L I B R.AFLY OF THE UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS 8ZS \ ■flt TALES THE MANOR. VOL. I. London : Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, New -Street- Square. TALES OF THE MANOR. BY MRS. HOFLAND. " In my country," said Sancho, "all the old stories are told in this manner, neither can I tell it in any f^'^—^JSR who told me the story, said it was so true and certain, that it I should chance to tell it again, I might affirm upon oa ± .that I had seen it with my own eyes." ^ E ^ * H IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, OUME, AND BROWN, PATERKOSTER-ROW. 1822. Re* TALES OF THE MANOR. ■ 22: INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. i ^ During the mild winter of 1821, a party of friends assembled at the Manor-house, the pleasant and hospitable abode of Mr. De Grey. The party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn, his near neighbours, Mr. Selwyn junior, from London, and his young wife, late Rose De Grey, the niece of their kind entertainer ; Mr. and Mrs. Denbigh, the latter being Mr. Selwyn's eldest VOL. I. b 2 TALES OF daughter; that gentleman's sister, Mrs. Letitia Selwyn ; his youngest daughter, who bore the same name ; and the vener- able father of his lady, old Mr. Harland. An agreement had formerly taken place in this amiable and affectionate family, that whenever circumstances en- abled them thus to meet, the younger branches should endeavour to amuse the circle by relating stories ; and accord- ingly the first evening, when it was enlarged by the arrival of Mr. Selwyn's youngest son, and a companion, Mr. De Grey veminded them of the agreement. " Allow me in the first place,' ' said Mr. Selwyn, " to claim for my daughter, Letitia, permission to relate her story first ; for as she is the youngest speaker, (although she has attained eighteen,) she will find it more difficult to follow those who are more equal to the task of enter- taining us, than to address us as a be- ginner." As no person made any objection to THE MANOR. 3 this arrangement, although many half- uttered apologies for inability were heard, Mr. Selwyn said to Letitia, " Well, my dear, whilst we finish our tea, you may turn over the storehouse of love and sorrow, castles and cross fathers, which I doubt not your memory will furnish, and in ten minutes we will be ready to attend to you." Letitia was at this moment taking away Mr. Harland's cup, (for all the little services he required were ever per- formed by his grand-children,) and she looked wistfully in his face, with a half- distressed look, and said, " Ah, sir, I doubt I shall get on very poorly. I am sure you could tell a much better story than me." " I could tell nothing but true stones, my dear, and very old-fashioned ones. To be sure, I can remember a good deal of what I heard and saw in my youth ; whilst things of a later date and more im- portance escape me," b 2 4 » TALES OF Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn immediately perceived that their venerable parent was willing to be pressed into the service ; and, although surprised by the circum- stance, — for he was not " a garrulous old man," — yet they lost not a moment in assuring him how much the whole circle would be obliged to him for such an exertion. They were well aware that it is the nature of man to feel his own importance in society doubly estimable, in that advanced period, when nature threatens to wrest it from him ; and, to them, it was a sweet duty to support the claims of one ever alike dear and es- timable. The whole circle soon united in the request, and drew round, in order to render his exertion as little difficult as possible ; they then waited, in pleased and quiet expectation, gazing on the thin, bending form, and placid counte- nance of the good old man, who, in a few moments, stroking back his milk- THE MANOR. white locks, began to say, in a tone of apology, " You know, my dears, I cannot make stories ; I can only relate facts. The young ones must imagine scenes and sentiments, and I only offer them — ■ An Old Man's Story. 1 " b S TALES OF CHAP. II. I am the youngest of seven children ; my two eldest brothers were seven or eight years older than myself, as there were four girls between us. These boys were educated together by a clergyman, who engaged to keep them in his house until they were fit for the university ; for which place my father designed them both. He said, the eldest ought to have the education of a gentleman, as the head of his house, and, most probably, one of the representatives of his country ; the second, as the means of providing for himself in one of the learned professions. Boarding-schools, at that time, were very different to what they are now ; and might, with greater propriety, have been termed " starving-schools." My father, THE MANOR. / therefore, thought himself fortunate in placing the boys under the care of a gen- tleman, who treated them in every respect as if they were his own ; and, although living on a narrow stipend, took care to render them very comfortable. For these comforts, it is true, he paid very liberally ; and, so far, the agreement was desirable on both sides ; and I was in the habit of hearing Mr.Collinson's learn- ing and living much extolled at home. But I recollect very well that 1 sincerely wished never to partake of either ; for I was rather a spoiled child (as the youngest), and by no means desirous of being removed to his jurisdiction. Mr. Collinson could not exactly be characterised as one of the non-conform- ing clergy, whose strong piety, or narrow prejudices, have been so often discussed. Still less was he one of those whom Pope describes in the time " When unbelieving priests reformed the nation, „" And taught more pleasant methods of salvation ;" B 4< 8 TALES OP for he was a man who strictly adhered to the doctrines of his church, and walked according to her precepts ; but he was of a stern deportment, unyielding temper, and, having remained single till he was turned of forty, had little of that endear- ing kindness in his manners which usually marks the behaviour of those men, in their intercourse with young people, who have been led to sympathise in the early sorrows, or remove the many wants inci- dent to their helpless offspring. With the female sex Mr. Collinson had held very little communion ; and I be- lieve his opinion of them was by no means flattering. Indeed, women were not then by any means what they are now, in many respects ; for, in fact, they are more improved than even boarding- schools. Now and then there was (it is true) a wit, or a scholar, and there were some great beauties ; there were a few planets where there are now many stars. But the small-pox and tent-stitch spread THE MANOR. 9 a veil alike over the faces and the minds of young women in general ; so that they really did not offer much attraction to a man who was devoted to books, and required to be lured into conversation by those with whom he associated. But all this you may find from reading the Spec- tator ; so I shall go on with poor Mr. Collinson. My brothers had been resident with him some years, and, being fully ac- quainted with all his good qualities, and accustomed to the frigidity of his man- ners, had really learnt to esteem him very much ; when it so happened that one of his parishioners, an old maid (who lived on a small income), requested him to visit with her the sick-bed of her niece, who had long resided in a neighbouring parish, and was a widow, with an only daughter. Mr. Collinson was ever prompt to an- swer the calls of duty ; he was also a charitable man, and ever ready to afford b 5 10 TALES OF the utmost assistance his very bounded means afforded to all who needed it. Under these circumstances, it did not ex- cite much attention in the boys that he, from that time, visited the invalid in question frequently, and seldom went without taking a little wine, fruit, or whatever else might be deemed accept- able to a person so situated. As, how- ever, the walk was a long one, and it had been his custom on similar occasions to take them with him, at least to the door of persons whom he visited prof ession ally, they began to think it singular that he always went alone; and that, when he returned, he was either absent or morose ; unequal to pursuing the usual studies of the day, yet evidently afraid of betraying the cause of his abstraction. The boys were too young to know what was the matter with their master, but I dare say, some of you have already guessed that he was in love, and are certainly right in your conjectures ; but THE MANOR. 11 you can have no idea what an harrassing thing love is, when it attacks an old sub- ject for the first time ; men yield willing- ly at twenty, but they resist at forty, and struggle to regain that liberty, which, in earlier days, they were delighted to resign. When Mr. Collinson reached the cot- tage, whither Mrs. Sarah Sowerby con- ducted him, he found a person of most lady-like deportment and pleasing fea- tures, propped by pillows seated in an arm chair, awaiting his visit ; but his re- gards to her were almost involuntarily drawn away by the striking figure and exquisite beauty of her daughter, who, at the moment of their entrance, was laying some newly-gathered flowers upon the lap of her mother, as if with the as- surance that their fragrance would be restorative to the pale and wasted form, on which she gazed with intense anxiety and affection. Mrs. Cecil was the widow of an officer. b 6 12 TALES OF Her father had lost his fortune, and eventually his life, from his adherence to the Stuart family; and, though born to affluence, the best years of her life had been spent in this cottage, on a small an- nuity, which it was her greatest misfor- tune to know, would cease with her life, and throw her child at once upon a world for which she was totally unfitted. From the time when the present illness of the unhappy mother seized her, this melan- choly idea precluded all hope of re- covery ; her death, and the sad conse- quences of it to a child so fondly idol- ized, were ever before her, and this anxiety rapidly increased every fatal symptom ; so that, when Mr. Collinson first beheld her, all rational hope of re- covery was fled, although it was pro- bable she might yet linger through many wearisome days. The widow had no friend or relation in the wide world, save her mother's half sister, of whom we spoke, and who, THE MANOR. 13 as being far advanced in years, and very circumscribed in fortune, had it not in her power to help her; and she was well aware, that, although a mother's un- ceasing cares had rendered her poor girl well calculated for a life of industry and exertion, yet, that the total seclusion in which she had lived, the delicacy of her mind, and the sensibility of her heart, made her little able to encounter servi- tude, even in its least degrading form ; and the exquisite beauty with which she was endowed, only served to heighten the fears of the unhappy mother. The same fears actuated also the mind of Mrs. Sarah, although a very different person from Mrs. Cecil, being neither endued by birth, nature, nor experience, with the same refinement or acuteness of feeling. Her fears, however, such as they were, she revealed to her pastor, and by that means helped to awaken the sympathy he felt for the poor girl, and to keep up in his mind the perpetual 14 TALES OF inclination he found, to make her affairs, sorrows, actions, and person, the sole object of his thoughts. So long as the state of Mr. Collinson's affections were unknown to himself, and he considered his anxieties for the lovely Mercy as arising only from compassion, he was in his manners to her kind, though somewhat haughty and constrained ; but from the time when he could no longer deceive himself, when he perceived that his happiness was in the power of one he chose to consider as a child, and that he suspected the old maiden aunt also had found out his weakness, he felt in- clined to treat her with the most pointed hostility, as a creature who had cast a spell about him, against which, he called upon his temper, manners and mind, to contend, with all the strength and acri- mony he could muster. Happily for the dying invalid, the former state of mind lasted during her life, and she departed under a sense of THE MANOR. 15 solid comfort, imparted by the hope, that the good clergyman who had attended her with so much assiduity, would ex- tend a fatherly influence towards her lovely orphan. It had happily never entered her mind, that a plain, hard- featured man of forty-five, uncouth in his manners, and taciturn in his dispo- sition, could think of a slight girl in her seventeenth year, in any other light than that of a daughter. The bitter agony, the overwhelming grief of the lovely girl, who, with all the blindness common to hope, love, and inexperience, had never anticipated the dreadful loss she now felt, opened the eyes of Mr. Collinson to the alarming state of his own heart, and while it bled under a sense of the sweet orphan's suf- ferings, and felt that he would have given worlds to relieve her, yet a sense of weakness in himself, a dread of ridicule from the world, and still more of rejection from her, gave to his perturbed spirits 16 TALES OF and irritated temper, the air of anger and harshness, whenever he approached her, most inimical to his views; and so com- pletely did her gentle spirit shrink before him, so cruel did she deem his remon- strances and his apparent cold-heartedness, at such a period, that her mind imbibed a terror of him which she never afterwards was able to overcome ; and this terror her open countenance and ingenuous manners exhibited but too faithfully. Mercy removed to the house of her great aunt, and when her first flow of anguish was somewhat abated, and she was enabled to recall the precepts of the beloved parent, which she felt every hour more cause to regret, endeavoured to look up to that God on whom she had been taught to rely, and to practise that resignation which was her duty. She endeavoured to recall her own powers; of action, to prove her gratitude to her present protectress, and to face those evils which inevitably awaited her in a life of dependance and exertion. THE MANOR. 17 But, alas ! this power of rallying her mind, and enduring the misfortune that overwhelmed her, was not attainable to the bereaved orphan for many weeks ; for, young as she was,' sorrow still clung to her heart, and there was no human being to whom she could disclose her feelings, or from whom she could gain relief. She had never known but one companion except her mother, this was a young person similarly situated with herself, who, two or three years before, had been married in London. She was the daughter of the village miller, whom Mrs. Cecil had assisted her to nurse through his last illness, and whose grateful disposition and excellent temper had made her ever a welcome guest at the cottage with both mother and daughter; and often would poor Mercy think, that if she could pour her sorrows into the heart of dear Jane, who could truly sym- pathise with her, she should find that relief which was denied her now. At 18 TALES OF that time, letters were never written but on business by people in her sphere of life ; therefore, this very natural mode of claiming the attentions of her friend did not occur to her, and if it had, would assuredly have been highly con- demned by Mrs. Sarah. In a very short time, this lady took a more active part in the control of Mercy's sorrows j she told her " she had fretted long enough j that happier days awaited her ;" and, in short, pro- posed Mr. Collinson to her, not as a lover, but a husband. Astonishment and terror took from her at first all power of reply, for she saw herself completely in the power of Mrs. Sarah, whose temper she had long known to be violent, and was aware would soon be tyrannical ; dreading to irritate her, she forbore to refuse, until Mr. Collinson himself repeated the pro- position ; when, with breathless and de- precating haste, she " intreated his par- THE MANOR. 19 don, thanked him for his good will, but protested that she could not marry him ; indeed she could not." " You are very young ; you have lived in perfect seclusion ; surely you can have no engagement ?" said he, in all die trepidation of anxiety. Mercy protested, and with an air of truth which admitted of no doubt, " that she had not even a trifling acquaintance with any man living besides himself." This assurance unhappily decided Mr. Collinson in the determination to make her his wife at all events, in which self- ish and unrighteous resolution, he was warmly encouraged by the old woman, who determined, as she called it, " to break her heart or her spirit :" and from this hour a series of persecution commenced against this unhappy inno- cent, compared to which the tortures of the rack would have been merciful, for they must have had an end. Mrs. Sarah was possessed of consider- 20 TALES OF able pride, and not a little cunning, neither of which she was aware of pos- sessing ; but she did know, that all the degree of affection she really felt for any human being was expended on the poor girl, whom she had taken rather to share her poverty than partake her bounty. She was not therefore aware, that, in raising the portionless orphan to the rank of the minister's wife, she was seeking her own aggrandizement in the parish ; nor, that in exerting all the means she possessed of wringing the heart of the girl who depended on her, by every ingenious method she could devise, she exercised any talent but that of salutary advice, by which it was her duty to rescue a poor young creature from poverty and temptation, by esta- blishing her in a comfortable home of her own, and placing her under the hap- piest protection. Mr. Collinson, also, undoubtedly de- ceived himself, by the idea, that he was THE MANOR. 21 actuated by benevolent motives, and that he intended to render the creature he was so ardently attached to perfectly happy; sensible, however, that the strug- gle he made with his passion had soured, not softened his temper, and ever feeling inclined to be angry with himself for the weakness he indulged, he became every day less engaging in his manners, more unamiable in his conduct towards the object of his affection. Her reserve and ill-concealed fear of him awoke his resentment, and if he found her pale and in tears, it was an offence he could not forgive, and never failed to call down upon her anew the reproachful scoldings of her aunt, the charge of ingratitude to the friend of her mother, and the heart- rending assurance, " that that mother's parting blessing was given, only with the condition of her obedience to those friends who soothed the sorrows of her dying hour." Yet if, from a little partial relief from 22 TALES OF her daily lectures, from busying herself with the house affairs, or tending the few plants that decorated the porch of Mrs. Sarah, the colour of poor Mercy had taken its wonted station in her faded cheek, and their native lustres once more darted from her soft eyes, her admirer gazed upon her with a species of terror ; required her instantly to keep close to the house ; and maintained, " that it was the duty of every prudent damsel to avoid the eyes of all men ;" nay, he- would even prohibit her from visiting the church, and insisted upon her wearing her hood, which at that time answered the purpose of a veil, even when she went into the little orchard, where alone she had walked for air, since the death of her justly-deplored parent. Mercy had been used to a life of con- stant activity and unbounded confidence. Conscious that the pleasures of society were denied to her, at that period of life when every creature desires them, almost THE MANOR. 23 as a necessary aliment, her tender mother had left no means untried within her power to supply the deficiency, she had improved her natural taste for reading and drawing, she had led her to select objects of taste from all that was most beautiful and impressive in natural objects, and allowed her to excite her sensibilities and extend her affections to animate and inanimate nature. Mercy had always favourite animals to feed, domesticated birds that sought her bounty, and charmed her by the wild warblings, to which she annexed the most endearing or most sub- lime ideas. There were favourite streams which she watched as they emerged from the icy fetters of winter, trees, with whose fading honours she sympathised, and woodbines which her hand entwined round their supporting neighbours. The wild roses she transplanted to her ow r n little borders, were children lovely to her eye, and almost dear to her heart ; and the little details of her cares, or the 24 TALES OF wilder burstings of her enthusiam, were ever listened to with indulgence, by a parent who sought, from every opening trait of character, to learn how best she might bestow a lesson of virtue, or stamp a sentiment, of devotion. Of all these pleasures she was at once bereft, at the very time when most she needed their consoling influence ; and at the very time when a close confinement was substituted for air, exercise, and liberty, no wonder, that even her excellent constitution be- gan to sink under the effect of such a change, and that her mind became inert and feeble, like the lovely casket which inclosed it. When Mrs. Sarah saw that her appe- tite failed, and her colour fled, she ob- served, " that anxiety caused it, and the sooner she was married the better :" to which Mr. Collinson agreed. Mercy, with tears, begged for delay, but ap- peared to be so completely worn down by long oppression, as to be utterly un- THE MANOR. c 25 equal to decisive resistance, and either to have conquered, or habituated herself so far to the visits of her admirer as to see him enter without alarm, and depart without joy. The old woman accepted on her behalf such presents as Mr. Col- linson deemed right to give her ; and, although even the prettiest gown and the gayest pompoon could not elicit one smile, yet she was praised for the resig- nation she evinced, and, six months after she had lost her mother, it was decided for her that she should be married at the parish church, within whose conse- crated walls that mother slept. The fact was, that Mercy, who till now had never known what ill health was, very naturally concluded, that the languor which she now felt was the fore- runner of death, and that she should re- gain that beloved parent whose loss had brought with it so many sorrows. Her mind, perpetually occupied on this mo- mentous subject, and willing to believe vol. i. c 26 TALES OF herself much worse than she really was, she allowed her aunt to arrange things her own way ; and, considering herself as a victim, believed that her troubles would be speedily at an end, for she never thought of marriage with Mr. Collin son in any other light but as a death blow. The clergyman of Mercy's late resi- dence was a very aged man, who had in fact been for many years unequal to the duty : his voice was almost unintelligible, his sight was nearly gone, and he was perfectly deaf. It, therefore, did not strike him as singular, that the voice of the pale and trembling girl, utterly un- able to articulate a single word, was not heard in the responses ; nor that so sober a bridegroom should have avoided the usual compliment of company, which, at that period, generally was exhibited at a wedding. Mrs. Sarah, dressed in an ancient embroidered negligee, was the sole bridemaid, and Mercy, arrayed in a spotless gown of white cambric, by the THE MANOR. 9T/ side of the bridegroom, whose sallow- face was now improved by a full-bot- tomed, well-powdered wig, looked like a snow-drop tied to a sun-flower. The little party went home to the par- sonage in a post-chaise, unseen by any one ; and Mercy, pale and trembling, sat down in the house, which she was told to consider her own, almost wondering whether the death she had expected and invoked was really at hand. In a few minutes, Mr. Collinson's house-keeper, an elderly woman, made her appearance, and after making what she called her obedience to the ladies, informed them, " that dinner would be ready in ten minutes, and, in the mean- time, the young gentlemen begged leave to come in and salute the bride, which to be sure they had quite a right to expect, seeing they looked upon his worship as their father." " Oh ! the boys," said the bridegroom, c 2 2» TALES OF a little confused, " they must come in, certainly, poor little rogues." In a moment they rushed into the room ; not indeed little rogues, for the eldest was turned of sixteen, tall, and remarkably handsome ; the younger was in his fifteenth year, a lad of great liveli- ness and archness, and he first advanced towards Mercy with easy frankness, while Charles, as if overpowered by the un- expected brightness of the fair vision be- fore him, stood root-bound, gazing, and reddening as he gazed. In fact, Mercy's exquisite face had perhaps never been equally striking, and undoubtedly never equally appalling, even to her admiring husband ; she never had, (within her remembrance,) been near two youths who bore about them the decided marks of gentlemen before ; she had been startled out of a state of deep and morbid dejection, and it was therefore no wonder, that her " pure and eloquent blood," rushing THE MANOR. 29 through the transparent whiteness of her skin, should reveal, in its course through veins so azure, and cheeks so delicate, innumerable beauties. She was trans- formed from the statue of Venus into the reality, and — but I see you are all laughing at me for talking so much about beauty, but you should remember, I am thinking what boys would think, whose minds were imbued with classic imagery ; and besides, it was the fashion of my day to think in this strain about fine women. Whether poor Mr. Collinson conclud- ed, such were the ideas which entered the heads of his pupils, I know not, but he acted like a man inspired with a demon ; — it flashed upon his mind all at once, that the eldest would be his rival, that the youngest would laugh at him ; he recollected, at the moment he saw himself and Charles reflected in the chimney glass, that only a few days be- fore, his young brother, who was apt at c 3 30 TALES OF quotations, had compared Charles's high forehead, arched nose, and clustering hy- acinthin curls, to Milton's Adam \ and as Mercy stood before him in the dignity of modest beauty and exquisite loveli- ness, he thought himself she was the best resemblance of Eve the human imagin- ation could suggest ; that of course Tom would think so, and might probably finish the comparison by making a devil of himself. However that might be, he felt and acted instantly as a man excessively en- raged ; and it is certainly the fact, that he considered that blush which irradiated the pale countenance of his hitherto drooping bride as an act of wicked injus- tice to himself and glaring impropriety in her, and he broke out into a volley of angry invectives, which at least answered the purpose of removing the appearance which awakened them ; for, terrified and agitated, poor Mercy sunk back upon the THE MANOR. 