -to smooth my own ruffled features, and -gratify him, I went to the harp. I have -however, prescribed for myself as well -as my patient; the <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">penseroso</span></i> in music -having more than once betrayed him into -tears and myself into sadness, by sounds -which came</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>——“o’er his ear like the sweet south</div> - <div class='line'>That breathes upon a bank of violets.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Two or three songs of Horace’s are -now locked up; and the baronet is contented -with being roused to cheerfulness -by Scotch ballads.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Let me know in your next letter how -many months Rachel Cowley has been -at Tarefield. Mrs. Allen’s calendar says -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>not more than one—can this be true? -Poor Horace! how tedious must be to -him the account of time if he computes -it as I do! How many precious hours -which Providence has given us, have been, -and will be still lost to the account of -happiness!—A happiness, Lucy, which -would not have interfered with a single -duty, nor invaded on the rights of a -single human being!—Good night!</p> - -<p class='c007'>Well, I will be good, and endeavour to -be patient. I will eat, and drink, and -sleep, and forget not only my own cares, -but cease to feel and be angry at the -sight of oppressed innocence. I will -grow fat, and say with Miss Flint and -her tribe, “What! are not the poor and -friendless made for our use?” I will do -any thing rather than grieve my Lucy; -but you have, my dear girl, your whims -and crotchets to correct, as well as I my -petulancies and opinions to govern. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>What has given you the notion that I am -starved at Tarefield? Please to understand -that Miss Flint prides herself on -the goodness and abundance of her table; -and although she has not yet acquired a -relish for a dinner of herbs seasoned by -love and peace, she has an excellent -appetite for the stalled ox. Consequently, -as the song says,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Each day has the spit and the pot,</div> - <div class='line'>With plenty of pudding and pie.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Therefore be assured, that if to “pine -all the day is my lot,” it is not because I -am hungry or ill fed. No, no: it is the -sovereign will of Miss Lucretia Flint, -that there should be no want of any -thing at Tarefield but <em>contentment</em>; and -as she can live without it, why should -not others?</p> - -<p class='c007'>Yesterday morning Mrs. Allen and -myself, escorted by the baronet, encountered -Malcolm in our ramble before -<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>breakfast. He was in rustic attire, and -had a scythe slung on his shoulder. He -joined us with a face glowing with health -and exercise; and with the utmost cheerfulness -accosting us, he said he had been -working two hours in the meadow. “It -is not remote,” added he, “and if you -love nature’s perfumes, Miss Cowley, I -advise you to lengthen your walk. You -will find the poets need not the aid of -fiction to heighten their description of a -<em>hay-field</em>, whatever they may do in describing -hay-makers. Were I poetically -decorated, I would offer you my arm, -but in this trim.”——I interrupted him -by bidding him lead the way, and be -content without rivaling a birth-night -beau.</p> - -<p class='c007'>We soon reached the field, in which -were, with a number of people at work, -the proprietor, farmer Wilson, a neat -comely looking man, and Captain Percival -Flint. They advanced to meet us; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>but I perceived an instantaneous change -in the baronet’s countenance, and I -thought the salutation between the captain -and him more ceremonies than cordial. -Sir Murdock, however, introduced -him to us; and then, with a forced smile, -he asked him why he had so long deserted -the Hall. The captain said he was -sorry he had understood the family to -be too much engaged to admit intruders, -as it had prevented his visit of congratulation -on his return home; and that he -had himself been on an excursion for -some time since that period. Sir Murdock’s -brow cleared, he gave his hand,—“You -must be more neighbourly,” said -he, “and help us to reconcile the retirement -of this village to these ladies.” He bowed, -and I began to talk of Miss Howard. -I finished my panegyric with an assumed -complaint of her idleness, and begged he -would come to the hall, were it for no -other purpose than to exert his authority -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>and oblige her to walk out. “She used -to be fond of walking,” replied he pensively; -“but the want of a companion -of her own age, has, I fear, depressed her -spirits and activity.”—“Probably,” answered -I; “but only second me and I -will engage she shall forget crossstitch -and meditation in a month.” He -smiled, whilst a deep sigh escaped him. -I know your reverence for a black coat, -Lucy, and this predilection will not, with -you, be disgraced by a prudish prejudice -against a red coat. With me a bare suit -of regimentals, unspotted by the wearer’s -conduct, and unsullied by time and inattention, -are credentials I must respect. -The neatness of this veteran son of Mars, -marked with me the gentleman; and I -lost no time in my observations. He is -even now too fair for a hero; but the -fortune of war has indented a scar over -his left eye-brow, which gives manliness, -if not dignity, to his countenance; for it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>certainly lessens the effects of a mild expression, -and apparent want of health, -by no means corresponding with a military -man: a wooden leg, however, it -must be allowed, does, and the captain’s -fame as a soldier has reached the village, -where he is regarded with admiration and -respect: but his manners are so placid -and gentle, that I could not help fancying -a cross and a rosary would have converted -his portrait into the interesting -and war-subdued hermit. So leaving you -to finish this sketch, either as an anchorite, -or a half-pay captain of marines, I shall -continue to inform you of the impression -which his past interview with me has -left. We were such good friends before -we parted that I ventured to tell him, -that the sight of a military beau was a -phenomenon which had not entered into -my calculation of the pleasures to be -found at Tarefield, and that his appearance -had put my prudence and discretion -<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>quite off their guard, insomuch, that I -dared to make an assignation with him -for the evening. “You cannot, as a -soldier,” added I, “refuse my challenge; -but I warn you I shall bring into the -field a <em>second</em>, in the person of Mary -Howard.” He laughed, and replied with -gaiety and gallantry, that he accepted -my terms, although the time had been, -when he should have conditioned for -<em>others</em>; but that I might depend on his -punctuality.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On our return home I mentioned this -arrangement to my companions. Sir Murdock, -delighted with his morning walk, -said he would be of the evening party; -but instantly recollecting the difficulty -of my engagement, he asked me, by -what stratagem I intended to free the -poor captive Mary from her cage. I -was not quite prepared with an answer to -this question; and could only reply, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>that I trusted to fortune and my own -ingenuity for success.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The gaiety of the baronet amply indemnified -Lady Maclairn for having -waited for her breakfast. She was treated -with the detail of our walk and with -quotations from Thompson’s seasons; -and with the contentedness of the hour, -and a good appetite, he rallied me on my -advances to the captain, telling his wife -of the appointed rendezvous, and of my -plot to reach Captain Flint’s heart by -means of his niece. Would you could -see Lady Maclairn in moments like these! -Why have I not Ithariel’s spear? For -nothing less potent can reach the genuine -features of this woman’s mind! This -morning, for example, she was ingenuous -and unconstrained, her sweet eyes contemplating -with delight the cheerfulness -of Sir Murdock, when in a moment I saw -her countenance change, and her eyes -cast downwards, from the effects of these -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>words: “My Harriot, you must be of -our party; you must intercede for poor -Mary.”—“You know it is not in my -power,” answered she, with evident distress. -Sir Murdock’s gaiety sunk in an -instant; but I interposed my influence, -and with assumed spirits said, I would -trust to no one for the deliverance of -Mary but myself; and that I had already -formed my plan of action. Do you not -think Lady Maclairn is somewhat obliged -to her guest for these timely helps? I -suspect she feels her obligations of this -sort sometimes too sensibly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But to return from this digression. I -need not tell you that from the first hour -I entered into this house, I took care to -mark with a <em>decided</em> precision, my absolute -independence, in respect to Miss -Flint’s will and pleasure. In every compliance, -in every act, I have shewn her, -that I look to Sir Murdock and Lady -Maclairn as the regulators of my conduct, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>and as the heads of the house. -But I found it was necessary either to -declare open war with Miss Lucretia on -the occasion before me, or to try her ladyship’s -mode of <em>bending</em> to the despot. -The lesson was a new one, and I felt an -inclination to make an attempt in the -art of flattery. So prepared, I met Miss -Lucretia at dinner: fortunately she was -in a pleasant humour; and giving a gulp -to my pride, I praised her skill in carving, -and told her the story of poor Mrs. Primrose’s -white satin gown, and the unlucky -goose-carver’s disgrace, in the best manner. -I succeeded; and my next manœuvre -was to overlook the poor girl who -silently sat beside me, patiently expecting -to have her empty plate supplied. -My unusual politeness was not lost, for -I also talked of Jamaica. Upon this -ground, I presume, she called for a glass -of rum and water, “half and half,” and -drank to all friends there. Even this went -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>down my proud stomach in a glass of -wine, and I became so <em>agreeable</em> that she -invited me and the circle to drink tea in -her apartment. Our cheerful acceptance -of her invitation was followed by a -recollection of her dress, which was not -<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en règle</span></i>, and she left us to prepare the -silver tea-board, and to make her toilet. -I was delighted to find Sir Murdock had -enjoyed this scene: he told his wife I -was a plotter, and bade her beware of -my Circean-arts. She smiled, and said I -needed no auxiliaries, otherwise she would -readily join my standard, seeing it was -my design to lead tyranny captive.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On entering Miss Flint’s drawing-room, -I perceived that Mary had been -permitted to put on her Sunday muslin -gown; and to her native charms and -holiday suit, her youthful fancy had given -the finish by placing some moss-roses in -her bosom. She was seated in the remotest -of the bow windows, with a huge -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>mass of canvass before her, and was plying -her needle with all dispatch to get -up the lost time. The endless roll of -carpeting was now displayed. Miss -Cowley could not but praise the design; -and she heard that <em>three</em> years would -finish the furniture of the room in crossstitch, -without <em>one comment</em> that could -offend. Can you wonder that Mary was -allowed to fetch her bonnet, and to join -the walking party after tea? Will you -not rather wonder at my success in this -new trial of my talents? But between -ourselves, I begin to suspect that the art -of wheedling, is one of our natural prerogatives. -You cannot imagine with -what dexterity I employed my untried -weapons! It was well they served me; -for during the demurs and difficulties -Miss Flint opposed to my intreaties, I felt -my forbearance was like Acre’s courage, -not indeed oozing out at my fingers’ -ends, but with every breath I drew; and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>had she not consented when she did, I -should have lost my hard-earned laurels. -You will not, however, fail in congratulating -me on my triumph over myself. -But mark me, Lucy, I mean not to twist -and turn at the orders of that prudence -which is so often practised for wisdom. -It is necessary for my purpose that Miss -Howard’s friends should know more of -me before I can effectually oppose Miss -Flint’s will; but when they do understand -that Rachel Cowley can no more live -under the same roof with an oppressed -orphan, than Miss Lucretia shelter one, -without feeding her spleen, and qualifying -her malice for the bread she bestows, -farewell wheedling and coaxing! My -road will be plain, and if perchance I -encounter any of Miss Lucretia’s -frowns in my way, I shall laugh at -them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This poor girl hangs on my spirits. -I will reserve for my next letter the account -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>of our evening walk. You will -lose nothing by my going to bed; for -I am weary, and somewhat of your petulant</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER VIII.