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 77 
 
 /
 
 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 BY AN OLD MAID. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 (successor to henry colburn.) 
 
 1834.
 
 C. WHITINO, BKAO)»OKT HODSB, STRAND-
 
 CJ) 
 
 CD 
 
 C/D 
 
 
 ^^3 
 
 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Every little village abounds in subjects of 
 at least equal interest to a reflective mind, with 
 the most populous city, or the most fashionable 
 watering-place. The country churchyard, could 
 ■-^ it speak, would relate many an affecting story 
 of blighted affection, of conjugal bereavement, 
 of widowed parents mourning their last hope, 
 of destitute orphans, of persons who in old age 
 have died dependant upon that parish, in which 
 their forefathers held a respectable station ; of 
 the young, the good, the beautiful, and happy, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 swept off by the ruthless hand of death, in the 
 midst of every enjoyment, whilst the old and 
 bedridden have lingered on year after year, a 
 burden to themselves and to others, until at 
 length the lamp of life, which had long burnt 
 with a feeble and flickering light, has sunk in 
 the socket ! 
 
 '^ The lordly castle which looks proudly over 
 the river flowing so gently at its foot, could re- 
 count tales of lovelorn ladies and belted knights 
 — of deeds of prowess done in feudal times, 
 which to modern readers would sound so san- 
 guinary, as to make their ears tingle and their 
 blood run cold. 
 
 " The moated mansion, with its yew-trees cut 
 into every fantastic variety of form, could whis- 
 per tales of m-urder — of blood-stained floors— 
 of haunted chambers ! 
 
 " Each woody glen has its little history of 
 some happy or unhappy pair, who there first 
 breathed the sound of love. 
 
 " Each murmuring brook its grassy bank, on
 
 INTRODUCTION. d 
 
 which some village Corydon has rested his 
 weary limbs, whilst reflecting on the charms of 
 her whom he has long, perhaps hopelessly, 
 loved. 
 
 " The maypole which rears its head high 
 above the sacred fane, boasts the beauty of its 
 juvenile queen, for whom it might contest the 
 palm with many a ducal hall. 
 
 " The country has its envyings — its heart- 
 burnings — its jealousies — its scandal. It has 
 likewise innocence, simplicity, purity, and sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 " Virtue and vice are more equally dissemi- 
 nated through the world than on a transient 
 view would appear to be the case. Formerly 
 a large city was universally considered to con- 
 tain more incitements to dissipation than the 
 country. This inequality has been in a great 
 degree removed, for the beer-house now supplies 
 every hamlet with ample opportunity to vie with 
 the town in idleness and intemperance ; enabling 
 vice and immorality to show themselves with 
 b2
 
 4 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 unblushing front, in defiance equally of the 
 pastor and the magistrate." 
 
 Such were the reflections with which I closed 
 a work of imagination, of which the principal 
 events were drawn at a fashionable watering- 
 place. I pursued this course of thought ; my 
 busy memory recalling various subjects of in- 
 terest, with which I had become familiar during 
 a residence of nearly half a century in this 
 place, until, at length, I came to the determina- 
 tion of committing some of these events to 
 paper, prefacing them with a brief sketch of my 
 own very simple history. The result is as 
 follows : 
 
 I am the only child of the late rector of 
 Southend, who, descended from a junior branch 
 of the Melcombe family, and united to a person 
 of equally good connexions with himself, was 
 early in life placed in possession of two excel- 
 lent benefices. That on which he resided, until 
 death deprived him of his amiable and beloved 
 partner, was a family-living of considerable
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Talue; and the house, having been erected by 
 a former Lord Melcoinbe for one of his younger 
 sons, resembled the mansion of a country gentle- 
 man of large property, rather than a parsonage. 
 
 At the period of my mother's death I was 
 too young to be sensible of the magnitude of 
 my loss, but my father, who loved her most 
 tenderly, and mourned her deeply, feeling that 
 all around reminded him incessantly of her 
 whose loss he lamented, determined to remove 
 to his smaller and distant living, and soon put 
 this resolution in practice. 
 
 The change of scene, and the interest he took 
 in the welfare of the much more populous parish 
 to which he had removed, added to the amuse- 
 ment he derived from improving his house and 
 grounds, diverted his grief, which, ere long, 
 subsided into a calm cheerfulness of demeanour, 
 which nev^r again forsook him. 
 
 I still recollect the surprise I felt on our first 
 ariival at Southend, at perceiving rooms of such 
 small dimensions, compared with those to which
 
 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 1 had been accustomed at Melcombe ; but in a 
 few years all recollection of the place of my 
 nativity was effaced from my infantine mind, 
 and only partially restored by a visit I paid 
 along with my father to the earl and countess 
 some years afterwards. 
 
 At an early period of my own life I perceived 
 that I was the principal delight and solace of that 
 of my father, and I resolved that I would ever 
 remain such. It may perhaps be imagined that 
 I had few temptations to change my state. 
 That, however, was not the case, for my face 
 and person, although not decidedly handsome, 
 were not without attraction ; my education had 
 every advantage that could be derived from an 
 amiable and accomplished governess, added to 
 that still greater one, of being under the con- 
 stant superintendence of, and associating with, 
 a person of my father's acknowledged worth, 
 learning, and talent. And to these may be 
 added, what was probably not the least of my 
 attractions, the certainty of possessing a genteel
 
 INTRODUCTION, / 
 
 independence. But none who proposed to me 
 had power to alter my determination to remain 
 my father's companion, and when death de- 
 prived me of this beloved parent, I had attained 
 an age in which prudence and inclination 
 equally combined to urge pursuance of my 
 plan of living single. I was at that period in 
 my fortieth year, and though I have not been 
 without suitors for my hand since that time, 
 I have never had cause to repent my resolution* 
 In the early part of my life I was in the 
 habit of visiting at Elm wood Park, the resi- 
 dence of a half-aunt of my mother's, who had 
 kindly transferred part of the affection she had 
 felt for the parent to her orphan child. My 
 father, who always felt my absence a great 
 privation to himself, kindly submitted to it, 
 not only under the impression that I should 
 derive great advantage from mixing in such 
 society as Elmwood afforded, both in its amiable 
 and highly accomplished mistress, and in those 
 friends whom she frequently collected around
 
 8 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 her^ but likewise from knowing that such would 
 have been the wish of his beloved wife, had she 
 still lived. 
 
 I have many excellent friends, not merely in 
 the vicinity of Southend, but even in the village 
 itself; indeed I may almost claim a friendship 
 with the whole parish ; for there is not an indi- 
 vidual in it who would not gladly perform any 
 kind office for the daughter of their late revered 
 rector. 
 
 There is rarely a cheerful meeting amongst 
 those in my own class of society, in which a 
 place is not reserved for the " Old Maid ;" and 
 when I return from the luxurious abodes of 
 some of my wealthiest friends to my own quiet 
 home, and in a winter's evening, with my win- 
 dow curtains drawn close, a fresh log of wood 
 placed on my cheerful fire, and a book in my 
 hand, I envy not those who, rich in children 
 and in domains, probably regard with com- 
 miseration my lonely state, and simple mediocrity 
 of fortune. I feel that few have less cause to
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 repine than I have, and I gratefully thank the 
 Almighty for the blessings he has bestowed in 
 enabling me, not only to enjoy so many com- 
 forts myself, but, to bestow food and raiment 
 upon many of my fellow-creatures who are less 
 fortunate than I am. 
 
 Ere I attempt a description of my neighbours, 
 or recite any anecdotes respecting them, I will 
 give a slight sketch of the village in which I 
 reside. Southend is situated in the west of 
 England, about one hundred and fifty miles 
 from London. It is long and straggling, occu- 
 pying, from one extremity to the other, nearly 
 a mile in length, although it does not contain 
 above sixty or seventy houses. It is placed 
 principally upon the side of a hill, commencing 
 at its foot (where the serpentine river of * * ''^ 
 flows gently through the vale) and gradu- 
 ally rising for nearly half a mile, over- 
 looking the richly wooded valley below. The 
 upper part of the hill, which rises considerably 
 above the village, is covered with underwood, 
 b3
 
 10 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 from which an occasional oak rears its lofty 
 head, having been spared by its owner to era- 
 bellish the view. 
 
 In truth it may be said that Southend is a 
 pretty rural village, beautifully situated. An 
 air of tranquil cheerfulness reigns around, which 
 it is impossible for a stranger not to observe 
 with pleasure. The houses are most of them 
 separated from each other by little paddocks 
 or gardens ; whilst the china rose, the myrtle, 
 the Virginian creeper, the honeysuckle, the cle- 
 matis, and the jessamine, mingle sweetly on 
 their walls. And vines almost breaking under 
 their weight of green and purple grapes (some- 
 times nearly overspreading the windows with 
 their luxuriant foliage, at others allowing them 
 to peep from between the branches) form an 
 elegant covering to the rough and unomamental 
 stone of which the cottages are built. At the 
 extreme end of the village is the mill, the occu- 
 pier of which is one of the richest inhabitants 
 in the place. A little on the ascent is a row of
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 neatly-thatclied cottages, wherein reside several 
 of the labouring poor; ascending somewhat 
 higher is farmer Dobson's comfortable house, 
 and well-stocked rick-yard, promising abund- 
 ance of food for the year; beyond this are 
 a few pretty detached cottages, with their gay 
 little flower gardens in front ; next, the surgeon's 
 substantial stone residence, with its nicely-mown 
 grassplot, smooth gravel walk, and iron paling, 
 claims attention ; after which are the residences 
 of the village tradesmen, and above all '* the 
 shop," which undertakes to sell, in a little way, 
 every thing which a dozen shops in a town 
 would engage to supply you with. Here is the 
 village green, in the centre of which stands the 
 maypole, that, from its elevated sta>tion, is the 
 envy of the surrounding neighbourhood. On 
 this green many a merry dance is held, and on 
 a summer's evening as fine an assemblage of 
 children may there be seen sporting in playful 
 gambols, as ever greeted a traveller's eyes. 
 The poor-house opens upon the green, contri-
 
 12 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Luting by the neatness of its exterior, and the 
 propriety which reigns throughout its interior, 
 to give interest to the scene. About a hundred 
 yards beyond is the church, with its pretty 
 steeple almost covered by ivy ; its quiet burial- 
 ground, with its yew-trees of more than three 
 centuries' growth, its cypress, and its weeping 
 willows, kept sacred alike from pigs, poultry, 
 and idle children. The shrubbery of the par- 
 sonage joins upon the churchyard, and within 
 a short distance, on the opposite side of the 
 road, my cottage stands, with its back towards 
 the village, and facing the beautiful vale, to- 
 wards which the parklike field in front gently 
 slopes. Many of the trees planted there by my 
 father are now in full beauty. My shrubbery, 
 my little conservatory, into which my sitting- 
 room opens, and my garden, can often boast 
 more beautiful flowers than adorn the extensive 
 domains of some of our greatest landed propri- 
 etors. My field affords grass for two cows and 
 the ponies which draw my phaeton, thus adding
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 use to beauty. I am attached to Southend by 
 many ties ; here have passed forty-five years of my 
 life, most of them in tranquil happiness, and, 
 I trust, not altogether uselessly. All the villagers 
 seemed to me, formerly, almost as forming one 
 large family, of w^hich my father was the head ; 
 and although that great connecting link has 
 long been broken, I still feel nearly as deep re- 
 gret at their misfortunes or misconduct, and as 
 much pleasure at their prosperity and welfare, 
 as if they were connected with me by some na- 
 tural tie. 
 
 But to conclude my sketch of Southend. 
 After passing my residence, the traveller will 
 perceive an occasional farm-house, or a cot- 
 tage of a somewhat superior description to 
 most of those before observed, until arrived at 
 the termination of our strao-crlino; villag:e, when, 
 should he chance to pursue the turnpike road, 
 for a mile further, he will find himself at the 
 entrance of Down Hall, the residence of an 
 elderly gentleman, to whom the surrounding
 
 14 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 property belongs; or on turning to the right 
 after passing farmer Allgood's, he will soon 
 arrive at the principal lodge belonging to Danby 
 Park ; but, as it is probable that I may narrate 
 some anecdotes connected with both families, 
 I shall not at present give any description of 
 either residence, but now proceed to sketch the 
 history of our present pastor.
 
 16 
 
 THE RECTOR. 
 
 Mr. Bell's father was the only son of a 
 deceased officer, from whom he had inherited 
 little beyond a good name and a subaltern's 
 commission. He married, whilst yet a lieu- 
 tenant, the portionless daughter of a Scotch 
 baronet, and found himself, at the age of thirty, 
 the father of six children, who, with his wife 
 and himself, had only his pay to support them. 
 Shortly after the birth of his sixth child, the 
 regiment to which Captain Bell was attached 
 was ordered to the East Indies, to which place 
 his wife and young family accompanied him; 
 all of whom, with the exception of one fine boy, 
 soon fell victims to the climate ; the redment
 
 16 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 having been sent to the most unhealthy station 
 in the country. 
 
 The same cause which deprived Captain Bell 
 of his wife and children tended towards his 
 rapid promotion ; for, by the death of his senior 
 officers, he was, in the course of a few years, 
 promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. 
 
 Immediately after the demise of Mrs. Bell, 
 her bereaved husband had sent his only re- 
 maining child to England for education, in the 
 hope of thus preserving one beloved memorial 
 of her whom he sincerely mourned. As Colonel 
 Bell had, at that time, not only the inclination 
 but the power to pay liberally for his child's 
 expenses, his wife's brother. Sir James Mac- 
 dougall, readily undertook the charge of him ; 
 consequently, during many years he spent his 
 vacations at the old and dismal-looking abode 
 of the ancient family of Macdougall ; Colonel 
 Bell amply repaying his brother-in-law for the 
 accommodation afforded to his son by costly 
 presents to the lady of the mansion. Lady
 
 THE RECTOR. 
 
 17 
 
 Macdougall was the eldest daughter of a Scot- 
 tish Laird : possessed of high blood, but little 
 fortune; plain in person, violent in temper, 
 and proud of a descent which she claimed 
 from some of the oldest families in the country, 
 she had artfully contrived to gain the hand of 
 Sir James — at a period when he might have 
 chosen amongst some of the fairest forms in 
 Scotland — and, by so doing, estabhshed herself 
 not only in the opinion of her husband, but in 
 that of all who knew her, as a young lady of 
 extraordinary talent. The frugality and good 
 management of Lady Macdougall, were more 
 than equivalent to a fortune ten times the 
 amount of that she had brought as her marriage 
 portion. She was bustling and active in her 
 mtjmge, now scolding one lassie, now instructing 
 another. She was to be seen every where — no 
 one felt secure from her prying eye. If the 
 ploughboy neglected his horses, he trembled 
 lest the lady should visit the stables ! If the 
 dairymaid overslept herself, and on a summer's
 
 18 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 morning was not milking the cows before four 
 o'clock^ she turned with looks of fear towards 
 the httle oldfashioned window at which her 
 mistress was frequently stationed at that early- 
 hour. Sir James himself, although a magis- 
 trate, and a person of considerable county in- 
 fluence, appealed to his wife in all doubtful 
 cases respecting magisterial or county business. 
 Sir James and Lady Macdougall had three 
 sons and four daughters; of the former, the 
 eldest was educated with young Bell at Edin- 
 burgh; the latter her ladyship undertook to 
 educate herself; the consequence of which was 
 that Elizabeth, the eldest, could, at the age of 
 thirteen, read any chapter in the Bible without 
 miscalling more than a dozen words ; she had 
 likewise completed a sampler on fine canvass, 
 the curious devices of which excited the admi- 
 ration of her younger sisters ; and had made 
 such progress in embroidery as to have under- 
 taken a pastoral piece, similar to one which her 
 mother had executed at school, in which the
 
 THE RECTOR. 
 
 m 
 
 shepherd was attired in a kind of old fashioned 
 court suit, and the shepherdess, as she rechned 
 on a mossy bank, seemed more anxious to dis- 
 play her satin dress and hoop petticoat to ad- 
 vantage, than attend to the flock committed to 
 her care. Such was the family in which during 
 his vacation Edward Bell was domesticated for 
 many years. 
 
