The Prince slays the monster with a hundred horrible heads.—Page 86.The Prince slays the monster with a hundred horrible heads.—Page 86.
At the very sound the poor Prince seemed quite refreshed, forgot all the weary way he had travelled, the dark forest of Adversity, the grim frown of Necessity, the faintness and the weariness, and hundred-headed Difficulty and Danger. But he was more rejoiced still when, on entering the building, he found himself suddenly, all at once, in the great hall of his own palace of Prosperity, with a beautiful lady, all smiles, standing ready to receive him with a crown in her hand.
'Come hither, Prince,' she said, 'and receive this crown, which I never bestow on any but my greatest favourites. It is called the crown of Contentment. I reserve it for those who, led on by Perseverance, come to me by the Right Path, in spite of Difficulty and Danger. Those who arrive at my presence by any of the many other roads that are open to mankind I give over to the charge of some of my inferior attendants, such as Pride, Vanity, or Ambition, who amuse themselves by making them play all manner of strange tricks.'
Thus saying, she put the crown upon his head, and the Prince found the most delightful tranquil feeling spread through his whole body. Nevertheless, he could not help looking about almost instantly for the figure of the ugly little grey dwarf; and, as he could not see him anywhere, he said to the beautiful lady: 'Where is that hideous, yawning Satiety? I hope he has left the palace.'
'He may be hanging about in some dark corners of the palace,' answered the lady, 'or hiding amongst the roses in your garden of Pleasure; but he will never appear in your presence again, so long as you wear that crown upon your head; for there is a rich jewel called Moderation in the crown of Contentment which is too bright and pure to be looked upon by Satiety.'
DDear Tom,
Dear Tom,
'Since we parted at the breaking-up, I have been for most of the time at a pleasant farm in Hertfordshire, where I have employed myself in rambling about the country, and assisting, as well as I could, at the work going on at home and in the fields. On wet days, and in the evenings, I have amused myself with keeping a journal of all the great events that have happened among us; and hoping that when you are tired of the bustle of your busy town you may receive some entertainment from comparing our transactions with yours, I have copied out for your perusal one of the days in my memorandum-book.
'Pray let me know in return what you are doing, and believe me,
'Your very affectionate friend,'Richard Markwell.'
She kicked up her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail.—Page 93.She kicked up her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail.—Page 93.
'June 10.—Last night we had a dreadful alarm. A violent scream was heard from the hen-roost; the geese all set up a cackle, and the dogs barked. Ned, the boy who lies over the stable, jumped up and ran into the yard, when he observed a fox galloping away with a chicken in his mouth, and the dogs on full chase after him. They could not overtake him, and soon returned. Upon further examination, the large white cock was found lying on the ground all bloody, with his comb torn almost off, and his feathers all ruffled; and the speckled hen and three chickens lay dead beside him. The cock recovered, but appeared terribly frightened. It seems that the fox had jumped over the garden hedge, and then, crossing part of the yard behind the straw, had crept into the hen-roost through a broken pale. John, the carpenter, was sent for to make all fast, and prevent the like mischief again.
'Early this morning the brindled cow was delivered of a fine bull-calf. Both are likely to do well. The calf is to be fattened for the butcher.
'The duck-eggs that were sitten upon by the old black hen were hatched this day, and the ducklings all directly ran into the pond, to the great terror of the hen, who went round and round, clucking with all her might, in order to call them out, but they did not regard her. An old drake took the little ones under his care, and they swam about very merrily.
'As Dolly this morning was milking the new cow that was bought at the fair she kicked with her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail, at the same time knocking Dolly off her stool into the dirt. For this offence the cow was sentenced to have her head fastened to the rack, and her legs tied together.
'A kite was observed to hover a long while over the yard with an intention of carrying off some of the young chickens; but the hens called their broods together under their wings, and the cocks put themselves in order ofbattle, so that the kite was disappointed. At length one chicken, not minding its mother, but straggling heedlessly to a distance, was descried by the kite, who made a sudden swoop, and seized it in his talons. The chicken cried out, and the cocks and hens all screamed, when Ralph, the farmer's son, who saw the attack, snatched up a loaded gun, and just as the kite was flying off with his prey, fired and brought him dead to the ground, along with the poor chicken, who was killed in the fall. The dead body of the kite was nailed up against the wall, by way of warning to his wicked comrades.
