LETTERXLII.From the same to the same.Ourgood doctor will have a more rich and costly offering from the grateful Mr. Serge, than any that ostentation or superstition ever gave to Esculapius, or to any saint in the Roman calendar, if he can manage to keep his patient as many years as he has done hours from the cruel invader, pain. Yet I am angry with Douglass’s honesty; he tells me that this poor girl cannot live long; and that even the medicine we fancy so efficacious, will soon lose its benign effect. “She knows her condition,” added he with sympathy, “and has only the wish of seeing her father more reconciled to the thoughts of losing her; but we must let him enjoy the present, and trust for the future to that Being who will support him.”The day before yesterday, Miss Leonora and myself went to Bishop’s Auckland for an airing. The dapper Mr. William Willet, Mr. Serge’s servant, attended us: and I, very successfully, conducted the whisky to Mrs. Crofts’ door. The good old lady received us with great kindness; and after making a few purchases, her daughter attended us to the circulating library, the principal object with Miss Nora. We found this shop was in the same street with Susan Crofts’, and its rival for smartness. My companion, who had languished forbooksat the Hall, instantly proceeded to make an ample selection. Scores were producedthat had been read—ascore at leastput aside for her use; and I thought our business finished here, when Miss Leonora accidentally took up a new novel which “she had beendyingto see for a month;” but the third volume was in circulation: it was hourly expected, however, and the shopman would send it with the fourth and last. This civility would not do. The young lady could not wait: she would purchase the work rather than not have it: she should be quite miserable not to take it home with her, her curiosity having been excited by seeing it within her reach. “Has any of your neighbours this book, Mr. Type?” asked Miss Crofts; “perhaps, by sending, you might get the volume for the young lady.” “He would endeavour: a gentleman at the Mitre had hired it the preceding day, and perhaps he had done with it.” He alertly stepped to the door to cross to the inn, when, as quickly returning to make way for the envied possessor of the third volume, he began to urge his request, and the young lady’s wishes for the complete set of the work. A graceful compliance followed from a very handsome man of about thirty; and who, addressing me, very gallantly declared that “he wasinexpressibly flatteredin contributing in the smallest degree toMiss Cowley’s wishes and pleasure.”Miss Cowley, who saw no necessity for incurring an obligation where the obliger had so manifest an advantage over her, in regard to his knowledge of her name, only coldly bowed, and said that not having any peculiar interest to gratify by his politeness, she would refer him to her young friend for those thanks due for his indulgence of her curiosity. “Iam indeed, sir,” said Miss Serge, “extremely obliged to you; but I shall not long detain the work, for I read very quick.To-morrow eveningthey will be returned, or the next morning atfurthest.” He bowed, and we left the shop, ordering the books to Susan Crofts’. In our way I asked Susan the name of this civil gentleman who had been so ready to contribute to “Miss Cowley’s” happiness. “He was a stranger, lately come to Bishop’s Aukland. He lodged at the Mitre Inn, she believed, for she had seen him there several times within a day or two, and she thought him a very handsome man.” “I think he has a very good person,” replied I. “He thinks so himself, I am certain,” observed Miss Nora, “by the elaborate pains he takes to display it.” I made no answer, for I perceived that gratitude had not banished the young lady’s displeasure, in having been overlooked for the gentleman’s “Miss Cowley.” Mrs. Crofts in our absence had sent for my frost-bitten friends from their school, and had set out her cake and wine, whilst Willet was stowing the cargo of books in the vehicle, and waiting with it at the door. My greetings with the children detained me some little time: I did not perceive even that my companion had quitted the parlour till I rose to depart; but concluded, when I did miss her, that she was in the shop. I was mistaken, she was not there; but approaching the door, expecting to find her by the carriage, I saw her coming from Mr. Type’s with hasty steps. On expressing my surprise at her absence, she told me that she had fortunately discovered, in taking out her purse to pay Miss Crofts, that she had left her pocketbook on the bookseller’s counter, “and judging it the securest method, I went for it myself,” added she; “luckily I found it, exactly as I supposed, concealed by the books I had rejected. Only think! That coxcomb was still in the shop. How fortunate that he did not see it!” I smiled, for I saw through this little coquetry. “It would not have been pleasant to me, I do assure you,” pursued she, “to have seen it in his hands; for one does not write one’s thoughts for every eye. Neither do I believe it would have pleased Mr. Malcolm to have seen this beau at the Hall on the pretence of givingyouyour strayed goods.”—“I do not see the drift of your inference,” replied I; “for what concern could Mr. Maclairn have had in a business so exclusively yours? However, I am glad you have recovered your book, and spared the gentleman the trouble of a visit to the Hall.”—“We might, notwithstanding, have made such a visit a diversion for ourselves,” answered she with gaiety; “for, to speak the truth, I think your lover would not be the worse for a little jealousy. He is too secure; and wants the hopes and anxieties ofla belle passionto rouse him: You really are as dull as though brother and sister. I cannot conceive how you contrive to keep up your cheerfulness at Tarefield: what with yourprudent lover, and the sober routine at the Hall, I think you as much to be pitied as I am.” “Much the same,” answered I, laughing; “for my calamities are as imaginary as your own. I love the country, and the retirement at the Hall; and I am attached to its inmates. I am so completely Malcolm Maclairn’ssisterthat I am his chief confident, and he reads his love letters to me. He will soon, I trust, be married to a very amiable, deserving young lady, to whom he has been attached several years: she resides with her mother in this neighboured; but she is at present from home.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Nora with a pretty theatrical air, “you make me envy this Phillis! With such a swain as Mr. Maclairn, and with a mind suitable to her situation in life, and the society in which she will probably pass all her days, how happy is her condition when compared with mine!” “Miss Heartley,” replied I, “has been educated by a mother who has prepared her to act properly in every society and situation in life. Mrs. Heartley has lived in the world, and is a superior woman.” “My lot, then,” said she, “is misery to this young lady’s!” She spoke with emotion. “Do not answer me,” continued she, “till you have reflected on my reasons for discontent. With an education which has taught me to blush at ignorance, and to be offended by vulgarity; accustomed to enjoy with girls of fashion, rank, and fortune, the advantages and the hopes which have resulted from my situation with them; I am now doomed to live in a society, in which I am hourly exposed to give offence and to be offended. Be ingenuous, my dear Miss Cowley! Tell me, do you think that seven years and more passed in one of the first schools in town, can have rendered me a fit inmate for my father’s house, or a suitable companion for my mother’s acquaintance? I read in your countenance that my appeal has reached your heart. Can you be surprised that I am disgusted and repining in parties composed of shopkeepers and their wives, masters of ships, and genteel people who, in my mother’s dialect, live “right up,” viz. on their little fortune, and who, fancying they aregentry, because they have no longer the drudgery of opening a shop and standing behind its counter, affect airs truly ridiculous, and even sickening to me. It was entirely owing to Caroline’s influence with my father that we came hither, instead of being dragged down to Y—m—th with a party of my mother’s “hold” friends, Mr. Crimp the coal merchant and his family; and it was not without some difficulty that we prevailed on my mother to give up thetowerof Norfolk which these herholdfriends had proposed. But I would have died sooner than have submitted! I have met with mortifications at Bath, which will prevent my having the folly of ever being seen again in a place of public resort without proper introduction! This was a fear I never experienced at school, when looking forwards to my freedom from its confinement.Miss Serge, the contracter’s daughter, was there on a level with the first girls in the house; nor was there one pupil in it whose masters were more liberally paid, for my mother chose I should make them presents every vacation; and she was equally attentive to secure me favour with the governess and teachers. Amongst the girls to whom I was particularly attached were the two Miss Gudgeons. Their father Sir Ambrose was dead; and their mother, Lady Gudgeon, lived too gay a life to think much of their comforts or wants. Almira Gudgeon confided to me her discontents and difficulties; and in return she shared my purse. It grieved me to leave her at school during the holidays; and on my mentioning to my father and mother those neglected girls, they invited them to Putney the following vacation. Lady Gudgeon made no objection; and from that time my friends always accompanied me home. Last midsummer they were removed from school, and sent down to their mother’s house in Berkshire. From this place I received poor Almira’s melancholy letters: though then turned of seventeen, she lived immured at the Dale with no other company than that of her sister, an old nurse, and the gardener’s family. The winter approached, and I had the pleasure of hearing that my beloved Almira and her sister would bebrought outat Bath, as soon as the Birth Day was over. Lady Gudgeon having been with them for a week, and finding Clara in danger of growing too fat, had engaged to introduce her with her sister, on condition that she left off suppers and took more exercise. You may judge of the joy I felt on gaining my mother’s promise of taking me to Bath; and the still greater satisfaction I had on finding that Lydia was included in the family party, instead of being left with me at Mrs. S——’s, as preparatory to reconciling her to the confinement and instruction she was thought to want. I had foreseen the ridicule I must have braved; and with a heart exulting at this escape, and palpitating with expected pleasure, and the hope of meeting my friends, we reached Bath, and settled ourselves on the South Parade.“In a few days after our arrival Lady Gudgeon’s name appeared on the list of new comers, and my joy was complete. Her ladyship’s condescension enchanted my mother; and kind hearted as she is, the Miss Gudgeons constantly received from her hands tickets for the play, and their mother found a carriage at her command. During the space of three weeks, or a month, we constantly made one party. I saw my mother nightly paying for her lessons at Lady Gudgeon’svingt-et-unetable; but of what importance was a little money to my father? Yet he appeared every day to like the Gudgeons less and less; and at length forbad my mother’s playing cards at the Rooms with her ladyship, or going to her parties at home. On some occasions it is in vain to reason with my father. My mother submitted, and I was told that my young friends were silly, giddy girls, who did me no good. I perfectly understood that my father had judged with precision on Clara Gudgeon’s character; for I knew she was deceitful and selfish, and she had shown herself to me in her true colours from the first ball in which I had been noticed for my dancing. I also was no stranger to her malice from the time her favourite Captain Fairly became attentive and polite to me. Caroline’s increasing illness at this juncture prevented our amusements, and gave an ostensible reason for my mother’s declining Lady Gudgeon’s invitations. At length Caroline was better; and my mother joined a family party, who lodged at the next house, and with whom my father was become very sociable. As I had been engaged to dance with Captain Fairly at this ball, I was not willing to be disappointed; and knowing that I should meet the Miss Gudgeons, I meant to join them, when at the Rooms. My mother had already placed herself at a card-table with her new acquaintance when Lady Gudgeon entered the room. Following the example of the young lady, my companion, I kept close by my mother’s side, waiting for Captain Fairly’s summons. ‘How is this, my dear Mrs. Serge?’ cried Lady Gudgeon, advancing towards her with a smile; ‘you here! and a deserter! But you will find your place, when your rubber is up.’—‘I thank your ladyship,’ replied my unembarrassed mother, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I do not like your game so well asvhist, for I do not so well understand it.’ A stifled titter from the surrounding groupe followed this speech. ‘As you please,Mrs. Serge,’ answered her ladyship, moving on without deigning to notice me, or the smile of contempt from those she passed. She took her post, opened the cards, and sent for her daughters. They had, I presume, their instructions; for in passing me they did not see me, and in repassing me I was saluted with a broad stare and a giggle, which I had seen too often practised not to comprehend. I was prepared for the neglect I met with in the dance. The Miss Gudgeons neither spoke nor deigned to turn hands with me, and whilst their heads were adorned with feathers and turbands of my giving, their looks of scorn cut me to the soul. Captain Fairly saw my distress, and their rudeness; and said something to Clara on her carelessness in the dance. With an insolent laugh she asked him whether his credit was out with his old taylor, that he so diligently courted a new one. This was too much for me to bear, and I gave up dancing for the remainder of the evening. But my mortifications were not yet finished. After having heard my mother announce that arts were trumps, seen her mark heronours, and win the rubber, although she had the curse of Scotland every time in herand, the party broke up, and the lady proposed going into the ball room to give her daughter a caution to dance no more. On entering it I was astonished to see my good father quietly standing, with his two thumbs hooked under each arm, and enjoying the sight of the dancers. He expressed his surprise at finding me idle, and said he had come on purpose to see me dance, having left Carolinepurely. Fairly urged me to go down the dance then commencing, and encouraged by him, I was determined to show my spirit. In our way we encountered Miss Clara Gudgeon. ‘By your leave, fair lady,’ cried my father, bustling through the groupe. ‘Bless me!’ said Miss Clara, ‘is it you Mr. Serge? Are you come to see fashions?’—‘Even so,’ replied he, ‘but if you are of my mind you will think those at Putney as good as any here, and, for ought I can see, you footed it away in my parlour with ten couple as merrily as you do here. But where is Almira? I hope she has her Putney holiday face; for yours seems as clouded as when your six weeks’ gambols finished with us.’ ‘I really cannot direct you, sir,’ answered she, retreating; ‘but if you cannot seeher, she will undoubtedly soon perceive you.’ A loud laugh, and a disdainful toss of her head accompanied this speech; but my father, not conceiving that her intention could be uncivil, went on searching for Almira, till I told him that they had been offended by my mother’s not joining her ladyship’s party. He only nodded, and said it was all very well. From this time the Gudgeons were strangers to us; and because Captain Fairly chose to be civil theycut him. He laughed at their impertinence; but I had no pleasure at Bath after this, as you may imagine.”In my animadversions on Miss Leonora’s little narrative you will not suspect me of sparing the Gudgeon family; and I added, that neither the simplicity of her father, nor her mother’s provincial dialect would stand in her way with the discriminating and the virtuous. “It is easy to think, and to say this,” replied she with vivacity, “when we are remote from the regrets and dissatisfactions of living with those who can neither guide nor improve us: who do not even know when they wound, nor can comprehend why they offend. If I sing I am asked whether it be a psalm or song, and they wish for Alley Croaker, God save the King, or Black-eyed Susan. If I play, it must be Handel’s Water Piece or the Variations of Nancy Dawson. Oh! you know not the misery,” added she, bursting into tears, “of being doomed to live with those who are perpetually disgusting our taste, opposing our feelings, and contradicting by their habits and modes of life those which more refinement have rendered necessary and essential to our comfort! Indeed, Miss Cowley, I speak from bitter experience; and I sometimes wish that, like Lydia, I had been kept at home, and been happy in ignorance.” I was struck by her acuteness, and moved by her distress; and with much seriousness I exhorted her to correct a sensibility which tended more to cherish a fastidious refinement of feeling, than a love for what was commendable. “Believe me, my dear young friend,” added I, “that although not educated as a girl at a fashionable boarding school, nor in Lady Gudgeon’s societies, your father’s character has been perfectly understood by me, you will find in him your pride and boast, by weighing his trifling defects with his integrity and uprightness of heart.” “I know his worth,” replied she, weeping, “he must be loved; but what will you say for my mother?”—“What I really think,” replied I, “and must ever think, till I find out, that a little knowledge is judged to be an equivalent for a base mind. I would rather, a thousand times over, be Mrs. Serge’s child than Lady Gudgeon’s; and I would convince the world by my respect to such a parent that I was qualified to appreciate what was really estimable in it; and by my resentment check the idle laugh of those, more incorrigible in their ignorance than the object they contemned: for it must be allowed, at least, that Mrs. Serge is notconceited. Your education has been liberal,” continued I; “you have endowments which your mother has not; and for a plain reason, she had not the means of acquiring them. Show your parents that their kindness has not been thrown away; and above all things manifest to others that you are superior to the ingratitude and meanness of despising your benefactors, because they happen to be less fashionable than yourself in the cut of their garment or in their address.”We now entered the avenue, and Leonora composed her pretty face, saying, with a deep sigh, that she wanted a true friend! I silently agreed with her. I leave to Mary the profound reflections which this little airing has brought forward in my mind; it not being my business to reason, but to detail. Heathcot and its inhabitants must not engage me a moment longer; for I am Lady Maclairn’s “right hand.”Yours ever,Rachel Cowley.P. S. Mrs. Allen sends you her blessing. She is Miss Flint’sright hand, and comforter to boot: but when, and where is it that she fails in goodness?LETTERXLIII.From the same to the same.Saturday evening.A delugeof rain has fallen here since last night; of course we have all been stationary to-day. My spirits rose, however, before dinner on seeing our doctor enter in his oiled surtout, like a river god, dispensing his streams every step he made towards us. I escaped a shower-bath by my flight; and leaving Miss Nora to her heroes and heroines, I took my netting-box, determining to pass an hour with Miss Serge. She was pleased, and moreover she was cheerful. In less than ten minutes we were interrupted by Miss Lydia, who, with blubbered cheeks, and much anger, threw a muslin robe on the bed; and showing us a quantity of fine narrow lace, which she held in her hand, said, with renewed tears, “Is it not a ‘burning shame’ that I am to be always the drudge to Nora? Why ca’nt she do her own jobs? She can move her fingers fast enough when shelikeat her music; a thimble would do them no more harm than her harp strings. I will tell my father how I amput uponby her: that I will!” “My dear Lydia,” said the gentle Caroline, “I will help you. Willet has a great deal to do, or she should take it: but it is a trifle, and I am certain you would not vex your father for a trifle.” “You always talk inthat thereway,” replied Lydia, wiping her eyes, and visibly softened; “but I promise you,youshall not have any thing to do with this gown. We had enough of your helping to prepare Nora’s two dresses a day, at Bath. Such learning say I! She ought to be ashamed of herself! To see a sick sister work for her, and one older than herself made her waiting-woman.” She proceeded to the performance of her allotted task without further delay; and I perceived that she had dexterity at her needle. “I will read you a pretty story from the Mirror,” said I, taking up the book, “that will amuse you, Miss Lydia.” “I am much obliged to you,” replied she; “but if you will read from this book I shall like it better.” Thus saying, she drew from her pocket a dirty, mutilated book, intitled “Joe Miller’s Jests.” Caroline’s black eyes wanted not spirit, when with resentment and vexation she asked where she had picked up such trash. “Trash!” repeated Lydia, “I do not know what you mean by trash! It will not make you cry, as that bookhavedone. I am sure, when we read this, we laughed till our sides ached.” “We!” echoed Caroline, “who do you mean?” “Why Willet, and Mrs. Patty, and——,” she hesitated,—“and Mr. William.” “Why will you thus grieve me, Lydia? Why will you thus force me to grieve your dear father,” said Caroline, “do you not know that he is displeased when you seek your society in the servants’ hall? Did William give you that book?” “Lord! no,” answered Miss Lydia with terror. “I found it in Jacob’s coat pocket, he only readhereandtherea bit.” “And did you not blush, Lydia, when you produced a book purloined from a postillion’s pocket, which a better informed servant saw was not proper for him to read to females, even of his own class?” “How should I know that?” replied she. “You know, I suppose, that you have been forbidden to talk with your father’s postillions, to frequent the kitchen, or to take the lead in the servants’-hall. Willet also knows my father’s commands; but enough of this: I shall inform him they are disobeyed.” Miss Lydia burst into tears, and, imploring her sister to say nothing of this matter, she faithfully promised to restore the book to its owner by means of the cook maid, and never to go near the servants’-hall again. This contest had too much fretted poor Caroline. I saw that she was again in pain, and pretending to more industry than I had, I helped Lydia to finish the trimming business; leaving the invalid to recover her tranquillity. The poor girl amazed at my condescension, asked whether I did all my ownjobs; for she concluded that Miss Cowley had been at a London boarding school, because she played on the harp.Tell me in your next that you have had enough of my talents in the gossiping way. I have only to fear that Horace will suspect my understanding is in its retrograde motion, for I have not written to him this last fortnight a letter which would not disgrace a Miss in her Teens. “Evil communications corrupt good manners.” This is not my apology: but folly is catching, and you have betrayed me into such an observance of it, that I yesterday, without reflection, began a speech with “allmanderof persons.” So look to the consequences of my readiness to assume any form or language, my Lucy prescribes for herFaithful,Rachel Cowley.In continuation.