<br /> <em>Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>We found the party in the hay-field -augmented by all farmer Wilson’s family, -namely, his wife, with a Mrs. and Miss -Heartley, their boarders and lodgers, to -whom Malcolm introduced us with an -eagerness of good-will and pleasure which -was flattering to me. The tender greetings -between those ladies and Mary, evidently -proved that I had communicated -more of joy and gladness than I had -foreseen, by my interference; and as this -was the case, I took my share of the -general satisfaction, which appeared like -the sky, <em>cloudless</em>. Mrs. Wilson soon restored -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>us to order, by leading us to seats -under a hay-cock, and began to distribute -amongst us a syllabub milked from -the cow, with some fruit and cakes. Sir -Murdock, who had appeared placid, though -silent, suddenly turning to his son, desired -him to change seats with him. This -request was indulged with alacrity, and -he placed his father next Mrs. Heartley. -“How often of late,” said the poor baronet, -surveying her with a melancholy -air, “have I wished to have the opportunity -of telling you, that Sir Murdock -Maclairn esteems and reverences you for -your unremitting kindnesses and consideration -for his Malcolm. Yet now -I am near you, language fails me; I am -oppressed by my feelings. Recollections -too painful for me meet this hour of -peace and restored happiness.” He took -her hand and burst into tears. Mrs. -Heartley, with much emotion and confusion, -said something of her hopes of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>being still favoured with his good opinion, -and of her satisfaction at seeing -her worthy neighbour. He caught the -last word of her incoherent speech. -“Yes,” replied he, “I hope we shall be -<em>neighbours</em> as well as <em>friends</em>! My sufferings -are terminated. Witness this -hour of peace! Witness the mercy which -has sent me an angel of consolation!”—He -gazed wildly on my face; and sinking his -head between his knees and hands, -he murmured out “Matilda! sainted, -blessed Matilda!” I was alarmed.—“It -will be momentary,” said the agitated -Malcolm, in a low voice, “be not -disturbed!” He was not mistaken, for in -a few minutes Sir Murdock’s serenity -was restored; and he asked Miss Heartley, -in a manner which marked that he -had no consciousness of his late disorder, -some questions relative to her brother -who was in the East-Indies. She replied; -and the baronet, with renewed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>cheerfulness and an expressive smile, -said, “And what excuse will you make -to ‘this dear brother,’ when he knows -you have monopolized a heart which he -ought to share?” A deep blush was the -only answer to this question, which -awakened my curiosity. I was however -called from further observation by being -asked for a song; but willing to make -the conversation more general, I alledged -that I was too angry to sing; and, with -assumed resentment, I reproached the -captain’s want of discretion as well as -courage in bringing into the field so -many witnesses of my weakness, and so -many guards against his own. “You -wrong your gallant, by your suspicions, -Miss Cowley,” answered Mrs. Heartley, -with ease and spirit. “But what will he -answer to my reproaches? He has been -my slave these twenty years and more, -and yet had the audacity to conceal this -assignation from me. I am indebted to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>my friend Mr. Malcolm for the intelligence -of my danger; and I now see it,” -added she, laughing; “yet, woman to -the last, I will maintain my rights to -him against youth and beauty.”—A certain -mode of expression, with the correct -gaiety and ease of her manners, soon attached -me to this lady’s side; and in -our walk home she apparently slackened -her pace, the more unnoticedly to converse -with me.—“You will think me -very deficient in the rules of good breeding,” -said she, when entering the road -to the hall, “on finding that I neglect -to pay you my respects at Sir Murdock’s -house; but I do not visit the -family. My avowed affection and long -intimacy with Mrs. Howard, and my -still longer acquaintance with Captain -Flint, have laid me under indelible disgrace -with Miss Flint. Lady Maclairn’s -situation, and the circumstances of distress -under which she has lived, have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>precluded all approaches to her of a personal -kind. You will therefore, I trust, -accept of this apology for my not waiting -on you and your friend. Yet,” -continued she, smiling, “you must not -imagine me a woman too obscure for -Miss Flint’s notice. In her zeal for her -neighbours’ good behaviour, she has -thought proper to single me out as an -object to be feared and shunned by all -modest women. There is, however, a conduct, -Miss Cowley, that will refute malice -and silence slander, without calling -out either resentment or reproach. Mine -is such as has done more than was needful -for my justification, for it has disappointed -an angry woman in her purpose; -and my neighbours have always judged -me according to that rule of Christian -charity, ‘which thinketh no evil.’ They -have also gone farther than this precept -will justify, for I believe they think I -must be <em>good</em>, because Miss Flint hates -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>me. Malcolm’s attachment to me and -my children has also its share in keeping -alive Miss Flint’s animosity. From a -child this young man has been regarded, -by myself and the family at large with -whom I reside, as a cherished and favoured -guest. This circumstance has, I much -fear, been unfavourable to Miss Howard; -it has certainly abridged her in her freedom. -She is not permitted to visit her -uncle, because he lives under the same -roof with me; and she dares not speak -to either Alice or myself, when accident -throws her in our path, if she has a servant -with her. My poor girl murmurs -at this refinement in cruelty, and strenuously -pleads that I ought to inform -Captain Flint of this harsh prohibition; -but I forbear, in the hopes that time will -relax Miss Lucretia’s heart; and in the -interim Mr. Maclairn favours the girls -in writing. Miss Howard’s account of -Miss Cowley produced the wish to see -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>her,” added she smiling. “This we have -effected; and I have only now to add, -that if in your seclusion from the world -you should feel disposed to relieve the -dull monotony of your hours by a walk -to us, we shall be gratified.—I was formerly -acquainted with your friend Counsellor -Steadman. When you write -to him, ask him whether he has forgotten -Henry Heartley, and whether he thinks -his widow a proper associate for you.” -I expressed my confidence in her worth. -She smiled, and thanked me. “But,” added -she, “it is necessary you should -know the woman who, at my age and with -my appearance, cautions you to keep, -as a <em>secret</em>, from Miss Flint, even the -harmless recreation of this evening. -Our meeting Mary would not be allowed -to be accidental on her part, and -I doubt she is severely treated by her -aunt. She conceals from her friend -Alice every instance of this kind, but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>Malcolm is not so reserved with us, and -we are miserable on her account. The -captain hopes to soften his sister’s heart -to a sense of justice at least, and has -given up the comfort and prop of his -life to the fallacious expectation that -Miss Flint will love and provide for the -future support of this poor orphan. I -did not in the first instance oppose his -plan of conciliation. His sister offered to -take her; and he yielded her up to her -promises of being her friend and protector; -but if he knew Miss Howard’s -situation she would not remain an hour at -Tarefield-hall. Poor Mary understands -this perfectly; and with an heroism which -does her credit, suffers without complaint, -rather than return to be a burden -on her uncle. I need not recommend to -your favour,” continued she, “this innocent -and helpless girl. We are told -that you pity her, but be cautious in -what you say to her uncle. His mind -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>has been broken down by sorrow and -the injuries of fortune, his feelings -are become irritable, and his spirit will -not brook further insult. Perhaps this -gentle creature may find her aunt has a -heart. Time must be allowed her to -work a change in so obdurate a mind; -it is her wish to make the trial complete; -but a year and more has been lost already -in the attempt, and I have my doubts of -her ever being easy or happy where she -is.”—“Mrs. Allen and myself,” observed -I, “were much struck by the mode in -which this young and amiable creature -was treated, even before we had been a -day at Tarefield; but Miss Flint soon -explained to me her system, and left me -nothing for wonder, though sufficient for -abhorrence. But, my dear Mrs. Heartley, -do me the favour, if it be possible, to -explain to me Lady Maclairn’s conduct. -I wish to esteem her. Wherefore is it, -that with a temper so mild and gentle, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>I see her passively yielding up her dignity -in her own house, and witnessing in silence -her sister’s treatment of an unoffending -girl, who has a just claim even -upon <em>her ladyship</em> for protection.”—“Poor -Lady Maclairn,” replied she, “is -inured to suffering. She knows she can -effect nothing, but by an abject submission -to Miss Flint. Many causes have -contributed to break down her spirits; -but none have lessened her principles -of virtue: she is an estimable woman, -and much to be pitied.”—We were interrupted -by Mary’s running towards us to -take leave of Mrs. Heartley. She threw -her arms around her neck, and, fondly -kissing her, said, “Now you will believe -that I am comfortable! One day in a -month like this would be happiness! You -see I have now a dear, kind friend!”—Our -general adieux followed; but again -Malcolm deserted us for the plea of business -at Wilson’s.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>Whether it was owing to my dose of -flattery, or to the rum bottle, I will not -decide; but certain it is, that Miss Lucretia -received us with good humour. -She was more than commonly loquacious; -and I, with the patience of a Lady -Maclairn, listened to the history of her -sprained knee, which had spoiled her for -a walker. This disastrous subject gave -place to her inviting me to take an airing -with her the following morning, when -she engaged to shew me a very “pretty -country.” But this was nothing, for I was -even proof against a long story in which -her dear brother Philip was the hero, and -I was led to approve of his conduct by a -direct interrogation. “Was not his behaviour -noble?”—I forgot the tale, but -I recollect he saved a young woman’s -being thrown from her horse. I had, -however, my measures to keep, and we -retired for the night in perfect good humour. -What a simpleton I have been -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>in not at first beginning to manage this -woman by my address! She would fetch -and carry like a spaniel were she but flattered. -But more of this hereafter. You -must know more of Mrs. Heartley and -her fair daughter Alice. Mrs. Heartley -is more indebted to an air of fashion -and dignity, for the attractions of her -person, than either to her features or -shape. Her face would be called homely -were it not lighted up by her dark and -expressive eyes; and although I believe -she is defective in her shape, she moves -with grace, and is what you would distinguish -by the title of an “elegant -woman.” Her daughter would at once -be thought by the admirers of half-starved, -pale-faced beauties, as too nearly -approaching to the dairy maid; for contentment -and health have given Alice an -<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">embonpoint</span></i> beyond the prescribed rules -of fashion. She is a clear brunette, and -her damask cheek has a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rouge</span></i> which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>thousands vainly strive to imitate. A -pair of large hazel eyes give life and spirit -to her round and dimpled face, and when -she smiles (and Alice has yet to learn -that smiles and laughter are vulgar) she -is a perfect Hebe; and Mrs. Allen wished -Bunbury had seen her, as he would not -have omitted to give this laughter-loving -nymph in his charming group of rural -beauties. She tells me that I have not -been just to Alice: perhaps I have not; -and that I should have been more lavish -of my praise of this handsome girl, had -she not been by the side of Miss Howard. -But again I pronounce this young -creature to be nature’s master-piece! I -had not before seen her animated by -pleasure or exercise, nor could I have -believed her delicate features capable of -expressing the vivacity she discovered. -She seemed to tread in air, and, whilst -with winning smiles and captivating -grace, she drew around her the people -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>who were at work, the greater part of -whom she called by their names, I could -not but apply to this innocent enchantress -the lines given to the charms of the -mischief-making Armida.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in2'>“In wavy ringlets falls her beautious hair,</div> - <div class='line'>That catch new graces from the sportive air:</div> - <div class='line'>Declin’d on earth, her modest look denies</div> - <div class='line'>To shew the starry lustre of her eyes:</div> - <div class='line'>O’er her fair face a rosy bloom is spread,</div> - <div class='line'>And stains her ivory neck with lovely red:</div> - <div class='line'>Soft breathing sweets her opening lips disclose,</div> - <div class='line'>The native odours of the budding rose.