LI B R.AFLY OF THE UN IVLR5ITY Of ILLINOIS 823 V. I >C^4.< I: M6 A LIFERS LESSONS. BY MUS. GORE, AUTHOR OF MAMMON," "MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS," &c. " II y a de la po^sie dans ce tableau. La vie s'y dresse avec ses haillons et ses paillettes ;— mais touts soudaine,— incomplete,— comme elle est r^ellement ."— Balzao. IN THEEE YOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENEY COLBUEN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1856. 823 G-cgJH TO THE MEMORY OF THE AUTHOEESS OF JANE EYEE, WHICH, HAD SHE SURVIVED, WOULD HAVE BEEN '.DEDICATED TO HER, IS INSCRIBED WITH THE SINCEREST SENTIMENTS OP ADMIRATION, AND REGRET. (i) A LIFE'S LESSONS. CHAPTER I. Little enough in the aspect of Gridlands to justify even the most imaginative of mortals in selecting it as the home of a heroine : — a mean-looking house, two stories high, con- structed, like all the other buildings and boundary-walls of the district, of dingy red- dish stone ; and opening on an ill-kept, unfre- quented road, on the skirts of which were dotted the twenty or thirty tenements consti- tuting the hamlet of Middledale. VOL. I. B 2 A life's lessons. Situated in one of those barren districts of North Lancashire, whose aridity affords so strange a contrast to the fertile landscapes of Lakeland, lying within half a day's journey, the long, narrow strip of pasture designated as " the Dale/' was surrounded by lofty hills, never rising into sublimity, though inaccessible except as sheep-walks. Here and there, in- deed, bold masses of granite obtruded to break the monotonous outline of the hill-side; and in places, rough thickets of furze afforded shelter to bird and beast. But trees there were none ; except a few detached and melan> choly yews ; and the screen of sycamores and limes that adorned the garden of Gridlands. For, dreary as it looked, it had a garden. After passing through a small hall that divided the house, and the glass- door by which its southern access was effected, you found your- self in a sunny spot ; a patchwork of cheerful flower-beds, shaded from the w^estern sun, and sheltered from the far less acceptable easterly A LIFE S LESSONS. 3 winds, by a mass of well-grown trees, con- temporaries of the house, and the pride of the hamlet. The garden sloped eastward to a beck or burn, scarcely deserving the name of stream ; the stony fragments in the bed of which looked, in summer-time, like a long series of stepping-stones rising above the rapid but shallow waters. In winter, however, or after heavy rain, the beck assumed a will and a voice of its own ; and nothing was then to be seen on the surface but eddies, and bubbles ;• with occasional patches of foam, betokening the force of the current as it battled along its uneasy bed. Even the beck, however, scorned to adorn the unsightliness of that circumscribed land- scape by such boons as Earth usually derives from its contact with Water. Not a wild flower along its banks. Only scattered frag- ments of stone, brought down from the hills, and left encumbering the meagre herbage, B 2 4 A LIFE S LESSONS. as if for the mere purpose of disfigure- ment. At one extremity of the Dale, a dreary iiioor completed the desolation of the district. x\t the other, after winding along its tedious causeway for considerably more than a mile, the valley widened. Thickets of trees diversi- fied the scene; and farmy fields — still, however, disfigured by low stone walls in place of the cheerful hedgerows of our southern counties — relieved the eye from the sense of barrenness and waste. Far in the distance, a heavy line of woods was perceptible ; and above them, the purple gleam of the Westmoreland mountains. But with these, the inhabitants of Middledale troubled themselves as little as with the misty clouds sailing over all. To obtain their daily bread by the sweat of their brows, demanded unremitting toil ; and though mere hewers of wood and drawers of water would have been puzzled to find work in that barren and diy A LIFE S LESSONS. land, scanty but steady wages were to be earned in the stone and slate quarries. As regarded the female moiety of the community, in that remote district the spinning-wheel was not yet out of date. The true origin of what, in spite of hard fare and constant labour, might be termed the prosperity of the hamlet, arose from the equa- lity of its inhabitants. They were alike poor, ignorant, and contented. In more civilised places, every homestead has a character and atmosphere of its own. Middledale was a§ yet homogeneous : built upon common land, on which, from time immemorial, squatters had constructed, with the materials lying on its surface, the hovels which constituted the hamlet ; and though there occasionally arose a rumour that the agent of the Earl of Mardyke, lord of the adjoining moors and adjacent manor, was consulting " grand Lon- don lawyers" about establishing his right to the green ribbon of turf meandering be- 6 A life's lessons. tween those lonesome hills, nothing ever came of it. Two only of the inhabitants ever diverged so far from the Dale as the manufacturing town of Ilsington, situated at twelve miles distance : viz., the clergyman — or, as he was termed in the Dale, '' the Pairson," and Michael Balfour, the proprietor of Gridlands ; the latter, to dispose of his fleeces and the produce of his farm ; the former, of the arti- ficial flies of which, in spite of his calling, he was the best, and best-paid, manufacturer in the county. The word " calling" is used advisedly, in- stead of the technical word " cloth ;" because old David Hurdis was never seen, on week days, otherwise attired than in a Dalesman's blue smock-frock. Even on the Sabbath, his coat of frieze could scarcely pretend, either in colour or texture, to clerical dignity. But with twelve pounds sterling of yearly stipend to supply food and raiment, even the supplement A LIFE S LESSONS. 7 of the little commercial speculation adverted to, did not enable him to aspire to "the cloth." — But superficial distinctions would have been out of place in the Dale. The church in which he officiated might have been mistaken by a stranger for one of the rude hovels of his parishioners ; but that, within its rough enclosure, in place of stragghng rows of kail-plants or potato-furrows, a few slabs of stone or slate lay embedded in the turf. Without inscription. No " Hie jacetj' no quotation from Sternhold or Hopkins. Yet not an inhabitant of Middled ale but could assign a name to each. " There lay Martha Timbs — there old Joe Hurstone." More than half a century after a Dalesman was consigned to the dust, his memory remained green in the land. Whether as "pairson" or workman, how- ever, David Hurdis — (seldom styled the Re- verend, except on the covers of county circu- lars, or letters that reached him once or twice 8 A life's lessons. a year from the rector of Mardyke, of wliich parish Middledale was a hamlet) — would have found it a hard matter to live, and above all to administer to the needs of his poorer neigh- bours, but for the generous aid of Gridlands. Not ostentatiously bestowed, but given, as by brother to brother. A portion of the farm and garden produce found its way as naturally to the Pairson's, as, on a summer evening, David Hurdis found his to the old lime-trees, under whose spreading boughs he and Michael Balfour smoked their pipes together; discussing the far-away world and its ways, much as more discursive philosophers descant upon the caves and mountains of the moon. It is true that his studies at St. Bees had enlarged the mind of the Pairson by know- ledge, geographical and historical, undreamed of in the philosophy of the simple-minded farmer. But all speculative learning had been judiciously laid on the shelf by one whose ministry was appointed among the rude class A LIFE S LESSONS. \) in which he was born, and above which he did not aspire to rise. The perusal of the weekly county paper, which, when a week or two old, and well scented and streaked with tobacco, was forwarded to Gridlands by Raw- son, the Ilsington cornchandler — wdth whom the Balfours kept up an interchange of homely gifts, — plump poultry and juicy fruit, — af- forded their only insight into the progress of the world. Such simplicity of life and manners has of late years been banished from the land We live in, by the facilities of railway communica- tion. But, without entering into the vexed question of the tendency of such facilities to promote human improvement, certain it is that the want of a passable road, and the absence of a doctor, lawyer, or exciseman, produced no injurious effect on the health or morals of the Dale. With Uttle to contend for, no one to encourage them to disputation, and not even an alehouse to do its part in exasperating their 10 A life's lessons. occasional squabbles, the Dalesmen maintained a Cliristianlike good-neighbourship, which philosophers may attribute to density of intellect, but which philosophers seldom ac- complish. One evening, towards midsummer, when the chilly spring was beginning to yield to the influence of the sun, even in that un genial latitude, so that the lime-trees were arrayed in tender verdure, and the white blossoms of the mountain -ash filled the air with sickly fragrance, David Hurdis made his way to- wards the stone benqh under their branches, just as the stragglers from Mrs. Balfour's bee-hives were carrying home their last load of plunder. Though a work-day of the week, the Pairson wore his Sunday best ; — coarse of texture at all times, but just then so consi- derably the W'orse for road-dust, that his elderly chum, aware that he had been on a visit to Tlsington (where Hurdis's only daughter was married to the Rawson already named). A life's lessons. 11 could not but attribute the unwonted haste of his friend to some matter of moment. Yes, there was news : — pleasant, too, or David Hurdis's face would not have displayed a smile as genial as the light of the western sun glimmering through the lime-leaves. He did not, Hke more polished purveyors of in- telligence, tantahse his friend by holding his curiosity at bay, but came straight to the point. " Well, — it's a mercy I went yesterday, Michael," said he, dropping on the seat beside his host, who had welcomed him by a nod, without removing the pipe from his mouth. " Your good missus would have had me put off my journey till a shower or two had freshened the roads. But I arrived just in time to give a helping hand to a stroke of busi- ness that may be the better for all of us." Even that satisfactory announcement pro- duced no further demonstration on the part of Balfour, — always sedate, but at evening-tide 12 A life's lessons. rendered nearly comatose by toil and to- bacco — beyond an interrogative elevation of the eyebrow. " You've done nothing further, Michael, about the letting of Hawyer's cottage ?" in- quired the Pairson. And this time, his uncommunicative com- panion was forced to reply. Briefly enough, however. '' Nothen !" said he, composedly. It was only the voluminous puff of smoke by which the word was prefaced, that seemed to invest it with importance. " Then I fancy we've got a tenant for you." cc Who's toe r "■ Myself and your friend, John Rawson ; or, rather, your friend, John Rawson, and his corres- pondents at Liverpool, Macglashan and Thorp." " The 'torneys ?" '' Ay ! who've done John Rawson's business for him this many a long year, and who put you in the way of that wool bargain, that turned out so famously." A life's lessons. 13 Balfour nodded, — a sufficient encourage- ment to his neighbour. " When I got to Ilaington yesterday, I found Rawson and his wife confabulating over a letter they'd received from these lawyers ; inquiring whether they knew hereabouts of a small quiet tenement, — house and gar- den, — that could be hired by the year for the use of a widow lady in reduced circum- stances." Another nod. " Now I needn't to tell you, Michael, thnt, except for the Christmas week they spend among us here, the Rawsons, husband and wife, never behold an inch wider of sky than covers the market-place of Usington. So right puzzled they were to hit on the thing wanted, which was to be situated in a village, and not on the outskirts of a market-town. But I set 'em at ease in a moment, by re- minding Edith of the cottage, where, in old neighbour Hawyer's time, she used to 14 A life's lessons. spend many and many's the hour, gardening, with AUson Hawyer." " And they've writ word of the place to Liverpool ?" inquired Michael, '* Not quite so fast. Folks must look afore they leap, and think afore they write ; above all, when writing to lawyers. But I promised . to make speed in letting you know what was wanted ; that you might fix your price, and, if agreeable, nail your tenant." " Can't but say that a good tenant would be acceptable," replied Michael, shaking the ashes from his pipe, " The house has stood empty since Candlemas : and I was even think- ing of letting Ralph Hubbersty have it, for the rent he offered two terms back, only that his wife's a bit of a slattern, and a bigger bit of a scold ; and my missus don't want neither o' such too nigh to Gridlands." "I should be sorry to stand in Ralph's hght, poor fellow, whose lot, I'm afeard, is a bad one" — the Pairson was beginning. A life's lessons. 15 " But you wont stand in his light. A bad tenant is worse than none at alL I've an odd groat or two in my pocket that saves me from need of settHng a noisy jade like Dorcas Hubbersty within hearing of my chimney- corner." *' The tenant proposed by the Liverpool lawyers will be quiet enough ; — a decayed gentlewoman, it seems, — conditioning only for cheap and quiet quarters." " I've not much leaning towards decayed gentlefolks/'retorted Michael, bluntly; "they'ipe apt to give more fash than they're worth. They can't forget, and seldom learn. We shall find her, maybe, some crusty, old lady, showing airs and discontents to her betters.'* " No, no. — This Mrs. Varnham is far under forty, — a poor ailing creature, v/ho has seen better times. And, Michael, I was thinking, while John Raw son read aloud the letter, that a lady -born, and lady- educated, would afford better company in a year or so for little 16 A life's lessons, Nannie, than to have her running wild in the village, as my poor Edith used to do, w^ith such rough companions as AHson Hawyer." " I don't want Nannie to grow up a better woman than John Rawson's wife," said Mi- chael, kindly. " John Rawson's wife is fitted to be John Rawson's wife ; and a capital one, and a happy one, thank God, she makes him. But Raw- son took her when his own head was scarce above the world, without a farthing in her pocket ; and it behoved her to be thrifty and hard-working, rather than a scholar, 'Tv^^on't be so with Nannie, Michael Balfour. Nannie will be rich. Nannie will be an heiress." Michael Balfour indulged in a disapproving grunt. " Site has better prospects before her than to slave away her life in a back-shop in II- sington. A good girl, the best of girls, she is growing up under the care of lier excellent mother. But still, if this stranger, this Mrs. A life's lessons. 17 Varnham, should be the well-taught lady de- scribed in Macglashan's letter — ''* " Tltat needn't weigh in the lease," rejoined Balfour. "We an't given — my missus and me — to talk about our family matters ; and there's many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip ; which makes it idle havers to prate about what's to come. But I may as well tell you now, David, what you'll see afore long, — that when our Nannie reaches twelve year old, she's to go and bide at Manchester, with her aunt Hildyard, for the benefit of a few years^ schooling." This was indeed a startling piece of news to David Hurdis. Little Nannie was almost as a child of his own, and he liked not the thoughts of parting with her. " My missus and her sister, Dorty, you see, waited, on their grandmother's account, till they were something past young afore they married," continued Michael ; " and just as we have neither chick nor child but Nannie, VOL. I. C 18 A life's lessons. there's only one son to succeed to Hilcljard's great business." " And you mean to make a match between the cousins, I see, I see 1" cried the Pairson — a new light brightening his mind and coun- tenance. * " I don't mean nothing about it, man," rejoined Michael, peevishly. "As I whiles said to you, betwixt the cup and the lip, there's many a slip. But maybe the sisters have talked over such a plan ; and if young Hildyard should grow up an honest, likely fellow, I have nought to say against a match that would bring the two halves of old Madam Verhout's savings back again into a lump.'^ " y/ith the addition of the fine business of Hildyard and Co ! No bad look-out, certainly. And well cared for our little lass will be, under the watchful eye of aunt Dorty. So, on that point we need say no more in relation to the tenant of Hawyer's cottage.- — After all, A life's lessons. 19 Michael, the best thing you can do, is to address your answer and inquiries to Mac- glashan and Thorp, and settle the business to your own Kking." The summer twihght was by this time fading into dusk ; so that the approach of Nannie Balfour to summon her father and his friend to the household supper might have passed unnoticed, but for the gentle caress with which her message was delivered to old Michael. Her step was noiseless on the gravel ; for though so young in years, ther^ was in Httle Nannie a total absence of the buoyancy of girlhood. Even as a child, she was as composed as is usually the case with the offspring of elderly parents. A certain squareness of figure and waxenness of com- plexion, was, perhaps, attributable to the Dutch blood flowing in her veins. But the sweetest of tempers, and sweetest of voices, imparted pecuhar charm to this grave and quiet girl; — growing up in the monotonous c 2 20 A life's lessons. routine of household Hfe at Gridlands, as identical with her homely father and mother, as the branch of an oak, in bark and foliage, with its parent tree. , A life's lessons. 21 CHAPTER 11. But before the interest of the reader is be- spoken for Nannie, something should be said of her progenitors ; nay, even of the absentee family, the Van der Heldes of Hawkshill, imder whose auspices they had been natu- ralised in the county. Tradition asserted — and most knowledge was traditional in the Dale — that the original Jacob van der Helde, by whom the now dila- pidated mansion at Hawkshill was erected, was a Dutch physician ; imported by Wilham of Orange, with the Keppels and Bentincks, and eventually rewarded for his services by a 22 A life's lessons. grant of certain forfeited estates in Lancashire, whereof those who considered themselves the lawful owners, were serving the ex-monarch who brandished his gratuitous sceptre at St. Germains. A British Baronetcy had accom- panied the donation ; and the Lady van der Helde, whose portrait, in blue satin and swans'-down, had been smiling in one of the mildewed oaken parlours at Hawkshill for a century and a half, albeit the puffy daughter of a Guelderland burgomaster, had lived and died a life of subsidiary courtiership at Hamp- ton Court. It was to console, himself perhaps, for the untimely loss of his royal master, that Sir Jacob, retreating hastily to his northern estates, laid the foundations of a mansion which, affect- ing to unite the Dutch and Enghsh styles of architecture, produced a hybrid more mon- strous in ugliness than even the choicest spe- cimens of that tasteless epoch extant in either country. A life's lessons. 23 To mark his contempt of the stone lying within a few feet of the surface, on the Hawkshill estate, Sir Jacob went to a vast expense in order to procure the brightest of red brick, and whitest of stone coping ; and if the house itself was tall and narrow of front- age, the windows with which it was pierced were sufficiently numerous for any extent of fa(}ade. A double flight of steep steps led to a mean entrance- door ; the heavy stone ba- lustrade closely resembling a series of alder- men's legs, in gouty stockings. Within doors, wainscoting prevailed ; and the narrow windows, numerous as they were, scarcely afforded light or air sufficient for the lofty chambers. — Without, straight gravel walks and formal parterres, dotted with yew and box, and diversified with occasional leaden figures and vases, exhibited an q\^cX facsimile of the Lust-Haus of Lady van der Helde's family, in the suburbs of Utrecht ; from whence were annually imported the largest and most 24 A life's lessons. vivid crocuses that endeavoured to outshine the sun in King WilHam's British domi- nions. * By the son and grandson of the court phy- sician, the house at Hawkshill vras carefully kept up ; and the estate improved and aug- mented. But though the frogs continued to croak in the pools and canals with which Sir Jacob had adorned his pleasaunce, and though the amount of simpering or staring family- portraits enlivening the wainscots of oak and cedar, were more than doubled, the living line stopped short. The Dutch race did not prosper in its intermarriages with the dark- browed daughters of Cumbrian squires. The last Sir Jacob van der Helde died childless, just about the time when the remains of George the Second were consigned to the royal vault. At the time of his decease, rumours pre- vailed in the neighbourhood that the old Dutch- man had made what certain Jacobite nobles of A life's lessons. 25 the neighbouring county called " restitution ;" by bequeathing the property of Hawkshill, with its augmentations and benefits, to what they termed the rightful owner ; namely, to a young Catholic esquire, who, though consider- ably out at elbows, would have been loth to exchange his more genial existence at Rome for the fogs of a heretic land. — Others de- clared, more especially the Mayor and Cor- poration of Ilsington, that, failing male heirs, the estate had lapsed to the crown. It w^as even whispered that court favour was likely again to govern its destinies. A Stuart of Glen Something — a fifteenth cousin to the unpopular Marquis of Bute — vv^as named as the new grantee. But in process of time — in process of a very few weeks — there arrived a beetle-browed cousin from Utrecht, a Jonkheer van der Helde, armed with parchments sufficient to cover the estate ; to whom, even had not his heir-at-law-ship sufficed, the deceased baronet 26 A life's lessons. had foraially bequeathed every acre and stuyver in his power. By this arrangement, all hope of Anglicising the place was lost. Hawkshill was destined to remain as Dutch as one of Van Hooghe's pictures ; and the Jonkheer and his young wife having brought with them, from their amphibious country, a whole household of do- mestics, the bricks were ruddled anew, and the yews and box-trees clipped into all their pristine unsightliness. Among these servants was one Mitje Ver- hout, the foster-sister and favourite waiting- maid of the new lady of Hawkshill ; and a great satisfaction it appeared to young Van der Helde, who was well content to exchange what Voltaire describes as the " ca?iards, canam:, canaille'' of his native country, for the well-drained acres of an English estate^ to have secured a sympathising auditress for the per- petual grumblings of his wife over the slovenly, thriftless habits of English life. The two good A life's lessons. 27 housewives, Mitje and her mistress, were never weary of shrugging their shoulders at the con- temptible supply of coarse house-linen which only half-filled the huge walnut-wood presses of Hawkshill, though they would have sufficed any other family in the county for half-a- dozen generations. As to the dairy-depart- ment, the new lady of the manor blushed to be connected with a family who had turned those fertile pastures to such miserable account. Mitje's mistress, like the anointed sovereign whom Madame de Sevigne calls " cet enrage de Piince d'Ora??j/e/' was, in truth, a reformer at heart. She soon set to work in good earnest. The huckaback of the presses gave place to damask : and the parterre grew bright with the choicest tulips and hyacinths. The butter beaten under Mitje's superintendence was pronounced to be too rich for the Ilsington market ; and the dry-rubbed floors might have furnished slides to the Dutch servants de- prived of their national pastime of skaiting; 28 A life's lessons. while every deal-board in the house was pipe- clayed into the whiteness of marble. There wanted only a cricket in a bead-cage, and a quail in a wicker one, towrender the keeping- room of Mitje a complete facsimile oi a house- hold chamber in Amsterdam. Forty years passed away — forty years and more — under the sober and frugal presidency of these matter-of-fact people. At the com- mencement of the present century, Hawkshill was inhabited by another matron of the house of Van der Helde, and another Mitje ; only that the old Dutch name had become Angli- cised into Madge ; while the limitation of the patent of Baronetcy conferred on the family, converted the present proprietress into plain Mistress or Madam. But though these transitions and this lapse of time are easily glided over in print, they had not been untroubled by the pohtical storms which distracted the concluding quarter of the last century. The Netherlands and A life's lessons. 29 the Van der Heldes had both suffered. — The Stadtholder himself was eating the bitter bread of banishment at Hampton Court ; and the son of the old lady resident at Hawkshill, defending his native soil against Gallic inno- vation. — Mrs. van der Helde expired in her English home, a fev^^ weeks after learning the elevation of Louis Bonaparte to the new-fangled throne of Holland. Like most aged people — nay, like most people in those times — she regarded his Na- poleonic majesty's coronation as a final mea-* sure; and considered the nationality of her country as utterly lost. In her last interview with Jakes Zelters, a wealthy Dutch merchant, entrusted, time immemorial, with the affairs of the Van der Helde family, who was summoned from his compting-house in the Barbican to attend her death-bed, she made it her earnest request that Hawkshill should be carefully kept up, to become the residence of her son and his family, when they took refuge in 30 . A life's lessons. England from the exactions of the new dy- nasty. Till then, her trusty Madge Verhout was to remain in possession, with a suitable stipend and attendance ; and the last act of the old lady was to sign a testamentary paper, be- queathing to her faithful servant, and in re- version to her two granddaughters, Madge and Dorty, the children of a deceased son, a hand- some sum, arising from the savings of her dower; together with her extensive ward- robe, and a considerable amount of household gear. In four years' time, the new King of Hol- land abdicated in favour of an infant son, predestined to a far more elevated grade in the history of nations. But this event made as little difference to Madge, or, as she was more respectfully termed by the executor and the household, Madam Verhout, as to the venerEible lady slumbering in the family vault. The heir of Hawkshill was too good a patriot A life's lessons, 31 to desert the stormy councils and stagnant waters of the Hague ; and nothing was heard of him at Hawkshill, except through the half- yearly audit of his agent aforesaid, the careful old merchant of the Barbican ; whose visits to the decaying mansion constituted the grand event of its year. Eor these occasions only, did its chimnies smoke, and the spits and stewpans revive their ancient cunning. Though twenty years junior to her deceased lady, Madam- Verhout fully equalled her in thrift and formality ; and' the pride of her life was to return to the hands of Zelters and Co., Christmas after Christmas, half of the sum assigned by her careful mis- tress for the maintenance of Hawkshill. But the house, and Madge and Dorty, were the sufferers. — In their household labours, they were assisted only by a single servant : and were consequently compelled to work as unin- termittingly as though they were not heiresses to thousands and thousands of florins, and 32 A life's lessons. hundreds and hundreds of yards of old mech- Hn and brocade. All the better. They had no leisure to discover and descant upon the dreariness of Hawkshill, and the stinginess of their grand- mother. Such a mode of existence moulded their natures to habits of industry and pa- tience. From children, they became women, without passing through the pleasant limbo of girlhood : sober, self-denying women, whose beauty, like the flowers in the deserted garden of Hawkshill, bloomed and paled, and waned, without having delighted one human eye, or called forth a single joyful salutation. Their immurement was all but conventual. The warble of the woodlands was tlieir music ; the breath of the cows, their perfume. In the most glorious sunset, Madge and Dorty Ver- hout saw only the close of a laborious day. Sincerely attached, however, to the grandame by whom, at the death of their parents, they had been rescued from* want, the passive obe- A life's lessons. 33 dience of the sisters was no sacrifice. They would have considered it a breach of fiUal duty to disturb the even tenour of the old lady's declining years by any change tending to disunite her little household. Both had refused advantageous ofi'ers of marriage. Michael Balfour, the middle-aged son of an old Scotch baihff imported half a century before from the Lothians by the house of Zelters, and who, during his prolonged stewardship of the Hawkshill estate, had scraped together the means of creating Grid- lands farm, had been for years a suitor to Madge; while her sister was solemnly courted, per post, by a thriving Manchester draper, who had visited Hawkshill, many years before, as commercial traveller to the merchant of the Barbican. The sisters, however, were unanimous in their resolve to abide, for the remainder of her days, by their grandame. " On broide oil Von est attache'' and Hawkshill was theiir VOL, I. D 34 A life's lessons. appointed home. Year after year, with Dutch pertinacity, they renewed their original reso- lution. Even the accession of Michael Balfour to the undivided throne of Gridlands, and Hildyard's to the rule of his father's compter, failed to molHfy their firm negatives. Neither sister seemed inclined to risk the resignation of the old lady and her hoards to the charge of the other ; and they adhered to their obstinate spinsterhood, till the bloom and elasticity of youth had vanished. Their sole recreation consisted in periodical visits to old Madam Verhout's treasury ; airing the obsolete bro- cades and velvets, and passing in review the antique lace, trinkets, napery, and porcelain ; the latter being of that precious kind with which Holland, through its commerce with China and Japan, was the first to turn the brains of European dowagers. There was something in their nature sin- gularly congenial with the stillness of poor de- serted Hawkshill. They were afraid neither A life's lessons. 35 of the echoes of its grim chambers, nor of the moss-grown river-gods, and crumbling wood nymphs, sharing with them the solitude of its lonely gardens. For when at length an attack of rheumatic gout proved stronger than their poor old grandmother's determination to survive till she was able to resign the trust reposed in her into the hands of its lawful possessor, they fulfilled the promises of their troth-plight with anything but alacrity. But no proposal was made them, on the part of the trustees, to succeed to the confidential post of the deceased. Zelters and Co. appeared of opinion that the family had extracted quite enough out of Hawkshill. At nearly forty years of age therefore, Dorty and Madge Ver- hout had nothing left for it but to divide between them, according to the terms of their grandmother's will, the bequest of the late Mrs. Van der Helde; the exact amount of which was never known save to themselves, and Jakes Zelters, their trustee. 36 A life's lessons. In the course of the following year, the sisters were living at forty miles' distance from each other, yet far as the poles asunder ; — the one married to a wealthy Manchester trades- man, — the other to the sober-sided Michael Balfour of Gridlands. A life's lessons. 37 CHAPTER III. Thus much in explanation of the sedate deportment and un-childlike countenance of Nannie Balfour. Thus much in explanation of the comparative opulence and comfort per- vading Gridlands farm. The grave child was the offspring of middle-aged parents ; and the middle-aged parents were secured from all anxiety concerning the year's crops, or the fluctuations of the Ilsington corn-market, by a more than decent independence. So tranquil, indeed, and so unclouded, had been the married life of Madge Verhout, that now, at more than fifty years of age, she looked younger and far more healthful than 38 A life's lessots-s. when she quitted the stove-heated atmosphere of Hawkshill. Fresh air and free exercise had brightened her up; and though some years elapsed after her marriage before the birth of Nannie — while Mrs. Hildyard had produced a son within a year of her trans- lation to the city of towering chimneys, — -both herself and her little daughter were pictures of health ; whereas, after the birth of Elisha Hildyard, his mother declined at once into an aged woman. The difficulty of rearing the sickly boy, in- deed, might have added twenty years to those of even more robust parents. But each sister was convinced, like the owl, that her own fledgeling was the fairest bird that ever flew, and that if they survived to maturity, they would be worthy of each other ; for it had long been decided between them that their merits and fortunes were to be recon solid ated by an early marriage. Mrs. Balfour was, therefore, as little open A life's lessons. 39 to conviction as her husband, when her spiritual pastor attempted to satisfy her of the benefits Hkely to accrue to her daughter from the arrival of the new tenant of Hawyer's cottage. In her married as in her spinster life, Madge was reserved and taciturn. She listened without remonstrance to the pastor's hints concerning the gentiUty of the new- comer. Conscious that in spite of her broad dialect and tanned arms, the destinies of the little girl who was contentedly munching by their side the bread and butter, in the manu- facture of which they had both assisted, were already secured, she dreaded the innovations likely to follow the intrusion of a lady into the Dale. Poor as this Mrs. Varnham might be, it did not follow that she was humble. She might be as proud of her gentihty as the Hildyards were of their warehouse. Though respect for the Pairson, who possessed over her mind a double influence, produced by his 40 A LIFE S LESSONS. sacred calling and straightforward simplicity of character, forbad open dissent, she could not help wishing that he had been a little less free in undertaking in her name friendly offices towards the stranger. " There's too much of the Good Samaritan in my friend Michael," observed David Hurdis, ''and too womanly a heart in my friend Michael's wife, to admit of doubting that they will lend a helping hand to this poor widow." " Wait and see whether it suits her to be helped," answered Michael, not unfrequently forced by the cold silence of his wife to be- come spokesman for the family. " In my country, that is, in my fore-elders' country, the poorer the prouder." " In all countries, Satan is only too apt to sow the seed of so besetting a sin," rejoined the Pairson. "Some people are proud of their silver and gold ; some, of their right to stand at the king's right hand ; some, of A life's lessons. 