frT' LI B RAR.Y OF THE UNIVLR5ITY Of ILLINOIS 823 HG73f v.\ Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2009 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/fatherasheshould01hofl A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, A NOV£U Printed by J. Darline;, Leadenhall-Street, London. Father as he should he. IN FOUR VOLUxMES. — •^••oy>ry^ — BY MRS. HOFLAND, AUTHOR OF SAYS SHE TO HER NEIGHBOUR, CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW, VISIT TO LONDON, PATIENCE A^D PERSEVERANCE, 4c. ^c- That friendship may be at once fond and lasting, there must be not on!y eqnal virtue on each part, bat virtue of the same kind : not only the sanae end must be proposed, bat the same means must be approved by both. Fiiendsbip composed of esteem and love, derives from oue its tenderness, and its penuaoeace from the olber. Marriage is the moit perfect unioa of friendship. Jtambiir. VOL. I. LONDON : PRINTED AT THE FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADENHALL-STREET. 1815. TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. (by ber royal bigbxess^s permission) V^ HOST HUMBLY DEDICATED, MOST DUTIFUL, MOST DEVOTED, V*,RY GRATEFUL AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, ^ B. HOFLAND. VOL. I. A FATHEP^ AS HE SHOULD BE* CHAP. I. '' What can Ido?'- These words, spoken in a low tone, and followed by a heart-rending sigh, broke on the ear of sir Francis Mowbray, as he was passing the fishmonger's shop at the upper end of the Haymarket. His steps were ar- rested, his bosom penetrated by the deep despondency with which they were uttered; the speaker was a tall, slender, and not in- elegant-looking woman ; her back was to- wards sir Francis, and she was opening a little purse, as if to pay for a lobster that lay before her. The baronet turned his head the second B 2 * A yATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, time to look at this person, just at the mo- ment when she, turning from the shopman, revealed to him a countenance that bore in every lineament traces of that severe suffering which had already, in her simple and unconscious exclamation, met his ear. She was young, and would perhaps have been beautiful, if sorrow had not shed its chilling influence on her withering bloom. Her face was pale and shrunk ; and her full bazel eye, cast downward, appeared to dart its only ray through the long silken lashes that shaded her pallid cheek. Her dress was that of a widow, but evidently a distressed one; yet both in that, and her carriage, was evinced that latent dignity and un- subdued elegance which designate the gentlewoman. Sir Francis was a compassionate, humane^ and charitable man ; he was accustomed to attend to the wants of his fellow-crea- tures, and to find much of his own happi- ness arise from relieving the sorrows, and contributing to the comfort of the afflicted, and for a moment he stopped, and looked A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, D ivith benevolent anxiety, not unmixt with curiosity^ towards the person who had so powerfully attracted him, and who was taking the same road with himself; his earnest, though not impertinent looks, evi- dently disconcerted her — a blush overspread her pale features, and her feeble steps be- came hurried. In a few moments she turn- ed down a narrow street, and entering a court, disappeared. Sir Francis pursued his way mechani- eally, for the more he ruminated on the appearance of this apparently forlorn be- ing, the more he found himself interested for her. He could not doubt her poverty •^there was something in her haggard face which indicated literal starvation ; and al- though reason seemed to forbid the con- clusion, since it was by no means likely that a person so situated should be pur- chasing a luxury, yet he could not help believing it, and feeling that desire to re- lieve her wants, which is the first wish of humanity, in cases of positive necessitv. The baronet's wishes, thou;^h not vet sub- e A PATIIER AS HE SHOULD BE, mitted to his own investigation^ went U)^^ beyond this species of instinctive compas- sion — he would have poured balm into the heart of this daughter of sorrow — he would have illumined her lonely and bereaved dwelling with the day-star ©f hope. Sir Francis was angry with himself for having lost sight of the person in question, and neglected to offer assistance whilst yet it was valuable. Again and again her fra- gile form met his view, and seemed to re- proach him for suffering it to sink into an early grave; yet on a clo.^er revival of the affair, he could not perceive the moment when he had possessed a right to address her, much less to tender her assistance. It was evident, that, '' wounded by the deep regards she drew,*' she had taxed her wea- kened frame almost beyond its powers, to escape his observation; and, it was proba- ble, would have resisted any oflfers he could have made her, from a sense of impropriety in conceding to them. The baronet was at this time a handsome bachelor of thirty-five, and was newly ar- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. / rived in London, in consequence of his parliamentary engagements. He was a man of excellent moral character, ancient family, highly-respectable connexions, and large unincumbered estate. A person of this description is generally welcome where- ever he goes ; and the gentleman in ques- tion called on many old friends in the course of the morning, who welcomed him with the warmest professions of pleasure and regard; the cordial greetings of pa- rents and brothers were seconded by the equally cordial glances shot from the bright eyes of daughters and sisters; and in one house, an aflTectionate family claimed the privilege of long acquaintance to enforce his dining with them. The evening was spent in cheerful and rational conversation, which was known to be the dearest amuse- ment to their guest; past occurrences, pre- sent politics, country amusements, and the belles lettres, were each canvassed, and the mind of the baronet was drawn out in each; but a certain pensive cast still pervaded bis feelings; and at every pause the whis- 8 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. per of " What can I do ?" crossed his m^- mory^ and checked the sallies of his imagi- nation, and the flow of his eloquence; it was neither in the power of good wine nor good company to erase the impression. " I shall get the better to-morrow/'* said sir Francis^ '' of this weakness.'* But a weakness so blended with all the better part of his nature, did not remove on the morrow; and finding that the form of the distressed widow still haunted his mind^ and petitioned his aid, the benevolent ba- ronet wisely determined that he would Iiaunt the place where he had seen her^ un~ til he was enabled to offer that aid, or con- "vince himself that it was unnecessary. For several days his search was entirely fruitless; all the knowledge he could ob- tain was from the fishmonger, whom even the number and variety of his customers did not prevent from recollecting the per- son in question ; he said '' she lodged not far oil, he was certain^ as she had fre- quently bought shell-fish of him the win- ter before, which he had then under- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, 9 Stood was for the captain her husband, who had died soon after Christmas, he appre- hended.'* This account only served to ^quicken the solicitude of compassion, which, after many fruitless efforts, was at length in some mea- sure rewarded, by the same person, with a still feebler step, and more languid appear- ance, one day emerging from a chandler's shop in the neighbourhood of wSt. Alban's- street, at the moment the baronet entered on his accustomed watch. He felt himself still unable to speak to her ; but he would not lose sight of a prize which had cost him so much trouble, especially at a time when it was evident his charity had a still stronger motive for exertion. He follow- ed at a distance ; and on her entering a house, and ascending two pair of stairs, he too entered, and turning into the first open door, inquired of a person, whom he ap- prehended to be the mistress of the house, *' what was the name of the lady who lodged on her second floor ?" b3 10 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD HK, '' Lady, indeed ! she be not much more of a lady than myself/' began a vulgar- looking woman, who was looking over a large lot of old. clothes, and did not im- mediately perceive whom she addressed ; but on turning round, she was struck with the person of sir Francis, whose appear- ance and dress were those of a ijentleman, as gentlemen were; she instantly changed her tone, and advancing, began to satisfy the curiosity of her hearer beyond his sim- ple question. " Why, sir, Mrs. Mackenzie ; all I know of Mrs. Mackenzie be this — she com*d here about a year back, or so, to lodge wi' the captain her husben ; not as he was a cap- tain nether, but only a liftenant, as I finds out aterwards; and to be sure, poor cree- itr, a sad time she's a had of it, ever sins she com'd under my roof, that's for certain ; not but for that matter the captain (as we called him) was as good as gone then ; I sed to my spouse, says I, the very first time as I see him, ' that gemman's no bet- ter than a dead man; and when he's gone. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD B2. I 1 who's to pay for the lodgins^ I wonders?' those were the very words as I said.'* ''Avery hopeful entrance/* thought the baronet, " for a wife already trembling for the future.*' She proceeded. " Well, sir, all turned out as I sed ; there was he sinking, sink- ing, day. by day, as it were, being he had bled so much with some wounds he had got over seas, tliat it had quite (lung him into a decline ; and there was she, poor cree- ter, with him and two little childer, fast ennff, I warrant, for L soon found out they' had very little nirOney, and all they had- went fordoctor^s stuff, or to get some little jnatter as he could fancy. Many's the time- she ha' made a dish a wish-washy tea, and a dry crust, last her the twenty-four hours, I knows; though she kept up, and made believe as if she wanted nothing, just to set the captain's heart at ease." " Good God, what wretchedness !'* ex- claimed the baronet. '" Why, yes, for certain, sir, it was bad enough; but .still, somehow, she managed IS- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. better whilst he livedo for when he died, down dropt her hearty as it were, and she be now going ater him, to my mind^ very fast." '' Two children ! did you say two chil- dren?" " There be only one now, sir, for the first died just ater the father ; and this as be left is very sickly, and she be parfitly kill- ing of herself to keep he alive, that be all I go to blame her for. When people be so poor, what's the use of childer, I won- ders, but just to make them poorer? and, as I says, if it please God to take the boy, why so much the better; for then, as I says, says I, such a likely young woman as she be might get out into some kind of service, or might pick up another husband, or fifty things." " Never, never, never !" cried sir Fran- cis, flinging away, and hastening upstairs, with all the trepidation of feelings vio- lently awakened, and which induced him to rush somewhat prematurely into the room where he had seen the widow enter* A FATHER A3 HE SHOULD BJB. IS Mrs, Mackenzie was kneeling by the side of a shabby little couch, feeding her sick child. She started on perceiving the stranger enter, and subdued as she was by long suffering,, yet assumed an air of self- respect, which for a moment checked tha approach of sir Francis, who, overwhelmed by all he beheld, as well as all he had heard, was unable to speak. The emotion under which the sympathe- tic intruder evidently suflered, asvokeanew the sorrows of the widow, while it gave a softer tone to tneir expression; it was long since the voice of comfort had been heard in her desolate dwelling, and she prepared to listen to its accents wiih gratitude, though aware that it came in a *' question- able sh^pe.** Her tears flowed freely ; and her little boy perceiving them, stretched out his arms to come to her, as if to ask protec- tion, and communicate support by his ca- resses, while he fearfully asked — *' Mamma, what does he want? he shan't hurt mamma, nor take Henry from her ; lio, he shan't T' I4r A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. " My little fellow," said the baronet, '^F would not tnke you from mamma, nor hurt either of you for the world ; here, my pretty boy, take these pieces of paper; tell mamma to get you a country lodging, and a phvsician, and take thiii card, and' telljier, when they are finished, to send for more." The unconscious child eagerly grasped the " pretty papers ;'* whilst the mother, agitated almost to fainting, feebly and tre- mulouslv exclaimins: — " No, no ! no coun- try lodgings !'* sunk on the nearest chair. Sir Francis was hurt — almost offended ; but a moment's recollection told him that sorrow too often implants suspicion, even in the bosom of innocence; and the nearer view he now obtained of the fine, thousrh faded person of the sufferer, told him it was but too likely that the offers of the un- principled, or the snares of the insidious, had already added to her aiBictions, and that he ought to honour the resistance he condemned ; stepping back, he said, in a tone where slight reproach mingled with A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 13 profound compassion — '* Though I am a stranger to you, madam, and have obtruded somewhat abruptly on your privacy, yet as my manners have, I trust, been as inof- fensive as my motives are pure, do not suffer an excess of delicacy to deprive vour child of the assistance he evidently needs. I leave you, and do not expect to see you again, unless you desire it, in order to point out the way in which I can serve you." The widow was now oppressed by over- flowing gratitude. vShe rose, she would have flung herself at his feet; but unable to speak or act, she sunk again into her seat, uttering faint sounds of inariiculate thankfulness. Sir Francis descended, paid the arrears due to her landlady, which had accumulated to a sum beyond her power to discharge, \vhich was evidently the true cause of her continuance there, although by continued exertion with her needle she had endea- voured, during those hours when her son slept, to lessen the amount. He earnestly 16 ^ A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BSE. recommended her to the humanity of this person, little as he was aware she possessed; yet he was willing to induce her> by any means, to assist her unhappy lodger; and he knew enough of human nature to be ^ware that it is seldom so degraded as not to be aflected with the honour implied by confidence, and he saw the positi^'e neces- sity of immediate care to the famishing widow, and her helpless little one. The consciousness of having performed a good action, especially one which has. compassion or restitution for its basis, sel- dom fiuh to spread a delightful calm over" the heart, and awaken the mind to finer perceptions of excellence and pleasure in all around us. The baronet feh this un- doubtedly to a considerable degree, as he retraced his steps homeward; but yet a pensive character of thought suffused his features, and he went slowly and heavily, as if borne by necessity from the place he had promised to visit no more. His feel- ings and his curiosity were yet unsatisfied; the former wished to pour abundance ra- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, 17 ther than the boon' of beneficence into the lap of the wretched one, and the lat- ter wished to know every circumstance, and almost every jt-hoiight^ of one in whom he was become so'deepty interested. It will be readHy supposed that a being so helpless and forlorn, so long bereaved, and so acutely suffering, could not expe- rience the sudden relief thus unexpectedly bestowed — relief which promised the pre- servation of that only relicof happiness^that single beinij who remained to render life en- durable,without experiencing the most live- ly gratitude oi which a tender and virtuous heart is capable, and that, of course, it was not long before sir Francis received a letter, in which these feelings were forcibly though inadequately depicted. With pleasure, ra- ther than surprise, sir Francis perceived in this epistle every mark of superior edu- cation, cultivated mind, and simple ele- gance, for which he had, on apparently very slight grounds, given the writer cre- dit. It did not/ however, invite him ta IS A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BIT. "visit the retreat his bounty had providecT, and his word was sacred. Through the medium of a corresporr- dence which sought the permanent benefit ofhhprolegee, sir Francis became acquaint- ed with those further particulars in her life which were necessary to be known to hinrr, in order that he might essentfally serve her,, and visit her not only with probity, but propriety. These particivlars, together with others not so much her province to relate, shall be thrown together in the fol>- lowing chapters. CHAP. IT. Louisa Deverell was the only child of a gentleman, who had the misfortune or folly to offend his father by a matrimonial alliance with a young woman devoid of A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, 19 fortune and connections, though of very respectable birth. He was the eldest of three brothers; but from the time of his marriage was declared disinherited, in right of the second. The youngest son was at this time serv- ing in the army, and notwithstanding his youth, enjoyed a high reputation^ not more for the valour he had successfully displayed, but the noble generosity of his disposition, and the steady propriety of his conduct. He was particularly attached to his eldest brother, who had ever been his warm friend, and frequently his sug- cessful advocate with a penurious father, "who had grudged to his opening career those indulgences befitting his situation. These acts of kindness were now cordially returned. Charles interceded strongly for the restoration of a son to the paternal bosom, who had till now been worthy of its tenderest welcome — but he interceded in vain ; and finding all remonstrances in- effectual, and being aware that his brother, being educated to no profession, was incap« 20 A FATHER AS KE SHOULD BK. able of any other mode of subsistence^ lie next endeavoured to procure him a cam- mission, and at length succeeded. In proportion as Mr. Deverell the elder hardened his heart against his eldest son, so that of his younger appeared to ex- pand with more tenderness. On his return to England he found that brother^ to whom from infancy he had been taught to look up as Ids future protector, subsisting^ with his wife and infant daughter^ on the wretch- ed pay of an ensign, yet bearing their suf- ferings with fortitude, under the idea that eveiQi this was better than being torn from each other, which would inevitably be the case whenever Mr. Deverell was promoted. He was deeply affected with their situation ; and he devoted himself to their service, by curtailing every expenditure of his own, as far as possible, and at length succeeded in obtaining promotion for his brother, with- out the terrible penalty that appeared to be annexed to it; at the same time h^ made a resolution, that so long as /le re- uaained in the army, no circumstance should K FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 21 induce him io form a matrimonial engage-, ment, wisely concluding, that the wife of a soldier is unavoidably exposed to suffer- ings inconsistent with the powers of any female whose education has subjected her to the evils inseparable from refinement. Mr. Edward Deverell, the father of Lou- isa, was a man of mild manners, retired disposition, and formed rather for literary pursuits, than to blend in the gay throng that attend '' the pomp and circumstance of war ;'' he was, however, by no means deficient either in personal courage or any other manly virtue, and as his family in- creased, he could not bear either to press on the generosity of his brother, or suffer any means of improving his situation to escape ; he therefore used his endeavours to get an appointment which might facili- tate his promotion; and as this was the pe- riod of our contest with the American co- lonies, he soon after gained an appoint- ment, in which he was accompanied by his faithful partner, who preferred every risk of suffering with him, to being left in a is A T"ATH>ER AS HE SHOULD BE* country which to her would be friendless and desolate without him. During a long state of harrassing war- fare^ sometimes together^ sometimes sepa- rated — now pillowing her aching head on the more aching bosom of Tier beloved spouse, and now craving help from the proud American, or the suffering child of Africa, Mrs. Deverell became the mother of five children, of which two were victims of the small-pox in one fatal day; and two others, fine promising boys, who might have lived beneath a grandsire's fostering care, here drooped and died^ from disor- ders incident to the harrassing life and fre- quent privations ever attendant on scenes like these. Louisa alone, though a deli- cate blossom, possessed sufficient strength <3f constitution to withstand the compli- cated hardships of her situation ; she re- turned with her parents in her eleventh' year, a fiower of no common promise, the delight and the charm of their existence. Captain DeverelPs regiment was broke soon after their return to England ; and A TATTER AS HE SHOULD BE. 23 he retired on half-pay to a cheap village in the North of England, after making once more an in^flfectual overture to his father, ^ho was now advanced in life, and thought to be in a declining wav\ Mrs. Deverell was again pregnant, and her health so ex- tremely -delicate, as to be very alarming to her affectianate husband; but his cares were called, in a great measure, even from her, by. the arrival of his brother, now colonel Deverell, who returned from the same unhappy contest, so reduced in con- sequence of his wounds, as to render him the first object of attention to this affec- tionate little family., which he greatly pre- ferred to that which now occupied princi- pally the mansion of his ancestors. Mrs. Deverell had now but too good an opportunity of proving her gratitude and esteem for this incomparable brother. Alas! her wai*m and gentle heart felt his claim.s but too fully ! suppressing every com- plaint of her own, she acted so truly the part of a skilful and indefatigable nurse towards him, that her own ailments were S4 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE.' confirmed, and her constitution too much reduced to sustain the approaching trial, Louisa, kind and considerate beyond her years, for sorrow and affection give a me- lancholy maturity to the hearty-endeavour- ed to save her mother from fatigue, and no less did the unvarying tenderness of her father assist her efforts ; but all assistance was in vain ; in giving birth to another son the long-loved wife expired, and was soon followed to the grave by her helpless little one. Colonel Deverell had shared the fortune, and he now shared the sorrows of his bro- ther. Louisa was the care, the hope, the comfort of both ; for her sake they sup- pressed the grief in which she took an am- ple part — for her the father resolved to endure life — for her the uncle wished to attain prosperity. Recovered from the effects of his late sufferings, still in the very prime of life, and calculated equally by nature and ha- bit for a life of enterprize, it was no won- der that when the first effusions of grief A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 23 and sympathy had subsided, colonel De- verell ao:ain entered on the duties of his profession, in the service of the East India Company. After his departure, the father of Loiiisa applied himself with diligence to her education ; and all the long-sus- pended accomplishments he possessed were called into aqtion for her sake. Wounded and repulsed as he had been by his father, he could not bring himself to make any farther concessions, especially at a time when his heart was bleeding for the loss of that very wife who had innocently been the cause of dividing them. But yet he secretly nourished that hope for his child, which he could not indulge for himself; and believed, that although his paternal rights might be denied to him, they would eventually be restored to his child.; and in this, dream of affection his brother the co- lonel so entirely concurred, that he was equally desirous with himself that Louisa should enjoy every possible advantage o[ education^ and be fitted for a situation she VOL. I, c was 26 A FATHER AS ITE SHOULD BE. was by nature calculated to adorn and en- joy. But;, alas ! while the fond father thus lavished all his tenderness, and spent his scanty stores to form his daughter for a woman of fortune, these fond hopes were for ever blasted. His father died, bequeath- ing not only his estates, but their large ac- cumulations during a life of devotion to this end, entirely to his second son, to whom he had ever been partial, on account of his avaricious disposition, cruelly invol- ving the youngest in the guilt ascribed to the eldest, because, as it was expressed in his vindictive and unjustifiable will, " h^ had manifestly encouraged and supported him in his disobedience." From this concluding^ stroke of parental vengeance captain Deverell never recover- ed. His constitution had been deeply, though unobtrusively injured in America, and the death of his wife and infant son had added to the latent wound. From this time he sunk slowly, but certainly, into thai tomb, towards which he looked as the A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 27 fiaven of his wanderings — the veil of his afflictions. For Louisa alone he feared and %yept ; but from her he anxiously conceal- ed the fate he felt to be inevitable, until it became impossible to hide it longer, when he omitted no means in his power to com- fort her heart, and invigorate her under- standing : for her sake too he made some advances towards that brother who had so long forsaken him, under plea of their fa- ther's commands. He was not encouraged to hope for much kindness from this rela- tive; but he was, during the absence of the colonel, constrained to accept that little, as he had no possibility of providing any other eligible home for his child than the house of this uncle, until the far-dis- tant return of Charles, who, he was well aware, would be to her another father — a circumstance his brother was likewise aware of, ere he promised even a reluctant pro- tection to the unhappy girl. Mr. James Deverell had been designed by his father for the practice of the law ; c2 28 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BB. and agreeable to this designation, had been placed, in his sixteenth year, with an emi-* nent solicitor. He was remarkable, even at this period, for his strict attention to his own interest, and be ^e the favourite of his father, from sh^wK:^ a disposition to that care which was his own characteristic, and