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>I could not forbear uttering this rhapsody -to the captain as he stood near me, -whilst Mary was receiving the honest -admiration of her humble friends. He -smiled, but a sigh succeeded. “She is -fair and lovely,” said he with emotion, -“and as good as she is fair, and as innocent -as she is lovely;—but so was her -mother, Miss Cowley; yet she found this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>world a hard pilgrimage!” He turned -away from me, and joined his niece. I -will now bid you farewell.—Mrs. Allen -joins in my blessings for your repose.—Yours,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER IX.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>Your letter of Thursday, my dear -Lucy, is in my hands twenty-four hours -sooner than I expected it; but good -news cannot travel too fast, and I sit -down as blithe as a bird to thank you for -the contents of an epistle which has renewed -my spirits, and which will render -me the “best creature in the world with -Miss Lucretia;” for whose summons I -am prepared in order to take an airing, -and which allows me only time at present -to tell you, that I am happy to find you -do not any longer think your compliance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>with your brother’s request, is indispensible -on the ground of duty. Why should -he not be indulged with the sight of my -gossiping letters from hence? Erase, -expunge what you please; but gratify -him with the details which you find -amuse yourself. Let him see that his -sister contrives to make in this dull portion -of her life, those exertions which -prevent her mind from stagnating. Do -not think you err by deviating from the -<em>letter</em> of your father’s harsh law, whilst -you so carefully adhere to the <em>spirit of it</em>. -I would no more tempt my Lucy to sin, -than I would sin myself. Horace knows -that I am not a spiritless, whining, love-sick -girl; but he well knows what I have -to sustain in my separation from you, -and in my removal from Heathcot. Have -no fears, I beseech you, as to the final -event of such an attachment as the one -which binds me to Horace Hardcastle. -When he ceases to be worthy of my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>esteem and affection, I shall despise him; -and when I forget myself, he will despise -me. Neither your father’s scruples, nor -the maxims of the world will lesson the -ties which unite our hearts; of this be -assured.——I am summoned, the coach -drives up.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER IX.<br /> <em>In continuation.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>It was not to the fault of the weather, -my dear Lucy, that Miss Flint could attribute -her return home with a head-ach; -nor do I attribute my fatigue to the -morning airing; but I begin to find out -that I am not yet quite proof against -provocations: read, and judge. The -mistress of the vehicle with much cheerfulness -received me into it, and observed -most graciously, that it was time for Miss -<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>Cowley “to see a little about her.” In -consequence of this intention she gave -the servant his directions, and we proceeded -not more than a mile, before -“Miss Cowley” discovered that Tarefield-hall -had not been more unfortunate in -the lack of taste in its first projector, -than it has been since in its lack of -cheerfulness and contentment; for gradually -descending from the heath, we -came in view of the village, and a country, -by no means unpicturesque. My attention -to the valley in sight, through -which meanders a branch of the river -War, was interrupted by our approach -towards a large house, which still wore -the relics of Gothic architecture, and -past magnificence. Upon enquiry, I -learned that it was still called the “Abbey,” -and was the residence of “<em>one -Wilson, a farmer</em>.”—“What a striking -monument it offers,” observed I, surveying -the venerable mansion, “of the lapse of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>time, and the vanity of human greatness!”—“Yes,” -replied Miss Flint, “it is -enough to make one sick of this world, -to see such a house in the possession of -an <em>upstart</em>, who would have had his post -in the stables had one of the “<em>Ingrams</em>” -still been its master. But this family is -happily extinct. <em>Happily</em>, I say, for I -am certain they could not rest in their -graves, if they knew who lorded in the -Abbey at this day! But it is to be hoped -these people will have their turn! I have -heard they got this estate in a shameful -manner! Wilson’s uncle I believe was -an arrant rogue, and the beggar on -horseback is exemplified in his heir.” -This subject having considerably discomposed -the placid features of my companion, -I prudently dropped it; and she, -pulling the check-string, bade the driver -stop at Mrs. Snughead’s gate.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was not difficult to discover the -ease and opulence of the rector of Tarefield -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>parish, from a view of his neat and -genteel abode, which fronts the road, -and has a flower-garden, with gravel -walks before it. We stopped at the gate; -the servant was ordered to go the kitchen -way, for enquiries respecting the lady’s -health. “I shall not go in,” said Miss -Flint, “for we should spoil the gravel, and -give Mrs. Snughead a fever-fit for the day -at least; besides, she would not amuse us -with her tiresome details of nervous fits, -and sleepless nights.” A maid-servant -from the front door appeared, her feet -shod with two flat pieces of board, who, -shuffling to the carriage, brought her -lady’s compliments, and hoped that we -would enter the house. “Not now, Martha,” -answered Miss Flint. “When do -you expect your master home?”—“Madam -has had a letter this morning,” replied -the girl, “and the clerk is to tell the -young gentleman, that Mr. Snughead -will do duty on Sunday himself.”—“Well -<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>that is good news, Martha,” observed -Miss Flint, “and I hope your mistress -is in spirits.” “Poor lady!” answered the -girl in a tone of pity, “she has never -held up her head since her poor son Mr. -Banks left us; she is quite broken down, -Madam! I wish you would have the -goodness to see her. The kitchen is -quite in order,” added she, glancing her -eyes on the untrod path to the house. -“Poor soul!” said Miss Flint, “I could -not comfort her, Martha, and I am pressed -for time. Give my love to her. Drive -on, William.” Thus concluded the <em>friendly</em> -call. “You have had a good escape,” -observed she, settling her large person -more at ease. “We should have been -detained an hour with Mrs. Snughead’s -lamentations about her son. I pity her -husband most sincerely, for he has for -twelve years and more had the plague of -a wife, who is hourly dying, if you credit -her, and whose death he dreads; for her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>jointure of five hundred pounds per annum, -pays for her board, though in my -opinion, not for his life of mortification -and continual fear. When I see such -marriages as these,” continued she with -an air of self-complacency, “I bless my -good fortune in having escaped matrimony; -not that I think there are none happy -but those who are unshackled, for I am -persuaded there are many happy matches; -and that a young woman cannot do -more prudently, than to secure to herself -an honourable protection, and a worthy -man. When I was young, I was too -useful to my poor father to think of -changing my condition. I was my father’s -only comfort during a period of -his life rendered miserable by the conduct -and ingratitude of his children; particularly -his favourite daughter, Mrs. -Howard, whom he brought up with too -much fondness and indulgence. His -second marriage was an absurdity; and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>he soon found that it added little to his -domestic enjoyments. It did not require -the spirit of witchcraft, for me to -foresee what did result from so unequal -an union as my father’s with this -young bride; but I could not desert my -post even then with satisfaction to myself. -The mother-in-law was a mere child in -the knowledge proper for the mistress of -a family; and I soon discovered, that my -father had only added to my cares by -placing at his table an indolent woman, -who only married him in order to live -at her ease. However, I will be just to -Lady Maclairn; as my father’s wife, she -conducted herself with discretion and -modesty, and I have in return been her -constant friend.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Her marriage with Sir Murdock was a -foolish business! Mr. Flamall strongly -opposed it; but Harriot was always romantic! -He predicted <em>then</em>, that the -baronet would be crazy; and well he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>might, for he had symptoms of insanity -which no one could overlook. But a -title, though without a groat, flattered -Mrs. Flint’s vanity, and I had only to -reconcile matters, and to think of preventing -the evils of this connection as it -related to my dear Philip’s security. “You -may judge, Miss Cowley,” continued -she with augmenting seriousness, “of my -affection for a brother, whom, from the -hour of his birth, I considered as consigned -in a peculiar manner to my guardianship -and care. His mother’s second -marriage enforced these duties on my -heart; to shelter him, I was determined -to offer my house to Lady Maclairn as -a residence at once honourable and prudent -for her. Thus has it happened, that -I have had for years a lunatic under my -roof. Besides this, I boarded the whole -family at so moderate a sum, that with a -better regulated economy, Lady Maclairn -might have saved something for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>Malcolm’s exigencies, for Philip was -entirely my charge; but I cannot imagine -how she manages her purse, it is -never beforehand, and I doubt, Malcolm -will take care to prevent all accumulations. -Idleness at his age is a melancholy -prospect! I wish Harriot may not -live to repent of her confidence in this -young man. But now I am on the subject -of my family, I will add a few words -in explanation of my conduct, as it relates -to another object of my care. Were -you, Miss Cowley, acquainted with all -the insults and injuries I have sustained -from Mary Howard’s parents, you would -only wonder to find her under my roof. -But when I received her, to relieve my -brother Percival from a burden he could -ill sustain, I meant not to train her up -to any expectations but such as resulted -from her mother’s imprudence. She it -was who entailed poverty on her child; -and I shall fulfil my duty, in teaching -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>her to be useful and industrious; lessons -she never would have learned but for -me. I know she has complained to you -of my severity, as she and her friends -call my vigilance”——“Never, Madam,” -said I, interrupting her, “your plan of -conduct needed no explanation with me; -and Miss Howard neither directly nor -indirectly has accused you of doing -wrong in my presence.”—“Well,” answered -she, with great warmth, “on this -point I am perfectly at my ease, provided -she tells you at the same time, that -her parents brought my dear father with -sorrow to his grave, and that my peace -and happiness were destroyed by their -perfidy.” She spoke, and looked so like -a fury, my dear Lucy, that I was absolutely -silenced by dismay. “But let us -change this topic,” continued she, softening -her voice, “for one more agreeable -to you, and less painful to myself. I -think I need not say to Miss Cowley, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>that I acceded with joy to my dear brother’s -prospects of an alliance with you. -I must however observe that your worthy -father, not only evinced his affection -for you in his choice of Philip, but the -prudence of a man solicitous for the -prosperity of a rising family. On the -score of merit and conduct, Philip needs -not fear any competitor for your favour. -His fortune will be ample and solid, for -I consider myself as only his steward. -Mr. Flamall’s proposal of your residing -at the hall, was a matter I heartily concurred -in; and in order to give Lady -Maclairn more consequence in a family -you have honoured by your presence, and -to which you will belong, I resigned -my authority in it, and became, like -yourself, a boarder; paying at the rate -of six hundred pounds per annum for the -accommodations of myself and servants.”—I -was going to speak, in order to spare -her any further display of her consummate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>prudence, but she proceeded.—“I -have said nothing of the person of -your ‘<em>intended</em>,’” said she, with a most -gracious smile. “This is his picture -drawn when he was about eighteen.” -She presented me a miniature of the -young man, which to say the truth was -strikingly handsome. “Nature has been -liberal to your favourite,” observed I, examining -the portrait. “He is much improved -in his person,” said she with -eagerness, “since that age. There is -not in England a finer made man! -I am certain you will allow this when -you see him.”—“I hope to be disposed -to render justice to Mr. Flint’s merit in -every point,” answered I, “for this consideration -he has a right which he may -claim; but, my dear Madam, I conceived, -that you, as well as the rest of Mr. -Flint’s family, understood that I had -declined the conditions of my father’s -will: I was explicit with Sir Murdock. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>Mr. Flamall, and consequently your nephew, -know by this time, that Rachel -Cowley is not to be transferred like her -father’s negroes from one master to another. -I have no resentment against Mr. -Flint. His pretensions to me are too -ridiculous for a serious examination; and -if he have a just title to the character he -bears, he will scorn, as I do, an interference -so offensive to his honour, and -so humiliating to his self-love. I could -say more on this subject,” added I with -spirit, “but it is unnecessary; and I -request I may be spared from renewing -it. Lady Maclairn has avoided it; and -you, Madam, when you know more of -me, will give me credit for a frankness -in my manner of treating it, which is as -<em>decisive</em> as <em>it is firm</em>. Mr. Flamall is my -<em>scorn</em>, and I wish by hearing nothing -more of <em>his nephew</em>, to respect Mr. Philip -Flint as your brother, and Lady Maclairn’s -son. When I marry, it will not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>be a husband of Mr. Flamall’s appointing.” -The rising and deepening tints of -Miss Lucretia’s fiery cheek, prepared -me for her speech. “I would advise -you, Miss Cowley, as a friend,” said -she, “to be cautious of provoking a man -of Mr. Flamall’s character, by using a -language of this kind to him, whatever -may be your intention in regard to the -duty you owe to your deceased father’s -will.”—“My father’s will,” exclaimed I, -“will not be violated by my rejection of -Mr. Flamall’s authority, which, in every -instance, I despise!”—“It is because -you do not know him, I am very certain,” -answered she with suppressed rage. -“You are mistaken, Madam,” replied I -with firmness, “I <em>do</em> know Mr. Flamall. -It is himself, who from the false estimate -he has made of his talents, forgets it was -necessary for him <em>to know</em> his benefactor’s -daughter, before he hazarded a -scheme which will end in his defeated -<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>ambition. My residence at Tarefield is -the prelude only of my designs, to shew -this man, that he can do no more than -be subservient to <em>a Cowley</em>: this I will -make him, and it may be he will acknowledge -this. <em>I only</em> understood the -secret of teaching him to know his place -and duty; my father assuredly did not.”—“You -astonish me,” said she, “by -your violence and prejudice against Mr. -Flamall; you even insinuate suspicions -against his honour.”—“<em>Honour!</em>” repeated -I with a look which seemed to -silence his defender; “the honour of Mr. -Flamall cannot suffer.” The remainder -of our road was passed without a single -word being exchanged. She retired to -her own room, on arriving at the hall. -At dinner, Mary said her aunt had gotten -a head-ach and could eat nothing. -I suspect she drank the more, for before -supper the dear girl joined us, saying her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>aunt was in bed and asleep, having been -much fatigued, and out of spirits.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The evening was too inviting not to -tempt us out. Not a breeze ruffled its -serenity; the moon shed her silver radiance -o’er the tranquil scene. Mary, light -of heart, bounded before us like a sylph. -Sir Murdock spouted Ossian with enthusiastic -delight. Your Rachel’s spirits -had been disturbed, and to compose -themselves they made an excursion—no -matter where,—since they found repose. -Lady Maclairn and Mrs. Allen, -wisely judging that star-gazing and quoting, -might not suit them so well as walking, -proceeded to meet the truant Malcolm, -in which purpose they succeeded; -and we walked till a late hour. Amongst -the various conjectures which my ingenuity -has suggested in my endeavours to -fathom the real character of Lady Maclairn, -I began to suspect that she had -some intention to circumvent her brother -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>in his plans of securing my father’s -property for <em>his</em> favourite. She has hitherto -most diligently adhered to the -conditions I exacted, rarely mentioning -even the name of her son Philip, whereas -she frequently descants with fondness -and eloquence on the merit and conduct -of her “dear Malcolm,” “her prop,” “her -boast.” I had even infused into Mrs. -Allen’s mind something of my own suspicions, -when on our return to the house -after meeting with the young man, -chance gave to me a secret which has -quite overset this opinion of Lady Maclairn’s -policy. Something which escaped -Mary, whose arm I had taken, in the -gaiety of her heart, produced from me -the question, “Is then Mr. Maclairn a -lover?”—“Yes,” replied she, “he has -courted Miss Heartley a long time.” -“Do Sir Murdock and his mother approve -of his attachment?” “Oh dear, yes!” -answered she, with innocent vivacity, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>“How should they do otherwise? She is -one of the most amiable girls in the -world, as well as the most virtuous and -prudent of her sex. Besides, Malcolm -and Alice have loved each other from -their childhood, and they will never cease -to love.” I was answered and satisfied. So -you see, Lucy, these freaks of fancy happen -<em>elsewhere</em> as well as at <em>Heathcot</em>. I -think in another century parents may -discover the force of sympathy, and will -think of some remedy for the mischief -it may do whilst their children are in the -cradle. It is a wretched business, when -poor unfortunate beings, whose wealth is -unequal, take it into their heads to yield -to the attraction of sympathy. It is still -worse, when the scale of fortune is empty -on both sides. Might not the now useless -sash worn by children round their -waists, be usefully worn over their eyes -till they are properly <em>married</em>? I speak -only of those neglected children, who, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>left to nature’s lessons, are so apt to receive -impressions from beings as devoid -of instruction as themselves; for I am -aware, that young people <em>properly</em> educated -for the world they are to live in, -want no mufflers. They may be trusted -with the use of their eyes; or should it -happen that a beam of light dazzles them -for a moment, a coach-and-six, a diamond -necklace, or a sounding name, -will restore them to the true point of -vision. But I must be serious. What -pains and penalties, my Lucy, does the -folly of man give to the pilgrimage of -this life! Not satisfied with the allotted -portion of trial deemed by Providence -for our <em>benefit</em>, or to travel in a road -prepared by infinite goodness for our -feeble powers, we seem to be diligent in -obstructing it when smooth and level, -with thorns and briars of our own seeking. -Your good father, my Lucy, with -all his wisdom, dares not make his children -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>happy,—and, why not? Because Miss -Cowley ought to marry a man as rich as -herself. Where does Mr. Hardcastle find -this law? In a world he despises.—“Is it -not late, my dear child,” asks the sympathizing, -Mrs. Allen, looking compassionately -on my tell-tale eyes. It is time to -forget the world at least.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>Yours, ever,</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='c012'> <span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER X.<br /> <em>From the same to the same.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'><em>Unbending dignity</em>, Lucy, has been a -match for sullenness. I have conquered; -and Miss Flint has broken silence, and -held out the olive branch. But hold, it -was not that unbending dignity you may -suspect which produced peace, it was in -sober truth my <em>folly</em> which did the business; -for as she could not always look -<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>grave when others laughed, she forgot -her anger and laughed with the rest. As -I have measures to keep, I was in nowise -ungracious in my turn, and all discord -was buried by my reading to the collected -circle, the comedy you sent me. Before -we parted, Miss Flint mentioned her intention -of going to church the next -morning, and I readily engaged to accompany -her. You must have been surprised, -that I have not mentioned to you -our having been in a church since I have -been here, but the absence of the rector -had slackened Miss Flint’s zeal, and the -baronet and his lady preferred their own -prayers to Mr. Snughead’s. Mrs. Allen -likes their form of devotion, and having a -head-ach, has remained quiet to profit from -Sir Murdock’s sermon. A little of the -still fermenting leaven, as I suspect, induced -Miss Flint to disappoint my expectations -of a ride with her niece; on my -enquiring for her, she said with a haughty -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>air, that Mary preferred walking with -Warner, her woman. We soon reached -the church, and I followed my stately -conductress to a pew in the church, in -which was another equally distinguished -by its size and decorations of lining and -cushions. We had scarcely seated ourselves, -for Miss Flint performs this business -with peculiar caution and regard to -her dress, before the Abbey family entered, -escorted by Malcolm: and they -took the adjoining pew. I instantly rose, -and paying my compliments, asked Miss -Heartley for the captain. She told me he -was with Miss Howard, and following -them. I again took my seat. “Why! -where, in the name of wonder!” whispered -Miss Flint, “did <em>those women</em> become -known to you?” My answer was prevented -by a harsh and strong voice, which rapidly -began the service. The captain’s entrance -with his niece again discomposed -Miss Flint’s features, and the confessional -<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>prayer was lost to her whilst she was -chiding Mary for her delay. She meekly -said, Mrs. Warner could not walk fast, -and retiring to a remote corner of the -pew, composed herself with seriousness to -the duty before her. A sermon on the -deceitfulness of riches, begun and finished -in less than ten minutes, concluded Mr. -Snughead’s task. I again acknowledged -the <em>women</em> in the next pew for my acquaintance, -with a frankness and cordiality, -which still more surprised Miss -Flint. “I find my brother the captain,” -observed she fixing her eyes on him; “needs -not any introduction to you, Miss Cowley; -otherwise”—“Oh dear, no!” answered -I, “Sir Murdock has anticipated you in -your obliging intention. I have had the -pleasure of meeting Mr. Flint in my -walk.” Thus saying, I joined Mr. Heartley, -and left Miss Flint to the care and compliments -of the rector at the church-yard -gate. She with much dignity mounted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>into her coach; I followed. The captain -was coldly asked whether he and Mary -walked; an affirmation was given: then -turning to the obsequious divine, she invited -him to take an airing, and to dine -also, at the hall. Some excuse was pleaded, -which I did not hear. “Phoo!” replied she, -“there is no end of such whims. You will -make an arrant slave of yourself.”—“Well, -I submit,” answered he, leering at me, -“I cannot be in better hands than yours.” -“We will take a circuit home,” observed -Miss Lucretia; with much complacency, -“Miss Cowley is yet a stranger to the -country, and you will contribute to recommend -it.” He bowed. Now, Lucy, -knowing, as I do, your predilection for -the cloth, I mean to be on my guard -how I lessen your partiality for the black -coat you so peculiarly favour: yet, truth is -truth, and though I mean not to reproach -you for your want of taste, I must -tell you there is no comparison to be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>drawn between Mr. Sedley and the -reverend Mr. Snughead; to be sure, our -curate has some qualifications, with which -in the opinion of the simple souls at -Heathcot, he might rise to an archbishopric -without disgrace to the pastoral crook; -but in some particulars, he is a mere cypher -compared to the rector of Tarefield -parish. “Proofs, proofs,” methinks I hear -you call for. Well, be not angry, you -shall have them, I advance nothing without -proofs, nor any thing in malice. I -honestly allow that Sedley is handsome; -but his beauty is of that kind which will -never make his fortune; for people in -general do not much care to admire -graces of any kind which they can neither -rival, nor like to copy. Now, I have a -notion that Mr. Snughead was, in the -days of his youth, which by the way is -on its wane, universally allowed to be -irresistible, and that he answered exactly -to what some ladies denominate “a sweet -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>pretty man, a neat dapper fellow, a teazing -mortal.” His features are still small and -regular, and his complexion, naturally -fair, is thought less delicate than in the -days of his youth, still good; his teeth are -white and even, and have suffered nothing -from neglect. But either from a scurvy -trick of nature, or from his neglect of -fasting (I say nothing of praying), he is -become so corpulent, that were one to -encounter him on all fours, instead of the -two limbs destined to support him, one -would take him for a tortoise; you well -know that I am no enemy to <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en bon point</span></i>; -whenever I see it with a cheerful countenance, -I regard it as indicative of a -contented mind: but unhappily, Mr. -Snughead’s opinions are diametrically the -reverse of mine. He lives in open and -perpetual war with this incroacher on the -sympathy and elegance of his person; and -by the cruelties he hourly inflicts on himself, -suffers a martyrdom, from which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>even the mortified Pascal would have -shrunk; for I think it may be presumed, -that by not eating