CONCLUDING CHAPTER.

Having faithfully performed my pleasing task, and exerted my best abilities to recommend myself to my readers, I do honestly confess, that I am gratified by finding that something remains, in which my services may be useful to their curiosity. Except two letters, from Miss Cowley to her correspondents at Heathcot, nothing appears of sufficient consequence to this work, they being confined solely to Miss Hardcastle’s and Miss Howard’s journey to Farefield; which they reached in the month of February.

It remains with me, consequently to supply a few pages to this, otherwiseabrupt conclusion of a work, already reprehensible in the critic’s eye.

My readers may be able to recollect the name of Montrose, the early friend of Mr. Philip Flint, who, with his sister, the wife of Mr. Lindsey, shared in his confidence, with the truth and ardour of youthful zeal and friendship, during his progress to Miss Sinclair’s heart.

To this gentleman am I at present indebted for a situation in life which I would not exchange for the most brilliant which this world has to give. For I am sheltered from “the proud man’s contumely,” and “the pang which the worthy of the unworthy takes.” I was in my friend’s hospitable house at the shocking termination of Mr. Flamall’s life. This event produced many changes in favour of those, to whom he had been more obnoxious than useful. My brother Lindsey, was immediately placed in Mr. Flamall’s office, as this regarded Miss Cowley’sproperty on the island; and Mr. Flint, with Counsellor Steadman’s advice and concurrence, relieved her, by an appeal to Chancery, from the restrictive clauses in her father’s will, they being her appointed guardians until she was of age.

In the mean time, I was judged capable of educating the young Cowley’s. Their gentle and interesting mother had formed an intimacy with my sister Lindsey, during the time they resided under the same roof, at Mr. Dalrymple’s; and to judge of the future by the present, these friends will never have but one and the same roof.

In the hours of confidence, which succeeded to their first acquaintance, Marian informed Mrs. Lindsey, of her motives for withdrawing from Mr. Flamall’s authority and power, by quitting an abode she loved. He had importuned her with his passion even before Mr. Cowley’s death; and she held him in abhorrence and terror. She made no doubt of the illegalityof Mr. Cowley’s will, he having repeatedly told her that she would find a protector and a guardian for her sons in Mr. Oliver Flint; and from the moment she was informed of Mr. Flamall’s authority, she determined never to lose sight of her children. Mr. Philip Flint befriended her, because Juba had told him that I was afraid of his uncle. Her entire concurrence in committing her children to my care; her confidence in my integrity, led her cheerfully to part with them, and we reached England in safety; where my trust was sanctioned by their expecting sister and maternal friend.

From that hour I have experienced the comforts of a home, endeared to me by all that can give zest to rational pleasure with an undepraved heart. Montrose was understood as a man to be trusted; although, to say the truth, my friends appear to be governed by motives, not unlikeBassanio, when he decides on the casket.—

“Thou meagre lead,Which rather threat’nest than dost promise aught;Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,And here I chuse.”

“Thou meagre lead,

Which rather threat’nest than dost promise aught;

Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,

And here I chuse.”

In giving up to my discretion her correspondence with Miss Hardcastle, during her residence at Farefield, Mrs. Hardcastle added those occurrences which had taken place after the day which terminated “her captivity.” “You will easily believe,” said she smiling, “that Counsellor Steadman was as ready to resign the heiress, as I was to be rid of the plagues of heirship; but Alice was a wife before I left the hall; and, my dear Lady Maclairn was obliged to confess, that life has its blessings; and, that the human heart can never want an inlet to joy, until it has banished affection for others. She was right in saying this; and she knows, and feels it to be truth. Mary has neitherchanged hercoloursnor hermindwith her fortune, and her uncle prefers Henry Heartley to a rich baronet. We shall see thesetruelovers united,” added she, “when at Farefield; and then Sir Murdoch and his lady, will quit the hall for Wenland Place; where, I confidently hope, they will find a home of uninterrupted repose.

