CHAP. III.
On the following evening, when the family were, as usual, assembled together in the parlour, Mr. Fitzallan began his promised tale as follows:—
“About twelve years ago, there was known at Boston, in NorthAmerica, a boy, who, from the vagrant life he led, was distinguished by the degrading appellation of Dirty Barnaby. He had been maintained by the parish, but was so deformed, and of such a disgusting appearance, that no one would take him as an apprentice, and he was obliged to earn a scanty subsistence, by performing such menial offices for the inhabitants as few others would undertake. This child of misfortune was the butt of ridicule to all the boys in the place; and the hardships and ignominy he was continually exposed to, created in his mind a sort of sullen gloom, whichadded to the unpleasantness of his rudely-formed countenance.
“The only object towards which he displayed the least show of kindness or affection, was a large dog, which followed him about wherever he went, and who patiently shared the kicks bestowed on his less-docile master, and as meekly partook with him his sorry meal of mouldy fragments.
“In the same neighbourhood was a young gentleman, whom I shall distinguish by the name of Theodore, who was as remarkable for his personal graces as poor Barnaby was for his deformity. He had often wonderedhow such a miserable object became possessed of such a fine dog, and one day, with much affability, interrogated him on the subject.
‘Pray, my lad,’ said he to him, with a voice of kindness to which the boy had been little accustomed, ‘what is your dog’s name?’
‘Rover, Sir.’
‘Have you had him long?’
‘Two years.’
‘Was he given to you by any body in this place?’
‘Do you think I stole him, Sir?’
‘I hope not.’
‘No, Sir, I did not; though I am poor and ugly, I thank God I am honest.’
‘That’s a good lad; but where did you get the dog?’
‘He came to me, Sir.’
‘Came to you! that is very unlikely.’
‘Sir, I would not tell a lie for the world.’
‘I admire your integrity; but I wish to know how you got the dog.’
‘Sir, I will tell you. Some vicious boys had one day tied an old kettle to the tail of the poor animal, who, frightened and tormented, ran up and down till I thought he would go mad. Enraged at their barbarity, I stripped off my ragged jacket, and getting all the stones together I could hold, pelted the boys so stoutly,that most of them ran away. The cruel are always cowards, Sir; so I had not much trouble in fighting the rest. I mastered three of them, and bore the poor animal away out of their reach. When I had relieved Rover’s bleeding tail, he licked my hands in gratitude. I kissed and cried over him, for I was used to being ill treated myself, Sir. Rover seemed determined not to leave me; and if it had been my last morsel, I could not have refused him the bit of meat which I had put away in paper for my supper. Well, Sir, I never found an owner for Rover; so I have kept him ever since. Many people have tried to decoyhim away from me, and he fares badly enough, poor fellow; yet he would starve rather than he would leave me; and it makes my heart ache to see his ribs almost clinging together.’
“Theodore could not restrain his tears at this simple, touching tale. He was affected by the magnanimity and sensibility which this poor child of nature displayed, and was for some moments incapable of making any reply. At length he inquired of Barnaby whether he would sell his dog?—‘I have half-a-guinea in my pocket,’ said he, ‘and if you will let me have Rover, it shall be yours. You may be assured alsothat I will do more for you when I have the power.’
‘You are a generous young gentleman, Sir,’ said Barnaby, ‘and I always loved you, because you looked so tender, and never joined the other boys in hooting at me. If I could do without my dog, you should have him, for I am sure he would be better off with you; but indeed, Sir, I cannot bear to part with him. I hope you will not be angry with me.’
‘Angry! oh no,’ replied Theodore; ‘to shew you that I am not, you shall take this half-guinea, and buy a good dinner for yourself and Rover.’
‘God bless you, Sir!’ ejaculated Barnaby.
“It was all he could say; and he turned hastily away, his eyes swimming with tears.
“The kind accents of Theodore had even a more powerful effect on him than his money. Theodore was returning home, when, at the corner of the street in which he lived, he again encountered Barnaby, who had taken a circuit round the houses, and was now hastening to meet him.
‘You must have the dog, Sir,’ said he, with a firm voice; ‘I cannot take your money for nothing; but you must keep him close, or he will run away. However, if he should return to me, I will bring him back; and I hope you will sometimeslet me just have a peep at him in the kitchen or the stable.’
‘You shall see him every day,’ returned Theodore, well pleased with the arrangement, as well as with the noble-minded boy, whose deformed exterior concealed such a valuable heart.
“Blush, oh ye children of vanity! at this simple truth; fly not to your looking-glasses for self-approval, nor henceforward deem ugliness incompatible with virtue.
