THE TWIN SISTERS.
By Alexander Balfour.
By Alexander Balfour.
By Alexander Balfour.
One of these men is genius to the other;And so, of these which is the natural man,And which the spirit? Who decyphers them?Shakspeare.
One of these men is genius to the other;And so, of these which is the natural man,And which the spirit? Who decyphers them?Shakspeare.
One of these men is genius to the other;And so, of these which is the natural man,And which the spirit? Who decyphers them?Shakspeare.
One of these men is genius to the other;
And so, of these which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who decyphers them?
Shakspeare.
Emma and Emily Graham were twin daughters of a respectable farmer and cattle-dealer in Perthshire. The girls bore such a striking resemblance to each other, that their mother found it necessary to clothe them in different colours, as the only method by which they could be distinguished. As they grew up, their similarity became, if possible, more perfect; the colour of their eyes and hair had no shade of difference; and, indeed, every feature of their faces, their form and stature, were so exactly alike, that the same distinction of different dresses continued necessary. They had a brother, Edward, about fifteen months younger, who bore as great a likeness to both as they did to each other. When the girls arrived at nine or ten years of age, they gave promise of being rather above the ordinary stature of their sex, with a very considerable share of personal beauty. But it was only in externals that the resemblance was complete; for, although both had excellent dispositions, with a large share of good nature, their minds were in most respects dissimilar.
Emma was sedate and modest, even to bashfulness; while Emily was so free and lively, that many thought her forward, and her lightheartedness akin to levity. Edward’s mind resembled that of his younger sister as closely as his personal appearance. She was all mirth and frolic, and, by changing clothes with her sister, amused, perplexed, and sometimes fretted her parents; in all which Edward delighted to bear a part. At school there was an ample field for these sportive tricks; and the teacher himself was often sadly teased by their playful metamorphoses.
When the sisters completed their seventeenth year, they had more the appearance of grown women than is common at that age; and their resemblance still continued perfect. Their voices, although slightly masculine, were pleasant and musical; and both had the same tone and sound, pitched to the same key. The dispositions which they had exhibited in childhood still seemed to “grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength.” In one thing they, however, agreed, which was, that whenever they appeared in public, they dressed perfectly alike, and were frequently amused and delighted with the mistakes produced by the uniformity. To distinguish their clothes, every article belonging to Emma was marked Em. G., and those of Emily with E. G. only.
As Edward grew up, his striking likeness to his sisters continued; even their difference of voice could be distinguished only by a fine and delicate ear; and with this close resemblance he was so highly pleased, that he used every means by which it could be preserved. To add to the perplexity of their friends, Emma would assume more than her usual vivacity, while Emily would put herself under some restraint; although the one was apt to become suddenly grave, and the other relax into lightheartedness. But they were now divided; for Emma went to reside with an aunt, at fifty miles’ distance, and there she continued for a considerable time.
Both the girls had been courted occasionally by the young men of their acquaintance; but their hearts had never felt a reciprocal passion. There was, in particular, an old widower, Francis Meldrum, who had become enamoured of Emily; and, as he was rich, her parents anxiously wished to promote the match. But their daughter shrunk from it with the most decided aversion: no repulse, however, could release her from the importunity of his addresses, as he was countenanced and encouraged by her parents.
During the summer, their father was in the practice of going into England with a drove of cattle, sometimes not returning till the approach of harvest. He now departed on his usual excursion; and, soon after, the mother was called away to visit her sick grandmother, from whom the family had considerable expectations. The farm and house were thus left under the charge of Edward and Emily, both willing to do their duty, but both thoughtless, and delighting in frolic; which, now that they were relieved from the surveillance and remonstrances of the sedate Emma, they had a better opportunity of indulging.
There was a fair in Perth, only a few miles distant, and Emily requested her brother to accompany her thither, that they might have at least one day of pleasure. Her proposal was most readily acceded to by Edward; and they departed together. A company of military, part of the —— regiment, were quartered in Perth, under the command of Captain Munro, who had received orders to recruit during his stay. The fair was a good opportunity for that purpose, and the Captain, with his troop, paraded the streets in their best array. From a window in the inn where they were dining, Edward and his sister saw them pass along the street. Emily had never known what it was to love; but she had a susceptible heart. Her hour was now come, and her lively fancy was enraptured with the fine, martial appearance of the gallant Captain. Little accustomed to reflection, she fell in love at first sight; and unpractised in disguising her feelings, although she did not express her thoughts to her brother, she was at little pains to conceal the impression made on her heart. This he soon perceived, and began to rally her on the subject, when she frankly acknowledged that she thought the officer the most handsome-looking man she had ever seen, expressing an anxious wish to know his rank and name. That information was easily obtained by Edward, in a casual conversation with the waiter, who said he was from the same quarter with Captain Munro, who was the son and heir of a landed gentleman in Aberdeenshire, was unmarried, and a great favourite with the ladies in town. When the couple reached home, Emily’s head and heart both full of the handsome Captain, they had a message from her mother, intimating that the old woman was dying, and that she could not return till she saw the result. There was also a letter from their father, requesting Edward to follow him into England with a supply of cattle, as speedily as possible.
