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-
*
THE
BRITISH NOVELISTS;
* f :
WITH An
ESSAY, AND PREFACES
BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL,
BY
MRS, BARBAULD.
3 #2em (tuition.
VOL. XXXVII. -
LONDON : -
PRINTED for F. c. AND J. Riving roN ; w. LowNDes; scatch End
AND LETTERMAN ; J. NuNN; J. cuthEll; Jeffery AND son ;
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AND Davies; J. AND w. T. CLARKE; J. othidge; LacKINGTON
AND Co. ; s. BAGSTER ; J. MURRAY; J. BookER ; J. Black;
BLAck AND co. ; J. RichaaDson; J. M. Richardson; R. Scho-
Ley; J. MAwman ; R. H. EVANs; A. K. New MAN AND Co.;
J. AsperNe; J. cARPENTER; J. Booth; w. GINGER ; BALDw1N,
cRADock AND Joy; T. Hodgson; J. Bohn ; J. EBERs ; sher-
wooD, NEELY AND Jones; G. AND w. B. whittaken ; setch-
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AND Co.; R. SAUNDERs; T. AND J. ALLMAN; T. Boone; c.
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AND co.; Rodwell AND MARTIN; Hurst, Robinson AND Co.;
wilson AND sons, York; stERLING AND stade; AND FAIR-
Fairn AND ANDERSON, EDINBURGH.
1820. -


G. Woodfall, Printer, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.


THE
OLD MANOR HOUSE.
-º-
BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.
-º-
IN TWO VOLUMES,
VOL. II.
465O6].





THE
OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER I.
SUFFICIENTLY punished by the alarm he had been
in for his indiscretion, Orlando no longer ventured
to appear where any of the tenants or servants of
the hall might probably meet him; but, as he was
afraid of returning to the house of his father till the
whole family were assembled, lest he should hear
more of the reproof he could so ill bear, he lingered
about the coppices; and as a chain of them led to a
sharp eminence clothed with wood, that overlooked
a part of the park, where, among the venerable
trees scattered around it, the Hall-house appeared,
he sat himself down on an old seat which had been
F. here for the prospect afforded by this woody
moll, and indulged reflections which, though far
from pleasant, were mournfully soothing. He re-
collected that, in this copse, but a few years before,
he had once been permitted with some other chil-
dren to accompany Monimia in gathering the nuts
with which it abounded—How gay and happy they
were then how unconscious of evils to come !—
Under that tuft of hazel Monimia sat, while he
threw the fruit into her lap; and there he pursued a
squirrel for her, which escaped up that old beech
tree –The letters carved by the rustics, whose
Sunday's walk in summer sometimes led them to
this bench, remained: he remembered them well:
and, for the first time in his life, felt disposed to
VOL. XXXVII. B


2 - THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
take his share of this species of fame"; and, with his
knife, he engraved on that part of this covered seat
which had suffered least from
- - - - - - - - - - “The sylvan pen
“Of rural lovers,” t
the words—“ORLANDo, 9th December 1776"—
flattering himself that this rude memorial might be
seen by Monimia, and draw from her soft bosom one
sigh more of tender recollection, in his absence.
Thus passed the time till the hour nearly ap-
proached when he believed the whole family would
be together, and when he should therefore escape
any farther conversation with his father. He made
his way towards home, over hedges and through
the most pathless part of this woody country; and,
entering the house by the kitchen, he inquired for
his mother and sisters. The servants answered,
that their mistress was ill, and had lain down on
the bed; but that the young ladies were in the
parlour. -
Concerned for his mother, whom he fondly loved,
Orlando hastened into the common parlour, where
he saw Isabella leaning her head on her hand, in
which was an handkerchief, and Selina hanging over
her, her eyes streaming with tears. Orlando, im-
puting all to his mother's illness, inquired eagerly
how she did, and how she so suddenly became ill?
Selina, in answer, exclaimed: O dearest Orlando I
how glad I am you are come back we have been
wishing and seeking for you.
* So admirably described in Cowper's exquisite poem
of The Task, where he speaks of the alcove.
- - - - - - - - - - “Impress'd
“By rural carvers, who with knives deface
“The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
“In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.”
# THoMson.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 3
But my mother cried Orlando, my dear mo-
ther
She is only very much agitated, replied Selina,
and I hope will be better presently: but Isabella—
What, for God's sake has happened to you? said
he, interrupting one sister, and addressing his hur-
ried inquiry to the other. Tell him, Selina, said
Isabella, and ask him how he would act if he were
situated as I am?—I will go to my own room.
What is all this, my dear girl? said Orlando, as
soon as she had left the room: Isabella seems less
affected than you are :
Selina then related to him, that soon after break-
fast her father and General Tracy had walked out
together, at the desire of the latter: where the Ge-
neral had opened his intention of offering himself
to Isabella as an husband—of making very great
settlements if she accepted of him—and, in short,
said Selina, he made the proposal appear so ad-
vantageous to my father, i. the disparity of age
seemed by no means a sufficient objection against
accepting it:—he therefore referred the General
wholly to Isabella herself, with whom he conversed
as soon as he returned home, representing his own
situation, which certainly affords us all but a melan-
choly prospect, Orlando. He even told Belle, in
regard to our circumstances, some particulars which
have been owing to Philip's expenses, that my father
... says he has not ventured to tell even to my mother,
because they would half kill her.—It seems that we
shall not have any provision in case of our poor fa-
ther's death, as Philip has stripped him of all he
had saved; and as this estate would be Philip's, we
should not have, to support us all, above fourscore
pounds a year, my mother's settlement; which, as
she had so small afortune, was all she would let my
father settle upon her.—This, you know, is not
B 2


4. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
twenty pounds a piece for us; and Isabella would
not certainly be happy with such a pittance, if it
were possible for her to live upon it: only, therefore,
consider what a contrast the General's offers make
—Besides the power such a match would give her
to make our dear parents easy (which I own is the
only circumstance that would shake my resolution
were I in her place,) she would be raised so much
in rank; and have such a large fortune 1–so much
splendour round her! things which you know Belle
has no dislike to, that I believe she will consent,
though she has a hundred times ridiculed the Gene-
ral; and when he has been making love to her.
Making love to her said Orlando; has he long
made love to her ?
I think he has, replied Selina. I know very little
how people make love; but I am sure if that was
not making love, I cannot guess what is. Belle at
first only laughed at him, and used to say such
rude things about his wig and his false teeth, and
the art he used to make himself look young, that I
have wondered an hundred times how he bore it:
but afterwards he grew more importunate, indeed I
thought impertinent, and Belle threatened to speak
to my father. As for my mother, we agreed to tell
her the sort of language he held whenever he could
get my sister alone, or with only me and Emma;
and my poor mother, afraid of disobliging a man.
who she thought had been such a friend to you, and
might be to the whole family, desired we would
not tell my father, who would certainly have re-
sented such behaviour, and contented herself with
keeping us out of his way, and never suffering us
to be out of her sight. So the poor General, not
being able to succeed in carrying away Isabella on
his own terms——
Curse on his insolent presumption : cried Or-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 5
lando passionately; he never could dare to think
of it.
My mother, answered Selina, believes he did:—
but you see he repents of his evil intentions, and
is determined to be generous and honest at last.
And does my sister Belle accept of him then?
That is the matter now in debate. My father has
represented the situation she will be in, if he dies
and leaves her unmarried. She knows all the pe-
cuniary advantages that attend such a situation as
the General offers her : and the question only is,
whether, as she has no attachment whatever, the
charms of grandeur, the chance of being a Countess,
(for the General's elder brother has but one son, a
poor puny boy,) and being called the honourable
Mrs. Tracy, are not sufficient temptations to make
her forget that the husband who is to give her all
these advantages, is a good deal older than her
father.
And how do you think the debate will terminate?
said Orlando.
Isabella has been crying about it, as you see;
and my mother's being so extremely affected made
me cry: but I believe, Orlando, that the General
need not despair. Isabella, however, has desired
till this evening to consider of it; when she is to
give him her answer herself. He said that he could
not go to town and leave undecided a matter on
which the whole happiness of his life depended:
nor could he bear to be in the presence of the
adored object, till the hour when this decision was
to be made : so as soon as he had made his fine
speeches, he mounted his horse, and is gone to
dine at Stockton's.
Selina, inquired Orlando, tell me honestly, my
sweet sister, what you would do, were you in
Isabella's place.
B 3


6 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
- -
I am very glad I am not, Orlando; but I will
tell you honestly as much as I know of my own
heart—Were my father to say to me, as he has
said to my sister Belle, that to see me so opulently
married would make his latter days easy, and save
him from those hours of anguish that now torment
him about the future fate of us all, I should certain-
ly marry this old man, if he were ten thousand times
more odious to me than he is. To make my father
happy, Orlando, whom I now see often sinking
under a weight of anxiety that is destroying him—
to secure to our dear indulgent mother the comforts
of affluence, if we should lose him—and to promote
your interest, Orlando, and poor Philip's, and my
sister's, I would throw myself alive into the fire;
or, what would be to me much more hateful, I
would marry a man whom I abhor.
The fine blue eyes of Selina, on which those of
her brother were tenderly fixed, filled with tears
as she said this—her voice failed her a moment—
but her brother did not interrupt her, and she went
On—-
But were only myself in question: then, were I
to see poverty and even servitude on one side,
and General Tracy with his brother's coronet in one
hand, and a settlement of ten thousand a year in
the other, I do assure you that I should refuse him.
Generous, charming girl; cried Orlando; I do.
believe you, my Selina; and I rejoice that you are
not exposed to the alternative. Belle, though I
love her dearly, has not, I know, quite your heart;
and I hope does not so much dislike this man, if it
is indeed so probable that she will accept of him—
Besides, the situation in life which he can offer,
has charms for her gayer and more ambitious
mind, which my soft Selina cannot taste. -
What shall I say to my sister is your opinion,
Orlando 2
*


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 7
That she must consult her own heart, my dear;
for I cannot, in such an affair, give any opinion.
But now, Selina, as we shall not have half a moment
longer together, tell me, could you contrive to go
with me this evening to meet Monimia for the last
time 2 Selina, at first, started some objections—lf
they both went out together, their design in going
could hardly be concealed; and she should perhaps
incur the displeasure of her father and mother, who
would not be well content that Orlando, whom they
probably wished to consult on the important affair
in agitation, should quit them immediately after
dinner. It was, however, after some debate, settled
that he should go first ; and that Selina, to whom
every thing was soon rendered easy that could con-
tribute to the happiness of her beloved brother,
should follow him; for she said that she might then
perhaps not be missed; because it was often her
custom to sit of an evening with Emma up stairs, as
they had usually a great deal of work to do for them-
selves and their mother; and though this was not a
day when they could make that excuse, yet their
habit of doing so would make their absence little
remarked on an evening when a business was in de-
bate so momentous as Isabella's answer. The bro-
ther and sister had hardly settled their little plan
of operations, before they were told the dinner was
ready, and on their entering the dining-room the
rest of the family were already assembled there.
Mrs. Somerive, though she had collected resolu-
tion to appear at dinner, could not conceal the agi-
tation of her mind—Orlando so soon to leave her,
and the fate of her Isabella in suspense! Her dread
lest her daughter should sacrifice herself and be
unhappy, opposed to her wishes that she might be
established in such high affluence, made her mind
a chaos of contending emotions; while Somerive


8 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
himself, reading in her countenance all that passed
in her heart, and knowing, even better than she did,
how necessary such an alliance was to the preserva-
tion of all the family, was even more affected; but
he had yet strength of mind enough to conceal it
better, and to appear calm, though thoughtful and
melancholy, frequently turning his eyes on Isabella,
who seemed in a kind of elegant languor, the effect
of her debate between duty and indifference;
though, in fact, it had been held much more be-
tween aversion and vanity, in which the latter
hardly needed the aid of any other consideration
to come off conqueror.
In a family party so situated, there was not, of
course, much conversation, and the dinner passed
without any body's eating, though each pressed the
other to eat, and affected to eat themselves. Orlan-
do hardly spoke three words, and those were ad-
dressed to his mother, the interesting concern of
whose still beautiful countenance wounded his very
soul. Distracted between the fear of adding to that
concern by his abrupt departure, and of a failing
in his appointment with Monimia, he believed this
dinner, useless as it was, was the very longest he
ever sat down to. Just as the table-cloth was re-
moved, he heard the clock strike five; and, looking
at his watch, which went by the great clock at the
Hall, he found their own was ten minutes too slow.
Monimia then was waiting for him in the wood, lis-
tening to every noise, and accusing him of cruelty
and delay! Before this idea, every other considera-
tion vanished; and, starting up, without even at-
tempting an excuse, he hurried away; nor had his
father, who called to ask whither he was going—nor
the more tender voice of his mother, who cried,
Orlando! my son surely you will not leave us!
power to detain him a moment. He rushed out of


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 9
the house, and ran, with the swiftness of an Indian,
to the great-pond wood.
By the time he arrived there, it was almost dark;
but he discerned between the stems of the tall firs
the figure of Monimia sitting on the seat he had
marked to her as the place of their meeting. Never
before did he seem to love her soardently as at that
moment; his heart was softened by the thoughts of
their immediate separation, while oppressed with
the occurrences of the day, it seemed ready to burst.
Breathless from the speed with which he ran, and
hardly knowing what he did, he threw himself on
his knees before her, and, seizing her hands, bathed
them with his tears.
The trembling girl, who had been there even
earlier than her appointment, and who had, amid an
hundred other fears, despaired of his coming, alarm-
ed, and unable immediately to weep, hung over him,
as with frantic gestures he spoke to her; and when
she would have reproached him for the apprehen-
sions in which he had lefther, her words were inar-
ticulate; and it was some time before either of them
were able to congratulate the other that they thus
met once more |
Alas! the bitter certainty that a long, long sepa-
ration must soon follow, poisoned the pleasure of
their meeting: neither knew how to speak of it,
yet it was impossible for either to think of any
thing else.
You go to-morrow, Orlando? said Monimia. Yes,
answered he; and then relating what had passed in
regard to Isabella, he added, that perhaps if his
sister determined to accept the offers of General
Tracy, as he believed she would, it might be in
some respects advantageous to him ; for I under-
stand, said he, that the enamoured old beau means,
if his love is successful, to return in a few weeks-


10 the OLD MANOR HOUSE.
perhaps three weeks or a month, in order to carry
off his young bride; and that he has hinted to my
father, that from thenceforward, considering me
rather as his brother than his protegé, he shall not
only procure leave of absence from the General of
my regiment—(for I am not in his, but in that
where his nephew, Captain Warwick, has a com-
pany)—but use his utmost endeavours to procure
me immediate promotion. I own, Monimia, that
though I think this marriage most preposterous, and
that my sister Isabella is marrying merely for
money; yet I am so weak, and I am afraid so self-
ish, that the idea of gaining by this alliance the
advantage of seeing you, which I could not often
do otherwise, makes me half forget the disparity of
the ages, and overlook the absurdity of a man of
sixty-five marrying a girl of twenty-one: indeed,
whether I approved or disapproved it, would in this
case make no difference; #. as I could not
prevent the evil, if it be one, there is, I trust, no
meanness in my availing myself of the good.
Monimia felt a weight, heavy as the hand of
death, taken off her heart, when he told her they
were, in consequence of this new family arrange-
ment, likely so soon to meet again. Her mind,
which had dwelt with horror on the idea of a sepa-
ration for months, perhaps for years, was now re-
lieved, by supposing it might not be for more than
three weeks; and knowing nothing of military rules,
she supposed that after the first forms of entering
on his profession were gone through, he might re-
turn to the Hall; and that if she could not, from
that active watchfulness which her aunt might then
renew, see him every day, she should at least know
that he was under the same roof, or within a few
miles of her; to know even that he was in the same
county, was a satisfaction; she should hear Mrs.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 11
Rayland speak of him, if she was herself deprived of
the happiness of meeting him; she should see him
in the park, and hear his voice speaking to others,
if he was not allowed to speak to her. Perhaps
Mrs. Lennard, convinced by this absence that her
suspicions had been groundless, might less vigi-
lantly oppose their future intercourse. All these
hopes—for the hopes of a young and inexperienced
mind, are sanguine and easily received—served so
far to assuage the pain Monimia had felt on their
first meeting, that she became soon able to con-
verse with calmness; and not only quieted her own
troubled spirits, but endeavoured to sooth and
compose those of Orlando. Her voice had upon
his heart the power of magic—deliciously soothing
as it was, it excited that sort of painful pleasure
which is only expressed by tears. From this state
of tender sympathy they were soon awakened, by
a voice calling at a distance for Orlando. Monimia
started, in terror; but her lover immediately ap-
peased her fears, by telling her what his haste and
the tumult of his mind had made him before omit,
that he had appointed Selina to meet them. They
now therefore (as it was so nearly dark that they
could hardly distinguish their way) hastened toge-
ther towards that part of the wood from whence the
voice came ; and they soon met the poor terrified
Selina, who, almost speechless with fear, on finding
herself so far from home alone, and in a night that
threatened inpenetrable darkness, trembled like a
leaf, and said to Orlando, as he took her arm
within his, that the whole world should not have
º her to venture what she had now done for
III.1.
He led again towards the bench by the boat-house,
though Selina pressed him to return home as soon
as he could.—I tremble, said she, and am terrified


12 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
to death, lest I should be missed: my father indeed
is never very angry; but just at this time I would
not for the world add to the many causes of unea-
siness which he has about the rest of us.-
Nor would I, replied her brother; no, Selina,
there is not in the world any sacrifice I would not
make to both or either of my parents, except that
of my affections for Monimia. He then, though
both urged him to put an end to this interview,
which seemed indeed only productive of needless
pain, insisted upon their sitting down by him ;
and, holding their hands, which he kissed as he
united them, he besought them to love each other
when he was gone, and to consider each other as
more than sisters . He told Monimia, it was in
cover of his letters to Selina he proposed to write
to her, and not by the means of the under game-
keeper, as he had once proposed; and he then
inquired if they could not appoint some one day
in the week when they might meet in that spot:
I shall then be present with you, said he, mourn-
fully, at least in imagination—yes, however dis-
tant my person may be, my soul will be here !
I shall, in fancy at least, enjoy the delight of seeing
together the two beings whom I most fondly love,
and of knowing they are occupied with the thoughts
of their poor Orlando . There is a story in one of
the popular periodical publications, I believe in the
Spectator, of two lovers, who agreed, at a certain
hour to retire, each from their respective engage-
ments, to look at the moon; the romantic satisfac-
tion they enjoyed in knowing that the eyes of the
person beloved were, at the moment they were
gazing on it, fixed on the same planet, will by this
means be doubled to me; for I shall know that
at such an hour on such a morning my Monimia
and my Selina will be just in this place; I shall
8


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 13
see them—I shall see the eagerness with which
Monimia will ask for news of me—the pleasure.
with which Selina will give it.—Every object round
this spot will be present to me; and wherever I
may be, however occupied in my duty, my soul
will at that moment be particularly here.
Selina, not less anxious to gratify him in this
romantic fancy than Monimia herself, now named
Monday, as the morning when this innocent assig-
nation should be made; and gave as her reason
for it, that on that day her mother was less likely
to miss her, from her being then particularly en-
gaged in settling her domestic concerns; and that
as they did not always certainly receive letters
from the neighbouring post town, except on Sun-
days, the morning of the following day of the week
would be that, in which it would be most likely
she should have those that were to be sent her for
Monimia.
Poor Monimia, with a deep sigh, reflected, that
if all this was necessary to soften a separation of
only three weeks (for Orlando had again assured
her it would not be more), a longer would be quite
insupportable to them both. The deep sound of
the great clock at the Hall tolling six, sullenly
conveyed towards them by the water, roused her
from her momentary dread of future sorrow to a
perfect sense of that which was immediately before
her. It was necessary to hasten this dreadful part-
ing; there was not a moment to lose; for at a
quarter past six she was to be in the parlour to
make the tea for Mrs. Rayland and her aunt, and
the nearest way was near a mile to the house.—
Falteringly she spoke to Orlando of the danger of
her stay—he heard her, but he could not answer.—
Selina, who was almost as fearful of being missed
as she was, repeated it.—Come, then, cried Orlan-
WOL., XXXV II. C


14, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
do, dejectedly, since it must be so, let us go.—He
took one under each arm, and was moving towards
Rayland Hall, when Selina cried, Dear brother 1
you will not go to the Hall?—No, answered he:
but I will not suffer Monimia to go so far alone;
therefore we will see her safe in sight of the house,
and then return.-We must be very quick then,
said Selina.-As quick as you can walk, my sister;
answered he, still in extreme agitation: for I care
not how soon the pain I endure at this moment
is at an end—I suffer the tortures of the damned
The poor girls, terrified at the vehemence with
which he spoke, and the wild way in which he
hurried on, made no reply, and only exerted them-
selves to keep up with him. In silence, they as-
cended an high stile, which in one place separated
the park; and in silence ascended the hill which
arose behind the north front of the house.—Moni-
mia then desired him to stop—We are now, said
she, within sight of the house, and there can be no
danger for me.—Within sight; How is that, my
Monimia, when it is so dark that we are hardly with-
in sight of each other ?—No, replied she ; but what
I mean is, that there is nothing to fear in my cross-
ing the park alone. —I shall go with you, however,
said Orlando, to the old thorn in the dell below.—
At the hazard, said Monimia, trembling, of our being
met by some of the servants at the Hall, or people
going home from their Sunday's visits to them?—
At the hazard, added Selina, of terrifying and dis-
pleasing my father and mother?—At the hazard of
every thing! replied Orlando, with a degree of im-
petuosity which neither of them had courage far-
ther to oppose. They again became silent; and as
they continued to walk very fast, or rather to run,
they presently reached the place which Orlando had
himself named for their parting; where Monimia
6


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 15
again stopped, and disengaging her arm from his
before he could prevent her, she said, faintly, And
now, Orlando, God bless you! dear, dear Se-
lina 1 she was quite unable to finish the sentence;
but, turning, would have left them, when Orlando,
throwing his arms round her, wildly pressed her to
his bosom.—Be not so much concerned, said she,
trying gently to disengage herself, remember you
have told me we shall meet soon—very soon again:
Orlando 1 if you really love me—if you pity me,
do not, I implore you, detain me now.—I will not,
said he: God forbid that I should injure you, dear-
est, loveliest ! She was gone—he stood a
moment like a statue, while her white clothes
made her distinguishable through the gloom.—Se-
lina then intreated him to hasten home—No 1 he
said dejectedly; No, I must stay here till I hear
the door, by which I know she will enter the house,
shut after her; and then I shall be sure she is safe.
Selina could not oppose this; it could indeed take
up but a moment—Hush I cried Orlando, do not
speak let us listen—ha! the door shuts | Well,
Selina, I will now go back with you; and a thou-
sand and a thousand times I thank you, my best Se-
lina, for your indulgence to me.
They then hurried back the way they came,
and with as much haste as the darkness of the night
would permit: it was above three miles by the
nearest path ; and Orlando, occupied solely by the
anguish of having parted with Monimia, uttered
not a syllable; while Selina, excessively alarmed
lest her mother should have missed her, felt her
heart beat so much with apprehension, that it was
: the utmost difficulty she could keep pace with
lſſle
c 2


16 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER II.
ON their arrival, however, at the house, Selina was
agreeably surprised to find, from little Emma, who
was reading in the room they shared above stairs,
that she had never been inquired for; that the
General had arrived just before, to tea, which was,
on his account, ordered later than usual ; and that
Isabella, who had been below ever since dinner,
with her father and mother, was now, she believed,
alone with the General, to whom she was to give
her answer. -
The palpitating heart of Selina, then became
quieter: she took off her hat and cloak, adjusted her
hair, and prepared for the summons she expected
to have to make the tea. Orlando, a moment after-
wards, glided up to them; he said there had been
no inquiries for Selina, and all was right.—I went,
said he, as is my general custom when I come
home, into my father's study, but I found nobody;
and, from what I can gather from the servants, this
important answer has been given, and our old bro-
ther is with his papa and mamma, and with his fu-
ture bride; they are all settling the ceremony to-
gether.
How can you laugh, Orlando, said Selina, at any
thing so serious P - -
Nay, replied he, assuming a levity he was far
from feeling, you would not have me cry, Selina
If Isabella is happy in this match, surely her family
have reason to be glad of it; but one cannot help
thinking of January and May ! Selina had read but
little, and knew not to what he alluded; nor had
she time to reply, for at that moment Mrs. Somerive
Hooked in upon them; she smiled, as it seemed,
through tears—Orlando, said she, I am glad you are


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 17
returned—Why did you leave us so abruptly after
dinner P But come, my children, we wait for you
below.—And are we to find there a new relation,
Madam? said Orlando. Is the General to compose
hereafter a part of our family 2—Your sister has
decided that it shall be so, replied Mrs. Somerive,
stifling a sigh; and you, Orlando, will be pleased
to see how much pleasure this alliance (notwith-
standing there is certainly a too great disparity of
years) gives to your dear father. The difference
of age is indeed the only objection: in every other
respect General Tracy is a match infinitely supe-
rior to what any of my daughters could have pre-
tensions to. Mrs. Somerive then led the way down
stairs, and her children followed her.
During supper the General assumed, as well as
he could, the triumphant air of a young successful
lover. Isabella was silent, and affected resignation
to the will of her parents; while her father looked
at her with eyes in which doubt and concern were
mingled with hope and satisfaction. It seemed as
if heat once rejoiced in having his daughter so well
established, and yet feared that to the dazzling ad-
vantages of rank and fortune she might sacrifice her
happiness. None of the party seemed much dis-
posed for conversation; and as the General and
Orlando were to depart early the next morning,
they separated sooner than usual: Mrs. Somerive
in better spirits than she would have been, if the
General had not assured her that he would himself
bring Orlando down with him, when he returned to
claim the happiness of becoming allied to her, and
might call himself the most fortunate of men.
Calmed by these promises, of which she saw no-
thing that should impede the execution, she beheld
her son depart on the following morning, without
any of those paroxysms of grief which Orlando
C 3


18 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. -
had so much dreaded, and which he was so ill abl
to bear. . Before the travellers got into the chaise,
in which they were to go post to London, the Ge-
neral demanded an audience of his future bride;
and Orlando was at the same time closeted by his
father, who enjoined him to preserve his morals, to
attend to the cultivation of that good opinion with
which the General honoured him (points which a
little experience proved to be incompatible), and
lastly, to make inquiry after his brother, and if he
could find him, to endeavour by every possible
means to persuade him to return home.
Orlando promised to obey all these injunctions,
to the utmost of his power; and glad to escape
hearing any other charges, which he might have
found it impossible to obey, he received the sum-
mons now sent him to attend the General with plea-
sure; for nothing is more painful than the sensa-
tions which arise at the moment of separation from
such friends, even though the absence be but tran-
sient. The General had paid his compliments all
round, and Orlando now embraced his family with
tears in his eyes. His father wrung his hand, and
once more gave him his blessing.—His mother
could not utter the last adieu ! but went back into
the parlour with her daughters; while Orlando,
seated by his military patron, left his paternal man-
sion as fast as four post-horses could carry him.
He was not disposed to talk; but as the distance
increased between him and Monimia-—between him
and his family, all he held dear in the world ! the
depression of his spirits increased also ; while his
companion, as he approached the scene of his
former habits, and thought of the raillery he should
encounter upon his new system of reformation, be-
came more silent and contemplative: the clamours
of his mistresses, of whom he had now three upon


The old MANOR house. 19
his hands, and the ridicule of his friends, arose to
his imagination in a very formidable light: but
then the beauty, youth, and vivacity of Isabella So-
merive seemed excuses for a much greater folly
than he was about to commit. He recollected ma-
ny of his acquaintance, whom he was willing to
suppose much older than himself, who had mar-
ried young women without half her attractions.
He fancied, that he was weary of the dissipated life
he had hitherto led ; that as he would soon be no
longer a young man, but be declining towards mid-
dle age, it was time to have somebody who should
be truly attached to him; while his being married
did not at all preclude him from gallantries, which
he saw every body else pursue whether they were
married or not. The greatest inconvenience he
foresaw, was what arose from the precipitate affec-
tion he had shewn towards his nephew, Captain
Warwick, the orphanson of his sister, whom he had
taught to consider himself as heir to his fortune,
who would be much mortified at the disappoint-
ment. However, he reconciled himself to this ob-
jection, by reflecting that it would be very hard in-
deed if his kindness to his nephew should prevent
his gratifying himself; and by resolving to make
young Warwick an immediate present of a thou-
sand pounds, and to settle a very handsome income
upon him after his death, that he might not be
quite thrown out of those expectations to which he
had been brought up, when the General should
have a family of his own.
Nothing was farther from the General's intentions
than to marry Isabella Somerive, even when he had
first changed his battery, and pretended to her
honourable love; but he found so little prospect of
succeeding with her, even if all was to happen in
her family as he had foreseen, and he felt it so im-


20 The OLD MANOR HOUSE. “
possible to live without her, that what he had be-
gun with the most insidious designs, concluded at
last in an honest, though an absurd one: and hav-
ing once taken the resolution to commit matrimony,
he endeavoured to reason himself out of every ob-
jection that pride, libertinism, or the fear of ridi-
cule, continually raised against it. Isabella, whose
heart was perfectly free from every impression in
favour of any other man, had so behaved as to make
the enamoured General believe, that only her
charming reserve, owing to her rustic education,
prevented her avowing her attachment tohisperson;
though, on a thousand occasions previous to his se-
rious declaration, she had placed his vanity and af-
fectation of youth in the most ridiculous point of
view, and had shewn him that she did not care a
straw for him.
But such power has vanity in obscuring the best
understandings, that her ancient lover really sup-
posed he could inspire her with sincere affection
for him. Still, however, he felt an awkward kind
of sensation when he thought of the numberless
gay young men with whom his blooming Isabella
would be surrounded when she was his wife.
Above all, he reflected with disquiet on his ne-
phew, who was reckoned one of the handsomest
men of the times—he was three-and-twenty; and
the General felt no satisfaction in being called
uncle—Uncle ! it sounded so antique. Warwick,
indeed, was never admitted to live with him; and
he now repented that he had procured leave for him
to come home from America, in consequence of a
wound he received there, and heartily wished him
back again; but his return thither was not, accord-
ing to the General's own account, very likely to
happen. If the presence of Warwick at his own
house in Grosvenor Place was not agreeable to him,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 21
that of Orlando was as little so; and though not
for quite the same reason, for another very similar.
Before the last conquest made by Isabella Somerive
over the susceptible heart of General Tracy, at
least a third of it had been possessed by a young
woman, whom he had purchased of her mother,
and whose assumed virtue and great attractions had
induced him to admit her into his house, where she
had reigned ever since very despotically. As he had
not yet settled whether he should part with her or
not, or acquired courage to tell her his intentions,
she must, till he could make up his mind on this
point, remain where she was; and, whatever might,
be his future resolution, he did not greatly like that
the handsome young Orlando should be introduced
to her acquaintance. As he could not give this
reason to Mr. Somerive for not asking Orlando to
take up his abode in his house, he had sedulously
avoided mentioning it at all. Orlando had never
thought about it; but occupied solely by what he
had left, he considered not a matter so inconse-
quential as whither he was to go when he got to
town. Tracy had once or twice led the conversa-
tion to topics which he thought would engage Or-
lando to say what he intended in this respect; but
Orlando took no notice of it, till, at length, just as
they crossed Fulham Bridge, Tracy said, Mr. So-
merive, shall my chaise and horses put you down
in London?—You know I stop on this side the turn-
pike, at Hyde-Park Corner; but the chaise shall
go with you wherever you please.
I am much obliged to you, Sir, answered Orlan-
do, who never till that moment recollected that
the General had not invited him to his house—but
there is no sort of occasion to take your carriage.
—I shall go, added he, this evening to Mr. Wood-
ford's.


22 The old MANor House.'
That was a plan that the General did not quite
approve of; he knew that, if his intended marriage
was once known at that house, it would be instantly
spread among his friends by means of the commu-
nication Woodford had with many of their families,
which was a circumstance he was not yet prepared
for. The ambition of Woodford himself, and the
malice and disappointment of the two young ladies,
would busy them all in circulating the report; and
the General, in love as he was, and determined to
marry, had not yet prepared himself to stand the
ironical congratulations of his male or female
friends, but particularly the latter, on his resolu-
tion of uniting himself in holy matrimony to the
niece of his wine-merchant. These thoughts made
Orlando's intentions of going to Woodford's, which
however he might easily have foreseen, very un-
pleasing to him; and he remained silent some
time, considering how he might guard against the
inconveniencies he apprehended.
His reasons for not giving him an apartment in
his own house kept their ground; but he would very
fain have prevented his going to Woodford's, at
least till he had himself taken some means to parry
the first burst of the ridicule he so much dreaded.
He could not take one very obvious means to pre-
vent the circulation of the news of his intended
marriage; by requesting Orlando not to speak of it;
for he had often remarked that he was quick-spirit-
ed, not without a considerable share of pride, and
affectionate solicitude for the honour of his sisters;
to affect, therefore, making a secret in London of
what he had so openly avowed in the country, could
hardly fail of awakening the high-spirited Orlando
to some degree of resentment, if not of doubt in re-
gard to the reality of his intentions. After a long
debate on the subject, the General at last recollect-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 23
ed that it was impossible to suppose Somerive him-
self would not write to a brother-in-law, whom he
was so much accustomed to consult, on a subject so
interesting and important; and that, therefore, any
precautions he might take in regard to Orlando
would be useless. It is true that his being by his
intended marriage allied to his own wine-merchant,
had before given him many severe qualms, which a
glance from the arch and bright eyes of Isabella had
at once dissipated : but now, as he approached his
town-house and saw those bright eyes no longer,
these fits of half repentance, originating in pride
and prejudice, recurred with more force; and when
he arrived at his own door, he started from one of
the reveries thus brought on, and again said to Or-
lando, Shall my servants get you an hackney-coach?
There was something in the abrupt manner of
asking this, which suddenly convinced Orlando
that the General had no inclination to ask him into
his house. Piqued by this observation, he an-
swered coldly, that there was no occasion to trouble
his servants, for that he should walk to the house
of his uncle, and would send a porter for the small
portmanteau he had in the chaise.—By this time
the General's valet de chambre had opened the
chaise-door, and Orlando, who was on that side,
got out. He stopped; and the General, as he fol-
lowed him, asked, in a low voice, some question of
one of the footmen who had been left in town, and
who came to the chaise-door also: to which ques-
tion the man answered aloud, No, Sir, she is gone
out. The General, turning to Orlando, who was
coolly wishing him a good evening, said—You will
certainly do me the favour to walk in.
Orlando by this time comprehending that there
was some lady usually resident with him who was
not to be seen, and that he was only asked in be-


24, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
cause she was at this time absent, answered, that
he would not then intrude upon him:—but as I
shall want the advantage of your instructions, Sir,
said he, on many things of which I am totally igno-
rant, I shall be obliged to you to tell me where I
am to receive your orders.
There was a coldness, and indeed a haughtiness,
in the manner of Orlando's saying this, that con-
vinced the General he saw and was offended by the
evident design he had himself formed of evading to
give him an invitation. More disconcerted than he
had almost ever felt in his life, he had again press-
ed him to go into the house, which Orlando again
refused; and then saying he hoped to hear from
him at Mr. Woodford's, when and where he might
attend him for the purpose of receiving those in-
structions relative to his future proceedings which
he had promised his father to give him, he again
wished him a good evening, and walked away.
Orlando had never been in London but once when
he was about sixteen, and had then only attended
his mother on a visit for about a week in the spring,
which she had passed with her brother. He remem-
bered that he never was so happy as when they left
it, and, on a fine evening of May, returned from
the smoke of the Strand, in one of the streets of
which Mr. Woodford lived, to his dear native coun-
ty, where only there seemed to be any happiness
for him. Since that time he had never felt a wish
to revisit London; and in a melancholy mood he
now proceeded along the streets, recollecting little
more than his way from Piccadilly to the Strand.
Every object wore a very different appearance from
what they did when he saw them before. It was
now a dreary, foggy evening in December, and
just at the hour when the inhabitants of the part of
the town he was in were at their desserts, so that


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 25
hardly any carriages but a few straggling hackney-
coaches and drays were rumbling over the pave-
ment. As he approached Charing-Cross the bustle
became more; and the farther he advanced, the
throng of coaches coming out of the city, and
going towards the play-house from other parts of
the town, deafened him with noise: but it was a
mournful reflection, that, among all the human
beings he saw around him, there was not one in-
terested for him. While the dirt through which he
waded, and the thickness of the air, filled him with
disgust, his mind went back to the dear group at
home: he saw them all assembled round the fire in
the little parlour—his father trying to dissipate with
a book the various anxieties that assailed him for his
children, now and then communicating some re-
markable occurrence to his wife as she sat at her
work-table:–he saw Isabella employed in making
some little smart article of dress, and fancying how
well she should look in it—and Selina, while she
and Emma were assisting his mother in completing
some linen for him, more attentive to her father's
reading, often asking questions and soliciting in-
formation.
But when he had finished this picture, his fancy,
with more pain and more pleasure, fled to the lovely
figure of his Monimia in her solitary turret, sighing
over the tender recollection of those hours which
would never perhaps return, sometimes wishing she
had never known them, but oftener regretting that
they were now at an end.—He saw her stepping
cautiously into the library, whenever she could find
it open, to take or to replace some book which they
had read together—she shed tears as she read over
the well-known passages he had particularly point-
ed out to her—she dwelt on the pages where he had
with a pencil marked some peculiar beauty in the
VOL., XXXVII. D


26 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
poetry. He fancied he saw her take out the lock
of his hair which he had given her in a little crystal
locket, press it to her lips, and then imagining she
heard the footsteps of her aunt, return it hastily into
her bosom, and place it near her heart. A thousand
tender images crowded on his mind; he quite for-
got whither he was going, and was roused from
this absent state of mind only by finding himself
at Temple-Bar. Recalled then from the indulgence
of his visionary happiness to the realities around
him, he recollected that he had passed the street
where his uncle lived; with some inquiries, how-
ever, he found his way back; and, on arriving at
the house, he heard that Mr. Woodford was out,
having dined in the city; and that his wife and her
daughters were gone to the play with a party of
friends who were to sup with them. He was told
however, by the maid-servant who let him in, that
he was expected, and that a bed had been prepared
for him by direction of her master, who had received
notice of his intended arrival by a letter from the
country the day before. Orlando could not help
remarking to himself, that he was likely to have
but a cool reception in an house, the inhabitants of
which could not one of them stay at home to receive
him; but he was new to the world, and his heart
open to all the generous sympathies of humanity.
He thought that relations loved one another as well
in London as in the country; but he soon saw
enough of these to make him resign, with perfect
composure, a too strict adherence to old-fashioned
claims of kindred. -


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 27
CHAPTER III.
A MoMENT's reflection recalled the confused and
dissipated thoughts of Orlando back to the trans-
actions of the day. He had never liked General
Tracy much; and he now liked him less than ever,
and regretted that Isabella was to be his wife. He
almost doubted whether he ever meant to make her
so; and the idea of any deception raised his in-
dignation. But he had nobody to whom he could
communicate his thoughts: and it was perhaps
fortunate for him that he had not; for his open, un-
guarded temper, incapable of dissimulation, and
despising it wherever it appeared, was very likely
to have betrayed him into confidence with his un-
cle which would have hurt his father.
The moment, however, he saw Woodford, he
shrunk into himself; and instead of remembering
that he had not yet been at home to receive him,
felt only concern that he was come home at all.
Warm from a city dinner, the boisterous manners
of his uncle appeared particularly disgusting to Or-
lando, who had lately been accustomed to associate
only with women, or with his father and the Ge-
neral; the conversation of the former of whom was
pensively mild, and that of the latter so extremely
courtly that he seemed always to fancy himself in
the drawing-room. Orlando, therefore, was almost
stunned with the halloo of his uncle on receiving
him: he shook him, however, heartily by the hand,
crying—Well, my boy! I'm glad to see thee:
though devilishly thou art bit, my little hero, to
find that all that old Tabby's fine promises end in
sending thee to carry a rag upon a pole, and get
shot through the gizzard by the Yankies.—Aha! I
was right, you see.—Take my word another time. I
D 2


28 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. -
know the world, and never saw that waiting for
such chances answered—A young fellow may wait
till he is grey on one of those hags, and the devil a
bit find himself the forwarder at last.—They never
die; for o' my conscience I believe they have each
of them as many lives as a cat: and when at last
they have the conscience to turn the corner, it's ten
to one but they bilk you after all.—No, no; take
my advice another time—never depend upon them;
'tis better to shift for one's self.
Well, Sir, said Orlando, whom this harangue
equally tired and disgusted, you see that I havefol-
lowed your advice, by embracing a profession—
A profession! cried Woodford with a contempt-
uous look; and what a profession!—To be shot at
for about five-and-thirty pounds a year ! Hey? or
how much is it? thereabouts, I believe.—A rare
profession, when a man ties himself down to be at
the command of about a dozen others!—In this man-
ner he ran on, nothing doubting the shrewdness of
his remarks, and not meaning to be rude and brutal
in making them: yet Orlando felt that he was both;
nor was he much relieved by the change in the con-
versation that brought the General's intended match
into discussion. Woodford was at once flattered by
such an alliance, and mortified that his own daugh-
ters had missed it. He felt proud that he should
boast of having the Honourable Lieutenant-General
Tracy his nephew, but was vexed that he had not
had any share in bringing it about; and this con-
trariety of sensations found vent in the coarse rail-
lery he uttered to Orlando, who was once or twice
on the point of losinghis temper, before the entrance
of the ladies and their party from the play put an
end to a dialogue so very disagreeable to him.
Young Woodford, who, having quitted trade to
study the law, was now a motley composition, be-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 29
tween a city buck and a pert Templar, accompanied
his mother and sisters; which he took care to sig-
nify was a great favour, and not owing to his wish
to oblige them—but to see how he liked a young
woman they had with them from the city, and who
was the only daughter of a rich broker of the tribe
of Israel, who had, however, married a Christian,
and was indifferent enough about his own religion
to let his daughter be called a Christian also. Her
fortune was supposed to be at least seventy thousand
pounds; and Mr. Woodford had long been scheming
to procure a match between her and his Jemmy:-
to which Jemmy declared he would condescend, if
he could but bring himself to like the girl. But he
thought her confounded ugly, and had no notion of
j. himself to money. The girl herself, just
come from a boarding-school, her head full of ac-
complishments and romance, was in great haste for
a lover. Mr. James Woodford was reckoned, by
some of his young acquaintance, a very smart,
fashionable man; and Miss Cassado needed very
little persuasion to fancy herself in love with him.
The intended husband of Maria Woodford, and
a young man who seemed to have pretensions to the
other sister, were the rest of the party : who, pre-
ceded by Mrs. Woodford, now appeared. The
ladies of the family spoke with cool civility to Or-
lando—the younger Woodford, with the air that he
imagined a man of fashion would assume for the
reception of his country cousin : but under this
apparent contempt he concealed the mortification
he felt from the observation that Orlando, who was
always admired by the women, was much improved
in his person since he last saw him.
With his two female cousins Orlando had never
been a favourite, notwithstanding his acknowledged
beauty; and that for no other reason, than because
p 3


30 THE old MANor House.
he had never paid to their charms the tribute of
admiration they expected from every body. Eliza
particularly disliked him, because he had refused a
sort of a proposal made by her father to give him
her hand and a share of the business. But the
young Jewess, who consulted only her eyes, imme-
diately discovered, by their information, that this
stranger was the sweetest, handsomest, most en-
chanting man in the world; and that James Wood-
ford was nothing to him. She had her imagination
filled with heroes of novels, and the figure and face
of Orlando exactly corresponded with the ideas of
perfection she had gathered from them; while the
matural good-breeding which accompanied what-
ever he said, and that sort of pensive reserve he
maintained in such a company, which gave to his
manner peculiar softness, placed him at once among
the dear interesting creatures with which her head
was always full; and she either so little knew, or so
little wished to conceal the impression he had made,
that James Woodford and his mother perceived it,
both with an accession of ill humour which did not
sweeten their manners towards Orlando.
At supper every body talked together; though
their eagerness to be heard could not be justified by
the importance of what they had to say, which was
chiefly remarks on the players, criticism on their
acting, or anecdotes of their lives, of which the
younger Mr. Woodford had apparently a great
fund. Orlando, who knew none of them, and for
whose conversation there was no vacancy if he had
been disposed to converse, sat a silent auditor of
this edifying discourse; now wondering at the
importance affixed to people and events which
appeared to him of solittle consequence—now com-
paring the noisy group in which he sat, with the
dear circle at home, and his delicious téte-à-tétes


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 31
with his soft and sensible Monimia—and not un-
frequently looking with some degree of wonder on
the rosy cheeks, disfigured forms, and dispro-
portioned heads of the ladies—but especially on
that of Mrs. Woodford, whose cheeks were as red,
and whose plumage waved as formidably as that of
any of the misses. He soon determined, that till he
could finish his business about his commission, and
prepare for his duty, he would take a lodging, and
not remain where he was likely to find so little
society to his taste, and where his reception was
hardly civil.
Having taken this resolution for the morrow, he
felt no other wish but that the disagreeable night
would end; and totally neglected by every body
but Miss Cassado, who now and then addressed her-
self to him in a sweet sentimental tone, he had
disengaged his mind from the scene around him,
and was picturing in his imagination the turret of
his Monimia. He saw her sleeping; and her in-
nocent dreams were of him | Every piece of fur-
niture in the room, the books, and the work that
lay scattered about it, were present to him. It was
the image only of Orlando that sat at the table of
Mr. Woodford; the soul that animated that image
was at Rayland Hall.
But from this illusion he was startled by Wood-
ford; who, giving him a smart blow on the shoulder
with his open hand, cried, Why, Captain; you are
in the clouds ! Hey-day! what pretty plump dairy-
maid at the Hall is the object of this brown study?
Never mind, my lad—a soldier finds a mistress
wherever he goes; and though I dare swear thou
hast broken a sixpence with her as a token of true
Hove—she will not break her heart, I warrant her,
while there's a sturdy young carter in the county
of Sussex—Come, most magnanimous Captain,


32 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
cheer up! We are going to drink, in a bumper of
such claret as thou hast not often tasted, Confusion
to the Yankees, and that there may soon be not a
drop of American blood in their rebellious hearts
—As thou art going to fight against them, thou wilt
help us drink against them—Come; your glass,
Sir; your glass 1 and when that toast has passed,
1 have another.
Orlando, who was more shocked and disgusted
by every word his uncle spoke, now took his glass
in silence; and Woodford, engaged in some of that
conversation which he called roasting, with another
of the young men, let him drink the wine with-
out insisting on his repeating words, from which,
almost ignorant as he was of the nature of the con-
test with America, his reason and humanity alike
recoiled.
But he did not so escape from the future toast
with which his insupportable uncle had threatened
him. When the whole company had drawn round
the fire (for their supper was now concluded), and
every glass was again by the order of Mr.Woodford
charged—he, who in dining out, and in liberal po-
tations he had taken since he came home, had al-
ready swallowed more than was sufficient to elevate
his robust spirits, stood up with his back to the fire
in the middle of his family and his guests, and there
gave a toast which had a very direct reference to
General Tracy's marriage with his niece Isabella, in
terms so very improper, that Orlando, to whom it
was particularly addressed, felt every principle of
personal honour or general propriety insulted by it,
and positively refused not only to drink it, but
to stay in the room while it was drank. Being
once roused, and feeling himself right, the vulgar
ridicule of his uncle had as little effect as the more
serious and angry remonstrance of his coxcomb


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 33
cousin, who assured him, that only his little know-
ledge of the world, and rustic education, could cover
him from the most serious resentment. A severe
pang touched the sensible heart of Orlando, as he
recollected that his beloved mother would be vexed
at this difference between her brother and her son:
but, when he related the cause, he was sure she
would not blame but commend him; and conscious
of all the dignity of an unadulterated mind, scorning
to stoop to even an unworthy expression because it
was authorized by custom, or insisted upon by a re-
lation, he took his hat, and, wishing the ladies good-
night with great politeness, was leaving the house,
when Woodford himself overtook him at the door,
and apologised for his unguarded proposal, by which,
however, he protested he meant not to offend him.
On this apology, and on an assurance that he should
hear no more of such offensive conversation, Orlan-
do returned to the room, though fully determined
to leave the house the next day.
The licentious and vulgar mirth, however, which
Mr. Woodford chose to call conviviality, was at an
end after this incident. James Woodford, already
detesting Orlando, could hardly be civil to him;
the lady of the house beheld him with a mixture of
envy, contempt and terror: the misses, his cousins,
felt only resentment and contempt: but the little
Jessica, gone already an age in love, admired his
spirit, and adored his beauty; and when her father's
chariot, with an old Hilpah who acted as a sort of
Duenna in it, came to fetch her home, she made a
tolerably confident advance to engage the brave
pretty creature to escort her home. Orlando, how-
ever, either did not or would not understand her;
and James Woodford, piqued at the preference
given to Orlando, which the lady was at no pains
to conceal, suffered her to depart alone.


34 THE old MAN or House.
The rest of the party lº separated: the
young barrister retired to his chambers, hardly
deigning to wish his country cousin good-night—
Orlando, whose trouble no kindness from this fa-
mily had power to allay, as their neglect had no
power to increase it, went to his room little dis-
posed to sleep; fatigue of body and mind gave
him up to a few hours of forgetfulness. At dawn of
morning he awoke, and, as he knew it would be
long before any of the servants rose in an house
where night was converted into day, he dressed
himself; and as the day was to be dedicated to busi-
ness, and he wished to lose as little time as possible,
he went to breakfast at a coffee-house, and left a
note for his uncle, saying, in civil but cold terms,
that, as he had so many affairs to transact in a very
short time, he must keep very irregular hours, and
therefore should be a troublesome inmate in a fa-
mily; for which reason he should take a lodging
near the part of the town where his engagements
lay, and should only occasionally trespass upon
him for a dinner.
From the coffee-house where he breakfasted he
wrote to General Tracy, requesting his directions,
as he determined not to call at his house. To this
letter, however, he did not expect an answer till
after one o'clock, as the General was seldom visible
sooner; and he employed the long interval in
writing to his family a short account of his safe ar-
rival in London, and in pouring out his whole heart
to Monimia in a letter, which he inclosed in one to
his sister Selina.
General Tracy was in the mean time suffering
on one side, all the apprehensions of what would
be thought and said, when his intended marriage
should be known, by those whose interest it was
to keep him single; and, on the other side, from his


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 35
fears of losing Isabella, his passion for whom ab-
sence did not promise to do much towards curing.
Warwick had been returned from his recruiting
party above a week, and had been several times in
Grosvenor Place inquiring for his uncle; and the
behaviour of the lady of the house towards her an-
cient lover was such as gave him great reason to
suppose that his intended reform was suspected, if
not known. Of this, however, he had no longer
any doubt, when, going late in the evening after
his arrival in town to the house he usually fre-
quented in St. James's-street, he was it.upon
this tender subject by all his old friends, and ral-
lied without mercy. As he could not deny an af-
fair of which they seemed so well acquainted with
the particulars, he took at once the resolution to
avow it; their ridicule then ceased, and Tracy re-
turned home, glad that this first burst of laughter
WaS OWer.
But much was yet to come of a more serious
nature, against which he armed himself as well as
he could, by reflecting that he had a very good
right to please himself, and that neither Captain
Warwick, nor any of those other persons to whom
he had given a claim over him, had any other
dependence than on his bounty. To the women
on whom he had made settlements, he knew he
must pay them; but whatever he had done for
Warwick was entirely voluntary; and as his ne-
phew had no other dependence, he would hardly,
for his own sake, so behave as to cut himself off
from a share of his future fortune because he could
not have it all.
Armed with these reflections, he determined to
end this disagreeable state at once, by telling War-
wick what he intended for himself, and for him.
And when his nephew, apprised of his being re-


36 THE OLD MANOR House.
turned to London, waited on him the next morn-
ing at breakfast, Tracy, though he would rather
have mounted a breach, plunged at once into the
subject—informed Captain Warwick of his inten-
tion to marry, and of the immediate present, as
well as future provision he intended for him.
Warwick, who had always feared his uncle's
very youthful propensities would, as he advanced
in life, betray him into the very folly he was now
about to commit, received this intelligence with
more concern than surprise. He was himself of
the gayest and most inconsiderate disposition. In
the height of health, youth, and spirits, the ad-
miration of every woman he saw, and the life of
every company he went into, his vanity did not
allow him to suppose that he owed any part of that
admiration to the prospect he had of being heir to
General Tracy's wealth; and, imputing it all to his
own merit, he fancied himself superior to the ma-
lice of fortune. There were many possibilities
which, on a moment's reflection, weakened the blow
which this intelligence seemed at first to give to
his fairest hopes—His uncle might change his mind
a day before it was exectued—the young woman
might jilt him—or, even if the marriage took place,
he would probably have no children; and then he
should himself be so little injured by this match,
that it was not worth thinking about with any de-
gree of concern—The thousand pounds too, which
his uncle promised him, was a douceur that consi-
derably abated the bitterness of such intelligence;
and Warwick, rather through the carelessness of
his nature than from motives of prudence or policy,
received this intelligence so much more calmly than
Tracy expected, that his uncle appeared to be in
a better humour with him than ever. This uneasy
subject once discussed, Tracy proceeded to inform


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 37
him, that the brother of his intended bride, for:
whom he had procured an Ensign's commission in
his (Warwick's) regiment, though not in the same
company, had accompanied him to London, in
order to equip himself for the service, and to join
that part of the corps that were in England. While
he was thus speaking, Orlando's note was brought
in; and on Tracy hinting that such were his wishes,
Captain Warwick immediately offered to go him-
self to the young soldier, and give him every assis-
tance and information that could be useful to
him.
Instead, therefore, of a written answer to his
note, Orlando heard a gentleman inquiring for him
in the coffee-room; and on his appearing, Captain
Warwick, whose figure and address immediately
prejudiced every body in his favour, introduced
himself as the nephew of General Tracy.
If Orlando instantly conceived a favourable opi-
nion of Warwick, he was yet more struck with his
new acquaintance. From his uncle's account, and
from what his own imagination added to it, he sup-
posed that he was to be a temporary bear-leader to
a tall straight-haired cub just come from school,
who wanted a drill serjeant rather than a fashionable
acquaintance; but when he saw, and only for a
moment had conversed with Orlando, he perceived
that he was one of those beings for whom educa-
tion can do little, and whom nature has so highly
favoured that nothing can be added by art. The
two young men, thus highly pleased with each
other, soon entered into conversation, with that
unguarded familiarity which accompanies generous
tempers in the candid days of youth. ... Orlando
spoke his mind very freely on the absurdity of the
match meditated by the venerable General; and
Warwick as freely ridiculed it, while he could not
VOL., XXXVII, E


38 THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
help expressing some curiosity as to Isabella, whose
charms had thus brought about what so many artful
women of all descriptions had been trying at for
the last thirty years at least. Orlando described
his sister as he really thought her—avery handsome
girl, full of spirit and vivacity, with a great deal
of good humour—a good share of understanding,
which did not, however, exempt her from being
very vain, and somewhat of a coquette. It was on
inquiries relative to her person, which he said must
be extraordinary, that Warwick dwelt the most—
Really, said Orlando, I have seen many women
who are as handsome, some handsomer. For ex-
ample, I think Selina, my third sister, infinitely
more beautiful, though I own to you she is not
generally reckoned so.--Upon my soul, replied
Warwick, your family, Somerive, must be a very
dangerous one—I suppose, though, I am pretty
secure; for my good old uncle, or young uncle—I
cry him mercy!—will not let me have a peep, for
the world, at this future aunt of mine ! Orlando
was glad to see that Warwick, received with so
much gaieté de caeur, an event which would have
raised in the minds of most other persons, so situ-
ated, inveterate enmity against his whole family.
Warwick engaged him to dine at a tavern in Pall-
Mall; and they then went out together, that Or-
lando might know where to find the tradesmen for
whom he had occasion. -
*
CHAPTER IV.
For a young man of the temper and disposition of
Orlando, there could not be a more dangerous
companion than Captain Warwick. Indulged from


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 39
his infancy, by his uncle, in every thing that did
not interfere with his own pleasures, and having no
parents to restrain him, Warwick never dreamed of
checking himself in whatever gratified his passions
or flattered his imagination. His spirit and vivacity
recommended him to societies of men, where he
learned to be an agreeable debauché, to drink with-
out losing his reason, but not always to play with-
out losing his money. His very fine person, and
the softness of manners he could occasionally as-
sume, endeared him to the women, among whom
he was called the handsome Warwick, and with
them lost his time—but hitherto without losing his
heart. With all his acquired imperfections, he
retained many inherent good qualities—He was
humane, generous, and candid: his soldiers adored
him; and his friends, amid all that fashionable dissi-
pation in which most of them lived, were more
attached to Warwick than fashionable men usually
are to any body. Orlando, in the simplicity of his
heart, thought him the man in the world most cal-
culated to be his friend. Warwick was recruiting
at Barnet; but, however, had obtained leave to be
in London: and Orlando, who, after passing a few.
days with him, could less than ever endure the sort
of society he found at Mr. Woodford's, took a lodg-
ing near Warwick's, and they became almost inse-
arable. The General, embarrassed between his love
for Isabella Somerive, which he could not conquer,
and his present connections, which he knew not
how to break, passed in a state of mind by no means
enviable the first week after his return to London;
but the greatest torments he was to experience had
not yet overtaken him, for the societies of fashion-
able women, among which he had been the oracle,
were not yet assembled for the winter. He dread-
ed, when he met them, not only the loss of his con-
E 2


40 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
sequence, but the scorn and ridicule he should be
exposed to. He wished to be once married, when
common civility would repress those sarcasms to
which he knew he should be otherwise exposed;
yet as the preparations necessary for this important
event, which he assured Mr. Somerive he would
hasten, where to be begun, his resolution failed: he
wished he had not gone so far, but had adhered to
his former cruel plan, of waiting till the death of
her father, and the distress and dispersion of her
family, which that event threatened, had thrown
her into a situation in which it was likely she might
be tempted to accept less honourable proposals.
While the mind of the ancient lover thus fluctuated
between the fear of losing her quite, and the reluc-
tance he felt to resign his liberty to obtain her,
Isabella discovered no impatience for his return;
but waited for her promised dignities with tranquil-
lity, which her father was far from sharing. The
painful idea of sacrificing his daughter to merce-
mary considerations, was not more supportable than
that of leaving her destitute, together with the rest
of his family, of a comfortable subsistence; but,
above all, the cruel desertion of his eldest son, of
whom he had now heard nothing for many weeks,
corroded his heart with unceasing torments; and
those torments were increased by the necessity he
imposed upon himself, of concealing them as much
as possible from his wife.
The letters he received from Orlando were his
only consolation; yet even these were embittered,
by hearing, in every one of them, that all his
inquiries after his brother had hitherto been fruit-
less. Warwick, who found great pleasure in his
company, had, very early in their acquaintance,
learned the source of that anxiety which often
clouded the open countenance of his friend; and in


THE OLD. MANOR HOUSE. 4.1
hopes of meeting Philip Somerive, they had gone
together, not only to public places, and to all parts
of them which it was likely he might frequent, but
to gaming houses and taverns of the second class,
where, from Orlando's description of his brother's
style of conversation, Warwick thought it most
likely he would he found: but they gained no intel-
ligence of him; and the very research was not
made with impunity by Warwick, who could seldom
help engaging in anything that was going forward.
But Orlando's affection for his family, and for Mo-
nimia, secured him effectually from the infection of
such societies—he had strength of mind enough to
consider how much he owed to them and to himself,
and to reflect how unpardonable his conduct must
appear to his father, if, in undertaking to recover
his brother he should lose himself. These reflec-
-tions, and an heart almost insensible of all pleasures
but what were derived from the hope of passing
the summer of his life with Monimia, were antidotes
even to the influence of Warwick's example, who
often gaily rallied his country prejudices, but never
seriously attempted to prevert his principles—and
sometimes, in their more serious conversations, was
candid enough to own that he should himself be a
happier man if he did not, rather than incur the
ridicule of those for whose opinion he felt only
contempt, plunge into vices for which he had no
taste, and call pursuits pleasurable, which, in fact,
had no power to bestow pleasure. - “…' .
Orlando had now been three weeks in London;
for the plan of returning to pass his Christmas at
Wolverton, which had been once proposed, had
been given up. The General, contented with hav-
ing introduced him to Captain Warwick, had seen
no more of him since than common civility requir-
ed, and was now gone to pass that space of time
F. 3 tº sº - i. ** 1:
le


42 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
between the end of the old and the beginning of the
new year, when it is very unfashionable to be in
London, at the house of his brother, Lord Barhaven,
who usually remained at his northen residence till
the end of January. The General had originally
roposed to return to Somerive's house at this time;
|. not having yet recovered the doubting qualms
which he had since felt, he thought a fortnight at
his brother's, where he hoped and believed no idea
of his intentions could yet have been heard, would
give his arguments on both sides fair play, which
now were so equally balanced: he should be alike
removed from the fascinating charms of the bloom-
ing Isabella, and from those rivals who, in London,
had many established claims on his heart and his
pocket.—He should not, on one hand, be delighted
with the spectacle of family happiness and domestic
comfort, which the circle at Somerive's house offer-
ed to him; nor, on the other, dread the ridiculous
light into which the wit of his London friends threw
his intended marriage with a beautiful rustic, young
enough to be his grand-daughter. For these rea-
sons he wrote to Somerive, lamenting the necessity
he was under to change his plan ; and alleging
that it was family engagements alone that impelled
him to do so, but that as soon as they were fulfilled
he should hasten on the wings of rapture to West
Wolverton, he set out for the north.
Orlando continued another month in town with-
out hearing of his return, or wishing to hear it for
any other reason than because it would, he thought,
be the signal of their going down together to the
house of his father.—At the end of that time he
became impatient—he had been now above six
weeks absent, and the letters he had from his family,
but still more those he lessfrequently received from
Monimia, irritated this impatience. The anguish