'In the forenoon we were alarmed with strange noises approaching us, and looking out we saw a number of people with frying pans, warming pans, tongs and pokers, beating, ringing, and making all possible din. We soon discovered them to be our neighbours of the next farm in pursuit of a swarm of bees which was hovering in the air over their heads. The bees at length alighted on the tall pear tree in our orchard, and hung in a bunch from one of the boughs. A ladder was got, and a man ascending with gloves on his hands, and an apron tied over his head, swept them into a hive, which was rubbed on the inside with honey and sweet herbs. But as he was descending, some bees which had got under his gloves stung him in such a manner that he hastily threw down the hive, upon which the greater part of the bees fell out, and began in a rage to fly among the crowd, and sting all whom they lit upon. Away scampered the people, the women shrieking, the children roaring; and poor Adam, who had held the hive, was assailed so furiously that he was obliged to throw himself on the ground, and creep under the gooseberry bushes. At length the bees began to return to the hive, in which the queen bee had remained; and after a while, all being quietly settled, acloth was thrown over it, and the swarm was carried home.
'About noon three pigs broke into the garden, where they were rioting upon the carrots and turnips, and doing a great deal of mischief by trampling the beds and rooting up the plants with their snouts, when they were spied by old Towzer, the mastiff, who ran among them, and laying hold of their long ears with his teeth, made them squeal most dismally, and get out of the garden as fast as they could.
'Roger, the ploughman, when he came for his dinner, brought word that he had discovered a partridge's nest with sixteen eggs in the home field, upon which the farmer went out and broke them all, saying that he did not choose to rear birds upon his corn which he was not allowed to scratch, but must leave to some qualified sportsman, who would besides break down his fences in the pursuit.
'A sheep washing was held this day at the mill-pool, when seven score were well washed, and then penned in the high meadow to dry. Many of them made great resistance at being thrown into the water, and the old ram, being dragged to the brink by a boy at each horn, and a third pushing behind, by a sudden spring threw two of them into the water, to the great diversion of the spectators.
'Towards the dusk of the evening the Squire's mongrel greyhound, which had been long suspected of worrying sheep, was caught in the fact. He had killed two lambs, and was making a hearty meal upon one of them, when he was disturbed by the approach of the shepherd's boy, and directly leaped the hedge and made off. The dead bodies were taken to the Squire's, with an indictment of wilful murder against the dog. But when they came tolook for the culprit, he was not to be found in any part of the premises, and is supposed to have fled his country through consciousness of his heinous offence.
'Joseph, who sleeps in the garret at the old end of the house, after having been some time in bed, came downstairs in his shirt, as pale as ashes, and frightened the maids, who were going up. It was some time before he could tell what was the matter. At length he said he had heard some dreadful noises overhead, which he was sure must be made by some ghost or evil spirit. Nay, he thought he had seen something moving, though he owned he durst hardly lift up his eyes. He concluded with declaring that he would rather sit up all night in the kitchen than go to his room again. The maids were almost as much alarmed as he, and did not know what to do; but the master, overhearing their talk, came out and insisted upon their accompanying him to the spot, in order to search into the affair. They all went into the garret, and for a while heard nothing, when the master ordered the candle to be taken away, and everyone to keep quite still. Joseph and the maids stuck close to each other, and trembled in every limb. At length a kind of groaning or snoring began to be heard, which grew louder and louder, with intervals of a strange sort of hissing. "That's it!" whispered Joseph, drawing back towards the door. The maids were ready to sink, and even the farmer himself was a little disconcerted. The noise seemed to come from the rafters near the thatch. In a while, a glimpse of moonlight shining through a hole at the place plainly discovered the shadow of something stirring, and on looking intently somewhat like feathers were perceived. The farmer now began to suspect what the case was, and ordering up a short ladder, bid Joseph climb to the spot, and thrust his hand intothe hole. This he did rather unwillingly, and soon drew it back, crying loudly that he was bit. However, gathering courage, he put it in again, and pulled out a large white owl, another at the same time being heard to fly away. The cause of the alarm was now made clear enough, and poor Joseph, after being heartily jeered by the maids, though they had been as much frightened as he, sneaked into bed again, and the house soon became quiet.'
IIn a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Medway resided a gentleman whose name was Darnley, who had, during the early part of life, filled a post of some importance about the Court, and even in its decline preserved that elegance of manners which so peculiarly marks a finished gentleman.
In a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Medway resided a gentleman whose name was Darnley, who had, during the early part of life, filled a post of some importance about the Court, and even in its decline preserved that elegance of manners which so peculiarly marks a finished gentleman.
The loss of a beloved wife had given a pensive cast to his features, and a seriousness to his deportment, which many people imagined proceeded from haughtiness of disposition, yet nothing could be further from Mr. Darnley's character, for he was affable, gentle, benevolent, and humane.