which his visits, from time to time, at his father's scat, enabled him to exemplify. At one of these visits he perceived that the long-declining health of his mother had now placed her beyond the reach of earthly help, and calculating on the probable length of her life, he began to consider it "but too possible that his father might chuse another helpmate, seeing his sons were all parted from him, unless he, in the provi- dent care of his love, supplied the cares and comforts her unwearied, but ill re- warded attentions had hitherto bestowed on bis father. Anxious at once to prevent a circum- stance inimical to the future welfare of his family, and also to secure himself in the possession of aflluence, on his return to A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, 29 town, he made hasty addresses to the wi- dow of a wealthy cheesefactor, to whom his profession had introduced him, and who, considering him a handsome young man, and a man of family, was not slow in accepting his offer; and they were united a few weeks previous to the disso- lution of Mrs. Deverell. Mrs. James Deverell had a son and daugh- ter by her former husband ; but as they were amply provided for, so far from be- ing deemed incumbrances, the manage- ment of their fortunes during a long mi- nority had been reckoned among the dou- ceurs of this singular union ; and imme- diately on the death of Mrs. Deverell, her son James determined on removing into the country with his whole family, for the ostensible purpose of soothing his father, the actual purpose of securing that father's property, which was finally fulfilled. But during the lapse of years which suc- ceeded, the careful, wheedling, plotting, and successful brother, did not "sleep on roses;" his pangs and fears were indeed so A t'ATHER AS HE SHOULD BK. more *' than war, or women know/' for from time to time the voice of nature would speak in the father's heart, in behalf of his absent sons ; and when that was si- lenced, many disgusts incident to queru- lous old age, and daily increasing avarice, was subject to arise towards his son, that son's wife, or her ill-bred, wayward brats. Hence James had many wounds to heal, manyconcessions to make, many vexations to appease, on the side of his father ; M'hile his domestic pillow was thickly strewn with thorns by the other party, even when most he endeavoured to conciliate both ; and his personal pride found as ^ much to encounter on one hand, as his prudential fears and meanness on the other. Mrs. James Deverell was coarse in her person, contracted in her ideas, illiterate, and jll-bred, boisterous, self-willed, and ill-mannered ; she loved money rather for purposes of expence than avarice, being purse-proud and showy, so that James, in a great measure, found his purpose and anxious desire of accumulation perpetu- A FATJ^ER AS HE SHOULD BE. 3t ally thwartedj by the very person whom he bad married for the express purpose of at- taining this single object. By the same rule^ his designs on his father were injured also, since every act of what was deemed his wife's extravagance, was sure to be avenged on his head, although it was well understood that her own jointure supplied it. When this was submissively urged by the son to the father, he was generally an- swered with — *'When a gentleman like you, James, a man of family, education, and person, marries a low-born, vulgar, plain woman, much older than himself, he cer- tainly ought to be paid for his degradation ; if your wife spends the money she brought, how can this be done ?" A life of such perpetual vexation, such wearisome solicitude, such extre..ie anx- iety, as a person so situated endures, can- not be repaid by any eventual success, even if the attainment of riches were accompa- nied by the honours of rank, and the bet- ter consciousness of popularity ; but Mr. James Deverell had no hopes of either of it A PATflER AS HE SHOULD £E« the ktfer, though he was well aware they give to wealth that splendor and power AvhJch alone render it desirable to any creature that rises above the mere sensual- ist. On the contrary, the vulgarity of his wife disgusted the more respectable part of his neighbours^, and the remembrance of the brother rendered him detestable in the eyes of the lower order, who consi- dered him the ui\just supplanter of that brother's rights; so that he found himself ali^nat€d from society on the one hand, and respect on the other; and though he con- tinued to hug the vice which had Jed him into error, he had yet sensibility enough to feel the wounds it inflicted. He ber came melancholy, silent, abstracted ; aad although every expenditure of his wife might be said to wring his vitals, or alarm his Fears, yet he seldom contended with her oh points which experience told him he 'would not carry; but sinkin^r into sul- -Jen petulance, he sighed over the misfor- tune, or endeavoured, by some new mode of saving or gaining in another quarter, to A FATHER AS PIE SHOULD BE. 33 obviate its effects ; and when such mode did not ])resent itself, and the wound was cutting, he had too frequently recourse to a private bottle. Under these circumstances, it was not surprising that Louisa found her uncle James, although surrounded by all the comforts, and even splendor, his fortune warranted, ( for such his lady insisted upon, ) looking in her eyes a much older and more care-worn man than she had ever known her father, until his last illness. Over that illness, and all the agonizing sorrows it produced to this bereaved and desolate girl, we pass, simply observing, that they were borne as such must ever be, by a heart of extreme sensibility, which yet received the stroke as from that unerring hand she had ever been taught not only to reverence, but adore and love. When Louisa approached that mansion whose inhospitable gates had been so long closed to her beloved fattier, a sense of in- dignation mingled with the sorrow under c3 3i A FATHER AS nii SHOULD BE. which she laboured ; and she felt as if in condescending to accept such an asylum, she derogated from the idolizing respect due to his memory; but remembering that she complied with his will, in doing it, and believing that he would approve of the conduct she should pursue in a situa- tion he had frequently adverted to as ardu- ous, though without specifying its difficul- ties, she regained the general tone of her feelings, and entered the abode of her an- cestors with no other traces on her coun- tenance than those incident to her situa- tion as a bereaved orphan. But when her uncle met her in the hall, when she be- held the pale face and withered features, whose form at least strongly reminded her of those over which she had lately hung in sorrowing fondness, they forcibly struck her, and appeared at once to obliterate every painful impression received towards him, and awaken only sentiments of ten- derness and confidence; for a moment she gazed on him, then rushing forward, flung herself upon his neck, burst into a flood A FATHER AS HE SHOULD EE. 33 of tears, faintly murmuring — " My father! my poor father !'* Though cold bv nature, and steeled by habit, yet the heart of James Deverell was penetrated and warmed by the bitter grief and simple reliance evinced by this artless and lovely relative thus thrown on his pro- tection. He inwardly cono^ratulated him- self on the consummate skill he had dis- played during many past years towards his brother, whom he imagined he had success- fully cajoled into the belief of his entire innocence respecting their father's testa- ment in his own favour; and he therefore concluded, that instead of receiving an injured but dependant being, who at once hated and crouched to him, he embraced an unsuspicious and generous girl, who would look to him as her natural protec- tor, and repay even his limited services with that love to which he had been hi- therto a stranger. The most seliish^ cold-hearted, and un- feeling of human beings, so long as he stops short of that active vice and hideoii? 36 A FATHER -AS HE SHOULD BE. barbarity ascribed t(/ the fiercely wicked, will, at some period or other of his earthly pilgrimage, be sensible that whatever may be his own peculiar object of attraction and pursuit, the love of some kind heart, the reciprocal confidence of some affec- tionate being, on whose sincerity he can rely^ is the sweetest drop in the cup of life ; and is alike .calculated to sooth its sharpest asperities, and give zest to its high- est enjoyments. No wonder, therefore, that for a moment Mr. Deverell felt drawn to his niece by a tie as new to his feelings as it was strong in Iris expression ; for since the time when his anxiety had ceased, and his wishes been fulfilled, he had more pe- culiarlv felt the utter loneliness of his heart and his mind, neither of which held any communion with any thing around him^, if we except one sickly infant, the only sur- viving child he possessed, and on which his hopes were fixed rather as his future heir than his future comfort ; being well aware, from the experience of many a bit- ter hour, that so sooy as it emerged from A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 37 the nursery, those habils would be formed, those tempers indulged, which would con- vert the innocent blossom into a noxious weed, or deleterious plant. " You are welcome to Cleveland, my dear," said the softened uncle, as he warm- ly returned Louisa's embrace, adding, as he led her to the breakfast-parlour, "Mrs. Deverell and her daughter have taken a drive this fine morning; but they will re- turn to dinner, and will be happy to find you are safely arrived." Louisa was too much agitated for reply; she had entered the only room in the house which had not undersfone the modernizing: hand of Mrs. Deverell, and over the chim- ney-piece hung, as it were wont, a family picture, which had often been described to her, and where her ea^er eve sought for the infantine features ever so dear to her; they were easily traced, for even I he cor- roding hand of care, and the anguish of connubial regret, had not effaced that ex- pression of open frankness and mild mag- nanimity which had characterized the fine SB A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. face of captain Deverell. Louisa gazed with an emotion that blended delight with agony. She felt as if she read his virtues in his form, and exulted that a being so formed to be loved and reverenced had been her father. She remembered how faded had been that form ere it vanished from her sight — how blasted in iis pros- pects — smitten by its domestic calamities! and a pang more deep than all the past succeeded the momentary triumph. It is probable that the uncle likewise^ at .this lime, read and compared — it is certain he likewise suffered, as, shrinking from even the timid though speaking eye of Louisa, as it glanced from the picture to his own countenance, he pleaded business, ^nd retired. Louisa was now emerging, from that happy season of life, when *' the tear for- got as soon as shed,'* leaves no traces of pain on the wounded bosom ; yet she was blest with that elasticity of spirits, that lively curiosity, and that daily maturing mind, which enables youth to spring from A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 39 the grasp of sorrow, in search of more con- genial intercourse; and recovering from the severe emotion she had experienced, ^he looked forward with no small interest to the hour which should introduce her to the female part of the family ; and con- scious that travelling all night had render- ed her completely en dishabille, she pre- pared herself in the best manner her mourn- ing admitted, for a suitable appearance at Mrs. Deverell's table. In following the servant to the apart- ment allotted to her, the composure she had sought to attain again nearly forsook her, since every thing around marked the sad charfge which had taken place in her father's circumstances; and she -could scarcely avoid believing^ that had he been blessed with such a home as this, his shat- tered health mi2:ht have been restored. This subject had been rarely mentioned by her father, who, foreseeing the necessity he should be under of claiming a tempo- rary protection for her, had been pecu- liarly careful not to let any thing escape 40 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. him, which should tend to render Louisa's dependence on James more irksome than he was aware it must necessarily be ; but the tender and alarmed child was rendered too penetrating not to trace how severely he suffered from disappointment, and there- fore she had felt regret for the loss of what w^as never defined to her till now, since her modest wants had €ver been supplied, and her early years and judicious education had prevented her from making any compari- son on the gifts of fortune inimical to her happiness. But the generous heart that feels least for itself, will yet entertain strong, and even ambitious desires, for those it loves ; and though it never crossed Louisa's mind that she was herself the rightful h^^iress of this spacious house, fair spreading lawn, ^nd fruitful fields, yet she could not help giving a heart-rending sigh to the thought, that they had been denied to her parents. She endeavoured to reason, as she had been taught to do, against repining at tlie dis- pensations of Providence — *'Are they not/* A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 41 said she, *' more happy than even this para- dise could have made them ? they have ' an inheritance in heaven, an abode that passeth not away;' besides, they are togethir < — I only am alone/' Again she wiped her eyes, and endea- voured to ascend, by silent supplication, to that Fountain of good from whence comfort never fails to flow ; and although the trepidation arising from native modes- ty, as well as conscious dependence, gave a deeper colour to her cheek, and shot a trembling lustre to her full black eye, as she obeyed the summons to dinner, yet she obtained such a portion of tranquillity and self-possession, as to evince not less the powers of a commanding mind, than manners of a gentlewoman ; and on find- ing her uncle ready to conduct her to his lady, she whispered peace to her heart, as with a confiding smile she presented him her hand, naturally, though falsely con- cluding, that the society of her own sex could not fail to be as engaging to her, as it was, on some accounts, desirable. 43 A FATHER AS >IE SHOULD BK. CHAP, III. Mrs. Deverell and her daughter. Miss Ches- ter, rose as Louisa entered the rooni ; but this motion appeared involuntary, as they both instantly sat down again. In paying her respects to the lady of the mansion, she was cruelly embarrassed by the broad, and by no means conciliating, stare of that lady's daughter ; but she was at least equally confused, though not equally annoyed, when Mrs. Deverell, with a Stentorian voice, and in a dialect perfectly new to her, thus addressed her : — *' Sit down, Miss, sit down ; you be tired enufF, I warrant; but you may think yourself werry vel off as you be corned safe and sound ; for my part, I hates stage- coaches, and hackney-coaches, and all them there kind of wehicles, monstraciously ; but that's niNther here nor there; those as can't afford nothin no better, must be glad A FATHER A-S tTE SHOULD BB. 4$ to take up with they. Thank my stars ! I an/t a sin the inside of none this many a vear." Mr. Deverell observed, " Louisa must indeed experience great fatigue from tra- velling all night." *' Those things depend on habit/' said Miss Chester, with a scornful toss of her head, xvhich appeared subject to this spe- cies of cscillation. " I don't suppose fa- tigue is new to Miss Deverell ; people in her station are forced to stir about in more unpleasant ways than riding even in a stage- coach, I take it/' " Why, aye, to be sure," observed the mother, '' use is second nater ; besides, comin to such a house as this is worth haVin a bit o' rumblin and jumblin for. It's not what she's a bin much used to, I takes it; but howsomdever^ she may a sin sum- mut, in some place. Pray haven't you bin a great traveller, Miss?" " I travelled with my parents, ma'am." " I suppose so; I understands you are very learned in them there matters, though 44 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE» you hopped off short in your eddlcation^ in other things, I take it for reasons good; but, however, talking of eddication, I don*t sirppose as there's another to be found Kke my daughter. Miss Charlotte Chester; and well she may, being as it*s.cost a mint o* money ; but what I was going to say is this; did you ever eat any real frogs in France ?" " I never was in France, madam." '* Never in France ! why, Mr. Deverell, didn't you tell me she went over seas with her father and mother?" " Certainly — so she did." » *' Well, and pray, didn't you tell me that France was over seas ? and didn't my son, and Charlotte too, make quite a game of me, because I said I wouldn't go to France on no consideration on shipboard? what contradictious nonsense ! if a person goes abroad, as they call it, why, they goes abroad, that is, over seas; and then if they doesn't see what is to be seen, more fools (hey, and eat what is to be eat too." The conversation was broken up by the A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 45 sen'ant announcini^ dinner; on which Mrs. Devercll said — " Oh ! I forgot to tell you, parson Bailey is coming; I invited him as I came through the village, for any body's better than nobody ; but I shure you I'd somethin to do to get him to come, more fool he — a good dinner's no bad thing, hey, Miss ?" This ^'any body parson" was a truly ve- nerable clergyman, who had nearly reach- ed his eightieth year, yet happy in an ex- cellent constitution, found the winter of life " frosty but kindly;" and in the pos- session of all his faculties, a highly-culti- vated mind, a soul rich in virtue and ex- perience, offered a companion of no com- mon excellence to those who knew how to estimate his worth. It may be readily supposed, that in his present circle he was lost; for even Mr. Deverell could not en- joy the society of a man whom he knew contemned him in his heart. Louisa was, however, an exception to the rest ; great as w^as the disparity in their years and know- ledge, she felt a kindred mind was near 46 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BK. her, and the many gracious sn[\iles accorded by the good old man, soothed and reassured her; and however slightly the vulgar mis- tress of the house might look upon what she termed a poor parson, Louisa was sen- sible of receiving honour from his cour- tesy, and protection from his kindness. Still more did this intuitive sympathy affect her, when, after dinner, Mr. Bailey presented his snuff-box to the ladies, say- ing, as he offered it to her—*' Young lady, though you cannot take a pinch with me, you must admire my box ; it has been a faithful servant almost thirty years, and many a time during the last twenty has it been moistened with a tear, due to the friendship of the excellent donor.'* Louisa, as she took the box fiom the hand that shook as he presented it, per- ceived that even now his eyes glistened with the precious drops gathered by sym- pathy, as with parental tenderness they bent their enfeebled rays on her. There need- ed not a word to inform her, that //er fa- ther had presented the precious relic; and A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 47 -v^hile her eyes spoke the same language, her heart throbbed with grateful affection towards the reverenced being who had thus remembered him. She felt as if she had gained a friend — another father; one -who would guide her steps, and sooth her sorrows; and by her looks she entreated liiin to accept the guardianship of her heart — the compact was silent, but sacred — death alone could dissolve it. In the evening arrived Mr. Chester, then about two-and-twenty — a bold, imperti- nent, forward coxcomb, who affected more \ices than he possessed, under the idea that they gave him the air of a man of fashion, which was the only character he aspired to enjoy, although it was one of all others he was least calculated to attain. He might have made an active tradesman, for he was calculated for bustle and exer- tion, or a very proper fox-hunting 'squire, by the same rule; so that it would have been very possible for him to have attained notoriety in either line; but to affect ennuiy intrigue, or taste, with any success, was 48 A FATflER AS HE SHOULD EE. Utterly impossible ; and the attempt reit- dered that a disgusting eccentricity, which would otherways have been at worst ridi- culous and harmless. Both himself and sister were indebted to the cares of their father-in-law for those advantages of edu- cation which would probably have been 'v^'ithheid by the total ignorance and vulgar caves of their purse-proud, expensive, and yet mean mother; but as early habits had been naturally formed by that mother, and increased by an intercourse with her — as neither of them had good understandings, or the smallest glimmering of taste or sensibility, their education had raised them little above their original level. It had taught them to despise their mother for her gross ignorance, at which they were shocked, because it betrayed the lowness of their origin; but it had not ]ed them, in consequence, to feel grateful towards the father-in-law, whose rank in life had removed them to a higher sphere; on the contrary, they disliked him as much as they -despised her, and they lost no opportunity A FATHEB AS HE SHOULD BE. 49 •f making their sentiments manifest, even to their lowest menials. *' Dicky, my son, do you see parson Bailey is here? you looks at nobody but Miss." *' I see nobody else worth seeing," re- plied the youth, with a knowing shrug, and an impudent stare; when recollecting that nonchalance on every occasion was *' the rage,** he opened his mouth wide enough to shew a handsome set of teeth, and that he intended to gape, and added^ stretching himself — '' I see nobody, no, nobody at all, Mrs. Deverell — y-a-w." At this moment the door opened, and a nurse-maid appeared, leading a pale but pretty child, about four years old, to Mrs. Deverell, for the purpose of bidding her a good-night. It appeared strange to Louisa that this should be the first appear- ance of the heir of the mansion, and (hat the sole survivor of a race all perished, whom, from circumstances, she should have expected to see indulged and idolized to VOL, I, a 5*0 A -FATHER AS HE SHOULD BIS. ex cess/ should appear to excite so little at- tention in the family. Her own heart, ac- customed to witness and partake the ten- djerest maternal cares, and remembering, with sincere regret, the little claimants on her atfections, now Tor ever lost, expanded to this new-found relative, towards whom she intuitively held out her arms. Children have been, with great propri- ety, deemed natural physiognomists, for when left to themselves, they generally se- lect those as objects of their attentfon who are indeed most worthy of it. Little James stopped short ere he reached his mother, and rushed into the open arms of the stiranger. Naturally shy and timid, he was not easy in his situation, yet he forbore to quit it ; and in a few moments began to play with the long ringlets that fell on her shoulders, and steal a look towards the swimming eyes that tenderly gazed upon him, as again they marked the family lineaments visible in his features. At length, moved by com- jpassion, he conquered his fears so far as to A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 51 throw one arm round her neck, and draw- ing down her head, whispered — '* Don't cry, and I will give you my new top.'* Louisa, already affected, was overpower- ed either by the affection of the speech, or the tones of the voice which uttered it, and as the maid at the same moment re- quired him to come to bed, she resigned her lovely and now-beloved burden, and hastily left the room. Mr. Deverell, whose heart, '' albeit un- used to the melting mood," had this day been peculiarly softened and awakened, (elt more than usually drawn towards his child, and requested that he might be left for a few minutes — a request instantl)^ op- posed by his lady, her son, and daughter, who on other occasions would not have been equally concordant. Unable to stem the torrent, yet not disposed to relinquish a pleasure seldom desired, and still sel- domer indulged, he quitted the room with the boy in his arms; on which Mrs. Deve- rell exclaimed — *' Bless my life! I wonder fi 2 UKlVERSmf OF IUiNv> 52 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, \vhat's come to him I I never seed him carry a child to bed in all my life be- fore!" " Twould be easy for him to return the compliment; for who ever saw you do such a thing ? tenderness is not your forte, I believe — y-a-w." '' I be sure, Dicky, you be the last per- son in the world as should say so, for manny's the hour I ha* sat by your bedside, becase for why ? I had nobody to nurse you much, but my ownself ; for when you was a little un, your grandfather, ol# Chester, was alive, and he kept a tight hand on us. But, howsomdever, I believe nobody feels the same naturalness, as it w-ere, towards a second clitch of children, as they does towards the first; what say you, Mr. Bailey ? I takes it you are learned in these matters.** ^' 1 have certainly the advantage of ex- perience, having been twice married.