“Barnaby retreated, casting many a longing, lingering look behind at poor Rover, who, secured by the silk handkerchief of Theodore, struggled to get free, and was reluctantlyforced into the house. A few days of close confinement ensued; and at last good fare, the comforts of a warm fireside, and kind treatment, reconciled him to his new master, and every inmate of the house, with whom he was soon on the most familiar terms. He was at once lord of the kitchen, and a welcome guest in the parlour. His engaging and docile manners rendered him an object of admiration to every one, and, unlike many who are suddenly exalted from indigence to prosperity, he forgot not his former benefactor, but the first time he came to the house, set up a loud bark of joy, and leaped upon him with every demonstrationof affection, and could with difficulty be restrained from again following the fortunes of his humble master.
“The hardships under which poor Barnaby had formerly laboured had been much ameliorated by the kind generosity of the amiable Theodore, who had taken care that he should be supplied with wholesome food, and a decent change of wearing apparel from his own cast wardrobe; and as the boy had learnt to read and write in the charity-school, and was now too old to be apprenticed to a trade, Theodore gave him a recommendation to an old friend and schoolfellow, who consented to receivehim as a servant, and took him with him to England.
“We must now pass over a lapse of three years, during which Theodore attained the stature and maturity of manhood, and formed an intimacy with the family of Sir George Norbury, whose charming daughter soon engaged his affections, and in return bestowed hers on the worthy youth.
“It may not be unnecessary here to observe, that the early dissipations of the Baronet had materially impaired his fortune, to repair which he hoped to form an advantageous alliance for his daughter. As family-pride led him to shudder at the ideaof sinking into obscurity, after having enjoyed all the notoriety of rank and affluence, he therefore no sooner discovered the attachment subsisting between the young people, than he determined to break it off, and for that purpose removed his daughter out of Theodore’s reach, by taking her to England, as the parents of Theodore, though genteel, were not affluent, and he being but a younger son, could not be expected to have a very ample provision made for him. Young Fitzallan had indeed been destined for the navy, and had served four years as a midshipman; but an unexpected peace had occasioned him to be paid off, and he was nowdeemed an unwelcome encumbrance to his family.
“War once more opened a prospect for Theodore, and he was ordered to London by his father, to solicit an appointment at the navy-board. Accompanied by his faithful dog, he pursued his course with a light heart; and after a favourable voyage, landed in England, his native place.
“The evening was far advanced when the vessel put into port; and Theodore, impatient to proceed as far as possible on his way to town, took a postchaise immediately. His whole mind was occupied with the pleasing idea of seeing Miss Norburyin London; and he had proceeded two stages before it occurred to him that he had not got his faithful Rover in the chaise with him. To go forward was now impossible—for his life he would not leave the poor animal behind in a strange country; and he accordingly procured fresh horses, in the resolution of returning, let the expence and delay cost him what it might. A heavy fog now obscured the atmosphere, and rendered it impossible to distinguish any object at the distance of a yard. The postboy declared it was a ‘despart night for travelling in such a confounded hurry, and all for a stupid hound of a dog, who, if he hadanynouse, would be sure to follow him to London.’ But the resolution of Fitzallan was immoveable; and with all the inconsiderate vehemence of a sailor, he swore the postboy into obedience.
“The cutting whip now smacked on the lank sides of the jaded animals, who, fatigued with a day of hard labour, and disturbed from a transient moment of repose, could scarcely drag their stiffened limbs along. Theodore every minute put his head out of the window, alternately encouraging the driver to proceed, or whistling and hallooing for the wandering fugitive.
“No Rover appeared; and theimpatience of Theodore increased, till it was suddenly checked by a violent crash, with which the chaise was precipitated down a steep bank, and Fitzallan received a contusion on his head, which, for some moments, deprived him of sensation. The postillion with difficulty extricated him from the chaise, and scratching his head, with much stoical coldness, said—‘I am sure, please your honour, it was no fault of mine; you would have me drive at such an outrageous rate, though I could not see the nose on my face. I am sure too the poorbeasteseshave suffered cruelly, for their sides bleed like any thing.’
‘I see my error, now it is too late, my lad,’ said Theodore, with a sigh of anguish, ‘and am justly punished for my thoughtless inhumanity; but repining will not repair our difficulties. What is to be done?’
‘That be’s the puzzle, your honour; the chaise is all to shatters, and thof Imoughtride to ——, it would be morally impossible to your honour, in such a bleeding and scarified state. By the mass, a lucky thought has just entered my head. I seed a light in a window glimmering just now; the house cannot be far off; do you wait here with the cattle, and I will hunt it out, andsee if they are willing to do any thing for us.’