His family consisted of an only sister, who, like himself, had lost the object of her tenderest affection, but who, in dividing her attention between her brother and his amiable children, endeavoured to forget her own misfortunes.
Mr. Darnley's fortune was sufficiently great to enable him to place his daughters in the first school in London, but he preferred having them under his immediate instruction, and as Mrs. Collier offered to assist him in their education he resolved for some years not to engage a governess, as Nurse Chapman was one of those worthy creatures to whose care he could securely trust them.
An old friend of Mr. Darnley's had recently bought a house at Rochester, and that gentleman and his sister were invited to pass a few days there, and as Emily grew rather too big for the nurse's management Mrs. Collier resolved to make her of the party, leaving Sophia, Amanda, and Eliza under that good woman's protection.
It was Mr. Darnley's wish that the young folks should rise early and take a long walk every morning before breakfast, but they were strictly ordered never to go beyond their own grounds unless their aunt or father accompanied them. This order they had frequently endeavoured to persuade Nurse Chapman to disregard, but, faithful to the trust reposed in her, she always resisted their urgent entreaties.
The morning after Mr. Darnley went to Rochester the poor woman found herself thoroughly indisposed, and wholly incapable of rising at the accustomed hour. The children, however, were dressed for walking, and the nursemaid charged not to go beyond the shrubbery, and they all sallied out in high good humour.
'Now, Susan,' said Sophia, as soon as they entered the garden, 'this is the only opportunity you may ever have of obliging us. Do let us walk to the village, and then you know you can see your father and mother.'
'La, missy!' replied the girl, 'why, you know 'tis as much as my place is worth if Nurse Chapman should find out.'
'Find it out indeed,' said Amanda; 'how do you think she is to find it out? Come, do let us go, there's a dear good creature.'
'Yes, dear, dear Susan, do let us go,' said Eliza, skipping on before them, 'and I'll show you the way, for I walked there last summer with father.'
Whether it was the wish of obliging the young ladies, or the desire of seeing her parents, I cannot pretend to say, but in a luckless hour Susan yielded, and the party soon reached the village.
Susan's mother was delighted at seeing her, and highly honoured by the young ladies' presence.
'Oh, sweet, dear creatures!' said the old woman, 'I must get something for them to eat after their long walk, and my oven's quite hot, and I can bake them a little cake in a quarter of an hour, and I'll milk Jenny in ten minutes.'
The temptation of her hot cake and new milk was not to be withstood, and Susan began taking down some smart china cups, which were arranged in form upon the mantelpiece, and carefully dusted them for the young ladies' use.
Eliza followed the old woman into the cowhouse, and began asking a thousand questions, when her attention was suddenly attracted by the appearance of a tame lamb, who went up bleating to its mistress with a view of asking its accustomed breakfast.
'You must wait a little, Billy,' said the woman, 'and let your betters be served before you. Don't you see that we have got gentlefolks to breakfast with us this morning?'
Eliza was so delighted with the beauty of the little animal that she wanted to kiss it, and attempted to restrain it for that purpose, whilst Billy, ungrateful forher intended kindness, gave a sudden spring and frisked away.
Eliza followed in hopes of being able to catch him, but he ran baaing along into the high road.
A woman whose appearance was descriptive of poverty but whose smiling countenance indicated good nature, at that moment happened to pass, and, accosting Eliza in a tone of familiarity, said: 'That's not half such a pretty lamb, miss, as I have got at home, and not a quarter so tame, for if you did but say, Bob, he'd follow you from one end of the town to the other, and then he'll fetch and carry like a dog, stand up on his hind legs, when my husband says "Up" for the thing, and play more tricks than a young kitten.'
'Oh, the pretty creature,' replied Eliza, 'how I should like to see it!'
'Well, come along with me, miss,' said the woman, 'for I only lives just across the next field, but you must run as hard as you can, because my husband is going to work, and he generally takes Bob with him.'
'Well, make haste, then,' said Eliza.
'Give me your hand, miss,' replied the woman; 'for we can run faster together. But there goes my husband, I declare; and there's Bob, as usual, skipping on before.'
'Where? where?' exclaimed Eliza, stretching her little neck as far as she possibly could, to see if she could discern the lamb.
'You are not tall enough,' said the artful creature; 'but let me lift you up, miss, and then I dare say you will see them;' and, instantly catching her up, she cried out: 'Look directly towards the steeple, miss; but I'll run with you in my arms, and I warrant we'll soon overtake them.'
Eliza looked, but looked in vain, and, perceiving thewoman had soon carried her out of sight of the cottage, begged she would set her down, as she dare not go any farther.