31 chair from which he had just risen, and, turning pale as ashes, swooned away. Mrs. Sarah was excessively alarmed, for such a circumstance had never occurred before ; and the loud voice of the angry husband was exchanged for bitter self- reproach and agonizing sorrow ; yet, even now, he could not prevail upon himself to send for medical assistance, until she relapsed a second time into the state from whence she was with difficulty restored ; and Mrs. Sarah had declared that a third fainting would inevitably prove fatal. The apothecary ordered his patient instantly to bed ; and, after sitting by her an hour, in which time she had many re- lapses and symptoms of hysterical affec- tion, he particularly desired that she should be left entirely to the care of the housekeeper and another female attend- ant ; but that her aunt and her husband must not only abstain from visiting her apartment, but that the most distant c 4 32 TALES OF sound of their voices must be inter- dicted ; otherwise a fever on the spirits would inevitably take place, which, in her present state of exhaustion, would unquestionably be fatal. When, by this judicious and compas- sionate treatment, Mercy was again re- stored to the powers of thought, she almost wondered to find herself alive, and still more to perceive that she wished to live. She looked from the casement of her pleasant window, and was sensible of the fragrance of the jessamine which enveloped it ; she heard, too, the birds that sang in its branches ; she remem- bered the fair, gay faces which had greeted her, and the condoling voice of one who was near her ; and her young heart opened to the sense and the plea- sure of living. Far different were the emotions of her unhappy partner ; when his first dreadful fears for her life were subsided, — when he ceased to consider himself the de- < a .i i ■■■ iqtfflky* *<£&* THE MANOR. S3 stroyer of the creature he adored, — all the agonies of jealousy returned upon his mind, in all their most vindictive powers : love, anger, fear, mistrust, haunted him every moment. The natu- ral sympathy of poor Charles drove him to madness, and he determined, at all events, immediately to remove his pupils from his house ; yet the recollection that, with them, he lost the greater part of his income, at the time when he would have lavished worlds upon his idolized Mercy, wounded him deeply. A few days, how- ever, served to evince that they must be removed ; for the medical gentleman be- came not less an object of suspicion ; and twice he was discharged, and twice be- sought to return to save the life of his patient, before the unhappy man per- ceived the extent of his own malady, violent as it was ; and then, concluding very justly that he never could bear that any man should see his wife, and that from henceforth his house must be her c 5 31* TALES OF her prison, and himself her gaoler, he began to make the necessary prepar- ations. As my father had ever been his warm friend, and he had some hopes of prefer- ment by his means, he felt it to be his duty to take home the boys himself, and make what apology he could for resign- ing his trust before the specified time. With difficulty he obtained leave to visit the sick room of Mercy previous to his departure > but when arrived there, she bade him good-bye with so much cheer- fulness, that he promised himself a speedy and happy return ; and from the cares he took in her accommodation, and the various instances he showed of a generous disposition, there is little doubt but he might have returned to a softened and confiding, though not a loving heart, if he had not commanded, that, even in case of the most alarming relapse, the apothe- cary was not to be recalled to Mercy during his absence. THE MANOR. 35 This, like the order left by Herod for the death of Marianne, fell " like a cruel frost" upon the faintly budding hopes and affections of Mercy, whose naturally warm and grateful heart was chilled almost to horror by a mandate which, in her opinion, showed not only indifference to her fate, but anger towards him who had preserved her life, and whose kind attentions had bestowed the only comfort she had received since the death of that parent, whose loss was more than ever bewailed since she had been compelled to marry. Mercy's own heart had never been touched by love, and she was totally ignorant of its various effects upon the hearts of others ; of course, could make no allowances for the ca- prices, jealousies, self-tormentings, and various injustices, which a violent, mis- directed passion makes in the minds of many ; and when the consequence of love produced what she deemed the actions of hatred, it was no wonder that she classed c 6 36 TALES OF them under that head. She felt as if she were taken by Mr. Collinson for the pur- pose of being a subject on which his des- potism and cruelty might continually operate \ and, comparing him internally with the various tyrants of whom she had read, concluded that even the little acts of regard which she had received from him were dictated by the capricious spirit which induces tyranny to decorate the victim which it immolates. My parents were now at their country- house in Bedfordshire, and Mr. Collinson was necessarily absent more than a week, during which time the health of his fair bride made rapid progress ; for, in youth, the moment a severe pressure is removed, the spirit springs with elasticity, unmind- ful of the future ; and this relief was further aided from the circumstance of learning, that, upon his return, he had been met by a messenger, who had turned his steps aside to the house of his uncle, an aged man, who was extremely ill, and THE MANOR. 37 who was likely to make him the heir of a little property, which, under his present circumstances, was of more than common importance to him. Mercy had been ordered to keep her chamber ; and it was, therefore, no won- der that, feeling her strength restored, she looked earnestly out of her casement, and almost wished for any circumstance that would allow her to walk into the garden, under the mild radiance of a September sky. As if in answer to her wishes, a post-chaise came to the garden door, ' out of which an elderly-looking woman alighted, whom she soon learned was the housekeeper of the elder Mr. Collinson, sent to fetch her to his house, as he felt himself unable to relinquish the personal attendance of his nephew. " And the orders from my master," said her own servant, " be this, that if you an't really able to go home to he, which is almost twenty miles off, then the chaise must take you back to Mrs. 38 TALES OF Sarah's, where you must 'bide till master comes home again ; and you an't to go out of her house, nor her sight, on no consideration. But I hopes as how you will take the journey ; for I thinks it will do you a vast of good, the weather is so fine." Mercy, tempting as a journey was to her, (for it is ever so to a young and enquiring mind,) yet hesitated which of two evils to prefer ; when the kind and maternal solicitude with which the stranger addressed her, and the evident superiority of her manners to those of the people about her, determined Mercy on accompanying her home : she likewise listened to her advice in packing up her little wardrobe of mourning, which had only been temporarily dismissed on the occasion of her marriage ; and, leaving a dutiful message to her aunt, she set out with the least possible delay. The carriage had proceeded about a mile, and was passing near her former THE MANOR. 39 residence, which she naturally leaned from the window to look at, while tears of sorrow for the past, and apprehension for the future, coursed down her face, when a young rustic, who was passing, gazed earnestly at her, and making a sign to the post-boy to stop, came close up to the window, and addressed her with — " Miss, Madam, I think as how you're named Cecil ?" " To be sure I am, (I mean I was) : you are the miller's boy ; I remember you very well." " Well, Miss, I have got a bit of zum- thing to say to you ; for you may know I've been to London about a month back, and there I seed our Miss Jane that was, and sorely I made her cry when I told her as how poor Mistriss Cecil were gone ; and she told me to tell you as how she had got a capital husband, and a noble shop, and she would be glad to see you by day or by night ; she loved you to 40 TALES OP the bottom of her heart, and a deal more of such like." The silent tears of Mercy were now exchanged for an agony of hysterical weeping, that rendered her unable to speak again ; but the good-natured woman who was with her, as if compre- hending her feelings, said to the youth, " How long is it since you saw this person? I do not know her name." "They do call her Mistriss Samson now, and she lives at that there place, as be written on this'n ; she charged me to 'liver it a matter of a month agone, and so I would \ but when I went over to do so, there was old Madam Sarah sent me off the spot wi* a flea in my ear, as folks say ; and then Miss were married, and like to die ; and the parson is grown so cross, I durst not go near him." As the boy spoke, he gave her a piece of dirty paper, on which was legibly writ- ten the address to a pastry-cook's shop, THE MANOR. 4L in St. James's-Street, London ; and the words added, " My wife has no time to write ; but allow me to add, we are both alike the affectionate friends of Miss Cecil." Signed, " William Samson." The boy departed, — the chaise drove on ; but the chord of tender remem- brance and early affection thus touched in the bosom of poor Mercy, could not cease to vibrate ; and although she made various efforts to conquer her emotion, or explain its cause to her companion, she could not cease to weep. That com- panion remained wrapt in deep medita- tion. As they approached their destination, Mercy, becoming more composed, com- mented on her late emotion, observing, " that she wished she had known her dear friend had been so able and willing to receive her in London." " I wish you had ; for, to speak plain, there is little prospect of happiness before you with a man who, as far as I can 42 TALES OF learn, frightens you with every word he speaks. Indeed, I never saw a person so altered for the worse, as he appears to me ; and, I take it, that it is his jealousy and unhappiness that makes him so odd. Why, the sole cause of his sending for you now is, lest the clergyman, who is to do duty for him next Sunday, should happen to see you, — a pretty look-out for the next twenty years of a poor young creature's life ! Truly, you'll be worse off than a bird in a cage." Mercy could only answer by a deep sigh, and some incoherent words about her mother. " Well, God forgive me !" said the housekeeper, looking at her with eyes full of tears ; " but really, my poor child (young lady, I should say), if I were you, I would really try this friend of yours ; I would go to London. — But see, if that is'nt our garden ; and there is your hus- band standing waiting for us, (not that I call him your husband yet), just as I was going to say " THE MANOR. 43 " Oh say ! speak ! for God's sake, if you have any pity for me. Pray, pray tell me, is it right ? can I go away ? how- can I go ? I would work, — indeed I would go into the lowest service." The breathless agitation in which these words were uttered, spoke volumes to the heart of her they interrogated ; and she lost not a moment in reply. " There is a stage-coach runs to Lon- don every day ; and it passes that corner almost constantly at seven. Dare you travel alone, if I manage to put you into it, and we can raise the money between us?" " Oh yes ! I think I dare." " Well, then, compose yourself. See here, we are at home ; — pray, pray, com- pose yourself, or you have no chance : remember that" Mercy tried to remember ; but she had never been used to dissemble ; and the consciousness of entertaining such a strange, wild, and almost terrible scheme, 44 TALES OF would alone have made her tremble at Mr. Collinson's approach. He was pleased with seeing her, as he had feared that she would have preferred returning to the cottage ; but the voice of welcome died on his lips, when he perceived that her hand trembled in his, and that his kiss had nearly chased away life. Again his anger returned ; and casting her from him, he designated her " ungrateful, weak, and foolish, " and reproached her with hating him. The housekeeper supported her trem- bling steps, and led her to the room she had prepared for her, glad of the oppor- tunity of exchanging a few words with her, and of exhorting her to collect her spirits, and hope for better times. Mercy was soon summoned to a cup of tea ; and whether from the consciousness that she was about to inflict a wound for which he was unprepared, or because she had learned that, with all his unkindness, it was yet possible he might love her, she THE MANOR. 45 certainly looked with more complacency on Mr. Collinson than she had ever done before ; but she was exceedingly relieved when he left her, saying, " that for one hour he must retire to the chamber of his uncle; but he hoped her friend Mrs. C , the housekeeper, would sit with her during that time. ,, " That is impossible," said the person thus appealed to ; " for I have left my poor master so long, that, when I have seen after his gruel, I shall make it a point to come up stairs ; but I can pro- vide Mrs. Collinson with work or a book to amuse her." In a very few minutes she did indeed thus make her appearance ; but in that time she had shrouded the light form of the trembling Mercy in a hood and Joseph of her own, had conducted her with a bundle of clothes to the road side, and given her in charge to the coach- man, who slowly drove his ponderous vehicle, at the rate of four miles an hour, 46 TALES OF to the metropolis, at the awful distance of sixty-seven miles. The sudden metamorphosis of Mercy had been so decisive, that her appearance caused no remark from the three passen- gers in the stage-coach ; and she sat in silent but terrible anxiety, watching the receding objects, and lamenting the slowness of their departure, until the last gleams of light yielded her the comfort of believing herself and her emotions no longer visible ; when she endeavoured to recall, and impress deeply upon her me- mory, every word of advice which had been uttered by her late friend on the subject of her journey, concluding that, if she could once find herself in the pro- tection of her beloved Jane, she could have nothing to fear for future life ; and in these recollections she found only one memento that it was painful to act upon, which was, " Let no circumstance, no temptation, induce you to mention your THE MANOR. 47 marriage to your friend : try even to for- get yourself that it ever took place." At noon the following day, the " Old Fly Coach" set down its weary pas- sengers at the Cross Keys, in Wood- Street ; and, luckily for Mercy, one of her fellow-travellers who was going to Pic- cadilly, agreed to share with her the hackney-coach, that was necessary to take her to her friends, which was the most awkward affair she had yet been called on to manage. She was received by Jane, now a smart dressed, notable, wife, with an unquestioning warmth of affection, which fell on her long deserted heart like the sweetest dew of heaven, and by her husband with an hospitality which was more likely to show itself in deeds than words, for he was evidently a plain man, and too busy for idle compliments. It was quite enough for Mrs. Samson to know, that her message had only been delivered the day but one before, to ac- count for Mercy's never having written 48 TALES OF to say she was coming, and it was suffi- cient for her to learn that the poor girl had no home, but with Mrs. Sarah Sowerby, to account for her seeking one in her house the moment it was offered to her ; and the only trouble the good woman felt, was in the idea that it had not been sought long ago, as, in her opinion, the pale looks and slight form of poor Mercy showed but too plainly the little comfort she had known since the loss of her excellent mother. At this period, the weddings of the rich and powerful alone found their way into the newspapers, and these were things which never met the eye of this industrious couple more than once a week for only half an hour, so that the circumstance of a run-away wife in their country visitor, never entered their minds. Amongst the few acquaintances which they saw during the Sunday afternoon, she was spoken of, " as a young person who wanted a situation as a lady's maid, THE MANOR. 49 but who might be very useful to them- selves as an assistant to Mrs. Sansom, as the season advanced, in their well-ac- customed shop." Between themselves, however, it was agreed, that Mercy's destination should be their own back parlour, where she might be employed to her own" satisfaction in the needle- work of the family; she was much too handsome and genteel to be shown with safety to herself in so gay a part of the town, nor, for the same reason, would they venture to place her in any great and fashionable family. Mercy herself was free from all these cares; and when, after the first days, her agitation and fear of discovery subsided, the natural vivacity of youth returned, and, mixing with the tender dejection her late sufferings had induced, and the timidity of her nature, aided by secluded habits, rendered her altogether the most interesting and delightful creature on which the eye could rest, or the heart VOL. I. D 50 TALES OF expatiate. Happy to show the gratitude with which her bosom glowed, to those who had thus kindly received her, and benefited her far beyond their own knowledge, she exerted alike her in- dustry and ingenuity in their service ; and while her busy fingers plied the needle in embroidering a holiday waist- coat for the master of the house, which delighted his affectionate wife, she would charm their evening hours by singing the songs she had learned from her mother, or in relating some historical anecdote which was unknown to her less informed hearers. Or she would listen with pleased attention and engaging docility, to those maxims of conduct and circum- stances of life, which her hospitable friends were well able to teach, or to recount. Mr. Sansom had long let the first floor of his house, during the winter season, to the eldest son of a Scottish nobleman, on whose character and manners he was THE MANOR. 51 fond of dwelling as that of the most amiable of men, and he much lamented the little chance he should have of an equally agreeable lodger during the ap- proaching sessions of parliament ; be- cause his father was lately dead, and he would of course take possession of his lordship's house in town. In this re- spect, the honest tradesman was agree- ably disappointed ; for, about a month after Mercy's arrival, he received a let- ter from this nobleman's favourite ser- vant, to, say, " that his Lord, (whom I shall call Rosedew,) being in bad health, and intending to winter in the south of France, preferred using his former rooms to the cares of an establishment, and might therefore be expected in a week or two, (though it would only be for a very short continuance,) to take possession of his former apartment. D 2 LIBRARY UNiVLRSITY OF ILLWO!? 52 TALES OF CHAP. III. Ihe little preparations necessary for Lord Rosedew's arrival in the well-order- ed house of Mrs. Sansom, made no other change in Mercy's comforts, than to excite in her a desire of seeing one of whom she had heard so many excellent traits, and who moved in a sphere of life to which she had been hitherto a perfect stranger ; and it, therefore, excited some little disappointment and almost vex- ation, to find, that when he did arrive, impediments in this little gratification were thrown in her way, even by her worthy friends, and his Lordship had been several days in the house before she had been able to gain a single glimpse of him. THE MANOR. 55 During this period, he was, however, the subject of frequent conversation and sympathy ; one party lamented over him, as far gone in a decline, which had al- ready proved fatal to his elder brother ; the other maintained, that he had no alarming symptom, and would soon be brought about by change of air and good nursing, and both alike lamented that his medical attendants ordered him into another country, where he must live among strangers ; as it appeared that the dowager Lady Rosedew was herself so overpowered by sorrow, and anxiety for his only sister, as to be unable to ac- company him. As the novelty of this important ad- dition to the household wore off, Mercy again sewed and sung as usual. As Lon- don grew full, her friends grew busy; and she necessarily spent many hours alone, although within hearing, and almost sight, of a very bustling scene. One day as she was busy preparing the baby linen, d 3 54 TALES OF which her friend expected to want in a short time, and chanting, in a sweet low voice, an ancient ditty indicative of a mother's feelings, she w T as surprised by the entrance of a gentleman from the shop, who, with a jelly in his hand, seemed to approach for the purpose of eating it by the parlour fire. The sudden silence, and overwhelming confusion of poor Mercy, called for apology from the intruder; but when his eyes were castupon her face and her employment, his own embarrassment appeared hardly less than hers, and, with difficulty desiring he might not interrupt her, he took a chair, with an air that seemed intended to give ease to her, rather than to indulge his own curiosity. The gentleman was dressed in deep mourning, consequently was without powder ; and his hair, which was full and of a rich brown, fell partly over a forehead, high, polished, and fair to whiteness ; his eyes were deep blue, but THE MANOR. 55 more remarkable for brilliance than co- lour ; and all his features were decidedly handsome. He was so tall, that he ap- peared to have contracted a habit of stooping, to accommodate himself to the ordinary height of those with whom he conversed ; and this idea was further con- firmed by the suavity of his manners, the noble benignity and gentle benevolence which shone in his countenance, and influenced even the simplest action, and most ordinary conversation in which he was engaged. A few moments' observation served to convince him, that the lovely girl be- fore him was not a married woman, but truly " a maid in all her charms ;" and an observation upon the weather, (that inexhaustible topic,) served to open their conversation. When Mercy had once heard her own tremulous voice in reply to that alarming creature, a Jine London gentleman, she gained courage, and, be- fore the slowly-eaten jelly was finished, d 4 56 TALES OF had convinced her visitor that nature had not bestowed " elaborate graces" on the outward form alone, but that, notwithstanding her extreme modesty forbade all display of even the little knowledge she possessed, her mind was more cultivated, and her understand- ing far superior, to many of the most celebrated belles with whom he was acquainted. With great surprise, Mercy at length saw the stranger set down the jelly-glass upon the table, and (after bidding her adieu, with a grace and manner which to her was wholly new) take his departure by the opposite door, and quietly ascend the stair-case. It instantly struck her that she had seen Lord Rosedew, and she recollected too, that he had entered with- out a hat \ the fact was therefore certain, and Mercy blushed as she announced it to herself, and was conscious of a flutter of spirits totally different from any of the many moments of agitation which had so often assailed her before. THE MANOR. 57 The weather was now bad ; Lord Rosedew was urged by his friends, either to make a rapid remove to a more genial climate, or to confine himself wholly to the house. He chose the latter ; and as he was fond of music, and devoted to books, the choice did not appear extra- ordinary ; nor will it, my dears, appear surprising to you, perhaps, that, during the forenoon, he became in the habit of stepping into the neat parlour of Mrs. Sansom, there to take the jelly or chicken broth which was ordered for him ; and which it now became one of the duties of Mercy to prepare for him. Lord Rosedew was encouraged to per- sist in this plan, because he found all the disagreeable symptoms under which he had lately laboured, either wholly re- moved or materially amended. His cough ceased to be troublesome, the dejection upon his spirits was gone, and the sim- plicity of regimen he had adopted, from the earnest recommendation of his young d 5 ,58 TALES OF friend, and the amusement he derived from a new object of interest, bade fair to perfect his cure without the means which had been insisted upon as abso- lutely necessary. * It yet happened, one day, that he was so far indisposed as to lie long beyond his usual time, and Mercy had placed and replaced his refreshment many times upon the little stand, without hearing his foot upon the stairs, or the usual orders given to his servant. Again and again did she take up her work, and laid it down ; arranged the Michaelmas daisies and marigolds which she had purloined from their appropriate stations in the shop, to adorn the parlour window, (dark as it already was,) and still the noble visitor came not ; when, just as she had givenup all hope of seeing him, he sud- denly appeared before her, having, from indisposition, walked down with noiseless steps and unaccustomed quietness. Joy at his appearance, sorrow for the THE MANOR. 59 languor which he evidently felt, and other undefinable feelings, at once over- powered poor Mercy, and she burst into tears. " What is the matter, Miss Mercy?" " Oh ! nothing my Lord, only I thought you would not come ; and I was afraid — and indeed I see — and — " " You see I am not so well ; I confess I am in a little tremour, but it will soon go off; I have had a bad night, and I fear you are not very well yourself." Mercy said something about a head- ach, and bustled about to hide the weak- ness she had been guilty of. In her con- fusion, she placed an empty basin be- fore his Lordship, and hoped he would find it good. Lord Rosedew seized the fair hand ere it withdrew from the ta- ble ; pressed it witb a look of mingled tenderness and archness, and was about to snatch a better cordial from her lips than that she had so unwittingly denied ; but at this moment " consideration, like d 6 60 TALES OF an angel, came," and, rising, he left the room ; observing internally, " he must not venture there again." The next day and the day following that, Lord Rosedew kept his own room, although his often-questioned valet de- clared, " that he was no worse than usual, except being a little out of spirits ;" and Mercy, unhappy and restless, perpe- tually asked herself, " if he were of- fended with her?" and as often replied, " that with such a look as he wore, it was impossible ;" yet she felt herself more wretched than she had lately be- lieved it possible for her to be, in a situ- ation so dear to her as this had been till now. Absent, pale, without appetite, or the power of exertion, the state of poor Mercy's mind could not fail to be no- ticed by her affectionate friends, although they were, at present, too much engaged in business for trifling circumstances to attract their attention. It now became THE MANOR. 