41 their virtues ; some, of their knowledge ; some, of their thrift and industry." (A. sUght glance at Madge, as she was gravely re-filling the tea-pot, seemed to direct towards herself this last clause of his homily.) " But spiritual pride, or mercenary, or any other, is ahke sinful in the eyes of God. Let us hope that the new companion to whom He requires us to administer the mercies due to a fellow- creature in distress, may be so qualified by nature, as to convert the duty into a plea- sure." Mrs. Balfour felt rebuked. But this did not dispose her more kindly towards the new- comer. She almost wished herself back in the lonely old hall at Hawkshill, to escape the criticism and scorn of the new-fangled stranger, of whom it was insinuated that her language and manners might afford a better example to Nannie than those of her mother, — Her mind misgave her that the comfort of the Dale was at an end. Jealousies and heart- 42 A life's lessons. burnings would arise. Her child — even her husband — might learn to despise her own homely ways. For days and days she pon- dered over this ; till bed and board became embittered by envious mistrust. Old Martha, the hard-working servant, who had accompanied her from liawkshill, began to fear that some family calamity was impend- ing ; so peevish was the mood of her usually un excitable mistress. Having never been brought face to face with anything bearing the designation of a lady-born, saving the stately portraits adorning the cham- ber at Hawkshill, in their Kneller-like robes of satin, looped with strings of pearl, Mrs. Balfour was, perhaps, under some appprehension that the Pair son's protegee would make her ap- pearance in robes of estate, with a fan of peacocks' feathers in her hand ; for a secret visit to her own stores of superannuated finery probably purported to ascertain whether they contained any pinners, or laces, or embroidered A life's lessons. 43 aprons, not too gorgeous to be assumed, with a view to raise herself a trifle nearer the level of her rival. The provoking part of the crisis was, that not a word more did David Hurdis waste upon the matter. As to her husband, no sooner was the lease of Hawyer's cottage signed and w^itnessed, than he went his way to the fields, without seeming to know there was a widow Varnham in the world. Once, when Mrs. Balfour remarked, half interrogatively, that the Pair son would like enow go and fetch ovef from Ilsington his new parishioner, Michael removed the pipe from his mouth to answer, — " More like, the poor soul, being delicate, will come in Shuldham's gig from the Black Lion, where the Manchester day-coach puts up." " Why not borrow the mayor's charott at once ?" retorted his wife, so bitterly, that her unwonted want of charity must have been discerned even by her husband, had not his 44 A life's lessons. faculties been thoroughly engrossed by the composition of a top-dressing for a new en- closure. Next day, having dispatched Martha and the little girl to a sick woman, at the furthest end of the village, with some fruit and farm produce, she indulged herself without restraint in the petty vanity of arranging to the best advantage, in the glazed cupboard gracing the corner of her sombre parlour, the tiny cups of dragon china, strange teapots, and enamelled salt-cellars, which constituted part of her Dutch inheritance; setting her house in order, to meet the scrutiny of the super- cilious stranger. But she had accomplished this, and more : had carefully dusted the be-hieroglyphed face of her eight-day clock, and dislodged the flies and midges from an elaborate bouquet of shell-work, which bloomed in unchanging hideousness on the chimney-shelf ; yet, no Martha, no Nannie returned ! — The cleansed A life's lessons. 45 dial-plate certified the lapse of a whole hour. — Still, no Nannie ! The good mother grew anxious. — Punctu- ahty was an essential part of her life of routine; and Martha, who had obeyed her implicitly for the last thirty years, was as steady as the clock. — What could have de- layed her? — Though the searching afternoon sun of the dog-days was shining so bright upon the road, that its whiteness was dazzling, the anxious woman threw open her , house- door to peer out and see whether any trace of the truants was discernible. What she beheld served only to convert her fears into anguish. — Martha, alone y was ap- proaching, with hurried but uncertain steps ; running wildly for a few yards : then, pausing for breath. As she drew nearer, Mrs. Balfour perceived that the old woman's apron was smeared with blood ! — Where — where — was the child ! — What ter- rible accident had befallen them ! — 46 A life's lessons. " A judgment upon me," suggested the fainting heart of the terrified mother ; " a judgment for my want of charity towards a stranger in distress !" By the time the panting Martha reached the door, her mistress was nearly as breathless as herself. She could scarcely articulate the inquiry of — " Where have you left Nannie ?" "With the leddy." " The lady ?" " She's met wi' an unked accident." " My poor, poor little girl." " Na, na, mistress. The straange leddy." Mrs. Balfour receded hastily into the house. She could afford to defer the rest of Martha's story till she had hastily swallowed a cup of water. She could even afford to listen with becom- ing sympathy ; and was soon as busily em- ployed as Martha had anticipated, in sorting medicaments, and lint, and linen rollers. In spite of the heat of the day, and the weight A life's lessons. 47 of the basket on her arm, she was off to Hawyer's cottage at a pace that might have almost distanced the gig of the Black Lion ; in which she now earnestly wished that the unfortunate Mrs. Varnham had accomplished her jom-ney. For it appeared that the cart, to which she had entrusted her person and goods, had broken down, half way through the village. When Martha and the little girl ac- cidentally reached the scene of the disaster, the carter, aided by the inmates of the nearest hovel, was endeavouring to release the body of the ill-fated stranger from a huge chest under which she lay crushed and senseless. It was an unlucky moment for an accident. The Dalesmen were at work in the quarries ; — Pairson Hurdis was on his outlying round of duty ; — Michael Balfour in the fields. Not a soul to mount the coulter horse and ride off to Ilsington for the resident surgeon. Dr. Moss ; whose professional services the slender means of Middledale rarely called into request. 48 A life's lessons. All the better, perhaps, for the sufferer. Mrs. Balfour, thrown on her own resources, went composedly to work with fomentations and potations. Assisted by Martha, she installed the scarcely conscious stranger in her new habitation ; rendered more comfortable in a few hours by contributions from the Gridlands homestead, than it would have become in many weeks by the exertions of the poor gen- tlewoman. When Dr. Moss made his appearance on the morrow, it was only to pronounce that all had been done for the best, and to assure his old friend Mike Balfour's wife, that she deserved a diploma. Even Nannie, who, gravely stationed by the bedside of the suf- ferer with a cup of cowslip tea in her fubsy hands, was recognised by the Ilsington pro- fessional as the only Middledalian he had in- troduced into the world, was commended as the most helpful of nurses. The poor sufferer, whose voice had been as A life's lessons. 49 yet uplifted only in moans, beard, and was grateful. She thanked God in her heart of hearts that in the strange and uninviting spot where her destinies were appointed, she had found friends : Good Samaritans, at all events, whose charitable offices it would depend upon herself to convert into friendship. Of Mrs. Balfour, so taciturn though so careful in her attend- ance, she stood as yet a little in awe. Even the little girl waited upon her in unchildlike silence. And when, the second night, the' mother and daughter, in taking leave of her, pressed her feverish hand, and whispered that Martha would watch by her side in their place, and summon them when wanted, it was a relief to her to be alone with the old woman. Through her, she had no difficulty in procuring a permanent servant, who would render her independent of the services of Gridlands. In a few days' time Mrs. Varnham contrived, by her patient instructions to the strong-armed VOL. I. • E 50 A life's lessons. girl selected for her by Martha, to place her new abode, and the belongings which were to render it tenantable, in some sort of order. As she lay there, helpless and suffering, she managed to have her few articles of furniture decently distributed. And no sooner did the wealthy proprietress of Gridlands perceive their more than homely texture, than she took shame to herself for her preconceived envy, hatred, and uncharitableness. She even won- dered how any one, not absolutely a pauper, could have thought such a chest of drawers, such a field bed, and such a shabby tea-table, worth the cost of transport. But she was not the less favourably inclined towards her poor neighbour for this disclosure of her neediness. Above all, it grieved her to perceive how, in the intensest of her suffer- ing, the widow's chief anxiety was to dissuade those around her from sending a second time for Dr. Moss. The expense of such a luxury was evidently not to be thought of. A life's lessons. 51 No such tax upon her narrow means, how- ever, was projected. The worthy doctor, fore- seeing in the cart- traveller a very unprofitable patient, had judiciously imparted to Mrs. Bal- four the instructions indispensable to the pro- gressive treatment of the invalid : admonish- ing her that absolute repose was the chief thing needful ; that the illness of the unfortu- nate Mrs. Varnham w^ould be a long one ; and that she might, perhaps, become a cripple for life. IINIVERSIIY Oe lUNOlS LlBRARIfl 52 A life's lessons. CHAPTER IV. For once, medical prognostications proved authentic. Weeks, months, passed away, and Mrs. Varnham still lay extended on her couch. The best of the ground- floor rooms, the first into which she had been moved, was her day and night abode ; — Dinah, the strong-armed servant girl, inhabiting a chamber divided from it only by a narrow passage. The upper story was occupied by the scanty remainder of her baggage. By the time winter arrived, and fortunately for the invalid it proved a mild one, or the bitter air and discomfort of Middledale might A life's lessons. 53 have wrought upon her so as to supersede all further necessity for Dr. Moss's periodical visits, the sick room had acquired something of the air of snugness so prized by the Bal- fours, and so pecuhar to feminine jurisdiction. Small as it was, strict tidiness seemed to ex- tend its limits ; and the clean white dimity covers contributed by Gridlands, and a few choice volumes belonging to the stranger, carefully arranged upon them by Nannie, con- verted even the rickety chest of drawers into an ornament. A turf fire glowed cheerfully on the hearth ; and the kettle singing beside it added, to the subdued but unremitting vocal efforts of Dmah in the kitchen beyond, aftbrded sound and solace in the silent house. For even Nannie, so habitually quiet, walked softer, and spoke lower, the moment she entered Hawyer's Cottage. She seemed to understand that she was there only to as- suage pain, and comfort sorrow. David Hurdis, when, in his visits of spiritual conso- 54 A life's lessons. lation to his new parishioner, he noticed the devoted attendance of the little girl, could not refrain from placing his hand in benediction on her young head, in recognition of the pious charity and instinctive delicacy evinced in her conduct. But the truth was, that to Nannie, whose faculties were just then in process of active development, Mrs. Varnham was an object of more than commiseration. She was the first educated lady the girl had ever seen ; and the refinement of feature, gentleness of deport- ment, nay, the very dialect and intonation of the stranger, exercised a powerful charm over her mind. As a work of art might influence a more accomplished proficient, the manner of that gentle woman fascinated the child. Ac- customed only to the broad faces and coarse features of the Dalesfolk, the delicate linea- ments of Mrs. Varnham were to her as the face of an angel. Even such, had been mani- fested in her childish dreams of the inhabit- A life's lessons. 55 ants of a higher sphere. Just so sweetly ca- denced a voice had spoken to her fancy, when, after vainly endeavouring to follow the Pairson in his recitation of the mystic chapters of St. John, she had resigned her youthful fancy to ecstatic visions. Sometimes, when Mrs. Varnham was sleep- ing soundly, under the influence of the opiates administered to her, Nannie would gently draw aside the curtain and contemplate her attenuated face and small white hands, with all the reverence bestowed by a Catholic votary on the effigy of the Mater'Dolorosa. — She seemed too wan and wasted for a being of this world. With Nannie, this unearthly slightness passed for the result of the sufferings con- sequent on her frightful accident. A more experienced observer would have discerned that its origin was far anterior. Those hollow eyes were worn by early tears. Those slender hands had been long accustomed to clasp each 56 A LIFB^'S LESSONS. other in devout humility. But not even to David Hurdis, with whom, in consequence of their spiritual intercourse, Mrs. Varnham con- versed far more freely than with any other person in the Dale, did she ever breathe a syllable of her birth or fortunes. She seemed to date her existence from the disastrous day of coming among them. But it was scarcely possible to be more un- complaining. The cold gravity of Mrs. Balfour probably appeared to the invalid to be the result of her weary task of nursing. For the moment the good woman made her appear- ance — seldom without a gift in her hand — the sick woman endeavoured to brighten up ; to make little of her pains, and much of her gratitude ; above all, much of her thank- fulness, to Gridlands for allowing her to enjoy so much of Nannie's company. There was something as soothing as profitable to her, she said, in the presence of a child. As she grew stronger, and more capable of A life's lessons. 57 self-assistance, fearing that less of this solace might be vouchsafed by Michael Balfour and his wife, she attempted to propitiate their in- dulgence by rendering the visits of Nannie advantageous to the child as well as pleasant to herself. — Scarcely were her duffle cloak and coarse straw bonnet hung upon the pegs appropriated to them, and her snow-shoes put aside, that her little frozen feet might be made to glow beside the hearth, when some dainty piece of needle-work, already prepared for her by Mrs. Varnham, was placed in hef hands ; and while she worked on, proud and pleased, her friend read aloud to her, from pious books ; or recited ballads and poems suitable to her apprehension ; the soft pure Eno;lish accent of the reader beino; as music to ears accustomed only to the harsh guttural dialect of North Lancashire. One .day, when the Pairson had found the scholar and preceptress thus employed, Mrs. Varnham, after the departure of the child. 58 A life's lessons. let fall (in answer to David Hurdis's expres- sions of gratitude for the pains she was be- stowing on his promising favourite) an avowal of her misgivings, whether she did right in inspiring the child with tastes superior to those of her parents, — those good neighbours to whom she was so largely indebted. " I am afraid," said she, cheerfully, " that Nannie wdll not become the more zealous dairy- woman, for learning to love cross-stitch and Wordsworth." " Set your mind at ease on that score, my good lady," was the old man's reply. " Few, even of those who are born to labour, are the worse for having their thoughts exalted. But this child is born to a life of ease. The Balfours, though frugal and simple, are able to make a lady of her. Nannie Balfour is not destined to live and die at Gridlands." Mrs. Varnham was pleased. Thenceforward she felt authorised to gratify her tastes with- out injury to her little protegee. Before the A life's lessons. 59 spring arrived, — before Dr. Moss had ven- tured, at his farewell visit, to promise the invalid that before autumn, she might, perhaps, with the aid of crutches, move from one room into another, — Nannie had become a skilful embroideress ; and could repeat with discretion more hymns and verses than her mother had previously believed to exist in the English tongue. One of the circumstances which bound the child closest to her instructress, was com- passion for her utter isolation. Everybody but this new neighbour seemed endowed with family affection. She had her kind parents to love ; her parents were happy and hopeful in herself. His reverence possessed, in the Market Place at Ilsington, an unbounded treasury of grandchildren, to be cared for and prayed for. — Even Dorcas Hubbersty, the scold, was sometimes softened by the sick- nesses of her offspring; and the offspring were occasionally rewarded for submission to 60 A life's lessons. her rage by an outburst of maternal ten- derness. But the lame woman at Hawyer's Cottage seemed to have no living soul to care for. Not a letter ever reached her ; — not so much as an old newspaper or casual parcel from the market-town. The supply of money she brought with her sufficed her needs ; except on one occasion, when, at the close of Dr. Moss's attendance, a cheque arrived, through John Rawson, from the Liverpool attorneys, Mac- glashan and Thorp, to satisfy his claim. — But, from month's end to month's end, no word of kindred tenderness was addressed to the ear or eye of the cripple. The humane little girl was deeply touched by this desolation. One day, however, Mrs. Varnham, having engaged to assist her in the manufacture of a needle-book, to be presented to her mother on her birth-day, a shade of silk was wanting to complete the embroidery of a bunch of violets A LIFE S LESSONS. 61 on the green cover, which was not to be found in her workbasket. " How vexatious 1" exclaimed poor Nannie, as much disappointed as was compatible with her serene nature. " The day after to-morrow is mother's birthday, and there is no time to write to Mrs. Rawson. I did so want to get my needle-book finished. She would have been so surprised — so pleased !" — " I almost hope/' said Mrs. Varnham, smiling at her eagerness, " that there are some remnants of floss-silk in a workbox whiclf still remains in my travelling trunk. I should not like Dinah to turn over my things, Nannie. But you are so careful, that to i/ou I can entrust the key. Open the large black box in the room above, my child, and near the top, you will find a tortoiseshell case. Among the cards of silk it contains, we shall find, perhaps^ what is wanting." In a very few minutes, the little girl was again beside the easy-chair to which the cripple 62 A life's lessons. had been recently promoted, to deliver back the key, and proclaim with a beaming coun- tenance that she had brought down half-a- dozen shades of violet embroidering-silk. For a time, both were engrossed by the resumption of their task. The silks were as- sorted. The needle-book was in process of completion. " Are you aware," said Nannie, after a quarter of an hour's silent industry, "that there are two things in the workbox, besides the silks I brought down ?" Mrs. Yarnham raised her languid eyes from her work, — perhaps a little anxiously. " One is a silken bag, — so sweet,— smelling like mother's clove carnations !" — " A scent-bag !" replied Mrs. Varnham, a little amused that such an object should never have met the unsophisticated eyes of Nannie. " The other is a little wee- wee picture." Mrs. Varnham smiled no longer, but silently resumed her work. A life's lessons. 63 " Perhaps you did not wish me to see it," resumed the candid girl. " But I could not help it. — It lay, in its gold rim, open among the reels and cards." " I had no objection to your seeing it," said the invalid, in a depressed voice. "It is the portrait of my son." ''Your son ?'' exclaimed the girl, the reel of silk she was unwinding dropping from her hand. " That beautiful Httle child, with gold- coloured hair, and such a smiling, happy face, your son ?" Mrs. Varnham gently nodded assent. " But why have you never talked to us about him ? — Why did you never say you had a little boy? — Perhaps, dear Mrs. Varnham, perhaps he is no longer alive ?" — There was some warranty for the supposi- tion, for the widow's tears were by this time slowly dropping upon her work. " No, Nannie ! — I have not lost him. God be praised, Maurice is alive and well ; though 04 A LIFE S LESSONS. no longer the little golden-haired babe repre- sented in that miniature." " But why don't he live with you ? — Why do you never mention him ?" — persisted the little girl, whose interest in the subject a little exceeded her discretion . " Maurice lives with a near relative of mine, who is more able to support him than I am ; — a relative who can bestow upon him what is better than silver or gold — a first-rate edu- cation.'' " Still, no relative can be like a mother," remonstrated Nannie. And the tears came into her own eyes, at the thought that this lonely widow — this self-denying wo- man — had renounced the companionship of her beautiful boy, for Ms benefit and ad- vantage. " I am very poor, Nannie," said Mrs. Varnham, replying as it were to her thoughts. " It would not have been fair to Maurice to make him share my hardships. A life's lessons. 65 when comfort and cultivation awaited him elsewhere." " / would rather live with my parents, were they ever so poor," said the little girl. " I should hate to be enjoying myself at a dis- tance, if they w^ere pining and miserable at home." " Maurice had no choice in the matter. I parted with him many years ago. That neither of us may feel our separation, it is thought better that we should rarely meet," said the invalid, in a more depressed voice. " Thought letter''' — Nannie was beginning ; but apparently Mrs. Varnham had said as much as her feelings would allow. " It is a painful subject. Let us drop it, Nan- nie," she interposed, as if to check all further questions. "- Some day or other, perhaps, you will make acquaintance with Maurice. He is to pay me a visit in the course of the summer." Lucky that the visit was so appointed. For VOL. I. F 66 A life's lessons. to Mrs. Varnham transpired, shortly afterwards, the information which the kind-hearted pastor and Balfours had been slow to communicate, that, early in the autumn, Nannie, in pursu- ance with the long-formed projects of the family, was to migrate to Manchester for the completion, or rather commencement of her education. But though grieved at the pros- pect of losing her little friend, Mrs. Varnham was too wise not to perceive that something more than the habits and companionships of Middledale was essential to one whose pros- pects were so promising. She refrained, how- ever, from discussing the subject with the future heiress of Gridlands ; because, on the only occasion on which it had been referred to, Nannie's tears burst forth, accompanied by an avowal of dislike to aunt Dorty, and disgust to the noisome city she inhabited. On the other hand, Nannie carefully abstained from all allusion to the golden-haired Maurice. Her friend having admitted the subject to be A life's lessons. 67 painful, it was not for her to re-open a half- closed wound. It was not, however, without some mental re- ference to the pretty little fellow, who, previous to her departure from the Dale, was likely to disport himself beside the strip of flower- border constituting the garden of liawyer's Cottage, that Nannie fulfilled a last service to her friend by digging, and hoeing, and plant- ing, and sowing it, to the best of her pigmy powers. The voice of the beck which, at the first melting of the snows, had echoed as up- roariously as that of a giant in his wrath, was becoming daily milder and milder. The waters were subsiding to their summer level. June, with its buttercups and daisies, was at hand ; and the patches of furze on the hill-side were already wearing their brilliant golden livery. Mrs. Balfour, a little graver than usual, was preparing soHd school attire for her little daughter ; and had even commissioned Mrs. Rawson to make a few choice purchases at r 2 68 A life's lessons. Ilsingtou, in order that her child might appear with credit among the wealthy Hildyards. Michael was occasionally known to indulge in a second pipe, when some unguarded observa- tion on the part of the Pairson reminded him that his darling was to be shortly removed from his nightly blessing. The whole family was too much absorbed in its domestic interests, to take other heed of Hawyer's Cottage than that its commissariat should be liberally suppHed. They were consequently a little startled when Nannie, on returning from her lessons, one afternoon, with an unusual bloom upon her cheek and a wondering expression in her eyes, announced that " Maurice was come." " What Maurice ?" The name said nothing to them. " Neighbour Varnham's little boy ?" in- quired her father. "He is no longer a little boy." said the child of twelve years old, gravely. " Maurice is fifteen." 69 " Eh ! who would have thought it !" was the general exclamation — " and the mother still so young !" And Nannie had hardly patience with the curiosity they began to display in discussing her age : their interest in the new- comer being wholly secondary to their regard for the poor cripple. Not that she was desirous to be questioned about Maurice. Her expectations had been grievously disappointed. The golden -haired angel had progressed into an uncouth, sullen- faced lad ; ill at ease with her, with his mother, with himself. *' Maurice has grown so shy," was Mrs. Varnham's whispered apology for his ungra- ciousness, when he all but refused to give his hand to his new acquaintance. Nannie went to bed, that night, baffled in the first illusion of her life. She no longer pitied the poor cripple for being allowed to see so little of her son. 70 A life's lessons. CHAPTER V. Youth and summer weather are powerful sweeteners of ill-blood. — After ranging for six weeks the breezy downs of Middledale, im- bibing wholesome aliments, sleeping soundly by night, and, in the daytime, following Michael Balfour to the fields or old David botanising over the Moor, Maurice, who had arrived attenuated by the diet and discipline of a strict Catholic College, became more healthful in frame and temper. So altered was he, in fact, in the latter par- ticular, that little Nannie had more than once ventured to joke with him on the savage man- ner in which he repelled her first advances. A life's lessons. 71 " You're quite right/' was his frank reply. ** I did hate you. If I could, I would have turned you out of the house." " Eate me !— But why ?" " I could not help it. It was my mother's fault. Almost before I crossed her threshold, she began talking of you. Instead of seem- ing glad to see me — me, from whom she has been parted for seven years, she began parad- ing about ' Nannie :' — all you were, and all you had done for her." " She might not like you to see, perhaps, how much she was affected at seeing you again." " Is there anything to be ashamed of, then, in loving her son ?" " God forbid ! But she often talks to me of the duty of submission to the will of Pro- vidence ; and as it seems you are fated to live asunder, she may think it right to avoid all show of fondness likely to increase the pain of separation. — She considers it wicked to cherish grievances." 72 A life's lessons. Maurice replied by a jest upon Nannie's genius as a preacher. " Why send you to school among the cotton-spinners?" said he. " Better bring you up here at home, by way of idol to my poor mother, and successor to old father Hurdis/' The word " father," applied to David Hurdis, recalled to the mind of Nannie what she always endeavoured to forget, that Maurice was a Papist. The difference of faith between him and his mother, seemed, indeed, almost to account for the mysterious distance esta- blished between them. Even in his most expansive moments, even when they were despoiling together the strawberry-beds at Gridlands, or plovers' nests on the Moor, Maurice scrupulously avoided all allusion to his bringing up. From Mrs. Varnham, Nannie knew that her son was reared in the Jesuits' College at St. Gideon's, one of the severest of Catholic seminaries ; and that his moroseness, on his first arrival, was mainly attributable to A life's lessons. 73 the austerity of its discipline. But when the little girl alluded, in conversation with himself, to his religious faith, and the relative by whom it was inculcated, his answer was — " Sufficient unto the day be its evils : — I have enough to put up with elsewhere. Here, at least, let me be happy.'' When the day arrived for his return to St. Gideon's, something nearly akin to tears moist- ened his eyes when he arrived at Gridlands to take leave of the Balfours, their daughter, and their strawberry-beds. ' " I never felt so much before," said he to his young playmate, *^ at parting from my mother. Perhaps because she has been kinder to me than she used to be. Perhaps, Nannie, because I feel that, now you are going away from Middledale, she will have many a lonely hour, and feel the want of us both." She did feel it, poor woman, sorely and sadly. — But when, some weeks after parting from Maurice, the little girl, escorted by her 74 A life's lessons. father, took her departure from Manchester, instead of being left alone, as she anticipated, Mrs. Balfour herself became almost an inmate of Hawyer's Cottage, where she was sure of an ear into which to pour, unchecked, her yearnings after her child. Though David Hurdis reproved their sorrow as a trivial grief —•the result of inordinate affection — the two mothers wept together that the voices they so dearly loved were no longer heard in the Dale. Not all the handsome gifts brought back by Michael from her sister Dorty, on his re- turn from Manchester, compensated his poor wife that he brought not back her child. But she had hundreds of questions to ask con- cerning the opinion entertained by the Hild- yards of their future daughter-in-law; and Nannie's opinion of the school to which she was already consigned. " Vm thinking she likes its large gardens and the half-hundred playmates I saw running about in them, far better than that duD, dark. A life's lessons. 75 dusty parlour at aunt Dorty's," was Michaers reply. " Not a breath of air allowed to enter the house. Since Hildyard's death, your sister seems to have been growing sicklier and silenter every day. Nannie and I could scarce abide the stuffiness of the place, after our out- door life at Gridlands." "AndElisha?" Michael was silent. But his wife persisted. " I don't care to say nothen' again' the lad," mumbled he. " But, between ourselves, he's a pity to look at. There's not as much life and breath 'twixt him and Dorty, as go to the making of any other single mortal." " Poor souls !" " And then your sister's coddling makes matters worse. So far from living to be a husband to Nannie, depend on't, poor Ely will never find his way out of his teens. Our girl seems quite out of sorts at her cousin's peaky face and piny voice. And no wonder, after seeing that spirity chap of neighbour 76 A life's lessons. Varnliam's, his younger by a year, gallop my colts over the downs, or walk to Ilsington and back on an errand ; while Ely Hildyard makes much ado to hobble across his mother's par- lour." He said little more on the subject ; for the tears of his wife were already falling. Her heart, softened by the loss of her daughter, could not contemplate without emotion what would be her sister's grief if bereaved by death of her son. Even Michael, however, was not half aw^are of Nannie's repugnance to the cold formality of the Hildyards' estabhshment, and the dry, dusty atmosphere of the house. Though apart from the warehouse, the effluvium of wool- len so pervaded the place as to disgust a person habituated to the pure air of the hills. Her recent experience, too, of the prepossess- ing manners and refined tastes of Mrs. Varn- ham, placed the narrow views and severe de- A life's lessons. 77 portment of aunt Dorty in unfavourable relief : and before her father quitted Manchester, Nannie had influenced his decision that her studies must not be too frequently interrupted by visits to the Hildyards. " The faster I get on in my lessons, father, the sooner I shall be home again at Grid- lands," was an argument which she foresaw would be all-convincing. At Middledale, meanwhile, she was sorely missed. Something of the phlegmatic blood of her race prevented on the part of her mo- ther any strong demonstration ; and Michael, always a man of few words, was growing taciturn from the effect of deafness and age. But to neighbour Varnham, the loss of her engaging pupil was irreparable ; and with the good pastor, she often indulged in lamen- tations over the absence of Nannie, which seemed a greater grievance to her than even that of her son. Nannie, the youngest, and most hopeful native of the Dale, had imparted 78 A life's lessons. a sort of counter-charm to the roughness of the place. Although the time thrown upon the hands of the poor cripple by her departure, was in- dustriously devoted to the fine works they had practised together, the sale of which she found means to effect at Ilsington, through the hands of the Pairson's daughter, the hours of that dreary winter seemed twice as long as those of the preceding one. Ear heavier would they have hung upon her hands could she have foreseen that, for more than three years to come, she was to look no more on the pleasant little face so dear to her ; or note by gradual perception how the slow gait and provincial accent she had contracted in Middledale were giving way under the influence of civiHsed companionship. Twice was Mrs. Varnham visited by her son, ere she again beheld Nannie Balfour. In the tall, well-mannered, well-spoken girl of sixteen, whom, after so much tedious expect- A life's lessons. 79 ation, she at length held in her arms, she would have scarcely recognised the little pea- sant girl who had so assiduously nursed her during her illness, but for the reproachful tears that sprung into the eyes of Nannie on finding herself accosted as " Miss Balfour." The reason of this long exile was, that the summer vacations originally purposed to be spent at Gridlands, were passed with her mo- ther and the Hildyards at Rampside, or Black- pool, for the benefit of sea-bathing for her invahd cousin; while every Christmas, by* previous agreement, the Balfours repaired to Manchester, to enjoy such festivities as were compatible with the infirm condition of the inert Dorty. "And Maurice?" inquired Nannie of the dear friend beside whose armchair she at once took possession of the wooden footstool, her favourite seat of former days. " I saw, as I entered the porch, that the pinks and sweet- briars are coming into bloom which we planted so A life's lessons. together ; and I can hear from hence Dinahs' croon in the kitchen, which he used to com- pare to the drone of a bee. — Bat where is keF You wrote me word last Easter, that he would be here in the course of the summer." " My son's movements, darling, depend on the will of others. Maurice is now nineteen. He is about to quit college." " And to become what ?" "That, again, depends upon those who have provided his education. They wish him to enter the law. My son, I fear, incHnes to an appointment in India." " So far from his mother ?" protested Nannie, who had learned, in exile from home, the value of a mother's fondness. " He is far from the master of his desti- nies," answered Mrs. Varnham. " Maurice has to consult wind and compass ere he steers for port. But let us rather talk of yourself, Nannie. What have vou been learning since we parted, besides the French and German I A life's lessons. 