 When the period arrived in which it was de- 
 sirable that he should decide upon his future 
 profession, he, with the entire approbation of 
 his father, made his decision in favour of the 
 church. He accordingly went to Oxford, where 
 the eldest son of Sir James soon followed him. 
 Colonel Bell chose that his son should not only 
 be* a gentleman commoner, but gave him an 
 income far beyond his wants or wishes ; whilst 
 Sir James, the possessor of a large territory, 
 though only a small rental, found it necessary 
 to make his son a very limited allowance. 
 When young Bell, who was generous almost to 
 profusion, found that his cousin was debarred
 
 20 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 of many advantages which he possessed, he 
 insisted upon giving up part of his own very 
 ample allowance to him, by which means James 
 Macdou gall's enjoyments were much increased. 
 At the period of Edward Bell's quitting Ox- 
 ford, he received a letter from his father, inform- 
 ing him that he was then on his return to 
 England, in consequence of ill health ; his me- 
 dical advisers being of opinion that his native 
 air only could renovate his constitution. From 
 any other cause than the one assigned, Edward 
 would have been delighted to learn that he 
 should soon see again that parent from whom 
 he had so long been separated, and whose 
 kindness to him in infancy, added to the grief 
 he had expressed at their necessary separation, 
 had made an everlasting impression upon his 
 young mind ; but he now only looked forward 
 to their meeting with apprehension as to the 
 result of his father's illness. When the period 
 approached at which the vessel Colonel Bell 
 embarked in might be expected to arrive, his
 
 THE RECTOR. 21 
 
 son set out to meet him. The ship did indeed 
 reach the destined port, but the gallant officer 
 who sailed in her had breathed his last sigh the 
 day before she reached England. 
 
 Edward was deeply afflicted on receiving the 
 melancholy intelligence of his father's death, 
 although from having been separated from him 
 at so early a period of life, he could not be sup- 
 posed to suffer so long, or so acutely, as with 
 his strong feelings, and warm affections, he 
 would have done under other circumstances. 
 
 As soon after the remains of Colonel Bell 
 were consigned to the tomb as his son could 
 summon resolution for the task, he commenced 
 the arrangement of his late father's affairs; when, 
 to his equal surprise and consternation, he per- 
 ceived that there would not be above five hun- 
 dred pounds remaining, after the payment of 
 the funeral expenses, and his own college bills 
 for the preceding term. From the style of his 
 education, and the very liberal supply of pocket- 
 money he had been in the habit of receiving.
 
 fS VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 he had never doubted that he should be very 
 handsomely provided for ; consequently his dis- 
 appointment was, in the first instance, severe. 
 Colonel Bell's improvidence had proceeded from 
 a spirit of procrastination and indolence of habit, 
 arising firom a constitution enervated by a long 
 residence in a hot climate, rather than from any 
 other cause. He had always purposed ensuring 
 his life for his son's advantage, but impru- 
 dently postponed it until too late ; added to 
 which, the same indolence which caused him to 
 procrastinate what duty and affection equally 
 urged him to do, made him leave his affairs to 
 the management of those who took advantage 
 of his confidence, so that at the time of his 
 decease he was not only poorer than he ought 
 to have been, but much poorer than he believed 
 himself to be. 
 
 When Edward Bell found that lie must de- 
 pend entirely upon his own exertions for sup- 
 port, he hastened to consult his uncle on the 
 plan it would be most advisable for him to
 
 THE RECTOR. 23 
 
 pursue, since another year must necessarily 
 elapse ere he could take orders, and although 
 fully qualified to undertake it, he feared it 
 might be difficult to obtain the situation of 
 tutor for the time that must intervene. Sir 
 James, who had severely blamed his brother-in- 
 law for supplying his son so liberally with 
 money, notwithstanding himself and family had 
 most materially benefited by it, now strongly 
 inveighed against that imprudence which had 
 caused Edward to be brought up with expect- 
 ations so far beyond his fortune, agreed entirely 
 with him as to the difficulty, almost impossibility, 
 of obtaining pupils so soon as he might think 
 desirable, and then proposed that he should re- 
 main at Glendougall, and, during his leisure, 
 prepare his two younger sons for going to the 
 college at Edinburgh. Edward readily acceded 
 to his uncle's proposition, saying, that he should 
 be most happy to do so, if Sir James was of 
 opinion that his services would be equivalent to 
 any trouble or expense that he might cause.
 
 24 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 After the character given of Lady Macdougall 
 it will not be doubted that this plan originated, 
 as indeed did all others at Glendougall, in her 
 ladyship; who, with Sir James, congratulated 
 herself on having secured valuable instruction 
 for her sons, at the veiy trifling inconvenience 
 of having so moderate a person as her nephew 
 to form a part of her family. 
 
 When Mr. Bell arrived at Glendougall, with 
 the intention of making it his home for the ensu- 
 ing twelve months, he found already domesticated 
 there, a most agreeable addition to the family 
 party, in a niece of her ladyship's, Kattie Mac- 
 donald. At the time Sir James had married 
 the eldest daughter of the Laird of Durnfrew, 
 there was another daughter, who, just springing 
 into womanhood, was in every respect a contrast 
 to her elder sister ; she was pretty, gentle, 
 sweet-tempered, and unaffected ; but she wanted 
 the prudence of Lady Macdougall ; for, dancing 
 with a young officer at a county ball, who was 
 penniless as herself, she lost her heart, and
 
 THE RECTOR. 25 
 
 though he gave his in exchange, her father lent 
 so unfavourable an ear to his proposal, that the 
 lovers, believing their only prospect of a union 
 was by an elopement, were clandestinely mar- 
 ried. The laird, glad to get another daughter 
 off his hands, made her marriage an excuse for 
 depriving her of the very small pittance he 
 should otherwise have given her ; thus the young 
 couple were without other means of support 
 than what an ensign's commission afforded. 
 On this very small income yomig Macdonald 
 and his pretty wife contrived not only to sub- 
 sist, but to live very happily, although some- 
 times at a loss to know whence the following 
 week's supply must be obtained. Their table 
 was but frugally spread, and her dress was of 
 the simplest kind, but love filled up every defi- 
 ciency in their young minds. 
 
 Fortunately, ere they had an addition to their 
 family, the regiment in which Mr. Macdonald 
 was, was ordered abroad, thus his expenses were 
 lessened, and his pay was increased. Mrs. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Macdonald gave birth to a fine girl on board 
 the vessel which was taking the regiment to 
 Gibraltar, where they remained for some years ; 
 after which they removed to various stations, 
 Mrs. Macdonald and the young Kattie always 
 accompanying her husband. Having only one 
 child, they were enabled to give her the ad- 
 Tantage of an excellent education. 
 
 Her husband having obtained a majority, and 
 never having asked pecuniary aid of any one, 
 Mrs. Macdonald had no difficulty in renewing 
 a correspondence with her brother and sister, 
 the present Laird of Durnfrew and Lady Mac- 
 dougall, for her father had long been dead; 
 which they were equally happy with herself in 
 promoting, as she frequently sent them little 
 elegancies of foreign manufacture, particularly 
 her sister, whom she thought most likely to 
 value them. 
 
 A few months prior to Mr. Bell's revisiting 
 Glendougall, after the absence of a year. Major 
 •an<l Mrs. Macdonald were returning with their
 
 THE RECTOR. 27 
 
 regiment from Ireland, when a storm arising, 
 the packet in which they had embarked was 
 wrecked, and the passengers, with the excep- 
 tion of ten, one of whom was poor Kattie Mac- 
 donald, were lost. 
 
 The bereaved orphan was with difficulty saved 
 by the exertions of a soldier, whose wife had 
 been her nurse. When restored to a full sense 
 of her situation, she could scarcely thank him 
 who had saved her, since death appeared pre^ 
 ferable to life, when thus cruelly deprived of 
 her beloved parents. Kattie wrote to infornt 
 her aunt of the deplorable event, which had in 
 a moment reduced her from happiness to misery, 
 requesting her advice and protection; when 
 her ladyship, with her usual excellent manage- 
 ment, formed a plan which she did not doubt 
 would draw upon her the applause of the world 
 for her disinterested kindness, whilst, in reality, 
 she would be amply repaid for the protection 
 she meant to afford to the destitute orphan. 
 , Kattie Macdonald, having arrived at Glen- 
 c2
 
 28 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 dougall in consequence of the invitation of her 
 aunt, was required by her to undertake the 
 instruction of four rude hoydenish cousins of 
 various ages, from six to thirteen, who had been 
 suffered to run wild about the house and park, 
 without any education beyond such rudiments 
 as could be obtained from the occasional lessons 
 of their mother. The mild and gentle Kattie 
 readily agreed to her aunt's proposition, glad to 
 compensate in any way for her kindness in af- 
 fording protection to her desolate state. She 
 commenced her arduous task with alacrity, 
 endeavouring by her sweet and amiable manner 
 to attach her young cousins to herself; at the 
 same time that, with a gentle hand, she strove 
 to eradicate the weeds which, in some of her 
 pupils, had grown up so luxuriantly as not only 
 to overshadow, but nearly to destroy, every 
 amiable propensity. 
 
 When Edward commenced his office of tutor 
 to his cousins, he found Kattie Macdonald had 
 been some months domesticated at Glendougall.
 
 THE RECTOR. 29 
 
 She took her meals with the family, but 
 except at the hours of refreshment, was little 
 seen by her uncle and aunt, though the latter 
 was anxious that it should be supposed her 
 niece had met with an unexceptionable home 
 and most generous treatment; and, conse- 
 quently, that from choice she remained in her 
 own apartment, that she might devote more 
 time to the exercise of her various accomplish- 
 ments, preferring such a disposal of her time 
 to the society of her friends. As Edward had 
 no reason to doubt Lady Macdougairs word, 
 he only regi'etted that so pleasing and appa- 
 rently amiable a girl should seclude herself so 
 entirely. He made no effort to prevent it, as 
 he would have done, had he been aware that 
 the room she occupied had formerly been the 
 nursery, and was now appropriated to her use, 
 and that of her pupils, without undergoing the 
 slightest improvement ; that the only window 
 it contained was placed so high that nothing 
 could be seen, except a passing cloud, or the
 
 oO VILLAGE REMINISCTENCES. 
 
 rooks as they flew in circles above the house, 
 collecting after their day's excursion; whilst 
 the accompUshments, which he was told she 
 delighted in exercising, were confined to teach- 
 ing her cousins to strum upon an old spinnet, 
 which had been purchased for a daughter 
 of the ancient house of Macdougall, nearly 
 a century before ! To use her pencil she found 
 almost impossible, from want of hght ; but this 
 she had little reason to regret, as Lady Mac- 
 dougall had very soon informed her niece that 
 after she had put her cousins' wardrobes in 
 ■order, she would always find employment in 
 repairing the family linen ; and to prevent the 
 possibiUty of her misunderstanding the wishes 
 of her aunt upon this head, a huge basket of 
 that article was constantly placed in the room 
 for her to exercise her talents upon ! 
 
 Miss Macdonald soon perceived that she had 
 more than all the disadvantages, without any 
 of the advantages usually attached to the situa- 
 tion of governess. She had been reared with
 
 THE RECTOR. 31 
 
 anxious solicitude, and accustomed to be treated 
 with the most affectionate tenderness, by her 
 fond parents, who had taken great deHght in 
 those accomphshments, in which they had 
 been enabled to procure for her good instruc- 
 tion. She had a sweetly plaintive voice, and 
 sung in a very pleasing manner the airs of her 
 mother's native country. She played, with, 
 what at that time was considered good execu- 
 tion, on the pianoforte, and she sketched prettily 
 from nature. When to this we add that her 
 features, though not strictly regular, were de- 
 licate and pleasing, her countenance intelligent, 
 her person graceful, and manner peculiarly in- 
 teresting, it will not be thought wonderful that 
 her parents looked forward to her forming an 
 advantageous connection in marriage. They 
 thought not of the possibility of her being left 
 an unprotected orphan at the most dangerous 
 period of her life. 
 
 Edward was himself in the habit of either
 
 32 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 mixing with the family, or strolling through the 
 romantic woods, and over the bleak moors, 
 which surrounded Glendougall, when the hours 
 devoted to the instruction of his cousins were 
 ended, as best suited his inclination. 
 
 Upon one occasion Lady Macdougall had 
 attempted to interfere with the disposal of his 
 time, when he stopped her by saying " Aunt, 
 I am your guest ; — whilst I am so, it is equally 
 my pleasure as my duty to attend to the hours 
 and regulations of your family. I have under- 
 taken to instruct my cousins during the interval 
 that must elapse ere I enter the sacred profes- 
 sion to which I am destined. I am happy in 
 having an opportunity of being useful, and thus 
 compensating for any expense which you may 
 incur on account of my being with you ; but 
 when the hours of instruction are over, I con- 
 sider myself at perfect liberty to dispose of my 
 time as is most agreeable. If you approve of 
 my acting thus, I shall be happy to remain a
 
 THE RECTOR. ' 33 
 
 Glendougall ; when such a proceeding becomes 
 unpleasant to you, I shall be equally ready to 
 depart.'* 
 
 Lady Macdougall knew the interest of her 
 family too well not to hasten to assure him that 
 she never thought of interfering with the dis- 
 posal of his time ; adding, that she only meant 
 to express a wish to have the pleasure of more 
 of his company herself. From this period their 
 relative positions were felt and understood by 
 her ladyship, who thenceforth was careful upon 
 all occasions to treat him as the nephew of her 
 husband, and a gentleman. 
 
 On young Macdougall's return to his father's 
 residence, after an absence of several months, 
 Edward observed that the fair Kattie absented 
 herself from the family circle still more than 
 formerly ; frequently excusing herself from ap- 
 pearing at tea, and rarely accompanying her 
 cousins in their walks. The cause of this 
 change he was not long in discovering; as, 
 although James Macdougall seemed to wish to 
 c3
 
 34 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 avoid detection, Edward perceived such indica- 
 tions of his preference for Kattie, whenever his 
 parents were not in the room, as at once gave a 
 clue to the reason of her avoiding the society 
 of the family as much as possible. 
 
 Mr. Macdougall had spent several wrecks at 
 his father's, immediately after his cousin's arri- 
 val in Scotland, but as Edw^ard did not make 
 Glendougall his residence until sometime after- 
 wards, he had not before seen the two cousins 
 together. From what he had seen and heard 
 of Macdougall's conduct at Oxford, he had not 
 formed a high opinion of his principles ; and 
 this evident anxiety on his part to avoid attract- 
 ing the notice of his parents, made Edward fear- 
 ful of his intentions towards Miss Macdonald, 
 and detennined him to watch his conduct. 
 
 Upon one occasion, when all the family were 
 assembled together, with the exception of Kattie, 
 he saw her pass the window at which he was 
 seated, and proceed towards a little woody glen 
 from which the house took its name. In a few
 
 THE BECTOR. 35 
 
 moments young Macdougall quitted the room, 
 and was seen pursuing the same track ; when 
 Edward, being convinced from Miss Mac* 
 donald's manner, that her cousin's company- 
 would be far from agreeable to her, determined 
 to follow him, which would, at any rate, pre- 
 vent her suffering any annoyance beyond that 
 of a few complimentary speeches. 
 
 From some mistake he did not at first pursue 
 the same path which Miss Macdonald and Mr. 
 Macdougall had taken ; as, although the trees 
 were then without leaves, the underwood was 
 so thick that he could not discern them ; but in 
 a short time the gentle voice of Kattie, suppli- 
 cating some one to desist, reached his ear, and, 
 guided by the sounds, he soon arrived at the 
 spot, where he found her struggling in the arms 
 of James Macdougall. On seeing Edward 
 approach, he instantly relinquished his hold, 
 when his trembling victim flew rather than ran 
 towards the house. 
 
 Edward then said " James, is it honourable
 
 36 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 — is it gentlemanly — thus to pursue a defence- 
 less woman with attentions, which, to say the 
 least, seem bordering upon insult V 
 
 " It is neither gentlemanly nor honourable 
 in you, Mr. Bell, to interrupt me in the way 
 you have done ; and if you can find no better 
 employment than that of being a spy upon my 
 actions, I think the sooner you quit Glendougall 
 the better !" replied the youth, who, trembling 
 with rage, scarcely knew what he uttered. 
 
 *' Were you master here, James, I would not 
 remain another hour; but, whilst my uncle 
 and aunt wish me to stay, and I can benefit 
 your brothers, without injury to myself, I shall 
 continue here." 
 
 So saying, Edward proceeded towards the 
 house, Macdougall following in sullen silence. 
 
 When arrived there, they found the greatest 
 confusion and disorder prevaihng, since Kattie 
 had rushed into the presence of Sir James and 
 Lady Macdougall, demanding their protection 
 from the insults of their son, who had dared to
 
 THE RECTOR. 37 
 
 make the most dishonourable proposals to her. 
 From motives of delicacy their nephew retired 
 to his apartment and, when Macdougall joined 
 his father and mother, Kattie had likewise 
 withdrawn. Sir James addressed his son on 
 entering with miusual sternness in his manner. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this, sir ; have you 
 dared to insult your mother's niece whilst under 
 the protection of my roof?" 
 
 " I give you my word, my dear father, that I 
 was only striving to obtain a salute ; I am sure 
 you thought no harm of such a thing at my 
 age." 
 
 '* But Kattie tells a different story, Jemmie.'' 
 
 " Oh, she is a silly half Enghsh prude ; the 
 fact is, I would not have told you if I could 
 have avoided it, but Kattie has set her heart 
 upon being the future Lady Macdougall." 
 
 " The future Lady Macdougall !" screamed 
 her ladyship, interrupting her son. 
 