Captain Munro had occupied Emily’s sleeping and waking thoughts; and she began to wish that an opportunity might occur for her becoming acquainted with him. With her characteristic love of frolic, she formed a plan which promised to facilitate her wishes; and circumstances seemed favourable for its execution, but it required the assistance of her brother for carrying it into effect. It was communicated to Edward; and he, equally rash and imprudent as herself, was prevailed upon to play his part, which was no less than to enlist himself with Captain Munro as a recruit, and trust to his sister relieving him, according to a scheme pointed out by her, and which appeared feasible to Edward. In compliance with the plan which they had concerted, Edward, with a servant, left the farm for the cattle. Having put them on the way, and arranged to rejoin the servant, he rode into Perth, and enlisted with the Captain, receiving a shilling of earnest. Promising to come back next morning to receive his bounty, and be attested, Edward mounted his horse, and pushed forward to England, leaving Emily to settle the business as best she could.
The day when he had promised to return passed away without any appearance of the recruit. Being a fine-looking fellow, the officer was reluctant to loose him; therefore, next morning, he despatched a serjeant, with a party, to inquire after him. On their arrival at the farm, they found only Emily and the servants. The serjeant had seen Edward when he enlisted, and now believed that he saw, in Emily, the same person in disguise; in consequence of which he threatened to carry her before his commanding officer; but, preserving her good humour, she held his threats in defiance, and, for his own sake, requested him to take care what he did. Some of the party had remained in the kitchen, and there learned from the servants, that Emily sometimes assumed her brother’s dress; and, they had no doubt, had personated her brother, as a joke on the Captain. Emily now regaled the party with hospitable cheer, and, dismissing them in excellent humour, requested the serjeant to make her compliments to Captain Munro, trusting that he would take better care of his next recruit. The serjeant imparted all this to his superior, together with what the soldiers had heard in the kitchen, from which the officer was persuaded, that either himself or the serjeant had been completely hoaxed, and, determined to investigate the matter fully, both in discharge of his duty, and for the gratification of his curiosity, which had been highly excited, he next morning visited the farm, intending to judge for himself. This was just what Emily wished and expected. She had therefore taken care to inform herself, in a short interview with her brother, of almost every circumstance which had passed between him and the Captain, the relation of which, she trusted, would convince him of her being the recruit. The moment Captain Munro looked at her, he was convinced of her being the identical person he had enlisted, although he still had doubts about her sex; while, at the same time, he felt that he had never seen one of his own with features so fine and delicate. Although Captain Munro was in every respect a gentleman, yet the extraordinary circumstances which had produced this interview, warranted a freedom of manner which, in other cases, he could not have employed, where he was so much a stranger. He therefore now informed Emily, that he was fully convinced of her being the person who had enlisted with him, and also quite satisfied that she now appeared in the habit which belonged to her sex; still, he presumed he had some right to inquire her motive for a step so uncommon, and which she appeared so early to relinquish.
This question, although she had anticipated it, brought deep blushes into Emily’s face; and her heart palpitated as she replied, that, although she now regretted having adopted a measure so incompatible with female delicacy, she felt it a duty which she owed to herself, to inform him of her inducement, lest it might be attributed to something still more unbecoming. She then went on to state that she had, for a long time past, been persecuted with the odious addresses of a widower, old enough to be her father, and whom her parents wished her to marry because he was rich; but, although he had been her equal in age, their dispositions were so opposite, that she must have despised him, for he was a miserly, stingy, jealous, and contemptible wretch; and she had availed herself of the absence of her parents to adopt a measure which, she was sure, would, on its coming to his knowledge, have the effect of relieving her from his offensive importunities; and, although she now saw the imprudent folly she had committed, her regret would be diminished, if it produced the consequences she so anxiously wished.