THE OLD MANOR Hous E. 43
of mind that every week increased, while Mr.
Somerive had no news of his eldest son, was by his
letters forcibly expressed to Orlando, while his
mother and his sisters gave him mournful accounts
of his father's health. Mrs. Rayland's letters were,
though very rare, the greatest alleviations to his
uneasiness that Orlando received; for they were as
expressive of kindness, and of increasing attach-
ment to him, as the reserve of her manner, and the
formality of her style, would permit them to be;
and it was a great and very unusual degree of
favour towards any one, that alone could urge her
to write at all. The two letters he received from
her, therefore, were considered by Orlando as being
more unequivocal proofs of her settled affection for
him, than any she had yet given.
Still the time that was to intervene before he
should be permitted to return to the dear paternal
spot, around which were assembled all the future
hopes of his life, seemed insupportably long—He
was now in Hertfordshire with his men; and only
occasionally obtained a few days to pass with his
friend Warwick in London. In the tedious days he
passed almost alone in a little country town, his re-
source was in books, and to such as he could attain
he applied himself with more avidity than he had
ever done at the Hall. Thus passed the month of
February, and part of March. Mr. Somerive then
believing, with great appearance of reason, that
Tracy was trifling with his daughter, wrote to the
General in such a way as must bring on a decision.
In consequence of this, the General, still wavering,
returned to London, from whence, and from his duty
in Parliament, he had absented himself since the
beginning of the session on pretence of ill health.
On his arrival in town a circumstance awaited him,
which called him back to his honest resolutions; for
3


44 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
the young woman, on whom he had profusely lavish-
ed great sums of money, who was established in his
house, and whose settlement he had lately increased
in consequence of his proposed marriage, had quit-
ted his house the evening before that on which she
knew he was to return to it, leaving a letter, in
which she turned him, and all her former professions
of attachment to him into ridicule. She took with
her all the presents he had made her, to a very con-
siderable amount—gave him the name of a person
whom she had authorised to receive the annual sum
he was to pay her—informed him she was gone to
Italy with a young man of fashion, whom she named
to him, and was his most obedient humble servant.
. As the excessive vanity of the General had
blinded him so far as to make him believe he was
extremely beloved by this young woman, who had
always laughed at and imposed upon him, he was
thunderstruck by an incident so unexpected, and
cruelly mortified to find, that while he was medi-
tating how to soften to her the pain of parting, she
was thinking only of flying from him with a
younger lover. His resolutions in favour of matri-
mony, which pride and the dread of ridicule had
at least suspended, now returned in all their force.
He immediately wrote to Somerive, excusing, as
plausibly as he could, his late apparent backward-
mess, and acquainted him that he only waited for
the drafts of the settlements, which, as particular
circumstances in his affairs rendered much atten-
tion to them necessary, his solicitor had promised
to have drawn up and laid before two of the most
eminent counsel—all which he was assured would
not take up above a fortnight, at the end of which
time he should lay himself and his fortune at the
feet of his adorable Isabella.
The General however, though he was now really


Tri E ol D MANOR HOUSE, 45
in earnest, could not prevail on men of law to make
a forced march in his favour; and the fortnight
elapsed in queries and questions in which there
seemed no other end to be obtained than that of in-
creasing the fees of the gentlemen of the long robe,
and the bill of attendance to the attorney. Some-
rive again thought himself trifled with ; and the Ge-
neral, in order to convince him he was not, went
down on a sudden to West Wolverton, where the
charms of Isabella regained at once all their power;
and after staying ten days, and renewing, in the
most solemn manner, his engagements with Some-
rive, he returned to London, to make the last prepa-
rations for his marriage, which was fixed to be with-
in three weeks. . As it had long been settled that
Orlando was then to return home to be present at
the celebration of these nuptials, he heard that all
was at length settled, with a mixture of pleasure
and pain.-The delight he felt at the idea ofreturn-
ing to friends so dear to him—above all of seeing
his Monimia, was embittered by reflecting on the
sacrifice his sister was about to make in this unequal
marriage; nor could he reflect without regret on
the injury it would do to the interest of his friend
Warwick, who, however, spoke of it himself with
philosophic gaiety.
It was near the end of April before the General,
who now remained steady to his engagements,
could prevail upon the tardy special pleader, the
puzzling counsel, and the parchment-loving solici-
tor, to complete their parts in this intended con-
tract. At last however the General, attended by
two of them, set out for West Wolverton, and in a
few days was followed by Orlando, * * * * * * *
The day after his arrival was occupied till it was
almost dark, with the ceremony of hearing these
endless settlements read; and, as he was a party to


46 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
them all, it was impossible to escape even on pre-
tence of the indisputably necessary visit to Mrs.
Rayland; but the instant they were signed he flew
eagerly to the Hall. -
The sight of the many well known objects on his
way—every tree, every shrub, recalled to his mind
a thousand pleasing ideas; and as he passed hastily
through the fir wood, where in a dreary night of
December he had last parted from Monimia, or at
least passed a few agitated moments previous to
their parting, he compared his present sensations
with what he had at that time felt, and laughed at
the superstitious impression given him then, and on
some former occasions, by the gloom of the winter
sky—when he fancied that, in the hollow murmur
of the breeze, he heard, “ Orlando will revisit
these scenes no more 1”
Every object, then wrapped in real and imagi-
nary horrors, was now gay and joyous. It was a
lovely glowing evening, towards the end of April.
—The sun was set, but his beams still tinged with
vivid colours the western clouds, and their reflec-
tion gave the water of the lake that warm and
roseate hue which painting cannot reach.-The
tendergreen of spring formed to this a lovely con-
trast, and, where the wood of ancient pines ceased,
his path lay through a coppice of low underwood
and young self-planted firs—the ground under
them thickly strewn with primroses and the earliest
wild flowers of the year.
Hope and pleasure seemed to breathe around
him, Hope and pleasure filled the heart and
flashed in the eyes of Orlando; and perhaps the
moment when he reached the door of the old Hall,
though he was forced to stop a moment to recover
his breath and recollection, was one of the happiest
in his life. . º - * • *


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 47
It had been the established custom, from his first
admission to the Hall, never to enter the apartment
of Mrs. Rayland but on permission; but now, as he
had informed her from London, that he intended to
be at the Hall in a few days, and had received an
answer most cordially inviting him, his impatience
would not permit him to wait for this ceremony;
and he hardly felt the ground beneath him, as he
sprang up the stairs that led to her usual sitting
parlour, and opening the door, saw, by the faint
light which the old gothic casements afforded at
that hour of the evening, Monimia sitting on the
opposite window-seat alone. He flew towards her,
forgetting, at that moment, that the world contain-
ed any other being. Surprise and pleasure deprived
her as much of her recollection as they had done
her lover; but it returned sooner, and she intreated
him to forbear those frantic expressions of tender-
ness, which were so dangerous in such a place.—
Where are the old ladies then? cried he—they are
only walking in the gallery, replied Monimia, as
Mrs. Rayland was not well enough to go out to-day
—they will be back immediately.—That cannot be,
cried Orlando impatiently, for you know how slow
their progress is; but let us not lose a moment in
talking of them.—Tell me, Monimia, can I see you
at night as I used to do?—Are you still in your
turret, with the same means of leaving it?—Tell
me, Monimia, I must not—I cannot be refused.
Ah, Orlando I answered the faltering Monimia,
dearest Orlando! how often have I repented of
those dangerous, those improper meetings; with
how much difficulty we escaped, and how impossi-
ble it would have been for any other circumstance
than your absence to have quieted the suspicions of
my aunt! And ought we now to renew this hazard-
ous correspondence—ought we to incur again such
danger? Orlandointerrupted her: Ought we! ex-


48 The OLD MANOR HOUSE,
º
claimed he. Is that a question Monimia would have
made after so long an absence, if Monimia was not
changed 1 Changed, Orlando can you think me
changed? Prove then that you are not, said he,
again impatiently interrupting her: let me see you
to night; my leave of absence is only for a few
days, till my sister is married, and I must not—I
will not be trifled with. Oh, hush hush whis-
pered she, there is a noise! they are coming from
the gallery : I had better not be found here with
you. Promise then Monimia—promise me, and
you shall go. I will hazard every thing, even an
immediate discovery, if you refuse me. Monimia,
trembling at his vehemence, then sighed her con-
sent—and hardly knowing what she was about,
gathered up the work that lay in the window-seat,
and softly left the room, while Orlando walked to
the other end of it, assuming, as well as he was
able, an air of unconcern; but before he had made
a second turn Mrs. Rayland entered—and started
at the sight of him, though she had expected him
either that day or the next.
He approached her with all that affection which
is inspired by gratitude; and as he respectfully
kissed her hand, she expressed her pleasure at see-
ing him returned. He then paid his compliments
to Mrs. Lennard, whose eyes, he saw were thrown
round the room for Monimia; she returned his ci-
vilities, however, with great good humour. Can-
dles were ordered, and Mrs. Rayland invited him to
supper, and to take up his residence at the Hall–
favours which, with unfeigned pleasure, he accept-
ed. The old lady, who had now long been accus-
tomed to contemplate Orlando as a creature of her
own forming, was pleased to fancy him improved,
both in his person and his manners, during his short
absence. He had acquired a military air—he was
more easy, but not less respectful; and she fancied


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 49
that he resembled her grandfather's picture more
than he used to do; but she expressed some surprize
not to see him in uniform, which she said, in her
time, all gentlemen of the army appeared in usually.
Orlando promised he would conform to what she
thought right in that respect—not however without
some apprehensions, that as he advanced in life she
would propose to him, in order that he might be
still more like Sir Orlando Rayland, whose portrait
she wished him to resemble, to purchase a tye wig,
and brandish a sword, of which the guard should be
lost in an immense sleeve.
As Mrs. Rayland was not very well, having late-
ly had an attack of the gout, to which she was in
the spring particularly subject, she dismissed the
young soldier early: and it was with inexpressible
delight that Orlando took possession once more of
his old apartments, which had been carefully pre-
pared for him. It would not be easy to describe the
subsequent meeting between him and Monimia,who
suffered herself to be persuaded to renew that clan-
destine intercourse, which they had both so often
condemned as wrong, and renounced as dangerous;
but when Monimia could prevail upon him to
talk less of his present happiness, and to be more
reasonable, she related to him all that had passed
during his absence. Her life had, however, afford-
ed very little variety, but was rather amended in re-
gard to Mrs. Lennard's treatment of her, who em-
ployed her more than usual in attendance on Mrs.
Rayland, in order to save herself trouble, gave her
more liberty, and was rather less harsh towards her
than formerly. She related, that she was now often
suffered to go to church, which had afforded her
the opportunities she had snatched to meet Selina
and correspond with him. Her aunt had apparent-
ly forgotten her suspicions and anger when he was
VOL., XXXVII, F


50 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
no longer near the Hall; and the disappearance of
Betty Richards, who was said to have gone off (ac-
cording to her own assertions) to Philip Somerive,
and was reported to be supported by him in Lon-
don, had been the means of eradicating entirely
from the mind of Mrs. Rayland all those suspicions
which the gossip of the country, collected and re-
peated by the jealousy of the old butler, had made
on her mind; and she now thought better of Or-
lando than if those doubts had never been raised.
Orlando, in collecting all this from Monimia, saw
too clearly the reason why his brother had so care-
fully avoided him; and amid all the delight of
which his heart was sensible in this conference, it
felt a sharp pang, when he reflected how great an
accession of pain this intelligence, which did not
seem to have reached him yet, would give to the
already wounded heart of his father.
Day unwelcomely appeared, and it was danger-
ous for Monimia to stay a moment longer. Or-
lando conducted her safely back, extorting from her
a promise that they should meet every night during
the short time he was to stay. When he left her
his spirits would not allow him to sleep. The morn-
ing was delicious, and a thousand birds from the
woods, on every side the park, seemed to hail his
arrival. Again all the enchanting visions with which
youth and hope had formerly soothed his mind re-
appeared—never did they seem to him so likely to
be realised. His sanguine imagination, no longer
repressed by doubts of Mrs. Rayland's intentions
towards him, which were now every thing but ac-
tually declared, represented to him the most be-
witching scenes of future happiness. The only
alloy was his brother's indiscretions and his father's
health; but he believed he should be able to ob-
viate the inconveniences of the one, and to restore
8 -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 51
the other, when he should possess, what the course
of nature rendered likely to be at no great distance,
the property of Mrs. Rayland, which he meant to
resign to his father for his life.
Happy pliability of the human spirit ! Happy
that period, when youth, and health, and hope,
unite to paint in brilliant colours the uncertain fu-
ture—when no sad experience, no corrosive disap-
pointment, throws dark hues over the animating
landscape; or, if they do, are softened into those
shades that only add to its beauty! Orlando would
not distinguish, in that his fancy was busied in draw-
ing any but agreeable objects—Monimia infinitely
more lovely, and, if possible, more beloved than
ever, was the principal figure. He saw her the
adored mistress of that house, where she had been
brought up in indigence, in obscurity, almost in
servitude; this gem, which he alone had found,
was set where nature certainly intended it to have
been placed—it was to him, not only its discovery,
but its lusture was owing—he saw it sparkle with
genuine beauty, and illuminate his future days;
and he repressed every thought which seemed to
intimate the uncertainty of all he thus fondly an-
ticipated, and even of life itself.
The cool tranquillity of morning, the freshness
of the air, the beauty of the country whithersoever
he turned his eyes, had not sufficient power to
sooth and tranquillize his spirits—he believed a
book which should for a moment carry him out of
himself would do it more effectually; and return-
ing to the library, he took from the shelves two or
three small volumes of poetry which he had pur-
chased, and retiring to an elevated spot in the park,
which commanded a view of Monimia's turret, he
attempted in vain to read; but the sensations he
felt were so much under the influence of fancy,
F 2


52 ThE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
that they suddenly assumed a poetical form in the
following verses:
- -
HYMN TO LOVE AND HOPE.
Twin stars of light! whose blended rays
Illuminate the darkest road,
Where fortune's roving exile strays,
When doubt and care the wanderer load,
And drive him far from joy's abode.
Propitious Love and smiling Hope!
Be you my guides, and guardian powers,
If, doom'd with adverse fate to cope,
I quit in Honour's rigid hours
These dear, these bliss-devoted towers.
Yet here, O still, most radiant! here
(Attend this prayer of fond concern)
To beauty's bosom life endear,
Presaging as ye brightly burn
The rapture of my blest return.
CHAPTER V.
Three days, three happy days to Orlando, now
passed rapidly away. Divided between his father's
house and the Hall, and appearing to constitute the
comfort of both, he was himself gay and cheerful,
in the certainty that at night he should see Moni-
mia. The charms of the season; the beauty of the
country, to which he was attached as well from
taste as habit; the tender affection of Monimia,
which, though more guarded, was more lively
than on their early acquaintance; the delight of
, knowing that his father's sorrows were soothed and
suspended by his presence; and that his mother
looked upon his attention to her as overpaying her
for every other anxiety; all conspired to give


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 53 .
value to his existence, and to blunt the asperity of
those reflections in regard to his brother, which
now and then would interpose and give him mo-
mentary disquiet. He was not quite content about
Isabella, who, through the air of gaiety she assumed
did not seem to be really so well pleased as she
affected to appear. The fulsome fondness of her
ancient military lover sometimes raised her ridicule,
but oftener disgust, which Orlando saw with con-
cern. But on these occasions he reflected that
nothing in this world is without its alloy; and that
so many advantages would accrue to his family by
the marriage of Isabella, that as she did not seem
herself averse to it, it was folly in him to think of
it with concern.
On the morning of the fourth day after his ar-
rival, he had just walked over from the Hall, where
Mrs. Rayland had detained him to breakfast, and
was engaged in conversation in the parlour with his
father and the General, when a dark-coloured cha-
riot, drawn by four sleek dock-tailed horses that
might have matched the set at Rayland Hall, was
seen to approach the house, followed by three ser-
vants in purple liveries.
Mr. Somerive expressed some surprise at this, as
he had not the least recollection of the equipage:
their inquiry, however, who it would be, was im-
mediately answered by the appearance of Doctor
Hollybourn; who, waddling out, inquired for Mr.
Somerive, and was shewn into the room where he
was sitting.
Mr. Somerive was so little accustomed to receive
visits of civility from Doctor Hollybourn, or indeed
any visits at all, that he was as much surprised at
this as he could be at a matter of so little conse-
quence. The very great condescension of the
good Doctor, who bowed as low as his prominent
F 3


54 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
stomach would let him, and whose speeches were
interlarded by all kinds of flattery, Mr. Somerive
accounted for by recollecting that the Doctor was
extremely fond of the company of persons of title,
and never so happy as when he could introduce
some anecdote which related to his brother the
Bishop, or some Right Honourable or Right Reve-
rend Friend. He had, on the occasion of their
meeting at Rayland Hall the preceding November,
paid his court most assiduously to the General;
and enlarged upon the beauty of his brother the
Lord Barhaven's seats; all of which, he said, he
had visited. Somerive now therefore concluded
that it was to the report of his honourable guest,
and of his intended alliance with the family, that
he owed this very obliging visit; which, however,
he began to think very tedious, and dreaded its
lasting till the evening: when, at length, the good
Doctor, after a pompous preface, said that he had
an affair of some consequence to communicate to
Mr. Somerive, on whose time he begged to tres-
pass alone for ten minutes.
Somerive, who could not imagine what a man
with whom he had so slight an acquaintance could
have to say to him, immediately applied this unex-
pected circumstance to the idea always present to
his mind. He fancied some ill had befallen his
eldest son, and that one of his friends had com-
missioned this man of the church to break to him
the horrid tidings; and then to pour into his wound-
ed mind the consolation his profession enabled him
to bestow. -
In an agony not to be described, therefore,
Somerive led the way into his study; where the
Doctor, after another flourishing preface, which
Somerive in the confusion of his mind took for a
preparatory discourse, offered to him for Orlando


The OLD MANOR HOUSF. 55
his daughter, the fair and accomplished heiress, to
whom he declared he would give twenty thousand
pounds down, with an engagement that at his death
that sum should be trebled.
Though the proposal gave no great pleasure to
Somerive, because he disliked Doctor Hollybourn,
and was almost sure Orlando disliked his daughter;
yet this conversation, so different from what he ex-
pected to hear, gave, while it relieved him from
the most dreadful apprehensions, the appearance
of joy to his countenance; he thanked the conse-
quential Doctor for the honour he did his family,
promised to communicate to Orlando the purport
of their conference, and to wait upon him with an
answer, or send Orlando on the following day.
They then returned to the General and Orlando—
the conversation turned on common topics; and
the Doctor, though asked to stay dinner, with-
drew with his usual dignity.
The General was now considered as part of the
family; and before him Somerive, who had hardly
yet recovered from his surprise, related to Orlando,
as soon as he was gone, the purport of his visit.
Mr. Somerive seemed at first but little disposed
to listen to proposals of such a nature from a man
whom he had always rather disliked, and who now
seemed to have made them, only because it was
generally understood that Orlando was acknow-
ledged as the intended heir to the great estates of
the Rayland family.
Orlando very plainly declared his disinclination
to hear of them; while the General, by no means
accustomed to consider pecuniary advantages as
matters to be slightly thought of, or hastily reject-
ed, asked such questions as led Somerive to explain
the particulars of Miss Hollybourn's fortune and
expectations; after which he contrived to turn the


56 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
conversation to indifferent matters for a few mo-
ments, and then walked away with Somerive, whom
he very seriously advised to reconsider the matter
before he suffered Orlando to throw from him this
opportunity of becoming a man of fortune and in-
dependence.
The Doctor's proposal, however flattering it
would have been to many young men; even though
they declined accepting it, gave to Orlando no
other pleasure than what for a moment arose in re-
flecting, that, in thus refusing an affluent fortune,
he gave to Monimia an additional proof of his af.
fection. His father, however, after his late con-
versation with the General, and some reflection
alone, began to see this offer in a more favourable
light than it had at first appeared to him; and not-
withstanding the little inclination he felt for the
family of Hollybourn, he was now of an age and
under circumstances which gave to such a fortune
as Orlando was now offered its full value in his opi-
mion. His mind, already accustomed to contem-
plate the marriage of General Tracy with Isabella
as a desirable event, more easily accommodated
itself to think with approbation of another match
equally dazzling, when opposed to the present un-
certain situation of Orlando. After taking, there-
fore, some turns in his study alone, he sent for his
son, and entreated of him to forbear giving the
Doctor an answer at least for two or three days.
Orlando, who had never hesitated himself what
answer to give, imagined it impossible to give it
too soon–Surely, Sir, said he, as I cannot accept
this good Doctor's very obliging proposals, it will
be useless and uncivil to delay a moment saying
so, which I will say in a letter in the least displeas-
ing manner I can ; but which, however, I must
beg leave to do this evening.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 57
I beg then that you will not, said Somerive in a
more peremptory tone than he was accustomed to
use—In such an affair I will not act without con-
sulting Mrs. Rayland.
Mrs. Rayland, Sir, answered Orlando, will, I am
very sure, either not interfere, or, if she does, it
will not be to recommend Miss Hollybourn.
We will inquire that, replied his father coldly;
in the mean time you have my directions not to
write to Dr. Hollybourn.
Till when, Sir?
At least not till after I know Mrs. Rayland's
opinion.
All the opinions upon earth, Sir, cried Orlando,
will not make me change my resolutions.
I thank you, however, Orlando, said Some-
rive, for avowing how little deference you pay
to mine.
Dear Sir, it was only half an hour since you
seemed as little disposed to listen to this unex-
pected overture as I am.
I had not then thought of it properly. You are
young and rash enough to determine on the most
important matters in ten minutes—I am not; and
therefore I again desire you will not write to Dr.
Hollybourn this afternoon.
Orlando, a good deal hurt at this change in his
father's sentiments, and dreading importunity on
an affair of such a nature, then inquired if he might
himself wait upon Mrs. Rayland?—Somerive an-
swered, You may, if you will at the same time
deliver a letter from me in explanation, and say
dothing yourself till that letter shall be read. …,
This Orlando promised, being pretty certain that
Mrs. Rayland would be much less anxious for this
connection than Mr. Somerive supposed, who now
desired him to send his mother into the study-


58 THE OLD MANOR IIOUSE.
He obeyed; and left them to consult together on
this unexpected offer, and to write to Mrs. Rayland,
with whom he proposed dining, and had engaged
to return to his father with her answer early in the
evening.
Orlando now saw only persecution and trouble
preparing for him at home during his short stay,
for the tears and tenderness of his mother were in-
finitely more formidable to him than any other
mode of interference.—To Selina, whom he called
out to walk with him in the shrubbery, while this
conference was holding, and this letter writing, he
communicated all he felt. She had only tears to
give him; for, to resist her father's commands, or
even his wishes, seemed to her impossible. She
trembled at the idea of Orlando's withstanding
those wishes, yet knew enough of his invincible
attachment to Monimia to be assured that he could
never yield to them. -
A servant at length brought to Orlando, the
letter to Mrs. Rayland for which he had waited,
and he took his way to the Hall. -
As he had promised his father not to speak upon
it before Mrs. Rayland had read the contents, he
sent it up by one of the footmen with a message
importing that he waited her commands.
In this uneasy interval he dared not go in search
of Monimia, nor could he detach his thoughts a
moment from the subject of a proposal which threat-
ened to empoison the few days of delight which he
had promised himself. Restless and anxious, he
walked backwards and forwards in the study with
uncertain steps, now listening to every noise in
hopes of receiving a summons to attend Mrs. Ray-
land; and now believing, from the delay, that she
saw the proposal of Dr. Hollybourn in a favourable
light, and was writing to his father to enforce its
acceptance.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 59
At length he was desired to walk up stairs; and,
with a fluttering heart, he entered the apartment
of Mrs. Rayland, who began by saying—You know,
I suppose, the contents of the letter my kinsman
Mr. Somerive has taken the trouble to send me?
Orlando answered, that he certainly did.
And pray, Sir, have you any wish to accept this
offer? An offer!—The world methinks is strangely
changed —For a man to offerhis daughter—is such
an indecorum—in my time such a proceeding was
unheard of—But however we live and learn . I
have heard that the way of these days is to send
young women to market like cattle: but there is
something perfectly shocking in it to me.—How-
ever, I suppose, to people of the world it is nothing
new or extraordinary—Pray, Sir, what are your
intentions? - - 1 " . . . . . . .
Orlando immediately saw, and saw with inex-
pressible pleasure, that Mrs. Rayland was averse
to the alliance with Dr. Hollybourn. He answered
therefore—My intentions, Madam, are to decline
an offer which certainly lays me under great obli-
gations to Dr. Hollybourn, but which the profes-
sion I have chosen, and my inability to offer Miss
IIollybourn an heart such as her fortune and merit
give her a right to expect, render it impossible for ,
me to accept.
Mrs. Rayland, pleased to see that Orlando had
no desire to become independent of her, or to force
her to a positive declaration of her future inten-
tions in regard to him, which she fancied his father
wished to do by engaging her to give her senti-
ments on his proposal, now smiled very graciously
upon him, and said, I think you right, cousin Or-
lando.—Dr. Hollybourn is to be sure a very wor-
thy man:—his daughter, they say, is a young
person well brought up, and the fortune is very


60 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
large, which first and last he can give her, besides *
what he is always telling me he is to expect from
his brother the bishop.–But, you are yet a very
young man, cousin; and in truth it seems to me to
be time enough to think of marrying—The fortune
of this young woman is certainly very considerable:
but, perhaps, not greater than at some time or
other—(she hesitated as if afraid of saying
too much)—I say, by the time your settling in life
is advisable, perhaps you may not have occasion
to make fortune an object in marrying, so much as
a good family.—Dr. Hollybourn talks of his indeed,
which is not well judged; for there are people who
recollect both the Doctor and his brother, the
bishop, in very humble stations compared to what
they are now. ‘God forbid, though, that I should
despise them therefore not at all; that is not my
meaning—And to be sure your family, my cousin,
has not of itself much pretensions to match with
ancient blood (and again she hesitated as
fearing to betray her intentions too far)—I say
if ever you are in a situation to marry, I would
advise that you think of a woman of a good family
at least.
Orlando waited with impatience for the conclu-
sion of this speech; and then falteringly and
eagerly asked of Mrs. Rayland, if she would have
the goodness to put into writing her opinion on
this subject P.
This, however, she refused, as she said she
would not appear to interfere in it upon any ac-
count.—Will you then, Madam, take the trouble
to see my father?—Will you allow him to wait
upon you?—for he is so anxious for me, and, I
believe, thinks this affair likely to be so agreeable
to you, that he will be hardly easy unless he hears
your sentiments.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 61
Mrs. Rayland, drawing herself up, as was her
way, said—I shall be glad to see Mr. Somerive on
any matter that relates to you, cousin, though on
this occasion I own it seems very needless. How-
ever, you have my leave to say, that I shall be
ready to talk over this business with my kinsman,
provided, as I said before, I am not supposed by Dr.
Hollybourn or his family to interfere.
Orlando, impatient to have this affair concluded
at once and for ever, now asked if his father might
wait upon her that afternoon?—When he pleased,
was the answer;-and Orlando, fearing that if she
was left long to consider of it she might change
her mind as his father had done before, now ran to
West-Wolverton with the utmost speed, quite for-
getting that he was to have dined with Mrs. Ray-
land, or that dining at all was necessary.
When he arrived there, he hastened to relate to
his father and his mother, whom he found together,
the purport of his conference with Mrs. Rayland;
to whom Mr. Somerive agreed to go immediately
after dinner, though he seemed visibly disappointed,
while Mrs. Somerive, who had for a moment in-
dulged herself with the hopes that her Orlando,
instead of continuing in dependence on the caprice
of Mrs. Rayland, and of being separated from her
by an hazardous profession, might be placed at
once in great affluence, and in the immediate neigh-
bourhood, relinquished those hopes, with a deep
sigh, but said nothing to her son on a point where
it would now be useless.
Mr. Somerive, finding the General was gone on
a visit to Stockton's, from whence it was probable
he would not return till half an hour after four,
determined to hasten to Mrs. Rayland before din-
ner. He got on horseback, therefore; and, at-
tended by Orlando, on their arrival at the Hall he
WOL., XXXVII, G


62 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
expressed to his son some apprehensions that the
lady of the house might be at dinner: but Orlando,
whose impatience could brook no delay, declared,
without a very strict inquiry into the hour, that it
was not yet time, and that he was sure they might
go to the parlour where she usually sat, as she
had so positively said they might come at any
time. -
Somerive, almost as anxious for the conference
as his son, though from very different motives,
agreed then to proceed. Orlando would have sent
up a servant, had he met one; but none happened
to appear, and he walked before his father up the
stairs, and, opening the door of Mrs. Rayland's
sitting room, he saw her at table, with Mrs. Len-
mard on one side of it, and Monimia on the other.
He would have retreated; but it was too late. He
was already in the room—his father already at the
table, apologising to Mrs. Rayland for his unsea-
sonable intrusion. She received him with civility,
but without any degree of kindness or warmth–
desired he would take a chair and sit down, and
then said to Monimia, who stood blushing and
trembling, and not daring to look up—Mary, you
will withdraw, I have business with my kinsman.
I beg I may not disturb any body, cried Mr.
Somerive turning his eyes towards Monimia, and
immediately comprehending who she was—I beg
I may be allowed to retire till dinner is over.—No,
Sir, answered Mrs. Rayland; I shall be glad to
hear your business now, and I will dismiss my
people. -- .
Mr. Somerive again looked at Monimia as she
left the room, and he saw that Orlando was lost,
if his being so depended upon his attachment: for
the extreme beauty, sweetness and grace of Moni-
mia, so unlike the cherry-cheeked coarse rustic


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 63
which his fancy had represented her, amazed and
grieved him. He felt at once, that a young man
whose heart was devoted to her, could never think
of Miss Hollybourn, and that he himself could not
blame an attachment to an object so lovely, how-
ever imprudent, or however ruinous.
Mrs. Lennard now offered to withdraw; but her
lady bade her finish her dinner, while poor Orlan-
do cast a melancholy look after Monimia, and then
on the seat she had left, which Mrs. Rayland de-
sired him to take. The dinner was soon removed:
and then Mr. Somerive, in a few words, repeated
the purport of his letter. Mrs. Rayland, even more
strongly than she had done to Orlando, expressed
her wish that the offer of Dr. Hollybourn might be
politely declined; and though she evaded giving
her reasons for it, Somerive thought he saw them
unequivocally, and that, though she studiously
avoided declaring it, she had determined to put
Orlando into a situation in which it would be not
at all necessary that he should marry, for money,
a woman to whom he was indifferent.
Mrs. Rayland had very little art; yet she fancied
herself a profound politician, and never considered
that, while she forebore positively or even remotely
to give Orlando assurances of possessing her estate,
her insisting upon the propriety of his marrying,
whenever he did marry, a woman of family, was in
effect declaring that she meant he should be the
person who was to perpetuate hers, on which she
put so high a value, and thus to efface, in the illus-
trious blood of his posterity, that alloy which the
inferiority of the Somerives had mingled with that
of the Raylands. -
* Somerive, convinced of this even from the pains
she took to conceal it, yielded at once to her wishes,
and assured her he would permit Orlando with
G 2


64 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
great politeness to decline Dr. Hollybourn's pro-
posal; yet as he continued to listen to her harangues
upon family, he could not help looking significantly
at Orlando—looks which his son perfectly under-
stood to say, How will this accord with your attach-
ment to the young person who was this moment
dismissed by Mrs. Rayland as one of her people.
The old lady, however, was hardly ever in so
good a humour with her relations as she became
after this affair was discussed; and Mr. Somerive
never left the house so full of hopes that his family
would be its possessors as he did after this interview, .
when he returned home in good spirits, though
entirely relinquishing the idea of Orlando's becom-
ing the nephew of a bishop.
Orlando himself, though impatient to write and
dispatch the letter to Dr. Hollybourn, yet staid at
the Hall to drink tea, by the desire of Mrs. Ray-
land, who gently chid him for deserting her at din-
ner. . It was with more pain than pleasure that he
heard Monimia sent for to make the tea, which had
hardly happened twice within the last three years
when he was in the house. Mrs. Lennard cast a
look at him when her lady ordered her niece to be
called: but she could make no objection without
raising those suspicions which she ever appeared so
solicitous to prevent. Monimia then attended.
Orlando treated her as a stranger, whom he was
slightly acquainted with; and Mrs. Rayland did not
appear to have the remotest suspicion that he had
any particular regard for her: so friendly to him,
as it happened, had been the mistakes and inter-
pretations which the jealousy of Pattenson had put
upon those circumstances that had so frequently
threatened to betray him. . . . . . . . . . . .
He had settled with Monimia the preceding night,
to stay supper with his father, and return to their


* THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 65
usual rendezvous; and their stolen glances during
the half hour that they were together, in the pre-
sence of the two old ladies, confirmed this appoint-
ment.
Early in the evening, then, Orlando took leave of
Mrs. Rayland, and went back to the house of his
father, whose uncommon good spirits had diffused
more than usual gaiety among his family. Mrs.
Somerive and Selina were particularly cheerful—
the mother, because she saw her husband for a
moment happy, and forgetting the concern he con-
tinually felt about Philip, in looking forward to the
prosperity of his brother—while Selina, who had
trembled for the teasing persecution she apprehend-
ed for Orlando, was delighted to find that her father
would forbear to urge him on such a subject, and
had acquired new confidence in the future inten-
tions of Mrs. Rayland.
Isabella, whose marriage was now within a week
to take place, and who had just received from
London some of those elegant clothes which her
father had ordered for her, as well as some magni-
ficent presents from the General, was the least gay
of the party: amidst all her endeavours to persuade
herself that she was happy, she had of late, and
particularly since she had possessed these fineries,
often inquired of herself whether they had really
any power to bestow happiness. She had tried on
her diamond ear-rings, and a valuable pearl neck-
lace; but she could not discover that she looked at
all handsomer in them than when she wore nothing
but a simple ribband. The General's valet de
, chambre had dressed her hair: but she thought the
mode unbecoming to her face, and the beautiful
dark auburn hue, which had been so much admired,
was no longer distinguishable. As for her intended
husband, he was so far from having made any pro-
G 3


66 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
gress in her affections since he had been received
as such, that her contempt was converted into dis-
gust. His servants had been talking among those
of Somerive, of his gallantries, and, above all, of
the sudden desertion of the lady who lived with
him; of all which Isabella had heard from her maid,
and the longer she listened to, or thought of the
anecdotes thus collected, the greater became her
repugnance; and yet she knew not how to retract,
and was not always sure that she wished it.
Her gravity was easily accounted for, as the day
approached that was to divide her from her family;
and she was suffered, after some gentle raillery, to
be silent and pensive amidst the cheerful conversa-
tion of the rest. -
It was a lovely evening in early May. Orlando
having dispatched his letter, dismissed Dr. Holly-
bourn and the disagreeable heiress from his mind,
and gave it up only to F. impressions and
flattering hopes. In a happier frame of mind than
he almost ever was in before, he joined his family
in their evening walk. When they reached the
house, they stopped in the court before it, to admire
the beauty of the moon, and to listen to the night-
ingale, who seemed to be addressing to that beau-
tiful planet her plaintive orisons. Orlando wished
himself with Monimia: and thought with delight
that within two hours he should be so, and should
relate the unpleasant alarm of the day, only to tell
her it was over, and had eventually been fortunate
in drawing from Mrs. Rayland declarations more
than ever favourable to his future hopes.
The whole party sat down to supper in this cheer-
ful disposition. }. General, like a happy lover,
was particularly animated; and the younger girls
were much amused by some anecdotes he was re-
lating, when a servant entered hastily, and said that


THE old MANOR HOUSE. 67
a gentleman who was just come post from London
desired to speak to General Tracy.
To me! cried the General, changing counte-
nance: Impossible! I know no business any one
can have with me that should give him that trouble.
Pray, inquire his name, or send my servants to
inquire.
I will go myself, General, said Orlando. I thank
you, cried Tracy, affecting great unconcern; but I
dare say it is nothing worth your troubling your-
self to go out for.
Orlando, however, went out, and instantly re-
turned, bringing with him Captain Warwick.
Surprise was visible on the faces of all the party,
but that of General Tracy expressed consternation
—Why Warwick came he could not conjecture; but
he felt it to be extremely disagreeable to him that
he came at all. Warwick was covered with dust,
and had that wild and fatigued look that announces
tumult of spirit from an hot and rapid journey. The
person, however, that nature had given him, was
such as no disadvantageous circumstance could
obscure. He looked like a young hero just returned
unhurt from the field to recount its triumphs.
After addressing his uncle, and being introduced
to Mr. and Mrs. Somerive, he turned gaily to Or-
lando, and, shaking him by the hand, said, I don't
know, my friend, how you can ever forgive the
man whose fortune it is to announce to you that
you must quit immediately such a circle of friends
as I now find you in!
Quit them! exclaimed Mrs. Somerive. Quit us!
leave us! cried her husband. Yes, indeed! an-
swered Warwick with less vivacity: That part of
our regiment, which is in England, consisting of
two companies, is ordered to join the troops that are
going thither, and are to sail from Portsmouth next


68 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
week. The moment I was sure of this, which was
not till late last night, I thought it best to come
down myself; because the time is so short that my
friend here, the young ancient”, had better pro-
ceed immediately from hence to Portsmouth.
Never was a greater, a more sudden change,
than these few words made in the dispositions of
all present—except Tracy, whose only distress was
the appearance of Warwick, where he so little
wished to see him. Mrs. Somerive, struck to the
heart by the cruel idea of losing Orlando, retired
in silent tears; and her daughters, little less affected,
followed her. Somerive bore this painful intelli.
gence with more apparent fortitude; but he felt it
with even greater severity, and with something like
a prepossession that he should never see Orlando
again if he left England. He stifled, however, his
emotions, and endeavoured to do the honours of
his house to his unexpected visitor; but the effort
was too painful to be long supported, and in a few
moments he left the room, saying to Orlando, that
as the General and Captain Warwick might per-
haps have some business, they would leave them
together.
… " CHAPTER WI.
MR. Somerive threw himself into a chair, and,
clasping his hands eagerly together, exclaimed,
Good God; what is to be done now P
Nothing, my dear Sir, replied Orlando, can or
ought to be done, but for me to obey the orders I
have received; and, I beseech you, do not suffer a
(, , , ,
* Ensign.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 69
*
matter so much in course, or which might have
been so easily foreseen, to make you unhappy!
What will become of me, cried Somerive wildly,
when you, Orlando, are gone? And your brother,
your unhappy brother is a misery rather than a
protection to your sisters, to your mother . . . . .
They will want no protector, Sir, said Orlando,
much affected by his father's distress, while you live
—and . . . . . . . -
That will be but a very little while, my son the
cruelty of your brother has broken my heart!—
While you were all that could make me amends,
the wound, however incurable, was not immediate-
ly mortal: but now ! -
He put his hands to his heart, as if he really felt
there the incurable wound he described bleed afresh,
Orlando, concealing his own concern as well as he
could, endeavoured to sooth his father, by repre-
senting to him that this was always likely to hap-
pen, and that probably a few months would re-
store him to his family. Somerive listened to no-
thing but his own overwhelming apprehensions,
and cast his thoughts around to every remedy that
might be applied to so great an evil. The assu-
rance General Tracy had given him that there was
no likelihood Orlando should be sent abroad, now
appeared a cruel deception, which had betrayed
him into such folly and rashness as sending into
the army that son on whom rested all the depend-
ence of his family. Bitterly repenting what he
could not now recall, he caught at the hope that
Mrs. Rayland might interpose to prevent her fa-
vourite's being exposed to the dangers of an Ame-
rican campaign—You cannot go, cried Somerive,
after a moment's pause; Mrs. Rayland will never
suffer it—it will be renouncing all the advantages
she offers you,


70 THE old M A Nor Hous E.
I must then renounce them, Sir, said Orlando;
because I'must otherwise renounce my honour.
What figure, I beseech you, would a man make,
who having in December accepted a commission,
should resign it in May because he is ordered
abroad 2 My dear Sir, could you wish such an in-
stance should happen in the person of your Orlando?
The unhappy father could not but acknowledge
the truth of what Orlando said; but his heart, still
unable to resist the pain inflicted by the idea of
losing him, clung involuntarily to hº that the
attachment of Mrs. Rayland might furnish him
with an excuse for withdrawing from the army, and
the greatness of the object for which he staid, jus-
tify his doing so to the world. Orlando in vain
contended that this could not be, and besought his
father not to give to his mother any expectations
that it could—Consider, Sir, said he, that my mo-
ther will suffer enough; and let us try rather to
soften those sufferings than to aggravate them by
suspense, and by those fallacious hopes which will
serve only to irritate her concern: when my going
to whither my duty calls me is known to be inevi-
table, my mother, with all her tenderness of heart,
is too reasonable either fruitlessly to oppose or im-
measurably to lament it—she would despise a
young man who shrunk from his profession be-
cause there was danger in it; and I am sure, affec-
tionate as she is, would rather see her son dead
with honour, than living under the stigma of cow-
ardice! -
I believe you are right, Orlando, replied Some-
rive: and I will endeavour, my son, to conquer
this selfish weakness. But Mrs. Rayland, it is ne-
cessary you immediately see her. I shall go thither
to-night, Sir, said Orlando, that I may wait upon
her early in the morning; but do not, I entreat you,


The old MANoh Hous E. 71
harbour an idea that Mrs. Rayland will even wish to
prevent my departure. -
Somerive now at the earnest entreaty of Orlando,
promised to compose himself before he went to his
wife and daughters, and not to encourage their
want of fortitude, by shewing himself wholly de-
ficient in it. He then wished him good night, say-
ing that he would speak a few words to Captain
Warwick, and then go to the Hall.
Somerive retired with an oppressed heart; and
Orlando entreated Warwick to walk with him part
of the way. He then heard that he must go to
Portsmouth within two days; and Warwick, who
spoke of it with all the indifference of a soldier
long used to these sudden orders, proceeded to
talk of other matters. Do you know, said he, that
I am in love with all your sisters, my friend; but
particularly with my future aunt? Orlando, I shall
be a very loving nephew. What eyes the rogue
has Egad I shall be always commending the Por-
tuguese fashion of marrying one's aunt—that is, if
our old boy should have the conscience to make
an honourable retreat.
You are a happy man, Warwick, answered Or-
lando: How lightly you can talk of what would
depress half the young fellows in England—the
chance of losing such a fortune as the General's
marriage may deprive you of
Oh, hang it! replied Warwick, 'tis not the for-
tume I mind, for I suppose I shall have some of it
at last, unless some little cousins should have the ill-
nature to appear against me; but I hate that such
a lovely girl as this Isabella of yours should be sa-
crificed to my poor old uncle, whom, if you could
see him in the morning, before he is, like Lord
Ogleby, wound up for the day, you would vote to
be much fitter for flannels and a good old nurse,


724 . THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
than for a husband to a girl of nineteen—and such
a girlſ upon my soul, she is a little divinity.
Not half so interesting in my mind, said Orlando,
as the soft, sensible Selina.
You are no judge of your sistérs—Selina, that is
I suppose the second, is a beautiful Madonna; but
Isabella, my most respectable aunt, is a Thalia, a
Euphrosyne.-I have a great notion, Somerive,
that she would prefer the nephew to the uncle—I
have half a mind to try.
There is hardly time for the experiment, I fear,
answered Orlando; who made an effort to be as
unconcerned as his friend.
Not time ! cried Warwick. Yes, there is time
enough for a soldier accustomed to carry every
point by a coup de main—I own, indeed, for an ap-
proach by sap I should be too much limited. Or-
lando, shall I try my military skill? have I your
leave?—Or should you object to exchange the in-
tended grave Governor for the Soldier of fortune?
Not I, indeed, answered Orlando; you have my
permission, Warwick—and so now I will wish you
good night; for, if I take you any farther, you will
not find your way back.
Trust that to me, Orlando, answered his friend;
I am used to reconnoiture in all lights, from the
golden rays of Phoebus to the accommodating
beams of the paper lantern of an apple-woman at
the corner of a street in a country town.—But
whither art going, my friend? for that is a ques-
tion which I set forth without asking.
To the Hall, replied Orlando.
To the Hall !—and to the turret of that Hall !—
Oh! you happy dog!—
...Monimia—my angel!—It was not kind
To leave me like a turtle here alone!”


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 73
Hah, my friend has your sweet nymph of the
enchanted tower no paranymph that you could
introduce me to ? It will be horribly flat for me to
go back, to go to my solitary couch, and envy
you here, and my prosperous uncle there—I shall
hang myself before morning.
Orlando, hurt at this light way of naming Moni-
mia, answered rather coldly, Your spirits are really
enviable, Warwick! but do not let them hurry you
into a persuasion that I am happy enough now to
be amused with them, pleasant as they are!
Why, what the devil's the matter with you?
answered Warwick; you are not going to turn
parson, I trow? But really so dolorous a tone is fit
only for the pulpit of a methodist.—Why, what
makes you unhappy, when such a girl as you de-
scribe Monimia
Orlando interrupted him warmly—You are de-
termined to mistake me, Captain Warwick! What-
ever confidence I have reposed in you in regard to
Monimia, surely I have never said any thing that
should authorise you to speak thus lightly of her.
It is true that I love her passionately, that her heart
is mine ! but if you suppose—
Pooh, pooh! I suppose nothing—Pr'ythee do
not be so grave about you little Hero, my dear
Leander!—Then assuming a more serious tone, he
added: But, upon my soul, I mean nothing offen-
sive, my friend; and rattled as much to disguise my
own heaviness as to divert yours, for I have left
people with whom I should much rather have re-
mained a little longer, and that without havin
time to attempt consoling the gentle heart that i.
breaking for me. He then communicated to Orłº
lando an intrigue in which he had engaged after,
he left him. Orlando represented to him all the
cruelty and folly of his conduct.—Oh! yes, cried
WOL., XXXVII, H


74 The old MANor House.
Warwick; all that you say is very wise and very
true, and it must be owned that it comes with pe-
culiar propriety from you, my most sage friend!—
Now that we are within sight of the Hall, for, if I
mistake not, that great building which is before us
is the abode of the sybil whose rent-roll exceeds in
value the famous leaves of antiquity, and of the fair
vestal, who——
Nay, nay! cried Orlando, you are beginning
again; I will not stay to hear you. -
Only let me go with you to the next rise, an-
swered Warwick; only shew me the light from the
turret, and I will be content:
“It is the East—and Juliet is the Sun!”
And then I will go back like a miserable wretch as
I am, and try to dream of my future aunt.
Rather try not to dream of her said Orlando;
upon my honour, Warwick, this gaieté de coeur of
yours excites at once my envy and my fear.
Oh! a soldier, and afraid!—What, do you think
I shall release the General's fair prisoner, and, like
an undutiful nephew, escape from the garrison with
the old boy’s prize?
No, no, Warwick, I have no such apprehensions;
but—But what? Egad, my friend, considered in a
political light, it is clear to me that this is the very
best thing I could do.—But behold the venerable
towers of Rayland Hall!
“Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the woody glade,
Where fond Orlando still adores
The sweet imprison'd maid.”
Give me a moment's time, added Warwick, pausing
—but a moment, and I will make for you a parody
on the whole”.
‘’’. * Gray's Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College.


- THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 75
You are intolerable, Warwick, cried Orlando,
and I positively will endure you no longer—Yes,
a little longer, said Warwick; let me finish my
parody; I tell you I am in a fortunate vein.--You,
Orlando, who are yourself a poet, would you be
tasteless enough to check a man inspired?—Listen,
I am going on——
Nay, but this is sad trifling, my dear Warwick
and what is worse, you will really be heard from
the house, which will not be a trifling inconveni-
ence. Besides, upon my honour, your returning so
late across the park is unsafe; for, when the old
butler has no reasons of his own to have them kept
up, there are three fierce blood hounds let loose to
range over it all night, and they would not fail to
seize any stranger.
D—n your blood-hounds !—Pr'ythee, Orlando,
do you think I am not accustomed to guards of
all sorts, and have encountered the mastiff dog, and
the dragon aunt, in twenty scrambling adventures?
I do not doubt your prowess, replied Orlando;
but here, as there is no reward, why should you
exert it? -
Mais seulement pour me tenir enhaleine, mon ami,
et pour passer le tems—But, however, if it is serious-
ly inconvenient to you, I will go.—Come, now, to
be serious—at what time to-morrow shall you be
at your father's 2
Long before you are awake probably, for you
know you never are very alert in a morning.
Not when I have nothing to do; but, pray, are
your family early risers? At what hour may I ask,
by anticipation, the blessing of my blooming aunt?
That you must discover, for it is very uncertain—
and now, Warwick, once more good night!
Good night ! O most fortunate and valorous
Orlando of the enchanted castle !
H 2


76 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Orlando then gave his light-hearted friend direc-
tions to find his way back, and when he left him,
advanced slowly towards the house, from which he
was not above three hundred yards distant.
His mind, which had been at first distracted by
the distress of his father, and since harassed by the
ill-timed raillery of his friend, now returned to those
bitter reflections which arose from the certainty of
his being immediately to take a long leave of Moni-
mia, and under the cruel necessity of telling her so.
But a few hours since he looked forward to the
pleasure of meeting Monimia with only tidings of
satisfaction and hope; now, he was to meet her,
only to tell her that they were to part so soon, never
perhaps to meet again :
He now entered his study (for one of the servants
sat up to let him in,) and endeavoured to collect
himself enough to communicate what he had to say
to Monimia, without too much shocking her. But
when he thought that their next meeting might be
the last they should ever have, his own courage
forsook him, and he dreaded lest he should be quite
unable to sustain hers. -
The hour soon came when he knew she expected
him; and he trembled as he led her down the
stairs. . At length, since it was impossible to dis-
guise from her those emotions which agitated his
mind, he related to her all the occurrences of the
eventful day, and the necessity there was for his
preparing himself the next day, and taking leave
of this part of the country the day following.
Monimia could not shed tears; her heart seemed
petrified by the greatness and suddenness of the
blow, which fell with more force, because their
last interview had been solittle embittered by fears
or broken by alarms. When, however, Orlando
explained to her, that his honour would be irre-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 77
parably injured if he even expressed any reluct-
ance to enter on the active parts of the profession
he had engaged in, and that to attempt disengaging
himself now would be a blemish on his character
from which he could never recover, her good sense,
and her true, tenderness for him, gave her some
degree of composure, and even of resolution. As
he declared that he felt nothing so severely as
leaving her—leaving her unprotected, and almost
alone in the world, she nobly struggled to conceal
her own anguish, that she might not aggravate his;
and, since his going was inevitable, endeavoured
not to depress, by her fears, that spirit with which
it was necessary for him to go.
Orlando, as much charmed by her sense as her
affection, became ashamed of betraying less tender
resolution than a timid uninformed girl. She taught
him how to repress his concern: and this inter-
view, instead of increasing his regret, fortified his
mind against it. Monimia remained with him a
less time than usual—with faltering lips he entreat-
ed her to meet him again the next night, because
it would be the last. Momimia, unable to articulate,
assented only by a broken sigh and Orlando re-
tired to his bed, where sleep absolutely refused to
indulge him with a few hours of forgetfulness till
towards morning.
When he had told Warwick that he should be
at his father's house early in the morning, he for-
got that he should be detained by the necessity he
was under to attend Mrs. Rayland. He sent up
for permission to wait upon her at breakfast, which
was immediately granted; and he opened to her
as soon as he was admitted, the reason of this
early visit, and the necessity he was under to take
leave of her the next day to join his regiment in
America. . . ...tº gº .
H 3


78 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Mrs. Rayland expressed more surprise than con-
cern at this information: accustomed, from early
impressions, to high ideas of the military glory
of her ancestors, and considering the Americans
as rebels and round-heads, to conquer them seemed
to her to be not only a national cause, but one in
which her family were particularly bound to en-
gage.—She had contemplated only the honours,
and thought little of the dangers of war. The tro-
hies that surrounded the picture of her warlike
grandfather Sir Orlando, and the honourable men-
tion that was made of his prowess in the family an-
mals, seemed to her ample compensation for a wound
in his leg, which had made him a little lame for
the rest of his life. Of Orlando's personal danger,
therefore, she had, as he expected, no apprehen-
sions, and was rather desirous he should justify
her partiality to him, by emulating the fame of the
heroes of her family, than afraid of what might
happen in the experiment.
Mrs. Rayland parted from him in high good
humour, desired he would give her as much time
as he could the next day, and set out from the Hall
rather than from West Wolverton, when he went
to Portsmouth; all which Orlando readily pro-
mised, and then, with a heavy heart, went to the
house of his father.
That capricious fate which seemed to be weary
of the favours she had long been accumulating on
the head of General Tracy, appeared now deter-
mined to discard him, as she is often said to do her
ancient favourites. A more malicious trick than
that she now meditated, could hardly befal any
of them—The General had long kept off, by art,
an attack of the gout, a disease to which he did not
allow himself to be supposed liable; but whether
it was the long walk of the preceding evening, or the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. W9
tumult of his spirits on his appoaching muptials,
or the sudden sight of his nephew, that occasioned
an unlucky revolution, certain it is that, in the mid-
dle of the night, he was awakened by this most in-
exorable disease peremptorily telling him, in more
than one of his joints, that the visit would be more
oppressive by having-been so long delayed. His
valet de chambre was hastily summoned, with such
applications as, however dangerous, had sometimes
repelled its attacks; but it was to no purpose the
unfortunate General would have risked his life to
preserve his activity; the morning found him a
cripple, compelled to yield, with whatever reluct-
ance, to the old remedies of patience and flannel.
This circumstance, so very mal-apropos, ap-
peared yet more terrible to the General, when he
reflected that Warwick, the formidable handsome
Warwick, had now an º of entertaining
Isabella: and the pain of his mind irritating and
increasing his bodily sufferings, Mr. Somerive,
instead of a man of the church, who was within
three days to have attended on his guest, thought
it more expedient to send for a physician.
Tracy, however, considered of nothing so ear-
nestly as getting Warwick away—It was true, in-
deed, that he was to go the next day, or at farthest
the day after that, which depended upon the let-
ters he received from Portsmouth; but, that he
should be almost four-and-twenty hours longer
under the same roof with Isabella was not to be
endured. After many plans, therefore, adopted
and rejected, the General at last determined
that he would make some pretence to send
'Warwick to London which he could not evade,
and imagined that he should then be able to say,
... “Being gone—I am myself again!”