—I am inclined to believe that Miss Leonora is emulous of rivaling her grandmamma, Mrs. Hatchway, in her hairbreadth escapes by sea and land. Whilst I thought her shut up in her room, anddevouringMonimia, the heroine of a good novel intitled the Manor-House, she was in the avenue enjoying a shower-bath. In returning, completely drenched, her mother perceived her from the window, and as I conceived, unseasonably stopped her in her way to dry her clothes, by an angry lecture on her folly and heedlessness. “I am not surprised,” added she, in a sharp tone, “that I cannot keep a laundry-maid: six or eight white dresses in a week to wash would tire any one’s patience.”It is probable the lecture would have concluded with this notable observation, had not Mrs. Serge unluckily perceived at this instant the lamentable breach which the brambles had made in the costly deep lace which trimmed Miss Leonora’s pelisse. “I don’t believe,” exclaimed she, surveying the mischief, “there is on the face of the whole earth yourhequal, Nora! Your hextravagance is enough to discredit a politeheducation! Though your father is a rich man he has something better to do with his money than to buy you every month a twenty guinea lace. Here’s a sight! It would provoke a saint! One would think you had notcommon senseto walk in the pouring rain, and throughedgesand ditches with a new thirty-poundpelisse.” Miss Nora laughed, not without contempt. “Never mind,” said she, rudely, snatching the tattered and wet pelisse from her mother’s hand, “it is only another evidence that the Serges with all their wealth are too poor for the purchase of common sense, or good manners:” then, with a curtsey to Lady Maclairn, she retired to change her dress. Mrs. Serge, with an heightened colour following her steps. I believe thisbrouilleriebecame more serious in their apartment. The young lady did not appear at the dining table, and Mrs. Serge’s fair face still glowed. “Where is Nora?” asked the father, adjusting his napkin under his chin. “Does she dine with Caroline?” “No,” replied the wife, “she is busy drying the books Sam has brought her from the library, they are as wet as water can make them, and she has had enough of the rain for one day.” Her folly was related with some asperity, and the postillion’s drenched condition described. Mr. Serge wished that neither had taken cold; and with a placid air took his soup. When the heroine appeared, she was in perfect good humour; but I perceived that she had been weeping, and look fatigued; something of a deprecating tone and pensive air soon produced their effect on the relenting mother, and all was harmony in the evening. I chanced to ask her what new novels had been sent her from the library. “I have not examined the parcel,” replied she with some emotion, “for I have for once discovered that there are certain frames of mind in which a novel cannot be read with either amusement or interest: besides,” added she, “I have been teazed with a pain in my teeth, which will be attributed to my morning ramble, notwithstanding I have felt it more than a week:” then turning to Malcolm, with more coquetry than I had ever observed in her manner, she with a sweet smile asked him to prescribe for her; and directed his attention to a tooth as the one which she suspected was diseased. I could not preserve my gravity on seeing thesang froidwith which Malcolm examined the most beautiful mouth nature could form, and the delight which Mr. Serge manifested at his Nora’s choice of a doctor; who with the solemnity of an old nurse acquitted the spotless tooth, and ordered some whey on going to bed.“It is ten to one,” observed Mrs. Serge with good humour, “whether even your remedy,doctor, will remove her cold in one night: it will not surprise me that she is laid up for a week.” “Why will you anticipate disappointment for her?” asked Mr. Serge, “it will be sufficient when it arrives, and if she cannot see Durham to-morrow, she must take the punishment of her heedlessness; but I warrant the tooth will be well with a good night’s sleep.”—“I had settled with Caroline, before my offence of the morning had made the excursion to Durham a doubt,” answered Leonora, “to remain with her, thinking my sister Lydia would be amused by the jaunt; and to be honest, I confess I have no hope of being quit of a cold that I am sensible is the effect of my indiscretion.” “Yes,” observed Miss Lydia, “it was settled I should go last Monday, but you know, Nora, you promised to contrive that I should ride in the phaeton, and I would rather stay at home than go in the coach. I am always so deadly sick in a coach, that I hate them.” “Nonsense!” cried the mother, “that is a new fagary. You never complained in a close carriage till the phaeton was bought.” “Well, my love,” observed the placid Mr. Serge, “but as pleasure is the purposed end of our little journey, why should not Lydia have a share of it unmixed, and as our dear girls have agreed in this business, we will manage so as to please Lydia. You will not refuse your assistance, my dear Malcolm,” added he, smiling: “you shall have the daughter instead of the father to conduct.” Malcolm accepted of the exchange with good humour; and all were contented.I have had so much business of late on my hands that I believe I have not mentioned the increasing good understanding which subsists between Malcolm and Mr. Parry, our new curate. He is become a frequent and welcome visitor here, and an acquisition we all enjoy. Malcolm has, I suspect, given him a hint that his present duty requires assistance; and most assuredly he finds in Parry an excellent coadjutor. The baronet enjoys his conversation, and Mr. Serge is no burden to him. I foresee we shall not need Parry for to-morrow’s excursion. The rain is now pouring down in torrents, and it is midnight. May Heaven guard your pillow, my Lucy, with its accustomed goodness! Mary shall have my journal of the Durham expedition in due time.Yours, &c.Rachel Cowley.LETTERXLIV.From the same to the same.Theinterruption in my usual punctuality, my dear friend, and which has alarmed your too tender fears, induces me to write to you without delay, for the express purpose of assuring you that I am perfectly well; and that in my failure during a few posts nothing has occurred to disturb me beyond the concern I have been under for the happiness of those around me. It is not too much to take for granted that you have long since perceived in Miss Leonora Serge’s character and opinions certain indications that will prepare you for the recital of her premeditated, and by this timesuccessfuljourney to Gretna-Green. But as in your code of laws, and modes of instruction Mary will stand no chance of being an adept in the science of intrigue, duplicity, and cunning, it may not be useless to place before her an example so calculated to impress on her mind the delightful gratifications, enjoyed by the girl of spirit, who prefers running away from the restraints of parental care, giving up all the decencies of her sex and condition, and proclaiming to the world that she is void of feeling and principle, in order to attain the man whom she loves for having betrayed her to scorn and ruin.As I predicted in my last letter, the weather prevented our going to Durham. Miss Nora’s tooth-ach became a sore throat, and a slight fever. She was of course an invalid, and poor Sam, the postillion, had more than one drenching commission. Wednesday we had a sun unclouded; and on Thursday we set out for Durham with a doubtful sky, and an oppressive heat in the air. Miss Lydia, stuffed into her mother’s pea green riding dress, took her allotted station in the phaeton with Malcolm, with an alacrity and contentment of heart that paid her good father for the sacrifice of his pleasure. Douglas in the curricle with Sir Murdoch, left us nothing to wish for him. Lady Maclairn, your Rachel, and Mr. and Mrs. Serge, had Mr. Parry for their beau; and I saw with pleasure her ladyship cheerfully sustaining her part in this arduous trial of her strength, in an undertaking so averse to her habits of life. The sun favoured the out-riders till we reached Durham. The delicate Lady Maclairn preferring the office ofCaterer, to a sultry walk, was fortunately left at the inn to quiet and repose, whilst we sallied forth to see the public places; but I believe that in reaching them we saw all that was worthy of notice in the town; and a burst of thunder, and a black cloud, warned us to return with all speed to the shelter of our inn. Happily for us, a deluge of rain spared our timid friends from the terrors of the thunder storm; and ourselves from the pain of seeing them in hysterics, as well as we from any further exhibition at Durham. A card-table and chess-board, with a sumptuous dinner filled up ourpleasurabletime. But no felicity is permanent! Even a party of pleasure is liable to vexations. Lydia’s enjoyment of the dessert was interrupted by an altercation between her father and herself. He insisted on her returning home in the coach, urging the dampness of the evening. Miss Lydia contended that the rain had made the evening fair, and much pleasanter than the morning. Mr. Serge was firm, and the pouting girl was forced to yield to his authority. It would have been as well had the young lady been indulged; for it was proveddemonstratively, that a close carriage did not agree with Miss Lydia Serge: and although we did not concur with her in calling Mr. Serge ‘ill-natured and obstinate,’ we could not but allow, that less pertinacity on his part would have beendiscreet, and Mrs. Serge’s lecture ongluttonyas well spared for another time and season.On the carriage’s driving up to the hall-door I was shocked on seeing Mrs. Allen advancing with precipitation to meet us: she was weeping; and in evident distress stopped to speak with Malcolm and Mr. Serge; who in a moment endeavoured to quit the phaeton exclaiming aloud, “She is dead! my child is dead!” and Malcolm, giving the rains to a servant, sprang from the carriage and entered the house. Whilst Mrs. Allen in vain repeated to the poor father, “No, no, my good sir: hear me.” You will judge that this consternation was not long to be endured. Malcolm’s absence was but momentary. “They are alarmed within,” said he aloud; and he added with assumed composure, “Miss Leonora is missing; she is probably sheltered in the neighbourhood. I am going atMiss Serge’s request to seek her, there having been some blundering as to the road which Miss Leonora indicated on leaving the house for a walk.” On saying this, Malcolm leaped into the curricle and disappeared. “I see how it is,” observed Mr. Serge, panting for breath, “all is clear! but God is merciful! Let me go to my Caroline, let me see my comfort, my darling, and then I shall be patient.” Doctor Douglas prevented him, by arguing the danger of agitating her spirits still more than they had been, and we conducted the trembling father into the dining-parlour; Mrs. Allen attending Douglas to Caroline’s room. Mrs. Serge had, with the astonishment which the scene had produced, lost, apparently, the use of her tongue and powers of reflection. On reaching the parlour she burst into tears; and with more of resentment than despair, observed, that she was only sorry Mr. Maclairn had so much trouble; for she doubted not but Leonora would be at the Hall as soon as himself. “This is her penitence!” continued she; “because I was angry with her for walking in the rain she has stopped at some house, and is, perhaps, laughing at our fears.” “Before you are too sanguine in your hopes, Mrs. Serge,” said her husband, with much coldness of manner, “it may not be amiss to know when she left this house; and what grounds those whom she has quitted have for their suspicions.” Mrs. Warner was summoned. Her evidence consisted in the following particulars. Miss Nora soon after we had left the Hall changed her dress; for Warner met her in the garden at one o’clock equipped for a journey, and with some surprise observed that if she meant to take an airing she would be disappointed, as Mr. Willet was gone with his sister, for the day, to see the castle, and