*' " Indeed I I be glad to hear it ; there be my daughter here goes to say, people A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BT?. 53 never can love but once; whereas Vm sure I loved her fatherand his children very dearly; and when he were dead and gone, why, to be sure, then I loved Mr. Deverell ; and wery natural too, for he was quite young, and as handsome a man as ever trod shoe leather^ for all he looks so old and peaking, as it were, now-a-days." *' Like you, madam, I have twice been tenderly attached ; but I will so far coin- cide with your daughter, as to own the attachment was very distinct in its nature, Cfit the commencement of each engagement; although for her information I can assure her, that in time each species of my love mellowed into that tender friendship, which is the best bond, and the sweetest charm of existence. When young, I loved; and after long and anxiously debating on the points whether I should conquer my passion, or* brave the ills of life with the object of it, I at length, like thou- sands in the same situation, chose what I concluded the lesser evil, and at four-and- twenty, with a curacy of fifty pounds a- 54 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BR. year, married a girl of eighteen without a ^sKiIling." *' Y-a-w — she was pretty, I take it, old gentleman, hey? pretty, I suppose f^" " Pretty, sir ! she was an angel ! her beauty was indeed exquisite (at least in my eyes), but her mind, her manners, the purity of her heart, the warmth of her affection — oh, she was a Wonderful crea- ture V* Louisa had re-entered the room, as the old clergyman, with animated voice, and eyes that beamed with renovated life, was uttering this eulogium on bis long-lost love. She fancied that he could be speak- ing only of her mother, and was again ex- tremely agitated. But Louisa had been taught, not less by precept and example than by affection and inborn generasity, to control every feeling which could annoy those around her, and she sat dovvn in si- lence, eagerly listening to a narrative of such supposed interest. " Go on, sir,'' said Mrs. Deverell ; '' T likes to hear a love story now and then; A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 55 though, as I tells Miss Chester, my daugh- ter, love and beauty buys no mutton, and I takes it that's what you are going to say next." " I might undoubtedly say it, for many and severe were my sufferings, from po- verty and repeated disappointment, during the ten following years; yet so precious is the memory of this season of life and love^ that I will not sully its brightness by re- flecting on its occasional sorrows. It closed too soon for my happiness — it left me for- lorn and wretched 1" ** So your wife died, I supposes ? — aye, well ! we shall die some time ; but it's what I never likes to think of, though 'tis quite right tis. parsons and them there kind of folks should, in the way of trade, as one may say." Mr. Bailey wiped his eyes, took a pinch of snuff, and proceeded. " My Mary had brought me four lovely children ; and in order to better my situa- tion, I had lately taken a little farm, which wanted the cares of a prudent mistress; 56 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BI. after her death, all things went wrong; my cattle died, my children were sickly, my servants idle. The pale hces of my mo- therless babes drew the attention of a lady who had lately come to settle in the village^ and her sympathetic inquiries concerning them first led me from the constant con- templation of the grief which, I blush to sayrin despite of reason and religion, was then consuming me. I felt soothed by her attentions — grateful for her humanity. I visited her, and found myself drawn from that terrible apathy of grief which can alone be estimated by those who have felt it. I complained, I wept — and she wept with me." "I durst lay twenty pounds to a brass far- thin that you married her in the long run." *' You are right, madam ; she conde- scended to love me, to raise me from my sorrows, to be a mother to my poor babes^ and—'* *' But had she got the needful, sir ?" "Needful, madam I she had all things needful — a generous heart, a gentle spirit^ A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 57 a cultivated mind, a pious and enlight- ened—" '' But, Lord, sir, had she any cash ?** ''She had two hundred pounds per annum for life, and a thousand pounds at her own disposal ; she had just entered her thirtieth year, was handsome, well-bred, and highly connected." *' Well, begging your pardon, she was the biggest fool as ever I hard tell of; for though the money you speak of be nothin as times go, 'twas quite riches to you; and to go and fiing herself away on a country parson, with four or five brats — my stars ! she did bring her pigs to a fine market." " Yet after the space of five-and-thirty years, when she fell asleep in these arms, she said, madam, that ' goodness and mercy had followed her all her days;* and thank- ing her heavenly Father for the past, joy- fully trusted him for that which was to come." '* Well, there's no accounting for fancies. And what children did she bring ?" Da 58 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, *' Four, madam, who were as dear (o mc 2s their inestimable mother was valuable. Children are rendered dear indeed^ by their own helplessness; if ourdury did not demand care of them, we must bestow it for their own sakes/' *' Y;es, to be sure, if one hasn't servants ,and people to see a'ter them; but for that matter, I looks upon all them there things to be governed by how a man's property T '^ Madam!" *' Why, you see, sir, if Mr. Devereirs |)roperty was a-going, as most people's is, from father to son, why then, to be sure, <:ne would be sadly afeard o* my little Jam.es dying ; but being as how he may leave it as he likes, there's no use in going to be uneasy, becase he may as well leave U to Mr. Richard Chester as not." Mr., Bailey rose to depart, contented with the explanation of maternal love which he had received, and fully conscious that the comments he might be inclined to make would be useless. In his pitying A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 5d look, and the convulsive pressure of his hand, Louisa read his fears for her future happiness in this strange family; and she retired to a melancholy pillow, alike weep- ing for the past and the future. 60 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. CHAP. IV. Although sin is undoubtedly the most hateful thing in the world, yet vulgarity is the most disgusting ; and that of Mrs. De- verell was rendered peculiarly disagreeable to Louisa^ not only because it far exceeded any thing she had ever witnessed in extent, but might be considered a variety in the species, of peculiar flavour and extraor- dinary growth. She had never before witnessed it in a rich person ; and the broad Yorkshire or Somersetshire which had reached her ear from a peasant or me- chanic, was rather novel than disagreeable; but the gross ignorance^ the vile English, the mean notions, and contracted ideas, of Mrs Deverell, were mingled with unfeeling selfishness, despicable meanness, and in- tolerable pride ; the coarseness of her manners re-echoed the base sentiments of her heart; and the contemplation of either JL FATHER AS HE SHOULD BB, C 1 was a terrible object to a being so differ- ently consiitiited as Louisa. Yet the mo- ther was better than her daughter, for she was rarely ill-humoured ; whereas Miss Chester was malignant, petulant, and cap- tious, adding those faults which are the effspring of indulgence, to those traits of the mother which nature had sown, and education confirmed. It will be readily conceived by every person of feeling, especially those who have known, in their own persons, or those dear to them, the sorrows of dependence, how cruel, how difficult the situation of Louisa shortly became; but it is impossible to make them conceive how greatly her trials increased, from Mr. Richard Chester, who rendered himself an object of aver- sion to her, as much from his ill- beha- viour to his mother, who, with all her faults, dearly loved him, as the disgusting affec- tation of his manners. His love was her dread and her torment, since every indica- tion of it drew upon her anger from the mother^ and scorn from the sister, \^^en 62 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. she repelled his forwardness with becom- ing dignity, she was reproached with her pride^ and told to remember *' airs didn't become sitch as she ;" and if at any mo- ment she suffered these professions in tran- quillity, she was reproved for her forward- ness^ and told, that *' it was not likely Mr, Kichard would take up with her; he might take warning from her father's fate> and see what marrying pretty beggars came to; it was one thing to chat to a girl, and ano- ther thing to marry her." Louisa possessed a strong mind as well as a sweet temper, and she determined to sustain all the evils she endured with pa- tience, until the return of that dear uncle who would be to her, she well knew, the parents she had lost; and it rarely hap- pened that either vulgar scolding, or mali* cious insinuation, wounded her beyond bearing, except when her regretted, her idolized father — her beloved, her admirable mother, were reflected upon, or defamed ; then would her cheek glow, her heart swell almost to bursting; scalding tears fell from A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BK» 6S her Ipyely eyes, and sometimes a disjoint- ed sentence, indicative of her feelings, burst from her trembling lips^ which sel- dom failed to awe for a moment the des- picable beings that had awakened it ; for they felt in such moments the presence of superior mind, of injured innocence, and sunk before it. Ever since the death of the elder Deve- rell, Mrs. Deverell and her, daughter had been endeavouring to persuade her con- sort to take them up to London; but al- though they had so far encroached on his melancholy and taciturn temper as to leave him apparently without any right to term himself the master of the house, be yet stedfastly refused this request, gene- rally urging the health of his son as the reason, although it was pretty generally conceived that the expence was his ii^ue motive. In the course of the summer which in* trodnced Louisa to his family, Mr. Deve- rell was doubly besieged on the one hand. 64 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. and robbed of his wonted excuse on the other ; the amiable and heart-wounded girl attached herself with such sincere and active affection to the child, that under her humane vigilance he attained a degree of health and strength to which he had been hitherto a stranger; whilst his mind and memory likewise imbibed that knowledge necessary to his age. This active and use- ful kindness on the part of Louisa fre- quently awoke the coarse praises of Mrs. Devereil;, who roundly declared^ that she must say the girl earned double her meat ; and would sometimes make her a tolerably handsome present of clothes, or pocket- money. But her uncle, though he evi- dently felt much more grateful than his lady, was apparently wounded by the sub- ject, and always speedily escaped from it; and although, now and then, on particular occasions, a look of tearful gratitude, which was certainly dear to Louisa's feelings, told her that he was grateful, yet his habitual meanness prevented him from giving any A TATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 65 Other proof, although his lady was not slow- to remark the scanty wardrobe, and petty wants of his niece. But whatever might be their emotions towards the sweet suffererj those of the younger branches admitted only an in- crease, not change, of their primary sen- timents. The early hours and long walks to which Louisa accustomed herself, for the sake of the little boy, operated bene- ficially on her own health; she regained her bloom, her form became more finished, her walk more agile and graceful; of course she became more hateful in Miss Chester's eyes, and more desirable in her brother's; and it was difficult to say whe- ther the love of the one, or the hatred of the other, distressed her most; for the for- mer was ever expressed either by the airs of purse-proud insolence, or libertine im- pertinence; and the only moments when the unhappy girl did not loath him as a disgusting fool, were those in which she trembled at him as a brutal one. Happily for her, he was much from home, or theso 56 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, sweetly pensive walks, which were her only solace, would have been denied to her ; c» when at the Hall he never failed to inter- cept, intrude, and tease her perpetually. When the days began to shorten, the ladies began their attack ; and as Mr. De- verell's health was evidently very delicate, though he seldom complained, it was in- sisted upon that the best medical help was necessary ; and Mrs. Deverell declared-— *' If he did not go, he would be the death of her; she knew what it was to lose one husband, and it would be hard indeed for her to lose another." *' I have no complaint, I assure you, save the bile at my stomachy" said the pro- vident spouse. '* And what's sorer than a bile, pray ? haven't I had one on my arm, and don't I know it must be worse on one's stomach ?"^ cried the intelligent lady. She carried her point this time, and to the infinite relief of Louisa, it w^as settled that she should remain at home with little James; for although she possessed all the A JFATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 67 curiosity natural to her age, yet she had been taught, by the sad experience of many months, that in her present situation all pleasure would be denied to her, ^nd she -was aware that many mortificati«R could not fail to be her portion from Miss Ches- ter's hand, and much persecution from her conceited brother; and ever eagerly dwell- ing on the time which should restore her to her beloved nnele, sl>e considered that in this lapse of peaceful time, she should gain a step towards the attainment of her only hope, and fondest wish — the power of throwing herself on his profeGtion. It was happy for Louisa that young Chester was at least as much of a fop as a lover, and that his desire to attain noto- riety, or what he called, cut a *' splash among the natives,*' operated so as to re- main in town during the winter, as other- wise his addresses, if idle flattery and un- meaning or insidious professions can be so termed, would have been still more dis- tressing to her than they had been. As it was, her winter pa^ed quietly away, and 68 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD B¥. she enjoyed a few sweet hours^ which she was enabled to steal from the multiplicity of work the cares of Mrs. Deverell had left, and devote to reading, which was ever her deareSamusement, and now her sweetest solace. The library of Mr. Deverell had received few additions during the life of his father, but in that which had been her grandmo- ther's dressing-room, Louisa found many valuable works, especially the poets and historians. of her day, which now afforded not only a rich mental repast to the ma- turing mind and oppressed spirits of the lovely orphan, but renewed to her heart those lessons of religion and virtue — to her imagination those soarings of fancy and powers of intellect, so happily implanted by her parents, and which a life of me- lancholy dejiindence and ungenial society is more apt to render obtuse and evanes- cent, than even the severest immediate afflictions. The good old clergyman too contri- buted much to her comfort during the ah- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BH« 69 sence of the family, though the dissimi- larity of his feelings and pursuits rendered him a great stranger at the Hall in general: her interviews with him indeed often gave birth to sorrowful remembrances, and heart-rending comparisons, and she seldom parted from him without tears, yet such tears soothed and refreshed her bosom, and invigorated its virtues; they fell like the balmy drop of April weeping over the ra- vages of winter, yet reviving the blossoms of May. With the return of the family returned every evil she had known in her first in- tercourse with them, and many were in- creased by the soil in which they had lately expanded. Mrs. Deverell had added pride t6 vulgarity, and her husband had been in- duced, from his increased expences, to double his cares, and add meanness to ava^ rice. Miss Chester had greatly increased her hauteur and ill-temper, having expe- rienced no small disappointment in finding it possible that a person of such powerful attractions as she conceived herself to pos- 7t) A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. scss, could have made her appearance in the world of fashion, without drawing a crowd of admirers ; and as she principally imputed the coldness of those she had asso- ciated with to the vulgarity of her mo- ther's manners, she was more inclined than ever to quarrel with the cause, and their mutual bickerings were equally disgusting to others, and disgraceful to themselves. In a short time, however, the malignity of Miss Chester's temper became more de- cidedly pointed at Louisa, whose personal appearance was so much improved during their absence, that Miss Chester fancied she had grown handsome on purpose to thwart her views in the country, as effectually as her mother had done in town^ and consi- dered herself as enduring insult every timfe Xouisa entered the place where she was. Every bad passion gains upon us by in- dulgence, but especially envy ; and this crtvel and misguided young woman suf- fered hers so far to overcome her under- standing, which was by no means a bad one, as to lead her to hate the very sight ATATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 71 of this amiable, unoffending girl, whom to injure or torment in some way, became at length as dear to her, and necessary for her comfort, as it would have been to sooth and reanimate the loyely blossom, had she been benevolent and good. Miss Chester at this time became mis- tress of her fortune, which was handsome^ and would have allowed her every means of self gratification, and the power of greatly benefiting Louisa, whose heart, na- turally warm and tender, expanded to every tcuch of kindness, and whose naturally strong and active mind rendered her pecu- liarly calculated for the duties as well as pleasures of friendship. The folly of Miss Chester's conduct, in thus '' throwinsr this pearl" from her, at the very time she per- ceived it was " richer than all her tribe," was evidently as great as her guilt; to be- stow and receive happiness w^s abundantly in her power, and in refw^/«g 07ie, she lost the otlieVy for malignity is miserable even in its triumphs. Shortly after the return of the family. 7f A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BB. two events broke farther on the monotony of Louisa's servitude, both^ alas ! equally- fatal to the little peace she might be said to retain ; the first was the seizure of her little cou.^in by the measles ; the second, that, during his confinement, a letter was brought to her from her uncle, by a young officer, who joined with the account given by the- letter, in describing him as again suffering so severely in consequence of a wound received in a late conflict, as to give little hopes of his eventual recovery, and utterly to crush those which promised his speedy return. A rATHER AS H15 SHOULD BE. 7^ CHAP. V. The more pressing danger in which the little boy was placed, under Louisa's affec* tionate eye, prevented her from feeling so severely as she otherwise would the greater evt4 which threatened her, in the loss of him whom she justly deemed her only friend. It likewise deprived her of the enjoyment she might have experienced, from perceiving with how muCh tender- ness he continued to regard her; and of the comfort his generous enclosure of bills, amounting to eighty pounds, would have given her, since they made her richer than she had ever been before. Naturally af* fectionate, and habitually attentive to all she loved, her whole mind was absorbed in the care due to that delicate blossom which had so lately flourished beneath her eye, and was the only human being whose VOL. I. B 7ft" A FA niER AS HE SHOULD BE, love was dear to her in the joyless circle where she was doomed to exist. Her youthful heart, divided from all the strong and tender ties of nature, had sought re- fuge from sorrow in transferring to this endearing relative those warm aflfections once cherished in abetter clime; and she hting Q^er. him, as if once more her world was at stake, and once more she was se- vered from that world by the irresistible stroke of death ; the heir of James Deve- rell expfred in the arms of her whose rights his father had insidiously usurped — an awfwl, but unregarded lesson to thYert thou saved from such a scene as this? A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. IQF why did it blast the kind, untutored heart that knew to pity, but had not power to help? Vain exclamation ! every human being can help its fellow-creature ; in the hour of sickness, in the day of poverty, how welcome are the efforts of the humblest of our fellow-creatures, when, led by com- passion or kindness, they sympathize in our distress ! — William dispatched a messen- ger for his wife; and calling the master of the house, they removed the corpse before they applied the usual restoratives to the widow: affection inspires skill as well as courage, and this humble, but sympathetic pair, applying all their powers to mana- ging aright the higher, but nearly deranged intellects of the bereaved Louisa, succeed- ed in engaging her so far with her helpless little ones, that for them she endured exist- ence — for them she bent her knees, and prayed for resignation. Of course Louisa became, from this pe- riod, literally '' steeped in poverty to the very lips;" and although she struggled to 102 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. support herself and little ones by taking in plain work, yet the sickness of the younger rendered her unable to pursue it. The fright, as well as sorrow, she had sus- tained from the manner in which the poor lieutenant died, had deprived her of the natural food of her youngest child, and its fragile form sunk beneath the change of sustenance, and in less than a month it slept beside the father, and in its funeral expences exhausted the last property of the wretched mother. Long confinement, and the want of nu*- tritive food, began now to make ravages in the blooming boy, which was her only care, her only hope; but this circumstance pro- bably preserved Louisa from total despair, or rather that total despondency which destroys all power of exertion : for his sake she endeavoured to procure employ- ment of a nature more lucrative than that which William's wife was able to gain ; and subduing all the repugnance she felt to meeting the rude gaze or unfeeling inquiry of strangers, and making herself as neat as A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 103 her scanty wardrobe^ which was reduced to a single black gown, would admit, she pursued the advice of her landlady, and applied at a genteel house in Hanover- square for muslin work. A governess, of foreign extraction, came down to speak with her, and give the ne- cessary directions; and though trembling with agitation, from the novelty of her situation, and the distress which led to it, yet the unhappy widow felt too thankful, in the hopes of speedy relief, not to exert herself to receive it as she ought; and en- deavouring to forget herself, she sought heremployer's protection, only as a person capable of the work she undertook. After measuring her, with a look of mingled surprise and suspicion, the person addressed her with — " Are you de person dat works muslin, dat Mrs. Newton re- commended?" " Yes, ma'am.*' ** Are you a widow — an officer's widow?*' " I am, ma'am.** '^ Dear me, you seem vey young— -vey 104 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. /young indeed. Are you sure you are a %vidow ?" ** I am but loo certain of my misfortune/* "Well, you don't need to cy ; eying does no good. I suppose you've no child- ren ?" ** 1 have a little boy^ ma*am ; and " *' And vat — vat besides?'* ** 1 have just had the misfortune to lose one." •* Oh^ dat's no misfortune at all, I tink." ** Pray, ma'am, is that the muslin I have to work ?'' ** Yes, dis is it ; and dis is de pattern : you must do it vey well. Are you sure you are a widow ?'* Louisa stept back ; and a quick blush of momentary vexation rose on her pallid cheek. '* You don*t need to look angy, young woman ; dere is tousands of young wo- men like you, dat are never married to de gentlemen dey live wit ; but in dis fam- ly we are vey particular; and if you be- have well, and do your work reasonable. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 105 we may be geat friends to you ; and, you see, you look so young, dat I tought, pe- haps, you were unfort'jnate.'* *' I am a widow, madam, the widow of a British officer, and the daughter of one/' cried Louisa, sobbing in very agony. •* Indeed ! what was your name ?** '' Deverell.'* " Where did you come from ?" " I was born in Derbyshire.** ** But where was your father born ?" " At Cleveland Hall, in Worcestershire." " What was your mother's name ?** '* Forrester, ma'am." After a moment's silence, the cruel and indelicate interrogator opened her mouth to begin a farther inquisition, but Louisa, mustering all her courage,^ entreated to have her farther orders respecting her work ; but just as she answered with the question of '/Who was your husband ?*' a visitant in' the house passed by them, and her attention was for a moment diverted from the widow, as turning to the lady, F 3 106 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. she exclaimed — '' Dear Miss Groves, I tink you have got a new gown on V* " Indeed I have not/' said the lady, cast- ing, as she spoke, a look of pity towards Louisa. '• Is it an old gown den ?" " Certainly not an old one neither." '' Pe'haps it is dyed. Miss Groves ?'* " I never wear dyed gowns/' *' Did you buy it in London ?" ''No/' *' Den you bought it in de country ?" "I did not/' " Ohj you had it given you, I suppose ? I dare sav your brother sent it you/* '' Upon my honour, he never saw it/' '*^ Dear me! how strange I I can make nothing of it; pray how did you get it }'* " Ha, ha, ha ! to save your life, I will tell you ; a friend brought it me from Ire- land/' This, however, was by no means suffix (lent information, and in order to gain iurther, i^he gave hasty orders to Louisa,, and followed Miss Groves. It was happy A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 107 for the widow that this lady, who was so expert at "putting the question," which might be justly designated the torture, had met with a second subject, as it proved to her that it was merely an idle and peculiar habit, and not meant for the purpose of insulting as well as sifting her, and she con- cluded likewise that ihe ease with which she had spoken of a state of existence ut- terly abhorrent to her feelings, arose from that deficiency of modesty, which she had understood from her dear Mackenzie was too common amongst females even of high character on the continent. Arming herself with these reflections, she determined to persevere in the plan she had laid down ; but, alas ! on return- ing her work, she found Miss Larolle was not less an adept in questioning than in what is metaphorically termed screwing; she beat down even her modest claims to reward for her labour only the more be^ cause they were such, and perceiving that' she undervalued her own talents, determined'i to sink them still lower. 