 '' Yes, my dear motherj such she has given 
 me very plainly to understand is her wish, and
 
 38 VILLAGE KEMINISCENCES. 
 
 I as plainly told her that was impossible ; and 
 upon my afterwards offering her a kiss of 
 friendship — nothing more, upon my honour — 
 she began to call out, when Bell made his ap- 
 pearance, and she thought it necessaiy to make 
 up a story for your ear, particularly as I had 
 given her no hopes of becoming my wife." 
 
 " Your wife, indeed — make a pennyless girl 
 your wife ! Did ever any one hear of such 
 presumption ? She shall quit the house this 
 very day — this very hour." 
 
 " Oh, no, mother, pray do not send my cousin 
 away ; for I assure you I am quite proof against 
 her designs ; besides, I shall leave Glendougall 
 myself in a few weeks." 
 
 " Not an hour longer shall she remain under 
 this roof— an artful wretch, to whom I have 
 been so kind and generous !— »What a home 
 has she had here!" 
 
 '' I quite agree with you, my dear, as to the 
 propriety of sending your niece — that is, this 
 young woman — away, but I should wish you
 
 THE RECTOR. 39 
 
 to fix upon some proper place for her to go to, 
 and Jemmie can go away for a few days,*' 
 
 To this Lady Macdougall would not assent ; 
 but, after a little further conversation, agreedj 
 as the day was far spent, to allow her to remain 
 until the following morning. Nothing could 
 exceed the delight of Mr. Macdougall at this 
 arrangement; since, friendless as he knew Kattie 
 to be, he thought that when turned out by his 
 mother, she must be thrown entirely into his 
 power. 
 
 Poor Kattie''s surprise and consternation were 
 unbounded, when told by her aunt that her 
 arts were all exposed, and that she must look 
 out for another home in which to practise them, 
 as they were thrown away upon the heir of 
 Glendougall. 
 
 For some time the astonished girl could not 
 comprehend her ladyship's meaning, but, when 
 at last she did so, her usually , dove-like eyes 
 and gentle demeanour changed at once into 
 dignified resentment, and whilst she assured
 
 40 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Lady Macdougall of the utter falsehood of her 
 son's accusation, she added, " Were he at this 
 moment to offer me his hand, I should prefer 
 the most abject penuiy to being united to so 
 utterly despicable a character ! I am ready, 
 madam, to quit a house in which those whom, 
 from relationship, I might have expected would 
 protect me, only insult me ; yet," she con- 
 tinued, tears rising to her eyes, and her voice 
 trembling with emotion, " I am not ungrateful 
 for your kindness in receiving me, and I must 
 remember that it is natural you should believe 
 my cousin rather than myself." 
 
 Lady Macdougall's anger was by no means 
 softened by her niece's spirited reply ; and, or- 
 dering her to be in readiness to quit the house at 
 an early hour in the morning, she left the room. 
 
 Kattie no sooner felt herself alone than she 
 gave way to the flood of grief by which she 
 was oppressed. 
 
 To those who are blessed with friends and 
 fortune, Kattie's residence at Glendougall must
 
 TEE RECTOR. 41 
 
 appear so little desirable, that a removal from 
 it will be looked upon as a very light grievance ; 
 but to one who was totally friendless, and 
 whose whole stock of wealth did not exceed 
 ten pounds, it was indeed fearful. Many as 
 were the privations she endured, and few as 
 were her pleasures, that of being useful to her 
 young and boisterous cousins excepted, the con- 
 viction she had until now felt, that she was 
 under the most eligible and honourable protec- 
 tion, had caused her to look upon Glendougall 
 as a desirable home. She now shuddered at 
 the prospect before her ; thrown upon the world 
 friendless — portionless, and her character in- 
 jured by her cruel cousin, who would receive 
 her? H«r uncle, the present Laird of Durn- 
 frew, she could not apply to for protection, as 
 he not only had latterly kept up but little inter- 
 course with Mrs. Macdonald, but since Kattie 
 had been in Scotland, she had heard that he 
 had for a long time suffered his housekeeper to 
 usurp all the privileges of his wedded wife,
 
 42 VILLAfJE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 without really being such, in consequence of 
 which Lady Macdougall and himself were not 
 upon terms. Whilst such thoughts occupied 
 the forlorn girl, in vain was every effort to 
 gain repose, though, when the night was con- 
 siderably advanced, she was so worn out by 
 excess of weeping, that she sunk into a short 
 and unquiet slumber. 
 
 At daybreak she arose, and busied herself in 
 packing all which belonged to her. No sooner 
 was this task finished than she wrote to her 
 aunt, stating that after the command she had 
 received, to quit the house at an early hour, 
 she should not await a repetition of that order ; 
 but as she knew herself to be totally innocent 
 of any design or wish to gain the affection of 
 her cousin, or to form any engagement with him, 
 she trusted he would have the honour to clear 
 her from so unjust an aspersion, when she 
 might hope for her ladyship's recommendation 
 to some family, in which her talents might be 
 serviceable, either as a governess or companion.
 
 THE RECTOR. 43 
 
 She then thanked her aunt for the protection she 
 had hitherto afforded her, and ended in wishing 
 every happiness to herself and family. Having 
 concluded this letter, and placed it in the 
 hands of the young woman who attended upon 
 her cousins, she requested the latter might be 
 told she wished to see them ere her departure ; 
 when Jeannie, with tears in her eyes, said her 
 mistress had ordered the young ladies into her 
 room, where they were to remain until Miss 
 Macdonald had quitted the house. Kattie felt 
 that this additional unkindness was not needed 
 to hasten her removal, or to increase her sorrow. 
 She wept as she thought that she should never 
 again see those who had been her companions 
 during many months, and the kind-hearted 
 Jeannie, who had been attracted by her sweet 
 and gentle manners, wept in sympathy. But 
 Kattie, aware of the necessity for exertion, 
 roused herself from this indulgence of her grief, 
 and placing a trifle in Jeannie's hand, said, 
 " Take this, my good girl, I wish it were in my
 
 44 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 power to offer any thing more worthy your ac- 
 ceptance ; I will thank you to take charge of 
 these packages until I send for them." 
 
 Jeannie, taking the corner of her apron from 
 her eyes, asked where Miss Macdonald was 
 going, to which the latter replied, " I scarcely 
 know — but I purpose endeavouring to find my 
 way to the turnpike road, and there taking a 
 seat in the first coach which passes." 
 
 When Jeannie answerins; that it w^as ten 
 miles to the trunpike road, and that she would 
 never be able to w^alk so far, added, if Miss 
 Macdonald could put up with such a poor 
 place as her father's house, until she could fix 
 upon some lodging, she was sure that her 
 mother would be proud to accommodate her; 
 and being only three miles off, it would be an 
 easy distance for her to walk. Kattie grate- 
 fully acceded to Jeannie's proposal ; as any roof, 
 however humble, that offered her a safe and 
 honourable asylum, would be, in her present 
 destitute condition, a desirable abode. Jeannie,
 
 THE RECTOR. 45 
 
 to whom the distance was no object, said she 
 would step over in the evening, when her work 
 was done, and see if she could do any thing for 
 her ; then calling the cowboy, with whom she 
 was a great favorite, she directed him to shew 
 Miss Macdonald the road, and, drawing him 
 on one side, whispered a few words in his ear, 
 which he was to repeat to her mother, and 
 which she knew would ensure the young lady 
 a kind reception. 
 
 The morning on which Miss Macdonald 
 quitted the inhospitable mansion of her aunt 
 was bright and cheering; and melancholy as 
 were her prospects, she felt the reviving influ- 
 ence of the clear frosty air, which she inhaled 
 during her walk. 
 
 On arriving at the little farm, and explaining 
 to the glide wife who she was, and by whose 
 invitation she had intruded upon her, she re- 
 ceived a cordial though respectful welcome; 
 and when the cowboy's message had been de- 
 livered, the attention of her humble hostess was
 
 46 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 still further increased. Kattie was, in the 
 course of a few hours, put in possession of a 
 yery small and meanly furnished, though clean 
 apartment, in which blazed a bright turf fire ; 
 and as the window, instead of looking into the 
 little farm-yard, as all the other windows did, 
 had an extensive view of the surrounding 
 country, without encountering any object more 
 unseemly than a donkey which grazed imme- 
 diately beneath it, she felt a momentary plea- 
 sure at the exchange, from the gloomy and 
 prison-like room she had occupied whilst at 
 Glendougall. 
 
 In the evening, according to her promise, 
 Jeannie appeared, and by the account she gave 
 her parents of her mistress's cruelty to the 
 sweet young lady, added greatly to the com- 
 miseration they already felt for the destitute 
 orphan. The following day a cart was sent for 
 Kattie's packages, and the employment of ar- 
 ranging her small library, with her writing and 
 drawing implements, afforded her some amuse-
 
 THE RECTOR. 47 
 
 ment. Her bed, as is usual in Scotch farm- 
 houses, was enclosed by wooden shutters, and 
 placed in a recess ; her whitewashed walls she 
 nearly covered with drawings, and though the 
 floor could boast no carpet, two sheepskins 
 bleached until they rivalled the driven snow, 
 were placed for her feet; an oak table, so 
 bright that it might have supplied the place of 
 a mirror, had not an old-fashioned one of small 
 size been above the chimneypiece, four beech 
 chairs with rush seats, two delft china mugs, 
 and two glasses, engraved with the names of 
 Jeannie and Willie Macphane, for chimney or- 
 naments, completed the furniture of her room. 
 Mean as it was, it surpassed that of the apart- 
 ment she had occupied at Glendougall ; for 
 there every thing was broken from having been 
 used for the rising generation of the Macdou- 
 galls during so many years, and the walls which 
 had not been papered or whitewashed for half 
 a century exhibited sundry proofs of juvenile 
 genius, in the form of rude drawings, and ill-
 
 48 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 spelt couplets, which dirt had rendered nearly 
 invisible ! It was therefore no wonder that 
 Kattie, as her eye wandered over the fine 
 scenery with which she was surrounded, felt 
 deh^hted at the chano-e, and retired to rest 
 wdth a lightness of heart which youth and in- 
 nocence only could give, where she enjoyed a 
 night of sweet repose. 
 
 Kattie had entered into an agreement with 
 Mrs. Macphane for the hire of her small apart- 
 ment ; and as she could purchase milk, eggs, 
 and oat-cake of her hostess, she thought she 
 could thus live at a small expense, until her 
 aunt's sense of justice or compassion should 
 induce her to endeavour to obtain some situa- 
 tion for her. 
 
 The third day after Kattie''s removal from 
 Glendougall, Mr. Bell called upon her to offer 
 any service in his power, assuring her that he 
 should have done so the preceding day, had he 
 been able to discover the place of her retreat. 
 Kattie was much gratified by this mark of
 
 THE RECTOR. 49 
 
 respectful attention from him, since it convinced 
 her that he did not credit what her cousin 
 James had said to her prejudice, and her feelings 
 had been so deeply wounded by the cruel treat- 
 ment she had met with from her nearest rela- 
 tives, that she more highly appreciated the 
 kindness of one whose character stood high in 
 the estimation of all who knew him. With 
 great ingenuousness Kattie mentioned the slen- 
 der state of her purse, and the plan she thought 
 of pursuing, which met with his entire appro- 
 bation, as he hoped with her, that in a short 
 time Lady Macdougall would see the cruelty 
 and injustice of her conduct towards her niece, 
 and exert herself to gain some eligible situation 
 for her, since her cousin's behaviour had made 
 his father's house an improper residence. 
 
 When the business of the morning was at an 
 end, Edward found himself turn daily towards 
 the dwelling of the destitute orphan ; his mo- 
 tives were purely those of goodwill and benevo- 
 lence towards an amiable and friendless young 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 woman, and he reflected not that the little 
 world of Glendougall might attribute his visits 
 to a very different cause. 
 
 Kattie's residence could not long be kept a 
 secret from her cousin James, who, having in 
 vain importuned the worthy farmer's wife to 
 admit him to her presence, hovered around the 
 place in the hope of seeing her, consequently 
 she was obhged to confine herself entirely to 
 the house to avoid him; until Mr. Bell, per- 
 ceiving her to look pale from want of air and 
 exercise, prevailed upon her to go out with him 
 for a short time each day, as, under his protec- 
 tion, Mr. Macdougall would not dare to address 
 her. 
 
 At length the latter, finding every effort to 
 prevail upon Mrs. Macphane to admit him un- 
 availing, determined to force himself into Miss 
 Macdonald's presence ; where, notwithstanding 
 the good woman of the house had followed him, 
 he had the insolence, in plainer terms than be- 
 fore, to repeat the insulting proposal he had
 
 THE EECTOR. 51 
 
 already made. At this instant, while virtuous 
 indignation caused her to express herself in 
 such terms as for a moment to make him shrink 
 beneath her reproaches, Edward Bell entered 
 the room, when Macdougall looking at him 
 fiercely, said, '' I know why I am rejected ; 
 it is that my dainty cousin may lavish her 
 fondness upon you." 
 
 Kattie, at this cruel insinuation, lost all self- 
 command, and sinking into a chair, she covered 
 her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Mr. Bell then said sternly, " Mr. Macdou- 
 gall, we will, if you please, no longer annoy 
 Miss Macdonald with our presence; my reply 
 to your observations shall be made before my 
 uncle and aunt, to whom I must request you to 
 accompany me." 
 
 Without vouchsafing any reply beyond a look 
 of sullen anger, James Macdougall quitted the 
 farm, and in silence followed Edward towards 
 Glendougall ; but upon arriving at the entrance 
 he turned hastily away, when his cousin, grasp- 
 d2
 
 52 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ing him firmly, said, "I request you to accom- 
 pany me;" and ere he could withdraw his arm 
 he found himself taken almost forcibly into the 
 presence of his father and mother, when Ed- 
 ward, addressing the former, said, " Sir James, 
 i have more than once told you that I was 
 quite certain of Miss Macdonald's entire inno- 
 cence of the charge of forming designs upon 
 your son ; I sincerely wish it was in my power 
 to say as much for him, with regard to her ; 
 but upon my calling this morning, I was told 
 he had forced himself into Miss Macdonald's 
 apartment, and on proceeding towards it, I 
 heard him, unrestrained by the presence of Mrs. 
 Macphane, make the most insulting proposals 
 to her ; and I heard her reply to him with all 
 the indignation of insulted virtue. I saw him, 
 as I entered, quail beneath her anger ; I brought 
 him here that I might explain before him what 
 had passed, and give you an opportunity of 
 doing justice to your niece, by thus exposing 
 the person really in fault."
 
 THE RECTOR. 63 
 
 As Edward spoke, Sir James cast an angry 
 glance upon his son, who, having recovered his 
 usual audacity, said, " You were entirely mis- 
 taken. Bell ; the fact is, you are in love with the 
 girl yourself, and she, finding the higher game 
 at which she aimed beyond her reach, now 
 stoops to lower, and has contrived by her heroic 
 airs on your enitrance, to make you believe that 
 which was mere badinage on my part, an in- 
 sulting proposal. As I have before assured 
 you, I care not a straw for the girl, she is much 
 too mawkish and insipid for my taste. Upon 
 my honour, sir, what I state is fact." 
 
 As James Macdougall concluded, he turned 
 towards his father, who evidently doubted his 
 assertions; but Lady Macdougall, taking her 
 son's part said, she always considered Kattie an 
 artful creature, and she thought that it was 
 much better not to have any inmates in a family 
 to interfere with its members, and make mis- 
 chief amongst them. 
 
 As she spoke, she looked at Edwaid too
 
 64 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 significantly to be misunderstood, when, with 
 the colour rising to his cheeks, he rephed, " If 
 your ladyship intends to hint that my presence 
 is no longer wished for, I can assure you that 
 you have only anticipated my intention by a 
 few seconds ; I feel that it can no longer be 
 desirable to any of us that I should remain here : 
 since what I have stated myself to have seen 
 and heard gains so little credence, it is quite 
 necessary that I should quit Glendougall, there- 
 fore to-morrow I shall take my leave." 
 
 Lady Macdougall knew how greatly her 
 younger sons had benefited during the few 
 months they had had her nephew's instruc- 
 tions, and now felt displeased with herself for 
 having offended him ; but all her efforts to pre- 
 vail upon him to remain were unavailing, and 
 Sir James at last said, " I cannot blame you, 
 Edward, for I am sure I should have done the 
 same in your place:'* but when he said this, 
 his lady had quitted the room. 
 
 In the course of the day Edward called to
 
 THE RECTOR. 55 
 
 inquire after Kattie, and to bid her farewell ; 
 he found her still pale and agitated from the 
 effects of her cousin's intrusion and insulting 
 conduct. When he told her that he had come 
 to take leave of her, prior to quitting Glen- 
 dougall, her trembling lips refused to reply, 
 and bursting into tears, she gave way to an ap- 
 parently uncontrollable emotion. 
 