6l a comfort to them to contemplate the speedy removal of their noble lodger ; and they rejoiced that he was acting consistently with the high character they had always ascribed to him, in withdraw- ing himself from Mercy's society ; but scarcely had they felicitated themselves on this circumstance, when he again re- newed his visits to the parlour. Mrs. Sansom tore herself from her duties behind the counter, so far as she was able, to be present, and almost thought that there was little to fear, when she found that his Lordship had engaged Mercy in a long account of the genealogy of her family, and she felt surprised how a nobleman of his import- ance could listen to details of such tri- vial import, except so far as they were told by the ruddiest lips and in the sweetest tones imaginable. The subject was, however, one of interest, and the native candour and eloquence of Mercy, could not have found, a better. She was 62 TALES OF descended from an ^ancient though de- cayed family, and her mother being com- pletely cut off from the ordinary topics of conversation, had made her tho- roughly acquainted with every anecdote which either belonged to her own family in private life, or connected it with the times in which they had lived, and had traced their gradual descent from wealth to poverty, through that unhappy at- tachment to the Stuarts, which had, in so many instances, insured to the subject all the sorrows which attached to the sovereign. Mercy could relate the par- ticulars of many a well-foughten field, and dwell on the inspiration given by a regal smile, or the sympathies awakened by a royal pang ; and, in despite of her blushing timidity, evinced, at times, an enthusiam, spirit, and feeling ; an ima- gination so vivid, a sensibility so intense, that Lord Rosedew's brilliant eyes gazed on her with an ardour of admiration, which left no doubt on the mind of Mrs. THE MANOR. 63 Sansom, that if poor Mercy's heart had been touched too far for her peace, at least she did not suffer alone. When, in the hour of retirement, she communicated this discovery to her hus- band, the honest man became exceed- ingly troubled ; and he protested, " he would have some talk with his Lord- ship, that he would." This threat, or whatever else it might be deemed, was more easily made than acted upon ; and several days passed, in which his Lord- ship, with very trifling interruptions, con- tinued to spend hours with Mercy, which, although not only blameless, but even praiseworthy in the subjects of convers- ation they embraced, and the perfect de- corum they observed, were undoubtedly of a nature to bring all the sorrows of a hopeless passion in their train. During this time, many books had been lent to Mercy by her new friend, and some very trifling presents had also been offered to her acceptance, but only 64< TALES OF at such times, and under such circum- stances, as to render them proper, even in the awakened eyes of Mrs. Sansom. One of these gifts appearing, however, more suspicious than the rest, the master of the house now ventured to pluck up his courage, and having learnt, at the time it was sent down, that Lord Rose- dew was not quite so well as usual, thought himself authorised to pay his respects to his Lordship, and so open his mind a little. Sansom was a man of very warm heart, very sound understanding, but very few words in general ; and utterly unable to form any premeditated speech. Circum- stances favoured him upon this occasion ; he found " The History of hisOwn Times, by Bishop Burnet," lying open upon the table, and the first glance of his eye pre- sented the name of Lord Clarendon. Therefore, after enquiring " if there was any thing himself or his wife could do or could get for his Lordship ?" he ven- tured to say, THE MANOR. 65 " It is a fine thing, to be sure, when gentlemen are ill, that they can amuse themselves with books, and all that ; for my part, I can't say I like to look into any book but my ledger ; but I like to hear my wife read in the Bible very much, or Mercy either, for they get on wonder- fully." This long speech from his landlord somewhat struck Lord Rosedew, and he observed, in an encouraging tone, " I dare say you would be a long time in getting through such a book as this ?'' " Why yes, my Lord ; and yet what I have heard about the wife of Lord Cla- rendon, might tempt me to look at it, because of his name being in it." " I know nothing of his wife?" said his Lordship, enquiringly. " Why, my Lord, as my grandfather told me the story, it was this : There was a poor, but very beautiful girl, an orphan, like poor Miss Mercy, as one may say, but only much poorer, for she'd ne'er a 66 TALES OF friend in the world j and she walked all the way to London, to seek a place, and all the little she had being gone by the time she got here, she was ready to die for want ; and, happening to see a tub of grains standing at a door, she went up to it, and began to eat them. This was near a great brewer's house, and his wife, who was in delicate health, was standing at her chamber window at the time. She was a humane woman ; and, struck with the forlorn appearance of the poor young creature, she beckoned her into the house ; and, to make short of my story, engaged her in her service, and, on trial of her worth, treated her with much af- fection, and so far improved and edu- cated her, that, after her death, which happened in about two years, the brewer, her master, married her. He did not live long, and he left her all his property, having found her as virtuous as she was handsome. After his death, she found it necessary to call in the aid of a clever THE MANOR. 67 lawyer for the settlement of his affairs ; and this gentleman, as your Lordship may guess, was afterwards the great Lord Clarendon ; and by him, this poor starving girl became the mother of the Duchess of York, and of course grandmother to the two Queens, Mary and Anne, of blessed memory." " A very good story Mr. Sansom, and a decided proof of the power possessed by beauty and merit — all very true too, as I now recollect myself." " Yes, my Lord ; but it is very seldom such girlshave such good luck, poor things. Now, there was pretty Betsy *, whom I myself loved as dearly as the light, and could have worked for, and waited for half my life ; you see, my Lord, what she's corned to with Sir Edward Wal- pole ? I don't wish to say nothing against Sir Edward, he's a customer of * The post-master's daughter at Darlington, who, by the marriage of her daughter with the Duke of Gloucester, shared the honours of Mrs. Hyde, but did not live to wit- ness them. 68 TALES OF mine, but I do think she'd better have been the wife of an honest man ; and I'm very much mistaken if she's a happy woman ; to my mind she's not half so handsome as Mercy is ?iow, and I am sure seven years since she was ten times handsomer." His Lordship at this moment rung for his valet ; and Sansom perceiving that he really changed countenance very much, persuaded himself that he saw the drift of his conversation, and that he would act uprightly by Mercy, and he therefore made a speedy exit. For several days, Lord Rosedew ex- perienced at this time a renewal of those symptoms which had induced the advice of his medical attendants, that he should go to France ; and he also received let- ters from his mother, and other friends, blaming his delay, and urging his de- parture. The anxiety poor Mercy ex- pressed for his indisposition, and her dread of his departure again, blanched the THE MANOR. 69 roses on her cheek ; but something like a consciousness of her situation, and a dread of observation, enabled her to con- trol her emotions to a certain degree; and maiden dignity taught her now, in her turn, to retire from the interesting invalid, even whilst her heart was break- ing with the idea of beholding him no more. When Lord Rosedew had twice paid his former visits to the parlour, and found Miss Mercy had taken her work into her own room, he began to talk to Mrs. Sansom about her ; and heard, with un- suppressed emotion, many simple proofs of the excellence of her disposition, the care and retiredness of her education, the admirable conduct of her mother, whom the grateful narrator described " as a real gentlewoman, as an angel upon earth ;" and, finally, the total want of friends and fortune under which she now laboured, which rendered her, of course, 70 TALES OF too liable to be the object, and the prey of the designing. " She shall be neither, if I can protect her/' said Lord Rosedevv ; " your cares for this lovely girl are honourable, and your kindness to her admirable ; and let it be your comfort to know, that my feel- ings are in unison with your own. I would not injure her for a thousand worlds ; nor could T, consistently with the prin- ciples I have always held, and which it would ill become me to relinquish, when perhaps I may so soon be called to that bar, compared with which, the judgment of the world is but " as dust in the balance." " Oh ! my Lord, do not, indeed I know you will not deceive me ; wonder- ful as it is, you will marry Mercy.' * " I will, but not now, nor indeed here. In Scotland we are much more particular than you are ; and to marry at all, before my father had been dead a year, would THE MANOR. 71 be thought improper by my mother; and to do so with a person so much my in- ferior, would be towards her an act of cruelty which I could not think of in- flicting. I, therefore, wish to marry Mercy in France, if she will consent to it ; and I would receive her from the hands of your husband, if he would undertake to accompany her to Amiens, where I should wait for them." Mrs. Sansom declared, " that her hus- band would do every thing, and, for her own part, she would spare him even at the time she most desired his presence, if it were for the happiness of her beloved Mercy." In thus adverting to her situation, she opened a new subject of thought to Lord Rosedew ; who, after musing for a few moments, added, If I should be so happy as to be a father, I shall immediately inform my friends that I am married, and I am well aware my mother will then be imme- 72 TALES OF diately reconciled to this sweet girl; more especially as she is really reduced, it ap- pears, from an adherence to those princi- ples in politics which have influenced too many of our own family : but, for the present, I rely on your prudence, and, if you think it necessary, I will not even see Mercy again till I receive her at the altar. and by shutting herself up entirely from the world, though still a young and pleasing woman under thirty, she was enabled to appear in life as a gentlewoman who chose the retirement she adopted. Her hours of solitude, it was supposed, were given to nursing me. Alas ! I know they were given to gain bread for me. From morn- ing to night my mother wrought at embroi- dery, which was secretly procured for her THE MANOR. 175 by a friend in the metropolis ; and so aided her little income, that she gave me all the advantages of education, and linally succeeded in placing me in the profession, which she preferred solely from the idea, that it would enable me to guard a constitution, which in manhood proved as good as in infancy it had ap- peared defective." Amelia wiped her eyes, and looked up with the air of a person deeply in- terested. " Ah ! my dear, little can you con- ceive how many hours of wearisome exertion, how many means of daily pri- vation, were resorted to for this purpose ; the difficulties of the poor (except in cases of actual starvation) are not to be named with those of impoverished gen- tility, anxious to preserve appearances for the sake of that offspring for whom the most humble and self-subdued spirit is yet ever laudably ambitious. Oh ! my good girl, even now it wrings my i 4 176 TALES OF bosom, when I recollect how often my mother denied herself even sufficient food, that there^ might be more than enough for one single servant, and that her actual poverty might not be known. Well do I remember, how regularly the tea-things were placed before her by this little maiden, along with a cloth to wipe them, beause she chose to wash the china herself (which was a common act of care in those days) •? and thus she seemed to share the luxury it would have been a degradation to have wanted. While the fact was, this expensive beverage was never actually touched by her or me, except when some old friend called to partake it, when there was no appearance of any want, or any work, save common occupation ; and the visitant departed, glad to see that the widow of so wild a man was yet enabled to live in comfort, and make a man of her little boy. is In due time, I went to Endinburgh to study and to starve $ yet deeply im- 7 THE MANOR. 177 bued with both precept and example, I ever associated only with the first society, and appeared amongst the gayest as gay and fashionable as the best. Yet one suit of clothes lasted the whole three years I lived there ; for the moment I entered my rooms, it was exchanged for a wrapping gown of my mother's making. When I dined out, it was at a tavern frequented only by gentlemen, with whom, for the time, I seemed to spend my money as freely as the rest, and therefore became recognized as one of them. But this power of maintaining rank was purchased by many a solitary meal of gruel and dry toast in my own apart- ment, which was purposely strewed with all the rubbish of an affected virtuoso, to prevent the intrusion of those who might have seen the nakedness of the land. 4i At length I obtained a diploma, and other distinctions ; and returned to my mother, under the full persuasion that I 1 S 178 TALES OF had the means of giving her not only independence but wealth. She had dis- charged her servant when I set out to Edinburgh ; but I found her as neat as ever, although some of her once-prized articles of furniture were missing, and she was making a meal of some warm water sprinkled with parsley, which she honoured with the name of broth ; a green shade was over her eyes, for they were prematurely destroyed with work- ing incessantly to supply my wants. — But, oh ! how they shone with delight on seeing me. Never ! never 1 shall I forget that meeting/' The old gentleman paused, unable to proceed, and Amelia whispered to her- self, " Poor man ! how dearly I could love him, if — " Her thoughts were in- terrupted j the chord ceased to vibrate, and he resumed his narrative. " I soon found it was impossible to establish myself as a physician in my native place; my name had once been THE MANOR. 179 important, but it was now confined to my own person, and only served to re- mind the people of my father's errors. My person was become tall and command- ing ; but neither my bag-wig, sword, nor solitaire, would make me old in the eyes of those who could perpetually revert to my age. Besides, I had no means of cutting a figure consistent with my pro- fession ; and although my mother was perfectly willing to spend the last shilling she had upon this hazard, yet we saw so plainly that it would be next to impossi- ble that I could gain practice within a short time, that we were compelled to resign this plan ; and as a war had just broken out, endeavour to seek among the friends of better days, for some who might have the means of assisting me to gain an appointment in the army. " As we had ever maintained our in- dependency, and, I may venture to assert, my character and attainments would justify recommendation, it was not long i G 180 TALES OF before I was appointed to a station in the West Indies. I leave you to judge how much this circumstance affected my mother ; yet she would not shrink under it, lest it should throw a gloom upon me. Though now conscious that her own powers of self-support were daily de- clining, and yet that her constitution was requiring more aid, she persisted in assuring me, that she should manage extremely well, and parted with nearly all the remaining property she had in the world in purchasing regimentals and other necessaries for my equipment. " I was happy here in my medical efforts, and I gained the esteem of the officers, and the affection of the men. The duties of my situation were severe, and I was repeatedly cut off from . all communi- cation with my native country ; and thus unable either to hear from my mother, or remit her the very little aid which my pay permitted. But, after near six years absence, I returned with a large ac- THE MANOR. 181 cession of experience, and a complexion so sun-burnt, as to permit me to look as old and experienced as the wishes of my future patients might require. " Whilst I was in London, waiting for leave of absence, I passed my time prin- cipally at the house of an old acquaint- ance of my mother's, who one day point- ed out to me in the London Gazette an advertisement respecting the sale of an annuity. I comprehended him instantly, but shook my head. ' Charles,' said he, kindly, ' do not lose it for want of money ; I will advance you either all or part.' " Unwilling as I was to contract debt, yet to secure my mother a maintenance for life was irresistibly tempting; and, full of gratitude to my friend, I completed the purchase instantly, and in a short time flew down to the country. I found her ill in health, and still worse in situation ; for a long expensive sickness, and the litter inability for more than two years 182 TALES OF to contribute to her own support, had reduced her dreadfully. Ah ! how sweet was my presence to her, and the comforts I brought ! how soon was she again neat in her dwelling, cheerful in her aspect, and capable of rejoicing in the certainty that her declining years were snatched from the dreary prospect which had so long hung over her, and from which my cares, so justly her due, could alone protect her ! " A lovely young creature, who had beguiled many of her most anxious hours, and nursed her through many a tedious night of suffering, appeared to rejoice even more than herself in this change ; and the hours of her visits threw around this humble habitation a kind of lustre that delighted me more than all the splendour I had ever witness- ed in the gay world I had left. But on this I ought not to dwell — so I will only say I fell in love with the vicar's niece, who condescended to marry me, THE MANOR. 183 and gave me six hundred pounds. We removed to this town in consequence of learning there was a vacancy ; and my mother, from whom not even my dear Lucy could have parted me, came with us. " But, alas ! as soon as ever we were settled, the friend I have mentioned wrote, and, in a peremptory tone, de- manded the money he had lent me, de- claring, that the folly of marrying in my situation could not be forgiven. He told me, that a handsome physician depended on half his practice from his bachelor-state ; that I had lost all my interest with an immense class, the ner- vous, the affected, the hypochondriac ; and so far from doing well in the world now, a life of anxiety, poverty, and con- tempt, was all I had to look to, since the little half-pay which I received from government would hardly suffice for my wife's baby linen and caudle. " This was terrible grief to me , for 184 TALES OF my mother was a total stranger to it, and I could not bear to take the little fortune which my wife brought me to pay it ; since, in case of my own death, she would have nothing on earth to help her. It seemed a breach of integrity from which my soul turned abhorrent — a meanness I could not endure ; but my cruel creditor persisted, and the money was thus paid, for I had no other re- source. " Slowly, and with great difficulty, did I conquer the difficulties of my situation ; and all the economy of my mother and my wife scarcely withheld the knowledge of our real circumstances from the eyes of our neighbours, who would never have given a fee to me had they known how much I wanted one ; and I had, indeed, abundance of proofs that my friend had judged too truly that my mar- riage stood in my way. Alas! this was not long the case — I lost my Lucy soon after the birth of our second THE MANOR. 185 child, which followed its mother to the grave " " Indeed, sir, you have suffered much," said Amelia. " Aye, child, this is suffering indeed ; but I must not talk of it. I had a boy left, the precious relict of a mother whom my heart, from that hour to this, has never forsaken : for him I wished for competency, and for hbn sought to attain wealth. He was the idol of my mother, who instilled into his young heart every feeling of tenderness, as well as every principle of virtue ; and as my practice increased, and I was able to restore and double to him his mother's fortune, I indulged myself by bestow- ing on him every advantage of educa- tion ; and he grew up — but I will say nothing about it. He was the very light of my eyes ; for him I forgot all my own early wants, years of fatigue, and sea- 186 TALES OF sons of poverty : I lived in him, andjor him 5 yet I was never blind in my indul- gence, and was constrained to place him under the care of others, in a great measure, who would have counteracted such folly, had I practised it. Well ! this boy, this darling, fell in love at twenty, with a girl three years younger. 1 opposed their marriage, but in vain : the world took against me ; they called me avaricious, yet they well knew I was far from rich. They said — but no matter what they said, or I said : the young people stole a marriage, and Charles was undone. " As I could not help forgiving them, all was with them pleasant enough at first ; but my son was intended for a profession which he had yet to study. The pleasures and the cares of married life alike forbade this, and month after month passed on without progress : chil- dren came fast, expenses increased ; his wife was pretty, vain, and easily drawn THE MANOR. 187 into extravagance ; her children were half-nursed, and often sick ; her servants ill managed, ill paid, and therefore im- pertinent. Home became far from plea- sant ; but Charles was too virtuous to leave it, even while his wounded feelings rendered it most irksome. Often has he watched by the couch of a dying babe, whilst its mother was dancing at an as- sembly ; and refused himself the air or the wine his exhausted frame required, that he might avert some threatened mischief, or perform some painful duty. He had no other helper but me ; and though he did not fear to solicit rny love, he justly dreaded to tax my earnings. His poor grandmother, from her little income, supplied the utmost help she could ; but all was too little for the wants of extravagance and mismanagement. Disease, the effect of continual anxiety, began to make dreadful inroads into a constitution which resembled my own, being far from strong in early life j and 188 TALES OF when his accumulated debts became alarming, his spirits wholly forsook him : he took to his bed, as the only place where his shame and sorrow could find refuge. Here I attended him ; here I listened to confessions that agitated, to sorrows that subdued me ; here I sooth- ed him by giving bonds to one creditor, promises to another, and cash to a third. But, alas ! my very kindness tore his weakened frame to pieces : I could not save him. There was no remedy for a heart that was broken at last, perhaps less from sorrow than gratitude. " Charles and Frederic were the only survivors of five children. I took them home to my house and my heart ; and, according to my ability, I paid by de- grees all the debts of my ill-fated boy. Long before that period, his widow had married an officer, and left the country with him. My mother, that excellent, invaluable mother, never held up her head after Charles's death 5 and I had, THE MANOR. 189 of course, many difficulties to encounter for these boys, which fell hard upon me at that period when man wishes to en- joy the fruit of his labour; although, happily, my health and strength still exhibit a green old age. I found in Charles those properties which fit a man for respectable, rather than superior life ; and as he was the eldest of my son's children, I soon placed him in that house where he is now, by my assistance and his wife's jointure, become an equal partner. Frederic was the youngest ; he much resembles his father in every re- spect. The same commanding intellect, the same joyous temper, but also the same acute feeling which eventually de- stroyed him, is ever before my eyes : if he should share his fate, then, indeed, would my grey hairs be brought with sorrow to the grave." Amelia wept bitterly. " With my experience, can even you (young as you are, and totally a stranger 190 TALES OF to the sorrows of poverty) think, that it is possible that I can permit the ruin of another child, or that I can stand by until a contract is formed without put- ting in a caveat ? Oh, no ! the pinchings of my infancy, the cares of my manhood, the bereaving sorrows of my age, forbid it ; I must snatch Frederic from ruin, cost what it may : yes ! though he hate me, I must save him." Amelia, in an indistinct voice, gave Dr. Cassaubin to understand that Fre- deric had no occasion for his interfer- ence. " I know better than that ; I have seen the cloud gathering long, which was to break ; I have endeavoured to avert it ; and at length determined to find out how far I was right, and how far capable of checking the evil which I could not prevent. I have satisfied myself, and shall immediately send my grandson to college j and, perhaps, when he is gone, you may be induced to see Mr. Linton, THE MANOR. 191 and hear what he has to say for him- self." u Never, sir, never!" cried Amelia, catching his arm, and looking most be- seechingly in his face. " Wei J, my dear, well ; you shall not be teased by him. I have no right, and God knows no wish, to add to your suf- ferings.' ' " Sufferings !" said Amelia, with a re- turning sense of wounded delicacy. f« My good girl, / have caused you to suffer, and I fear you must suffer still more ; but if Frederic has not opened his mind, and if he has the prudence to take my advice and depart in silence, be assured no word or look of mine shall betray the supposition on which I have acted. You are a good girl — I know your feelings ; and if it were possible — but it is not — inevitable ruin, long lin- gering sorrow, could alone ensue. Good bye, good bye." The Doctor, almost overpowered by 192 TALES OF his feelings, rushed out of the room ; with trembling steps Amelia followed, to seek composure in her own chamber : the old man, turning eagerly, caught her hand. " Has it ever occurred," said he, " that in speaking of your removal to Frederic, you mentioned the exact place, or any particulars ?" " 1 believe it has never happened that I did." " Then promise me, I beseech you promise me, you never will ; depend upon it, 'tis of the utmost importance for your own happiness ; for if this head- strong boy should follow you thither, it could only be to disturb you." Amelia hesitated ; she could not re- solve to do a deed which she felt would be like shutting out the light of day. But when she was again besought, for Frederic's sake — when she was told, that on his head the sin of such visit inevi- tably must rest — her pride, as well as her love, aided the plea ; and she solemnly THE MANOR. 