108 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. Happily Miss Groves overheard the con- versation, being attracted by the forlorn, yet interesting appearance of Louisa, and she contrived to slip a half-guinea into her hand in a manner which admitted not re- fusal, as she instantly disappeared. With this, and a few shillings taken for three days of incessant labour, she returned hearth- less and dispirited to weep over her pining / boy, to consider herself as reduced to lite- ral beo^ojarv, and while she felt grateful for a stranger's alms, yet shocked that she should have received it. It was in this state of deplorable exist- ence, earning by extraordinary exertion one day what was spent the next in some morsel to tempt the' sickly appetite of her darling— denying herself almost subsist- ence, lest she should increase the debt she was yet unable to pay, that she was first j>een by the baronet in the manner we have related. Ever entertaining a fear of Ches- ter, she seldom ventured beyond the im- mediate precincts of her neighbourhood, except to obtain work, which was never A FATHER AS HE SHOULD Bfe. 109 granted with kindness, or paid for with li- berality. William and his wife were the only human beings that sympathized in her affliction, and in their desire to relieve it, they were liberal so far beyond their powers, that she was compelled to disguise her wants from them, especially as their own expences were increasing, and she could not bear to rob their warm and will- ing hearts of the little which their own offspring would soon claim. Yet recluse as she was^ the fine form and sunken fortunes of Louisa had attracted at- tention, and various insidious letters and marked attentions had obtruded upon her, which were all rejected with silent con- tempt or renewed sorrow. The near view of death she had sustained, and the con- sciousness that life had no longer any good for her, probably strengthened her virtue, and led her to consider another world as her only place of rest and refuge; but her fond affection to her departed husband at this period would alone have led her to 1 10 A FATHER AS HE SHGULI> BE. sicken at the thought of any other con- nexion. Such was the woman, who, when she was nearly as dead to hope as lost to comfort, was found and relieved by sir Francis Mow- bray, whose bounty she applied with as much avidity to the payment of her debts, as to the restoration of her child, who in less than a month was restored to full blaom from the pure air of Highgate, and the good nursing of a mother who devoted every moment to his welfare, and in her joy at beholding him thus restored, and participating with him the common com- forts of life, became herself com]>arativeIy restored also, and capable of considering how to provide for futurity in some way consistent with her education and her fa- mily connexions. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 1 11 CHAP. VII. When sir Francis had learnt who Louisa %vas, he felt pained with the idea that it was impossible to restore her to the De- verell familv, without rendering her as wretched as she had ever been ; he there- fore inquired further after the family of her husband, and learnt that he was an only son^ and had no relation ner;rer than two male cousins, one of whom was in the church, the other in the army ; they were •both young, and though of excellent cha- racter, could scarcely be deemed proper protectors for a distant relative of Louisa's description. To the former, however, he applied to inquire if there were anV fe- male relatives of the family left in Scot- land, with whom the widow and her son could be rendered acceptable inmates L being determined to finish the good work he had so successfully begun^ by rendering 112 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. future life free at least from pecuniary difficulties. The gentleman to whom this letter was addressed was on the point of marriage, and in his reply to sir Francis, he not only entered with the most lively sensibility into his cares for the widow of a relative whom he loved, though parted from each other in childhood, but earnestly entreated her at present to accept of a home in his house — a request in which his bride united; and it appeared from the manner in which this accommodation was oflfered, that they were blest with the means of blessing. The refuge thus oflered was indeed sweet to Louisa's mind, as the recognition of a friend; but knowing that this gentleman, like her own beloved Henry, was only the son of a younger brother, and but very lately returned from the East Indies, she saw rather the same generous will to do good which had actuated her own noble- spirited husband, than the power which his letter allowed her to suppose. She there"- fore would have greatly preferred any mode A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 1 13 of silent industry, compatible with her powers, which might have enabled her to struggle, until some tidings could be learnt of colonel Deverell, to venturing on the bounty of this unknown but generous re- lative ; and rendered perfectly easy as to the views of the baronet, she now, with modest frankness and dignified humility, requested to see him, being anxious to submit her judgment and feelings to his consideration, and her conduct to his de- cision. But when this interview indeed took place, the widow found it was by no means so easy to consult her benefactor as she had conceived. Good and kind as the ba- ronet ever was, yet even his intimate friends did not deem him a man easy of access, and an air of constraint he wore on approaching Louisa, tended to diminish the little courage she possessed. She felt a kind of homage due to him, as one who had a right to dispose of her; and was more ready to receive his commands, than 114 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. canvass her own sentiments, and expTam her own wishes. Whilst she sat debatinor with herself in what manner to mention her desires> or effectually to conceal them, her boy ran into the roomj with a handful of new-gathered flowers for the good gentleman — his only, but his welcome gift. He was a child of uncommon beauty; and the exquisite bloom which new-found health had grafted on his delicate skin, rendered his face al- most cherubic in its loveliness, whilst his agility and animation gave intelligence and grace to every motion. Sir Francis started, and gazing as he took him on his knee, exclaimed — ''Heavens ! what a change is this!" " Oh yes, 'tis indeed a change!'* cried the mother, forgetting all her fears, and bursting into tears of joyful gratitude as she gazed on her son; then adding, with rapidity — " I owe my child, my all, to your goodness, sir; direct me, guide me, as you please. I will instantly set out A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 115 wherever you would have me. To what- ever corner of the earth I wander^ still shall I think of you, and bless you; and never shall these little hands be held to heaven, without joining in a mother's prayer for blessings on our benefactor.'* As Louisa thus, with an animation and energy that appeared altogether new in her character, gave vent to the ardent feel- ings that glowed in her bosom, sir Francis gazed upon her with an air of one who had never seen the commanding form of beauty, the soul-ennobling mien of virtue, until now, and his heart did homage in its turn. • His mind, though a man that knew the world, and knew human nature too, did not for a moment admit the thought that a heart so warm, a sensibility so acute, might be led to feelings less pure, and melted in the flame awakened by its vir- tues. No ! he revered her purity as much as he admired her beauty; but without owning it even to his own hearty he felt the contemplation dangerous^ and hastily snatching the child to his bosoiii, and im- 116 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD THS, printing a fond kiss on bis ruby lips, he departed, without exchanging a single word on the subject which brought him there; leaving Louisa puzzled and distrest, by the evident perturbation he evinced. At sir Francis's second interview, in which he behaved with polite rather than humane attention, having schooled his sen- sibilities into the calm propriety demanded by the occasion, it was decided that Louisa should accept the invitation of her kinsman, and set out for Nottinghamshire immedi- ately, where she should consult with him on the mode necessary for her own com- fort, as well as subsistence in future life ; Sir Francis entreating, with the air of a suppliant, that she would not decide hastily on any plan, and that she would be parti- cularly mindful of the claims colonel De- verell had upon her; and on no possible consideration adopt any scheme that might be thought derocratory to her family. Much as Louisa shrunk from increasing her obligations to sir Francis, yet conscious that she had not expended a single shilling A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 1 17' unnecessarily in his last gift, she could not avoid receiving the bill he offered for the expences of her journey ; but the manner in which she took it indicated the sincerity of her desire to become independent, and sir Francis inwardly determined to add this to the comforts he wished her to enjoy. As early as possible after this visit she set out by the mail-coach ; and had the sa- tisfaction to find both herself and child better for their journey, and to meet with a reception so truly kind and hospitable, in which so much general benevolence and good-will was so blended with that pecu- liar attachment the Highland clans ever ex- hibit towards the most distant branches of their family, that she found herself more settled than she had believed it possible for one so bereft and so dependent could pos- sibly become. Not so sir Francis. Neither pleasure nor business could divert his mind a moment from thinking on the distant objects who had of late excited such an overweening interest in his heart. The mother in all 118 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. her sorrow now, and nozv in all her charms, rose to his memory, grateful eloquence in- spiring her lip, and sparkling in her eye; and if this image passed away, it was suc- ceeded by the graceful boy, and his pre- sent of flowers. *^ Whose hand," said sir Francis, "^^ shall strew flowers on mi/ down- ward path ? who shall rescue mi/ name from oblivion ?" Yet a thousand and a thousand times a-day he determined not to think on these things ; but in despite of his resolution, he found himself perpetu- ally, like the object of his thoughts, ex- claiming, with a sigh — *' What can I do?" A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 119 €HAP. viir. A^TER the first ebullition of affectionate welcome, the first glow of admiration and pity had subsided, and the kind couple had resumed their ordinary habits, Louisa found what might be truly termed leisure for mournings and every thing around her contributed to awaken that poignant re- gret natural to the widowed heart. Mr. Mackenzie greatly resembled her lamented husband in his person, and was still more like him in sentiments and manners. Ar- dently attached to his own country, he spoke of it as the land of heroes, the abode of independence, the nurse of virtue; and as her Henry had done before him, he delighted to describe to his young wife the coflamanding and beautiful scenery amongst which he was born, and on which his me- mory, combining with his enthusiasm, be- stowed tints beyond even the exquisite realities. IfO A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. Often as he spoke of those lakes and mountains, glens and vallies, traversed in hi« boyish days,, whose names were fami- liar to Louisa, describing probably the same youthful feat, the same poignant delight, she had listened to before, the dreadful dream of the past would vanish for a mo- ment from her sight, and she yet seemed to hear the voice which had charmed her opening heart, and re-live the scenes of her own bridal hours. But when truth flashed on her mind — when she felt herself a widow — ah! what a pang was that! how did her inmost soul shrink from the con- trast ! how tremble as she gazed on the happy wife, and repeat to herself the me- lancholy difference that existed between them. Still more severe was her suffering, when the state of Mrs. Mackenzie's health, her comfort, or even her amusement, became the object of the kind husband's solicitude, in moments of awakened tenderness, of affectionate anxiety ; again she beheld her Henry — again she sobbed in all the agonies A FATHRR AS HE SHOULD BE. 121 awakened by grateful memory and' bitter regret; and hiding herself from every eye, indulged the lamentations of a bereaved spirit in sorrow that bordered on despair. Her kind entertainers, not less delicate than generous, perceived, with the truest sympathy, the severity of these emotions, hy the languor and delicacy apparent in her health, and forbore as much as they were able from exciting them. With all the zeal of friendship, and the m.eekness of piety, the good man exerted himself as her spiritual pastor, and endeavoured bo to re- new and awaken the consolations of Chris- tianity in her heart, as to reconcile her to the Almighty dispensation, and enable her to look forward with hope and peace. He erideavoured to engage not only her feel- ings, but her faculties, in close attention to the contemplation of divine things; and considering that he had himself been hi- therto too much in the world for the ab- straction suitable for his studies as a divine, and that occasional retirement for sacred VOL. r. G I2S A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. contemplation is beneficial for every Chris- tian, he with pleasure resigned himself to the interesting duty of dedicating a consi^ derable portion of every day to reading and explaining the Scriptures to his wife and their widowed guest. Happily the former was a young woman of strong and penetrative mind^ whose at- tachment to him would alone have induced her to comply with his wishes, but whose good sense, as well as her early-instilled principles, led her to see the necessity of looking beyond this vale of tears, even in the day of enjoyment ; and whose very blessings led her to adore the donor, and humbly seek to perform his will. She was an orphan, in possession of a handsome fortune, which she had bestowed on a good and superior man, agreeably to her own ideas, but not those of her relations, who, on the arrival of Louisa, had ventured to rophesy that ''she was only the beginner of a train of northern connexions, which in time would swarm like the locusts, and devour the land." A FATHER AS KE SHOULD EE. 125 Our young widow was beginning to emerge from the clouds of sorrow which had obscured her mind, and to practise that rational resignation demanded by re- ligion, when these insinuations wounded her ear, and roused her again to the con- siderations which, on her arrival, had en- tirely occupied her, and a blush of shame rose to her cheek, when she recollected how long she had indulged in fruitless sor- row, and submitted to eat the bread of de- pendence, at a time when her health wasin a great measure re-established, and that of her son perfected. She feared lest the en- joyment of ease and the comforts of afflu- ence had unfitted her for exertions it was her duty lo make, and she fervently be- sought her Heavenly Father to support and guide her in the thorny path he had or- darned her to tread, assured that the same Power which had led her through the greatest of all possible trials, would support her in the lesser evils which awaited her. Full of wise resolutions, but undeter- 1^4 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. mined as to the mode of exertion, she sought her friends, and carefully conceal- ing the cruel whisper which had indeed roused her more immediately to this con- sideration, she earnestly besought their at- tention to a subject of so much moment. '' The good gentleman who first intro- duced us to each other,** said her friend, *^^ wishes you to accept an annuity from him, which will enable you to board in some cheap county, aware that your deli- cacy will accept no more than your neces- sities demand. I have his instructions for making you this offer."' *'I cannot accept this ! Bitter, very bit- ter was my distress when I first became the object of his bounty !'* *' In case of your objection to this plan, he is willing to assist yoii in purchasing, or beginning a genteel boarding-school.*' '' Excellent man ! for this I shall be truly thankful, for it will, I trust, enable me to repay him." " Then, my dear cousin, though I shall be truly loth to part with you, especially A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 125 at a time when my wife is naturally desirous to retain you, yet it is my duty to inforai you, that an establishment of this descrip- tion is now advertised at Ashbourne in Der- byshire." ''Merciful Providence! the very place where I was born, and where I have often wished to retrace the steps of infancy ! Oh, sir, close your labour of love to me by taking me thither \" So thither they went. A chaise contained the party, which in- cluded little Henry, now a fine, sun-burnt boy, the lilies being displaced by whole- some exercise in the open fields, while the rr.£es cf his CC:r.pIcxiott glowed with dou- ble ardour; his innocent prattle bc^-r.lied the way to his anxious, abstracted mother, who, however desirous of obtaining the si- tuation she sought, yet felt all the feais natural to a young woman inexperienced in the plan she adopted, and conscious that the charge was one of the highest re- sponsibility, and that she was venturing the property of another in the undertaking; conscious likewise that the circumstances *i26 A FATHEU AS HE SHOULD RE. of her past life were liable to animadvert sioDj and her present dependence to mis- construction, and that except in her dear companions, she had no friend or adviser, and that her separation from them would alone be a severe affliction. She was torn from this painful contem- plation by their arrival in the vicinity of Dovedale, and her good kinsman's excla- mation of welcome to the mountains which environ it, though he called them pretty pigmies, in comparison to the lofty Bens and proud Trossacks of his own country ; they were, however, sublime as well as leautifui in "the eyes of the ladies, who gladly left the carriage to view the nearer features of this far-famed glen ; and even Louisa forgot alike the sorrows of the past and the solicitudes of the future, as she traced the silvery windings of the Dove through this romantic solitude, or the bold rocks that skirt its banks, and rear their fantastic forms in alternate terror and beauty o*er the broken pathway or the ridgy mountains. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 127 Mrs. Mackenzie, being far advanced in her pregnancy, took the arm of Louisa, and walked slowly forward, while her spouse guarded the sportive child from danger, and sought for her the easiest path. As he was winding round a little promontory, with Henry in his hand, they perceived a solitary rambler before them, who appear- ed less absorbed in contemplation of the scene around him, than of his own feelings. His arms were folded, his steps slow, his head rested on his breast, and his eyes were iixed on the ground. At this moment the ladies proposed sit- ting down on the knoll of rock they were passing, and their guide approved the wish, as he felt averse to overtaking, or in any way disturbing the sequestered wanderer^ who was evidently no knight of romance. His delicate consideration was, however, thwarted by the child, who breaking from his hand at the moment he provided his lady with a seat, bounded after the stran- ger, and before his friend could overtake him, had taken a view of the half- concealed Ids A fAtriEH AS HK SHOULD Et, face, which he instantly welcomed with a scream of joy, crying — '' Oh, 1 thought it \v'as you, that I did ! I know'd I cou'dn't forget you, sir." The stranger started, gazed for a mo- ment at the boy with a bewildered air, and exclaiming, '^'^ Pshaw ! it is impossible!" rather angrily, would have stept on, but the arms of the child circled his knees, and looking at him more kindly, he said — '^ Who do you think I am, my little fellow?" " Oh, I know very well ; it was you that gived mamma the money, and did every thing for Henry. You are the good, good gentleman that I say my prayers about every morning, that mamma cries about so. Oh yes, I know you, for all you look white. Have you been ill ? I don't like that you should be ill ; no, I don't." As the sweet boy spoke, his little hands pressed more closely the knees they grasp- ed, and his eyes filled with tears ; those hazel eyes, so like his mother's, now bore their strongest, their most touching re- semblance. Doubtless she was herself in A FATHER AS ME SHOULD BE, 129 the neighbourhood; in a moment she might be before him ; the thought displaced th paleness which had struck even the e\e of infancy, and the baronet's cheek flowed with an indescribable confusion. The clergyman's approach revealed the mystery of Henry's appearance, and the gentlemen soon became known to each other, and sir Francis learnt of course that Louisa was nigh them, and what was her determination respecting the future; and before they reached tlic ladies, he had somewhat recovered from the disagreeable sensations which oppressed him. On ap- proaching the object he at once wished and feared to meet, the sur|)rise, pleasure^ and trepidation visible in Louisa appeared to banish his pain, and, as if in despite of himself, he looked gratified and happy. If these were the first emotions she in- spired, how much did they increase upon him as he viewed the staple improvement visible in her health and manifest in her person, which, though slender, was no lon- ;gcr meagre, but displayed a form moulded G 3 ISO A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. by the hand of grace^ and a face finished in beauty, yet retained those traces of which it might be said '* affliction had touched her looks with something heaven- ly !" Nor were her manners less indica- tive of the happy change produced by ease of circumstance and a constant intercourse with polished and enlightened society. He soon perceived that she was not only elegant, but well informed ; that she com- bined with that happy choice of words which, united to musical softness of voice, becomes charming as eloquence, a play- ful humour, at times so brilliant, that it itiisht be denominated wit. In a short time, the worthy baronet dis- missed the philosophy, the struggles often long months, and forgot that there was a single obstacle in th'feway of his wishes — forgot what he had bade himself remember so incessantly, that his health and spirits had sank beneath the severity of the lesson; " Yet still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh, Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn ;" A FATHER AS HB SHOULD BE. 131 and on the following morning, the good baronet thought '' he was himself again ;" but on this morning he was called upon to act, for the scheme of taking the school would be entered upon, and in that case, sir Francis felt that a new barrier would be raised by his pride to his passion. But other delicacies, other fears, than those suggested by unworthy passions, actuated the refined and deeply-revolving bachelor; he wished not to owe io gratitude that which he desired to receive from love alone. On this subject his feelings were acute, his experience imperfect, and his ideas purely speculative. He felt as if he honoured Louisn so much for her love^ and the fond regret she evidently felt for her husband, that in changing her love even for himself, she would forfeit his esteem, and that sated passion would shrink from its degraded object. He remembered that he hsil told himself a thousand times not to marry a widow, le^ her exhausted heart should be unable to return the ardent love \te should experience for the woman on 1S2 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD ttfi. %vhoni he bestowed his hand, and yet he ivas now about to ofTer himself to one whos.e heart had evidently not regained even tranquillity, and who had been drawn only nearer to the object of her affections by sufferings almost unprecedented, and by merit almost unequalled — one still much younger than himself, a stranger to the world in which she would be called to move — one who might involve him in those troubles which rose from her inexpe- rience, without blessing him with that boon of affection which consoled the moment of inquietude. But she was going; she was almost gone ; once settled in that confounded school, it would be impossible for the last of the Mowbrays to take her thence. Besides^ she was a gentlewoman ; she was young, lovely, grateful, tractable — nay, more, pru- dent, pious — one who might be the match- less mother of a noble race. In speechless agitation, the baronet seiz- ed the arm of the good clergyman at the very moment he was stepping into his car- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 133 riage, where Louisa was already seated, and drawing him into the parlour of the inn^ declared, in few and hurried words, his high regard for Louisa, and his determination to offer her his hand. This information was received with plea- sure, but no symptom of vulgar surprise mixed in the calm diirnitv which con«rra- tulated his own feelings as he rejoiced in the welfare of his kinswoman. The widow of a Mackenzie was^ he thought, a fit match for the highest rank, and fortune he deem- ed a secondary object. He pleased the ba- ronet wiih this self-respect, but he awoke fears for his success, which had not yet en- tered into his catalogue of anxieties. But although surprise might be repelled in the breast of one whose family dignity or just adniiration of her rendered ihe ba- ronet's conduct merely natural, it affected Louisa in a very dilTevent manner. The cares of a mother, anxioi;s for her future peace, had rendered her humble as well as obedient in childhood, and the cruel situ- ation of her youth had confirmed the les- 134 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. son. During that short but eventful pe- riod, when at *' stern necessity's supreme command/* she had held a little intercourse with the wealthy^ she had found them un- yielding and haughty^ and therefore the whole experience of her life led her to consider such condescension as this little short of the miraculous; but it was not therefore agreeable ; it called for her gra- titude, but it met not with her wishes ; even ifshe had not found her heart snll buried in her husband's grave, her sense of a desire for independence, that dormant pride, which, blending in noble and delicate minds, becomes dignity, and is compatible with humility and modesty, seemed to for- bid her acceptance of so vast a debt ; for she had yet to learn that " the grateful mind, in owing, owes not/* Happily Louisa was, at this eventful pe- riod of her life, in the society of those who were wise to discern, and gentle to lead her in the path most desirable to herself and invaluable to her child. Placing the lovely pleader in her arms, her friend told A FATHER AS HE SHOULD EE, 135 him to beg his mother to be merciful to him and to herself, and to remember that even his father would bless the benefactor of those so dear to him. Louisa wept, as she thought, with more intensity of sorrow than she had ever wept before, but she promised obedience to the dictates of friendship and the voice of ma- ternal duty. When she was more calm, she was told that a cold, reluctant consent, an averted eye, and smothered sigh, were poor returns for the generous affection offered by a man whose noble nature, not his youthful pas- sion, had thus distinguished her, and who, while his tenderness and delicacy spared her from the confession of reciprocal feel- ings, would yet be fully aware and deeply sensible of that heartless welcome which indicated aversion. ''Aversion 1" exclaimed Louisa, ''aver- sion! do you take me for a monster? aversion to the man who, like a ministering angel, visited me in the cell of anguish, and turned my night to day ! who gave me 156 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. back from the jaws of the grave my only child, the image of my Henry ! Oh no ! no ! no ! I revere, I honour, I love him !" At this Instant the door opened ; the ba- ronet entered ; Louisa, under the agitation thus awakened, with all the tide; of grateful feeling rushing upon her heart, and deeply blushing' with the consciousness of what had passed^ turned instantly towards him, and with trembling eagerness, placed both her hands in his, at the same moment sink- ing on her knee, and bursting into tears. Sir Francis, with a look of tender alarm, instantly caught her in his arms, and with faltering voice told her that the words he had caught on his entrance were the dear- est to his heart ever uttered since his birth, and they were indelibly engraven there. When the burst of feeling had subsided, the baronet was happy, and Louisa was not unhappy ; she returned home with her friends, but was soon after visited by her generous lover, who, now that he had silenced, if not conquered, his scruples, regained his health, and dwell A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 137 Viith avidity on all those circumstances which rendered his marriage most eligible — a mode of conduct equally consistent with wisdom and happiness, and although it was not possible to carry it into full effect^ yet every hour he passed in the society of the forlorn and helpless being he had cho- sen, rendered him more satisfied with his choice. The widow endeavoured to forget she • v/as one ; and although the person and man- ners of her cousin, from their resemblance to the departed, rendered him of all others the least desirable for such an affecting task, she yet consented to be rr«arfieu by him ; and thus entered the holy pale under the most respectable and auspicious cir- cumstances. When the hour of parting with this dear family arrived, the perturbed bosom of the bride found relief in tears, which were too natural to excite surprise or blame, but which she conquered as soon as she was able, and pursued her journey, with her noble protector, her affectionate husband. 