 Edward gazed upon her with eyes filled with 
 tears, and, taking her hand, said, " You know 
 not, my dear Miss Macdonald, how much I am 
 grieved to see you still so overpowered by the 
 agitation of this morning ; but Macdougall will 
 not annoy you long ; he must quit home in a 
 short time, and I trust, during that period, he 
 will not again intrude upon you. A young man 
 has it but little in his power to be of service in 
 a case like yours, but be assured that I will 
 leave no effort untried to gain you the protec- 
 tion of some eligible person, and though Lady 
 Macdougall may not look out for a situation for 
 you, should one offer I cannot think so indif-
 
 56 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ferently of her as to suppose she would pre- 
 vent your getting it by her account of your 
 conduct; since I am convinced she does not 
 credit what her son says, although to avert the 
 anger of his father, she affects to do so." 
 
 This was, as Mr. Bell knew it would be, most 
 soothing to Kattie^s feelings, and she was soon 
 able to converse more calmly upon her pro- 
 spects, and to thank him for his offers of assist- 
 ance. At length it became necessary for him to 
 say farewell, and rising with considerable emo- 
 tion he took her hand and pressed it to his 
 lips ; but as he did so he felt it become deadly 
 cold, and looking at the gentle girl, he beheld 
 her with pallid lips and closed eyes, sinking 
 from her chair. He caught her ere she fell, and 
 holding her in one arm, whilst with the other 
 he threw open the window to admit the air, he 
 watched her with anxious solicitude, until in a 
 few moments he had the satisfaction of per- 
 ceiving her lips resume their colour, as with a 
 deep convulsive sigh her sensibility returned.
 
 THE RECTOK. 67 
 
 Deeply blushing to find herself supported by 
 Edward, she made an effort to withdraw from 
 his arms : but he still held her there; and whilst 
 he did so, he breathed in her ear words so 
 sweet and soothing, as to make her almost wish 
 that it were not necessary for her ever to with- 
 draw from his protection. 
 
 Mr. Bell was not himself aware of the hold 
 Miss Macdonald had gained over his affections^ 
 until he beheld how keenly she felt their ap- 
 proaching separation. He knew that he esteemed, 
 pitied, and admired the sweetly interesting or- 
 phan ; but he knew not that these feelings, when 
 united in a disengaged heart, were almost sure 
 to produce love. Had he been aware of it, he 
 would have fled from her society, rather than 
 have endeavoured to gain her affections; for 
 poor as they both were, to marry under such 
 circumstances he would have considered the 
 height of imprudence. Now the truth burst 
 suddenly upon him ; he saw — he felt himself 
 to be beloved, and at the same moment his eyes 
 d3
 
 58 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 were opened to the state of his own heart. 
 Seeing her suffer thus at the idea of losing him, 
 could he leave her without a friend to protect 
 her, and exposed to the insulting addresses of 
 an unprincipled young man? No — it might 
 be imprudent to marry, but it would be cruel — 
 unmanly — to leave her thus circumstanced, after 
 being, as he then was, convinced of her affec- 
 tion for him. These thoughts passed rapidly 
 through his mind, and at their termination he 
 proposed to Kattie that she should unite her 
 fate to his, when he would protect her from 
 every danger. 
 
 Kattie, astonished, overwhelmed, and grati- 
 fied, yet abashed, was unable to reply ; but her 
 disinterested lover saw in her varying counte- 
 nance and downcast eye, that he had not mis- 
 calculated when he thought she loved him. 
 Edward said, that circumstanced as he and 
 Kattie were, it was desirable their union should 
 take place without delay, as he could not re- 
 main at Glendougall, neither should he like to
 
 THE RECTOR. 59 
 
 quit it while she was at the farm. Kattie 
 affected no undue reserve or repugnance ; the 
 man who had gained her pure and guileless 
 heart, she believed to be the best and wisest of 
 created beings ; consequently, whatever he pro- 
 posed must be right. 
 
 The next day saw Mr. Bell and Miss Mac- 
 donald united. The latter knew not, until long 
 after, how much her husband had sacrificed 
 for her sake; she recollected having heard 
 that her father and mother had lived happily 
 on an ensign's pay, and why should not they 
 do so upon a curate's stipend ? She was not 
 aware that Mr. Bell had not been without his 
 day-dreams of ambition. He was highly ta- 
 lented, and had obtained honours at his college ; 
 he had, since his father's death, devoted several 
 hours daily to such studies as had enlarged his 
 ideas, and improved his knowledge on every 
 subject. He felt that he was equal to rising 
 to the highest eminence in the sacred profession 
 he was about to enter, and he had determined #
 
 60 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 as soon as he had quitted his uncle, to endea- 
 vour to gain the situation of tutor in some emi- 
 nent nobleman's family, as a step towards future 
 preferment. Of his success he had no doubt, 
 and he smiled at his own simplicity in having, 
 in the first hours of his pecuniary mortification, 
 been led to have any apprehension on the 
 subject. 
 
 Such were the plans and ideas which his 
 union with Kattie Macdonald overturned ; 
 he saw at that instant that all his hopes of 
 eminence were at an end; that probably he 
 might never emerge from the humble situation 
 of a curate: but not for one moment did he 
 waver between the happiness of her whom he 
 loved, and the probability of gratified ambition. 
 Could Kattie have been placed eligibly for a 
 few years, their union might have been post- 
 poned, and he would have been enabled to fol- 
 low the plan he had before marked out for 
 himself; but poor and friendless as they both 
 ^ere, there was no other path to pursue than
 
 THE RECTOR. 61 
 
 the one which he had now proposed, and to 
 which Kattie had acceded. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bell proceeded to England 
 immediately after their union, and taking lodg- 
 ings in a retired village, lived with the greatest 
 economy and privacy for some months, during 
 which time Mr. Bell wrote to several of his 
 college friends requesting their assistance in 
 obtaining a curacy, that he might be enabled to 
 take orders: in this he succeeded within six 
 months after their marriage. The emolument 
 was trifling, being only fifty pounds per annum ; 
 but a pretty little cottage was attached to it, 
 with a field in which two cows might be kept, 
 in addition to a small though productive garden. 
 
 Here Mr. and Mrs. Bell lived happily during 
 five years. They had to submit to some priva- 
 tions : Mr. Bell would have enjoyed the occa- 
 sional society of a literary or intellectual friend, 
 and the means of extending his library, which 
 was necessarily very limited. One piece of 
 extravagance only had he been guilty of in fur-
 
 62 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 nishing his residence : it was a pianoforte for his 
 wife, as he could not bear the idea of her being 
 totally without amusement, or that she should 
 give up a very pleasing accomplishment. I 
 have frequently heard Mr. and Mrs. Bell say 
 that time never hung heavily on their hands, 
 although their parish contained none with whom 
 they could associate, beyond that kindly inter- 
 course which ought ever to subsist between the 
 pastor and his flock. Their garden, little dairy, 
 books, and music, added to visiting the sick 
 and poor, were a constant source of interest until 
 the birth of a little girl, two years after their 
 union, added to their employment and their 
 happiness. 
 
 A short time prior to my father's death, acci- 
 dent put Sir Henry Danby in possession of the 
 principal facts I have narrated, in consequence 
 of which he formed so high an opinion of Mr. 
 Bell as to offer him the living of Southend as 
 soon as it became vacant. ' 
 
 Ten years have elapsed since that period,
 
 THE RECTOR. 63 
 
 during which time each revolving one has in- 
 creased the esteem which I soon felt for the 
 rector and his gentle wife. They are beloved 
 and revered by all ranks of their parishioners. 
 The neighbouring gentlemen, many of whom 
 are men of considerable information and talent, 
 always find pleasure in his society, and Mrs. 
 Bell, by her sweet and amiable manners, is an 
 acquisition wherever she appears ; whilst their 
 only child, Bessie, is lovely as her namesake 
 (so celebrated in Scottish song and story) could 
 ever have been. 
 
 Mr. Bell, on coming to Southend, immedi- 
 ately appropriated a third part of his income 
 towards insuring a provision for his wife and 
 child. The remainder is sufficient to provide 
 them with all the comforts, and many of the 
 elegancies of life ; for, having been for several 
 years accustomed to live on a very limited in- 
 come, that which they now possess is, by com- 
 parison, aflluence. 
 
 About five years ago, Mr. Bell received a letter
 
 64 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 from Lady Macdougall (the first notice she had 
 ever taken of himself or her niece from the time 
 of their quitting Scotland, although he wrote to 
 acquaint her with their union), in which she 
 informed him that Sir James was dead, and that 
 her eldest son, now Sir James, had treated her- 
 self and youngest daughter with the greatest 
 inhumanity, having ordered them to quit the 
 house, notwithstanding the pittance left them by 
 her husband was not sufficient for their support ; 
 whilst her other two daughters were not, although 
 married, sufficiently affluent to assist them, 
 and her own health was so indifferent as to give 
 her little hope of living long. Under these 
 circumstances she trusted her nephew would 
 not forget the kindness with which she had 
 treated him and her niece, until her unworthy 
 son had caused her to believe what she was 
 now convinced was false, but would assist her 
 in her present distress. 
 
 Unkindly and ungenerously as Lady Mac- 
 dougall had behaved to Mr. and Mrs. Bell, the
 
 THE RECTOR. 
 
 65 
 
 appeal was not made in vain. She and her 
 daughter received a most kind invitation to the 
 rectory, at the same time that a remittance was 
 enclosed "to convey them there with every com-, 
 fort. Miss Macdougall gratefully acknow- 
 ledged her cousin's kindness, saying that her 
 mother was too ill to write, and she feared 
 would never be able to travel morej for that 
 her constitution, which before seemed breaking, 
 had quite sunk under the unkindness of her 
 favourite child, who had never noticed her since 
 her quitting Glendougall by his desire. Not 
 long after this the tidings of Lady Macdougall's 
 death were sent by the same hand. The event 
 was stated in simple unaffected language, no- 
 thing was said to excite compassion for her own 
 destitute situation. Mr. Bell immediately set 
 out for Scotland, where he arrived in time to 
 attend Lady Macdougall's funeral, at which 
 Sir James and the gentlemen who had married 
 his two eldest sisters were present. 
 
 As soon as the last rites were over, the gen-
 
 66 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 tlemen appeared inclined to separate without 
 even seeing again their young sister ; but Mr. 
 Bell called their attention to her forlorn state, 
 •and begged to know where she was to reside. 
 
 Sir James replied that he did not know, but 
 at Glendougall it was quite impossible she 
 should be an inmate. 
 
 The Lairds of Muckwham and Glo'ratem (as 
 they were called from estates of about two hun- 
 dred a year) said, " If you, Sir James, will pay 
 us a trifle for your sister's board, as well as 
 allow her something for clothes and pocket- 
 money, she may live with us, turn and turn 
 about; but we can do nothing otheTOse, as six 
 hundred pounds fortune was little enough for 
 us to receive with the daughters of your father." 
 
 To this Sir James replied that he could not 
 afford to do any thing of the kind, since he had 
 his younger brothers to provide for ; but he 
 would, as he had gained something by his mo- 
 ther's death, allow Lucy thirty pounds a year, 
 and if she married with his approbation, give
 
 THE RECTOR. 67 
 
 her, instead of that allowance, six hundred 
 pounds for her portion (it afterwards appeared 
 that he was bound to do so by his father's will) ; 
 but not one sixpence more could he afford to 
 allow her, since he was altering and improving 
 Glendougall, the expense of which with the 
 new furniture, would not bo less than five thou- 
 sand pounds. 
 
 Mr. Bell made no further effort to interest 
 the brother or brothers-in-law of his young 
 cousin, but stated that she should then accom- 
 pany him to England, where Mrs. Bell, he was 
 sure, would gladly receive her without remune- 
 ration, and endeavour to make her state of de- 
 pendence easy. With pleasure the trio heard 
 that they should have no further occasion to 
 refuse an asylum to their orphan sister, and then 
 proceeded to their different homes. 
 
 Lucy (who was the youngest of the four 
 sisters who had been under Miss Macdonald's 
 care) had then nearly attained her seventeenth 
 year, and was what might be termed a bonnie
 
 68 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Scotch lassie — tall, plump, rosy, and good-hu- 
 moured, with bright blue eyes and dimpled 
 cheeks. Mrs. Bell received her with the greatest 
 kindness ; she has formed a part of the family 
 ever since that period, and I am happy to per- 
 ceive that by her good-humour and grateful 
 attention to the wishes of her cousins, she has 
 secured their sincere affection. 
 
 Lady Macdougall's third daughter did not 
 live long after Miss Macdonald quitted them. 
 
 Sir James, as soon as Glendougall was in 
 order to receive her, married Lady Jane Orford, 
 the haughty and handsome, though portionless 
 
 daughter of the late Earl of G , who soon, 
 
 by her extravagance, placed him in great pecu- 
 niary difficulties ; when, finding that he had no 
 longer the power to supply her wants, she 
 treated him with the greatest contempt, and, if 
 report says true, Sir James and herself live upon 
 such unhappy terms together, as to make it un- 
 pleasant for the friends of either to visit at 
 Glendougall : whilst the deranged state of his
 
 THE RECTOR. 69 
 
 affairs renders it impossible for them either to 
 seek society elsewhere, or to separate with any- 
 chance of a tolerable maintenance for both. 
 Thus they drag on life together in mutual dis- 
 satisfaction and irritation.
 
 THE HEIRESS.
 
 73 
 
 THE HEIRESS. 
 
 Elmwood, the residence of a half-aunt of 
 my mother's, with whom many of my youthful 
 days were past, was Uterally a baronial mansion, 
 having long been the principal habitation of the 
 ancient barons of that name. The title had, 
 however, become extinct nearly a century before 
 the period to which I allude, when Elmwood 
 Hall, with the extensive domain to which it was 
 attached, descended to a female branch of the 
 family. 
 
 The house was of such dimensions as might be 
 expected under those circumstances, and conse- 
 quently contained many rooms that were rarely, 
 if ever occupied ; all of which, with the excep- 
 
 YOL. I. E
 
 74 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 tion of one apartment, into which I recollected 
 having once very unexpectedly followed the old 
 housekeeper, were open to me during my fre- 
 quent visits there. But as she earnestly en- 
 treated me not to mention having done so, it 
 would most probably have escaped my remem- 
 brance altogether, had not a portrait of my aunt 
 Elmwood, the extreme beauty of which attracted 
 my childish admiration, retained a place in my 
 memory which time had not power to efface. 
 
 In succeeding years I frequently attempted to 
 prevail on Mrs. Jenkins to allow me again to 
 look at that resemblance, which had made so 
 deep an impression on my young mind ; but to all 
 my entreaties she remained inexorable, since she 
 said my aunt had strictly forbidden any one, ex^ 
 cept herself, to enter this apartment. It is, I 
 believe, not only natural to youth, but one of 
 the failings of human nature, to attach a pecu- 
 liar value to whatever is prohibited, more par- 
 ticularly if any degree of mystery be attending 
 it : consequently this interdicted apartment be-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 75 
 
 came to me an object of anxious curiosity, which 
 caused me at length to venture upon asking my 
 aunt's permission to see it. With a deep sigh, 
 she repUed that Jenkins might show it to me 
 whenever I wished, 
 
 " Will you not accompany me yourself, dearest 
 aunt?" said I. 
 
 " No," she replied, " I seldom enter that room — 
 never but alone, and when I wish to commune with 
 my own heart, and to indulge in a train of melan- 
 choly retrospection unsuited for companionship. 
 At my earnest request, your father has kept you 
 in ignorance of those particulars of my history 
 which even at this distant period cast a frequent 
 gloom over my spirits, apparently but ill suited 
 to the numerous blessings I still possess, and 
 for which I trust I am not ungrateful. But the 
 time has now arrived when you may hear the 
 narrative of my life not only with interest, but I 
 trust with some advantage to yourself. Ask 
 Jenkins to accompany you to what at your age 
 was my boudoir — to show you the portraits 
 
 £2
 
 76 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 which are placed there, and you shall after- 
 wards be fully informed of the events to which 
 I have alluded." 
 