The vile creature was absolutely incapable of replying, for her breath was nearly exhausted by the rapidity of the motion, and Eliza continued entreating her to stop, and struggled violently to elude her grasp.
At length, after a quarter of an hour's exertion, the woman found herself incapable of proceeding, and stopped suddenly, sat down on a bank, keeping tight hold of Eliza's arms, who cried dreadfully, and besought her to let her go.
'Let you go!' she replied; 'what, after all the plague I've had to knap you? No, no, you don't catch me at that, I promise you; but be a good girl, and don't cry, and then you may see Bob by-and-by, perhaps.'
'Oh, my sisters! my sisters! Let me go to my sisters!' cried the child.
'I'll find plenty of sisters for you in a few days,' said the vile creature; 'but they won't know you in them there fine clothes; so let's pull them off in a minute, and then we'll have another run after Bob.'
So saying, she stripped off the white frock, hat, and tippet. The rest of the things shared the same fate, and she was compelled to put on some old rags which the inhuman creature took out of a bag she carried under her petticoat; then, taking a bottle of liquid from the same place, she instantly began washing Eliza's face with it, and, notwithstanding all her remonstrances, cut her beautiful hair close to her head.
Thus metamorphosed, it would have been impossible even for Mr. Darnley to have known his child, and they proceeded onward until her little legs would carry her no farther. At this period they were overtaken by the Canterbury waggon, and for a mere trifle the driver consented to let them ride to London. Eliza's tears continued to flow, but she dared not utter a complaint, as her inhuman companion protested she would break every bone in her skin if she ventured to make the least noise.
Cut her beautiful hair close to her head.—Page 102.>Cut her beautiful hair close to her head.—Page 102.
When they arrived in town, she was dragged (for to walk she was unable) to a miserable hole down several steps, where they gave her some bread and butter to eat, and then desired her to go to bed.
The bed, if such it might be called, was little else than a bundle of rags thrown into a corner of the room, with a dirty blanket spread across it; and there she was left by her inhuman kidnapper to mourn her misfortunes and lament having disregarded her father's injunctions.
The next morning she was forced to rise the moment it was light, and to walk as far as her little legs would carry her before they stopped anywhere to take refreshment. The second night was passed in a barn, and about five o'clock the third afternoon they knocked at the door of a neat-looking cottage, where nine or ten children were sitting in a little room making lace.
'Why, Peggy,' said the woman, as she opened the door, 'I thought you never would have come again! However, I see you have got me a hand at last, and God knows I'm enough in want of her; for two of my brats have thought proper to fall sick, and I have more to do than ever I had in my life.'
On the following day Eliza's filthy rags were all taken off, and she was dressed in a tidy, brown stuff gown, a nice clean round-eared cap, and a little coloured bib and apron; and she was ordered, if any person asked her name, to say it was Biddy Bullen, and that she was niece to the woman who employed her.
The severity with which all this wretch's commands were enforced wholly prevented any of the helpless victimswho were under her protection from daring to disobey them; and though most of them were placed under her care by the same vile agent who had decoyed Eliza, yet they were all tutored to relate similar untruths.
But I now think it is high time to carry my little readers back to the cottage scene, where Susan was arranging things in order for breakfast, and Sophia and her sister were anxiously watching the moment when the cake was pronounced completely ready.
The old woman soon returned with the milk-pail on her arm, and Susan eagerly demanded: 'Where's Miss Eliza?'
'Oh, the pretty creature!' replied her mother, 'she'll be here in a minute, I warrant her; but she has gone skipping after our Billy, and the two sweet innocents they are together.'
She then went to the oven, produced the cake, and began buttering it with all expedition, whilst Sophia joyously ran to the door of the cowhouse, and began loudly calling her sister Eliza.
No answer being returned, Susan began to feel alarmed, but the young ladies told her not to be frightened, as they knew it was only one of Eliza's pranks. But, alas! too soon were they convinced it was no joke, but some dreadful misfortune must have happened.
'Miss Eliza! Miss Eliza!' was vociferated through the village, not only by Susan and her mother, but by all the neighbours who had heard of the calamity, whilst her sisters ran about frantic with grief, crying, 'Eliza, my love! my darling! Oh, if you are hid, for pity's sake speak!'
Nurse Chapman got up about half-past nine, and, hearing the children were not returned from their walk, sent the housemaid directly after them.
The garden, the shrubbery, and the lawn were all searched without success; and just as Betty was returning to inform the nurse they were not to be found, she perceived Susan and the two children enter a little green gate at the bottom of the shrubbery.
'Where's Miss Eliza?' called Betty, in a voice as loud as she could articulate.
'God knows! God knows!' replied the careless girl, sobbing so loud she could scarcely speak.