80 The OLD MANOR HOUSE,
For this purpose he ordered his nephew to be called
to his bed-side; and when Orlando arrived at the
house, they were in close conference.
The three girls were at work in the parlour when
their brother entered it. He observed something
very unusual in the manner of Isabella, who spoke
little: while all his questions were answered by one
of his youngest sisters. He inquired for Warwick:
and, in a moment, heard him come down stairs.
He went to him in the hall, and Warwick hastily
said–Orlando, will you come out with me? I have
something to say to you.
They went together into the avenue: Warwick
walked fast, but appeared lost in thought; and
Orlando, oppressed with his own sorrows, had no
inclination to speak first.
At length Warwick, as if he had found the ex-
pedient he wanted, exclaimed suddenly—By Hea-
ven it will do!—it must do —it shall do!
Indeed! said Orlando; may I know what?
Tell me, my friend, cried Warwick, with vehe-
ment warmth–tell me if you love Monimia—if it
is not death to part with her?"
To what purpose is such a question? You know
I exist but for her—you know I should prefer death
to this separation, because my mind will be torn to
pieces by anxiety for what may befal her in my
absence 1
Well, then, I may trust you—I may ask what
you would do for that friend who should not only
prevent your parting with her, but give you your
Monimia for ever !
Do not trifle with me, Warwick, said Orlando
mournfully, I cannot bear it !
By all that is sacred! replied Warwick, I never
was more in earnest in my life; and, if you do not
trifle with yourself, Monimia may be yours imme-


The old MANor House. 81
diately, and it will be beyond the power of fortune
to divide you.
Explain yourself then—but it is impossible, and
your wild imagination only—
Say rather, retorted Warwick, that your cold
prudence will destroy what my imagination would
realize.—I tell you, it is in your own power to be
happy; but before I reveal how, swear to me, upon
the honour of a soldier and a gentleman, that
if you do not approve my plan you will not be-
tray it.
Surely, there is little need, said Orlando, more
and more amazed, of my giving you an oath that
I will not betray my friend, especially when he
meditates how to serve me.
Pardon me, cried Warwick; I desire, Orlando,
to serve you, but I am not quite so disinterested
as not to think a little of myself at the same time—
I may venture to swear, Warwick, that I will
mever betray you, said Orlando gravely; but put
an end to these riddles.
You swear then, upon the honour of a soldier
and a gentleman, that you will not mar my plan
if you will not make yourself a party in it—you
have sworn.
I have, answered Orlando, sworn; but if it relates
At that moment an idea of the truth occurred
to him.
If it relates to your sisters, you were going to
say, the oath is not binding—Well it does relate to
Isabella!
To Isabella?
Yes, to Isabella. It matters not, nor have I time
to relate, how I have contrived, even in this short
interval, to persuade your lovely sister that a
young fellow of three-and-twenty, with only one
thousand pounds in the world, and his commission,


82 THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
is more to her taste than an old one of three-and
sixty, who is a General, and worth about an hun-
dred and fifty times that sum—I told you, I always
carried my object by a coup de main.--To be brief,
I am madly in love with Isabella, and she is as
much in love with me as she dares own on so short
an acquaintance.—My uncle is in love with her
too; but she is not at all in love with him ; and
as she prefers the nephew with his knap-sack to the
uncle with his money-sack, she shall not be sacri-
ficed to him; but I will marry her, and take her
with me to America. -
Marry her! cried Orlando in extreme surprise.
Why you may well wonder, to be sure, because
I believe she is the only girl in the world that
could have made me take so extraordinary a reso-
lution.
But how is it possible? How is there time to
execute it?
Oh, my friend! it is a matter that takes up very
little time when the parties are agreed.
But Isabella is not of age; she cannot be mar-
ried here.
She may in Jersey, though.
In Jersey P
Yes; and it is very possible to go from Ports-
mouth to Jersey, and be back again time enough
for the sailing of the squadron we must proceed
with to America.
And has Isabella consented to all this?
No, because I have not directly proposed it to
her ; mor did I, till since the conversation I have
had with my uncle, know that I should have the
means of performing it, which (I thank him) his
anticipating jealousy has put into my hands.
Warwick then took out of his pocket-book a draft'
of the General's to him for a thousand pounds,


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE, 83
payable at sight in London.—My grave old uncle,
cried he, for whom I think fortune has interfered,
to prevent his being ridiculous in his old age, is
just now more miserable because I am in the house,
than because the gout is in his toe ; and he has
found out, that instead of staying till to-morrow or
next day to go to Portsmouth with you, it will be
better for me to set out as soon as I can, to do
some business for him in London, which though he
never thought of it before, he now says admits of
no delay; and that I may have no excuse to stay
afterwards on my own business, or to return hither,
he has given me a bank-note of an hundred for my
immediate expenses, and this draft for a thousand
—the douceur he promised me on his marriage.
Well I
Well! and so we shall not want money, which
would have been an almost invincible impediment.
I shall now, as soon as I have settled our proceed-
ings with my angelic Isabel, which I have not the
least doubt of doing, make the best of my way
to London, execute the imaginary business which
. most profoundly politic uncle has given me, and
then —
I do not yet understand you, said Orlando; how
is my sister to be of this party, or how.........
Nothing so easy, answered Warwick; I thought
my friend, you were enough in love yourself to
suppose every thing possible, and not to hesitate
between quitting }. mistress, perhaps for ever,
and taking her with you as your wife.—I go from
London to Portsmouth—Is there any difficulty in
your meeting me there with my Isabella and your
Monimia? You know there is not; and whatever
scruples your sister may have, or as you perhaps
think ought to have, to taking such a journey to
me on the acquaintance of the day, will be obvi-


84 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ated by your going with her, and by her having a
female companion.—My purse is yours, and its
present condition will enable us to do well enough
till something or other happens in our favour—I am
determined, if Isabella consents, which I am now
going to try; and so I leave you, Orlando, to con-
sider of my proposal : you must, however, resolve
quickly; for I shall set out almost as soon as dinner
is over for London, as I have promised my uncle.
Warwick then walked away towards the house,
leaving Orlando in a state of mind difficult to be
conceived or described. To have the power of tak-
ing with him his adored Monimia, secure of a pre-
sent support for her, and certain that with him she
would be happy in any country, was a temptation
it was almost impossible to resist: when he con-
sidered on the other hand, the pain of being sepa-
rated from her, for a long, perhaps an eternal ab-
sence, and of leaving her to the mercy of such a
woman as Mrs. Lennard, who might, either by
withdrawing her protection, or rendering it an in-
tolerable bondage, drive the lovely orphan alone
and friendless into a cruel world; other means of
saving her he had none, and neither the laws of
God or man were against those which were now so
unexpectedly offered him.
But his father, already broken-hearted by the
desertion of one of his children, would be hurried
to the grave by thus being deceived by two others.
His mother would be rendered wretched, and he
should perhaps accuse himself of being accessary to
the death of both his parents:—the thought was not
to be borne. He determined for a moment to re-
nounce every happiness which must be purchased
by their misery, and not only to fly himself from
this almost irresistible temptation, but to prevent
Isabella from yielding to it. But this resolution


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 85
was hardly formed, before the image of Monimia
weeping in solitude her desolate fate, complaining
to him, who was too far off to hear—ill-treated or
abandoned by her aunt—exposed to the insults of
the profligate, and the contempt of the fortunate
—came with all its pathetic interest to win him
from his duty; and then, the happiness of calling
her his—of knowing that only death could divide
them the contest was dreadful; and he knew that
when he saw Monimia it would be worse.—Once or
twice he determined to put an end to it, by telling
his father; but to this desperate expedient was op-
posed the honour he had given to Warwick not to
betray, if he could not participate, the intended
flight of his sister; nor did he imagine that her go-
ing off with Warwick would be a very distressing
circumstance to his father.—However enraged the
General might at first be, his pride would not suffer
him finally to abandon his nephew. In every point
but that of present fortune, Warwick must have the
preference: and Orlando thought that he had often
seen, by his father's countenance as he looked at
Isabella, that he regretted the sacrifice he was in-
duced by his own circumstances to promote.—But
with himself it was quite otherwise; and the rash
step he was thus strongly tempted to take, would
blast at once all those hopes his father now so
fondly cherished in regard to the Rayland estate
(for it was certain Mrs. Rayland would never for-
give him;) and, by acceding to Warwick's proposal,
he must deeply aggravate every pang of that sepa-
. which his father seemed already unable to
CIlúure, -
VO L., XXXVIſ, f


86 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER VII.
-
Torn by these distracting contests between love
and duty, Orlando continued for some moments to
traverse the place where Warwick had left him.
His two younger sisters appeared to interrupt with-
out relieving this painful debate. He learned from
them that Captain Warwick and Isabella were gone
together for a walk, and that the former had sent
them to him, as he wanted to speak with them. A
new doubt now arose in the mind of Orlando—
Ought he to communicate to Selina what was go-
ing forward, of which she appeared to be igno-
rant? or conceal within his own bosom what he
could not prevent, or entirely disapprove? After a
little consideration he thought it would be best not
to make Selina a party: and he endeavoured to
dissemble as well as he could the conflict of pas-
sions which were preying on his heart. His father,
pale and dejected, with a slow and languid step,
soon after joined them: he bade the two girls go to
their mother, and then taking Orlando's arm, they
walked together to a greater distance from the
house.
You go then to-morrow, Orlando? said Some-
rive: there are no hopes of any favourable reverse
to this cruel sentence P Mrs. Rayland, I find,—he
hesitated—does not wish to interfere, Sir, replied
Orlando. On the contrary, she seems to think that
a young man of my age and profession cannot be
so well employed as in the actual service of his
country.
Somerive answered only with a deep sigh; and
after a short pause Orlando went on :
Ibeseech you, my dearest Sir, not to make your-
self thus unhappy. Consider that, notwithstanding


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 87
this temporary parting, my prospects are infinitely
better than I had any right to expect, and—
They might, however, have been better, said his
father in his turn interrupting him—at least they
might have been more permanently assured, if you
had listened to the proposals we heard yesterday:
instead of quitting your family, you might then
have been settled near it in affluence.
Let us not, my dear father, answered Orlando,
discuss that any more; I would not marry Miss
Hollybourn, if she could give me a kingdom.
Nor give up your boyish fancy for that girl at
the Hall to save your family, to save your father
Orlando started as if he trod on a serpent: this
was a string that jarred too much, it threatened to
destroy all the virtuous resolutions which he had
been labouring to adopt; for it seemed to be cruel-
ty and injustice in his father to reproach him; and,
conscious of the sacrifice he hoped to have fortitude
enough to make, it appeared too hard that he was
at that moment blamed for not making more.
No, Sir, said he, I will not give up my fancy for
the girl at the Hall, as you are pleased to term her;
but I see not how my affection for her can injure
my family, nor how my resigning her could save
them—For God's sake, do not imbitter the few
hours we are to pass together, either by the re-
proaches which indeed I do not deserve, or by con-
cern which the occasion does not demand. Believe
me, your son suffers enough, without the additional
misery of seeing you either displeased with him or
grieving for him.
Orlando, then fearful that any farther conversa-
tion with his father, in the humour he seemed to be
in, would serve only to give pain to them both, and
wishing to be alone for a few minutes before he
again saw Warwick, went another way; and on his
1 2


88 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
return to the house he found an official letter direct-
ing him to repair immediately for Portsmouth,
where the captain of his company was assembling
his men in order to embarkimmediately for America.
Thus certain that he must set out the next day,
and that he had only a few moments before he must
meet Warwick and give his answer, he had himself
in the least frequented part of the shrubbery that
adjoined to the house, and again considered of the
tempting offer that was made him. Fascinating as
it was, and though his excessive affection for Mo-
mimia was often on the point of overbalancing ever
other consideration whatever; his pride and his
duty, his affection for his father, and his respect for
himself, united at length to conquer his inclination.
How could he bear to plunge a dagger into the
heart of his father, who had little other hope on
earth but in him 2 or, if he could determine on that,
and fortify himself against the reproaches his con-
science might make him, how could he submit to
be obliged for his support, for the support of Mo-
mimia, to Warwick? There was something repug-
nant to the generous feelings of Orlando, in War-
wick's using the very money his uncle had given
him, as the means of disappointing his benefactor.
But, whatever apology Warwick might make to
himself for this, Orlando thought there could be
none for him if he were to participate in money
thus acquired. ' He knew that, accustomed to ex-
pence and indulgences, as his friend was, a thousand
pounds would be no very permanent resource when
Isabella was to share it; and he could not bear that,
he should be supposed to connive at her flight, only
to become with Monimia a burthen to her and War-
wick. On the slender pay of an ensign it were
madness to think he could support a wife, however
humble might be her wishes; and his marriage


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 89
would cut him off for ever from all hopes of that
assistance from Mrs. Rayland, which his father,
even though he should forgive, had not the power
to afford him. Could he then endure to expose his
beloved Monimia to the inconveniences of follow-
ing a camp, without having the means of procuring
her such alleviations as it allowed 2 He might die in
the field, and leave her exposed to hazards infinite-
ly greater than those which could befall her in Eng-
land. This last consideration determined him—It
decided his wavering virtue, and he resolved to
give Warwick a positive refusal immediately be-
fore he should relapse, and to conceal the almost
invincible temptation he had been under from his
Monimia, lest her weaker, softer heart yielding to
it, he should again find himself unable to resist it.
He now hastened to find Warwick; and fortu-
mately met him at the entrance of the house, whi-
ther they were summoned to dinner. Warwick
inquired with great eagerness on what he had re-
solved. To be miserable, answered Orlando, in
abstaining from what is wrong. I shall be miser-
able, if I agreed, Warwick, to your proposal; and I
have determined, since either way I must be unhap-
y, to be so with integrity rather than self-reproach.
What the devil! said Warwick, you won't go
then my way ?
No, I will not.
But you will not, I hope, Sir, cried Warwick
half angry—you will not think it necessary to pre-
vent your sister 2
Orlando, who did not greatly relish the peremp-
tory manner in which this was said, answered cold-
ly,–You have my honour, Captain Warwick, and
any other question is an affront. -
. Forgive me, my friend, replied Warwick, resum-
ing his usual good humour—forgive me for doubt-
I 3


90 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ing you. I cannot live without Isabella, nor do I
intend to try at it—I have prevailed upon her, not
without difficulty I assure you, to consent to meet
me at Portsmouth. You know how much happi-
mess your going with Monimia would have given to
us all ! But I have not a moment to argue the
matter with you. You say yºu are determined—
So am I; and all I ask of you is, that you will not
rob me of my happiness, upon the same false, cold
sort of reasoning system to which you are sacrific-
ing your own.
A servant now coming out to say that dinner
waited, they went into the house. A melancholy
and silent meal was soon concluded. The General's
horse was brought to the door, on which Warwick
was to go to the next post town: and he rose to
take leave of the family, which he did with a com-
posure that amazed Orlando, who had no idea how
a man could so conceal the feelings which must on
such an occasion naturally arise. Isabella was far
from appearing so tranquil; but all the rest were
too much engaged with their own sensations to re-
mark those which her countenancebetrayed, though
to Orlando her confusion was evident.
Warwick went up to receive the last orders of his
uncle, and then prepared to mount his horse; when
Qrlando took his arm, and begged he would send
theaservant on with the horses, and give him a few
pmoment's attention as they walked on after them.
Warwick readily agreed, in hopes that he had
changed his mind; but Orlando soon put an end to
such expectations by *; him in what way Isa-
bella was to meet him. I have given you my ho-
nour, Warwick, said he, not to betray you; but I
must have yours in return that my sister shall be ex-
posed to no improper adventures. How is she who
never was from home in her life, but for a few


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 91
days with her mother in London, to find her way
to Portsmouth P
Ridiculous ! exclaimed Warwick, to find her
way to Portsmouth ! One would really think she
was to take a flight to the extreme parts of the
earth, instead of hardly five-and-thirty miles. My
poor friend, thou hast not been used, I see, to these
little adventures—I have an aid-de-camp, who, in
the absence of his commander, can secure a little
deserter for him. Isabella is determined to trust
me; and it may suffice you to know that I love her
too well not to take every possible precaution for
her safety.
No, said Orlando, it may not suffice—Though I
have promised not to interfere, it is only on condi-
tion that I am sure my sister will not suffer either
in her person or her reputation. Give me therefore
the particulars.
Warwick then related, that his servant, on whom
he could depend, was on the evening they should
appoint to be ready with a post-chaise and four at
some place they could fix upon; where after sup-
per Isabella, instead of retiring to her room, should
meet it—Nothing is more easy, I suppose, said
Warwick, or less dangerous, than for your sister to
do this ; and, when she is once off in the chaise, re-
lays of horses being ordered at the two stages be-
tween this and Portsmouth, my servant following
on horseback, will escort her thither in less than
four hours; there I shall have a vessel ready to car-
ry us to Jersey—Money, my dear boy! Money,
my dear boy! Money, contrivance and courage are
all that are necessary. I have found the two first,
and have given the last to the only person that want-
ed it. I have convinced Isabella that, if she follows
my directions, she may be at Portsmouth before she
is missed, and married before any one can guess


92 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
where to look for her. Well, Orlando, you now
have my whole plan; and I trust to your honour
not to render it abortive.
And I, replied Orlando, trust my sister to yours,
not without reluctance and remorse—We shall pro-
bably meet at Portsmouth P
Probably, answered Warwick; for the two com-
panies are to embark at the same time; and I only
trust to some private interest, which I have pre-
vailed upon my uncle to make for me, to procure
leave to embark in whatever vessel is most conve-
nient.—The captain of one of the frigates is my
particular friend, and I shall probably get a birth
with him instead of going in a transport. Orlando,
to whom the whole scheme appeared easily practi.
cable, now again felt all the disposition to join in it
which he had before combated: but again his reason
came to his aid, and he saw Warwick depart without
betraying any symptoms of that struggle which still
tore his heart.
Once more, however, he subdued it; and recall-
ed his resolution to go through the trying scene
which was to wait him on his return to the house,
where he was early in the evening to bid adieu to
all his family, in order to sup with Mrs. Rayland as
she had desired; and then I the last cruel parting
with Monimia, more dreadful than any of his
former sufferings, was to embitter his last moments
at Rayland-Hall.
The last adieu between a father so affectionate
and unhappy and a son so beloved, need not be
described—it would indeed be difficult to do it jus-
tice. As his mother and his sisters hung weeping
about him he could not help addressing some words
to Isabella, however unfavourable the time, which
she seemed perfectly to understand—though she
shrunk from them, and had carefully avoided giv-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 93
ing him any opportunity of speaking to her alone.
At length Orlando tore himself away; and not
daring to look behind him, yet hardly feeling the
ground beneath him, he hurried to the Hall.
Mrs. Rayland received him with as much calm-
mess as if he only came on a usual visit. Of the
violent emotions which agitated him she had no
idea. Time and uninterrupted prosperity had so
blunted the little sensibility nature had given her,
that she was utterly incapable of participating or
comprehending the acute feelings of her young
favourite: yet in her way she was extremely kind
to him; and, after giving him another course of
excellent advice, which lasted near two hours, she
told him, that as his first equipment might have
taken a good part of her former present, she had
another note of fifty pounds at his service. This
present was extremely acceptable to Orlando, who
had not above sixty left of her preceding bounty.
Mrs. Rayland, detaining Orlando an hour longer
than he expected, at length dismissed him with her
blessing; and Orlando shed tears of gratitude on
her hand, which he kissed, and, without being able
to speak, left her.
He then took leave of the servants; but gave to
Mrs. Lennard, with whom he desired to speak in
her own room, more time than to the rest; and de-
sirous of doing what he could to soften the situ-
ation of his Monimia, he determined to speak to her
aunt on her behalf.
You know, Madam, said he, that on my last de-
parture you spoke to me of your niece : let me now
speak to you of her. My absence may satisfy you
as to those suspicions, that I know not why you en-
tertained of me—but let me entreat you to be kind
to my lovely young friend, for whom I scruple not
to avow to you a very great regard.


94. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
What I cried Mrs. Lennard, has she ever then
been such an ungrateful girl as to say I was unkind
to her?
Never, said Orlando:—in the conversations we
have accidentally had, your niece has always
spoken of you with gratitude and respect: but,
after what you once said to me about her, I should
be remiss were I to quit the house without trying to
obviate any little lurking prejudice which may at
some future time be remembered to her disadvan-
tage: allow me therefore to intercede with you,
not only to forget any of these circumstances which
may prejudice your mind against her, but to in-
crease that tenderness for her, which does so much
honour to your heart. -
Thank you, Sir, said Mrs. Lennard, but I hope I
do not want your advice, nor any body's, to do my
duty to the girl, since she is left upon my hands.
Orlando never felt so great an inclination as at
that moment, to take Monimia off her hands; and,
as he found little was to be hoped for from his so-
licitations in her favour, he took leave of Mrs.
Lennard, and endeavoured, when alone, to collect
all his resolution for this final adieu with Monimia;
to drive from his recollection the offer of Warwick,
which still recurred to tantalize and torment him;
to conceal from her that it ever had been made, and
to fortify her mind for their long separation while
he felt his own sinking under it.
Among other things it occurred to him, that if
death or caprice deprived Monimia of the cold and
reluctant protection her aunt now afforded her, she
might be not only desolate but pennyless. He de-
termined, therefore, to leave with her one of the
banker's notes he had just received, of five-and-
twenty pounds, and to pass these last moments in
arming her against every possible contingency


The old MANor House. 95
which might happen during his absence, and, as far
as he could, instructing her how to act if they oc-
curred. -
Monimia, with swollen eyes, from which the
tears slowly fell notwithstanding her endeavours to
restrain them, listened in silence, as with a faulter-
ing tone and in disjointed sentences he went through
this mournful task. She promised in a voice hard-
ly articulate to attend to all he desired, and to keep
a journal of her life; though what will it be, said
she, but a journal of sufferings and of sorrow?
But when that sorrow, those sufferings are over,
my Monimia, cried Orlando, trying to speak cheer-
fully, with what transport shall we look back on
this journal, and compare our past anxieties with
our actual happiness ſ—Let that idea encourage
you amidst the heavy days that are to intervene be-
fore we meet again. Whatever you suffer, remem-
ber that your Orlando will return to dry your tears'
And take care of your precious health, my Moni-
mia, preserve it for him.
She could only answer by a deep drawn sigh;
while Orlando, cruel as the scene was, could not
determine to put an end to it. Day already dawn-
ed; and as he did not mean to go to bed, but had
ordered the under-keeper to attend him with the
horses as soon as it was light, he knew that he should
soon be called by Jacob: yet could he not deter-
mine to lead Monimia back to her turret till he
heard the man at the door, who, tapping at it, in-
formed him the horses were ready, and the hour
passed at which he ordered himself to be called.
Monimia then arose and said—Farewell then,
Orlando! He had no power to answer her; but led
her silently through the chapel, round the court, and
to her turret. The moment that tore him from her
could not be delayed; he took the last embrace,


96 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
and hastily bade her shut the door, lest he should
fall into such a paroxysm of anguish as might ren-
der him unable to leave her at all. Monimia, who
could not have supported the pain she endured
much longer, with feeble and trembling hands
obeyed him; but as slowly he descended the stairs,
he heard her loud sobs, and was on the point of re-
turning again to snatch her to his bosom, and de-
clare it impossible to part with her.
The loud noise of a whip, which Jacob, impatient
of his long delay, now sounded around the house,
roused him once more.
He started from the dangerous reflection he was
indulging, that it was yet in his own power to take
Monimia with him, or at least to secure her follow-
ing him with his sister; and again recovering his
courage, he descended the stairs, left for the last
time the beloved turret, and in a few moments
mounted his horse, and rode almost at full speed
through the park. He was soon on the high road
to the first post-town towards Portsmouth; and
having ascended an high down that afforded him the
last view he could have of Rayland Hall, he stop-
ped on the top of it, and, turning his horse's head,
fixed his eyes on the seat of all his past happiness,
of all his future hopes, and thought how much he
probably had to suffer before he should revisit it
again, how probable it was that he should never see
it more!
Jacob, who had but little notion of all this, yet
supposed the captain, as he was now called at the
Hall, was sorry to leave all his friends and Miss
Monimmy, and hunting and shooting, and such like,
to go to the wars, now thought it might be kind to
console him: but Orlando heeded not the very elo-
quent harangue, which had lasted near a quarter of
an hour, but suddenly turned his horse, and set out
as speedily as before.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 97
He took a post horse at the town, and put his
portmanteau into a Portsmouth diligence that was
assing; then dismissing his favourite horse, which
e would take no farther, and recommending him
particularly to Jacob, who promised to attend to
him while he fed at liberty in the park, he made the
servant a handsome present, and on the hack which
was ready he proceeded as if he was pursued; for
the speed with which he rode seemed to give him
something like relief. A very short time brought
him to Portsmouth; where he found his baggage
from London just arrived; and learned that some
of the soldiers were already embarked, that the wind
was fair, and that new orders for the greatest expe-
dition were arrived that day to the commander of
the reinforcement going to America.
CHAPTER VIII.
ExHAUSTED by the fatigue of body and mind,
Orlando would probably have lost the painful recol-
lection of what had passed within #. last eight-
and-forty hours by transient forgetfulness; but even
this was not permitted him: the orders for imme-
diate embarkation were so strict, and the com-
mander of the squadron which was to convoy the
transports so impatient to execute the directions of
Government, that every thing was hurry and con-
fusion; and Orlando, far from being allowed time
to think of what he had left, found the care of the
company devolve almost entirely upon him: the
men were for the most part raw recruits; the cap-
tain, the younger son of an illustrious house already
raised to that rank (though not so old as Orlando),
was not come down; and the lieutenant, a man near
VOL. XXXVII. K


98 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
fifty, was almost incapacitated from attending his
duty by the agonies of his wife and a family of
several children, who, as they had been in lodgings
in a neighbouring town ever since his return from
America the preceding year, now assembled around
him to bid to their only protector and support a last
farewell.
The short notice he had received of his departure
had prevented his settling many things for them
which were now indispensable; the moment there-
fore Orlando arrived, this officer (whom he had not
before seen) related to him his situation; and Or-
lando, in generously endeavouring to alleviate his
troubles by taking as much business from him as
he could, found his additional fatigue well repaid
by the necessity it laid him under to detach his
mind from his own regret and anxiety. At the
first dawn of day he was at the Point—embarking
the men and baggage; and the scene of distracting
hurry that now presented itself, the quarrels and
blasphemy with which the beach resounded, the
. among the soldiers and sailors, the rage
of the commanders and the murmurs of the com-
manded, the eager impatience of those who had
articles to buy for their voyage, and the unfeeling
avarice of others who had them to sell, formed al-
together a seen as extraordinary as it was new to
Orlando, who had never been from the neighbour-
hood of the Hall except for a few weeks, which
were either passed in pleasure in London, or in a
quiet country town; he heard therefore, with a mix-
ture of wonder and disgust, the human tempest roar
in which he was now engaged, and for the first time
enquired of himself what all this was for 2
This was not a place or hour when such a ques-
tion, however naturally it occurred, could be an-
swered—He was to act, not to speculate; and hard-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 99
ly had he a moment to reflect that, hurried as he was
to be, he should not have the satisfaction (if satisfac-
tion it might be called) of seeing Isabella and War-
wick before he went himself on board; after which
it would be impossible to know what became of
them, at least not till his arrival in America. Amid
the tumult that surrounded him, this gave him infi-
nite disquiet. A thousand fears for his sister crowd-
ed on his mind; he apprehended she might by some
accident be prevented in such a place meeting
Warwick; he trembled lest, if she did, his conduct
towards her, when she was entirely in his power,
might be dishonourable. Such were the distressing
reflections of Orlando in every momentary pause
the confusion of the scene allowed him. But what-
ever uneasiness he felt, the time permitted him to
have no mitigation; and, in the evening of the day
after his arrival at Portsmouth, he found himself on
board a transport with the greater part of that com-
pany to which he belonged, and about an equal
number of dragoons with their horses. The wind
though violent, blew down the channel; and at
night-fall, all previous orders being given, they
obeyed the signal for getting to sea. It was not till
they were many miles at sea that Orlando had time
to consider his situation: then, the tumult having
a little subsided, he saw himself in a little crowded
vessel, where nothing could equal the inconvenience
to which his soldiers were subjected, but that which
the miserable negroes endure in their passage to
slavery”. Indifferent to this so far as it merely
related to himself, he could not see the sufferings
to which the men were likely to be exposed without
*It has lately been alledged in defence of the Slave Trade,
that, Negroes on board Guineamen are allowed almost as
much room as a soldier in a Transport:-Excellent reason-
ing ! - -
k 2


100 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
concern. All of them were young and new to the
service; and the captain was two attentive to his
own delicacy to have time to give the poor fellows
all the alleviation their condition allowed them ;
and, on the second day of their voyage, he found
his own situation so unpleasant, that he went in a
boat on board one of the frigates, the commander
of which was distantly related to him, and obtained
of him for the rest of the voyage a birth more suit-
able to a man of fashion than a crowded transport
could afford him.
Orlando, the lieutenant (who was half broken-
hearted), and a cornet of horse, were left in charge
of the men; and it was perhaps fortunate for the
former, that he was so incessantly called upon to
attend to his duty that he had hardly a moment to
command but for repose, and, occupied about
others, could think but little of himself.
They had now been so long at sea, that the fresh-
water sailors had conquered the first uneasy sensa-
tions given by that element, except the young
cornet, who was the only son of a very opulent
family, and heir to an immense fortune: during a
very long minority his mother had so humoured
him, that even his request to enter the army, though
extremely opposite to her wishes, could neither be
evaded nor denied. The smart uniform of a light
horseman appeared to him extremely desirable;
and the possibility of danger in such a service
never occurred to him, nor would he listen to it
when it was represented by others. He had hardly
put on this seducing attire, and provided himself
with a very beautiful horse, before he was ordered
abroad; and now sick and desponding, this un-
happy child of foolish affluence wanted a nurse
much more than a broad sword—No puling girl
just out of the nursery was ever more helpless; and


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 101
Orlando at once despised and pitied him; but found
that, having been friendly enough to offer him
his assistance, his new acquaintance soon leaned
entirely upon him; and that, having been used to
have every one around him at his command, he
received every friendly attention which compassion
extorted from others, as matters of course.
The fleet had now passed Madeira, without how-
ever touching at it, and were launched into the
great Atlantic Ocean. Hitherto their voyage had
been prosperous and quick; and a short time pro-
mised to terminate it; but the heat of the weather
operating on the crowds of men and of horses
stowed in such a vessel, now began to be severely
felt. A fever of the malignant kind broke out;
and within a week five men sickened of it, of whom
three died; and the other two, more like spectres
than living creatures, seemed by their partial reco-
very only to be reserved formorelingeringsufferings.
Nor was that the worst; for the disease, after a
cessation of a few days, broke out afresh, and Or-
lando saw his men depressed and dispirited, sinking
around him its easy victims. Contrary winds, or sul-
len calms which allowed them to make very little
way, added to the hopelessness of their situation, and
the other transports could afford them little assist-
ance; for in some the same cruel distemper had be-
gun its ravages, and those who were yet free from
it dreaded the infection. It was now that Orlando
felt the justice of that pathetic description, given by
Thomson, of the mortality at sea before Carthage-
na, where he addresses the admiral, as witnessing
“The deeply racking pang, the ghastly form,
The lip pale quivering, and the beamless eye
No more with ardour bright—
r— —the groans
Of agonizing ships • ?
- K 3


102 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
and as having then heard ºr
“Nightly plunged amid the sullen waves,
The frequent corse.”
ºf . , *
From such a scene, whenever the distresses of
his men (whom in despite of the danger of infec-
tion he attended with paternal kindness) or the ter-
rors of the little effeminate cornet would allow him
a moment's respite, he escaped as much as he could
by passing the evenings on deck; for the heat be-
low was more dreadful to him than even the want of
sleep or any other inconvenience. He frequently
took the night watch; and at other times wrapped
himself in a great coat, and lay down where he
might at least have air. On these occasions sleep
would not always befriend him; and then all he
had left, his Monimia, his family, the Hall, the rural
happiness he had enjoyed in his native country, for-
cibly presented themselves in contrast to the wretch-
edness around him; and when he considered anum-
ber of men thus packed together in a little vessel
perishing by disease; such of them as survived
going to another hemisphere to avenge on a branch
of their own nation a quarrel, of the justice of
which they knew little, and were never suffered to
inquire; he felt disposed to wonder at the folly
of mankind, and to enquire again what all this was
for 2 -
He sometimes, however, endeavoured to per-
suade himself that it was for glory: he had been
taught to love glory—What so sacred as the glory
of his country? To purchase it no exertion could
be too great—to revenge any insult on it, no sa-
crifice should be regretted. If, for a moment, his
good sense arose in despite of this prejudice, and
induced him to enquire if it was not from a mista-
ken point of honour, from the wickedness of go-


ThI. OLD MANOR HOUSE. 103
vernments, or the sanguinary ambition or revenge
of monarchs, that so much misery was owing as
wars of every description must necessarily occasion;
he quieted these doubts by recurring to history—
our Henries and our Edwards, heroes whose names
children are taught to lisp with delight as they
are bid to execrate the cruel Uncle” and the bloody
Queen Mary; and he tried to believe that what
these English Kings had so gloriously done, was
in their descendants equally glorious, because it
went to support the honour of the British name.—
Then Alexander, Caesar, and all the crowned mur-
derers of antiquity—they were heroes too whom
his school studies had taught him to admire, and
whom his maturer reflection had not yet enabled
him to see divested of the meteor glare which sur-
rounded them. There was something great in their
personal valour, in their contempt of death; and
he did not recollect that their being themselves so
indifferent to life was no reason why, to satisfy their
own vanity, they should deluge the world with hu-
man blood. There were indeed times when the
modern directors of war appeared to him in a less
favourable light—who incurred no personal dan-
ger, nor gave themselves any other trouble than to
raise money from one part of their subjects, in order
to enable them to destroy another, or the subjects
of some neighbouring potentate. Nor had he, after
a while, great reason to admire the integrity of
the subordinate departments, to whom the care of
providing for troops thus sent out to support the
glory of their master was entrusted. The provi-
sions on board were universally bad; and the sick-
ness of the soldiers was as much owing to that
cause as to the heat of climate. Musty oat-meal,
* Richard the Third.
7,


104. THE OLD MANOR IIGUSE.
half dried pease, and meat half spoiled before it
had been salted down, would in any situation have
occasioned diseases; and when to such defective
food, their being so closely stowed and so long on
board was added, those diseases increased rapidly,
and generally ended fatally. But it was all for
glory. And that the ministry should, in thus pur-
chasing glory, put a little more than was requisite
into the pockets of contractors, destroy as many
men by sickness as by the sword, made but little
difference in an object , so infinitely important;
especially when it was known (which, however,
Orlando did not know) that messieurs the con-
tractors were for the most part members of par-
liament, who under other names enjoyed the pro-
fits of a war, which, disregarding the voice of the
people in general, or even of their own constitu-
ents, they voted for pursuing. Merciful God!
can it be thy will that mankind should thus tear
each other to pieces with more ferocity than the
beasts of the wilderness? Can it be thy dispen-
sation that kings are entrusted with power only to
deform thy works—and in learning politics to for-
get humanity?
Orlando, embarked in a cause of which he had
hardly ever thought till he was called upon to
maintain it, was insensibly visited by reflections
like these; but whenever they recurred he drove
them from him as much as he could, and endea-
woured to cherish the fond hope that all might yet
be well; that Isabella, about whom he was haunted
with a thousand fears, was in some of the vessels
which were now all assembled in one fleet—for
the slowness of their progress had enabled those
ships which last sailed to overtake them ; and that
on his landing he should meet Warwick and his
sister, and anticipate with them the fortunate hour
of his return .#.


THE • OLD MANOR HOUSE, 105
As the perilous situation of Isabella occupied
his thoughts, whenever he could a moment detach
them from the scene before him, he made several
efforts to learn, if she was in any of the vessels
near which he often found himself; but in none of
them could he gain information of an officer of the
name of Warwick. He then contrived to send a
message to the captain of the frigate, one of the
convoy, with whom Warwick had told him he was
acquainted; but this officer, to the infinite disap-
pointment of Orlando, told him in answer to his
letter, that it was true his friend Warwick had sent
some of his baggage on board, and a negro servant;
but that, after waiting for him till the last moment,
it became absolutely necessary for him to sail with-
out him. This account only served, therefore, to
increase the uneasiness of Orlando, who now feared
that, instead of being able on his landing in Ame-
rica to write instantly to his father with an account
both of himself and his sister, he should only add
to the disquiet which he believed her flight must
have occasioned to her family: nor was he at all
satisfied that Warwick's dishonourable conduct
towards her was not the cause of their not being in
the fleet, which he was now almost persuaded they
Were not.
If at any time he had obtained a short interval
of repose, these cruel images haunted him; but as
the voyage was prolonged, and the discomforts of
his condition became more severe, he found abun-
dant reason to rejoice that he had resisted the allur-
ing temptation offered to him by Warwick, and had
not exposed his Monimia to difficulties and dis-
tresses, under which many around him had sunk:
and in this self-congratulation he found the first
reward of virtue; a sensation which soothed all his
sorrows, and enabled him to support the accumu-
lated evils which now pressed upon him.


106 THE OLE MANOR HOUSE.
The fleet was now within four days sail of New-
York; or at least the sailors, though it was a dead
calm, declared that they had no doubt but before
the end of that time they should get in thither. The
sick men revived a little with the intelligence; and
the rest bore with less dejection the funeral of the
dead (for two days had not for some time passed
without a funeral) and the loss of the horses, of
which a third had already perished. Orlando, to
escape the intolerable smells below, now always
passed the night on deck, and was sleeping on it
when the noise occasioned by a sudden change of
the weather awakened him: he got up, as well to
be out of the way, as to assist the sailors, who were
soon all busily employed; for in a few moments it
blew a hurricane. The darkness of the night and
the violence of the storm were horrors, greatly in-
creased by the apprehension the seamen expressed,
that they should be driven against some of the
other vessels and sunk: and this appeared ex-
tremely probable; for, by the flashes of lightening,
the transports in company were seen driven about,
sometimes within a few yards of each other–guns
of distress were heard, but none were in a condi-
tion to assist the rest; nor was it possible for a boat
to live in a sea that ran mountains high, and
threatened to overwhelm even the men of war
which formed the convoy.
Orlando, to whom as a novice in maritime adven-
tures the danger seemed even greater than it was,
imagined that death was inevitable, because it had
never appeared to him so near before. He thought,
however, not so much of the event, as of the effect
the intelligence of it would have on those infinitely
dearer to him than himself–He heard the agoniz-
ing shrieks of his mother, the more silent but more
destructive anguish of his father, the tears of his


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 107
sisters, unable to suppress their own grief while
they attempted to administer comfort to their pa-
rents, and above all the sufferings of his gentle Mo-
mimia, sufferings more acute because she dared not
complain. Yet, when the vessel strained so much
that the seamen declared they every moment ex-
pected the timbers to part, Orlando again thanked
God that Monimia was not with him. The despair
of the lieutenant was solemn and silent;--—he believ-
ed that the hour was come when he was to leave
his family destitute in a world where, with all his
exertions, his want of interest had not afforded him
the means of supporting them by that perilous pro-
fession to which he had dedicated his life. But he
bore this certainty (for there seemed not the least
hope of escape) like a soldier and a man; he as-
sisted the sailors; he encouraged the soldiers; and
endeavoured, with a calmness of mind which gave
Orlando an exalted opinion of him, to inspire others
with that hope he did not himself feel. To Orlan-
do only he declared his opinion that they must pe-
rish ; and he spoke in approbation of the forti-
tude with which so young a man, and one so unac-
customed to look on danger and death, bore this
intelligence; but with the little cornet he could not
keep his temper, who, half dead with terror, lament-
ed himself aloud in terms unmanly and ridiculous;
and who, though he declared himself too much af-
fected by the violent heaving of the ship to keep
the deck a moment, ran up continually to ask pu-
erile questions of the seamen, and to distract their
attention by his complaints and clamours.
Morning at length appeared, but the wind rather
increased than abated; and the light of day served
only to shew the horrors of their situation, and of
some of their companions in distress, who were still
in sight, for the men of war were no longer visible;
6


108 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
and of the three transports who were near them,
one was dismasted, and another without her rudder
was driven about a wreck upon the waves, under
bare poles. From this vessel, which the first dawn
of day discovered close to them, they heard repeat-
ed signals of distress. Whenever the mountainous
waves afforded them a view of her, they saw the
people, among whom were two or three women,
appearing on her deck, apparently in all the ago-
nies of despair. Orlando was suddenly struck with
the idea that this vessel might contain his sister;
and with dreadful solicitude he watched it, till in
the confusion of his thoughts, he fancied he really
discerned her—All care for his own safety was then
at an end; and he entreated the commander of the
ship he was in to allow him to attempt in a boat to
go on board, in the hopes of administering some
help; but this the man positively refused, giving
very loud and short reasons, in terms which Orlan-
do did not understand, why such an attempt would
be fatal to whoever undertook it, without being of
the least use to those for whom it was undertaken.
More and more impressed with the idea that Isa-
bella was among the women, whose terrors he saw
distinctly on the deck of the other vessel, he now
hardly possessed his senses, and was on the point
of plunging into the waves, tremendous as they were
—when, as his eyes were fixed wildly and eagerly
on it, he saw it sink, and the sea bury all it contain-
ed! There was hardly time to utter an exclamation
of horror, when some of the unhappy people ap-
peared so near the ship, that the sailors, though so
likely to share the same fate, endeavoured to save
them; but two only, stout men who swam strong-
ly, were snatched from the raging element. The
rest soon disappeared, never to rise again
The force of the wind was now somewhat lessened,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 109
and the men were inspired by some degree of hope
to greater exertions. About ten o'clock the storm
was so much abated that the master was able to
take an observation; and he found himself many
leagues out of his course. No ship remained in
sight but one transport at a great distance, and the
vessel yet drove too much to allow them to attempt
altering her course. Their immediate danger, how-
ever, gradually diminished; and every man on
board, who was able to work, laboured, in despite
of the fatigue they had undergone, to repair their
rigging, and remedy the damages the hull had sus-
tained. The sick, who had for many hours been
neglected, were now visited; and one soldier was
found dead. As to the horses that remained, they
had all been thrown overboard during the most
imminent peril, as their weight occasioned the ship
to labour so much more than she would do without
them. The dead soldier, was committed to the
waves; and as Orlando, with glazed eyes, saw him
deposited in his watery grave, and recollected all
the horrors of the preceding night, he again invo-
luntarily inquired of himself, whether such things
were to be accounted the dispensations of Heaven
—or, if they were the works of man, why they
were permitted? The terrible idea that Isabella had
perished in that ship he saw sink still haunted him,
and redoubled by imaginary sorrow all that he saw
or suffered. The poor fellows who had been taken
up were so terribly bruised, and had swallowed so
much water, that they were not yet sensible. As
soon as they were, however, Orlando eagerly ques-
tioned them as to the females whom he had, through
the obscurity of the dark and dashing waves, dis-
covered on the deck; and he learned, to increase
his misery, that one of them was a young lady,
whose husband was an officer of foot, and who was
VOL. XXXVII. L


110 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
himself either in the fleet, or coming with the next
convoy. The sailor who gave him this information
knew not which, nor did he know the lady's name,
or to what regiment her husband belonged. The
other women, he said, were, one of them the lady's
servant, and the other the wife of a serjeant in Or-
lando's regiment: which seemed to add to the pro-
bability that the young person who had perished
was Isabella. There hardly needed this sad con-
jecture to add to the despondency which, in despite
of all his steady courage, now took possession of
Orlando—despondency which he foundit extremely
difficult to conceal. Strong as his constitution was,
it yielded, at length, to the united power of malig-
nant infection, uneasiness, and fatigue, and when,
after beating about above ten-days, the vessel at
length reached the harbour of New York, he was
taken on shore in a state of insensibility, from the
fever which had attacked him; and his friend, the
old lieutenant, saw him accommodated as well as
the circumstances the place was under would ad-
mit; and, feeling for him the affection of a father,
shed over the blasted hopes of a youth so promis-
ing, tears, which his own misfortunes had never
extorted from him.
CHAPTER IX.
By the care of this excellent man, aided by the
medical skill of the surgeon of the regiment, Or-
lando in about a fortnight arose as it were from
the grave. His senses returned long before his
strength, and with them all the sad recollection of
his disastrous voyage:—almost the first use he
made of his returning reason, was to implore the


º
THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. } 11
lieutenant to inquire for Captain Warwick, of
whom he found, with inexpressible sorrow, that no
intelligence had been received, and that he was
believed by his brother officers to be in one of
those transports that had gone to the bottom. In a
few days a negro servant inquired for Ensign Some-
rive, and Orlando in a moment recollected that it
was Perseus, the man who had served Warwick
some years.—He now hoped to have heard some
account of his sister and his friend that might have
quieted his extreme uneasiness: but the sight of
Perseus only served to increase it; for he learned
from him that Captain Warwick arrived at Ports-
mouth the evening the first transports sailed, and
that, by his interest with the captain of the frigate
in which the negro embarked, and some persons
still higher in power, that ship was delayed for
some days, at the end of which Warwick promised
to appear; but as he did not, nor even at the end
of some hours longer than the time he required,
the captain would have incurred too great a risk by
waiting longer; and therefore got under weigh with
so strong and favourable a wind, that they overtook
the rest of the fleet two days before they made the
Pike of Teneriffe. This circumstance, however,
Perseus said, was the only one that gave him hope;
for he knew his master, thus missing his passage,
would hire a vessel to convey him, which would
probably not only take up some days, but hardly
sail as they did, and therefore there was reason to
hope that he might have escaped the storm in
which they suffered, and it was improbable that the
lady whom Orlando had seen perish, and after-
wards heard was the wife of an officer of foot, was
his sister.
On being questioned farther, the negro, who was
very intelligent, said, that Captain Warwick had
L 2


112 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ordered him, with a great part of his baggage, on
board; and that he knew his master expected a
lady to go with him—but he knew not whom. The
baggage was landed, and put into Orlando's lodg-
ing, where Perseus desired leave to wait upon him;
and where the attention of this faithful fellow, and
the hopes he gave him that Isabella and her hus-
band were safe, contributed greatly to his recovery.
A fortnight had now elapsed since his landing,
and no news of his sister reached him, nor had he
a single line from England as he had been taught
to expect. The sad scene at home, where he feared
Isabella's elopement had created insupportable sor-
row, cruelly tormented him; and the image of
Monimia in continual tears and hopeless solitude,
pursued him incessantly. A thousand times during
the paroxysms of his fever he had insisted upon
having pen and ink to write to her and to his family;
and he began many letters to his father, recom-
mending Monimia to his protection, and apologis-
ing for his conduct in regard to his sister; but the
Lieutenant, Mr. Fleming, had never sent any of
these incoherent letters.--Orlando had now strength
of body and of mind enough to look them over;
but, circumstanced as he was about Isabella, he now
hardly knew better than he did then, what to say
that should not aggravate all the pain he lamented:
something, however, it was necessary to write, as
ships were now daily returning to England; and
not to send some intelligence of himself would be
more distressing to his friends, than the ignorance
he must avow as to the fate of his sister.
Another idea struck him, that some discovery,
or even her own fears, as the moment arrived when
she was to leave her father's house, might have
prevented the departure of Isabella from home;
and that even her intention of doing so might be


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 113.
unknown.—This made him hesitate whether to name
her at all; and at length he determined he would
not, since it would be only giving to his father an
exchange, but not an alleviation of uneasiness.
He wrote then these unsatisfactory letters to his
family; and afterwards one to Monimia-He gave
in all of them the best account he could of himself,
described his voyage as tedious and stormy; and
said, slightly, that he had been ill on his first land-
ing; but was now recovered, and should soon pro-
ceed to join the body of his regiment with the
northern army under Burgoyne.-But such was the
agitation of his spirits while he was writing, from
the lively idea he had of the sensations his letters
would give to those to whom they were addressed,
that it brought on an access of fever, and he was
confined for a few days: nor had he quite recover-
ed his usual health, when the commander of the
two companies, despairing of seeing the men who
were missing arrive, was ordered to muster all that
remained of the two companies; and, with a party
of dismounted dragoons, to find their way to the
army, which was now on its march from Canada to
Albany, in order to form a junction, or at least to
open a communication between that army and New
York. The whole body, thus destined to force its
way through an enemy's country, consisted, in-
cluding American volunteers, of about two hundred
and fifty men; but they were not incumbered with
artillery, and were almost all young men, eager for
actual service, and in haste to join an army, of
whose brilliant success they formed the greatest
expectations.
It was on the 6th of August that this small party
left New York; and now Orlando, who had hitherto
been in garrison, began to perceive all the horrors
and devastations of war. The country lately so
L 3


114 The OLD MANOR HObjSE.
flourishing, and rising so rapidly into opulence,
presented nothing but the ruins of houses, from
whence their miserable inhabitants had either been
driven entirely, or murdered!—or had, of the burnt
rafters and sad relics of their former comfortable
dwellings, constructed huts on their lands, merely
because they had no where else to go.—Even from
these wretched temporary abodes they were often
driven, to make way for the English soldiers; and
their women and children exposed to the tempest
of the night, or, what was infinitely more dreadful,
to the brutality of the military. In a war so pro-
tracted, and carried on with such various success,
these scenes of devastation had occurred so often,
that the country appeared almost depopulated, or
the few stragglers, who yetlingered round the places
most eagerly contended for, had been habituated to
suffer till they had almost lost the semblance of
humanity. The party had now marched about
seventy miles; and as they carried their provisions
with them, which it was not possible to do in a great
quantity, it became necessary for them to .
and send out foraging parties to obtain a supply
before it was actually wanted. It was on the edge
of one of those morasses which are called by the
natives savannahs, encircled on all sides by woods,
that they formed this small camp; where the Colo-
nel, to whom the conduct of this expedition was
entrusted, fortified it as well as such a situation
would admit; but Lieutenant Fleming, whose at-
tachment to Orlando a long intercourse of mutual
kindness had now greatly strengthened, pointed out
to him, in confidence, the defects of the station thus
chosen; and declared that if any body of American
troops, or rebels as they were then called, was in
the country, they must be surrounded, and either
compelled to surrender or fight their way through.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 115
It happened, however, that for many days they re-
mained unmolested—some recruit of provisions was
obtained, and the plan of their future march settled.
The parties who went out saw no enemies to oppose
them; and Orlando had now an opportunity of ob-
serving this wonderful country, so extremely unlike
England, that it appeared to him to be indeed a
new world.
Every object seemed formed upon a larger scale.
The rivers, more frequent than in England, were
broader than the most boasted of ours, even on their
approach to the sea; and the woods, larger than
the oldest European forests, even those that kings
have reserved for their pleasure in France or Eng-
land, consisted often of trees of such magnitude
and beauty as must be seen before a perfect idea
can be formed of them. What Orlando had often
seen cherished in English gardens as beautiful
shrubs here rose into plants of such majestic size
and foliage as made the British oak poor in compa-
rison; and under them innumerable shrubs, of ma-
ny of which he knew not the names, grew in pro-
fusion. These woods, however, had in many places
suffered like the rest of the country; and in some
had been set on fire—in others the trees had been
felled, as means of temporary defence.—And Or-
lando, whose early and ingenuous philanthropy had
of late been often injured by a painful sensation of
disgust, could not help remarking with a sigh, that
man seemed not only a creature born to consume.
the fruits of the earth, but to wound and deform
the bosom of that earth ! and he found himself al-
most involuntarily assenting to some of the most
gloomy aphorisms of Rousseau.
But he was yet a novice: and had only of late
understood, as well as a partial representation of
the cause by his otherwise candid friend Fleming


116 The old MANor House.
would let him understand, the origin of the quarrel
in which he had drawn his sword.
The scenes however he had already been witness
to, were, he thought, not to be justified by any cause:
but his fellow soldiers seemed to see them in a very
different light; and to consider the English Ameri-
cans as men of an inferior species, whose resistance
to the measures, whatever those might be, of the
mother country, deserved every punishment that
the most ferocious mode of warfare could inflict;
and even the brave and generally humane Fleming
endeavoured to convert Orlando, whose scruples as
to the justice of the war became greater the more
he heard of its origin.-He assured him that a sol-
dier never thought of examining into such matters
—It is, said he, our business to fight; never to ask
for what—for if every man, or even every officer
in the service were to set about thinking, it is ten
to one if any two of them agreed as to the merits
of the cause. A man who takes the king's money is
to do as he is bid, and never debate the matter.
For my part, I have heard while I was in England
a great deal of clamour upon the subject, and it has
been called a war upon the people, and therefore
an unpopular war.—I am no politician, nor do I
desire to enter into a discussion about taxation and
representation, which these fellows have made the
ground for their resistance. There is no end of
the nonsense that may be talked in favour of their
rebellion, nor the pleas of the ministerial party.
For myself, as I was brought up in the army, I have
always cut the matter very short—the sword is my
argument; and I have sold that to my king, and
therefore must use it in his service, whatever and
wherever it may be pointed out to me.
This way of settling the matter was, however, so
far from being convincing to Orlando, that it gave


The old MANor House. 117
him new cause for reflection. He had always been
told, that the will of the people was the great resort
in the British Government; and that no public
measure of magnitude and importance could be de-
cided upon, but by the agreement of the three
Estates. Yet the present war, carried on against
a part of their own body, and in direct contradic-
tion of the right universally claimed, was not only
pursued at a ruinous expence, but in absolute con-
tradiction to the wishes of the people who were
taxed to support it. Orlando did not comprehend
how this could be—he could not, however, though
so often assured that it was no part of his business,
help thinking about it: and an American prisoner,
who was brought to their little camp by a scouting
party just before it broke up, assisted very much to
clear up his ideas on this subject. He was a man
in middling life, and had kept a store at New York;
but having taken part with his own countrymen,
had been sent by them to Congress, where, being
a man of strong plain understanding, he had joined
heartily in all the measures of resistance, and after-
wards gone into the field for the same purpose:
but hearing that his wife, an English woman, whom
he passionately loved, and his only son, a boy of
seven years old, were arrived at New York from
England, whither they had gone two years before,
he had obtained leave to quit his command for a
short time, and had set out alone, and in disguise,
in the intention of reaching the neighbourhood of
New York; where, at the house of one of his
temporising friends, he had appointed his wife and
child to meet him—in the hope of conveying them
himself, through a country abounding in perils, to
a place of present safety.
But when he was within an hundred miles of the
place he wished to reach (a distance that in Ame-
6


# 18 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
rica is reckoned a trifle), he had been met by a party
of Indians, whom the British commanders had lately
let loose upon the Americans; and having narrowly
escaped being scalped, by promises, and some de-
ceptions very allowable in such a situation, he was
brought by the Red Warriors to the small camp of
their allies the English, of which they had just re-
ceived intelligence. As this unfortunate American
immediately disclosed to the commanding officer
who he really was, and for what purpose going to
New York, he was deemed of consequence enough
to be sent thither a prisoner, and till this could be
done, he was alternately guarded by the British
officers:—a circumstance that gave Orlando an
opportunity he never before had of hearing the
American party tell their own story, which served
only to excite his pity for them, and a pity not
unmixed with respect; while his astonishment in-
creased as he considered the infatuation of the
British Cabinet, or rather the easy acquiescence of
the British People.
If his concern was called forth by witnessing
the anguish of mind endured by his new acquaint-
ance when he thought of his wife and child—an-
guish with which Orlando well knew how to sym-
pathize—his surprise and curiosity were not less
awakened by the appearance of the native Ameri-
can auxiliaries who had been called to the aid of
the English. They consisted of a party of near
forty, most of them young men; and headed by a
celebrated veteran warrior, who was distinguished
by a name which expressed in their language,
“The bloody Captain!”. Their savage appearance,
and the more savage thirst of blood which they
avowed—that base avidity for plunder, with an
heroic contempt of danger, pain, and death, made
them altogether objects of abhorrence, mingled


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 119
with something like veneration: but the former sen-
timent altogether predominated when Mr. Jamie-
son (the prisoner) informed him, that among all the
unfair advantages which the Colonists complained
of in the manner of carrying on the war, there was
none that seemed so unjustifiable as that of sending
forth the Indians” against them. And when Or-
* “Several nations of savages were induced to take up
arms as allies to his Britannic Majesty. Not only the huma-
nity, but the policy of employing them, was questioned in
Great Britain. The opposers of it contended, that Indians
were capricious, inconstant, and intractable; their rapacity
insatiate, and their actions cruel and barbarous. At the same
time their services were represented as uncertain, and that
no dependence could be placed on their engagements. On
the other hand, the zeal of the British Ministers for reduc-
ing the revolted Colonies was so violent as to make them, in
their excessive wrath, forget that their adversaries were
men. They contended that, in their circumstances, every
appearance of lenity, by inciting to disobedience, and there-
by increasing the objects of punishment, was eventual cru-
elty. In their opinion, partial severity was general mercy;
and the only method of speedily crushing the rebellion was
to envelope its abettors in such complicated distress, as by
rendering their situation intolerable, would make them wil-
ling to accept the proffered blessings of peace.” Ramsay's
History of the American Revolution.—The happy effects of
this barbarous policy never appeared. Of the tragical
scenes it occasioned, the reader, if he or she delight in stu-
dying circumstances in this war redounding to the honour
of British humanity, is referred to the Annual Register for
1779, where an account is given of the expedition of six-
teen hundred men, among whom one fourth were Indians,
the rest British Americans in the interest and service of
Government (these Americans were then called Tories),
to the forts Kingston and Wilkesborough, in the settlement
of Wyoming on the Susquehanna. Those who have so loudly
exclaimed against a whole nation struggling for its free-
dom, on account of the events of the summer of 1792
(events terrible enough, God knows!), are entreated to re-
collect how much the exploits of this expedition (even as
related by our own historian) exceed any thing that hap-
pened on the 10th of August, the 2d of September, or at
any one period of the execrated Revolution in France—and
own, that there are savages of all countries—even of our own!


120 The OLD MANOR House.
lando saw in the hands of the Bloody Captain ele-
ven scalps, some of them evidently those of women
and children, others of very old, and consequently
defenceless men; many of them fresh, which he
said, with an air of triumph, he had taken from the
enemies of the King of England within three weeks
—the young unhardened Englishman shuddered
with horror, and blushed for his country.
He could not help speaking warmly on this sub-
ject to Fleming, who answered calmly, it was very
true that arming the Indians was a very severe
measure—and their cruelty what we ourselves, said
he, so loudly complained of in the last war; but
after all, my friend, in war every advantage is taken
by both sides; and our Government has considered
that if by this dreadful sort of warfare they can the
sooner conquer the rebels and reduce them to obe-
dience, it is in fact best for them *. Orlando, still
unable to digest or approve such doctrine, could
never hear of the ferocity with which these red
warriors treated their prisoners without disgust.
With some of the younger among them, however,
who were less inured to blood, he formed some kind
of acquaintance, and learned some of their words.
One of these he had distinguished from the rest, by
remarking his more open countenance—his more
gentle manners; and by hearing that he had, at the
risk of his own life, saved a woman from the fury
of his relation the Bloody Captain, when he was on
the point of killing her with his tomahawk. This
woman, whom they had found wandering in the
woods, whither she had been driven by the British
* The same sort of sophistry was used by the monster
Catherine de Medicis, to urge her son, the infamous Charles
the Ninth, to the massacre of the Protestants in 1572.-
What pity, said she, do we not shew in being cruel! What
cruelty would it not be to have pity!


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 121
troops who had burned her little farm and killed
her husband, the young Indian, who was known by
the name of the Wolf-hunter, had conducted in
safety to a fort garrisoned by her own country-
men—again hazarding his own life to preserve hers.
The secret sympathy between generous minds
seems to exist throughout the whole human kind;
for this young warrior became soon as much attach-
ed to Orlando as his nature allowed him to be to
any body; and when they left their camp, and
continued their march (after having dispatched
their prisoner to New York with as strong an escort
as they could spare), the Wolf-hunter constantly
marched by the side of his new friend; and be-
tween the little English he had picked up, and Or-
lando's unusal aptness to learn languages, which
had however been little exercised till now, he con-
trived to acquire a good deal of the customs of the
Indians of North America, of which he hitherto had
known but little; but in regard, to their wars, the
more he heard of them, the more unpardonable it
seemed to him to be in the managers of the war at
home to authorise them to take up the hatchet.
After a very fatiguing march of many days, du-
ring which their Indian associates were eminently
useful to them in guiding their way through woods
and morasses, where they were least likely to meet
parties of the Colonists superior to their own, they
reached the place of rendezvous, where there was
a probability of their finding the army they were
to join; but it had pushed forward with so much
celerity, that they found themselves three days
behind it: its track, however, was sufficiently
marked by smoking ruins—by the corn destroyed
on the ground—and by the bodies of the dead,
with whom they could not either encumber them-
selves, or always stay to bury. The heart of Or-
"VOL., XXXVII, M


122 The ol D MANOR HOUSE,
lando sickened at the sight; but he had little time
for contemplation—for a strong detachment of
Americans, who had harrassed the rear of the
British army, were now returning northward; and
meeting this body of British, an engagement ensued,
in which the Provincials were repulsed with some
loss—but at the expence of nine men killed and
eleven wounded—among the latter was Lieutenant
Fleming: his wound, however, was not dangerous,
and Orlando had the satisfaction of shewing, by
his unwearied attendance on him, some part of the
gratitude he felt for his former friendship. But
the care necessary to the wounded, and the diffi-
culties that their own people, in order to prevent
their being followed by the enemy, had every
where thrown in the way of their march, made it
so tedious and so dangerous, that they often de-
spaired of effecting their purpose; and when they
at length arrived, quite worn down with fatigue,
had the mortification to find the forces they joined
in a situation very different from what they had
been taught to expect—while the main body was
equally disappointed that a stronger reinforcement
was not sent them from New York, and a supply of
provisions, of which they began to apprehend the
want. At the same time the march of such a small
body of men, for so many hundred miles, through a
country every where in arms against them, was a
matter of wonder; and in the detail of their expe-
dition given by the commanding officer to the Ge-
neral, the conduct of Orlando was spoken of in such
high terms, that he was desired to make him a com-
pliment on the occasion. Orlando, from his igno-
rance of the country, had entertained a faint hope
that he might find Warwick already arrived in the
northern army; but he had the mortification not
only to discover that this hope was groundless, but


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. " 123
his brother officers, who knew him best, were una-
mimously of opinion that he had perished at sea,
from Orlando's account—They were sure, they said,
that nothing but some such disaster would have
prevented their friend Warwick from coming back
with his company; and Orlando, with increased an-
guish of heart, assented apparently to this, and for-
bore to say the reasons he had to feel, that though
this might not be exactly the truth, the absence of
Warwick was every way to him a subject of uneasy
conjecture and bitter regret.
CHAPTER x.
THE increasing difficulties to which the British
army, under the command of General Burgoyne,
were at this period exposed, have been so often
described, and so largely insisted upon, that they
need not here be repeated. Deserted by the Cana-
dians and other Americans, who were discouraged
by their perilous situation—in want of necessary
provisions, and seeing themselves likely to be sur-
rounded—it was determined that, if the assistance
they had been taught to expect from New York
did not arrive before the expiration of another fort-
night, they must give up all hopes of defence. In
the mean time, however, a movement was resolved
upon by a chosen body of fifteen hundred men,
which brought on a general attack from the Ameri-
cans, who carried part of the British lines, and
night only put an end to the combat, in which a
great number of brave men fell, as well English as
Germans. Among the slain was Orlando's respect-
able friend Fleming, who, though hardly recovered
of his former wound, had hurried without orders to
M 2


I24. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
defend the lines, and was shot through the lungs as
he was leading on his men to repulse a party of
the enemy with the bayonet.—Orlando, who was
only a few paces from him, saw him fall; and,
amid the impetuosity of the action, he ran towards
him, exhorting the men to proceed.—Fleming, as
he lifted him up, knew him, and, wringing his
hand, said—Go, my dear boy! don't waste a mo-
ment upon me—I am killed ! but I die contented if
those scoundrels are driven off-If you return to
England, be a friend to my poor wife—to my poor
little ones | He spoke these last words with extreme
difficulty, as the blood choked him. Orlando saw
his noble spirit depart, and hastily ordering the
black servant (who had belonged to Warwick, and
now attended on him) to carry off the body, he
plunged with a degree of desperation into the
thickest of the battle; which lasted, however, only
a few moments longer, because, as it was by that
time too dark to distinguish friends from foes, each
party found it necessary to retreat. The British
passed the rest of the night in the melancholy
employment of ascertaining their loss, which was
very considerable in killed and prisoners, particu-
larly in officers, of whom some that had been
brought off the field were mortally wounded. Or-
lando, with concern that superseded every thought
for himself, made it his first care to visit the body
of his gallant friend, in a sort of lingering hope that
he might yet live; but this hope was immediately
at an end; and Orlando had no other comfort than
in recollecting that he died gloriously, and shared
an honourable grave with many other brave officers
who ended a career of honour in this fatal field.
The interval between this action and the removal
of the British camp by night, from a situation no
longer tenable, was short, but dreadful. Fatigue


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 125
and famine, great as those evils were, seemed less
terrible to the minds of the English, than the cer-
tainty that they must very soon surrender to an
enemy whom they at once abhorred and contemn-
ed. The officers still endeavoured to encourage
their men, and keep up the spirits of each other—
they recollected other occasions in which armies, in
a condition equally desperate, had broken through
their enemies, and conquered those who hoped to
have destroyed them: but the commander himself
knew the fallacy of these hopes, and saw that, unless
succours arrived in a very few days, the surrender
of his army was inevitable.
They had now, however, a messenger from New
York, with information that three thousand men
were advancing to their assistance up Hudson's
River; but this expedition had been so delayed, or
was, after it was undertaken, so managed, that
there appeared not the least probability of their
arriving in time to save from the necessity of a sur-
render the devoted army. The same messenger,
however, who had with infinite difficulty made his
yº to the English camp from New York, brought
a few letters to the British officers—and among
them, Orlando, with a beating heart, and with
hands so tremulous that he could hardly break the
seal, opened a packet from his sister Selina. It
contained a short letter from her, the comfortless
purport of which, in regard to his family, was re-
peated in what follows from Monimia herself,
whose letter Selina had inclosed:
“Rayland Hall, 28th June, 1777.
“Though I know it is yet impossible for me to
hear from you, every moment now seems to me an
age.—Alas! Orlando, how little satisfactory was
the short letter I received from Portsmouth yet I
M 3


126 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
know you could not write more, hurried as you
were. You have now been gone six long—long
weeks, and that is only a very small portion of the
time you are to be absent, though to me it seems
already a thousand years.
“I do not love, Orlando, to say much of myself,
unless I could tell you any thing that would make
you happy, which Heaven knows I cannot! unless
it is merely that I am as well as so unhappy a being
can be. It would be some comfort to me, if what
I cannot tell you of myself, I could relate of your
dear family: but Selina will tell you, if I do not,
that your father's health is still in a very precarious
state, and that all your friends have suffered great-
ly by Isabella's going from them, and by their not
knowing what is become of her; for though she
wrote to them from Portsmouth, desiring their for-
giveness, and informing them that she had gone
off to be married to Captain Warwick, and that
her unconquerable aversion to General Tracy was
partly the reason of her doing so; yet they have
never heard that she was really married, nor have
any of Captain Warwick's friends, of whom your
father has made constant inquiries, had any intel-
ligence of him. It is concluded that he is gone
with your sister to America; but not knowing it
certainly, is a continual source of distress both to
Mr. and Mrs. Somerive; sadly aggravated, I fear,
by their hearing but too much of your brother, who
is known to be living in London in great splen-
dour, which it is said he supports by gaming.
Your poor mother went up with Selina about ten
days since, in hopes of seeing him, and persuad-
ing him to return to his family. Selina described
the meeting to me, and half broke my heart by
the description. All your mother could obtain was,
a sort of half promise that he would come down to


The OLD MANOR Hous E. 127
West Wolverton in August or September, with
which she has endeavoured to console your father;
and I find has kept to herself the greatest part of
what passed, and has no hope of his changing his
conduct.
“The poor old General has never recovered the
shock and mortification of Isabella's defection. He
left West Wolverton as soon afterwards as the gout
allowed him to move; and, it is said, has disin-
herited Captain Warwick, and given his whole for-
tune to his brother's son, whose title I cannot re-
collect—However, he does not seem to resent Isa-
bella's desertion of him towards the rest of your
family; for I understand that it was by his means
your mother procured an interview with your bro-
ther; and that he was very obliging to her and
Selina while they were in London. I have, though
with a heavy heart, Heaven knows! rallied my dear
Selina upon this; and told her, that perhaps the
gallant General, who always admired her, may
have an intention of transferring his affections to
her; but she assures me, and I easily believe it,
that were he emperor of the world she would not
accept them.
“And now, Orlando, must I talk to you of your
poor Monimia—Ah! it is reluctantly I do it; for
I can tell you nothing but what will make you un-
happy. Mrs. Rayland seems to regret your ab-
sence very much; she speaks of you every day,
and appears to me to be very sorry she ever suf-
fered you to depart. Judge, dear Orlando! whe-
ther I do not execute the little offices about her,
which now she will suffer no other person to do,
with redoubled pleasure, when I hear her thus
speaking of you like a tender mother! I wonder
how I ever disliked her and thought her severe.
Ah! I wish Mrs. Lennard had .# as much kind-


128 THE old MANOR House.
ness; yet has her lady had much to disturb her
lately, and my aunt reason to be in good humour.
Mr. Harbourne, the gentleman who has so long
managed the business of the Rayland estate, is
dead; and within these last ten days my aunt has
prevailed upon Mrs. Rayland to replace him with a
Mr. Roker, who she tells me is a relation of hers,
and a relation of mine, which may be; but of
all the disagreeable men I ever beheld, he is to me
the most disagreeable—He has, however, got every
thing into his hands through the influence of my
aunt; and his nephew, a creature as odious as
himself, is put into the house at North Park End;
where Mr. Harbourne used to be for a month or
two; which is fitting up quite in an elegant style,
as to new papering, painting, &c. I hope when
it is done he will be less at this house than he is now;
for, at present, he passes every day here, and very
often the night; though I never could observe that
his hateful cringing manners pleased Mrs. Rayland,
who does not know, I believe, that he has taken
possession of your room.—Oh! how different a
possessor from what it ought to have I meant, Or-
lando, to have said as little of this disagreeable
change as I could; but my unconquerable aversion
to these two men has betrayed me into saying more
about them than I intended; yet I find from Selina,
that your father is uneasy at their introduction to
the management of the Rayland estate, and says
that Roker is a man of the worst character of any
attorney in the country.
“Perhaps you will impatiently exclaim, Why
does Monimia talk to me about these attorneys
when she began with saying she would mention her-
self! It is, Orlando, because they have had more
influence already in injuring my peace than you
would suppose likely. This Roker (the nephew),


The old Manon house. 129
were he not young enough almost to be her grand-
son, I should really fancy was a lover of my aunt
Lennard's. He is a great raw-boned fright of a
man, I think, with two eyes that look I know not
how, but particularly horrible to me—a wide mouth,
full of great teeth, that are only the more hideous
for being white, because his face is so red that,
when he grins, the contrast makes him seem ready
to devour one; then he has a red beard, and a
great bushy head of carrotty hair; but all this my
aunt says is handsome; and that this giant-looking
monster, who is not, I think, above eight and
twenty, is a fine manly figure. The man returns,
or rather earns, this her good opinion of him, by
flattery so fulsome that really I blush for my aunt
when I hear it; which, however, she takes care I
shall do as little as possible, for she is almost always
out of humour with me on some pretence or other
when he comes into the room where I am, and
generally contrives some excuse to send me away;
and before her the disagreeable monster affects
not to notice me: but if ever I meet him by acci-
dent in the house, which I avoid as much as I can,
he speaks to me so impertinently that I have often
been provoked to tears; indeed I am convinced he
would be more insolent if I did not threaten that
I would acquaint my aunt. -
“I pass almost every moment of the time that
Mrs. Rayland does not want me, in my own room:
and you know how little I should regret never leav-
ing it, if I could there possess quiet, and read the
books you left me directions to go through. But
even these comforts are denied your poor girl; and
while my very soul sickens to tell you how, because
ou will in one respect fancy yourself the cause of
it, it is necessary that I adhere to my promise, Or-
lando, and conceal nothing from you.