The part she was now acting, and the situation in which she had placed herself, in spite of all Emily’s natural forwardness, called forth that modest timidity which still adds to the loveliness of a young and beautiful woman, suffusing her cheeks with crimson, and softening the brightness of her sparkling eye. Altogether, her appearance and behaviour made a powerful impression on the heart of the gallant soldier; and he contrived to protract the interview till the latest period that good breeding permitted. When Emily offered to return the shilling which her brother had received, the Captain refused it, saying, with a smile, that he had not yet renounced his claim on her, but reserved it for further investigation, for the discussion of which he proposed repeating his visit.
With self-possession, but becoming modesty, Emily replied, that although she had already overstepped the bounds of female decorum, she was neither ignorant of, nor indifferent to, that propriety of conduct which her situation required; and would therefore request, that if he was again inclined to visit the farm of Greenbraes, it might be after the return of her parents. The Captain now left Emily, nearly as much fascinated with her as she had been with his first appearance; while the respectful propriety of his behaviour, in a case where some freedom of speech might have been excusable, raised him in her estimation; and she flattered herself that he had not seen her with indifference.
The Captain was now impatient for the return of her parents; as, afraid of incurring the displeasure of Emily, he could not venture to visit Greenbraes till that time; but he, oftener than once, threw himself in the way by walking in the vicinity, hoping to meet her whom he now found it impossible to forget. Emily had seen him sauntering in the fields, and rightly conjectured his purpose; but she, actuated, no doubt, partly by a little coquetry, had uniformly disappointed him.
Her father now returned from England; and Emily, who had never before disguised her actions, convinced that her parent must soon hear, from some officious friend, what had already made much noise in the place, resolved to tell as much of the truth as suited her purpose. She therefore informed her father that Edward, in a frolic, had enlisted; but that she had sent him out of the way, and represented him when the Captain came to claim his recruit, and that officer had laughed heartily at the joke.
“Ah, Emily! you are a light-hearted, and lighter-headed lassie,” said the fond father. “You carry things ower far; and I’m fleyed ye’ll tine your ain character, or render it no worth the keeping. What will Francie Meldrum say to that business? I’ll think shame to see him.”
“My dear father, if naebody’s angry but Francie, I’ll never rue doing that for my brother. Say thatyou’reno angry, father, and set my heart at ease.” And, looking in her father’s face with a timid, but affectionate smile, she laid her arm around his neck, pressing her glowing lip to his bronzed cheek.
“I am angry, you little flattering gipsey; but promise to gie ower thae light-headed pranks, and I’ll forgive you for this.”
Emily had reason to congratulate herself on this speedy reconciliation with her father, who she saw was in good humour; for, looking from the window, she saw Francis, the object of her detestation, approaching, although he had never tormented her during the absence of her parents. Leaving her father to receive the unwelcome visitor, Emily secreted herself in an adjoining closet, where she could hear every word of the conversation, which soon became more agreeable to her than she had expected; for Francis began to speak of her frolic with an asperity which her father did not think it merited. They came to high words, the result of which was, that the farmer conducted his guest to the door, requesting him never to enter it again till Emily bade him welcome. This was so far beyond Emily’s expectations, that her heart bounded with delight; and, had it not been that she must have betrayed her being a listener, she would have rushed in, and, kneeling to her father, thanked him for the deliverance.
The fact was, that her father, on his return from England, had stayed in Perth to deposit some money with his banker, who insisted on his dining with him, as he was to see a few friends that day. Captain Munro happened to be of the party, and, hearing the farmer’s name and residence, endeavoured to make himself as agreeable as possible, in which he succeeded admirably. Before parting, he took an opportunity of having a private conversation with the farmer, relating circumstantially what the reader is already acquainted with, as far as consisted with his own knowledge. He concluded by confessing the impression which Emily had made on him, which all that he had since heard concerning her had contributed to deepen; and that her motive for the frolic which had given him the pleasure of knowing her was a sufficient apology; and, as it was obvious she would never consent to marry the widower, he begged the farmer to sanction his addresses, instead of a man whose age certainly rendered the match very unsuitable. For his own character and family he referred him to the banker, under whose roof they were, requesting the pleasure of another interview before he left town.
The honest farmer was rather vexed at the first part of this relation, but the conclusion put him in good humour; and, in a conversation with the banker, he learned that Captain Munro was the son and heir of a landed gentleman in Aberdeenshire, and that the young officer bore a highly respectable character, both as a man and a soldier. The farmer and Captain again met, when the former gave the officer his hearty permission to address his daughter, adding, that as she had several times perplexed him with her harmless tricks, of which the Captain had seen and felt a specimen, he wished this interview to be kept secret, and, when they met at Greenbraes, that they might appear strangers to each other. The Captain approved of the suggestion, esteeming it a good joke; and they parted, both in high spirits.