193 though reluctantly, promised not to mention her future home, observing, at the same time, " that Mrs. Charles Cassaubin knew it, and would probably inform her brother Frederic. ,, Scarcely had the Doctor departed, when Frederic rushed into the house, and sent a servant to entreat Miss Dain- tree's presence. He had met young Lin- ton, and been informed by him of the purport of the Doctor's visit ; and, as if then first aware of the irrevocable en- gagement of his heart, flung from him and fled to the house of his brother. In a few moments all was explained 5 and in the same breath with which poor Amelia faltered out an assurance, " that she felt the return he so warmly solicited, he was informed that his grandfather had interdicted all future hope." It would be in vain to attempt follow- ing the course of Frederic's rage, sor- row, hope, entreaty, despair j every hour added to the trouble which Amelia suf- VOL. I. k 194* TALES OF fered, either from the vehemence of his importunity, the overwhelming nature of his sorrow, the inflexibility of his grandfather, and the anxiety, either im- plied or expressed, by every branch of a family among whom she had been the innocent means of bringing sorrow and discord. Yet every day also bound her heart as by a still stronger tie to him, whom, in every variety of feeling, she found ever most fondly, most inviolably attached to her, generous, disinterested, delicate, and considerate ; capable of checking the wildest sallies of temper, if it would wound her, of braving the greatest hardships for her sake, yet ever re- membering, with the tenderest gratitude, the claims of his venerable grandfather. Day after day now passed, marked by such an extreme of suffering, that the affair inevitably attracted attention from other s> and parties were heard comment- ing upon it in every house. This circum- stance Mr. Charles Cassaubin urged as THE MANOR. 195 an inducement for his brother to depart ; and so sincerely hurt was he to find that his Amelia was a common topic of con- versation, that he consented at least to remove to the house of a friend for a day or two. On the morning that he set out, he bade Amelia a tender farewell, as if fearful that he should behold her no more ; but of this she had at this time no expectation. It did however happen, that on that very day a person arrived who announced herself as the maid of the late Mrs. Cranbourne, who, since her death, had been paying a visit in Lon- don ; and being now on her return, was requested by Mrs. Sarah and Mrs. Kitty to take charge of the young lady to their house. Inwardly wounded, and heart-stricken as Amelia was, she yet could not fail to consider it a happy circumstance that Frederic was from home, and that the grief his presence might have displayed, or awakened, was by this means un- it 2 196 TALES OF witnessed by the stranger, who, in her pale looks and severe agitation, saw only what she deemed the natural grief of a young orphan, torn from all she loved, to visit a far-distant place and unknown friends. THE MANOR. 197 CHAP. II. We must now leave Frederic to struggle with all the anguish and vexation inci- dent to the disappointment which awaited his return, and which he fully believed to have been entirely contrived by his friends, especially as they obstinately re- fused to name the place of her removal, as she had herself done also in despite of his entreaties. Ah ! how different was this journey from the last ; nature itself seemed to have united with sorrow to render her wretched ; for it was now the depth of winter, the snow was on the ground, a chilling air pervaded all things, and se- conded the sense of desolation which pressed upon her heart. It was now k 3 198 TALES OF four months only since she had travelled with Frederic, yet it appeared as if it were twice as many years, all of which had been filled up by so much of happi- ness or misery, by such sweet imagin- ations, or deep revolving thoughts and intense sufferings, that the knowledge and the experience of many years seem- ed combined in them ; and Amelia no longer felt herself a girl of seventeen — a creature new to existence, and full of the first relish of life. However deeply this sorrowful sense of mature mind might impress our young traveller, it was evident that her person had not gained the power of ex- hibiting it ; for although Mrs. Todd, her companion, a neat, taciturn, middle-aged woman, treated her with much attention, it was the attention demanded towards a genteel child, and having ordered all things proper for the occasion at the inns where they stopped, and hoped " she would come about by-and-bye," she re- THE MANOR. 199 lapsed into her own thoughts, and suf- fered those of the love-lorn girl to re- travel, for the thousandth time, over the days that were past — days that could return no more. The interesting remembrances of the past so entirely absorbed the mind of Amelia, that even her own peculiar si- tuation at the present moment, when she was going she knew not whither, to she knew not whom, had not power to excite her curiosity, or awaken her ap- prehension. Sometimes she would wish that she could have returned to her be- loved governess, but the timidity, inse- parable from love in a young bosom, told her that she could never have revealed her sorrows even to that dear friend; and she owned that, in the present state of her mind, there was a consolation in being able to hide her own thoughts from every human being, and muse upon her misfortune in unobserved and un- pitied solitude. k 4 200 TALES OF As she advanced towards the end of her journey, which was by the bright light of an early moon on the evening of the second day, she paid some atten- tion to Mrs. Todd's description of Cran- bourne-hall, which, she informed her, " was the property of her late lady, and left by her to her youngest son, the eldest having a much better of his own down in Devonshire, at least a more moderner ; and his lady, who never corned down to see her relations, was all for new things/' She added, " that the ladies of Cranbourne-hall was very glad when their brother took to that end of the kingdom, as it induced the late Squire to leave this house to Madam, where, to be sure, as the dear ladies were born, it was quite right they should like to live and die." " How many ladies are there?" asked Amelia. 5* Only three left, dear heart : there is Mrs. Sarah, now at the head, and a THE MANOR. 201 tine portly lady she is ; then comes Mrs. Kitty, who is a slim genteel person, as straight as a dart, and though theyounger, yet is somehow, as it were, more the mistress than Mrs. Sarah ; then comes the Squire, who, since he got married to a fine fiz-me-gig lady up in the south, became, as I may say, nothin to his fa- mily, nor his family nothin to he ; next to him was two childer, who died ; then comes the Captain, who have been abroad ever since you were born, dear heart, for a better never lived, unless it's his sister, Miss Bab, who is the youngest by a good deal, and will be quite a com- panion for you, as one may say, in com- parison, for I don't really think she's a day above five-and-thirty, if she's that." A deep sigh was the only comment made on this recital, which was soon forgotten by her to whom it was ad- dressed, but yet even the absorption of a heart devoted to unhappy love was K 5 £02 TALES OF soon obliged to give a little way on the momentous occasion before her. The post-chaise in which they travel- led now entered a long avenue of limes, which, even in their leafless state, were beautiful, seen against a sky illuminated by an unclouded moon ; and Amelia felt that, under any circumstances, such an avenue had its charms, and promised herself to seek in solitary musings there the indulgence of that sorrow which she felt assured must eventually consume and shorten her future life; but they now stopped at the door of the hall, and even love was again suspended in anx- iety, fear, and curiosity. The heavy porch-door was opened by an old domestic, whose thin white locks contrasted not less with the sable of his dress than the ruddiness which still en- livened his high cheek-bones and careful aspect ; and after making due enquiries after the health of the family, her con- THE MANOR. 203 ductress proceeded towards a room term- ed the hall, which was the usual sitting- room of the family, to which they ad- vanced through a long, cold, spacious passage. The door opened upon a large room, wainscotted by dark oak, and floored by the same, so that the deep hue of the whole was unbroken, save by a small square patch of carpet placed in the middle for exhibition, not use. Upon a small table stood a chamber-candlestick, in which was a lighted candle, and at a little distance stood two gigantic candle- sticks of massive silver and antique form, in which were placed two other candles, ready to do honour to the entrance of strangers of importance when light was wanted. On each side the fire, seated in arm- chairs, were the two elder ladies of the mansion, dressed in deep mourning, the make of which was totally different to any thing which had ever met Amelia's k 6 204 TALES OF eye, save in old prints. Their hair was combed strait over high cushions, and slightly powdered, and upon these rose an awful pyramid of muslin with two little projections of skeleton wire, called wings, in front. From the back proceeded a long kind of lappet, which not ungrace- fully fell down towards the shoulders, and closed under the chin, forming a kind of frame-work to faces, which, although thus displayed, were in fact \ younger, and certainly handsomer than many which are now regularly exhibited *M M g a y turbans crowned with flowers, and, by the aid of rouge, made into regular beauties " of a certain age." Mrs. Sarah took that appellation the day she was forty-five, because her ve- nerated mother (whom from habit she yet called mamma) informed her, that such was the custom of her family, and her sister Catharine had during the last winter made the same addition for the same reason. Mrs. Sarah was plump, THE MANOR. 205 ruddy, the picture of ease and good humour. Mrs. Kitty was tall and thin, her complexion pale, and her counte- nance expressive of more mind than either of her sisters, and some little sharpness which they were free from ; for Miss Bab was in every respect like her eldest sister, except being more than ten years her junior, and that, from being always the youngest of her family, both them and herself concluded she was therefore actually young, and would al- ways remain so. Nothing could exceed the sincere kindness with which the young stranger was received by these truly respectable women, but it was expressed in words which to Amelia appeared quaint and formal ; and, although their language was correct, the accent of their neighbour, hood struck on her unaccustomed ear as uncouth, and, with the usual precipitancy of youth, she immediately concluded, that she never could be happy in such a 206 TALES OF dismal house, with such a group of stiff old maids. The contrast now offered to the gay house of her lively young friend when Frederic handed her into it, and for the first time gently pressed her fingers as he presented her to his brother ; every word, every look were at once brought to her mind ; and, in despite of the effort she made to answer Miss Bab's numerous questions relative to her jour- ney, Amelia burst into a passion of tears. Silence the most considerate, attention the most sympathetic, followed j and if she could have looked up, she would have perceived tears in the eyes of all these sisters, who were yet truly mour- ners for the aged mother they had so lately lost, and conceived of course that the tears of the orphan flowed in memory of her father, and her own unprotected situation. After a time, when she con- ceived that nature was relieved, Mrs, Kitty spoke a few words in consolation, and she was much urged by the others THE MANOR. 207 to partake the supper which was now served, and which consisted of several little delicacies, which, they observed, most young people liked. Their whole conversation showed that they consider- ed her quite as a child, and when she had. assured them that she was accustom- ed not only to sleep alone but in a room by herself, they spoke of her as the most courageous girl they had ever known, and appeared to be much relieved on that account, as if it had been a subject of troublesome anxiety to them. A cheerful fire gave an air of comfort to her chamber, which the high canopied dark green bed and corresponding flock paper greatly required ; and when Amelia had shut the door, and cast her eyes around, she felt that here she might " meditate even to madness," on all which had lately so terribly affected her. She recalled all the circumstances by which her spirits had been harassed, her fate determined, and her heart bound 208 TALES OF (as it appeared) irrevocably to one ob- ject; and she concluded, as young ladies too frequently do under such circum- stances, that she could never be happy again. It must be allowed, that, considering the shortness of their acquaintance, few young people could have been placed in a situation more likely for maturing ad- miration into lasting affection than Fre- deric and Amelia. For four months they had been in the same house with each other, and their journey had given them, in the very commencement of their ac- quaintance, a degree of necessary inti- macy, which, in the usual intercourse of society, would have required a long time to effect. Since then, they had con- tinually read, walked, conversed, danced, and sang together ; all around them, as if by tacit consent, had favoured that de- votion of the time and talents of each for the amusement of the other, which could not fail to create and sustain a THE MANOR. 209 passion which thus approached them un- suspected, as unblamed. The brother, occupied with his daily duties, or his young wife, thought not of them ; Mrs. Touchet, anxious about her niece, and busied with arranging her household for her, thought not of them ; and the people of the town pleased with the personal accomplishments of both, and their evi- dent and artless satisfaction in each other's society, by inviting them always together, cemented the tie, that the Doc- tor alone saw with terror, and determined too late to rend asunder, with a firmness which it was difficult to assume, and therefore delayed too long. It must be also recollected that they were both orphans, both full of warm affections, without an object on which their over- flowing hearts could bestow the tribute of sensibility; for although Frederick had a brother, yet that brother had been much parted from him, and was himself 210 TALES OF newly married to a woman whom he loved to excess. Although these young people had not talked of love, nor indeed dared to think of it, yet they had so far read each other's minds as to be aware of the per- fect congeniality of their tastes and feel- ings. Both were very lively, yet capable of serious reflection j in every object of charity, every subject of philanthropy, they felt alike, and would frequently smile on finding how exactly their thoughts agreed. Neither of them had one selfish feeling ; and when at length the trial came, which seemed to rend them alike from happiness and each other, neither of them could endure, by obstinacy, to bring down sorrow on the head of their aged friend, although they felt perfectly assured that all the evils he foresaw could never affect people who could live only for each other, and who despised all the threats of poverty, with THE MANOR. 211 the contempt it generally meets from those who are strangers to it. A sleepless night, in which her couch was literally watered with her tears, oc- casioned Amelia to be asleep when Miss Bab tapped at her door. She arose hastily, and entered the hall just as the family assembled to prayers. It was not un- pleasant to Amelia to be, by this action, reminded of her school-days, and she al- most wished she had never known any other; but she cast her eyes now on a very different group from the party which were wont to assemble round her gover- ness. An aged coachman and his nephew (who was far from young) constituted the male servants ; two elderly women, in the capacity of housekeeper and ladies' maid, one very old person, the former nurse of the family, and one young one, constituted the females, who managed the work amongst them as it suited them, 212 TALES OF their numbers having been thinned by death and marriage within the last seven years, and it not suiting the circum- stances of the late lady to fill up the de- ficiencies in her household. They were, however, all of the de- scription given of old-fashioned servants in " Thinks I to Myself." If one was wanted all were ready to run \ so that confusion would sometimes prevail amongst them in the hurry of obedience. Besides, as the housekeeper was now fre- quently the cook, and the ladies' maid was often under a necessity of fulfilling the housemaid's duties, they would not unfrequentiy forget themselves so far as to intrude also upon nurse's department, and plead her age for their excuse \ an offence she was not always inclined to forgive, observing that, " unless she aired the childers' linen herself, how could she make sure of it ?" and, " if she gave up her duties because she was getting into years, what would become of her if she THE MANOR. 213 lived to be old ?" an observation which had weight at seventy-seven. All the females were, in their turn, presented to Amelia's attention by Mrs. Sally, and they all observed, that her as- pect, eyes, and hair, bore some affinity to the family of the Cranbournes, but fre- quently alluded also to her size, and ex- pressed a hope, " that Miss would grow." How different was this to the flattery which had so often met her ear of late, in the splendid ball-room or the gay party ; where she had been perpetually denominated, " a lovely Hebe, an en- chanting little angel." It must be owned, that Amelia, though most beautifully formed, was below the middle size ; her face was rather what we should term very pretty, than posi- tively handsome, for her features were delicately small, and their expression, in general, confined to good temper and gaiety ; her complexion was exceedingly fair, her limbs finely rounded, her hand 214 TALES OF and arm models for a sculptor, and her hair of that light brown, which, escaping the insipidity of flaxen locks, seems the characteristic of youth just rising above infancy. With this character of person, it was no wonder that the elders by whom she was surrounded considered her a child, especially as they had been accustomed to mark the lapse of time by certain positive changes of attire, (a fashion now completely abrogated,) and as she w 7 ore no cap, and but little handkerchief, they had an undoubted right to class her with children. After breakfast, as the morning was bright, though cold, Miss Bab proposed to show Amelia the garden. After various turns they passed through a handsome glass-door, and entered upon a terrace, which ran the whole length of the house, and was bordered by a high line of espa- liers, which, when covered with leaves, could not fail effectually to hide the country from the inhabitants, although THE MANOR. 9,15 it was singularly beautiful ; descending thence, they reached a second terrace, at each end of which was a box-tree, cut in the form of a pyramid ; they then reached a third, terminated in the same way, below which was an excellent kit- chen-garden, in which she perceived the coachman digging up some sallad, and who eagerly enquired " how she liked the garden T" with an air of min- gled freedom and respect, which bespoke the terms on which he stood in the family, and the importance he annexed to the decision of a person who, young as she was, " had been in Limnim." Amelia pleased him exceedingly, by assuring him that it reminded her of Hampton-court gardens, and from that time he set down her sense as far above her years. When these formal lines were twice stepped over, they returned into the house, which was also to be sub- mitted to her inspection. They entered a spacious drawing- 216 TALES OF room, ornamented with a number of family-pictures and large looking-glasses in massy gilt frames ; passing these, Amelia's eye was directed to a piece of worsted work, in which the garden, house, and box-trees were represented by straight lines of yellow, the trees, each oc- cupying as much canvass as the man- sion-house, which was still more fatally eclipsed by a pair of turtle-doves that rose higher than the chimnies. " Which of the ladies did this curious sampler ?" " Oh ! it was not done by any of us" replied Miss Barbara j " my grandmamma Cranbourne did it herself : she was one of the greatest beauties that ever was seen, and as clever as she was handsome, as you may perceive." They then visited a small room fitted up as a library, but Amelia did not see one modern book in the collection, of which indeed few were English j and it seemed a little surprising to the con- THE MANOR. 217 ductress, that Amelia could ponder over the titles of such things, at the very time when she was pointing out various spe- cimens of work in beads, shells, and feathers, besides a complete collection of snail-shells ranged on the chimney-piece by her own hands, and collected with no little pains from the mouldering walls which surrounded the lower garden. After visiting a linen bed, embroidered in flowers, such as never grew in Eden, and seeing another chain stitched with green worsted upon orange, they again went down to the ladies, as it was ob- served, that the house and every thing else would come quite familiar in time. Mrs. Sarah sat with a table before her, covered with innumerable specimens of printed calico which she was forming into circles of patch-work. Mrs. Kitty was working a hearth-rug with a cat in the middle, and Miss Bab's work-bag with a half-knitted cotton stocking, was VOL. I. L 218 TALES OF taken the moment she entered the sitting room. " You have got some work, I dare say, my dear, which you can fetch, and then you can join us." Amelia blushed as she recollected how little her late employments had been in unison with theirs, and she said, " that she had lately been drawing." " Well, my love, then draw again, if you like it, or play us a tune on the spin- net, if it will be agreeable to you, and make you feel at home." Amelia felt that she could not draw, for Frederic had hung over her delight- ed, as she pursued the art a month ago ; still less could she play, for he had assist- ed her, but she felt she must do some- thing, and was leaving the room to look for some work, when the ladies were in- formed that their carriage was ready, and as she was invited to accompany them in an airing ; she was for the moment stolen from her painful retrospect. THE MANOR. 219 The two eldest sisters, nurse, and Amelia, entered the old family coach, and were drawn down the avenue and about two miles farther, at the usual pace of a procession ; when they alighted on their return, the old domestic ob- served, " the ride had done her a power of good," on which both sisters gave her a kind look, and at the same time gave a deep sigh, but did not observe on the matter further. A plentiful and genteel dinner fol- lowed, and wines of various kinds were placed on the table, but the sisters drank only of one sweet beverage, made by the house-keeper, although they pressed Madeira upon their guest ; when they rose from table, Mrs. Kitty played two or three tunes on the old spinnet, which had been in the family little less than a century, and Miss Bab sung a very pretty old song, which contained excellent ad- vice to married ladies, but did not seem exactly applicable to the company, ac- T o 220 TALES OF companying herself on the guittar in a very agreeable manner. The day closed as it begun, in prayer, when affectionate good nights, and re- verential bows and courtesies took place among the domestics, in which affection outwent ceremony, though there was no lack of that. The history of one week-day, was that of the week, until the Sabbath made a change by conveying the whole family to the parish church, and frequently bringing the clergyman home to dine ; in which case, conversation took place as to the health of the whole village, and the conduct of a great part of it, not for the purpose of censure, but of friendly as- sistance, and it appeared, that whoever was sick or afflicted, never failed to re- ceive a call on Monday morning from some of the ladies, accompanied with some degree of assistance, either in the form of food, physic, good counsel, or kind condolency. THE MANOR. 221 " So passed their lives, a clear un- ruffled stream ;" but with poor Amelia the stream grew stagnant, and its vapours were of course deleterious ; shut out from all that could amuse her, and wean her from her unhappy passion, every day hoping to hear something of, or from, Frederic, yet dreading the effect either his visit or letters might have on her new friends, for whom she soon felt sincere esteem, her time was passed either in anxious expectation or bitter sorrow, which she suppressed during the day time, only to give it indulgence in the hours dedicated by others to repose. At length she received a letter from Mrs. Charles Cassaubin, in which she casually mentioned her brother-in-law's return to Oxford, which was, in a certain degree, grateful to her, as it argued a compliance with the will of his grand- father. But, alas ! how many questions did her fond aching heart ask, which the cruel paper refused to answer ; and yet, l 3 222 TALES OF how was she bound by every tie of honour, prudence and delicacy, to ab- stain from all future enquiry, to prove that she would never sue for admission into a family where she had already been denounced ; but then, " Frederic was not to blame ; she had a right to know what was become of him." Amelia became fond of evening ram- bles, and as the ladies were truly glad to find she had no fear of ghosts before her eyes, and they deemed her safe from all other dangers, they did not object to her traversing either the avenue or the ter- race walks, if they were certain that her clogs and coat were a protection from the weather. — Ah ! how often did her heart bound when it found the moment of in- spection over, and she had liberty to go out and weep unseen — to speak again and again that name, which she could pronounce in no other place, to gaze on distant objects as if he were one of them, and to imagine without end, ways in THE MANOR. 