81 recommended? — And how did you reconcile yourself to Manchester?" "To own the truth, when first I visited that cheerless old house of my aunt's," was the frank reply, "all I saw or heard struck a chill into my heart. The cross old woman — the sick boy — the wooden servants — the stag- nant atmosphere, — all went against me. What I really wanted, no doubt, was to get home again to Gridlands and Hawyer's Cottage. But when I came to see more of them, dear Mrs. Varnham, I compared poor Ely's patience with yours. His brave endurance of pain — his endeavours to lessen the burthen which his helplessness imposed on those around him — his cheerfulness in every interval of suf- fering — his ready kindness to myself — all re- minded me of the friend I had left behind." The poor cripple interrupted the little en- thusiast by a silent embrace. " By degrees, I grew in charity with even the sour face of aunt Dorty, and the prim VOL. I. G 82 A life's lessons. formality of the old servants — so different from the open-heartedness of Martha and Dinah. For I found that their sadness pro- ceeded from intense sympathy with the suffer- ings of the child of the house ; whom they had seen born, and whom they yearly, monthly, weekly, expected to see laid in the grave. At last, mammy Varnham, I found myself watching him, and hanging upon his looks, as they did. The habit of attending you in your illness had perhaps instructed me in the ways of invalids. At all events, I talked more softly, and read to him better, than the rest of them. And so he began to value my com- pany, and at last to love me so dearly, that I could not but love him in return." At that moment, Mrs. Varnham, though, unknown to herself, she had seen visions, and dreamed dreams concerning the eventual des- tinies of Nannie Balfour, far remote indeed from the obscurity of Manchester trade, was sincere in her wish that Providence might A LIFE S LESSONS. 83 prosper this warm and natural affection, by the restoration to health of poor Elisha Hild- yard. Her next question, in a more modified tone than the previous one, regarded the personal appearance of the invaUd, " Was he de- formed ? Was his countenance pleasing ?" " Not deformed, but too feeble for the slightest fatigue. His spine was once sup- posed to be affected, and a recumbent position prescribed by his physician. As to his face, it is that of an angel. I have seen you, dear mammy Varnham, when lying asleep after your accident, look just hke poor Ely. But when listening to reading — to poetry — to the Bible — his eyes light up, and his looks are those of a saint in some beautiful picture." " No further hope for Maurice 1" was Mrs. Varnham's mental comment on ail this out- pouring of enthusiasm. But she reconciled herself a little to the fall of her house of cards, by recalling to mind that her son, who was G 2 84 A life's lessons. now a fine-grown handsome youth of nineteen, had exclaimed, when, in the course of his visit the preceding summer, she remotely hinted her wishes — "/ marry the daughter of a Middledale clod ? I marry a Protestant ? If such be your views for me, mother, why sa- crifice my childhood and boyhood, or mar- tyrise your own heart, to promote my worldly welfare ?" — A life's lessons. 85 CHAPTER VI. Meanwhile, the return of Nannie Balfour to Middledale was hailed as a general joy. Young and old came to admire how miracu- lously the homely child had been transformed into a " Httle lady." — But no one grudged her growth or gentle breeding ; for, from partial David Hurdis down to the strong-armed Dinah, high and low admitted that her heart was un- changed, and her nature warm, truthful, and charitable as ever. The old folks of Gridlands felt how hard it would be to them to part from her again, at the close of her month's hoHdays. But in the interim, not a moment of Nannie's com- R6 A life's lessons. pany must be lost. A pony and side-saddle were purchased by the old farmer, that his girl might become the companion of his moorland expeditions : and some especial festivity was projected for her birthday, the twenty-third of July, which, even among the Hildyards, had been kept as a day apart in the calendar. — An expedition to Hawkshill was planned. A fish- ing-party, to include David Hurdis and the Rawsons, toa mountain tarn, half-way between Middledale and Ilsington, was projected. But both these schemes were abandoned, when Nannie proposed a regale to the inhabitants of the village, now amounting to nearly five score, to be given in one of her father's meadows. The thrifty housewife of Gridlands was a little inclined to fore-reckon the outlay of such an undertaking. But Michael over- ruled all. — The resources of his farm would supply the greater part of the feast. Every- body, yes, everybody should be satisfied on the happy day that gave thenx Nannie for their child- A life's lessons. 87 Happy they whose family rejoicings occur in the summer season, when sunshine and soft breezes are unbidden guests ! In that fra- grant West Croft Meadow, from which the hay had just been cut, and skirting the lower extremity of which the beck went dancing, as clear as crystal, over its stony bed, though the tables and benches set out were of the roughest deal, and though the beechen platters and pewter flaggons provided would have shocked the refined perceptions of court or city, the blue sky overhead afforded a canopy to the banquet, and the pure air around an atmo- sphere, which more gorgeous entertainers might vainly endeavour to furnish. . From the neighbouring Dales, there assem- bled many spectators ; and each of the httle adjoining farms sent its tribute of flowers or mead. From Middledale to Ilsington, Nannie Balfour's birthday was the theme of village gossip for many days beforehand. On the last market-day, Mrs. Rawson had been seen 88 A life's lessons. providing largely for the event ; and, thanks to her and others, the Rose of Gridlands was already vrhispered about, among the young Dalesmen, as the richest heiress of the country. " As yet, there's no pride in her," was the general comment, when, flushed with delight at the success of her undertaking, Nannie, with her large straw hat flung aside, and her cheeks glowing with excitement, assisted the old people to gather up the fragments of their mea], that each poor household might make merry on the morrow. As she busied herself among them, — ^her flowing white mushn con- trasting with their linsey-woolsey gowns and coats of frieze, — her dress (as poor Hood sings) seemed wove of lily leaves. It was so pure and fine ! Independent of the true beneficence of her nature, Nannie had a motive for forwarding the dispersion of the Dalesfolk. She was in haste io convey to Hawyer's Cottage a basket A life's lessons. 89 of choice fruit, selected from the rest, as an offering to dear mammy Varnham. She would not hear of even David Hurdis to assist her. " No one must accompany her. She wanted no help. She wanted only to go and embrace her dear old friend." Nannie was aware how little the poor cripple liked to be intruded on. Though gratitude opened her door to the Balfours, and reverence to the Pastor, she was as reserved as ever in her habits, and as sad in countenance and de- portment. Whatever sorrows she had brought with her to the Dale, remained undiminished. Though incessant industry and skill secured her unprecedented profits, no semblance of prosperity brightened the cottage. Her mourn- ing dress was humble as ever. Not a single object, either for comfort or ornament, was added to her plenishing. It was only while conversing with Nannie that she was known to relax from her despondency. On the present occasion, the happy girl 90 A life's lessons. entered the cottage with a lighter step and brighter countenance than usual. She had so much to tell of the little incidents which had enlivened her birthday feast ! She had such beautiful fruit to offer to the invaUd, to whom it was the only acceptable luxury. — In a mo- ment, she was kneeling on her favourite stool, at Mrs. Varnham's feet ; sharing with her the beautiful nosegay of jessamine from her waist- belt ; her mother's unfailing gift on her birth- day, gathered from the self-same tree which, on the day of her birth, imparted its fragrance to her cradle. A fond embrace from the grateful cripple recognised her kindness ; and Nannie was pro- ceeding to open her budget of village news, when a slight rustle caused her to turn her head. Yes, — a third person was in the room. In the window-seat, overshaded by the cHmb- ing plants trained over the window, sat a young man, whose face was nearly as much overshadowed by heavy curls, as the retreat A life's lessons. 91 he had chosen by verdure. — Half-puzzled, — half-pleased, — Nannie was beginning to pro- nounce the name of Maurice, when Mrs. Yarn ham almost reproachfully exclaimed — " Surely, surely, you have not forgotten my son ?" " He seems to have forgotten mCy^ was Nannie's rejoinder, — hastening towards him with an extended hand. Eor still he made no attempt to rise, or accost her. " Scarcely, I think," added Mrs. Varnham, "or he would not have exerted himself to overcome a thousand difficulties, in order to be at Middledale on Nannie's birthday." " Bid you remember the day ? — Hcwe you come from afar that you might be with us ?" cried Nannie, her eyes beaming with pleasure, and still more eagerly extending her hand to- wards the ungracious being so slow to profit by her greeting. But though forced to take her proffered hand, he neither moved nor ad- dressed her. 92 A LIFE S LESSONS. *' If it were any one but you, Maurice," said she, — no longer the shy girl overawed by his fits of ill-humour, — "I should feel hurt at your incivility. But from you, such conduct pleases me. Just so you treated me on our first acquaintance ; and you have since often told me that your behaviour arose from jealousy of dear mammy Varnham's afi'ection. You repented, then, Maurice, of your own accord. Take care that I don't make you repent now, whether you will or no." This unexpected challenge was followed by a hearty shake-hands. " I repent already," said he. — '' I own I felt a little affronted, that I was not invited to your feast." " But how could I foresee your coming ? I can scarcely believe, now, that you remem- bered my birthday." " Here is the proof of it," replied Maurice, emerging from the window-seat, and seating himself between his mother and her pupil. — A life's lessons. 93 And drawing a paper from his pocket-book, inscribed " July 23," he exhibited a sprig of jessamine, dry and colourless, — a pledge of friendship exchanged between them four years before. Was not this more flattering than the most gorgeous birthday gift ? . And can it be doubted that Nannie Balfour, happy before, was now happier than ever ? — To possess such troops of friends as, throughout that day, had saluted her with good wishes ! — To possess such parents as, at its dawn, had prospered her with blessings — two such idolators as, at its close, hung on every look and every word she let fall, — was indeed to be favoured of Heaven ! *'I am going away, soon, Maurice," said she. "But no matter. — We have a week's happiness before us. — I can ride with you and my father now. We have a fishing-party — to Houston Tarn — in prospect ; and on Thursday,*we are all going to Hawkshill, in- 94 A LIFE S LESSONS. vited by old Mr. Zelters, who is staying there for his annual audit." — Even the churhsh Maurice could not with- stand this hearty welcome. Though there was something in his nature, both inherent and acquired, that recoiled from the expansive frankness of Nannie's, the charm of her beauty and of her friendliness proved too much for even his mistrust. They were soon talking together as sociably as though they had never parted ; nor had the poor cripple enjoyed an hour of such perfect happiness since they were last united in that room. On Nannie's return home to the supper-table of her parents, it struck her that they were far less exhilarated than herself, by Maurice's return. They seemed to think that her own visits being so rare, an annual advent was too great a concession from neighbour Varnham's son. " Yes ; the lad could be of their fishing- party, certainly," was Michael's cold obser- vation, before they parted for the night. A L1FE*S LESSONS. 95 " David Hurdis had, perhaps, a spare rod for him ; and the lake-trout were abundant at Houston. But as to Hawkshill, that was out of the question. He and his wife and daughter went by special invitation from Mr. Zelters, who was to send his chaise to fetch them. But to take a stranger would be a liberty. To take a stranger was out of the question." Nannie was disappointed. Conscious of the susceptible temper of Maurice, she foresaw that he would resent the withdrawal of her unguarded proposal. The task of explanation appalled her. She would trust to chance to enhghten him in the course of their expedition to Houston. If nothing occurred there to forward his views, his mother must mediate between them. When the day arrived, she felt that even Maurice must be in a practicable temper. The weather was so propitious ; — soft, misty, with the blue sky visible through hovering clouds, like a fair face through a veil. — The 96 A life's lessons. Houston hills were clothed with purple heather ; and the deep solitude of the place was undisturbed, save by the hum of the wild bees, or the shrill cry of the field-cricket. Michaers cart, which at an earlier hour had conveyed as near the spot as the mountain- track would allow, provisions and implements for the sportsmen, was happily arrived. The old mare stood unharnessed, cropping the young shoots of the heather and whortle- berries, when the Gridlands party reached the spot : — Michael Balfour and his daughter on their mountain-ponies ; the Pastor, his son-in- law, and Maurice, making their way sturdily on foot. They were soon scattered round the tarn, embedded like a mirror amidst the heather. Old David, who had undertaken, according to the most approved precepts of Izaak Walton, the education of his friend's daughter, was forced now and then to remind her that silence was essential to her success. For 97 Maurice, who stood near her, better pleased to supply her with bait than join in the sport, was continually tempting her into talk, by exclamations concerning the beauty of the day, the rich tincture of the hills, or the glassy stillness of the water. " There was something holy," he observed, " in such profound solitude." " The reason, I suppose," rejoined Nannie, " that the saints of the olden time estab- lished their hermitages in the most inacces- sible places." " Ay, in the olden time," was his answer. " But what can be more selfish or cowardly than such self- seclusion ? This lake reflects the sky in all its purity, because it is inanimate and powerless. But in civilised ages, man should work out his salvation by active virtues, and exalted thoughts and deeds." "Every one is not called upon to act and struggle," rejoined Nannie. " I know those who are as godly as saints, yet lead VOL. I. H 98 A life's lessons. a life almost as tranquil as the Houston waters." David Hurdis, secretly of opinion that his young companions were talking out of their depth, rebuked their prattling. " How did they expect the fish to bite amidst all that chatter !" "Don't be angry," replied Nannie, gaily. ''Don't be afraid that I was going to cite St. David of the Dale as my patron saint — though, perhaps, I might have done so, had you stood on the other side of the tarn beside my father. The person I was thinking of," said she, turning towards Maurice, " was my cousin Ely." '' Well, well, — I'll allow you to call him a saint," interrupted the Pairson, whose dis- pleasure was somewhat modified at that moment by the sight of a splendid lake-trout which he had drawn out of the water. '' Think as highly as you will of Ely Hildyard, Nannie ; — and God grant that you may main- A LIFE S LESSONS. 99 tain the feeling, lass, long after you've become man and wife." If Nannie Balfour experienced any con- fusion at this abrupt allusion to her troth- phght, it was concealed under the exultation with which she immediately began to examine the trout that lay leaping on the grassy margin of the tarn. — But from that moment, the hilarity of Maurice was at an end. He took no further part in their sports, and did little honour to the good cheer provided for them by that liberal housewife, Mrs. Balfour. Nannie saw that he was thoroughly out of humour. It was no moment for her proposed explanations concerning Hawkshill. Luckily, explanations were not required. As she was remounting her pony for her ride homeward, across the moors, Maurice took occasion to inform her that he was to spend with the Rawsons the day appointed for their Hawkshill visit. There was an TT 2 100 A life's lessons. ancient font in Ilsington church, of wliich he was desirous to make a sketch. '' So much the better/' muttered David Hurdis, as soon as Maurice had stridden out of sight. " I don't Hke to hear you arguing with that young papist, Nannie. I never look at his dark handsome face without fancy- ing that he and his mother resemble Ishmael and Hagar. But crocodiles lay only crocodiles' eggs. Poison from the Jesuits' College, my lass, might reach you at second-hand through his lips." The voice of Michael, calling loudly on his daughter to be off, as the evening was closing and a cold dew rising, put an end to the controversy. Away she cantered after him, reflecting, as they crossed the solitary moor, far less on the animosities of rival churches, than on the difficulty of dealing with a temper so susceptible as that of Maurice. A life's lessons. 101 CHAPTER VIL Though two days only elapsed between the expedition to Houston Tarn and the visit to Hawkshill, the weather, after the fashion of our English climate, had changed so suddenly, that it might have been accused of sharing the wayward nature of neighbour Varnham's son. The skies frowned quite as morosely as Maurice, and the gusts that occasionally scattered the clouds, were quite as cutting. Even Nannie, usually so defiant of weather, admitted herself grateful to Mr. Zelters for having provided his Gridlands' friends with a close conveyance. On arriving at the old mansion, however, she felt that it would have been still kinder 102 A life's lessons. had he dispensed with their company. Eevv people in North Lancashire think of lighting fires at the clos#of July — the harvest-time of more favoured counties : — and the chambers in which their venerable host received them, rarely aired or opened, felt as chill as a vault. After dinner, Mrs. Balfour, v^ho had not visited Hawkshill since Nannie's absence from home discouraged her from every sort of exertion, on finding her husband and his host engaged in the discussion of agricultural business, — the price of yearlings and short-horns, and merits of a patent reaping-machine, — proposed to her daughter a ramble through the old house. As the atmosphere of its closely- shuttered chambers was still more chill and stagnant than that of the dining-room they were leaving, Nannie was not surprised to see her mother, who had been long ailing, shiver and turn pale as she traversed the dreary hall. Still, with a degree of Dutch perseverance A life's lessons. 103 which Michael Balfour occasionally allowed himself to call obstinacy, she persisted in her tour of inspection ; explaining to Nannie all she had so often heard before concerning the pictures and carvings; the grandeur of the Van der lielde family, and the degree in which its present representative was descended from old Sir Jacob. Her daughter, meanwhile, considerably en- lightened by study and travel, since last she visited the spot, would not vex her mother by hinting her secret opinion that the hideous ol3 structure resembled some obsolete hospital, with nothing but extent to recommend it. More than ever, however, was she out of conceit with Hawkshill, on finding, as they returned homewards, that the hoarseness of which her mother had previously complained, was seriously increased by the exhalations of its stagnant canals, and damp of its uninha- bited chambers. Next day, Mrs. Balfour was suffering se- 104 A life's lessons. verely from sore throat. On the one follow- ing, even Dr. Moss admitted that she was in danger, and spent the night at Gridlands. — On the third, she was a corpse. Before the close of the week which commenced with her careful contributions to the enjoyment of the Houston party, she was laid in the grave ! Deeply compassionating the grief of the suddenly-bereaved family, Mr. Zelters pro- posed, on his own responsibility, to open the vault at Hawkshill, and place her by the side of the faithful Mitje Verhout. But her hus- band would not hear of it. — "The green grave-yard at Middledale was best for them both. His poor missus should lie within reach of those who loved and respected her ; and Pairson Hurdis pronounce the last fiat of ' Dust to dust.'"— This terrible blow fell heavy indeed upon her child. — It was the first time Nannie had beheld the dying or the dead ; and she was appalled as well as afflicted. Her own health A life's lessons. ]05 suffered acutely ; so much so, indeed, that poor old Martha, herself half out of her wits, could not be persuaded but that her young mis- tress would follow her old one into the grave. Even Dr. Moss failed to convince the faithful woman that bronchitis was not an infectious disorder. On the old farmer,' the loss of his wife pro- duced the effect usual with persons of advanced age and limited capacity. On the morrow of the funeral, he resumed his daily habits ; went the round of his farm, and saw his stock at- tended to. In the evening, he took his cus- tomary pipe under the lime-trees ; and when his good friend David arrived, prepared to exhort him to resignation, welcomed hira with- out an allusion to their common loss. But in the course of a week, though not a murmur had escaped his lips, so that those about him fancied him almost unconscious of the change, it was perceived that his frame had wasted and his head whitened. He had 106 A life's lessons. scarcely slept — his appetite was failing. — Half his existence was wanting. He could scarcely have explained his feel- ings : but they were such as, at his age, must speedily sink him into the grave. Michael had, however, lived his appointed time, and already overpassed the allotted age of man. It was for Nannie's affliction that Ilsington and Middledale were chiefly concerned. Long ere the farmer had announced his plans, or the afflicted girl acquiesced in them, it was settled among their neighbours that, half-educated or whole, she must not be again parted from hep father. So thoroughly absorbed, however, was Nannie in her grief, that she gave little heed to questions of time or place. A great void was around her ; the craving after a sympathy never sufficiently valued till it was missed. Above all, there were unavowed feelings of remorse — remorse of the heart, not of the mind -—that she had lavished on a stranger senti- A life's lessons. 107 merits of honour and affection due only to her mother. When it was signified to her by David Hurdis that it had become her duty, even young as she was, to preside over her father's household, that, during his lifetime, she must abide by his side, if not pleased, she was con- tent. The grave of the newly dead bound her more closely than ever to Middled ale. From all thought of Mrs. Varnham or her son, she turned at that moment with dislike ; as persons for whose sake she had neglected her excellent mother. Old Martha, indeed, enumerated " Neighbour Varnham's lad" as one of those whose respectful sorrow was remarkable at the funeral of her mistress. But the few lines of condolence addressed to her by his mother, still lay disregarded. The letters of Ely Hildyard had been perused and re-perused ; for they breathed the very soul of pious sympathy in her loss. There are mo- ments, too, when the force of kindred blood is 108 A life's lessons. deeply felt. The condolences of Hawyer's Cot- tage were, after all, the words of the stranger. Yet, none could have entered more deeply into the state of her feelings at that trying time than the poor cripple ; guilty as she was of lapses of filial duty greater, far greater, than the one for which Nannie felt self-rebuked. One evening, a week after the worthy ma- tron of Gridlands had been consigned to the grave, old Martha took upon herself to force rather than persuade her young mistress out of that dispiriting house into the open air. A soft harvest moon was rising brightly over the garden, as if to create a double day. Michael had been beguiled, for the first time, by David Hurdis into a ramble over the Moor ; and Nannie, pale, feeble, and tear- worn, suffered herself to be led to the bench under the lime-trees, usually occupied by the two old friends. But, though she soon dismissed the old woman to her evening duties, Nannie was not A life's lessons. 109 fated to be alone. Ere she had half recovered the shock invariably conveyed by the fresh air and first aspect of nature after sickness or sorrovir, two persons approached her from the house ; two persons, whose intermingled out- line caused her heart to beat oppressively ; for it was that of Maurice, bearing his mother in his arms. The poor cripple, so long a prisoner within her own threshold, had slowly and pain- fully accomplished, on crutches, the distance between Hawyer's Cottage and Gridlands. And now, her son having borne her care- fully through the house, placed her gently on the bench beside Nannie, and then, without a word, withdrew. — After thanking old Martha, as warmly as his nature would admit, for having enabled his mother to obtain access to her young mistress, Maurice hurried off to pass the interval of their interview, wandering beside the beck, whose waters reflected by a thousand sparkling and refreshing ripples, the brightness of that auspicious moon. 110 A life's lessons. What passed at that interview between the two so deeply afflicted, is of too solemn — too tender a nature — to be confided to the trivial pages of a novel. Suffice it, that Nannie's heart was softened to more than its former pre- dilections ; and the former interchange of feel- ing between them was speedily renewed. Old Michael rejoiced at anything that tended to restore his daughter to a more healthful state of body and mind ; and, by degrees, Maurice became re-admitted to their company. He had still some weeks to sojourn at Middledale. During that time, he was to make his election between the study of the law and a cadetship in the East India Company's service. Yet not to any human being in Middledale did the reserved youth, either at that moment or any other, communicate a single particular of his pedigree or prospects. He had not much encouragement. The Pairson, so hu- mane and indulgent, though he preached the Christian doctrines in their primal inculca- A life's lessons. Ill tion of charity to all mankind, could not altogether overcome his aversion to a Papist, the pupil of Jesuits ; and David was the only person in the hamlet possessing strength of mind to have wrestled with the Ishmael whom he loathed. Maurice, meanwhile, continued to idle away his days under the autumnal sunshine ; con- versing with the fair young mourner of Grid- lands under the lime-trees, or reading aloud to her and his mother as they sat at work. Or from his morning rambles over the Moorlands, he brought back wild flowers new to even her searching eye; or mosses and lichens from the crags on the mountain side. Her gentle thanks, and the smiles that by degrees bright- ened her depressed countenance, afforded suf- ficient happiness to his day. For elsewhere, Maurice was a bankrupt in human affection ; and he was beginning to look forward with terror to the day of his departure, and forth- coming encounter with the sterner business of 112 A life's lessons. life. Throughout the early morning, some- times throughout the dreary night, he pursued his studies as unremittingly as though the vigilant eye of the principal of his college were upon him ; simply to escape from the painful struggle of his feelings. "Mother," said he, one evening, when> after assisting her snail-like progress home from Gridlands, he had re-deposited the poor cripple on her couch — '' I am again about to leave you, to lose sight of you perhaps for years. You have willed it so ; and it is pro- bably for the best. In that interval, I may perhaps make some progress on my road to fortune. My grandfather's charity has hitherto supported me. Soon, I may be able to assist myself: nay, able to redeem you from this miserable, helpless existence." " I am contented with it," replied his mo- ther, trembUng at his breach of the reserve long estabhshed between them. "My own labour, dear Maurice, suffices for my mainte- A life's lessons. 118 nance. I have ceased to touch the stipend allotted me by your grandfather." " But you must not always work. Sickness may come — old age must ; and then surely you will be better pleased to owe to my hands the bread grudgingly bestowed by another ?" The cripple wept on, in silence. Her feelings on that subject were too acute for words. " But you must do something for me, mo- ther, in return. Take care of Nannie Balfour. No difficult task ; for you love her nearly as much as I do. And come what may, — rich or poor, — humble or great, — remember, sooner or later, she shall be my wife." Mrs. Varnham started. She was not ac- customed to hear her son speak so authorita- tively. His high spirit had been severely disciplined into tameness. " I shall never cease to watch over and love her," replied his mother, in an unassured voice. ''But not from the motive you sug- VOL. I. I 114 A life's lessons. gest. Did no other obstacle present itself, difference of religion would suffice." " Nannie's mind is docile. Time and in- struction will modify her views. Loving me with all her heart, she will learn to think as I do." To this assertion, it was difficult for his mother to oppose an argument. Had she not herself abjured the creed of her ancestors, under the influence of personal affection ? " You could not blame her if she did, mo- ther," said Maurice, perceiving his advantage. " You who, for my worldly benefit, have al- lowed me to be brought up in a faith which you do not profess, nay, from which you se- ceded, could find no fault with the wife of my choice for renouncing her own cold barren church to share the worship of her hus- band." "This is an interdicted topic, dear Mau- rice," faltered the poor cripple. " It is one of the direst among our grievous family mis- A life's lessons. 115 fortunes, that I and my son can never con- verse freely on the most sacred subject that exercises human understandings, or comforts the human heart. The day will come, per- haps, when perfect confidence may be estab- lished between us. Till then, talk not to me, my darling son, of love or marriage. Years must elapse ere you are entitled to the exercise of your will. By that time, in all human probability, Nannie will be the wife of an- other—" "No, mother, no! Never, never, never!" cried Maurice with a degree of passion which his mother had deemed foreign to his morti- fied nature. " She will be mine for time and for eternity, as surely as, betide what may, you will never cease to regard us with motherly affection." " But surely, surely, you have not spoken thus to Nannie?" exclaimed Mrs. Varnham, feeUng as though the confidence reposed in her by old Balfour would be betrayed by I 2 116 A life's lessons. such a pre- engagement of the hand of his daughter. " It would have been sacrilege. Nannie is still a child. I should not have dared. But I am not the less persuaded that our feelings are in perfect unison ; and that she inclines to me, as I, wholly and solely, to herself." Startled by this bold assertion, Mrs. Yarn- ham resolved to exercise her personal scrutiny as to the state of the case. At their next meeting, she would watch this dear child. She would watch both her children. No one could be more keenly alive than that unfortu- nate woman to the perils and dangers of a premature entanglement of the affections. But " man proposes — Heaven disposes." This well-intended investigation was not fated to take place. When, tlie following morning, the usual contribution from Michael Balfour's garden and dairy reached Hawyer's Cottage, the news was communicated from Martha to Dinah, and by Dinah to her mis- A life's lessons. 117 tress, that the late Mrs. Balfour's sister and nephew had arrived the preceding night at Gridlands. A somewhat tardy echo to the appeal of the widower. Three weeks after date, the Hildyards came to condole with him on the death of his wife. Their arrival, however, was a real joy to Nannie. Little as she had ever liked aunt Dorty during her mother's lifetime, now that her first of friends was gone for ever, she clung to any one in whose veins her blood was flowing. And little as Mrs. Hildyard resem-* bled in nature or feature the more robust sister who had been fated to precede her to the grave, there existed in both innumerable family traits, intonations of voice, and turns of ex- pression, such as in the absence of one rela- tive, recal the other constantly to mind. But in her gentler cousin, the charm was of a more personal nature. She loved him as the nearest approach she had seen in mortal being to angelic perfection. His voice was so 118 A life's lessons. touching, — the expression of his languid eyes so beneficent ! His whole Hfe was such a struggle to surmount gratuitous torment. The patience of Mrs. Varnham was exercised against sufferings chiefly of her own creation. Elisha Hildyard's resignation was under evils to which he was pre-ordained by the supreme will of his Creator. The task of welcoming him to Gridlands was indeed a pleasant one. Though too weakly for much exertion, his infirmities had been greatly relieved by three years of careful medical tending, assisted by annual sojourns by the sea ; and, unlike the unfortu- nate cripple of Hawyer's Cottage, Elisha was able to enjoy constant airings with her in the open carriage which had brought them to Gridlands. *' We shall be as happy here, dear Nannie," said he, "as we used to be together at Black- pool. You must show me all your favourite haunts. I am already prepared to love them. A life's lessons. 119 Would that it had not been so terrible a ca- lamity which determined my mother to so long a journey. But it is not too late. We may still enjoy together many, many happy hours at Gridlands.'* 120 A life's lessons. CHAPTER VIII. " One reads and hears tell of strange changes in the world out yon," was old David's soliloquy, that evening, when, instead of pro- ceeding to enjoy his usual pipe with his friend Michael, he went mooning on in the twilight, by the beck-side, listening to the pleasant wrangle of its waters among the stones; "how one king makes laws, that his successor may break them ; how the Lord's anointed dine together like brethren one year, and endeavour to cut each other's throats the next ; how un- ghostly men who have wasted their manhood in teaching Greek and Latin to the sons of lords, are rewarded by mitres and crosiers ; A life's lessons. 