130 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
“You recollect, my dear friend, the pain we both
endured, and the risk you incurred (of which I
cannot now think without trembling), in conse-
quence of that unlucky meeting with Sir John
Belgrave.—This person, you know, left the country
soon after, and went into Scotland with your bro-
ther, and I remember your telling me afterwards,
that he was gone abroad for his health—Would to
Heaven he had staid there, that I might never
have heard again a name I could never hear with-
Out terror | -
“It is to-day a week since, Mrs. Rayland being
extremely well, which she had not been for some
days before, my aunt desired leave to go out to
dinner with Mr. Roker's family, who were on a
visit at Great Wolverton, at farmer Stepney's.-
She accordingly had the coach, and set out in
great form, leaving me strict orders not to quit
her mistress. After tea the evening was so warm,
and Mrs. Rayland felt herself so well, that she
had an inclination to get into the park chair; and
for Pattenson to lead the old poney in it round the
park slowly, that she might see the alterations and
repairs which she had been persuaded to order for
the accommodation of the nephew and deputy of
her new steward at North Park; and after she was
seated by the footman safely in this low carriage,
which you know she has not been in for almost
two years, she said she found it very pleasant, and
was sure she could bear to go quite up to the lodge,
but, lest she should be faint, she ordered me to
walk by the side of the chair with her drops. Pat-
tenson did all he could to persuade her that the
distance would be too much for her; but she spoke
to him more sharply than ever I heard her do be-
fore—saying, that she was the best judge of that:
and we set out, the carriage being drawn only a


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 131
foot pace, so that I found no difficulty in keeping
up with it. As we went along, we saw your horse
lying under the chesnut trees in the long walk;
for it was a very hot evening, and he had gone there
for shade. Mrs. Rayland called to me, and point-
ed him out to me—Poor creature I said she, he
looks melancholy; as if he missed his master; and
he is quite solitary too in the park. Then speaking
to Pattenson, she asked if he was well taken care
of?—While I, with a sigh, could have answered her
remark, by saying—Ah, Madam there are other
beings who miss Orlando yet more than that be-
loved animal, and who are more solitary and un-
done than he is.-But I affected to be at ease; and
I hope my countenance did not betray how much
my heart was otherwise. Indeed there was the less
danger of this, because Pattenson's answer, which
was very surly, and signified that she had better
ask about your horse of Jacob, with whom it was
left in charge, if she had any doubts about it, di-
verted Mrs. Rayland's attention from me, and
fixed it upon Pattenson, towards whom she ex-
pressed her displeasure. Indeed he has seemed to
me for some time to be losing ground in her favour.
At length we reached the north lodge; and as the
workmen were putting up a new door, which you
know is next the high road from Carloraine Castle
to Wolverton and other villages, and putting on a
new coat of stucco on that side, Mrs. Rayland or-
dered Pattenson to lead the chaise round thither,
and stopped some moments there, while she talked
to the carpenter and plaisterer, who were just go-
ing from their work. She kindly said to me—If
you are tired, Mary, sit down at my feet and rest
yourself—I assured her I was not; but she bade
me get her a glass of water out of the house, and
give her a few drops, lest she should find the ride


132 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
too much before she got home. There was not a
glass in the house; so I ran across the way to
James Carter's cottage, which is, you know, about
fifty yards beyond the lodge, on the opposite side.
His wife went out with the water, and I followed
her; when a gentleman, attended by two servants,
rode up so very fast, that his horse almost trampled
on me before I could cross the road. He checked
it, however, when he saw me, and exclaiming with
a great oath—My lovely little wood-nymph! By
all that's sacred she shall not now escape me !
He then alighted from his horse, and (as I conclude,
not seeing Mrs. Rayland and her servants, who
were concealed partly by the projection of the
lodge on that side, and partly by the slight turning
in the road) rudely seized me—I j aloud;
and the woman, who was but a few paces before
me, began to remonstrate with him—I hardly
knew, so great was my terror and confusion, what
either of them said; but upon Pattenson's advanc-
ing with Robert, who had also accompanied the
chaise, he let me go, saying, You are still at the
Hall then; I shall see you again, for I find your
gallant defender has resigned his post. He said
this as he mounted his horse, and as I, almost
senseless, was led by Carter's wife towards Mrs.
Rayland, who, hearing from her how the gentle-
man had behaved, expressed great indignation,
and as he was by this time past her, she ordered
Pattenson to follow him, and let him know that she,
desired to speak to him. I would have prevented
this if I had retained breath or recollection enough
to speak; but I sat down on the foot-stool of the
chaise, unable to utter a word to prevent Patten-
son's waddling away after Sir John, to whom, as
there were no hopes of his overtaking him, he hal-
looed—Sir Johnstopped his horse, and Pattenson,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 133
puffing and blowing with hurry and anger, de-
livered, and I suppose in no very complaisant
terms, his lady's message—I did not hear it, but
I distinguished Sir John's answer, which was—
“Come to your lady, good fellow 2 No; she will
excuse me—my business is with young ladies; I
have too much respect for the old ones to intrude
upon them. My service to the ancient gentlewo-
man of the Hall, good Mr. favourite butler, and
tell her, if she has any commands for me, she must
employ one of her pretty handmaids (that I saw
just now, if she pleases); and she will not fail to
find for her embassy a more favourable reception
than I think it necessary to give your worship.
Sir John then laughing aloud at his own wit, in
which his two servants accompanied him, put his
horse into a gallop, and was out of sight in an in-
stant; long before Pattenson, whom rage and in-
dignation did not render more active, had reached
Mrs. Rayland, and repeated this message, not with-
out some additions of his own, to his lady. I think
I never saw Mrs. Rayland so much disturbed as at
the general brutality of this rude stranger. I how-
ever soon recovered of my alarm, when I found
that this very disagreeable scene had ended with-
out bringing on any conversation as to what had
formerly passed; and I hoped and believed Ishould
hear no more of Sir John Belgrave. Mrs. Rayland,
from the agitation of spirits this insult had thrown
her into, was quite ill when she got back to the
Hall; but the next day, after she had given vent to
her displeasure, by talking about it to my aunt
Lennard, and every one who approached her, she
seemed to recover; and the bustle that this ridicu-
lous man had occasioned gradually died away. It
happened on Friday, and on the following Sunday
I had promised to meet Selina, whom I had never
WOL., XXXVII. N


134 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
had an opportunity of seeing after her return from
London till now. We were equally eager to meet
each other; and as I have now no difficulty in ob-
taining leave to walk in the park when my aunt is
with her lady, I got her permission to go out on
this evening, and passed with our dearest Selina an
hour, the most delightful and yet the most melan-
choly that I have known since your departure. Se-
lina was afraid of being missed, as she told me her
father was never easy when she was out of his sight;
and now only stole out while he was asleep after
dinner. She left me therefore sooner than either of
us wished; but after she was gone I sat some time
weeping where she had left me. It was the bench,
Orlando, in the fir-grove, by the boat-house, where
we sat all together when you made us promise to
meet there, and talk of you when you should be
gone. All your sister had told me of what passed
in London between your mother and your brother,
and of your father's dejected spirits and declining
health, had affected me more than I can describe;
but after I had indulged my tears some time, I re-
collected your charge to me to keep up my spirits,
and Iendeavoured to conquer this depression. The
sun was nearly set, and I went over the pond-head
by the great cascade, in order to go home the
nearest way. I had just passed through the high
plantation, and was entering the park, when I saw
this hateful Sir John Belgrave approaching me.—
Had I met him in the path of the plantation, it
would have been impossible for me to have escaped
him; but now, as the park was open before me, I
ran the instant I observed him the opposite way.
He pursued me for some time, intreating me to stop,
and assuring me that he meant only to beg my par-
don for his behaviour two days before, with a great
deal of other nonsense; which I did not, however,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 135
hear much of, for I was almost in a moment within ,
sight of the house, and I saw him turn back. I ar-
rived quite out of breath, and sadly terrified, but I
dared not complain. After I recovered myself, my
greatest concern was to think that I could never
meet Selina without fearing a repetition of this disa-
greeable adventure; but I had now nobody to lis-
ten to my complaints, or to relieve me from my sor-
rows. I thought the sermon of that evening the
most tedious and uninteresting I had ever read;
and both the old ladies were certainly particularly
ill humoured, my aunt more especially, who was
snappish and peevish to such a degree that she al-
most quarrelled with Mrs. Rayland; but, as she
could not vent all her spleen on her, it fell upon
me; and I went to bed in more than usual wretch-
edness, and for the first time wished that the
younger Roker might return to the Hall—for to
his having been two days absent I imputed the irri-
tability of my poor aunt's temper.
“Ah! Orlando, how dreary now seemed my own
room, to which, when you were here, I used to re-
tire with so much delight from all the discomforts
of my lot! It was a lovely moon-light night, and
yet early when I went to the turret. From the win-
dow I looked into the park, with sensations how
different from those I used to feel when I expected
to see you cross it! I was restless and wretched, and
knew I could not sleep if I went to bed; or, if I did,
I feared I should dream of Sir John Belgrave's pur-
suing me. I wished for some book I never had read,
for you have often told me that nothing so soon
quieted the mind, and led the troubled spirit away
from its own sad reflections, as some amusing or in-
structive author; but I had none in my room but
those books of your own that you gave me, which I
had read over and over again; and since this Mr.
N 2


136 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
Roker has occasionally been in possession of your
apartment next the study, and I once met him as I
was going thither, I have never had the courage to
venture down after the books as I used to do. Some
of the poems, however, Orlando, that you gave me,
I am never, never weary of reading, though I can
say them almost by heart; and, therefore, when I
was tired of looking at the moon, I took up that lit-
tle volume of Gray, and read that beautiful Ode to
Adversity which you have so often bade me admire;
and indeed I thought, Orlando, that we, though suf.
fering under its “iron scourge and torturing hour,”
were yet in a situation more really happy than the
prosperous worthless Sir John Belgrave, who was
able to enjoy every luxury of life, while you were
wandering about the world in danger and in sorrow.
Alas! these thoughts, however consoling at first,
brought on a train of others, and fears, the most
terrible fears for your precious life assailed me. My
fancy conjured up a thousand horrid visions, and
dwelt on a thousand terrible possibilities, till at
length. I found myself unable to bear the wretched-
ness I had thus created for myself, and Idetermined
to attempt at least to lose it in sleep; and was, from
mere fatigue of spirits, beginning to doze, when I
was startled by a rap at the door at the back of the
bed. I believed it to be a dream, too well recollect-
ing that you were not there. When I listened a
moment, and the noise was repeated, never, among
all the terrors I have suffered, did I feel any alarm
like this—I had not courage to speak, nor to move:
my first idea was to run into my aunt's room, but
then I must have discovered to her what we have so
anxiously concealed; and of which, I believe, she
never had the least notion; for whatever might be
her suspicions of our meeting, she never seemed to
guess how. While I deliberated in the most fear-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 137
*
ful agitation what it would be best to do, the noise
was made a third time, louder than before ; and a
voice called, in a half whisper, Miss Miss
“For God's sake, who is there? cried I, hasten-
ing to dress myself. You cannot have any business
there, whoever you are, and I will call my aunt and
the servants.
“No, no, Miss cried a man's voice aloud! don't
do that, for you will only betray yourself; I mean
you no harm, but, on the contrary, good.
Lord, Miss, 'tis only me: and I would not have
frightened you so at this time o'night if I could
have met you by day. I have got a letter for you.
“I now knew, by the voice, that it was Jacob,
the under game-keeper; and though I trembled still
with fear, it was mixed with a sensation of joy, for
I hoped the letter was from you. A letter! said I:
Oh, pray give it me instantly. Yet I recollected as
instantly, that it was foolish to open the door. The
man said eagerly, But make haste then, Miss, and
take it. No, answered I: leave it at the door, or
put it under it; I cannot open the door, for it is
nailed up. Ah! Miss, Miss I cried the man; it did
not used to be nailed up when I know who was here.
This speech, though I know not why, increased
again the terror which had a little subsided; and
his manner of speaking of you gave me a confused
idea that the letter was not from you. Where did
you get the letter, Jacob? said I; and who is it
from ? Never mind that, replied he, it is a letter
that will please you, I can tell you. I will not re-
ceive it, answered I, unless I know whom it is from.
Pooh, pooh what a to-do is here? said the man,
in a very impertinent manner—Well, then, if you
are so squeamish all of a sudden, I'll leave the let-
ter, and will come to-morrow up the stairs the same
way for an answer.
N 3


138 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
“Jacob then seemed to go down; and I thought
I heard him shut the door of the lower turret room
after him; but, for the world, I could not have
opened that of my room. Oh, Orlando I consider
what I must have suffered, from supposing there
might be a letter lying without it; and that only a
few pieces of half-decayed board were between me
and the first intelligence I had received of you! Yet
it was also possible that it might be from some
other person, though I could not conjecture who
should write to me: but there was something of im-
pertinent assurance in the manner of the game-
keeper that shocked me; and Iwell recollected that
you once thought of our corresponding through his
means, yet afterwards determined not to hazard it,
and seemed sorry that you had entrusted him so far.
I will not attempt to describe the state of mind in
which I passed the night. It was not, luckily for me,
very long; but the sun had risen some time before
I could acquire courage enough to open the door,
and even then I trembled. But my hopes vanished,
or rather were exchanged for the most alarming
fears, the moment I saw that, if the letter contained
any news of you, it was not from yourself. I know
not how I opened it, for I expected now nothing
but tidings of despair; when, casting my eyes on
the name that concluded it, for I could not read
the contents at that moment, I saw that of Sir John
Berkely Belgrave; and though I instantly compre-
hended the insult it contained, I was relieved to
find that it was not written by some friend of yours,
to tell me what you were unable to write yourself.
“I will not, Orlando, copy this ridiculous billet;
but as I was determined neither to answer it, nor to
give the officious Jacob any excuse to come . the
stairs to my room, I thought, after some considera-
tion, that the best thing I could do would be to


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 139
speak to this letter-carrier, though nothing could
be more disagreeable to me, unless it was his com-
ing for an answer. As soon as breakfast was over, I
summoned all the courage I could, and went out to
the stable yard, where I knew it was most likely I
should meet him. As soon as he saw me, he came
eagerly towards me; and none of the other men
being within hearing, he said, I hope you have got
an answer for Sir John, to give me, Miss?
“No, I answered; I neither have an answer, nor
ever intend to give one to so impertinent a letter;
and I beg you, Mr. Jacob, not to disturb me any
more with messages so very improper; for if you
do, it will oblige me to complain to Mrs. Lennard.
“The fellow had the impertinence to say, that if
I would not give him an answer, Sir John would
come for one himself; but I hope and believe I shall
hear no more of it, as it is now Thursday, and I have
had no more visits. I have fastened the door as well
as I am able, and would secure that below if I knew
how, but it is not possible for me to do it myself;
and were I to ask any other person, it would put
whoever it was in possession of the secret which we
have so much reason to regret was ever divulged.
“But, do not, ever dear Orlando, be uneasy—I
am persuaded Sir John is satisfied with his frolic,
and that I shall hear no more of it; indeed I believe
he has left the country; but Iown I am uncomforta-
ble at being so much in the power of such a man as
this game-keeper—However, I now leave half open
the door into the passage that leads to my aunt's
room; and, upon the least alarm, I would fly to her,
and rather own the truth, than subject myself to a
repetition of such visits, either from this worthless
servant or his employer. Do not, therefore, I again
entreat you, my dear friend, be uneasy.
“What a letter have I written, Orlando! and how


T40 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
littlepleasurewill any one sentence in it give to you.
I, who would die to procure you the smallest satis-
faction, am destined to be the cause of your unhap-
piness. Sometimes I am so wretched when I think
of this, that I wish we had never met, or resisted,
in its beginning, an attachment likely to make all
your days uneasy; yet I feel, that were I without
this tender affection my life would be a blank, and
my existence not worth having.
“I will not conjure you to remember your poor
Monimia . I must indeed end a letter which I have
made so very long, that I am afraid Selina will not
be able to send it in her packet. Oh how hard it
is to say adieu ! yet my tears fall so fast that it is
quite time—God bless you, my dear, dear friend!”
Orlando, during the perusal of this letter, was so
entirely occupied by it, that he forgot where he was.
The Hall and all its inhabitants were present to him;
and he started up to demand instant satisfaction of
Sir John Belgrave, and to chastise the mercenary
and insolent servant, when he found himself, by
the distance of many thousand miles, deprived of all
power of protecting his Monimia, under marching
orders to remove he knew not whither, and cut off
from all communication with her. He stamped
about the tent in a turbulence of mind little short of
phrensy—cursed with ineffectual vengeance the ob-
jects of his indignation, whom he could not reach;
and was awakened from this dreadful state, only by
a message from his colonel that he must that mo-
ment attend him.—Hardly knowing what he did or
said, he followed the serjeant who brought these
orders; and was directed, instead of preparing to go
with the camp, to make himself ready, with another
officer, the negro Perseus, and three rank and file,
for an expedition to New York, where it was hoped
7


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 141
so small a party might arrive unobserved; and as
the men were chosen who were the fittest for so
perilous an exploit, Orlando was named, from the
experience his commanding officer had in his first
march of his patience, prudence, and resolution.
Orlando cared not whither he went or what be-
came of him—he obeyed, as soon as possible, the
orders he had received; and that night, at eleven
o'clock, began his excursion with his five compa-
nions, and crossed Hudson's River.
CHAPTER XI.
The small party dispatched on this hazardous ad-
venture, having crossed the river, penetrated a
wood near it, where they rested till the light of the
morning should afford them assistance to pass
through it. One of the soldiers, who had a know-
ledge of the country, made light of the difficulties
of their undertaking; and the whole party were in
some degree cheerful, except Orlando, who, far
from attending to the perils that surrounded himself,
was lost in thinking of those to which Monimia was
exposed; and in meditating schemes of vengeance
against her persecutor, which he forgot that it was
impossible for him to accomplish. In the midst of
an immense American forest, surrounded with al-
most every species of danger, and suffering, if not
actual hunger, a great deficiency of nourishment
(for the whole army had been some days on short
allowance) he felt nothing but that Monimia was
liable to the insults of Sir John Belgrave; perhaps
already the victim of his infamous designs—an idea
that stung him almost to madness. The painful
news he had heard from his father's house added to
the anguish of his spirit; and perhaps never was a
mind more distracted with a variety of tormenting


I'42 THE old MANor House.
apprehensions, not one of which he had the means
of alleviating. As soon as it was light, the party
renewed their journey, but had not proceeded half
a quarter of a mile towards the thickest part of
the wood before the war-whoop burst forth; and
a shower of bullets fell among them, wounding
some, and killing one of their small party. The
Indians rushed forward the moment the English
had at random fired among the trees, and Or-
lando saw no more; a violent blow on the head
deprived him of his senses, and to all appearance
of his life.
When he recovered his recollection, he found
himself lying on the ground in one of those tem-
porary huts which the Indians erect in their hunt-
ing parties. It was night, and he heard them in
loud conversation near him—He found he was
their prisoner, and concluded he was reserved for
those horrid tortures of which he had heard so
many terrific descriptions. Death appeared to him
most desirable; and his great hope was that he
should by death escape them—for the pain from
the wound in his head was so excessive, that he
doubted not but that his scull was fractured, and of
course his dissolution near.
He attempted to rise; not with any hope of
escape, for that was impossible, but with a sort of
confused desire to accelerate his fate; when an
Indian entered the hut with a light, in whom Or-
lando discovered his former acquaintance the Wolf-
hunter. -
This young savage approached and spoke kindly
to him, telling him, that though his brothers had
killed and scalped the rest of the party, he had
saved him, and was his sworn friend—that no harm
should come to him, and that the chief had pro-
mised him his life.
Orlando in a faint voice thanked him for his


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 143
kindness, which he said was too late, as he felt the
wound in his head to be mortal. He then inquired
why the Indian warriors had fallen upon a party of
their allies and brethren, the soldiers of the king of
England?
The Wolf-hunter replied, that the English had
not dealt fairly with them—that they were pro-
mised provisions, rum and plunder, instead of which
they got nothing in the English camp, but had lost
some of their best men in defending the lines; and
that, the English having thus deceived them, they
were no longer their allies, but were going home to
their own lands, determined to plunder the strag-
glers of whatever party they might meet in their
way, to make themselves amends for the loss of
time, and the heavier loss of brave warriors that
had perished by believing the promises of the great
English Captain. -
Orlando's generous heart bled for his comrades
thus inhumanly sacrificed; and he lamented that
they, as well as himself, had not fallen like his friend
Fleming in the field. He asked if all the men who
were with him had perished. His Indian friend
answered, All but two—a white man and a negro
—who had escaped while they were plundering the
rest. -
Orlando heard this with a sigh of deeper concern;
for he knew that, unless these unfortunate men
could again cross the river and regain the camp,
they would probably die in the woods of hunger and
fatigue. The Wolf-hunter then inquired of Orlando,
if he thought he could march with them in the
morning?—To which he answered, he hoped so;
but at the same time imagined that he should long
before that time be released from all his sufferings.
He knew, however, that to complain would not
only be fruitless, but injure him in the opinion of


144 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
his host, who made light of the wound he had re-
ceived; and telling Orlando he would cure it, he
cut off the hair, washed it with rum, and then laid
on it a pledget of chewed leaves. An Indian blan-
ket was thrown over him, for his own clothes were
taken away; and the young savage giving him a
drink, such as they had themselves been merry
over, of rum, water and honey, desired him to
sleep, and in a few moments set him the example.
Giddy and disturbed as was the unhappy Or-
lando from the effects of the blow, he now began
to awaken to a sense of his condition; and in be-
lieving that the injury he had received was not of
so fatal a nature as he had on the first sensation of
pain imagined, he felt infinitely more miserable in
supposing that he should live in such insupportable
anguish as his fears for Monimia and his family
would inflict upon him—condemned, probably as
long as his life lasted, to drag on a wretched exist-
ence among the savage tribes of the American
wilderness, and cut off from all communication
with his country.
In such reflections on his own wretchedness he
passed this miserable night, his Indian protector
soundly sleeping in the same hut. Before the dawn
of day they began to move; as the chief, or leader
of the party, was anxious to escape, with the plun-
der they had already got, to the Iroquois country,
from which they came. Orlando, contrary to his
expectations, found he could walk; and his friend
the Wolf-hunter, pleased with the resolution he
exerted, sometimes assisted him when he appeared
on the point of failing in this rapid and difficult
march, through a country known and accessible
only to Indians. His shoes and stockings had been
taken from him, and his feet bled at every step: but
he went on in a sort of desperation, hoping that the


The old MANob House. 145
more severe his sufferings were, the sooner they
would end ; nor was it the least of these, that, on
the first dawn of morning, he saw the scalps of his
unfortunate comrades triumphantly oarried by the
chief of the party, whose title was the Wild Elk.
New scenes of horror awaited him on his way.
As plunder was now the avowed purpose of this
party of Iroquois, which consisted of near forty
men, they attacked the defenceless villages of the
English Americans whose men were out with the
army; and destroyed the women and children, or
led them away to captivity infinitely worse than
death. Some few the Wolf-hunter, who was the
second in power, was influenced by the entreaties
of Orlando to spare ; but even these were, he
feared, reserved only for a more lingering and de-
plorable fate; and in fact many hundreds of the
unhappy people thus driven from their dwellings
in the course of the war, perished by famine in the
woods and gullies.
Orlando was now nearly recovered of the wound
in his head, notwithstanding so rude a method of
cure; but, in fact, the skull had not been injured.
The blow was given with the butt end of a musket,
and not with a tomahawk, which are almost always
mortal. His friend the Wolf-hunter had equipped
him like an Indian warrior. His fine hair was cut
off, all but a long lock on the crown of his head—
and he was distinguished from an Iroquois by
nothing but his English complexion. In these cir-
cumstances, after a long and fatiguing march of
eleven days, he arrived with his protector at the
camp or rendezvous of those Indians who had taken
up the hatchet as allies to the King of England,
where they halted and held a general council. A
party who had just arrived before them, brought
intelligence of the convention of Saratoga, so fatal
WOL., XXXVII, . O


146 The old MANor House."
to the British, and their German allies; in conse-
quence of this, one body of the Indians returned
again towards the seat of war, on a scheme of
general depredation; and the other, in which was
the Wolf-hunter, who carried every where with him
his English friend, went to the town of their district,
with an intention of recruiting their numbers, and
falling upon the back settlements while they were
in their present defenceless state.
The ground was now every where frozen; and
their way seemed to lay over sharpened flints—so
impenetrable it was become. Orlando was inured
to every personal suffering: but those of the un-
happy victims of this war—victims that every day
seemed to multiply around him, and very few of
whom he could save, were a continual source of
torment to him; while, at every pause of these
horrors, the fears of what might happen, perhaps
had already happened at home, were even more
dreadful than his actual miseries. He found that
Perseus, Warwick's black servant that had attended
him, was among those who escaped from his unfor-
tunate party: if he did not fall a victim to hunger,
or failed of being destroyed by some other wander-
ing horde of savages, he might, as he was a stout
man, inured to hardship, and of good courage, find
his way to New-York, and from thence to England,
where he would undoubtedly report to Mr. Some-
rive and his distracted family, that he saw Orlando
die under the hands of an Indian. The wretched-
ness that such news would inflict on his friends, on
his Monimia, there was no likelihood of his being
able to remove; for, in his present situation, there.
was no means of conveying a letter with any hope
of its ever reaching the place of its destination.
He tried to prevail on his savage friend to let him
go with the party who were returning towards


ThE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 147
Boston, in hopes that he might escape from them,
and find his way alone to some fort, either of Eng-
lish Americans or English: but this, for reasons
which Orlando did not altogether comprehend, the
Wolf-hunter refused, and even expressed some re-
sentment that it was proposed.
By the time they had reached the Indian village,
it was the end of November; and the winter set in
with such severity that the Indians, however eager
after plunder, felt but little disposed to encounter
its rigour. Orlando then saw that the dreary
months between November and April he must be
condemned to pass among these barbarians, de-
prived of all human intercourse, and in a kind of
living death. Even if he could have forced his
mind from the consideration of his own disastrous
situation, to contemplate the wonderful variety
which Nature exhibits, and to have explored these
wild scenes, this resource was denied him; for the
whole country was a wide waste of snow, and every
thing around him seemed cold and hopeless as his
own destiny. - -
The booty which the Indians had divided at their
camp comprised, among other articles, a small port.
folio of his, a memorandum book, his pocket-book,
and a writing case: these had fallen to the share of
his friend the Wolf-hunter, who was very willing to
restore to Orlando things of so little use to himself.
This was the only alleviation the unhappy Orlando
found to his sorrows; yet it was a melancholy one,
to write letters which he could hardly expect would
ever be read, to make for his father a journal of
occurrences so mournful, and to feel, while he wrote
it, that it was too probable the eye for which it was
intended was closed for ever.
The sufferings of Orlando were such as time, the
o 2


148 THE OLD MA NOR HOUSE.
great softener of most affliction, served only to
aggravate. What would he have given for even a
hope of hearing from England 1 and how many
conjectures were continually passing through his
mind, each more distressing than another. In his
dreams he often saw his Monimia pursued by Sir
John Belgrave entreating his protection, and he
started up to chastise the inhuman persecutor of her
innocence. At other times fancy, more favourable,
represented her as she used to appear in the early
days of their attachment—cheerful, because uncon-
scious of having erred—and tenderly trusting to
him, even when she discovered that their clandes-
tine meetings were contrary to the strict line of
duty and propriety. He heard her voice, he ad-
mired her simple beauty, her innocent tenderness,
the strength and candour of her uncultivated under-
standing—and supposed himself engaged, as he
used to be, in the delightful task of improving it.
Dreary was the contrast between his real situation
and these soothing visions; and he often preferred
such as gave him sleeping torment, to such as by
flattering with happiness rendered more insupport-
able the despair which consumed him.
Five weeks, five miserable and dreary weeks had
now crept away; when something like a change
of ideas was offered by the arrival of two French
Canadians and a party of Indians from that country,
who had travelled across the snows and frozen lakes
to the Indian village. -
It was some comfort to the desolate Orlando to
hear a European language; and though he could
speak but little French, he could read it extremely
well. But with these men he now constantly con-
versed, and soon found himself able to speak it
fluently; from whence he was encouraged to hope


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 149
that he might contrive to get to Quebec, and that
from thence a passage to Europe might easily be
obtained.
“The miserable have no other medicine
But only hope”
MEASURE For MEASURE.
—and of this the young soldier of late had so little,
that the least glimpse of more restored his dejected
spirits; which, when all the evils he felt or feared
are remembered, it will be acknowledged that
nothing but a temper naturally sanguine, and a
constitution unusually strong, could have enabled
him so long to support.
On sounding his savage protector, who was ex-
tremely attached to him, he found it seemed not
very unlikely that he might go himself with five or
six young warriors to Quebec to trade early in the
spring, hunting or fighting on their way as occasion
might offer. His Canadian friends encouraged this
plan; and Orlando ventured to promise a consider-
able present of spirits from the Governor of Quebec,
as an acknowledgment for the restoration of an
English officer; and made many promises to the
Wolf-hunter, of sending him from England what
should give him a great superiority over all his
countrymen, if he would release him and promote
his return to Europe. The means of conciliating
this his Indian master, and procuring his consent to
a scheme that he formerly seemed so averse to,
were suggested to him by his new Canadian friends,
and promised to be successful.
Thus relieved by hope, the months of January,
February, and March, passed less heavily. The
spring, which in America approaches not gradually
as it does in England, but appears at once, sur-
prised him by the sudden change which it produc-
O 3


150 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
od. The snow was gone; and, in a very few
days, the whole country was covered with verdure
and burst into bloom. A thousand birds filled the
extensive forests, as gay in their plumage as ex-
quisite in their song; and, whichever way Orlando
looked, a new Eden seemed to be opening around
him.
On the 20th of April, 1778, Orlando, the French
Canadians, and the Wolf-hunter leading a party of
five-and-twenty Indian warriors, set out for Quebec
—the Indians carrying great quantities of furs, the
spoils of the animals they had taken during the
winter. Of these Orlando carried his share: and
now, reanimated by the soothing expectation of
being restored to his country, he endeavoured to
conform himself to the modes of his savage hosts,
and was indeed become almost as expert an hunter,
in their own methods, as the most active among
them.
They had travelled some hundred miles, and
were within a few days journey of Quebec, when
it was resolved by the Wolf-hunter to encamp for
some days, in a spot particularly favourable to
hunting. This determination, however unpleasing
to Orlando, he knew was not to be disputed; and
though every delay was death to him, he was com-
pelled to submit to what no remonstrance wouki
avert.
The camp, therefore, was formed; and if any
local circumstance could have reconciled him to
the procrastination of a journey on which all the
hopes of his deliverance from this wretched and
tedious captivity depended, it was the very uncom-
mon beauty of the scenery amid which these huts
were raised.
This was on the banks of the river St. Lawrence
at a spot where it was about a mile and a quarter


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 151
over. The banks where they encamped were of
an immense height, composed of lime-stone and
calcined shells: and an area of about an hundred
yards was between the edge of this precipice, which
hung over the river, and a fine forest of trees, so
magnificent and stately as to sink the woods of
Norway into insignificance. On the opposite side
of the river lay an extensive savannah, alive with
cattle, and coloured with such a variety of swamp
plants, that their colour, even at that distance,
detracted something from the vivid green of the
new sprung grass; beyond this the eye was lost
in a rich and various landscape, quite unlike any
thing that European prospects offer; and the ac-
clivity on which the tents stood sinking very sud-
denly on the left, the high cliffs there gave place
to a cypress swamp, or low ground, entirely filled
with these trees; while on the right the rocks,
rising suddenly and sharply, were clothed with
wood of various species; the ever-green oak, the
scarlet oak, the tulip tree, and magnolia, seemed
bound together by festoons of flowers, some re-
sembling the convolvuluses of our gardens, and
others the various sorts of clematis, with vignemias,
and the Virginian creeper; some of these already
in bloom, others only in the first tender foliage
of spring : beneath these fragrant wreaths that
wound about the trees, tufts of rhododendron and
azalea, of andromedas and calmias, grew in the
most luxuriant beauty; and strawberries already
ripening, or even rifle, peeped forth among the
rich vegetation of grass and flowers. On this side
all was cheerful and lovely—on the other mournful
and gloomy; the latter suited better with the dis-
position Orlando was in, and he reared his little
hut on that side next the cypress swamp, and
under the covert of the dark fir trees that waved


152 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
over it. They had been here three days, when
with the usual capriciousness of his country, the
Wolf-hunter determined to recommence their
journey—a circumstance that gave Orlando some
satisfaction; and he went to his couch of bear-skin
with more disposition to sleep than he had felt for
some time, and, contrary to his usual custom, soon
sunk to repose; and his dreams were of his Moni-
mia, soothing and consolatory.
There is in America a night-hawk", whose cry
is believed by the Indians always to portend some
evil to those who hear it. In war they affirm that,
if a chief falls, the funereal cry of this bird an-
nounces it to his distant survivors. Ignorance, the
mother of superstition, has so deeply impressed
this on the minds of the Indians, that it is an article
of their faith, and Orlando had seen some of the
most courageous and fierce among them depressed
and discouraged by hearing the shriek of this bird
of woe near their tents.
From the most delicious dream of Rayland Hall,
and of Monimia given to him by the united con-
sent of Mrs. Rayland and his father, he was sud-
denly awakened by the loud shriek of this messen-
ger of supposed ill tidings; piercing, and often
repeated, it was echoed back from the woods;
and Orlando, once roused to a comparison between
his visionary and his real situation, was alive to the
keenest sensations of sorrow. The hateful noise
still continued, and he went out of his tent, for he
knew any farther attempt to sleep would be vain—
Alas! the turrets of Rayland Hall were no longer
painted on his imagination—instead of them he
... *Supposed to be the Caprimulgus Americanus: the bird
that is called by the Anglo-Americans “Whip poor Will,”
because his notes or cry seem to express those words.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 153
looked perpendicularly down on a hollow where
the ºrk knots of cypress seemed, by the dim
light of early morning, which threatened storms,
to represent groups of supernatural beings in fune-
real habits; and over them he saw, slowly sailing
amid the mist that arose from the swamp, two or
three of the birds which had so disturbed him.
Great volumes of heavy fog seemed to be rolling
from the river, and the sun appeared red and lurid
through the loaded atmosphere. Orlando endea-
voured to shake off the uncomfortable sensations,
which, in despite of his reason, hung about him ;
but he rather indulged than checked them, in
throwing upon paper the following
SONNET,
II.L omen'd bird whose cries portentuous float
O'er yon savannah with the mournful wind,
While as the Indian hears your piercing note
Dark dread of future evils fills his mind—
Wherefore with early lamentations break
The dear delusive visions of repose?
Why from so short felicity awake
My wounded senses to substantial woes 2
O'er my sick soul, thus rous’d from transient rest,
Pale Superstition sheds her influence drear,
And to my shuddering fancy would suggest,
Thou com'st to speak of every woe I fear—
But aid me Heaven' my real ills to bear,
Nor let my spirit yield to phantoms of despair.
*
CHAPTER XII.
In a very few days after leaving this temporary
settlement, Orlando arrived at Quebec.—He there
found means to convince his Indian friend, that to
Permit him to go would be much more to his in-
*rest than to detain him.—But he was without


154. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
money, and without clothes.—His Canadian ac-
quaintance, however, persuaded him that, on pro-
per application to the Governor, he would be fur-
nished with necessaries as a British officer:—and,
after encountering a few difficulties of office, he
had an opportunity of submitting his situation to
the then Governor; who being convinced, notwith-
standing his present appearance, that he was the
person whom he described himself to be, gave
orders for his being received and treated as an officer
in the service of his Britannic Majesty. Orlando
referred himself to his Excellency for orders—He
had now no longer a regiment to return to, as that
to which he belonged was one of those that had
surrendered at Saratoga—Though he was not
actually among those who suffered there the humi-
liation of laying down their arms, having been sent
away with dispatches two days before, he knew not
how far he was included in their captivity, or might
consider himself freed by it to serve in any other
regiment, or to return to Europe.
The Governor advised him to proceed to New-
York, there to receive the orders of the Commander
in Chief of the British forces. A small vessel
was preparing to sail in about a fortnight; and in
this Orlando, once more restored to the appearance
of an Englishman (though much changed by the
hardships he had undergone, and by the loss of his
hair, which had been remarkably fine), embarked
five weeks after his arrival at Quebec. He took
leave of his Iroquois protector, with a thousand
protestations of gratitude for all the services he had
rendered him, and promised to remit him a present
of such articles as were most acceptable, to Quebec,
as soon as he returned to England, or arrived in any
port where they could be obtained; and these
promises he meant religiously to fulfil.
8


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 155
The vessel on board of which the luckless adven-
turer hoped to make his way to New-York, was a
small sloop sent with dispatches from the Governor
of Quebec to the Commander in Chief; and the
master, who knew the importance of his commis-
sion, took every precaution to secure the execution
of it. But all were fruitless; for at some leagues
distance from the mouth of the Delaware, he was
seen and chased by two French frigates despatched
from the fleet of Count D'Estaing; and though he
was an excellent seaman, and his vessel sailed well,
he found it impossible to escape.—His dispatches,
however, were thrown overboard; but the sloop
immediately surrendered to force which it would
have been folly to have resisted, and Orlando was
once more a prisoner.
His captivity was, however, much less terrible
than that he had formerly sustained. He received
from the French officers all those attentions which,
among civilized nations, ought to soften the horrors
of war. Nor was he sorry to learn that the Fleur
de Lys, in which he was, was to return to the fleet
from which she was detached, only for her last
orders, and then to proceed to France.—The Che-
valier de Stainville, who commanded her, made a
Fº of testifying, by his behaviour to Orlando,
is regard and respect for the English nation: di-
vested by the candour of his mind, and the strength
of his understanding, of all national prejudice, he
conceived an esteem for Orlando the moment he
conversed with him; and agreed most willingly to
ive him his parole as soon as he arrived in France
†: he should not serve during the present war
either against America or France), and to assist
him in returning to England, which he thought
no military engagement now prevented his doing
with a perfect adherence to duty and propriety.


156 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
The Fleur de Lys, after receiving her dispatches
for the court of Versailles from Count D'Estaing,
proceeded with a fair wind; and in six weeks Or-
lando saw himself once more on European ground.
He landed at Brest, and felt such sensations as are
only known to those who, after having resigned all
hope of ever being restored again to their friends
and their country, see themselves almost within
reach of all they hold dear upon earth. France,
contrasted with his banishment in America, seemed
to him to be part of his country, and in every
Frenchman he saw, not a natural enemy, but a
brother.
Had the Chevalier de Stainville been really so,
he could not have behaved to Orlando with more
generosity, or more kindness. He was himself
under the necessity of going immediately to Paris:
—but he placed his English friend in the house of a
merchant, whom he commissioned to supply him
with every thing he might want; and recommend-
ing him also to the protection of his second captain
while he remained in Brest, this generous captor
took leave with regret of his interesting English
prisoner—not, however, without procuring him
a proper passport, giving him a certificate, and
taking his parole. Orlando, eager and anxious as
he was to return to his own country, had now a
Twish that went farther; it was to have an oppor-
tunity of renewing his acquaintance, and testifying
his gratitude to this amiable officer.
He staid only a few days after him at Brest,
when, taking from the merchant, who was ordered
to supply him, as much money as he supposed
would be requisite for his journey, he set out by
the diligence for St. Malo, where he was told,
he might perhaps get a conveyance to Jersey or
Guernsey. The name of those islands brought


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 157
afresh into his mind all his fears concerning the
fate of his sister Isabella: eighteen months had
nearly elapsed since her departure with Warwick;
and the mention made of her in Monimia's letter
dated in the following June, was the only intelli-
gence he had received of her. Nor was this the
sole mournful recollection to which Orlando was
subject in his journey—It was, alas! almost as long
since he had received any information relating to
the destiny of his Monimia. As to the situation of
his family—Gracious Heaven how many events
might in that time have occurred, any one of which
would embitter, with eternal regret, his return to
his native country.
At St. Malo he could not find the conveyance he
sought, and therefore journeyed along the coast in
as cheap a manner as he could to Havre; but, there
being no open communication now between France
and England, he found the accommodation he
wanted extremely difficult to obtain, and it was not
till almost the end of October that he found means
to engage a large fishing-bark, which under that
pretence was employed in smuggling on the coast,
to land him at Southampton; and this bargain was
made at the price of all the money he had, with a
promise of a farther reward if he arrived safely at an
English port, where he doubted not but that, upon
making himself known, he should find friends who
would enable him to fulfil his promises. There was
considerable hazard to his conductors in attempting
to land at any port of Hampshire, when so many
vessels lay at Portsmouth ; an hazard on which
they took care to insist with great vehemence, after
they had got their passenger on board. Orlando,
who had infinitely rather have been landed on the
coast of Sussex, proposed to them to make for some
part of that county; but even this proposal did not
WOLe XXXVII, P


158 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
seem to please them, and two of the three men ap-
peared to be very surly and savage.
They agreed, however, to go up the Channel;
and the wind, though very high, served them for
the purpose. It was already might when they
adopted this resolution. With the dawn of morn-
ing Orlando saw the white cliffs for which his heart
had so long languished. It was, the Frenchmen
told him, the back of the Isle of Wight; and Or-
lando, whose impatience to touch English ground
was redoubled, entreated them there to put him on
shore; but this they refused, as they alleged that
their bark would there be in the most imminent
danger of being seen and seized by the vessels
cruizing round the island; and their only way was
to haul off the English coast, and affect to be fish-
ing. Orlando, supposing them practised in these
sort of deceptions, and having no remedy even if
he had not approved of their plan, submitted to do
whatever they thought safest.
They kept, therefore, as near their own coast as if
they had intended landing there; but towards even-
ing, the wind being still strong and favourable, they
stretched away for the Sussex coast, and Orlando
saw the land where all his hopes reposed l—He was
little disposed to dispute i. these men any terms
they now wished to impose upon him; but he began
to think them very unreasonable, when they told
him that, as he must land at night, and on the open
coast, he could not pay them the farther reward he
had promised them on his getting safely on shore;
and, therefore, they expected that he would make
up to them that failure, by giving up part of his bag-
gage. This was so little, after the casual supplies
he had received at Quebec and at Brest, that as he
was now within a few miles of his home, it appeared
to him no object. But if he had more tenaciously


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 159
intended to preserve his little wardrobe, it could
not have been attempted without rashness. He was
alone, and unarmed, in the boat with three very
stout fellows, who were answerable for his life to
nobody, and who might, with safety to themselves,
have thrown him overboard. He yielded, therefore,
to this robbery with as good a grace as he could ;
and at sun-set, in a stormy evening at the beginning
of November, he was set on shore between Shore-
ham and Worthing, with two pieces of twelve sous
in one pocket, which had escaped the rapacity of his
piratical conductors, and a shirt in the other; his
sword, which he had got at Quebec, and which was
returned to him immediately by De Stainville on
his being captured, his high and romantic spirit
might have been unwilling to surrender to those
rapacious wretches; but fortunately perhaps both
for them and for himself, this his only weapon had
slipt from under his arm as he was violently stag-
gered by a sudden tossing of the boat, and to the
vexation of his guides, who meant to make it their
prize, it fell overboard, and was irrecoverably lost.
All the other articles of his little property, which
they coveted, he granted them very readily: with
these petty acquisitions they hurried from the Eng-
lish coast, and were very soon out of sight. Or-
lando, who had waded through a heavy surf to the
land, kissed the beloved soil the moment he reached
it; and was unconscious that he was half drowned,
and knew not where to lay his head. To be on Eng-
lish ground, to be within a few miles of his native
É. was happiness he so little expected ever to
ave enjoyed, that the tumult of his spirits would
not give him leave for some time to think of any
thing else. He was, however, so breathless, and so
much agitated by his bodily exertion, and the vari-
P 2


160 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
ous sensations of his mind, that he sat down a mo-
ment to recollect and compose himself.
It was not yet so dark but that he knew nearly
where he was; but it was necessary to proceed
along the shore to some town or village, where he
might procure an horse, on which he meant to
hasten instantly to the Hall. The village of Worth-
ing was the nearest to the place where he wished
to be. He walked therefore along the sands: but
a storm from the south-west, which had been long
threatening, now came on with such violence that
he took the first shelter he could find, in a little ale-
house built under the low cliffs, and serving as a
receptacle for the inferior contraband trader, or
those of even a more humble description.
A light, however, invited him into a place than
which nothing could be more dreary or desolate,
and the group he found around a fire in a miserable
little room black with smoke, and filled with the
fumes of tobacco and gin, did not contribute to give
him a more favourable idea of this receptacle: but
he had lived near ten months among the Iroquois;
and evil is only by comparison. He saw that his
entrance very much disturbed the people who were
assembled here. Some took him for a Frenchman,
and some for an Exciseman; two beings extremely
obnoxious, it seems, to some or other of the party.
All agreed that he was a spy, and heartily wished
him away.
Orlando now spoke to the landlady, and begged
of her to give him something to eat; for he had
fared very ill on board the fishing-boat. To this,
and to his request that he might be allowed to dry
his clothes by her fire, she answered in a way which
convinced Orlando she doubted his power of pay-
ing for the accommodation he desired. To remove


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 161
an objection so natural, and so incontrovertible, he
put his hand into his pocket, and produced two
pieces, which the hostess, not a novice in the value
of French money, knew was hardly equal in amount
to an English shilling. This (and Orlando had
actually forgotten that it was all he possessed) was,
however moderate, enough to pay for the coarse
repast he expected: but the woman seemed more
discontent than before, and the people surveyed
him with eyes more severely scrutinizing; being
convinced he was a French spy, or some person
whose appearance there boded them no good: and
these their suspicions, now that they found he was
poor, they very openly professed; and the land-
lady, telling him “she never took no French money,
not she—nor let folksbidein her house as she know'd
nothing of, because as why? it made her liable to
lose her license,” desired him to walk out: a re-
quest with which, though the storm continued with
some violence, Orlando found it necessary to com-
ply; and, fatigued as he was, determined to attempt
finding his way through the darkness and the tem-
pest to Shoreham, where he thought there must be
some person who would believe his story, and assist
him for so short a journey as he had to perform.
In this resolution he set out to go back the way
he came; but mortified that such brutish inhospi-
tality as what he had just experienced could exist
in British bosoms, and lamenting that there were
Englishmen less humane than the rude savages of
the wilds of America.
Cold, hungry, wet, and fatigued, he pursued his
walk: it was soon so extremely dark that he could
not distinguish the cliff, on which he was walking,
from the beach over which it hung. The rain,
driven by violence, almost blinded him, and the
roaring of the wind and sea deafened him. Hardly


P 3


162 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
able to stand against the tempest, he frequently
stopped, debating whether he had not better wait
the return of morning before he attempted to pro-
ceed.
His impatience, however, to get to Rayland Hall,
conquered every idea of present danger—and he
went on, contending against the united opposition
of darkness and storm. After a walk of above a
mile, he was nearly overcome with fatigue and cold,
when lights, which he thought he distinguished
through the comfortless gloom, animated him to
new exertions, and he went on.
His hope did not deceive him; but, in the eager-
ness to pursue it, he forgot the precaution with
which he had walked before, and fell headlong
from the top to the bottom of the cliff, which for-
tunately for him was not at this place above ten or
twelve feet deep, and he reached the bottom, with-
out breaking any of his limbs, at the expense of
some contusions. Recovering immediately from
the surprise, he found himself able to walk; and
kept along the cliff till he reached the town, which
was not till between twelve and one.
It was then with some difficulty that he discover-
ed a house of public entertainment; and when he
did, it was with more difficulty still he obtained ad-
mittance. At length, after telling his story, which
the man who heard it did not seem to believe, he
was suffered to enter the kitchen of an abode
between an inn and an alehouse; where some em-
bers of fire were renewed, and where, though sus-
picion evidently appeared to be very unfavourable
to him, the man who had let him in brought him
some cold meat, beer and bread, none of it of a
very promising appearance, but such as his hunger
made extremely welcome. This being appeased,
he inquired if he might have a bed, as he could go


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 163
no farther that night. There either was no bed, or
the person to whom he spoke thought him a travel-
ler whom it was unsafe to admit to one; for this man
answered drily, that they made up no beds in that
house; but that he might go into the stable, where
there was plenty of clean straw. There seemed to
be no alternative, as the man objected to his pro-
posal of sitting by the fire all night. To the stable,
therefore, the unhappy wanderer was led, and in his
wet clothes threw himself down on the straw in one
of the stalls; where, in despite of his uncomfort-
able situation, extreme fatigue gave him up to sleep.
The noise of men entering to take care of their
horses awakened him at the early dawn of the
morning: and awakened him to such a sense of
pain, from the bruises he had received, and the
damp clothes in which he had lain, that it was with
some difficulty he was able to move from his straw
into the kitchen, where he had been the night be-
fore. Two sailors were drinking there, who, having
nothing else to do, began questioning the stranger
Orlando related in a few words his melancholy ad-
ventures, and saw that these honest fellows not only
believed him, but pitied his distress, and wished to
contribute to his relief. His sufferings were now
so acute from the bruises received in his fall, that
all his fortitude could not conceal them. One of
his new friends went to get him “something com-
fortable,” which in his opinion was a large glass of
spirits, while the other assisted him in drying his
clothes, which were still wet; and as during this
operation Orlando surveyed himself in a little look-
ing-glass stuck against the wall, he found, in the
appearance he made, some excuse for the coldness
of his reception the night before.
His face was covered with blood and dirt, for his
nose had bled from the fall; an old hat, which his


164: THE old MANon House.
pirate-fishermen had given him in place of a very
good one they took, had been torn at the same
time, and seemed only half a hat; his great coat
was gone, and his coat was French ; his waistcoat
being the only part of his dress that was the same
as he brought from Quebec. He had no buckles in
his shoes, for the fishermen had desired them; and
his hair, which had not had time to grow long since
his coiffure was in the mode of the Iroquois, and
now presented what is called a shoek head. Having
amended his appearance as much as he could,
he inquired if he could have an horse? but he
was told that none were let there, nor did they
know of any to be had in the town. By this time
several other men were assembled in the kitchen;
and the same inquiry being renewed, one of them
said, that he could let him have a horse for fifteen
shillings: but then how was it to come back? and
besides, he must be paid for it upon the spot. This
Orlando at once confessed his inability to do, and
the reasonable man who offered it made no farther
attempt to accommodate him.
Orlando then determined to set out on foot. The
very little money he had in his pocket was insuffi-
cient to pay for even such entertainment as he had
had, and he proposed leaving the shirt he had in his
pocket as a pledge for the rest, when the two ho-
nest seamen offered to discharge his reckoning be-
tween them, and even to lend him each a shilling to
carry him homeward—an offer he without hesitation
accepted; made a memorandum of their names, as
he doubted not of having an immediate opportunity,
not only of repaying them, but of returning their
kindness fourfold; and then he set out on foot, not-
withstanding the pain he suffered, taking leave of
the honest tars with many acknowledgments, and
giving them his address at Rayland-Hall. He was


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. I65
told that a stage would pass along about eleven
o'clock; which if he did not miss it by getting out
of the high-road, would carry him some part of the
seventeen or eighteen miles that was between him
and the place where he wished to be. This route
was farther about; but he determined to pursue it,
because he found himself unable to walk with his
usual activity; nor could any less forcible induce-
ment than the excessive impatience he felt to be at
the Hall, have supported him in such an undertak-
ing, worn out as he was with the fatigue he had
sustained, and his limbs almost dislocated by the
injuries he had received the night before.
His progress was slow; and when at length the
stage, by which he had been promised a conveyance
part of the way, overtook him, he found it carried
only so small a part of his way that he had then
seven miles to walk. He knew that by going over
the downs, he could reach Rayland-Hall by a
nearer way than continuing along the turnpike
high-road; and therefore, quitting the vehicle, he
again proceeded on foot.
So little was he able to walk as he used to do,
that as the days were now short, it was almost dusk
before he reached the top of an high chalky down
—the same where on his departure, he had taken
a last look of the place that contained all that was
dear to him—and he again beheld it, its antique
grey towers rising among the fading woods; he
distinguished the turret; and recollecting that so
long a space had intervened since he left there the
object so dear to his soul, and how many distress-
ing circumstances might have occurred within that
time to destroy all his happiness, he became breath-
less through excess of agitation, and was under the
necessity of sitting down on the turf to recover
himself.


166 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE,
Beyond the Hall, which was within a mile and a
half of the foot of the hill, he distinguished the
country round West Wolverton:—the house was
concealed: but a wood, or rather shrubbery, on a
rising ground behind it, and some part of the offices,
were clearly discernible. With sensations of
mingled dread and delight he surveyed the well
known spot. Dear paternal house, cried he, in
what a situation do I return to your asylum;-but
of how little consequence is that if your beloved in-
habitants are well!—Oh, my father; are you now
thinking of your Orlando, unconscious that he is
within a few miles of you ! The son whom you
perhaps regret as dead is returning—a beggar in-
deed but not dishonoured—to your arms, and to find
in the bosom of his family ample consolation for all
his misfortunes.
When, in indulging these mixed sensations,
Crlando had a little recovered his breath and his
resolution, he descended the hill; and was soon,
by crossing the nearest way the few fields that
intervened, at one of those gates at Rayland park
where there was no lodge. He found it locked;
but there was a style near it, and he was soon under
those well-known shades where he had passed the
pleasantest hours of his life. Every thing seemed
just as it had been left about the park. With a
heart almost throbbing through his bosom, he
approached the house, and wondered to see no
servants round it; nor the dogs who were usually
running out on the approach of strangers. All was
j silent; and most of the windows were
shut. Certain of not being known, he was unable
to resist the temptation he felt, to try the door of
the lower turret—It was locked, and he proceeded
round the house to the stable yard. There was no
person to be seen where formerly there had been


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 167
four or five servants: there was no appearance of
horses; no poultry pecking about: all was still as
death, and the grass had grown up among the
pavement. Orlando's heart sunk within him; yet
he knew not what to fear! the approach of the
evening lent new gloom to the desolate appearance
of all that he beheld.
CHAPTER XIII.
AN apprehension of the truth, vague as it was, was
infinitely more terrible than any certainty. With
trembling hands, and breathless fear, Orlando now
attempted to open the great door of the passage that
led to the kitchen and servants' hall; but this too
was locked. He called aloud: his voice echoed
round the old buildings that surrounded the court
where he now stood; but no answer was returned.
After waiting and repeating again and again the
names of the servants who lived with Mrs. Rayland
when he went away, he rapped at the doors, and
then at the windows: the lower windows on this
side of the house, having strong iron bars, were
not shut within. He looked through them into the
servants' hall, and the passage leading to it; all
was apparently deserted and dark!
He could no longer doubt but that Mrs. Rayland
was dead—But where was Monimia? what was be-
come of all her domestics? to whom did the man-
sion now belong, that it was thus forsaken? New
horrors beset him at every step; but now, in a des-
perate determination to know the worst, or rather
to indulge the mournful propensity he had to tra-
verse these dreary rooms, and to visit the turret, he
went round to the other part of the house. He


168 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
tried the chapel door, which had so often befriend.
ed him in happier days: he found it broken, and
off the hinges; he entered the chapel, which ap-
peared more ruinous and neglected than it used to
be; he would have inquired if the remains of his
benefactress slumbered in the vault beneath it, but
no trace remained that could inform him;-he ap-
roached the door that led from the chapel to his
#. apartment, but that was strongly fastened
on the inside.
He then, while the only sound he heard was that
of the owls from the neighbouring woods, or the
night jar as it flitted before him near the house,
again traversed the park around it, and went to the
opposite side, or principal front, in the middle of
which was the door of the great hall;-that too was
fastened; but over it was the achievement of Mrs.
Rayland, the family arms in a lozenge:–Mrs. Ray-
land then was undoubtedly no more.
Whither could the weary, the wretched Orlando
go for information? and how sad the information he
must askſ for it was but too certain that, if Mr.
Somerive or any part of his family had possessed
the Hall, it could not have been thus desolate.
Orlando meditated a moment; if he could be
said to meditate, whose heart felt petrified by the
shock. He recollected, that the old and long de-
serted summer-parlour near the library had a glass-
door which opened into the park, and which was
formerly left unlocked. He tried it: it was fasten-
ed; but it was yet light enough for him to distin-
guish that the key was in it, within. He broke a
F. of the glass without hesitation, and, putting
is hand through, unlocked the door, and entered
this parlour.
Melancholy were the observations he made, as,
by the little light he had, he traversed this room.