138 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. with a composed countenance^ and a sub* dued emotion, arising from that remem- brance of the past which the present natu* rally excited. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD EE. IS9 CHAP. IX. The family mansion of the Mowbrays, called Sefton Park^ situated on the border of Worcestershire, had received many im- provements from the hands of sir Francis, who had been its possessor ever since the conclusion of his minority; and it was at this time equally magnificent, elegant, and comfortable, combining every conve- liience with every beauty. As Louisa approached this dwelling, and received a warm welcome to it as the fu- ture mistress, she was ready, for a moment, to doubt the reality of the scene in which she performed so distinguished a part, and to ask herself if it w^ere not all a dream ? But the noisy delight of Henry, by calling for restraint, awakened her to a sense of what was due to her husband and herself, and she received the welcome of her house- hold with an air of such affable dignity HO A FATHER AS HE SHOULD RE. and tranquil satisfaction, as to assure them all, that although report had styled their lady a beggar^ education and nature had formed her to add lustre even to rank. But how highly was Louisa gratified, how hap- pily surprised, when, shortly after, the clergyman of the parish called to pay his respects, and, hung on his arm, feeble, but still healthy, she beheld the venerable friend of her youthful sorrows, the revered Mr. Bailey. Darting forward, she caught the good man's hand, and imprinted on It a daugh- ter's kiss. Sir Francis was surprised, bift gratineiti, as the good old niaa, v;lth tear- ful eyes, called on God to bless her, and devoutly thanked his divine preserver that he had lived to see the child of his beloved Edward Deverell in a situation worthy of her family and her merits. It appeared that the son of this gentle- man was the rector of the neighbouring village of Sefton, and the old man, incap- able of his parochial duties, and disgusted with the family who were unfortunately at A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 141 tliehcad of his parish, had lately come to end his days anions: his orrandchiklren, and thus became the happy means of removing the prejudice the neighbouring gentry were beginning to entertain against sir Francis's bride, and of giving to her, and receiving from her, support and kindness. Louisa visited not the bright domain which surrounded her, nor even laid her head upon her splendid couch, until she had written to honest William and his wife, with an enclosure suited to the bounty of her lord and her own benevolent gratitude. The happiness she experienced in this recompence of invaluable services, glowed on her cheek, and inspired her with such a warm desire of contributing to the feli- city of her husband, that she never had appeared so engaging, or been even so dear to him as now ; and he felt as if he would not have exchanged his helpless, pining, widowed jrtvtegee, '' for a world of one entire and perfect chrysolite ;" but yet he found too soon, that a world of mOre 142 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. corruptible substance had the power to tease him. Various cabals and various reports cir- culated in th.e country, in despite of Mr. Bailey's assertions, or even connected with them, which wounded the delicacy, or hurt the pridc^ of the baronet ; especially as, in some instances, families with whom he had been long connected kept aloof from visiting him, or looked as if in doing it, they bestowed an honour on the object of his choice ; and those who were more friendly, aiTected an air of patronage to his lady, still more offensive to his feelings. The ingenuousness of lady Mowbray's nature, the simplicity, sincerity, and humi- lity of her heart, operated in a way to in- crease sir Francis's fears for her propriety on these occasions; but happily her under- standing was as good as her heart was inno- cent: she comprehended her husband's wishes, and her own duties as connected with him, and without once departing from iiTiegrity of speech and openness of con- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 143 ^uct, she yet maintained the dignified mo- desty becoming her character and hersitua- tion, and by the strict propriety of her manners^ earned herself esteem from the fastidious, silenced the chattering, and taught those who affected to lead her, that she could lend lustre, not borrow it. The baronet became proud of his wife, as well as fond of her, and longed to exhibit her to a higher circle ; but she was particularly desirous of remaining in the country the first winter after her marriage, and he com- plied with her wishes. Although sir Francis was generous, a^ fectionate, and even considerate, yet his habits had been so long formed, that he might be termed a little particular; and Louisa was aware that Henry, who was na- turally a fine, romping boy, now in his fourth year, was frequently too noisy to be agreeable to him ; she therefore had de- termined rather to place him under the care of the rector, who would allow him to partake the education of his own chilr dren, than to banish him into the nursery, 144 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. which would have been heart-breaking to the warm little bosom of a child accustom* ed only to the tenderest indulgence. To enjoy this winter with her beloved boy without restraint, was not less her object in remaining in the country, tiian to avoid those recollections which might overpower her spirits, and render her apparently un- grateful for, or insensible to, the many Blessings which surrounded her. But the pleasure she thus insured was of so melan* choly a nature, so often did she find her- self tracing the father's features or gestures in her unconscious boy, and using the leisure fortune had bestowed for mourning over the bliss she had denied, that she felt triad when sir Francis's return forced her into the path of duty, and laid that restraint upon her which she felt to be requisite. The husband was pleased \vith the sacri- fice she made him of her son's society, and rendered it as little painful as possible, by an almost daily intercourse with him. In- deed the child was so engaging, that beloved him fondly, and was beloved in return with jl father as he should be. 145 such impassioned affection, that he would ofteu aay — "Louisa, give me only such another boy as this, and your boon will be perfect !*' But unluckily, as he thought, this blessing vyas denied ; his lady present- ed him with a girl, lovely as a cherub ; but though very welcome, he looked forward to a son for his heir. A second winter passed, and Louisa, ab- sorbed in the delightful duties of a mother, sought not the gaieties of the metropolis; but the third, sir Francis hired an elegant house, and insisted on her partaking his journey, to which she no longer objected. Sir Francis had one sister, who, early in life, had married a nobleman older than her fjather, who died at Lisbon, whither he went on account of his health, the year of sir Fr.inciss marriage. She had now made a second choice, and, contrary to her bro- ther's wishes, married a colonel Bellair, a man of family, but small fortune, and reputed of a dissipated turn. This affair had been painful to the baronet, but the VOL. I, H 1 4-6 A T'ATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. nature of his connexion had given him lit- tle power in the way of advice, and the lady was perfectly independent, possessed a superior understanding, and although se- veral years younger than him, was certainly at an age to judge for herself. Whatever might be her error or her wisdom in this proceeding, she was infinitely dear to her brothtjr, amiable and delightful in herself, and so situated in society, as to introduce his lady most auspiciously, and for this reason he was particularly anxious for their speedy meeting, as well as desirous of re- newing a long-suspended intercourse with a relative so justly dear to him. Lady Selthorpe Bellair received Louisa with an air of prepossession in her favour, which evidently strengthened on acquaint- ance, and soon became a warm and truly sisterly affection, and appeared almost to displace that which she felt for her bro- ther, since though ever happy to see him, yet it was too perceptible to the eye of jealous love, that, gay as she appeared, all was not as it seemed with her even in these A FATHER AS HE SHOULD Btt. 147 early days. In the bustle of gaiety and perpetual diversion, however, the real en- joynient of one party, and the affected en- joyment of the other, passed unobserved. It was evident that the viscountess wished to be thought happy, and it would have been cruelty to wrin^ from her the truth she sought to conceal. The colonel was polite in his attentions to her family when they met, but was too fashionable to be met frequently in a domestic circle. Louisa, mixing in a scene altogether new to her, and highly gratified by visiting those public exhibitions where her mind as well as her senses was employed and feasted, had suffered not much sorrow, and hitherto escaped mortification, when one evening she accompanied the viscountess to a rout given on her account, and where an immense crowd was already assembled, and a musical party waiting their arrival, as the signal for beginning their part of the entertainment. Lady Selthorpe, ever at home, ever wel- H 2 148 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. come, bustled through the crowd, which alternately made way for her or pressed around her; but her companion, more timid and less known, found herself inter- cepted and annoyed by the heat, and there- fore took a chair near to the door, being fearful that a farther advance might occa- sion a faintness, to which she was at this time liable. She was scarcely seated, when the voice of a lady before her attracted" her attention^, by pronouncing her name, and addressing another with — "Did you ever see dis lady Mowbray dat's com- ing?"* *' I saw her last night at the opera." " And is she handsome ?" '* Very handsome." " Was she well dressed ?*' '' Elegantly, in my opinion." " What sort of a person is she ?** " I cannot describe her further." *' Has she black eyes ?" '* I don't know." '^ Has she blue ones?" " I cannot tell." A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. liQ " Deer, how odd ! Was her dress white ?" " Yes, white crape." " Are you sure it was crape ?** *' Excuse me^ Mrs. Johnson ; I must pass." The name, for a moment, relieved lady Mowbray ; but it was only for a moment ; the querist, deprived of her last subject, looked round for another, and exhibited to the shrinking eye of lady Mowbray the form of Miss Larolle, enlarged by time and ease, and tricked out by gaudy but trumpery apparel, "which accorded with the pearl-powder and rouge that plastered her face. The natural blush that rose on lady Mowbray's cheek caught her inquisitive glance ; and, gazing on her, she approach- ed her, saying — *' Deer me, ma'am, I tink I remember you vey \we]\, though, to be sure, you are vey much altered," '' Probably." " Well, to be sure, I heard from the woman where you lodged, that some gen- tleman had taken you away, and I thought 1^0 A TATHER AS HE SHOULD EK. i"t very likely; butihadnoidea ofeverseerng you in such a place as dis. But/' lowering her voice, ^*t suppose he has married you ?'* Lady Mowbray was unprepared for this species of attack ,* and having neither her husband nor sister near, she felt perplexed and distressed; she replied — *'*' I am mar- ried/' ** Dat's well- — I'm glad of it ; I'm sure you U>ok quile well, and smart too: but 1 suppose your neclclace is^ paste ?** Lady Mawbray was silent, " Is it really diamonds?" " I believe sa.*' " Deer me, how odd, dat ever you should come to wear a diamond necklace ! but some people have luck. I myself tought it vey lucky when I married counsellor Johnson : but between ourselves, he is not such a geat match neder ; not but he's monstrous clever — he understands every ting bout de law; he cannot talk, to be sure; some peepel cannot explain deiYi- selves, you know; but wid de exception of dem two tings, dere is not a man in de A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 151 kingdom more likely to rise in his profes- sion ; to be sure, he is rader old." This communication was made in a tone of whispering confidence, intended to en- courage the person whom it addressed, by showing condescension and comparing si- tuations ; as, however, it produced no re- mark, she renewed the first mode of attack. " You live in de country, don't you ?'* *^Yes." " I tought so ; what is your husband ?" At this moment sir Francis entered the room, and hastening to his lady, took hec hand to conduct her nearer to the per- formers, saying as he went — ** For Heaven's sake, Louisa, who introduced you to that tawdry piece of Paris plaister?*' " V\\ answer for it,'* cried lady Selthorpe, who heard the question, '' you mean Mrs. Johnson ; for I perceived her setting my sister. She is a perfect leech, and when once she has fastened, is as bad to shake off^ as she is disagreeable in sticking fast; but she is mother-in-law to the girl who has just been singing, and enters every party ] 52 A FATHER AS IIP, SHOULD BE* as her chaperone, so she must be submitted to/' " Not necessarily/* said sir Francis, somewhat sternly ; *' it is very possible to fepel impertinence ; I wish lady Mowbray would remember what is due to herself.*' At such a moment explanation was im- possible ; but the kind- hearted viscountess saw, in the varying colour of her sister-in- law, that she had some kind of acqiiaint- artce with the person in question, which she was of course unwilling to own, but incapable of denying; she therefore short-* pned her stay as much as she was able, andl endeavoured to avoid Mrs. John so n* by every possible means that could be made *o appear accidental, partaking both the family feelings of sir Francis and the wifeish f^arsof his lady, to whom even the slightest expression of his displeasure was ever very painful. The evening, under her prudent csre, had passed off very well, and they were en- tering a room v^here refreshments were spread, when Mrs. Johnson spied them, and A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 155 darting forwards, exclaimed — " Oh, I am so glad 1 have found you again you can't tink ! I have just been talking to Mrs. Carpenter, who was Miss Groves, about you, and I couldn't make her ecollect you." Louisa, in great confusion, said, ''very likely/' while sir Francis gazed at the speaker and his lady with equal vexation and surprise ; the former, anxious to learn who he was, and thinking to force herself upon one who could afford to wear dia- monds, continued — " But at last she cy'd out all at once, ' Oh,* says she, ' I remem- ber de poor young cretur very well ; I gave her de first half-guinea I won at cassino/ How vey odd, wasn't it ? Don't you tink it was odd yourself?" The baronet, instead of entering the room, called aloud for his carriage, and in his tone of voice, Louisa read the vexation he experienced. She felt assured that a little exertion on her part might have re- pelled the impertinence of this woman on H 3 154 A FATFIEF AS HE SHOULD BE. her first intrusion ; but the uneasiness and anger of her husband deprived her of all self-possession, and she felt as eager to return as he could possibly be. As he drew her arm withinjiis, he felt it tremble, and though sorry u)r her, even her emotion added to his vexation. Lady Selthorpe urged him to remain; but as he positively refused, she wisely deter- mined to do it herself, as the only meansr cf discomfiting the wishes of those whom curiosity might lead to make further in- quiries even of a woman they would other- wise shun. Such was the confusion and trepidation of sir Francis, that in his haste to escape, al- though he perceived his lady was ill, he yet urged her to walk to her carriage, finding |hat it was impossible for it to draw out of the line.. She made no objection, as the air might revive her, but was troubled at iinding a good deal of the company left the house when they did, and, like them, walked to their carriages. But how was her confusion increased^ when, on standing A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 155 aside for a chair to pass, she found herself addressed from the female within it, who, on havinjr a clear view of her from her own flambeaux, cried out, in a voice too welt remembered — " Stop ! stop, I say ! let me speak to that lady !'* The chairmen obeyed, and the voice continued — " Louiser \ Louiser ! what, won't you speak to your aunt ? Marry come up, i think if I speaks first to my husben's run-away relations, they may be thankful, let their luck be what it may." Lady Mowbray, in a I'aint voice, hoped Mrs. Deverell was well ? '* Why yes, I be pretty well, but your imcle keeps peaking and pining still. I hopes you got the five -pound note as I- sent you, when you was starving with the poor li ftenant ?" Lady Mowbray could not answer, and what was worse, she could not pass forward ; the chair obstructed the path, and the com- pany were now unwillingly detained.as.well as henself ; every moment increased the confusion and distress of Louisa, and much J 56 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD UE. as she struggled for composure, she yet sunk on the baronet's shoulder almost faint- ing, while Mrs. Deverell, noticing her dis^ tress, increased it by adding — " Well, well, you had one excuse, for sure I don't re- member as ever I see a handsomer man ; an if the barrownite there thinks no worse of you, other folks may hold their tongues/* Loud tittering and whispering was now heard, and whether it was excited by his lady or Mrs. Defverell, the baronet had as liifle inclination -as power to canvass; sturvg,! with mortification^ he dragged his sinking partner to her carriage, and in a voice of thunder^ told his servants to drive on. He had never been so moved before; and although Louisa could not lay even the shadow of guilt to her own door, yet she felt like a guilty creature trembling in the presence of her judge. She w.^s lifted from her carriage, and the sight of her pale countenance instantly re- called the baronet to a sense of what was due to her situation ; but alas ! the pertur- bations of the evening had been too much A rATIIEP. AS HE SFIOULD BE. 157 for her, and the premature birth of a dead son presented the baronet with a more se- rious source of regret and mortification. Lady Selthorpe sincerely partook his grief and disappointment; but as soon as she perceived his spirits were equal to en- during the reproof of raillery ;, she ridi- culed a fastidiousness and sensitiveness, which placed not only his happiness, but his welfare, in the hands of even those whom he despised. ** Surely," said she> *' you counted the cost when you married this lovely and excellent being, for you were neither young nor foolish, and time ought to enable you to pay the price wil- lingly, since it has certainly taught you to value the purchase. After all, what was the mighty mischief? A silly woman, in a silly manner, reminds your lady of her poverty, of which you were well aware ; a vulgar woman claims her relationship, of which you were likewise aware ; had you met the charges manfully, instead of being the butt of scorn, you would have become the subject of admiration. How- 158 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. ever, take comfort ; you have a sister, who, without your pretensions to courage or philosophy, did it for you." " What do you mean, Fiducea ?" " The very moment you were gone, keeping in the very line in which you left me, I made up to our kind hostess, and de- sired she would introduce me to Mrs. Car- penter. She did so ; I found her an agree- able-looking person, who had, I doubted not, by mere chance, in the way of excla- mation, named the half-guinea. I told her I could not omit an opporiunity of thank- ing her for having done a service to a gen- tlewoman suffering under temporary dis- tress, who was now my beloved sister, and would, with myself, be happy to cultivate her a( quaintance. " She blushed excessively on the first mention of the affair ; but recovering, said she remembered being struck with the ele- gance of the lady she supposed T alluded to, whom she was glad to find restored to her proper rank in society. Many eyes glanced towards Mrs. Johnson, and her A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 159 hearers pressed towards us. Assuming a sportive tone, I said — ^ We all know mi- sery, as Sancho says, makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows ; and it wasdoiibt- less no common evil which laid my sister at the mercy of one who is an adept in the art o{ tormenting If lady Mowbray could not escape in her present situation, we may all imagine what she suffered in ihe days of distress and poverty.* -* Mrs. Johnson was nearly deserted, \vhen there came, an accession of power from the btreer, and I rallied again to catch the mimicked accents of Mrs. Deverell, and Icarut with pain that Louisa had fainted on Mrs. Deverell's intimation that she ran away \vith the lieutenant. Just as I had caught the particulars, I began to relate them to a gentleman at the bottom of the taWe^ adding, the sight of a woman who had used her so iii was really enough to kill poor lady Mowbray at this time, and observing to the countess of Portinscale that 1 should go home immediately, to see if my sister was better; on which she took the hint. 160 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. and rising with even more than her accus- tomed majesty, said — ' Lady Mowbray's health was of the last importance both to her own family and that of sir Francis ; she would accompany me." ''I grant you managed admirably, my lady ; but every person can act better for their friends than themselves, on occasions of this kind." " But surely it is unmanly for a man to desert either himself or his wife at such a moment. My father used to tell us never to be ashamed of any thing but sin, you know ; and our aunt Mercy repeated the doctrine by every possible example, from a fib to a forgery." '* Aye, aye, Fiducea, laugh on ; ' those jest at scars who never felt a wound.** For a moment lady Sclthorpe's eyes seemed robbed of their lustre ; she looked as if she was no stranger to wounds, though she exhibited no scars ; but fearful that her feelings should be inquired into, she ran hastily to the nursery, and bringing thence the little Louisa, began to play with her; and A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE» 161 in their noisy mirth, the conversation ended, and a happier train of thought occupied the mind of the baronet, though he still re- gretted his boy, and experienced an awaken- ing of irritability in his temper, a suspicion of covert insult, which tormented him not the less because (convinced that his sister was right) he endeavoured to conceal it. The recovery of his lady was so slow, that he experienced great uneasiness on her account; but in time this very misfortune hada salutary effect on his mind, by teaching him to see of how much more value she was to him than any people, or any opinions^ much less those that bask and flutter in the mere sunshine of prosperity and fashion. Sir Francis was led by the above circum- stance to pay more attention to the situa- tion of his lady with respect to her family than he had ever yet done, and although the manners of Mrs. Deverell had exces- sively disgusted him, he yet thought it a species of duty to establish her connexion in the eye of the world, by calling on Mr. Deverell, whose heiress she appeared to be. 16^ A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. since the coloners hte, though unknown, left little hopes of seeing him, and the ba- ronet knew enough of human nature to believe that a splendid alliance was more likely to help her to her rights than her necessities would have been. As an indi- vidual, he wished as little as he wanted the wealth of James Deverell ; but he knew that in the splendid title of an heiress, her day of poverty would be forgotten, and he loved her child so dearly, both for his own and his mother's sake, as to wish to see hitn the possessor of his grandfather's rights. The baronet found Mr. Deverell a wi- thered old man, vainly seeking from the aid of lYiedicine restoration to the springs of life, which were sapped in their prime by unnatural care, grievous disappointment n the loss of his last child, and perpetual , family vexations. A faint blush of shafne tinged his cheek as Louisa's name passed his lips, which the baronet repeatedly call- ed into action, by adverting to her virtues, her sufferings, and especially her love for his son, a love which in its consequences A FATHEft AS HE SHOULD BE. 1*65 led to the connexion, which, notwithstand- ing the worth of the object, was so singu- larly fatal to her happiness. " Yes, she was a good girl ; she loved my little James very dearly/' Sir Francis could have said — " How did you reward that love ?" but his errand was that of peace and expediency ; to recri- minate and reproach could not now serve Louisa, and might ruin her child; he there- fore constrained himself, which he was the better enabled to do, as the helpless being before him claimed not less his pity than merited his contempt, and he therefore added onfy — "" I have a boy at home, Mr. Deverell, that might make up to you the little one you lament ; visit me in the country, and see him before you return home.