223 which lie might by some possibility be brought to see her. The song of the robin red-breast, the distant hootings of the owl, things the most unlike him, herself, or each other, still acted by some train of tender association to draw his memory to her heart, to awake hopes which were never realised, fears which were alike unfounded, and sorrows which enervated, and almost threatened to de- stroy her, even while they were dear to her heart, and seemed entwined with her existence. Spring advanced, and the rose faded still more and more in the cheek of Amelia, although she declared, " that she felt no pain worth complaining of J* 1 — her appetite fled, notwithstanding the many good things the housekeeper made to tempt it, and it was evident that her strength declined daily, although nurse never failed to stand by her bedside at seven with a basin of warm new milk, and the yolk of a new-laid egg. l 4 224 TALES OF It was hoped by her friends that sum- mer would do much for her, and there were certainly moments during its pro- gress when the sweet breeze from the hay-fields, the voice of cheerful labour, the appearance of country girls in their best attire on Sundays, the full chorus of birds, or the brilliant assemblage of flowers blooming on the terraces, did awaken somewhat of their usual exhilar- ating influence on youthful minds ; and a gentle smile, a renovating bloom, be- spoke something that promised amend- ment — but the pleasure sunk on her mind, the rose faded in her cheek, the sense of deep incurable sorrow resumed its influence, and every servant of the house, with a sigh, pronounced their opinion, " that the poor thing would fall with the leaf." It had never been the custom of the family to call upon medical aid, except in cases of danger, and having never witnessed consumption, they had no idea THE MANOR. 225 that any person who could walk about could be in such a situation ; they also knew that, some years ago, Miss Barbara had been very much in the same way, but recovered under their good mamma's management ; therefore they did not call for medical help till autumn, when, at the suggestion of nurse, they were induced to send for a very sensible apo- thecary, who resided at the easy distance of seven miles of execrable road. Mr. Parsons did not find it difficult to believe, that a beautiful, accomplished girl, should be almost moped to death in this secluded place, but he soon became convinced that his fair patient was also pining under some affliction which, as no one suspected, no one could relieve ; and when he had made himself (as far as he could), master of her temper and disposition, he became so far interested in her welfare as to determine, if pos- sible, to amend that which perhaps he could not cure, and to " minister to a L 5 226 TALES OF mind diseased." He considered Amelia as a dependant relation in the house, and he did not prescribe watering places, which he knew could not be obtained, nor company, which in this lonely situ- ation could not be procured, but he de- termined, if possible, to wean her from the one subject of thought, whatever it might be, which, he was convinced, was the sole cause of her paleness and de- jection. One day he was told that Amelia had neglected her draught, Miss Bab being out at the time she ought to have taken it. " I will scold her for this carelessness," said he, " and for that purpose follow her into the garden, as I see she is upon the terrace." Amelia heard all he said with that sickly sort of smile which told him julaps were useless, and life itself worthless. ** I see all you would say, and all you think," said he, in reply to her looks, B but, my dear young lady, you labour THE MANOR. 227 under a mistake, there are only two kinds of constitutions to which sorrow proves fatal — the bilious, who may be carried off in a fortnight, or the consumptive, who may drag on a broken heart some years ; now you are neither, therefore may, if you choose, live dying, to a good old age, without doing either good to yourself or any human being, a prey to indolence, a subject for pity herself to grow weary of^ useless to man, and offending God." Amelia coloured deeply, and perhaps with more anger than shame. " I had rather witness indignation than apathy/' said the doctor, " in this case, for you are welcome to blame me, so you will obey me ; for, think as you please, I do pity you from my very heart. I know all the difficulties which surround you; lam aware of the utter insufficiency of medicine to aid you, and I fear that the bondage which enthralls you may hold you a prisoner for life, since you l 6 228 TALES OF have no desire to break it ; you have made up your mind to be that listless, useless being, a love-lorn girl in youth, a sentimental spinster in age ; at the very time — excuse me, you cannot run away from me — I say, at the very time when the friends who surround you are struggling, with difficulty, oppressed by sorrow and mortification, and harass- ed by a thousand fears for your health, which only their own kindness has cre- ated." " I did not know — I could not tell," said Amelia, gasping for breath ; at once vexed with the discovery made of her own secret grief, and somewhat con- science-struck with not having discovered some change in the circumstances of those with whom she resided. " Very true ; you did not know, for from you, from motives of the best kind, has every hour of anxiety been conceal- ed -, but while I rely upon your prudence for not betraying that you have received THE MANOR. Q29 such information, I cannot help intreat- ing you to open your eyes to certain indications around you, that this ancient, excellent, and, to me, interesting family, are, from no fault of their own, daily decaying in importance, diminishing in their comforts, and at a time of life when the natural decline of hope and cheer- fulness calls for the aid of friendship, entirely bereft of such support, and left to struggle unaided, with accumulating embarrassment and " " Alas ! alas ! what can I do ? 1 can do nothing." " Yes, you can do a great deal ; you can amuse them by your conversation, relieve their minds by inviting them to treat you with confidence. You can share the cares which poor Barbara never neglects to the villagers, assist old Ellen in feeding the poultry, Miss Catharine in managing her accounts, and be of wonderful use to Mrs. Sarah in cutting circles for her patch- work." 230 TALES OF Amelia looked in the face of Mr. Par- sons to see if he were not laughing at her, but as at this moment he was in- treated to take a basin of soup, which was prepared in the house for him, she had no time to observe him, and with much disquietude of mind, and consider- able sense of vexation towards her ad- viser, she pursued her walk with melan- choly steps, and slow, to the bottom of the garden, which she had not visited for a long time, as she felt, in her present state of weakness, a difficulty in remount- ing the steps. The old coachman was clearing the damson-trees of their remaining produce, and on seeing her, he advanced with the basket in his hand to offer her some of the fruit. " I'm glad to see yo down here once mare, Miss Maly ; you a'nt given a look at my garden, I doant know when." " I have not been well, James, or I should have done it, for your garden is THE MANOR. 231 always worth seeing ; you are an excel- lent gardener ; I wonder how you find time to do so much ?" " Why, as to time, I'm afraid I shall soon have more — yes, I am indeed — Michaelmas will soon be here, more the pity." " Will it, indeed ?" said Amelia, start- ing, for she remembered a gay evening the Michelmas before. " Yes, Miss, it will indeed ; and it goes to my heart every time it comes across me." " So it does to mine," said Amelia ; but instantly recollecting herself, she looked in James's face ; with equal asto- nishment and pity she beheld the old man's cheeks covered with tears. " I fear you are in great trouble, James ?" " Trouble ! why would'nt it trouble any body to part with the creatures I reared with my own hands, as one may say ? ahe ! Miss, Miss, a garden's well 232 TALES OF enough ; it pleases a body to see flowers spring up and pease blossom at one's bidding, loike ; but after all, a garden's not to be neamed with a stable, where your own tits know your voice, and look- to you for their corn, and come into their harness at a word ; and then to rub down their fat sleek sides, and see 'em shine like sattin-; to see 'em rise from foals into handsome colts, and then into noble horses, and to part with them as they grow old too ; take it altogether, its not to be borne." Amelia, not comprehending the nature of this grievance, was silent, but her looks indicated deep interest in the sub- ject, for she was connecting it with the information conveyed to her by Mr. Parsons, and her apparent sympathy in- duced the old coachman to proceed. " But then this is not half the worst on't ; and, as I say to old Alice, to think of our ladies walking to church, as were bred and born to their coach and four j THE MANOR. '233 its not a thing to be thought on ; and she says, says she, its the very, very thing to break my old heart ; and soa we talk over it night after night, till we all cry together, shame tho' it be. If Mr. George was to see us, as far off as he is, I am sure it wad break his heart ; as to the squire, I'll be hanged if he's one to break." James, at this moment, plunged a spade (which was leaning against a tree) into the ground, and throwing away the earth it raised with great indignation, continued to mutter — "J don't value him that, tho' I'm a poor sarvent ; wad I forsake my own nest and my own flesh and blood ; and let things go to wrack for want of a little cash ? no, I'd scorn it, I wod, I wod." As this was spoken in soliloquy, Amelia returned slowly towards the house, pon- dering on all that she had heard ; and for the first time for many months, feeling uneasiness on a ?iew subject. On her en- 284 TALES OF trance Miss Bab kindly poured out the draught, which she could not see, without remembering the severe lecture it had occasioned her to receive ; and, partly to hide her confusion, she turned to Mrs. Sarah, and taking up one of her patch- work stars, immediately begged leave to to cut some out for her, thus adopting the conduct Mr. Parsons had recom- mended, but which, at the moment he spoke, struck her as the most silly of all silly employments, and the least likely method he could suggest to assist the party in question. Her offer was accepted with great pleasure; the prettiest pieces were of- fered to her choice, the best scissars laid before her, and all her contrivances ho- noured with warm approbation ; she knew not how it was, but when dinner was an- nounced, she was surprised to find the morning gone so soon, for it was the first time that it had not moved on leaden wings. She felt thankful for the plea- THE MANOR. 235 sure with which all the sisters regarded even the little improvement which took place in her appetite, especially as she saw an approbation of her exertion in the eye of Mrs. Catharine which was not common ; and the placidity of the other sisters no longer appeared that of dulness and ignorance of the world, but as de- rived from a much higher source. Her heart was drawn towards them ; she felt how great a burden she had long been on their love ; since, although never insen- sible to kindness, she had never exerted herself to reward the hopes, or conquer the fears of those around her, she had never given them credit for sensibility, or even intelligence, and had allowed herself to pine as in a prison, alone, wretched, and unpitied. While these thoughts passed her mind, her eyes (fearful of meeting the regards of those from whose unmerited, though quiet goodness she now shrank,) rested upon the sideboard, on which were placed 236 TALES OF two vases of flowers ; her looks drew those of Mrs. Catherine, who, turning to her youngest sister, said, " How considerate you are for me and Sarah, my dear Bab j your pretty flowers supply all deficiencies ; but I doubt you have distressed James by robbing his parterres?" i* Oh, no ; he gathered them himself, poor old man, and helped me to arrange them ; I confess it was with a trembling hand." Amelia instantly perceived that tw r o silver waiters, and a massy gilt cup of the same material were missing. This confirmed the evil James had indirectly announced ; her heart was penetrated with sorrow which would not be suppressed, and she burst into a passion of tears. The ladies crowded round her in alarm ; the eldest enquired " if any thing hurt her?" the youngest besought her not to fret herself; but Amelia could make no reply, for every word they ut- tered increased her emotion. THE MANOR. 237 " It is our own fault," said Mrs. Ca- therine, " we have treated Amelia too much as if she were a child, and in fearing to increase her disorder, by re- vealing the little difficulties which op- press us, have done it in fact ; she has perceived our sorrow, and mourned over it in secret ; and these words being to her mysterious, have wounded her, by the idea that she was not confided in as she ought. ,, No possible solution of her sorrow, could be more truly trying to the sincere, ingenuous heart of Amelia, than this ; her conscience compelled her to disown it ; her delicacy, the modest dignity that ever shrinks from owning a first passion, urged her gratefully to accept it, and she continued to weep in silence, but to seize the hands of those nearest to her, and press them again and again to her lips, and endeavour to thank them all. Miss Bab, generally the life of the little circle, wept also - y but Mrs. Sarah 2.38 TALES OF exerted herself to re-assure Amelia, by proving to her at once, that they wished to consider her in every respect one of the family, and had withheld their troubles from her, only lest they should increase her own sense of sorrow, for a loss which was evidently so distressing to her, and proceeded to say, " that for several years past, as their income arose from land which was either let upon long leases, or to old tenants whom they could not bear to raise ; they had found it unequal to the expenditure of their family, which, however, they had cur- tailed by every mode consistent with the comfort and importance of their late venerated parent, from whom they had ever carefully concealed the true cause of each retrenchment, and the difficulty they experienced. — That they had been from time to time, assisted by their brother in India, who was the most generous and considerate of men ; that on the death of their mother, they did THE MANOR. 239 not like to make immediate changes, as it would have increased the sense of sor- row which already oppressed them dread- fully ; but as a year was now expired fully, and. contrary to all the tenor of their past lives, they were considerably in debt, their principles called upon them to reduce their establishment as far as they were able, and even to part with some of their useless plate, which they ought to do with the more satisfaction, since they could reflect with pleasure, that she whom they loved and honoured so highly, had never known any change during life, and had been buried in the same style exactly, with the rest of her " Yes, thank God, we spared for nothing then" ejaculated the other sis- ters in a breath. " Ah !" thought Amelia, " nor have you spared any thing for me ; any thing for your poor neighbours ! any thing for the ailments of old Alice !" 240 TALES OF " As to our servants," added Mrs. Sarah, "it is plain, they must live and die with us ; for, except the dairy maid, not one of them could get another place, though it is certain they do more than twice the work of many much younger ; it is, therefore, only in giving up the car- riage we can save any thing, but that sacrifice will set all to rights. Now, my dear, I have told you all, so let us see you look up again ; you will be aware that this is a very little trial in compari- son with that which we were called on to bear last year, and even through that we were supported wonderfully." The tone of gentle resignation and Christian hope which these simple words conveyed, added to the sense of endear- ment, which the whole conversation had given to Amelia, and perceiving from their own manners, that each sought to support the other by her cheerfulness, she too roused herself from her griefi and though she begged to retire for a 8 THE MANOR. 241 lew moments, yet she spoke of taking her stand again at the patch-work after tea ; and the sisters on her retiring con- gratulated each other, " on having re- lieved the anxiety which the dear lamb had so long nourished in her bosom, but which they now understood, and should undoubtedly cure." VOL. I, 242 TALES OP CHAP. III. For several months Mrs. Cranbourne had been looking for a letter from her brother with much anxiety, as the ships were wont to arrive from India much earlier, and she now began to despair of receiving any until the following spring, when one day his well known hand was recognized in the address of a letter to Amelia, which was forwarded to her, as they apprehended, by a private hand, and put into the London post-office. Amelia was upstairs when this letter arrived, and^liss Bab took it up to her - y but as soon as she had ascertained that it was really from her brother, and dated since the period when he had received the news of his mother's death, she re- THE MANOR. 243 turned with the welcome intelligence to her anxious sisters. In this letter, Captain Cranbourne in* formed his ward that he had now pro- cured the bill of her deceased parent, and ascertained his right to that office which friendship had induced him to adopt ; that he found the property of her father, at the period of his death, con- sisted of twenty-five hundred pounds, which he had most unfortunately ad- ventured in a trading speculation, with a young man named Hopkins, at this time in South America, and of which, therefore, he could give her no account, and sincerely feared was lost ; and of seventeen hundred pounds placed in the Calcutta bank, out of which be had paid some debts, but that he inclosed for her use two bills of fifty pounds each, and would not fail to attend to her interest in every particular/ 9 A message was added of great kind- ness to his sisters, saying, " that the m 2 Q4>4t TALES OF friend who would put that letter in the post, would in the course of a short time remit to them also certain letters and property, among which also would find some package sprepared for her use by the indulgent parent she had lost." A hundred pounds was so much larger a sum than had ever been in the pos- session of Amelia before, that the mes- sage to the ladies, the kind remem- brances of her father, and even the sub- ject of her future fortunes, her present losses and disappointments, all vanished before it. She looked at the bills again and again ; to her they appeared a bound- less treasure, equal to securing every comfort her heart desired to bestow ; and darting down the back-stairs, she made her way into the stable-yard, with the certainty of finding James at his usual duty at that hour of feeding his beloved horses. Amelia was somewhat disappointed at finding Jonathan, (who was now both THE MANOR. 245 bailiff" and footman, sharing his labour,) but her heart was too full, the buoyancy of her natural spirits too much revived to. check her communication, and eagerly holding up her prize to the old man's outstretched eyes, she cried, " Pray tell me, James, will these buy your horses ?" "To be sure it will, and more by twenty pounds than I expects for 'em at the Michaelmas fair." Then take it for them, and the other twenty for old Ball. Do not be afraid, it is my own, from India, I have this mo- ment got it." " Take it — aye that I will, and pray night and morning all the days of my life for blessings on that pretty face. But I say, Jonathan, ye doan't think it'll hurt our leadies, or go any way against 'em to take it, do ye mon ?" " Oh no ! for sartain," answered Jona- than, " not since it comes, as it were, from their own relation -, because, for m S 246 TALES OF why — if they wod gi their best to she, which I'm sure they wod by day or night, why should they refuse the like pleasure to her of helping them a bit ? But to my mind, asking your pardon, buying the beasts is by no means the way to help 'em." " No ! What, not to preserve them a carriage to go to church in, and their own dumb creatures to draw 'em, hey ?" Jonathan saw that a storm was rising, and that poor Amelia looked frightened. He, therefore, to use his own phrase, " pulled in his horns ;" but he did not less adhere to his own wishes and con- clusions. " James," said he, with much apparent humility, " you are my elder ; moreover you have lived longer in the family, seeing I myself only came in to help, as one may say, five and thirty years agon at Shrovetide ; and to that I may say too, that a more knowinger man than yourself, as to horse-flesh and garden- stuff, cannot be found. But what was THE MANOR. 24*7 either you or me, or any of us, compared to the butler that's dead and gone — poor old Jackson, the feather of us all, as one may say ?" u That^ very true, I grant ye." " Well, now James, had he been alive in these hard times, he wod ha told you this : its a sore thing to have noa coach on a Sabbath day, but its a still sorer to miss your plate every day. And what's worse than that, your horses eat off their own heads ; your silver eats nothing." James was no casuist, but he compre- hended this — Amelia did not ; but she would not dispute the cannibal proper- ties of Lancashire horses, and she eagerly enquired, " if it were possible to recover the plate*" Both the men agreed that it was barely possible, as it was only removed two days before to the waggon warehouse, and would lie there some days previous to its hated transportation. The old coach- man took his best horse, and instantly set m 4> 248 TALES OF out to secure it ; and Amelia, interested in the secresy, as well as the pleasure of the transaction, stole again into the house, and found all the ladies alarmed by the delay she practised, in not bring- ing them news from India. Amelia was on the point of placing her letter in their hands, but a moment's consideration prevented her, and she read only that part which belonged pro- perly to them; and which was so plea- sant and consolatory, that they thought little about the rest. Their youngest brother was to them almost an object of idolatry, and when they once began to speak of him, one anecdote of his good- ness, his talents, and his affection, fol- lowed another; and every trouble was forgotten, save that of his distance from them, and the time that must yet elapse ere they beheld him. For the first time, Amelia was con- scious of a mystery which bore little pain, and pressed a sleepless, yet not THE MANOR. 249 melancholy pillow. To her great satis- faction, James was not missed at evening prayers ; and it was agreed that his fel- Low-servant would sit up for him, since he could not arrive till a late hour. As soon as it was light Amelia arose, and, in great anxiety, descended: the joy she felt when she beheld Jonathan actually burnishing the ponderous cup, was such as even to surprise herself; and as she ex- claimed to him, " Oh ! how happy I arn to see you have got it." She interrupted herself with the remark, •? yes, I am happy ;" and she fervently thanked God lor the sensation. In a few minutes, it is true, she felt self-reproach on this very account ; for was it not treason to her cherished, though hopeless love ? But in a few more, she was too busy to reflect on any thing but the objects before her : Jonathan rubbing both hands and eyes with delight, nurse full of old proverbs and new pleasures, calling the others to share it, and the m 5 250 TALES OF waiters shining brighter than ever, in their old places, as if to reflect the happy visages of all who approached them. A little wreath, made from the gar- dener's best geranium, was placed upon the cup, for the purpose of pinning the bills to it, and two or three lines of poetry accompanied them, in the form of an address to the ladies, from their old and faithful servants, the waiters. Scarcely were these little arrangements made when the sisters entered the room, and, with great pleasure, hailed the ap- pearance of the invalid, on whose cheek, notwithstanding her want of rest, there was at least the promise of a returning colour. The mornings were cold, and the ladies huddled round the fire ; and Jo- nathan, who very rarely waited upon them at breakfast, had, with great mor- tification, observed that no eye was led to remark on the sideboard, although his own could perceive no other object, THE MANOR. &51 and he was taking away the kettle in despair, and with such an air of apparent carelessness, that Mrs. Kitty observed, " he surely could not see what he was about, he had nearly scalded her sister." " I beg pardon, madam, I was just then looking at the sideboard, and I did not see what I was doing." " You must forbear looking at it so often, my good Jonathan, ,, said his mis- tress with a sigh, at the same moment raising her own eyes towards the subject. A cry of surprise followed. The sis- ters looked up — they rose instinctively, and ran towards the place — they ad- dressed language of welcome to the re- turned treasure, and held out their hands, as if to convince themselves by feeling it that it was no illusion. Those only whose lot in life, like theirs, has con- fined them to few objects, who haye lived in the same spot, loved the same people, and attached the same endearing associations to inanimate objects, year m 6 %5£ TALES OF after year, can conceive how truly va- luable such things become in their eyes, and how much they form a part of their wants, and an ingredient in their com- fort. The gay, the busy, know nothing of this ; but there are some who will feel with the maiden sisters, the impoverished daughters, the affectionate mistresses, of Cranbourne-hall ; and will estimate the unsullied integrity, noble feeling, and pious resignation, which could renounce this long-loved property, without a com* ment or a tear, but welcomed its return with an exultation it was delightful to witness, and would be despicable to deride. Amelia's note was, of course, soon found, and her little plot (for which Jo- nathan claimed his full share of credit), was unfolded, as well as the wise yield- ing, and great exertion of old James. Each sister kissed Amelia's cheek ; one praised her verses, another admired her wreath, but no expression of common THE MANOR. '25$ thanks, much less apology, for accepting from her this proof of attention, met her ear. They were all too generous them- selves to think much of the boon in a pecuniary point of view, though it was dear to their hearts as a proof of affec- tion ; and they rejoiced to think that the sweet girl had been able so to please herself. This incident, the expected packages from India, and (about a month after- wards,) their actual arrival, by continu- ally presenting to the mind of Amelia something in the shape of business, or expectation, prevented her from any decided relapse into her former extreme dejection ; as her friendly apothecary now praised her exertions with warmth, and pointed out new ways in which her mind might be aided, and her frame strengthened. Although the happy ar- rival of Indian help had, for the present, eased all embarrassments, and it was agreed that the coach should be kept, at 254 TALES OF least as long as the old horses could draw it, yet Miss Bab paid her visits of unosten- tatious charity chiefly on foot, and by a kind of stealth, yet as they were known to the Doctor he requested Amelia to accompany her. All moonlight rambles were forbidden, but otherways she was permitted to go alone ; and to render her solitary walks less subject to pain- ful reflection, he lent her now and then a modern volume, observing " that she had better read it when alone ; for how- ever excellent, since reading was not the fashion of their day, the ladies might have some objection to it." Perhaps Mr. Parsons thought that a concealed pursuit was the best antidote to a concealed passion ; or, perhaps, he really knew that the ladies, though na- turally the most candid and open-hearted creatures in the world, did entertain that sincere dread of books and bookish ladies which characterised an earlier day than theirs 5 but the one, in which from all THE MANOR. 