“The Duke of S——,” continued Mrs. Hardcastle, “finding that my Horace had enough of the good things of this world; and, well knowing, he had a recompense in store for himself in Heaven, contrived to be useful to Mr. Sedley, and by hisinterest, procured for him a valuable crown living; and with hismoneysecured to him the parish, of which his uncle is the pastor, and he still the curate.” “Such, Mr. Montrose,” added she, with seriousness, “is the present state and condition of those persons, in whose happiness you are so interested, and in whose sorrows, youhave taken so lively a concern. If, as you say, the whole tissue of events before you have confirmed you in your belief of a retributive justice, it is well: as it is displayed in this scene of action, it may be useful to others; although I am of opinion, that not a day passes, that does not add to our conviction, that the sinner is taken in his own snare, and the virtuous kept from falling by a power beyond our finite reason. But as your intention and labour will have little aid from fiction, let your fidelity, as an historian, compensate for the absence of the marvellous. Do not omit to say, that Philip Flint and Malcolm Maclairn are brothers, whose hearts are not divided by the ocean which separates them. They live in hopes of being re-united; but Mr. Flint has inherited from his grandfather so strong a predilection in favour of the island of Jamaica, that it would not surprise me, if he remained there until he could man a shipwith his own boys, and freight it with Sinclairs and Lindseys. I am not quite so solicitous on this subject, as Malcolm,” added she, “we are happynowat Wenland place: besides, let us be content. I do not wish my deputy, your sister, to be deserted. She is kind and gentle to my numerous dependents; andLindseyis thesweetenerto the sugar he sends us. Heaven be praised,” continued she, “Cowley’s slaves are yet cherished as men, though unfortunate men!But I hate the subject.”

To these instructions I have paid due obedience; but I have passed some weeks at Farefield Hall since writing the above.

And I think it will be no matter of surprise, much less of censure, that I should indulge myself with a supernumerary page or two, for the sole purpose of paying my tribute of respect to a character so much distinguished by Miss Cowley, in her lettersto her friend. Mr. Serge was not forgotten by her, when she became Mrs. Hardcastle. “You will see my favourite when you go to Farefield,” said she, “and you will judge of my hasty sketches of the most simple-hearted man who lives. Supported by the rectitude of his own mind, and a piety which rests solely on the goodness of God, he has sustained very severe trials, with a patience and resignation that ought to put philosophy to the blush. The loss of his favourite daughter, the prop of his comforts, was followed by the death of Mrs. Fairly, who, in consequence of a severe cold taken at a place of public amusement, to which she was reluctantly hurried, after an indisposition of a dangerous kind, fell into a rapid decline, and was consigned to the grave before she was one and twenty. Her, giddy, thoughtless mother was at this melancholy period on a tour of pleasure with Mrs. Dangle, recently become a widow; and CaptainFairly, with another military beau were their escorts.

Poor Mr. Serge, assisted by his friends the Tomkins’s, supported this scene, and without designing to write to his unfeeling son, or to his foolish misled wife, sheltered his sorrows at his daughter Mrs. Willet’s, leaving to the public papers to announce to the travellers the event, which they might have foreseen before they left home. “But the claims of the disconsolate widow, Mrs. Dangle, could not be overlooked.” Mr. Maclairn and his wife joined the dejected Mr. Serge at his daughter Willet’s; and by diverting his thoughts to the final establishment of this child, they had the satisfaction of seeing him improve in health and spirits. He had not, however, lost his resentment in regard to his wife’s desertion; but with firmness declared, that he meant to give up his house at Putney, and to live remote from London. With these resolutions he returnedto town; and it appears that he was steady. The lady returned also from her excursion, somewhat humbled by the reception he gave her; and probably, shocked by the death of her child, she made concessions which failed in their effect; for she would not submit to give up her dear Mrs. Dangle, nor refuse Captain Fairly’s visits—pointsobstinatelyenforced by her husband. He again returned to Mrs. Willet’s, and found consolation. His grandson amused him; and “honest William,” as he calls Mr. Willet, hourly rose in his estimation. Some months passed: he resolutely refused to return home, without an assurance that he should find his wife willing to give up her son, Fairly, and Mrs. Dangle’s society. But this poor, weak, and misguided woman, had too promptly acquired the lessons they had taught her; and she was hastening on to destruction, when an accident deprived her of life. A Major Ogle, who had his hopes and projects,flattered by the age and vexations “of the rich old taylor,” drove one morning Mrs. Serge an airing in his tandem from Dangle Park, leaving his friend the noble Captain Fairly to amuse Mrs. Dangle. Though a proficient in gallantry and gaming, the major could not manage two high fed and spirited horses. Some linen drying on a hedge by a cottage, frightened the leader; he became ungovernable, the carriage was overset, and Mrs. Serge received a blow on the temple from the horse’s foot, which killed her on the spot; her admirer was quit with a broken arm. Mr. Serge received the intelligence of this shocking accident with silent sorrow: he took to his bed, and Malcolm was soon his nurse. “I have outlived my feelings!” said the poor man to him; “I dare not tell you what are my thoughts at this hour; but I sometimes think, it would be sinful to sorrow, for the loss of a woman, who, had she lived, would have lived only to havedisgraced herself. She is taken from the evil company of those who have perverted her simplicity, and made her the laugh of their dissolute hours. But the day will come, when they will remember having corrupted innocence, and misled ignorance: her cause, and mine will be heard at a tribunal, they will tremble to approach.” He now determined on his plans for his future life, and with his usual munificence left his house and furniture at Putney for Mrs. Tomkins’s use; and he has from that time resided at Mr. Wilson’s, in Captain Flint’s deserted apartments; where, in the comforts of a family attached to him, and in the society of Mrs. Heartley, who still lives at the Abbey, he is cheerful and contented. “When you know him,” continued Mrs. Hardcastle, “it will not surprise you to find him, treated by his friends with an affectionate fondness, resembling that which is given to a cherished child; but although hemay be called the pest of every house he frequents, such is the genuine goodness of his nature, that indulgence cannot make him forward or capricious. He does not even claim the respect due to his age and station; and whilst the poor around him regard him as their tutelary divinity, they love him as a neighbour, and he converses with them like one. His loquacity will amuse you, for he may be said to think aloud; and his gratitude to those who, in his own words, “are kind to him,” is displayed by the minutest attention to their ease. Though he greatly prefers an open carriage to a coach, he keeps one because hisladieswant it in bad weather; and Mrs. Wilson is not permitted to take cold when she goes to church, for he insists on using it as afamily convenience.”