*' This invitation it was not in the invalid's power at present to accept, even if the higher powers in bis family had permitted it; but at this very time Mr. Chester's af- fairs were in confusion, and his mother was slraininfj everv nerve to secure him the 16^ A FATHKR AS HE SHOULP BE, Deverell estate ; but so frequent were the discussions and the jars between her and her daughter on the subject, that they could not avoid reaching the ears of Mr. Deverell himself, and of course disgusting^ him exceedingly ; but anxious for peace, he disguised his intentions, and made many silent inquiries respecting his brother, of whom, at this very time, he had gained some little intelligence, but not sufficiently confirmed to be relied upon. ^he baronet escaped from this visit with the sense of a man who has submitted to a painful and degrading duty, if any duty ought to be deemed degrading ; but on his return, he spoke of his reception in such a manner as to spare his lady from all painful retrospection, and awaken some hopes for the future. As soon as lady Mowbray could travel, they returned to that '' pleasant home" she inwardly desired never more to quit, and she was received with such abundant wel- come, such fullness of respect and good- will by all her neighbours as well as depen* A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BB. 165 dents, as to obliterate the mortifications of the metropolis, and render the country still more dear to her. But of all her friends none were more dear to her than poor William and his wife, and they, with her lovely boy, were the first to greet her. This honest couple, though industrious and frugal, had unfortunately been too ge- nerous to thrive in their little trade, the very nature of the articles they dealt in forming a perpetual temptation to the ruling passion. Twas but a few cherries to a child, or a cucumber to a sick lodger, or a cabbage that they gave away ; but, alas ! in these trifles their profits were con- sumed, and they struggled with poverty without conceiving where the error lay. The kind interest lady Mowbray took in all their affairs led her to detect the evil and provide the remedy ; and William was now placed in a situation, on sir Francis's estate, in which he enjoyed every comfort, without the means of injuring himself, yet enjoying the pleasure of being beneficial to others. l$t> A FATHER AS HE SHOULD fiB. During the absence of the family; Henry wasgrown^ and every way improved; the sight of him sent a pang to the heart of the baronet ; but he lived in hopes — but those hopes were vain ; lady Mowbray had no farther offspring. A JFATHER AS HE SHOULD BE* 167 CHAP. X. Three years had passed on with little change in the baronet's family, except the improve- ment of the children, during which time lady Mowbray " had never changed, nor wished to change her pir e/* save by an oc- casional trip to -the sea, when Henry, who still partook the rector's cares, and who had assisted him to close his crood old fa- ther's eyes, rushed into the room with a country newspaper in his hand, saying to sir Francis — *' Pray, sir, read this paper, for William says there is something in it that will make me as rich as a Jew/' *' Some patent kite, I suppose ,* or a new game at nine-pins," said the baronet. "Oh no, sir ! 'tis a real thing, or my master, you know, wou'dn't have sent me from the Rectory on purpose. I ran all the way, or else I would have looked at it. 168 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 'Tis — let me see — down that side, he said ; not among the poetry, sir." '' I believe not, Hal ; the Muses hold little society with Plutus. Urn — um — ah ! here we have it 1" ^' Oh, sir! don't you think Plutus's cave tl\e most wonderful place ** '' Hush ! ' Deaths last Thursday. — James Deverell, esq. of Cleveland Hall, in He is succeeded in his estates and large ac- cumulations by his grand-nephew, Henry Deverell Mackenzie, an infant, provided his brother, the gallant colonel Deverell, does not appear and claim them within his minority." '' Oh, but I hope he will,'* cried the boy ; ** for of all things I should like to have a gallant colonel for an uncle ; I want to be a colonel myself — if — if you please, sir." "Time enough to think of that, Hal ; but kiss your mother on this happy occa- sion. Henry flew into his mother's arms, then fastening back, seized the collar of sir A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 1G9 Francis, who embraced him with glistening eyes; from thence he vvas bending his steps to the nursery, when^, as if recover- ing a sense of propriety, he stopped short — '' I thought when people died, it wasn't right to call it *" happy occasion ;* is it, mo- ther?" *' Depend upon it, 'twas right in this in- stance/* said lady Mowbray, '^ for you know sir Francis said so.*' '' It was, however, a hasty expression, as used to a child ; remember, I^enry, what I now tell you. The relation you have lost was not happy in himself, nor did he do good to others ; therefore his wealth being bequeathed, as we will hope, to better hands, made me term this a happy affair ; should it become yours, and you pursue his steps, it will be an unliappij occasion ; this is the term used when people die. I am sure you would have used it had I died, though I left you every thing, park, horses, gardens, and all." '' You, :r/ou ! Oh, I hope you will ne- ver. J. I 170 A FATHER AS HE SHOVLD BE. ver, never die !** cried the affectionate boy, bursting into tears as he spoke. '* No, no, I hope you will live; and if I am to be rich, will you be so good as to take a le- gacy from me ? Oh pray, sir, do have a legacy." Sir Francis," smiling, twinkled away a tear, and explained to him what a legacy meant; at the same time informing him that there were reasons for believing his uncle might return, in which case the mo- ney in question never would be his. '* Then after all," said Henry, with a sigh, '' I shall not be a soldier." *' Yes, Henry ; when your education is finished, and your mother consents, / will make you a soldier." " My mother will consent, I know, sir, because, you know^ my father was a soldier, and my grandfather ; and besides, my cousin used to say that all the Mackenzies were born for soldiers." " Well, well, we will see what a hero 3'^ou will be; go to Louisa, for this subject requires immediate attention ; I believe^ A FATHER AS ME SHOULD BE. 171 indeed, it calls for a journey ; what do yt)U' think, my dear?'* After a short consultation, sir Francis^ set out for Cleveland HaH, accompanied by Henry. Happy was it for his lady that she was spared the pain of this visit, for the house, at this period, might be termed the den of the furies; the most ungovern'- able rage possessed the mistress, which she- vented in the most vulgar abuse of her late husband, who, in thus bestowing his estate, although evidently an act of mere justice, and an evidence of repentance, might have been guilty of the most flag- rant crime. Mr. Richard Chester, who had visited the house for the purpose of taking shelter from his creditors, alike disappoint- ed, and alarmed for the consequences, united in the outcry ; while his sister alter- nately exulted in the, event which blasted hopes in which she had not be;^n considered, and railed at the miser who fiad immured her best days, and blasted her schemes. Previous to the arrival of the baronet I 3 ITS A- FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. various schemes for producing a later will, or invalidating the legality of the present, hi d^ been agitated; but the late testator liad beeh tc^o good a lawyer, and too cau- tJoiis a many not to have taken every pos^- sible /precaution ; and the attorney who Had taken possession of the premises pre- se(1litcd\s.ir' F^^ncis with a correct copy, 'i^/hereby he found himself nominated as trustee to the will> along with a neigh- bouring' ge'ntleman ; but the deed differed l¥om the newspaper statement, inasmuch aS'tltiVfyj thousand pounds was expressly }eft*to*4ady Mowbray, and her child was dependant^h llier until his coming of age ; and ten thousand [pounds was given to his widow, to be, after her death, divided be- tw-e^n her son' and 'da-itghter — an act of ge- tierdsity wiiolly uhtnerited, but which could nofsave his nr'em'Ory' fPorti ungrateful abuse; indeed the Vna^VlYo^fe meanness or selfish- ness forbade him to be loved through life, will-raf^lylse respected after death for any act of kindness. Sir Francis behaved^ with the politeness A FATHER AS UE SHOULD ER. «1 ^3 «nd urbanity natural to his character, in the arrangements he deemed it necessary to make, and Mrs. Devtrell confessed that he behaved " like a bcttermore sort of a person enough ;" but Miss Chester, who saw in him a person she should like as well at the present day as she had loved Mac- kenzie in her youthful hours, was so op- pressed with spleen, as to render herself absolutely hateful in the baronet's ^yeS; he therefore left the house, fully exone- rating his lady from all charge of youthful imprudence in quitting such a family, to become the wife of any respectable nlair,. and felt a decree of additional esteem for one who had sustained the trial so well. When the particulars of the will were related to lady Mowbray, she felt sincere pleasure, botliin the circumstance of her own immediate accession of fortune, (foi: what woman does not love to give her bus- band a dower?) and likewise in the re- straint put upon her son, since she was aware that independence was but too often the ruin of youth, especially when they 174 A TATHKR AS HE SHOULD SB, were of the high-ispirited and liberal disposi* tion inherent in Henry. The poor boy him- self had been so flouted and snubbed by the women they had left, that he now looked upon the afHtir as much worse than nothing in his own case; and from conceiving him- self as rich as Croesus, and pouring gold into the lap of all he loved, he stmk at once into the belief that he was become much poorer than he used to be — an opi- nion^ his mother did not contradict^ aware that It would not trouble Hal long, and that when it recurred, it might have a be- neficial effect; his first steps were to little Louisa, whom he presented with a few dirty raisins, saying — " Here, Louiy, this is all I have brought from the old miser's.'" '' You mirstn*t call your uncle a miser.*' *' Why, mother, his own wife did, and I suppose she knew best; and so did Mi^s Ate, her sweet daughter.*' " But why will you imitate people yoa cannot help disapproving, Henry? These ladies were not good ladies for saying so.** *' La, mother, they were not ladies at A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 175 all, but women in black gowns; but, how- ever, it is very true, one ought not to imi- tate them, for they were so cross to me, you can't thinks every moment sir Francis went out; and even the servants were cross too, except one old woman, who gave me raisins. I know what I thought; thinks I, sir Francis protects me from all the world rww, and when I'm a soldier, and he is an old man, I'll protect Mm, and he shall lean on my shoulder^, and I'll read the Bible to him, if he be ever so deaf; and if any body dare to touch his white locks, I'll knock 'em down, mother, in a minute/* About six months after this period, one winter's night, a postchaise and four ar- rived at Seffon Park, and a stranger, in- firm in his limbs, but prepossessing in his countenance, alighted from it. He did not announce himself; and the agitation which every moment grew more apparent in his countenance, seemed to forbid in- quiry ; he leaned on a young gentleman, who inquired for lady Mowbray, and they were ushered into a parlour, \\here sh 176 A FATIIEn AS HE SHOULD PE. was employed at backgammon with her husband, on whose knee tl^ir lovely child sat shaking the dice-box. On perceiving the strangers, they rose, an.d the gentlemen approaching, they per- ceived the jelder wore regimentals under the roquelaire which wrapped him ; his form^ though bent, was commanding; a fpw thirn while locks skirted his open fore- hjead, which was fair, but the rest of his face bad been bronzed by a meridian sun ; he was an entire stranger, bnt a smile made him welcome; he essaypd to speak, but appeared for a moment unable. §ir Francis telt convinced that he was a gentleman in distress; he offered him a chair, with an air of more than common courtesy; it was accepted^ and silence broke. */ I am so great a stranger, that- '* " Oh, my father ! — my uncle ! Yes, yes, oh yes, it must be him !" Lady Mowbray rushed into the stranger's ^rms; he received her as a beloved child ; quick tears coursed down his veteran face; again and again he clasped her to his A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 177 I breast, blessed her, and thanked his God that he beheld her. Sir Francis, ever alive to (he finest emo- tions of the human heart, sympathized in their joy, and welcomed the long-lost war- rior with the greetings of a son and a Ibro- ther ; but as he looked upon hirii, and re- membered how often Louisa had described him as the handsomest and youngest of the Bevereils, he wondered not that she recol- lected him not, so heavily had the climate and his own sufferings visited his person, and assisted the ravages of time. When general Deverell could spare his own Louisa from his amis, he invited her little daughter to them : she was a shv and? timid child, and the appearance of the stranger, or rather his monstrous wtap- ping-coat, had excited some alarm ; but^ this was dissipated by his voice, and she- went to him with an air of silent confix dence. '' We shall be better acquainted by-and- by,'* said the general, as he wiped another t«ar from the corner of his eye. ' I 3 178 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. " I know yoiVnozv/* said the little Hebe; as she laid her glowing cheek to the fur- rowed face of the smiling soldier. *V Indeed ! Who am I, my pretty one?" '' You. are Henry's uncle, that has been in the wars. Oh, you don't know how pleased be will be to see you !** " Bless the boy ! I hope he will love his uncle. His father was a noble youth ; but \v1^y,f^a,?jo«rsigh, my pretty one? it is too soon/* *• Don't take Henry fo the wars; pray don't/' Long and sorrowful, though deeply in- teresting to the uncle and niece, was the CQf>versat(ion that now took place, and it W;rfs a' late hour ere the invalid sought his repose ; but in the morning all was forgot ; t4ie grandson of his beloved brother, the promised restorer of a noble race^ was be- fore him, and. the sorrows of many years were consigned to oblivion. The features of th€ father blended with those of the De- verc;]s in his face ; and on the baronet re- tiring with the general's aid-de-camp, he A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 179 could not forbear inquiring further re- specting a marriage of whidi he had been merely toid, at his paternal seat, in the most cursory way, as clandestine and unhappy, the conversation of the pre- ceding evening having related of course to the parents of Louisa, who were ever the first in his remembrance, and to his own long captivity and restoration. Lady Mowbray lived and suffered again through the story of her early love and early widowhood. She dwelt on the cha- racter, and described the affection her bo- som's lord had displayed towards her^ with alt the enthusiasm of youth and the ardour of attachment; and the good old man per- ceived, that as, in times of sorrow, '^many waters cannot quench love," so in peculiar characters neither will the glow of pros- perity consume i-t ; and with the tears he gave to her past sufTeriDgs was mingled a faint sigh for what he deemed her present privatiojis ; but Louisa, warm and grateful, passed on to spe.k of her present blessings, the uniform kindness of her husband, his 1S0I A FATHEK AS HE SHQULD BE. delicacy, generosity, and general warmth, more especially his kindness to her son, whom she was assured he would ever pro- vide for, as a near branch of his family, and on whose infant mind he had endea- voured to engraft every virtue. She spoke of his virtues with the elo- quence they were calculated to inspire, describing him as an affectionate husband, a father at once indulgent and wise, an in- corruptible senator, a generous landlord, a kind master, and an hospitable friend; de- claring her path in life to be so' strewn with flowers, that perhaps it were well that she was forced, by past affliction, to *' re- member some things were, and were most dear to her,'* to prevent her from forget- ting that this world was not her rest; and that her joys, as well as her sorrows, were probationary. They next adverted to the will of James Devcrell ; and in hearing the sums men- tioned alre^jdy as legacies, the general could not forbear loudly expressing his iudignation on the cold-hearted passion A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 181 which could freeze the current of nature in man's bosom, and bid him lock that wealth from his brother, and deny even the pittance of charity to that brother's child, a small portion of which might have- re-animated, in either case, the springs of life, softened the horrors of parting from the helpless beings left behind^ and shed a ray of comfort on the couch of death ; in terms of strong reproach, he reprobated the madness of amassing mighty sums, even for a proper object ; he called it gathering- small streams into a lake, whose useless waters become either stagnant, and corrupt the land, or profuse, and overflow it ,* whereas their natural course would spread fertility, richesj and beaut)', over every part. *' When I reflect on my uncle's suffer- ings," replied lady Mowbray, '* I forget his faults; no error can more immediately punish itself than covetousness ; it pro- duces guilt without pleasure, since it leads to the commission of injustice^ which loads the conscience, at the sapae time that it 182 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. denies those pleasures which might blunt its reproaches, or those charities which might palliate the offence. A covetous man neither loves nor is beloved; he dwells a noxious and isolated plant in the garden of society, and the good he ex- hales from others falls as a mildew on him- self. When I first saw mv uncle, he struck me as being much older than my father, whose many cares and sorrows had been so softened by the intercourse of love and the feelings of benevolence, that his fea- tures partook their influence; nor has a tropical sun, a cruel enemy, and a wound- ed heart, withered you as this son of for- tune was withered by the power he wor- shipped." '' Poor James ! thou wert indeed ' a co- vetous man/ of whom it is said that ' God abhorreth ;* but 1 trust, that ere thy de- parture, his mei^cy touched thy heart, and inspired thee to make restitution.*' *' Do not doubt it, my dear sir; for notwithstanding his misconduct, be assured he h;^d a heart capable of melting, though -A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. IS3 unequal to reforming ; hence arose his misery in life, but I trust his happiness in death ; but on this subject * we must draw the curtain close,' and ' forbear to judge, for we are sinners all/' - /' True, Louisa ; but now we are on the subject, I must inform you, that the rank' his majesty has been pleased to deem my services deserved, is equal to my wants; and that a small sum of money (it was then my all), which I placed,, above a do- zen years ago, for your portion, in the Calcutta bank, has, together with my pay, made a handsome sum ; so that I want no- things and am perfectly willing to let the Devercll estate go immediately to your son ; God grant he may make a worthy use of it!" " While I sincerely thank you, yet I earnestly beseech you never to meiuion it again. Henry is now an amiable, excel- lent, but somewhat headstrong child ; and independence coming too soon, might de- stroy the blossoms of virtue; tb.ere will not be wanting: those who would teach him 184 A PATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. to slight sir Francis as only a father-in-law in such a case; and I ann convinced not only that my happiness, but his own, will be the forfeit of any errors of that kind ; for though his impetuous temper may be tempted to disobedience^ he wilhnever be able to reflect on ingratitude, without suf- fering all the agonies of contrition." *' lit which case he would be frankly for- given !" " But why^ my dear sir, should we run the risk of his errors^ in the hopes of his repentance ? — why t^ke off a silken rein> which may restrain, but cannot injure, and with which a merciful Providence- has sup- plied us, in lieu of that which death de- prived us of? Though a woman, I abhor servility as much as you can do ; but a na- tural dependence is less a restraint than a support, and contributes as much to hap- piness as wisdom. I trust you will, for years, live happy and beloved, in the abode of your ancestors, and bequeath it to one worthy of being your successor; but in order to render him such, let him look. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 183 to it as the reward of labour, of virtue, of duty/' '' Ah, my dear girl, how justly has it been said, that ' sweet are the uses of ad- versity,' for they have inspired you with wisdom, that renders prosperity indeed a blessing! I submit to your wishes; and hope, under the guidance of such a mo- th^, our brave boy will' never regret his uncle's return. He is too young at pre- sent to be aware of any difference from the circumstance ; but remember, Louisa, I must have him loue me; remember that; for the love of your father, I renounced all thoughts of marriage; in his progeny I saw my own, and I must still see it; and if, as a weather-beat old man, unknown, and perhaps unloveable, the young rogue should only regard me for the trash of vvi)ich my life deprives him, then, then, Louisa, I must give it him, indeed I must." *' What, when he least deserves it ! Oh no; but this will never be the case, dear, dear uncle ! How can you suspect him of such ingratitude — yourself of such deme- 186 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. rit ? Be assured, dear sir, there never yet existed a child without the feeling of Des- demona, ' who saw Othello's visage in his mind;* and how much more dear to the expanding soul of youth becomes the vir* tues he comprehends, the character he ad- mires ! and my boy already loves t/om.'* *' I really think he does; yes, I really think he does love me; and the girl too; 1 will give them twenty guineas to buy toys, Louisa." *' By no means, my dear sir." ^' What, give them nothing? — come all the way from India, and give them no- thing?" *' Nothing, till you have convinced not only yourself, but me, that they love you dearly." " Poor lambs, they both kissed me this morning; what proof further would you have of their love ?" "^ Obedience, cheerful obedience." '* Pray, lady Mowbray, may I inquire bow old you are ?" " Old enough, my dear sir, to know the A FATHER AS HE SHOtTLD BE. 187 value of my husband's wisdom ; and there- fore not only to recommend^ but to pracr tise obedience." " Well, as I perceive myself to be many years your junior, I will endeavour to fol- low your example, and, to the utmost of my power, pay your precepts obedience. But remember I must be beloved." 188 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. CHAR XL Under the wing of her undle, as well as that of her husband, lady Mowbray was induced to spend this winter and the ens- suing spring once more in London. But on the arrival of warm weather, the general, accortipanied by his dear niece and her re- spectable consort, took possession of Cleve- land Hall, and rejoiced the surrounding country by bringing a Deverell amongst them, whom they could love and esteem. Past sorrows, and the contrast of present blessings, rendered this visit extremely af- fecting to lady Mowbray, when she consi- dered in how different a situation she moved to that under which she first entered this inhospitable roof, and how completely it might be now said, that her enemies were put under her. Without giving way to the least vindic- tive feeling, she could not help rejoicing A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 189 Tn the mercies^he experienced, surrounded as she was by friends, and blest by fortune. But when her truant feet wandered through the same groves,, traced the same rivulet, or leaned beneath the same tree, where she had first listened to the voice of love, first beheld the drops of manly tenderness and gentle compassion suffuse the eyes of her brave lover, her heart again throbbed, and seemed to ask again for him. The season, the scene, the very breeze, and the scents of lhe= plants, affected her senses as they were wont ; nor was she conscious of any change in herself — her eye was as quick to discern beauty, her heart as warm and lively to the voice of love, as then ; and surrendering herself to the power of ima- gination, for a few moments she would be absorbed in the visions it presented, and live her '^ wooino; davs ao;ain/' Then would busy memory rush, lik^ the destroying angel, on her mind, tear down the de- lightful veil that *' wrapt her in Elysium,*' and present such distressing scenes, such agonizing pictures, that with beating heart 190 A FATHER AS HE SilOULD El.. and streaming eyes she would fly from the spot, and bury herself in the darkest comer of the mansion, as if to shut out the re- membrance of her sufiferings, with the view that awakened it. During the period of their absence, Henry had been placed at a boarding-school well calculated to combine the advantages of public and private education ; and little Louisa, at the earnest solicitation of her aunt, lady Selthorpe, had been suflfered to remain with hen This lady had lately lost her only child ,• and though very young, the loss h^d deeply affected, and, for the present, rendered her incapable of any en- joyment, save what she received from the society of her niece. ft was believed by many, that other sor- rows mingled with those of the mother at this time, for they knew the colonel was extravagant and dissipated; but as she had, until the death of her babe, ever appeared in most excellent spirits^ and carefully con- cealed his errors from their knowledge, sir Francis and his lady were satisfied that JL FATHER AS HR 3H0ULD BE. 19 1 she was happy ; nor did Rumour, with her hundred tongues, depute one of them to contradict the belief. It is a certain fact, that many things occur in families, better known to the whole world than the parties most interested in them. Lady Mowbray, during the period we speak of, had neither suffered mortification, nor been the cause of its infliction ; and she had experienced much pleasure in the variety of amusements, the change of so- ciety she had experienced, and much solid satisfaction from seeing her valued uncle, the friend and benefactor of her beJoved parents, seated in his parental home, and likely to experience as much comfort there as his premature old age and various infirmities admitted. But yet, on returning to her own ''pleasant home," re&aming her extensive circle of duties, and her own mild and equable govern- ment, especially in beholding her beloved children, she was sensible that this was the scene of her purest gratification, her most acute as well as solid felicity. But scarcely 192 A fatheh as he should be, could she call it hers, ere a blow descended which threatened its dissolution, and in- duced a train of feeling to which she had been long a stranger. It will be naturally concluded, that during the years passed since lady Mowbray's mar- riage, those generous relatives who had re- ceived her in her distress had been fre- quently her visitors. They were again their guests ; and as the good clergyman was never more happy than when engaged in the duties of his profession, and sir Prancis was following his dearest occupa- tion when contributing to the good of those around him, it was common for them during their rides to look in upon the te- nantry, and inquire their welfare, especially since the unusual absence of the baronet. The sick in the immediate neighbourhood of the Park were all known to its lady, and relieved by her; but those at a greater distance frequently came first under the eye of its munificent master. One day the gentlemen happened to visit a house, the master of which was said to be very ill^ and, in fact, was dying of a typhus fever. On being informed his land- lord had called^ he entreated most earnestly to sec him ; and in consequence, the. gen- tlemen entered his chamber together. The sick man feebly grasped the ofTered hand of jhe baronet, and looking earnestly at his friend, desired him to pray with him. • His request was immediately complied with; and during the time of this sofemn appeal, the poor man still held the hand of his good landlord, who could not bring himself to withdraw it, since it appeared a comfort to one whose earthly enjoyments were fast drawing to a close. . When they departed, sir Francis.appear- cd happy in the circumstance which had led them to this house of mourning, which he determined to relieve and benefit by every means in his power; but it was re- marked that he looked pale, was over- powered by his emotions, and unable to cat any dinner on his return. The following morning he complained VOL. u k 194 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD EE. of sickness^ and Mr. Mackenzie becoming alarmed by the recollection that the sick- ness they had witnessed might be infec- tious, a medical adviser was sent for. He came too late to prevent the consequences now dreaded. Sir Francis was soon in a state of fever the most alarming ; the vi- sitants and children were sent out of the house — the younger part of the servants forbidden to enter the apartments — regular nurses provided — and every precaution taken to prevent the spreading of a dis- ease which was declared to appear in a form of uncommon virulence. Lady Mowbray heard these orders re- iterated, especially to herself. " Your agitation, madam, will render you pecu- liarly liable to the complaint — it will be better for you to retire. Sir Francis is de- lirious, of course your presence can afford him no comfort; and in his lucid moments he will be happy in the sense of your safety.