 Having obtained my aunt's permission, I did 
 not delay making the necessary application to 
 the housekeeper, to conduct me to this hitherto 
 interdicted apartment, which was looked upon 
 by the rest of the establishment with a kind of 
 mysterious awe. We accordingly proceeded 
 along a gallery of considerable extent, at the 
 termination of which was the entrance to the 
 room I wished to behold. On entering it, I was 
 surprised to observe not only the extreme ele- 
 gance of the furniture, but the value of the 
 bijouterie by which it was decorated. It was 
 lighted by a large bay-window, through which 
 the sun shone, brilliantly illuminating with its 
 rays the still bright gilding of the decorations. 
 For a few moments the richness and elegance of 
 the room, though fitted up in the fashion of 
 other days, rivetted my attention. I was soon, 
 however, recalled to the principal object of my
 
 THE HEIRESS. 77 
 
 visit by Mrs. Jenkins, who said, " It is still very- 
 like my lady : is it not, Miss Mary V I then 
 turned towards the object on which her eyes 
 were fixed, and perceived the portrait of a female 
 apparently seventeen or eighteen years of age. 
 Never had I beheld anything so transcendently, 
 so bewitchingly beautiful. So well had the artist 
 performed his part, that I could scarcely believe 
 the figure was not in the act of starting from the 
 canvass. The eyes, in which modesty and gentle- 
 ness seemed blended with a peculiar archness of 
 expression — the finely-formed nose and intellec- 
 tual forehead — the pouting lips, parting as if in 
 the act of speech — the light and symmetrical 
 figure, with one hand upraised, and pointing to 
 some distant object, seemed as if too al^rial to be 
 formed of mortal clay, and altogether formed a 
 combination of enchantment. I stood absorbed 
 in admiration during several minutes, and then 
 exclaimed, " It does, indeed, still strongly re- 
 semble my beloved aunt ; though I can scarcely 
 imao-ine that arch and lively countenance, that
 
 7S VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 sylph-like air and person, could ever have be- 
 longed to one vi^hose appearance is novs^ so dig- 
 nified and commanding." 
 
 " Ah, my dear young lady;" replied Jenkins, 
 shaking her head, which had grovvn gray in the 
 service of her ipiistress, with mournful signifi- 
 cance, ''you little know the changes that age 
 and sorrow make in us all. I remember the 
 time when it made the heart of all that saw her 
 joyous smile rejoice ; but after that came sorrow 
 and afiliction, and we almost forgot what joy 
 was. I have played with my mistress when she 
 was a child (for I was born on the estate, and was 
 brought to this house by your great-grandmother 
 when I was only twelve years of age) ; I have 
 lived with her ever since that time ; I have re- 
 joiced in her happiness — wept in her distress ; 
 and now my angel mistress and I seem quietly 
 sinking into the grave together, and few but our- 
 selves think of what once made all so sad." 
 
 " I have frequently heard allusions to the 
 severe afflictions my aunt has suffered in early
 
 THE HEIRESS. 79 
 
 life, but never heard the nature of them. You, 
 of course, know every circumstance attending 
 them," said I. 
 
 " I do indeed ; but it would ill become me to 
 tell you that which my good mistress has thought 
 proper to conceal." 
 
 I felt abashed by Mrs. Jenkins's rebuke, and 
 instantly turned towards a portrait I had not 
 before observed. It was the likeness of a gen- 
 tleman in the first vigour of manhood. His 
 fine face was still mantling with the bloom of 
 youth, his full black eyes appearing to shoot 
 through their deeply-fringed lashes glances of 
 intelligence. The features were strikingly hand- 
 some, and the expression of his countenance 
 was strongly characterized by sense combined 
 with deep feeling ; whilst a joyous gleam seemed 
 spread over every feature, 
 
 " How very handsome !" exclaimed I ; " what 
 a noble creature !'* 
 
 " He was indeed handsome," replied Mrs. 
 Jenkins, sighing ; " poor young gentleman, how
 
 80 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 happy he was when that picture was taken ; and 
 how happy my mistress was, and how happy 
 we all were ; and how near the wedding seemed ! 
 Alas ! alas ! to think how soon all our mirth and 
 joy were at an end !" 
 
 Much as the old housekeeper had raised my 
 curiosity, I felt the impropriety of leading her 
 to an explanation of what she had said, when 
 her own judgment urged her to silence, although 
 for a moment the recollection of former days 
 had overcome her prudence. I now began my 
 inspection of the ornamental part of the furni- 
 ture and bijouterie in this elegant apartment. 
 An Indian cabinet of exquisite workmanship at 
 tracted my attention. 
 
 '^ That," said Mrs. Jenkins, " used to contain 
 all my mistress's letters and papers." 
 
 "And this ivory work-box? — how beautiful 
 is its carving !" > 
 
 " That was a present from the Major'' 
 
 " What Major ?" I was on the point of asking, 
 when recollecting that I had determined to ask
 
 THE HEIRESS. 81 
 
 no questions that I thought might lead to my 
 aunt's early history, I checked myself; whilst 
 Jenkins proceeded, as if lost in thought, " Alas ! 
 little did we think when this beautiful furniture 
 came from London, and when all the elegant 
 presents were set out here against the wedding 
 took place, that all would so soon be at an 
 end." 
 
 I seated myself at the window, the view 
 from which, although not extensive, was one 
 of peculiar beauty. " Oh," I inwardly ex- 
 claimed, " if a being so exemplary, so lovely, 
 so near perfection, with all the advantages of 
 high birth and great wealth, has been un- 
 happy, who dare expect happiness in this 
 world ? If such a highly-gifted creature as 
 my aunt has been doomed to disappointment, 
 how can one who is comparatively so little 
 deserving as myself, venture to look forward 
 to a different fate ? " 
 
 I remained with my tearful eyes fixed with a 
 vacant look upon the fine country before me, 
 E 3
 
 S2 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 lost in painful reveries, until Mrs. Jenkins said, 
 '^The evening is cold, Miss Mary, and this 
 room, from not being used, is not warm, though 
 I daily open the windows and dust every thing 
 in it ; for no one enters this apartment but my- 
 self, and occasionally my lady." 
 
 I arose at this hint, and retired to my own 
 room, to compose my thoughts and looks before 
 I joined my aunt. When I did so, she fixed 
 ber sweet but penetrating eyes upon my face, 
 saying, " Well, Mary, has what you have seen 
 been any gratification to you ? That room was, 
 when I was your age, my favourite apartment. 
 I have spent many, many happy hours in it; 
 but, as I before told you, I now only enter it 
 when I wish to indulge in those melancholy 
 retrospections, which will at times sadden the 
 otherwise calm evening of my life, but like 
 those fleecy clouds, which on a summer evening 
 move so rapidly along, they disappear, and 
 leave me serene and tranquil, thankful for 
 the blessings I still enjoy, and looking for-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 83 
 
 ward with hope and faith towards a blessed 
 reunion with those who were so soon taken 
 from me." 
 
 My aunt's voice faltered as she spoke, and 
 her eyes filled with tears. My spirits were 
 before affected, and unable longer to refrain 
 from weeping, I gave way to the impulse of 
 my heart, and throwing my arms around her, 
 said, in almost inarticulate words, " Dearest 
 aunt, why were you, who are so good, so 
 faultless, made to suffer so severely ? " 
 
 She soothed my agitation, kissed the tears 
 gently from my cheeks, and then telling me, 
 since I had arrived at that age in which she 
 always intended I should be informed of those 
 events, which had caused her so much misery 
 in the early part of her life, she should put her 
 intention in practice without further delay. 
 *^ You shall," she continued, " peruse a nar- 
 rative written by myself at various times — 
 in days of happiness, and in those of acute 
 suffering — when I believed that the grave
 
 84 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 would soon bury me and my sorrows in its 
 bosom. I have lived to look back upon those 
 scenes with astonishment, that I was enabled 
 to bear up through such severe dispensations, 
 but with gratitude to the all-wise Disposer of 
 human events, for the preservation he has 
 vouchsafed towards me. There was a period 
 when I looked forward to the hour of my 
 death, as the only release from the accumu- 
 lation of woe, by which I was surrounded. 
 In the belief that all prospect of happiness 
 in this world was shut out from me, I hoped 
 that I might soon cease to exist ; I have been 
 spared to feel that time may heal the deepest 
 wounds which sorrow can inflict, and that 
 although the remembrance can never be ob- 
 literated, a well-regulated mind will still find 
 its own happiness, in contributing to that of 
 others. To-morrow you shall have the manu- 
 script of which I speak; I cannot read it to 
 you myself." 
 
 On the following day my aunt placed a
 
 THE HEIRESS. 85 
 
 packet of papers in my hands, immediately 
 after which she left the room. On opening 
 the packet, I found written on the envelope, 
 the few lines annexed : " I commenced the 
 following narrative of my life at a period 
 when I expected to have little to commmii- 
 cate, beyond what may be supposed to occur 
 to a young woman circumstanced as I was. 
 I commenced it as a frolic in the gaiety of 
 youth ; I continued it as an alleviation of my 
 sorrows, when in affliction ; I have concluded 
 it when sinking gently into the vale of years. 
 I can look back with calm resignation upon 
 those hours of agony, with thankftdness upon 
 those of comfort which I have passed." 
 The narrative then commenced as follows : 
 
 " Elmwood, April 10. 
 
 ^^ I have somewhere read that the most 
 ordinary life would, if committed to paper, 
 make an amusing if not an interesting book. 
 I will try the experiment, and write my own
 
 86 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 history, for my own amusement; I shall then 
 be able to judge how far the above saying 
 is correct. Where ought I to begin? I yes- 
 terday attained my eighteenth year. That 
 will never do; I ought first to narrate my 
 birth, parentage, and education. 
 
 " To commence, therefore, in proper biographi- 
 cal style: My father, the Honourable George 
 Elmwood, younger son of the Earl of Damton, 
 inherited in right of his mother the baronial 
 mansion and domain in which we now reside. 
 He was fortunate in his choice of a wife, for 
 a more channing woman than my dearest 
 mother, I believe exists not ; she is the daughter 
 and sole heiress of the great West India mer- 
 chant, Sir George Dawson, and was married 
 very young to a naval officer, who soon fell a 
 sacrifice to the arduous duty in which he was 
 engaged, leaving her a widow at two-and- 
 twenty years of age, with a son then scarcely 
 three. My mother remained inconsolable for 
 some time; but with youth, beauty, accom-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 87 
 
 plishments, and immense wealth at her com- 
 mand, the general opinion was that her widow- 
 hood would not lono' exceed her weeds. The 
 world knew not my mother; she had loved 
 her husband truly, and though she had little 
 of his society, owing to the profession in 
 which he was engaged, she mourned his loss 
 sincerely, and for a great length of time. 
 
 '^ Six years had she been a widow, when the 
 merits of my father distanced all competitors, 
 and she was led a second time to the altar. 
 My father and mother are, I firmly believe, 
 happy as it is possible for mortals to be; 
 their stream of life has hitherto run so smoothly, 
 that I have never observed a ripple on its 
 surface since the death of my little brother, ten 
 years ago. My half-brother has been married 
 above four years, and as boys, from the nature 
 of their education, are usually but little at 
 home, I have been the sole companion, pet, 
 and plaything of both parents. In truth, I 
 know not which has indulged me most, could
 
 00 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 1 love one more than the other, or give either 
 the shghtest uneasiness in my power to avoid, I 
 should be the most ungrateful of human beings. 
 Surely never daughter was blessed with such 
 parents, so good, so amiable, so affectionate. 
 
 " But what am I writing ? Not an eulogy on 
 those parents, to whom I never can do justice, 
 but a history of myself, at least such I meant 
 it to be when I commenced. Yet what have 
 I to relate ? my hours have hitherto glided 
 on almost imperceptibly — so smoothly — so hap- 
 pily — so tranquilly. Sorrow I know only by 
 name ; for those hours which have been devoted 
 to study and improvement, have to me seemed 
 only a change of pastime, since my governess 
 is certainly possessed of that art, so fre- 
 quently spoken of, so rarely to be met with, 
 of making the hours of instruction agree- 
 able. A life of tranquil happiness, like mine, 
 has nothing in it to transfer to paper; but 
 when I visit town, where I ' come out ' next 
 month, then my thoughts and feelings shall
 
 THE HEIRESS. 89 
 
 be all transcribed. After all, there is some- 
 thing in those words ' come out/ which makes 
 the ear tingle and the heart beat. I am 
 happy, very happy, at Elmwood, but I cer- 
 tainly look forward with delight to mixing in 
 the gay throng, of which I have heard so much. 
 
 " London, May 1. — Here we are, just re- 
 turned from visiting jewellers, milliners, dress- 
 makers, and all the fashionable tradespeople, 
 whose assistance is necessary on ' coming out ! ' 
 How bountiful are my beloved parents ! I 
 scarcely know what to do with such a pro- 
 fusion of ornaments and dresses. My maid, 
 Turnbull, is delighted to see so many pretty 
 things brought home for her young mistress. 
 
 " Mai/ 29. — My court dress is arrived, 
 and is most beautiful ; white satin, richly em- 
 broidered in white silk and silver. What a 
 plume of ostrich feathers ! how can my head 
 support fifteen feathers ! — ' Oh, ma*am, what 
 sweet lappets ! ' — ' They are exquisitely fine 
 and beautiful, Turnbull ; but I never look at
 
 90 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 point lace without thinking that the very trim- 
 ming which I admire so much, has probably 
 injured for ever, if not utterly extinguished, 
 the sight of her who wrought it.' — ' Dear 
 young lady, what melancholy thoughts these 
 are, but what a sweet necklace that is; the 
 rows of pearls are so large, and the emerald 
 and diamond centre so bright, I suppose no 
 young lady at court will be so beautifully 
 dressed as yourself.' — ' Do you think so, Turn- 
 bull? then I am sure I shall be very uncom- 
 fortable, as I should dislike to be conspicuous.' 
 ' La, ma'am, I did not mean that ; I am sure 
 white and silver and pearls can never look 
 conspicuous.' Recollecting at the same mo- 
 ment that I was indebted to a much better 
 taste than Turnbull's for the choice of my 
 dress, I soon sunk into repose, and dreamt of 
 jewels and court dresses. 
 
 " June 6. — ^The eventful day is over ; I have 
 been presented ! After all there is nothing so 
 very awful in an introduction at court. My
 
 THE HEIRESS. 91 
 
 father and mother have always been honoured 
 with the esteem and friendship of their Ma- 
 jesties, on which account their daughter met 
 with a highly flattering reception. The King 
 was pleased to compliment my mother on my 
 appearance, saying, 'You have brought with 
 you one of the brightest ornaments of our 
 court;' then, turning towards my father, he 
 said, 'Take care of her, Elmwood, yours will 
 be no easy task to guard such a treasure, 
 now you have allowed it to be seen.' As 
 these pages are for my own eyes alone, nobody 
 can accuse me of vanity in copying these 
 gracious expressions. My heart beat and my 
 knees trembled, as I advanced towards their 
 Majesties, and it was not until I had taken 
 my station in a distant part of the circle, 
 that I was enabled to observe what was pass- 
 ing around me. The scene was indeed a 
 splendid one, though I thought the decora- 
 tions of St. James's ill agreed with the mag- 
 nificence of the dresses. The introductions
 
 92 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 were nearly at an end, when the Duke of 
 
 brought forward a gentleman, and introduced 
 him to their Majesties, who conversed witr 
 him during several minutes. As he retired 
 from them, his eyes caught mine, which, with- 
 out being aware of it, I then found were 
 rivetted upon him. Blushing deeply, I with- 
 drew behind my mother, ashamed of having 
 been observed to gaze so intently on the finest 
 and most intellectual countenance I had ever 
 seen. Who could it be ? None of those around 
 me appeared to know him, as I heard various 
 whispered inquiries respecting the handsome 
 stranger. After all, I think an introduction at 
 court is formal, fatiguing, harassing. At the 
 ball at St. James's the same evening, I was 
 asked to dance by several noblemen of my 
 father's acquaintance, but begged I might be 
 excused. I am sure I had not courage for 
 such an attempt. I returned home fatigued; 
 but my dearest] parents seemed so highly gra- 
 tified by the impression my appearance had
 
 THE HEIRESS. 93 
 
 made, as to repay me amply for the labour 
 attending it. Though the present fashion 
 may be calculated to display a splendid dress, 
 it surely is not so becoming as the more 
 simple style in vogue in the days of Charles, 
 and which until now I have been allowed to 
 assume j I wish I might still continue to 
 do so. 
 
 " June 12. — We have had several very large 
 dinner parties, and I have been already at 
 four private balls of a magnificent description; 
 I think balls much more agreeable than dinners, 
 though I believe I sometimes get into little 
 scrapes at the former, owing to not being tho- 
 roughly versed in the etiquette of such meet- 
 ings ; I shall understand all these things better 
 next winter ; I am now quite a novice. I 
 forget my engagements, too, occasionally ; but 
 really, old and disagreeable people ought not 
 to ask one to dance. — The carriage is at the 
 door do you say, Turnbull ? I am coming. 
 