his soup Pascal’s penetential -girdle was bearable; but poor Mr. -Snughead cannot be at his ease either full -or fasting. He imitates in barbarity the -fell Procrastes, for his cloaths are made -by a measure that has never been enlarged -since the day of his gentility, and his -unfortunate person, like the victim to the -iron couch, is doomed to suffer under -ligatures as painful as the rack. He -seems momentarily in danger of suffocation, -and I could not, without pity, hear -him so often complain of the “melting -weather,” nor view unmoved his hand instinctively -raised to his cravat in order to -relieve his respiration. But Mr. Snughead’s -stoical firmness consoled me, and I -next examined his dress. But what pen, -my Lucy, can do justice to the elaborate -neatness of this canonical beau! Who -can describe the glossy black robes, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>polished shoes, the dazzling whiteness and -texture of his linen! In what language -shall I convey to your imagination the -honours of his head, his tight, perfumed, -well-powdered curls! I despair, you must -even fancy perfection. The frequent application -of a well-scented, delicate cambric -handkerchief to his face, gave me -an opportunity of discovering that it was -not his tight lacing which had impelled -his hand to his throat, but the desire of -exhibiting this precious relic of former -beauty; for although somewhat in shape -dropsical, it yet retains its whiteness, and -is properly distinguished by a sumptuous -amethyst ring encircled with brilliants. -I was diverted from further observation, -by his abruptly addressing me with, -“Well, my pretty young lady, what say -you to our north roads? Is not this a very -pleasant one? What do you think of that -prospect in view?” I coldly replied, that -the village looked pleasant; and turning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>to Miss Flint asked the name of it. She -mentioned it, and observed to Mr. Snughead, -that <em>Greenwood’s</em> plantations were -flourishing. This person was, I discovered, -the clergyman of the parish in view, and -not in the number of Miss Lucretia’s -<em>elect</em>; but as Mr. Snughead had not succeeded -in showing me his wit; he returned -to the charge. “You will soon be pleased -with your situation, I hope,” said he, -taking my hand, “and we shall hear you -acknowledge the happiness you will meet -here, without travelling further; a road -which so many young ladies take, to find -the temple of Hymen.” I withdrew my -hand, and answered him with one of my -petrifying looks, as you have named my -honest contempt of <em>puppyism</em>. “When -do you expect your brother?” continued -he unmindful of my frowns. It was not -determined, was the concise reply, and a -silence ensued. Again the civil Mr. -Snughead began. “I hear wonders of Sir -<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>Murdock’s health and amendment,” said -he, addressing Miss Flint; “they tell me -his journey to London has quite renovated -him.” “It has produced exactly the consequences -I predicted,” replied she, with a -toss of her head. “He is now as much -too <em>high</em> in his spirits as he has been depressed; -<em>now</em> he is always in motion and -busy, and as a proof of his amendment, -he has in his walks with Miss Cowley met the -<em>Heartleys</em>, and as I suppose, introduced -them to her, as neighbours of mine and -Lady Maclairn’s”—“Always in the wrong, -poor man!” said he: “perhaps he told you, -Miss Cowley, that they were duchesses -incognito, for he knows them not himself. -However, my dear <em>Madam</em>,” continued -he with a more respectful manner, -“I think you should be on your guard, -and never walk with Sir Murdock without -another companion. There is no dependence -to be placed on a man whose mind -is so unsettled as the poor baronet’s.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>“When I perceive Sir Murdock acts -either like a madman or a fool,” answered -I, “it will be time enough to avoid him; -hitherto, I have seen no indications of an -unsettled mind.” “Perhaps not, <em>young -lady</em>,” answered he with tartness, “neither -your age nor experience, I presume, have -given you the opportunity of understanding, -that there is very frequently a -wonderful shrewdness and cunning in -madness.”—“I have observed no inconsistency -in Sir Murdock’s mind,” answered -I, with seriousness, “nor has he -discovered to me any of that cunning -you speak of, which I conclude may, and -must be detected, if the person’s mind be -disordered. However,” continued I, -assuming a careless air, “if in any instance -there can be found so much of -<em>method</em> in madness, as to evade all examination, -it entirely confirms the received -opinion, that madness and wit are -closely allied. Folly under this supposition -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>appears to me to be worse than lunacy, -for that is incurable.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>I am rather disposed to think that -something in my too honest face proclaimed -what I thought; I felt it glow, -and I was out of humour: Mr. Snughead -of course had the advantage of me, for -with much officiousness he endeavoured -to be <em>agreeable</em>. <em>I was the rebel Rachel -Cowley</em>,—I could not help it, Lucy. On -reaching the hall, I followed Mr. Snughead’s -steps, on whose arm Miss Flint -leaned; and I overheard the puppy say, -“Proud enough in conscience!” “Inconceivably -so,” was the reply. Yes, Lucy, I -am proud, I disdain the civility that can -simper at the conceits of a Mr. Snughead, -and despise the impudence of any clerical -man, who forgetting himself, and the respect -that is due to his profession, fancies -his <em>dress</em> is to enforce respect from others. -What right has a reptile of this class to -the tribute which all pay to a Sedley? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>No, no! I am too provident “to cast -pearls before swine.” You know my infirmity, -Lucy; I have now taken a rooted -antipathy to this Mr. Snughead, not only -as he is a contemptible creature, but -because he irritated me to anger. I was -vexed and out of humour with myself. -The kindly greetings of the collected -family were lost upon me, and I was on -the point of quitting the room, when -luckily, I observed Sir Murdock’s cold -and ceremonious bow to the intruder. -A placid and contracted air yielded to a -suffusion of his Scotch “<em>blude</em>,” which -for a moment mantled in his cheek: this -moment was of use to me, I recollected -myself. My gaiety succeeded to this -little triumph, and even Mr. Snughead -was treated with <em>civility</em>. An excellent -dinner was a temptation I should have -supposed this gentleman had been proof -against; I will not say that he eat like an -epicure, but most assuredly he eat more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>than his waistcoat allowed, for he suddenly -complained of a most violent pain in his -stomach, and Miss Flint prescribed a glass -of rum. My tender heart melted, and I -was just going to recommend slackening -his waistcoat, when I saw him have recourse -to the remedy. He breathed more -freely, and attributing his indisposition -to the extreme heat of the day, perfected -the cure by untying his cravat. But I -am doomed to be incorrigible on certain -points! I have not been able to get rid of -my antipathy for this animal. Now attend -to the conversation. “I hope you found -Mrs. Snughead’s health improved on -your return home.” This was a question -from the lady of the mansion, who, till the -cloth was removed, had not found time -to talk. “I cannot flatter myself! She is, -my lady, still very ill, very ill indeed: I -am in constant anxiety, and have too -much reason to fear that she will shorten -her days by yielding to her complaint, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>which is <em>merely</em> nervous. She is never out -of the apothecary’s hands, and it is my -opinion, medicine does her more harm -than good.” The unfeigned sorrow with -which Mr. Snughead delivered this opinion, -induced Miss Flint to take the part -of the comforter. “She will soon be -better,” observed she, “I have no doubt -of it, now she is rid of her constant -plague. You will see her spirits will mend -in a short time. But what have you done -with young graceless?” “I saw him -embarked for the West Indies,” replied -Mr. Snughead; “he was highly delighted -with his uniform, and having gained his -point, nothing would do but the army -for Banks, and that predilection was, I -fear, strengthened by his mother’s opposition -to it.”—“He has been unfortunate -in his destination,” observed the -captain, “and will have a bad climate to -encounter; it has of late been fatal to -thousands.”—“He must take his chance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>and trust to Providence,” replied Mr. -Snughead, with great gravity; “prudence -and sobriety at his age, may -preserve him, and I hope he will consider -this, and be wise.”—“Wise!” echoed -Miss Lucretia, “he must act otherwise, in -that case, than he has hitherto done, and -associate with those wiser than himself. -However, I commend him for his spirit; -for nothing is so ridiculous as to see a -young man tied to his mother’s apron-string! -And after all,” continued the -tender-hearted spinster, “none of us can -die more than once; therefore it is a folly to -think of what may happen or not happen -to Mr. Banks.”—Malcolm, who had during -this conversation been biting a cork, -with eyes flashing resentment, now burst -into a sarcastic laugh. Lady Maclairn -instantly rose, and observed, that the -heat of the room incommoded her. A -look of supplication directed to her son -did not escape me. Every one agreed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>that the garden was preferable, and we -left the table. I retired to my room. -From the window I soon after saw the -party sauntering in the avenue, but as -Miss Flint was not with them, I supposed -she had also chosen her apartment -for a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</span></i> with Mr. Snughead. I -therefore hastened down stairs to join my -friends, when to my surprise and vexation, -I found the <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</span></i> party quietly -enjoying themselves on the garden-seat -close to the door I had to pass. I could -not escape them without rudeness. “You -have done wisely,” observed I languidly, -“in being stationary.”—“I think we -have,” answered Miss Flint, inviting me -to occupy the vacant place by her side, -“and I advise you to follow our example.”—I -urged that I was going to the -avenue.—“You look fatigued,” observed -she with kindness, still pressing me to -sit down, “and your friends will return -soon, for I am certain we shall have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>thunder.”—Not disposed for any exertions, -I took the seat, and with truth acknowledged -that I had the head-ach. -My silence, or stupidity, if it must be -so, probably led Miss Flint to pursue -the thread of the conversation which I -had interrupted; for, turning to Mr. -Snughead, she said—“But, as I was -saying, Mr. Snughead, is it not your duty -to prevent Wilson and his people from -instantly occupying the only pew in the -church open to strangers? It is really -ridiculous to see such people so misplaced!”—“I -have no authority to prevent -them,” answered he. “The whole -chancel is attached to the claims of -Wilson, as the proprietor of the abbey -lands. It was merely owing to accident -he was not my patron for the living instead -of yourself, for his uncle would -have purchased it of your father; and -Wilson might, if he pleased, place his -servants in your pew; for, in fact, you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>enjoy it by favour. But why do you -not speak to your brother the captain? -He certainly ought to sit with you on -<em>every account</em>. He should not brave -public opinion at church. It is, to say -no more, indecorous to see him pass you -with those <em>ladies</em>, and make the whole -congregation stare, as they do, at his -gallantry.”—“He would be disappointed -of his aim if they did not,” answered -Miss Flint, with anger; “it is to brave -me, that he so far forgets decency——.” -“You judge too severely of your brother,” -observed the rector, in an assumed -conciliatory tone; “it may be, and -probably is, that the lady exacts this -homage to her power. The poor captain is -not the only one of his class who finds -passive obedience and non-resistance an -important duty, <em>without</em> the pale of the -church as well as <em>within</em> it.”—“Who is -now severe?” cried the facetious Miss Lucretia, -tapping Mr. Snughead’s shoulder; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“but you married men do right to fancy -your shackles no worse than those of -your more fortunate brethren. In the -mean time tell me what is your opinion -of Mrs. Heartley’s <em>discretion</em>, in availing -herself of such an introducer as Sir Murdock -for getting acquainted with Miss -Cowley? Pray may I ask,” continued -she, addressing me, “how often you have -met this <em>fashionable</em> and <em>easy</em> lady?” -“Once or twice in my walks,” replied I, -desirous of continuing the conversation, -“and I must confess that she pleased -me by her manners; she is a well bred -woman, has a cultivated understanding, -and is entertaining.”—“Your opinion -does justice to your candour, <em>young -lady</em>,” observed the coxcomb near me. -“She has, I am told, a good address, and -can be very pleasant. I am not surprised -that you were pleased with her; youth -ought not to be suspicious.”