CHAP. VII.
I am truly rejoiced, my Lucy, to know that the manuscript is safe in your hands, having had on my spirits a dread of its miscarrying. You know not the comfort you administered to poor Lady Maclairn by your letter of Saturday’s post. She suspected, by my lenity, that I was but a poor casuist in matters of conscience; and that I was more solicitous to banish her sorrows, than to probe the cause from which they spring; but since you agree with me in asserting, that it is your decidedopinion, there can be no criminality in a concealment which secures to the innocent peace and security; I find she listens to me with more confidence; and I hope in time to convince her, that to disclose a secret which cannot produce, either directly or indirectly, any beneficial effect to those who must, on the contrary, suffer from such a disclosure, would partake more of folly than wisdom.
In this conclusion I am guided by the best light my understanding offers me: moreover, I cannot help placing in the balance, the whole train of events which have led astray from the paths of rectitude, a mind constituted like Lady Maclairn’s; and I am disposed to believe, that she will be exculpated by an unerring Judge, for those deviations to which she has been betrayed, by the treachery and oppression of others, more culpable than herself. Although falsehood is never to be excused, yet the caution of wisdom may surely suggest,without a crime, the reasonableness and utility of suppressing that “truthwhich ought not to be spoken at all times;” the produce which regulates our zeal, and imposes silence, is no violation of truth. These are my arguments with poor Lady Maclairn; I even go farther, Lucy; for I insist, that she hasfor yearsbeen practising the most heroic virtues by suffering in silence, to preserve the peace and tranquillity of her husband and son.
But, my dear friend, if such be the penalty annexed to the concealment of error and duplicity by an ingenuous mind, even when that concealment is qualified by the powerful motives of preserving the peace and interest of all around us, what, I ask, must be the horrors of the mind, which covers, with a veil of darkness, the fraud intended to ruin the innocent, to betray the unsuspecting, and to defraud the ignorant? What must be the state and condition of those whose life is alie?I cannot form a more appalling idea of a state of future punishment, than in the contemplation of the hypocrite’s terrors even in this life. What must be the life of a person, whom deceit and treachery have made responsible for his safety to a confederate, as depraved and dishonest as himself; living under the dread of the chance of every moment for open detection; harassed with the conviction that a more immediate interest, or more specious promises, will convert the sharer of his crimes into an informer and accuser, whom he dares not confront? What can equal the pang which must at times pierce his bosom when he recollects, that he enjoys the confidence and favour of his fellow creatures, only because they do not know him for a monster to be shunned! But I must check this train of thought.
Lady Maclairn thanks you for your soothing letter. Her mind is relieved by the participation of its burden. She cannow, to use her own words, live without devouring her griefs, lest they should be seen. Sir Murdoch smiles and tells her, she is his rival with Rachel Cowley. We shall yet be more comfortable I trust.
I enclose for your amusement andMary’s perusal, a letter we received on Monday from Mr. Serge. Well may this poor man apply to himself the words of the son of Sirach!
“The father waketh for the daughter when no man knoweth, and the care for her taketh away sleep when she is young, lest she pass away the flower of her age; and being married, lest she should be hated.” I only regret that Mr. Serge did not study the same author, or at least one as wise, for the means to prevent the watchfulness and parental anxiety, so admirably described in the above mentioned words: for had he understood better how to chuse a wife, he might have slept in peace. A woman without understandingcan hardly be called a virtuous woman, and we well know the price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies.
Miss Flint goes on deplorably; her sufferings have subdued the baronet, who sees with augmenting admiration the unremitting attentions of his “excellent Harriet.” Even Malcolm relents, and this morning most cordially wished his mother to urge her to send for advice to London, thinking her case a chirurgical one.
I am growing somewhat displeased with the winds and waves; but I rememberCanute, and submit to a power which I cannot control. Mrs. Allen sends her love; she is constantly engaged with her invalid. Miss Flint is not easy without her.
I remain, faithfully your’s,Rachel Cowley.
I remain, faithfully your’s,Rachel Cowley.