had taken the only horse and carriage remaining, which was the little market cart. The young lady said that she had only thought of a walk in the avenue; but she believed it would be wiser to stay at home, for there would certainly be a thunder shower. “She sauntered with me into the vestibule,” continued Warner, “when seeing your shawl, madam,” addressing Mrs. Serge, “which you omitted to take with you for Miss Lydia’s use, she wrapped it round her, and said she would venture a little way, for she was half dead for want of exercise; and away she tripped, promising not to lose sight of the cottage on the green, which is not a quarter of a mile from hence, hinting that she had promised the old woman who lives there a trifle for her grandchild. I thought no more of the young lady,” continued Warner, “till the storm came on, when Mrs. Allen came to see whether she was with Miss Flint or in her own room; saying that Miss Serge wished for her sister’s company, as she was a coward when it thundered. We were sadly perplexed, madam. Having no man-servant, but the gardener and his lad, at hand, and the thunder was dreadful here: so Mrs. Allen, trusting to Miss Nora’s promise to me, waited a while, saying she was certain it was better that she should remain sheltered in the cottage than to venture home in such a tempest. The rain soon abated, and we sent the gardener with an umbrella to Dame Bank’s. She had not seen the lady. You may judge of our fright! The gardner and his son were sent different ways to no purpose. About two hours since they returned in consequence of news they had picked up at the Ram. A traveller who had entered the house during the storm had seen a lady hastening to a chaise and four that stood on the road to Durham. She was assisted by a gentleman, and rather flew than walked to the carriage. She had something white on her head and shoulders, and the gentleman was in scarlet. Whilst they were talking with Hunt and this stranger, Tom Hunt entered. He had passed the chaise on leaving Durham, and had seen the lady in white, but not her face: she seemed to be sleeping on the gentleman’s shoulder. My lady,” added Warner, “is sadly ruffled and distressed by this disaster; and if Mrs. Allen had not been with Miss Serge, God knows what would have been the event of a day so dreadful as this has been! My lady and Mrs. Allen only fear they have done wrong, in not sending an express to Durham, as soon as the men returned; but as so much time had been lost, and they hoped you would not be late on the road, they gave up the thought; and, indeed, it was impossible to have gained any advantage from pursuing it.” “You say truly, my good woman,” observed Mr. Serge, with suppressed agony, “The child who forsakes a parent’s protection cannot be benefited by being pursued. But repentance will overtake her. No, she is gone, gone for ever!” added he rising and pacing the room!—Lady Maclairn retired with Warner. Again the poor old man quitted his seat, and deliberately taking off his wig, wiped his head and eyes. “Where is the heart, Miss Cowley,” said he, “that would not bleed to see such a girl as my Nora thus lost, thus betrayed to folly and wretchedness? Poor creature!” added he, “how hard is thy fate! A mere babe, as one may say, thus to be ensnared and deluded! Thus to be the victim of designs, which a highway robber would scorn, as beneath him. But to the villain who has robbed me of my child, will I place the pangs I feel; God learnt from that child the knowledge of my sufferings!” He was silent for some time, nor did his lady attempt to comfort him: she appeared stupified by the blow, and I trembled for her safety. On seeing me apply my salts to relieve her, he again rose and said to her, “I pity you; but remember how many times I have forewarned you, my dear Lydia, when at Bath! I told you again and again that you encouraged that Fairly’s visits too much.” “Captain Fairly!” repeated the wife, putting aside the salts, with more surprise than sorrow, “what, in the name of wonder, has led you to think the Captain has any concern in this good-for-nothing girl’s elopement? I only wish you may find she has done no worse! I no more believe she is gone off with him than with the pope. I know more of Captain Fairly than you do; but it is always your way, Jerry, to blame me. Do you think me such a fool as not to have seen it, if he had made love to the girl?” “We will not fall out on that question,” replied Mr. Serge; “we have troubles sufficient for the hour. All I have to say isthis, whether it be Captain Fairly, or any other honourable gentleman of his class, who has robbed me of my child, he shall find his work as unprofitable as those who, as we say, perform their work with ‘a hot needle and burnt thread.’ Jeremiah Serge has not worked early and late to enrich arascal; nor will I countenance a child who has preferred the protection, of arascalto that of a tender, honest father.” He covered his face and wept aloud. Mrs. Serge was silenced, as well as myself. The dejected father was roused from this sorrow by the entrance of the doctor, who told him that Caroline was much easier, and was disposed to sleep. “Blessed be God!” said he, with an expression of gratitude: “One hope remains. But I will go to bed,” added he languidly, “for I am strangely disordered, and only a trouble to my friends.” Tears again streamed from his eyes; and no one opposed his retreat. We soon followed his example, and sought that repose which was not to be found at Tarefield-Hall: I traced her benign footsteps to Heathcot; and there it was that the spirits of your Rachel Cowley found rest. My dear Mary will expect the sequel of this wonderful business with more than usual curiosity: she shall not be disappointed by her affectionateRachel Cowley.LETTERXLV.From the same to the same.Tuesday.OnSunday morning we saw nothing of our disconsolate guests. Mr. Serge was closeted with Sir Murdoch; and Mrs. Serge was too much indisposed to rise before the dining hour. Before I give you the conversation the baronet has just been detailing to his wife and myself, I must tell you, that such is my veneration for Mr. Serge, that I cannot be at peace with my conscience till I have made “l’amende honorable,” for the flippancy of my pen in describing him to you on my first seeing him. A few more such lessons as I have had will correct my presumption in judging too soon; and when I am again tempted to laugh at a double chin, or the cut of a man’s face, I will remember Sir Murdoch’s and Mr. Serge’s. The baronet’s account of the interview between him and this good creature has so steeled my heart against Miss “Nora,” that I wish to leave her on her journey; and for once descend to a vulgarism, and say to you, that if it takes “nine taylors to make a man,” I can prove without difficulty, that it would take ninety and nine gentlemen to make such a taylor as Jeremiah Serge. Read, and be incredulous if you can! The conversation began by the baronet’s arguments of hope and consolation. “I hope that in time, and with God’s help, I shall be comforted,” answered Mr. Serge; “but it is not to be expected, that I who am quite an unlettered man, should be so able to meet misfortunes as those who know more. I have endeavoured to do my duty, as well as I was able to perform it; but I fear my ignorance has brought this calamity on my poor child.” “How can this be,” asked Sir Murdoch, “have you not lived to render your children happy?” “I thought I had,” replied he, mournfully, “and perhaps I accuse myself without just grounds; for I dare say, that be a parent ever so wise and learned, if his heart is wrung as mine is, he will think of some failure or other of his own, which may have led to the evil he deplores: however this may be, I cannot help knowing, that my love of peace, and my ignorance have brought me to sorrow. I never liked this Captain Fairly, who is without doubt the betrayer of my poor child; for we found last night a letter which Nora left for her mother, in my wife’s night cap. I hated to see this coxcomb perpetually dangling after my wife, and I told her so; but she cried, and asked me whether she had ever given me cause to be jealous. I could not say she had, for I believe there never was a more faithful wife; and moreover, I heard her constantly talking to this puppy about a sweetheart whom he expected at Bath. Some few days before we left that place I met with a friend, who knew something of Fairly’s father. He told me, that he had left this young man a pretty estate, and some money; but that he had dissipated his fortune, and was then a gambler and a fortune-hunter. I told Lydia this, but she only laughed, and said my friend had mistaken the matter; for fortune was hunting after Fairly, a rich widow being in love with him. However, by this time, I knowCaptain Fairly,” added he, with resentment, “but he does not yet know Jeremiah Serge. I will teach him, ignorant as I am, to know, that the goose is not so easy to pluck as the pigeon. No man is more easily deceived than I am, Sir Murdoch. How should it be otherwise? For to this hour, I have never been able to discover that dishonesty was profitable to a man, even in this world, to say nothing of a better; but when I am tricked by a knave, his business is done with me. I am not twice caught in the same gin. But, Lord help me! I talk as though it was keeping my money that could console me! Alas! what am I the better for riches! One child who has been the prop of myeverycomfort, is sinking into an untimely grave! a second, so trained as to be useless; and the third, who was my pride and pleasure, the property of a villain! I must tell you, Sir Murdoch, all the bitterness of my soul. It has for some time been in my mind, how to make that wealth which Providence has placed in my hands a blessing to my children. I never wished to aggrandize myself with alliances that were above my “cut.” Yet I thought my Leonora would not disgrace any man. I sometimes talked with my counsellor and best friend, aCounsellor Steadman, on this subject; and I begged of him to look out for me a son in law, who had honour wherewith to meet my honesty, and good sense enough to balance an easy fortune with an uncertain expectation from birth. He sometimes joked at my anxiety; and said my girl would do for a duchess. But knowing I did not wish for a duke, he mentioned a young man, who to me stands higher than the whole peerage. This was your Malcolm, your crown of glory, Sir Murdoch!” The baronet surprised, attempted to speak. “Hear me out,” continued he, “before you censure me for looking above me. I knew that you had married my wife’s relation, and that with your rank, you had the feelings of a man. Your son had every thing,but money; and my child hadwith that, a father whom no man can reproach. So I determined to visit Tarefield, and to take my chance. Hospitality and kindness have received me; and encouraged by them, I ventured to hint my wishes to Mr. Maclairn. But he did not, or as I now know, he could not listen to me. In our ride home from Durham I was explicit with him; and like what he is, he was also explicit with me; and told me, that his hand and his heart had long been plighted to a young lady in this neighbourhood. I will say nothing of this disappointment, nor the shock it gave my mind, on hearing that that very child had abandoned me for whom I would have travelled barefooted through the world to have provided her with such a protector as Malcolm Maclairn. I have now told youall, except what will comfort me. Give me yourhand, Sir Murdoch, for myheart. Let me have a share in your blessing: make me useful to your Malcolm’s happiness. This is what I ask. It shall not make me proud; but it will comfort me, and be a blessing to my last hour.” Miss Lydia entered the room, to say that her sister Caroline wished to see her father; and wringing Sir Murdoch’s hand he hastily followed Lydia to the sick room.I will now leave you to your comments, having to write to our ‘crown of glory.’Adieu, pour le present.Rachel Cowley.
LETTERXLII.
From the same to the same.