'How! where! when!' said the others. 'Why, poor nurse will go stark, staring mad!'
By that time the poor woman had quitted her room, and walked into the garden to see what had become of her little charges; and, not directly missing Eliza from the group, which was then fast approaching towards the house, she called out:
'Come, my dear children—come along! I thought you would never have returned again.' And, observing Eliza was not with them, she continued: 'But, Susan, what's become of my sweet bird? Where's my little darling, Miss Eliza?'
'Oh, nurse! nurse!' said Sophia, 'my sister's lost! indeed she's lost!'
'Lost!' exclaimed the poor old woman—'lost! What do you tell me? What do I hear? Oh, my master! my dear master! never shall I bear to see his face again!'
Susan then repeated every circumstance just as has been related, and with sighs and tears bewailed her own folly in suffering herself to be over-persuaded. And the children declared they dare not encounter their father's displeasure.
The menservants were instantly summoned, and sent on horseback different ways. That she had been stolen admitted of no doubt, as there was no water near thecottage; and had any accident happened, they must have found her, as they had searched every part of the village before they ventured to return home.
One servant was sent to Rochester, another towards London, and a third and fourth across the country roads; but no intelligence could be obtained, or the slightest information gathered, by which the unfortunate child could be found, or her wicked decoyer's footsteps traced.
When Mr. Darnley was apprised of the calamitous event, the agitation of his mind may be easily conceived, but can never be described.
Handbills were instantly circulated all over the country, the child's person described, and a reward of five hundred guineas offered for her restoration.
Sophia and Amanda were inconsolable, and Susan was ordered to be discharged before Mr. Darnley returned home, which he did not for more than a month after the melancholy circumstance happened, as he was not satisfied with sending messengers in pursuit of his lost treasure, but went himself to all those wretched parts of London where poverty and vice are known to dwell, in the hope of meeting the object of his solicitude, and at length gave up the interesting pursuit, because he found his health rendered him incapable of continuing it.
Nine tedious months passed away without any intelligence of the lost Eliza; and time, which is a general remedy for all misfortunes, had not softened the severity of their affliction. Mrs. Collier had engaged a lady to be governess to her nieces, as her attention had been wholly devoted to her unfortunate brother, whose agitated state of mind had produced a bodily complaint which demanded her unremitting care and tenderness.
Although Emily loved Eliza with the fondest affection, yet her grief was much less poignant than either of hersisters', as she could not accuse herself with being accessory to her loss.
'Never, never shall I forgive myself,' Sophia would often say, 'for having deviated from my dear father's command! Oh, so good and indulgent as he is to us, how wicked it was to transgress his will! I was the eldest, and ought to have known better, and my poor Eliza is the sufferer for my crime!'
Thus would she bewail her folly and imprudence, until, agonized by the torture of her own reflections, she would sink down in a chair quite exhausted, and burst into a flood of tears.
While the family at Darnley Hall were thus a prey to unavailing sorrow, the lovely little girl who had occasioned it was beginning to grow more reconciled to the cruelty of her destiny, and to support her different mode of life with resignation and composure. She had acquired such a degree of skill in the art of lacemaking (which was the business her employer followed) as generally to be able to perform the tasks which were allotted her; and if it so happened she was incapable of doing it, Sally Butchell, a child almost two years older than herself, of whom she was very fond, was always kind enough to complete it for her.
The cottage in which the vile Mrs. Bullen resided was situated about a quarter of a mile from High Wycombe; and whenever she was obliged to go to that place, either to purchase or to dispose of her goods, she always went either before her family were up, or after they had retired to rest, locking the door constantly after her, and putting the key in her pocket, so that the poor little souls had no opportunity of telling their misfortunes to any human creature.
One intense hot afternoon, in the month of August,as the children were sitting hard at work with the door open for the sake of air, an elderly lady and gentleman walked up to it, and begged to be accommodated with a seat, informing Mrs. Bullen their carriage had broke down a mile distant, and they had been obliged to walk in the heat of the sun.
The appearance of so many children, all industriously employed, was a sight particularly pleasing to the liberal-minded Mrs. Montague, and she immediately began asking the woman several questions about them; but there was something of confusion in her manner of replying that called forth Mrs. Montague's surprise and astonishment.
'They really are lovely children, my dear,' said she, turning to Mr. Montague, who had stood at the door watching the approach of the carriage, which he perceived coming forward; 'and as to that little creature with the mole under her left eye, I declare I think it is a perfect beauty.'
Mr. Montague turned his head, and regarded Eliza with a look that at once proved that his sentiments corresponded with those of his lady.