255 their manners, actions, and appearance, they might be concluded to live, move, and have their being. There is reason to suppose he wished to benefit one party without disobliging the other, and in a considerable degree he succeeded ; for Amelia was interested and amused, and her good friends happy in perceiving her gradual return to health, and her attainment of cheerfulness to a degree at least never manifested before since her residence with them. A few weeks had thus passed ; the weather was, for the season, remarkably mild ; and one Sunday evening, Amelia having remarked the bright beams of an early moon play through the window- shutters, observed, " that she should like just to walk up the avenue for ten minutes." To her great satisfaction no objection was made, and she quickly found herself far advanced up the fa- vourite path, and turning to look at the silver crescent, whose rays darted through $56 TALES OF the leafless branches, without thinking that perhaps the eyes of Frederick Cas- saubin might be turned on the same object. A slight rustling in the leaves made her start : she thought it vfas the train of her gown that caused the sound, and gathering it up walked forward with a quicker step ; but she soon became sens- ible that other feet were near her, and a person walking on the outer side of the avenue, in precisely the same direction, and as every step led her farther from the house, she thought it advisable to return, since, if it had been any servant, or neighbour, she felt assured they would ere this have spoken, as they usually did on such occasions. But the moment she turned round, the stranger, passing the tree which was between them, approached her. It was a tall young man, and, as far as she could judge, of gentlemanly appearance. Her heart throbbed violently ; many a THE MANOR. 25J time had she fancied she should see Fre- derick in this walk. Could he be here on the only night she had ever walked there without wishing for him ? Was it him, or only one of those appearances whose existence nurse so strongly insist- ed on ? Her own name, softly, though tremu- lously pronounced, assured her that it was indeed Frederic who spoke. Fre- deric, who feared to alarm, yet humbly and earnestly besought her to listen to him. A few weeks before this she would pro- bably have fainted on the spot, but now, though extremely agitated, she was en- abled to listen to him, to gaze upon him, and reply to the observations of deep pity and tenderness which he made upon her altered appearance ; and to request he would tell her in a few moments for what purpose she beheld him at so late an hour, and in so strange a manner. " In what other manner,'' replied he &58 TALES OF hastily, " was it possible for me to see you, shut up as you are in that enchanted castle. I have lingered five days about the place for this purpose ; and learning you had long been unwell, I durst not appear at church, lest I should surprise you, and be the cause of future uneasi- ness to you." t " Thank you, de — dear Frederic.' ' " Do not hesitate to use the term once more, my beloved Amelia. Alas ! I only ask it this once ; for I am now come on the express promise of renouncing it for ever ; my grandfather exacted this from me before I could learn where I should find you." " Why did he do that ? were we not already parted ?" This was, indeed, evidently a trial so new and unnecessary, that Frederic in- stantly entered into a defence of himself for his appearance ; he told her how se- verelyher absence at the time of his re- turn had wounded him, how vainly he had THE MANOR. 259 sought her, how bitterly he had upbraided his relations, condemned her cruelty, and finally departed to Oxford, with a mind inflamed and a heart bleeding j that when there he had been incapable of all study, and had flown to dissipation, for the relief of suffering he could not as- suage, and love he would not even strive to conquer : finally, that pecuniary dis- tress had speedily overtaken him ; and his brother being now abroad, he had been compelled (though almost hope- lessly) to apply to his grandfather, who had generously relieved him ; and, in order to restore his mind to the power of pursuing his profession, also to wean him from improper associates, had deter- mined on sending him to Leyden for the following three years. " I could not go," added Frederic, " without seeing you once more, without declaring that my love for you is unalter- able, Amelia; still less could I leave the country" (in a broken and half-suffocated 260 TALES OF voice were these words uttered) " with- out owning my obligations to my grand- father ; my own errors ; and even per- uading you, Amelia, to, to, yes to for- get me /" Amelia replied, for some minutes only, by her tears ; she wished to enquire if nothing would soften the resolution of his grandfather, and to tell him her own future prospects ; but although unable to speak, he seemed to anticipate what she would have uttered by declaring, " that the old man was inexorable, he had made up his mind that no physician should marry till late in life, and that" — A voice was heard calling aloud for Amelia. Frederic caught her in his arms, besought her forgiveness, declared that he would not delay her return, yet held her with a hand whose strength she was unable to disengage herself from, even had she been desirous. The sound of Jonathan's voice approached still nearer, and he permitted her to go ; when flying THE MANOR. 26 1 away, he was unperceived by the old servant, who coming forward, declared, justly, " he found poor miss more dead than alive, leaning against a tree." Amelia taking the arm of the servant, returned into the house, and immediately retired to her own room, where she was soon visited by Miss Bab, with all the alarmed tenderness which Jonathan's re- port had awakened. " Aye," said she, looking in her face, " I see how it is, vou have walked and thought, and thought, till you were led to fretting again ; this will never do — you must go out in this way no more. ,, " I mil go out no more," said Amelia, throwing herself on the kind bosom of her friend, " but do not scold me now, my dear, dear lady." M I'm the last person to scold you, Amelia, if you knew all ; for many a long year was I just as bad as yourself; but good night, my love ; some kind of 262 TALES OF sorrow is very catching, and my sisters will be anxious to hear you are better." This was, indeed, a night of severe suffering to poor Amelia, for it was, per- haps, the first in which she felt herself really bereft of hope, and assured that she had, indeed, parted with Frederic for ever ; yet with this deep grief, she was also sensible of some energy arising from the very circumstance ; and when she rose, she repeated again and again ; " This is certainly the conclusion of my sorrow." She was particularly sensible, the next day, of the peculiar kindness and sym- pathy of Miss Barbara ; for whenever either of the other sisters began to dis- tress her by the natural enquiries of, " How were you taken last night, my dear ? Why were you so imprudent as to walk all the length of the avenue ?" she never failed to divert them from the sub- ject, or assign various plausible reasons for a disorder, whose remote cause she THE MANOR. 263 appeared to comprehend, although as great a stranger as the rest to the imme- diate one. From this period Amelia's walks were confined to the forenoon visits of Miss Barbara, in which she soon became deeply interested; many a pale cheek glowed with pleasure at their entrance, for every kind face cheers the bed of sickness ; and many a sad heart felt con- soled for the bereavement of friends, or the misfortunes of life, by the plain, but pious reasoning and the sincere sympathy expressed by the ladies from the Hall. These ladies had been accustomed to give clothing as well as food to such as needed it, during the inclement season, which used to be made up for the poor women, but which their present servants seemed little able to undertake ; but Miss Bab, assured of Amelia's help, un- dertook it herself. This employment, though homely, was interesting, and it led Amelia to exercise her ingenuity, in 26*1< TALES OF making up her own old clothes for the cottagers' children. In this she suc- ceeded beyond her hopes ; the benevolent sisters were delighted with her talents, and still more with the power of doing good with abridged means; and each brought forth innumerable hoards of an cient garments, which were to her a magazine of curiosities, as well as of fu- ture speculation. Her mind was em- ployed, her heart engaged in all the business of charity ; the more she did, the more she found to do ; every cold day seemed a call for increased exertion, and every Sabbath day presented her with the pleasure derived from having done some good, or the consciousness that she should do it ; and the spring w r as come before she had finished her winter ac- commodations. This summer was far sweeter than the last, but many sighs of bitter regret were mixed with its balmy airs, and the leaves of succeeding autumn fell not without THE MANOR. %65 tears of tender recollection for the last visit of Frederic ; but those thoughts which had so long nursed sorrow, till it destroyed almost the powers of existence, as well as happiness, she now struggled to subdue, and endeavoured to find in religious submission, and the few varie- ties of employment her situation offered for the continuance of that relief her morbid feelings experienced by the ex- citements of charity, affection, and be- nevolence. The visits of Mr. Parsons were re- newed this winter by the indisposition of Mrs. Catharine, and his appearance was ever productive of pleasure, besides the little aids he administered in bringing now and then a new book, or a new r song ; love of plants and birds beguiled many a dull hour, and when these could not be enjoyed, the patch-work, that much despised, but in fact most amusing of all kinds of needle-work, passed the time very agreeably. To people who VOL. I. N 266 TALES OF were so seldom seen, all personal orna- ments were of little consequence ; but whatever promised decoration, or utility, to the abode so loved as theirs, possessed an interest sufficient to give zest to any employment ; and the attainment of a set of window curtains and sofa cover, which should display so much labour and so much taste, was regarded by the maiden sisters as an object of no trivial import- ance, and pursued with no little anxiety. Amelia entered their society at so early an age, that when the first overwhelming bias of her mind was removed, her affec- tions attracted, and her naturally docile temper engaged in following their lead ; it was no wonder that she soon became, most happily for herself, absorbed in their pursuits, even beyond themselves, and that the poor, whose soup she inspected, whose baby linen she contrived, the birds she fed, the plants she watered, the ser- vants she assisted, the invalid she nursed, together with the duties of family de- THE MANOR. 267 votion (now devolved upon her as the best qualified person,) should wholly and happily occupy her time, and remove her, by imperceptible degrees, from a state of useless and enervating griefi to one which blessed herself with health and peace, and gave to all around her a being so endearing, consoling, and de- lighting, that they loved her as a daugh- ter, and esteemed her as a friend. N 2 268 TALES OF CHAP. IV. When Amelia had resided three yeai\s at Cranbourne Hall, (during which time, she learned that her guardian had, from a severe wound which rendered him un- equal to military service, been induced to accept of a civil appointment which might yet detain him some years,) a great naval engagement took place, which oc- casioned such subjects to become con- stant topics of conversation, even among these retired ladies, and they determined henceforward to take in a weekly news- paper. It was wisely suggested by Amelia, and warmly seconded by her unfailing friend, Miss Bab, that they should, in the first place, possess themselves of the par- THE MANOR. 269 ticulars of the late battle, as it might be many years before any thing of equal importance occurred again ; and, accord- ingly, Jonathan was commissioned to obtain an old newspaper and a new one at the same time, and when duly procured, Amelia sat down to read them. There was a little palpitation in the breast of our young friend on this ex- traordinary occasion ; it was like looking again into the world, and she knew not what name she might find there ; but in a few minutes she became more com- posed, and was enabled to give the de- tails of the engagement without inter- ruption till nearly the end, when on reading the acknowledgments of the commander to his brother officers, she came to these words. " To Captain Francis Cotteridge, of the Porcupine frigate, I am particularly indebted : although severely wounded in the beginning of the action, he con- tinued on deck till the cry of victory was n 3 c 270 TALES OF universal, and even then permitted him- self with reluctance to be removed." — (C Poor Frank ! that is so like him : it must be our old friend, who yet lives, I am certain," cried Mrs. Sarah. " It really looks like it," said Mrs. Catherine. " And yet," Amelia, without taking her eyes from the paper, read on, " this gallant officer, after losing a leg in the service, receiving in five other severe engagements many desperate wounds, and suffering the evils of a long pro- tracted imprisonment, was returning to his country after an absence of thirteen years, (having succeeded to his present appointment in the West Indies.) I therefore beg leave particularly to re- commend him to your Lorships' at- tention, being happy to say he is out of all danger, and am, my Lord," &c. &c. Amelia looked up ; the face of Miss Barbara, pale and almost fainting, met her eye. Surprised at such an appearance in her round, ruddy countenance, she THE MANOR. 271 was just going to address her, when rising, as if to hide her emotion, she left the room, and Amelia, afraid of speaking again, took up the paper. " I think you had better follow Bab, my dear ; I am certain, poor thing, she was ill when she left us," said Mrs. Ca- therine. Amelia followed her to her chamber, and softly pushed the door open, which was a little a-jar ; a single glance showed her the object of her search, and she in- stantly withdrew ; for Barbara was upon her knees, her hands were clasped, her face streaming with tears, but the glow of devout gratitude illuminated every feature, and broken words of praise and joy were half audibly pouring from her tongue. Tears of the tenderest sympathy sprang to the eyes of Amelia ; the delicate at- tentions, the unceasing kindness, the un- obtrusive, yet complete understanding, Barbara had always had of the move- n 4 Tj% TALES OF merits of her heart, were all accounted for at this moment, and gave her a feeling of sisterhood and congeniality of senti- ment towards her, superior to any sense of affection she could hitherto have pos- sibly experienced. Amelia on her return hinted the cir- cumstance which prevented her intru- sion, and each sister, evidently affected, seemed for some minutes to retire into their own hearts, and then offer up prayers for their relative, and praises for the escape of one they had long valued as a friend, but considered as lost, since it was nine years since Miss Barbara had received a single line from him, and that was written in a time of sickness and ex- treme despondency. Some hours had elapsed before the next paper was opened, and which, it then appeared, was a fortnight older than the first ; Jonathan having, accord- ing to his usual prudence, considered that it was the battle only which he THE MANOR. QT/S wanted, and the news of that was known a full week to the rest of the world be- fore it came to the hall. From this they found that the crews of the vic- torious fleet had reached home ; and se- veral of the wounded officers were named as convalescent, and about to be pre- sented to their sovereign : amongst these, Captain Cotteridge's name was placed the second. Miss Bab's countenance fell as this was read, and the older sisters exchanged looks of surprise, not unmixed with in- dignation at each other. One of them, however, observed sagely, " that men were very odd creatures at the best, but it was wrong to judge rashly of any body." " At least not of men," said the other, " for, as you say, they are very odd creatures, sister ; I know them well." " It must be by intuition," said Amelia to herself j but she was glad to find the n 5 274 TALES OF conversation drop, for the face of her good friend was red even to painfulness. The following morning Jonathan was dispatched early to the place where the few letters which ever visited Cranbourne- hall were usually left ; a circumstance which, however unusual, excited no sur- prise, since the transmission of the news- paper into the servants'-hall had given them all the knowledge, that Miss Bab's old sweetheart was come to light again, and all his sad, eventful story, as a younger brother, forced to seek his fortune, rejected by her father, pitied by her mother, and loved by every body, had been related by each, over and over, to the dairy-maid, who, having only lived about seven years in her place, was most fortunately a willing listener, and the only one that could be met with. " There she be, poor girl," cried nurse, " I declare, going out to see the thresher's boy. Well ! it's the best for THE MANOR. QTJ5 her ; for I doan't suppose as she can 'bide ten minutes in one place, and so she leaves Miss Mely to chatter to the ladies meanwhile." Amelia did indeed endeavour to amuse the sisters, especially Miss Catharine, who was in a very delicate state of health, and was evidently much alive to the cir- cumstances of her sister. The return of Jonathan, in fact, occupied all minds; and when the outer entrance was heard to unbar, before it was possible for Miss Bab to have returned, all eyes were in- voluntarily turned towards the door of the room. The voice of the housekeeper and James were heard at the same moment, and heavy footsteps came along the passage. " Jonathan is returned," said Amelia, " by the sound of his boots : he walks as if he were heavily laden." The door was flung wide open by James. A person in a large box-coat, n 6 ^76 TALES OF with a brown face, and powdered head, abruptly entered ; but before he had ad- vanced two yards, he was followed into the room by Miss Bab, who had evi- dently been running, and was out of breath ; hearing her, the stranger turned round, and seizing her hand, wrung it heartily, crying out in a Stentorian voice, " My dear Miss Sally, how do you do ? how do you do ? You an't forgotten Frank Cotteridge, I'm sure ?" The agitated Barbara gazed on his face a moment with fond, though mourn- ful recollection ; for time, climate, and suffering, had " written strange de- features thelre/' and she was almost over- come by the tide of recollections which assailed her, when those unfortunate words, which so artlessly told her the change which had taken place in her own person, since she was mistaken for a sister whom she greatly resembled, but who was her senior more than ten years, completely overwhelmed her, and she THE MANOR. 277 sunk, pale and fainting, upon the nearest chair. Miss Catharine hastened to her assist- ance, whilst Mrs. Sarah, with the warmest welcome, irradiating her open, benevolent countenance, hastened to the Captain. " My dear, long-lost friend, you have taken us by surprise, but we are not the less glad to see you ; you must give me your hand, if you wish to shake that of your old friend, Sally Cranbourne." " That I will, with all my heart. You are Sally, I see, sure enough, though you've increased your stowage, and can't clear your way at the rate ye did when we went a nutting together. But, God bless my soul ! I've done mischief here ! This must be Bab — poor girl ! Why, Bab, I say, my own girl, look at me, will 'ee? Ye're not frightened at my rough face surely ? 'tis a foul scar on my forehead, girl, but there's ne'er a one on my heart — all's sound there, Bab ! and if the French had laid it open, they'd a 278 TALES OP found you there, stamped as clear as a new guinea." Miss Bab held out her hand and smiled, but she could not yet speak. " Thank ye, my dear — thank ye. There, pull off your mainsail, and get air ; we'll all be better anon. Miss Kitty, your servant ; sorry to see ye look peaking. I remember you the finest woman in Lancashire. No offence to your young friend there ; suppose she's your niece." " No, indeed, Captain Cotteridge, neither my brother or any of his family visit us. He does not even write to us." " Oh ! he doesn't — then d n him, say I, (no offence I hope,) but you can't wonder ; I owe him a grudge, though I scorn to bear malice. You all know 'tis one-and-twenty years since I first spoke to Bab. I then said, * I am poor ; I must win her, before I can wear her.' But when, at the end of seven years, I came home with a little matter a prize- THE MANOR. 279 money, and a deal of love, 'twasn't handsome of him to interfere, and say, ' I shouldn't make Bab a beggar.' " " Indeed it was not ; but you know you couldn't marry ; you were called away immediately," said Mrs. Sarah. " True, true ; and it was all for the best. But now, ?iow, Bab — thank God and the King — I shall make thee a lady instead of a beggar. Why you don't suppose I should have been so long a coming, if I hadn't been forced to stay to wait on his Majesty, and be dubbed a knight — besides, I'd a wound to hinder me." " I wish you had given us a line when you landed." " Oh ! writing's not in my way now- a-days. I'm no fair-weather Jack-a- dandy to scribble your billet dowkeses ; besides, I ha' lost a few fingers, and that's a kind of impediment, ye know." " Poor Frank," said Barbara, bursting 280 TALES OF into tears, " how much, how very much you have suffered.' ' " Why, no, no, not that neither, ex- cept when I left you, and was violently in love. But it's all over now, and we've nothing to do but be merry. To be sure, I didn't like prison much ; for my head was always running on Old Eng- land, and the merry days we had in our youth." " But you have lost your leg, Sir Fran- cis," said Mrs. Catharine. " Say Frank, if ye love me, Kitty. Why, yes, I lost it, as you say, but I can stump about famously without it." The door was now opened slowly, and the white head of James appeared ; nurse was with him. The timidity of respect gave way before the fullness of joy and affection, and the assurance of the visit- ant's attendant, " that his honour was the man for an old sarvant," rendered it impossible to wait any longer the sum- THE MAX OR. 281 mons which for some minutes had been expected. The frank cordiality, the sincere plea- sure, which Sir Francis evinced in re- ceiving the honest congratulations of those who now hailed his return, proved how much dearer were their artless praises and untutored love, than that of all "the stupid starers and loud huzzas 1" with which the heart holds no inter- course ; and Amelia found her warmest affections drawn towards the generous seaman, and her spirits excited by his arrival in a manner she had not supposed herself capable of; and there was a kind of busy tumult in her emotion which seemed almost prophetic of some change in her own situation. But when this first joyful meeting had subsided, when she was informed that her valued friend was really going to be married, and to leave the paternal man- sion with one who, however dear and excellent he might be, was of manners 282 TALES OF and habits so foreign to her own, as to make her frequently start at his boister- ous asseverations, and blush for his obstreperous mirth, Amelia could not bring herself to approve of this conclu- sion to the long protracted drama. People under twenty consider those who have nearly doubled their own age, as actually old; and to marry at thirty-seven ap- peared to her so ridiculous, that she could not bear the idea, that a woman so highly estimable as her respected friend, should consent to play the fool in such a way : and although she really loved the Com- modore (for such he was now become), for the warmth of his heart, the noble kindness of his disposition, and the cha- racteristic simplicity of his manners ; yet, as there was not one single trait in his person or conversation which ac- corded with her ideas of a bridegroom, she had no wish to see him in the capa- city of one ; and the importance and happiness of married life fell consider- THE MANOR. 283 ably in her opinion, from considering it in connection with this constant and worthy couple. So much do our ideas differ at different periods of our lives ; for there can be no doubt but Amelia had frequently contemplated such con- duct and such events, as the most praise- worthy and desirable of all human oc- currences j and that they still affected her in the same manner when applied to much younger people. As, during the long absence of Sir Francis Cotteridge, many of his relations had died, he found that an estate near Workington had devolved to him, which he proposed to visit immediately on his marriage. This he settled (as the most tangible property he held) upon his future wife - y and which he justly con- sidered desirable to her, as being only thirty miles distant from her present abode. Mrs. Catharine suggested the propriety of Sir Francis's going over to this place, and offered the use of their carriage for 284 TALES OF that purpose ; but this he refused with great warmth, declaring, " that he would never leave his betrothed spouse for a single hour till he had sailing orders; h6 considered her under his convoy already, and should steer off as soon as her tackle was completed, but would never lose sight of her again on any consideration. 5 ? Yet notwithstanding the warmth of these declarations, and the real honesty of the heart which dictated them, it was undeniable that the greatest pleasure the good Commodore enjoyed was in sitting by Amelia, and telling her stories of his early loves ; the place where he first saw Bab ; how he contrived to dine with her father ; then to dance at the race-balls with his youngest daughter ; their inti- macy, love-confessions, mutual sorrows, and agonizing partings. During which recitals he told her a thousand times over, that Bab was young then, and mighty pretty, just like herself, with a THE MANOR. 