 " June 13. — I believe I shall give up dating
 
 94 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 my journal, or history, for it is so uncertain 
 when I may find opportunities of continuing 
 it. I was at a brilliant ball at Lady Camp- 
 field's last night; I met my old friend and 
 neighbour Lady Jane Orme, and asked her if 
 she thought I had offended Colonel James by 
 the assurance that I was engaged the whole 
 evening, as I should be very sorry to give him 
 offence or uneasiness, particularly as he was 
 an intimate friend of hers; to which she re- 
 plied, scornfully tossing her head, ' Uneasiness, 
 indeed ! I flatter myself whilst / am in the 
 room. Colonel James can wish to dance with 
 no other person, though etiquette will not 
 allow us 710W to dance together/ She then 
 turned rudely from me, whilst I was over- 
 whelmed with astonishment, not only by the 
 manner, but the matter of her speech. ' Eti- 
 quette,' I inwardly exclaimed, ' prevent two 
 such intimate friends dancing together, I can- 
 not comprehend this.' I felt that I had done 
 something wrong, though I scarcely kne\v
 
 THE HEIRESS. 95* 
 
 what; however, in the course of the evening, 
 I took an opportunity of assuring Colonel 
 James how much I regretted having been en- 
 gaged, when he asked me to dance during 
 two successive nights, and that I feared I 
 had erred in expressing that regret to Lady- 
 Jane, since she appeared displeased. I had 
 the pleasure of seeing that Colonel James did 
 not seem offended ; on the contrary, he was 
 much gratified by my expressions of regret, 
 and said that could he be so fortunate as to 
 please me, Lady Jane's displeasure was a matter 
 of no importance. This was very polite in 
 him, but of course not exactly true, as he is 
 so very intimate with the Ormes ; however, 
 it made me feel quite at ease, and as I en- 
 gaged myself to dance with him the following 
 evening, he would be convinced I had no in- 
 tention of being rude. 
 
 " June 15. — Lady G 's ball last night was 
 
 the most delightful one I have ever been at ; the 
 elegance of the rooms — the tastefulness of the
 
 96 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 decorations, the assemblage of nobility, the 
 beauty of the females, with the splendour of 
 their dresses, all lent a fascination to the scene, 
 beyond what I have before met with. I cannot 
 account for the pleasure I experienced; for after 
 all, I have seen other balls, which in not one of 
 these agrtmens, taken separately, were inferior 
 
 to Lady G 's, yet the effect, in my opinion, 
 
 was by no means to be compared with it. 
 Why it was so I know not : I cannot reason oa 
 the subject, I can only state my own feelings. 
 Immediately upon entering the ball-room. 
 Colonel James claimed the performance of my 
 promise. As I took my place to dance a mi- 
 nuet with him Lady Jane brushed past me al- 
 most rudely, without deigning to take any no- 
 tice of the hand which I had involuntarily held 
 out on seeing her approach. I felt the blood 
 rush to my cheeks, and tears start into my eyes, 
 whilst Colonel James, who saw how much I 
 was hurt by Lady Jane's rudeness, gently 
 pressed my hand, and besought me not to think
 
 THE HEIRESS. 07 
 
 of one so little worthy of my friendship ; as he 
 said this I raised my eyes, and beheld those of 
 Lady Jane scornfully regarding me. As I was 
 not conscious of having given her the slightest 
 cause to be displeased with me, I rallied my 
 spirits, and soon entered into a lively conversa- 
 tion with my partner, who is a pleasant and 
 gentlemanly person. On joining my mother, 
 the old Countess of Durnford begged to be al- 
 lowed to introduce her nephew. Major Beau, 
 mont, to us ; in an instant I recognised the fine 
 figure, noble bearing, and intellectual counte- 
 nance which had attracted my attention and ad- 
 miration on the birthday, and which I had in 
 vain looked for at every party I had since been 
 in. I found in him what his appearance pro- 
 mised, a most agreeable companion; he had, 
 although a young man, been many years abroad, 
 and was possessed of a fund of anecdote and in- 
 formation on almost every subject. I begged 
 to be excused dancing during the latter part 
 of the evening, as I felt somewhat fatigued ; 
 VOL. I, F
 
 98 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 arid as Major Beaumont took a seat near me, 
 tire had a greiat deal of pleasing conversation, in 
 the course of which he informed us he had been 
 obliged to leave London the morning after the 
 drawing-room, on family affairs of some im- 
 portance. When my father joined us, he ex- 
 pressed great pleasure in becoming acquainted 
 with Major Beaumont, who, he had just heard 
 from Lady Durnford, was the son of one of his 
 earliest friends. I am very glad of this, as I 
 am sure my father will be happy to cultivate 
 his acquaintance. I wish I were not an heiress, 
 for in consec[uence of being such I am con- 
 stantly surrounded by a host of followers, who 
 will not allow me to enjoy the society of any 
 rational person for half an hour together. It is 
 really tiresome that I cannot dance, or sit still 
 as I like, without being tormented by a dozen 
 men who would not care for me were it not for 
 my father's wealth. The homage I receive 
 comes not from the heart ! 
 
 *' June 25. — I last night accompanied my
 
 THE HEIRESS. ' 99 
 
 father and mother to the Duchess of B- 
 
 ball. I danced with Major Beaumont, with 
 whose elegant and prepossessing manners I am 
 more and more pleased. I wish Lord Wilton 
 would not be quite so much my shadow as he is ; 
 for though I respect and like him as an old and 
 esteemed friend of my father's, and a man of 
 high talent, I can find more suitable compa- 
 nions in a ball-room. The heat was extreme at 
 
 the Duchess of B 's, in consequence of 
 
 which I did not dance much. 
 
 " July 14. — ^Three weeks have elapsed since 
 I last used my pen. How happy was I at that 
 period — how miserable have I been since I 
 Now that my mind is relieved from the ap- 
 prehensions I have suffered, I can again collect 
 my thoughts and commit them to paper. The 
 evenino' after the Duchess of B— — 's ball we 
 went to the Opera, and although my mother 
 appeared still to suffer from the effects of the 
 heat of the preceding night, she would neither 
 allow me to remain at home nor proceed to the 
 f2
 
 100 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Opera-house unaccompanied by her. We had 
 not been long there when she was seized with 
 shivering fits, and obliged to return home. In 
 a few hours she was declared to be in a high 
 fever, occasioned by standing near an open 
 window in a heated atmosphere ; and shortly 
 afterwards this fever was decided to be infectious, 
 when I was strongly urged by my father to leave 
 the house. ' Leave the house ! ' I exclaimed ; 
 ' leave my mother — that beloved being who has 
 watched night and day by the cradle of her 
 child ; — leave her to be nursed and attended by 
 mercenaries, who has never for one moment for- 
 saken me ! — No ! — ^never — never ! ' * Mary, my 
 dearest child,' replied my weeping father, ' your 
 mother would not be left to mercenary attend- 
 ants; do you think whilst I live that I will 
 cease to watch her — do you think the amiable 
 Miss JollifFe will quit her bedside? But, 
 drawing me towards him as he spoke, ' my 
 Mary, your dear mother is ill — very ill; should 
 it Mot please the Almighty to spare her, and
 
 THE HEIRESS. 101 
 
 should you, my child, take the infection, what 
 then would become of your doubly-bereaved 
 father V I sunk from his encircling hands upon 
 the floor, and with clasped hands and streaming 
 eyes said, ' Father, forgive my opposition ; send 
 me from you if you so will it, I know I must 
 obey your commands ; but if infection be now 
 to be dreaded, may I not already have imbibed 
 it; in which case my absence, instead of re- 
 tarding the disease would only hasten its ap- 
 proach ; and should my beloved mother miss 
 her child from her bedside, and ask for me, 
 what must be her feelings to learn that her 
 own daughter has fled from her presence, whilst 
 the admirable Miss Jolliffe, an alien in blood, 
 but a daughter in affection, braves every danger 
 to watch by her. Dearest father, this is one 
 common affliction, let it, I entreat you, be one 
 common danger/ — ' Stay, then, my most be- 
 loved child, under your parent's roof; I con- 
 fide you to the care and guidance of an ever 
 merciful Providence, who is alone able to judge 
 what is best for us — bless thee, my sweet Mary !*
 
 102 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Then as my father's tears bedewed my cheeks, 
 he fondly kissed and left me. 
 
 *' Until that moment I had hoped against 
 all hope; now it appeared certain that my 
 mother was in imminent danger. I prayed, 
 oh ! how fervently I prayed, for the restora- 
 tion of her health ! In so doing I composed 
 my own mind, and was again enabled to 
 take my place at her bedside, where I spent 
 many anxious days and nights, since I would 
 not consent to retire to any other couch than 
 a sofa in her apartment. My dearest father 
 and Miss Jolliffe, she who had been the kind 
 instructress of my youth, participated in my 
 anxiety and in my attentions. At length the 
 joyful words were pronounced, 'She is out of 
 danger.' I heard them — I comprehended them 
 - — but I was denied the power of reply j joy is 
 surely more difficult to bear than sorrow. Oh ! 
 w^hat a fearful night was the last, on which the 
 crisis of my beloved mother's disorder took 
 place ; we scarcely moved or spoke — we feared 
 almost to breathe. We heard the danger was
 
 THE HEIRESS. 103 
 
 past ! I attempted to utter some words of 
 tliankftdness, but sunk into a state of insensi- 
 bility. 
 
 " When I recovered I threw myself into my 
 father's arms, and there sobbed forth my gra- 
 titude to the Almighty for the blessing we 
 had received. My brother, too, who had been 
 with us several days, joined in our thanksgiving. 
 What a change in my feelings since yesterday ! 
 My mother is now sweetly sleeping, and I have, 
 for the first time since her illness, taken a pen. 
 in my hand, that I may relieve my full heart 
 by pouring out its feelings, where no eye but 
 mine will see them. I never before knew real 
 happiness,, because I have never until now 
 known its reverse. The dread of losing one 
 so inexpressibly dear has caused me more fully 
 to appreciate the blessings I enjoy. Oh ! how 
 gladly would I, a few short hours ago, have re-^ 
 signed every worldly advantage to be assured 
 of my mother's life. What then is the value of 
 that wealth which the world estimates so highly ?
 
 104 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 It is indeed vile dross. Yesterday the meanest 
 domestic in our household was an object of 
 envy to the wealthy heiress, who would gladly 
 have exchanged situations to be assured of the 
 health and happiness of all most dear to her. 
 If I have ever had the meanness to be proud of 
 my station and fortune, the recollection of the 
 anxious hours I have so lately passed, and the 
 feelings of that period, will, I trust, humble and 
 cause me to remember the inutility of wealth 
 when in affliction, except as a means of con- 
 ferring happiness upon others. 
 
 *' A week has elapsed since I wrote the above, 
 during which time the dear invalid has been 
 gradually progressing towards health. As soon 
 as her strength will admit of it we shall return 
 to Elmwood, by the pure air of which place it 
 will, I hope, soon be entirely restored. She 
 regrets that I should have been so long confined 
 to the house, and wishes me to go out with her 
 friend. Lady Hammond ; but I have requested 
 to be allowed to remain at home during the rest
 
 THE HEIRESS. 105 
 
 of our sejour in town. Since the ball at the 
 
 Duchess of B 's, which I enjoyed so much, 
 
 and which so nearly caused the death of my 
 mother, I feel as if I should never again wish to 
 attend a gay meeting of any kind. 
 
 " A few days ago I was surprised, imme- 
 diately after breakfast, at which we were seated 
 •with Miss JollifFe, by a request from my father 
 to accompany him to his library. Miss JollifFe 
 having from her amiable qualities, gentle and 
 unassuming manners, and superior attainments, 
 ever been considered a member of the family, 
 we never have had any secrets from her; 
 and in addition to the above claims upon 
 our affections, she has from childhood been 
 the attached friend and companion of my 
 mother, as they were brought up and edu- 
 cated together; but whilst one West India 
 proprietor was fortunate enough to increase hig 
 before large property, the other, from various 
 causes, was reduced to penury ; thus when my 
 mother was emerging from the school-room as 
 f3
 
 106 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 a star of the first magnitude, her less prosperous 
 friend was obHged to apply those accomplish- 
 ments in which she excelled, to the instruction 
 of others, since nothing could induce her to be- 
 come dependent upon hei^ friends. When I 
 was old enough to require the tuition of a go- 
 verness, my beloved and affectionate mother 
 succeeded in her wish that Miss Jolliffe should 
 undertake the task, and now that it is concluded 
 she has prevailed upon her to continue to make 
 pur house her home, since the labours of eight- 
 and-twenty years have produced for her a small 
 independence, 
 
 " To return from this long digression, we 
 quitted Miss Jolliffe, and accompanied my 
 father with considerable surprise to the li- 
 brary, when he addressed me thus : ' I have 
 just received a letter from Colonel James.' 
 'Have you, sir?' — 'Yes, and I must acknow- 
 ledge that I am much surprised, nay more, 
 concerned at the contents.' — ' Indeed, my dear 
 father, I am sorry to hear you say so ; what
 
 THE HEIRESS. 107 
 
 can Colonel James know or write that is un^ 
 pleasant, in which you are concerned?* My 
 father smiled faintly, replying ' He certainly 
 knows or thinks he knows something in which 
 I am deeply interested, but I begin to hope 
 there is some mistake on his side, and that he 
 has not received your sanction to address me.* 
 ' Indeed he has not, I have not seen him since 
 my mother's illness, nor did he ever hint to me 
 an intention of writing to you, nor can I con- 
 ceive on what subject, or with what object he 
 has done so.' — ' You, my Mary, are the subject 
 and the object of his letter : he wishes, as many 
 others have done, to become, my son-in-law/ 
 — ' Is it possible that he can have made such a 
 request V — ' Yes,'andin terms which show that he 
 not only thinks highly of his own quahfications, 
 but that he feels assured of your approval.'— ^ 
 ' How very extraordinary ! — I have danced and 
 conversed with him occasionally, and thought 
 him an agreeable and gentlemanly person ; but 
 that he should think of paying his addresses to 
 me, does indeed excite my surprise; his aga
 
 108 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 would, in itself, have been a sufficient preventive, 
 I should think, to his making any proposal for 
 my hand/ — ' Hem — ' said my father, ' I do not 
 quite agree with you there ; although I should 
 not readily give my consent for the colonel to 
 be the husband of my treasure, I conceive his 
 age is no objection, since he is merely in the 
 prime of life.' — ' Very true, dearest father,' 
 said I, archly, ' but allowing forty, which I am 
 sure he must be, to be the prime, eighteen must 
 be the infanci/, consequently they are unsuit- 
 able.' — ' We will not discuss this point,' replied 
 my father, evidently somewhat chafed, though 
 why I know not, ' since you agree with me in 
 the wish to decline his addresses, which I shall 
 do without delay.' After quitting my father I 
 recalled to my recollection many sentiments and 
 expressions of admiration, which had at different 
 times fallen from the colonel, but which I had 
 looked upon at the moment, as nothing more 
 than a flattering attention from a man of his 
 age. I heard a few days ago that Colonel 
 James and Lady Jane Orme were engaged to
 
 THE HEIRESS. 109 
 
 each other, but in that report, it is now evident, 
 there was no truth. 
 
 " What a cruelly cutting letter my father has 
 received from Colonel James. I can copy it 
 from memory. I think it is indelibly impressed 
 there, and I should be sorry to forget what I 
 trust may be of use to me hereafter. 
 
 " ' Sir, 
 
 " ' I received your polite letter in answer 
 to the proposal I had the honour of making for 
 the hand of your daughter. Since you assure 
 me that Miss Elmwood was not at all aware of 
 any attachment on my part, or that I harboured 
 any intention of proposing for her, I am bound 
 to believe it ; at the same time, I beg to assure 
 you that had I not met with the greatest en- 
 couragement from Miss Elmwood, and likewise 
 had reason to suppose myself the object of her 
 decided preference, I should not for an instant 
 have thought of proposing for her hand. Were 
 the treatment I have received from the young
 
 110 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 lady generally known, it would probably pre^ 
 vent others falling into a similar error ; but as 
 it is not very agreeable to be pointed at as a 
 rejected suitor, I will be obliged by what has 
 occurred being kept secret. With great respect, 
 I have the honour to remain. Sir, 
 
 ' Your obedient Servant, 
 
 ' W. James.' 
 
 " When my father placed this letter before 
 me, I felt my cheeks glow with anger ; then, 
 putting my hands over my burning face, I burst 
 into tears. Instantaneously the origin of this 
 mistake was before me. It had arisen from the 
 regret I had so innocently expressed at having 
 been obliged to decline dancing with him during 
 two successive nights. What I meant merely 
 as an act of politeness he construed into admi- 
 ration and love. Oh! man — man! — never 
 speak of the vanity of our sex, since thine out- 
 weighs it a hundred times I 
 
 '^ My father was, of course, much displeased
 
 THE HEIRESS. Ill 
 
 by the receipt of such a letter, and asked if I 
 could explain the meaning of it, when I imme- 
 diately informed him of the circumstance which 
 I supposed Colonel James had so entirely mis- 
 construed. He smiled as I concluded my nar- 
 ration, saying, he scarcely knew which most to 
 wonder at, the vanity and impertinence of the 
 gallant officer, or the simplicity of his novice. 
 ' However/ added he, ' since the Colonel is a 
 losing gamester, we must forgive him, not only 
 for having ventured for such a stake, but for 
 those expressions of displeasure which mortified 
 self-love and vanity have occasioned ; and to 
 you, Mary, this will prove a lesson for the 
 future.' 
 