Th F. Ö1, D MANOR HOUSE. 169
The wainscot had fallen down, and the boards
were rotted away; the study, of which the door
was open, had only half its books left; and the
tapestry hung in fragments from the walls. , Orlan-
do could not bear the cold chill that struck on his
heart. A low hollow gust of wind rushed through
the deserted rooms: it seemed loaded with the
groans of all he had ever loved, or revered—Yet
he proceeded along the passage, which was quite
dark—and, hardly knowing to what purpose, went
through the great hall, and up the principal stair-
case—He entered the long north gallery, where,
in the April days of their juvenile affection, he had
nearly betrayed his innocent partiality for Moni-
mia, by throwing the cricket-ball against the win-
dow.—Hideous spectres seemed to beckon him
from the other end of it, and to menace him from
the walls; though he knew that they were the por-
traits of his family in their black doublets, their ar-
mour, or their flowing night-gowns;–he stopped
however, in terror, he was ashamed of feeling, and
listening a moment, thought he heard a door shut
in some distant part of the house—Were there then
inhabitants? or was it only the wind which flung to
one of the doors he had left open?—He listened
again? but all was still, and he began to consider
what he should do next—Fatigued and worn out
as he was, and almost incapable of going farther,
he felt a momentary inclination to take possession,
of a bed. He opened the door of one of the bed-
chambers: the old high-testered green silk bed
looked like a mausoleum—it seemed black, and
Orlando could have fancied that the corpse of Mrs.
Rayland lay on it: the whole room appeared so
damp that he resigned his half-formed project, and
returned into the gallery with an intention of going
out of the house, and repairing to some of the
WOL., XXXVII. Q


170 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
neighbouring cottages, when he heard again a door
shut towards the kitchen, and thought he distin-
guished a human voice.
He went down a back staircase across the apart-
ment where Mrs. Rayland generally sat, and shud-
dering, as he now almost felt his way, he walked
towards the kitchen. This was a room quite in the
old fashioned English style; and such as gave an
immediate conviction, by the size of every utensil,
of old English hospitality. It was such as Pope
describes in his letter to the Duke of Buckingham,
where the peasantry suppose the infernal spiritshold
their sabbath; but upon a still larger scale.—As
Orlando came near the door, he was convinced that
he heard the murmuring sound of some person
speaking as if in discontent. The door was not
shut close; he pushed it gently open, and saw a
female figure blowing the fire: he advanced to-
wards her, and remarked, by the flashing light of
the flame which rose as she blew, that she was bent
double with age, and in a coarse dress of the lowest
peasantry. Instead of turning or speaking to him,
she continued to mutter and mumble to herself, of
which Orlando could distinguish no more than,
Why a plague did you not come sooner P about no
good I warrant ye... at this time o'night! and stalk-
ing about instead of helping... Orlando now ap-
peared before her, and spoke to her, inquiring for
Mrs. Rayland; when the beldam, suddenly looking
up, let fall the bellows, and, uttering a shriek or
rather yell, hobbled towards the nearest door,
crying out, Thieves, murder, thieves . . .
Orlando, following, attempted to pacify her: he
assured her he was no thief, but theson of Mr. So-
merive, the nearest relation of the late owner of
that house, who was lately come from abroad, and
did not know but what she still owned it.—His voice


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 171
seemed to have some effect in appeasing the fears of
the old woman; but upon surveying him, they again
returned—You 'squire Somerive's son 1 exclaimed
she—Will you persuade me of that? Did'nt I know
'em both 2–Oh Lord! oh Lord! I shall be mur-
der'd, that's for certain, and our Ralph's not come
back—Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do? It was
in vain Orlando renewed his protestations that he
meant her no harm; she continued to insist on his
leaving the house, and he remained resolutely bent
not to go till he had obtained some information as to
whom it now belonged. The contest lasted some
minutes, when at last an halloo was heard without,
and the woman exclaimed, Oh! thank the good
Lord, there's our Ralph. She went out to the pas-
sage, opened the door, and a stout surly-looking
clown followed her into the kitchen, to whom she
had related that a strange man had got into the
house, had been walking all about it, and now would
not go out—I thoft, Lord help me ! it was you;
and there sat Iblowing the fire, and wondering what
a dickins you could be prancing about up stairs for.
The sturdy peasant surveying his new visitor with
evident marks of displeasure, while Orlando told
him who he was, and desired to know to whom
Rayland Hall now belonged.
I don't believe 'tis any business of yours, replied
the churl, and I’m sure you have nothing to do
here; for, let it belong to who 'twill—'tis no place
for travellers and wagabons—Come, master, troop !
mother and I be put in this here Hall to look after
it, and we can't not answer it to our employers to
let in no strangers nor way-faring people.
I only ask, said Orlando, who are your employ-
ers? surely you can have no objection to tell me
that. Why master archdeacon Hollybourn is my
employer, then, if you must know; and this house
Q 2


172 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
and premises belongs now to our bishop and deat;
and the archdeacon Hollybourn—
Good God! and how long has Mrs. Rayland
been dead?
How long? Why eight months or there away—
But, come, master, I've answered your question ci-
villy, though I don't know no right you have got to
ask it, and now I desire you to walk out; and I hope
there's no more on you about the premises; for, if
there is, I must carry you before the Justice—and
so, looke'e, I've got a gun here (and he reached
one down from over the chimney) that will do more
sarvice in case of need besides hitting a rook.
Orlando, unarmed and defenceless as he was, and
finding no success in his attempts to gain credit,
was now compelled to leave this once hospitable
mansion, where he had formerly been encouraged to
dream of passing in it the noon of his life with his be-
loved Monimia—after whom, or her aunt Lennard,
he had inquired fruitlessly. With despair in his
heart he left the house (not however for the last
time, though it was now the property of the good
bishop and his dean and chapter), being determined
to return the next day, for the mournful delight of
surveying the apartment of Monimia, where he
almost wished to expire. Yet he had hardly given
way a moment to this unmanly despondence, than
he was ashamed of it: his father and his family
were yet ready to receive him, and he quickened
his pace through the gloom; for it was now quite
dark, and a strong south-west wind brought on a
heavy driving rain.
How very mournful were the reflections of Or-
lando as he followed the well known foot-path to
West-Wolverton . How different was his situation
from that he fondly thought to have been in when
he last took a reluctant leave, in this very path, of


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 173
his Monimia! Accustomed to associate poetry with
all his ideas, his present condition, opposed to that
which his sanguine imagination had flattered him
with, brought to his mind that sublime ode, “the
Bard” of Gray, \
“Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows;
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm,
In gallant trium the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, -
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.”
In such mournful meditations, and by dint of ha-
bit, or rather of his perfect recollection of every
shrub and tree about the place, so that he could have
found his way even had it been darker than it was,
Orlando reached the upper plantation, and descend-
ed on the other side, the almost perpendicular path
that led down over the pond-head. The roar of the
water, which murmured hollow in the blasts of
wind, and the sullen noise of the mill, well-known
sounds which Orlando had so often listened to,
brought back, in all their force, the recollection of
the evening walks he used to have from Wolverton
to the Hall to visit his Monimia. He went over the
foot-bridgethat arched the cascade now swollen with
the rain, and entered the old fir grove, where he
fancied, in some former fits of despondence, that he
heard, in every hollow wind, Orlando will revisit
this place no more 1 Yet he did revisit it; but how?
How fallen from all those dreams of happiness that
had so often flattered him, and, in contradiction to
this gloomy impression of his pensive moments, had
said—Orlando will be the master of these scenes 1
Yet, if he found his father living and rejoiced at
his return—if he once more felt the maternal tear
of his beloved mother wet his cheek—if his sisters
were well—if news had been received of Isabella—
Q 3


174. THE OLID MANOR HOtjSE.
and if Selina, as he fondly hoped, could give him
certain intelligence where he might fly to Monimia,
all would be well; and, though he should regret
his kind benefactress, regret the severe disappoint-
ment to his family, there was yet happiness, much
happiness to be hoped for.
It was so perfectly dark within the wood, that
Orlando, not being able with all his knowledge of
the place to find his path, went out to the edge of it,
and continued his way along the pond side. He saw
a light glimmering at a distance upon the water,
which he perceived was reflected from the mill.
The storm becoming more violent, he determined
to go thither. The miller was one of Mrs. Ray-
land's tenants, who had not long before Orlando's
departure for America granted him a very great
favour in regard to the renewal of his lease, in con-
sequence of Orlando's intercession. From this man,
therefore, he doubted not of an hospitable recep-
tion, and the information relative to Mrs. Rayland
which at the Hall he had been denied.
He soon arrived ; and, with a short stick he car-
ried with him, rapped loudly at the door. A woman
soon after looked out of the window from whence
the light had proceeded, and inquired, in apparent
alarm, Who is there?
Orlando answered, Isit Mrs. Whitly who speaks?
Mrs. Whitly, friend I replied the female voice:
Lord! I cannot think what you want here at this
time o'night; why, master's a bed, and the men
folk too—I'm sure I wish you'd go about your busi-
EleSS.
My business, said Orlando, is with Mr. Whitly
—Tell him it is Orlando Somerive, his old friend.
The woman then retired from the window as if to
speak to somebody, and, presently returning, cried,
Master says how he knows no such person-Young


T1H E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 175
'squire Orlando is dead a long while ago in parts
beyond sea; and you must be an impostor—for
'twas well known the young man's not alive, and all
his family were in mourning for un before they
went out of this country.
The woman would then have shut the window;
but Orlando, rendered half frantic by her last ex-
pression, conjured her with so much vehemence to
hear him, that she delayed it a moment. He im-
plored her to tell him what she meant by saying
that the Somerive family had left the country.
Why 'tis plain, answered she, that you don't belong
to none of them—for, if you did, you'd know that
the old 'squire have been dead everso long—amat-
ter of two or three months before old Madam at
the Hall; and that the young one, he as was always
so wild like, have sold the house and farms and all
to the great 'squire at the castle, and that the rest
on 'em have left the country.
Orlando could hear no more—his fortitude and
his senses forsook him together—and weakness,
from fatigue and want of food, disabled him from
resisting any longer these repeated and overwhelm-
ing strokes of affliction—He staggered a few paces,
and fell against the door of the house.
The woman, who perceived him by the light of
the candle from the casement, began to think he
must be, in some way or other, interested for the
Somerive family, since he was thus affected; and,
communicating his situation to her husband, who
was in bed in the room from the window of which
she had spoken, the miller, not without some grumb-
ling and swearing, got up, and, looking out, saw
Orlandolying on the ground, and apparently insen-
sible. He then feared that he might get into
trouble, to use the expression of the country, if a
man was found dead at his door, without his having
6


176 The QLD MANOR HOUSE.
assisted him; and calculating, rather than yielding
to the impulse of humanity, he ordered his wife to
go call up one of the men, and go down with him
to see what was the matter with the fellow, and, if
he was only drunk, or sick, to give him a dram,
and to haul him away to a hovel full of straw in the
yard—all which he thought less trouble than might
be given him by the Coroner's Inquest, if the man
should be found dead at his door in the morning.
His wife obeyed—and, takingaservant man with
her, who had lived many years at the mill, they
opened the door—Orlando was insensible, and the
man pronounced him dead; but had nothalf asecond
held the candle to his face, before he exclaimed
with a great oath, it was either Orlando Somerive,
or his ghost! That it was not his ghost, but him-
self, though sadly changed both in countenance and
appearance, the miller's man was convinced, when
Orlando, awakened from his trance by being mov-
ed, opened his eyes, while with a deep sigh, and
wildly staring about him, he wrung the man's hand,
and conjured him, in incoherent terms, to tell him
if it was true that his father was dead, and all his fa-
mily dispersed—or if it were only a hideous dream.
The old man, who had known him from his in-
fancy, was moved by the melancholy situation in
which he saw him; and, helping him into the house,
put him into a chair, and made him swallow some
coarse kind of spirits, Orlandosubmitting to receive
his assistance, but still passionately imploring him
to say if what he fancied he had heard was real,
while the man with tears in his eyes continued si-
lent. By this time, however, the miller himself,
Mr. Whitly, having been assured by his wife of
Orlando's identity, came down; and Orlando renew-
ing to him his eager adjurations, he began a long
consolatory discourse, in which he attempted to


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 177
rove that, as every body must die, none should be
immeasurably grieved when an event so common
happened to their friends.
Orlando with glazed eyes and contracted brows
appeared to listen to his discourse; but, in fact,
heard not a word of it beyond those that confirmed
his misfortune. With wildness in his voice and
manner, he now desired to go to the house that was
his father's, to go to the parish church where he was
buried. He demanded eagerly where his mother
was P where were his sisters? His host answered,
that they had been gone a long time to London;
and that as to talking of going to West Wolverton
house or such-like, or for to go for to think of going
into the church at such a time, why it was quite
out of reason; but he advised him to go to bed
where he was for that night, saying very coldl
(which coldness Orlando did not however ź.
that he was welcome to a spare bed they had for
one night or so; and the old servant plying him
with spirits as liberally as his master did with advice,
and believing his remedy the most efficacious of the
two, fatigue and weakness soon overcome by the
power of this application, he suffered himself, al-
most in a state of insensibility, to be led to a room
where was a bed, on which, without taking off his
clothes, he threw himself, and forgot a little while
all his sorrows.
Alas! they recurred in the morning with severer
#. did not, on his first recovering
is senses, recollect where he was, and stared wildly
around him; but too soon the sad remembrance of
his irreparable calamities rushed upon him, and he
had need of all his reason and all his fortitude to
enable him to bear this terrible conviction like a
man. He went down stairs, determined to visit
Wst Wolverton and the church, and then to set


178 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
out for London; but he had only eighteen-pence
in his pocket, the remainder of what the sailors had
lent him at Shoreham, and his clothes were such as
would prevent him from obtaining credit on theroad.
He hoped that at the neighbouring town he might,
when he was known, obtain credit for such an equip-
ment as would prevent his terrifying his family by
his appearance; and, perhaps, a small supply of
money from Mr. Whitly, to whom, as soon as he
saw him, he opened without hesitation the reduced
state of his finances, and desired he would lend him
a guinea or two to bear his expenses to London.
This man, who was grown very rich by the excel-
lent bargain he held under Mrs. Rayland, and by
being a great proficient in the secrets of his trade,
had, like many other rich men, an invincible aver-
sion to the poor, or to any who might be acciden-
tally reduced to the necessity of borrowing; and to
Orlando, coming under both these descriptions, he
gradually became more and more reserved as his
presentsituation was explained; and when he ended
by desiring a temporary assistance, the miller, with
a sagacious look, replied, that he was very sorry, to
be sure, that thingswere as they were—For my part,
said he, I have a family of my own; nevertheless,
I am sure I would do a kind thing by a neighbour's
son as soon as another—But the thing is this—
Here's a will, d'ye see, of old Madam's, dated a
good many years ago, which gives all her landed
property to the bishop of this here diocese, his
dean and chapter, for purposes therein mentioned,
and then legacies—Orlando would here have inter-
rupted him with questions; but the affluent miller,
opining, like most other affluent men, that a bor-
rower ought to have no sentiments of his own, way-
ed his hand to silence him, and continued—Well,
well, but hear me out, and then I'll hear you—Isay,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 179
that being the case, why the will is disputed;
because as why? Your brother Phill, d'ye see, says
he's heir at law, and so there's a Chancery law-suit
about it—But we knows that a will's a will, and the
longest purse will carry the day.—Well! the upshot
of all is, that heir at law, or not heir at law, your
brother, if he can carry on the suit, which folks be
pretty dubous about, will never get no part of it.—
And, therefore, said Orlando sharply, you will not
lend me what I asked P. It is well—I wish you a
good morning, and desire to pay for what I have
had at your house, which I think cannot exceed a
shilling in value. He then threw down a shilling
on the table; and, without attending to Mr. Whit-
ly any farther, left his house; and hardly knowing
what he did, he went towards the house of his
father. The ingratitude and selfishness of the man
whom he had left gave him an additional pang;
but it was only momentary, for grief of a more
corrosive nature overwhelmed him: and when he
arrived at the door of the house he proposed enter-
ing, his knees trembled under him; his looks were
wild and haggard; and he was incapable of consi-
dering that the house was now in possession of stran-
gers. He passed into the yard, which was sur-
rounded by the offices, but all was changed, and
he stood, in the stupefaction of despair, without
having any precise idea of what he intended to do,
till he was roused from this torpid state by a maid-
servant, who, hearing the dogs bark, came out and
inquired what he did there.
Orlando answered incoherently that it was his
father's house—that he came to look for his father.
—The girl in terror left him; and, believing him
either a madman or a robber, but rather the former,
ran in to her mistress, and, carefully locking the
kitchen door, informed her that there was a crazy


180 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
man in the yard. This young woman, who was
the mistress of one of Stockton's friends to whom
he had lent the house, wanted neither understand-
ing nor humanity, however deficient she might be
in other virtues; and knowing the natural propen-
sity of the vulgar to terrify themselves and others,
she called to a man, who was at work in the garden,
to follow her, and then went to speak herself to the
person whom her servant had represented as a
lunatic.
She found the unhappy young man seated on a
ile of wood near the door, his arms resting on
#. knees and concealing his face. The noise of
her opening the door and approaching him seemed
not to rouse him from his mournful reverie: but
she spoke gently to him; and Orlando, looking
lip, shewed a countenance on which extreme agony
9f mind was strongly painted, but which was still
handsome and interesting, and appeared to belong
to one who had seen better days:–Is there any
thing, Sir, you wish to know? Can I be of any
service to you? These few words, spoken in a
pleasing female voice, had an immediate effect in
softening the heart of Orlando, petrified by afflic-
tion. He burst into tears; and rising said—Ah,
Madam I forgive my intrusion, forgive me, who
am a stranger where I had once a home. This
house was my father's—here I left him when
seventeen months since I went to America—Here
I left my father, my mother and three sisters—and
all, all are gone; He lost his voice, and leaned
against a tree near him.
The young person, extremely affected by the
genuine expression of grief, and convinced that he
was no madman, now invited him into the parlour;
i. Orlando, unknowing what he did, followed
£1,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, I81.
Every object that he saw was a dagger to his
heart. As Philip had sold to Stockton every thing
as it remained at his father's death, a great part
of the furniture was the same. Startled at every
step he took by the recollection of some well-known
object, he entered the parlour more dead than
alive, and pale as a corpse, and with quivering lips,
he attempted to speak, but could not. The young
woman saw his agitation, and pouring him out a
large glass of wine, besought him to drink it, and
to compose himself, again repeating her offers of
kindness. He put back the glass—I thank you,
Madam, but I cannot drink—I cannot swallow.—
That picture, added he, fixing his eyes wildly on
a landscape over the chimney—that picture be-
longed to my father; he used, I remember, to
value it highly—I beg your pardon, Madam—L
know not what I proposed by coming hither, unless
it were to procure a direction to my mother and
sisters. Where my father is I know too well,
though I believe, continued he, putting his hand
to his forehead, that I said when I first came into
the court-yard, that I looked for him—Can you,
Madam, tell me where I can find the part of my
family that does survive. -
The young woman, with increasing interest, told
him that she had been there only a few weeks,
and was quite a stranger in the country; but that
if he could recollect any person thereabouts likely
to be better informed, she would send a servant
to fetch them, or with any message he might
direct.
WOL, XXXVII, R


182 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
*
CHAPTER XIV.
AFTER a pause, sufficiently expressive of the diff-
culty with which he thought, Orlando said, that
there was at the neighbouring town an Attorney
with whom his father had been long connected ;
and who at his setting out in life had received many
favours from the family of Somerive.—To him he
wished to send—or rather I will go to him, Madam
—for why should I belonger troublesome to you?
He then got up; but the young person, with great
gentleness and goodnature, said, You are not able,
I am sure, to walk so far—if you are not too much
wounded by the recollections that surround you
here, to stay, I beg you to take some refreshment,
while I send a servant to the gentleman; he shall
go on horseback, and will soon be back. As Or-
lando did indeed doubt whether he was able to
walk so far as the town, and an idea struck him,
that while the messenger was gone, he could visit
the family vault, in the church of West Wolverton,
where the remains of his father were deposited, he
accepted, after a slight apology, of the obliging
offer of his hostess; who bringing him pen and ink,
he wrote with an uncertain and trembling hand—
“Mr. O. Somerive being returned from America,
and quite ignorant till his arrival here of the many
alterations in this neighbourhood, will esteem it a
favour if Mr. Brock will oblige him with his com-
pany for half an hour—at the house formerly his
father's at West Wolverton.”
Having sent away this note, and being prevailed
upon to take the refreshment he had at first re-
fused; he told his new acquaintance, that he had
a wish to visit two or three places in the adjoining
village, and would, with her permission, return to


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 183
the house in time to meet Mr. Brock, if he were
so obliging as to attend upon his message.
The servant being sent away, Orlando set forth
to visit the tomb of his father.—He knew well the
spot: it was in the chancel of the church, and the
entrance was marked by a stone, with the arms of
Somerive and Rayland quartered upon it. The
sexton, who at first appeared to have lost all recol-
lection of him, gave him the keys as soon as he
knew him—and the unhappy wanderer, throwing
himself on the ground, gave way to that grief
which he had hitherto checked.—Now it was,
however, that he felt the reward of his dutiful con-
duct; for he was conscious that, except in the
single instance in regard to his sister Isabella, he
had never wilfully disobeyed his father; and he
felt too, that if by taking Monimia with him, or by
any other act of disobedient ingratitude, he had felt
himself accessary to that affliction which he too well
understood had hastened the death of his parent,
that sorrow, which was now unmixed with self-
reproach, would then have driven him to distrac-
tion.—As he kissed and took a last leave of this
deposit of the ashes of his family, he recollected,
that his affection to the lost friend whom he de-
plored would be shewn rather by his tenderness
and duty towards his mother and sisters, than by
giving himself up to useless despair—Roused by this
reflection to more manly thoughts, he arose from
the ground, and his heart having been relieved by
the indulgence he had thus given to his grief, he
quitted the church with a deep sigh, and determined
to walk as quickly as he could round Rayland park
—having an unconquerable desire to visit the tur-
ret of Monimia, which he thought he might do
in the day-time, by letting himself in through the
same door where he had entered before; and as
R 2


184 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
he knew every part of the house, finding his way
thither without alarming the vigilance of the old
woman who kept the house. In this intention he
traversed the outside of the park paling very has-
tily, when the sight of the north lodge and the
cottage near it, brought to his mind the circum-
stances of Monimia's letter; who there described
her meeting with Sir John Belgrave; and he
thought the woman of the cottage might give him
some particulars, which he hitherto had not been
able to learn-Entering therefore, and making
her, not without much difficulty, recollect him; he
was forced to bear all her wondering, and all her
inquiries, before he could prevail upon her to give
him the following particulars:
Lord, Sir why now I tell you as well as I can
all how these bad things have come to pass. In
the first place, after you was gone, somehow there
seemed no content at the Hall—I heard say that
Madam began to droop as 'twere a fortnight or
two afterwards; and was never pleas'd with nothing
that could be done for her—And there came out a
story about Pattenson—the rights of the matter, my
husband says, never were cleared up; but however,
to the surprise of every body, my Lady she believ-
ed some story about him; and though 'twas report-
ed he tried to turn the tables upon Madam Len-
nard, sure enough he was dismissed from the Hall
for good; but for certain not like a disgraced ser-
vant; for Madam gave him a power of good things,
and his farm as he took was stocked from the Hall;
and sure enough he had feather'd his nest well one
way or other; for he died worth a mort of money.
Pattenson is dead then P said Orlando.
Lord help you, yes! answered the good woman
—Why he died of the gout in his stomach just
afore my lady—But if you'll have a little patience


THE old MANOR House. 185
I'll go on with my story. So Pattenson went away;
and after that Madam Lennard seem’d somehow to
govern my lady more than ever; yet folks said,
that it was not so much she, as them there Rokers;
uncle and nephew, that was put in by her as stew-
ards; and to be sure there was for a long time
strange talk—and they said, that Madam Lennard
was jealous of young Roker, he as she afterwards
married—and so sent away her niece's daughter,
that sweet pretty young creature that you remem-
ber at the Hall? -
Andwhat is become of her? cried Orlando eager-
ly—Whither was she sent?
Why that nobody knew nothing about at the
time, as every body saw Madam Lennard was shy
of speaking of her: but folks have said since, that
she was gone up to London, with some Lord or
Baron Knight: for my part, as I says to my husband,
I don't care to give credit to such scandalous stories
upon mere hearsay. However, to go on with my
story;-By then Madam Lennard had sent this
poor thing away, every body thought how the affair
would go—at least folks about the house says, they
saw it plain enough—So then, your poor father,
who had been ailing a long time, he was taken sick,
and when all the doctors had given him over, he
sent to beg Mrs. Rayland would come to him; and
though Mrs. Lennard she did, as I’ve heard say, all
she could to hinder my lady's going, she went;
and though nobody knows what passed, because
nobody was in the room but Madam Somerive, your
good mother, yet every body said, that the 'squire
got a power better after he had seen the old lady,
and said his mind was easy; and then every body
thought he would recover—and it was given out,
that the 'squire had seen my lady's will, or, how-
R 3


186 THE OLD MAN or House.
ever, that she had told him the contents, and that
she had made you her heir.
Me? said Orlando—alas ! no!—
Well, but that was the notion of the country, and
I am sure, there's nobody in all this here part of our
country but what heartily wishes it had been true—
Well, and so 'squire Somerive he went on for a lit-
tle while, getting better and better; till something
fresh broke out, about your brother, Mr. Philip:
and so upon that he grew worse again, and died in
a few days. Oh! what sad affliction all the family
was in but Madam, at the Hall, was more kind to
them than she used to be; for she sent to fetch
them up to the Hall the day of the funeral, and
kept them there three or four days, till the young
'squire hearing how his father was dead, came down
—then your mother and sisters went back to their
house; but a-lack-a-day! he soon began to make
sad alterations, and was driving a bargain for the
sale of the estate to 'squire Stockton, almost, folks
‘said, before his father was cold in his grave.—
Orlando clasped his hands eagerly together, and
drew a convulsed sigh; but he was unable to inter-
rupt the narration, and the woman went on—
'So, Sir, just about that time Madam Rayland she
was taken ill—yet it did not seem, somehow, that
there was much the matter with her; but she droop-
-ed, and drooped, and pined, and pined—and people
*said, as saw her sometimes, that is, the footmen who
‘waited before she took to her bed, and the maids
as sat up with her, especially Rachel, that she honed
so after you, and used to send every day to your
‘mother to know if she had heard of you; and sent
for her to come to her, and gave her letters for you
to desire you would comeback; for she mistrusted,
somehow, that Lennard had never sent the letters
she wrote to you before; and all the people said,


Th E. Or, D MANOR HOUSE, 187
that Lennard, with all her art, had not been able to
keep matters so snug, about her lover, but that her
lady had an inkling of the matter—And they said,
too, that Madam was not half so fond of her as she
used to be; but that she had been used to her so long,
and had been so in the custom of letting her do what
she would, that now, as she was so old, and sick, and
feeble, and out of spirits, she had not resolution to
speak her mind. Well, Madam died, and then
—Good Lord, what a work there was at Hall !—
How do you mean? said Orlando.
Why, your brother Philip sent to take possession
of everything as heir at law; but old Roker and his
nephew would not let him or his people come in ;
as they said they had a will of Madam Rayland's,
and he must come and hear it read. Your mother
tried, as I heard say, to pacify your brother; be-
cause she knew, or however believed for certain,
that your honour's self was the heir-So with that,
upon a day appointed by these Rokers, who had
possession of the house, your poor mother, and your
two sisters, and the young'squire your brother, they
went to the Hall, and there, as I heard say, was the
two Rokers and Madam Lennard, and the servants,
all assembled; and so young Roker took upon him
to read the will, though your brother took a young
lawyer with him from London, one Counsellor Stap-
ly; and there the will was read; and instead of
leaving you the heir, it was a will made ever so long
before, when Madame Rayland was out of humour
with Mr. Somerive: and so there, it seems, that she
gave five thousand pounds to Pattenson if he outliv-
ed her, but he was dead, and there was an end of
...that; and two thousand to the old coachman, who
‘is as rich as a Jew already—and a matter of ten
“thousand to Mrs. Lennard—And not only so, but all
her clothes—and ever so many pieces of fine plate;


IS8 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
and a diamond ring—and the Hampshire farms,
which ben't worth so little as four hundred pounds
a year–And then, all Madam's finelaces and sattin
gowns, and her sisters' too, for none of them had ever
been given away—They say that 'twas not so little
as six or seven hundred pounds worth of clothes
and laces! and all the fine household linen—Such
beautiful great damask table-cloths and napkins—
and such great chests full of sheets; besides a mort
of things that I cannot remember, not I—But the
great house and all the noble estates in this county,
she gave to the Bishop, as I suppose you know, and
to the Dean and Chapter, for charitable uses, and
to build a sort of alms-house—But it's very well
known that the greatest part of it will go into their
own pockets—and I cannot think for my share, and
my husband he says the same, why a duce Madam
gave her money to them there parsons, when they
always take care to have enough out of the farmers
and poor men, let who will go without.
A deep sigh was again extorted from Orlando,
and the good gossip remarking it, said: Ah, Sir,
to be sure you may well sigh!—Such a fine estate!
and so justly your right by all accounts; and then
after promising your father so faithfully too!—Poor
Madam Somerive, your good mother, was in very
sad trouble—Philip he raved and ranted, and made
a sad to-do, but there was no remedy; them two
Rokers had got possession of the house, and after
the funeral, I reckon, they thought to have kept it,
as stewards to the new owners; but whip ! the
parsons come upon them, and packed them off;
and they've put in old Betty Grant and her son just
to look after it, and open the windows—But, Lord!
I'm sure the place looks so mollencholy as makes
my very heart ach to pass it.—But, however, to go
on with my story of all the troubles of your poor


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 189
dear mother—After this, a week or so, news came
by a negur man as went with that young captain as
your sister Belle ran away with, that he and miss
were drowned or cast away at some place beyond
sea—I can't remember rightly the name of it; but,
however, that they were lost and that you were
killed in battle by the wild Ingines; this man told
my husband he saw you dead with his own eyes,
and your skull cleft with one of their swords.-
And where, said Orlando, is this man now 2–
Why, Madam took him, replied the woman, and
when the family left the country, he went up to
London with them—
And how long have they been gone?
Nigh two months, as well as I can remember;
poor dear ladies . I'm sure we poor folks miss them
sadly, and so we do the Hall.
And my brother, inquired Orlando, what is be-
come of my brother?
Oh, as for that, answered the woman, nobody
knows; and I must say this, 'squire, that if you'd a
been like him, nobody would have been so sorry as
they were, that Madam gave her money else-
where; for would you think it?—at the very time
he came down here to take possession of his house,
after the poor gentleman his father's death, and
when all the family was in such affliction—what
did he do, but bring down that nasty flaunting
bussey Bet Richards, that was took from the parish
work-house to be housemaid at the Hall—whom he
have kept in London all's one as a lady, and dressed
her up better than any of his sisters—and she's as
impudent and proud!—I'd have all such wicked
toads sent to beat hemp-and every body has said
'twas a thousand pities she was not in her old place
the work-house again, instead of prancing about as
she did, to break poor dear Madam Somerive's


190 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
heart; who, though she seemed to bear it all with
patience, and to take no notice, was quite as I may
say, sunk and weighed down with one sorrow's
falling so fast upon another—and, at last, when she
found the house and estate and all the goods were
sold, and that she and her daughters must leave it,
and then, just afterwards, when the negur's news
came, she seemed to be quite, quite gone —and I
heard say, her health was in a bad state after she
got to London.
Dreadfully affected by this account of his mother,
all of whose sufferings he felt, however coarse and
simple the relation of them, Orlando now again
inquired of his informer, if she knew where his
mother and sisters lived in town 2–She said, No ;
there was a neighbour's daughter gone up lately to
London to live with them as a servant; whose
friends knew the direction, and to them she would
send if he would stay. Orlando thanked her—and
then expressed some wonder that his mother, who
had always disliked London, should fix there. To
which the woman said, Why, Sir, I've heard say,
that the reason of that was, that Madam's brother,
the London Merchant, insisted upon it; and ano-
ther reason was, because she thought that if she was
not always at his elbow, your brother would go af.
ter his pleasures and that; and so neglect the great
law-suit.
What law-suit?—said Orlando, who had forgot-
ten at that moment the vague information he had
received from the miller.
Why you must know, Sir, replied the woman,
that when first my lady died, there was a great
talk about the country, that there was some black
doings about the will; for from what she had said
to your father, and from a great many other things
she had said, and from her having lawyers from


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 191
London come down about three years and a half
ago, when folks thought she made a new will in
your favour; there were those, and in the house
too, who didn't scruple to say, that the real will
was made away with by them Rokers, and that an
old will was proved—So your brother he was ad-
vised by Counsellor Staply to go to law;-but he
said if there was another will, it was in your favour,
not in his; and he'd as lieve the parsons, or the De-
vil had the estate as you.-However, when a little
while after news came of your death, then he went
to law directly; because, he said, if there was such
a will, he was your heir-at-law, and the old woman's
too:—and so he is suing the Rokers; that is, Mrs.
Lennard and her husband; for you know the old
soul took to herself a young husband at last.
Orlando expressing his surprise at this inquired
where they lived—Oh! answered she, when they
found they were bit as to continuing in the steward-
ship, and that Archdeacon Hollybourn had provi-
ded another for my Lord Bishop and the Parsons,
and was to overlook the estate himself, Mr. and
Mrs. Roker went away to live in Hampshire, upon
the estate my lady gave them there; and there, I
understand, they live quite like great people, and
are visited and noticed by all the quality; only
Madam I hear is terribly jealous;–and they say
her young husband is not over and above good-
humoured to her, though he got such a great for-
tune by her. -
The good woman seemed never weary of talking;
but having at length exhausted all she could recol-
lect, and promising to procure a direction from her
neighbour, and send it down in a few minutes to
West Wolverton, Orlando took his leave. And as,
just as he left the cottage, the clock in it struck
three, he was afraid of intruding upon the benevo-


192 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
lence of his new friend, at the house once his
father's, if he left her long with the lawyer whom
he had sent for; and therefore, instead of going
then to make his mournful visit to the turret, he
returned to West Wolverton, where he found the
man sent to the town had been some time returned,
and had brought from his father's former friend,
the attorney, a note to this purport—
“Mr. Brock's compts: imagines some mistake—
has not the honour to know any gentleman of the
name of Somerive,except Philip S. Esq., late of
West Wolverton—hopes to be excused, being par-
ticularly engaged.”
This note completed the distress of Orlando, who
saw that he should now be taken for an impostor
where he was, and obtain no credit where he ex-
pected it to carry him to London, where he now
most earnestly wished to be, because there only
could he hope to see his family, or to have any ex-
planation of the hints so darkly given by the la-
bourer's wife—hints, which among the complicated
misfortunes which surrounded him, gave him the
most insupportable pain.-Gone with some lord!
Impossible—Yet the very idea was distraction. He
was believed dead. He regretted that he had not
asked whether Monimia heard of his death, not at
that moment recollecting that his informer's know-
ledge hardly went so far; and that, by her account,
Monimia was gone before the death of Mrs. Ray-
land, and before the arrival of the intelligence
brought by Perseus the negro: yet again he recol-
lected, that if Selina and Monimia still correspond-
ed, she must immediately have known it; and thus
§ he loved in the world he was considered as
Cad.
To undeceive them as soon as he could was what


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 193
appeared most necessary; but how to do that he
knew not. He could not bear to beg of any of the
neighbouring gentlemen—indeed he knew none of
them but Stockton (who was the last man in the
world he desired to meet), for all the rest were at
a great distance, and the elder Somerive had never
sought their acquaintance: some were too expensive
for him, and others too ignorant to afford him any
pleasure in their society. By the richest he was
contemned as a petty gentleman; and by the rest
envied as the future possessor of Rayland Hall—
and thereforevery little intercourse had ever passed
between them and the family at West Wolverton.
While Orlando, whom his hospitable acquaintance
had the consideration to leave by himself, was me-
ditating on his wretched and forlorn situation, a
}. man was introduced into the room, in whom
e immediately recollected a clerk to the lawyer to
whom his unsuccessful note had been written; who,
immediately acknowledging him, changed as he
was, related, that Mr. Brock having shewn him the
note, and declaimed against it as an imposition, it
being, he said, perfectly well known that Orlando
Somerive was dead—the young man thought he re-
collected his hand, there having been formerly
some degree of intimacy between them; and un-
willing to dispute the point with Brock, who was,
he told him, solicitor in the depending cause be-
tween the Bishop and the Somerive family, he had
made some excuse of business, and came to see
himself whether it was his old friend, or some one
wishing to represent him. -
All the difficulties which Orlando had to encoun-
ter as to going to London were now removed at
once—This young man, Mr. Dawson, offered not
only to supply him with money but clothes; and
they agreed to proceed together to the town in the
WOL, XXXVII, S


194 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
dusk, as Orlando did not wish to be known, nor in-
deed to be seen, in his present condition. This be-
ing settled, Orlando would immediately have taken
leave of his humane hostess; but she entreated both
him and his friend to stay dinner, with a frankness
and good humour which Dawson was less disposed
than Orlando to resist. As soon as it was nearly
dark she ordered him to be accommodated with a
horse, and sent a servant with him to bring it back.
With a thousand grateful acknowledgments Or-
lando took his leave; and with an agonizing sigh
left, as he believed for ever, the paternal house and
the neighbourhood of the Hall, without having
been able to indulge his melancholy by visiting the
turret. -
His friend, though he could give him very little
information more than he had already received,
and none about Monimia, yet soothed and consoled
him; and, having equipped him with a coat, hat
and linen of his own, as they were nearly of a size,
he put five guineas into his hand; and, desiring to
hear from him, saw him into the stage-coach,
which, at six every morning, set out from the town
where they were for London.
CHAPTER XV.
The variety of uneasy emotions which passed
through the mind of Orlando, as he journeyed to-
wards London, would be difficult to describe, since
he himself could hardly discriminate them ; but
each, though not distinct, was acutely painful. In
what a situation did he return to his family' in
what a situation did he find it ! How should he,
while his mind was yet enfeebled from the cruel


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 195
disappointments he had experienced on his arrival
in England, be able to bear the tears of his mother,
the sorrow of his two sisters? how console them for
the loss they had sustained? how strengthen by his
example their more tender minds, to endure what
he feared the dissolute folly of his brother might
yet bring upon them; while his own heart recoiled
from the idea of meeting that brother, and was
bleeding with the dreadful wounds inflicted by the
uncertainty of what was become of Monimia;
which, had he not entertained some hopes of hear-
ing of her from his sister Selina, would have driven
him to distraction . Of his sister Isabella he thought
too with great concern; and when the reflection,
which alone brought some comfort to his mind, oc-
curred to him, that he had resisted the temptation
Warwick threw in his way, and had not, to gratify
himself, plunged another dagger in the heart of his
father—even this consolatory testimony of his con-
science was imbittered by the inquiry that con-
science immediately made, whether he had not
acted wrong in not discovering the design of War-
wick, and had not sacrificed his real duty to a mis-
taken point of honour. As he approached London,
the agitation of his mind became greater. As his
mother believed him dead, his sudden appearance
might have the most fatal effects—That even if he
was put down at a coffee-house, and sent a note to
inform her of his arrival, the sight of his hand-
writing might equally affect a mother and sisters,
who had long lamented him as consigned to a grave
on the banks of Hudson's River.
There was one expedient that occurred, which,
though extremely disagreeable to him, he at length
determined to adopt—which was, to go on his
reaching London to Mr. Woodford's, and consult
S 2


196 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
with him on the properest way of discovering to
his family his unexpected arrival.
Though he was aware that he should have only
insulting pity or coarse raillery to sustain from his
uncle, he thought the dread of such transient and
inconsequential evils, should yield to the important
point of not injuring the health of a parent so be-
loved; and as soon as the stage in which he tra-
velled reached Westminster Bridge, he got into an
hackney-coach and ordered it to be driven to the
house of Mr. Woodford.
On his reaching this place, and inquiring for him,
he was told by a maid that opened the door, that
Mr. Woodford's family had been removed some
months from that house, and resided in King's
Street, St. James's Square, at an house of which
the maid gave him the number, and whither he
immediately repaired.
It was easily found—two lamps at the door, and
the appearance of the house, which had been lately
refitted in a style of uncommon elegance, seemed
to say to Orlando, that he would find his uncle in
increasing affluence.
A very smart powdered footman opened the door,
who, upon being asked if Mr. Woodford was at
home, answered shortly, No; and surveying the
hackney coach with contempt seemed disposed to
close the half-opened door, without attending to
any farther inquiries.
But Orlando, putting his head out of the coach,
called to the servant, and inquired at what time
that evening he could see Mr. Woodford, with
whom he had business that admitted of no delay.
. He can't be seen to-night, said the servant; he
is engaged for the evening.
If you will tell me where then, replied Or-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 197
lando, I will go to him, for I must see him imme-
diately.
The man, who seemed afraid of venturing out to
the coach-door, lest he should soil his shoes, or lose
the powder from his hair, still held the door only
fºy open, and said very sullenly—You must
eave your business, and call again—my master
will do no business with any body to-night; he ex-
pects company to dinner; and I am sure he won't
be disturbed.
Orlando now got out of the coach, and said to
the servant, that as he was Mr. Woodford's ne-
phew, he was sure he would see him. The man
then, though with apparent reluctance, opened the
door of a back parlour, and, while he stood at it
himself, as if he was afraid Orlando would steal
something, called to another footman to go and in-
form his master that his nephew desired to see him
below.
At the same moment loud rapping was heard at
the door, and the man, in visible distress, said, I
shall be blamed for letting any body in—here's the
company come; I wish, Sir, you'd call any other
time—there's my Lord and Sir Richard and Lad
Wiggin, and Sir James and Lady Penguin—it's
uite impossible, Sir, for my master to see you.
Orlando had not time to answer, before the other
footman returned, and said very roughly, that his
master desired the person, whoever he was, to
walk out—for he must be an impostor, because he
acknowledged no nephew.
Orlando, imagining that Mr. Woodford supposed
him to be his brother, and therefore would not see
him, had only to quit the house, and desist from
his design of speaking to his uncle that evening;
or to convince him that he had yet a nephew liv-
ing, whom he had at least no reason to disclaim:
S 3


IS8 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
he resolved on the latter, and putting back with his
hand the servants who would have opposed his pas-
sage, he went up stairs. . The door of the dining-
room was yet open, for the visitors had hardly yet
settled themselves, and some were standing near it
till Sir Richard and Lady Wiggin had paid their
compliments. Orlando, notwithstanding the abu-
sive and insolent efforts of the servants, who had
followed him up stairs to stop him, entered the
room, and going up to Mr. Woodford, who stared
at him as a perfect stranger, made himself immedi-
ately known to him. Mr. Woodford expressed
more surprise than pleasure. But he could not
help acknowledging his nephew, whom he slightly
named to his guests, and coldly asked him to sit
down and stay dinner.
Orlando, not much flattered by his reception,
answered, that as he had not seen his mother, he
must hasten to her, and meant no farther to intrude
upon Mr. Woodford, than to consult with him on
the properest way of breaking to his mother, news
the joy of which might overpower her,
Oh! cried Woodford, if that be all, I fancy you
may venture to take your own way—I never heard
that joy killed any body; and I don't imagine you
have much good fortune to relate (added he, sur-
veying him) to turn the brains of your family.
Lady Wiggin, a squat figure most sumptuously
dressed, now surveyed Orlando, as he stood talking
to his uncle before the fire, and then whispered to
a younger woman who sat next her, whom he had
not till then observed, but in whom, under the
disguise of the most preposterous extremity of the
fashion, with a ... and cheeks of the
last Parisian dye, he discovered his elder cousin,
to whom he bowed; while she slightly bowing in
‘return, bit the end of her fan, and screwing herself
-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 199
into an attitude which she seemed to have studied,
replied with half shut eyes to the whisper of her
titled neighbour.
Woodford seemed glad that Orlando declined
dining with him, yet was unwilling to take the
trouble of interfering in his first introduction to his
mother. Predetermined not to be discouraged by
the unfeeling raillery, or repressed by the coldness
of his uncle, he inquired again in a low voice, If he
could be allowed to speak to him alone—I have
much to say to you, Sir, said he, which is not pro-
per to discourse upon now. You may imagine I
am very impatient to seemy mother and my sisters:
I will not detain you long—only let me for five
minutes ask your attention below.
The great man, who was no longer a wine mer-
chant in the Strand soliciting the custom of the
great, but their pompous entertainer, who was
enabled, by the advantages of a great contract ob-
tained by the favour (and perhaps by yielding to
the participation) of one of them, to vie in splen-
dour with his patrons, seemed to be made very
restless by this demand—I’d go down into my
study with you, with all my heart, said he, in
the same low tone; but my Lord and Sir James
are not come, and my son not being here to receive
them, I should be sorry . . . . but however . . . . .
you had better stay and dine perhaps, and then
... Another loud rap at the door relieved him
from this embarrassment; it wanted but a quarter
to seven, and my Lord was announced. In the
bustle to receive so eminent a personage, with
what Woodford thought politeness, but what ap-
F. to Orlando the most cringing servility he
ad ever witnessed, his worthy uncle seemed totally
to have forgotten him; and before the ceremony of
this reception, and that of Sir James, who followed


200 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
the peer as one of his satellites, was over, dinner
was announced ; and the company proceeded down
stairs; while Orlando, finding that his uncle had
as little taste for poor relations as if he had been
born himself a great man, instead of having sud-
denly become so, by means which Orlando won-
dered at, rather than understood, took the oppor-
tunity of opening the street door himself, and
returned to his hack, which was driven into the
square, to make room for the splendid equipages
which had since arrived at the door. *
He stepped in; but when the coachman aske
him whither to drive, he knew not what to reply.
He knew nobody: nor did he recollect one friend
in this immense town, to whom he could in such.
an exigence apply.—The small house his mother
had taken, was in Howland-Street; and he thought
he had better drive to some coffee-house in the
neighbourhood, where he might consider how he
could first speak to Selina. As he proceeded to a
coffee-house in Oxford-Street, which the coachman
named to him upon his inquiring for one, he could
not help reflecting on the strange vicissitudes of
fortune, and the strange way in which her gifts
are divided. It was only a few months since he
had an almost undoubted prospect of succeeding
to the great estates of Mrs. Rayland: he was now
not only deprived of all those hopes, but was li-
terally a beggar—and going home, not to assist
his ruined family, but to add to it another indigent
member, and to weep with them all the mournful
changes that had happened during his absence.
He had not yet determined how he should intro-
duce himself to the dear dejected group, when he
arrived at the coffee-house, where he discharged his
coach, and called for a private room. He then,
since no better expedient occurred to him, desired


THE OLD - MANOR HOUSE. 201
a pen, ink and paper, and in an hand which he
attempted to disguise (and he trembled so as to aid
the deception) he wrote these few words to Selina—
“Your brother Orlando is living, and in England—
have the presence of mind not to betray this secret,
which will I think give you great pleasure, to your
mother too suddenly; and when he knows he can
come without too much surprising your mother, he
will be at your door.”—He had hardly finished and
directed this note, in which he tried to alter his
hand only that the sight of it might not so suddenly
strike his sister as to render his precaution useless,
he recollected, that as Perseus the negro was now
his mother's servant, he had better go himself to
the door of the house; discover himself to that
faithful fellow; and contrive, by his means, to
speak to Selina first.
This scheme appeared to him so much better
than the first, that he determined to put it into
immediate execution. However, he put the note
he had written into his pocket, that if Perseus hap-
pened not to be at home, he might still proceed as
he had at first intended.
With a beating heart he approached the door,
and hesitated with apprehension before he could
determine to knock at it. At length he gave a loud
single rap, and Perseus appeared.—Do you know
me, Perseus P said Orlando, in a low voice. Know
you, answered the negro, who spoke pretty good
English, and without much of the negro accent—
No! how should I know you?—Have you forgot,
said Orlando, the morning we passed together in
the wood, on the banks of Hudson's River?—While
he thus spoke, Perseus held the candle, which he
had set down in the passage, to his face, and with a
sudden exclamation letting it fall, he ran as fast as
he could back into the kitchen, declaring to the two


202 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
maids, as trembling he threw himself into a chair,
that he had seen a ghost. -
The elder of these women, a stout peasant from
the weald of Sussex, who had no notion of ghosts,
huffed the affrighted negro for his folly, and said, I
wonder what you mean, Perseus—why sure you are
not in your right wits? A ghost quothal I hope
you have not left the door open, with your ghosts?
I cannot tell, cried Perseus—but you better see
—I see master Orlando's ghost, and I'll go no more.
Orlando, foreseeing that from the poor fellow's
terror, all the risk would be incurred which he had
wished to avoid, now walked into the house, in the
hope of preventing his mother and sisters from
being alarmed by the folly of the servants; and
when Hannah ascended to secure the door, which
she had been strictly enjoined never to leave of an
evening without a chain, she met Orlando on the
top of the stairs. Struck with equal terror, though
from a different cause, she now screamed and re-
turned to the kitchen, where, as well as her fright
would let her, she declaimed against the folly of
Perseus, who being afraid of a ghost, had let in a
Inan, -
Orlando, provoked by the ridiculous fears of
both, now went into the kitchen; and not without
difficulty convinced the negro that he was alive;
and the maid, that he had no intention to rob the
house: but all the clamour that these mistakes had
excited, could not be unheard in the room where
Mrs. Somerive was sitting with her daughters; and
the bell had rung violently several times, before the
assurance of Orlando's identity had restored to
Perseus courage enough to obey the summons.
Orlando entreated of him to go up, to account for
the noise below as well as he could, and to beckon,
or by some other means contrive to get his sister


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 203
Selina out of the room. Perseus, trembling with his
former apprehensions and his present joy, under-
took to do this, and hastened up stairs. At the
door of the diming-room Selina stood, and asked
him if any thing was the matter below; and Mrs.
Somerive eagerly repeated the question, saying—
Perseus, is any thing wrong below? who was at the
door?—He advanced to the table near which his
mistress was sitting, and saying to Selina in an half
whisper as he passed her—'Tis your brother, miss,
ou go see him, he answered to the questions Mrs.
§. asked him—No, Ma'am—no bad matter
—only that I thinked, that I. . . . . . that Hannah
... she say—His confusion was the more evident,
the more he attempted to conceal it; nor did his
dark skin conceal the emotion of his spirits; while
Selina, who believed it was her elder brother, and
who felt only terror at his name, approached the
table paler than death; and Mrs. Somerive, con-
vinced that something was the matter below, though
she could not conjecture what, arose from her seat,
and taking a candle said, What can have happened?
Selina, my child—if you know it, for God's sake
tell me ! Alas! added she, recollecting all
that had happened to her within so short a space
—after all I have suffered, what can I have to fear?
She now approached the door, while neither
Selina nor the servant had courage to stop her.—
But in the passage she was met by Hannah, whom
Orlando, mistrusting the skill of his first messenger,
had sent up while he waited himself at the foot of
the stairs. Mrs. Somerive, more convinced from
the appearance of the maid, than some alarming
circumstance had happened, was struck with the
idea of fire, and calling to her two daughters to
follow her, said: The lower part of the house is on
fire—let us, if it is so, make our escape.—Selina:


204 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Emma! my children! let me at least save some-
thing. -
Dear ma'am, exclaimed Hannah, how you, do
fright yourself!—Lord! there's no fire below, I
assure you: I'm sure if there was, we should not
stand staring here; but don't be frighted, pray,
ma'am! nothing at all is the matter, but very good
news–Come, ma'am; pray go back into the room
and sit down, and make yourself easy; you can't
imagine, I'm sure, as that I would go for to deceive
Oll.
y Mrs. Somerive, hardly knowing what to believe,
returned into the room; and Hannah following her,
said—Now, ma'am, as you be so calm I'll tell you,
it is the young captain, ma'am, your son—he is not
dead, thank God.
Not dead! cried Mrs. Somerive, my Orlando
alive! Oh! it is impossible ! don't be so inhuman
as to awaken such hopes, only to aggravate my
misery. He is dead, and I shall never see him
more! No, no, said Perseus, young captain's alive.
He is indeed, ma'am, cried Hannah. Where? said
Selina, where is my brother? He is below, miss,
said she in a low voice.—Selina rushed out of the
room, and Orlando caught her in his arms. Emma,
divided between her fears for her mother, who
rested almost insensible on the arm of the servant,
and the anxious desire to see her brother, trembled
and wept a moment; and then seeing him actually
enter, Selina resting on his arm, she uttered a faint
shriek, and flew back towards her mother, at whose
feet Orlando kneeling, besought her to recollect
and compose herself. She threw her arms round
him, but convulsive sobs were the only signs she
gave of recollection; while the servant was bathing
her temples, and her two daughters entreating her,
for their sakes, to assume a composure, which their


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 205
own extreme agitation proved they did not them-
selves possess.
The scene was too painful, though produced by
excess of happiness, to last long. The certainty
that her son, her beloved Orlando, was living, was
joy to which the mind of Mrs. Somerive, long weigh-
ed down by affliction, could not sustain without
feeling what almost approached to a momentary
deprivation of reason; but the manly tenderness of
Orlando, who argued with her, and the lively sensi-
bility of her two girls, who hung around her, and en-
treated her not to destroy herself, now that they
were so blest as to have their brother restored to
them, at length called her to a greater serenity of
mind; yet as she looked at Orlando, she started,
she trembled, and seemed to doubt whether she was
awake; and when she spoke to him of his father,
she relapsed into such inarticulate expressions of
agonizing sorrow, that her children, looking in con-
sternation at each other, dreaded the consequence,
so much had she in those moments the appearance
of a person about to lose her reason.
There was another topic which had not during the
first hour of their incoherent conference been touch-
ed; and Orlando, who dreaded it, endeavoured to
avoid it. This was the loss of his sister Isabella;
for that she had perished at sea, in their ill-starred
voyage to America, he now more than ever believ-
ed. He tried therefore to call off the attention of
his mother from what she had lost; and to convince
her, that not merely her son was restored to her, but
restored to her as affectionate, and as much attached
to his family, as when in an evil hour he quitted it.
Mrs. Somerive, feeling herself unequal to some
kind of conversation that evening, confined herself,
when she was able to do more than gaze at her son,
to questions that related wholly to himself. She ob-
VOL. XXXVII. T


206 THE OLD MANOR fiOUSE,
served how very much he was altered—that his
hair, of which in his infancy and youth she had
been so vain, was grown much darker, and had been
cut close to his head. Orlando, to escape from sub-
jects which he thought would be from their catas-
trophes more painful to her, gave her, or rather at-
tempted to give her, a short history of his adven-
tures, from his leaving New York till his return to
England; but when he came to speak of the wounds
he had received, and of his being carried up the
country by the Iroquois, she became so extremely
faint, that Selina advised her, and she consented to
desist from any farther inquiries, till she was better
able to bear the relation of Orlando's sufferings.
At the request of her children she consented to go
early to rest, where Emma was to remain with her
till she became more calm ; and when Selina had
seen her in bed, and left her in much quieter spirits, .
she returned to Orlando, who was in an agony of
impatience to inquire about Monimia, which in his
mother's presence he had not dared to alleviate or
to betray.
When his sister returned to him, they both sat
down by the fire; and the soft-tempered Selina
yielded to those emotions, which during her mo-
ther's alarming situation she had struggled to sup-
press. Orlando, his eyes overflowing, tenderly kiss-
ed her hand, and said—Are these tears, my own
Selina, given to past sorrows? or are they excited
by your knowledge of tidings yet to come, that will
wound the heart of your brother worse than any of
the accumulated miseries which he has told you he
has collected since his landing in England?
Monimial what is her fate, Selina? Where is she?
am I completely miserable? . . . . He could not
go on, nor could his sister immediately answer him
-You do not speak, Selina, cried he eagerly . . .


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 207
I can hear nothing worse than my fears suggest,
nor can any torment equal this horrid suspense.
Indeed, answered Selina, in a tremulous voice—
indeed I know no reason to believe that you ought
to be in despair about her, but—But! exclaimed
he—but what?—You believe—you don't know?
Have you not seen her then, Selina? Is it possible
you can have been so cruel to her, and to me, as
to have abandoned her, because she was abandoned
by all the rest of the world, because you thought
me dead.........? Oh, Selina! should you not there-
fore have cherished, with redoubled tenderness,
her who was so very dear to me?
Have patience with me, my dear brother, replied
Selina—pray have patience with me; and do not,
do not condemn me unheard, nor suppose that I
would willingly neglect or forsake her whom you
loved, and whom I loved too.......... But............
You have however forsaken her you do not
know where she is now 2
No, indeed, I do not, answered Selina—nor have
I heard of her for many many months.
Well, cried Orlando, with a deep sigh, I have
patience, you see, Selina—I do not beat my breast,
nor dash myself against the wall. I am wretched,
my sister; but I will believe you could do nothing
in performance of your solemn promise, nothing to
avert such extreme wretchedness, and I will not
reproach you.
You will have no cause, replied the weeping Se-
lina; indeed, Orlando, you will have none, when
you have heard all I have to say—Oh! if you did
but know all we have suffered
Poor Monimial sighed Orlando, she too has suf-
fered, and in this general wreck I have lost her—
You do not even know then, continued he, you do
not even know if she yet lives? I would rather
T 2


208 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
hear of her death, than of her being exposed to all
the dangers I dread for her, perhaps to disgrace,
to shame, to infamy............... This idea was too
horrible; he started from his chair, wildly travers-
ed the room; and it was some time before Selina
could persuade him to listen quietly to the relation
he yet continued to demand of her.
CHAPTER XVI.
WHEN you left us, my brother, said Selina, we
hardly thought it possible that any sorrow could ex-
ceed what your departure and the apparentestrange-
ment of Philip inflicted on us all; yet in a very
few days we learned that, heavy as these evils were,
they were only the beginning of that long train of
calamity which was about to overtake us. Isabella
disappeared within two days, and left a letter to say
that she was gone with CaptainWarwick to America.
And pray tell me, said Orlando, interrupting her,
was my poor father extremely hurt at her elopement?
Not so much at her elopement, as at her having
deceived him; for I do not believe, Orlando, that
my father ever thought of Isabella's marrying Ge-
neral Tracy without pain and doubts of her future
happiness. But it grieved him severely to reflect
that Isabella was capable of deception, which, not-
withstanding the rashness of her going away with
a man she hardly knew, must have been meditated
for some days.
Did my father believe me to have been a party
in this deception?
Of that he sometimes doubted: yet, after dwell-
ing on those doubts a moment, he would say, No-
Orlando could never be acquainted with the plan


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 209
of these two young people;—Orlando would not
have concealed their intentions from me—Orlando
never in his life deceived me—He is all integrity
and candour—
And in this persuasion my father died?
Yes; and never spoke of you, Orlando, but as
the hope and reliance of us all.
Orlando sighed deeply, reflecting that he had not
deserved in this single instance the confidence of
his father; yet he rejoiced that, believing him igno-
rant of his sister's flight, this opinion of his integrity
had not been impaired where it could have done
no good to have known the truth, and would only
have inflicted another wound on his father's heart.
Selina proceeded.
We received your letter from Portsmouth, and
some days afterwards another from Isabella—I be-
lieve it was near a fortnight afterwards—She was
about to embark for America with her husband,
who had hired a small vessel for that purpose, hav-
ing missed his passage. This, in some degree, quiet-
ed the apprehensions of my father about my sister:
though, as General Tracy almost immediately dis-
inherited his nephew, we had the mortification of
knowing that Isabella had married in what is called
a very indiscreet way. However, as nothing could
be objected to Captain Warwick, but his conduct to-
wards his uncle, and his consequent want of fortune;
and as the young people seemed to be passionately
attached to each other, my father seemed gradually
to lose his anger, and to recover his spirits; when a
new instance of Philip's cruel disregard for us all
threw him into an illness of so dangerous a nature,
or rather so hastened the progress of that which un-
easiness about him had first brought on, that he was
soon given up by the physicians. It was then that
believing himself dying, and feeling, more con-
T 3


210 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
cern for the state in which he was about to leave us
than for his own dissolution, he sent to Mrs. Ray-
land to come to him—a step which, he said, was
very hazardous, but which he could not satisfy him-
self without taking. She came; we were none of
us present at the conversation—but my father told
us, as soon as she was gone, that his mind was now
quite easy, and that he should die content, at least
as far as related to pecuniary affairs: for Mrs. Ray-
land had assured him, that in her last will she had
given you the Rayland estate, and entailed it all
upon your posterity, on condition of your taking the
name and bearing the arms of Rayland only; that
she had set apart a sum for the purchase of a baro-
net's title; and that was the only money, except le-
gacies to her servants to the amount of eight thou-
sand pounds in the whole, which she had appropriat-
ed—having given you all the rest of her real and
personal estate; and my father said that the latter
had accumulated much more than he was aware of.
I am sure, said he, when he had told us this—I
am sure that Orlando will use, as he ought to do,
the power that is thus put into his hands to secure
the provision for you, my love (speaking to my
mother), and for our dear girls—Nay, that, if our
poor unhappy Philip should, as my fears prognos-
ticate, utterly dissipate his paternal fortune, that
he too will find a resource in the fraternal affection
of his younger brother. In this persuasion my fa-
ther became much easier, and, we hoped, grew
much better: but a discovery that he very unluckily
made by opening a letter intended for my brother,
which, from the names being alike, he thought was
his own—a discovery that Philip was actually in
treaty with Stockton for the sale of his future in-
terest in the estate at West Wolverton, quite undid
all the good effects of Mrs. Rayland's generosity,
3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 211
and in less than a fortnight we lost our dear father
—who, alas! Orlando, died of a broken heart!.
I will not distress you with a description of the
terrible scene—I mean that of his last hours; for
though he died calmly, recommending us to your
protection and to that of Heaven, the distraction
of my mother is not to be described; and I never
think of it but my heart sinks within me.—When
the first shock was a little over, my mother reflect-
ed on the necessity of her living for us, unprotected
and helpless as we were, and she became more
tranquil; though I am sorry to say that the pre-
sence of my brother Philip, who came down as soon
as he heard of my father's death, did not serve to
assist her in the recovery of her spirits. On the con-
trary, his evident wish that we might soon remove
from the house, and his bringing down a mistress,
whom he seemed impatient to put into it, were far
from being cordials to a mind so oppressed with her
recent loss.-The only hope that sustained her was
your return and succeeding to the Rayland estate:
but even this comfortable hope was diminished and
embittered by a thousand fears:—days, and weeks,
and months, were passed, and we had not heard of
your arrival at New York; but learned that the
fleet of transports, with which you sailed, was dis-
persed by a storm, and some of the vessels lost.
This I heard, for ill news is communicated early;
but I kept it from my mother till Mrs. Rayland's
impatience, who sent continually for news of you,
and at length expressed her fears for you, in con-
sequence of the accounts she saw in the newspapers,
discovered it; and added to all the sufferings of
my poor mother, doubts of your safety, which were
more dreadful than any.
Mrs. Rayland, who had always disliked my mo-,
ther, and, as I thought, us till now, seemed much


212 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
more disposed than she used to be to shew us all
kindness, and really seemed concerned for my fa-
ther's death. She made us all a present for mourn-
ing; and used to invite us often to the Hall, and I
believe would have taken us to live there if Mrs.
Lennard would have let her. But that good for
nothing old woman, who had her own purposes to
answer by it, would never leave any of us a moment
alone with Mrs. Rayland—who often seemed to
have an inclination to speak to my mother, and to
be checked in what she intended to say by the
presence of Lennard, who, in proportion as the
old lady became more feeble through age, and as
her mind became weaker, seemed to acquire over
her more power: though it often appeared to me
that Mrs. Rayland submitted to it rather from habit
than from choice, and had not resolution to throw
off a yoke she had been accustomed to so many
years—
But, my Selina, cried Orlando, you have not all
this while said a word of Monimia.
We contrived to meet, replied Selina, every
Monday, according to your injunction; except when
my poor father lay so dangerously ill, and after his
death. And though these short interviews were
passed almost always in tears on both sides, they
were the only pleasure we either of us tasted; and
we have often said, that the consolation of the rest
of the week was, that Monday would return at the
beginning of the next!
I missed meeting Monimia for three weeks, for
the melancholy reason I have assigned; and on the
fourth I hastened, at the usual hour, to the place
of our appointment, the bench near the boat-house,
where I saw Monimia waiting for me. If my
mourning and dejected looks struck her with con-
cern, I was not less shocked to see her kook so very.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 213
pale, thin, and dejected—We could neither of us
speak for some time, for our tears choked us, till
at length she recovered voice enough to say, with
deep sobs that seemed almost to burst her heart,
that she should never see me more; that even this
little comfort of meeting by stealth was denied
her; for that her aunt had determined to send her
away, and to put her apprentice to a person who
kept an haberdasher's and milliner's shop at Win-
chester, who had agreed to take her for a small
premium, and that she was to go in two days.
Amazed and distressed by this intelligence, I
inquired why her aunt would do this? and she told
me, that the importunity of Sir John Belgrave, and
his perpetual attempts to see her by the same
means by which you had formerly found access to
her room, compelled her, in order to avoid him, to
tell her aunt of the door in the turret; and after
enduring a great deal of very cruel usuage, and
having been repeatedly threatened with Mrs. Ray-
land's displeasure and with being turned out of the
house, her aunt first removed her into her room;
and then, finding that inconvenient, had the door in
the lower room at the bottom of the stairs bricked
up, and Monimia returned to her former apartment
—from whence she was hardly ever suffered to stir
out but for a walk in the park, and even then was
ordered not to go out of sight of the house. So that
it had always been at a great risk that, while we did
meet, she used to run as far as the fir-wood on those
mornings.-My aunt, said poor Monimia as she
told me all this, my aunt was always very cruel to
me; but now she was much more so than ever; for
the strange and ridiculous fancy she had taken to
Roker, who now lived almost always in the house,
though Mrs. Rayland did not know it, made her
jealous of everybody, but particularly of me, who