285 skin as fair, and eyes as bright, and dressed too like a young woman, so that altogether she was a very sweet creature. " He never should forget her ; no ! that he shouldn't, in joy and sorrow, life or death." Now, as Amelia was very partial to Barbara, and had become accustomed to her dress, she always felt offended with these remarks, and thought they ill be- came the time-worn and weather-beaten sailor, who, although scarcely two years older than his intended, looked at least a dozen ; and she felt as if the attentions and compliments he paid herself could hardly fail to pain the constant heart of one who had not admitted even a mo- mentary rival to him in her bosom. Highly, therefore, as she admired the Commodore in some moments, she felt on the whole an inclination to join with Mrs. Sarah in saying, " the best of men were very odd creatures j" and to con- 286 TALES OF elude, that although Bab might be a gainer from this arrival, the rest of the party were very little improved by it. Far different, however, was the con- clusion made in the servants'-hall ; for there, so often did the jolly tar con- descend " to shoulder his crutch, and show how fields were won f* so often would he lean against the chimney, call them all round him, to relate his ad- ventures, or explain the sea-terms in which he discussed them to the women, that they were all absolutely enchanted with him. The very sound of his voice, and the stamping of his wooden leg, was the herald of pleasure, and the call to enjoyment, and all forsook their occupations, of whatever nature, to listen to the thrice-told tale, if we except the dairy-maid : she was listening to that of his servant, who persuaded her to be as happy as Miss Bab, by sailing into the port of matrimony on the same morning. THE MANOR. 287 It was agreed on all sides, that Amelia must be the bride's-maid, and accompany the constant couple first to Workington and afterwards to Bath ; and Sir Francis himself had undertaken to order their millinery and dresses, by writing to the wife of his lieutenant, whom he declared to be " a first rate dasher." His orders were very concise : " Two sets of women's gear proper for a wedding were wanted, no cost to be spared, nor any difference made, save in size, one set being for a seventy-four, the other a light frigate." The lady to whom this order was given, concluding that the captain's be- loved was a person of suitable age, pro- vided every thing good, handsome, and becoming for the bride ; and, under the natural supposition that her attendant was a slender sister, except in size, made no difference in the form of the dresses. The wonderful improvement which really took place in the appearance of the bride, rendered Amelia insensible of the im- 288 TALES OF propriety of her own dresses, as being equally matronly, and as she had no person with whom she could compare herself, and really felt obliged by the profuse present of the commodore, she adopted the dresses without the slightest alteration, and hid her profuse tresses, for the first time, under the mighty superstructure of gauze and ribbons which composed the caps of the day. The bridegroom was delighted with the appearance of his lady, and pro- tested, " that till now he had never thought she was really altogether his own Bab ;" a compliment not more satis- factory to the bride, (who, in despite of either her love or her finery, was in a state of anxious, tearful inquietude,) than to Amelia, who perceived, with the truest satisfaction, that he took little notice of her. She perceived, too, that even thelong- cherished affection of her heart, the acqui- sition of title and wealth, and the excel- lent temper and habitual cheerfulness of 5 THE MANOR. 289 Miss Barbara, all failed at this moment to reconcile her to the step she was taking, that she trembled to enter on the " dread unknown" before her, pre- sented by a late entry on a world to which she was a stranger, with a guide and guardian, who, although beloved and esteemed most highly, was himself a novice in society, and a stranger both to her feelings and those of the world into which he was taking her. But yet these difficulties were trifling, when compared with the pain of parting with sisters who had been dear com- panions from her earliest recollection ; who had nursed her in infancy, instructed her in youth, sympathised in her sor- rows, and exhausted their scanty for- tunes to bestow upon her a. dower, which, however undesired by her hus- band, it was satisfactory to present to* him. Her house, her servants, her pesi- sioners, all crowded on her heart, and claimed a tribute which the best feelings; vol. i. o ( 290 TALES OF of nature compelled her to pay, but which love and just consideration for her hus- band induced her to repress. Amelia saw all this ; and whilst she truly shared the grief of her friend, she inwardly resolved, " she would never in- cur the same embarrassment, for she would never marry, unless — " There is always a saving clause in the resolutions of young ladies. Therefore we will not examine Amelia on this point too strictly. The affair altogether did her spirits little good it is certain, ex- cept when at Workington the appearance of the naval hero excited those warm bursts of popular feeling so honourable both to the giver and receiver, and which her sensibility felt and enjoyed most ex- quisitely. The admiration here evinced towards Sir Francis did not subside with the shouts and bonfires of the mob. The neighbouring gentry, learning that he was come to claim possession of certain lands, on which there was a house ca- THE MANOR. 291 pable of being made a comfortable man- sion, were delighted with the idea of retaining him as an inhabitant, and the most flattering invitations and attentions met him on every side, agreeable to the usual character of that hospitable country. But no land engagement could just now detain Sir Francis, when so near the sea, for he had learnt that some of his old friends were in Whitehaven; so thither they hastened ; and it might be then said truly, " he was in his element." His lady was certainly not in her's, but her good temper and his own ignorance of her habits and likings entirely pre- cluded him from the knowledge of the troubles and inflictions he daily poured upon her, from dear, hearty fellows, who wounded her delicacy or shocked her piety. Ship-visits followed, which alarmed her fears and dirtied her clothes in the first place, and seldom closed without leading to the more serious grievance of o 2 292 TALES OP witnessing intoxication, which was to her the most revolting and distressing event that could befall her. From these scenes Amelia necessarily perceived that two people may be ren- dered very uncomfortable without either being in fault, purely from the circum- stance of being unsuitable to each other ; and that as the woman must, generally speaking, be the party who sacrifices her wishes, that there might be much misery even where there was much affection, and a perpetual claim on self-denial, for which there was no equivalent, except from the sense of having fulfilled a duty which, perhaps, it would have been wiser never to have contracted. Amelia was suddenly called from a course of thinking little accordant with the natural vivacity of her spirits, or the tenderness of a heart still deeply i.m-. pressed with its unhappy passion, by a summons to attend the sick bed of Miss Catharine ; whose long lingering disorder THE MANOR. 293 had now taken a sudden, and as it was feared a fatal direction. Grieved for the cause, but by no means sorry to return, our young friend re-en- tered that dull mansion, the monotony of which had so long disgusted her, with sentiments of the most lively affection towards both the inhabitants and the place ; and these sensations were greatly increased when the pale countenance of the sufferer was evidently lighted up with pleasure to receive her. Her tender attentions, indeed, carried with them, as it appeared, the very balm of life ; for though, by very slow degrees, there was yet a gradual amendment in the health of Mrs. Catharine from the day of her return ; and, after a long-protracted and melancholy winter, Amelia had the sweet reward of perceiving her charge revive with the earth, and regain strength be- neath the influence of brighter skies and more genial breezes. Mrs. Catharine was in manners stately o 3 294 TALES OF and formal. There was about her fewer signs of that open good humour and benevolent suavity which distinguished her sisters ; and for some time after her arrival Amelia had felt great awe of this lady, but she was now become most fondly attached to her, and felt as if, in gaining her esteem, she had attained a more than ordinary treasure. In fact, Mrs. Catharine was a woman of supe- rior mind to either of her sisters, and when drawn from the tender melancholy which long sickness, and perhaps early disappointment had imposed upon her, her conversation was interesting from the stores of reflection, piety, and profound affection, with which her heart was stored ; and, limited as had been her means of information, to so young a person as Amelia she could impart valuable knowledge. As soon as Mrs. Catharine could be left with comfort to the sole nursing of her young, but assiduous and not un- THE MANOR. 295 skilful friend, Mrs. Sarah prepared her- self to take a journey, which was a matter of so much importance that it could be conceived second only to the event which produced it ; but poor Bab most earnest- ly requested her company, on the double occasion of the Commodore being sum- moned to his duty, which his late pro- motion rendered it imperious upon him to obey, and that in the course of a short time his lady expected to be con- fined. Old nurse at seventy-eight, in- sisted on accompanying her mistress on this momentous occasion, nor could Jonathan be dispensed with. Of course a small party remained behind, nor could they be increased, since the expences of travelling were very great ; and Amelia, for the rest of the year, was too busy to have time for those regrets natural to a lovely girl so completely secluded from society, and without any occupant of a heart calculated for the best intercourse of love and friendship, o 4 296 TALES OF Indue time, after great peril to the mother, a son was given to the Commo- dore's hopes, and he had the satisfaction of hailing its arrival before his own de- parture. Whether it was the general en- joyment of society, the birth of the first nephew she had ever seen, or her dread of encountering so long a journey, I know not, but it was more than a year before Mrs. Sarah returned ; and when she did, she was accompanied by her sister, her young child, and servants. This arrival was truly exhilarating to the recluse re- mainder at the Hall, and in nursing the baby Amelia found all the affections of her heart most tenderly drawn out, and for two years, time passed on far more sweetly than it had ever done before, and truly painful was the mandate which drew away the family of the Cotteridges to meet Sir Francis on his return from another successful engagement, which he declared, if possible, should be his last. Melancholy indeed was the house now THE MANOR. £Q7 the petted, but engaging idol, which had so long occupied it, was heard no more ; and for three following summers it might be said, that though serene, they were truly dull, for there is something in the artless vivacity, the endearing depend- ance of a child, which cannot be sup- plied to the heart and the imagination by any succedaneum within their bounded power ; a power still more curtailed by the generosity of their expenditure on occasions like those which had recently occurred, and in every thing which con- cerned their darling. At the end of this period their minds were roused, their expectations awaken- ed, and conversation flowed freely on the subject of their younger brother's return, which he had given them reason to hope for with the next arrival from India. Amelia had been so accustomed to hear this brother's praises, she was herself so well acquainted with his kindness and generous consideration, that a few years 298 TALES OF ago, she would have anticipated his ar- rival with as much pleasure as any of his sisters ; but the good Commodore had put all her ideas of pleasure in male society to flight, and of the acquaintance she had formed during her short visit to the world, only the old Doctor and his beloved grandson held their places in her memory. The former, rigid and unbend- ing, whom she might respect, but could not love, and the latter a lovely, in- sulated, exalted being, such as could be seen no more in any earthly sphere ; she could notsuppose that he would resemble either of these, and she therefore con- cluded he would be more like Sir Francis, especially after a long voyage, and she was afraid that all the comforts of the house would be endangered by his pre- sence. Once she remembered Lady Cotteridge (during her late residence with them) observed, " that marriage was very well when one was used to it ; M and she felt afraid, that when the new THE MANOR. 299 inmate came to a house so little habitu- ated to his sex, they would all appear as if not used to display even the common comforts of life on that occasion, though to one so long and so sincerely desired. o 6 300 TALES OF CHAP. V. When Mr. Cranbourne actually arrived, his personal appearance by no means justified the fears of Amelia, but it awoke far different ones in the minds of his elderly sisters, who could scarcely be- lieve that the tall, slender, sallow in- valid before them, could be indeed the gay, handsome young man who, in his nineteenth year, had left the paternal mansion elate with hope, and the honest ambition of benefiting his family, and doing honour to his country. Twenty-eight years' residence in India, an early disappointment of the heart, much severe service, and many cor- roding cares respecting his own pe- cuniary concerns, and the wants of his THE MANOR. 301 sisters, together with the anxieties ap- pertaining to Amelia's affairs, and the vexation he unavoidably felt towards the cold-hearted selfishness of his eldest brother, had indeed made terrible ravages in his form and his constitution. But notwithstanding his withered cheeky whitening locks and shrinking form ; notwithstanding his constant habits of supineness, and resort to medical help ; his wrapping coats, cordials, and altera- tives ; his morning list of symptoms, and his evening preparation of anodynes, the stranger was a man of no common in- terest and character. Thankful for his arrival at a quiet home, Mr. Cranbourne sought neither to affect the splendours or exhibit the wealth of the land he had quitted ; and, con- scious that in his native air, and the at- tention of sisters so fondly attached to him, and servants whose green old age (far different from his own) permitted them to devote all their powers to his 302 TALES OF welfare, that he should have the best chance for recovering his health, he de- termined to seek no other j and wearied of gaiety which touched not the heart, and wealth which never warmed it, took up his rest among the simple people, who afforded a contrast the most perfect to those with whom he had for many years associated. He was, however, a man of too much mental activity to sink down into torpor when he sought only repose. On the con- trary, as soon as he had recovered the immediate effects of his journey, and en- quired into the state of his sister's affairs, he began to reform many abuses which had naturally crept into a system of too much leniency among the tenantry, and to improve the estate in many essential respects. He inclosed commons, planted trees, extended walls, and introduced every improvement in husbandry sanc- tioned by experience or warranted by judgment ; and with abundant kindness THE MANOR. 303 relieved the suffering, supported the in- dustrious, and rewarded the meritorious among his tenantry. This spirit of im- provement he would perhaps have liked to carry into the garden and the house ; but as both, though old fashioned, were perfectly comfortable, and the removal of even a chair from its ancient rest- ing-place, seemed to be attended with some pain to the sisters, unless it were for his 'personal convenience he could not put their peace into jeopardy by risking farther innovation. The confidant of his plans, the deposi- tary of his wishes, was Amelia, whom he treated with the tenderness of a father and the frankness of a brother. Having arrived in June, the season had enabled him to take short walks and rides, in which she generally accompanied him ; and, from his animated description of foreign scenery, his taste for embellishing that of the fine country which surrounded his own mansion, and the power he pos- 304 TALES OF sessed of awakening the imagination and stimulating the excursion of mind, she found talents excited to exercise, which had hitherto lain dormant, and a sense of pleasure on various topics which she had never been sensible of before. In the autumn Amelia became, indeed, fully aware, in how great a degree the society of an intelligent and good man expands the mind, and extends the sweets of social life. Poor Lady Cotteridge had the misfortune to lose her only child, and she intreated the society of her eldest sister, the younger being again in a weakly state. Mr. Cranbourne took the opportunity of escorting his eldest sister and visiting his youngest thus offered ; and their ab- sence left a chasm in the Hall, such as even the playful accents of the child, now lamented, had never filled up. Long and wearisome were the hours now passed, and anxiously were the arrivals of post- hours watched ; the paleness of poor THE MANOR. 305 Mrs. Catharine's looks scarcely exceeded those of Amelia, when at length the master of the house returned, shuddering under the effects of the first frost, and lamenting his utter inability to effect a longer journey. ." Why would you go farther, brother ? Amelia is just lost, poor thing, for want of somebody to speak to, already." " 'Tis for her sake and yours that I wished it. I thought we would all go to Bath, for a little variety.'' " I have no wish for variety," said Amelia, blushing. " You are the best of all good girls j but you ought not to be shut up here ; but we will do our best (I find my winter campaign admits of no more) to make home palateable." A new piano-forte and flute, with abundance of music-books, newspapers, and magazines, warm hangings, con- tracted chimneys, and comfort-giving stoves, now gave to the ancient mansion an air of babitableness and society hitherto 306 TALES OF unknown. New servants were procured that the old might rest; a handsome carriage superseded the ancient coach, which had long " dragged its slow length along" in awful craziness, and every thing wore the appearance of improve- ment, without the parade of alteration. But what were all other acquirements compared to the literary stores, now not only brought forward with the full appro- bation of the heads of the mansion, but read with one whose knowledge obvi- ated all difficulties, whose taste height- ened every beauty, and whose warm approbation of the pursuit gave a sense of gratification, in addition to enjoy- ment, of the highest kind. All ennui vanished, necessarily, in the attainment of society, which provided, without fa- tigue, satiety, or annoyance of any kind, that intellectual feast, which accom- modates itself alike to the wishes and the necessities of every human being ; provides us with the exercise of the THE MANOR. 307 purest sensibility, the most exalted ima- gination, the most profound research ; — at one time presents us with all we desire to know of human life ; at another, leads us to the divine contemplation of a more noble state of existence ; assists the soar- ings of the loftiest spirit, and aids the in- tercession of the humblest penitent; teaches us the use of virtuous conduct, and bestows the blessing of religious instruction. Had these treasures been always attainable, there is little reason to suppose, that (although ever valuable) they would have held the high estimation with which Amelia now considered them. She had attained maturity of mind, with the preservation of that perfect simpli- city which is rarely preserved beyond the earliest years ; her confidence in her fellow creatures had never been broken by deceit ; her native philanthropy, little blighted by disgust. Her benevolence was therefore capable of expansion, her judgment of comprehension ; and she 308 TALES OF received the embellishments of mental knowledge unmixed with that "baser matter" which pedantry and female vanity, so often blend with them, before the understanding is ripened, or the spirit subdued by the influence of Chris- tianity. A far more immediate congeniality of tastes and pursuits now took place be- tween Amelia and Mr. Cranbourne than could have been expected possible be- tween two people so dissimilar in age and person ; and the delicacy of Mrs. Catharine's health necessarily left them many hours for reading and discussion, in which they were thrown entirely to- gether, as a pupil and her teacher equally solicitous to please and benefit each other. To the just praise of Amelia, it must be said, that neither the novelty nor plea- sure of her new engagements interfered with the united duties she now practised, of generally regulating the family in the absence of Mrs. Sarah \ looking after the THE MANOR. 309 neighbouring poor, which she had done ever since the marriage of Lady Cotter- idge, and endeavouring, by every office of kindness, to amuse the tedium and lighten the sufferings of the maternal friend who yet remained to her. Many an hour did she read by her bedside, for her pil- lows were ever adjusted best by Amelia : her chicken-broth was made under her inspection ; her medicines administered by her hand ; and when one patient was rendered comfortable by her cares, she seldom failed to apply them to the assist- ance, which, although less needed, was yet called for to a certain degree, and ever acknowledged with the most touch- ing gratitude by another ; and happy was Amelia when the pilaw she had learnt to make was declared to be excellent, or the chicken she recommended eaten with appetite, by her excellent guardian. Often would her old friend the apothe- cary, (now a daily attendant at the Hall,) compliment her upon the active virtues 310 TALES OF she displayed, and insist upon it that she was not only a much happier but a much handsomer woman than she had been ten years before, and express a hope that one of her patients would soon be looking as well as herself. Whether these observations of the good doctor's first led Mr. Cranbourne to no- tice the blooming looks of Amelia, and to hope that his somewhat-improving health might really rise to convalescence, or that the sense of his sister's malady becoming hopeless threatened him with the double loss of a relative he held most dear, and a friend he felt to be invaluable, I know not -> but it is certain that, after much deliberation with his sister and himself, many delicate and embarrassing moments with Amelia, and much awful consideration, arising from a truly gene- rous dread of acting selfishly and foolishly — unkindly towards Amelia, and un- wisely with regard to himself, he at 7 THE MANOR. 311 length adventured to make her an offer of his hand. For nearly two years Amelia had relied on him as her guardian, confided in him as a friend, and loved him as a brother ; — in these endearing points of view, he had no rival in her affections. She was also compelled to see that the death of Mrs. Catharine would probably oblige her to accept a home with Lady Cotteridge, to which she had many objections, (since Mrs. Sarah was now in a manner tied to Bath, from a rheumatic affection,) or to seek one among strangers, which w 7 as still worse. The world beyond those walls was to her a peopled desert ; within them she had every blessing that a reason- able being could desire, and the means of bestowing good far beyond what her own little fortune promised any chance of se- curing. This circumstance alone she felt ought to determine her, especially when united to the grateful feelings which 312 TALES OF a retrospect of her peaceful abode there never failed to inspire. But timid as Amelia was by nature, and diffident as long seclusion had made her, (conscious also that Mr. Cranbourne had, in the course of their many conver- sations, intrusted her with the history of his heart's early hopes and disappoint- ments,) she could not conceive it right to listen to his wishes, much less decide on his proposals, till she had confessed to him every particular of her long-con- cealed passion, and of the true cause of that deep dejection and succeeding weak- ness to which he had heard repeated al- lusions. When the ice was once broken, it was not difficult to open the heart to such a hearer as this. His looks of genuine sym- pathy, his words of encouragement and thankfulness forher confidence, enabled her to proceed with a facility even sur- prising to herself, for a considerable time, and which led her to conclude that her THE MANOR. 