“This being instantly agreed to by Theodore, the postboy ran off, and soon returned with the pleasing intelligence, that the gentleman was welcome to what accommodation they could afford.
‘And so, Sir,’ added the postillion, ‘if you please I will help you on, and then I can go forward with the horses.’
“Theodore, ill as he was, was touched with compassion for the poor goaded animals; and slipping a crown-piece into his hand, begged him to stop and refresh them at the next inn on the road.
“They were by this time arrived at the door of a spacious and elegant mansion, where a servant waited with a light, and conducted him into a parlour superbly furnished. Theodore would have retreated.
‘I must be an intruder here,’ said he; ‘shew me into any place more suitable to my present condition. I fear your humanity induces you to act without permission from the master of the house.’
‘Indeed I do not, Sir,’ replied the man; ‘our Peter has been sent up to my young master with an account of your misfortune; and though he has retired for the night, being much fatigued after a long journey,he begs you will not refuse to accept the offer of accommodation, and has ordered us to pay you every attention which your situation requires.’
‘I am infinitely obliged to your master for his politeness and hospitality. May I beg to know his name?’
‘Baron Montgomery, Sir.’
“Theodore put his hand in his pocket for a card; but fatigue and exertion had so completely overpowered him, that he fainted away. When he recovered, he found himself in bed. Proper styptics had been applied to his head, to stop the effusion of blood, and such cordial restoratives administered as essentially relieved him.
“The young man then retired, leaving him to repose. As he took leave of him for the night, he said—‘Should you want any thing, Sir, please to ring the bell; there will be a person up all night.’
‘Not on my account, I hope,’ said Fitzallan.
‘No, Sir; my old master expired this day at two o’clock, and there is one of the domestics sitting up with the corpse, which is in the apartment below this.’
‘Very well,’ returned Theodore, and then wished the man a goodnight.
“After passing a few unquiet hours, Fitzallan fell into a doze, fromwhich he was roused by a noise, which he distinguished to be footsteps on the stairs. He imagined some one was coming to know if he wanted any thing, and he expected every moment the entrance of a servant. The steps, however, died away, and again he tried to compose himself to sleep, when he heard a repetition of the same noise, and at the same time accompanied by a sort of breathing, which seemed to pause at his door.
“A degree of superstition had, very early in life, crept into the mind of Theodore, owing to the improper management of those intrusted with the care of his infant years. He recollectedthat the old Baron had expired that day at two o’clock; and sounding his repeater, found that it was precisely the same hour. The weak state of his body also affected his spirits; and he yielded himself up to a state of timidity, which he was unable to get the better of.
“His terror was considerably augmented by a noise which shook the room, and seemed as if part of it had given way. In a faltering voice he articulated—‘Who is there?’ but no answer was returned. The low breathing sound was again heard, and the next instant something of icy coldness pressed against his cheek, and a heavy weight seemedto rest on his stomach. No longer master of his fears, Theodore rung the bell, violently uttering a cry of terror, which, in a few minutes, brought an old woman with a lamp into the room, and immediately, to the mingled astonishment, shame, and joy of Fitzallan, he discovered, in the object of his groundless alarm, his faithful dog!”
“Dear papa!” exclaimed Caroline, who, during the narration, had crept closer to her mother, and turned pale with apprehension, “how happy I am to hear that was all! I really thought it had been a ghost.”
“My dear child,” returned Fitzallan, “have not I often warned youagainst the folly of giving way to such weak fears? The possessor of a virtuous heart has no more to dread by night than by day; and though I was timid enough in the case I have related to suffer my fears to vanquish my reason, I must, in justice to myself, attribute my terror to the powerful force of early impressions. There is a passage in a favourite author, which I have often read to you, and wished you to retain it in your memory, as you may find it of infinite service to you in the events of life. It is in Sturm, whose works you have perused with so much profit and delight. That exquisitely sublime author makesthis judicious observation:—‘How much we torment ourselves by vain terrors, which have no foundation but in a disordered fancy! We might spare ourselves many fears, if we would take the trouble to examine the objects which frighten us, and seek for their natural causes. The same thing happens to us with respect to moral things. With what ardour we pursue the goods of fortune, without examining if they are worth such anxiety, or can procure us the hoped-for happiness.’”
“I well remember this, papa,” said Caroline; “but pray tell us now how Rover came to be in that house?”
“I will to-morrow evening, mylove; but it grows late—you must retire; and let me again caution you to indulge no fears of darkness or hobgoblins. There is a good God watching over to protect virtue and innocence. Pray to him when you lay down to sleep; let his blessings and mercies occupy your last thoughts, and he will suffer nothing evil to approach you. So good night, my children.”