Ourgood doctor will have a more rich and costly offering from the grateful Mr. Serge, than any that ostentation or superstition ever gave to Esculapius, or to any saint in the Roman calendar, if he can manage to keep his patient as many years as he has done hours from the cruel invader, pain. Yet I am angry with Douglass’s honesty; he tells me that this poor girl cannot live long; and that even the medicine we fancy so efficacious, will soon lose its benign effect. “She knows her condition,” added he with sympathy, “and has only the wish of seeing her father more reconciled to the thoughts of losing her; but we must let him enjoy the present, and trust for the future to that Being who will support him.”
The day before yesterday, Miss Leonora and myself went to Bishop’s Auckland for an airing. The dapper Mr. William Willet, Mr. Serge’s servant, attended us: and I, very successfully, conducted the whisky to Mrs. Crofts’ door. The good old lady received us with great kindness; and after making a few purchases, her daughter attended us to the circulating library, the principal object with Miss Nora. We found this shop was in the same street with Susan Crofts’, and its rival for smartness. My companion, who had languished forbooksat the Hall, instantly proceeded to make an ample selection. Scores were producedthat had been read—ascore at leastput aside for her use; and I thought our business finished here, when Miss Leonora accidentally took up a new novel which “she had beendyingto see for a month;” but the third volume was in circulation: it was hourly expected, however, and the shopman would send it with the fourth and last. This civility would not do. The young lady could not wait: she would purchase the work rather than not have it: she should be quite miserable not to take it home with her, her curiosity having been excited by seeing it within her reach. “Has any of your neighbours this book, Mr. Type?” asked Miss Crofts; “perhaps, by sending, you might get the volume for the young lady.” “He would endeavour: a gentleman at the Mitre had hired it the preceding day, and perhaps he had done with it.” He alertly stepped to the door to cross to the inn, when, as quickly returning to make way for the envied possessor of the third volume, he began to urge his request, and the young lady’s wishes for the complete set of the work. A graceful compliance followed from a very handsome man of about thirty; and who, addressing me, very gallantly declared that “he wasinexpressibly flatteredin contributing in the smallest degree toMiss Cowley’s wishes and pleasure.”Miss Cowley, who saw no necessity for incurring an obligation where the obliger had so manifest an advantage over her, in regard to his knowledge of her name, only coldly bowed, and said that not having any peculiar interest to gratify by his politeness, she would refer him to her young friend for those thanks due for his indulgence of her curiosity. “Iam indeed, sir,” said Miss Serge, “extremely obliged to you; but I shall not long detain the work, for I read very quick.To-morrow eveningthey will be returned, or the next morning atfurthest.” He bowed, and we left the shop, ordering the books to Susan Crofts’. In our way I asked Susan the name of this civil gentleman who had been so ready to contribute to “Miss Cowley’s” happiness. “He was a stranger, lately come to Bishop’s Aukland. He lodged at the Mitre Inn, she believed, for she had seen him there several times within a day or two, and she thought him a very handsome man.” “I think he has a very good person,” replied I. “He thinks so himself, I am certain,” observed Miss Nora, “by the elaborate pains he takes to display it.” I made no answer, for I perceived that gratitude had not banished the young lady’s displeasure, in having been overlooked for the gentleman’s “Miss Cowley.” Mrs. Crofts in our absence had sent for my frost-bitten friends from their school, and had set out her cake and wine, whilst Willet was stowing the cargo of books in the vehicle, and waiting with it at the door. My greetings with the children detained me some little time: I did not perceive even that my companion had quitted the parlour till I rose to depart; but concluded, when I did miss her, that she was in the shop. I was mistaken, she was not there; but approaching the door, expecting to find her by the carriage, I saw her coming from Mr. Type’s with hasty steps. On expressing my surprise at her absence, she told me that she had fortunately discovered, in taking out her purse to pay Miss Crofts, that she had left her pocketbook on the bookseller’s counter, “and judging it the securest method, I went for it myself,” added she; “luckily I found it, exactly as I supposed, concealed by the books I had rejected. Only think! That coxcomb was still in the shop. How fortunate that he did not see it!” I smiled, for I saw through this little coquetry. “It would not have been pleasant to me, I do assure you,” pursued she, “to have seen it in his hands; for one does not write one’s thoughts for every eye. Neither do I believe it would have pleased Mr. Malcolm to have seen this beau at the Hall on the pretence of givingyouyour strayed goods.”—“I do not see the drift of your inference,” replied I; “for what concern could Mr. Maclairn have had in a business so exclusively yours? However, I am glad you have recovered your book, and spared the gentleman the trouble of a visit to the Hall.”—“We might, notwithstanding, have made such a visit a diversion for ourselves,” answered she with gaiety; “for, to speak the truth, I think your lover would not be the worse for a little jealousy. He is too secure; and wants the hopes and anxieties ofla belle passionto rouse him: You really are as dull as though brother and sister. I cannot conceive how you contrive to keep up your cheerfulness at Tarefield: what with yourprudent lover, and the sober routine at the Hall, I think you as much to be pitied as I am.” “Much the same,” answered I, laughing; “for my calamities are as imaginary as your own. I love the country, and the retirement at the Hall; and I am attached to its inmates. I am so completely Malcolm Maclairn’ssisterthat I am his chief confident, and he reads his love letters to me. He will soon, I trust, be married to a very amiable, deserving young lady, to whom he has been attached several years: she resides with her mother in this neighboured; but she is at present from home.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Nora with a pretty theatrical air, “you make me envy this Phillis! With such a swain as Mr. Maclairn, and with a mind suitable to her situation in life, and the society in which she will probably pass all her days, how happy is her condition when compared with mine!” “Miss Heartley,” replied I, “has been educated by a mother who has prepared her to act properly in every society and situation in life. Mrs. Heartley has lived in the world, and is a superior woman.” “My lot, then,” said she, “is misery to this young lady’s!” She spoke with emotion. “Do not answer me,” continued she, “till you have reflected on my reasons for discontent. With an education which has taught me to blush at ignorance, and to be offended by vulgarity; accustomed to enjoy with girls of fashion, rank, and fortune, the advantages and the hopes which have resulted from my situation with them; I am now doomed to live in a society, in which I am hourly exposed to give offence and to be offended. Be ingenuous, my dear Miss Cowley! Tell me, do you think that seven years and more passed in one of the first schools in town, can have rendered me a fit inmate for my father’s house, or a suitable companion for my mother’s acquaintance? I read in your countenance that my appeal has reached your heart. Can you be surprised that I am disgusted and repining in parties composed of shopkeepers and their wives, masters of ships, and genteel people who, in my mother’s dialect, live “right up,” viz. on their little fortune, and who, fancying they aregentry, because they have no longer the drudgery of opening a shop and standing behind its counter, affect airs truly ridiculous, and even sickening to me. It was entirely owing to Caroline’s influence with my father that we came hither, instead of being dragged down to Y—m—th with a party of my mother’s “hold” friends, Mr. Crimp the coal merchant and his family; and it was not without some difficulty that we prevailed on my mother to give up thetowerof Norfolk which these herholdfriends had proposed. But I would have died sooner than have submitted! I have met with mortifications at Bath, which will prevent my having the folly of ever being seen again in a place of public resort without proper introduction! This was a fear I never experienced at school, when looking forwards to my freedom from its confinement.Miss Serge, the contracter’s daughter, was there on a level with the first girls in the house; nor was there one pupil in it whose masters were more liberally paid, for my mother chose I should make them presents every vacation; and she was equally attentive to secure me favour with the governess and teachers. Amongst the girls to whom I was particularly attached were the two Miss Gudgeons. Their father Sir Ambrose was dead; and their mother, Lady Gudgeon, lived too gay a life to think much of their comforts or wants. Almira Gudgeon confided to me her discontents and difficulties; and in return she shared my purse. It grieved me to leave her at school during the holidays; and on my mentioning to my father and mother those neglected girls, they invited them to Putney the following vacation. Lady Gudgeon made no objection; and from that time my friends always accompanied me home. Last midsummer they were removed from school, and sent down to their mother’s house in Berkshire. From this place I received poor Almira’s melancholy letters: though then turned of seventeen, she lived immured at the Dale with no other company than that of her sister, an old nurse, and the gardener’s family. The winter approached, and I had the pleasure of hearing that my beloved Almira and her sister would bebrought outat Bath, as soon as the Birth Day was over. Lady Gudgeon having been with them for a week, and finding Clara in danger of growing too fat, had engaged to introduce her with her sister, on condition that she left off suppers and took more exercise. You may judge of the joy I felt on gaining my mother’s promise of taking me to Bath; and the still greater satisfaction I had on finding that Lydia was included in the family party, instead of being left with me at Mrs. S——’s, as preparatory to reconciling her to the confinement and instruction she was thought to want. I had foreseen the ridicule I must have braved; and with a heart exulting at this escape, and palpitating with expected pleasure, and the hope of meeting my friends, we reached Bath, and settled ourselves on the South Parade.