214 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
detested the man so much that I was quite as desir-
ous to avoid him, as she was that I should not meet
him—while the odious fellow affected to be jealous
of her attachment to me, though all the time he
took every opportunity of speaking to me very im-
pertinently; but between my aunt's watchfulness
that I should never be in the room with him, and
my own to shun him, I escaped tolerably well from
his insolent speeches, and never regretted my con-
finement, unless when I feared, my dear Selina, it
would prevent my seeing you.-Now, however, for
some reason or other, my aunt has taken it into her
head that I shall not stay at the Hall any longer.—
I cannot guess why I am more obnoxious to her
than formerly, as she seems to have settled to
marry and secure her dear Mr. Roker to herself,
unless it is because Mrs. Rayland seems lately to
grow more fond of me; and as my aunt is engaged
with her lover more than with her mistress, I have
been more about her, and she seems always satis-
fied with my services—which makes Mrs. Lennard
quite in a rage with me sometimes; and often of
late she tells me I am a sly, deceitful girl, and she'll
blow me up with her lady—such is her expression,
if I dare to fancy that I have any interest with her.
This she has repeated so often lately, that knowing
as I do that the discovery she has made of my meet-
ing Orlando would entirely ruin him with Mrs.
Rayland, Ithink that, however dreadful it is, Selina,
for me to leave this place, where only I can have
an opportunity of weeping with you and talking of
him, I had much better do so than hazard, by my
stay, incurring my aunt's unreasonable displeasure,
since it may so much hurt Orlando;-and as she
told me again, about ten days since, that she was
determined to send me off to Winchester, and had
given her lady such good reasons for it that she ad-


The OLD MANOR HOUSE.” 215
vised it, and had promised to give me the appren-
tice fee, I answered, that I had rather go than be
burthensome to her.—So she wrote immediately,
and the answer came yesterday, which fixes my de-
parture for next Thursday. Thus, my dear brother,
our dear injured Monimia related to me the circum-
stances which had produced this resolution, so dis-
tressing to me. Some of them indeed, particularly
what related to that hateful Sir John Belgrave, I
had heard before; for he used not only to persecute
poor Monimia with attempts to speak to her by
means of a servant—Jacob I think she called him—
who was unluckily let into the secret, but wrote to
her continually letters which, from the high pro-
mises they contained, might have tempted many
young women so uncomfortably situated as she was
—Eternal curses light on him; exclaimed Orlando;
he shall feel, the scoundrel shall feel, that she is not
now so unprotected as to suffer him to make his
insulting proposals with impunity. -
Alarmed by his vehemence, Selina repented that
she had said so much ; yet, by way of palliation,
added—The last letter Monimia shewed me . . . .
Why did she open—why receive his d-d let-
ters? cried Orlando. - -
They were forced upon her, answered his sister,
in a thousand ways, which I hope she will one day
have an opportunity of telling you herself, though
it would take up too much time were I to do it now.
—However, I am sure that when she related to me
how she was beset with them, Isaw no cause at all
to blame her; and as for the last letter, of which I
was going to speak, it was sent inform under cover
of one to her aunt, and contained a proposal of
marriage.
Of marriage!
Yes, indeed, and even offered settlements—and


216 the old manor house.
begged pardon for his former ill behaviour: it was
after Monimia was obliged to complain to Mrs.
Lennard of his behaviour, and was removed to her
room. And one great cause of her aunt's displea-
sure afterwards was, that Monimia positively re-
fused to marry Sir John, which her aunt insisted
that, if he was in earnest, she should do. Moni-
mia, however, wrote to him a refusal, in the most
positive terms we could invent together; and after
that she heard no more of him till she left the Hall.
Well, said Orlando! but, for Heaven's sake tell
me! has she heard of him then since she left the
Hall 2–and where is she now P
Would to God, my dearest brother, replied Se-
lina, that I could tell you!—We settled to corres-
pond, not without some difficulty, because, though
my mother herself, if I had dared to tell her the
truth, would not I am sure have refused to let me
write to and hear from her; yet as I did not dare,
and she knows I have no correspondents but my sis-
ter Philippa, who now and then writes to me from
Ireland, it is very natural for her to ask what letter
I receive. However, Icontrived it, and did for you,
Orlando, what worlds should not bribe me to do for
myself; I mean, deceive my mother, or rather act
without her knowledge; yet I hope it was innocent.
Not only innocent, but meritorious, said Orlando
warmly; but you still do not answer me, Selina,
where is Monimia now 2
Alas! Orlando, have I not already undergone
the pain of telling you that I do not know?
Not know !
Indeed, I donot.—Amidstall the wretched scenes
I passed through upon Mrs. Rayland's death—our
very cruel disappointment in reading a will, so un-
like what we were taught to expect—and Philip's
horrible conduct, which drove us from the country,


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 217
and from our father's house, now sold, with every
thing almost in it, to Mr. Stockton;–amidst all the
exertions I was compelled to make to support my
poor mother, who seemed to be sinking under our
complicated misfortunes; misfortunes rendered al-
most insupportable by the dreadful increase of our
fears for your life:–believe me, Orlando, amidst all
this, I never forgot to write punctually, according
to our agreement, to our beloved Monimia; and
for some time she punctually answered my letters:
—but for these last five weeks never having any
letter from her, I grew very uneasy, and last week
wrote to the person with whom her aunt had placed
her, and a few days since I had an answer.
What answer? inquired Orlando, with breath-
less eagerness.
None from the person herself to whom my sweet
friend was bound, but from a relation of hers, who
informed me that Mrs. Newill had, in consequence
of some embarrassment in her affairs, left Winches-
ter, and was gone to London with her apprentice,
where she was under the necessity of remaining con-
cealed till her affairs were settled; and then pro-
posed going into business in London, if she could
find friends to set her up.
Distraction and death ! cried Orlando, striking
his hands together, and starting from his chair, I
shall be driven to phrensy l—And is it to a person
thus situated that my poor Monimia is entrusted?
and, under the pretence of becoming an apprentice,
is she given up to a mean servitude 2 or perhaps
sold to that detestable Belgrave, by her necessitous
mistress? But I will pursue him to the end of the
world.—Good God added he, walking quickly
about the room, if something very dreadful had not
happened to her, she would have written to you—
VOL. XXXVII. U


218 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
surely, Selina, she would have written, wherever
situated.
Perhaps, replied Selina, still more apprehensive
of the effects of that despair he seemed to feel at
this account—perhaps her not having written may
have been owing to her having never received that
letter of mine, which contained a direction whither
to write to me. -
What direction 2 inquired Orlando.
To this house, replied his sister, where we have
only been about a month; having got it cheap of a
gentleman who was obliged to go abroad, and was
glad to let it on reasonable terms, for the few re-
maining months of his lease. We were before in
lodgings in Holles-Street, and I knew nothing of our
removal hither till a few days before it happened.
The moment I did, I wrote to Monimia; but that
letter was among those she never received.
This conversation, in which the impatient anguish
of Orlando only found increase, was now interrupted
by the entrance of his youngest sister, who came
down to tell him and Selina that Mrs. Somerive,
hearing them talk below, and supposing the melan-
choly account Selina had to give Orlando might
affect him too much, entreated him to put off any
farther conversation till the next day, but for the
present to take some refreshment and go to bed.
Orlando, vexed that the agitation of his mind had
betrayed him into vehemence which had alarmed
and distressed his mother, promised to obey; and
endeavouring to stifle historments, he consented to
sit down to supper, and requested that he might see
his mother, and endeavour to calm the inquietude
she expressed for his health. She desired he would
come up to her; but when he approached the bed,
he could not speak to her—he could only take the
hand she gave him, and bathe it with tears, in spite


THE OLD MANO. IR HOUSE. 219
ef his endeavours to check them, as he pressed it to
his lips. In a broken voice, however, he at length
collected resolution enough to assure her, in an-
swer to her tender inquiries, that it was true he had
been much affected by the detail his sister had at
his own request given him, yet that he was now re-
covered, and after a night's rest should regain for-
titude enough to consider his own situation, and
what it was best to do, without shrinking from any
task, by executing which he would contribute to
her comfort. His mother blessed him—and, ex-
pressing the utmost solicitude about his health, said
—Make yourself, dear Orlando, easy about me;
for, after so great, so unexpected, and I fear so un-
deserved a blessing as having you restored to me,
and to your dear sisters, I should be unthankful and
unworthy of such happiness if I dared to murmur.
As the repose of Mrs. Somerive would not,
Orlando thought, be much promoted by the con-
tinuance of this affecting conversation, he shortened
it as much as he could, and, in pursuance of his
promise, went, in hopes of transient forgetfulness,
to his bed.
CHAPTER XVII.
If Orlando had known Monimia was in safety—if
he had known where, after this cruel absence, he
might find her, and assure her of the sentiments of
an heart more fondly than ever devoted to her, all
the cruel circumstances that had happened in his
absence would have been supportable ; but when,
in addition to the death of his father, and the dis-
persion of his family, his loss of the Rayland es-
tate, and the ruin of his brother (for, being now
U 2


220 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
utterly undone, and unable to carry on the law-suits
he had begun, he had for some time disappeared, and
no one knew what was become of him,)—when to
all these distracting certainties was added his fear of
finding Monimia, or finding her innocent, lovely,
and devoted to him, as he had left her; he was no
longer able to check the violence of his apprehen-
sion; nor could he, for some hours after awaking
from his short and disturbed sleep, collect his
thoughts enough to form any plan for his future
conduct.
Two things, however, were immediately necessa-
ry: one was, to find some method of tracing his lost
Monimia; and the other, to find the means of sub-
sisting, not only without being a burthen to his mo-
ther, whose income was so very small, but to endea-
vour if possible to make hers and his sisters' situa-
tion more comfortable. This he knew the slender
pay of an ensign would not enable him to do; and,
while he knew that nothing could be more dreadful
to his mother than the idea of his going abroad again,
he felt that few means of passing his time would to
him be so disagreeable as that of remaining unoccu-
pied, and disarmed as he was by his parole, while
he yet called and considered himself as a soldier.
He at length determined to inquire how far, as his
commission was given him, he could dispose of it;
and if that could be done, to put the money it would
produce into some business. But even this arrange-
ment was secondary to his ardent desire to gain
some intelligence of Monimia. He wrote as soon as
he arose in the morning to the relation of the person
with whom she lived at Winchester, entreating a
direction to that person, and assuring her to whom
he wrote, that his inquiry was not meant to do any
injury, but rather might produce some advantage to
the person under inconvenient circumstances. He


Th E OLD MAN () IR HOUSE, 221
then, after some deliberation, determined to write
to Mrs. Lennard, or, as she was now called, Mrs.
Roker;-and, as he had now no longer any thing to
fear from the resentment of his benefactress, he
openly avowed to Mrs. Roker the purpose of his in-
quiry; informing her that, if her niece was un-
married, and still retained for him her former affec-
tion, he intended to offer her his hand.
Having thus taken all the means which his anxi-
ety immediately suggested, he joined his mother and
sisters at breakfast with some degree of apparent
composure, and gave them, as he found his mother
now better able to bear it, a sketch of his adventures
upon the road; at which they were so much affect-
ed, that he soon found it necessary to drop the con-
versation; and saying he should walk out till dim-
ner, he took his way to a coffee-house much fre-
quented by military men, near St. James's, where
he hoped to hear something of Warwick, as well as
to learn whether the General (whom he dared not
mention to his mother lest it should occasion inqui-
ries about Isabella which he could not answer) had
consoled himself with some other young woman
for his cruel mortification in regard to Isabella, and
revenged himself by disinheriting his nephew for
- the loss of his intended bride.
He met several of his old acquaintance; one of
whom very willingly gave him all the information
he wanted about his commission; but told him that
he could not, he thought, dispose of it without ap-
plying to General Tracy, from whose hands he had
received it. This Orlando determined to do; and
as he was impatient to be at some certainty, he went
immediately to his house in Grosvenor-Place.
It happened that the General, who was now al-
most always a martyr to the gout, had given orders
to be denied to every body who might chance to
U 3


222 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
call, except two persons whom he named, and for
one of whom the man who opened the door, and
who had only lately come into the house, mistook
Orlando, who was therefore ushered up stairs, where,
in a magnificent room, the General sat in a great
chair, supported by pillows, and his limbs wrapped
in flannel. Orlando was much altered, and the Ge-
neral was near-sighted: so that he was obliged to
approach, and to announce himself. Forgetting for
a moment his disabled limbs, Tracy almost started
out of his chair; but then recollecting probably
that a man of fashion should never suffer himself to
appear discomposed at anything, he recovered him-
self, and coldly desired Orlando to sit down.
Orlando, affected by seeing a man whom he had
last seen as a guest of his father, gave, in a mild
and low voice, into a little history of his adventures;
the parole he had given, which precluded him from
serving during the present war; and his wish there-
fore to transfer his commission to some one who
might not be under the same disadvantages.
General Tracy heard him with repulsive indiffer-
ence, and then said—Well, Sir, the commission is
yours, and you are perfectly at liberty to keep or to
dispose of it. I am very far from meaning to trou-
ble you with my advice; but as your expectations
of Mrs. Rayland's fortune are all disappointed, I
should have supposed a profession might have been
found useful to you. However, Sir, you are the
best judge. The commission is yours—I am sorry
I am too much indisposed to have the pleasure
of your company longer, and I wish you a good
day. He then rang, and his valet appearing, he
bade him open the door.
Orlando, thus dismissed, retired in anger, which
he had no means of venting; and went back to the
coffee-house, where his friend waited for him to


THE OLD MANOR, HOUSE, 223
whom he forbore, however, to speak of Tracy's be-
haviour; because he could not but feel that if he
believed him, as he probably did, concerned in the
elopement of Isabella with Warwick, he had some
grounds for his resentment—a resentment which,
when Orlando reflected on his humiliation, and his
being now tormented by bodily infirmities, he was
too generous not to forgive. His friend, a lieute-
nant in the 51st, now went with him to the office of
an agent, to treat about his commission; and, as
they went, related to him, that it was believed at
the War Office, Warwick had perished at sea, as
there never was an instance of a man's being missing
for so many months; and that, had he been taken
prisoner by an American or French privateer, and
carried to some of their places of rendezvous, he
would before now have written home, or he would
have been exchanged. This appeared to be but too
probable; but still Orlando, in recollecting how he
had been situated himself, entertained a faint hope
that they might yet hear of his friend and his sister,
though the dangers and difficulties to which the
latter might have been exposed made him tremble.
Having put his business in the proper train, he re-
turned home, meditating, as he went, on all the
strange and disagreeable occurrences that had hap-
pened since he used to traverse these streets with
Warwick, who had lodgings in Bond-street. All
the scenes he had passed through arose in lively
succession in his mind, and that for the first time
since his landing in England; for the shocks he re-
ceived on his arrival at Rayland Hall, and by hear-
ing of the death of his father, had for a while ab-
sorbed all other recollections. He now considered
that, when his commission was disposed of, his
whole fortune would be only between three and four
hundred pounds; yet, with the sanguine spirit of a


e24. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
young man, which his former severe disappoint-
ments had not checked, he believed that, with a sum
so moderate, he could, by dint of perseverance and
industry, find some reputable employment, by which
he might not only be enabled to assist his mother,
but to keep a wife—as he was resolved, the moment
he could find Monimia, to marry her; and in this
only he thought he might be forgiven for not con-
sulting his mother—to his duty and affection to-
wards whom he never meant that any other attach-
ment should be injurious.
He had not yet had time to talk to Selina, of the
law-suit which he heard Philip had instituted for
the recovery of the Rayland estate ; but he had
in the evening an opportunity of talking about it
to Selina, and heard that it now languished, partly
for want of money, and partly through Philip's
neglect, who had of late again disappeared, and
therefore nothing was likely to be made of the
Sult.
Orlando inquired against whom, and on what
grounds it was begun?—and learned, though Selina
did not very clearly understand the terms, that it
was against the reverend body who claimed the
estate; one of whom (Doctor Hollybourn) had ad-
ministered as executor; because the will nominated
to that office the dean of the diocese for the time
being, to which the doctor had succeeded a few
days only before Mrs. Rayland's death: and that
there was not only a suit at common law, but in
chancery.
As there was great reason to believe that there
was another will entirely in his favour, which had
been either secreted or destroyed, Orlando deter-
mined to attempt discovering this, and got a recom-
mendation from his friend the lieutenant (for he
was too much disgusted by the reception he met
3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 225
with from Mr. Woodford to trouble him again) to
a young attorney, before whom he laid the affair,
and who gave him great encouragement to pur-
Sue it.
But the occupation in which this engaged him,
or in which he was engaged by the sale of his com-
mission, that was now within a few days of being
completed, could not for a moment detach his
mind from those fears which continually haunted
him for Monimia.-He waited with anxiety for
the answer he expected from Winchester, which,
he had hoped to have, as he had very earnestly
pressed for it, by the return of the post; but that
and another, and another post arrived without any
letter; and he wrote again, waited again three
days, and was again disappointed of an answer.—
He now determined to go down himself, and find
out the woman from whom Selina had received the
information of Monimia's removal; but the day
on which he had hired an horse, and was on the
point of setting out for that place, he was visited
by a man of between fifty and sixty, who sent in
his name, in great form, as Mr. Roker.
If a painter had occasion to put upon his canvas
a figure that should give an horrible idea of the
worst, meanest and most obnoxious passions—and
to represent the most detestable character in Pan-
daemonium, where, on the brow, villany sits enjoy-
ing the misery it occasions—where every rascal
vice, concealed by cowardice and cunning, are
mingled with arrogance, malice and cruelty—
where a nose, the rival of Bardolph's, depends over
a mouth “grinning horribly a ghastly smile,”—
and scornful eyes, askance, seemed to be watching
with inverted looks, the birth of chicanery in the
brain—this fiend-like wretch would have been a
fine study. His shambling figure appeared to have


226 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
been repaired with straw and rags, since it had
suffered depredations on a well-earned gibbet—A
figure more adapted to the purpose of scaring
crows, was never exhibited in former days as Guy
Vaux, the Pope, or the Pretender.
Orlando was somewhat surprised to behold this
strange being, who strutting up close to him, put
his nose almost in his face, and then, in a sonorous
voice, said—
Your name, Sir, is Somerive 2
I suppose you know it is, replied Orlando, since
you come to seek me by it.
You wrote, Sir, to my nephew's wife, Mrs.
Rachel Roker—
Well, Sir, and I expected Mrs. Rachel Roker
would have answered my letter.
No, Sir–We make it a rule never to put our hands
to any thing—We desire to know, Sir, your reasons
for writing—I call, Sir, in behalf of Mrs. Rachel
Roker—You ask after a young woman, Sir, whom
she kept out of charity—Now, Sir, though we
never do give answers to matters so irrelevant, my
client, that is my niece, Mrs. Rachel Roker, does
hereby inform you, that she the said Rachel–
Orlando, anxious as he was, and trembling in the
expectation of hearing something of Monimia,
could not check his indignation and impatience—
Your niece your client —What is all this to me?
said he.
Sir, cried the fiend, have patience if you please
—I go on in this matter according to the due
course, and such as I always observe in all my
business, whether it relates to Sir John Winnerton
Weezle, Baronet, my very worthy client, or any
other. Now, Sir, Nay, Sir—(seeing Orlando
about to speak)—nay, Sir, hear me! and when I
have done, Sir, you shall speak in turn—


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 227
You will be pleased then, said Orlando, to be
brief, as patience is not my forte. -
He felt much disposed to prove this assertion by
turning the fellow down stairs; but, recollecting
that he might thus lose all trace of Monimia, which
her aunt might otherwise afford him, he checked
himself: and the man proceeded in an harangue
of some length, tending to give an high opinion of
his abilities, and of his skill in conducting causes;
laying much stress on the confidence with which
he was treated by Sir John Winnerton Weezle,
Baronet, and his brother Thomas Weezle, Esquire,
who seemed to have taken, from their rank, great
hold on his imagination: and he at length concluded
with saying, that the girl Orlando inquired after
had behaved most ungratefully to his niece Mrs.
Rachel Roker, and had contemptuously refused to
marry advantageously, to a Baronet, a man of
great rank, Sir John Berkely Belgrave, Baronet;-
an acquaintance of his client, and very good friend,
Sir John Winnerton Weezle, Baronet, and Thomas
Weezle, Esquire, his brother:-wherefore Mrs.
Rachel Roker had discarded her; and the person
to whom she was bound apprentice was now a
prisoner for debt in some of the London prisons,
and this girl had left her for another service, no-
body knowing whither she was gone.
This account almost drove Orlando to distraction.
From the man's coming himself on a message with
which he had so little to do; and from several other
observations he made while he was talking, it seem-
ed as if he had some particular reason for wishing
to put an end to all farther inquiry on the part of
Orlando—who now, stifling his detestation, asked
if he could not see Mrs. Roker, formerly Mrs. Len-
- nard? The attorney said, No! that she was not
only at a great distance from London, but kept her


228 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
bed, and saw nobody. In the course of these in-
quiries, which he now insisted upon some answer
to, he found that this Roker and his nephew Were
employed by the reverend body of clergy to defend
their right to the Rayland estate against Philip
Somerive; and it was easy to see, that the arrival
of Orlando in England was the thing in the world
these worthy gentlemen the least expected and
the least wished.—
When this hateful being was gone, Orlando,
after a moment's reflection, resolved upon visiting
all those receptacles of misery in London where
poverty is punished by loss of liberty, and where,
in a land eminent for its humanity, many thousands
either perish, or are rendered by confinement and
desperation unfit to return to society—where vice
and misfortune are confounded, and patient wretch-
edness languishes unpitied, unrelieved, unknown—
while villany shews that, if there is money to
support it, it will triumph in despite of punish-
ment.
Selina knew the name of the person—Mrs. Newill,
to whom Monimia had been consigned; and Orlan-
do, making a memorandum of it in his pocket-book,
with such other circumstances as might lead to a
discovery, set out on his melancholy search.
He had now been near a fortnight in London,
and had in a great measure recovered his looks—so
that he was no longer a stranger to the few ac-
quaintance he had ; and his mother beheld with
satisfaction the same Orlando, on whose fine figure
and ingenuous countenance she had formerly so
fondly prided herself.
His first visit was to the Fleet-prison—He in-
quired of every one likely to inform him, if the per-
son whom he named to them was there? But mis-
trust seemed universal in that scene of legal wretch-


THE OLD MAnott. HOUSE, 229
edness; and, with an heart bleeding at the thoughts
of there being such complicated miseries, and that
man had the power to inflict them on his fellow-
creatures, he almost wished himself again among
the cypress swamps and pathless woods of unculti-
vated America, that he might fly from the legal
crimes to which such scenes were owing; when, in-
dulging this mournful train of thought, he quitted
the prison, and walked slowly up Holborn Hill. -
There was a crowd just before he reached St.
Andrew's church, and several coaches stood at the
door of an haberdasher's shop. In making his way
by them, a female figure, very smartly and some-
what tawdrily drest, took his arm and cried—Ah,
Sir I your name is Mr. Orlando Somerive? It is,
indeed, replied Orlando; but I do not know, Ma-
dam, how I deserve the honour of your being ac-
quainted with it.
What! have you forgot me then? said the lady:
Lord! how soon old acquaintance are forgot!
Orlando then thought he knew the voice, and
had some recollection of the face; but he still hesi-
tated, unable to remember where he had heard or
seen either.—Have you far to go? said she, still
detaining him:—I have a carriage here, and can
put you down—Lord! why, have you really for-
got Betsy Richards? -
Orlando now immediately recollected his former
acquaintance, and what he had heard of her being
entertained as a mistress by Philip occurred to him:
as he had been very solicitous ever since his return
to see his brother, he now eagerly inquired where
he was. Ah, Lord! cried the girl, shaking her head,
I have but very so-so news to tell you about him,
that's the truth—But, dear! one can't talk of them
sort of things in the street—why, I shan’t bite you,
Sir—you may as well get into the coach with me.
Vol. xxxWII. X


230 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Orlando, though unwilling to be seen with such a
companion, yet, on finding she could give him
some information of his brother, determined to ac-
cept the offer; and the lady, who called herself
Mistress Filmer, then ordered her carriage to ad-
vance: and Orlando seated himself by her, in an
hired chariot with a black boy in a turban and fea-
thers behind.
Though he was persuaded nobody knew him, he
was very much ashamed of the equipage; but, ap-
plying himself immediately to learn of his fair com-
panion what he so much wished to know, he listen-
ed to her very attentively—and, after some cir-
cumlocution in a style peculiar to herself, he learn-
ed with inexpressible concern that his brother
Philip was a prisoner for a debt of an hundred and
twenty pounds in the place he had just been visit-
ing ; and that Mrs. Filmer, though now under the
protection of another person, yet retained so much
recollection of her, first seducer, and so much gra-
titude for the sums he had lavished upon her, that
she had that morning been to visit him, and only
stopped in Holborn to make some purchases before
she went to her lodgings in Charlotte-Street.
Orlando could not bear to hear that his unhappy
brother was in such a place, without going imme-
diately to him. He staid only, therefore, a moment
longer, to inquire of Mrs. Filmer, if she had, when
she was in the country with his brother (for they
had not long before, she said, been down at Stock-
ton's together), heard what was become of Monimia.
She would have rallied him on his constancy, but
he could not a moment endure to be trifled with ;
and, finding she knew nothing of importance, he
said he recollected some material business in the
city, whither he must return.—Then, stopping the
chariot, he wished her a good day, and hastened
back to the Fleet-prison. - - - - - - - - - - -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 231
On inquiry for the person he wanted, he still
foundsome difficulty in being admitted to him: but,
on signifying that he was brother to Mr. Somerive,
which his resemblance to him immediately con-
firmed, a turnkey, to whom he gave a shilling,
walked before him to the apartment where Philip
was confined.
On his entrance, the neglected and altered figure
of his brother struck him with the deepest concern.
—He was sitting at piquet with another prisoner,
on a dirty table where some empty porter pots
seemed to signify that they had lately taken their
dinner. Philip hardly looked up; and Orlando
stood a moment unnoticed, till the man who was
with him cried—Why, squire, here's your honour's
brother.
The devil it is replied Philip — By the Lord,
though, but—let me see—It is he l—why, hast had
a resurrection, my honest Rowland?—Thou wert
killed and scalped, I thought, by the Cherokees.
I almost wish I had, Philip, answered Orlando,
for I think I should have preferred death to what
I now see.'
Why, to be sure, pleasanter sights may be seen
if a man is in luck—For example, it would have
been pleasanter for thee to have come home master
of Rayland Hall–Eh! Sir Knight?
Good God! exclaimed Orlando, will you never,
my brother, be reasonable? Will you never believe
that, notwithstanding your repeated unkindness to
me, I can never consider you otherwise than as my
brother, and can have no motive in coming hither
but to do you good?
And what good canst do me? Canst let me out
of this cage? Hast brought any money from the
Yankies? any plunder, my little soldier? Canst
lend me the ready to pay this confounded debt?
x 2


232 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
The person who was with Orlando, now suppos-
ing they might be upon business, left them together:
and Philip finding from the generous earnestness of
Orlando, that though he had very little money (in
fact no more than the price of his commission, which
he was to receive in a few days), he was willing to
pay his debt, and to share with him all that he
should then have left, began to grow more civil to
his brother, and did not refuse to lay before him,
though his pride seemed cruelly mortified as he did
it, the state of his affairs.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE unfortunate brother of Orlando now related
to him, that though his actual debts were very
great, the sum he was at present confined for was
not much above ninety pounds; and his arrest was
at the suit of the very attorney whom he had been
persuaded by Stockton to employ—a young and
inexperienced man; who having, without know-
ing what he was about, led his client into very
heavy expenses, had been, as it seemed, bribed
by Roker to abandon him; and now, without re-
turning his papers, had arrested him. Orlando,
inexperienced as he still was in the miserable chi-
cane with which our laws are disgraced and coun-
teracted, yet knew that this could not be right, and
that some means might be found to procure at
least the papers such a man detained—This he
promised his brother he would do, and take every
necessary measure for his speedy release. He then
gave Philip all the money he had in his pocket;
and, leaving him with an heavy heart, returned
home, not only disappointed in his search after
*


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 233
Monimia, but that disappointment embittered by the
discovery he had made of his brother's situation,
whom, now that he was in distress and in prison,
Orlando forgave for all the calamities he had
brought on his family, and for all the ill offices
which jealousy had excited him to be guilty of
against himself.
Yet, to his mother he dared not speak of Philip;
for, though she at present suffered extreme anguish
in believing her son had forsaken her, after having
so largely contributed to the dispersion and ruin of
his family, she would, he knew, be quite over-
whelmed by the intelligence that he was in prison.
She had already in bitterness of heart experien-
ced—
“How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child.”
But still that half-broken heart had all the ten-
derness of a mother within it for this her eldest
child, on whom, during his early years, her fondest
affections were fixed—and Orlando well knew that
the misery he had thus brought upon himself would
add an incurable wound to those which his mother
had already received.
But, though he endeavoured to conceal the ex-
treme dejection of his spirits on his return, his mo-
ther immediately perceived that something had
more than usual disturbed him. He told her, how-
ever, in answer to her anxious inquiries, that he
had been embarrassed by the delays of office in re-
gard to the sale of his commission; and as soon
as he could quit her without exciting anew her ap-
prehensions, he left the house, and set out to ex-
ecute, as far as he could that evening, his promise
to his brother, telling his mother and his sisters
that he should not be at home to supper.
Baffled in his first attempt to find Mrs. Newill,
X 3


234, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
who was the only person from whom he could hope
to hear any intelligence of Monimia, new terrors
assailed him; and he thought that, amidst the most
dreary hours he had passed in the wilds of Ameri-
ca, and among men who have little more rationali-
ty than the animals of their desert, he had never
suffered such wretchedness as he now felt ; for,
then, though he was exposed to almost every per-
sonal inconvenience, and uncertain whether he
should ever again revisit his native country, he fan-
cied Monimia was in safety; but now, every evil
that could surround defenceless innocence, and un-
protected beauty, was incessantly represented to his
imagination; and, in proportion as time elapsed
without his being able to gain any intelligence of
her, his despair became intolerable.—Yet other du-
ties, indispensable duties demanded his attention,
and interrupted his pursuit, which alone could re-
lieve his mind, by keeping alive his hopes of find-
ing her.
His new friend, the young attorney, whose name
was Carr, told him that he would instantly set about
procuring the release of his brother Philip ; and if,
as he believed, any illegal proceeding had occurred
in his confinement, Fisherton, the attorney who
was the cause of it, would perhaps be compelled
by a little spirit to lower his demands—I know this
man well, said Carr, and know that nothing but his
impudence can equal his ignorance. That other
honour to our profession, Roker, is well versed in
chicane, and knows more of the law, or rather of
its abuse, than an honest man would wish to know;
but Fisherton is so ignorant that, while his lavish
expenses continually reduce him to necessities that
drive him into bold attempts at robbery, his skill
in managing them is so inferior that he is almost
always baffled, and has been more than once ex-
posed.
ſº


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 235
How then does he contrive to live? said Orlan-
do : I learn from Philip that he has a house in
town, another in the country, and entertains his
clients splendidly at both; and that, in his common
discourse, he talks as if he was a man of great pro-
perty.
Oh! as to that, answered Mr. Carr, he has had
a contested election for a Western borough to carry
on for a nabob ; and since, a process to defend for
the same worthy personage in Doctors Commons—
This comfortable client has been supposed his prin-
cipal support for some time; and it is wonderful—
how his wild boasting, in which there is not a
syllable of truth, imposes upon the world—he is
such a man as Shakspeare somewhere describes—
“A gentleman who loves to hear himself talk, and will
speak more in an hour than he'll stand to in a month.”
—I am heartily sorry your brother has got into the
hands and into the debt of this yelping fellow; who,
even if he could prevail upon himself to be honest,
is always from ignorance on a wrong scent. How-
ever, we must get him out of so sad a scrape as well
as we can; and as all your elder brother's proceed-
ings have been wrong and will only mar ours, since
that wretched Roker has purchased his solicitor,
(for every pettyfogging fellow is now, not an attor-
ney, but a solicitor,) we must begin again, and file
a bill of discovery against the younger Roker and
his wife.
Orlando then pressed his friend (whom he
thought a man of talents, and who had all the ap-
pearance of being honest without professing it) to
set about the release of his brother immediately.—
. This he willingly agreed to, and said he would in-
stantly go about it to one of the persons concerned,
who lived also in Clement's Inn—I shall not be
gone a quarter of an hour, said Carr: perhaps you


$236 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
would like to stay till my return—here is a news-
paper, if you will amuse yourself with that ; but
books I have none, but law books, which I sup-
pose you have no taste for.—Orlando assured him
that his mind was not in a state to receive amuse-
ment from any of the usual resources; and entreat-
ed him to go instantly about Philip's business, and
allow him to wait in his chambers till his return. :
Carr departed; and Orlando sat for a moment,
his eyes fixed on the fire, in sad contemplation,
of which Monimia was the principal object. The
clerk brought him in candles (for he and Carr had
conversed by fire-light) and the newspaper; but he
was too much occupied by his private distresses to
be able to attend to public occurrences, interesting
as they were at that period to every Englishman,
and particularly to one who had seen what Orlando
had seen, of the war then raging with new violence
in America. -
He read, however, in a lingering expectation of
hearing of Warwick, which never wholly forsook
him, the list of the killed and wounded in an en-
gagement or rather skirmish which was related in
that paper, and when he read that the American
soldiers, fighting in defence of their liberties (of all
those rights which his campaign as a British officer
had not made him forget were the most sacred to
an Englishman), had marked their route with the
blood which flowed from their naked feet in walk-
ing over frozen ground, his heart felt for the suffer-
ings of the oppressed and for the honour of the op-
pressors”.
But from the contemplation of both, his private
* The perusal of the History of the American Revolu-
tion, of Ramsay, is humbly recommended to those English-
mºn who doubt whether, in defence of their freedom, any
other nation but their own will fight, or conquer. -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 287
miseries recalled him—In laying down the news-
aper on a long desk that was in the room, he cast
; eyes accidentally on some of the bundles of pa-
pers that were ranged on it, tied with red tape, and
saw on one—Bagshaw v. Fleming. The name of
Fleming instantly brought to his mind his regretted
friend the lieutenant, and his heart as instantly re-
proached him with breach of promise, and want of
ratitude, in not having sooner inquired after the
amily of the lieutenant, who i with his last
breath recommended them to his friendship. Nor
could he forgive himself for his neglect; though 3.
mind of less generous sensibility might easily have
found excuses in the multiplicity of more imme-
diate claims and family distresses which had over-
whelmed him on his return to England.
When Carr returned, he gave to Orlando a more
favourable account of his mission than he had ex-
pected, and as soon as they had agreed upon what
was to be done the next day to hasten the liberation
of Philip Somerive, Orlando asked him if he had a
client of the name of Fleming 2 Carr replied that
he had, and that she was a widow who was under
very melancholy, circumstances: , Her husband,
added he, was a lieutenant, killed in America, and
she has nothing or very little more than her pension
to live upon, with five children, all young; and is be-
sides involved in a suit by the villany of some of her
lºud. relations, which I am defending for
er.
Good God! cried Orlando, it is the widow of my
dear old friend, whose last breath left his gallant
bosom as he, grasping my hand, while I knelt on
the ground stained with the blood which flowed in
torrents from his breast, bade me be a friend to
his poor wife, to his orphan children—And I have
neglected this, shamefully neglected it ! and have


238 THE OLD MANOR HO U SE.
selfishly suffered my own sorrows to absorb mé
quite.—Where do Mrs. Fleming and her family
live 2—Where can I see them 2–If they are in
town I will go to them this evening.
Carrsmiled at the vehemence of his young friend,
and said, What pity it is, Somerive, that such an
heart as yours should ever lose this amiable warmth,
and become hackneyed in the ways of men
I trust, answered Orlando, that it never will ;
but, Carr, you do not answer my question—does
Mrs. Fleming reside in London 2
No, replied Carr; she is at present near Christ-
church in Hampshire, where a friend has lent her
a cottage, for she is by no means in a situation to
pay rent for such a house as her family requires.
Orlando then taking an exact direction, determined
to see the widow of his deceased friend as soon as
he had visited the other prisons of the metropolis
in search of Mrs. Newill. The following day,
therefore, after passing some time with his brother,
who appeared satisfied with the prospect of his
immediate release, he went to the King's Bench
prison, and, his inquiry there being fruitless, to
the other receptacles of the unhappy debtor; but
no such person as a Mrs. Newill was to be heard
of, and Orlando returned in deeper despair than
ever,
In two days the spirit and assiduity of Mr. Carr
had been so effectually exerted that Philip Some-
rive was released, but at the expense to Orlando,
of somewhat upwards of an hundred pounds, in-
cluding the fees which are on these occasions paid
to the satellites of our most excellent law ; nor
would the sum have been so moderate, but
from the exertions of Carr, and his threats of
exposing the conduct of Fisherton. Orlando
fetched his brother away in a hackney-coach to a


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 239
lodging he had provided for him; where he sup-
F. him with present money, and where he
oped he should be able to support him till some-
thing (though he knew not what) should happen to
give a fortunate turn to the affairs of their family.
Philip was pensive, silent, and, as Orlando hop-
ed, penitent. He had not as yet spoken of him to
his mother; and though the circumstances that
would have most sensibly afflicted her were now
at an end, Orlando, who saw his mother in that
state of spirits which even the sudden opening of
a door, or any unexpected noise were sufficient to
overset, dared not yet ask her to receive and to
forgive a son, who, though she still loved him, had
given her so much cause of complaint—as well
since, as before his father’s death.
The whole fortune of Orlando was now reduced
to about two hundred and fifty pounds; for his
commission did not produce him quite four. On
this fortune, however, he was still bent on marrying
Monimia, if he could find her ; and of trusting to
Providence for the rest.
A few more mornings were still passed in fruitless
research. It was now the beginning of January ;
and this beginning of Term his bill was to be filed
against the persons who were supposed to have any
knowledge of Mrs. Rayland's having made another,
* ...d a subsequent will. It was in search of these
people, of the servants who had lived with her at
the time of her death, and of the lawyers who had
made the will, that he was now compelled for
many days longer to employ himself: every hour
increasing the agony of mind with which he thought
on the fate of Monimia, while all the consolation
he had was in talking of her to Selina, if he could
atany time steal an hour with her alone. On these
occasions he wearied himself with conjecture as to


240 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
what was become of her; repeated the same ques-
tions on which he had already been often satisfied;
and imagined new means of tracing her, which
when he pursued, served only to renew his disap-
pointment and regret.
At length—having learned that the lawyer who
made the will was dead, and his clerk who had
accompanied him to Rayland Hall settled at a
town in Wiltshire—he resolved, by the advice of
Carr, to go thither in search of him, and then to
visit the village near Christchurch, where Mrs.
Fleming and her family resided. He communi-
cated this scheme to his mother, who, while she
allowed the necessity of his finding a person whose
evidence might be so very material to him, could
hardly prevail upon herself to let him go for ten
days from her; for so long he imagined it would
be before he could return.
At length he fixed the day with her approbation,
hired an horse for the journey, and took leave of
his mother and his sisters. He then visited Philip,
whom he found in a very silent, and, as he thought,
somewhat sullen mood. He gave him a ten pound
bank note, as he complained of being without mo-
mey; and, in depressed spirits, with hardly a
glimpse of hope to cheer his melancholy way, he
began his journey.
The weather was severe; but, on the first night
of his journey, a deep snow threatened to render
his progress more slow, and compelled him to
stay till a late hour of the day, that the road might
be beaten, for all was now a pathless plain, and he
was a stranger to the road. About one o'clock,
however, he left the town where he had passed
the night, and went slowly on. He was inured to
the cold by his abode in America; and in no haste
to get to his inn, where nothing awaited him but a
solitary supper and mournful reflections.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 241
Again he ran over in his mind every possible
circumstance that could rob him of Monimia—and
awakened in his breast all the scorpions of distrust,
dread, and jealousy; for, whatever attempts he
made to conquer so horrible an apprehension, it
was to Sir John Belgrave, and to the success of his
cruel artifices, that his fears most frequently point-
ed; and there were moments in which he thought,
that, were a person before him who could tell him
all he so solicitously desired to know, he should not
have courage to ask; for, should he hear that Mo-
nimia was lost by the infamous seduction of such a
man, he believed he should die on the spot, or lose
his reason in the greatness of his sorrow.
It was between ten and eleven o'clock in the
evening of his second day's journey, that, in a wild
and moory country, where extensive heaths seemed
to spread without end before him, he began to
think it time to seek a lodging for the night. All
around was dreary and silent; and blank, he
thought, as his destiny. Yet he wished the torpid
sensation that being long exposed to the cold had
given to his limbs could reach his heart, which was
too acutely sensible ! In the midst of the uniform
waste stood a small village, the rustic inhabitants of
which had long since retired to their hard beds;
and every thing was as quiet in their houses as it
was around the little church that rose beyond them.
Orlando would have inquired the distance to the
next post-town, but no human creature appeared,
and he passed on; his thoughts (as he compared
their peaceful slumbers with the state of his own
troubled mind) assuming a poetical form, in the
following
S O N N E T.
While thus I wander, cheerless and unblest,
And find, in change of place, but change of pain;
WOL. XXXVII. Y


242 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
In tranquil sleep the village labourers rest,
And taste repose, that I pursue in vain.
Hush'd is the hamlet now ; and faintly gleamr
The dying embers from the casement low
Of the thatch'd cottage; while the moon's wan beam
Lends a new lustre to the dazzling snow.
—O'er the cold waste, amid the freezing night,
Scarce heeding whither, desolate I stray:
For me! pale eye of evening ! thy soft light
Leads to no happy home; my weary way
Ends but in dark vicissitude of care :
I only fly from doubt—to meet despair.
After being near an hour longer on his horse, he
arrived at Chippenham, where the lawyer lived
from whom he expected information; and going
extremely fatigued to an inn, he sent, at an early
hour the following morning, to the person in ques-
tion, who immediately came ; and, inviting him to
his house for a farther discussion of the business, he
received him there with hospitality, and answered
him with candour.
This gentleman, whose name was Walterson,
informed him that it was very true he, being then
clerk to a Mr. Lewes, accompanied his principal to
Rayland Hall, where Mr. Lewes was closetted two
days with Mrs. Rayland; after which he was call-
ed upon with another person, who he thought was
a tenant, or son to a tenant of Mrs. Rayland's, to
witness it: but he did not hear the contents, nor
know what was afterwards done with the will ; rela-
tive to which every thing was conducted with great
secrecy—That he was employed to engross some
other writings about one of Mrs. Rayland’s farms;
but that he never copied the will, nor knew more
of its contents than what passed in conversation af-
terwards between him and Mr. Lewes—who, as
they travelled together to London, afterwards said,
in going through the park, out at the north lodge,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 243
that he thought Rayland Hall one of the finest old
places he had ever seen; and added, speaking of
the Somerive family, And I am very glad that the
old lady has determined to give it to the right heirs
—because Mr. Somerive is a very worthy man, and
that younger son of his a fine young fellow.—That,
on some farther questions from him, Mr. Walterson,
Mr. Lewes spoke as if the bulk of the fortune was
given to Mr. Orlando Somerive.
Orlando made minutes of what Mr. Walterson
said, who assured him he would be ready at any
time to give his testimony in a court of law—He in
vain endeavoured to recollect the name of the per-
son who was witness with him to the will, and
whose information he advised Orlando by all means
to procure; but he described him as a stout man,
between thirty and forty, with a very florid com-
plexion and dark straight hair, who was dressed
like a substantial farmer. Orlando, having thanked
Mr. Walterson for all his civilities, and received
gratefully his advice for the conduct of the business,
mounted his horse and proceeded towards Salisbury,
meditating sometimes on the hopes he had of ob-
taining restitution of the Rayland estate; but of.
tener on Monimia, for whose sake more than his
own he wished to possess it.
His journey, almost across the whole county of
Wilts, was long, and rendered particularly tedious
by the vicissitudes of frost and thaw that had pre-
vailed for some days—which had made the roads,
where the snow half dissolved had been again sud-
denly frozen, so dangerous, that he was often under
the necessity of leading his horse for many miles
together. He proposed, after visiting Mrs. Flem-
ing, to cross the country to Rayland Hall; and,
whatever pain it might cost him to revisit those
scenes of his former happiness, to discover, if pos-
Y 2


244 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
sible, the person whom Walterson described as
having with him witnessed Mrs. Rayland's will.—
He suddenly recollected that, in his way, he should
be within a few miles of the residence of Mrs.
Lennard—for so he called her, forgetting at that
moment her change of name; and that it could at
least do no harm if he saw her, and endeavour to
find in her conversation, if not from her candour,
something which might lend him a clue for the dis-
covery of Monimia.
CHAPTER XIX.
At Salisbury Orlando determined to make some
slight alteration in his plan, and instead of going
from thence to Christchurch, to go first into the
more eastern part of Hampshire, to the residence of
Mrs. Roker; for though this would make his jour-
ney considerably longer, yet, having now seized
the idea that by this visit some intelligence might
be obtained of Monimia, every other consideration
yielded to that hope.—Somewhat cheered by it,
remote and uncertain as it was, he traversed the
dreary flat of Salisbury Plain, and by the evening
arrived at Winchester, where he vainly inquired for
that relation of Mrs. Newill (the person with whom
Monimia was placed) who had given his sister
Selina all the intelligence she had ever received of
her. Nobody knew, or wished to aid his search
after an obscure woman who had probably been
only a lodger in the place; and with an heart
sinking under the disappointments he had already
experienced, and those he yet feared, he proceeded
to Alresford, near which town was situated the
estate which Mrs. Rayland had given her old com-
6


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 245 -
panion, and which she had so worthily bestowed
on Mr. Roker the younger.
It was about one o'clock when Orlando found the
place; a red brick house with a court before it, and
a garden walled behind, on the banks of the Itching.
This had been a farm-house, but had been smarten-
ed and new cased by Mr. Roker, who, assuming all
the dignity of a man of landed property, was no
longer the assistant steward, or the humbly assiduous
attorney, but a justice of the peace, and an esquire
—a title which he held the more tenaciously, as he
suspected that it was believed by other esquires
that he had no right to it. He was not indeed very
eminent either for morals or manners ; but he was
a man of property, and a thriving man in the world,
and his neighbours were not therefore disposed to
trouble themselves either with one or the other. As
he still practised the law, he was usually in London
in the winter; and of late it was observed, that his
ancient spouse was always by indisposition prevent-
ed from accompanying him, when he accepted the
invitations to dinner which were frequently given
to them both by the neighbouring families; and
some stories were in circulation not much to the ho-
nour of his conjugal affection; but whatever were his
domestic faults, he was every where received and
considered as a respectable man, because he had
every appearance of becoming a rich one.
When Orlando arrived at the outward gate, he
left his horse, and proceeded up a gravel walk that
led to the door of the house, at which he tapped;
a maid servant looked out at the parlour window,
of which the shutters were before shut, and said,
Master ben't at home. -
It is not your master, said Orlando, that I want,
but your mistress. Mistress ben't well, answered
the girl, and you cannot a see her. -
Y 3


246 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Is she confined to her bed then? inquired Or-
lando.
Aye, cried the girl, confined enough for matter
of that.
I should be very much obliged to you, said Or-
lando, if you could procure me only a few minutes
conversation with her. I have some very particu-
lar business with her—it really is very material to
me, and I will not be ungrateful if you will oblige
me so far. He then took out half a guinea, and said,
Perhaps this may be some small acknowledgment
for your taking the trouble to oblige me.
Half a guineal caied the girl—Ecollys I haven't
a no objection to that, sure enough; for 'tis a sight
as we don't often see at our house; but, Lord, I
wish I dared! but, no, I mawn't.
Why not; said Orlando eagerly—Pray, my dear,
do, and I'll make this half guinea a whole one !
Will you by George I answered the peasant girl,
who was quite a rustic from the fields—what! gime
a whole entire guinea P
Yes, said Orlando—Here, this very guinea?
A bran new one, as I hope to live! exclaimed
the girl; but I'll tell you master, if I does, and I
should be found out, I shall lose my place.
I'll get you a better place, cried Orlando.
He he said the girl with an idiot laugh—what
would mother say?
Tell me, pray, cried Orlando, why you would
lose your place for letting me see your mistress 2
Why, Lord! don't you know? Mistress is gived
out to be mad, thof she's no mad nor I be—and so
when master e'ent at home, ye see, his sister keeps
watch like over her, and never lets nobody see her,
and when we be hired, we be told never to let no
strangers in to see mistress upon no account what-
ever; formaster and his sister, and his nasty old un-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 247
cle as comes here sometimes, they will all have it
that mistress she's out of her mind, and that stran-
gers makes her worse; and so she's locked up stairs,
and have a been ever so long; though, poor old
soul! she's tame enough for aught I ever see, and
I'm sure repents her many a time as she have got
into their clutches—But hark 1 oh Geminil our
Tyger barks I warrant you Miss Sukey is coming
home.
Who is she pray hasten to tell me, and take
your money. Oh, the Lord ' answered the girl,
Miss Sukey is our master's sister, a nasty cross old
maid—She've been to Alresford this morning, or
else, mun, I shouldn't have talked here so long—
and now if she catches me
Orlando, into whose mind a thousand confused
ideas now rushed, of the cause of Mrs. Roker's con-
finement, now dreaded lest the only opportunity he
should have of hearing of or seeing Mrs. Lennard
should escape him.–Can younot give your mistress
a letter, said he, if you think she is in her senses,
and bring me an answer this evening? I'll try, an-
swered the girl; but you'll give me the guinea then
—and where shall I get the letter, and how will you
get the answer? Lord, Sir it must be at night,
after Miss Sukey is a-bed; and I must get out of
our pantry window, as I gets off the hooks every
now and tan—for the baron't is loose, so I takes
it out. That will do, said Orlando; I'll go write
my letter;-where will you come for it?
Down to the hovel, answered the girl, there,
close along the gert barn—I'll slip down there
when I goes a milking : and then if Madam will gi
an answer, why you must stay there till ater our
folks be all a-bed; but God a bless you go now !
for I sees Miss Sukey coming along.
Take your money, said Orlando, giving her the


248 THE ol, D M A No R Hous E.
guinea that had so tempted her, and be punctual to
the place—You mean that red-roof'd barn on the
edge of the turnip field 2
Yes, yes, answered the girl—Go, pray, now! and
as you’ll run bump up against our Miss Sukey, tell
her as how you wanted master, and I wouldn't let
you in. -
Orlando, not without somewhat admiring the ta-
lent for intrigue, of which even this rude peasant
girl had so considerable a share, walked back along
the gravel walk; and at the wicket gate, which
opened at the end of it to the road, he was accosted
by a short, thick, red-faced woman, dressed in a
yellow-green riding habit, faced with orange colour,
and trimmed with silver, and a hat with green and
black feathers in it. Her whole face was the colour
of bad veal ; the shade towards her nose rather
more inveterate, and two goggle grey eyes, sur-
mounted by two bushy carrotty eye-brows, gave to
her whole countenance so terrific an air, that Or-
lando absolutely started back when his eyes first
distinguished it; while this amiable figure, stepping
in the gateway, and putting one hand on her hip,
while the other held a cane, said in a loud and mas-
culine voice to Orlando–Who are you, friend? and
what is your business here 2
Orlando answered as he had been directed, that
he wished to speak to Mr. Roker, but found he
was not at home.
You may leave your business with me, said Miss
Sukey. Orlando answered, No; that there was
no haste, and he would call again. He then passed
by this person, who gave him an idea of a fury
modernized; and observed that she surveyed him
with scrutinizing looks, and watched him till he
was out of sight.
He hastened back to the inn he had left, and sat


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 249
down to compose his letter to Mrs. Roker, in which
he found much more difficulty than he had at first
been aware of.
If she was confined by her husband underpretence
of madness, as he thought was very probably the
case, in order to preventher testimony being receiv-
ed, or her discovering what it was supposed Roker
had insisted on her continuing to conceal, she would
probably still be deterred, by her fears and her
shame, from declaring the truth; and if she was in-
deed mad, his letter to her would avail nothing, or
perhaps be prejudicial, by falling into the hands of
her keepers. There was also a third possibility,
which was, that she might still retain somuch affec-
tion for her younghusband, as to resent the interfer-
ence of any one who supposed her ill used, even
though they offered her the means of escaping from
her tyrant. However, as no other chance seemed to
offer, he determined to hazard this measure; and
wording his letter as cautiously as he could, so as
not to offend her, he offered, if she was in any degree
unpleasantly situated, to send her the means of es-
caping, and entreated her to tell him where.Monimia
was, and all she knew of Mrs. Rayland's affairs at
the time of her death; assuring her, in the most
solemn manner, that if ever he recovered the estate,
and by her means, he would not only enter into any
agreement she should dictate to secure to her all
she now possessed, but would, if she had given all up
to her husband, settle upon her for life a sum that
should make her more rich and independent than
she had been before she gave herself to Mr. Roker;
and that she should inhabit her own apartments at
the Hall, or any house on the estate which she might
choose. He ended with some professions of perso-
mal regard to her, as well on account of their long
acquaintance, as because she was the relation, and
had been the benefactress of his beloved Monimia


250 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
This letter being finished, he again set out on
foot; and as it was nearly dusk, concealed himself
in the hovel which the servant girl had directed him
to, where he had not waited many minutes before
his emissary arrived, breathless with her fears of
being discovered. He gave her the letter; with
which she hurried away, charging him to stay there
till she returned to him, though it should be twelve
o'clock at night. He promised her a farther re-
ward if she succeeded in procuring him an answer;
and then, as the hovel was not in very good repair,
and the cold extremely severe, he opened a door in
it, made for the purpose of throwing straw out of
the adjoining barn, and took shelter in the barn it-
self—repeating those lines of Shakspeare, where
Cordelia describes her father; and, in recollectin
all that had of late befallen him, all that he had
lost, and the cruel uncertainty of his future destiny,
as he applied to himself those descriptive lines,
To “hovel him with swine and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw,”
he remembered the preceding exclamation,
* Alas! alas !
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
- Had not concluded all.”
Thus, in meditations more moral than amusing,
Orlando passed two or three tedious hours, sheltered
by pease-halmand straw, which he gathered around
him, and leaning against the boards of the barn, that
he might not fail to hear when the ambassadress
entered the out-house adjoining to it. About ten
o'clock, as he guessed by the time he had been
there, he heard a rustling among the wood and re-
fuse of the hovel; and eagerly listening, in expec-
tation of being called by his female Mercury, he
heard a deep sigh, or rather groan, and a voice, very
unlike a female voice, lamenting in very bitter and


THE OLD MANOR HO US E. 251
somewhat coarse terms the cruelty of fate: the per-
son soon after made his way through the same door
by which Orlando had found entrance, and going
farther into the barn, he heard this unwelcome guest
make a noise which he knew was striking a light,
and, putting a candle into a lanthorn, which he
seemed to have hid, he set it down by him, and be-
gan to eat his miserable supper, consisting of scraps
and dry crusts.--Orlando, peeping over his fortifi-
cation, contemplated for a moment this forlorn out-
cast, whose head, shaded by a few white locks,
was on the crown and temples quite bald, and other-
wise resembled him who is described as the occa-
sional visitor of the simple village priest:
“The long remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending, swept his aged breast.”
He resembled too the Broken Soldier of the same
admirable poem”; for he had lost one leg, and wore
the remnant of a coat that had once been scarlet.
As the faint and dull light of a small candle through
a thick horn lantern fell upon the furrowed counte-
nance of this unhappy wanderer, Orlando contem-
plated it with pity, which for an instant detached
him from the recollection of his own miseries; and
he said to himself—How unworthy, how unmanly
are my complaints, when I compare my own situa-
tion with that of this poor old man, who, trembling
on the verge of life, seems to have none of its com-
mon necessaries; yet perhaps has been disabled
from acquiring them by having lost his limb in the
service of what is called his country, that is, in fight-
ing the battles of its politicians; and having been
deprived of his leg to preserve the balance of Eu-
rope, has not found in the usual asylum a place of
rest, to make him such amends as can be made for
* Goldsmith's Deserted Village.


