CHAP. IX.

This letter will contain little beyond the particulars of a scene which recently passed in Miss Flint’s room. Our dear Mary’s solicitude is unavoidable, and her wish to know what passes here ought to be indulged.

Mrs. Allen was requested to witness the signing of Miss Flint’s will, she cheerfully complied; Douglass and Mrs. Warner joining with her.

When this business was terminated, she requested the doctor to inform thecaptain that she wished to see him after dinner; and, with a languid smile, she added, tell him that Mrs. Allen shall give him his coffee.

When alone with our friend she begged of her to be the witness to the conversation she meditated on for the evening. “Do not refuse me,” continued she. “I have a few instructions to leave with my brother, and you will be useful; you will hear nothing to grieveyou, although it may affect him, and flatter me; but I wish to finish my business with this world!”

The captain, in Mrs. Allen’s words, was punctual to his time. His sister was on the sopha, but looked flushed and fatigued. “He was agitated,” continued Mrs. Allen, “and I said, we are doing well to day, Sir.” He took his seat by her, and pressed her offered hand with his lips. She immediately spoke of Mr. Oliver Flint’s death, making some obvious reflexions onthe event. Then suddenly looking at her brother’s dress, she said, I hope, Percival, you do not mourn that poor Oliver has given to a brother who stood by him as a son, an inheritance that ought in the eye of justice to have been yours. The captain coloured, and replied with eagerness, that he was perfectly contented with the proofs he had received of his brother’s consideration. He has rendered me comfortable, added he, for the remainder of my life, and has placed Mary in a condition fully adequate to her ambition. I am grateful, and sincerely hope, that Philip Flint will live to show the world he was worthy of the man whom he has succeeded. Miss Flint was softened to tears. God grant, said she with emotion, that my will may be thus satisfactory to you! I have done for the best, Percival, I have been governed by only one principle. Let me die in the hope that you will accept it as an evidence of my repentance for havingso long overlooked yourjust claims!—She spoke this with agony.

My dear Lucretia, said the captain hastily, and startled at the disorder she was in, let us drop a subject so useless. I have no wants, no wishes ungratified, but that of seeing you well. I cannot bear your kindness, replied the poor weeping Miss Flint; I have not deserved it! Say not so tome, answered the brother with tenderness. We have all, my dear sister, to make this acknowledgment to our Maker. We have all of us errors to regret, and something for contrition, but we have a merciful Judge, who knows that we are weak and fallible: let me conjure you to endeavour to recover your spirits. Let us employ the allotted space allowed us in acts of love and mutual aid. Your friend, as well as physician, assures me, that your malady is augmented by the depression of your mind. Exert your faith; animate your spirits by reflecting, thatyou are in the hands of a Being infinite in mercy. Would you like to have Mary with you? She wishes to see you, and might be useful to you. I could not bear to see her, answered Miss Flint with a voice broken by sorrow; but it is not from unkindness, that I reject her, it is not hatred nor cruelty that govern me. I am certain it is not, replied the captain; No: my dear sister! their empire is over; and a temper, to which worlds would be nothing in the balance, has now a place in your heart. Oh! live to enjoy the blessed exchange! live for my comfort!

“I thought his sister must have fainted,” continued Mrs. Allen, wiping the tears of sympathy from her honest face; and I hinted that she wanted her cordial. The captain understood me, and I believe would have gladly retired himself and left her to my care; for he rose and observed, he had staid too long, and that she needed rest. Rest, repeated she, detaining him,oh, be not so deceived; I need no rest, I can find none that cheers me like seeing you. He again took his seat, and with composure observed, that she had promised him coffee: and that he would remain, on condition she would try to be quiet and listen to our chat. She smiled, and I took my post.

Again he offered to leave her, when, with composure, she said, my dear Percival you must indulge me; this is the last time I will mention business which may distress you; but I shall not be easy until I have finally settled my concerns with this world. Whatever you find done in this way, when I am dead, remember what I have already said, I have done all in love, and have been as just as I could be to you. You will find my will in that cabinet, continued she, directing his attention to it. Lady Maclairn has my instructions in respect to all that it containsexcept the will; she will inspect it in your presence.

Here is a present for my niece. May it prove to her, what of late it has been to me, a blessing! The captain paced the room in silence. This picture, my dear and invaluable friend, continued she, addressing me, you will see buried with me. She gazed intently on the miniature of Mr. Philip Flint, which she wears in her bosom. Poor fellow! added she mournfully, he will not soon forget Lucretia! He will regret that he was not with me.—I cannot stand this! said the agitated captain, and were I not convinced, Lucretia, that even in this depression of your mind, there is a healing power more potent than all human aids, you would break my heart.—I will spare your feelings, answered she, only let me say a few words more: I wish to have your concurrence. I have nominated Mr. Greenwood to succeed Snughead in the Farefield living; but ifyou think he would like the presentation better from you, speak, and it shall be so managed. “I do not believe,” added Mrs. Allen, “that the captain could have uttered a word, had his friend’s being made an archbishop depended on it; he was quite overcome by his feelings.”