*' Lady Mowbray was silent. '* You can hear of him every hour ; A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BbI 195 your children, my lady, claim your atten- tion — for their sakes guard yourself." She rushed from the presence of her friends, and sought her dressing-room ; there, in all the anguish of contending emotion, with nearly speechless but heart- felt supplication, she besought her hea- venly Father to enlighten and guide het in this moment of difficulty and distress. Bitter and asjonizins: were the emotions of her heart, when she prayed for him whom she now felt dear to her beyond all former feelings of affection — him whom she re- vered as a father, loved as a friend, and gloried in as a husband — him whose vir- tues and w^hose protection had cast a halo around her, whose sacred light would in his grave be extinguished for ever. She arose — she re-entered the room she had quirted with a firmer step, and fearful of herself, gave her daughter only one fond hasty kiss; then turning to her friend, who waited her determination, she said — '' To your care I commit her, thankful that I9S A FATHER AS «E SHOULD BE. in the hour of need God -hath raised me such a friend. If the chamber of sickness to which I now devote myself prove that of death, tell my children I was a kind mo- ther to them — I did not lightly leave thein — but, oh ! tell them, dear sir^ tell them what I owed my husband, and then they will bless the sacrifice/' ^' But mother, mother, I will stay with you," cried the Jittle cherub, hanging round her. A burst of grief for, a moment rent the heart of the mother; but she broke from her child — she did not even trust herself with another kiss; uttering some half-suf- focated message of tenderness to hcrHenry> she fled instantly to her husband's cham- ber, as to the sanctuary where her first du-^ ties should be paid, her warmest affections be concentrated ; there, devoting herself solejy to attending on him, and taking only such care for herself as enabled her the better to perform the arduous ta§;k she had ihosen, she remained the witness of .sulkringss'.c could not alleviate, the sharer A FATHER AS HESIlbULD BEJ'. 197 of danger it was impossible to avoid ; but yet supported by the consciousness that not one dutv was omitted^ and that she was giving freely to him who had freely given to hen During the terrible days and wearisome uiofhts which now measured a dreadful sea- son of suspense and sorrow, the unhappy invalid continued a stranger to all around him ; and mxiny times his faithful wife was heart-rent with the bitter complaints he made of her absence, or shocked with the abuse with v.hich he loaded her, as a wicked demon that came thither to torment him. At length the violence of his delirium abated, he fell into a profound melan- choly, and the powers of nature appeared sinking into complete exhaustion. He now gazed on his pale attendant with a softened expression, and without appear- ing to recognise, yet seemed to approve, and instinctively obey. Thankful for this disposition, she used her power over him, and prevailed upon him to take whatever was necessary, even when it appeared most J 98 A J"ATHER AS KE SHOULD BE. loathsome to him. This was the crisis of his fate. The fever was gone, but nature sunk beneath the ravages it inflicted, and life hung upon a thread so finely fragile, the very breath of affection seemed cap- able of destroying it ; and for nearly thirty hours Louisa felt fearful lest the reason she so fondly watched should suddenly return, and in the moment of beholding her and blessing her, he should expire. Happily a long and refreshing slumber was the prelude to this affecting restora- tion, and the baronet returned to the light of reason, and the hopes of life. She who, from such unmixed tenderness, such con- scientious purity of duty, had watched his pillow, endured his reproaches, and pa- tiently partook his watchings, did not ask his approbation, or seek his pity to con- sole her now. At this eventful moment she first withdrew from his presence, and suffered those who were less interesting to him to receive him on his return, and thereby save him from the contemplation of the person or actions of one so dear to A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 199 hrm, at a time when his weakened frame could ill sustain a spectacle so sweet, yet so affecting ; how Was she repaid for this self-denial, by finding that his first inqui- ries were for her, and that he expressed himself satisfied that she was anxiously waiting to see him, and kept only from his presence by the physician I When lady Mowbray approached the bedside as a stranger, the fond eyes of the husband for a moment gazed upon her as such, and with true tenderness he warned her against approaching him too nearly. When she answered, her voice seemed to affect him, and his recollection seemed confused. She spoke again, and a sudden conviction flashed upon his mind; and raising his head from his pillow, he gazed upon her with such d^^p and anxious in- terest, as to alarm her ; she entreated him to be composed, saying, *' If you do so, my dear, I must leave you." " No, you will not leave me, Louisa, you have never left me, I see — I see it all. SOO A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE: Dear^ 'Wonderful woman ! none but a wife Would have done this !** Tears coursed freely down his cheeky, and the flush ofawakened tenderness glowed on all his features. Trembling for the con- sequences she had vainly endeavoured to obviate, Louisa, kneeling by him, be- sought him fo be calm, to remember her more than life hung on the moment; and again he obeyed as he were wont, and checking his emotion, lay tranquil, and by degrees regained his salutary slumbers* The health of the baronet was gradually restored ; but he did not experience the quick return to appetite, and consequent strength, frequently experienced in fever cases. His convalescence was tedious, but borne without repining, save as it pro- longed the confinement, and injured the health of her, who, from this time, ap- peared to have acquired a new and lively interest in his heart, and whom he could not prevail upon to quit her charge for any advantage to herself. A FATHER AS HE STTOUID BF. 201 LaJy ^fowbray fii>ding herself escape from infection, became only the more anxious to save others from danger, and made the very circumstance of her safety a plea to keep others from sharing the risk. Her dear invalid was now inexpressibly precious to her ; and feeling his healthy ia a great measure, her own work, she was jealous lest any one should participate her honours; and though, in the humility of her heart, she truly said, ^' Not unto me, oh Lord, but unto thy name be the praise," yet it was only to her God her affection .would yield the prize for which she had so happily contended. At length the baronet quitted his cham- ber, and even under the rays of a mild autumnal sun, ventured a short way into the park, leaning on the arm of her whose pale cheek and shrunken form seemed ta call rather for the support she gave. The affectionate servants, who had been so long, for their own sakes, denied the sight of their respected and now almost-idol.zed K d t02 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BB. master^ on learning the circumstance, could not refrain from hastening to look at him, and praising God aloud for his restoration. Fearful this scene would affect him too much, lady Mowbray turned towards them, and while she thanked them for their love, and commended their piety, yet entreated them to desist from a demonstration of affection inconsistent with their beloved master's welfare. Whilst they were reluctantly retiring, she led sir Francis towards a seat placed against the paling; but she was again alarmed by hearing somebody speaking as if in anger, behind the fence, and still more startled by hearing Henry's voice in answer, exclaim in fury — " I don't care, I tell you ! I don't care for fevers, nor mas- ters, nor nobody else ! what did I run away for? answer me that; what did I run away for? not see him indeed!'' In an instant the agile boy shot over the paling, and was at the feet of sir Francis. Again he embraced his knees — ^^his feet ; be kissed them, he wept upon them, and A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 203 in agitated extacy, sobbing, cried — '' Yes, yes, you are alive, rny father, my father!** Overpowered with his emotion, the ba- ronet one moment stooped to embrace him, the next recoiled, exclaiming — *' Louisa, save the bov ! oh, mv poor fellosv, my dear Henry ! why do you come ?" Making a violent effort, the tremblino^ mother bade the boy instantly leave them ; but his extreme emotion would not per- mit him to rise ; and the baronet, in despite of his weakness, was the first to fly, while Henry, sobbing, entreated forgiveness, and declared that he would much rather die than be so miserable as he had been. "At length peace succeeded the agitations of the hour, and the affectionate boy heard with rapture he was not only forgiven, but applauded by his mother; and the baronet fold him, with a tearful smile, that although he had certainly done wrong, yet he trusted to his future good conduct, and would ever remember the decisive proof of affection he had given. " But now, my good boy," added he, '• give me a more decisive one> $04 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. by leaving us; I do not ask you to do if, Henry, for yourown sake — had you thought ofyourselfj you had never come^ but do it for mine, my son/* '* I will go this moment, sir — but — " " */ Ininderstand you, my love, but you must not kiss even your mother.** ''•Nor Louisa, sir ?" '* Louisa, like yourself, is banished, my ehild ; return to your master. Harrison shall takeyou, and save you from all blame.** With one fond look Henry left the park; and whilst he took a slight refreshment in the house, Harrison received his orders. Whilst he gave them, he took a new guinea from his purse, which he held for a mo- ment in his hands, as if struggling with himself how to dispose of it. At length he threw it back, saying, resolutely — " No, I will not degrade him by offering a re- ward to his affection; nor will I injure him by paying for his obedience. — But, haikee, Harrison, find out during your journey what there is he wishes for, and tell me, that we may send it after him; 'twill be A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 205 his birthday soon, and that will afford me an excuse for a present." Harrison returned, saying — " Master Henry had consoled himself all the way back, by proposing to beg a holiday, and to make a feast for the boys on sir Fran- cis's recovery ;'* and it will be readily sup- posed his intentions were put in execution. The good baronet dealt with no niggard hand the means of gratifying this wish; and it would be difficult to find many hours in a man's life so supremely happy as Hen- ry's, while he presided at the youthful feast, and added to its luxuries the zest of feel- ing and gratitude. 206 A FATHER AS HE SHO0LD BE, CHAP. XII. From the period we have spoken of, sir Francis and his lady enjoyed a still greater taste for each other's society, and a stronger perception of the conseqaence each was of to the other, than they had ever known before; and as the baronet was for a long time left in a delicate state of healthy he became still more wedded to home and do- mestic society than he had «ver been ; but as his health returned, he resumed his coun- try occupations with new energy, and en- tered into agricultural pursuits especially^ with great vivacity. General Deverell spent much the greater part of his time with his niece, becoming particularly at- tached to Louisa, over whose acquirements, manners, and opening mind, he watched with all the tender anxiety of a^ parent, and the admiration of one who, as a stran- ger to children in general, and long de- A pather as he should 8E. 207 prived of a pleasure congenial to his na- ture, was ready to conclude that earth had never seen. Heaven never bestowed, a being in whom so many excellencies met. It was therefore necessary that the parents of Louisa should watch over her with no com* mon care, to obviate the evil tendency his well-meaning, kind-hearted, but injudi- cious flattery could not fail to have on a • young female, whose charms of person and whose talents were but too likelv to lead her to an overweaning opinion of her- self. Yet it appeared certain even to their alarmed minds, that the evils of Louisa's disposition would not prove pride or va- nity ; she was by nature too timid for the first, too strong for the last: there was in her a sense of modesty so deep and so sin- cere, a simplicity and self mistrust, that called for more than usual encouragement in whatever she attempted; and she was embuecl^ with a sensibility not only so acute, but so profound, that it was impos- sible to direct her mind by reproof, wkb- 208 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. out producing so much disproportioned suffering, as to lead to an extreme of in- dulgence by ^vay of atonement. She ap- peared born to be governed by her affections only ; actuated by them, she became firm, courageous, prompt, and active, as well as gentle, docile, obedient, and patient ; a single glance of the eye was command, a smile was reward ; acute and penetrative^ her delicate mind felt ever that " praise undeserved is satire in disguise;" and when conscious of error in her carriage or tem- per, if she happened to be reproved, she became instantly humbled, and with all the ingenuousness her timidity admitted, would avow her fault, or by instantly abandoning it, prove her own detestation of it; thus even her good uncle's error proved useful to her, while the consciousness of meriting praise spread over her mind not only a de- lightful calm, but an animating influence, which led to the higher attainments of virtue. Children who reside in the country, un- dc^ proper tutors, have great advantages A TATIIER AS HE SHOULD BE. 209 ftom local circumstances; the book of na- ture is opened before them, and all that knowledge most interesting to man is pre- sented at every page. Louisa was led not only by a fine imagination, and that spirit of inquiry natural to youth, but. by the tenderness and benevolence of her heart, to inquire after every living thing ; and her search was not confined to animated nature, for wherever her eye discerned beauty, her heartfelt interest ; and though birds and lambkins, kittens and dogs, were prime objects of her care, violets, Iil!ies_, and roses, shared it; and in rearing a drooping plant, or cherishing a sickly flower, her whole mind would be so en- gaged as to render her entirely dead to a thousand frivolities, the food of vanity and selfishness in other girls of her condi- tion and person. Without abandoning her person to the mercy of the elements^ or affecting to teach her that she was plain or brown, lady Mowbray never checked the disposition to an act of mercy, or the investigation necessary for attaining know- 210 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. ledge, by expressing fears for her com- plexion, or anxiety about her clothes. She taught her the proper estimate of beauty by the degree of attention she be- stowed upon it in others, and the true con- ception of the excellence of virtue, by proving in her own conduct that its attain- ment was the great business of existence ; and that the exercise of the affections^ - the power of exciting esteem, its rich re- ward. • Henry bore as decidedly those charac- teristics which are thought peculiar to man, as Louisa did those considered purely feminine ; he was warm-hearted, brave, impetuous, but generous, open to convic- tion, and candid in confession ; his dis- cernment was quick, and his mind power- ful ; but his judgment was easily misled by his passions; he was subject to loving and hating, but the excellence of his temper, as well as his disposition and principles, made him quickly abandon the latter, but persist in the former. There was an attach- ment between this brother and sister rarelv A fATH^FIt AS HS fifTOULD fiS. 2t I to be met with ; it appeared less that of nature than of friendship. Henry delight- ed in Louisa's society, because he ever found an opportunity of doing her good ; she took her early lessons with hrnn, she practised her music for kis sake, and in all their rambles he was her protector, in their errors her defender. Louisa was on her part certain that Henry was happy with her, and that made her happy; in receiving instruction she vv^as conscious of bestowinoj pleasure, and she therefore sought it with twofold vigilance. Sl^e was aware that Henry was passionate and impetuous, and she sought with all her power to wean him from these errors, by the gentlest persua- sions, and ever sought to hide him from observation in the moments of his irrita- tion ; and in order to do this, she con- strained herself from all propensity to par- take his error; so thatalthorgh easily' hurt, from the too quick perception of injury, she yet acquired a species of patience very seldom combined with acute feeling, and became herself what she wished her bro- 212 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD «E. ther to be, and which in a great measure he became. Thus mutual affection, and the same mild restraint and prudent ma- nagement, rendered two dispositions of distinct character in many points essen- tially alike, and at least equally amiable and well disposed. But the time came when Henry, used to the society of boys at school, '* disdained the limits of that little reign" the powers and inclinations of Louisa prescribed ; he was sixteen when she had entered her thir- teenth year, and he was no longer content with the simple round of amusements which the vacations had been wont to afford; and when Louisa's drawing had been criticized, her plants glanced at, and her lessons at the piano, praised, Henry talked of shooting and hunting, but espe- cially of fighting; and afTected rather the company of the baronet, than that of his daughter. Louisa^ who wished to behold him the *^ guardian, not the tyrant of the fields," v/as vexed sometimes^, and sometimes. A'TATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. _ 213 grieved with these dispositions ; yet she still fondly loved, and was beloved by him, and heard with great regret the assurance her maid gaTe, that '* he would no longer be tied to hei* apron-strings/' especially when her mother^s manners confirmed the assurance, by requiring Trom her the same attention to her studies she was wont to impose, and began to inform her that the duties of women were distinct from those of men; and ihat it was only during in- fancy their pursuits could be universally congenial. At this time Henry formed an acq'uain- tance with a very amiable'youth, one year younger than himself, the eldest son of- viscount Welbrooke, a nobleman whose seat was in the vicinity of Sefton Hall.. •About half a century ago there had been a marriage connection between the families^ by which means the residence of sir Fran- cis had come into his family, which the late viscount had, with no very justifiable in- tentions, endeavoured, but vainly, to regain;- of course a coolness had taken place be- S14 A PATIIEX AS HE SFIOOLD BK. tween him and the uncle of sir Francis, its last inhabitant, which had so far extended to their successors, as to have prevented any immediate intercourse from being sought on either side, although there existed not the slightest portion of ill wilK When, therefore, chance introduced the ho- nourable Edward Sefton to sir Francis, through the medium of Henry, he was re- ceived without any portion of prejudice against hhn as an individual, and treated with the easy politeness and genuine hospitality usual with sir Francis and his lady. Edward was an engaging, rather than a striking boy ; he was backward in his frrowth, timid in his manners, and though evidently alive to kindness, seemed fearful of expressing the emotion it awakened. His countenance was open, but its expres- sion was serious almost to melancholy, an effect partly produced by the paleness of his complexion, and the character of his full black eye^ which was shaded by such long eyelashes, that until they were raised. k FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 215 his face seemed robbed of that illumi- nation so natural and so beautiful in youth. Perhaps it was this sombre character that rendered his smile so singular, so enchant- ing, that when any thing happened to call it forth^ it seemed to surprise and delight all who were around him; and the eye which had carelessly glanced upon an un- formed, pale-faced stripling, became sud- denly sensible of the power of beauty and intelligence united in his person ; and this was more particularly experienced in Sef- ton Hall, because the inhabitants had been used to contemplate Louisa's exquisite fea* tures lighted up by the same peculiar ra- diance ; and although Edward could not boast the dimpled graces which were her peculiar characteristic, nor that change of complexion in which every finer hue dis- played that sensibility, • where such perfection wrought. That one might almost say her body thought, yet Still every person was struck with the 216 A FATHER AS HE SITOULD BE. similarity there appeared in this respect be- tween them. Edward was so much milder, sp much more thoughtful than Henry, that they did not appear so much drawn together by si- milarity of taste or disposition, as neces- sity; yet it was plain that their acquain- tance ripened into a sincere attachment, and as they were really alike in all, leading points, being both warm-hearted and well intentipned, having both general know- ledge, and general benevolence, the differ- ence in their characters appeared to have a good eiTect on each, especially the younger, who, in associating so much with the frank, open-hearted, courageous Henry, shook olT his ov^n mauvaise hontc, and seemed as if he should even dare to be merry. He evidently loved to be at the Hall so much, that he left it with regret to accompany^ even his companion * but he never return- ed with him without evidently expe- riencing that relief accorded by the society of the gay and agreeable, v^hen they are likewise the innocent. A FATHER AS rfs SHOULD BE. 217 " People may say what they please of education," said sir Francis one day; '* and no one can be more anxious to be- nefit from it than I am ; but whoever looks into human life itself, must see that the bias of Nature is very strong, so strong, that I think education should follow her lead; and in planting even virtue, should rem.ember to assort her peculiar seeds to the soil before them. '' Look at those two boys; one was born in poverty, nursed in sorrow; the first sounds that met his ears were the sighs of his mother, the first object that appalled his eyes was the corpse of his father ; yet true to the native energies derived from his own inherent character, he lisped com- fort to the one, and endeavoured to suc- cour the other: true to the same princi- ples, we perceive him grow up generous, courageous, ingenuous, pursuing too often the first to profusion, the second to folly, and the third to weakness, and this under the peculiar restraint which is generally VOL. I. L 2 IS A FATHEK AS HE SHOUtD BB. supposed to- induce rn>ar>ness, disguiac, and v^ervility— the restraint of dependence, the Jutorship.of a.father-in-l«i,w, onC;, too^ na- *turaj]y, reserved, systematically determi- nate, and everi, Ji) marriage retaining the peculiarities of an old bachqlor.'