My recommendations were too powerful to be overlooked by Mr. Serge. We we were intimate friends in an hour; and it has been a source both of satisfaction and curiosity to me, to profit from the franknessand openness of a mind so uncommon. I have seen that the encroachments of age and natural infirmities may find a barrier, without the aid of philosophy, and that in a cheerful piety a man may find a safe refuge from the cold apathy and querulous temper of near fourscore years, without other aid than his Bible, and a good heart.

Our conversations are long, though desultory. He frequently, however, talks of his past sorrows and troubles. Speaking of his daughter,Mrs. Fairly, he observed, “that from the time she married, she resembled a poor unfledged bird, who had been ensnared within sight of the nest, and the wing which had cherished her.” “Poor thing,” added he, “she told me once thather husbandhad taught her to love me.” I spoke of his satisfaction in regard to Mr. Willet, with whom Mr. Maclairn was so pleased. “Yes,” replied he, “thank God, Lydia is the wife of an honest man. I do not wish him to be sucha gentleman as Fairly. Plain cloth suits me, Mr. Montrose: I have worn no other, since I was born; except the trimmings are, like Malcolm’s, of pure gold, they are not ornamental in my opinion: tinsel may decorate a fool, and set off a knave, whilst it lasts; but it will be for a very little time. Mark what I tell you; Fairly will die in in a gaol; and his wife, late Mrs. Dangle, will want bread, and pity into the bargain. But I forgive them; it is my duty; and like all my Master’s burthens, easy; for what should I gain by being unforgiving?

The other day he with much jocularity asked me whether the witnessing so much of conjugal felicity had not put matrimony into my head? I replied, that, on the contrary, it would probably stamp me a batchelor for life. “How so,” asked he, “Why,” answered I, “I see that in this lottery of life, there are some capital prizes; but I am too poor to hazard any part of my fund of present happiness, lest I spendmy money for a blank, and I am become too ambitious to be contented with a petty prize.” He laughed, warning me, that I might change my mind. “For such things do happen,” continued he; “at your age I was in no hurry to marry, yet when turned of forty, I married, without consulting my register, or my reason. My good aunt who lived with me, perceived, I suppose, that I was thinking of changing my condition, and she was much pleased; recommending perpetually to my notice, a very worthy young woman of her acquaintance; but I know not how it fell out, after seeing two or three times my poor, artless, good humoured Lydia, I was not easy in my mind; and thought my aunt’s favourite, Miss Welldon, looked of a fretful temper, and was of too ceremonious a turn for me, though she was comely, and only six and thirty, which certainly was a more suitable age for mine, and I might have been comfortable with her. I soon found that Lydia was tooyoung a wife for me,” continued he, thoughtfully, “but I loved her, and I well knew what kindness would do with her. She was contented, and all was peace with us, till she was perverted by bad company. Whenever, you marry, Mr. Montrose, take care to know what company the lady keeps; much depends on that; and avoid a disproportion in years: there is hazard in trusting too much, in some cases.”