“At length he ventured to say, should you like to see Mr. Greenwood? He would be sorry to see me, replied she; he is a good man, and will pity me; but I wish not to see him. I have no want of his assistance;” she raised her eyes to Heaven, and paused. “You may imagine,” continued Mrs. Allen, “that her exertions had subdued her. The captain no sooner left her, than she went to her bed; and I have the comfort of quitting her in a peaceful sleep.”

This recital, my Lucy, will affect poor Mary; but it will do her no harm hereafter. Her mind wants firmness for the trials of life; and she must acquire strengthby the usual means. I have occasion for more patience and fortitude than I possess. I tremble for the consequences which will result to Mrs. Allen, should Miss Flint continue long in her present condition. What will you say to the cares and attention that devote my dear friend to her room the whole day? What will you say to her swelled legs, got by watching her through half the night? Will it be any comfort to you, when she is on a sick bed, to be told that her piety and prayers are the cordials that quiet the perturbedspiritof the miserable invalid? I have yet much to do with my rebellious one; and I honestly confess, that, sincerely as I rejoice at Miss Flint’s present temper of mind, I should murmur to give a saint to her funeral obsequies. My serious remonstrances have answered; Mrs. Allen is gone to bed, and I will take care she shall not quit it to-night, to traverse half clothed, the passages to that of another.

What with fogs within, and fogs without, it has been necessary for me to make a sun of my own. Sir Murdoch has undertaken to teach me to paint in oil colours; and I have begun to copy a landscape “très riant,” for I cannot help laughing at my imitation of a good copy.

In continuation.

I was summoned below stairs. The enclosed will explain the cause. Sir Murdoch and his son set out for Putney to-morrow morning; and we are in a bustle; and somewhat anxious about theroadsandcold weather. I must help Lady Maclairn in this alarm.

Adieu, your’s,R. Cowley.

Adieu, your’s,

R. Cowley.

LETTER LXII.From Mr. Serge to Sir Murdoch Maclairn.

Putney, Dec. 3.

My dear and honoured friend! It is all over with Jeremiah Serge! The public papers will tell you that he is desolate. To-morrow I shall lose sight of her precious remains! But what of that! Do I not see her always before me? Do I not hear her voice, and the blessed consolations she gave me. My name was in the last sigh that conveyed her to her God! Oh! she was a child, Sir Murdoch, worthy of a heavenly Father! She was too good to be lent me long! and yet I never forgot to be grateful for the loan: my daily prayers were thanks to God, for the blessingsshe imparted! so affectionate, so gentle, so wise, and yet so young! What a bulwark of defence has my age and weakness lost! I do not know why I write to you; but I am so oppressed by my thoughts, and my kind friends here fatigue me. They cannot help it. They do for the best; but what can be done for me! Is it not hard to see the sapless trunk left to the wintry blasts; and the blossoms of the spring cut off? If my child had been spared only alittle while, she might have closed my eyes, and I had been at rest. But I must not murmur against God! My Caroline warned me not to grieve as “one without hope.” And I will hope, Sir Murdoch, that my present feelings will soon effect my deliverance. I shall soon be re-united to my child. I am very ill, and I think it is better to tell you what also disturbs me in this hour of tribulation before I send away this letter. I have not been negligent in regard to my worldlyconcerns, as these relate to the security of my wife and children; for I lost no time, in executing that duty, after you had so graciously consented to be my children’s friend. But my heart is now set upon seeing you and Malcolm once more before I die. You are a good man, Sir Murdoch, and, in the sight of God, that is the only title that will survive you. I think you will not refuse to come to me: no comfort on earth would be so welcome; but do not delay your journey, if you mean to see me; for indeed I am sinking fast. My poor wife is on a sick bed; she might have foreseen the blow more than she did, but we have all our faults! Poor soul! She finds at this hour that life needs more than a doublet of silk, to guard the pilgrim in his rough journey! I am sure Malcolm will second me in my request. Tell him, that poor Caroline spoke of him not an hour before she died,and called him her good brother Malcolm.

God preserve you, Sir Murdoch, from knowing the sorrow which fills the heart of

Jeremiah Serge.

Friday morning.

My letter[1]of Monday last contained the intelligence of the good baronet’s safety, and the comfortable hopes that are entertained at Putney, that Mr. Serge will not need executors to his will, for sometime at least; for the sight of the travellers has been a cordial to him. This morning we had another letter; it was from Malcolm; all the business which occasioned the journey had been finished to poor Mr. Serge’s contentment; but he had exerted himself too much; and the gout had overtaken him. Malcolm adds, that the doctor regards this indisposition as favourable to his friend’s general health, and that he is chief nurse; Mrs. Fairly attends her mother with assiduity, though unwell herself; she is, he says, the shadow of the Leonora we know, and he thinks her in a consumption. Her husband, from time to time, attends her; but his reception is cold and ceremonious in Mr. Serge’s room, and he is not less restrained on his part with the guests. Sir Murdoch is in perfect health, and the counsellor shares, in his leisure hours, and contributes to his amusement.

1. This letter does not appear.

Lady Maclairn summons me to perform my part of the task we have before us; she has finished her part of it, and I have to fill the second sheet of paper to Putney. You will soon find me with you again; but my good father must have this hour, and the satisfaction of knowing that his wife is easy and reasonable, as is your

Rachel Cowley.

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