Emily was highly delighted with the dismissal of the importunate widower; and, just as she was wondering whether the Captain knew that her father had returned, she, one morning, saw him approaching the house.
Although this was by no means a disagreeable discovery, yet, when commanded by her father to join them in the parlour, she entered with a palpitating heart, and her cheeks blushing like a half-blown rose.
The Captain met her with the respectful ease of a gentleman and an old acquaintance, when her father, in rather a severe tone, said, “Emily, you informed me of a joke which you played off upon this gentleman, and gave me to understand it was all settled and forgotten; but I find that is not the case. Captain Munro insists that you received earnest money from him, which you still retain; and, therefore, he is entitled either to your services, or satisfaction for the insult offered to him. What do you say?”
“When Captain Munro explains what he wants, I shall then know how to answer,” replied Emily.
“That is easily done, Miss Graham,” replied the Captain. “You engaged to be a soldier for life, and I claim the fulfilment of your agreement—wish you to follow the drum. In a word, dear Emily, I love you, and wish to make you a soldier’s wife. When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, I informed you that I reserved my claim for further discussion, and requested permission to visit you, which you very prudently declined till your father’s return. He is now present, and I wait your reply. A soldier hates trifling.”
“My first engagement with you, Captain, was rash, and I repented,” replied Emily. “I am afraid you have imitated my folly, in the present declaration, which you would probably regret on reflection. I shall take time to deliberate; and, when we both know each other better, if you continue in the same mind, I shall then be prepared to reply.”
This response, while it did credit to Emily’s prudence, was such as gave the suitor every reasonable hope of success; as the expression, “when we know each other better,” was sufficiently encouraging to induce him to continue his visits. Love had already done his work with both hearts, and in a short time they perfectly understood each other.
Emily’s mother now returned; and, after the necessary preparations, the wedding-day was appointed, when the Captain was called to Edinburgh, as member of a court-martial, to be held in the Castle. They had known each other but a short time, and both had been so much engrossed with their own affairs, that, although the Captain had heard Emma’s name mentioned, he was ignorant of the striking resemblance which she bore to her sister. Emily had also continued unacquainted with the Captain’s first interview with her father, till she happened to overhear the latter relating it to her mother, and chuckling over it as a good joke which he and the Captain had played off on Emily. Although not displeased at the imposition practised on her, she resolved, sooner or later, to pay both her father and lover in their own coin; and her fertile invention soon contrived a scheme, in which, if she could engage her sister as a confederate, she trusted to enjoy the pleasure of full retaliation.
A letter had been despatched to Emma, announcing the intended nuptials, and requesting her presence, to officiate as bride’s maid on the occasion. This message had, however, been crossed on the road by another from Emma, to the same tune; informing her parents of her intended marriage, two days before that fixed for Emily’s wedding, and requesting the same service of her sister which had been expected from her.
Thiscontretempswas a disappointment to both; however, a second letter arrived from Emma, congratulating Emily on the approaching event, and intimating that she and her husband intended doing themselves the pleasure of being with them in time to witness the ceremony.
The absence of some important witnesses in the case before the court-martial had prevented its sitting; and a letter arrived from Captain Munro, intimating, that, however much it vexed him, he found it would be impossible for him to be at Greenbraes sooner than the day appointed for their union; and, even then, the hour of his arrival was uncertain, but he hoped to be in time for dinner.
Edward arrived from England on the eve of the wedding-day; and Emma, with her husband, in the morning. After the mutual congratulations among so many friends, Emily took an early opportunity of communicating her intentions, and requesting their assistance; especially as it was the last opportunity she would have of indulging in frolic; as, in a few hours, she should be sworn to love, honour, and obey her husband. Edward was highly delighted with the scheme; and Emma’s husband, who loved a joke, prevailed on her to comply with her sister’s request, and perform her share in the plot, as explained by Emily; and the striking likeness of the two sisters being still as strong as ever, rendered success almost certain. As a necessary preliminary, it was agreed that the sisters should be dressed exactly alike, in every, the minutest article, except that Emma should wear abandeauof artificial rosebuds, by which she could be at once distinguished from her sister. All this was carried into effect; and, when dressed, the distinction was pointed out to their parents, to prevent, as they said, any ridiculous mistake at the approaching ceremony.