—“It appears -fortunately for my sagacity,” replied -<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>I, laughing, “that Mrs. Heartley -imposes on all ages. This will keep me in -countenance, should the conclusions I -have drawn from her appearance be erroneous. -I took notice that all the females -on the benches rose and curtseyed -to her as she passed through the aisle -at church.” “So they would to Wilson’s -dung cart,” answered he, laughing and -shewing his large white teeth, “for the -same return. They have <em>Madam</em> Wilson’s -skimmed milk in their mouths, and her -Christmas plumb-pudding in perspective; -and for these they would bend their -knees and their necks ten times a day, -although they are so insolent to their -betters.”—“You forget,” observed Miss -Flint, “that they owe some civility to -the <em>village doctress</em>.”—“True,” answered -he, “I forgot their obligations to Mrs. -Heartley’s James’s powder and her worm-cakes, -but I owe her no gratitude on -that score; for if she go on, my surplice -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>fees will be diminished, and the sexton -will starve.”—“You are the drollest of -mortals!” cried the exulting Miss Flint, -“but a truce with your wit. You well -know my motives for removing Mary -from Wilson’s. I had solid reasons for -thinking the society she had in that house -improper for her. I wish to caution -Miss Cowley, without offending her. -Are you not convinced that, if Sir Murdock -had been a rational man, he would -have judged, as Lady Maclairn and -myself have done, that Mrs. Heartley -and her daughter had no claims to Miss -Cowley’s notice?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Upon my word you perplex me,” replied -the sapient divine, passing his clay-coloured -hand over his violet face, “I -know so little of these ladies! nothing -indeed, but from report. My wife from -the first had your scruples. I know not -any <em>genteel</em> family that visits them. They -say the mother is a very <em>lively</em> woman, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>and no one can dispute the charms of -Miss Alice! Our young man, Banks, was -one of her admirers; but his mother did -not approve of the intimacy between him -and Harry Heartley. This gave offence, -and the ladies overlook their pastor. I -should imagine Miss Cowley would act -with prudence, to be on the reserve with -ladies who do not visit at the hall.”—The -straggling party approached us, and -our conversation finished.—To my great -relief, I found that Miss Flint only waited -their return, to bid adieu to the captain; -pleading her engagement, and the moon, -for passing the evening with “poor Mrs. -Snughead.”—The carriage which was in -waiting immediately appeared, and, with -much formality, the Reverend Mr. Snughead -took his leave.</p> - -<p class='c007'>All nature seemed to respire more -freely as well as myself, after Mr. Snughead’s -departure. The evening was indeed -an Italian one, and Lady Maclairn -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>contrived to impart to it the charms -which so often embellished those at -Heathcot. We had a regale of fruit in -the avenue, and every one was freed from -constraint, and disposed for enjoyment. -No, your poor Rachel was not in harmony -with the scene. My spirits had -been exhausted, and I felt unusually -languid. I found a luxury in tears, and -I sauntered from the circle. I could not -check my imagination: it fondly traced -our happy days. The regales of strawberries -in the root-house; our Bacchanalian -revelries under the mulberry trees, -where we retaliated the mischief done to -our frocks, by smearing Horace’s face -with the impurpled juice; our dear father’s -plots and contrivances, at hide and -seek, and our mother’s tales of wisdom -and wonder! Oh, days of innocence and -of peace! how soon departed! whilst -the remembrances of your pure joys -serve but to heighten the contrast of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>those hours of my existence which are -now lost to me! What has Rachel Cowley -in common with such beings as those -who have tormented her to-day, thought -I! There are those who maintain, that -in order to love virtue, we must know vice: -but far be from me such experiments! -I want no hideous contrasts to shew me -her genuine work! I have witnessed that -all her “paths are pleasantness,” and all -her purposes gracious! What, under her -benign influence, has been done with that -turbulent self-will which, when a child, -menaced me with destruction! of that -ignorance and presumption which would -have rendered me pernicious to my fellow-creatures! -“What had I been, Lucy, had -I not been sheltered in the very bosom of -virtue? and am I a companion for a -Miss Flint, or a Mr. Snughead?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>I was roused from a train of thoughts -like these by the sweet Mary. She approached -me. “Are you indisposed, my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>dear Miss Cowley? You look fatigued,—take -my arm: we will retire to the house.” -I raised my tearful eyes; the very image -of pity binding up the wounded foot of -the pilgrim, met them. I recollected -myself. I remembered it was <em>Mary’s</em> -holiday; and that my dejection clouded -her hour of satisfaction. I pressed her -hand, and joined my friends with assumed -alacrity. She understood me, and I was -recompensed for my exertions. Gaiety -gave place to a rational conversation. -Captain Flint talked of America, and my -spirits settled into composure; but I have -been too busy to-day for sleep, and you -have to read my nightly labours. It is -now the hour when the disturbed spirits -are recalled home. I will obey the voice -of chanticleer, and go to bed. Sleeping -or waking, I shall ever be your affectionate,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span> - <h3 class='c010'><span class='sc'>Note to the Reader.</span></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>Finding nothing important to my -history during the course of several -weeks’ correspondence, so punctually -maintained by Miss Cowley, I have suppressed -a few letters, to avoid the censure -of prolixity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Amongst the causes assigned in her -letters at this time for her dejection of -mind, she mentions the absence of her -friends from the Abbey, who, it appears, -were on an excursion to Hartley-Pool, -a bathing-place not very remote from -them. She dwells, however, with much -more inquietude on the condition of Miss -Howard. She observes, that her uncle’s -absence has still more lessened these -observances of civility which Miss Flint -had practised. Her indignation daily -augments, by perceiving Lady Maclairn’s -increasing reserve on the subject of Miss -<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>Howard’s unworthy treatment.—“To -what purpose serve her downcast eyes -and varying colour,” writes Miss Cowley, -“when at table she hears Miss Flint tell -the servant, that <em>Mary’s</em> plate needs no -change? The very footman blushes. -Why does she not insist on every one’s -equality at her table? Surely, Lucy, the -Gospel does not recommend with the -spirit of peace, an insensibility to oppression! -It is, however, too much for -me to witness; and I am determined to -have some conversation with Captain -Flint when he returns. Something shall -be done to mitigate this poor girl’s sufferings. -I suspect she dares not complain -to her uncle. I will do it for her, -and trust to the event. I disdain that -humanity which shrinks from active service, -and can quiet its feelings by exhalting -its sighs in <em>useless pity</em> and <em>fretful -censures</em>.”—“But,” adds she, renewing -her wonted spirit, “I am called to order. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>My dear Mrs. Allen is sounding -in my ears her direful predictions in regard -to girls who love scribbling better -than sleep, and sentiment better than -roast beef. As pale faces bring up the rear -of the evils she has mustered to frighten -me, I will be docile, though to tell you -the truth, her brow of tender solicitude -has subdued me. How often have I -drawn on her treasures of health! how -often has she relinquished repose in order -to watch over my infant wailings, and -sickly frowardness! Never shall a care -reach that bosom on which my head has -rested, if I can prevent it! So I will go to -bed. What an age it is since you have -had letters from Horace! Ah! Lucy, you -must pity Rachel Cowley, for she is -discontented with herself, though always -your</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAP VII.</h2> -</div> - -<p class='drop-capa0_0_6 c006'>A Letter dated in October, and addressed -to Miss Hardcastle, is fortunately -recovered, and the thread of the narrative, -which I found was broken, is by -that means preserved. Trusting that my -readers are by this time satisfied that -Miss Cowley can tell her own story; and -are convinced that no labours of mine -could better tell it, I cheerfully resume -my humble office of copyist.</p> - -<h3 class='c014'>LETTER XI.<br /> <em>From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>I send you, my dear Lucy, with my -thanks to Counsellor Steadman for his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>letter, one which I have received from -Mr. Flamall. You will find that I have -an enormous account to settle with him -on the score of <em>gratitude</em>; for the kindhearted -gentleman, not having yet smoothed -the way for my <em>sweetheart’s</em> appearance, -has sent a double portion of <em>sweetmeats</em>, -and withal, many compliments -on my <em>sweet</em> and gentle temper, which, it -appears, fame has celebrated in the island -of Jamaica. I would divide with you -this tribute of praise, were it not the first -my unparallelled gentleness and patience -ever received; but I will be generous -notwithstanding: and as we have here -as many preserved limes, &c. as would -satisfy the cravings of half the boardingschool -misses in London, I have desired -all mine may be sent to Heathcot: you -will dispose of them in due measure to -your neighbours. My friends and neighbours -returned to the Abbey last night. -To-morrow I shall pass the day at Mrs. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>Heartley’s, when I shall give her the -counsellor’s letter. I do most seriously -assure you, that my late indisposition -has disappeared. Your accounts from -Italy were the specifics for the worst -part of it; and without detracting from -the good effects of the new curricle, I -must attribute my cure to your prescription. -Lady Maclairn’s anxiety has not -been less than yours, my dear Lucy, on -the subject of medical advice; but I -knew the medicine I wanted—it was not -in the apothecary’s shop. The curricle -is, however, still in favour, for it amuses -Sir Murdock, and he is proud of being -charioteer. You cannot imagine with -what tenderness and attention I am treated -by Lady Maclairn. I cannot help -loving her; but I wish also to reverence -her. It hurts me to see her sink herself -and her talents, in order to soothe and -keep quiet a woman who might be -taught to respect her. She never offends -<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>or disappoints me but when I see her -forget Lady Maclairn, and act the part -of a mere cringing dependent. I find -she has by dint of coaxing and tears, -obtained permission for Mary to go with -us to the Abbey to-morrow, in order to -see her uncle. Mrs. Warner, Miss Flint’s -favourite servant, communicated these -glad tidings to Mrs. Allen, and concluded -by saying, “Aye, they will never -understand my lady’s temper. Miss -Howard should have gone without asking -leave, and Lady Maclairn should have -commended her for taking it for granted -she had a right to go to see the captain. -Miss Flint is not the better for being -indulged in her temper. I do my duty; -she knows I am faithful, but she knows -also that I will not be her slave. It often -vexes me to see Miss Howard so much -afraid of her! Why not say from the -very first, ‘I will go and see my uncle, -Madam.’ Instead of this, there are pleadings -<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>and tears, which have gained after -all, only leave to stay a few minutes with -the captain. As to Lady Maclairn, there -is something to say. The golden-calf -will have its worshippers still; so she -must bend the knee: but poor Mary has -no such hopes, and she is a simpleton -not to shew more spirit.”—This woman -is well-intentioned to Miss Howard, and, -I believe, contributes to her comforts; -for she asked Mrs. Allen to lend her Evelina -to read to Mary whilst she worked. -She usually sits with her in a little parlour -appropriated to Warner: Miss Flint preferring -being alone in her <em>lair</em>. I shall -not finish this letter till I have seen my -friends at the farm, having to write to -Mr. Steadman.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'><em>Saturday Evening, Nine O’clock.