121 how profane play-actresses, to whom foreign, countries deny Christian burial, are made much of at the British court ; above all, how kings and queens in all countries, who, a hun- dred years ago, used to be overrun with cour- tiers, as a beggar by vermin, are now forced to become courtiers in their turn, and fawn upon their subjects, — because it is the people who are kings. And then, all this routing out of arts and sciences by princes and peers — affording business to the idle man, though mere idleness to the busy. Strange changes — strange — strange — strange," mused the simple-minded Pairson. "But I never thought to see this quiet Lancashire Dale turned topsy- turvy ! I fancied no pomps and vanities would find their way into my sheepfold among the hills. I hoped that God's commandments, which alone I have preached to my flock, would govern them to the last : as, by the blessing of Heaven, it has preserved them from vice or crime throughout my teaching* 122 A life's lessons. But I foresee a change. — I fear a change. — The small end of the wedge of worldly vanity has forced its way ; and envy and hatred will rush in at the first lifting of the lever !" And all this waste of philosophy because, for the first time since a road ran through Middledale, a carriage had traversed the place! That sober equipage of Mrs. Hildyard's, ne- cessitated by the feeble health of her son, passed for as sore a sin as the painted face of Jezebel. If one granddaughter of old Ma- dame Verhout had been content with a taxed - cart, why should the other come braving it among them, the moment her sister was laid in the grave ? But this was not the worst. — Among the commandments it had been the delight of the good Pastor to enforce on his rustic congre- gation, was the enjoinment to honour their father and their mother, that their days might be long in the land : incitement to the in- fraction of which, lay, perhaps, more than most A life's lessons. 123 others, within daily temptation. But he had succeeded. In that rude district, obedient and reverent children were in the majority^ David was accustomed to see the grey heads of his parishioners carried by their successors weeping to the grave ; and to find that in their hard-working households, the old folks retained to the last their place of honour. It shocked him, therefore, nay, more, it grieved him, to observe the meek cripple at Hawyer's Cottage subside annually into a nonentity on the arrival of her handsome son. More than once, he had found it difficult to control his indignation at the overbearing tone assumed by Maurice towards his mother. But he was restrained by the consciousness of unwarrantable and unchristian antipathy to the young papist. He felt as if, in diving into the promptings of a member of the church he abhorred, he were plunging his hand into a viper's nest. 124 A life's lessons. What, however, would the good Pastor have felt towards the undutiful son, had he been present when, late in the evenmg of the second day after the Hildyards' arrival, Maurice rushed like a whirlwind into the Cottage, dashed to the door with a de- gree of violence that caused every nerve in his mother's frame to vibrate, and announced to the poor cripple that at day -dawn on the morrow he should bid her farewell: — "it might be for years, and it might be for ever !" He would, perhaps, have admitted, that even in his rage, Maurice was beautiful to look on, as Lucifer, son of the morning. But he would have felt that on the brow of this youthful Cain there was already a seal of per- dition. — The mother's heart, however, judged not of her son as the mind of the pastor might have done. — She knew that Maurice had been reared in a barren and a dry land, where no A life's lessons. 125 love was ; reared in selfish consideration of his worldly interest here, and his soul's salva- tion hereafter, without regard to the universal welfare or private feelings of his fellow- creatures. — " Like as a father pitieth his own children/' therefore, she was merciful — over- merciful, perhaps — to his faihngs; and with one of those soft answers that turneth away wrath, reminded him how many days of his promised sojourn were yet unexpired, and that the longer the absence he threatened, the dearer and more precious to her the moments she might yet retain him by her side. But Maurice was not to be entreated. The black spirit was astir within him. He was one of those in whose bosom love is nearly akin to hate. He had seen Nannie in her black garments reclining beside her pale-faced, auburn-haired, sweet-spirited cousin, in his mother's barouche ; and felt that he must hurry away from Middledale, or stay and curse openly these opulent intruders. 126 A life's lessons. " I fancied, mother, that, in this rough, hard- working place," said he, in reply to her remonstrances, " we weie free from the foul atmosphere engendered by wealth ; that the very ring of gold was unknown here, to create lust after it in covetous hearts, or their con- tempt towards the needs of the poor. I thought that Michael Balfour, and his dead wife, having never sojourned in cities, had yet to learn the false value of money, and that their hearts were wholesome as the household bread of their kneading. But yonder Manchester people, yonder upstarts of trade, look down upon such hovels as this as fit abodes for the beasts that perish; and these Hildyards will not only scorn and trample upon us, but teach that girl, that angel, a false standard of our merits." " I am not afraid," pleaded his mother, with something as nearly approaching to a smile as her sad face was able to assume, on perceiving that after all, her son's violence rose from an outbm'st of jealousy. — " Lessons of evil are A life's lessons. 127 not learned in a day by a nature so noble as Nannie's ; and from all I have heard of her poor cousin, I suspect that the highest value he assigns to riches is as a means of benefit to the poor." " And among the poor he will reckon us ! — Who can be poorer ? — Who more miserable ? — This youthful saint, of whom Nannie is so proud, will perhaps vouchsafe you the means of getting better clothed, and better fed ; call you ' my good woman,' and exhort you to resign yourself to the will of Providence !'• " My dear boy, you are unreasonable," was all his agitated mother could reply — " as un- reasonable as when, on that ill-fated day of the Balfour s' visit to Hawkshill, you accused them of shghting your company." " I did not bear malice against them long," murmured Maurice, a little subdued by the allusion. "No, for Death intervened, — Death, a searching teacher, even of the obdurate heart." 128 A life's lessons. "Well, well,— you will not have occasion to call me obdurate or unreasonable long," cried he, resuming his angry bearing. — " By to-morrow night, mother, I shall be at Liver- pool, to apprise old Macglashan that my resolution is taken. I renounce the study of the law.— Progress in that profession is too slow for our necessitous position, — too slow for such ambition as mine. — Since my grand- father allows me a choice, I will go to India. — India is a wide field for a deter- mined spirit. I may do something there ; and as I live and breathe, never will I set foot again in Middledale, mother, till I can appear here as becomes our birth and my aspirings." He was persisting in his incoherent menaces ; for, like other self-seekers, Maurice took little heed of the influence of his words over other people, — his speech being the mere outpouring of an excited temper. But when at length he paused for lack of breath, he A life's lessons. 129 perceived with horror that his mother's silence was not the result of her usual meek sub- mission to his waywardness. — The poor cripple had fainted. — Yet, after his prolonged efforts had suc- ceeded in restoring her to consciousness, the self-willed youth swerved not from his purpose of departure. In that instance, as in all others, he took counsel only from himself; nor, indeed, did his mother again venture to oppose her Welshes to his. — On the morrow he went his way. « His departure excited little interest in the Dale. All thoughts were occupied by the unexpected guests at Gridlands. Even there, nothing was known of the departure of Maurice till long after he must have reached the end of his journey. But when the Pastor in his evening visit incidentally mentioned that neighbour Varnham was more ailing than usual, her son having taken his departure at daybreak, staff in hand and knapsack on VOIa, I. K 130 A life's lessoks. shoulder, to meet at Ilsington the Liverpool mail, the heart of Nannie sank within her. — In the dusk of the preceding evening he had accosted, upbraided, and menaced her, while, on returning home from her drive, she was enjoying a few minutes' sohtary recreation on the village path beside the beck. But, ac- customed to the almost frantic outbreaks of her young idolator, she had not expected to find his threats so speedily fulfilled. " Come with me to Hawyer's Cottage,'' she whispered to her cousin. " The evening air is soft and refreshing; and when you are weary, you shall take my arm. I want you to know a person more ailing and as patient as yourself ; the person, dear Ely, from whom I learnt the little of good, or books, you have not taught me ; all, certainly, that prepared me for your instructions." The young couple — their close relationship attested by their mourning attire — were soon standing at the wicket of Hawyer's Cottage ; A life's lessons, 131 and, a moment afterwards, reposing in that bare and cheerless parlour, so loathed by Maurice as the demonstration of their forlorn poverty. The fairhaired nephew of the Bal- fours accidentally placed himself in the window-seat usually occupied by Maurice in his untowardly humours ; and what a con- trast between his placid forehead and saintly countenance, and the knitted brows, and com- pressed lips, which at times disfigured the noble features of the cripple's son ! — Even to her, the difference was painfully apparent.-^ She felt it, and shuddered. — The supposition of Maurice was now actually fulfilled. Young Hildyard came again and again to afford succour to his deserted mother. Not in the shape of silver or gold. He was too worthy to appreciate the pride of the self- supported cripple, to commit such an offence. Nannie had long rendered him fami- liar with the noble nature of her friend ; and, conscious how great a void must be created in 132 A life's lessons. her existence by the departure of her son, he brought her a few favourite books, which accompanied him wherever he went; books which, but for him, had never found their way into Middledale ; books which a gentle mind and accompHshed education enabled her to appreciate ; books how different from the in- flated yet vapid theology which constituted the studies of Maurice ! — At first, the poor cripple thanked him, but declined his kindness. " The promised enjoy- ment was too great for one like lier. Her hours were bespoken. She must not lose her time in reading." Eeadily followed the proposal of both cousins, to read to her as she worked. " As Maurice used to read to us, dear mammy, when I was too heart-broken for ex- ertion," said Nannie, " Ely and I are privileged to return his good offices, by reading to yourself." The sound of their names, thus combined, A LIFES LESSONS. 133 was piteously unwelcome to poor neighbour Varnham. But she was at once too humble and too gracious to refuse ; and when they did fulfil their engagement, how grateful to her ear was the sound of those young voices, as they relieved each other in reciting the lyrics of Mrs. Hemans, the metrical romances of Scott, or the Essays of EHa ! How different was the cadenced sweetness of their enunci- ation from the harsh, forcible periods of her son ; far better calculated to denounce and comminate, than to comfort or instruct. After Maurice's readings, she used to go to bed wearied or uneasy. But Nannie and her cousin brought a blessing to her pillow, and sat like angels of peace by her hearthside. 134 A life's lessons. CHAPTER IX. Michael Balfour, meanwhile, though de- riving as much consolation in maundering with his sympathising sister-in-law over the mani- fold virtues of his deceased wife, as Dorty in discerning that the mountain air, of which she had so long dreaded the effect on her son, was producing on Elisha nearly the same favour- able results as his usual visit to the sea-side, did not neglect the occasion to interrogate her concerning certain conditions of their common fortune, made known to him for the first time by Mr. Zelters, at his ill-starred visit to Hawkshill. Subsequent events had driven the matter A life's lessons. 135 from his mind. But now that the first influ- ence of grief was subsiding, he was desirous to learn whether Dorty had been hitherto as ill-informed as himself, touching the reversion of her grandmother's property. In Michael's class of life, marriage-settlements would have been accounted too costly a superfluity ; and connected as he was by long service with the family of Van der Helde, as Hildyard with the house of business of Zelters and Co., each, at his marriage, had accepted, on the showing of the latter, the executor of the late Madame Verhout, that her two grand- daughters were severally entitled to the moiety of an income of a thousand pounds per an- num, payable to their order, or that of their children, on their decease. The funds from which it was derived, were to be divided between their offspring, when the youngest - born should attain the age of twenty-one years. Further, no one had inquired. Michael 136 A life's lessons. Balfour and his father had economised savings to some amount ; and the fortune of Hildyard the clothier, trebled, at his death, that of the defunct old Dutchwoman. The incomes of Dorty and her sister had consequently been allowed to accumulate, at the interest of five per cent., afforded by the firm in the Barbi- can : the sisters having mutually agreed that, if the marriage of their children came to pass in their lifetime, Madame Verhout's bequest should be assigned at once to the young couple. But in the course of that after-dinner con- versation between Jakes Zelters and the ex- bailiff, which enabled Mrs. Balfour to ramble through the mildewed apartments of Hawks- hill, an inquiry on the part of the Dutch mer- chant concerning the age and state of health of young Hildyard, and the probabilities of an eventual marriage between him and the health- ful, intelligent girl with whom he had that day made acquaintance, led to an explanation on A life's lessons. 137 the part of the executor, that in the event of EHsha's death, unmarried, the Hildyard moiety of the old lady's inheritance would fall to the share of his cousin. There was to be benefit of survivorship between the offspring of the sisters. " And, in that case, or should the whole become vested in a single represen- tative," added old Zelters, " the trust would cease." At this announcement, Michael Balfour was as much startled as was compatible with his stoHd nature. •• " I leave everything relating to my missus's money, Sir, to her own care and guidance," said he. " Gridlands farm, thank God ! keeps itself. If bad times should cut us down in our old age, you'll maybe find us knocking at your door, to ask for our own." "It was rather of your daughter I was thinking, my good friend, than yourselves," rejoined the executor, little accustomed, in City life, to sentiments so liberal. " If (as I heard 138 A life's lessons. asserted a year or two back, by one of my clerks who visited at Manchester the house of ray late correspondent) — if Dorty Verhout's son be indeed a poor sickly creature, render- ing your daughter's chance of becoming an heiress worth thinking of, it is surely desirable that she should receive a better education than a provincial town like Manchester can afford her." '* I see no great call for improvement in the girl," was Michael's indignant reply. " Had my own will been consulted, I'd never have sent her from Gridlands. Why should we want her to be better-spoken or cleverer than her mother before her? I was fool enough to lose sight of her for a matter of four year, only that she might get book-learning and foreign tongues, which her parents don't un- derstand a word of. But even at Manchester, she'd her aunt and cousin to give her a home. As to turning her off into that great wide wilderness of London, where she'd either A life's lessons. 139 break her heart for loneliness, or get it filled with fallals and nonsense, I'd as soon shut her up in her coffin." " Don't take offence at a suggestion kindly meant,'* said Jakes Zelters, mildly. " As the executor of my good old friend Madame Ver- hout, I naturally interest myself in the welfare of her representatives. I should be sorry to fancy, Michael, that you and your wife, who have shown such confidence in my administra- tion of your money affairs, entertained less in my personal good will. When I proposed London for your daughter, it was because I knew what it had done for my own ; — now married, and doing honour in the world to me and themselves. As to her being lonesome, my home should have been her home ; and as kind a one, perhaps, as Dorty Hildyard's." For this projected kindness, Michael grunted forth something almost amounting to an ac- knowledgment. But he did not the less ad- here to his opinion that Nannie was best where 140 A life's lessons. she was, or to his declaration that all matters relating to the lass were regulated by her mother ; little surmising, alas, poor man ! how short a space was allotted to Mrs. Balfour to preside over the family council. " But I don't see what it matters now, Michael, more than when my poor dear sister was alive, whether the survivor of our children becomes rich by inheriting from the other, or from my grandmother ?" observed Dorty, after this explanation, a little puzzled by the mer- cenary spirit suddenly manifested by her brother-in-law. " Nay — 'tis only to be a match for Jakes Zelters,thatl ask the question," replied Michael, drawing back. It was not for him to afflict the good woman who had come so far to con- sole him in his troubles, by signifying his con- viction that his nephew, though considerably fortified in health within the last three years, would never attain the age of twenty-one. " At all events," resumed Dorty, as if in A life's lessons. 141 some degree penetrating his thoughts, "this money, though a fine fortune in itself, amounts not to ^ third of what will accrue to my boy from the abihties and industry of his father/' It might be that old Dorty desired to dazzle the eyes of her brother-in-law by boasting of the superior opulence of her son; of whom she sometimes thought the Balfours less re- gardful than became them. But, if this were her object, she reckoned without her host. The calibre of Michael Balfour's mind was not capable of compre- hending great riches or their results. Com- petency was his notion of wealth. To have enough, and owe no man anything, sufficed. He would have dispensed joyfully with the tens of thousands of his future son-in-law, to secure him a more healthful frame. A week or two after this discussion, just when Mrs. Hildyard and her sour-faced serv- ing-woman were beginning to reconcile them- selves to the rough though plentiful house-* 142 A life's lessons. keeping of Gridlands, — to be in chanty with Michael's pipe and Martha s hobnailed shoes, and on terms of amity with Nannie's pet ban- tams and turkeys, — a cold breeze at eventide, and a slight sprinkling of snow on the hill- sides, when they awoke in the morning, roused the fears of the anxious mother as to the effect of that rude climate on the lungs of her son. A letter was instantly dispatched to Manchester, to prepare their household for their immediate return ; and not less than a royal mandate would have detained aunt Dorty a day longer in the north. The cousins parted more affectionately and more regretfully than they had ever done before ; for the loss of her mother tended to endear to Nannie all her surviving rela- tions; and never had she so fully appre- ciated the gracious and amiable nature of Elisha, as when watching his good offices to the poor cripple of Hawyer's Cottage ; sketch- *ing patterns for her embroidery, or exercising A life's lessons. 143 his meclianical genius in the invention of ob- jects of furniture for the comfort of the sick woman. Crutch-handles, wedges for the sup- port of her work-frame — no great stretch of ingenuity perhaps, but such as her son would as soon have attempted as to manufacture a plough. — " InvaHds," young Hildyard ob- served, " understood each other's wants and shortcomings." When Nannie bad him farewell, it was with a stringent embrace. She was the first to say, " Write — write constantly : — when you are gone, Ely, I shall be so much alone ! Send me books, too; for, unless through you, none ever reach Middledale. — Instruct me what I am to read — what I am to study — and the incompleteness of my education will not so much matter."- Old Dorty, moderately grieved at parting with her niece, cast a triumphant glance at her brother-in-law, while Nannie was thus fondly addressing her cousin. It was thrown 144 A life's lessons. away. Michael had not Kstened to a word ; and if he had, it would have been only to deduce an opinion that public displays of affection are incompatible with the shy deli- cacy of love. In the course of his ten years' courtship of his departed Madge, he had not heard half as many words of endearment escape her prudish lips. After their departure, however, Nannie was as she had anticipated, grievously lonely. Winter approached with an aspect anything but friendly. Three years of a milder climate and more luxrious instalment, had rendered her doubly susceptible to the dreariness of Middledale. — Neither her father nor old David was able to converse with her on the lighter topics of general interest which had begun to interest her young mind ; and Martha and the dairy appealed to her in vain. The loss of those two companions of her own age, who, since the death of her mother, had successively shared her reading, her walks. A life's lessons. 145 her occupations, was keenly felt. — And now, after accompanying the farmer in his daily ride, which the roughness of the weather de- prived of all charm, Nannie had before her a dim, solitary afternoon. But for the books considerately left for her by her cousin, she would have begun to hate the old parlour, with its monotonous Dutch clock, and glazed cup- boards overloaded with delft. And yet, though sometimes for hours to- gether lost in reflection, or rather in that dreamy reverie which in youth supplies ifs place, her visits to Hawyer's Cottage were far more rare than during the lifetime of her mother. She seemed to understand that it was a dangerous and forbidden pleasure. A word or two let fall by David Hurdis had startled her into a clear perception of the fact. Or perhaps she feared lest the constant recurrence of the fond mother to Maurice, Maurice, Maurice, might lead to fatal ex- planations. Even aunt Dorty, so little in the VOL. 1. L 146 A life's lessons. liabit of censuring the conduct of others, had spoken to her drily, if not harshly, con- cerning her overweening affection for the strange woman who had come from no one knew where, to settle among them ; w^ho was so poor, so isolated ; and above all, whose son was a Papist, a child of perdition. The prompting of David Hurdis was only too apparent in the expostulation. — But it compelled the poor girl to interrogate her own heart. The result was, that she trembled, lest, in resuming her unrestrained intercourse with the cripple she so dearly loved, something might transpire to betray the fond but angry parting, which, on the eve of his departure from the Dale, had taken place between her and Mau- rice. She could not bear that his mother should become aware of the terms in which he had addressed her. They were such as would have roused even Mrs. Varnham's in- dignation, or given her the deepest pain. — A life's lessons. 147 They were such as would have driven even her apathetic old father to madness. Still, Nannie was not neglectful ; and when- ever she could manage to be accompanied to Hawyer's Cottage by her father, or old David, so as to escape a tete-a-tete, she rejoiced in the occasion of pressing the withered hand, and comforting the withered heart of the cripple. — But this could not always be. Even in presence of the Pastor, neighbour Varnham contrived to inform her that Maurice, in his rare letters, did not fail to inquire aft^r Nannie ; or that so rapidly was he progress- ing in the study of the oriental languages, that he expected to be ready for his examina- tion in the course of the ensuing summer. " And then he'll be oflP to Indy, and make his fortune, — and a good thing too," was the rejoinder of old David. " The market for money-makers is much too full at home. — Whereas, in Indy, I'm told, the field is still open." L 2 148 A life's lkssons. By this event of the coming summer, the widow's anxious thoughts were naturally en- grossed ; and while Nannie hailed the return of spring (a joyful epoch even at Middledale) with all the awakened hopes and aspirations which the spectacle of resuscitated nature fails not to renew in the mind of the young, her afflicted neighbour seemed to imbibe the same cheering impulses from credulous pride in the well-doing of her absent Maurice. To Nannie, however, events wholly unex- pected were fated to brighten a period, which, as the anniversary of her mother's death, loomed gloomily in the distance. — A fortnight before the recurrence of her birthday, her father entered the parlour at Gridlands with an open letter in his hand, — a rare occurrence to Michael Balfour, whose correspondence with the Hildyards was carried on by the younger branches of the family, and with Ilsington, in person. *'I have got to ride to Hawkshill this A LIFERS LESSONS. 149 a'ternoon, lass," said he. But, at tlie mere mention of the place, aU colour deserted the cheeks of his daughter. "It puts me out," he continued — (and Nannie concluded that this was his simple- hearted mode of alluding to their last visit to the place) — " it puts me sadly out — because John Bean is coming over before dark, from Everell, to fetch the lambs I sold him yester- day, at Ilsington market. However, Mr. Zelters has set his heart upon my going, and there's an end on 't." " But why cannot Mr. Zelters come to Grid- lands ?" inquired his daughter. " 'Tisn't about any business of ours he wants to see me.^ — 'Tis for the behoof of the Van der Helde family. There's been a deal doing at Hawkshill sin' we heard news of the place, and there's a deal more going to be done. — We've so Kttle call, thereaway, Nannie, that for months and months I've heard nought about them or theirn. — But it seems that 150 A life's lessons. the family are coming over from Hol- land.'' " To settle at Hawkshill?" cried his daughter, in delighted astonishment. " At least to spend the autumn. Workmen have been fetched from Preston, Lancaster, and even Lon'on, to furbish up the old place." So far, the intelHgence was satisfactory. A new aspect imparted to that fatal house would be a point gained. " Mr. Zelters wants me to give him informa- tion how matters were managed about supplies, and so forth , in Madame Verhout's time," con- tinued Michael. " But I'm feared my memory's as much outworn as his own. Since I lost my poor missus, Nannie, I've felt daily more aiid more dazed. However, a man can but do his best. So, to-morrow, lass, I'm off for Hawkshill." A life's lessons. 151 CHAPTER X. Though Nannie Balfour's curiosity was na- turally awakened by the advent of the race with which her own was so memorably con- nected, she made no move till invited by the old merchant, who, since her mother's death, might be said to stand towards her almost in the light of guardian, to visit Hawkshill Hall, — The very thought of it renewed a grief which, in pursuance of the wise laws of nature, had become tolerably subdued. — " /can give them no information," thought Nannie. " I can be of no real use or purpose in the place." 152 On MichaeFs return from his second visit, she interrogated him anxiously ; less about the new curtains, carpets, and sofas, than about the new-comers. For the family was actually installed ; causing the old chimneys to smoke, and the roofs to ring. " How many of them were there ? — Were they young ? — Were they old ? — Were there any children ? — Any young people ?" But Michael, never very communicative, was now impracticable. — He spoke with some asperity of what he called a he-cook in a paper cap, of f aunting waiting-maids, and a gentleman's gentleman with rings on his fingers and fal-lals on his shirt-front, almost like a lady: "all jabbering gibberish, he could make nothen' out of." But of the Upper House he seemed to know " nothen'." " There's music always going on in the old parlour," said he, " and everywhere plenty of light and air, and good cheer. They seem to know how to make the money spin ; and A life's lessons. 153 to break down old customs, good and bad." Unwedded by the prejudices of her parents to the customs of Hawkshill, Nannie could not but think that many of them were more honoured in the breach than in the observ- ance. But she said nothing to vex the old man. Nor was she sorry to perceive that his aid and counsel were often wanting to old Mr. Zelters. — Hawkshill was beginning to afford a change to his monotonous existence. On the memorable twenty-third of July, whfch on the present occasion was to be passed over in silence, out of respect to the memory of the dead, Nannie, in the simple mourning which she had not yet thrown off, was making her way, for once alone, to Hawyer's Cottage, to return thanks to her friend for a simple birthday gift of needlework. In her hand she carried a packet, which she had received that morning from Elisha — from Clifton (where he was so- journing with his mother and his new tutor), 154 A life's lessons. containing Moxon's single -volume edition of the works of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats. She was in better spirits than usual, — spirits engendered by the happy consciousness of being loved of many, and of having completed her sixteenth year. Unlike her usual deportment, characterised by an uplifted brow and elastic step, Nannie was stumbling along the grass-grown road, shifting from one hand to the other her em- barrassing packet of books ; so that before she was aware, she came within view of a group of gay equestrians, whose voices and laughter rang through the air, in tones such as had never before startled that uncivilised spot. Two ladies, with plumed beavers, and well- fitting habits, were escorted by a young man dressed in the newest fashion of the day; and another, of problematical age, whose dress was of a fashion that might have belonged to any age or country. A life's lessons. 155 The first impulse of Nannie was to make her way into the nearest cottage — (albeit it was that of Dorcas Hubbersty, the scold so obnoxious to her father) — for she had no dif- ficulty in recognizing in the strangers the new residents at Hawkshill. Her second impression was, that they would pass her by unnoticed. But the truth was, that, weary of the monotony of their new abode, they were making an excursion through the environs, in search of novelty and excitement ; and Nannie was little skilled to appreciate what, to novelty and ex- citement seekers, must be the charm of a beautiful girl of seventeen, unearthed amidst the hovels of a Lancashire hamlet. The care with which she concealed her face as they passed, had, however, completely puzzled them ; and she was proceeding on her errand, half blinded by the dust raised on the road by half-a-dozen horses, when she found herself followed and accosted by the least interesting individual of the party. — The man 156 A life's LESSONts. of doubtful age had ridden back as spokes- man for the rest. "Miss Balfour, I presume?" said he, in accents unmistakeably English. " My name is Balfour." " And my mission, I fear, hopeless. Madame van der Helde of Hawkshill, and her friends, have ridden across the hills, having been in- duced by Mr. Zelters to hope that you woidd afford them at Gridlands refreshment for themselves and their horses." This was an appeal v^^hich the hospitable north-country heart of Nannie could hardly withstand. After stammering a few words about " duty," and " pleasure," and the " homely fare of Gridlands," she turned hastily back ; and, escorted by the queer-looking gentleman, made the best of her way home ; where she found the party already dismounted, and standing in awkward uncertainty in the stable-yard. The interpreter, whom she had heard named A life's lessons. 157 by her father on his return from Hawkshill, as a Sir Ralph Barnadiston, immediately went though a form of introduction between them. But Nannie was too great a proficient in French to need his interposition. Advancing towards the lady whom she rightly con- jectured to be Madame van der Helde, she courteously bade her welcome to Gridlands, and led the way into the house. Readily and gratefully did they accept her profibred hospitality ; and they were soon ac- tively engaged in doing justice to the golden butter, home-baked bread, and home-brewed ale, of their ex-bailiff, with thin raw slices of home- cured ham, served after the Dutch fashion of the Verhouts. Delighted to find that, instead of having recourse to Sir Ralph's interpretation, she was able to address them in French, at least as pure and fluent as their own, the two ladies, already fascinated by her intel- ligent countenance and pleasing address, ad- mitted that their expedition to Middledale 158 A life's lessons. had been planned, in hopes to make her acquaintance. With the easy volubility of foreign breed- ing, they reproached her for not having accompanied her father to Hawkshill, or, as they called it, '' Axil T and made it apparent that no further excuse for her absence vrould be accepted. " You may congratulate yourself in every respect, my dear Clemen ce, on having made Miss Balfour's acquaintance," added Monsieur van der Helde, addressing his wife. " While assisting just now to put up the horses, I espied in the stables a side-saddle and clever mountain-pony, which have the honour to call her mistress. — You and Eugenie have consequently some hope of obtaining what you have been sighing for ever since your arrival in this country — a guide to its beau- ties." " You will find, I fear," said Nannie timidly, "that the beauties of Lancashire he out of A life's lessons. 159 distance of Hawkshill. The nearest of our lions are Gordale and the caves of Craven. The lakes lie at twice the dis- tance." " But surely/' interrupted Sir Ralph, a little peevish that his office of master of the cere- monies had been dispensed with — " surely you have something better than the naked hills we toiled over to-day to offer to these ladies, as a specimen of the land they have come so far to visit?" "We must not attempt to impose up^n Miss Balfour/' said young Van der Helde. " She is well aware that our journey to Eng- land has very little to do with the picturesque. Her father has, doubtless, given her more accurate information." It was not for Nannie to explain that the uncommunicative old farmer had left her completely in the dark. Still less that the phlegmatic reserve to which she had been accustomed in her parents, rendered utterly 160 A life's lessons. amazing to her the self-assured frankness of her new acquaintance. So cheering, however, was its influence over her feehngs, that, before the Van der Heldes had remounted their horses for departure, she had consented, and without much reluctance, to accompany her father on his next visit to Hawkshill. A LIFE S LESSONS. 