I remain, faithfully your’s,Rachel Cowley.
I remain, faithfully your’s,
Rachel Cowley.
LETTER LVII.Jeremiah Serge to Sir Murdoch Maclairn.
My Dear Friend,Putney, Oct. 27.
My Dear Friend,Putney, Oct. 27.
My Dear Friend,Putney, Oct. 27.
My Dear Friend,Putney, Oct. 27.
I am certain, if you knew the consolation I have in your counsels and advice, you would rejoice; for it is the command of a master we both wish to serve and obey, that the “strong help the weak.” God knows I am weak, and my talents few; you are a chosen servant, to whom many are intrusted; but yet, Sir Murdoch, we are of the “same household,” and the children of the same father; and, blessed be God! you do not, like some men, scorn the relationship, because one is appointed to a lower station than another, by that wisdom which will accept thelowest, who performs what is required of him. I amagain brought to the trial of my strength by a new sorrow, from which, my good friend, neither my money, nor my wisdom, can altogether shelter me. Yet both shall be tried, as the means of relief; for both have their use, when in the discharge of that duty, which I am bound to perform as a Christian parent. My daughter, Caroline, encourages me to open my heart to you; she says, she will be answerable for the event, for that Sir Murdoch Maclairn is amanas well as abaronet, and that he will feel as a father the troubles of a father; and she is sure, that you will approve of my conduct; I think also that you will; for I have been governed by her; and surely Heaven, in its mercy, has preserved her life for my good; and has arrested the hand of death, until she was more than ripe for the blessed state prepared for her. Such a child! and yet so wise! so good! I cannot proceed——
I have taken up my pen again. It isonly five o’clock, and not a soul stirring in the house but myself. So I will try and disburthen my mind a little!—I do not now remember whether I told you, that some few weeks since, Mrs. Tomkins, after passing a day or two with my dear child, during her mother’s absence from home, took Lydia to town with her, her dear sister thinking, as she told me, that the poor girl was losing her spirits. I, knowing that she thought of every one’s comforts, consented to my good friend’s wish of showing Lydia some kindness. The very evening they left us, Caroline turned her discourse on Nora, praising the letters she had written to us, and, with her perfect charity, hoping all things. “I do not repent, my good child,” said I, “of the kindness I have shown her: I am not the poorer nor the worse man, if I have purchased with seven thousand pounds, the gratitude of one, on whom she depends for the comfort of her life.Would to God, that I could purchase health for you!” She smiled, and said, “Then indeed would you be in danger of a bankruptcy; for I believe my father would give his last shilling for his children’s benefit. But let this pass. My health is notat presentwhat troubles me. Promise me, my dear father, that, should Lydia stand in need of your support, you will remember, “That, where much is given, much mayjustlybe required;” but that wherenothinghas beensown, we cannot reasonably except an harvest to rise.” “Make your mind easy in regard to her,” replied I, “thinking she had in her thoughts the little favour Lydia stands in with her mother, I pity and love her.” “I understand what you mean; and I promise you, I will be her father and her mother too, when occasion serves. She shall not be brow-beaten and neglected as she has been of late.” “Alas! my dear father,” answered Caroline, “you must promisemore, or I cannot die in peace. You must promise to forgive another offending child: you must promise”—She threw her arms around me, Sir Murdoch, and weeping, added, “to shelter her from reproach and shame.” I turned faint and giddy; and my daughter gave me her salts. Oh! if you could but have heard what she said, you would not wonder at what I have done. In a word, my child was satisfied; and she lives to tell me again, that she was going to a Heavenly Father, fromonewho imitated him in lenity to his offending offspring. There was, in her look, something which poured joy and comfort into my broken heart. I only wish I could go to heaven with her.
“Well, I saw my weak unhappy girl; and Mrs. Tomkins advised me to let her manage; for she was certain the terror of seeing her mother would be fatal to her and the unborn infant. I could not reproach her, Sir Murdoch, indeed, anafflictedman is not anangryman: and after all, had not I been deficient in my duty? Has not my indolent temper, and love of peace, been more considered than the good of my family? I have been too passive, Sir Murdoch, too indulgent.