'What is your name, my love?' said he, in a tone of kindness which poor Eliza had long been a stranger to.
The child coloured like scarlet, and looked immediately at her inhuman employer, who, catching the contagion, replied with evident marks of confusion:
'Her name is Biddy Bullen, sir; she's my niece; but 'tis a poor timid little fool, and is always in a fright when gentlefolks happen to speak to her. Go, Biddy,' she continued—'go up into my bedroom, and mind that thread which you'll find upon the reel.'
'You should try to conquer that timidity,' said Mr. Montague, 'by making her answer every stranger who speaks to her; but by taking that office upon yourself,you absolutely encourage the shyness you complain of. Come hither, my little girl,' continued he, observing she was retiring upstairs, 'and tell the lady what your name is.'
Encouraged by the kindness of Mr. Montague's address, the agitated child obeyed the summons, although Mrs. Bullen attempted to force her into resistance.
'Well,' continued the old gentleman, patting her on the cheek, 'and where did you get that pretty mole?'
'My mother gave it me, sir,' replied the blushing child; 'but I did not see her do it, because Nurse Chapman told me she went to heaven as soon as I was born.'
'Your mother! And what was your mother's name?' said Mr. Montague.
'Darnley, sir,' said the child, and suddenly recollecting the lesson that had been taught her; 'but my name is Biddy Bullen, and that is my aunt.'
'Darnley!' exclaimed Mrs. Montague—'the very child that has been for these twelve months past advertised in all the papers'—then turning to convince herself of the fact—'and the very mole confirms it.'
Mr. Montague immediately attempted to secure the woman, but her activity eluded his grasp, and darting out at the back door she was out of sight in a few moments.
'Is she really gone? Is she gone?' all the little voices at once demanded, and upon Mr. Montague's assuring them she was really gone for ever, their joy broke out in a thousand different ways—some cried, some laughed, and others jumped. In short, there never was a scene more completely calculated to interest the feelings of a benevolent heart.
Mr. Montague's carriage at this period arrived, andthe footman was desired to fetch a magistrate from Wycombe, whilst the worthy clergyman resolved to remain there until his arrival, and began questioning all the children. Two had been there from so early a period that they could give no account of their name or origin, but all the rest were so clear in their description that the benevolent Mr. Montague had no doubt of being able to restore them to their afflicted parents.
The magistrate soon arrived, attended by the worthy rector of the place, who, hearing from Mr. Montague's servant that a child had been stolen came with the intent of offering his services.
All but Eliza were immediately put under his protection, but Mrs. Montague was so anxious she should be their earliest care that she begged her husband to order a post-chaise directly, and set off immediately for town. This request was willingly complied with, and by three o'clock the next afternoon the party arrived at Darnley Hall.
Mrs. Collier was standing at the window when the carriage stopped, and looking earnestly at her niece suddenly exclaimed in a tone of rapture: 'My child! My child! My lost Eliza!'
Mr. Darnley, who was reading, sprang from his seat, and flew to the door in an ecstasy of joy. In less than a minute he returned folding his Eliza to his throbbing heart. The joyful intelligence ran through the house, and the other children impatiently flew to this scene of transport.
To describe their feelings or express their felicity would require the aid of the most descriptive pen, and even then would be but faintly told, and therefore had much better be passed over.
From that moment the children all unanimously agreedstrictly to attend to their father's orders, and never in the slightest instance act in opposition to his will.
Mr. and Mrs. Montague were laden with caresses, and earnestly entreated to remain Mr. Darnley's guests. The hospitable invitation would have been gladly accepted had not the thoughts of the poor children who were still at Wycombe seemed to claim his immediate attention, and so great was the philanthropy of Mr. Montague's character that he could never rest satisfied if a single duty remained unfulfilled.
TThe shrubs and flowers, having heard of the Peacock At Home, the Butterfly's Ball, and Grasshopper's Feast, Elephant's Ball, and many others of equal celebrity, and having been themselves of late much introduced into the assemblies ofTon, grew so vain as to wish to have a gala of their own. They were aware of their want of the organs of speech, but knowing they had plenty of Ladies' Tongue among them, and that crowded parties neither afforded gratification to the mind, or allowed opportunity for conversation, and as they could shake their leaves at each other, as well as fine ladies could their heads, they were perfectly satisfied with their powers to entertain.
The shrubs and flowers, having heard of the Peacock At Home, the Butterfly's Ball, and Grasshopper's Feast, Elephant's Ball, and many others of equal celebrity, and having been themselves of late much introduced into the assemblies ofTon, grew so vain as to wish to have a gala of their own. They were aware of their want of the organs of speech, but knowing they had plenty of Ladies' Tongue among them, and that crowded parties neither afforded gratification to the mind, or allowed opportunity for conversation, and as they could shake their leaves at each other, as well as fine ladies could their heads, they were perfectly satisfied with their powers to entertain.