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>Not chusing to part with the serenity -I have brought home with me, I have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>left my friends in the parlour in order to -finish the day happily with you. Perhaps -there was also a little discretion at -the bottom of this intention when first -suggested. I wished to avoid Mary’s -first greeting from her aunt, whose orders -she had disobeyed; but on inquiry, -the lady had retired for the night before -we reached the hall. Miss Flint’s sleeping -draught is sometimes potent, I suspect; -and Mrs. Patty, our maid, never -fails to say on these sudden drowsy fits, -“Ah, poor lady, she is much to be pitied! -for there is nothing like the sleep -God sends.” Leaving, however, Miss -Lucretia to enjoy any repose she can -purchase, I will prepare for mine by an -hour’s chit-chat with my Lucy. We -sallied forth this morning for our visit to -the Abbey. Never did summer bequeath -to her boisterous brother October a more -delicious one! Mary was of the party; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>but she was not in spirits. Jonathan, -Miss Flint’s footman, followed our steps. -I had my project in my head; for I had -determined that this exertion of Miss -Flint’s power should not pass unnoticed. -We had not proceeded more than half -our road to the Abbey, before we were -met by the captain and the Heartleys. -Mary’s philosophy forsook her on perceiving -them. “How unpardonable I -am,” said she, “now I have no pretence -for going farther with you! I must return -with the servant.” You may conclude -that this observation was conveyed to -the captain’s ear. He coloured, and with -some quickness in his manner turned to -the servant, saying, “You need go no -farther. I shall take care of Miss Howard.” -The man bowed, and retreating, -seemed yet to hesitate. “Inform your -lady, Sir,” added the captain with dignity, -“that my niece passes the day with -me and her <em>friends</em>, and that I shall call -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>on her soon.” Jonathan, with a lower -bow, quickened his pace.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! indeed!” cried Mary, “I -must not disobey orders, my aunt will -be disobliged!”—“I will be answerable -for that,” replied the captain with gravity; -“but in your attention to your -<em>aunt</em>, Mary, do not forget your <em>uncle</em>, -nor what is due to yourself.” It was -some time before this little cloud passed; -but it was dissipated by the time we -reached the farm, and Mary’s welcome -from Mrs. Wilson apparently banished -Miss Flint and her <em>orders</em> from her -thoughts.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I do not remember mentioning to you -the noble apartments which Mrs. Heartley -occupies in the Abbey. But her taste -has given to them an appearance of comfort, -light, and cheerfulness, which in -my opinion more than supplies the absence -of the magnificence, which gave -the finish to dark and richly carved wainscoting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>and bow windows, half glazed -with painted glass. A good selection of -books, in handsome glass-cases, gay -chintz furniture, and an excellent musical -instrument, assuredly suited better -the assembled party, and are much more -congenial with the love of neatness and -order of the present inmates of the house. -But should it happen that any of the -departed spirits of the “Ingram” race -still hover near the spot of their glory, -they must, if they be placable, acknowledge, -that although cumbrous greatness -is fallen, hospitality still retains her empire -in the house; and that those vices -which ruined themselves and half the -county, are buried in the fallen fabric of -Gothic ignorance and superstition. After -dinner we had music, which at least vied -with the lute and virginal of former -times. The Heartleys, I find, are all -gifted with a taste for harmony. The -mother is an excellent performer on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>harpsichord; and her daughter shews -that skill in the science so necessary in -the teacher, to produce a pupil like Alice. -Mary was pressed for a song. “I have -forgotten all I know for want of practice,” -said she with a suppressed sigh. -“I will sing with you, my love,” replied -Mrs. Heartley, “and we shall manage -very well.” She was encouraged, and -timidly sung the little ballad of Prior’s, -“In vain you tell your panting lover,” -with taste and expression. “Bravo, my -sweet Mary,” observed Mrs. Heartley -with a smile, “you have not forgotten -that song at least. You would recover -in a month all you have lost.” Elated -by this commendation, she turned towards -me, and with eagerness observed, -that Henry Heartley had taught her not -only to sing that song, but to admire the -poetry and composition; “for,” added -she, “Henry was an Orpheus, even in -his cradle! I have heard Mrs. Heartley -<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>say, that she used to quiet him when a -baby, by playing upon the piano-forte. -How happy we used to be when he was -here!” Mrs. Wilson’s calling her away -prevented Mary from proceeding on a -subject which seemed to have placed her -heart on her lips.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I forgot not to deliver the counsellor’s -letter to his old favourite; Mrs. Heartley -ran it over with apparent satisfaction, -and give it me to peruse. “I will -thank him myself,” said she, “for this -proof of his remembrance; I needed -none of his candour and justice. He -knew me before I was a wife, he knew -me as one, and he <em>knows</em> that Heartley’s -widow lives to honour his memory, and -to perpetuate his virtues in his children.” -She pressed my hand with emotion, and -smiling through the tears which escaped -her, observed that she was yet selfish and -weak.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I will not say that we became noisy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>after tea, but it is certain that we were -childishly gay. The delighted Mrs. -Wilson, followed by the young people, -made the circuit of her domains. The dairy, -the cheese-chamber, the poultry-yard -were explored, and poor Malcolm was -left a while in captivity in the pig-stye, -for his daring crime of attempting to -give Alice a green gown. By means of -that secret intelligence at which you so -wickedly laugh, Mrs. Wilson and myself -were old friends in half an hour. She -found out that Miss Cowley was not a -fine lady; and Miss Cowley discovered -that the farmer’s wife was worth all the -fine ladies that have ever swarmed as butterflies -of the hour. She brought to my -mind the very image of the good woman -before Rhadamanthus, and I doubt not -but she could as satisfactorily demand -his passport; for though she has not a -daughter to produce as a notable housewife, -yet she has made as many cheeses -<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>as her counterpart, and will trace as -numerous a progeny to bless her memory.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She seconded my motion for the family -to walk home with us, and it was -agreed to, with certain limitations as to -the time and extent of our demands; -which were forgotten by each in their -turn.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At length we set out on our return -home; a cloudless sky, and a full-orbed -moon not only favoured us, but there -was a serenity in the air which is seldom -found in so advanced a season, and which -seemed to favour the still lingering leaf -as it trembled on its parent stem. There -is something in a calm autumnal evening -which so resembles the closing in of a -well-spent life, that it naturally leads the -mind to contemplation, nay, to a <em>pensiveness</em>, -though not melancholy, which -“loves not noisy folly.” Our gay spirits -yielded to the influence of the objects -<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>around us. We sauntered, rather than -walked, and insensibly the party separated, -and our chat was broken into several -divisions. Mrs. Heartley and myself, -with the captain, had even lost sight -of our company, which had advanced -before us. Mr. Flint with enthusiasm -supported the opinion of a plurality of -worlds; and I sung a verse of Addison’s -sublime hymn.—“The spacious firmament -on high.” My companions partook -with me in the pious fervour of the poet; -and we moved so slowly, that had not -the sound of an horse’s feet accelerated -our steps, the traveller might have -thought us statues, or ghosts. An angle -in the road was in our path, and on -turning it, Mr. Snughead appeared. He -paid his compliments to me with a familiarity -which even startled me. “This -is fortunate!” cried he, stopping his horse -and endeavouring to dismount, “now -my incredulity is corrected! for will you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>credit me, when I tell you that in listening -to the seraphic strains you sung, -I said,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould</div> - <div class='line'>Breathe such divine inchanting ravishment?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>But I am convinced, and you must sing -again.” I instantly concluded that Mr. -Snughead had not dined <em>en famille</em>: retreating -therefore from his impatient -horse, I observed with good humour, -that it did not appear that his horse had -heard of the convention—“no song, -no supper,” and was not disposed to -loiter on his road. “I am already too -late,” added I, “but at your next visit -at the hall, I will sing.” This prudence -on my part was rewarded; he recollected -himself, bowed to the captain, and -wishing me good night, spurred his -horse.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Poor Miss Howard on losing sight of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>her uncle, felt all her terrors return. -“What would her aunt say to her? and -what was she to say to her aunt? She -would not believe her.” Mrs. Allen engaged -to stand as witness; and Malcolm -encouraged her by saying, “My mother -will plead your cause, never fear.” But I -verily believe the poor girl felt it, as a -respite from violence when Warner told -her that Miss Flint was asleep.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Allen sends her blessing, and -your Rachel Cowley remains your affectionate -Sister and Friend.</p> - -<h3 class='c010'>LETTER XII.<br /> <em>Rachel Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.</em></h3> - -<p class='c013'>You will, my dear Lucy, when you -have read this letter, commend me for -my caution. “I am well, and all here -are well, thank God for it!” Do not however -<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>fancy that I have not had an escape, -although the curricle has not been overset, -nor have I had a cold and sore throat -in consequence of my night walk.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In my last I mentioned that poor Mary -had suffered from being out so late; but -that her aunt wisely recollecting that -Sunday was the captain’s visiting day, -graciously admitted Mrs. Allen’s evidence -in favour of the poor culprit; and -that our Sabbath was a day of peace as -well as rest. I heard nothing of colds -or rheums that day.—On Monday, Mary -was kept hard at work upon the odious -carpet. I rode out with Sir Murdock -in the morning of the following day, and -on our return found your dear letter. -All was peace, in consequence, in your -Rachel’s bosom. But at dinner no -counterfeiting could conceal from me -the disorder which Lady Maclairn took -such pains to hide. It is incredible to -conceive, what a command of features -<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>this woman has acquired! But I detest her -when she dares not speak with frankness. -There is a tremulous play of the muscles -round her mouth, and a slowness in her -utterance that mark the struggle within. -On enquiring for Miss Flint and Mary, -who did not appear, we were told that -Miss Flint had a most oppressive nervous -head-ach, and that Miss Howard -had gotten a sore throat.—On Wednesday, -both the invalids were worse; for the -aunt was uneasy on Mary’s account who -was feverish. “Sir Murdock was, however, -to be amused.” He might fancy it would -turn to a putrid sore throat and be alarmed. -It is a pity, thought I, whilst -Lady Maclairn made all these excuses -for imposition, that nature had not given -you a different complexion! I was certain, -Lucy, that there was some mystery -in this business. Warner kept close, and -Mrs. Patty said that Miss Howard kept -her bed. I do not love mischief; therefore, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>to amuse my good baronet, who appeared -somewhat discomfited by the -sudden change in the weather, and his -lady’s frequent desertion of him in order -to attend the sick, I engaged him to -settle us in our winter quarters, and to -make shelves for the books lately sent -me from town. Two days incessant rain -were thus passed; and we learned that -the valetudinarians were recovering.—On -Sunday, Mrs. Allen and myself went to -church in the morning; and I was requested -to say to Captain Flint, that -Mary had been indisposed with a <em>cold</em>. -“He will find her altered,” added her -ladyship with one of her unlucky -blushes; “she has been very ill.” I -asked her whether there had been any -appearance of danger in the case. “No,” -replied she, “but her aunt has been -much distressed on her account. They -mean to dine below to-day, lest the captain -should be uneasy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>I delivered my commission with the -same precaution it was given me, and -whilst I was satisfying Mary’s friends on -the subject, Mr. Snughead passed me -with a supercilious bow, without taking -off his hat. On entering the parlour we -found it heated by a large fire; it was -really suffocating. Miss Flint, huddled -up in wrappers, had taken possession of -the great chair on one side of it. Mary, -with a face as pale as death, in a close -morning cap, a muslin cravat, and a -shawl closely pinned up, had her appointed -station on the other side. Her -cheek glowed however on seeing us; -but she appeared fluttered and weak. -Our congratulations followed, whilst the -captain looking with much seriousness at -her, said, “My dear child, why was I not -informed of your being ill?”