“I found the young spark who had taken Lydia’s fancy was William, who was with us at Fairfield Hall, and whom we all liked, as a very sober well behaved young man. His sister, my wife’s favourite maid, introduced him to us some time before we went to Bath. She said he was like many foolish young men, tired of being remote from temptation; and that he had gained, with much difficulty, her father’s consent to seek a place in London, as a valet, or a butler, being well qualified for both; she was quite unhappy that he should be left to his own guidance till he was fixed in a sober family; seeing he was a very likely young man, and quite a stranger. So my wife, who never is behindhand in good nature, said he might come to Putney, and we were well pleased with him, and engaged him to attend us to Bath. Poor Lydia has been honest with Mrs. Tomkins. The young fellow was not so much in fault as herself: she confessed that she sought him. However, this was not the question with me; we might perhaps have hushed up this business; such things are done, as they say, every day: but what follows? a crime, in my opinion, ten times worse than Lydia’s; being, as it were, committed in cool blood; for what can be more dishonest than passing off a deluded girl for a chaste one? and depriving a poor innocent babe of a father, and a name. I could not do such an act of injustice; being convinced that it would be doing what I should not think just in another to do by me.
I consulted our friend counsellor Steadman, however, on this vexatious business; for notwithstanding I have little to beproud of as one may say, yet it went some how to my heart, that a child of mine should be pointed at by scorn and derision. He is a worthy and a wise man, and agrees with Mr. Tomkins, that the best thing I can do, is to let these young simpletons be married; the girl being half distracted with the fear of losing sight of William; and he being willing to take her, as he told the friend we employed, Mrs. Tomkins’s mother, that he would work for her to his life’s end, and show his good master that it was not his money he wished for. I find his parents are honest people, though low in the world; they had a farm within six miles of York, but by losses amongst their cattle things went backward, and being in arrears for rent when their lease expired, they lost the farm. William was then about eighteen, had received good learning, and was a sober, steady lad; but a little pride made him discontented; and he did not like to work as agardener, in a piece of ground, which his father cultivated in that way, near York, and which, as he says, in excuse for his leaving his parents, could only produce a maintenance for them, and that he was only a burden on the ground. So all was fixed for the marriage, and we thought no time was to be lost.
I am not quite pleased with my wife, Sir Murdoch, although I know she is as harmless as an infant; yet it grieves me to see that she will always bean infant. She was absent a whole month from Putney; and whilst Caroline was thus employed, and thus disturbed, she was taking her pleasure with people she knew nothing of, and whom all honest and sober minded persons would shun. During eight days she waited forsooth, for the captain, who could not think it properfor Mrs. Sergeto travel without an escort, as he calls a puppy. I remembered the time, when much younger, she could travel byland and by water without such a conundrum in her head. However they arrived here, and the captain, to my great satisfaction, refused to lodge with us, pleading business in town; and intending to be absent only three days from his Nora and his friends.