252 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
such a misfortune; All the horrors of which he had
been a witness in America now returned to his re-
collection; and the madness and folly of mankind,
which occeasioned those horrors, struck him more
forcibly now than when his spirits were heated by
having been a party in them. In a few moments,
however, he recollected, that though he wished to
give some relief to the distressed veteran before
him, it would not be at all convenient that he should
hear the purport of his conversation with his emis-
sary; but before he had time to consider how this
might be prevented, he heard her enter the hovel;
and, without farther consideration, his eagerness to
know if she had a letter for him, induced him to
rush out and meet her.
Speak softly! said he, as soon as he found it was
really his messenger—there is a beggar in the barn
who will hear you; have you a letter for me?
Lord ; yes! answered the girl; and such a twit-
ter as I be in surely . -
Give me the letter, cried Orlando, trembling
with haste; and pray speak softly, lest the old man
within should betray us!
'Tis only old Thomas, answered the girl, I dare
say; for he lies every night all winter long in our
barns; and I'll warrant you he'll tell no tales—for
in the first place he knows how he'd get no more of
our broken victuals if he did; and in the next place
he's as deaf as a post.
Orlando, whose impatience to read the letter was
quite insupportable, then thought he might safely
avail himself of the convenience of the old man's
lantern to read it by. The girl assured him he might
and they entered the barn together for that purpose
but there was no longer any light, and all was si-
lent. The girl, however, at the earnest entreaties
of Orlando, called aloud to her old acquaintance,


THE old MANOR Hous E. 253
and assuring him in a very elevated voice that it
was only Pat Welling who wanted him to do a
message for her at town the next day—a grumbling
assent was soon after heard, and at her request he
struck a light, relighted his candle, and brought
it to the gentleman, who eagerly tearing open the
billet, read these lines.
“DEAR SIR,
“I have received yours. I do not know what is
become of the girl you inquire for, as she chose to
quit the worthy person I put her to, after perverse-
ly and wickedly refusing a great and high match
with Sir John Belgrave, Bart. the which I doubt
not but she has reason to repent of before now;
though I do heartily beseech the Lord that she may
not have taken to wicked courses, as there is
great reason to fear; but my conscience is clear
thereon. I assure you, if I know where she is to be
found, I will let you know, if you please to leave
your direction with Martha Welling the bearer
hereof; at the same time, as to myself, thanking
you for your kind offers, have no need to trouble
you at present; and know of no such thing as you
are pleased to name, in regard to my late dear
friend, deceased, Mrs. Rayland. Must beg to
have no applications of like nature notwithstanding,
because interference between married people is
dangerous, generally making matters worse; and
if any little disagreements, which I wonder that
ou should have heard, have passed, it is no more
than . I have heard happens between the happiest
couples; and I am sure Mr. Roker really has an
affectionate regard for me, and I am willing to im-
pute all that seems to the contrary to his family,
who are very disagreeable people, and such as i
confess I should be glad to be out of their way, if
WOL, XXXVII, Z


254. THE OLD MANOR HO US E.
so be as it could be done without offending Mr.
Roker, whom I must love, honour and obey till
death, as in duty bound. Same time should be
glad to do you any service not inconsistent with
that; and, as I said before, would be glad of your
direction, who am, dear Sir,
Your humble servant,
RACHEL ROKER.”
“Lessington House, near Alresford, Hants,
10th January, 1779.”
“P. S. Mrs. R. hopes Mr. S. will be cautious in
mentioning having received these few lines, as
it would be disagreeable to Mr. R—.”
Orlando thought that in this letter he saw the
struggle of its writer's mind, between something
which she fancied was love, with shame and re-
venge. She had been too much flattered at first
by the very unexpected acquisition of a young hus-
band, to own now, without reluctance, that he was
a savage who had robbed her under pretence of
marrying her, and who now confined her, that she
might not either discover his amours, of which
he was said to have a great number, or be tempted
through resentment of them, or her natural ill hu-
mour, to declare the conduct she had at his persua-
sion adopted; while her asking for Orlando's direc-
tion, and not seeming offended at his letter, per-
suaded him that she was pleased with the oppor-
tunity it gave her, to gratify the revenge which
was always in her power, while she knew where to
apply to one so much interested in the discovery
she could make.
Orlando now determined, since the servant as-
sured him there was no chance of his being admit-
ted to see her, to write to her again, and await her
answer at the inn the next day. He thought there


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 255
was an opening for suggesting to her much that he
had before omitted, and he had at all events as-
sured himself by the letter he was now in possession
of, that she was not mad; a plea which he per-
fectly understood her husband meant to set up
against the evidence she might otherwise bebrought
to give.
It was not difficult to engage the old beggar to
become his messenger on this occasion, nor to pre-
vail on Patty to give him the next letters she should
get from her mistress, on condition however that
her profits should not be lessened. He gave her
another present; comforted the beggar with an
earnest of his future generosity; and bidding him
come by daybreak the next morning for the bil-
let he intended to send to Mrs. Roker, he took
leave for that time of his two newly acquired
acquaintance, whom he left much better content
with the events of the day than he was—since,
whatever reason he had to believe that he might
recover his property, he felt with increase of an-
guish that he had no nearer prospect of recover-
ing Monimia. Determined however to lose no
opportunity of continuing his correspondence, he
sat down the moment he came to the inn, and
composed a very long letter, in which he enlarged
on the ill treatment of her husband, whose gallan-
tries he touched upon, affirming they were the
more unpardonable when compared with her merit,
and the obligations she had conferred upon him; he
hinted at the consequence of her being compelled
to appear, to answer upon oath to what she knew,
and entreated her to save him the pain of calling
into court as a party in secreting a will, a person
for whom he had so much regard and respect; and
he concluded with renewed offers of kindness in case
of her coming voluntarily forward to do him justice.
z 2


256 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
His wandering messenger was the next morning
punctual to his appointment; Orlando sent him
away with his letter; and notwithstanding his age
and his having but one leg, he returned again in
about two hours—but, to the infinite mortification
of Orlando, with a verbal message, which, though
it had passed through the memory of Mrs. Patty,
was very clearly delivered, and was to this effect—
That Madam had got the gentleman's letter; and
being prevented from writing at this present time,
begged him of all love to leave the country for fear
of accidents, and he might depend upon hearing of
her shortly. Not satisfied with this, Orlando now
paid his bill at the inn, and went down to the barn,
where he sent his vagabond ambassador to seek for
the maid to whom he owed the little progress he
had made. With some difficulty he found her, and
prevailed upon her to revisit the place of rendez-
vous, where she informed Orlando that Miss Sukey
had been watching about old mistress more than
ordinary, and that the poor woman was frightened
out of her wits lest Orlando's having written to her
should be known; wherefore, as Miss Sukey seemed
to suspect something, old Madam did entreat the
'squire not to stay thereabouts; because she should
in that case be more strictly confined, and never
should be able to write to him, which she now pro-
mised to do, if he would only leave the country.
As this was all the intelligence the disappointed
Orlando could now procure, he was compelled to
obey this unwelcome injunction, lest he should lose
all future advantage; and engaging by renewed
presents the fidelity and future assistance of his two
emissaries, he remounted his horse, and took the
road to Winchester. He now fell again into me-
lancholy reflections: every hour added to his des-
Pair about Monimia, and without her, life was not


Th E () LI) MANOR HOUSE. 257
in his opinion worth having. From these thoughts
a natural transition led him to consider the wonder-
ful tenacity with which those beings clung to life,
whose existence seemed to him only a series of the
most terrible sufferings:—beings, who exposed to
all the miseries of pain, poverty, sickness and fa-
mine; to pain unrelieved, and the feebleness of
age unassisted, yet still were anxious to live; and
could never, as he at this moment found himself
disposed to do—
“Reason thus with life:
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
Which none but fools would keep.”
Yet he had seen many die in the field, who neither
seemed to fear nor feel the stroke of that destiny
which miserable age still recoiled and crept away
from. The poor maimed wanderer, whose daily
wants he had for a little while suspended, was an
instance that the fear of death makes the most
wretched life supportable. In pursuing this train
of thought he arrived at Winchester, where he in-
tended to remain till the next day.
CHAPTER XX.
EARLY on the following morning Orlando left Win-
chester; but it was between three and four o'clock
before he arrived at that part of the New Forest
which is near Christchurch, and the frost, now set
in with great severity, had made the roads very dif-
ficult for a horse, especially the way which he was
directed to pursue, through the forest to the resi-
dence of Mrs. Fleming.—It was a deep, hollow road,
only wide enough for waggons, and was in some
places shaded by hazle and other brush-wood; in
Z 3


258 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
others, by oldbeech and oaks, whose roots wreathed
about the bank, intermingled with ivy, holly, and
ever-green fern, almost the only plants that appear-
ed in a state of vegetation, unless the pale and sal-
low misletoe, which here and there partially tinted
with faint green the old trees above them.
Orlando, as slowly he picked his way over the
rugged road, whose poached surface, now hardened
by the frost, hardly allowed a footing to his horse,
recollected the hunting parties in the snow, which
had amused him in America; but the scene on
each side of him was very different. The scanty
appearance of foliage was quite unlike an American
forest, where, in only a few hours after the severest
weather, which had buried the whole country in
snow, burst into bloom, and presented, beneath the
tulip tree and the magnolia, a more brilliant variety
of flowers than art can collect in the most cultivated
European garden. Orlando, however, loved Eng-
land, and had early imbibed that fortunate preju-
dice, that it is in England only an Englishman can
be happy; yet he now thought, that were he once
sure Monimia was lost to him (and his fears of
finding it so became every hour more alarming)
he should be more wretched in his own country
than in any other, since every object would remind
him of their cruel separation. In this disposition,
trying to accustom himself to reflect on a circum-
stance which now distracted him, he made a sort of
determination, that if all his endeavours to find
Monimia were baffled, as they had hitherto been,
he would remain only to see the termination of the
suit relative to the Rayland estate, in hopes of leav-
ing his mother, brother, and sisters, in a more
fortunate situation; and reserving for himself only,
as much as would support him in the itinerant life
he should embrace, to wander alone over Europe


THE OL, D M ANOR HOUSE, 259
and America. While he pursued these contempla-
tions, the way became almost impassable; for a
small current of water filtering through the rocky
bank, had spread itself over the road, and formed a
sheet of ice, on which his horse was every moment
in danger of falling, though the precaution had
been taken to turn the shoes.—He had before dis-
mounted, and now contrived to get his horse up
the least steep part of the hollow, and then, still
leading it by the bridle, he followed the foot-path
which led along its edge.
The tufts of trees and thick underwood now be-
came more frequent; and though it was a fine
clear evening, the winter sun, almost sunk beneath
the horizon, lent only pale and cold rays among
the intervening wood.—Orlando supposing, that
if he were benighted, he should no longer distin-
guish the path, quickened his pace; and the path
he followed, diverging a little from the horse road,
brought him to a place where the inequalities of
the ground, half shaded with brush-wood, shewed
that beneath it were concealed more considerable
fragments of ruins, than what appeared above
among the trees, from whence the masses of stone
were so mantled with ivy, they could hardly be
distinguished. The path which Orlando continued
to pursue, wound among them, and led under bro-
ken arches and buttresses, which had resisted the
attacks of time and of violence, towards an old
gateway, whose form was yet entire. -
Every thing was perfectly still around; even the
robin, solitary songster of the frozen woods, had
ceased his faint vespers to the setting sun, and hard-
ly a breath of air agitated the leafless branches.
This dead silence was interrupted by no sound,
but the slow progress of his horse, as the hollow .
ground beneath his feet sounded as if he trod on


260 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
, vaults. There was in the scene, and in this dull
pause of nature, a solemnity not unpleasing to
Orlando, in his present disposition of mind.—
Certain that the path he was pursuing must lead to
some village or farm-house, and little apprehensive
of the inconvenience that could in this country
befal a man accustomed to traverse the deserts of
America, he stopped a moment or two indulging
a mournful reverie, before he began to remove, in
order to make a passage for his horse, a kind of bar,
or rather broken gate, which, with thorns, and a
faggot or two piled under it, passed from one side
to the other of the broken arch, and made here,
with an hedge that was carried among the ruins, a
division of the forest, or perhaps one of its boun-
daries.
As he meditated here, he heard, not far from
him, human voices, which seemed to be those of
children; and, leaning over the bar, to see if he
could discern the persons who spoke, he observed
a female figure seated on a mass of fallen stone, and
apparently waiting for two girls, one about nine,
the other seven years old, who were prattling
together, as they peeped about in search of some-
thing among the fern-stacks and low tufts of broom
that were near. The woman, whose face was
turned towards them, seemed lost in thought—Her
straw bonnet was tied down close to her face, and
she was wrapped in a long black cloak; a little
basket stood by her, and her appearance, as well
as that of the children, was such as seemed to
denote, that though they were not of the peasantry
of the country, they were as little to be ranked
among its most affluent inhabitants.
Orlando, apprehending that the approach of a
stranger, in such a place, and at such a time, might
alarm so defenceless a party, proceeded with as


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 261
little noise as possible to unfasten the bar; but,
on his approach, the young woman arose, and in
apparent hurry said, Come, my loves! you forget
how late it is, and that your mamma will ex-
pect us.
The voice rivetted Orlando to the spot for a mo-
ment; he then involuntarily stepped forward, and
SaW Monimial
He repeated her name wildly, as if he doubted
whether he possessed his senses; and as he clasped
her to his bosom, and found it was indeed his own
Monimia, she was unable, from excess of pleasure
and surprise, to answer the incoherent questions he
asked her. Half frantic with joy as he was, he soon
perceived that the suddenness of this meeting had
almost overwhelmed her. Silent, breathless, and
trembling, she leaned on his arm, without having
the power to tell him, what he at length understood
from the two little girls, who had been at first
frightened, and then amazed at the scene—That
Monimia, or, as they called her, Miss Morysine,
was now, and had been for some time, under the
protection of that very Mrs. Fleming, the widow
of his gallant friend, whom he was now going to
visit. Neither of them knew how they arrived at
her humble retirement, a cottage among the woods
fitted up and enlarged with two additional rooms
by a sea officer, the distant relation of Fleming,
who was now in America, and who had lent this
pleasant, solitary house as a shelter to his widow
and her children.—Nor was it for some time pos-
sible for Orlando properly to explain to Mrs. Flem-
ing who he was, or how different those motives
were, which induced him now to see her, from any
hope of finding, in the pious office of visiting the
family of his deceased friend, the sole happiness
of his life.


262 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
When at length, amid this disjointed and broken
conversation, Mrs. Fleming was brought not only
to recollect the young man, who, on her husband's
embarkation for America, had taken so much pains
to be useful to him, in the trying moment of sepa-
ration from his family, but to acknowledge him who
had actually received his last breath, and now
brought her his dying blessing; her own afflictions,
to a lively sense of which Orlando's account of
Fleming's death had awakened her, prevented her,
for some time, from attending to the unexpected
happiness of her young friends. Unable to hear,
with composure, the account which Orlando held
himself bound to give, yet solicitously asking ques-
tions, the answers to which made her heart bleed
afresh, Mrs. Fleming at length requested leave to
retire: and taking her children with her, Monimia
was left at liberty to give to the impatient Orlando
the account he so eagerly desired to hear, of what
had happened to her since the date of the only
letter he had ever received from her, which was
written not more than six weeks after his depar-
ture.—She doubted of her own strength to give,
and of his patience to hear this recital: but he ap-
peared so very solicitous, that she determined to
attempt it; and while his eyes were ardently fixed
on her face, and watched every turn of her expres-
sive features, which, though she was pale and thin,
Orlando thought more lovely than ever, she thus
in a soft and low voice began:
As well as I can recollect, Orlando, I related to
you, in my long letter, the troublesome and imper-
tinent intrusion of Sir John Belgrave; and Selina
has told you since, that, as he carried his persecu-
tions so far as to come into the house, and endea-
vour to force his way into my room, I was under
the necessity of telling my aunt how he found ad-


Tih E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 263
mittance, and of betraying a secret I had so man
reasons to wish might never have been discovered.
—Alas! Orlando, how much did I not suffer from
the bitterness of her reproaches | sufferings which
were sharpened by my being compelled to acknow-
ledge, that I had in some measure deserved them,
by having carried on a correspondence contrary to
what I knew was my duty.—Indeed the punishment
I now underwent, from day to day, seemed some-
times much heavier than the crime deserved;
especially when my aunt, to whom my moving was
inconvenient (though certainly, in that great house,
there was room enough for me without interfering
with her), began to make the discovery, I had thus
been compelled to make, an everlasting theme of re-
proach to me: to say, that such a cunning, intriguing
creature was not fit to be in any house, and to
threaten me continually to ruin you, Orlando, with
Mrs. Rayland, by blowing us up, as she was pleased
to term it. All this I bore, however hard it was to
bear, with silence, and, I hope, with patience,
flattering myself, my dear friend that the anger
we had perhaps mutually deserved would thus be
exhausted on me, and that I alone should be the
victim, if a victim were required: yet, when my
cruel aunt, unmoved by my resignation and sub-
mission, seemed so desirous of getting rid of me,
that I believe she would have been glad to have
sold me to Sir John Belgrave; and when she insist-
ed upon my consenting to marry him, though I
do not believe he ever intended it, and only made
that a pretence for getting me into his power; I
own there were moments, when in absolute des-
pair, I thought it would hardly have been criminal
to have put an end to a life so very insupportable;
mor could I, I think, have lived, if some of those
books you taught me to read, and tounderstand, had


264 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
not instructed me, that it was impious to murmur
or resist the dispensations of Providence, who knew
best what we were able to bear.—Perhaps too, the
hope, the dear hope of living in your affection,
and of being beloved by you, however hard my
lot, lent me a portion of fortitude, for which,
surely, nobody ever had more occasion: for in
proportion, Orlando, as Mrs. Lennard became
attached to that odious Roker, the little affection
she had ever shewn me declined, and was changed
into dislike and hatred.—She was sometimes so
much off her guard, as to suffer her excessive and
ridiculous attachment to him to diminish her atten-
tion to her mistress, and on these occasions, I used
to supply her place;—yet then, if Mrs. Rayland
seemed pleased with my attendance, she would
quarrel with me for attending, and say, that she
supposed the next thing such an artful slut would
think of, would be to supplant her with her lady;
and then again she would threaten to blow
you up.
Indeed, I believe, that no situation could be less
enviable than that of my poor aunt was at this time;
for though certainly, at her age, one would have
thought she might have been exempt from suffer-
ing much pain from love, she did really appear so
tormented by her excessive passion for Roker, and
her fears of losing him, that she was an object of
pity.—If I was below with her lady, while she
was with him, then she was afraid of my getting
into favour with Mrs. Rayland; and if I was above,
and he was in the house, she was in terror lest so
intriguing a creature should carry off her lover.
When I so firmly resisted all the insidious offers of
Sir John Belgrave, she doubted whether this delec-
table Mr. Roker was not the cause of it; and even
when he happened to come into the room where


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 265
I was, though she was present, she turned pale
with jealousy, and, I suppose, tormented the man
who, though one of the most horrid-tempered mon-
sters existing, commanded himself so much, that
he bore it all with an apparent increase of affection;
and pretending, in his turn, to be jealous, said,
that he could not bear to divide her affections even
with me.
I saw that they were determined to get rid of
me, but could not immediately settle how ; for
though Roker, from time to time, started some
plan for that purpose, the lady, always suspecting
that he liked me, was fearful lest he should only
divide me from her, to secure me to himself.
Execrable villain! cried Orlando starting up—
he dared not think of it.
Be patient, Orlando, or Ishall never have courage
to go on. I know not what was in his imagination,
though certainly he took every opportunity of
making very improper speeches to me; but detest-
able as I believe his morals are, his avarice is
greater than any other of his odious passions; and
this he found he might gratify, when the success of
any other was uncertain; and therefore he affected
to be as anxious as my aunt was, to remove me
from Rayland Hall.
Ah, my dear friend, what an autumn was that I
passed there ! yet my fate, dreary as it appeared to
me, was not then at the worst; I had still some
sweeteners of my melancholy existence; for I
sometimes met Selina, and wept with her; and
sometimes, when I was convinced Sir John Belgrave
no longer lingered about the park (where for many
weeks I could never go without being insulted by
him,) I used to get out alone; and stealing away to
some of those places we used to visit together, I
would lean my head against a tree, or hide my face
VOL., XXXVII. A A


266 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
with my hands, and listening, with closed eyes, to
the sounds that were then familiar to us, used to
fancy I heard your footsteps among the leaves, or
your voice whispering in the air that sighed among
the trees. Once, at the old seat on the Hurst hill,
I saw your name, so lately cut as the very day be-
fore you went away; and could I have wept on the
letters, I believe the tears I afterwards shed there
would have worn them out.—I took a fancy to the
place, which nobody else ever thought of frequent-
ing; and often as autumn came on, and the days
grew short, I staid till I was frightened at being out
so late, and have run home terrified at every noise.
—If a pheasant flew up, or an hare darted across
the path, they threw me into such terrors, that I
could hardly reach the house. On these occasions,
all was well if my aunt's Adonis was with her; but
if it happened that he was out when I was, she took
it into her head that we were together, or that we
might meet, and then she was, I really believe, out
of her senses. Very unluckily for me, I came in one
evening later than usual, breathless with my foolish
fears, and found my poor aunt in terrible agitation,
because Mr. Roker had promised her to be in at tea-
time, and he was not yet arrived.—She questioned
me sharply where I had been; and I said in the mill
wood, which was the truth; for I had that even-
ming met Selina. She asked me, with still more as-
perity, if I had not met somebody? The consci-
ousness that I had, made me blush, I believe, very
deeply, and I faltered as I said No ! In a moment
Roker came in, half drunk, and the poor old lady
flew at him like a turkey-cock, and aked him
which way he came? As he was less upon his good-
behaviour than usual, he said, Cameſ why I came
by the mill; which way should I come from the
place where I have been 2–This confirmed, she


Th E (). LD MANOR HOUS1. 267
thrust me out of the room, and ordering me to go
up stairs to bed that moment, she threw herself into
a fit, as Rebecca told me afterwards. I do not know
how Mr. Roker contrived to appease her—she was
reconciled to him the next day; but I was the vic-
tim, and was, after that time, forbidden to go out
without her leave. This, hard as it was, I could
still have borne, because it was just at that time Mrs.
Rayland seemed to grow particularly kind to me;
and to have even a degree of pleasure in talking to
me of you. It was now time to expect to hear from
you, and I observed her anxiety every day increase.
—She often sighed when she spoke of you; and
once said, that her house seemed to have lost all its
cheerfulness since you had left it;-and often she
would look at an old enamelled picture of Sir Or-
lando, her grandfather, and, comparing his features
with yours, admire the likeness—then, again, regret
your absence, and sink into low spirits. Indeed her
health seemed every day to decline: and I some-
times thought she was discontented with Mrs. Len-
nard, though from long habit she was more entirely
governed by her than ever. Pattenson's having
dealt so largely in smuggled goods, and having
even made her house a receptacle for them, was
discovered by his not being able or willing to bribe
a new officer who succeeded some of his old friends,
and who, upon that Jonas Wilkins's turning in-
former, came one night to the Hall, and made a
seizure of about two hundred pounds worth of spi-
rits, tea, and lace: a thing that offended Mrs. Ray-
land extremely, as she thought it derogatory to her
dignity, and a profanation of her cellars, which, as
we know, (and Monimia faintly smiled) are imme-
diately adjoining to the family vault of the Raylands.
This, and other things, particularly some of his
amours, which now came to her knowledge, had oc-
A A 2


268 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
casioned her to dismiss Pattenson, and to think
higher of you for the pains Pattenson had taken to
prejudice her against you: but the dismission, and
soon afterwards the death of Pattenson, and the dis-
grace of the old coachman, who was a party con-
cerned in this contraband business (and who had
besides displeased Mrs. Rayland by setting up a
whisky, and dressing his daughters in the most ex-
pensive fashion), threw the old lady more than ever
into the power of my aunt; though, how she es-
caped being included in the charge, I never could
imagine: I know she was acquainted with, and I be-
lieve she was concerned in the clandestime trade
which had for so many years been carried on at
Rayland Hall; but probably Pattenson dared not
impeach her, lest, though he might ruin her, he
should at the same time provoke her to discover
some things in his life which would have effectually
cut him off from that portion of favour he still pos-
sessed with Mrs. Rayland; who, angry as she was
with him, stocked the farm he retired to, furnished
his house, and continued to him almost every ad-
vantage he enjoyed at the Hall, except the oppor-
tunity of making it a receptacle for smuggled goods.
However that was, my aunt certainly continued
to have great influence over Mrs. Rayland, though
I often thought it was more through habit than love;
and I am persuaded that if she had not always
guarded against the inclination which Mrs. Rayland
at times betrayed to take your mother and sisters
into favour, they would by degrees have acquired
that ascendancy over her from their own merit,
which Mrs. Lennard had now only from habit—But
my aunt was too cunning to give them an opportu-
nity: and that, I believe, was partly the reason why
she was so afraid of my being taken into Mrs Ray-
land's kindness, since nothing was more natural than.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 269
for me to speak in their favour. She need not, how-
ever, have dreaded this; for, however willing or
anxious I might be, my awe of Mrs. Rayland was
too great for me to aspire to the character of her
confident: and she looked upon me as a mere child.
—Probably our ages differed too much to allow any
great sympathy between us—and I could give her
no other pleasure than by attending to the stories
she used to love to repeat, of the days of her youth.
—But Mrs. Lennard, though by no means desirous
of being herself the auditor, and never easy but
when she could remain unmolested with her dear
Mr. Roker, was still jealous lest her lady should
feel any degree of kindness for me; and, I believe,
by imputing to me faults which Mrs. Rayland took
her word for, contrived gradually to get her consent
to my going apprentice, under the idea of my be-
ing enabled to get my own bread honestly in busi-
ness; while she obviated the inconvenience of my
departure by introducing anew servant to be about
her lady, who was entirely devoted to her own inter-
est—and kept away the old cook as much as she
could, whom Mrs. Rayland never would part with,
but whom my aunt feared and disliked, because she
was an honest blunt creature, who never feared
speaking her mind, and was particularly a friend of
yours, as you may, I am sure, recollect. Latterly
she became more than usually disagreeable to my
aunt and Roker, because she used to rejoice in the
thought that her dear young captain would one
day or other be master of the Hall; and when Len-
mard angrily asked her how she dared talk of any
one's being master of the Hall while her lady lived?
she replied, that she dared talk so, because Madam
herself had told her so.
And where, my Monimia, is this good old friend
of mine now? said Orlando—Her evidence may be
A A 3 º
/


270 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
of great importance to us.-Alas! replied she, I
know not : I only heard from your sister, that Dr.
Hollybourn, who acted as executor to the only will
that was produced, immediately discharged all the
servants, giving to each of them a present above
the two years' wages which Mrs. Rayland had in
that will given to each of the inferior ones; and,
with many good words, got as many as he could of
them into other services, at a distance from the
country—But I recollect that the cook had rela-
tions in the neighbourhood of the Hall, of whom,
I dare say, intelligence about her may be procured.
Ah, dear Orlando if the account I have already
given you of my unhappy life after your departure
has affected you, what will you feel when I relate
what passed afterwards, to which all my preceding
sufferings were nothing !—It is true that, as 1 lay
listening of a night to the howling of the wind in
the great melancholy room at the end of the north
gallery, where I was locked up every night, I have
frequently started at the visions my fancy raised;
and as the dark green damask hangings swelled
with the air behind them, I have been so much
terrified as to be unable to move or to summon to
my recollection all the arguments you were wont to
use against superstitious fear—Then too I have been
glad even to hear the rats as they raced round the
skirting boards, because it convinced me there were
some living creatures near me, and helped me to
account for the strange moises I sometimes heard.
As winter came on, my misery in this great room
became worse and worse; and such was my terror,
that I could hardly ever sleep—I once contrived to
get candles, and set up a light in my room; but :
this only served to shew me the great grim picture .
over the chimney, of one of the Rayland family in
armour, with a sword in his hand: and I was .


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 271
indeed, besides this, effectually cured of wishing
for a light on the second night I tried it—for a
party of my friendly rats, perceiving the candle,
which was to them a delicate treat, took it very
composedly out of the socket, and began to eat the
end of it which was not alight.—This compelled me
to leave my bed to put it out, and them to flight;
while the terror I suffered was only increased by
this attempt to mitigate it.—Good God! how weak
I was to add imaginary horrors to the real calami-
ties of my situation; rather than try to acquire
strength of mind to bear the evils from which I.
could not escape --
It was at this time that Sir John Belgrave,
who, on finding his insulting proposals treated with
the contempt they deserved, had left the country
for some time, returned thither; and as Jacob, his
confident, could no longer find means to put his
letters in my way, or to harass and alarm me by
coming to the door of the turret, he changed his
plan, and pretended that his views were highly
honourable. In a letter to my aunt he entreated
her interest with me, and that she would prevail
upon me to see him: and then it was, Orlando, that
my sufferings were almost beyond the power of
endurance.
What exclaimed Orlando, was the infamous
woman base enough then to betray you to this
villain 2
Have patience, I entreat you, Orlando!—She be-
trayed me then, so far as to insist upon my seeing
Sir John, and hearing what I had to say.
Eternal curses blast them both ! exclaimed Or-
lando:—but I terrify you, my angel!
You do, indeed, answered Monimia; and I shall
never, Orlando, conclude my mournful narrative,
if you will not be more calm.


272 THE OLD MANOR hio USE.
I will, replied he, at least I will try at it—Pray
go on.
I resisted this proposal of seeing Sir John Bel-
grave for many days; till my aunt, enraged at what
she called my stupid idiotism, declared to me that,
if I persisted to behave so senselessly, she would
relate to Mrs. Rayland all my clandestine meetings
with you, and then turn me out of the house to take
my own courses.—I would willingly have left the
house, and, rather than have undergone one day
longer the misery I hourly experienced, I would
have begged my way to you in America (Orlando
sighed and shuddered); but when my cruel aunt
threatened to take such means as I knew would ruin
you, and blast all those hopes on which alone I
lived, of seeing you return to happiness and inde-
pendence, I own I could not bear to hazard it, and
at length consented to see this detested suitor—not
without some hope that my peremptory refusal re-
peated (for I had already given it him in writing)
might put an end to all his hateful pretensions. A
day therefore was fixed: but Sir John, either re-
penting that he had gone so far, or from some
caprice, wrote to my aunt to say he was that day
sent for express to London, to attend a dying rela-
tion from whom he expected a great acquisition of
fortune. This might be true—I cared not whether
it was or mo, but blessed the fortunate relief from
persecution. In the interim your father, who was
taken ill some time before, died.—Oh! how much
did I see Selina suffer during his illness—how much
did I suffer myself! and all was aggravated to an
indescribable degree of wretchedness, by our be-
lieving that you, Orlando, were lost in your passage
to America!—If I thought my former condition in-
supportable, what was the increase of my sorrows
now, when torn from the last consolation I had left,
8


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 273
that of weeping sometimes with Selina!—My aunt,
almost as soon as Sir John Belgrave had left the
country, informed me that she had found a person
at Winchester willing to take me for a small pre-
mium, and that I was to go the following Thursday.
—I never knew how all this was settled; but very
certain it is, that it was arranged between her,
her lover Mr. Roker, and Sir John Belgrave. She
was impatient to have me gone; and sent the old
cook, to take care of me, as far as Havant, where
Mrs. Newill, to whom I was consigned, met me,
and conducted me to a little miserable apartment,
which, with a small bow-windowed shop, she inha-
bited at Winchester, and where she was to teach
me a business which I soon found she did not know
herself. -
Mrs. Newill was said to have been well brought
up; but, if she were, her having long associated
with people in very inferior life had considerably
obliterated the traces of a good education; and the
inconvenient circumstances to which she had been
exposed, in consequence of having had a brutal
and extravagant husband, seemed at once to have
soured her temper, and relaxed her morals.-She
had some remains of beauty, and was fonder of
talking of its former power than I thought redound-
ed much to her honour.—Her husband had pos-
sessed a place in the dock-yard at Portsmouth,
from whence he had been dismissed for some heavy
offences; and lived now upon the wide world;
while his wife was, by the assistance of her friends,
trying to get into business to support herself; their
only son, a young man of twenty, was in the navy.
The greatest personal hardship I endured on
this my change of abode, was sleeping in the same
bed with Mrs. Newill, which I did for the first
week:—but fortunately for me, though it was pro-


274, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
bably much otherwise to her, her husband, believ-
ing she had money, for he had heard of her having
taken an apprentice, came suddenly to her house,
or rather lodging, and I was dismissed to a little
closet in a garret with a truckle bed: but it was
paradise compared with my share of Mrs. Newill's;
for now I could weep at liberty, and pray for you!
The arrival of such a man as Mr. Newill did not
much contribute to the prosperity of his wife's
business—Those who, from their former knowledge
of her, were willing to promote her welfare, grew
cold when they found their bounty served only to
support her husband in drunkenness, and her dis-
tress became very great, of which I was a sharer;
but I endeavoured to do all I could to continue
her business, which was now almost entirely neg-
lected.
This went on for six weeks, when a regiment
came thither to assist in guarding the prisoners at
the castle; and Sir John Belgrave suddenly made
his appearance, protesting to me, that he knew no-
thing of my being there, and only came down
on a visit to some of his friends in the newly arrived
corps.
I did not believe this, and found every day more
cause to suppose that Mrs. Newill's necessities had
driven her to the inhuman expedient of betraying
me to him. Though I had often ridiculed the stories
in novels where young women are forcibly carried
away, I saw great reason to believe some such ad-
venture might happen to me, for I was totally un-
protected, and I believe absolutely sold.
Orlando, starting up, traversed the room; nor
could, for some time, the soothing voice of Moni-
mia restore him to sufficient composure to attend
to her narrative.
At length his anxiety to know what he yet trem-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 275
bled to hear obliged him to reassume his seat, and
she thus proceeded:
Surely, Orlando, you do not suppose that any
distress, any misery, could have induced me to
listen to Sir John Belgrave, though, instead of the
advantages he affected to offer me, he could have
laid empires at my feet.—It is true that I now suf-
fered every species of mortification, and even
much personal inconvenience; but my heart felt
only the horrid tidings I received from Selina.
Mrs. Rayland's death, and the total disappointment
of your family's hopes, were very melancholy;
but when Perseus arrived, and your death, Orlan-
do, was confirmed by the testimony of a man who
had seen you fall, my wretchedness so much ex-
ceeded all that I believed it possible to bear, that I
became stupefied and insensible to every thing else,
and walked about without hearing or seeing the
objects around me. I never slept, but with the
aid of laudanum—I could not shed a tear, and my
heart seemed to be turned to marble. I had no-
body to hear my complaints, and therefore I did
not complain; and the only circumstance that
roused me from this state of mind, was the renewal
of Sir John Belgrave's visits, who after an absence
of seven or eight days, returned with new propo-
sals, and dared to triumph in the knowledge that
his rival, as he insolently called you, was no longer
in his way.
It was now, Orlando, that a new method was
ursued. He contrived, what was not indeed very
difficult, to gain over Mr. Newill to his interest.—
I was now treated with great respect—A room was
hired for me in the same house, and Mrs. Newill
offered me credit for any clothes I chose to have.
I, who was hardly conscious of my existence, who
mechanically performed the business of the day,


276 THE olD MANor Hous E.
and cared not whether I ever again saw the light
of the sun, refused her offers, and desired nothing
but that I might be protected from the affront of
Sir John Belgrave's visits. If I sat at work in the
shop he was there:—if I quitted it he came into
the work-room, under pretence of speaking to Mr.
Newill. I found that Newill was a wretch who
would have sacrificed a daughter of his own for a
few guineas, with which to purchase his favourite
indulgencies; and Sir John Belgrave scrupled not
to say, that, since I had refused his honourable
offers, he held it no dishonour to compel me, by
any means, to exchange my present wretched de-
pendence, for affluence and prosperity—that I
could not now have the pretence of constancy to
you, and that his excessive love for me would in
time induce me to return it.—Such were the terms
in which he pressed his suit, giving me at the
same time to understand that I was in his power.
But, liberal as I have reason to believe he was
to Mr. Newill, his debts were too numerous and
extensive to be so settled; and, in consequence of
one of these, to the amount of five hundred pounds,
he was arrested in London, and sent for his wife
to attend him in the King's-Bench.
This the unhappy woman prepared to do in two
or three days; and, in that time, made over the
little stock for sale to one of her friends, who had
advanced money for her.—But what was to become
of me?—As she had no longer a business, she
could have no occasion for an apprentice, and I
could be only a burthen to her; but I soon found
that it was her husband's directions that she should
take me with her, and I determined at all events
not to go.
I now again wrote to my cruel aunt, who though
she almost immediately after Mrs. Rayland's death
- 3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 277
settled within twelve miles of the town whither she
had sent me, had never taken any other notice of
me than to send me a small supply of clothes
and two guineas, together with a verbal message,
that the reason she had not answered any of my
former, nor should answer any of my future let-
ters, was, that she would not encourage in her
perverseness a person so blind to her own interest,
and that, till I knew how to behave to Sir John
Belgrave I should find no friend in her. It was
in vain I wrote to her, urging every plea that
I thought might move her, and soliciting her pity
and protection, as the only friend I had in the
world. She either hardened her heart against me,
or perhaps never got my letters. The business
that detained Mrs. Newill at Winchester, could
not be settled so expeditiously as she expected. In
the mean time, what a situation was mine ! I had
nothing to hope but death, and death only could
deliver me from the fear of evils infinitely more in-
supportable. Orlando, how earnestly did I pray
to join you in heaven! how often did I invoke you
to hear me! and casting towards the west my swol-
len eyes (for I was now able to weep in repeating
your name,) how often have I addressed the setting
sun, which, as it sunk away from our horizon,
might illuminate, I thought, that spot in the wil-
derness of America where all my happiness was
buried
Orlando kissed away the tears that now fell on
her lovely cheeks, and mingled his own with them;
when Monimia, after a little time, recovered her
voice, and went on—It was to indulge such me-
ditations, the only comfort I had, that I stole out
whenever, I could be secure that my persecutor
was with his military friends; and as I dared not
go far, the church-yard on that side of the cathedral
VOL., XXXVII, B B


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 79
his friends, and then, fiercely demanding what bu-
siness they had in that house, ordered them to leave
it; and, taking my hand, he said—I am ashamed,
gentlemen, of your treatment of this young woman
—Don’t be alarmed, miss—I will protect you.
I most willingly put myself into the protection
he offered, when Belgrave, enraged at being thus
addressed by a person whom he considered as so
much his inferior, uttered a great oath, and said—
And, pray, fellow, who are you? and what the devil
have you to do with this girl?—Master of my
mother's apartment, (replied the young sailor, who
I now understood was Mrs. Newill's son)—and an
Englishman . As the first, I shall prevent any ruf-
fian's insulting a woman here; as the second, I
shall defend her from insult any where.—You be
d—d cried Belgrave; you impudent puppy, do
you think that black stock makes you on a footing
with a gentleman?—Belgrave's companions had by
this time wisely retired; for, as I was not their pur-
suit, they saw no occasion to incur the danger of a
quarrel in it. The only answer the stranger gave
to this additional insolence of Belgrave was a vio-
lent blow which drove the aggressor against the side
of the wainscot, that in so narrow a room prevented
his falling; and then young Newill seizing him by
the collar, with a sudden jerk threw him out of the
room, and shut the door. The noise all this made
brought Mrs. Newill down stairs, who demanded of
her son what was the matter? He answered, that
some brutal officers, very drunk, had insulted a
young lady who had taken shelter in that room,
and whom he had rescued from their impertinence
by turning them out of it. His mother, in addi-
tional consternation, then turned to me, What! said
she, it was you, miss, was it? And I suppose the gen-
B B 2


280 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
tleman was Sir John Belgrave—Fine doings! And
so, William, this is the way you affront my friends?
I care not whose friends I affront, replied he: if
they behave like brutes to a woman, I would af-
front them if they were emperors. His mother,
who I am afraid had been solacing herself above
stairs with some of those remedies to which she
often applied for consolation, now began to cry and
lament herself; and, in her pathetic complaints,
bemoaned her ill luck that had given her an ap-
prentice that, so far from being an assistant, was
only a trouble to her, and did nothing but offend
her customers. Young Newill then, for the first
time, understood that I was this apprentice; and as I
sat weeping in a corner, I saw he pitied me—Come,
come, Madam, said he to his mother, no more of
this, if you please—nobody has offended your cus-
tomers; but, on the contrary, your customers, as
you call them, have offended me; let us look a lit-
tle after this good friend of yours, perhaps he may
have some farther commands for me—it is unhand-
some to sink such a fine fair-weather jack, without
lending a hand to heave him up. He then, in de-
spite of his mother's entreaties, opened the door;
but no Sir John Belgrave appeared, and the sailor
observed that he had set all his canvas and scudded
off. So now, dear mother, said he, pr’ythee let's
have no more foul weather: but let us sit down to
supper, for I'm sure this young woman must be glad
of something after her fright—poor little soul, how
she trembles still!—and you should remember that
I have rode from Portsmouth since dinner, and a sea-
man just come from two months' cruise must eat.
Mrs. Newill still however appearing to think more of
Sir John Belgrave than her son, he became pre-
sently impatient; and going out to a neighbouring


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 281
inn, he ordered a supper and some kind of wine or
punch; which being soon brought, Mrs. Newill
consented to partake of it, though she still behaved
to me with such rude reserve, that I would imme-
diately have retired, if young Newill had not in-
sisted on my sitting down to supper with them, and
I was too much obliged to him to refuse.
You were certainly obliged to him, said Orlando
in a hurried voice; but after such a scene I wonder
you were able to remain with these people—What
sort of a man is young Newill? Is he a well-looking
man?
Yes, replied Monimia, rather so; but I hardly
knew then how he looked—and in the scene I have
described, I rather recollected it afterwards, than
attended to it at the time.
Pardon me, interrupted Orlando, with quickness
—you must have attended to it at the time, or you
could not have recollected it afterwards. Have you
often seen this Mr. Newill since P What is become
of him now 2
He is gone to sea, replied Monimia.
You have not then seen him since 2
Yes, certainly I have—I saw him the next day.
Where? cried Orlando, impatiently.
I was obliged, answered Monimia, because, Mrs.
Newill was now going immediately to join her im-
prisoned husband, to be up early to pack up some
things in the shop for the person who had bought
them; and while I did it, all my sorrows pressing
with insupportable weight on my mind, and above
all, your loss, Orlando—I wept as I proceeded in
my task of tying up band-boxes and parcels, and
yet I hardly {. I wept; when young Newill en-
tered the place where I was, and offered to help me
—Good God! said he, you are crying ! He took
my hand, it was wet with tears.
B B 3


282 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
And he kissed them off, cried Orlando, again
wildly starting from his chair, I know he did—yes!
this stranger, infinitely more dangerous than Bel-
grave . . . . .
Oh! dear Orlando, said Monimia, with a deep
and tremulous sigh, what is it you suspect me of?
Do not, I beseech you, destroy me as soon as we
have met, by suspicions, which indeed if you will
hear me with patience . . . . . .
Go on, Monimia, said he, recovering himself—
go on, and I will be as patient as I can—but this
Newill—Always, said Monimia, behaved to me
like the tenderest brother, and it is to him alone I
am indebted for the safety and protection I have
found. Yet it is true, Orlando, and I will not at-
tempt to conceal it from you, that young Newill
in this first interview professed himself my lover;
but when I assured him that all my affections were
buried with you, that it was out of my power to
make him any other return to the regard he ex-
pressed for me, than gratitude; and if he would
be so much my friend as to influence his mother,
either to prevail upon my aunt to receive me, or
to let me remain with any creditable person in the
country, instead of taking me to London (where
I had too much reason to believe I was to be ex-
posed anew to the persecutions of Sir John Bel-
grave), I should be eternally indebted to him—
this he promised to undertake, and seemed to ac-
quiesce in my refusal of his addresses, which had
I been capable of listening to them, it would have
been very indiscreet on his part to have pursued;
for he was possessed of nothing but the pay of a
midshipman, and out of that little had often con-
tributed to relieve the distresses of his parents;
and now on hearing of his father's confinement,
immediately after his return from a cruise, in which


the old MANor house. 283
the frigate he was on board had taken two small
prizes, he hastened to their assistance; and bearing
with sailor-like philosophy all present evils, and
never considering those of the future, he was treat-
ing for the advance of his pay for the next half year,
in order to enable his mother to discharge some
debts for which her creditors were very clamorous,
before she left the town. Yet did he, under such
circumstances, think very seriously of a wife—I
believe that he supposed the dejection of my spirits
was rather owing to my forlorn situation, than to
an attachment which he had no notion of as ex-
isting after the death of its object, and that I should
gradually be induced to listen to his love.
Yet, cried Orlando warmly, yet you talk of the
brotherly and of the disinterested regard of this
new friend of yours.
It was so in effect, Orlando, and I did not too
minutely inquire into the motive of his conduct.
Allow me to go on and you will own that we are
both much obliged to him. When he fully under-
stood the nature of my situation, my invincible
aversion to Sir John Belgrave, and my fears,
which, mortifying as they must be to him, I could
not help expressing, lest his father should prevail
on Mrs. Newill to betray me entirely into his
power—he expressed in his rough sea language so
much pity for me, and so much indignation at the
conduct of his family, that I became persuaded I
might trust him. But alas! I had nothing to en-
trust him with—no means of escape from the evils
I dreaded to propose to him—except Mrs. Roker,
I had no friend or relation in the world.—I had
written three letters to Selina, but I received no
answer—and she too had, I feared, by the troubles
of her own family, been compelled to appear for
a while unmindful of her unhappy Monimia.--—


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 285
dutiful behaviour had not a little contributed to
derange the faculties of my worthy relation. I
could have answered, that her faculties were cer-
tainly deranged when she married Mr. Roker;
but I had no opportunity to make this observation
if I had had courage enough—for the woman shut
the door in my face, repeating in very rude terms,
that any visits there would be to no purpose.
Thus driven from the habitation of my only
relation, I returned more broken-hearted than I set
out to Winchester.—And your protector, I suppose,
renewed his solicitations by the way? said Or-
lando. -
No, indeed, answered Monimia, he had too much
sensibility; and whatever he might intend for the
future, he too much respected the grief into which
this cruel repulse had plunged me. The next day
but one he was to go back to his duty, with a
young shipmate who was visiting his mother then
at Southampton, who was to call upon him, that
they might return together. While I was yet un-
determined what to do, time passed away, and this
comrade of Mr. Newill's arrived. It was young
Fleming, the eldest son of your friend, whom his
mother's relation, an old captain of a man of war,
had taken from Winchester college at eighteen,
and adopted at his father's death upon condition
of his becoming a sailor—a condition which Mrs.
Fleming, who had so recently lost her husband,
lamented, but dared not oppose. War had just
deprived her of her first support; yet him on whom
she next relied she was compelled to part with for
the same dreadful trade, because her pension, as
a lieutenant's widow, which was almost her sole
dependence, was very insufficient for the support
of her four other children; the two little girls you
saw with me this night, another yet younger, and


286 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
her second boy, whom her relation partly supports
at an academy, intending him also for the sea—
and who would have been so much offended, had
she thwarted him in regard to taking the eldest son
from college, that he would have renounced the
whole family.
To this young man, who was his most intimate
friend, Newill communicated, but not without first
asking my permission, the difficulties I was under:
concealing however those circumstances that seem-
ed to reflect so much disgrace on his mother. They
consulted together what I could do ...
Excellent and proper counsellors truly! exclaim-
ed Orlando impatiently.
Less improper than you imagine, replied Moni-
mia. Fleming had not, like Newill, been so long
at sea as to acquire that steadiness of mind which
enables men of that profession to look on all per-
sonal danger with indifference, and on moral evil
as a matter of course. But yet, recollecting not
only his classics, but the romances he had delight-
ed in at school, he had that natural and acquired
tenderness of mind which made him sensible at
once of all the discomforts of my situation. He
saw in me a poor, deserted heroine of a novel, and
nothing could be in his opinion so urgent as my
relief–Accustomed in all emergencies to apply to
his mother, to whom he is the most affectionate
and dutiful of sons . . . .
What is become of this Fleming? inquired Or-
lando, is he often at home with his mother |
No; he went almost immediately after my first
becoming acquainted with her, to the East-Indies—
but your impatience, Orlando, will not let me con-
clude my sad story. Fleming seeing the affair in
the light I have described, settled with his friend
Newill that the latter should return alone to the


288 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
your mother, is almost her counterpart. It is suf-
ficient if I tell you that Mrs. Fleming not only im-
plicitly believed my melancholy story, but, as no-
thing immediately occurred to her for my perma-
nent relief, determined to take me home with her,
till some eligible situation could be found. When
she had been a little accustomed to me, she would
not part with me; I have been so happy as to
make myself useful to her and her children; and
in acquitting myself as far as I could of my debt of
gratitude, I have found the best and only defence
against that regret and anguish which devoured
me. She had sorrows enough of her own; I for-
bore therefore to oppress her with mine, and I tried
to be calm when I could not be cheerful; but when
the conversation turned on the loss she had sus-
tained in her husband, I mingled my tears with
hers, and wept for Orlando.
Orlando, forgetting in this tender confession the
little jealousies he had felt, while he considered her
liable to the addresses of a rival, now pressed her
fondly to his heart; and seeing her quite overcome
by the fatigue of relating so long a narrative, and
the violence of those emotions she had so lately
experienced, consented to leave her, and they
parted for the night; though Orlando could not
wish her good night without protesting to her that
he would never again consent to be separated from
her even for a day; for that if ever he was absent
from her again, the insolent Sir John Belgrave
would incessantly pursue her in imagination, and
he should believe her exposed again to dangers
and insults which it almost drove him to madness
to recollect she had already endured.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 289
CHAPTER XXV, TXXL
IN retiring to the room Mrs. Fleming had ordered
to be prepared for him, Orlando attempted not to
sleep, but his imagination was busied in considering
how, since he had so unexpectedly found Monimia,
he might escape the misery of ever again parting
with her. Poor as he was, he had long since de-
termined that if she was restored to him, he would
marry her, and trust to Providence, and his own
exertions, for her support:—and since he had
heard all the dangers, trials, and insults, to which
her unprotected and desolate situation had made
her liable, he could not bear to think of ever quit-
ting her again, even for a day.
Yet, circumstanced as he was, their immediate
union was attended with innumerable difficulties:
his mother would, he feared, be secretly averse,
though she might not openly oppose it; and as
to deceiving her, he would not think of it.
Monimia, being under age, could not be mar-
ried without the consent of her aunt, her only re-
lation, which he knew it would be impossible to
obtain; and all the other impediments were in the
way which occur in regard to a minor, and which
there seemed no ways of obviating but by a journey
to Scotland. Yet the business of the disputed will,
so very important to him, was to come on, as he
believed, the ensuing Term, and it was to begin
in a few days; a consideration that, added to the
expense of such a journey, out of his little fortune,
which was reduced within an hundred and fifty
pounds, made him hesitate concerning an expedi-
tion so distant and expensive. After long debates
with himself, he recollected that Warwick had been
married to Isabella at Jersey or Guernsey; and as
VOL. XXXVII. C C
*


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 291
They remained with their respectable friend only
two days. It was now time for Orlando to be in
London, and they hastened thither, too happy to
reflect on what was to become of them, and with
no other solicitude on their minds, than what arose
from the idea of their first meeting with Mrs. Some-
rive.—And this dwelt more on the spirits of Orlan-
do, than he chose to communicate to his wife.
On their arrival in town, he ordered the chaise to
the chambers of his friend Carr, as he would not
abruptly introduce Monimia to his mother. He
went alone to procure a lodging in the neighbour-
hood of his family; which being easily found, they
... took possession of it in the evening—as Orlando re-
quired yet some time to prepare himself for disclos-
ing a secret, which he still feared, manage it how
he would, might give pain to his mother.
About one o'clock, however, the following morn-
ing he went to Howland-street. His mother, who
had been very uneasy at his long absence, received
him with even more than her usual affection; but
her expressions of pleasure at seeing him, were
mingled with tears. All that had happened to his
brother, had come to her knowledge; and to his
excessive concern, he heard that Philip, after apply-
ing to his mother for money, with which she could
not supply him, had again disappeared, and was, as
they had reason to believe, again imprisoned.
In beholding his mother under such depression
of mind, he could not determine to inform her of
what might possibly add to it; but instead of
speaking to her of Monimia, as he intended, he en-
deavoured to appease the agony of her mind about
Philip, whom he promised to find, and gave her
hopes that they should succeed in the recovery of
the Rayland estate. To Selina alone he communi-
cated his recent marriage; and found with addi-
C C 2


292 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
tional concern, that she dreaded the effect this intel-
ligence would have on her mother, who was al-
ready overwhelmed with anxiety for her eldest
son, and whose maternal grief had been lately
awakened by having heard that her daughter Isa-
bella was certainly living in one of the American
islands with her husband, long after they had been
given over for lost:—yet, as she had never heard
from them, she concluded that her daughter, if yet
living, was totally estranged from her family, or re-
gardless of their distress; a reflection not less bitter
than it was to consider her as dead. The doubt of
what was really her fate, proved perhaps more
distressing than any certainty. With all this, were
Orlando's marriage to be discovered to her, while
she was continually expressing her anxiety how he
would himself be supported, Selina dreaded the con-
sequence of her uneasiness; and therefore entreated
Orlando to defer the discovery at least for a few
days, in hopes that something favourable might
happen; while she herself expressed the warmest
solicitude to see and embrace Monimia, as her be-
loved sister; and they agreed that Orlando should
find some pretence to take her the next day out
with him, and carry her to his lodgings for that
purpose.
With an heavy heart he now returned to Monimia,
who anxiously expected him.—A poor dissembler,
he could not conceal from her the state of his mind;
but he led her to believe it was rather owing to the
new distress occasioned by Philip's disappearance,
than to any doubts as to her reception by his mother.
Her gentle and soothing conversation was the only
balm for his wounded heart; and while he felt him-
self unhappy, he considered how much less so he...
was now; than when, in addition to the calamities of
his family, he had the loss of his Monimia, to,
* * *


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 293
iament, and the dread of all those evils to which
her desolate state exposed her.
As soon as he had dined, he set out, in pursuance
of his promise to his mother, to find Philip; but
while Carr sent his clerk, and went himself to some
of the places where it was but too probable he was
to be found, Orlando himself visited another; but
when they met at night at Carr's chambers, all
their inquiries were found equally fruitless; and
they agreed, that if this unhappy young man was,
as there was too much reason to believe, in con-
finement, he had taken precautions not to be disco-
vered. With this unsatisfactory intelligence, Or-
lando, late as it was, went back to his mother; but,
assuring her he would never rest till he had found
out and relieved his brother, he told her, that as he
must now be constantly engaged with Mr. Carr, in
arranging the business of the law-suit, and must be
at his chambers early in a morning, he had taken a
lodging near him, the time of going so far as from
Howland-street to the inn of court being more than
he could now spare. This accounted for his ab-
sence tolerably well; yet his heart smote him for
this temporary deception, which was however, con-
sidering his circumstances at this juncture, only a
pious fraud. -
Another, another, and another day passed away
without any news of Philip; and, to § to the vex-
ation of Orlando, he found new difficulties likely to
arise in his suit. Old Roker, to whom subornation
of perjury was familiar, and every other infamous
device which an unprincipled villain could be guilty
of, had not only .. the usual method of gaining .
time by artificial delays, but was, it was feared,
putting it out of Mrs. Roker's (Lennard's) power
to give her testimony against the will that had been
proved, by making her a lunatic; he was infamous
C c 3


294, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
enough to have taken still more decisive means of
quieting both her conscience and her evidence, if
they had not been rendered less eligible by the cir-
cumstance of great part of her income having been
left her for life only. -
Carr, who had all the zeal of a young man for his
client, and was perfectly convinced, from the sub-
stance of Mr. Walterson's report, that there had
been another will, was yet doubtful of their success
against the impudence and chicane of the Rokers;
supported by two such powerful motives, as their
own interest, and the purse of a rich body of clergy.
Orlando therefore saw with anguish of mind his own
little fund dwindling away, without any certainty
that such part of it as went to the payment of law
expenses would ever be repaid him: and the sad
idea of Monimia in as great poverty as that from
which he had rescued her, continually corroded his
heart; while she, from his long delay in presenting
her to his mother, and from the knowledge she had
of his little fortune, perceived but too clearly, in a
depression of spirits which he could not always dis-
guise, what were his fears. These she tried to dis-
sipate, by assuming herself an air of cheerfulness—
I have always been used to work, Orlando, said she
—you know that I never was brought uptoany other
expectation—where then will be the difficulty or the
hardship of my employing myself to assist in our
mutual support? and surely it will be better to
begin now, than to wait till our necessities become
more pressing. Since I shall not disgrace your fa-
mily by it; since I am unknown to every body but
Selina, who has too much sense to love me less, why
should I not directly engage in what sooner or later
I must, I ought to have recourse to : Orlando,
who thought that all the world ought to be at the
feet of a creature whose mind seemed to him even


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 295
more lovely than her person, was so hurt and mor-
tified whenever she thus expressed herself, that she
by degrees ceased to repeat it; but as he was now
very much out with Carr, she contrived in his ab-
sence to apply to a very considerable linen ware-
house in the neighbourhood, the proprietors of
which at first trusted her with articles of small va-
lue to make; by degrees she acquired their confi-
dence; and, by the neatness and punctuality of her
performance, entered soon into constant employ-
ment.—Orlando saw her always busy; but he made
no remarks on what occupied her; and without
shocking his tenderness or his pride, she was thus
enabled to add a little to the slender stock on which
depended their subsistence. Thus in continual
combats with himself, whether he ought not to ac-
quaint his mother with his situation, in fruitless in-
quiries after his brother, and in hopes and fears
about the event of his suit, passed the first six weeks
of his marriage. Term was now over, and the dis-
covery of the true will of Mrs. Rayland did not seem
to be at all nearer than when he first undertook it.
Encouraged, however, by his friend Carr, to pro-
ceed, though he often trembled at the proofs that
came to his knowledge, of the successful villainy of
Roker, Orlando failed not to pursue such means as
his solicitor thought most requisite; and, amid all
the fatigue and disappointments of the law's delay,
which often baffled him where he most sanguinely
hoped for advantage, the tenderness, the sweetness
of Monimia soothed and tranquillized his troubled
spirits; and when he returned to her of an evening,
wearied with the contradictory opinions of counsel,
or tormented by trifling and unnecessary forms, he
seemed to be transported from purgatory to para-
dise, and forgot that, if some favourable event did
not soon occur, he should be unable to support this


296 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
adored being, to whom he was more fondly attach-
ed as an husband than he had been as a lover.
His mother who had been at first satisfied with
his reasons for absenting himself from her house,
now began (since his law business was, she thought,
for a while suspended) to express her uneasiness
that he no longer resided with her. To the expres-
sion of this discontent she was particularly excited
by her brother, Mr. w. whose boisterous
manners, though softened even to mean obsequious-
ness before his superiors, were still exerted to keep
in subjection the mild and timid spirit of his sister,
who considered herself besides as obliged to him,
because he had afforded her some small pecuniary
assistance, rather to preserve his own pride from
being wounded, than to oblige or serve her.
Orlando, extremely disgusted by the reception
he met with at the house of his uncle on his arrival
in London, had never again visited him; and had
avoided, as if by accident, meeting him at his mo-
ther's ; where he did not indeed often visit, being
become a much richer, and consequently a much
greater man, since he had been the ostensible pos-
sessor of a very lucrative contract, which he held
to so much advantage as reconciled him to the ne-
cessity of relinquishing a seat in parliament for a
Cornish borough, with which he had obliged some
of his powerful friends. He was not therefore a
representative of twenty or thirty electors, who had
been paid for their suffrages at so much a head; but
such were now his qualifications of purse and of
pride, that he was admitted to the cabals of those
who had the distinction of an M. P. after their
names; and was often closeted with the secretaries
of yet greater men, consulted on loans, let into the
secret of stocks, and was accommodated with scrip
and other douceurs with which those who deserve


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 297
well of government are gratified; he was besides a
director of an opulent company, and received, in
addition to the salary of the office, considerable pre-
sents from those who had favours to request. Mrs.
Woodford waddled about in the most valuable
shawls; mandarins and josses nodded over her chim-
neys; and pagodas and japans ornamented her
rooms. The two young ladies were both married:
the elder to a merchant, who was a sharer in some
of the fortunate adventures of his father-in-law, and
besides in a flourishing business. His lady was one
of the elegant and fashionable women on the other
side Temple-bar; but the little circumstance of her
being compelled to live on that other side, continu-
ally embittered her good fortune: having been ac-
customed to see people who are called of rank, in
the early part of her life, she was so much flattered
by having acquired admission to some few now,
that she talked of nothing but lords. If she relat-
ed what happened at the opera, Lord Robert was
sitting by her at the time, and said so and so; if she
spoke of her losses or successes at cards, Lady
Frances or Lady Louisa were her party; and some-
times Sir James or Sir George betted on her side;
but whenever this equestrian order were introdu-
ced, she took care to impress upon the minds of her
audience, that she spoke of men who really bore
the arms of Ulster, and not of any paltry city
knight; whom, together with every thing in the
city, she held in sovereign contempt; having quite
forgotten herself, and desiring that every body else
should forget the preceding years, when she was a
wine-merchant's daughter in the Strand, and glad
of an hackney-coach to a benefit play; or supreme-
ly happy to be acquainted with any one who kept
their own carriage, and would take her to the other
end of the town.