“In a few days after our arrival Lady Gudgeon’s name appeared on the list of new comers, and my joy was complete. Her ladyship’s condescension enchanted my mother; and kind hearted as she is, the Miss Gudgeons constantly received from her hands tickets for the play, and their mother found a carriage at her command. During the space of three weeks, or a month, we constantly made one party. I saw my mother nightly paying for her lessons at Lady Gudgeon’svingt-et-unetable; but of what importance was a little money to my father? Yet he appeared every day to like the Gudgeons less and less; and at length forbad my mother’s playing cards at the Rooms with her ladyship, or going to her parties at home. On some occasions it is in vain to reason with my father. My mother submitted, and I was told that my young friends were silly, giddy girls, who did me no good. I perfectly understood that my father had judged with precision on Clara Gudgeon’s character; for I knew she was deceitful and selfish, and she had shown herself to me in her true colours from the first ball in which I had been noticed for my dancing. I also was no stranger to her malice from the time her favourite Captain Fairly became attentive and polite to me. Caroline’s increasing illness at this juncture prevented our amusements, and gave an ostensible reason for my mother’s declining Lady Gudgeon’s invitations. At length Caroline was better; and my mother joined a family party, who lodged at the next house, and with whom my father was become very sociable. As I had been engaged to dance with Captain Fairly at this ball, I was not willing to be disappointed; and knowing that I should meet the Miss Gudgeons, I meant to join them, when at the Rooms. My mother had already placed herself at a card-table with her new acquaintance when Lady Gudgeon entered the room. Following the example of the young lady, my companion, I kept close by my mother’s side, waiting for Captain Fairly’s summons. ‘How is this, my dear Mrs. Serge?’ cried Lady Gudgeon, advancing towards her with a smile; ‘you here! and a deserter! But you will find your place, when your rubber is up.’—‘I thank your ladyship,’ replied my unembarrassed mother, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I do not like your game so well asvhist, for I do not so well understand it.’ A stifled titter from the surrounding groupe followed this speech. ‘As you please,Mrs. Serge,’ answered her ladyship, moving on without deigning to notice me, or the smile of contempt from those she passed. She took her post, opened the cards, and sent for her daughters. They had, I presume, their instructions; for in passing me they did not see me, and in repassing me I was saluted with a broad stare and a giggle, which I had seen too often practised not to comprehend. I was prepared for the neglect I met with in the dance. The Miss Gudgeons neither spoke nor deigned to turn hands with me, and whilst their heads were adorned with feathers and turbands of my giving, their looks of scorn cut me to the soul. Captain Fairly saw my distress, and their rudeness; and said something to Clara on her carelessness in the dance. With an insolent laugh she asked him whether his credit was out with his old taylor, that he so diligently courted a new one. This was too much for me to bear, and I gave up dancing for the remainder of the evening. But my mortifications were not yet finished. After having heard my mother announce that arts were trumps, seen her mark heronours, and win the rubber, although she had the curse of Scotland every time in herand, the party broke up, and the lady proposed going into the ball room to give her daughter a caution to dance no more. On entering it I was astonished to see my good father quietly standing, with his two thumbs hooked under each arm, and enjoying the sight of the dancers. He expressed his surprise at finding me idle, and said he had come on purpose to see me dance, having left Carolinepurely. Fairly urged me to go down the dance then commencing, and encouraged by him, I was determined to show my spirit. In our way we encountered Miss Clara Gudgeon. ‘By your leave, fair lady,’ cried my father, bustling through the groupe. ‘Bless me!’ said Miss Clara, ‘is it you Mr. Serge? Are you come to see fashions?’—‘Even so,’ replied he, ‘but if you are of my mind you will think those at Putney as good as any here, and, for ought I can see, you footed it away in my parlour with ten couple as merrily as you do here. But where is Almira? I hope she has her Putney holiday face; for yours seems as clouded as when your six weeks’ gambols finished with us.’ ‘I really cannot direct you, sir,’ answered she, retreating; ‘but if you cannot seeher, she will undoubtedly soon perceive you.’ A loud laugh, and a disdainful toss of her head accompanied this speech; but my father, not conceiving that her intention could be uncivil, went on searching for Almira, till I told him that they had been offended by my mother’s not joining her ladyship’s party. He only nodded, and said it was all very well. From this time the Gudgeons were strangers to us; and because Captain Fairly chose to be civil theycut him. He laughed at their impertinence; but I had no pleasure at Bath after this, as you may imagine.”
In my animadversions on Miss Leonora’s little narrative you will not suspect me of sparing the Gudgeon family; and I added, that neither the simplicity of her father, nor her mother’s provincial dialect would stand in her way with the discriminating and the virtuous. “It is easy to think, and to say this,” replied she with vivacity, “when we are remote from the regrets and dissatisfactions of living with those who can neither guide nor improve us: who do not even know when they wound, nor can comprehend why they offend. If I sing I am asked whether it be a psalm or song, and they wish for Alley Croaker, God save the King, or Black-eyed Susan. If I play, it must be Handel’s Water Piece or the Variations of Nancy Dawson. Oh! you know not the misery,” added she, bursting into tears, “of being doomed to live with those who are perpetually disgusting our taste, opposing our feelings, and contradicting by their habits and modes of life those which more refinement have rendered necessary and essential to our comfort! Indeed, Miss Cowley, I speak from bitter experience; and I sometimes wish that, like Lydia, I had been kept at home, and been happy in ignorance.” I was struck by her acuteness, and moved by her distress; and with much seriousness I exhorted her to correct a sensibility which tended more to cherish a fastidious refinement of feeling, than a love for what was commendable. “Believe me, my dear young friend,” added I, “that although not educated as a girl at a fashionable boarding school, nor in Lady Gudgeon’s societies, your father’s character has been perfectly understood by me, you will find in him your pride and boast, by weighing his trifling defects with his integrity and uprightness of heart.” “I know his worth,” replied she, weeping, “he must be loved; but what will you say for my mother?”—“What I really think,” replied I, “and must ever think, till I find out, that a little knowledge is judged to be an equivalent for a base mind. I would rather, a thousand times over, be Mrs. Serge’s child than Lady Gudgeon’s; and I would convince the world by my respect to such a parent that I was qualified to appreciate what was really estimable in it; and by my resentment check the idle laugh of those, more incorrigible in their ignorance than the object they contemned: for it must be allowed, at least, that Mrs. Serge is notconceited. Your education has been liberal,” continued I; “you have endowments which your mother has not; and for a plain reason, she had not the means of acquiring them. Show your parents that their kindness has not been thrown away; and above all things manifest to others that you are superior to the ingratitude and meanness of despising your benefactors, because they happen to be less fashionable than yourself in the cut of their garment or in their address.”
We now entered the avenue, and Leonora composed her pretty face, saying, with a deep sigh, that she wanted a true friend! I silently agreed with her. I leave to Mary the profound reflections which this little airing has brought forward in my mind; it not being my business to reason, but to detail. Heathcot and its inhabitants must not engage me a moment longer; for I am Lady Maclairn’s “right hand.”
Yours ever,
Rachel Cowley.
P. S. Mrs. Allen sends you her blessing. She is Miss Flint’sright hand, and comforter to boot: but when, and where is it that she fails in goodness?
LETTERXLIII.
From the same to the same.
Saturday evening.
A delugeof rain has fallen here since last night; of course we have all been stationary to-day. My spirits rose, however, before dinner on seeing our doctor enter in his oiled surtout, like a river god, dispensing his streams every step he made towards us. I escaped a shower-bath by my flight; and leaving Miss Nora to her heroes and heroines, I took my netting-box, determining to pass an hour with Miss Serge. She was pleased, and moreover she was cheerful. In less than ten minutes we were interrupted by Miss Lydia, who, with blubbered cheeks, and much anger, threw a muslin robe on the bed; and showing us a quantity of fine narrow lace, which she held in her hand, said, with renewed tears, “Is it not a ‘burning shame’ that I am to be always the drudge to Nora? Why ca’nt she do her own jobs? She can move her fingers fast enough when shelikeat her music; a thimble would do them no more harm than her harp strings. I will tell my father how I amput uponby her: that I will!” “My dear Lydia,” said the gentle Caroline, “I will help you. Willet has a great deal to do, or she should take it: but it is a trifle, and I am certain you would not vex your father for a trifle.” “You always talk inthat thereway,” replied Lydia, wiping her eyes, and visibly softened; “but I promise you,youshall not have any thing to do with this gown. We had enough of your helping to prepare Nora’s two dresses a day, at Bath. Such learning say I! She ought to be ashamed of herself! To see a sick sister work for her, and one older than herself made her waiting-woman.” She proceeded to the performance of her allotted task without further delay; and I perceived that she had dexterity at her needle. “I will read you a pretty story from the Mirror,” said I, taking up the book, “that will amuse you, Miss Lydia.” “I am much obliged to you,” replied she; “but if you will read from this book I shall like it better.” Thus saying, she drew from her pocket a dirty, mutilated book, intitled “Joe Miller’s Jests.” Caroline’s black eyes wanted not spirit, when with resentment and vexation she asked where she had picked up such trash. “Trash!” repeated Lydia, “I do not know what you mean by trash! It will not make you cry, as that bookhavedone. I am sure, when we read this, we laughed till our sides ached.” “We!” echoed Caroline, “who do you mean?” “Why Willet, and Mrs. Patty, and——,” she hesitated,—“and Mr. William.” “Why will you thus grieve me, Lydia? Why will you thus force me to grieve your dear father,” said Caroline, “do you not know that he is displeased when you seek your society in the servants’ hall? Did William give you that book?” “Lord! no,” answered Miss Lydia with terror. “I found it in Jacob’s coat pocket, he only readhereandtherea bit.” “And did you not blush, Lydia, when you produced a book purloined from a postillion’s pocket, which a better informed servant saw was not proper for him to read to females, even of his own class?” “How should I know that?” replied she. “You know, I suppose, that you have been forbidden to talk with your father’s postillions, to frequent the kitchen, or to take the lead in the servants’-hall. Willet also knows my father’s commands; but enough of this: I shall inform him they are disobeyed.” Miss Lydia burst into tears, and, imploring her sister to say nothing of this matter, she faithfully promised to restore the book to its owner by means of the cook maid, and never to go near the servants’-hall again. This contest had too much fretted poor Caroline. I saw that she was again in pain, and pretending to more industry than I had, I helped Lydia to finish the trimming business; leaving the invalid to recover her tranquillity. The poor girl amazed at my condescension, asked whether I did all my ownjobs; for she concluded that Miss Cowley had been at a London boarding school, because she played on the harp.
Tell me in your next that you have had enough of my talents in the gossiping way. I have only to fear that Horace will suspect my understanding is in its retrograde motion, for I have not written to him this last fortnight a letter which would not disgrace a Miss in her Teens. “Evil communications corrupt good manners.” This is not my apology: but folly is catching, and you have betrayed me into such an observance of it, that I yesterday, without reflection, began a speech with “allmanderof persons.” So look to the consequences of my readiness to assume any form or language, my Lucy prescribes for her
Faithful,
Rachel Cowley.