313 affections were indeed weaned from their first object sufficiently to warrant her holy promise at the altar to another, yet it ap- peared that the remembrance of an at- tachment so ardent, so allied to those youthful springs of feeling which gush impetuously in early life, when recalled, step by step, through the memory of one who had no other event of importance to recollect, was eventually a very affecting subject ; and by the time the narrative was finished, Amelia doubted her own right of bestowing irrevocably a hand which) although so long resigned, she considered virtually the property of him who was still capable of awakening her sensibility so acutely. " If," said Amelia, " Frederic should be feeling thus for me ; if he should be in a situation to claim me, and should be rendered unhappy by my marriage, I fear that I should blame myself." " We will make every possible enquirv vol. i. p 3l4t TALES OF into his present situation, my dear girl," said the considerate friend. It was not an easy matter to do this, consistent with the delicacy due to one who under any circumstances would not " unsought be won," and who would rather have died in broken-hearted ob- scurity, had such been the alternative, than presented herself again to the atten- tion of a lover unconscious of his early ties, or unmindful of his former protest- ations. During the time these enquiries were prosecuting, Mr. Cranbourne pre- served on the subject that strict silence which delicacy and wisdom alike pre- scribed ; but his heart was so ill at ease, his manners so abstracted, and his health so much affected, that there were times when Amelia dreaded the communica- tions she yet anxiously desired to receive. Yet Mr. Cranbourne thought it ex- tremely probable that Amelia was mis- taken in her suppositions respecting THE MANOR, 316' Frederic's attachment. He contrasted the solitude of her life with the bustle, the variety, the attainments of his, and he saw that, without derogating from the early character of his passion, it was hardly probable that a flame so long un- fed by the usual aliment, should subsist without hope and without intercourse ; especially when its object was a young woman so lovely and so respectably con- nected, and whom it was natural to con- clude would long ago have been taken into the world by the marriage of his sis- ter, and of course admired, courted, and most probably married. This reasoning, just as it certainly was, could by no means satisfy Mr. Cran- bourne, and happy was it for them all, when, from a friend on whose activity and accuracy he could rely, some news was at length obtained, and Amelia, with a beating heart, listened to the account transmitted of her youthful lover, which p 2 316 TALES OF was given in those general terms least likely to wound her feelings. " The young physician respecting whom you enquire, is, I find, a man of honour and ability, the grandson of an aged practitioner of great note in M : he took his degree in Leyden, where he was much esteemed ; and after- wards made the tour of Europe, during which, he formed an acquaintance with Lord L -, who, on his return, being made (as you know) governor-general of Canada, took this young man out with him as physician to his household : his lordship is now recalled, but it is said, that Doctor Cassauban remains, as he has made a matrimonial engagement there of great advantage." When Amelia had read this letter, she retired to her own room, nor did she appear again till late in the evening of the following day ; her face was pale, but her countenance open, and the ex- treme anxiety respecting her health, THE MANOR. 317 evinced by Mr. Cranbourne, and the sad tale of symptoms she was compelled to hear from poor Mrs. Catherine, whose anxiety for them both was extreme, soon led to the important point at issue, and Amelia gave a tearful but willing con- sent to become the nominal mistress of the mansion, which already felt her to be its actual and amiable head. The marriage of Amelia was perfectly private, but as, in the course of the last five years, a few families of the neigh- bouring gentry had increased their con- nections, and one or two new seats had been built within a visiting distance, the marriage introduced a good many visit- ants to the long deserted mansion. The known illness of Mrs. Catharine, and the entire seclusion of Mr. Cranbourne, since his return, had prevented alike the visits of those who admired his character, and knew how to appreciate it, and those fox-hunting 'squires, and new-made gentry, whom he would have dreaded to P 3 318 TALES OF encounter. On the present occasion, he was from necessity compelled to receive all who chose to visit him, and painful, indeed, would have been a situation so entirely new to his retiring bride, if she had not been supported by one whom comparison served only to exalt in her mind, and to whom she felt it an honour and a happiness to be allied j in spite of the vulgar allusions, and affected surprize evinced by some of her unwished-for visitants. But very trifling was the annoyance experienced by Amelia, in receiving for- mal parties of her neighbours, to that which really troubled her, when the honest Commodore, his excellent wife, and his nephew, a handsome young officer in the army, made their appear- ance unexpectedly, and declared that they were come to take up their winter quarters, and make the old Hall all alive. As both Mr. Cranbourne and his bride were by nature both social and bene- THE MANOR. 319 volent, we have a right to conclude they were hospitable ; and it is certain, that the friends they received were especially dear to them, for Lady Cotteridge was very near the age of her brother, and had been the especial companion of his early years, and his constant corres- pondent during the long period of his absence. Sir Francis had been his school- day friend, and his conduct in after life had awakened his admiration, and confirmed the regard with which he was inspired for him in early life $ he felt too more than common sympathy with him for the loss of his little-one, who had been, at the time of its death, considered by him as his own heir also, and he received the warm congratu- lations of the gallant old tar with all the sincerity and amenity they were so well calculated to inspire. For some days, it might be truly said, that the old Hall did, indeed, " ring with joy," for the presence of Sir Francis p 4 320 TALES OF recalled again their late neighbours, who found him a great deal better calculated for the jovial companion they desired, than the elegant, refined, and intelligent valetudinarian. When, however, the first gust of boisterous merry meeting was com- pelled to subside from the complete inabi- lity of Mr. Cranbourne to continue it, and from the increased illness of Mrs. Cather- ine, the party were compelled to seek for amusement at home. But, alas ! the Com- modore could not hunt, though there were excellent hounds in the neighbourhood ; his nephew was a very indifferent shot ; the former protested that books were his horror, and he always, when in the best humour, designated them " the enemy \*1 and discharged not only his sea-stock of wit upon them, but thought it fair to use any convenient missile for their an- noyance or destruction ; and his nephew, either to gain favour with one whom it was desirable to humour, during the straitened and " piping times" of peace THE MANOR. 321 and half-pay, or because he thought it a sin, that the still singularly fine eyes of Amelia should look on any thing less attractive than himself, made war with the whole encampment of the library also, and voted the whole affair of read- ing " a cursed vulgar bore." Thrown suddenly out of her circle of quiet duties, and sober, though exquisite, enjoyments, Amelia felt only a desire to extend her powers, and afford to every person in her family the gratification they required; and her endeavours were cordially assisted by Lady Cotteridge, who grouped them round a whist table, as soon as she could possibly win them from their wine. Here the evenings passed off very tolerably, the Commodore won his nephew's money, joked him on his bad play, which he insisted was the natural result of preferring the army to the navy, and never failed to reimburse him with an addition for the probable losses of the succeeding evening. p 5 322 TALES OF The mornings, alas ! were far differ- ently passed ; after a sound sleep, the Commodore awoke refreshed, thanked God he was in old England, plunged his head into a flask of cold water, which he had considered a panacea for all complaints of head and stomach for the last twenty years, whistled to his ser- vant to buckle on his leg, which he regularly abused during the operation, as a false Mounsheer fair-weather jack, which hoisted false colours, unworthy of a true sailor, and then descended a hale man of fifty-five, to whom all the forms of internal disease and medicinal aid were alike utterly unknown, and thoroughly despised. It was impossible to persuade such a one, (notwithstanding his temper was excellent, his heart really full of the milk of human kindness, and he would have given his last shilling to aid his brother-in-law,) that a nervous man, subject to slow hectic, wasted by sleep- less hours, now needed the aid of repose, THE MANOR. 323 long courted in vain, and at length, per- haps, obtained by opiates. On the con- trary, it was his custom, generally, to pro- ceed directly to his door, and either sing out " a good morrow," which echoed through the house, or set his timber- toe to the door, with a kick that vibrated through all the wainscot of the room. On these occasions the cheek of Ame- lia flushed with vexation, and bolting from the room, she would exclaim, though in a subdued tone, " Fray, pray, Sir Francis, don't make such a noise ; I will attend you imme- diately ; but Mr. Cranbourne must not rise ; he is by no means well this morn- ing." " Why he didn't drink half a pint of wine !" " That don't signify, sir, he has got the head-ache ; and " " Fiddle faddle, I tell you its the only thing that does signify ; — to be sure, its my belief he doesn't take enough, for p 6 324 TALES OF though I grant a man, my dear child, may injure himself by too much, as Tom Swallow did, by taking his grog before breakfast, which I call a vile custom, (and c d unpolite to the women,) yet depend upon it, sound wine makes a sound constitution, and I ■' " Sir, we must not stand talking here, and disturb him." " Disturb the devil! why Fm pre- scribing ; why, Harry, I say, Harry, yoik — yoi — ks." The invalid would then rise, bereft of his last chance for sleep ; creep down stairs; struggle in vain to swallow his chocolate, and after many an effort to rally, at length find, in an excuse to visit poor Mrs. Catharine, the quietness his shaking nerves and throbbing temples so imperiously required ; whilst riding, walking, chess, and backgammon, were regularly proposed by the ever attentive Barbara, and occasionally resorted to with the divertissement of firing pateraroes THE MANOR. 325 from the corner of the barn, for the ad- vantage of an echo •, spitting for wagers, and demolishing an ancient sun-dial, which had long stood without a gnome, at the end of one of the terraces. A numerous assemblage of the tea- thered race had every winter been so regularly fed and protected by Amelia, that they returned to the abode of their benefactress with the most engaging con- fidence ; and she frequently expressed some fear that the sound of the guns would frighten them away now they were beginning to visit their accustomed haunt ; and although assured that the Commo- dore would not hurt them, nor suffer his nephew to do so for her sake, she yet ventured to suggest their forbearance also, as to driving them away. Sir Fran- cis promised her he would stay in the house on purpose to please her, and Cap- tain Cotte ridge, with a bow and a sigh also, protested, " that he could have no 326 TALES OF happier mission than that of obeying her." This young man had of late, indeed, sought to diversify the dullness of the country, by making an impression on the apparently impenetrable, but decidedly handsome wife of the friend who enter- tained him, the sister-in-law of the re- lative who supported him. The evil he practised rather than meditated, (for of deep reflection no one could accuse him,) arose from great personal vanity, impa- tience of unemployed time, and that vacuity of mind incident to those who have neither scientific research, imagin- ation, taste, or intellectual pursuit, and have the misfortune to find the means of life provided to their hands. Looks full of admiration ; tender en- quiries after her health ; a liking of all she liked ; and an occasional interjection of deep pity for the cares in which she was engaged, not unmixed with a very THE MANOR. 327 gentle inuendo as to the unworthiness of the objects, were all the advances the Captain had adventured. Delicate as were these movements, they had not, however, been wholly lost ; they had rendered him so decidedly disagreeable to Amelia, that she felt every act of civility she was constrained to shew him, a task exceedingly difficult to perform, and it required all the affection she bore to his relations to prevent her from showing him the contempt she really felt. But on this occasion, when he ap- peared the advocate of humanity, the good-tempered assistant of her plans, where she had feared to be opposed, and perhaps ridiculed, he was rewarded with one of her sweetest smiles ; and the Cap- tain giving his person credit for the com- pliment paid to his heart, was in high spirits on the occasion, and prepared to render the morning agreeable to every one around him. 328 TALES OF Lady Cotteridge seeing the uncle and nephew engaged in friendly contest at backgammon, left the drawing-room in which they were sitting, to pass an hour with Mrs. Catharine; who, even in her best days, could never join the family till after dinner : she found her listening to her brother, who was reading an In- dian story, while Amelia was carefully rubbing her right arm, which was con- tracted by spasmodic pains, and over which she bent looks of the tenderest pity. For nearly an hour the little party enjoyed their retreat in silence, when all at once loud shouts of laughter from the drawing-room met their ears, accom- panied by noises for which they could not account, until Lady Cotteridge said, " she really believed that Sir Francis must be dancing, or rather imitating some dancer, for she never remembered hearing his cork leg move about with such rapidity before. " Poor dear Frank," said her sister THE MANOR. 329 with a sigh, " he could once dance as well as any body." " And he can still move as quick as any body, when his country or his friends require it," said her brother. " That he can," said Amelia, moving to the door, with all that nimbleness which bespoke an irresistible desire to witness any thing which reminded her of an amusement which she had once been very fond of. Her heart was at this moment full of kindly feelings towards the honest knight, and she ran down stairs to share his hilarity. Thump, thump, thump upon the floor, fell first one heavy substance and then another, as if answering to the Com- modore's movements, which were evi- dently not measured ones, and the words reached her ear, " That's right, Ned — to it again ! — the seventy-four totters ! — pour in a broadside — Pshaw ! charge with the king; he's a twenty-four pounder ~ huzza ! huzza 1 ! !" 330 TALES OF Amelia opened the drawing-room, and beheld with consternation the cause of these joyful bursts of merriment and con- quests. The room being large and light, a library table had been placed in it, on which were laid a great many books which had been sent down from Mr. Cranbourne's bookseller at different times, and which being for the most part in splendid bindings, had frequently ex- cited the evil eye of Sir Francis. When his game was finished, he had engaged in battering them with the men from the backgammon-board, and his nephew had rendered his sport better by setting them on one end, and in a short time they had both become eagerly engaged in the siege, adding the contents of the box which contained pearl fish and chess-men, to the other ammunition, so that on Ame- lia's entrance the whole room was strewed with spoils, and the warriors, too much engaged to observe her noiseless entrance, continued the " battle of the books," THE MANOR. 331 with all the zeal of bravery, and the un- doubted confidence of success. " Charge with the pawns now, Ned ; they'll douse the frigates," and instantly Pope, Milton, and Young, lay prostrate on the floor. " The queen's an eighteen-pounder ; there she goes a&ainst the * Wealth of Nations' — aye ! missed it by Jove !" cried the captain. " Pick her up again, she's too good a shot to lose ; there, Ned, see what I've done with her, thrown the whole squad- ron into confusion, and sent the small fry to the bottom. Here goes the castles ! the scoundrels, they've split their own timbers ; oh ! here's the cards, use 'em for small shot — hurra ! hurra ! !" " Oh, sir ! sir ! spare the cards," cried Amelia, flying forward with uplifted hands, and first sensible of the extent of the mischief at the moment when she reached the midst of the room, and felt her own head and ears most roughly 332 TALES OF saluted by the light, but well-aimed bat- tery of cards : it was instantly checked, but the ludicrous appearance she made crowned the triumph of the Commodore, and his loud reiterated shouts brought all the rest of the party down stairs, not ex- cepting even the astonished invalid, poor orderly Mrs. Catherine. Mr. Cranbourne could not forbear laughing, when he beheld the face of the hardy veteran, wrought up into all the broad expression of joyful victory against the enemy; the prostration of which was, however, seen with far different eyes by his lady. The books were to her friends whose very forms were dear, and which had ever been arranged by her with that characteristic neatness, so often termed old maidish, and which was the more likely to attach to her, because she had been used all her life, either to the me- thodical arrangement practised in school, or the systematic neatness acted upon by every creature within the walls of THE MANOR. 333 Cranbourne Hall. But when, in addition to the torn, scattered, and dirtied books, she perceived that the valuable chess- men, which her honoured husband had brought from India, and presented to her when he had taught her the game, lay round her, all broken and mutilated, the matter was, with her, quite beyond a joke ; and gathering up a handful of their fragments, she burst into tears, and ran out of the room. Sir Francis's triumph was at an end ; he instantly called on his nephew and lady, " to refit the vessels, and get 'em to sea again," but Mr. Cranbourne thought the best way to render their late discom- fiture a forgotten thing, would be to place them out of sight, and thus get them " out of mind," both of friends and foes. Accordingly, by the aid of the ser- vants, the misused volumes were soon out of sight, and Mr. Cranbourne went in search of Amelia, whose wounded feel- ings respecting his beautiful and costly 334) TALES OF chess-men j he most justly attributed to that far higher value attached to them as his gift. Iti truth his heart was deeply touched by this genuine proof of affection in a young and beautiful woman, and he felt grateful not only to her, but to heaven itself, for having bestowed upon him, in the autumn of life, a blessing he had sighed for in vain during its brighter years, and the unvarying kindness, the undeviating propriety, and even at this moment the warm affection visible in Amelia's manners, struck him the more, because he had happened to see himself and Captain Cotteridge reflected in a large old mirror in the drawing-room ; one glowing with health and animation, with all the advantages of dress and pro- fession ; the other, wrapt in a rouquelaire, yellow w 7 ith bile, shaking with cold, and looking ten years older than he really w r as. The consolations offered by the elo- quence of love from such a heart and THE MANOR. 335 such a mind, were, however, fully ade- quate not only to checking the sorrows, but restoring the smiles of Amelia, and aware that Sir Francis would charge her with being a spoiled child, and ridicule her womanish liking of her pearl- wrought chess-men, she descended as soon as pos- sible to meet his accusations, and repel his jokes. But, alas ! the removal of the books had put the good Commodore in high dudgeon, and his excellent lady was in vain endeavouring to restore his equani- mity." " As to the girl puling/ ' he said* " about her Chinese, whing, whang, dolly-lollys, he did'nt think much of that ; he remembered Kit Sniggins, the boats'an's wife, crying when they threw her box of cloaths overboard, to lighten the vessel, and Shebo, a negro wench, roared when they stripped her of a shark teeth necklace, and a brass-button nose jewel. Women were women all the world 386 TALES Otf over ; what vexed him was, to see' em put out of their places, and leading men by the nose, more especially his Majesty's servants ; he called it no better than down- right rebellion, aye, treason > the very worst of treason, and what he would never submit to." " Poor Amelia is not rebellious, my dear; she was ever the most meek and tractable of creatures." "Does she let him drink his wine ? answer me that ; does she let him turn out in. a morning ? doesn't she dose him with slops and messes ? to say nothing of pills, peppered fiz-me-gigs, and rhu- barb ; and worst of all, have I not seen her fifty times steal away with a book to his dressing-room, and mope him up there with its d d palaver, for a couple of hours together ? Now, Lady Cotteridge, do you suppose any man on earth ^can stand these things ?" Amelia had necessarily heard many of these accusations* for the Commodore 19 THE MANOR. 337 seldom made orations, and when he be- gun, rarely allowed them to be interrupt- ed 5 besides he could say with great truth, what can be very rarely said, that he would not utter a word behind any man's back, that he should shrink from speaking before his face, so that Amelia had the benefit of making a defence fully, from knowing the plain statement of the bill preferred against her, but she had scarcely entered upon it, when a very agreeable interruption took place, from the call of a neighbouring gentleman, to invite them all to dinner the foil wing Monday. Mr. Cranbourne had been compelled to protest against accepting any ivita- tions during the winter months, ut in the present humour of the Coram dore, even Amelia was induced to iu him to break it, and her power to-da is ab- solute. From the same cause to Irank more wine than usual $ in sh , this engagement was made, other med, and during the remaining three onths VOL. I. Q 338 TALES OF of the visitants' stay the necessary bound- aries of the invalid-master's liberties were so broken up, the prescriptions of the friendly doctor and tender nurse so in- fringed, that by the time they were really gone, new sources of suffering were con- tracted, new causes of weakness devel- oped, which destroyed all foundation of rational hope, that the scathed but stately oak could long survive the ravages of the storm, though it might have been spared for many years, under the sup- porting arms of skill and affection. From henceforth, during her married life, Amelia was tied to the melancholy attendance of a constant nurse. In the following spring, poor Mrs. Catherine laid down an existence which had ceased to be desirable, and entered on one to which she had long looked forward with the eye of steady, yet unpresuming faith, and with a fulness of hope, which threw over the sick chamber of a secluded elderly female, an air of calm cheerful- THE MANOR. 339 ness, and steady fortitude, which philo- sophy might have contemplated with ad- vantage, and Christianity exulted to wit- ness, and to partake. During the summer months, Mr. Cranbourne was pretty generally able to ride or walk about his grounds, visit his tenantry, or make short calls upon his neighbours; in every movement of busi- ness, benevolence, or pleasure, Amelia was ever by his side, the companion who amused, the friend who supported him, and never did they so appear, but it might be truly said, " the eye saw and blessed them, the ear heard and wit- nessed unto themj" the elegant mind, the subdued tone, the bending form, and yet full and brilliant eye of Mr. Cran- bourne, were in themselves interesting and impressive, and when to them were added his known urbanity, his high in- tegrity, the efforts he made even from the chamber of suffering to aid the dis- tressed, redress the injured, reward the Q 2 340 TALES OF industrious, and renew without osten- tation, the protecting influence, and paternal sway which was formerly here- ditarily practised by country gentlemen, he became in the eyes of all a man of far more importance, and infinitely more estimable than many, of much larger for- tunes in the country, who lived in all the splendour derived from wealth, fashion, and extensive connection. Once, and only once, he was enabled to travel to the house near Workington, where Sir Francis resided during the summer, where he spent a week in more comfort than could have been expected from the habits of the owner. He was, indeed, at this time very thin, and so evi- dently declining, that the honest Knight beheld him with a commiseration, which to a weak mind might have been more deleterious than any of the potations he recommended. After witnessing, with a look of dismay, what he termed " disem- barkment from the carriage," in silence, THE MANOR. 341 he took the offered hand of Mr. Cran- bourne with a smile, but the flush of welcome and pleasure fled his cheek, as the thin burning fingers pressed his own broad palm, and after two or three efforts to say what he thought would comfort his guest, as " Cheer up, Harry, — - heartily glad to see ye ! — never fear, my boy, we'll weather it this time;" he fairly burst into tears, and blubbered like a child. Amelia pressed his hand, and would have intreated him to command his feel- ings, but the Commodore's full heart could not be controlled ; and the sight of the poor girl, as he still called Amelia, only made him worse. Throwing his arm round her neck, he gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, and flung away. Mrs. Sarah met them here after her long absence, and once more went to Cranbourne Hall, where she staid till winter called both her and Sir Francis to Bath. When Mr. Cranbourne parted 342 TALES OF 4 with his sisters on this occasion, he un- doubtedly felt assured that the}' would meet no more in this world, from the ex- traordinary pains he took to impress upon their minds the merit of his wife, and the obligations he owed her ; all which they were equally sensibte of with him- self, and fully agreed with him in the opinion, that their eldest brother (who misled by a vain and selfish wife, had en- tirely forsaken his surviving parent, and all his connections,) had no claim in him or them. Further than to establish this mutual opinion, on a clear understand- ing, Mr. Cranbourne did not awaken their sorrow, nor disturb the happy repose and truly religious calmness of his own mind, and they parted under the mutual sup- pression of grief tempered by hopes which pointed to eternal re-union. Long and melancholy was the suc- ceeding winter, for even books lose their power to dissipate the languor of sick- ness, and soothe the throb of pain j spring THE MANOR. 343 at length returned, but its genial airs dispelled not the gloom of hours which mark the progress of slow decay. The resignation of religion, the calmness of manly fortitude, the tenderness of un- abated attachment, and the noble ge- nerosity whicli^ven under the most try- ing circumstances, can forget its own claims to consider the comfort of others, and can provide for the object of its especial love, beyond its own participa- tion, were, however, ameliorating cir- cumstances which especially attended the concluding scene of this admirable man. Towards the end of April he closed his eyes in the arms of his beloved Amelia, who notwithstanding her unavoidable expectation of the event, felt in losing him that sense of sorrow and loneliness, that loss of worth and kindness, which can alone be duly estimated by those who are called upon to part with one, who sustained the mingled character of a 344< TALES OF THE MANOR. parent who gives support, and a child who receives it, and is equally dear in the good which it communicates, and that which it receives. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. London : Printed by A &. R. Spottiswoodc. New-Strett-Square. UNIVER9ITY OF ILLINOI9-URBANA lilllllil 3 0112 047690653