161 CHAPTER XL Could the ghost of the thrifty Mrs. Bal- four — or, still more, that of the venerable Mitje Verhout — have beheld the pleasant, airy home to which the Van der Heldes wei^ returning after their Gridlands expedition, they would have been puzzled to recognise the Hawkshill of other times. A new spirit seemed to pervade the place and the family. The marriage of Adrian van der Helde with the high-born and beautiful Clemence de Lanville — (the result of that fusion between the Batavian and Belgic sub- jects of the first king of the Netherlands, which has since been so thoroughly subverted) VOL. 1. M 162 — had considerably modified the formaUties of even the dull old family mansion at the Hague, and the national quaintness of their Chateau at Utrecht. — Yet the pretty bride recoiled from the ceremonious monotony of a simple Dutch household ; and would fain have obtained the consent of Lucas van der Helde, her father-in -lavr, to her husband's permanent residence at Brussels, where divers members of the Lanville family occupied distinguished posts about the Court, But of this, the plodding^ old Dutchman would not hear. Ob- stinately national, and, like most of his country- men, a republican at heart, he thought it a sufficient concession to the fair Clemence, to allow his son and heir to spend several months of every winter in a city so extensively, im- pregnated with the luxuries and vices imbibed under the French domination. But, inde- pendent of prudential motives, he dreaded lest his hght-hearted, and somewhat light- headed son, should be converted into a cour- A life's lessons. 163 tier by the favour conceded to the Lanville family by the Prince and Princess of Orange. Any other sacrifice he would have made to his charming daughter-in-law. But Adrian must remain a Dutchman. Ever since her marriage, the brother and sister of Clemence (who, according to the laws of the Code Napoleon, estabhshed in Belgium, shared equally with her the liberal fortune bequeathed by her parents) had been her constant guests. All the old man asked in return for his kindness and hospitality, was that his son should reside, during two-thirds of the year, on his native soil. " I preach only what I have practised," said Lucas van der Helde, one day, when they were taking leave of him previous to their annual departure for the carnival gaieties of the court of Brussels. " I possess in England a noble property ; but I have never yet visited it. Till the pacification of Europe was ef- fected by the battle of Waterloo, my duties M 2 164 A life's lessons. as a citizen rendered the journey impossible. Since that time, my son has been flitting hither and thither, spending his winters at Naples or Paris, and his summers aux eaux — leaving the representation of the family solely in my hands. Though eager to visit my English property, I have consequently sub- mitted my inclinations to the prior claims of my home and fatherland." "But you will go some day or other, father, and take a peep at Hawkshill ?" said Adrian van der Helde, chiefly to distract the old man's attention from their approaching departure. " I must ; for Jakes Zelters, who has for so many years officiated as my auditor, is grow- ing old, and wants to be released from his task. I have other evidence, too, than his own assertions, that he is less capable than formerly; for the proceeds of the estate dwindle year after year. Zelters even recom- mends that T should dispose of the property/' A life's lessons. 165 "Without having even so much as seen it?" " Curiosity, my dear Adrian, is not my be- setting sin," said the old man, cheerfully. " My agent informs me, too, that he has received liberal offers for it, from a British peer, who possesses an adjoining estate." " You must send us to England, dear sir, to look about, and make a report to you," said Clemence, as she received the parting embrace of her father-in-law. " Next spring, or next autumn, if you are still disinclined tO make the voyage, we shall be at your service." Of the' offer thus lightly made, a good- humoured nod constituted the equally careless acceptance. The wise old Dutchman saw that the thoughts of his son and daughter were absorbed just then by the galas, cos- tumed balls, sledging-parties, and operas of the Court to w^hich they were hastening ; where their fair young sister, Eugenie de Lanville, was to make her first appearance. 166 A life's lessons. But in the course of that gay season, the plan sportively devised by Madame van der Helde acquired sudden consistency and in- terest for the little circle of the Hotel de Lanville, from their casual intimacy with Sir Ralph Barnardiston ; an English vagrant of some mark and likelihood, who was spending the winter at Brussels, and who, as a near relative of the British minister, as well as a well-bred, cleverish man, was universally ac- ceptable. In London or Paris, he would have been thought a bore. But in Bruissels, where a second-class diplomacy suffices the second- class kingdom, second-class intellects are ac- cepted as prodigies, and jackdaws pass for peacocks. No one, however, entertained half so high an opinion of Sir Ralph Barnardiston's abilities as the baronet himself. Born to a moderate independence, he had been educated by over- anxious parents, to become, or fancy himself, a superior man, with that delusive will o' the- A LIFE S LESSONS. 167 wisp, called ambition, perpetually flitting on before him in the distance. Left at an early age his own master, he was as firmly convinced of his power to distinguish and establish himself in life, as uncertain concerning the exact nature of his mission. Attracted by the glitter of gold lace, and the echoes of peninsular renown which had not yet died away in the land, his first attempt was a military career. But his heroic fever soon subsided. The cuirass in which he had encased himself, sat uneasily. Of the veterans of the late war, the "bruised arms" were " hung up for monuments;" and the youngsters, among whom he was classed, when out of the riding-school, talked only of Mercandotti and Melton. To such topics, the self-conceited young baronet, pretending to be a superior man, felt himself infinitely superior. It was vexa- tious to have read up to become a Marl- borough or a Turenne, and lost a year 168 A life's lessons. in studying German fortifications, schnapps and meerschaums, on the Rhine. But, after all, accomplishments are never thrown away ; and being now convinced that his real genius was for a political career, he sent in his papers to the Horseguards, and recommenced his education by furbishing up his rusty classics ; studying Shaftesbury, Clarendon, Boling- broke, Chatham, and Adam Smith, instead of plunging into a file of Times newspaper, of the Journal des JDebats, and Algemeine Zeitung. The aspiring baronet had not yet attained the ripeness of judgment, which enables a man to blow away the chaff of his mind, and discover the wholesome grain. All he cared for was to distinguish himself: to deserve distinction was an aim beyond him. The gilt half-pence of newspaper praise would be sufficient payment. He found himself somewhat denuded of his peacocks' feathers by the hands of a par- liamentary agent. — He had expected to go A life's lessons. 169 fortli, see, and conquer (armed with Ithtiriers spear and a couple of thousand pounds) a seat in the unreformed parhament, the rege- neration of which was one of his favourite hobbies. But, to his great surprise, he found himself, on three several occasions, an unsuc- cessful candidate. He had chosen to take a line of his own across country, and manage his election in his own way. But he was conse- quently never in at the death. His oratory was too abstruse for the hustings ; and in- stead of votes, he obtained groans and rotteft apples. Against the ingratitude of the fellow- countrymen for whom he was prepared to devote himself to the last drop of his ink, he declaimed, of course, in the pathetics appro- priated to such contingencies, from the days of Cicero to those of Tancredi in the opera. But he spoke to empty benches ; and, un- luckily, his election bills proved still heavier than his speeches. Still, he did not despair. 170 A life's lessons. Laurels must be growing for him somewhere or other; and, after much self-consultation, he declared that Diplomacy was his "mis- sion." But, alas ! a Sir Ralph Barnardiston, re- joicing in six feet two of sturdy manhood, and a pair of whiskers extensive enough for a fox-covert, was too far advanced on the highway of life to begin at the beginning of a diplo- matic career, by perpetrating facetious etchings on the government stationery of the Foreign Office, or performing in private pantomimes as a preliminary to the grander burlesques of official life. He betook himself, therefore, after having hammered as much Vattel and Grotius into his head as would have ballasted a moderate Alberoni, to a course of itinerant study. The politics of Italy, Spain, Germany, and France, were to be developed to his shrewd intelligence by temporary sojourn at their several courts. He forgot that, in this age of shifting convictions, by the time he A life's lessons. 171 reached Naples, France would probably have changed its dynasty, or form of government ; and that Spain might, perhaps, be in a state of insurrection before the ink was dry which de- scribed her as a victim to passive obedience. A little experience of these pohtical dis- solving views, taught him that he had again mistaken his mission. Diplomacy, he said, was out of date. The time for Talleyrands was past. After all, official life was but self- inflicted penal servitude ; and he was thankful that he had not enlisted in that slavish corps. Utihtarianism happened to be the cant of the crisis ; and had Sir Ralph been an estated proprietor in a midland county, he would pro- bably have settled down into a busy magis- trate ; wreaking upon the quarter sessions the eloquence thrown into his system by his preceding failures, and bothering his brother justices with the dietary of his model prison, or the discipHne of the national school; prosing the neighbourhood into a plethora of virtue. 172 A life's lessons. But this was not to be. His seat in Corn- wail was let to an experimental philanthropist, who would have thrown up his lease, had Sir Ralph attempted to poach upon his vagabond- preserves ; and the poor baronet, whose talents lay fermenting on his hands, unhappily took it into his head to exercise them by embark- ing in one of those bubble speculations, the explosion of which distinguished the close of the first quarter of the nineteenth century. As usual, the over-clever man was over- reached by men whom he had stigmatised as fools. He stalked his way majestically out of the crash, however ; half-ruined, but without a stain on his honour. On the slender income remaining to him, he retired to the continent, to live as best he might ; and Brussels, a city devoid of all temptation to expense, but where the habits of society are refined, cheerful, and easy, afi'orded him a pleasant place of exile. There, his cool and unchecked self-assertion A LIFE S LESSONS. 173 Speedily erected him into a personage. His honours, however, were accomplished neither by his political genius, his military ardour, nor his philanthropic pretensions. "Every man," says a great writer, " contains within himself the ghost of a poet, dead in his youth/' Sir Ralph Barnardiston carried with- in himself all that remained of a defunct sportsman, crushed during his first season at Melton. It was just the moment when Old England became enormously the fashion in the eyes of Young France, Young Belgium, and Young Russia ; not from the purity of her constitu- tion, the grandeur of her institutions, or the vastness of her dominions ; but from the purity of her breed of horses, the excellence of her saddlery, and the fervour of her " sport." They reverenced Great Britain less as the Land of the Free, than as the Turf of the Race-horse, Though they dared not, or cared not, to emulate her Reform Club 174 A life's lessons. or Carlton, Jockey Clubs were instituted in every great capital. Above all, foreign dan- dies entertained an unaccountable belief that " le8 gentlemen-riders^ constituted a class in English life ! Sir Ralph Barnardiston, profiting by the mania of the hour, assumed a cutaway coat, laid "Bell's Life" upon his table, and the proud Princes of Hainault, and Counts of the Empire, whose ancestors fought at Pavia or won renown in the Crusades, felt prodi- giously honoured by his notice ; cut the tails of their coats and of their hacks, according to his pattern, and dared not risk a new saddle or bridle without his imprimatur. His travel- ling country-people, though amused by his apotheosis, never attempted to undeify him in the eyes of the Calibans who had mistaken him for a God. Eor he took no undue advantage of their infatuation ; neither won nor borrowed their money, nor abused their hospitality. The " sportsman" 'par excellence had at- , A life's lessons. 175 tained his fifty-second year, when the mar- riage of the sister of his young friend, Leonce de Lanville, with a wealthy young Dutchman, opened a vista into a new country. At the Hotel de Lanville, where the young couple spent the winter, (a pleasant residence, whose gardens united the Park and Boulevarts,) Sir Ralph soon established himself as a favour- ite guest ; and he was beginning to ask him- self whether an expedition to Utrecht the following summer, to be initiated into the gentle science of hawking, might not afford him more entertainment than his usual excur- sions to the German baths, when, to his sur- prise and delight, Cleraence one day reminded her husband, in his presence, of their projected English tour. The very thing for him ! To officiate as kornak to a distinguished party of foreigners visiting England for the first time, was ex- actly the " mission," for his present diminished pretensions and habits of life. 176 A life's lessons. So long as Eugenie de Lanville had re- mained, after the fashion of her country-women, a pensionnaire in the convent of the Sacre Coeur, at Jette, it had hovered among his day- dreams that the rich young Belgian might be converted into a charming Lady Barnardiston. But a few days' acquaintance with Eugenie destroyed the illusion. Ear from sharing the Walloon impetuosity of her brother and sister, Mademoiselle de Lanville was calm, reflective, and devout. Jockey ism was in her eyes, a miserable mania. She could not understand the voluntary subservience of a man to a beast ; and so little concealed her distaste for the prosy, priggish old bachelor who played so predomi- nant a part in their family circle, that Sir Ralph was obliged to place the conquest of Eugenie de Lanville among his abandoned missions. With her brother Leonce, and Adrian van der Helde, however, he remained a first favour- ite ; and great was their joy to find him A life's lessons. 177 warmly encourage the plan of their visit to England. "It would be a capital opportunity for them to see some English racing. Epsom and Ascot were over ; but they should be in time for Goodwood. He would write over, if they wished it, and secure accommodations. Imme- diately afterwards, they could proceed to the North." At this amended plan de camjpagne^ the eager Clemence clapped her hands for joy ; Adrian alone demurred. They must obtain his father's consent. His father might still insist on their passing the summer in Guelder- land. It happened, however, that the letter soli- citing old Lucas van der Helde's approval, reached him at a lucky moment. The brain of almost every elderly gentleman is haunted by some species of bogie ; and the old Dutch- man was tormented by the fear that his only son, so easily influenced by his associates, VOL. I. N 178 A life's lessons. might lapse at Brussels into a faineant — a mirliflor — an idle, supercilious dandy, depre- cating his mother country and its customs. Now he knew enough from history, tra- dition, and his correspondent, Jakes Zel- ters, of the character and constitution of Great Britain, to believe that there exists more affinity between the Enghsh and Dutch than between any other two European nations. Nothing pleased him better than that the giddy young couple concerning whom he was so anxious, should go and study at the foun- tain head, the public institutions and domestic life of the country he revered. A baronet, cousin-german to an ambassador, with half a century's experience in his well-wigged head, could not fail to be a desirable guide. — Par* liament was still sitting. Adrian would, doubtless, profit by the opportunity thus afforded, to make himself acquainted with the leading orators of the day. By such com- panionship, his views would become en- A life's lessons. 179 lightened, — his levity sobered. — They could not do better than go to England. His letter of credit was fully equal to his approbation. — Zelters and Co. were empow- ered to see Hawkshill placed in ornamental repair for the reception of the travellers, who, after a sufficient sojourn in London, would reach the spot by the end of July. His agent was bidden not to spare the purse and spoil the house. — Everything was to be made thoroughly comfortable. The prudent father entertained private hopes that his daughter- in-law, and Mademoiselle de Lanville, might be sufficiently pleased with what he had heard described as the luxurious country-life of Eng- land, to persuade his son into passing the winter there, rather than at the hybrid court of Brussels. Ingenuous old Lucas van der Helde ! He knew nothing of Sir Ralph Barnardiston ; — hadnever heard of Goodwood, or Newmarket; — seemed to fancy the steep hill-sides of North N 2 180 A life's lessons. Lancashire propitious to fox-hunting ; and that comfortable arm-chairs and a cozy bou- doir, in a lonely old manor-house, would supersede the charm of torchlight sledging, in the Forest of Soignes ; of courtly balls, and the inspiriting strains of Italian song ! — Ingenuous old Lucas van der Helde ! A LIFE S LESSONS. 181 CHAPTER XII. London seldom fails to enchant even the most fastidious foreigner who is so fortunate as to make its acquaintance at Midsummer. As mere birds of passage, unsolicitous . to attract attention, it was no mortification to the proteges of Sir Ralph that levees and drawing- rooms were over for the season. At the Opera, they saw as much of English beauty as satisfied them that it was over-rated ; and in Rotten Row, as much of horses, horsemen, and horsewomen, as rendered them more than ever victims to the hippomania so much the origin of their migration. A thoroughly English summer - day, at 183 A life's lessons. Goodwood, completed the charm. — The cup- race, the sunny weather, the gay dresses of that brilKant assemblage, filled them with dehght. Sir Ralph Barnardiston had taken precautions to render the noble proprietor of the spot aware, through the minister of the Netherlands, of the presence of the Comte and Comtesse de Lanville, whose parents had been the intimate friends of his own during the occupation of Belgium by the allied armies ; and was as proud of his own accession of consequence among his old acquaintance, as chevalier d'honneur to two young and lovely women, remarkable for the distinction of their dress and manners, as, in the fable, " Z' dne qui porte les reliqices^^ of the adoration paid to his sacred charge. " I met so many old friends at Goodwood, mon cher,' said he to Leonce de Lanville, on their way back to town — " so many old Eton and Lifeguards' chums, whom I had not met for years, that it has made me feel quite young A life's LESSONS. 1S3 again. — I could almost wish we were going to stay longer in town." But it was not of Eton or Lifeguards' men that the gay, selfish Leonce wanted to discourse. He was wild to be initiated into the slang of the racecourse, the mysteries and jargon of the ring, the science of making a book, — all the miserable arcana of the turf, to which so many men, as well-born and honourable as himself, have too often sacrificed both their fortune and reputation. He was surprised to find Sir Ralph com- pletely at fault. In England, Sir Ralph was obsolete and out of date. Ten years had elapsed since he set foot on an English course ; and the race of horses, jockeys, and patrons, was wholly new to him. A Chiffney, indeed, assumes his father's saddle, much as An Amurath an Amurath succeeds — - Or Harry, Harry. But it struck him that both horses and riders 1S4 A life's lessons. were far less clever than they used to be. As to the Jockey Club, he was forced, after a question or two concerning his quondam friends, to refrain from further investigation. It was not pleasant to hear, in answer to enquiries after Lord This, Sir Charles That, or that excellent fellow, Cecil Flam, — " le- vanted," — " a defaulter," — " gone to the dogs." — He was not anxious that his foreign friends should learn how " books " are sometimes balanced, or " settling-day" left unsettled. Meanwhile, among the things left unsettled by the results of Goodwood, were the minds of Adrian, his wife, and brother - in - law. Their brief view of the great world made them deeply regret that they had not visited London at an earlier period ; their experience of English society at Brussels having little pre- pared them for the charm of its highest class. — The Van der Heldes, assured by the Dutch minister of the delight it would have afforded him to introduce them to the London A life's lessons. 185 world, began to feel that they had been misled. Forgetting that their ostensible errand in England was to survey the Hawkshill estate, they secretly accused Sir Ralph as the cause of their oversight, and began to see that they might as well have consulted a last year's almanack. They were, however, too young and cheery to be long discontented ; more especially as Eu- genie was prone to suggest that a thousand disappointments would probably have awaited them ; and to enlarge on the beauties of ri\er, wood, and wold, which they traversed on their road into the North. They visited Birming- ham and Liverpool ; and their own Liege and Antwerp, which they had previously re- garded as busy commercial cities, subsided in their appreciation, as molehills before moun- tains. The last day's journey, however, proved the most exciting. The servants had been dispatched before them to Hawkshill, where 186 A LIFE S LESSONS, Mr. Zelters was already waiting to receive the family of his patron ; and not a member of the party but was eager for the sight of a place, which circumstances might convert into a home. Sir Ralph had already assured them that, if it lay within reach of a tolerable pack of hounds, he should have no objection to remain their guest till Christmas. The man of many missions had seen a good deal of Great Britain in his time. But when the carriage eventually drew up before the tall steps and narrow doorway of Hawkshill, he thought he had never — unless, perhaps, the royal palaces of St. James's, or Kensington — beheld so hideous a structure. The square- cut, solemn, obsequious old merchant of the Barbican, who stood bowing in the hall, struck him as an ill-taught butler; and unless the cook, cellar, and partridge-shooting should exceed his expectations, he already mentally rescinded his proposal to make Hawkshill his head-quarters. A life's lessons. 187 On the Van der Heldes the aspect of the house produced a directly contrary impression. It had been so little boasted of by his father, that Adrian had prefigured to himself a place of far less importance ; and as both he and his wife were accustomed, in Holland and on the banks of the Meuse, to look with respect on mansions quite as quaint and twice as gloomy, they were prepared to admire and enjoy. Within, it w^ould have been difficult to find fault. The newly-furnished rooms were models of English comfort. Even the old saloons, with their carved ceilings and unprepossessing family pictures, were objects of interest ; more especially as, in attempting to adjust the brocade hangings which became tatters in the attempt, a fine set of Gobelin tapestry was discovered underneath, very little more faded in hue than when the second Lady van der Helde — a city dame with a partiality for decided colours — had caused the whole to be covered 188 A life's lessons. with heavy crimson damask. — To have wholly removed what Avas originally the gracious gift of William of Nassau, would have been held high treason in the family. And thus, ex- quisite hawking-groups, after Wouverman, were preserved, like Diomed's villa by the ashes of Vesuvius. The summer sun streamed brightly into the old house, as if to welcome the strangers. Flowers had been placed in the towering Nankin beakers that graced the carved chim- ney-pieces. The French maids and valets ran hither and thither, chattering, grumbling, and suggesting ; while Madame van der Helde's pet griffon capered from room to room, en- raptured by its release from carriage durance. Sir Ralph, at once cogitative and projective, alone surveyed the ungainly old house with profound regret that so much good money should have been thrown away in the en- deavour to render habitable what nobody could ever possibly wish to inhabit ; a place where A life's lessons. 189 the daily papers and daily fish must neces- sarily arrive stale, the nearest market town being twelve miles distant from the lodge. Even the excellent fare provided for them failed to cheer up his spirits. He was not sorry, indeed, that his foreign friends should acquire practical confirmation of his often- repeated assurance, that it was only in French vaudevilles, the English indulged in cannibal- ism ; and that raw beefsteaks, and le plomb pouding, did not exclusively comprise our bills of fare. Leonce, who had spent two winters in Paris, and was a considerable proficient in the Hague of that fatherland of " chaff,'' was amazed to find, as he coolly informed Sir Ralph, that, for once, the fictions of that boastful individual were borne out by fact. The first evening passed ofi" charmingly. Adrian gave himself up to the discussion of business questions with Jakes Zelters, who, after a week's sojourn with them, was to return to the Barbican \ and the three Lanvilles ga- 190 A life's lessons. thered round an excellent piano, just furnished by Broadwood, and thoroughly enjoyed a pleasure of which they had been some time past deprived. Poor Sir Ralph ! — What was to become of Sir Ralph ! — The statistics of Van der Helde's auditor were far from amusing. He had no taste for music, except as a pretext for nodding time out of time, in a loge des lions or diplo- matic opera-box. So that, after imbibing his coffee, and the incomparable Dutch curacoa which formed its chasse, he had nothing to do but doze away the evening in a marrowy fau* teuil; dreaming of Goodwood cups, Birmingham factories, Liverpool docks, Eugenie de Lanville, the odds on the favourite for the approaching St. Leger, his heavily-mortgaged estate on the coast of Cornwall, and Van der Helde's on the Lancashire Moors. On the morrow, sunshine still prevailed. It is true Sir Ralph brought in an afflicting report from the stables of the '' wretched A life's lessons. 191 brutes" provided for their use by Jakes Zelters, selected, he had Uttle hesitation in beheving, from his own carts in the Barbican. But his indignation was rewarded by bursts of laugh- ter. Adrian had sufficient experience of the wide undrained heaths of Guelderland, and Leonce of those of the Ardennes, to be aware that a sure-footed pony is better riding for such localities as the moors they had traversed the preceding day, than all the thorough-breds in the world. " But the neighbours, my dear friend !" exclaimed the priggish baronet — " What will . the neighbours think of such a stud ? — First impressions are everything. In England, as elsewhere, people are apt to judge by appear- ances. The owners of a country-seat like this, are not expected to emerge from its gates mounted on farmers' nags." " As far as I can learn from our good Zelters, mon pauvre ami,'' was Adrian's arch rejoinder, " we have not within twenty miles anything 192 A life's lessons. worthy to be called a neighbour in more than the Scriptural sense. Lord Mardyke, the only landowner hereabouts above the rank of a yeoman, is salmon-fishing on the Tay. Set your mind at ease, therefore. You might ride a cadger's donkey, without losing caste, at Hawkshill." Leonce, however, a thorough child of the century, proved to have taken precautions for his own comfort, by dispatching to Hawkshill, a fortnight before, his own and his sister's horses, attended by their English grooms. He was consequently able to enjoy at his ease the discomfiture of the unhappy baronet at the foretaste of the jogtrot cob destined for his use. Before breakfast was over, it was clearly written in the face of the convention- alised Sir Ralph, that he sincerely wished him- self at Spa, Homburg, or Baden; or, at all events, two hundred miles nearer a tolerable club. He was not accustomed to act to empty benches. He could not stand a life where A life's lessons. 193 varnished boots were out of place. In his day of fashionable education, the Highlands had scarcely come into fashion, to teach fasti- dious dandies the art of "roughing it ;" and he was now too old to be taught. A man less cut-and-dried, however, could not have failed to expand into pleasurable emotions at the sight of Eugenie de Lanville, in her simple country costume, retm-ning from her survey of the gardens, laden with spoils. Prepared, of course, to find in England what on the continent is called an Enghsh garden — namely, a wilderness of ill-kept shrubberies^ with a fishpond overhung by willow-trees, and enlivened by fancy ducks, — she was en- chanted by the formal pleasaunce, reminding her of the haunts of her youth, which those unmeaning Jar dins Anglais have superseded. TJninvaded, for the last century, by the hand of improvement, the growing-for-prizes head- gardener, dispatched to Hawkshill by Jakes Zelters from his own villa at Stockwell, had VOL. I. o 194 A life's lessons, found no time to destroy the quaint origin- ality of the place. All he had done was to trim the box-edgings, and bring forth out of the old greenhouse (which exhibited three parts of brick to one of glass), and station on the grass-plot by which it was fronted, a dozen or so of magnificent orange-trees, which had accompanied the tapestry-hangings from Hamp- ton Court, as a tribute from WiUiam the Third to Sir Jacob the First ; and some noble olean- der, camphor, and pepper trees, dispatched from Amsterdam by Sir Jacob the Second. The orange-trees were white with bloom ; the oleanders tipped with masses of rose- coloured blossom ; and on every side, bees and butterflies, in pursuit of their luscious morn- ing banquet, seemed to vivify and brighten the air. Myriads of song-birds, so long un- disturbed in their haunts, perfected the charm by fearless warblings ; the charm of summer in all its luxuriance ; the charm of summer with its lavish tributes to every sense. A life's lessons. 195 The Stockwell gardener, it is true, already foredoomed the place to destruction, in order to lay down turf, and bestar it with fanciful flower-beds, simple and composite ; to form the nearest approach to the pattern of a Kid- derminster carpet or Ternaux shawl, by means of patches of party-coloured sand and ribbings of artificial stone. But even Jie^ while medi- tating these whimsical improvements, could not withhold his admiration from the stupen- dous variegated aloes which w^ere traditionally known to have flowered half-a-dozen times since their naturalisation at Hawkshill. Sttll less, from the colossal masses of Yucca glo- riosa, which no officious gardener had divided ; each forming a thicket of almost oriental luxmiance. — Albeit he regarded with scorn a garden, that ventured to call itself a garden, yet was destitute of a single Californian annual or New Zealand evergreen, these dignified veterans commanded his respect ; as that of a Dalesman might have been excited by 2 196 A life's lessons. the sight of a dowager in her diamonds, or Sir Charles Grandison in a birthday suit. Sir Ralph, however, was not to be beguiled out of his nil admirari. What cared he for Yuccas or aloes? Green tubs, filled with plants of painted tin, would look quite as well, and economise winter fuel. Had he ever visited the Botanical Gardens of Kew, or of any foreign capital, where such monstrosities are brought to perfection ? And why go bhstering his face, and deforming his summer boots over ill-kept gravel, and under the noon- day sun, to contemplate objects so unsightly ? As no one cared for the company of the used-up, washed-out baronet when suffering from peevishness and indigestion, Eugenie was careful not to apprise him of another of her discoveries in the grounds ; — a beautiful spring, surrounded by one of the Sir Jacobs with a plantation of stone pines, and a mass of artificiaL rock- work ; which had lost all its character of artificiality under an unchecked A life's lessons. 197 overgrowth of ferns and creeping plants. Under the shade of the overarching pines, the clear spring rippled up as cool and clear as ever ; imparting life and a sense of enjoyment to that lonely spot. It was easy to entice her sister Clemence, and her novelty-seeking brother, to that plea- sant spot ; while Sir Ralph retired in dudgeon to the old library, to cultivate a gourmand's dyspepsia, and preserve the immaculacy of his boots and jeans. " Who would have thought,*' mused he, as he extended his time-stiffened limbs in a library chair, " that these people, who, at their charming Hotel in the Pare, exhibited such perfect savoir vivre, would, on their travels, lapse into barbarism, and beset one with the beauties of nature ! They ought to have warned me that the charmante terre^ they talked of, was, in point of fact, situated in the wilderness — ^without neighbourhood — without resources of any kind. — What is one to do in 198 A life's lessons. such a place ? The manor not even preserved, and not so much as a pack of harriers within thirty miles round ! A few grouse on the moors, — a few thin coveys, — comprise all the shooting they can dispose of ; to say nothing of a Liverpool billiard-table, built on the most approved principles of the eighteenth century ! But it is too late for the German baths, even if I could devise a pretext for leaving them. I must make it out between picquet with Leonce, and moonlight with little Eugenie, till Don caster. They can't back out of their en- gagement for Doncaster ! Afterwards, en routey — if, indeed, I do not expire of ennui in the interim." "And what a specimen of a library!'' he resumed, recalled by the musky scent of the ancient volumes surrounding him, to a sense of his situation ; — " folios which it requires giants to wield, and gigantic intellects to wade through 1 These Aldus printed — those Du Seuil has bound j A life's lessons. 