The farmhouse of Greenbraes had, in former times, been the mansion-house of the estate, and still had attached to it an extensive and old-fashioned garden. The house stood on a rising ground, and had a commanding view of the road by which the bridegroom must approach. Emily had every thing ready; and, when she saw him at some distance, she joined her brother, with Emma and her husband, in the garden, where they had been for some time; but, as she passed out, requested her mother to conduct Captain Munro to the garden, on his arrival, contriving some excuse for leaving him as he entered, as she wished to she him privately.
The party had disposed themselves in order, waiting his approach; and, when they heard the garden-door open, Edward and Emily withdrew, secreting themselves in a thicket of evergreens; and the Captain entering, beheld Emma and her husband sauntering most lovingly, at a little distance before him. They did not seem to observe the bridegroom; but, on turning the corner of a new-clipped yew-hedge, Emma, as if by accident, dropped her handkerchief, and the next moment they were out of sight. Captain Munro believed at first glance that it was Emily he had seen, but still was reluctant to suppose it possible that she would permit any other man to use the freedom he had just witnessed; and endeavoured to persuade himself that the lady must be a stranger, invited to the wedding. However, the handkerchief seemed a probable clue to solve his doubts; he approached, took it up, and found it marked Em. G. In no very pleasant mood, he stepped forward a little farther, when he heard a soft whisper, which he knew proceeded from a rustic bower; and he was aware that, by a slight circuit, he could discover the occupants without being seen. He now saw, as he believed, Emily seated in the bower, her head leaning on the shoulder of a handsome-looking young man, whose arm encircled her waist. Rage and jealousy now took possession of the bridegroom’s soul, and he was at first disposed to leave the farm, without speaking to any one, but, standing for a few minutes in a stupor, he determined to see the face of him for whom he had been so cruelly deceived. He therefore walked up in front of the bower, and, with all the calm respect which he could assume, said, “Madam, permit me to present your handkerchief, which you dropped in the walk.”
“I thank you, Sir,” replied Emma; “may I inquire to whom I am indebted for restoring it to its owner?”
The cool composure with which this question was put, raised the indignation of the maddened bridegroom to its highest pitch; and, with a glance of the most sovereign contempt which he could assume, he replied, “To one, madam, who despises you from his soul, and thanks God for his timely discovery of your infamy!”
Her husband now started to his feet, and said, “Sir, you bear the insignia, although you want the manners of a gentleman. But were you of the blood-royal, you should not insult my wife with impunity.”
Captain Munro started at the word, and repeated, “Wife! did you say, Sir? Permit me to ask one question, to which your candid reply will oblige me. How long has that woman been your wife?”
“For these two days.”
“Enough. Farewell for ever! infamous woman!”
Edward now sprung from the thicket, and standing right before the Captain, in the exact costume in which he had enlisted, said, with an arch and good-humoured smile, “My honoured Captain, excuse the freedom of your recruit. I cannot patiently hear those opprobrious epithets applied to my sister; perhaps she could explain all this if you had patience.”
The Captain was now fairly bewildered, and stood staring, first at the one, and then the other, in half-frantic amazement, when, to his relief, the farmer approached; and, seeing the four looking in gloomy silence on each other, exclaimed, “Why, what is the matter with all of you, that you stare as if bewitched?”
Captain Munro, recovering himself a little, replied, “It is even so, Sir; and you are come in time to remove the spell. Say, who are these before you?”
The farmer surveyed the group, and observing that Emma had not thebandeauof rose-buds by which she was to be distinguished from her sister, replied: “Captain, what do you mean? The young man is my son Edward; the other is Dr Malcolm, my son-in-law: you surely do not require to be told that the female ismydaughter, andyourbride.”
“She is no bride of mine—I renounce her for ever!” said the angry soldier, in a most indignant tone.
While the farmer stood, as much amazed as the Captain had been, Emily came forward from the thicket, and, standing close beside her sister, said, “Dear father, let not the gentlemen quarrel; you have certainly a daughter for each of them; and as both of us are quite willing to have husbands, have the goodness to give our hands to those for whom you intend us;” and both sisters stood with the stillness, gravity, and silence of statues. The astonished father found the distinguishing badge wanting in both, and replied, “I must confess I am fairly bewildered; gentlemen, choose for yourselves, for I cannot!”
Edward now put on Emily’s playful smile, and looked at the Captain in a manner which made him at once clasp the youth in his arms, crying, “My dear Emily! I know you now.”
The loud laughter of the party again renewed the confusion of the bridegroom and farmer, which was enjoyed for a considerable time before they condescended to give any explanation. It was, however, at last made; all was set right, and the evening passed at Greenbraes in hilarity and unclouded happiness.