298 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
The acquaintance and notice of General Tracy
had been almost their first step towards emerging
from middling life to the confines of fashion; there-
fore the lady now in question, and her sister, who
was become the wife of a counsellor in Lincoln’s-
inn-fields, were never able to forgive the Somerive
family, for having first fascinated the uncle, and
then the nephew, whose notice they had always
coveted, because he was among the first of those
who had obtained the name of a fashionable man
about town, and one whose approbation was deci-
sive in determining on the beauty and elegance of
the female candidates for general admiration.
Young Woodford too, though he had failed of
marrying the rich young Jewess, either because of
his indifference towards her, or of the preference
she gave at the time he was first acquainted with
her to Orlando, had since married the daughter of
a great underwriter, and was in high affluence.
The whole of the Woodford family being thus cir-
cumstanced, looked down with contempt on the
remains of that of Somerive; and, under the sem-
blance of pity, enjoyed their depression, particular-
ly that of Orlando, of whom, in talking of him to
his mother, Mr. Woodford affected to speak with
great concern.
'Tis of no use, said he, to remember what is
passed, since to be sure it only serves to vex one ;
but I must say, it was a thousand pities, sister Some-
rive, that you suffered this young man to refuse the
advantageous offer that I made him. If I had
taken him into my house, only think how different-
ly he would have been situated from what he is
now —God bless my soul, I declare 'tis a sad
thing !—In the first place, he would have been now
as well off as Martin my partner is now, which, let
me tell you, is no bad thing; besides that, as my


The old MANor House. 299
w
nephew, and in partnership with me, he might have
married, let me tell you, any woman of fortune in
the city, and might now be a man of the first con-
sideration; nay, in parliament for aught I know.—
Instead of that, what is the case now?—First of all,
there was waiting upon and coaxing that foolish,
º old woman, who after all # nothing for
im; but saw him set off with a brown musket, to
be shot at for half a crown a day, or whatever it is;
and then forsooth left her estate to a parcel of fat-
gut parsons, as if that would do her old squeezy
soul any good in tother world—For my part, I
don't desire to vex you—what is done, why, it can-
not be helped: only I must say that 'tis a devilish
kettle of fish altogether. Here, instead of this
young fellow's being an help to you, he is like, for
what I can see, to be a burthen. Since things are
as they are, I see no reason why he should be hu-
moured in idleness now, and, under pretence of
following up this law-suit, lounge away any more of
his time: as to the recovery of the Rayland estate,
you may as well sue for so many acres in the moon;
take my word for it, sister Somerive. -
This brutish speech being answered only by the
sighs and tears of the dejected auditor, her conse-
quential brother stopped a moment for breath, and
then proceeded:
However, don't be cast down : you know that
though my opinion has always gone for nothing, I
am always willing to serve you, sister: and so I
wish you would, before 'tis too late, and before
our youngest son goes the way of your eldest,
think a little of making him do something to get
himself on in the world:—for my part, and I'm sure
every body as knows any thing of life and human
nature, will agree with me, that the boy will be
undone if he goes on as he does at present; and I


O THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
give you warning, that in a little time there won't
be a pin to choose between him and that hopeful
youth, 'squire Philip.
This was almost too much for poor Mrs. Somer-
ive, who however commanded her tears and sobs
so far as to ask her brother what reason he had to
think so. -
He then communicated to her, as he assured her
in perfect friendship, that there was great reason to
suppose Orlando kept a mistress, and was lavishing
on her the small remains of the money his com-
mission had sold for; and upon her beseeching him
to tell her what reason he had to believe so, he in-
formed her that not only it was false that Orlando
had taken a lodging near the inns of court in order
to be near Carr, but that he actually lived within
two streets of his mother's house, with a young
woman who had of late been frequently met with
him of an evening, leaning on his arm, and whom,
on inquiry, he was found to have brought with him
from the country.
Thunderstruck with intelligence which Orlando's
general air of absence and impatience when he was
with his family gave her too much reason to believe
was true, and dreading lest she had lost the sole
stay on which she depended for the protection of
her two girls in case of her death, the unhappy
mother gave herself up to tears, nor could the rough
hand of her cruel brother succeed in drying them.
Distressed so cruelly, she caught eagerly at what-
ever had the appearance of relieving her, and there-
fore promised to adhere to the advice Mr. Wood-
ford gave her. He recommended it to her to press
Orlando's return to her house: by which, said he,
you will soon find out, if you don't believe it yet,
that your pious good boy is not a whit better than
t’other. And let me also desire you'll not let him


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 301
go on helter skelter in this law-suit, with no better
advice than a whiffle-headed fellow such as Carr
can give him or get for him; but send him to Mr.
Darby, my son-in-law, a man I can tell you that
knows what he's about, and is a thriving man in the
law. He shall not charge any thing upon your
account for his advice: so you'll save five or ten
guineas at once. I'll speak to Mr. Darby; and in
the mean time, d'ye see, do you have some serious
conversation with your son. Let him find out that
we are not so easily to be gull'd; and that 'twont
do to take old birds with chaff.
Mrs. Somerive then promised to do as he dictat-
ed; and he left her, after this conversation, one of
the most miserable beings on earth.
Orlando, the next time he saw his mother, found
the effects of his uncle's ungenerous interference.
She received him with an air of constraint to which
he was little accustomed, and which seemed to be
attended with extreme pain to herself: she ques-
tioned him in a tone she had never taken up before;
seemed dissatisfied with his answers, which certainly
were embarrassed and contradictory; and ended
the conversation with telling him that, unless he
would extremely disoblige her, he must lay the
whole state of the question as to the Rayland estate
before Mr. Darby, his cousin's husband. This Or-
lando promised to do, being very desirous of oblig-
ing his mother wherever he could do it without be-
traying a secret which he thought it would distress
her to know ; and, desirous to end as soon as he
could a conversation so painful, he agreed to go
directly to Carr, and procure a proper state of the
affair for the opinion of counsel; and to wait on
Mr. Darby the next morning, against which time
Mrs. Somerive was to give him notice, by Mr.
Woodford of the application of this client.
VOL., XXXVII, ID D


302 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
Orlando owed too much to the good mature, in-
tegrity, and industry of his friend Carr, not to use
the greatest precaution against offending him; but
the moment he opened his business, and told him
what his mother had insisted upon, Carr very can-
didly offered to promote this application without
prejudice to those he had already made; and the
case, and steps already taken in the business, hav-
ing been prepared, Orlando waited the next day on
Mr. Darby according to his own appointment, and
for the first time was introduced to him at once as
his cousin and his client. The lady, formerly Miss
Eliza Woodford, “kept her state,” and Orlando, in-
stead of being shewn into her dressing-room to wait
till Mr. Darby should be at liberty to speak to him,
as he would naturally have been if he had fortu-
mately been a rich relation, was shewn into a back
room, surrounded by books that seemed more for
show than use, and desired to wait.
Here he remained more than half an hour, before
his relation learned in the law appeared. He was
a tall, awkward, rawboned man, with a pale face,
two small wild grey eyes, and a squirrel-coloured
riding-wig; who, having coldly saluted his new ac-
quaintance, took his case, and, looking slightly over
it as Orlando explained his situation, he said (draw-
ing in his breath at every word, doubling in his lips
so that they disappeared)—Hum, hah; hum—I see
. . . . Hum, hum, hum; I observe a 1–Hum a 1–
I perceive aſ Yes a-Hum ! dean and chapter—
hum; so a-Doctor Hollybourna, hum—I know
him—hum a-know him a little. . . . . . Then
rubbing his forehead, added, a respectable—hum !
a—man, a-a Doctor Hollybourn—a man of very
considerable,_um, a property, a hum, a-
Orlando, marvelling how this man, with his in-
verted lips, and the hum-a's that broke every second


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 303
word, could be reckoned to make a respectable
figure at the bar, now began, as the eloquent coun-
sel was silent, another explanatory speech; which,
however, he was not allowed to finish, for Mr.
Darby, again assuring him that Doctor Hollybourn
was very rich, and of course very respectable, said,
he could not think that—hum, a-the doctor, so
worthy a man as he was, would be accessary in—
hum a, injuring any one, or keeping the right heir
out of his estate; but, hum a-huma–there must
be some misrepresentation: but that, however, he
was engaged that morning with two briefs, of the
utmost importance; therefore he would consider
the thing at his leisure, and let him know in a few
days—huma—. Orlando, then leaving his com-
pliments to Mrs. Darby, hastened away, rather re-
penting of his visit, and having gained, he thought,
nothing by it, but what was likely to end in a
hum a 1
On his return to Carr's chambers, his friend ac-
costed him with an inquiry how he liked the spe-
cial pleader?—A special pleader, d'ye call him?
cried Orlando ; for Heaven's sake, wherefore ?
Because it is our name, replied Carr, for a par-
ticular branch of our profession.
Curse the fellow ! cried Orlando—A special
pleaderſ why he cannot speak at all—with his
hum a, and huma.
That would not signify so much, said Carr, if the
man was honest; but I may say to you, that, under
the most specious professions of honesty, I don't be-
lieve there is a more crafty or mercenary head in
Westminster Hall, than that orange tawny caxon of
his covers. The hesitation and embarrassment of
his oratory was at first the effect of stupidity; but
by degrees, as acquired chicane supplies the place
of natural talent, he has continued it, because it is
D ID 2


304 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
a sort of excuse for never giving an immediate or
positive answer; and while he is huma-ing and
haw axing, he is often considering how he may best
make his advantage of the affairs confided to him.
Good God! exclaimed Orlando; and why, then,
would you let me apply to such a man?
Nay, replied Carr, how could I pretend to en-
gage you to decline a reference recommended by
your mother? Besides you know, my friend, that
in our profession we make it a rule never to speak
as we think. What? would you have an apotheca-
ry declaim against a physician in whose practice it
is to occasion the greatest demand for drugs?
Hang your simile ! said Orlando: I am afraid
you are all rogues together.
More or less, my good friend—some of more
sense than others, and some a little, little more con-
science—but, for the rest, I am afraid we are all of
us a little too much professional rogues; though
some of us, as individuals, would not starve the or-
phan, or break the heart of the widow—but in our
vocation, Hall labouring in our vocation, we give
all remorse of that sort to the winds.
Would your profession were annihilated, then I
cried Orlando. - -
Why, I do not believe, answered Carr, that the
world would be much the worse if it were; but, my
friend, not to be too hard upon us, do reflect on the
practices of other professions. The little, smirking
fellow, with so smiling an aspect, and so well-pow-
dered a head, whom you see pass in his chariot, ad-
ministers to his patient the medicines a physician
orders, though he knows they are more É. to
kill than cure; and, in his account at night, thinks
not of the tears of a family whom he has seen in the
greatest distress, but of the bill he shall have for
medicines, and attendance. The merchant, who
sits down in his compting-house, and writes to his


THE OL1) MANOR HOUSE, 305
correspondent at Jamaica, that his ship, the Good
Intent of Liverpool, is consigned to him at Port-
Royal with a cargo of slaves from the coast of Gui-
nea, calculates the profits of a fortunate adventure,
but never considers the tears and blood with which
this money is to be raised. He hears not the groans
of an hundred human creatures confined together
in hold of a small merchantman—he . . . . . .
Do, cried Orlando, dear Carr, finish your cata-
logue of human crimes, unless you have a mind to
make me go home and hang myself.
No man would do that, answered Carr, who had
such a lovely wife as you have—she would recon-
cile me to a much worse world than this is.
The friends then parted; Orlando very far from
being satisfied with his visit to his cousin learned in
the law—and very uneasy, on his arrival at his mo-
ther's, to observe, in her behaviour to him, increas-
ed symptoms of that discontent he had observed
the day before.
*
CHAPTER XXII.
NEARLY six weeks more now passed; another Term
was almost wasted in those contrived delays which
destroy all the boasted energy and simplicity of
the British laws; when Mr. Carr advised Orlando
to see Dr. Hollybourn himself; which, however
disagreeable it was to him, he at length consented
to do, at the earnest and repeated request of one
who he believed had his real interest much at heart.
Orlando had lately suffered so much uneasiness at
the deception he had been and was still guilty of
towards his mother, that he found it almost impos-
sible for him to continue it; but he was continually
withheld from the avowal he wished to make, by
D D 3


306 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
the tears of Selina, and by his fears for the effect
that a reluctant, or even an affectionate reception
might have on the timid spirits of his wife, whose
situation increased his tenderness and anxiety;
while his reduced finances filled him with the most
painful solicitude, as he reflected that, when they
were quite exhausted, he should have nothing to
support his Monimia and the infant he expected
she would give him.
Sacrificing to the remotest hope of benefiting ob-
jects so precious to him, his own reluctance to
make a very disagreeable visit, he repaired to the
residence of Doctor Hollybourn, at an hour when
he was told the reverend Divine was most likely to
be at home.
On his arrival, however, he heard the Doctor
was out: but as a coach was waiting at the door,
he doubted this: and, while he was yet speaking
to the footman at the door, another from the top of
the stairs called out, Let Counsellor Darby's coach
draw up !—Orlando then stepped forward into the
hall, telling the servant that he had very particular
business with Doctor Hollybourn, and could not
call again; therefore that he must see him:-at the
same moment Mr. Darby himself hurried down
stairs, and Orlando met him in the hall.—The law-
yer seemed in as much confusion when he met
him, as such a lawyer is capable of being: slightly
bowing, and muttering something of haste as he
passed, he hurried inte his coach; while Orlando,
without waiting for the return of the footman, who
was gone up to announce him to the Doctor, walk-
ed up stairs, and entered a very elegant room, where
the worthy Doctor, looking more than ever like
the uncle of Gil Blas, was squatted on a sopha,
with some papers before him, which on the appear-
ance of Orlando (whom he was ordering his servant
to lismiss,) he huddled away in some confusion.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 307
Orlando now approached, and in few words
opened his business, laying some stress upon the
hardships he had suffered in being deprived of an
estate to which his father was undoubtedly next heir,
while it went to enrich a body who had no manner
of occasion for such an acquisition of wealth.
The divine professor of humility and charity—he
who some few months before offered his most ac-
complished daughter to the then fortunate Orlan-
do, now deigned not to ask him to sit; but, cock-
ing up his little red nose, and plumping down
again on his cushion, he began to snuffle forth his
wonder at this application. He said, God forbid,
young man, that I, as executor to the late worthy
lady of Rayland Hall, whose soul is now with the
blessed, should defraud you or any man! But that
pious woman, the last remains of an ancient, honour-
able, and religious family, to be sure knew best
what would most contribute to the glory of the
Lord, and the good of his creatures, among the
poor and needy of whom she left her noble fortune
to be divided, and I shall take care most sacredly
to perform her worthy wish, and to sanctify her
estate to the holy purposes she intended it for.
Orlando, who could not command the indigna-
tion he felt against this canting hypocrite, now
very loudly and peremptorily demanded to know,
Whether Doctor Hollybourn was not well apprised,
that there was a will made by Mrs. Rayland, after
that under which his society claimed the estate 2
and whether two persons had not declared, at
Rayland Hall, that they knew it to be so, whose
evidence Roker had since been employed to stifle?
—To this the Doctor said, He understood he was to
. upon oath in putting in his answer to the bill
in chancery, and therefore he should say nothing:
but if you, young man, have any thing more to


308 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
say, you know where to find Mr. Roker, my so-
licitor; to him I refer you.-Here—Richard —
Peter —John 1–shew this person down —Orlan-
do, by no means disposed to submit to this cavalier
treatment, though the age and M. of the
Doctor protected him from the effects of the resent-
ment he felt, began however a more severe re-
monstrance; which the Doctor not being disposed
to listen to, rose from his sopha, and with the
grace of a terrier bitch on the point of pupping, he
waddled into the next room, and shut the door.
Orlando then finding his attempts to argue such a
sordid and selfish being into any sense of justice
totally useless, left the house, and, returning to
his friend Carr, related his adventures; where he
had the mortification to have his suspicions con-
firmed by Carr, that, so far from his application
to Mr. Darby being likely to produce any good,
there was every appearance that he had entered
the lists on the other side—And this, said Carr, has
been a frequent practice with him; it being with
this worthy man an invariable maxim, inherited I
believe from his father, that no man is poor, but
from his own faults and follies—for which, though
no man has been guilty of more than he has in the
former part of his life, he professes to have no pity
—And as to law, he is not much out, nor was
your honest friend the miller, in saying, that he
who has the longest purse is in this country the
most frequently successful.
Orlando, with an heart not much lightened by
the transactions of the day, returned to his lodgings
to a late dinner.—Monimia was ill, a circumstance
that added to the gloom that hung over him:-she
made light of it however, and endeavoured to re-
store to him that cheerfulness, of which, she ob-
served with great uneasiness, he had been some


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 309
time deprived; but it is difficult to communicate
to others sensations we do not feel ourselves.—She
smiled, but tears were in her eyes—She assured him
she suffered nothing; but he saw her pale and lan-
guid, and now was confirmed in what he had long
fancied, that the air of London did not agree with
her; and it was with inexpressible anguish he re-
flected, that now, when the tenderest attention to
her health was necessary, he was deprived of the
means of procuring her country air, which, as
spring advanced, she seemed to languish for.—
London, where she had never been before, was un-
pleasant, and now disgusting to her; but she never
betrayed this but by accident, and wished Orlando
to believe that with him every place was to her a
heaven.
He now more seldom went to his mother's than
he used to do; because, since her dialogue with
Mr. Woodford, all her tenderness for him did not
prevent her teasing him with questions, and very
earnestly pressing him to return to his usual apart-
ment in her house. This somewhat estranged
him from his family; but in absenting himself, he
found no peace; for though he saw less of his mo-
ther and sisters than he used to do, he was as fondly
attached to them as ever: and while he thought he
saw, in the conduct of his mother, new reasons to
adhere to that secrecy which it had already given
him so much pain to observe, he imputed it all to
the influence of the unfeeling and mercenary Mr.
Woodford, and, in his most gloomy moods, wish-
ed that so unhappy a being as he was had never
been born. A thousand times he repented of his
having ever left Rayland Hall, to which unfor-
tunate absence all his subsequent disappointments
were owing; and sometimes lamented, though he
could not repent, that he had married his Monimia,


S1 () THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
without being able to shield her, as his wife, from
the poverty of her former lot.
Nothing gave him more mortification, than to
find that his mother was not satisfied with his con-
duct in regard to Mr. Darby; and would not be
persuaded that it was the affluence of his opposers
and not his doubts about the cause, that prevented
his engaging in it. Mr. Woodford, taking advan-
tage of the faith his sister reposed in him as under-
standing business, had so harassed her with repre-
sentations of Orlando's neglect, the inexperience
of Carr, and the want of skill in the counsel he em-
ployed, that Mrs. Somerive now often pressed him
to leave the management of the whole to his uncle,
and to withdraw it from Carr; and wearied by
these importunities, and by the delays which the
adverse party seemed determined still to contrive,
Orlando was sometimes half tempted to give up the
pursuit, and, with the little money he yet had left,
to retire to some remote village, where wholly
unknown, he might work at any certain, though
laborious business, for the support of his wife and
child:—but when he saw the tears that his mother
shed in speaking to him of his brother Philip, who
had entirely deserted his family, after having, as
far as he could, undone it, he could not determine
to plunge her into equal, perhaps greater uneasi-
mess on his account; and he then resolved rather to
suffer any pain himself, than to fail in those duties
which he felt he ought to fulfil.
It was in one of the most melancholy moods,
which the increasing difficulties of his situation in-
spired, that Orlando, sitting alone in the little
dining room of his lodgings, when Monimia's in-
disposition confined her to her bed, that he com-
posed a little ode to Poverty, which he had hardly
put upon paper, when Carr came in, to whom he


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 311
carelessly shewed it. Carr, who had a taste for
poetry, desired a copy of it; to which Orlando re-
plied, that he was too idle to copy it, but that he
might have the original, for he should himself per-
haps never look at it again. Carr put it into his
pocket, and, asking if he might do what he would
with it? Orlando answered, Yes, and thought no
more about it.
Carr had often told Orlando, as they talked over
his situation together, that he had literary talents
which might be employed to advantage; and he said
he should get acquainted with some of the writers
of the day, who were the most esteemed, or at least
the most fashionable, who would help him into
notice.
Nay, said Orlando, if what I write will not help
me into notice, I am afraid, my friend, the trade of
authorship, which will not do without recommend-
ation, will be but little worth following.
It is not certainly, replied his friend, the very best
trade that can be followed in any way, but yet it is
not so despicable as you suppose:—for example, if
you could write a play now, and get it received by
the managers; and if it should be successful.........
Dear Carr, cried Orlando, how may ifs are here!
—I have no dramatic talents; mor, if I had, do I
know one of the managers; nor could I conquer, by
dint of attendance, the difficulties which, I have
heard you say, they throw in the way of authors—
I should probably not be successful.
And yet, said Carr, there have been very success-
ful authors, who have not the natural turn to poetry
which you seem to me to have; indeed, who have
none; but who have contrived, by bringing together
a few scenes without any plot, a scattering of equi-
vocal expressions, and some songs, (which, being set
to pretty music, we do not discover are not even


312 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
rhyme,) have really had wonderful success; and
those who have succeeded once, get into fashion,
and succeed in a second piece, because they have
done so in the first.
They must, however, said Orlando, have more
genius than you are willing to allow them.
You shall judge, if you will, said Carr, of them,
as far as conversation will enable you to judge.—A
relation of mine is a constant attendant at the con-
versations of one of our celebrated authoresses—I
have sometimes gone thither with him, and have
been often invited to go since my first introduction,
either with him, alone, or with any literary friend.
The lady is never so well pleased as when her room
is crowded with men, who either are, or fancy they
are, men of genius. She professes to dote upon, to
adore genius in our sex; though, in her own, she
will hardly allow it to any body but herself.
Orlando hesitated, at first, whether it was worth
while to give up Monimia's company for an even-
ing, for the sake of being introduced into this so-
ciety, of which he did not form any very great ex-
pectations; but Carr, who saw how much his spirits
were depressed, urged him to try the experiment.
The assembly is not, I own, said he, the very first of
the kind in London; for, to the first, neither my re-
lation nor I have any chance of being admitted; but,
I assure you, the lady of whom I speak is celebrated
for her wit, and for the novelty of her poetry, if not
for that of her plays; and you will find some people
there, who may be worth being acquainted with.
Orlando then consented to go on the following
Friday, and Carr attended him accordingly.
He was introduced toalittle ill-made woman, with
a pale complexion, pitted with the small-pox; two
defects which her attachment to literature did not
prevent her from taking all possible pains to con-
8


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 313
ceal: there was in her air a conviction of self-con-
sequence, which predominated over the tender lan-
guor she affected—Indeed it was towards the gen-
tlemen only that this soft sensibility was apparently
exhibited: Ladies, and especially those who had
any pretence to those acquirements in which she
believed herself to excel, were seldom or never
admitted; and she professed to hold them in con-
tempt.
Though no longer young, she believed herself still
an object of affection and admiration; and that the
beauties of her mind were irresistible to all men of
taste.—They were indeed of a singular cast: but
as there are collectors of grotesque drawings, and
books, no otherwise valuable than because they are
old; so there were minds who contemplated hers
with some degree of admiration; who thought her
verses were really poetry, and that her dramas (the
productions of writers of the sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries modernized) had really merit. As
she was by no means insensible to perfection, if it
appeared in the form of a young man, she was im-
mediately struck with the figure and address of Or-
lando; and, amidst the something which was called
wit and literary conversation that now began, she
addressed herself particularly to him—inquired into
his studies, and his taste in poetry—besought him
to favour her with some of his productions, and
seemed disposed to elect him to emulate, if not to
rival, the Florios and Philanders with whom she
held a tender correspondence in the newspapers.
Orlando, naturally of a gay temper, and easily
seizing the ridiculous, entered at once into this sin-
gular character; and before he had been half an
hour in the company of this modern Centlivre, she
declared in a loud whisper to Carr, whom she
beckoned across the room to come to her, that he
VOL. XXXVII. E E


314, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
was the most divine creature she had ever conversed
with. A gentleman was now announced by the
name of Mr. Lorrain, at whose arrival the lady of
the house expressed great pleasure; and said to Or-
lando, Oh, Mr. Somerive! I shall now have an op-
portunity of introducing you to one of the most sub-
lime geniuses of the age—a man of the warmest
fancy, of the most exquisite wit.—Orlando looked
towards the door where this phaenomenon was ex-
pected to enter, and saw, to his utter astonishment,
a gentleman who seemed to him to be—Warwick.
He remained rivetted to his chair, gazing on the
stranger, who approached the lady of the house with-
out noticing her guests. After he had however paid
her some very extravagant compliments on her
looks, and received her answers, which were de-
signed to be at once tender and spirited, she de-
sired to introduce him to a newly-acquired friend
of hers; and Mr. Lorrain, turning his eyes to the
young man who sat next her, discovered immedi-
ately, by the wonder expressed in his looks, that in
this new acquaintance of hers, he had found an old
acquaintance of his own.
A few confused words were all that either the one
or the other was at first able to utter. Orlando, not
much pleased with a change of name, which he
thought boded no good to his sister, inquired very
earnestly after her:—his brother-in-law, in in-
creased confusion, which he seemed endeavouring
to conquer, answered, that she was well: and then,
as he found Orlando in no humour to commive at the
deception, which for some reason or other he chose
to practise, as to his name and situation, he took
him by the arm, and begged he would walk with
him to the other end of the room, where he told
him, in a hurried way, that he was but lately come
to England, after a variety of distresses, and being


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE, 315
afraid of his creditors, and for other reasons which
he would hereafter give him, he had changed his
name for the present; of which he desired him not
to speak in the company they were in. But my
sister, sir, said Orlando, where is my sister 2—has
she too changed her name?—Of course, replied
Warwick, who seemed hurt at the vehemence with
which he spoke.—Well, sir, but by whatever name
you choose to have her called, you will allow me
immediately to see her—Is she in town?
Yes, replied Warwick coldly; here is a card
that will direct you to her—All I request is your
silence this evening in regard to my change of
name ; a matter that surely cannot be material to
any one here.
Orlando assented to this, and they returned
together towards Mrs. Manby, the lady of the
house, to whom Warwick, assuming again the
name of Lorrain, said, in a careless way, that he
now owed her another obligation, by having been
introduced by her means, to an old friend, for whom
ever since his arrival in London, he had been in-
quiring in vain. The conversation then became
general. Some other visitors arrived, some de-
parted ; and Orlando, impatient to have some
private conversation with Warwick, asked if he
would accompany him and his friend Carr 2—To
this he assented; but Mrs. Manby would not
release them till they had promised to visit her
again the following week.
Carr, as soon as he learned from Orlando who
Warwick really was, took leave of him, under
pretence of business in another part of the town ;
and as the evening was fine, Orlando and his
brother-in-law walked homewards together.
As soon as they were alone, the former express-
ed his surprise at meeting thus unexpectedly, and
E E 2


316 Th F. OLD MAN OR HOUS F.
under another name, one who had so long been
given up for lost; and his still greater wonder,
that it was possible for his sister to be in London,
without having seen or made any inquiry after her
mother and sisters, or her family.
Suspend your astonishment, Somerive, said War-
wick, or at least suspend your blame: when
you hear all we have suffered, and all we have
contended with, you will find at least no oc-
casion for the latter; and though I own it appears
extraordinary that my wife has not yet sought her
family, that circumstance will seem less so, when
you know that it is not above three weeks since we
came out of Scotland: and that, after our long
detention in America, we returned to Europe, with-
out being able to return to England—and have
been in Spain, in Portugal, in Ireland, and at length
in Scotland.--When I can relate to you in detail
all these adventures*, you will find more to pity,
than to reproach us for.
But, my dear Warwick, said Orlando, who al-
ready forgave what he had before thought there
was cause to resent, will not our Isabella see her
mother now —Will not she give this inexpressible
comfort to a tender parent, who has never ceased
to regret her loss 2
You must settle that with her, my friend, to-
morrow, when I beg you will breakfast with us.
Your sister has two little boys to present to you,
and will be delighted, I know, to see you, but it must
not be without some preparation. Orlando pro-
mised to be with them at breakfast ; and on War-
wick's expressing a wish to hear how he was him-
self situated, he gave a brief detail of all that had
happened from their last parting at Rayland Hall
to the present time.
* Which may perhaps appear in a detached work.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 317
Warwick heard him with attention, and then
said, So my dear boy! it does not appear that thy
piety has succeeded better than my rashness:—I
have been disinherited and bedevilled by my uncle
for marrying the girl I liked—and you, who sacri-
ficed your own inclinations to your virtue, have
been disinherited, for these orthodox fellows in
their cauliflower wigs and short aprons—Why, you
could not have been worse served, if you had taken
off your little nymph with you to America, as I
took off mine.
Yes, surely, replied Orlando, I should have been
worse off; for I should not have what is now and
will be, in whatever extremity I may be, my great-
est consolation, the consciousness that I have never,
to gratify myself, given pain to those who had a
claim to my duty; and that if I am unfortunate, I
have at least not deserved my ill fortune.
Bravo! cried Warwick—
“”Tis not in mortals to command success;
But we'll do more, Sempromius—we'll deserve it.”
I wish you joy, my young Cato; but for my
part, I find I have no qualms of conscience about
bilking the old boy in Grosvenor Place—I rather
think I have done him a kindness, and perhaps one
day or other he may find it out.
In the mean time, however, I suppose General
Tracy remains inexorable. -
Faith ! answered Warwick, I have never tried ;
and one reason of my taking another name was,
that he might not know I was in England.
They were now arrived at a street where, as
Warwick's lodgings were near Leicester Square, and
those of Orlando in a street near Oxford Street, it
was necessary for them to part for the evening.
Orlando, whose affection for Isabella was already
revived, sent her a thousand kind remembrances;
E E 3


3.18 TIII. () I., D MANOR HOUSE.
and Warwick, in return, told him, he longed to be
introduced to the nymph of the inchanted tower,
whom he never had an opportunity of seeing at
Rayland Hall. Orlando, after he had left him, con-
sidered with astonishment the volatility of his tem-
per—His person was a little altered by change of
climate; but his spirits were not at all depressed by
a change of situation so great as between being the
heir of General Tracy, and a wandering adven-
turer, for he did not conceal from his friend that
such was his present situation; that it was in con-
sequence of his having written something for the
newspapers, that he had become acquainted with
Mrs. Manby, who had answered them; and that
he was now soliciting the managers to accept of a
play he had finished. The humiliating attendance
which he owned this pursuit seemed likely to render
necessary, was added to the reasons he had already
given Orlando why he wished to be known at pre-
sent only as Mr. Lorrain.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ON his return home, Orlando related to his wife
his extraordinary meeting with Warwick: and
though he expressed great delight in knowing that
his sister was living and well, he could not but feel
concern for the situation in which he found her.
He knew not whether Warwick did not, not-
withstanding his apparent gaiety and carelessness,
repent him of his precipitate marriage; and he fear-
ed, that, by a man of so volatile a temper, the evils
of narrow circumstances would not be softened to
Isabella. -
He hastened to her the next morning, and she


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 319
received him with blended emotions of joy and
distress particularly affecting. It was not till some
time after Warwick left them together, that Isa-
bella had courage to ask the circumstances of her
father's death: yet she was consoled by hearing,
that her elopement did not appear to have hasten-
ed it. Orlando then entreated her to determine on
seeing her mother immediately, and she left it to
him to manage it as he would. He embraced her
two lovely children with affection, and could not
behold them, without representing to her how ne-
cessary it was to think of some means to reconcile
Warwick to General Tracy.
Isabella answered, that they had come to London
with that intention; but that Warwick's pride and
his uncle's having certainly made a will in favour
of his brother's son, had combined to throw diffi-
culties in the way of a reconciliation; and she now
despaired of Warwick's pursuing his hopes of it,
or of their being crowned with success if he did.
—His change of name, she said, had been made
partly to avoid his creditors, who now believed him
dead; till he could find means of paying them :
and partly that General Tracy might not be in-
formed of his being in London, till he could know
whether there was a likelihood of his being for-
given. The vivacity of Isabella seemed subdued,
but she was not dejected; and after she had wept
over the aecount of her father's death, her brother's
misconduct, and the dispersion of her family, she
recovered some degree of cheerfulness, and seemed
to prepare herself for an interview with her mother
with more resolution than, from all that had hap-
pened, Orlando thought it possible for her to
a SSunne.
This formidable meeting was fixed for the next
day; and when Orlando left his sister, he began to


320 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
consider if he might not, at the same time, acknow-
ledge his own marriage, and put an end, at once, to
the state of uneasiness, and consciousness of vio-
lated integrity which he now was in.
When he rapped at his own door, he was told by
the maid who opened it, that the porter whom he
saw in the passage had been waiting for him some
time with a letter, which he was directed to deliver
into no hands but his own. He opened it with
precipitation, and found these words written in a
hand hardly legible:
“DeAR or LANDo,
“If my having left you so long ignorant of what
is become of me, has not entirely estranged you
from me—come to me at the place the bearer will
shew you, and perhaps it will be the last trouble
you will ever receive from
Yours,
P. SOMERIVE,”
Orlando, shocked and surprised, inquired of the
man, who stood by, where he had left the gentle-
man who sent him? the man replied, that he had
orders not to answer, but to shew him the way:—
that the gentleman was ill in bed, and given over
by the doctor. Still more alarmed by this account,
he bade the man wait a moment while he went up to
speak to Monimia, in order to account for his being
so much longer absent, and then hastened with his
conductor to an obscure street leading from the
Strand to Covent Garden; where, in an attic room,
very dirty and very ill furnished, Orlando found his
unhappy brother, in an illness which seemed to be
the last stage of a rapid decline, brought on by
debauchery and excess.
It might give too tragical colouring to the conclu-
8 w


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 321
sion of this narrative, were the scenes of some days
to be minutely described—it may therefore suffice
to state, that Orlando could not conceal from his
mother the situation of her eldest son, who consci-
ous of his approaching end, and conscious too of all
his offences towards her, implored her pity and for-
giveness. In his repentance, however late, his mo-
ther forgot his errors, and as solicitously tried to
save him as if he had never offended her.—With
difficulty he was removed to her own house, where
she constantly attended him, with Orlando, and
where there were, for some days, hopes of his reco-
very. It was in this interval that Orlando, who
could not bear to be so constantly separated from
Monimia, and whose heart continually reproached
him with the deception he was guilty of towards his
mother, concerted with Selina the means of declar-
ing both his marriage, and the return of Isabella to
London. Mrs. Somerive, on the point of losing one
of her children, embraced, with transport, the daugh-
ter she had so long believed lost; and though she
trembled for the consequence of Orlando's marriage,
when there seemed so little probability of his find-
ing a support for a family, she acknowledged that
Monimia, of whom she soon became passionately
fond, was an apology for his indiscretion. With
the tenderest assiduity, Monimia shared the fatigue
of attending on the dying brother of her husband;
and in despite of the remonstrances and displeasure
of Mr. Woodford, who did all he could to irritate
his sister against Orlando, and who mingled the pe-
cuniary favours which she was obliged to owe him,
with admonitions and reproaches that destroyed all
their value, Mrs. Somerive not only forgave Orlando,
but seemed to love him more fondly than ever.
That cruel want of money, which too often divides
families, and estranges even the child from the pa-


322 THE old MANon Hous E.
rent, served only to unite this family more closely.
The pride of Warwick alone kept him at a greater
distance than the rest; and unable, under his pre-
sent circumstances, to appear as he once did, he
could not bear to appear at all before those, who had
once seen him so differently situated. He avoided
therefore going to the house, when he thought there
was a probability of his meeting any of the Wood-
ford family; none of them indeed but Woodford
himself were very likely to be there; but from him
Warwick would have flown with more apprehension
than from the rest, not only on account of his
coarse jokes, but because of his connection with
General Tracy.
But Isabella, though equally desirous of escaping
the unfeeling raillery or cold remonstrance of her
uncle, was, without meeting him, constantly with
her family, and was, with Monimia and Selina, the
support of the unhappy Mrs. Somerive, when, after
lingering about a fortnight after his removal, her
eldest son expired in the arms of Orlando.
There is a degree of folly, and of vice, which
gradually dissolves the tenderest affections, weans
the friend from the beloved companion of youth,
and renders the ties of blood the most galling and
insupportable chains. To this point of irreclaimable
misconduct Philip Somerive had long since arrived.
He had too plainly evinced, that to his own selfish
gratifications he would always sacrifice the welfare,
and even the subsistence of his family; yet, in his
repentance on the bed of pain and languor, his mo-
ther forgot and forgave all she had suffered from
him; and when he died, she wept for him as the
child of her early affection, whose birth and in-
fancy had once formed her greatest felicity. In
shedding tears over an object once so beloved by
her husband, she seemed a second time to have ost


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 323
him; and the first subject to which she attended
was to have his remains deposited with those of his
father, in the family vault at West Wolverton.
In this Orlando determined that she should at all
events be gratified, whatever inconvenience might,
in their present narrow circumstances, arise from
the expense; he gave therefore directions accord-
ingly; when he found that Mr. Woodford took upon
him to oppose this wish of his mother, in a way so
rude and savage, that after very high words had pass-
ed between him and his uncle (in which Woodford
reproached Orlando with all the pecuniary favours
he had bestowed upon his family, and ridiculed his
beggarly marriage), Orlando at the last part of his
conversationentirely losthis temper, and desired the
unfeeling man of consequence to leave the house.
He had then the additional difficulty of conceal-
ing this disagreement from his mother, and of find-
ing the means to supply that deficiency which this
cruelty of his uncle would create. The little sum
left of his commission, after paying some late ex-
penses of his brother's and for his own lodgings,
was reduced within thirty pounds, in which con-
sisted his whole fortune. His uncle, who had till
now contributed yearly to the support of his mo-
ther and his sisters, now protested that he would do
no more. From his eldest sister married in Ireland,
who had a family of her own, very trifling assist-
ance only could be expected; and Warwick could
not provide for his own family. Thus Orlando saw,
that on an income of hardly an hundred a year, his
mother and his two unmarried sisters were to live ;
and that Monimia and her family, whom he could
not think of suffering to be any additional burthen
to them, could have no other dependence than on
his exertions; yet into what way of life to enter,
or where to seek the means of providing for them,
he knew not.


324 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Sad were his reflections on the past, on the pre-
sent, and on the future, when he set out with the
melancholy procession that was to convey the re-
mains of his deceased brother to the last abode of
the Somerive family; and little was the correspon-
dence between his internal feelings and the beauty
of the season, which gave peculiar charms to the
country through which he passed. The tears of the
family he had left, of which Monimia was during
his absence to be a part, seemed to have deprived
him of the power of shedding a tear; but with eyes
that gloomily surveyed the objects around him,
without knowing what he saw, he reached at the
close of the second day's journey West Wolverton;
and at a little alehouse, the only one in the village,
the funeral stopped that night, while Orlando went
out alone to direct what yet remained of the neces-
sary preparations. -
It was a beautiful still evening, towards the end
of May; but the senses of the unhappy Orlando
were shut to all the pleasures external objects could
bestow. When he had visited the church, and
spoken to the curate, he walked back towards the
house once his father's The grass was grown in
the court, and half the windows were bricked up;
the greater part of the shrubs in the garden were
cut; and the gates out of repair and broken. All
wore an appearance of change and of desolation,
even more deplorable, in the opinion of Orlando,
than the spruce alterations, and air of new-born
prosperity, which, on his former visit, he had re-
marked as the effect of Mr. Stockton's purchase.
Pain, and even horrors, were grown familiar to
Orlando: and he seemed to have a gloomy satisfac-
tion in the indulgence of his melancholy. He open-
ed, therefore, the half fallen gate, that led from a
sort of lawn, that surrounded the house, to the


THE OLY) MANOR HOUSE. 325
shrubbery and pleasure ground, and entered the
walk which he had so often traversed with his fa-
ther, and where he had taken his last leave of him
on his departure for America. The moon, not yet
at its full, shed a faint light on every object; he
looked along a sort of vista of shrubs, which seemed
to have been left merely because they were not yet
wanted as firing; and the moon-light, at the end of
this dark avenue of cypress and gloomy evergreens,
seemed partially to illuminate thé walk, only to shew
him the spectre of departed happiness. He remem-
bered with what pleasure his father used to watch
the growth of these trees, which he had planted
himself; and with what satisfaction he was accus-
tomed to consider them, as improving for Philip.
Sad reverse . The father, who thus fondly planned
future schemes of felicity for his son, long since
mouldered in the grave, whither that son himself,
after having been but too accessary to the prema-
ture death of this fond parent, was now, in the bloom
of life, precipitated by his own headlong folly.
A temper so sanguine as that of Orlando, pos-
sesses also that sensibility which arms with redoubled
poignancy the shafts of affliction and disappoint-
ment. He felt, with cruel acuteness, all the calami-
ties which a few short years had brought upon his
family: all their hopes blasted—their fortune gone
—their name almost forgotten in the country—and
strangers possessing their habitations. He now re-
membered that he used to think, that, were he once
blessed with Monimia, every other circumstance of
life would be to him indifferent; yet she was now
his—she was more beloved, as his wife, than she
had ever been as his mistress; and the sweetness
of her temper, the excellence of her heart, the
clearness of her understanding, and her tender at-
tachment to him rendered her infinitely dearer to
VOL., XXXVII. F F


326 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
him than that beauty which had first attracted his
early love. But far from being rendered indifferent
to every other circumstance, he felt that much of
his present concern arose from the impossibility he
found of sheltering his adored creature from the
evils of indigence; and that the romantic theory,
of sacrificing every consideration to love, produced,
in the practice, only the painful consciousness of
having injured its object.
It was late before the unhappy wanderer returned
to the place where he was to attempt to sleep; but
the mournful ceremony of the next day, added to
the gloomy thoughts he had been indulging, depri-
ved him of all inclination to repose; and as he saw
the sun arise which was to witness the interment of
his brother—how different appeared its light now,
from what it used to do, when from the same vil-
lage, in the house of his father, he beheld it over
the eastern hills, awakening him to hope and health
—to the society of a happy cheerful family—and to
the prospect of meeting his little Monimia, then a
child, who innocently expressed the delight she felt
in seeing him
But to indulge these painful reflections appeared
to him unmanly, while they were likely to disable
him from the exercise of the melancholy duties
before him. These at length over, he found him-
self, in despite of all his philosophy, so much de-
pressed, that he could not determine to return that
might towards London; but sending away the un-
dertaker's people, and retaining for himself the
horse on which one of them had rode, he resolved
to pass the rest of the day in gratifying the strange
inclination he had long felt, to wander about Ray-
land Park, to visit the Hall, and take a last leave of
that scene of his early happiness, the turret once
inhabited by Monimia.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 327
This plan would detain him from her another
day; but he felt an invincible inclination to make
this farewell visit, which he knew Monimia herself
would wish him to indulge. Having therefore dis-
engaged himself from the gloomy duties of the day,
and sent a few lines to his mother and Monimia, to
account for his absence, if the man who carried it
should arrive in town before him, he set out towards
evening for the Hall, flattering himself that, as he
was now known, and made a better appearance
than on his former visit, he should without diffi-
culty obtain admittance to the house.—In this,
however, he was mistaken: he found many of the
windows bricked up, the oeconomy of the present
possessors not allowing them to pay so heavy a
window-tax, the old servants’ hall below was en-
tirely deprived of light; and hardly a vestige re-
mained of inhabitants, in the grass-grown courts
and silent deserted offices.
Orlando, after waiting for some time at the door,
before he could make any one hear, saw at length
the same sturdy clown he had before spoken to,
who asked him in a surly tone his business.-Or-
lando replied, that he desired to be allowed to see
the house. The man answered, that he had positive
orders from Dr. Hollybourn to shew the house to
nobody; and he shut the door in his face.
Thus repulsed, Orlando only felt a more deter-
mined resolution to gratify himself by a visit to the
library, the chapel, and the turret; and he went
round the house with an intention to enter without
permission by the door that opened near the former
out of the summer parlour—Here, however, he was
again disappointed: this door, as well as the win-
dows in the same line with it, was mailed up, and
boarded on the inside; and while Orlando, thus
baffled, was examining the other wing of the house,
F F 2


328 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
to see if he could not there obtain entrance, the
man who guarded it looked from a window above,
and told him, that if any body was seen about the
house he should fire at them, for that nobody had
no business there.
From the savage brutality of his manner, Orlan-
do had little doubt but that he would act as he
said; yet, far from fearing his fire-arms, he told him
that he would see the house at all events, and that
opposition would only serve to give more trouble,
but not deter him from his purpose. He then at-
tempted to bride this guardian of the property of
the church, and offered him a handful of silver: but
his answer was, that he should fetch his blunder-
buss.
Orlando now thought that it would be better to
return to West Wolverton, and to write to a lawyer
in the neighbourhood, employed by Dr. Hollybourn
in the management of the estate, requesting leave
to see the house; though he foresaw that it would
be difficult to make such a man comprehend the sort
of sensations that urged him to this request—and
that it was possible he might impute his desire of
visiting the Hall to motives that might make him re-
fuse his permission.—Resolved however to try, he
returned slowly and disconsolate through the park;
and observed, as he reached the side of it next the
lake, that in the copse that clothed the hill many of
the large trees were felled, and some others marked
for the axe.—Hisheart became more heavy than be
fore; and when he reached the seat near the boat-
house in the fir-wood, which was now indeed broken
down, he rested a moment against the old tree it
had once surrounded, to recover from the almost
insupportable despondence which oppressed him.
Absorbed in the most melancholy thoughts, every
object served to increase their bitterness—He lis-


THE OLD. MANOR HO USEs 329
tened to sounds once so pleasing with anguish of
heart bordering upon despair, and almost wished
that he had been drowned in this water when a
boy, by the accident of falling from a boat as he
was fishing on the lake, from whence his father's
servant had with difficulty saved him.
In such contemplations he remained for some
time, with his eyes fixed on the water, when he
saw reflected in its surface the image of some object
moving along its bank.-The figure, from the
gentle waving of the water, as it approached the
shore, was not distinct; and its motions so slow and
singular, that the curiosity of Orlando was some-
what awaked. As it came nearer to him, therefore,
he stepped forward, and saw advancing with diffi-
culty on his crutches the old beggar whom he had
met in a barn in Hampshire four months since, when
he waited for communication with Mrs. Roker.
However surprised Orlando was at the appear-
ance of this person, the man himself seemed to have
expected to meet him; for, advancing towards him
as speedily as his mutilated frame would allow, he
exclaimed, Ah, my dear master! well met: I have
found you at last.
Haveyou been lookingfor me then, my old friend?
Aye, marry have I—and many a weary mile
have my leg and my crutches hopped after your
honour—Why, mun, I've been up at London after
you; and there, at the house where you give me a
direction to, I met a Neger man, who would not
believe, like a smutty-faced son of a b h as he
is, that such a poor cripple as I could have to do to
speak with you—and so all I could get of him was
telling me that you were come down here—I knows
this country well enough; and so I e'en set off,
and partly one way, and partly another, I got down
and have found you out.
F F 3.


380 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Orlando, not guessing why this wandering vete-
ran had taken so much trouble—was about, how-
ever, to ask what he could do for him, when the old
man putting on an arch look, and feeling in the
patched pocket of what had once been a coat, said—
And so now, master, since we be met, I hopes
with all my heart I brings you good news—There
—There's a letter for you from Madam Roker–A
power of trouble, and many a cold night's waiting
I had to get it: but let an old soldier alone—
Egad, when once I had got it, I was bent upon
putting it into no hands but yours, for fear of more
tricks upon travellers.
Orlando, in greater emotion than a letter from
such a lady was likely to produce, took it, and un-
folding two or three dirty papers in which it was
wrapped, he broke the seal, and read these words:
“DEAR SIR,
“I am sorry to acquaint you that Mr. Roker is
by no means so grateful to me as I had reason to
expect from the good fortune I brought him, and
indeed from his assurances when I married him of
his great regard and affection for me. I cannot but
say that I am cruelly treated at present. As to
Mr. Roker, he passes all his time in London, and I
have too much cause to fear that very wicked per-
sons are enjoying too much of the money which is
mine—a thing so wicked, that, if it was only for his
soul's sake I cannot but think it my duty to prevent:
but, to add to my misfortune herein, his relations
give out that I am non compos mentis; which to be
sure I might be reckoned when I bestowed my
fortune on such an undeserving family, and made
such sacrifices for Mr. Roker, as I am now heartily
sorry for, −Sir, I have read in Scripture, that it is
never too late to repent; and I am sure, if I have
done you a great injury, I do repent it from the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 331
bottom of my soul, and will make you all the repa-
ration in my power: and you may believe I am in
earnest in my concern, when I hereby trust you
with a secret, whereon perhaps my life may de-
pend: for, besides that I don't know how far I
might be likely to be punished by law for the
unjust thing Mr. Roker persuaded me to consent to
—against my conscience I am sure—I know that
he would rather have me dead than to speak the
truth; and ’tis for that reason, for fear I should be
examined about the will of my late friend, Mrs.
Rayland, that he insists upon it I am at this time a
lunatic, and keeps me under close confinement as
such.
“Oh! Mr. Orlando, there is a later will than that
which was proved, and which gave away from you
all the Rayland estate—and with shame and grief I
say, that when my lady died I read that copy of it
she gave to me; and finding that I had only half as
much as in a former will, I was over-persuaded by
Mr. Roker, who had too much power over me, to
produce only the other, and to destroy in his pre-
sence that copy which my lady had given to me to
keep, charging me to send it, if any thing happened
to her, to your family.—I did not then know the
contents, which she had always kept from me: and
I am sure I should never have thought of doing as
I did but for Mr. Roker—I hope the Lord will for-
give me!—and that you, dear Sir, will do so like-
wise, since I have not only been sincerely repentant
of the same, but have luckily for us both, kept it
in my power to make you, I hope, reparation.
“After the decease of my late dear lady, Mr.
Roker had the other will proved; and Dr. Holly-
bourn and he agreed together in all things. Mr.
Roker, to whom I was married, was very eager
after every box of papers, and almost every scrap


332 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
belonging to Mrs. Rayland; but I thought him, everk
in those early days, a little too much in a hurry to
take possession of all the jewels, and rings, and ef-
fects, of which I had the care; and did not see why,
as they were mostly mine, I should give them en-
tirely up to him; seeing that I had already given
him my fortune—and that such things belong to a
woman, and in no case to her husband.—This being
the case, I own, I did not put into his hands some
of these things, nor a small rose-wood box of my
lady's, in which she always kept some lockets, and
miniature pictures, and medals, and other such cu-
riosities, and some family papers. Mr. Roker never
saw this box, nor did I ever have the keys of it, for
there are two belonging to it with a very particular
lock; my late lady always kept them in her purse;
and it was only after her decease that they came
into my possession; and thereupon opening the box,
which Mr. Roker knew nothing of, I found a paper
sealed up and dated in my lady's own hand, and
indorsed—“Duplicate of my last Will and Testa-
ment, to be delivered to Orlando Somerive, or his
Representative.—Iassureyouthat I had repented me
before of the thing I had done in destroying the
will, and now resolved to keep it in my power al-
ways to make you amends, by taking care of this;
which I, knowing I could not do so if I had it in
my own possession, put therefore into thisbox again,
with the medals and family papers, and some jew-
els of no great value, but which I thought would
be no harm to make sure of because, as the pro-
verb observes, things are in this world uncertain at
best; and we all know where we eat our first bread,
but none can tell where they shall eat their last.
Mr. Roker was at that time a fond and affectionate
husband; but men are but fickle, even the very best,
and none can tell what may befal: by bad people


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 333
especially, who are so wicked to meddle and inter-
fere between man and wife, to destroy all matri-
monial comfort, as is too often the case.
“Mr. Roker thought then of residing at the Hall
as steward for the Bishop, &c.; but Dr. Hollybourn
not being agreeable thereto, it was settled other-
wise: only Mr. Roker and I were to go once a year
to the Court holding for Manors, and to overlook
the premises till they were disposed of, according
to the will of my Lady which was proved, which
the worthy Divines seemed not to be in a great
hurry to do—Whereupon, as I did not choose for
many reasons to carry this small box about with
me, I put it into a place of safety in the house.
“If you have not forgot old times, Mr. Orlando,
you know very well that Rayland Hall, which be-
longed to such famous cavaliers in the great rebel-
lion, has a great many secret stair-cases, and odd
passages, and hiding-places in it; where, in those
melancholy times, some of my late Lady's ances-
tors, who had been in arms for the blessed Martyr
and King Charles, were hid by others of the family
after the fight at Edgehill, &c.—which I have
heard my Lady oftentimes recount: but, neverthe-
less, I do not know that she herself knew all those
places.
“By the side of my bed, in that chamber hung
partly with scarlet and gold printed leather, and
partly with painting in pannels, where there is a
brown mohair bed lined with yellow silk, you may
remember a great picture of the Lady Alithea, se-
cond wife of the first Sir Hildebrand Rayland with
her two sons and a dog—She was an Earl's daugh-
ter, and a celebrated beauty, and great great grand-
mother to my late Lady. The picture is only a
copy from that in the great gallery, and done, as I
have heard my Lady say, by some painter of that


334 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
time when he was a young man—so that, as there
was another, this was not hung in the gallery,
Close under that picture there seems to be a hang-
ing of gilt leather: but this is only fastened with
small hooks: and under it is a sliding oak board,
which gives into a closet where there is no light—
but a very narrow stair-case goes from it through
the wall, quite round to the other side of the house,
and into other hiding-places, where one or two
persons might be hid for years, and nobody the
Wiser.
“Now, Sir, in a sort of hollow plaee about three
feet wide, made like an arch under the thick wall
in this closet, is a tin box with a padlock—and in
that box this inlaid rose-wood box or casket. There
you will find the real will of my Lady, and I hope
all you wish and expect in it; and what I desire of
you in return is, that you will take means to con-
vince the world that I am not to blame; that I am
not a lunatic; and you have so much honour, that I
rely upon your promises not to injure me if it should
be in your power; but to make me amends for what
I thus lose for your sake and the sake of justice—
as in your letter you faithfully promise.
“For that poor unfortunate young woman, the
daughter of my deceased kinswoman, I do assure
you that, if I knew what was become of her, I
would give you notice. But she has never been
heard of that I know of for a great many months—
and I am afraid, from her flippant ways with my
Mr. Roker before I was forced to send her away,
has taken to courses very disgraceful, and which
have made her unworthy of your farther thoughts.
God forgive me if I judge amiss herein l—We must
be charitable one towards another, as the Scripture
says, poor sinful mortals, who have so much to an-
swer for ourselves, as to be sure all of us have


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. JJ
ºn to
“And now, dear Sir, I take my leave, having
been four days writing this long letter by fits and
snatches, when Mr. Roker's sister, who even sleeps
in my room, has been out of the way; for she
watches me like a jailor, and I am quite a prisoner;
and have not pen and ink but by stealth. If I were
to attempt to send this to the post, all would be
lost; so I have trusted it to old Hugh March the
beggar, by means of the servant girl, and I have
given the old man the three keys. Heartily wish-
ing you health and happiness I recommend myself
to your prayers, as mine are for your success, and
remain, dear Sir,
Your affectionate humble servant,
RACHEL ROKER.”
“P. S. Pray let me hear speedily by the bearer.”
Orlando read this strange confession, this avowal
of iniquity so black, mingled with appeals to
Heaven, and sentences of religion, with such a pal-
pitating heart, that, when he had finished it, he
looked around him to discover whether he was alive
—The objects about him seemed real—He saw the
old man before him, who, after a long search in his
other pocket, produced the three keys; and then
pulling off the relics of an hat from his grey head,
bowed with an air of much humility, and cried,
Well, and what says my young master?—Does his
lame messenger bring him bad news or good?—Ah,
your honour is a noble gentleman, and will reward
your old soldierſ
That I will, my honest fellow ! to the utmost of
your wishes, as soon as I have discovered whether
all this is real; but it seems to me at present that I
am in a dream.
Wide awake, depend upon it, answered the beg-
gar;-so come, dear young gentleman! will you go


336 THE OLD MANOR house.
back to yon ale-house, and let us see what the good
news will do for us?—I do not very well know, in-
deed, what it is; but I know that I was promised
that you could do me a power of good, if I deliver-
ed the letter and the keys safe.-You know I had
promised afore to serve you by night and by day,
and so I have, Serve me a little longer, my brave
old man! said Orlando; by preserving in the place
we are going to the secrecy I desire of you, without
which all may yet be lost.—Here, I will share my
purse with you—Go back to the ale-house, order
whatever you like, and shew them that you have
money to pay for it.—Do not make use of my
name, nor say a word about Mrs. Roker till I re-
turn.—I must go to the next town, to consult a
friend I have there on the best steps to be taken ;
in which, if I succeed, I will make thee the very
prince of old soldiers. -
Orlando then put some guineas into his hand, and
saw him take the way to the ale-house, less rejoiced
at his future hopes of reward, than at the power of
immediate gratification. He somewhat doubted his
discretion, but thought that a yery few hours would
put it out of the power of any indiscretion to mar
the happy effects of Mrs. Roker's repentance:–
and to set about securing this advantage, he has-
tened to his friend, Dawson, as he saw that too
many precautions could not be taken in an affair so
unusual and so important.
cHAPTER XXIV.
THE young man to whom Orlando now applied, was
very sincerely his friend, and possessed an acute
and penetrating mind.—He saw at once all the im-
portance of the business, and the hazard Orlando


338 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
culties in his way:-he doubted the letter from
Mrs. Roker: he doubted the legality of his grant-
ing a warrant; and it was not ; after considerable
delay, and long arguments, that he was at length
prevailed upon to lend to Orlando the assistance of
the civil power, without the immediate exertion of
which, it seemed possible that his hopes might be
again baffled. -
Orlando was not without apprehensions, that this
worthy magistrate might send immediate informa-
tion of what was passing to Dr. Hollybourn; and he
determined, late as it was, to go to Rayland Hall
that night. He set forward, therefore, attended by
Dawson, two other young men of the same town,
who were eager for his success, and the persons
who were to execute the warrant. It was midnight
when they arrived at the Hall—All was profoundly
silent around it, and it had no longer the appear-
ance of an inhabited house. The summons, how-
ever loud, was unanswered. As the men rapped
violently at the old door of the servants' hall,
the sullen sounds murmured through the empty
courts, and to their call only hollow echoes were
returned. These attempts to gain admittance were
repeated again and again without effect, and they
began to conclude, that there was nobody within
the house; but at length some of them going round
to another part of the house, the man who had the
charge of it looked out of a window, and demanded
their business.
Upon hearing there was a warrant and a consta-
ble, the fellow, who had deeply engaged in the same
sort of business as that which used to be carried on
by Pattenson and Company, imagined immediately
that he had been informed against: but as there
was no remedy, he came down with fear and trem-
bling to open the door; and it was a great relief to


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 339
him to learn, that it was only for a paper, which
might occasion the house to change its master,
but not for any of his effects that the intended
search was to be made. The posse now proceeded
to the place indicated by the letter of Mrs. Roker—
the constable, a most magisterial personage, march-
ing by the side of Orlando, while Dawson and his
friends followed, with candles in their hands; and
as silently they ascended the great stair-case, and
traversed the long dark passages that led towards
the apartment in question, Orlando could not, amid
the anxiety of such a moment, help fancying, that
the scene resembled one of those so often met with
in old romances and fairy tales, where the hero is
by some supernatural means directed to a golden
key, which opens an invisible drawer, where a hand
or an head is found swimming in blood, which it is
his business to restore to the inchanted owner.
With a beating heart, however, he saw the picture
of the Lady Alithea removed, and the sliding-board
appear. On entering the closet, the tin box, co-
vered with a green cloth, was discovered. The
key which Orlando possessed opened it, and the
casket was within it; which he unlocked, in the
presence of all the persons present, and saw the im-
portant paper, exactly as it had been described by
Mrs. Roker.
He now debated whether he should open it; but
at length, with the advice of his friend Dawson,
determined not to do so till his arrival in London.
Replacing every thing else as it was found, and se-
curing the closet and the room that led to it, he
now hastened to reward the persons who had at-
, tended him on this search—and without resting,
set out post with Dawson for London, where they
arrived at nine o'clock the next morning.
Orlando hastened immediately to the house of his
G G 2


340 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
mother, with sensations very different from those
with which he had quitted it.—He found Monimia
alone in the dining-room, pensively attentive to the
two children of Isabella, who were playing on the
carpet.—She received him with that degree of
transport which shewed itself in tears; nor could he
prevail upon her for a moment or two to be more
composed, and to answer his inquiries after his
mother and his sisters.-She at length told him,
that Mrs. Somerive had been so much affected by
the visits her brother had made during his absence;
by his reproaches for her false indulgence to both
her sons, and by his total dislike to the marriage
of Orlando (which he had represented as the most
absurd folly, and as the utter ruin of his nephew)
and by the disposition he (Mr. Woodford) shewed .
to withdraw all assistance from her and her two
youngest daughters, if she did not wholly withdraw
all countenance both from Orlando and Isabella,
that Mrs. Somerive was actually sinking under the
pain such repeated instances of cruelty had inflicted,
and had determined, rather than continue to be
obliged to a brother who was capable of thus em-
poisoning the favours her circumstances obliged
her to accept, to quit London, discharge all but
one servant, and to retire to some cheap part of
Wales or Scotland, where the little income she
possessed might be more sufficient to their support.
Orlando, who felt that some precaution was ne-
cessary, in revealing to Monimia the fortunate re-
verse that now presented itself, was considering how
to begin this propitious discovery, when his mother,
who eagerly expected him, having learned from
the servants that he was arrived, sent down Selina
to beg to see him.
She put back the curtain as he came into the
room; and held out her hand to him, but was un-


342 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
dred a-year for her life, to her old companion Len-
mard, Mrs. Rayland had given every thing she pos-
sessed, both real and personal, to Orlando, with-
out any other restriction than settling the whole of
the landed estate of the Rayland family on his male
heirs, and appropriating a sum of money to pur-
chase the title of a Baronet, and for an act to
enable him to take and bear the name and arms of
Rayland only.
The subsequent proceedings were easy and ex-
peditious. Against a will so authenticated all op-
position was vain; and within three weeks Orlando
was put in possession of his estate, and Doctor
Hollybourn obliged, with extreme reluctance, not
only to deliver up all of which he and his brother
}.} taken into their hands, but to refund the rents
and the payments for timber; which operation
went to the poor Doctor's heart. There are some
men who have such an extreme affection for money,
even when it does not belong to them, that they can-
not determine to part with it when once they get
possession of it. Of this order was the worthy Doc-
tor; who, with charity and urbanity always in his
mouth, had an heart rendered callous by avarice,
and a passion for the swinish gratifications of the
table, to which the possession of Rayland Hall,
the gardens and hot-houses of which he alone kept
up, had lately so considerably contributed, that he
could not bear to relinquish them; and actually
suffered so much from mortification that he was ob-
liged to go to Bath to cure a bilious illness, which
vexation and gluttony contributed to bring on.
Orlando lost no time in rescuing the unfortunate
Mrs. Roker from the hands of her tyrant; who, in
order to incapacitate her from giving that testi-
mony which he knew was in her power, and with
which she often had threatened him, had taken out


The old MANOR Houstº. 343
i
against her a commission of lunacy. It was super-
seded on the application of Orlando, who himself
immediately conducted Mrs. Roker to Rayland
Hall; where he put her in possession of the apart-
ments she had formerly occupied; and employed
her to superintend, as she was still active and alert,
the workmen whom he directed to repair and re-
furnish the house, and the servants whom he hired
to prepare it for the reception of its lovely mistress.
He forbore to pursue Roker himself, as he might
have done; having no pleasure in revenge, and
being rather solicitous to give to those he loved
future tranquillity, than to avenge on others those
past misfortunes, which pººr. served only to
make him more sensible of his present felicity.
Fortune, as if weary of the long persecutions the
Somerive family had experienced, seemed now re-
solved to make them amends by showering her
favours upon every branch of it. Warwick had
hardly rejoiced a week in the good fortune of Or-
lando, when he received a summons to attend Ge-
neral Tracy; who, quite exhausted by infirmity,
saw the end of his life approaching, and sacrificed
his resentment, which time had already considerably
weakened. He was not, however, yet able to see
Isabella; but his pride had been alarmed by the ac-
counts he had received of Warwick's distressed cir-
cumstances, and above all, of his having a play
coming forward at one of the theatres; which,
though it was to pass as the work of an unknown
young author, with a suppositious name, was well
known to be, and publicly spoken of as his. That
his nephew—that the nephew of an Earl should
become an author and write for support, was so
distressing to the haughty spirit of the old soldier,
that though he saw many examples of the same
thing in people of equal rank, he could not bear it;


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 345
by farmers, under-tenants of Stockton, when Or-
lando's last melancholy visit was paid to it. He
now purchased it ; and putting it as nearly as he
could into the same state as it was at the death of his
father, he presented it to his mother with the estate
around it; and thither she went to reside with her
two youngest daughters, though they all occasion-
ally paid visits to the Hall, particularly Selina, of
whom Orlando and Monimia were equally fond.
Incapable of ingratitude, or of forgetting for a
moment those to whom he had once been obliged,
Orlando was no sooner happy in his restored for-
tune, than he thought of the widow of his military
friend Fleming. To Fleming himself he owed it,
that he existed at all ;-to his widow, that an exist-
ence so preserved, had not been rendered a curse
by the estrangement or loss of Monimia.
One of the first uses therefore that he made of his
assured prosperity, was, to remove from this re-
spectable protectress of his beloved Monimia, the
mortifications and inconveniences of very narrow
circumstances. He wrote to her, entreating to see
her at the Hall with her children, and that she
would stay there at least till after the accession of
happiness he was to expect in the autumn. To-
wards the middle of September, Mrs. Fleming and
her younger children arrived; and in a few days
afterwards Monimia's gallant young friend the sailor,
to whom she owed her providential introduction to
Mrs. Fleming, unexpectedly made his appearance.
He returned from a very successful cruize; he was
made a lieutenant, and had obtained leave of absence
for ten days, to comfort with these tidings the heart
of his widowed mother; when, not finding her at
her usual habitation in the New Forest, he had fol-
lowed her to Rayland Hall, where he was a most
welcome guest.


346 The OLD, MANOR HOUSE,
This young man who was in disposition and in
figure the exact representative of his father, could
not long be insensible of the charms of the gentle
Selina; and he spoke to Orlando of the affection he
had conceived for her, with his natural sincerity.
Orlando, who never felt the value of what he pos-
sessed, so much as when it enabled him to contri-
bute to the happiness of his friends, seized with
avidity an offer which seemed so likely to con-
stitute that of his beloved sister; and he had the
happiness in a few days of discovering that the old
sea officer, Fleming's relation and patron, was so
well pleased with his gallant behaviour in the en-
gagement he had lately been in, that he had deter-
mined to make him his heir, and most readily con-
sented to make a settlement upon him more than
adequate to the fortune Orlando had given his sis-
ter; and it was settled that Selina and Lieutenant
Fleming should in a few months be united.
Orlando was very soon after made completely
happy by the birth of a son, to whom he gave his
own name, and who seemed to render his charming
mother yet more dear to all around her. Every
subsequent hour of the lives of Orlando and his
Monimia was marked by some act of beneficence;
and happy in themselves and in their connections,
their gratitude to Heaven for the extensive bless-
ings they enjoyed, was shewn in contributing to
the cheerfulness of all around them.
In the number of those who felt the sunshine of
their prosperity, and prayed for its continuance, no
individual was more sincere in his joy, or more fer-
vent in repeated expressions of it, than the useful
old military mendicant, whose singular services Or-
lando rewarded by making him the tenant for life
of a neat and comfortable lodge in his park—an ar-
rangement that gratified both the dependent and his


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 347
protector—Orlando never passed through his own
gate without being agreeably reminded, by the
grateful alacrity of this contented servant, of his
past afflictions, and his present felicity.
FINIS,
G. wooDFALL, PRINTER,
ANGEL count, skin.NER STREET, LoNDoN.














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