199 and not a readable book in all this labyrinth of letter-press !" He searched in vain the library table of massive walnut wood, for Quarterly Reviews, Blackwood's Magazines, or some of those epi- tomes of modern literature by which hundred- weights of mental bark are condensed into a drachm of quinine; or oceans of narcotics into a single drop of morphia. And as to attempting the rusty-leathered, foxy-leaved quartos, nothing short of a D.D., or Oxford Don, or British Museumite, could have v^en- tured. What would he have given at that moment for a light, slight, bright-boarded volume of Entertaining Knowledge ; or one of the plea- sant but wrong, pirated reprints of M^line Cans ! All he obtained in their place was the society of Leonce de Lanville ; who, after a cooling refection of Moselle and Seltzer water, had left his sisters to their gossip and embroidery. 200 A life's lessons. to talk horseflesh and grumble with their guest. Grumble, — because Leonce could not help feeling a little ill-used. — Having been assured by Sir Ralph, at Brussels, that '' V omerture de la chasse'' took place on the English moors on the twelfth of August, and everywhere else on the first of September, he had concluded, with a foreigner's utter want of instinct in all matters of sportsmanship, that fox-hunting was comprehended under the sweeping denomination of Chasse ; and had transported his hunters to England for the purpose. And now, he found himself at the close of a burning July, with a fortnight's vacuum before him ere even a grouse could be shot at ; and three months' leisure in prospect ere he could sally forth to what Madame de Stael calls " supprimer les renardsy " In short, mon clier^' said he, to the fretful baronet, " here I am, deceived by your vague intelligence, and my own sanguine foreshow- ings ; wrecked on the most barren shore that A life's lessons. 201 ever crushed the spirit of mortal man — let alone sportsman — since the days of your cele- brated Robinson Crusoe !" Sir Ralph had nothing to reply. He was as fully aware as Leonce that he had missed his tide. The autumn lay dun and dreary before him ; nay, the very day was more than he knew how to dispose of. He had fulfilled its quotidian duties. His nails were in per- fect order : Othello's occupation was gone. Yesterday's Times lay crumpled by his side ; that of to-morrow was past praying, for till another four-and-twenty tedious hours should have dragged their slow length along. He sat silent and helpless in his chair, like a collapsed balloon, or a boozy alderman after much turtle. Cigars were, of course, the only resourc^e : — cigars, the bane of the modern Christian, as opium of the Turk. The Enghsh guests of a country house destitute of a regular smoking- room, would have repaired for this enjoyment 202 A life's lessons. either to the open air or the dismantled green-house. Even Leonce and the desiccated baronet would have refrained, in one of the newly-furnished rooms. But in that dingy library, furnished with " nothing but books,'* there was no drawback. Soothed by the fragrant fumes, they w^ere soon as completely lost in the dreamy stupor which they mistook for meditation, as ever the gallant Raleigh, or a Friesland boor. And these two useless individuals — the ob- solete and the coming man — were, alas ! types of the century ; — fungi exuded by the rafters of the Temple of CiviHsation : — the withered dandy of St. James's Street — the precocious moutard of the Caf6 de Paris : — alike selfish, — alike superficial, — alike intent upon "the fickle breath of popular applause," represented by the enervate whisper of fashionable clubs ! Such was the state of Hawkshill on even its first day of novelty. By the time a third had closed in, Clemence van der Helde and A LIFERS LESSONS. 203 her brother made no secret of their conviction that the country, in the dog-days, is only fit for the canine race ; and that it requires all the social resources of a bathing-place, to say nothing of the refreshment of sea-bathing or mineral tonics, to get through such very long days and such very sultry nights. Adrian was still endeavouring to interest himself about the crops ; and Eugenie found pleasant occupation in the needle-work so dear to convent-taught embroideresses. But Leonce was reduced to seek amusement in the stables : sitting on^the corn-bin, with a cigar in his mouth, like pa- tience on a monument, to see his horses groomed and their litter plaited round by his knowing Enghsh helpers. Sir R-alpb, mean- while, after incurring the cramp in his arms by the perusal of a quarto parchment-bound edition of the erotic poems of Parnell (a pre- sentation copy from that witty diplomatist " to his esteemed friend. Sir Jacob van der Helde, Bart., M.D.")j was seriously considering by what 204 A life's lessons. means he could get himself sent for express to visit some dying relative. For, in those days, electric telegraphs were not, to waft a lie, either private or official, from Indus to the Pole ; and he was as much intent on escape from his durance as Latude, Beniousky, or Baron Trenck. The proposal of Clemence van der Helde that, the day being shghtly overclouded so as to favour an afternoon ride, they should pro- ceed by a pleasant road to visit a hamlet among the hills described to her husband by Zelters, where might be seen a charming breed of otter-dogs, and a very pretty and well- dowered damsel, the daughter of an ex-bailiff of Hawkshill, appeared to him like manna in the wilderness. They were all soon on horse- back, and eager for the fray : with the excep- tion of Leonce, who had too much regard for the legs of his favourite mare to risk the stony byways of Northern Lancashire. He pre- ferred exercising her, in single blessedness, A life's lessons. 205 along the strip of turf bordering the high road to Ilsington : making, as is so frequently the case, his horse a greater consideration than himself. On the return of the party, full of spirits, as well as of praises of the homely fare and homely beauty of Gridlands, he was not sorry to learn that his fastidiousness was better used than it deserved ; and that, on the morrow, Mahomet was coming to visit the mountain. " But what will you do with this girl, my dear madam, when you have got her hete ?" inquired Sir Ralph of Clemence van der Helde. " I understand from your friend here, Mr. Zelters, that her mother, or grandmother, or great-grandmother, officiated as housekeeper in this very house." "Yes, — for four generations their family supplied faithful servants to ours," interrupted Adrian. " Then, of course, you cannot admit her to your table ?" 206 A life's lessons. " Why not ? In the country, etiquette may surely be laid aside.— She is thoroughly well- educated and well-bred. I consider her the greatest acquisition to us." " But her father !" persisted the astonished Sir Ralph, apprehensive lest his foreign friends should commit themselves in the eyes of the county by such singular innovations — " Her father has the air of a pig- driver. Her father is a boor!" "Make yourself easy, Sir, concerning my respectable friend, old Michael Balfour," in- terposed Jakes Zelters, with one of his driest smiles. "Por some days past he has been living in terror of even a chance- collision with the grand folks, whose strange tongues he can't pretend to understand. His Nannie, he says, is school-taught, and able to converse with them. But Michael will skidk back to Middledale, or push on to Ilsington, almost before you have had time to welcome his daughter." A life's lsssoks. 207 ** School-taught !'' said Leonce, with a super- ciHous shrug. "A vulgar provincial theuj after all ! How vexatious ! I was in hopes of seeing an unsophisticated mountain-daisy." ** Unsophisticated you will find Nannie Bal- four/' rejoined the grave old merchant. " An excellent girl, who will make a capital wife for some thriving manufacturer ; and not the less acceptable, probably, that, first and last, she will carry him in her pocket upwards of thirty thousand pounds. Already, I am myself an- swerable to her for an income of six hundj'ed a year." " Quinze mille francs de rente f* observed L6once. " Quite enough to afford her a trifle of French and good manners." " Thirty thousand pounds ! *' mused Sir Kalph, deferentially. And it was observed that he made no further objection to the intro- duction of the ''petite pa^sanne" into the circle he honoured with his presence. 208 A life's lessons. CHAPTER XIIL When Nannie made her appearance at Hawkshill, to be inaugurated into this world of strangers, nothing, not a single circum- stance or particular, tended to remind her of her last ill-omened visit. All was now cheerfulness and change, music and feasting; her new companions so prepossessing, her new modes of hfe at once so simple and so refined. The only member of the party whose ac- quaintance she had then to make, charmed her less than the rest, probably because he was less natural. Artificial manners, even the most pohshed, convey an uneasy feeling to the spectator, such A life's lessons. 209 as we feel in presence of persons, some portion of whose attire is in manifest danger of falling off. Adrian van der Helde, genuine and out- spoken, was far more to her taste. Less strik- ing in form or feature than his high-bred brother-in-law, he was more amiable, and more manly. — As to Sir Ralph, his appearance and costume rendered him far more of a fo- reigner in her eyes than either of the others. His pompous civility oppressed her. It was so much pleasanter to chat with those two agreeable sisters, than to answer his arrogant questions. Though unapprised "from autho- rity" that she saw in him the mere parasite of the family, she instinctively placed him in her scale of reverence far lower than the rest. On returning from their after-dinner stroll through the gardens, which Nannie, for the first time, beheld swept and garnished, she afforded to Madame van der Helde and her sister, what accomplished musicians so rarely VOL. I. p 210 A life's lessons. find and dearly prize, an enthusiastic as well as judicious listener. Endowed with exquisite taste, and a charming voice, she had never been permitted to acquire nausic as an art. Aunt Dorty and her mother disapproved of so sad a waste of time. But her delight was only the greater at hearing, for the first time, those chef-d'oeuvres of the great masters, which are usually rendered distasteful to the ear by compulsory lessons. No fanatica per la musica, languishing in her opera-box, ever experienced such ecstasy at the scores of Mozart and Ros- sini interpreted by Pasta or Malibran, as Nannie, while listening to the admirable per- formance of Eugenie and Clemence. Next morning, it was her own turn to tri- umph. Though the sisters prided themselves on their proficiency with the needle, as Bel- gian ladies are apt to do, they owned them- selves fairly outdone in the , specimen which they drew from the workbox of neighbour Varnham's pupil : a cambric pillow-case be- A life's lessons. 211 spoken of Mrs. Rawson by Lady Mardyke, the price of which, unknown to the poor crip- ple, was to be secretly added to her own earnings. Such wheat-ears — such poppies — such delicate corn-flowers ! "You must let me copy this exquisite garland," said Eugenie. "I never saw one so delicately designed. But how, in your secluded home, have you managed to obtain such patterns, or to execute them with such consummate skill ?" " Because I was taught by a friend ; ^and because our designs were furnished by my cousin Ely," replied Nannie ; not, however, without so deep a blush as to prevent Made- moiselle de Lanville from molesting her with further questions. Zelters had hinted some- thing of his ward being *' hand-fasted" to a cousin. It was, probably, this sketcher of harvest garlands. In no other mansion in the county, perhaps, would Nannie Balfour have been so placed at p 2 212 A life's lessons. her ease as at Hawkshill. It is not in En- glish nature — in Endish aristocratic nature— to lay aside thus frankly the prejudices of caste. Recent revolutions have taught to Conti- nental countries the real value of adventitious rank ; and so many obligations have been conferred by the little upon the great in the midst of war and tumults, that a certain de- gree of re-action has been the result. English people of the first class, whether as regards rank or opulence, are moreover as closely sur- rounded by a cordon sanitaire oi superfluous servants, as the ancient throne of Spain by grandees; and to these, they are, or make themselves, accountable : the stately house- keeper — the pompous maitre-d'hotel — the pert groom of the chambers — the flippant lady's maid. And what woald this privy council of the steward's room have said at Mardyke Castle, had the Countess taken it into her head to entertain the daughter of a small A life's lessons. 213 farmer at her dinner-table, and eveu find plea- sure in her company ! They allowed her ladyship to invite to her London parties promoted actresses of doubtful antecedents and tarnished reputation, — a de- ceased wife's sister married to a brother- in-law, or a deceased brother's widow in the same predicament ; no matter how short a time having witnessed the double event. But there would have been no pardon for my lady the Countess's stooping to sing and play to the last representative of a line of* ex- emplary servants ; having nothing to recom- mend her to favour but beauty, intelligence, modesty, and good sense. Even the steady-minded Jakes Zelters, how- ever, became a little anxious when he saw how speedily and thoroughly Nannie was adopted by her new protectors. Before he took his final departure for London, he could not for- bear leading the young girl apart, and whis- pering a word of warning. 214 A life's lessons. " They mean you well ; but they are makiog a plaything of you, my good girl," said he. "Wait till the young Count, or the young husband, begins to overpraise you, and the wind will change from south to north. Take in a reef of your sails in time, Nannie, my child ; and keep a watchful eye upon the helm, before a storm is blowing. Above all, be true to yourself. You are independent. You have no need of all this patronage or affabiHty. And lay this to your heart, that, whether in smooth water or rough, good Madame Ver- hout's descendant has claims on old Jakes Zelters, which he will never repudiate. In trouble or sunshine, lass, come to me for ad- vice or aid ; and the old Dutchman will not be wanting." Though far from believing in the necessity for so solemn a charge, Nannie was grateful for the fatherly kiss deposited on her forehead at its close by her venerable guardian. She remembered with what respect his annual A life's lessons. 215 visits had been looked forward to by her mo- ther ; and how, as a little child, she had sat at their feet, listening to their unintelligible Dutch lingo, and gazing into their very ho- nest, because intelligible, faces, with infantine wonder and admiration. When he left Hawkshill, she felt consider- ably more alone than during his visit. Her father, busy with his farm, seldom came near her ; and she was beginning to see the neces- sity of returning home, to look after his house- hold comforts. But whenever a hint of this description alarmed Clemence and Eugenie with the dread of losing the pleasant companion who had afforded so acceptable a fillip to their tame existence, — Sir Ralph volunteered to ride over to Gridlands, and obtain Michael Balfour's sanction to the prolongation of her stay ; and Nannie, who mistrusted the supercilious ba- ronet, and disliked the idea of his visiting her simple home during her absence, to pry 216 A life's lessons. into the nakedcess of the land, immediately consented to the concession of a few more days. By this time, there were, in addition to the rabbit warren, a few grouse and moor-fowl, to afford occupation to the male moiety of the party, and leave leisure for Eugenie de Lan- ville to enjoy the society of her English friend ; sometimes, seated beside the spring in the pine-grove — sometimes, in the cozy Hawks- hill boudoir. They had mutual lessons to impart ; in languages, in embroidery, and above all, in that interchange of thought and feeling which constitutes the supreme science of human life. They were left together daily more and more. Clemen ce had ceased to join them in their rides, and often returned home alone from their daily walks. Instead of favouring old Van der Helde's plan, that they should spend a merry hunting Christmas in England, nlie was able to propose to him a plan a thou- A life's lessons. 217 sand times more welcome; that she should spend the winter with him at the Hague, and there give birth, in his native country, to the heir alone wanting to complete the domestic happiness of the family. " And thus," said Eugenie, when she com- municated the fact to her new friend, as they pursued their way across the moors, under the glowing, but not oppressive, beams of an August sunset ; " thus, I shall be left nearly alone. Leonce will not hear of a winter at the Hague; and it is the duty, as well •as pleasure, of my sister, that her child should be born under the roof of its forefathers." " But surely he would not wish to separate you from your sister at such a moment?" " It is as much my duty to remain with Leonce, as it is hers to abide by her husband. Were he left to establish a bachelor home in the Hotel de Lanville — where we have all lived so happily — where my poor mother died — who can say where it might end ?— -Brussels, 218 A life's lessons. in aping the manners of Paris, apes also its vices. — Nannie ! how I wish you would marry my brother, and terminate all our anxieties on his account !" *'Were you not telling me yesterday, ^<2 chere demoiselle^' replied Nannie, taking the slender hand of Mademoiselle de Lanville be- tween her own, "that your 'ancestors fought in the first crusade ; and that the late Comtesse de Lanville had filled the place of Mistress of the Eobes ?" "And what then?" " Simply that, while she was shining at court, my parents were fulfilling menial offices in this very house. I am not ashamed to own it; for I form no pretension beyond their humble condition. But as the wife of the Comte de Lanville, I might be made to blush for their origin, and, therefore, for my- self.'' ** But why need our family and friends in Brabant know of their origin, or yours ? A life's lessons. 219 They would see you doing honour to their name, and creating a happy home for Leonce ; who, so easily led, would, if left alone and cheerless, be only too apt to fall under the influence of dissolute associates." "The influence of an ignorant, half-edu- cated girl like myself, is scarcely likely to reform him," said Nannie, smiling at her earnestness. " And if you, ma chere demoiselle, are afraid of feehng lonely in a house which Sir Ralph BarnardisLon describes as little in- ferior to a palace, enlivened by brilliant enter- tainments, and surrounded by family connec- tions, what would be the condition of my poor old father at Gridlands, deserted by his child, his only child ; and tormented by the thought that she had abandoned him for love of a stranger?" " I was afraid it was a blessing past pray- ing for," rejoined Mademoiselle de Lanville, with a heavy sigh. "But why not assign the real reason, Nannie ? You, so frank and 220 A life's lessons. honourable, ought to say at once — * I can- not marry Leonce de Lanville because he is a CathoHc, and because 1 am affianced to another.' " "It is because I am truthful that I do not assign such objections," replied the young girl, thus strenuously cross-examined. But the tears in her eyes, and the flush overspread- ing her face, as the allusion brought to mind not the mild and generous cousin Ely, which it really regarded, but the dark-browed, im- passioned Maurice who tyrannised over her heart, evinced so much distress, that Mademoi- selle de Lanville terminated the conversation by printing an affectionate kiss on that blushing cheek, with a whisper of " Toujour s, ma petite s(Bur,quandmhie .'" — and hastened to turn the conversation in another direction. Only a year older than her rustic ''petite soeur'' Eugenie had not much to relate. She could talk of little save the forms and habits of the convent where her youth was passed. A life's lessons. 221 But of these, so different from her own expe- riences of life, Nannie was never weary. She liked to hear of those spreading gardens at Jette, — its vast corridors and spacious dormitories. But above all, of the good sisters and Mere Su^erieure, at once so dig- nified and affable, w^hom Eugenie loved as a mother. Her sister Clemence had, during her mo- ther's lifetime, been educated at the Ursulines of Bruges, a convent secondary only to the Sacre Coeur of Paris, as the nursery of oiir Howards, Arundels, Blounts, Bedingfields, and Stonors ; — the name of the abbess being usually included in the pages of Lodge and Burke. It was there, in fact, that Madame van der Helde had contracted her EngHsh predilections, and as much knowledge of the English language as enabled her to miscall every object she asked for, and invariably make herself misunderstood. But Eugenie, the '' youngling" of the 222 A life's lessons. family, had been retained nearer home, at Jette, amidst woods and cornfields, yet within reach of the best professors of the arts in which she was so remarkable a proficient. A girl less artless than herself might, however, natu- rally have asked herself on what account all these details were so interesting to the Lanca- shire farmer's daughter, who was constantly tempting her into details of her earlier years, and the forms of conventual rule. " Good news, my little Nannie !*' cried Madame van der Helde, one afternoon, when she had sauntered out into the gardens, to meet them on their return from their daily walk. — "It will be impossible for you to leave us at present. — Ces messieurs ^ a little out .of sorts at finding that the Hawkshill manors have yielded them exactly a third of the sport they usually enjoy in the Ardennes, are off to-morrow to Doncaster : — an engagement, it appears, made long ago with Sir Ralph. So, as we shall be two A life's lessons. 223 forlorn females, Nannie, you cannot refuse to keep us company. We shall otherwise accuse you of having found your attraction at Hawkshill in the society of the handsome Leonce or ce paiwre dandi suranne^ our ci-deva)it jeime homme. A vexatious challenge ; — for Nannie had already announced to her father that on the morrow she should return home to set his house in order. " At least," she argued, " permit me to ride over to GridlandSj to-morrow, to make house- hold arrangements, and obtain my father's consent." " On condition that Eugenie bears you company. I must have a hostage for your return.'* On the morrow^ accordingly, escorted by one of the Comte de Lanville's English grooms, they traversed together those all but sheep- walks over the hills, which constituted the bridle road between Hawkshill and Middle- 224 A life's lessons, dale: enjoying the fresh breeze of a bright September day, with the happy spirits arising from minds untainted and hearts unembittered by the whips and scorns of polite life. A life's lessons. 225 CHAPTER XIV. Absent ! — Michael and his venerable chum the Pairson had driven over to Ilsington for market-day. — " Didn't [man, woman, or child, the country round, know that Friday was market-day at Ilsington !" was old Martha's comment on the light-headedness of her nursling ; little suspecting that the '* Hght head" on which she fondly laid her brown old hand was in some danger of being encircled with a countess's coronet ; in place of the May-day garland or harvest-home wreath which constituted the Middledale notion of a crown. " At least," said Eugenie de Lanville, VOL. L Q 226 A life's lessons. "though disappointed in the object of our ride, don't let it be labour lost. While our ponies are resting, you must teach me, in your own dairy, the art of making those famous cream cheeses, which your father sends to Hawkshill; — Hke May Hetley, of immortal memory, in the Heart of Mid-Lothian." " Do not be angry if I turn you over to the instructions of my May Hetley, our good old Martha, who is twice as good a dairy- woman as myself," said Nannie. " I have friends here in the village, who would be hurt to knov^r I had spent an hour at Gridlands without inquiring after them." " Friends ?" exclaimed Eugenie, a little surprised ; for, having now traversed the hamlet for the second time, she knew that it did not contain a single tenement above the rank of a hovel. " Where do they live, then ? I saw nothing hke a house as we rode through the village." *' Because you measure houses by the stan- A life's lessons. 227 dard of the Hotel de Lanville. Our parsonage would be called a kennel by Sir Ralph Bar- nardiston. The house of my friend — my dear friend, my best friend, — is half the size of the entrance lodge to Hawkshill." Mademoiselle de Lanville was too grateful to Nannie for having consented to remain their guest a short time longer, to pursue in- quiries apparently unwelcome ; but placed herself cheerfully under the instructions of Martha. With her habit tucked up, and mounted on a pair of the old woman's pattens to secure her against the damp of the newly- washed brick-floor of the Gridlands' dairy, she called lap her best English in order to profit by the lesson ; while Nannie proceeded, not without some degree of trepidation, towards Hawyer's Cottage. Little more than five weeks had -elapsed since she last approached the spot, with Elisha's birthday present in her hand ; and since then, what a new world had developed Q 2 228 A life's lessons. itself before her ! — It made her giddy to think of it. — She had nothing, however, with which to reproach herself. She had accepted, not sought, the friendship of these kindly foreigners. And after all, it was an inherited friendship ; a birthright derived from the faith- ful service of her fore-elders. Still, an inner consciousness whispered that the poor cripple, who had been scarcely able to conceal her jealousy of aunt Dorty and her son, was likely to be far more mistrustful of her friendship for the new-comers ; who were regarded, in that humble neighbourhood, as scarcely secondary in importance to royalty itself. It w^as some- thing that the opportune absence of the venerable Pairson secured her from a re- buke which she feared as much as King David that of Nathan. But to lift the latch of neighbour Varnham made her heart beat. When it was hfted, however, all thought of herself was lost in anxiety for the invalid ; so A life's lessons. 229 greatly was she altered by the few weeks which had elapsed since their last interview. The embroidery-frame stood in its usual place, as though her industry had been unintermitted. But all else was changed and miserable. The geranium she had left in the window was spindled up and withering for want of water ; and, far worse, the cheeks of the poor cripple were more than ever wasted and waxen. Her faint voice came forth as from a tomb. After having so long before her eyes the youth, beauty, and prosperity of Clemenc^ and Eugenie, to return to the sickliness and despondency of Hawyer's Cottage, was like sinking into a grave. Instead of recounting to her friend, as she had purposed, all the kindness she had received and the happiness she had enjoyed, Nannie was tongue-tied. But that the tears gliding silently down her cheeks spoke for her, she might have been supposed insensible to the grievous alteration of her friend. 230 ' A life's lessons, *' You have been ill ! You must have been sadly ill ! Why did you not send for me, dearest Mrs. Varnham ?" said she, at length, in a voice rendered incoherent by sobs. " So near you as I was ; and yet so out of the way of hearing that I was wanted !" " Your father has been very kind. Your father has seen me daily. I concluded he would apprise you of my illness," said the cripple, fondly extending her hands to the guest, who, thus encouraged, assumed her accustomed place at her feet. " But my ill- ness, Nannie, has been of a nature no kindness of yours could assuage. Your attendance, my dear child, would perhaps have aggravated my pain. It was some little consolation to know that you were happy and amused else- where." " I should have been neither happy nor amused had I suspected you had any unusual cause for suffering," rejoined Nannie. " On the day of my departure for Hawkshill, when A life's lessons. ^31 I brought you those books, and explained the cause of my sudden departure " " Yes, yes ! I was well then — compara- tively happy then. When I bad you fare- well that morning, Nannie, I little thought how much more terrible a parting awaited me." " Maurice !" ejaculated the poor girl, almost breathless. " Yes, Maurice ! He has gone through his examination with more than credit. He has obtained his appointment " "And is gone without wishing me good- bye ! — I deserve it. — At our last meeting he told me he would see me no more." " But you do not suppose him capable of realising such a threat? You do not fancy he would sail for India without " " Enjin, je te retrowoe /" interrupted a silvery voice, through the half-opened door. And, in another moment, Eugdnie de Lanville, with her habit gathered up in her hand, and her 232 A life's lessons. slouched beaver half-concealing her fair young face, glided gently into the room. *' And so you wished to give me the slip," said she, advancing gently towards her startled friend. " Dear madam," she continued, courte- ously addressing Mrs. Varnham, " this new sister of mine has been boasting to us, ever since we made her acquaintance, of a dear friend at Middledale, whom she valued far above ourselves, her instructress in a thousand accomplishments, her idol through a thousand virtues. Yet, now that an occasion has pre- sented itself for allowing me to share her good fortune, she has shown herself so little gene- rous, that I am forced to intrude here, in person, in order to thank you for advantages derived at second-hand from your instructions. Having learned from Martha where I was likely to find you/' continued Eugenie, ad- dressing poor Nannie in explanation of her ill-timed visit, " I resolved to follow you, and examine for myself this magazin of em- A life's lessons. 233 broidery patterns and mysterious attach- ments." A faint smile was all the encouragement she received from her friend; the tears upon whose cheeks were scarcely dry. " Nannie is so proud of the genius of her cousin Ely," continued Eugenie, who, with the aid of Martha, had been imperfectly deciphering much that was hitherto incom- prehensible in the conduct of her adopted sister, *' that we have had the greatest diffi- culty in obtaining her permission to copy his sketches. I resolved, therefore, dear madam, to apply to yourself. Yot6 will not be jealous of the superior talents of your son. You will not begrudge us our share in the benefits of his inventive genius." " You are under some erroneous impression, mademoiselle," said Mrs. Varnham, in a faint voice, satisfied that she beheld in this vo- luble stranger, the young lady of Hawkshill. *' Nannie is related to me only by that pre- 234 A life's lessons. cious bond -of Christian charity which renders her more than a daughter to my heart." At that moment the door, which Eugenie, at her entrance, had left unclosed, was dashed open ; and when Mademoiselle de Lanville, who had advanced to throw her arms round the neck of the sorrowing girl whom her indis- cretion appeared to have compromised, turned suddenly round to survey the intruder, she beheld a young man, whose singular beauty of person and distinction of air would have done honour to the circle of the Hotel de Lanville, or any other aristocratic assemblage. The stranger, still standing in the doorway, appeared equally struck by the spectacle be- fore him. A ray of the evening sun falling on the spot where Eugenie was in the act of embracing Nannie Balfour, gave to view in fuU relief the delicate features of the fair fo- reigner, whose girlish face, outlined by braids of flaxen hair> and a form so slight that even her riding costume failed to impart to it the A life's lessons. 235 masculine character so often created by eques- trian costume, afforded a singular contrast to the downcast looks of her friend. Impossible to fancy a more graceful or prepossessing creature. " Maurice /" exclaimed Nannie, when at length she recovered sufficient breath for the expression of her astonishment. " Yes, — Maurice" he replied, in his usual hoarse, deep tones, and with something of an accusing accent. " Did you fancy I had al- ready sailed, Nannie ? Did you hope you were already rid of me ?" " I was about to tell you, when the arrival of your friend interrupted our conversation," said his mother, kindly taking the explanation into her own hands, " that my son arrived here last night, to take leave of me, and bid farewell to all and everything so long endeared to him. Maurice has wandered all night, and all day, about Middledale, till weariness over- mastered him. When you came in, he had 236 A life's lf.ssons. lain down to rest, for the first time since his arrival." For this generous interposition she was rewarded by a frowning glance from her son. " And were you really about to leave Eng- land, Maurice," exclaimed Nannie, advancing towards him, her natural timidity overpowered by excess of emotion, " without seeing me again, — without even warning me of your de- parture ? My visit here to day was acciden- tal. To-morrow, and you w^ould have been gone !" " The better for us both," was the harsh rejoinder of one who with the fearful beauty of the castaway of the desart, appeared to unite his scornful nature. '* You have become too great a lady. Miss Balfour, to be troubled by the comings and goings of my mother's son." Against such bitter injustice, it would have been useless to plead. But any unprejudiced A life's lessons. 237 eye required to judge between the unpretend- ing aspect of Nannie, in her homely habit of black serge, and the arrogant air of her ac- cuser, would scarcely have placed to her ac- count in the balance the crime of overweening pride. " And you are really going !" was all she could falter. At such a moment the unjust accusation against herself was not worth even a thought. The reply of the young savage was sus- pended on his lips, by the unconcealed terror and emotion of Mademoiselle de Lanville ; on whom his startling intrusion had produced a painful effect. His aspect appalled her gentle nature. The very name of Maurice was new to her. Unversed in the history of the Balfour fa- mily, she had believed the cousin Ely of the golden hair, the lover of poetry and art, to whom her friend had more than once alluded with affection, to be the son of the cripple. 288 A life's lessons. The excited being before her looked more like an embodiment of Cain ! " At least," persisted Nannie, too wretched to perceive what was passing in the mind of her companions, " at least, dear Maurice, pro- mise me that you will remain here to night ? I need not return to Hawkshill, Mademoi- selle de Lanville will convey my apologies and explanations. Let us spend 07ie happy even- ing together before you leave England." " Happy evenings spent together, Nannie, are at end," replied Maurice, with an air of stern determination. *' I told you so, when last I quitted Middledale." " But it was on mistaken grounds. Re- member all I urged, dear Maurice, even in those few distracted moments. I am prepared to repeat it now — to swear it now," — she per- sisted, as if in reply to the contemptuous laugh with which he listened to her protest- tions. " Spare yourself the trouble. Miss Balfour,' A life's lessons. 