He is very curious in his questions relative to my two pupils, who are his favourites. “It is all in good time yet,” observed he, “but we must be careful not to neglect our blessings. My grandson, Jerry, is a fine boy, and little William very active and promising. Their mother is an excellentnurse, and Mrs. Maclairn was quite surprised at seeing her a notable housewife. She has been favoured, Mr. Montrose. There is a curate and his wife near them, that are invaluable to these young people; and I will take carethat their goodness shall not be lost. But poor Lydia must not be trusted with my boys too long. Happily she promises to be a “fruitful vine.” So the nursing will be transferred. I mean to give my children agood education, Mr. Montrose. It shall not be my fault, if they lack knowledge. I cannot reproach myself with having wilfully neglected my duty; but with a more enlarged knowledge I might have performed it better, and shunned many errors in conduct. I have, of late, been of opinion, that I had, in common with other men better instructed, a capacity that might have been improved by learning; and I will tell you the reason for this seeming presumption,” added he, suddenly stopping and facing me; “it is this: that, although I cannot talk, nor argue like you, and our friends within, yet I very often comprehend the drift of your discourse, and am entertained by your debates.” Before I could make any answer to this observation, Mr. Hardcastlecalled him, and reminded him of the dampness of the evening, adding, that he was waited for at the loo-table. He nodded in sign of obedience, and said to me, “you may think I am vain, but I must tell you, that I perceive what has broughtpaminto favour here; I see all the kindness of their good hearts! It is well for me that I know that my debts of gratitude will be discharged in full by One who is able to pay them.” He entered the house, and with bustling cheerfulness claimed his privilege of sitting next Mrs. Hardcastle.

Should these touches of my pencil be judged injurious to a portrait already so faithfully delineated by a more skillful hand, I have only to request the censurer to place the mistake, and others as glaring, to my account, and to separate them from the labours of a copyist, whose sole merit is confined to a diligent and honest purpose; and whose simplicity of heart has, in the presence of the unlearned Mr.Serge, a hundred times pronounced, that learning would not have added one line to his stature.

“An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

It is now more than three years since my manuscript has been in my writing desk. Already has time shadowed off a portion of those vivid colours, with which my picture of Farefield Hall then glared. The death of Lady Maclairn this spring, has saddened every heart; whilst, from her dying lessons and calm resignation, have resulted a consolation which all have found useful. Sir Murdoch yielded to Mrs. Hardcastle’s entreaties, to join her in London soon after this melancholy event. Again has she been to him the “angel of peace,” and, with renewed health and spirits, he accompanied the family to Heathcot in June.

It is at Heathcot, according to Sir Murdoch’s opinion, that Mrs. Hardcastle must be seen, in order to be justly viewed. I think as he does; for it is here, and hereonly, that the vivacity and brilliancy of her mind, appear to yield to the satisfactions of her heart. She is always amiable; butat Heathcotshe is more placid, more affectionate, and, to use her own words, “never from home.”

I conceived, that this was the season for renewing my petition relative to her and Mr. Hardcastle’s letters. I could not succeed. She saw that I was disappointed. “Be comforted,” said she smiling; “I will, if you please, formally announce to the public, what will satisfy half your readers, as well as the best written love letters extant. I can assert, that Horace Hardcastle is still obstinate in error; and that he yet worships the idol formed by his own hand; an acquaintance with its defects, serves only to augment his attachment, for he pretends to find, even in these, grounds for his faith and motives for his love.”

“But do you not see?” observed I, “how much my moral must lose in itsmoral design, by the omission of such letters as yours and Mr. Hardcastle’s? A passion built on so noble a basis!”——She interrupted me. “Enough has appeared,” said she, “to justify my preference and affection for my husband. My principle of conduct is at the service of my sex. The young cannot adopt a better. The moment they know, that every approach to vice and libertinism is contagious, they will shun them, however decorated; and when they know, that by marrying a fool, their own gold will be mingled with an alloy which must sink its value and obscure its brightness, they will be safe, and preserve a heart worthy of a good husband.”

“I cannot help having my fears,” said I, rising, somewhat discomfited, and taking up my manuscript. “It is so unlike the popular novels of the day.”——“What should you fear?” replied she, with eagerness. “Why, misses, in their teenswrite novels and publish them. They make, nothing of it.” I laughed, and gravely wished, that I had their youth and attractions to plead for my folly and failures. “Nonsense,” cried she, laughing in her turn, I was speaking of theircourage, not of their performances. Imitate them, at least in your good opinion, of your own talents; and should you, like them, find you have over-rated your abilities, settle the business, like our friend Sancho Panza; and say, “que Sancho écuyer cru bien aussi vîte en Paradis, que Sancho gouverneur.” My father, and themother of this family, as you justly stile Mrs. Allen, wish you to print your work. They think yoursecretworth knowing, and we admire the skill and discretion, with which you have contrived to divulge it, with usefulness to all, and without wounding any. I bowed, and have obeyed.

FINIS.

NEW NOVELS, &c.Just Published,ByW. EARLE,

NEW NOVELS, &c.

Just Published,

ByW. EARLE,

At his Circulating Library,No 47, Albemarle Street, Piccadilly, and may be had of all other Booksellers in the Kingdom.

S. Rousseau, Printer,Wood Street, Spa Fields.

S. Rousseau, Printer,

Wood Street, Spa Fields.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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