—“It was -only a cold, Sir,” answered Mary with a -faint blush. “And a cold she has to -thank you for,” said the sister. “Night -<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>walks in October do not suit Mary. It -is well it was no worse, I expected only -a putrid fever.” The servants, for we -are old fashioned people on a Sunday, -had by this time covered the table; and -a smoaking sirloin graced the bottom of -it. Mary rose from her seat in visible -disorder, oppressed, as I thought, by the -heat of the room, and the savoury steams -of the dinner; but as she tottered to the -door, she burst into hysterical sobbings, -and Malcolm and myself prevented her -falling, for she fainted in our arms. -Malcolm placed her in a chair in the -vestibule. All was hurry and alarm. -Whilst others were searching for remedies, -and her uncle was supporting her -head, I hazarded to open the door into -the garden, observing that the air was -mild, and would restore her. It evidently -was useful, for she gave signs of -returning consciousness, but again relapsed. -“Take off that cravat,” said I, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>“and let her have more air.” I opened the -sash, which was nearer to her than the -door. Whilst giving this direction, the -captain obeyed. Judge of our sensations! -Her throat was black and bruised by a -violent grasp, and her bosom lacerated -by what appeared to be the strokes of a -cane or horse-whip. “God of Heaven -and of earth!” groaned out the captain, -“what means all this? To what am I -doomed!”—“My dear captain,” said -the almost breathless Lady Maclairn, -who now approached with some remedy, -“have patience, all shall be explained. -Your sister has been to blame; she is -sensible of it: she bitterly repents of her -violence: she has suffered, severely suffered -for it; all will still be well, only -have patience.” He heeded her not, but -with a look of horror and apparent calmness, -he surveyed for some moments -the marks of the outrage which had -been committed; then wrapping the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>shawl round the still insensible girl, he -attempted to raise her in his arms; but -they refused the office. Miss Flint now -ventured to open the door, to order the -servants to be summoned, and to carry -Mary upstairs, loudly reprehending us -for exposing her to the air. “Shame to -thy sex, begone!” cried the captain -with fury. “Urge me not, thou barbarian! -But art thou not here to exult -over thy victim?” He again drew off the -shawl. “This is Howard’s child, Lucretia!” -continued he, “this is thy sister’s -orphan!” A heavy sigh from Mary drew -his attention again; he attempted to -raise her; but his limbs trembled to that -degree, that he was forced to desist. -The prompt, the ever-succouring Allen -gave Malcolm a sign. He took Mary in his -arms, and carried her to my room, followed -by Mrs. Allen. The captain was on the -point of doing so likewise, when Miss -Lucretia darting towards him, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>catching his coat, exclaimed, “You -<em>shall</em> hear me! She provoked me.”—No -language can convey to you, Lucy, the -expression with which he replied. “Yes! -I doubt it not! So did her hapless virtuous -mother! so did her noble-minded -father!” He paused, and raising his eyes -to Heaven, moved his lips as though in -silent ejaculation. “No,” said he in a -solemn tone of voice, “I will not curse -her! But,” added he, “<em>God</em>, Lucretia, -will call you to answer for this deed!” -“Hear me! only hear me!” screamed she. -“I only punished her <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">insolence</span></i>. I will -justify myself!”—“Never canst thou do -<em>that</em>,” replied he, “where humanity resides.” -He broke from her and turned -into the garden. A violent fit succeeded -to Miss Flint’s efforts; the servants with -difficulty conveyed her, in her struggles, -to her apartment, from whence even I -heard her screams. On entering my -room, I found Miss Howard laid on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>bed, and much recovered though weeping. -“What confusion! what mischief -have I occasioned!” said she addressing -me. “Who was it, my dear Miss Cowley, -who took off my things? Was it not my -uncle? How unfortunate that I could -not get up stairs!”—“Say not so,” observed -the soothing Mrs. Allen, “but -rather, my clear child, be thankful to Providence -who has thus seasonably checked -your aunt’s violence; such a temper required -it.” Mr. Flint entered the room, -no longer was his face gloomy, and his -eyes sparkling with rage. He was pale -and languid, and sitting down by his -niece, he shed tears like an infant. “The -coach is preparing,” said he at length, -“can you make the effort my child? -I leave not this accursed house without -you.”—“I am much better, I am able to -go any where with you,” replied the poor -girl; “but my dear, dear uncle! leave -not my aunt in displeasure; indeed she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>is very sorry for what has passed, indeed -I had entirely forgiven her.”—“Name -her not,” answered the captain with emotion; -“go to your parents’ grave; see her -work <em>there</em>! Remember the protection -she promised you! But I will be just,” -continued he, suppressing his rising passions, -“to my credulity, to my easy -faith, you must attribute these scourges. -But who,” continued he, turning to us, -“could have conceived that any hand -could have inflicted such cruelty on a -creature like <em>this</em>, and that hand a sister’s! -But we will depart, my child, to that home -where your bruises will be healed, and I -shall be justly reproved for the pride and -ambition which caused them. Your -asylum is secure, and you will have bread -and peace.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>My hitherto restrained tears now flowed -abundantly: it was well for me they did, -for the throbbing in my temples was excruciating. -I attempted to speak; but I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>could only say with extreme emotion, -“Dismiss your fears for her, her happiness -shall be my care.” A look was the -thanks I received. The coach drew up, -and Malcolm entered the room. Whilst -Mrs. Allen prepared Mary, he said in a -whisper, “I leave my father to you. -Miss Flint is in strong convulsions, the -doctor is sent for, and my mother is -dreadfully alarmed.” He carried Mary -to the carriage, and accompanied her and -the captain to the Abbey.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Allen went to assist Lady Maclairn, -and I to perform a duty which was -become pressing, for I had not seen Sir -Murdock from the first signal of alarm. -I recollected this circumstance with a -sensation of terror undefinable at this -moment; and quickening my steps, met -a servant whom I believe I frightened by -my eagerness, for in reply to my question, -he said, with some hesitation of manner, -that he had seen Sir Murdock go into -<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>the garden, and, if I pleased, he would go -with me to look for him. I saw the -conclusion he had drawn, and therefore, -with collected ease, replied that I should -soon meet him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For sometime, however, the object of -my search eluded me; at last I perceived -him sitting in a nook so concealed, that -it serves the gardener for his rollers, &c. -He resembled a statue rather than a living -creature; and was so lost in thought, that -he neither heard my steps nor saw me -when I stood before him. He was speaking, -however, and I heard him say, -“Are there no remedies? Is she dead? -Will not Heaven spare her? Destruction -must have monsters for its work!”—I -took his hand and he started. “I come -to seek you,” said I, in a cheerful tone; -“Miss Howard is recovered, and gone -home with her uncle. I want you to -give me some coffee.” He looked at me.—“Angel -of peace!” said he, in a low -<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>voice, “art thou still near me?”—I again -spoke. “Your daughter, your adopted -daughter, my dear Sir Murdock, is near -you,” observed I, “but you do not heed -her. It is cold here, and she begs you to -enter the house.” I gently took him by -the arm; he again started as from a -dream.—“My dear Miss Cowley,” said -he, rising, “is it you that I see here!”—I -repeated my entreaties, and he instantly -took the way to the house and inquired -whether Miss Howard had seen his wife -before she left the hall. “Lady Maclairn -has been with Miss Flint,” replied -I, “who is ill; but we shall all rejoice at -the events of this day when more composed. -Mary Howard shall never want -the protection of her aunt.”—“Your -purpose is worthy of you, Miss Cowley,” -replied the baronet, with collected dignity -and energy, “and in your intentions -of goodness, as these relate to this -injured girl, your path is not only easy -<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>but pleasant. But what can you do or -say for Sir Murdock Maclairn and his -wife, under whose ostensible roof innocence -has been oppressed and ill-used? -My supposed infirmity of mind,—would -to God it were only supposition!—may -screen me from ignominy with the charitable. -But can generosity or candour -find an apology for my wife? Will it -not be said, and with truth, that she was -a daily witness of the improper treatment -which Miss Howard received from her -aunt? Will it not be said, that she knew -of the outrage committed recently; and -that, in order to spare the offender, she -concealed it from the poor suffering -girl’s friends? Will censure stop here? -Oh, no! it will be alledged that lady -Maclairn encouraged this woman in her -cruelty!”—“The most confirmed rancour -would refuse to credit such a tale of -Lady Maclairn, if told,” answered I, -with seriousness. “There is not a menial -<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>in her family would not refute it, and -bear witness to her gentleness and humanity. -Every one has seen her unremitting -attentions to Miss Howard’s comfort, -and her endeavours to render her -aunt kinder to her. She trusted that -Mary’s assiduities would, in time, soften -down the asperities of Miss Flint’s temper. -She knew that her interference -would be liable to misconstructions; and -though she has suffered but little less than -Miss Howard, since her residence here, -yet she has not dared to oppose her -remaining, lest it should be thought that -she feared her influence might be unfriendly -to her son’s interest. I have -seen Lady Maclairn’s difficulties from -the first hour of my being here,” continued -I, “I have seen her miserable on -this poor girl’s account; and I am certain -she was a stranger to the treatment -she has lately undergone.”—“You plead -to a partial hearer,” answered he, deeply -sighing; “I know that to my Harriot -<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>a scene of such violence would have been -death. But is it not incomprehensible -to you how such a mind as her’s -should have retained for this woman an -affection so determined and so constant? -Why does she persist in living with her? -Why subject herself to mortifications and -degradations to please her caprice?”—“Lady -Maclairn is human;” replied I, -with a smile, “she is a mother, and a -tender mother; and she may, with justice, -expect that her son Philip will be -benefited by these sacrifices of her care. -Besides these motives, there are others -more exalted, which prompt her zeal. -What would this woman have been? -What would she be without Lady Maclairn? -To whom is she indebted for the -little humanity which she does shew?”—The -baronet appeared silently to acquiesce -in my sentiments; but I found he -was again withdrawn into his own mind. -I, however, found it not difficult to -rouse him; for on my observing that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>poor Lady Maclairn would be anxious -for his safety in so chilling an air, he -quickened his steps. His wife was indeed -anxious! She burst into tears on -seeing him, and the interesting Sir Murdock -seemed to have no care but that of -soothing her distress. “You must listen -to Miss Cowley, my Harriot,” said he, -“she will teach you to rejoice at the -captive’s deliverance.”—“I could and -should rejoice,” answered she, “that -poor Mary is freed from the hardest of -all servitudes, did I not see Lucretia so -struck with a sense of her fault and disgrace -as to be in danger of her life. She -is an unhappy woman,” added she, with -emotion, “and I cannot help pitying -her.” No reply was made. Mrs. Allen -now entered with the coffee, and I found -by her report, that in getting Miss Flint -to her room, the servants, unable to -hold her in her struggles, had let her slip -from their arms, and she had hurt her knee -very much; she was, however, asleep; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>the doctor had seen her, and the servants -had got a respite. Mary was composed -and much better. I retired to my -room, and continued to solace my -mind by viewing this day of Mary’s -emancipation as a happy event. I really -considered the horse-whipping part of -the business with the stoical indifference -of a mail-coach driver, when I contrasted -it with the good effects it was likely to -produce. In a week Mary may forget -the discipline, and all will be well; but I -sincerely wish it may lead Miss Flint to -consider whether it might not turn to -good account to scourge <em>herself</em>. Moderate -flagellation would neither hurt her -temper of body or mind.—But lest you -should be induced to think unfavourably -of my tender mercies, I shall conclude this -letter; and you will, I trust, give the -kiss of peace to your</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Rachel Cowley</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='small'>END OF VOL. I.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='section ph2'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - - <ol class='ol_1 c002'> - <li>Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - </li> - </ol> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY MACLAIRN, THE VICTIM OF VILLANY: A NOVEL, VOLUME I (OF 4) ***</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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