* . Lady Mowb.niy smiled. "Look at the other; the heir of a no- ble house, and doubtlessly well acquainted ^^^itjii the circumstance that his mother's Jointure exceeds even his father^ and, like , that, must be one day his own ; without a , r iv a 1 in th e t a 1 e n t s or agrem ens of a ^younger .brpther, and finding only in- crease of consequence from the circum- stance of having sisters, who, from their very birth, have been taught to look up .to .him : his cheek has ever rested on the pil- low of plenty, his cradle been rocked by the hand of induli>-ence, and his lullaby sung .by the ton^jue. of adulation : the pa- rade of education, the praise of titled ac^ iquainttince, and. t.he hopes of family al- liances, have doubtless been whispered in his ear, with all the '' glorious circum- A FAXnER A3 HE SHOULD BE. JSIO Stance" of rank and power incident to his situation in life ; yet you perceive him not only utterly unspoiled by these cir- cumstances, but even labouring under a timidity, oppressed by a melancholy which could only be derived from nature^ and which buries his talents, and, to a certain degree, eclipses his virtues, of course may injure his usefulness, and is certainly cal- culated to give a very incorrect idea of his character, and tlie many good traits he pos- sesses." *' It is impossible,*' replied lady Movr« bray, '*" not to grant that disposition, and even manners, as frequently descend to chil- dren as features and complexion, and Henry is a decided proof of the fact, be- cause he resembles his father in many points which appear to be the* effect of imitation, they follow the model so closely. But yet I think -education has made the principal part of both his character, and that of his friend ; pardon me if I say, you have taken a very superficial view of their L 2 '22T) A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. childhood's annals; such a view as the world in general takes, and which you could only have adopted from your apt- ness to disclaim all personal merit. My boy has been by no means depressed by the evils of fortune ; the sorrows of his opening life have been long ago oblite- ratedj and have had no other effect on his mind than that of increasing his sensibility to the happiness he has enjoyed; and the circumstance of his being a son-in-law even to a person you are pleased to desig- nate reserved and particular, &c, has left him more open to the growth of his characteristic virtues and errors (for they do not amount to vices) than he would otherwise have been, since your delicacy has always exempted him from severity ; and where you deemed punishment neces- sary, and would have infijcled it on your own child, you have mitigated it in his case. On the other hand, he being sen- sible that your forbearance arose from the most noble and amiable motives, and that all he received from your goodness was the A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BH. 221 act of bounty, not the claim of nature, be- came of course more grateful to you, more ashamed of having offended you, and more anxious to obtain your esteem, and even to imitate that which he so intensely ad- mired, than as your own son it is probable he would have been. A more easy, happy childhood was never passed through than his has been ; for it has never known any sorrow but that occasioned by faults which led to repentance, whose griefs must be felt by every one : the dependance you speak of he knows only by name ; his wants have been ever so amply supplied, that he can form no idea on the subject ; and as your enforcement of obedience has been ever regulated by your desire for his good, he has no inducement to believe that the crouchings of servility would an- swer any end with you, but exactly the contrary; of course he has had no temp- tation to adopt them : his feelings, i/our example and your precepts, have equally led him to combine the submission of duty and wisdom, with manly integrity and ra| 222 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. tional independence. As to poor Edward, I think it too probable that the circum- stances of his life have been quite as likely to form the characteristics you justly re- mark, as his natural disposition ; and I have a great notion we shall find they have done it/' Sir Francis shook his head incredu- lously. *^ Nay, sir Francis, consider it is of the heirs of great houses Darwin too justly says — Oft hears the crimson couch unpitied plains, And many a tear the tasseird pillow stains; and although this might not be the case during the actual infancy of Edward, yet depend upon it that boy has not slept on roses ; the tender dejection, the. deep t^3U2;ht, the retiring manners, so remark- able in him, have been produced by some species of sorrow and anxiety^ not natural to his situation, 1 grant, but in some way arising out of it. The family spend such short summers, they are little known here ; A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. S^3 : - .-••:o, . :.; i:: '..: . . But I have Been told that lord and lady Welbrooke are' not a happy couple; and wnat greater trouble can there be to a child of sensibility than wUnessing the dis- unioii of his paren'tsV especially as he is evidently a boy whom somebody has dis- posed to piety, and whose nund is un- commonly enlightened' for his years? sTiould' he* owe this' to one parent orily^ whaf iriust the other appear in his eyes?^' Sir Francis acklidwledged there might Be^omethirig'.in this stat^menf, aYid they bioti? cft^elr oh \he' probability, uiitil th'ey' tt\t more interest than tlvey' hail dver don^ ift him ; and this serisatioh was incfeasecJ With every succeeding visit; so that the boy Deca'me actually 'efideareii" tb fhem ; and as ne evidently imprbved Beneath it\6 meliorating i'nffuence' of their friend- ship, there could be no doubt but h^ fe- furhed their afTection most cordially, at- fhough his eyes were the' only heralds of his heart. ' 'These afTectionate sensations were not pattaldh by Louisa^ except in those nio- : ;•; }:n;a . i:', ; ..: , 224 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. ments when Edward appeared depressed, or overpowered by bashfulness ; then, in- deed, her native sweetness and benevo- lence led her to regard him with the truest tenderness; and she seldom failed, by a thousand little unobtrusive attentions, to draw him out of his melancholy; but in general she was too apt to consider him as one who robbed her of her rights in Henry ; and to one whose every pleasure was con- centered in the exercise of the affections, this was no light injury. All who love in- tensely and inordinately are jealous of their object ; their jealousy may be devoid alike of suspicion or malignity, but still there is dross in the gold which calls for the refiner's hand. Lady Mowbray per- ceived this in her child, and she took such pains to eradicate it, that Louisa at length began to look less shyly at Edward, and hear him propose a ride to her brother without the glow or the petulance of cha- grin marking her ingenuous countenance; she began to conform to her fate, and sub- mit to sharing that which she had hitherta A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. S25 engrossed ; but in proportion as she rel.'n- quished Henry^ she attached herself still more to her mother, who not being able at this time to provide her a young female friend, who would be in every respect suitable as a companion to one so finely organized, so dangerously gifted, resigned herself as far as she was able, consistent with her duties, to becoming the compa- nion and friend, as well as guardian of her daughter. Sir Francis, who now despaired of a son, and was most tenderly attached to his heiress, readily seconded his lady's viesvs, and was happy to see her relax into the playmate, or rise into the governess, with this beloved being, on v;hom every care and every accomplishment was bestowed, that could add grace to the gifts of nature, and give value to the charms of beauty. Eut it was the especial care of both pa- rents to <^Ive strength to a mind rendered comparatively weak by its own excellence, and which resembled the fine-wrought or- 1.3 226 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. naments of gold, which appear beauteous in proportion as they are attenuated, and exhibit fragility proportioned to their ex- cellence. A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 227 CHAP. XIII. We have already hinted at Henry's early prejudice for the army^ which increased with his years, and his acquaintance with his uncle, which of course became much more intimate on his quitting school. Sir Francis would have greatly preferred giv- ino: him a bias for the laws and legislature of his country; but in a season when so much of the real interests of the country '\vere at stake, when not only her exist- eiice, but that of fcl civilized nations, de- pended on the gallant exertions of her brave sons, he deemed "it almost a sin to counteract the wishes of a brave youth, who considered the sword of his unfortunate father a glorious inheritance, and prefer- red a life of toil and dangfer in the tented field, ' to ease and luxury at home; iTe therefore consulted with the general as to the best means of promoting his wishes 228 A VATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. agreeable to his prospects in life; and iti consequence of their united endeavours^ Henry, on attaining his seventeenth year, became a cornet in the regiment of dragoons, and very shortly afterwards ob- tained his wish, in being sent to the Penin- sula. Although this youth was dear to lady Mowbray, not only as her son, a son wor- thy of her fondest love, but as the repre- sentative of his father, whose memory still sailed down the tide of time, crowned with the fadeless myrtles which virgin love and tender sorrow had adorned it with, and of course to part with him was dismembering her very self, yet she did not oppose his %vishes; herself the daughter, niece, and ^vife of soldiers, each of whom had not only adorned his profession^, but his ^na- ture, and whose sorrows and disappoint- ments in their profession had failed to dis- gust or affrighten them^ she had early used herself to consider this as a trial that would doubtless visit her ; and therefore without affecting the character of the Spartan mo- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 229 tber, which was foreign to her nature, she yet obtained the higher praise belonging to the ChristiaHj who dares to trust her treasure even on a perilous sea, conscious that an all-seeing eye sees and directs the storm. Parting with Henry was the first real sor- row Louisa had ever known, and she suffer- ed from it so much as to awaken the most painful solicitude in both her parents, and to call for their increased vigilance towards the sensibility, which, in its acuteness was at once her charm, he.r misfortune, and her fault. Trembling for the welfare of their treasure, they became as anxious for her who remained, as for him thus committed to a dangerous and tempting profession ; and in earnestly entreating Divine assist- ance for both, they happily led the suscep- tible mind and tender heart of their dau^h- ter to look to the same source of divine comfortj to spread before the throne of Almighty mercy her wants and her fears, and seek for resignation and fortitude as 230 A. FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. the gift of religious confidence and pious hope. Louisa was assisted in thus seeking for jcomfort from its highest source, by the ta- lents, and^ still more, the pure taste by which she was distinguished. She had a fine per-: ception of the beauties of poetry, and pos- sessed the imagination requisite for the highest species of composition ; nor was she devoid of the powers requisite for its lighter labours; and of course the sublime enthusiasm, the ardent zeal, and profound tenderness which constitute th/" finest es- sence of poetry, and which every poet feels in his happiest moments, (whatever be his personal deviations and vices,) was conge- nial with her feelings, and the most de- lightful occupation of her mind. In taking this direction, her heart more frequently obtained felicity than realized serenity. She was enabled to present the object of her solicitude to the will of God, or to be- .hold, through the vista of time, honours and rewards avait him ; but it was not easy A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 231 for her to sit down contented with his lot, and calmly resign him to whatever might befall him * but it was not towards Henry- alone her solicitude was awakened ; the sligh4est indisposition in either parent at- tracted her instant care, her fond alarm ; and towards servants, friends, cottagers, and even animals^ still was she the same at- tentive, tender, affectionate being, " As she, the general mother, were of all.'' Well might the parents of such a one re- joice with trembling, as they looked for- ward to that time when a '' master passion might swallow up the rest," and with it the peace, the happiness, perhaps the honour of their house. When Edward first visited them after the departure of Henry, Louisa's reception of him was a flood of tears so violent, that lady Mowbray was induced to mix reproof with consolation — reproof which at least affected Edward exceedingly, as he rose to depart immediately, observing, with much trepidation in his manner, " that it 232 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. was very natural for Miss Mowbray to be disturbed by the sight of a person who must remind her of her brother/' Louisa felt that she had acted foolishly, and in a degree unjustly, by subjecting one to pain who had ever most delicately en- deavoured to save her from every unplea- sant sensation; blushing, she turned to Edward, and said, '* Yes^ you remind me of Henry ; but-— but I don't dislike seeing you, for all that." A glow of the most animating pleasure rose on the heretofore dismayed countenance of Edward ; and forgetting that he had rung for his poney, he instantly sat down again; then conscious that he had in some way acted foolishly, he blushed in extreme confusion, and bade farewell ; saying in a hasty, incoherent man- ner, something about departing himself for college the next week. When he was gone, sir Francis lamented that they should lose him. *' That boy/* said he, '' has wound himself round my heart, not more by the soundness of his un- derstanding, as it developes itself in con- A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 235 versation^ than by the simplicity of his manners, and the real goodness of his heart. When he entered the room tears sprang- to his eyes, but he not only checked them, but avoided mentioning Henry's name, lest he should hurt his mother; yet you see he could find a ready apology for Louisa, whose conduct was exactly what he avoided.** " He is a good-enough kind of boy,** said Louisa; 'indeed I don't think there can be a better; but he is not like Henry> papa." '' He has not Henry's vivacity, my dear.** " Oh no ! nor Henry*s courage; he will never be a soldier, I'll answer for it." *' Henry himself had a different opinion ; he told me that Edward had more cool courage than any boy of his acquaintance ; and observed, Edward would be a general, ' when 'he was at best made captain comman- dante, to storm a fort." *' But I know v;hen the hay-stacks were on fire last summer, Henry climbed directly to the top of one, whilst Edward 234 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BK. walked quietly rpund^ and then called tO' the servants.'^ "'True, my dear, but before the servants arrived, this same quiet Edward had, at the' risk of his life, extricated his friend from* the perilous situation his rashness, which you call courage, had placed him in.** " Yes^ he is very good ; he always does right; but he will nevferben hero; at least not one of my kind of heroes; he rnay make a iSiicias, but would never have been a Leonidas/' ^^ You have paid him a greater compli-^ ment than you intended, Louisa; Tor doubtless the latter was the greater cha- racter of the two ; one devoted himself for the country he Iqved^ and the cause he idolized ; the other for 'his country cloubt- less, but under counsels he disapproved, and in a cause he abhorred: the one fell gloriously, the other ignominiously, yet \vith equal, nay, superior virtue." '' But every body loves l^ebnidas best, papa." '' Not every body, for I love Nicias asu A FATUER AS UE SHOULD BE. 235 well, though I have all my schoolboy feel- ings still glowing about me; and I wish you, my dear, never to read about great men, nor think about great boys, without exercising your judgment, and examining what is really good and praiseworthy ia them; and remembering, that although the qualities which excite love are very desir- able, those which demand esteem are still more so; in fact, I wisji vou to love only those whom you can approve, instead of approving them because you love them." " I both love and approve Hf^nry/* '' I am not speaking of Henry ; you do not love him qiore than I do ; nor can yoiji love him more than I wi-sh you to dio; but you will learn to be very contracted, ia your notions, and very confined in your philanthropy, if yon make one person the standard by which to measure all your ac- quaintance." " I don't want to love a many people ; I like to love a few, papa, very, ^cr^ dearly^ and so I do. I love you^ and mamma, and 236 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE» " My sweet child, I know you do, and your love is very precious to us, yet we would not have even the light glow so in- tensely as to scorch us, you know; we would rather have its rays diffused, in order that it may bestow a more general benefit, and shed on us a softer lustre." Louisa departed with a sigh, and sir Fran- cis observed with another, that ^' the girl had listened to Henry's passion for his pro- fession, till she had imbibed it, and could see no excellence but in courage, no vir- tue but in a soldier." A faint blush passed the cheeks of his Jady^ from a consciousness that she pos- sessed her share of what might be termed the family mania, just at this time; and she observed, " it was natural for women to think more highly of courage than any other virtue." *' I believe so,'' said sir Francis, '' and yet it is a virtue of a very questionable shape, and very frequently ought to be de- nominated a quality only, though I grant it the most attractive one in the catalogue* A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. S37 I must own myself there is something very puzzling in the circumstance, that women, the more timid and defenceless they are in themselves, the more fond they become of these blustering, flashy, cut-and-thrust beaux : she who would die to see a wound, can kiss the hand that makes it; and the trembling, weeping being, whose soul would exhale on sight of a battle, yet dearly loves the glorious conqueror who spread the field with blood, and scattered desolation around him/' '* There is no reasoning on this point further than to observe, that it is a happy instinct which shows the weak that the strong are their natural protectors/* ** That observation is too vague and too general to satisfy me ; I remain like Des- demona's father, surprised ^ how one can love what she doth fear to look on/* " But surely our great poet never was happier than in his delineation of the fe- male character in the gentle Desdemona, nor in the purity of her affection for the valiant Moor: he proves that it is per- ^38 A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. fectly natural for such a woman to love such a man." " YeSj but he gave the Moor many gooy6u are equal to the fa- tigue of such a journey." " Heigh presto t** exclaimed lady Sel- thorpe ; '' how many familiars do you em- ploy, good people, to carry on your secret ihtelligence ? you settle a joilrney to the Antipodes with less trouble and consultation than I should have in ordering my chair for the opera." A FATHER A3 HE SHOULD BE* ^DO Lady Welbrooke at this moment offered sir Francis some fruit, and she did it with a smile which so animated her pale a-nd sunken features, and with a gesture so in-. dicative of good-will and esteem, that ho scarcely could believe she was the same being : the regards he threw upon her, by telling her he was surprised, probably hurt her; for it is certain a tear suffused her eye, and in her anxiety to escape further observation, she retired with the ladies ta the drawing room. The young people spoke, with all the avidity natural to their age, of the charms of a tour through the Highlands; and lady Mowbray entered into the scheme with M the enthusiasm natural to one whose feel- ings were united by a fine though latenf tie to the country of which she spoke; but lady Welbrooke had relapsed again into the sombre being they had first beheld; but she was soon recalled, most happily recalled — the voice of Sefton was heard on the stairs, and the colour rushed impetuously to her cheek — " It is, it must be Edward!" $56 A FATHER A55 HE SHOULD SE» slie exclaimed, and flew towards ihv^ dobr. In a moment she was in his arms; and nevci?: was a mother pressed more fondly to the breast of a tender son. For a moment the eyes of that son were cast round the room, but as quickly they returned, and rested with sweet satisfaction only on his mother, till the approach of his sisters, each fondly claiming his attention, with an air of assu- rance that they were all equally beloved, recalled him by degrees to the recollection of other company. ' Lady Welbrooke's streaming eyes seem- ed to give her a right to seek a moment's retirement, and lady Mowbray saying, with great sympathy, " I know what it is to receive a son," she gently pressed her fingers, and withdrew ; while Edward;, ad- vancing to pay his respects to lady Sel- thorpe, appeared arrested by the appear- ance of Louisa, whom he had not seen for more than a year^ and who was in that time so much grown, and in every respect so much improved, as to render his appa- rent surprise very natural. A yATHEH AS HB SHOULD BK. 257 Devoted to study, Edward had hitherto spent but little time in female society ; his mind was therefore more polished than his manners, though these possessed gentle- ness, and exhibited the goodness of his heart in a manner that in time became in- sinuating; but he always appeared to some disadvantage in the presence of his father,- who was absolutely fascinating when it was his pleasure or his interest to become so. The moment lord Welbrooke learned his son's arrival, he flew into the drawing- room, and welcomed him with the utmost warmth and tenderness, followed, of course, by the gentlemen^ of whom Henry was the most forward. The two young men were so J evidently happy to meet again, that iheir sensations appeared to inspire all around them with the first feelings, and the memory of the first endearments of life;; and the evening was spent in the most en- gaging social intercourse. In the course of it, lady Welbrooke, unbending, as it were, slowly, to the reception of pleasure. ^5B A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE, took repeated opportunities of addressing Louisa, in doing which she displayed a rich vein of information, and a refined taste; but Louisa shrunk so much from the idea she had adopted of her ladyship's austerity, that she could not in return dis- play the cultivation she really possessed ; but the little she did say served to prove the jewel was really worthy the high- wrought casket which enshrined it. Sir Francis observed all around him> and became convinced, from every thing, of the regular improvement and real excel- lence of his favourite Edward. He saw how dearly he was beloved by his sisters, that he was the very life of life to his mother, and that every servant who entered th^ room was happy in an i^xeuse for approach^ ing him/ and that respefct and love were equally united in th^ir looks. He was well aware that the esteem thus bestowed was the consequence of solid worth, since he did not possess the charm of attraction, by which some are loved without merrt> and A FATHER AS HE SIIOULt) BE. 259 respected without virtue. He perceived, likewise, notwithstanding the peculiar re- tirement of his manners in his father's pre- sence, yet that the promise of his boyhood was/^jlfilling, his mind was singularly fur- nished for his years, with all that was Use- ful in the legislator, or ornamental to the gentleman, and that his conversation ex- hibited all the graces of unaffected elo- quence modestly delivered. Of course, each party, on theit return^ expressed their opinion on the individuals of a family with which they appeared likely to become very intimate; but the youn* people were too desirous of pushing their proposed jaunt to the Highlands, to think much of any thing else; and the general, who did not find himself very well, proi- posed returning before they set out. • Henry insisted on seeing him safe home, and accordingly became his escort, an at- tention suitable to both ; and although sir Francis had not all the enthusiasm of the rest of his party, he yet set about the ne* 260 A FATHER AS HE SHOtTLD BK cessary preparations with much spirit, hap- py to make those happy who were natu- rally and justly dear to him. Louisa looked into maps, made extracts, and affected to arrange their tour ; by^^t her mind continually adverted to Ossiaii'$ Poems, and spirits of winds arid warriors, weeping maidens and majestic ghosts, swam befpre her sight. She did not, however, neglect her drawing apparatus, and anti- cipated the greatest pleasure she could en- joy from the romantic scenery and magni- ficent wildness of a country as novel as it was commanding; and when Edward call- ed, he found her so wrapt in the prospect of enjoyment, that she lost her wonted re- serve;, and spoke to him with rapture of the scenes through which she should pass, the ideas they would awaken, and the plea- sure of retracing them with her pen or pencil. As Edward listened, beloved; the charms which had caught his eye, now entered his mind ; and as he traced the sweet simplir A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE. 261 city, the unblemished taste, the warm af- fection for parent and friend, which min- gled in every hope, and pervaded every feeling of Louisa's, he feh as if reason jus- tified the predilection, and gave him a right to devote himself to so much excellence. But Edward was not subject to be led away by youthful hope; for hope and mirth, and all the genial train that dance around the gates of opening life^ had been early repressed in him ; and the more he loved, the more he feared. Anxious, how- ever, to hide his present emotion from the observation of others, and carefully to ex- amine it himself, he returned home by a circuitous path, partly to give himself more time for thought, ere he appeared at home, and partly in the hopes of meeting his mother, with whom he was anxious for some conversation, for to her he could re- veal his every feeling and his every fear; and though sensible that Louisa had long held a place in his heart — though he only now owned her fully for its queen, he ^yet felt ggi A FATHER AS HE SHOULD BE* that for his mother he could tear her thence, with all her charms, and even all her vir* tues. END OF VOL. I. Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Street, London. ^>