In continuation.—I am inclined to believe that Miss Leonora is emulous of rivaling her grandmamma, Mrs. Hatchway, in her hairbreadth escapes by sea and land. Whilst I thought her shut up in her room, anddevouringMonimia, the heroine of a good novel intitled the Manor-House, she was in the avenue enjoying a shower-bath. In returning, completely drenched, her mother perceived her from the window, and as I conceived, unseasonably stopped her in her way to dry her clothes, by an angry lecture on her folly and heedlessness. “I am not surprised,” added she, in a sharp tone, “that I cannot keep a laundry-maid: six or eight white dresses in a week to wash would tire any one’s patience.”
It is probable the lecture would have concluded with this notable observation, had not Mrs. Serge unluckily perceived at this instant the lamentable breach which the brambles had made in the costly deep lace which trimmed Miss Leonora’s pelisse. “I don’t believe,” exclaimed she, surveying the mischief, “there is on the face of the whole earth yourhequal, Nora! Your hextravagance is enough to discredit a politeheducation! Though your father is a rich man he has something better to do with his money than to buy you every month a twenty guinea lace. Here’s a sight! It would provoke a saint! One would think you had notcommon senseto walk in the pouring rain, and throughedgesand ditches with a new thirty-poundpelisse.” Miss Nora laughed, not without contempt. “Never mind,” said she, rudely, snatching the tattered and wet pelisse from her mother’s hand, “it is only another evidence that the Serges with all their wealth are too poor for the purchase of common sense, or good manners:” then, with a curtsey to Lady Maclairn, she retired to change her dress. Mrs. Serge, with an heightened colour following her steps. I believe thisbrouilleriebecame more serious in their apartment. The young lady did not appear at the dining table, and Mrs. Serge’s fair face still glowed. “Where is Nora?” asked the father, adjusting his napkin under his chin. “Does she dine with Caroline?” “No,” replied the wife, “she is busy drying the books Sam has brought her from the library, they are as wet as water can make them, and she has had enough of the rain for one day.” Her folly was related with some asperity, and the postillion’s drenched condition described. Mr. Serge wished that neither had taken cold; and with a placid air took his soup. When the heroine appeared, she was in perfect good humour; but I perceived that she had been weeping, and look fatigued; something of a deprecating tone and pensive air soon produced their effect on the relenting mother, and all was harmony in the evening. I chanced to ask her what new novels had been sent her from the library. “I have not examined the parcel,” replied she with some emotion, “for I have for once discovered that there are certain frames of mind in which a novel cannot be read with either amusement or interest: besides,” added she, “I have been teazed with a pain in my teeth, which will be attributed to my morning ramble, notwithstanding I have felt it more than a week:” then turning to Malcolm, with more coquetry than I had ever observed in her manner, she with a sweet smile asked him to prescribe for her; and directed his attention to a tooth as the one which she suspected was diseased. I could not preserve my gravity on seeing thesang froidwith which Malcolm examined the most beautiful mouth nature could form, and the delight which Mr. Serge manifested at his Nora’s choice of a doctor; who with the solemnity of an old nurse acquitted the spotless tooth, and ordered some whey on going to bed.
“It is ten to one,” observed Mrs. Serge with good humour, “whether even your remedy,doctor, will remove her cold in one night: it will not surprise me that she is laid up for a week.” “Why will you anticipate disappointment for her?” asked Mr. Serge, “it will be sufficient when it arrives, and if she cannot see Durham to-morrow, she must take the punishment of her heedlessness; but I warrant the tooth will be well with a good night’s sleep.”—“I had settled with Caroline, before my offence of the morning had made the excursion to Durham a doubt,” answered Leonora, “to remain with her, thinking my sister Lydia would be amused by the jaunt; and to be honest, I confess I have no hope of being quit of a cold that I am sensible is the effect of my indiscretion.” “Yes,” observed Miss Lydia, “it was settled I should go last Monday, but you know, Nora, you promised to contrive that I should ride in the phaeton, and I would rather stay at home than go in the coach. I am always so deadly sick in a coach, that I hate them.” “Nonsense!” cried the mother, “that is a new fagary. You never complained in a close carriage till the phaeton was bought.” “Well, my love,” observed the placid Mr. Serge, “but as pleasure is the purposed end of our little journey, why should not Lydia have a share of it unmixed, and as our dear girls have agreed in this business, we will manage so as to please Lydia. You will not refuse your assistance, my dear Malcolm,” added he, smiling: “you shall have the daughter instead of the father to conduct.” Malcolm accepted of the exchange with good humour; and all were contented.
I have had so much business of late on my hands that I believe I have not mentioned the increasing good understanding which subsists between Malcolm and Mr. Parry, our new curate. He is become a frequent and welcome visitor here, and an acquisition we all enjoy. Malcolm has, I suspect, given him a hint that his present duty requires assistance; and most assuredly he finds in Parry an excellent coadjutor. The baronet enjoys his conversation, and Mr. Serge is no burden to him. I foresee we shall not need Parry for to-morrow’s excursion. The rain is now pouring down in torrents, and it is midnight. May Heaven guard your pillow, my Lucy, with its accustomed goodness! Mary shall have my journal of the Durham expedition in due time.
Yours, &c.
Rachel Cowley.
LETTERXLIV.
From the same to the same.
Theinterruption in my usual punctuality, my dear friend, and which has alarmed your too tender fears, induces me to write to you without delay, for the express purpose of assuring you that I am perfectly well; and that in my failure during a few posts nothing has occurred to disturb me beyond the concern I have been under for the happiness of those around me. It is not too much to take for granted that you have long since perceived in Miss Leonora Serge’s character and opinions certain indications that will prepare you for the recital of her premeditated, and by this timesuccessfuljourney to Gretna-Green. But as in your code of laws, and modes of instruction Mary will stand no chance of being an adept in the science of intrigue, duplicity, and cunning, it may not be useless to place before her an example so calculated to impress on her mind the delightful gratifications, enjoyed by the girl of spirit, who prefers running away from the restraints of parental care, giving up all the decencies of her sex and condition, and proclaiming to the world that she is void of feeling and principle, in order to attain the man whom she loves for having betrayed her to scorn and ruin.
As I predicted in my last letter, the weather prevented our going to Durham. Miss Nora’s tooth-ach became a sore throat, and a slight fever. She was of course an invalid, and poor Sam, the postillion, had more than one drenching commission. Wednesday we had a sun unclouded; and on Thursday we set out for Durham with a doubtful sky, and an oppressive heat in the air. Miss Lydia, stuffed into her mother’s pea green riding dress, took her allotted station in the phaeton with Malcolm, with an alacrity and contentment of heart that paid her good father for the sacrifice of his pleasure. Douglas in the curricle with Sir Murdoch, left us nothing to wish for him. Lady Maclairn, your Rachel, and Mr. and Mrs. Serge, had Mr. Parry for their beau; and I saw with pleasure her ladyship cheerfully sustaining her part in this arduous trial of her strength, in an undertaking so averse to her habits of life. The sun favoured the out-riders till we reached Durham. The delicate Lady Maclairn preferring the office ofCaterer, to a sultry walk, was fortunately left at the inn to quiet and repose, whilst we sallied forth to see the public places; but I believe that in reaching them we saw all that was worthy of notice in the town; and a burst of thunder, and a black cloud, warned us to return with all speed to the shelter of our inn. Happily for us, a deluge of rain spared our timid friends from the terrors of the thunder storm; and ourselves from the pain of seeing them in hysterics, as well as we from any further exhibition at Durham. A card-table and chess-board, with a sumptuous dinner filled up ourpleasurabletime. But no felicity is permanent! Even a party of pleasure is liable to vexations. Lydia’s enjoyment of the dessert was interrupted by an altercation between her father and herself. He insisted on her returning home in the coach, urging the dampness of the evening. Miss Lydia contended that the rain had made the evening fair, and much pleasanter than the morning. Mr. Serge was firm, and the pouting girl was forced to yield to his authority. It would have been as well had the young lady been indulged; for it was proveddemonstratively, that a close carriage did not agree with Miss Lydia Serge: and although we did not concur with her in calling Mr. Serge ‘ill-natured and obstinate,’ we could not but allow, that less pertinacity on his part would have beendiscreet, and Mrs. Serge’s lecture ongluttonyas well spared for another time and season.