I shall say nothing of my poor wife’s hysterics, when I told her how matters stood with Lydia. She was terribly bad indeed! But, thank God, these fits are not dangerous, as the doctors say; and experience seems to justify them in their opinion; for, I know one of my wife’s old friends, who has been subject to them twenty years. No sooner had my poor Lydia got the better of hers on this trying occasion, than she lamented her hard case, saying, with many tears and much anger, that she should never be able to shew her face again amongst fashionable people; and that no one but myself would ever have thought of sinking their family bysuch adunghillconnexion. I lost my temper, Sir Murdoch, for it frets a man to be always doing for the best, and who is said never to do right. And I very roundly told her, that all the plagues of my life were owing to fashionable people, as she called gamblers and pickpockets; and if, added I, that were all the mischief, I should be tempted to thank William Willet for his good services. You have now, continued I, been a month under a roof which the honest would shun; whilst underyour own, Mrs. Serge, the prop and stay of my life, is sinking to the grave. You might have learned a lesson of more value than what your fashionable people at Reveland Park have been teaching you. She looked confounded, and wept in silence. No man loves peace more than I do; my heart relented; and I only added, that she knew this was my temper; that, whatever Ithought, or ratherfeltto be right, that I woulddo; and that the followingmorning Lydia would be Mrs. Willet. I kept my word, Sir Murdoch, and last Thursday by means of a licence, I saw the young couple united. I do not know how it was, but they quite softened me by their tears and thanks. Mrs. Tomkins was so good as to accompany them to her mother’s; they set out as soon as the ceremony was over, and I returned to Putney to dinner, contented and relieved in my mind. On entering the parlour I found myfashionableson-in-law there; he was reading the newspaper, and I asked him, by way of saying something, “what news?” “None,” replied he, “of importance; but I understand, Sir, we may expect a curious article to-morrow.” He smiled, and, as I thought, insolently; adding, “Miss Lydia Serge, second daughter to Jeremiah Serge, Esq. married to William Willet, late butler and gardener at Putney in her father’s house, will make a curious paragraph!” “Very likely,” answeredI gravely; “and the article may farther say, that the marriage ceremony was performed inSt. Martin’s Church, by the minister of the parish, and in the presence of the bride’s father. I shall contentedly leave to the public their opinions; some may be found who will perceive nothing wonderful in a marriage betweenSerge the taylor’s daughter, and Willetthe farmer’s son.” “You are to judge for yourself, Sir,” replied he, “but I conceive few will think Miss Lydia’s character redeemed by this twofold disgrace to herself and family. Upon my honour I pity Mrs. Serge; and I dread the effects of this intelligence on Mrs. Fairly.” “Look ye, captain!” answered I, “neither your mode, nor William Willet’s, of getting a footing in my family has been such as will make either of you my counsellors or guides. I shall act as I please, do as I please; but as I am ajust man, be it your case so to conduct yourself, as to make itpleasant to me to beyour friend. My children,except one, who is too good for this miserable world, have both chosen for themselves. The same lenity has been employed for the one, whom weakness has betrayed to folly, as to the other, whom vanity and presumption rendered ungrateful and disobedient.” “I hope, Sir,” returned he with a fierce air, “you do not pretend to compare—” “We will do what is better,” answered I, ringing the bell, “we will drop the enquiry, and have our dinner.” My gentleman was surprised, I believe; by my manner he took the hint, however, and followed me to the dining parlour. Our meal was not a cheerful one, and I went to my dear girl the moment the cloth was withdrawn.
I see, Sir Murdoch, how things are turning. My wife is cajoled and flattered by this fellow to such a degree as would surprise you; she fancies he has done her a great favour by running away with herdaughter! Poor soul! it will be well if he does not run away with her simple understanding! However, all these troubles call upon me for diligence in the settling my worldly concerns, as well as those, for another and abetterstate. I have already spoke to counsellor Steadman on this subject. My property is very considerable, and much caution is necessary in the disposal of it, so as to render it alastingbenefit to my family. Now, my good Sir Murdoch, I think nothing would give me more comfort in my last hour, I believe it is not far distant, than to know that I had left you, and my dear friend Mr. Malcolm with Mr. Steadman, guardians and trustees for the support of the ignorant and helpless, and awall of defencefor the innocents who may spring from my daughter’s imprudent marriages. I am led to hope that you will not refuse me this kindness. You shall hear from the counsellor when all is prepared. He has been my right handlately; I am directed by him in all that relates to William’s settlement; but Lydia shall have the same allowance as Nora; and we are on the look-out for something for her husband.
God preserve you all in health,prays your faithful friend,Jeremiah Serge.
God preserve you all in health,prays your faithful friend,Jeremiah Serge.
God preserve you all in health,prays your faithful friend,Jeremiah Serge.
God preserve you all in health,
prays your faithful friend,
Jeremiah Serge.
P. S. My wife begs to be remembered, she is out of spirits, and fancies the air of Putney unwholesome. My Caroline is a miracle! It is astonishing to think how nature is supported! I am far from being well; you will not wonder at this.