239 replied he, modulating his voice, however, in deference to the presence of the gentle fo- reigner. " My resolution, taken that night, remains unchanged. I am not so mutable as yourself. In less than an hour, I shall have quitted Middledale." Already shocked by the almost insolent de- nveanour of the stranger, Euge'nie's disgust was not lessened by perceiving that his un- graciousness was drawing tears down the cheeks lot alone of Nannie, but of the poor cripple. Even amidst her tears, however, Mrs. Varnham found voice enough to intercede with her son for at least the delay of a single night. " I assured you, on my arrival, mother," he replied, " that it was impossible ; and nothing I have since heard or seen, tends to make me even desire the extension of my visit. But enough of this. We have much to talk over together during the short space of time that remains ; Miss Balfour and her friend 240 A LII-^E*S LESSONS. must excuse me for reminding them that, at such moments, a mother and son should be alone." A sudden glow of indignation overspread the face of Eugenie de Lanville, less at finding herself thus abruptly dismissed, than from seeing her young companion so grossly in- sulted. Taking Nannie hurriedly round the waist, she rather supported than led her from the cottage. Unresistingly, however. The poor girl was fully aware that she had no longer a right to be there. While deliberating whether the strength of her trembhng companion would enable her to reach Gridlands, Mademoiselle de Lanville heard on the causeway the sound of their horses approaching; the groom having been instructed by her to meet them at Hawyer's Cottage. " You are not well enough to ride back to Hawkshill, cUere petite scaur ^^ whispered she. A life's lessons. 241 ' ' Remain to night at your father's. To-mor- row, I will return hither to fetch you." But Nannie would not be entreated. She knew that it was better for her to go at once. She must not dally with danger. She must meet her trial with the best strength of her mind. " No, dear, kind friend," she replied, pre- paring at once to mount her pony. '*The ride will, on the contrary, restore me. The air of the hills is to me the breath of life. I ought to rejoice that I have so kind a home ^ awaiting me, afid so true a friend to bear me company by the way." But those were the last words she was able to utter. When she endeavoured to speak again, her voice was broken by sobs. They rftde on, in silence; the good sense of Eugenie suggesting that the sorrowing girl was best left to herself. It was, however, a great relief when she saw the fine woods of Hawkshill VOL. I. R 242 A life's lessons. darkening the horizon. Still greater, when they had passed the gates ; and Nannie, half- fainting, was lifted down from her pony and borne into the house. A LIFE'S LESSONS. 248 CHAPTER XV. " Rest and solitude will be her surest res- toratives," was the wise decision of Eugenie. And she found no difficulty in satisfying her sister, whom she was unwilling to render anv ious by confiding to her the real state of the case, that Nannie was overfatigued by her ride, and wished to remain in her own room. Clemence was too much occupied by prepar- ing for her husband's departure on the mor- row, to be sohcitous concerning any other person's nervous head-ache. The Van der Heldes were not accustomed to be parted. Nor was she altogether pleased with the object of Adrian's expedition. Both R 2 244 A life's lessons. sisters were beginning to entertain a little distrust of Sir Ralph. They had detected the solemn fop in so many social blunders, and been misled by him in so many instances, that to confide in his guidance, seemed like the bhnd trusting to the blind. His ignorance and self-conceit might betray Adrian and his brother-in-law into some pitfall. Too late, however, to raise objections ! Away went the three sportsmen by day-dawn ; as joyous as good health, good spirits, good cigars, good waterproofs, sandwich-boxes, sherry flasks, and an easy barouche, could make them ; except that Sir Ralph was per- petually breaking in upon their calculations of the odds by audibly asking himself aloud {apropos de bottes) whether it was not just possible that his servant had for- gotten to pack up his varnish and polishing brushes ? A person less unselfish than Eugenie de Lanville, might have felt a little overtaxed, that A life's lessons. 245 day, by the two-fold task of administering consolation to her sister and her friend. But it was easier to argue away the nervous fears of Clemence, as she lay murmuring on the divan of her boudoir, than to cope with the silent depression of poor Nannie. Aware that she had dispatched an early messenger to Gridlands, Eugenie was in hopes that his re- turn might bring tidings calculated to raise her spirits. The necessity of attending on her sister, whose health was affected by her situation, afforded a pretext for leaving her to herself, that her tears might fall unnoticed. " I wish, I wish," cried Madame van der Helde, when the comforter had settled down to work by her side, " that I had been able to accompany them, or that I had prevented Adrian from going at all !" " But why ? He seemed so eager for the excursion ; so intent upon these famous 246 A life's lessons. " Tar too intent. His passion for the turf alarms me." "Admit, however, that you and I were quite as much charmed at Goodwood, as either Leonce or my brother-in-law ?" "Because we regard it as a bright and lively spectacle; not as a business. We were not actors in the play. Taken as a pastime, races are amusing things ; a pretext to bring well- dressed people together, — enliven a country neighbourhood, — and promote the circulation of money." " Then why object to your husband's trip to Doncaster ?" " Because I find that such scenes have a twofold character ; one of which, is a fatal one. In our own country, racing is, as yet, pro- moted to improve our breed of horses; as originally, it may have been in England. But here, it has degenerated into a trade ; — yes, a trade! — Nobles who would scorn to engage in any other species of commercial specu- A life's lessons. 247 lation, degrade themselves by the lowest asso- ciations and basest resources, in order to make money on the turf. Such ruffians as were pointed out to me by Sir Ralph, at Goodwood, conversing familiarly with all that was noblest in the land !" " Still," pleaded Eugenie, " many highly honourable men, — many distinguished public men, — have been, and are, connected with the EngHsh turf." " Distinguished public men of all countries indulge in a variety of vices. Some drink, some game, some waste their time on disre- putable women. But why must Adrian follow such examples? Neither he nor Leonce is old or steady enough to be trusted in a vortex, which seems to engulf even men far wiser and more self-governed than them- selves." **Dear Clemence, you alarm me! What has inspired you with these sudden anxieties?" said Eugenie, laying down her work when she 248 A life's lessons. saw her usually light-hearted sister so deeply in earnest. " The discovery that our worthy Zelters has been applied to by Adrian for a larger sura of money than he thought himself justified in advancing without previous reference to the Hague. For what purpose could my husband require it, but to risk in the betting ring ? All our w^ants are more than liberally provided for in this house. We have no temptation to fur- ther personal expenditure." " And has Adrian confided nothing to you on the subject?" " Not a syllable ! Yet you well know how little reserve has hitherto subsisted between us." " At all events, as Mr. Zelters was prudent enough to withhold his assistance, you have no immediate loss of money to apprehend." "I have something far worse to apprehend: that he may engage his credit, his name, and be every way a loser,'' A life's lessons. 249 " But is a foreigner, like Adrian, able to bet upon parole ?" " Both he and Leonce are well known at the Paris clubs, in which so many of these Enghsh roues are included. Sir Ralph, too, both could and tvotdd put him in the way of raising money. I overheard a conversation between him and Leonce last evening, while you were away, and they thought me dozing on the sofa, that filled me with indignation." "I cannot believe," argued Eugenie, warmly, " that either the precepts or example of that contemptible man would betray my brother into a discreditable action." ' "Nor I, nor I. Leonce has a sensitive regard for the honour of his name. No one sets a higher value on character. But in turf trans- actions, proceedings such as would be ac- counted infamous elsewhere, pass as matters of custom. Dear Eugenie ! should my hus- band or brother get entangled in some of the villanous meshes of this odious pursuit. 250 A life's lessons. how deeply should I regret our English jour- ney !" " Why anticipate evil ?" rejoined her sister, fondly embracing her. " For some time past, I have regretted that what at first I thought a mere foible, a fashion, the folly of the day, af- fected by our young countrymen as part of their Anglomania, seemed to be taking permanent root among us. The company of grooms and trainers has not improved the manners of our lions. — Altogether the tone of pubHc mo- rality has been lowered by familiarity with the stable. But now that Adrian is about to be- come a pere de families he will care less for such things ; and we must find a good little wife for Leonce, to wean him from the society of Sir Ralph." She did not, however, even to distract her sister's mind from its uneasy reflections, im- part to Madame van der Helde the incidents of the preceding day ; which had efi'ectually obliterated her lingering hope that the good. A life's lessons. 251 little wife might perhaps be found at Grid- lands. Poor Nannie, meanwhile, unconscious that any other anxiety, or cause for anxiety, than her own, existed in the house, was exerting all her powers of self-control to enable her to meet her friends with cheerfulness in the course of the day. But till the arrival of a letter which she was expecting from her father,, she judged it better to keep her room. It was the first time in her life there had been occasion for correspondence between them ;^ for during her prolonged absence from Middle- dale, it was her mother she addressed. The very handwriting of her surviving parent was known to her only in the weekly account- books of his farm : — large, formal, legible ; — how little calculated to discuss the fond details of a sensitive heart ! A little surprised, a little hurt, that his reply to her pressing appeal had not been more immediate, she was restlessly pacing her 252 A life's lessons. chamber overlooking the gardens — pausing every now and then beside the open window, to wonder how they could look so gay and smell so sweet, when her own prospects were so desolate, — when the door was cautiously opened, and in place of Mademoiselle de Lan- ville, whom she was expecting, the old farmer himself hobbled into the room. The unac- customed ascent of the lofty staircase had exhausted his breath; and after a hearty embrace of his daughter, it took him more minutes to recover his powers of speech, carefully wipe his forehead, and deliberately settle down in the easy chair which, to Im inexperience, seemed remarkably uneasy, than Nannie's patience could afford. It was some comfort that there was no look of displeasure in his countenance. But old Michael's face was not of those in whose mobile expression men may read strange things. '^Xou received my letter, father?" said his A life's lessons. 253 daughter, at length, unable longer to control her anxiety. '* Didn't Bill Woodham tell you so, as I bid him? 'And an't I here now, lass, to answer it? Better speak on such matters, Nan, than write. ' Least said is soonest mended,' was ever the cry of my poor missus. But too much writing is a deal harder to mend. It seems, Nannie, that Master Zelters has been a-talking to you about your fortune, and your independence, and that. If your mother and I never did, it was because we thought it. scarce decent for a child to be reckoning in its parents' lifetime on what was to be ga- thered at their death. It seemed contrary to natur." " My dear father," — Nannie was begin- ning. " Let me speak on, lass," interrupted the farmer, " for I've a mort of one kind or other to say. Well, Jakes Zelters is manager of old Madam Verhoat's property, and maybe 254 A life's lessons. 'twas his duty to insense you how far you were entitled to't. And now, you write to me, saying what's true enough, that we're above the world, and that a slice off our loaf would ne'er be missed ; as a reason for wanting to make such a gift or loan to our poor neigh- bour at Hawyer's, as would save all need of parting from her son for the short time that Dr. Moss has told us she's like to live. Now, there's a-many reasons. Nan, my lass, to set again this fancy of yours. In the first place, till you're one-and-twenty, the money can't be touched ; and perhaps tkafs enough. Next, how can you fancy that neighbour Varnham, as proud by nature as a queen on her throne, would stoop to accept alms of a mere girl? Last of all, your whimsy came too late. Be- fore I got your rambling letter, child, Maurice had sailed for Indy." Luckily, Michael Balfour terminated his explanation by a second application of a large bandana to his bald head, or the deadly pale- A life's lessons. 255 ness of his daughter, at this announcement, could not have failed to shock him. " Still, I needn't to say, lass," he continued, after having re-gathered breath for the effort, " how dearly I love to do what's agreeable to you, without being hurtful. So, after think- ing over what you d wrote about this poor helpless lady being left alone in her last mo* ments, and considering how much she has assisted, Nannie, in making you what you are, I made up my mind to offer her a home at Gridlands for the remnant of her days. The, house has been lonesome to you since you lost your poor mother, whose place shall never be filled up. ' There's the blue room for the poor soul,' says I to myself, * if Nannie and she can make it agreeable to her to remove from Hawyer's Cottage.' " His daughter remained silent. She scarcely seemed to understand what he was talking about. The influence of the blow she had received was still predominant. 256 A life's lessons. " But your old daddy's no longer in his teens, like some folks, Nannie," resumed Michaelj almost archly. " Your old daddy does not write letters hand over head, — staking his word to things one day, such as he might be like to repent the next. So, afore making the proffer, lass, I determined to lay my head again a more knowledgeable one than my own, and consult the Pairson — a sincere friend to neighbour Varnham/' " But not to her son," interrupted Nannie. " David has always entertained ill-feelings towards Maurice." " Then, depend on't, they're deserved," said Michael, gravely. " David Hurdis is one whose wisdom is from above. I never knew an act or thought of David's prompted by worldly resentments." " And what was his opinion ?" " He gave me none. He left me to form one for myself. But he afforded me facts to judge from. Last summer, he told me, one of A LIFE S LESSONS. 257 the partners in Thorp and Macglashan's house (by whom Hawyer's Cottage was hired through John Rawson), being on business at Ilsington, fell in with David at his son-in-law's, and made inquiry of him after the health and spirits of Mrs. Varnham ; acknowledging thankfully the kindness she had received at Middledaie. In return, David praised her, as she deserved, for working her way as few women, so afflicted, would have done, and as being thoroughly resigned, throughout her trials, to the will of the Almighty. And what said he in return, Nannie ? That her suffer- ings might be great : but that it needed them all to expiate the backslidings of her youth. She has, I fear, further evil to abide in the morose character of her son,' added he. *But a bad daughter deserves a rebellious child. They who, in their day of prosperity, fall from God, must not in their days of ad- versity expect succour at his hands.' From that saying," added David, " I rightly guessed VOL. I, s 258 A life's lessons. the man to be a Papist. Our church preaches a God of mercy and forgiveness, who sendeth rain upon the just and the un- just." " Backslidings of her youth !'" mused Nannie — recaUing to mind how often, in days of pain and depression, the cripple had, in her presence, indulged in similar self-accusa- tions. " And after all this, Nannie," resumed her father, " David and I have come to a judgment that, with such a cloud hanging over her, it would be amiss for me to make her a hearth- and-home resident with my dead missus's daughter. You shall double, treble, quad- ruple if you will, the help we have hitherto afforded her. Not out of your means, lass — keep tliem to aid a household of your own — but out of mine. If she chooses to speak out, and can give a good account of herself, David shall be judge between us, and make her, in our name, the tender of a comfortable home. A life's lessons. 259 The lad's gone — the more's the blessing! — and is never like to come back. For there's a bad and ungrateful spirit in Mau- rice, if ever mortal countenance spoke the truth !'' " I do not see," faltered Nannie, " what right we have to question Mrs. Varnham con- cerning her private affairs. She has made no claim upon us — asked no charity. She has paid you your rent, father, as duly as any other lodger could have done. Better leave her unmolested. Better leave things as they are." " So thinks David ; and Vm as willing as you can be that he should decide. Only I was a little minded, Nannie, that by having some- body to be company for you by the fireside at Gridlands, in place of the poor old man, always maundering out o' doors after his beasts and his crops, you might be more content to stay at home. You've been a long spell at Hawkshill, lass : and by the long face you*re s 3 260 A life's lessons. wearing to day, I can't but doubt whether you're better or happier here than in the old homestead. Mj poor missus, I know, became twice the woman, at Gridlands, she ever was in this grand froggery, for all its mirrors and gildings." " I shall be at home again soon, father," she replied, scarcely able to restrain her tears. *' Hereafter, you shall find there is no need of a third person's company to keep me from gadding. I have all but promised to stay with Madame van der Helde while her husband and brother are away. But they wiU return at the end of the week, and by that time, you must fetch me back to Gridlands/' With this prospect before him, old Michael jogged home again, happy and rejoicing, to communicate to David Hurdis, that evening, under the lime-trees, in how dutiful a spirit his dear httle daughter had submitted to their joint authority. But Nannie had fixed too early a date for A life's lessons. 261 the re-commencement of domestic happiness at the farm. Events were even then passing at Doncaster, only too likely to procrastinate her departure from HawkshilL 262 A life's lessons. CHAPTER XVI. Thirty years ago, Yorkshire was justly proud of its Doncaster races, as the best county meeting in the kingdom. The com- pany assembled, the beauty of the equipages, the general respectability of the crowd, placed them, quite as much as the merits of the far- famed Leger, at the head of their class. Now that, thanks to the re-action produced by railroads, Doncaster has come as much within range of London as Epsom and Ascot, till the ruinous tyranny of post-horses was overpast, the character of the meeting has changed. It is no longer a county affair. Doncaster now represents only the autumnal rendezvous of A life's lessons. 263 sporting-men and blacklegs, — dupers and duped ; — a species of locusts prepared to strip, not the green tree, but the green-horns. Tlie enthusiasm of Adrian and Leonce on saluting this hallowed ground of " le sport'' was as exalted as that of some poet of the romantic school, uncovering his head on be- holding the distant cupola of St. Peter's and hearing his postilion's announcement of " Roma 1" — " Siste Viator, thou treadest on a jockey l" seemed to sound in their ears. Their satisfaction in taking possession of the quarters bespoken for them by Sir Ralph, was not diminished by finding a large party of their Parisian chums of the Jockey and Moutard Clubs, established in a neigh- bouring hotel ; to assist in the absorption of champagne, the chef-d' muvre of modern che- mistry, and claret to which Bourdeaux contri- buted at the rate of twenty parts per cent. But it was all part of ''le sport;' and they pricked their racing-cards, and looked and S64 A life's lessons. talked as knowingly about the odds and the morrow's event, as if they knew more of a race-horse than that it possessed four legs and a tail. On the course^ the following day, they were able to make a triumphant exhibition in the eyes of Guy de la Tremouille and Bertrand de Noailles,who,atChantilly or the Croix deBemy, stood on such much higher grounds than them- selves. Not only had the good seed sown at Goodwood struck root and prospered, but a precautionary letter or two from Sir Ralph to a few of his old associates, placed their merits in reKef as " two excellent fellows, of excellent family ; able and willing to give money for a horse, or put money'on a horse."—- They were, in consequence, received with open arms ; obtained cards for the stewards' stand ; and " des shake-hands^ from several of those whose praise is fame in that elite populace, where men derive their good name either from the peerage, or a tailor's book of patterns. A life's lessons. 265 " Nora is scratched," " Belfungus is amiss," " Sixteen to four has just been offered on Lady Blanche," are, among such people, an- nouncements far more interesting to mankind than news of the President's message or a ministerial minority ; and poor Leonce de Lanville who, under the instructions of Sir Ralph, had been attempting, d'emhlee, the manufacture of " a book," with as much audacity as if it did not require nearly the same expenditure of brains as the score of an opera, or cooking of a Budget, was beginning to look as much puzzled as a dunce going up for his little-go. Sir Ralph, conscious, perhaps, that his in- fallibility was somewhat waning in the esti- mation of his foreign friends, with whom, as he intended to spend the winter at Brussels, it was necessary to retain his influence, had in the interval accomplished what he considered a coup d'etat. Having ascertained that the Earl of Mar- 266 A L1FJ!:'S LESSONS. dyke was in the habit of seeing the Leger run for, — his brother-in-iaw, Lord Skewgill, being the proprietor, not only of one of the finest seats in the neighbourhood, but of an excel- lent racing stud, — he contrived to make his acquaintance through a fashionable friend, for the sole purpose of presenting to him his wealthy Lancashix'e neighbour, the proprietor of Hawkshill. Now it happened that the Van der Heldes were objects of as much importance to the Earl, as Nora and Belfungus to Leonce and Adrian. His lordship's chief object in life was the preserving of his manors. His father, as he was never weary of complaining, had behaved shamefully to him. Paralytic for the last ten years of a sedentary exist- ence, he had not judged it due to the pre- dilections of his son to devote to the main- tenance of an army of game-keepers, the money he was in the habit of expending on hospitals, reformatories, and church-building. A life's lessons. 267 Everybody, especially a paralytic peer, has his little weaknesses ; and those of the late Lord Mardyke " leaned to virtue's side." When he was laid in his crimson velvet coffin, the cause of humanity was the loser. But this was no excuse in the eyes of his heir ; whose object in the nineteenth century was that of William Rufus in the twelfth ; to secure to his gun (or cross-bow) facihties for bringing down the greatest amount of fer(B naturcBy no matter at what cost to the two-legged beasts of the creation. Now the grand obstacle to game-preserving at Mardyke Castle, was the state of affairs at Hawkshill. The absenteeism of the Dutch proprietor was a serious injury. The earl had done everything in his power to conciliate the agent. He had even driven in his phaeton, with his best pair of steppers, to the Barbican ; and endeavoured to persuade old Zelters viva voce that it was his duty towards his employer at the Hague, as well as his duty 268 A lube's lessons. towards his neighbour at Mardjke Castle, to become his ally in the war of extermination between pheasants and peasants. But Zelters, already ashamed of the diminished proceeds of the estate, would not hear of the expendi- ture of a farthing. Nothing was to be done with the old Dutchman. On his imperturb- able mind, the phaeton, its steppers, and the coronets on their blinkers, had no more effect than the reflections from a magic lantern on a whited wall. Had the Earl been a wholesale grocer in Aldermanbury, come to treat with him for a bale of cinnamon, or a chest of cloves, he w^ould have given him twice as much attention. It was, consequently, through a fashion- able, legal firm (having as many heads as Cer- berus, each having a suite of chambers in Lincoln's Inn, that vied in gorgeousness with the new Houses of Parliament), that Lord Mardyke next addressed him, with proposals for the purchase of the estate. So many years A life's lessons. 269 had elapsed since the peace, without the Rot- terdam steamer bringing anything in the shape of a Hve Van der Helde ^to take pos- session of Hawkshill, that their repugnance to the place appeared to be insurmountable. The Earl was not, therefore, without hopes of including within his ring fence those long-co- veted acres, which ,would render him, in his own castle, From the centre all down to the sea, The lord of the fowl and the brute. " If this Netherlandish Mynheer would but listen to my proposals," he had often said to Lord Skewgill, " I'd throw down the old house, re-let the farms, and before three seasons were over, I would show you, at Mardyke, the best partridge-shooting in England." Both the Earl and his brother-in-law, who never bothered their brains with a line of letter-press beyond the Morning Herald, the Racing Calendar, Bell's Life, and the Sporting 270 A life's lessons. Magazine, entertained vague ideas of Myn- heers, as a class, as squat little men, encased in capacious blue skirts, with a feather perked in their caps, after the costume of Hendrik Hud- son, or Rip van Winkle, as represented at a mi- nor theatre. Great, therefore, was their surprise at sight of Adrian van der Helde, the D'Or- say of the Vivier; whose thoughts, instead of being engrossed by the price of stockfish, or sour herrings, were of Nora and Belfungus ; far more eager about the weighing of the jockeys, than" of any marketable commodities, wet or dry. Independent of their views upon Hawkshill, they were charmed to make so eligible an acquaintance ; more especially Lord Skewgill. A very ingenuus jpuer, with a very well-filled pocket-book, was to him one of the finest objects in nature. On the other hand, Adrian and Leonce were delighted to be taken by the hand by one whose name had long been famiKar to them as a leading elder of the turf. Lord Mar- A life's lessons. 271 dyke's fine person, and gentlemanly address, won their confidence in a moment. As to Skewgill, he possessed one of those open countenances, and frank deportments, which are good to their owner for a mortgage of a hundred thousand pounds. His words were so cheery, his smile so ready, his temper so even, he was, in short, so thoroughly what England has the modesty to call, when it wants to de- fine anything jolly or genuine, so thoroughly English ! — Not a man of his acquaintance but would have trusted him on the strength of his hearty laugh, and clear brown eyes, witfi his wife, his character, his anything that was his. Yet for many a long year Skewgill had been overreaching them, at elections — in horse dealing — in exchanges of land and houses ; undermining their family affections by his in- trigues, and guiding the leading-strings of their sons on the road to ruin. If one of his associates underwent a reverse of fortune, he 272 A life's lessons. hailed the smash with one of his merriest laughs; or some jovial pleasantry, that im- mediately went the round of the clubs, and was appended to the tale of poor So and So's ruin, hke the epigram occupying the poet's corner of a newspaper that contains the details of a battle or shipwreck. No one liked him the less. " Skewgiil was such a capital fellow." His French cook and cellar were undeniable ; and his pleasant voice and radiant countenance entitled him to cir- culate any amount of scandal, and salute his friends with piquant banter that tortured them like drops of vitriol flung in their faces. The butts he selected bore as smilingly with the pain, as the clown in the circus laughs the louder for every cut of the whip. It brought an obscure person into fashion to be the vic« tim of one of Skewgill's good stories. Such was the specious individual towards whom even the gelid Dutch blood of Adrian van der Helde warmed in a moment. At his A life's lessons. 273 earnest invitation, their baggage was dispatched at once to his residence at Braye Court. Though the house was what is called full, the elasticity of Yorkshire mansions is as pro- verbial as their hospitahty ; and the words Doncaster races and " shakedown " appear sy- nonymous. Not that, in the present instance, the new-comers were destined to shakedowns. It was easy to dislodge a couple of nephews and a toady, and establish the strangers ac- cording to their superior pretensions. Much as has been said and sung, more es- pecially by foreigners, concerning the comfort' and luxury of country-house life, the Nether- landish sportsmen were not a little astonished by the interior of Braye Court. In the few foreign chateaux which pretend to emulation of this costly mode of hospitality, there is always some deficiency, some ragged edge. The house is ill-lighted, or ill-warmed ; or the plate ill-cleaned, or the servants ill-trained. In England alone do the table and stable ser- VOL. I. T 274 A life's lessons. vice, the reception rooms and sleeping rooms exhibit the same careful perfection. Leonce was forced to admit that, even at the Trois Fr^res, he had never tasted such wines, or «uch entrees, as those of his new acquaintance : as to the turtle, turbot, and haunch, they were meat for the gods. But Adrian van der Helde, on the other hand, laid his head on his pillow that night somewhat cooled in his project of a permanent residence at Hawkshill. If such were the habits of English life, he foresaw that he should be forced into a very humiU- ating position. His father's son could never pretend to an Italian confectioner, or a clerk of the kitchen. The second table at Braye Court would have put to shame the first in many a royal household of the continent. Sir Ealph, meanwhile, was dehghted with the success of his scheme. Self-conceited as Malvolio, he strutted about in his eccentric suit of bleu barheau, almost as much elated as though Braye Court, its tender venison, and service A life's lessons. 275 of plate, were his own. If his intervention in the acquaintanceship had not secured to him a pied a terre at the Hotel de Lanville for at least six months to come, Leonce must be a monster of ingratitude. He became, however, a little nervous the following day, when, after a breakfast worthy to form the dinner of lands less remarkable for their marrow and fatness than the West Riding, he observed Leonce fastened upon by certain turf men, whose organs of conscien- tiousness were not very prominently developed ; and heard him bungling into bets which' sportsmen of sharper practice, or experience at Tattersall's, would have regarded as a joke. It was impossible to approach him with a word of warning. For already, both Adrian and his brother-in-law had manifested impatience of his counsels. The first move of the enemy had been to discredit the old beau as a dow- ager, a muff, an officious bear-leader. Skew- T 2 276 A life's lessons. gill had inquired, with one of his jolliest laughs, " where on earth they could have dug out that dilapidated fossil : as much dead, buried, and forgotten in Enghsh society as William the Conqueror, or Thomas-a-Becket." Previous to starting for the course, the fidgety man of missions could not find a moment to take either of them by the button. Adrian was driven by Lord Mardyke, in his mail-phaeton; Leonce, as the elegant of the party, was invited to escort Lady Mardyke and a brace of pretty Viscountesses. But poor Sir Ralph was condemned to the company of the toady, and the hobble-de-hoy nephews, in a jingling old barouche, long condemned, and only brought out of the coach-house on occa- sion of these annual processions; usually reaching the course when the first race was over. A helper, in his shirt sleeves, scarcely deigned to put up the steps, close the door, and cry " all right " to the postilion ; and A life's lessons. 277 their disjointed equipage went limping half a mile after the rest, like a lame mourner at a walking funeral. Even in the porous brain of the baronet, however, there was just then no room for anxiety. On reaching the course, every inter- stice was filled up with pride and satisfaction. After prolonged absence from England, the sight of so many rich equipages, beautiful faces, well-dressed men, and well-dressed horses, and above all, of that prosperous and joyous middle class which in no county shines more than in the shire of York, made his heart sing for joy. But while he expanded into triumphant exclamations to the toady and nephews of Lord Skewgill, in prose that would have done honour to a Bridgwater Treatise, or the President of a Scientific Association, his prot^^es whisked out of sight ! Already, betting-book in hand, they were lost in abstruse mis-calculation, with faces as grave as a Rothschild's after an unexpected 278 A life's lessons. fall of stocks. And alas ! for the credit of the country, like the traveller succoured by the Good Samaritan, they had fallen among thieves ! — A life's lessons. 279 CHAPTER XVII. Such was the concatenation of events which, on the Saturday night ensuing, kept the fair inhabitants of Hawkshill sad and sleepless. All day, Clemence had been fussing about the house ; seeing that fresh flowers were placed in the jardinieres and vases, though they had been replenished only the day before ; the gravel walks re-rolled ; and a certain dish of perdrix aux choux a la Hollandaise, which was a favourite viand of the travellers, to be abundantly provided. When all had been placed in order, the German and Dutch papers laid open on the 280 A life's lessons. library table, and, as the evenings were grow- ing cold, a fire lighted in Adrian's dressing- room, Madame van der Helde proposed to her companions to drive out and meet them, so far as a certain turnpike, uniting the Hawks- hill to the Clitheroe road, by the latter of which they were to make their appearance. From thence, the woods of Mardyke Castle were perceptible, purple and lordly, in the distance; and many a conjecture was hazarded among the three, as they sat listening in vain for the sound of coming wheels, as to the ob- ject of Lord Mardyke in seeking to augment a domain already so extensive. They waited and waited; till at last Cle- mence, who had less deference for horses or coachmen than her brother and husband, insisted on driving a mile or two further along the hilly road; — as if that measure would accelerate the arrival of the truants ! At length, the evening shades began to gather ; and the atmosphere, always trying in A life's lessons. 