As all their refreshments were composed from air, earth, and water it was determined that a fine summer's day after a reviving shower, would afford ample regale for a breakfast, which was to begin, like all fashionable ones, late in the afternoon, that the genteel flowers might be awake. Mrs. Honeysuckle first proposed giving one, but her husband was a Dutchman, and would not agree to the bustle and expense, and not choosing the riskof separation she for once yielded, and Mrs. Rose, being in high beauty, determined to send out her fragrance to invite the company, provided she could procure the consent of Mr. Pluto Rose; indeed, he never interfered with the pursuits of his wife; he only declared he should not appear, and as he was a very dark-looking rose without any sweet she was delighted at this declaration, but, though much admired in her own little circle, she was unknown in the great World, and she was sensible that unless some of the leaders of theTonwere present her breakfast would be regarded with contempt; she therefore consulted two of her friends, Lady Acacia and Mrs. Larch, and got Mr. Plane from the east to secure the attendance of his party.
Lady Acacia had just got her niece Robina from America, whom she was very solicitous to have properly introduced, having kept very indifferent company in her own country, and being handsome, she aspired to settling her well. She, of course, aided all in her power to promote Mrs. Rose's scheme, and, by being in a higher circle, offered to get all the Forest Trees to attend except Lord Oak; but she knew he never condescended to go to such meetings. Mrs. Larch, from her connections, promised her influence with all the Cedars and Firs, though she was sure her cousin from Lebanon would not come, but all the rest yielded easily to her entreaties. Mrs. Rose was delighted with the success of Lady Acacia and Mrs. Larch in their solicitations with the Forest and Fir Trees, whose majestic appearance and respectable characters she imagined would dignify her fête, never considering her own littleness might appear to them despicable; but from them she had nothing to fear, as they were too well bred to attend any meeting to ridicule it. 'Tis true when they did grace a public entertainmentthey kept chiefly together, and never so far forgot their consequence as to oppress a humble flower, or stoop to notice a forward insignificant one even in the gayest attire.
There was an elegant lightness of drapery in Mrs. Birch's dress, but poor Lady Aspen had certainly a very trifling way with her in shaking continually her leaves, which sounded as if she was tittering at everything around. Old Lord Elm was hurt at it, and often hinted to her ladyship how improper such behaviour would have been deemed in former times. It was, poor thing, in her a natural weakness which she could not amend, and it had been copied by some inferior plants who had ignorantly supposed it the height of good breeding.
Mrs. Rose, with all her charms, could not aspire to become one of the Forest set, though she had hopes she might be reckoned a descendant from the famous Roses so well known in the reigns of some of our Henrys, Edwards, and Richard III., though she assuredly was of a very different extraction; indeed, it was said that she was bred up in a cottage garden, but had passed one winter in the hothouse, by which she was greatly elated, and now thought from that circumstance she was secure in having a large party from thence, not knowing the prejudice it was to memory and sight to be constantly for any length of time in such artificial air. Had it not been for this breakfast bringing Mrs. Rose into notice she would have been totally forgotten by them, but her invitation made them soon recollect the dear little creature, and as every offer of accommodation was made to entice them to attend, even to the promise of being placed near the Burning Bush: for that whatever is difficult to obtain is always peculiarly desirable to possess was not unknown in the hothouse. Notwithstanding that mostof its inhabitants, except Lady Sensitive and a few others (who were really too delicate to venture out), all anxiously wished to be at Mrs. Rose's, yet they seemed to make the waiting on her a very great favour, and their terms vexed her greatly—namely, the excluding of many of the common plants or natives as they termed them which prevented her from asking some of her old acquaintance and near connections, with whom till now she had lived in habits of intimacy; besides she had wished to have shown her taste and consequence to them, having thorns enough on her stem to have pleasure in exciting a little envy; but being afraid these connections should be known she excluded every friend she was requested to do, and thus the Sweet Briar and many of that rank were left out, yet several weeds had the effrontery to get in.
As the hothouse plants always keep together when they do come out, they, as usual, did so at Mrs. Rose's, following their constant plan of apparent dissatisfaction at everything they met with, and quizzing most shamefully all the company. The greenhouse plants in winter follow the example of the hothouse in living in their own circle, but at this season mix more generally, though, alas! they were nearly as much inclined as the hothouse party to quizzing. Mrs. Myrtle and Lady Orange-tree promised to chaperon the Misses Heath and the Misses Geranium—that is, such as were properly accomplished by having had a greenhouse education; but the poor relations of these two families, which I am forced to confess were many, were not asked. Lord Heliotropium and Mr. Monkeyplant were their welcome attendants.