On the carriage’s driving up to the hall-door I was shocked on seeing Mrs. Allen advancing with precipitation to meet us: she was weeping; and in evident distress stopped to speak with Malcolm and Mr. Serge; who in a moment endeavoured to quit the phaeton exclaiming aloud, “She is dead! my child is dead!” and Malcolm, giving the rains to a servant, sprang from the carriage and entered the house. Whilst Mrs. Allen in vain repeated to the poor father, “No, no, my good sir: hear me.” You will judge that this consternation was not long to be endured. Malcolm’s absence was but momentary. “They are alarmed within,” said he aloud; and he added with assumed composure, “Miss Leonora is missing; she is probably sheltered in the neighbourhood. I am going atMiss Serge’s request to seek her, there having been some blundering as to the road which Miss Leonora indicated on leaving the house for a walk.” On saying this, Malcolm leaped into the curricle and disappeared. “I see how it is,” observed Mr. Serge, panting for breath, “all is clear! but God is merciful! Let me go to my Caroline, let me see my comfort, my darling, and then I shall be patient.” Doctor Douglas prevented him, by arguing the danger of agitating her spirits still more than they had been, and we conducted the trembling father into the dining-parlour; Mrs. Allen attending Douglas to Caroline’s room. Mrs. Serge had, with the astonishment which the scene had produced, lost, apparently, the use of her tongue and powers of reflection. On reaching the parlour she burst into tears; and with more of resentment than despair, observed, that she was only sorry Mr. Maclairn had so much trouble; for she doubted not but Leonora would be at the Hall as soon as himself. “This is her penitence!” continued she; “because I was angry with her for walking in the rain she has stopped at some house, and is, perhaps, laughing at our fears.” “Before you are too sanguine in your hopes, Mrs. Serge,” said her husband, with much coldness of manner, “it may not be amiss to know when she left this house; and what grounds those whom she has quitted have for their suspicions.” Mrs. Warner was summoned. Her evidence consisted in the following particulars. Miss Nora soon after we had left the Hall changed her dress; for Warner met her in the garden at one o’clock equipped for a journey, and with some surprise observed that if she meant to take an airing she would be disappointed, as Mr. Willet was gone with his sister, for the day, to see the castle, and had taken the only horse and carriage remaining, which was the little market cart. The young lady said that she had only thought of a walk in the avenue; but she believed it would be wiser to stay at home, for there would certainly be a thunder shower. “She sauntered with me into the vestibule,” continued Warner, “when seeing your shawl, madam,” addressing Mrs. Serge, “which you omitted to take with you for Miss Lydia’s use, she wrapped it round her, and said she would venture a little way, for she was half dead for want of exercise; and away she tripped, promising not to lose sight of the cottage on the green, which is not a quarter of a mile from hence, hinting that she had promised the old woman who lives there a trifle for her grandchild. I thought no more of the young lady,” continued Warner, “till the storm came on, when Mrs. Allen came to see whether she was with Miss Flint or in her own room; saying that Miss Serge wished for her sister’s company, as she was a coward when it thundered. We were sadly perplexed, madam. Having no man-servant, but the gardener and his lad, at hand, and the thunder was dreadful here: so Mrs. Allen, trusting to Miss Nora’s promise to me, waited a while, saying she was certain it was better that she should remain sheltered in the cottage than to venture home in such a tempest. The rain soon abated, and we sent the gardener with an umbrella to Dame Bank’s. She had not seen the lady. You may judge of our fright! The gardner and his son were sent different ways to no purpose. About two hours since they returned in consequence of news they had picked up at the Ram. A traveller who had entered the house during the storm had seen a lady hastening to a chaise and four that stood on the road to Durham. She was assisted by a gentleman, and rather flew than walked to the carriage. She had something white on her head and shoulders, and the gentleman was in scarlet. Whilst they were talking with Hunt and this stranger, Tom Hunt entered. He had passed the chaise on leaving Durham, and had seen the lady in white, but not her face: she seemed to be sleeping on the gentleman’s shoulder. My lady,” added Warner, “is sadly ruffled and distressed by this disaster; and if Mrs. Allen had not been with Miss Serge, God knows what would have been the event of a day so dreadful as this has been! My lady and Mrs. Allen only fear they have done wrong, in not sending an express to Durham, as soon as the men returned; but as so much time had been lost, and they hoped you would not be late on the road, they gave up the thought; and, indeed, it was impossible to have gained any advantage from pursuing it.” “You say truly, my good woman,” observed Mr. Serge, with suppressed agony, “The child who forsakes a parent’s protection cannot be benefited by being pursued. But repentance will overtake her. No, she is gone, gone for ever!” added he rising and pacing the room!—Lady Maclairn retired with Warner. Again the poor old man quitted his seat, and deliberately taking off his wig, wiped his head and eyes. “Where is the heart, Miss Cowley,” said he, “that would not bleed to see such a girl as my Nora thus lost, thus betrayed to folly and wretchedness? Poor creature!” added he, “how hard is thy fate! A mere babe, as one may say, thus to be ensnared and deluded! Thus to be the victim of designs, which a highway robber would scorn, as beneath him. But to the villain who has robbed me of my child, will I place the pangs I feel; God learnt from that child the knowledge of my sufferings!” He was silent for some time, nor did his lady attempt to comfort him: she appeared stupified by the blow, and I trembled for her safety. On seeing me apply my salts to relieve her, he again rose and said to her, “I pity you; but remember how many times I have forewarned you, my dear Lydia, when at Bath! I told you again and again that you encouraged that Fairly’s visits too much.” “Captain Fairly!” repeated the wife, putting aside the salts, with more surprise than sorrow, “what, in the name of wonder, has led you to think the Captain has any concern in this good-for-nothing girl’s elopement? I only wish you may find she has done no worse! I no more believe she is gone off with him than with the pope. I know more of Captain Fairly than you do; but it is always your way, Jerry, to blame me. Do you think me such a fool as not to have seen it, if he had made love to the girl?” “We will not fall out on that question,” replied Mr. Serge; “we have troubles sufficient for the hour. All I have to say isthis, whether it be Captain Fairly, or any other honourable gentleman of his class, who has robbed me of my child, he shall find his work as unprofitable as those who, as we say, perform their work with ‘a hot needle and burnt thread.’ Jeremiah Serge has not worked early and late to enrich arascal; nor will I countenance a child who has preferred the protection, of arascalto that of a tender, honest father.” He covered his face and wept aloud. Mrs. Serge was silenced, as well as myself. The dejected father was roused from this sorrow by the entrance of the doctor, who told him that Caroline was much easier, and was disposed to sleep. “Blessed be God!” said he, with an expression of gratitude: “One hope remains. But I will go to bed,” added he languidly, “for I am strangely disordered, and only a trouble to my friends.” Tears again streamed from his eyes; and no one opposed his retreat. We soon followed his example, and sought that repose which was not to be found at Tarefield-Hall: I traced her benign footsteps to Heathcot; and there it was that the spirits of your Rachel Cowley found rest. My dear Mary will expect the sequel of this wonderful business with more than usual curiosity: she shall not be disappointed by her affectionate
Rachel Cowley.
LETTERXLV.
From the same to the same.
Tuesday.
OnSunday morning we saw nothing of our disconsolate guests. Mr. Serge was closeted with Sir Murdoch; and Mrs. Serge was too much indisposed to rise before the dining hour. Before I give you the conversation the baronet has just been detailing to his wife and myself, I must tell you, that such is my veneration for Mr. Serge, that I cannot be at peace with my conscience till I have made “l’amende honorable,” for the flippancy of my pen in describing him to you on my first seeing him. A few more such lessons as I have had will correct my presumption in judging too soon; and when I am again tempted to laugh at a double chin, or the cut of a man’s face, I will remember Sir Murdoch’s and Mr. Serge’s. The baronet’s account of the interview between him and this good creature has so steeled my heart against Miss “Nora,” that I wish to leave her on her journey; and for once descend to a vulgarism, and say to you, that if it takes “nine taylors to make a man,” I can prove without difficulty, that it would take ninety and nine gentlemen to make such a taylor as Jeremiah Serge. Read, and be incredulous if you can! The conversation began by the baronet’s arguments of hope and consolation. “I hope that in time, and with God’s help, I shall be comforted,” answered Mr. Serge; “but it is not to be expected, that I who am quite an unlettered man, should be so able to meet misfortunes as those who know more. I have endeavoured to do my duty, as well as I was able to perform it; but I fear my ignorance has brought this calamity on my poor child.” “How can this be,” asked Sir Murdoch, “have you not lived to render your children happy?” “I thought I had,” replied he, mournfully, “and perhaps I accuse myself without just grounds; for I dare say, that be a parent ever so wise and learned, if his heart is wrung as mine is, he will think of some failure or other of his own, which may have led to the evil he deplores: however this may be, I cannot help knowing, that my love of peace, and my ignorance have brought me to sorrow. I never liked this Captain Fairly, who is without doubt the betrayer of my poor child; for we found last night a letter which Nora left for her mother, in my wife’s night cap. I hated to see this coxcomb perpetually dangling after my wife, and I told her so; but she cried, and asked me whether she had ever given me cause to be jealous. I could not say she had, for I believe there never was a more faithful wife; and moreover, I heard her constantly talking to this puppy about a sweetheart whom he expected at Bath. Some few days before we left that place I met with a friend, who knew something of Fairly’s father. He told me, that he had left this young man a pretty estate, and some money; but that he had dissipated his fortune, and was then a gambler and a fortune-hunter. I told Lydia this, but she only laughed, and said my friend had mistaken the matter; for fortune was hunting after Fairly, a rich widow being in love with him. However, by this time, I knowCaptain Fairly,” added he, with resentment, “but he does not yet know Jeremiah Serge. I will teach him, ignorant as I am, to know, that the goose is not so easy to pluck as the pigeon. No man is more easily deceived than I am, Sir Murdoch. How should it be otherwise? For to this hour, I have never been able to discover that dishonesty was profitable to a man, even in this world, to say nothing of a better; but when I am tricked by a knave, his business is done with me. I am not twice caught in the same gin. But, Lord help me! I talk as though it was keeping my money that could console me! Alas! what am I the better for riches! One child who has been the prop of myeverycomfort, is sinking into an untimely grave! a second, so trained as to be useless; and the third, who was my pride and pleasure, the property of a villain! I must tell you, Sir Murdoch, all the bitterness of my soul. It has for some time been in my mind, how to make that wealth which Providence has placed in my hands a blessing to my children. I never wished to aggrandize myself with alliances that were above my “cut.” Yet I thought my Leonora would not disgrace any man. I sometimes talked with my counsellor and best friend, aCounsellor Steadman, on this subject; and I begged of him to look out for me a son in law, who had honour wherewith to meet my honesty, and good sense enough to balance an easy fortune with an uncertain expectation from birth. He sometimes joked at my anxiety; and said my girl would do for a duchess. But knowing I did not wish for a duke, he mentioned a young man, who to me stands higher than the whole peerage. This was your Malcolm, your crown of glory, Sir Murdoch!” The baronet surprised, attempted to speak. “Hear me out,” continued he, “before you censure me for looking above me. I knew that you had married my wife’s relation, and that with your rank, you had the feelings of a man. Your son had every thing,but money; and my child hadwith that, a father whom no man can reproach. So I determined to visit Tarefield, and to take my chance. Hospitality and kindness have received me; and encouraged by them, I ventured to hint my wishes to Mr. Maclairn. But he did not, or as I now know, he could not listen to me. In our ride home from Durham I was explicit with him; and like what he is, he was also explicit with me; and told me, that his hand and his heart had long been plighted to a young lady in this neighbourhood. I will say nothing of this disappointment, nor the shock it gave my mind, on hearing that that very child had abandoned me for whom I would have travelled barefooted through the world to have provided her with such a protector as Malcolm Maclairn. I have now told youall, except what will comfort me. Give me yourhand, Sir Murdoch, for myheart. Let me have a share in your blessing: make me useful to your Malcolm’s happiness. This is what I ask. It shall not make me proud; but it will comfort me, and be a blessing to my last hour.” Miss Lydia entered the room, to say that her sister Caroline wished to see her father; and wringing Sir Murdoch’s hand he hastily followed Lydia to the sick room.
I will now leave you to your comments, having to write to our ‘crown of glory.’Adieu, pour le present.
Rachel Cowley.