281 that bleak district after sunset, became so chilly, that Eugenie, anxious for the health of her sister, insisted on returning home. The tra- vellers, too late for dinner, would doubtless be home by supper-time, and the ^erdricc aux choux the more enjoyed. Ever sanguine, Clemence suffered herself to be comforted ; and though so fatigued by her long drive, that as she lay extended on the sofa, in the prettiest of peignoirs, selected as the favourite one of her husband, she looked deathly pale, the supper-table was lighted up, and the wines were iced almost to crystal- lisation. Every moment, the servants kept scuffling across the hall, to be in readiness ; in the mistaken belief that a travelKng car- riage had entered the gates. Nothing of the kind. Twelve o'clock — • one o'clock, passed ; till, at length, the in- creasing faintness of Clemence rendered it urgent that she should retire to bed. The supper was to be kept hot, for an hour or two. 282 A life's lessons. and tbe wines cold ; in order that the servants might remain as restless and comfortless as their masters. But no one at Hawkshill, ex- cept its mistress, entertained the slightest ex- pectation of the wanderers' return. Luckily, railroads were not in existence, to threaten a share in the delay. In these days, apprehen- sions of a smash and a telegraphic summons, would have kept even the sleepiest of the household painfully on the alert. Next day, the same expectations, the same disappointments. It was not till the late hour at which, in those creep-mouse days, the London post reached Hawkshill, that a hur- ried letter from Adrian explained to his wife — if explanation it could be called — that an unexpected emergency had compelled them to repair to town from Doncaster, instead of im- mediately returning home. " We shall be with you on Tuesday," he wrote ; " and a couple of days at Mivart's will only render me the more eager, darhng A life's lessons. 283 Clemence, to find myself again in your arms." So long as he called her his " darling Cle- mence," and wrote so tenderly, his wife was, if not satisfied, resigned. He added, that the whole party assembled at Braye Cornet had migrated together to London, preparatory to the next Newmarket meeting. And Madame van der Helde, intent only on preventing his accompanying his attractive new friends to the head-quarters of le sport, almost forgot in this new anxiety that there had been a Don- caster the preceding week. But alas ! how many, including the two in- dividuals dearest to her, were fated to re- member it ! It had been already written in gossiping letters from half the country-houses in the neighbourhood of Doncaster, and whis- pered in the London Clubs as the " latest in- telligence from the seat of war," that " poor Vernon had lost ten thousand; that fooHsh fellow, Willingham, thirteen; and two foolish 284 A life's lessons. foreigners, no end of money : that the Ring had won largely, and that there was likely to be more than one levanter of note ;" a hul- letin of killed and wounded, washed down by a glass of claret, and forgotten ten minutes afterwards, in some newer scandal ! The fact was what people cared for : the results were never thought of. How much family misery, how much family disgrace, was to arise from these winnings and losings, was nothing to the gossip-mongers. As our abstract idea of a churchyard represents a surface of green turf interpersedj with head- stones or marble slabs, without heed of the hundreds of cold white faces, upturned to the sky, or hundreds of skeletons in their shrouds undergoing the humiliating process of decay, the announce- ment of a friend's pecuniary loss conveys only the impression of momentary annoyance. Whose business is it to inquire by what strug- gles the blow is to be parried, — by what life- long sacrifices succeeded ? A life's lessons. 285 And so poor Vernon and that foolish fel- low, Williugham (who had a wife and ten children), were dismissed, with a shrug of the shoulders, to meet the terrors of settling- day, with cheques on their bankers, or pistols at their heads, as the clemency of indig- nant relations or vindictive creditors might decide. In the instance of Adrian van der Helde, there was a person concerned, whose disgust was uncontrollable by any conventional pro- cess ; a man unaccustomed to tr,eat such matters with levity ; a man whose Grave inflexibility of soul Nor reason could convince nor fear control ; such reason, that is, as emanates from the porticoes of St. James's Street, or such fear as arises from the^pandects of a Sir Ralph Bar- nardiston. Having been written to by Adrian, from Mivart's, to ask an interview on " urgent pri- 286 A life's lessons. vate affairs," at his villa at Stockwell, on the Sabbath-day, the worthy Jakes, a Calvinist by profession and Dutchman by temper, refused at once. The Sabbath and the villa were alike inaccessible to business. At nine a.m., on the Monday, he would meet Mr. Van der Helde in the Barbican ; requesting that, if money affairs were in question, he would come un- accompanied. The old merchant saw no occasion for the intervention of the broken- down dandy. But though fully prepared to find that his employer's son had been guilty of some griev- ous imprudence, and that Adrian looked to him for the means of repairing his fault, he was more startled than he had ever been in the course of his long life, on learning that he was required to supply him with the sum of six thousand pounds in the course of the next four-and-twenty hours. His negative was unqualified. It was im- possible. If it were not impossible, he would A life's lessons. 287 have made it so. What would the venerable Mr. Lucas van der Helde say to such a squan- dering of his substance ? Why was the wealth amassed by two centuries of industry, to be- come the booty of a gang of swindlers ? He used and repeated the words advisedly. He was not, like Sir Ralph Barnardiston, sub- ject to the anathema of St. James's Street. "The plain case of the matter, my good friend, is this," said Adrian, his native lan- guage lending itself to the abrupt expHcitness of the statement. " Will my father's interests be better served by allowing his son's credit* to become dishonoured in a foreign country, or by the payment of a few thousand pounds ?" " What you call a few thousand pounds is more than his year's income, when your own has been disbursed," replied Zelters, firmly. " As to your credit being dishonoured in this country. Sir, I should consider it a blessing, if the disgrace prevented you from rejoining the society into which you have most unfortunately plunged." 288 A life's lessons. The young spendthrift saw that he might nearly as well address himself to the wooden desk before which Jakes Zelters was seated, as himself. " If you had allowed my friend Sir Ealph Barnardiston to mediate between us," he never- theless persisted, " he would have explained to you, better than I can, who am less versed in English liabilities of this nature, that Lord Mardyke, to whose brother-in-law this money is chiefly due, is disposed to assist me in an immediate settlefuent with him ; taking in exchange a mortgage on the Haw^kshill estate, for the purchase of which he has long, it seems, been in treaty — " *' — And the sale of which my honoured friend Lucas Van der Helde has positively declined." " Only because I all but promised to make it my winter quarters, instead of returning to Brussels. You are aware of my father's de- sire to weaken my connection with Belgium." " Your father feels and acts like a good A life's lessons. 289 patriot ; and you have certainly now done your utmost to confirm his opinion, that a residence at Brussels has been disadvantageous. But no matter. Brussels is not our present af- fair—" " Our present affair is, that you should in- form him of Clemence and myself having positively decided against a residence at Hawks- hill. We are desirous that the place should be sold ; and a customer offers himself in Lord Mardyke. Where can be the demur ?" "That Lord Mardyke is a bad customer. I can sell the property to better advantage." " You speak to the purpose, sir. But will your customer advance the money I require?" " Certainly not. You can afford him no legal security. This lord of yours deals loosely, because his practices are loose." " There is no talking to you on business, Mr. Zelters," cried Adrian, snatching up his hat. " Why not have said at once that you had predetermined against palliating the ruin VOL., T. u 290 A life's lessons. which, in an unguarded moment, I have brought upon myself? My English friends will enable me to make an easier bargain with some Jew/* " But for my respect for your father and ^vife, young sir, 1 would allow you to depart for such a purpose," said the old Dutchman, apparently unmoved, though his features gave an unconscious twitch at the allusion to Cle- mence, whose sweet temper and Idndness to her dependants had, during his sojourn at Hawkshill, won largely on his regard. " But thus much will I do in your behalf. — My name shall be given as a guarantee for the payment, within ten days, of your debt ; and I flatter myself that the signatm^e of Zelters and Son will be accounted good security by the West- End bankers, for seven ty-and- seven times the sum of which you have been pillaged. Our minister, if more than my name is required, will endorse it. The Baron has high accept- ance in the world of fashion as a man of spirit A life's lessons. 291 and breeding, to neither of which quahties I pretend. I will run over meanwhile to the Hague, confer wdth your father, and settle with him concerning the disposal of the estate, and the Uquidation of the claim for which I have engaged myself." To put in motion all this cumbrous ma- chinery appeared to Adrian a far more awk- ward way of extricating him from the dilemma, than by preparing a deed for the simple signa- ture of the Earl of Mardyke. But no further concession was to be obtained from the sturdy Jakes. All he would do was to attest in writing what he had uttered by word of mouth; and undertake to procure from Baron E , with whom he was in constant com- munication, his co-operation in the arrange- ment. "And on no account, sir," added Mr. Zelters, after seeing him place the paper in his pocket-book — " on no account bring down upon me that pompous, empty-headed, empty- XI 2 29.2 A life's lessons. handed baronet, who is the latent cause of the mischief." " On that head, be at ease," replied Adrian. " Sir Ralph has already started for Brussels, to execute some business for my brother-in- law. Leonce did not judge it desirable to absent himself from this country while we have debts of honour undischarged." " Re, too !" ejaculated the old merchant, uplifting his hands and eyes in compassion. " But I might have guessed it ! Two thought- less, godless boys," added he, when Adrian had quitted the room — "their heads turned by vanity and presumption, were not to be trusted in such company. Were it not for the wife of the one, and sister of the other, I should say, ' Let them suffer for their sins !'" A life's lessons. 293 CHAPTER XVIII. Sir Ralph Barnardtston had indeed ac- cepted, or rather courted, the " mission" of raising on young De Lanville's already impo- ^ verished estate, a sum of nearly three thousand pounds, for which he was liable ; but simply with the intention to give instructions to the notary of the family ; and, on pretence of indisposition, return no more to the field of their defeats. So hurried were his movements, that on this occasion his varnish and polishing brushes were really left behind. Sir Ralph resembled those sea- fowl, which, on the approach of a tempest, subside alto^ 294 A life's lessons. gether out of sight. He had not moral stamina for what he called " scenes ;" and whenever one of his friends was involved in domestic trouble, he suddenly recalled to mind a long-neglected liver complaint, which served as a pretext for retirement. His absence from London, at this juncture, was invaluable to Adrian. There was no longer a chance of his having recourse to discreditable expedients ; and people are far more disposed to aid the defenceless, than those who have unworthy auxiharies. Towards the close of the week, however^ the anxieties of Clemence grew beyond en- durance. Dr. Moss, summoned to Hawkshill by Nannie, declared her to be sufiPering from nervous fever — in her situation, a very alarm- ing attack ; and Eugenie lost not a moment in requiring the return of her brother-in-law. BeHeving him to be occupied in London only with idle pastimes, and probably on the eve of departure for Newmarket, she did not A life's lessons. 295 hesitate to demand his immediate attend- ance. The delinquents accordingly made their appearance; in a phght how different from the triumphant guise in which they quitted Hawkshill ! They had undergone, in the interim, the terrible reverses of a betting- man's career ; in tlieir instance great in pro- portion to their inexperience in a science^ which deserves to be classed among the black arts. With drooping ears and dejected countenances, like hounds returning from a baffled chase, they made their appearance just as the fair inhabitants of Hawkshill had retired for the night. Adrian was instantly on his knees beside the sick couch of the weeping woman whose health, whose very life, he had endangered ; but with whom it needed only a few kind words from his lips to restore himself to confidence. His garbled tale, assigning the most plausible motives for his delay, 296 appeared to her the most natural thing in the world, and insured her a good night's rest. In order to leave them to the unembarrassed explanation of their feelings, Eugenie stole down in her dressing-gown to the dining-room, where her gay brother, his appetite unim- paired by his mischances, was enjoying an ample supper. She could not but perceive that he looked haggard and weary. But this might be the result of his long journey. As to interrogating him in the uncompromising style adopted by Clemence towards her hus- band, she was too much afraid of learning what was painful and humihating, to put his candour to the proof. To chicken pie and light claret succeeded a cigar ; and, as the exhausted traveller extended himself on a lounging chair, with the aromatic fumes encircling his head, the delicate nature of Eugenie de Lanville recoiled from the air Ubertin with which this beloved brother was becoming gradually infected. His countenance A life's lessons. 297 was already sallow and careworn. His dress was disordered— his voice hoarse — his speech incoherent. " What has become of la jpetite ^aymnne ?"" said he, suddenly addressing his sister. " Nannie Balfour ? — In bed and asleep. She will leave us to-morrow. Nannie has only remained at Hawkshill to assuage the misery I have been suffering on Clemence's account." " She must not go, ma petite sceur. You must manage to detain her here." " I could not even ask it. She is wanted at home. She is worried and out of spirits. She has only stayed hitherto out of kindness to myself.'' " Then make her stay a little longer, out of kindness to me." " To 7/ou, Leonce ?" "Do you remember, Genie, endeavouring one day to persuade me that Nannie would make me the best wife in the world ?" 298 A life's lessons. " I also remember your disgust and indig- nation at the proposal." " Well — I have altered my mind. Nannie Balfour must become Gomtesse de Lanville." " While you announce it with that super- cilious smile, I perceive, of course, that you a,re in jest." " Never more miserably in earnest. The marriage must take place. Why should I deceive you, Eugenie? The dowry of old Balfour's daughter will save me from de- struction !" Mademoiselle de Lanville replied by rising and resuming her bed-candle. " Childish !'' exclaimed Leonce, shrugging his shoulders at her air of indignation. " Far better contemplate seriously a catastrophe only too grievously indispensable. — I am half ruined. You must have long suspected it, Eugenie. My last winter at Paris, — especially my last Chantilly, — doubled me up. What has since chanced at Doncaster, you will learn in process A life's lessons. 299 of time. And now, unless that old arch- blunderer, Sir Ralph, should manage to gather grapes from thorns, and persuade Brugmann and Co. to advance me fifty thousand francs, sm hy^ootheque^ there is an end of poor Leonce de Lanville !" Eugenie set down her candle on the side- board, and returned breathless and colourless to her place. " Dear Leonce,'' she faltered, " you are not yourself to-night. You are excited, — disor- dered. — Do not tell me what) to-morrow, you may repent to have uttered." " I shall repent nothing. — My day for re- pentance is over. — I am grown desperate. — - For some time past — for the last three winters, both in Paris and Brussels, to say nothing of Baden and Homburg, when the winters were over — I have been gradually melting away my patrimony. Ecorner sa fortune is a word easily said. But there comes a time when there remains no fortune to be ecorne. When I 300 A life's lessons. arrived in England, my income for the next four years was bespoken ; and till I am five- and-twenty, I have no power to sell. So that, even if Barnardiston can persuade Brugmann to advance me the means of redeeming my honour, I shall have no means of subsistence for an age. I must shut up the Hotel de Lanville, — let it, if possible, — and live as I can, on one of my farms in the Ardennes." " The misfortune may be provided for," said Eugenie, stricken to the heart by all she was learning. " The present dilemma appears the first consideration. Can Adrian do nothing to assist you ? He loves you like himself." '' Adrian is as deeply involved as I am ; nay, worse. For nothing w^ould surprise me less than that old Van der Helde should call a family council and have him interdicted !"* " What a disgrace ! And those to whom * A form of French law by which spendthrifts, as well as lunatics, are deprived of the control of their fortune. A life's lessons. 301 her prudence is unknown, will, perhaps, accuse my sister of a share in his extravagance. — But how, dear Leonce, are we to conceal from her what has been passing at Doncaster? — The physician here declares that her state of health requires the utmost care." " Of course. And the loss of his promised heir would be almost as painful to old Van der Helde, as the loss of his money." " It is of Clemence, not of old Van der Helde, I am thinking." " As regards Clemence, then, I have exacted of Adrian that he shall make no distressina: avowals. Within a week, something may be negociated for his extrication ; and if Barnar- diston can make an arrangement to my ad- vantage, we must quit this place." " Not till my sister's health enables us to do so with safety." " Who wishes it ? My little sister must not fancy she holds a monopoly of virtue and humanity. But to think, Eugenie, that all 302 A life's lessons. these evils might be remedied by my marriage with Nannie Balfour !" said he, hastily, per- ceiving that Mademoiselle de Lanville was again about to leave him. *' Why desire to substitute one evil for another? — Reflect how you reviled me for wanting to stain our family escutcheon by such a m.esaUiance ! " " Our family escutcheon may become dis« figured by blots of a darker nature ! That I was sincere at the time, you know ; for I was even then in a financial position such as rendered a rich wife more than desirable^ You may, therefore, give credit to my sincerity when I assure you that, knowing at that time of your friend only that she had a dozen or so of thousand pounds lying in the hands of old Zelters, and as much more in prospect, I saw in her only the daughter of a wealthy boor, —the descendant of servants, — and scorned the notion of making her my v/ife. But more than a month spent in her company — A life's lessons, 303 more than a month's daily experience of her charming temper and quaHties, — has won me completely to your opinion, You must have noticed, before you left Hawkshill, Genie, how constantly I was by her side." " I attributed your attentions to courtesy towards your sister's friend." " No, — to prepossession, — to love as warm as I fear I am capable of feeling. Had it not been for the superciliousness of that old blockhead, Sir Ralph, I should have long ago apprised you of my change of sentiments." " In that case, I pity you, indeed." * " Do you mean to infer that you think Nannie disinclined towards me ?" " Far worse. In that case, her sentiments, like your own, might change. — She is at- tached to another." " Impossible !— That child !" " She is as old as Clemence when she made her love-match with Adrian." *'But Nannie Balfour has scarcely been out 304 A life's lessons. of her village, which contains only quarriers and hinds." " I can say no more without betraying her confidence. — You asked me, just now, to give credit to your word, dear Leonce, in a matter that required some amount of faith. I now require you to believe in mine, that the affec- tions of this poor girl are irrevocably en- gaged." When left to his reflections by his sister's departure for the night, the intelhgence she had communicated occupied the thoughts of the Count de Lanville far more than his own disastrous position. The petite paysanne in love ! — Nannie Balfour inaccessible to Mon- sier le Comte de Lanville, with five hundred years of illustrious genealogy ! — He could not believe it. '' Forse e ver, mapero non credibile" mut- tered he, unconsciously quoting from Ariosto. — And when he closed his eyes that night, on a somewhat uneasy pillow, his latest A life's lessons. 305 anxiety regarded his morrow's meeting with Nannie. He was resolved to make himself master of her secret. Which among the nameless horde with whom she had hitherto consorted, did she distinguish with her preference ? — Was it too late to hurl him from his throne ? — Women are so changeable, so plastic. — Axioms of two thousand years' antiquity have so defined them. Hitherto, he had not appeared sufficiently devoted to this child of the hills. — He would show himself in a better light, — he would show himself as he was. — Instead of wasting his mornings in partridge-shooting, he would ride and walk with Nannie. " Je V aimer ai tellement^' said he, as Rocca said of Madame de Stael, — *' qu elle finira par m'epouser'' It would be hard, indeed, if the gallantry of a man of his manners and appearance could not efface the impression made by some un- polished Lancashire savage — " some cotton- VOL. I. X 806 A life's lessons. spinner, pig-driver, methodist parson, — no matter what." All the arrogance of his nature recoiled from the idea of such rivalship ; and the penniless roue slept to dream of heraldic escutcheons, the Ratisbon college, and the first crusade. How different, alas ! were the waking medi- tations, that night, of his gentle and afflicted sister ! — The following morning, at a later hour than usual, for the quiet of the country had pro- longed the slumbers impaired by recent ex- cesses and recent cares, Leonce, after an elabo- rate toilet, entered the breakfast - room, at Hawkshill, as much intent upon woman- slaughter as any of the monster-husbands of the present day. To his utter disappointment, it was un- occupied ! — Adrian and his sister were in attendance on Clemence, whom Dr. Moss had already arrived from Ilsington to visit. 307 " And Miss Balfour ?" he inquired of the servants. " Gone home. Two hours before, she had mounted her pony to return to Gridlands/' And alone ! What an opportunity had he lost by his ill-timed somnolency ! But he had not the smallest pretext for following her to Middledale. He must wait till one or other of his sisters entrusted him with a commis- sion. Yet how absurd that he, Leonce, Comte de Lanville, with sixteen quarterings, should be consulting the etiquettes of life in regard to a Lancashire farmer's daughter, who had never so much as seen a coat of arms or worn a crinoline. But she was gone. With a heart aching quite as sorely as those she left behind, she was about to resume the duties of her natural sphere, in a spot recently endeared by the attachment of a girUsh heart. That brawhng beck had appeared a beautiful stream, and the furzy hill-side a picturesque object, when she x2 308 A life's lessons. last wandered through the village with Mau- rice. Even on that fatal night, during the visit of her aunt and cousin, when he had obtained a momentary mterview with her among the holly and bramble thickets skirting the garden of Gridlands, and after pouring into her ears avowals of passionate love, renounced her, and bad her adieu for ever, the scene, as exhibited in striking relief of light and shade by a full orbed moon, had impressed itself on her memory as indelibly as the orchard walls of Capulet^s garden may have done on the young heart of Juliet. But now, the glory of the spot had departed. All the poetry of Gridlands was gone for ever. Middledale had subsided into the rugged hamlet of mean hovels, and dusty roads, de- picted at the opening of our story. The coarse evening pipe of her father and the good Pairson, irritated her nerves after the fragrant cigars of Hawkshill. Her favourite books had, during her absence, been carefully 309 locked up by her father. Her garden had been neglected, that all hands might assist in potato-digging. The place looked utterly cheerless. But this was not the worst. There still awaited her a first visit to Hawyer's Cot- tage ! Madame de Sevigne observes in one of her letters, that " after having accepted exorbitant obhgations, the only way to get out of the scrape is by a little ingratitude.'' Nannie, though she had been recently initiated for the first time, at Hawkshill, in that admirable manual of worldly wisdom, was not likely t6 adopt the precept. As soon as she had ful- filled her duties in her father's house, she hastened — no, not hastened — she dragged her slow steps heavily along the road to Haw- yer's. Something, however, in the aspect of the place, soothed her by its unexpected cheerful- ness. The chimney was smoking for Dinah's afternoon tea. The tall Michaelmas daisies 310 A life's lessons. on either side the gate, purple with bloom, had attracted hundreds of wild bees from the heather of the Moors ; while over the little porch, hung tangles of passion flower, from a tree which Maurice and herself had planted four years before, and which had successfully defied the rude winters of the north. The aspect of the poor cripple's cottage was, in fact, far brighter than that of the grander elevation at Gridlands. " I was expecting you, my child," said Mrs. Varnham, after a feeble embrace. And Nannie learned by that tender salutation, that, in spite of what had passed at their last meeting, she was dear as ever. " Almost the first thing I heard this morning, was the ring of Brownie's trot, upon the road. Instinctively, I recog- nised his step, and knew that, before the day was over, you would be by my side." " I should have been here many days ago," replied Nannie, in some confusion. " But my friends at Hawkshill were afraid of being left A life's lessons. 311 alone among strangers ; and latterly, the health of Madame van der Helde has rendered us anxious. '* "I know it, I know it," interrupted her friend. *' Dr. Moss informed me of the cause of your delay." " Dr. Moss has been here, then ? You have been yourself suffering?" " A trifle — a nothing. Besides, it was easy for him, on his way home, to look in upon his old patient." " And he told you—" " That my little friend, Nannie Balfour, w^s valued at Hawkshill as she deserved; that she proved an invaluable companion to the strangers." "But about yourself. What did he tell you about yourself?" "What he has been telling me for many years past, Nannie, that, in my case, patience is the best doctor ; that I must never look to be well. No matter. Our dear David pre- 312 A liee's lessons. scribes for me more satisfactorily. He tells me that the stormiest day has its close ; that I may look to be well, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. You do not yet fully know the value of that prescription, Nannie. May you never learn it, my child, through excess of worldly trouble." Tears glittering in the eyes of Nannie, warned the poor cripple that she had proposed to receive her with a cheerful countenance. Another moment, and she was exhibiting to her quondam pupil a veil of the most delicate workmanship, on which she had been em- ployed for the last three weeks. Uninter- mitting labour! She had not squandered her time in the selfish indulgence of her sorrow. " I have been wanting to finish it," said she, " against the return to Ilsington of little Edith Rawson, who has been spending a month with her grandfather, as you probably A life's lessons. 313 heard from Mr. Balfour, when he visited you at Hawkshill." Nannie recalled to mind, with a sigh, how small a part David Hurdis and his family had occupied in their conversation. " Her mother is to fetch her home in a few days," rejoined the cripple. "By that time, I hope to have executed my order. It is for a wedding, Nannie," added she, with a smile ; " and one is bound to be punctual, you know, in all that regards a wedding." " I wish I could help you," said Nannie, gravely. *'But my needle wants the experi- ence of yours. I never saw work, in any degree comparable to yours, except Mademoi- selle de Lanville's; and even her's is in- ferior." "She probably learnt her art where mine was obtained," rejoined the cripple, in a low tone — "in a convent." This allusion recalled to Nannie's memory the bitter remark of the Liverpool attorney, 314 A life's lessons. concerning Mrs. Varnliam — that in her youth she had forsaken her God. She, too, then, had been reared in the Romish communion. But however deeply interested in the question, the young girl dared not pursue her interro- gations. She could as soon have breathed to her the name of Maurice ! — END or VOL. I. J. Billing, Printer, Hatton Garden, London ; and Guildford, Surrey. Just published, in 2 vols. 8vo., with Portraits, 30s. bound, MEMOIES OF THE COURT OF THE REGENCY. FROM ORIGINAL FAMILY DOCUMENTS. By the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, E.G. " Here are two more goodly volumes on the English Court ; volumes full of new sayings, pictures, anecdotes, and scenes. The Duke of Buckingham travels over nine years of English history. But what years those were, from 1811 to 1820 ! What events at home and abroad they bore to the great bourne ! — from the accession of the Regent to power to the death of George III. — including the fall of Perceval ; the invasion of Russia, and the war in Spain ; the battles of Salamanca and Borodino ; the fire of Moscow ; the retreat of Napoleon ; the conquest of Spain ; the surrender of Napoleon ; the return from Elba ; the Congress of Vienna ; the Hundred Days ; the crowning carnage of Waterloo ; the exile to St. Helena ; the return of the Bourbons ; the settle- ment of Europe ; the public scandals at the English Court ; lifce popular discontent, and tbe massacre of Peterloo ! On many parts of this story the documents published by the Duke of Buck- ingham cast new jets of light, clearing up much secret history. Old stories are confirmed — new trails of character are brought out. In short, many new and pleasant additions are made to our knowledge of those times." — Athenceum. " Invaluable, as showing the true hght in which many of the stirring events of the Regency are to be viewed. The lovers of Court gossip will also find not a little for their edification and amusement.'' — Literary Gazette. " These volumes cover a complete epoch, the period of the Regency— a period of large and stirring English history. To the Duke of Buckingham, who thus, out of his family archives, places within our reach authentic and exceedingly minute pictures of the governors of England in our grandfathers' days, we owe grateful acknowledgments. His papers abound in fresh lights on old topics, and in new illustrations and anecdotes. The intrinsic value of the letters is enhanced by the judicious setting of the ex- planatory comment that accompanies them, which is put together with much care and honesty." — Examiner. HURST & BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. Just Published, in 2 Vols., with Portrait, 21s., bound, LIFE OF JEANNE D'ALBEET, QUEEN OF NAVARRE, From numerous original sources, including MS. Documents in the Bibliotheque Imperiale and the Archives Espagnoles de Simancas. By miss FREEE, AUTHOR OF "the LIFE OF MARGUERITE d'ANGOULEME." From the Morning Herald.—" Miss Freer has done wisely to follow up her ' Life of Marguerite D'Angouleme ' with a life of Marguerite's celebra- ted daughter Jeanne, Queen of Navarre. The latter was, in truth, a re- markable woman in an age distinguished for remarkable women, and towera above all her contemporaries, Elizabeth of England not excepted. Born in 1528, Jeanne became Queen of Navarre on the death of her father, in 1555, and reigned with great distinction and honour till her death, in 1572, Jeanne's position and character are well portrayed by Miss Freer. The qualities for which she was remarkable are noted without exaggeration — her fearless truthfulness, her rectitude, her passionate love of justice, her sagacity and solidity of understanding. Throughout the work, Jeanne, of course, occupies the centre ; but various celebrated characters grouped around her are more or less fully sketched. Among these are Elizabeth of England, Mary of Guise, Catherine de Medici, Francis I., Charles IX., Conde, the Duke of Guise and Jeanne's own son, the Prince of Navarre, afterwards Henri Qaatre. The great political and religious questions that agitated France aie not overlooked, but they do not encroach upon the space which in works like the present is better occupied with details, which serve to illustrate the manners, character, and life of the principal persons in the narrative. In combining general historical views with such details, Miss Freer has been in the present volumes singularly successful." From the John Bull.— "The life of the mother of Henry IV., the ex- cellent Queen of Navarre, is one of the most interesting episodes of the history of the struggles between Romanism and the Reformation in France, The difficulties with which she had to contend throughout her eventful career, and the virtues she displayed under her many trials, would secure for her a distinguished place in history, independently of the celebrity which she deserves from having been the mother of the best, and one of the greatest Kings of Fiance. The task of bringing forward her claims to the admiration of posterity could not have fallen iijto better hands than those of Miss Freer, the able biographer of her mother. Marguerite D'Angouleme." From the Observer.—" We consider Jeanne D' Albret one of the greatest women that ever lived. She was the greatest Queen of her time, not ex- cepting our Queen Elizabeth, her ally and contemporary ; unsurpassed as a politician, a stateswoman, and military chief; fertile in resouixes. far- seeing, determined, trusting to the justice of her cause in God, whom she worshipped according to the Bible ; a good wife, a tender and wise mother, and faithful friend. Her life and all the exciting circumstances connected with it have been most ably recorded by Miss Freer ; and in doing so she has displayed researches into authorities, edited and inedited, equal to that of Gibbon ; has made judicial and impartial use of them, and has given us in the biography of a woman who^e greaiaess was not tarnished by a fault, a history of a very eventful period of the Reformation in France." HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.