 " Although I do not visit, my father and 
 mother make a point of my riding on horse- 
 back daily. We are generally joined by se- 
 veral friends ; Major Beaumont almost always 
 meets us, or sets out with us, and very fre- 
 quently Lord Wilton, as at this period he is not 
 obliged to devote so much time to state affairs
 
 112 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 as when he arrived first in town. He is ex- 
 tremely clever and agreeable, but I wish he did 
 not think that politeness requires him to pay me 
 such particular attention, as there are many 
 questions which I wish to ask Major Beaumont 
 relative to his foreign campaigns, which Lord 
 Wilton's being of the party prevents, as from 
 his rank, greater age, and acknowledged high 
 talent, he most frequently leads the conversa- 
 tion. Notwithstanding which, I believe Major 
 Beaumont's talents to be fully equal to his 
 lordship's, and not less accompanied by genuine 
 wit; indeed I think him a most dehghtful 
 companion. — I hope my father will invite him 
 to Elrawood. 
 
 " Elmivood Park, Aug, 1. 
 "We are once more at that beloved spot, 
 which has been the scene of so many tranquilly 
 happy days. My dearest mother has nearly re- 
 gained her strength, and looks as lovely as ever. 
 What a comfort has Miss JoUifFe been to us
 
 THE HEIRESS. 113 
 
 during her illness — we never can be sufficiently- 
 grateful to her ; but her love for my mother is 
 that of an attached sister rather than a friend, 
 whilst for myself, I believe her affection is nearly 
 maternal. The country looks beautiful ; the late 
 rains have made the vegetation miusually luxu- 
 riant, and all around me seems gay and ani- 
 mated ; yet I do not feel as cheerful as before I 
 went to town. My father thinks me paler and 
 thinner than formerly, and frequently inquires if 
 I am well. We have requested some friends 
 who were engaged to come to us this month, to 
 postpone their visit for a few weeks, lest my 
 mother should exert herself beyond her strength* 
 All the neighbourhood have called, except Lady 
 Jane Orme, who used to be one of the first to 
 visit us after we returned from town. I have 
 not seen or heard from her since that evening 
 on which she behaved with so much rudeness. 
 My father has this moment asked me to accom- 
 pany him to Lord Orme's ; which I shall do, as 
 I have never mentioned Lady Jane's extraor-
 
 IM VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 dinary behaviour to him, thinking it originated in 
 some momentary fit of petulance or ill-humour* 
 " We have been at Lord Orme's, and were re- 
 ceived by him in his usual friendly way ; but the 
 servant said her ladyship was ' not at home/ 
 although I am inclined to think she was in the 
 house, as I am pretty sure I caught a glimpse 
 of her figure gliding across the hall. N'imporie, 
 if she chooses to be offended without cause, it 
 must be so. Lord Orme told my father he ex- 
 pected his relative, Major Beaumont, to visit 
 him shortly. I was not before aware that they 
 w^ere related. My father, in reply to this inti- 
 mation, said he should hope to see Major Beau- 
 mont frequently at Elmwood, as he possessed a 
 threefold claim upon his esteem; namely, his 
 own merit, his connexion with his lordship, and 
 his being the son of an old schoolfellow and 
 friend. I wonder whether Major Beaumont ad-» 
 mires Lady Jane's style of beauty ; she is cer-? 
 tainly a fine woman, but I think too masculine 
 in person and manners for his taste ; and yet if
 
 THE HEIRESS. 115 
 
 he does not admire her, I am surprised that he 
 should visit Ormesby, as the old lord, at all 
 times rather prosy and disagreeable, is at this. 
 time threatened with a fit of the gout.] 
 
 " Miss JolHffe has this moment informed me 
 that Lady Jane was a few weeks since on the 
 eve of being married to Colonel James. She 
 has received her information from an authentic 
 source, a sister-in-law of Lord Orme's, with 
 whom she has long been on intimate terms ; who 
 added that soon after my appearance in town, 
 the colonel withdrew his pretensions — or more 
 correctly, that on some slight difference of 
 opinion, a dispute arising between the parties. 
 Lady Jane having proposed that they should 
 put a termination to their engagement, he as- 
 sented so readily as to prevent the possibility of 
 a renewal on her side. In consequence of this 
 misunderstanding, Lord Orme's family left town 
 earlier than usual ; since which period poor 
 Lady Jane has worn the willow, telhng all her 
 intimate friends that Colonel James was drawn
 
 116 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 from his allegiance by my coquetry and arts ! 
 Miss Jones adds to this information that Colonel 
 James has within the last few days written to 
 entreat the forgiveness of Lady Jane for his 
 delinquency J assuring her that although he had 
 received the greatest encouragement from me, 
 his attachment to her was such as to preclude 
 the possibility of his taking advantage of it, for 
 that whilst life remained he should continue 
 true to his first and early love ! Lady Jane has 
 kindly believed, or what answers equally well, 
 affected to believe his protestations, and this 
 day the gallant officer is expected at Ormesby 
 House. A month ago this man proposed him- 
 self as my husband ! Poor Lady Jane ! — so 
 after all, I was in part, though very unintention- 
 ally, to blame for the uneasiness and mortifica- 
 tion you have suffered. Had he never resumed 
 his addresses to you, it would have been well, 
 I think, for what reliance can be placed on such 
 a man? 
 
 " I can now more readily account for Lady
 
 THE HEIRESS. 117 
 
 Jane's strange behaviour towards me, for be- 
 lieving, as she evidently did, and I fear still 
 does, that I endeavoured to draw her lover from 
 her by those coquetish arts which she ought to 
 have known I utterly despised ; she naturally felt 
 indignant at such conduct, and I fear has not 
 only formed a very indifferent opinion of me 
 herself, but may cause her friends to imbibe a 
 similar one. Miss Jones has never approved of 
 her niece's engagement to Colonel James, and 
 is, therefore, by no means inclined to be silent 
 upon the events that have taken place ; but fa- 
 vouring me, as she does, with her good opinion, 
 she believes not one word of Colonel James's 
 statement of having received encouragement 
 from myself. Lady Jane will, no doubt, endea- 
 vour to prejudice Major Beaumont against me 
 when she arrives. I should very much regret 
 that : as to be thought meanly of by a man, who 
 not only stands very high in the estimation of 
 the world himself, but who is the son of an old 
 friend of my father^s, would be very mortifying.
 
 118 TILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 He must scorn the woman whom he believes 
 capable of sacrificing the happiness of another 
 for the gratification of her own vanity. 
 
 " I have consulted Miss JoUiffe as to the best 
 plan to pursue, in the hope of preventing Major 
 Beaumont forming a prejudicial opinion of my 
 conduct. She surprised me by inquiring my 
 reason for being so anxious on the subject. ' Is 
 it not natural/ I said, ^ to wish for the favour- 
 able opinion of those whom one esteems.' — 
 ' Certainly, my love,' she replied, ' but I do not 
 exactly comprehend why you should appear so 
 much more apprehensive of suffering in Major 
 Beaumont's estimation, than that of any one 
 else.' I scarcely knew what reply to make, 
 although my reasons had seemed quite satisfac- 
 tory as I inwardly repeated them a few minutes 
 before. Seeing my hesitation, my kind friend 
 added, ' Do not allow yourself to feel any un- 
 easiness on this subject, for you may rest as- 
 sured that those, whose good opinion is worth 
 having, will not believe any thing to your preju-
 
 THE HEIRESS. ' 119 
 
 dice, which Lady Jane Orme or Colonel James 
 can say, for the latter has evidently been a dis- 
 appointed suitor, and the former is, or has been, 
 a jealous rival.' Notwithstanding this, I must 
 acknowledge I am by no means satisfied that 
 Major Beaumont should listen to such a tale 
 without a chance of having it refuted. 
 
 " September. — Although my time has been 
 very much occupied lately by friends staying in 
 the house, nothing has occurred to me indi- 
 vidually worth notice. At breakfast this morn- 
 ing my father mentioned that he expected Lord 
 Wilton would be at Elmwood in the course of 
 the week. To which I replied, ' I wish he 
 would go and visit the owls and bats in his own 
 ruinous castle.' My father answered me only 
 by a reproving look ; but my mother said, 
 * Mary, you forget yourself; surely your father's 
 friends ought always to be cordially welcomed 
 by you.' — ' Indeed, dearest mother,' I replied, 
 ' I beg your and my father's pardon for my 
 flippancy; I meant not half what I expressed.
 
 120 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 though I own I should prefer hearing that Lord 
 Wilton was going to visit Wilton Castle ; since, 
 however highly it may honour me, he has lat- 
 terly given me more of his^ society than is alto- 
 gether agreeable when visiting us.' — ' You 
 certainly ought to consider it a high honour to 
 attract the notice of a man who is no less dis- 
 tinguished for his superior qualifications in the 
 drawing-room than the cabinet, and by whose 
 friendship I have always felt flattered.' — ' I am 
 fully sensible of the honour Lord Wilton does 
 me, my dear father ; but indeed I am so humble 
 in my wishes, that I should feel infinitely better 
 pleased were he not to bestow so much of his 
 attention upon one so insignificant as myself; 
 and I most sincerely hope, that he will not think 
 it requisite to devote much of his valuable time 
 to me on the present occasion.' — ' / should not 
 be satisfied were he to neglect my daughter, and 
 since he comes here, not only as my visiter, but 
 as my most intimate and highly-esteemed friend, 
 it is my particular request, nay command, that
 
 THE HEIRESS. 121 
 
 you treat him with the greatest respect and 
 attention, and receive any civihties he may be 
 disposed to show you with gratitude.* 
 
 '' I had scarcely ever been addressed with such 
 severity by my father before, and whilst my eyes 
 filled with tears, I could only bow my acqui- 
 escence to his wish — his command. On raising my 
 still tearful eyes, I observed an interchange of 
 looks between my mother and Miss Jolliffe, which 
 seemed in an instant to explain to me the in- 
 tentions of my father with regard to Lord Wilton. 
 I was, then, meant to be the wife of this proud 
 descendant of princes — this highly-gifted states- 
 man — this man of profound erudition — this ac- 
 complished gentleman ! All this he was uni- 
 versally acknowledged to be; and I — the simple, 
 unsophisticated country girl — with only the ad- 
 vantages of birth but little inferior to his own ; 
 youth, health, and a tolerable person, am the 
 chosen partner of this mighty man. Tis true, I 
 shall have wealth sufficient to rebuild his dilapi- 
 dated castle, and to restore the splendour of 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Other days to its owner ; but Lord Wilton is too 
 high-minded to allow so paltry a consideration 
 to govern his thoughts for an instant ! Lord 
 Wilton may be all that he is represented ; I must 
 admit his eloquence to be great, his powers of 
 conversation to be varied and attractive, his 
 person and manners highly finished ; but with, 
 all this, there is, in my opinion, a want of heart 
 r-a something cold and pompous — a look and 
 manner which seem to say, 'I admire myself 
 too much, to have much admiration to bestow 
 upon others :' yet at times, I must admit there 
 is a strange fascination about him, which it is 
 difficult to comprehend or vnthstand. Yes, 
 dearest father, if you command me to marry 
 Lord Wilton, I must disobey you, for I cannot 
 love him ; but I will promise never to marry one 
 whom you disapprove. While these thoughts 
 arose in my mind, my father left the room ; 
 and on recovering from the reverie into which I 
 had been plunged, I observed the eyes of my 
 mother and Miss JoUifFe fixed, upon my coun-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 123 
 
 tenance in earnest attention ; but as neither 
 spoke, I likewise retired to commune with my 
 own heart, and to commit my thoughts to paper. 
 " September 30th. — The last has been rather 
 an eventful fortnight, and yet I have felt less 
 inclined than usual to commit the events which 
 have occurred, or the thoughts which have 
 arisen, to tlieir usual silent depository. Lord 
 Wilton arrived on the day appointed for his 
 visit; and on the same day, somewhat unex- 
 pectedly, but most agreeably — to me, at least — 
 Sir George and Lady Ford, their three daugh- 
 ters and two sons; they purposed spending a 
 day with us only, en passant j but were pre- 
 vailed upon to lengthen their stay until ten days 
 had elapsed. In addition to these, we have had 
 a constant succession of visiters at the park. 
 Lord Wilton has evidently devoted himself en- 
 tirely to me. From the hour of his arrival I 
 have been apparently the principal object of at- 
 traction to bira, whilst he has been the centre 
 of attraction to all others. Lady Jane Orme 
 g2
 
 124 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 has been several times here with Colonel James ; 
 she is now as friendly in manner as formerly : 
 but I fancy I can perceive that one motive for 
 her frequent visits is, to show her power over 
 the colonel, and imagined triumph over me. 
 Whether my suspicion be correct or not, I am 
 glad to be again upon friendly terms with one 
 whom I have known from childhood. Major 
 Beaumont has always accompanied Lady Jane 
 and Colonel James, which has taken off the 
 awkwardness of our meeting very much. I was 
 surprised to see the easy assurance with which 
 the colonel met the cold reception of my father, 
 on his first visit : however, as the former is cer- 
 tainly an agreeable man, and likely, by his union 
 with Lady Jane Orme, to be a resident in the 
 neighbourhood, we all agreed that it was better 
 to receive his advances towards a renewal of 
 our acquaintance, as if nothing unpleasant had 
 occurred ; if he did not feel it, I could readily 
 overlook what his mortified vanity led him to 
 write or utter.
 
 THE HEIRESS. 125 
 
 " Yesterday n-orning we went to view the 
 curious rocks which are situated twelve miles 
 from Ehiiwood. The Orme family, attended 
 by Colonel James and Major Beaumont, ac- 
 companied us. Aware that it was reported 
 Lord Wilton and myself were to be united, 
 and having- reason to suppose that the report 
 gained credence even amongst my own imme- 
 diate friends, I was determined at the risk of 
 displeasing my father, to endeavour to evince 
 my disinclination for his attentions. I had 
 accidentally discovered that my father meant 
 Lord Wilton to drive me in his phaeton; 
 the carriages were at the door, and already 
 several of the party had set out, when his 
 lordship offered to hand me into his carriage, 
 upon which I drew back, saying, ' Thank you, 
 my lord, but I accompany my mother.' — ' Mr. 
 Elmwood wished me to have the honour of 
 driving you ; I therefore hope you will not 
 deprive me of so great a pleasure.' — ' Your 
 lordship must excuse me ; if I do not accom
 
 126 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 pany my mother, I must decline going to the 
 rocks.' Lord Wilton withdrew, with an air of 
 dignified and proud submission to my decree, 
 whilst I beheld looks of consternation and 
 astonishment around me. I entered my mo- 
 ther's carriage with such rapidity, that there 
 was scarcely time for any one to assist me ; 
 ere I was seated, my father advanced, saying, 
 * Mary, how is this, I thought you were going 
 with Lord Wilton ? ' — ^ No, sir, I have requested 
 his Lordship to excuse me : if it is inconvenient 
 for me to accompany my mother, I must en- 
 treat you to be kind enough to suffer me to 
 remain at home.' I was answered only by 
 a look of grave displeasure, ere my father 
 turned away; when leaning back I burst into 
 tears. My mother and Miss Jolliffe, who were 
 already seated in the landau, looked at me 
 with tender commiseration, united with some sur- 
 prise, and after ordering the coachman to drive 
 on, the former asked the cause of my emotion. 
 " I then told my mother that Lord Wil-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 127 
 
 ton's attentions were now become so obvious 
 to every one, that it was generally believed 
 we were to be united, and I was determined 
 as far as in me lay, to put a stop to such a 
 report. My mother looked grave, and then 
 gently inquired what objection I could make to 
 Lord Wilton were he to propose himself as a 
 suitor for my hand. ' A thousand, dearest 
 mother/ — ' Let me hear a few of them, ray 
 love.' — 'His age is surely alone a sufficient 
 objection.' — ' I admit it to be one, Mary ; I do 
 not like dissimilarity of age, yet in this case 
 it is less objectionable than many ; for his lord- 
 ship is certainly a very young looking man 
 for the age which I understand him to be, 
 about two and forty, and his fine person dis- 
 tances in appearance all his young competitors.' 
 * Not all, mamma, surely he cannot be compared 
 with Major Beaumont.' — 'Major Beaumont 
 is a very fine young man, yet I doubt whether 
 at Lord Wilton's age he will be as handsome.' 
 ' Perhaps not, but he has a finer countenance
 
 128 
 
 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 than Lord Wilton ever could have had ; besides 
 when Major Beaumont is as old as Lord Wilton 
 now is, I shall be nearly as old as you are, 
 mamma/ — 'What has that to do with the ques- 
 tion we were discussing, Mary ? ' I felt myself 
 blush and look very foolish, though I scarcely 
 know why. As I made no answer, ' Now, 
 Mary, I should like to hear a few more of 
 your thousand objections, what are they ? ' 
 asked my mother. At that moment I could 
 not recollect one, excepting that I did not 
 hke him. ' For that,* said my mother, * you 
 are surely able to assign some cause; Xord 
 Wilton is universally looked up to as one of the 
 first men in the kingdom ; he has rank, talent, 
 acknowledged worth, an agreeable person, ele- 
 gant manners, and, I believe, a devoted attach- 
 ment to you; to set against all these advan- 
 tages, he has only one disadvantage, that of 
 being a few years older than you could wish.' 
 ' Oh, mamma, that is not all, indeed there is 
 something about him which I cannot like;
 
 THE HEIRESS. 129 
 
 at least I cannot think of him as a husband/ 
 ' You have not formed any other attachment, 
 Mary ? "^ — ' Oh no, dearest mamma, indeed I 
 have not.' — 'There is no one whom you prefer 
 to Lord Wilton, then ? ' — ' Yes, an infinite 
 number.' — ' Young Ford ? ' — ' No, I am sure I 
 do not prefer young Ford, he is such a cox- 
 comb.'' — ' His brother, John ? ' — ' Oh, no, John 
 I think has scarcely common sense."' — ' Sir 
 Harry ? * — ' My dear mamma, you must be 
 laughing at me; how can I for an instant 
 compare such men as those with Lord Wilton.' 
 ' What do you think of Major Beaumont ? ' 
 ' That he is a thousand times more agreeable 
 than Lord Wilton, and in every respect, ex- 
 cept rank and talents, his superior; and in 
 the latter he is fully equal I think to his 
 lordship.' I answered unhesitatingly and with 
 energy; but had no sooner done so, than I 
 felt the blood rush into my cheeks, and wished, 
 though I knew not why, that I had not ex- 
 pressed my opinion so fully. I sunk into a 
 g3
 
 130 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 train of reflection, which was uninterrupted 
 by my companions until we arrived at the 
 rocks. 
 