The Evergreens of rank were invited, the females of whom are charged with being fond of showing themselves, and are usually to be seen in the front of plantations.Hitherto they had despised the fickleness of fashion, and had never modernized their dress enough to seem thinly clad even in the winter, and now they could not reconcile themselves to such a change, which, in fact, did them honour, though a few of the weakest and vainest among them rather lamented it, but the wiser valued their foliage as a great addition to beauty and elegance, and justly reprobated the prevailingTonof transparent clothing as very pernicious to health. Mrs. Arbutus was particularly unlucky in having sent all her jewels away for the summer, but Lady Portugal Laurel and a few others ornamented their usual green dresses very prettily with white, and her ladyship was allowed to make a sweet figure, whilst the correctness of her appearance gained her respect and admiration.
Many Laurels were invited, but in this country they are so numerous, and of such rapid growth, and such flourishing plants, that it was absolutely impossible to collect as many of them as could be desired, and some old veterans declined attending. The Cypresses in general sent excuses, being confined by the loss of a friend, which was thought rather an uncommon reason for confinement. Mr. Stock was also prevented by a pre-engagement in the alley; he was a remarkably rich, showy flower, or he would not have been invited, yet he was known to possess more intrinsic merit before he had acquired so many petals. Dr. Yew would not leave his church, nor Dr. Palma Christi his patients; indeed, their absence was not at all regretted, it being owing to a mistake that they were asked. The Ladies Weeping Willow stayed away with the Misses Weeping Ash to mourn over the vanities of the world, which greatly alarmed and distressed them.
Mrs. Passion-Flower sent her excuses, being enraged she was not consulted on the occasion, as she would havedeferred the meeting until she had regained her bloom. Most of the Shrubs that were invited attended, and the Duchess of Syringa and the Ladies Lilac looked beautiful. It was a disputed point whether Lady White Lilac or her sister was the handsomer, yet some of the party were so ill-humoured as to hint they were fading. Lord Laburnum came with them. Some bulbous roots were admitted, and Mrs. Lily made as engaging a figure as anyone; her headdress was simply elegant, the petals white with yellow stamens forming a very rich coral. The sweet Misses Lily of the Valley could not be tempted from their retreat.
Lord Tulip was particularly noticed, his coral being diversified in a most superb manner, and as dress amongTon beauxnow is neglected he made a very surprising appearance, though by it he gained great respect; perhaps he carried it too far, as marked singularity is never advisable, yet a certain attention to dress, consistent with station, is requisite, and had it not been for his coral Lord Tulip would have been passed by in the crowd, or turned out as a weed. He came with the Duchess of Hyacinth, which was rather particular, but it was little regarded, and the Duke was blamed for not properly estimating her Grace's charms.
There were some perennials asked, but Mrs. Rose was obliged to forget many of them, yet Miss Scabious was there, though not yet come out, flirting shamefully with young Lychnis, who was waiting for his ensigncy to get out his scarlet coat. Mrs. Rose made a point of inviting Mr. Monkshood because she would not appear to have any prejudices, though it is well known to be a poisonous plant, but its evil properties were to her and her friends of no consequence as they had never reflected on serious subjects. She also pressed the attendance of severalannuals of showy appearance. Intrinsic merit had no value with her, who had no guide but fashion, and was ambitious only of becoming a leader in dissipation or a patroness of talent, which would be the means of making her ridiculous, and the dupe of presuming ignorance.
The annuals, though they flourished but for a short time, were often during that period greatly caressed, yet never lamented when they disappeared; in short, they were made subservient to the powers of others, which Mr. Coxcomb, the painted Lady Pea, and some more were too vain to discover, and whilst they were frequently amused in quizzing all around never suspected they were deservedly greater objects of ridicule themselves. Very few of the Creepers were invited except those that belonged to the hothouse or greenhouse, and the sharpness of Lady Cereus made Mrs. Rose wish even to have avoided her company, but she would not be put off. Mrs. Bramble was very sharp at not being invited, thinking she had as good a right as Mrs. Ivy, whom she accused as being one of those sycophants that push themselves into high life by clinging to greatness, and thus getting into the first circle without being respected in or out of it; indeed, there was amongst many of the party a good deal of satire. Mrs. Rose herself was a little formed of it, but her sweetness was allowed to blunt the force of her thorn, and made it even regarded as pleasing, whilst Mrs. Holly was disliked for her general sharpness.