 " Lord Wilton and Major Beaumont ad- 
 vanced towards the carriage, as it stopped 
 for us to alight : the latter appeared inclined 
 to offer his assistance to my mother; for he, 
 as well as all our other friends, gave way to 
 Lord Wilton when present, but upon this oc- 
 casion his lordship seemed little inclined to 
 take advantage of the opportunity of paying 
 me any attention; as, offended no doubt by 
 my refusal to be with him during our drive, 
 he turned from me, attending only to my 
 mother, by which means Major Beaumont be- 
 came my companion for the remainder of the 
 morning. The scenery was so romantic and 
 sublime, the air so pure and exhilarating, that 
 I soon lost every trace of previous uneasiness, 
 and with renewed spirits proceeded on our 
 pedestrian excursion, which concluded with a 
 repast, taken under the shade of a stupendous
 
 THE HEIRESS. 
 
 131 
 
 rock, which seemed almost as if suspended in 
 the air. 
 
 " On our retuni to Elmwood, my father re- 
 quested me to follow him to his study. I 
 did so, trembling like a culprit, though he 
 was ever so indulgent, that it would have 
 -been difficult for me to assign a cause for my 
 present apprehension. My father then informed 
 me that he had been much displeased by my 
 conduct towards Lord Wilton, and requested 
 that he might never behold a repetition of 
 it. I instantly summoned courage to state 
 that I had thus acted in consequence of my 
 wish to put a stop to the absurd rumours 
 which were in circulation, respecting Lord 
 Wilton and myself. ' Absurd ! ' exclaimed my 
 father, 'how absurd, Mary?' — 'Surely, my 
 dear sir, a report that your old friend and 
 companion is likely to be united to your 
 daughter, must be looked upon by many per- 
 sons as absurd, though, without doubt, some 
 are credulous enough to believe it true.' — ' I
 
 132 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 am surprised, Mary, to hear you speak in so 
 foolish and childish a manner ; * replied my 
 father, ' only your youth and extreme igno- 
 rance of the world can excuse such folly. 
 Where is there a man equal to Lord Wilton 
 in every qualification which man esteems and 
 woman loves? Where the woman except 
 yourself, who would not feel honoured by his 
 attentions? Not only in his pubUc character 
 is he looked up to, as hkely to become one 
 of the strongest pillars of the state, but in 
 his private character, as one of the most 
 amiable of men. It has long been the most 
 ardent wish of my heart that Lord Wilton 
 should select my daughter for his wife ; but 
 I durst not flatter myself that he who could 
 choose from the noblest and wealthiest of the 
 land, would, after remaining unmarried until 
 forty, fix upon my little simple country girl 
 to share his honours; yet when I beheld her 
 blooming beauty expand into perfection, and her 
 gnces of person outdone by those of her
 
 THE HEIRESS. 133 
 
 mind, I fondly flattered myself none could 
 know her intimately and not love her. Such, 
 Mary, were the feelings of your fond father. I 
 gave Lord Wilton the opportunity to cultivate 
 your regard and esteem ; with him the conse- 
 quence has been what I foresaw ; he became ar 
 dently attached to you, and sometime ago pro- 
 posed for your hand. I wished you to have a 
 longer period in which to become acquainted with 
 his numerous good and great qualities, ere I 
 named his proposals to you, and felt no doubt that 
 you would, from your strong sense and superior 
 discernment, -ultimately return his affection as I 
 wished. I believed my daughter superior to 
 the folly of expecting to find in a husband those 
 great qualities which are, I am sure, peculiarly 
 calculated to attract her admiration, and youth 
 in addition. Were Lord Wilton an old man, 
 or even were he approaching old age, I would 
 not think of uniting him to you, but he is, in 
 fact, quite in the prime of life.' 
 
 '* I perceived that my father was seriously
 
 134 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 displeased with [ me, and therefore sat with 
 my eyes fixed upon the floor, pale and silent. 
 ' You do not speak, Mary, what am I to 
 understand — are my fondest hopes to be dis- 
 appointed by my child ? ' I made an effort 
 to answer, but the words died away on my 
 lips. ' Why do you not speak, my love ? ' 
 These words were not only kind in them- 
 selves, but uttered in so gentle a tone of 
 voice, that bursting into tears, I sunk at my 
 father's feet, ' Mary, what means this agita- 
 tion—you cannot suppose that I will put any 
 force upon your inclinations V I continued to 
 weep, and press his hand to my lips. ' Rise, 
 my child,' he added tremulously, ' I would not, 
 to make you mistress of the world, put any 
 ** constraint upon you on so important a point ; 
 all I desire is, that you will treat Lord Wilton 
 with the civility and attention which is due 
 from you to my most intimate and esteemed 
 friend, whilst he remains my guest, and I will 
 inform him that you at present feel a strong
 
 THE HEIRESS. 
 
 135 
 
 repugnance to the idea of marriage : — I think 
 I may say so with truth ; may I not, Mary V 
 With a glowing cheek, though still tearful eye, I 
 replied, ' Certainly, sir, I have no wish to marry 
 — T could not bear the idea of leaving you and 
 my beloved mother.' As I raised my eyes from 
 the floor, they met the fixed and earnest gaze 
 of my father, and deeply, painfully blushing, 
 they again fell beneath it. With a sigh he 
 turned away, and I felt myself once more alone, 
 and at liberty to ruminate upon the jevents of 
 the day. 
 
 " How thankful ought I to be to that kind 
 Providence which has preserved me from such 
 imminent peril ! What a miraculous escape 
 have I had ! Although two days have elapsed 
 since the accident to which I allude took place, 
 I can scarcely now wTite with composure. My 
 father had driven me in his phaeton to Stone- 
 moor, the other ladies occupying various car- 
 riages ; whilst many of the gentlemen, among 
 whom were Lord Wilton and Major Beaumont,
 
 136 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 rode on horseback. We had driven as far as 
 was practicable, when my lather ordered the 
 cavalcade to stop. As the eye glanced over the 
 tract of land before us, there was nothing to 
 excite observation beyond an almost flat and 
 sterile common, covered thickly with loose 
 stones, which rendered it impossible for a car- 
 riage to proceed, and was far from desirable 
 even for horsemen. A space of ground, forming 
 a narrow footpath, half a mile in length, had 
 been cleared of stones, or levelled by long use, 
 although to those unacquainted with the place 
 it seemed without any other aim than that of 
 leading to a clump of old firs and stunted haw- 
 thorns ; these, however, concealed the entrance 
 to a deep ravine, which formed the greatest 
 natural curiosity in our neighbourhood. 
 
 " I had frequently descended to the extremity of 
 the yawning abyss, and each time with increased 
 admiration of its romantic and picturesque 
 beauty. The narrow path wound through the 
 stupendous rocks, now making the head giddy 
 as it led you along the edge of a tremendous
 
 THE HEIRESS. 137 
 
 precipice, overhanging the deep glen below — 
 now almost inclosing you between two immense 
 walls of solid stone ; until arrived at the brink 
 of a river, compressed within such narrow 
 bounds as scarcely to seem deserving of the 
 name, whilst its extreme depth caused it to flow 
 almost noiselessly, till, with one fearful crash, 
 it dashed down a rock, a depth of more than 
 fifty feet, whence it rushed furiously forward, 
 foaming and breaking over the huge fragments 
 which had fallen from above. As the eye 
 glanced upwards, and beheld the magnificent 
 rocks, which seemed to totter over the river 
 rolling at their feet, it required more than 
 common nerve not to feel some apprehension of 
 being buried beneath them. Yet, with the 
 exception of those masses, broken off by occa- 
 sional storms, they had probably remained in 
 this threatening position for thousands of years, 
 since it could not be doubted that this chasm 
 owed its origin to some great convulsion of 
 nature, the rocks on each side bearing evi-
 
 138 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 dent marks of having been violently wrenched 
 asunder. 
 
 " As my father descended from the phaeton, 
 after desiring the party to stop, my mother ad- 
 dressed him, and he, hastening to the carriage 
 in which she was seated, threw the reins to- 
 wards me, but ere I could gain firm hold, a gun 
 went off so near as to alarm one of the horses, 
 which was young ; and the other, though older, 
 being very spirited, they dashed violently for- 
 ward, overturning eveiy thing in their way ; 
 one of the horsemen in vain attempted to im- 
 pede their progress ; they, if possible, redoubled 
 their speed — we appeared to fly like lightning, 
 and in the direction of that frightful chasm to 
 explore the terrible wonders of which was the 
 cause of our excursion. I saw the horses' heads 
 within a yai'd of the verge of the tremendous 
 precipice ! — to jump out was certain destruction! 
 — to remain where I was I felt to be little 
 better. My heart sank within me as I beheld 
 the dreadful fate which awaited me ! When
 
 THE HEIRESS. IBB 
 
 at this instant a horseman darted across — I saw 
 that it was Major Beaumont, and believing that 
 he was actually falling down the precipice, I 
 gave one loud and piercing scream — I knew — 
 and saw no more ! 
 
 " When I opened my eyes I found myself 
 placed upon a bed, my father and mother 
 seated by me, watching me with intense an- 
 xiety ; — I felt the blood slowly trickle down my 
 arm, whilst a stranger held my wrist. ' Thank 
 God ! she revives !' said my mother. ' She must 
 be kept perfectly quiet,' replied the medical prac- 
 titioner. My father then gently whispered an 
 inquiry after me ; I made an ineffectual attempt 
 to answer him, whilst the surgeon again ob- 
 served that it was desirable that I should not 
 be spoken to, nor induced to exert myself in 
 any way ; consequently, my parents remained in 
 silence by my bedside until I regained strength 
 and recollection to whisper, 'Is Major Beau- 
 mont still alive ?' — ' He is,' replied my mother, 
 ' not only alive, but comparatively little hurt in 
 saving a life so precious as that of my sweet
 
 140 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 child, and in so doing he has likewise saved that 
 of her parents.' 
 
 " Composed by the answer I had received, 
 and weakened by the loss of blood, I soon 
 sunk into a slumber, from which I awoke 
 much refreshed, and was able to return home 
 the following day. Major Beaumont, I find, 
 is at Elmwood, my father having prevailed 
 upon him to remain here until his arm, which 
 is severely sprained, -is quite well. I have not 
 yet seen him, since it is thought that I might 
 be too much agitated for the present sliattered 
 state of my nerves, were I to have an interview 
 with one who so nobly risked his own life to 
 preserve mine. I cannot bear to think of tliat 
 horrible moment, when I saw him dash between 
 the maddened animals and the fearful precipice ! 
 How mortal streno-th could check their speed I 
 know not ; I only know that I was on the brink 
 of destruction, and that my life has been pre- 
 served by Major Beaumont, wliilst Lord Wilton 
 — the fondly attached^ adoring Lord Wilton, 
 who by his proximity to tlie carnage at the
 
 THE HEIRESS. 141 
 
 moment the horses took fright, by his superior 
 musgular power, and by his pretensions for my 
 favour, ought to have interposed to avert 
 my destruction — only ordered his groom to 
 do so ! 
 
 " Several days have now elapsed since the 
 accident which alarmed us all so much took 
 place. Major Beaumont was much more seri- 
 ously hurt than I imagined ; his arm was not 
 sprained but broken by the violent effort neces- 
 sary to check the horses ; he is still confined to 
 hi^ room ; as soon as he is able to leave it for 
 his dressing-room I am to see him. What an 
 agitating moment that will be ! My dear father 
 says he never saw a more nobly daring act than 
 that of Major Beaumont. ' We all thought,' 
 continued he, ' that you were lost to us from 
 the moment we perceived the direction the fu- 
 rious animals had taken; I, being on foot, 
 could only call aloud to the grooms — A thou- 
 sand guineas to the man who saves my daugh-
 
 142 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ter! — All galloped forward, but all, save one, 
 stopped ere they reached the fearful precipice 
 only one dared attempt to arrest the progress of 
 the horses, by throwing himself between them 
 and the gulf below, thus resolving to sacrifice 
 his own life or save my child's ; a kind Provi- 
 dence aided his efforts, and you, my Mary, 
 were restored to your fond parents. To Major 
 Beaumont I feel that we never can be suf- 
 ficiently grateful.' As my father spoke he 
 glanced reproachfully at Lord Wilton, who 
 changed colour at the implied reproof. The 
 following day his lordship left Elmwood, coldly 
 bidding me adieu, and whilst his expression and 
 manner towards my mother were polite, I 
 thought I discerned somewhat sarcastic in the 
 tone with which he said he hoped her health 
 would not be injured by her care of the gallant 
 soldier. 
 
 " October. — Major Beaumont now sits with 
 us as usual. I feel almost ashamed of re- 
 cording, though only for my own perusal, my
 
 THE HEIRESS. 143 
 
 foolish conduct during our first meeting. It 
 was natural I should be agitated, but I think I 
 was more so than I ought to have been; I 
 tried to thank him, but found myself almost 
 unable to utter a word. At length, throwing 
 myself into my mother's arms, I said in whis- 
 pered accents, * Thank him, dearest mother, 
 for 1 cannot.' — ' It is I, my child, who have 
 most to thank him for, since in saving your 
 life, he saved those of your father and myself.' 
 Major Beaumont took my hand, which he 
 raised to his lips, stammered forth something 
 about the obligation not being worth naming, 
 then laughed at his blunder, and finally be- 
 sought us to honour him by taking seats in 
 his dressing-room. In a few days he was 
 sufficiently convalescent to join us in the draw- 
 ing-room ; though he requires our aid occa- 
 sionally, being unable to use his right arm. 
 My father says Major Beaumont shall not 
 leave Elmwood, until he is able to carry his 
 gun and manage his horse ; and has deputed
 
 144 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 me to sit next him at dinner, that I may 
 carve for him, as it is my peculiar duty to en- 
 deavour to make him feel as little inconve- 
 nience as possible from the broken limb. 
 
 " Our party is now much reduced, as the 
 Desboroughs and Olivers, who have been some 
 time with us, left us yesterday. Sir George 
 and Lady Eustace, with their son and daughter, 
 are coming here to-morrow. I wish they had 
 postponed their visit a short time, as such 
 a succession of company is harassing to the 
 spirits ; I have not felt it so until lately, 
 but this I suppose originates in the shock 
 my nervous system received in the dreadful 
 alarm I experienced so short a time since. 
 
 *' December, — I have been too happy during 
 the last few weeks, to attempt expressing my 
 feelings on paper; I am still unable to do 
 so, although the events which cause them 
 may be narrated. Events, do I say? It is 
 only one event, and that one of the most fre- 
 quent occurrence, which thus affects me.
 
 THE HEIRESS. 145 
 
 Major Beaumont proposed to leave Elmwood 
 some time ago; my father urged him to re- 
 main, when he, with much agitation, stated 
 his absence to be absolutely necessary. My 
 father pressed for the cause, and was at length 
 informed, that he had, almost before he was 
 aware of it, become attached to me, whilst 
 conscious of the splendid match I might na- 
 turally be expected to make, and of the 
 mediocrity of his own fortune, he did not 
 dare to hope for success; it therefore became 
 necessary for his own peace of mind that he 
 should immediately depart. 
 
 " What farther passed, I know chiefly by its 
 consequences. Major Beaumont addressed him- 
 self to me with my father's sanction, and as I am 
 above the littleness of affecting a coldness I did 
 not feel, I frankly owned that he was in posses- 
 sion of my esteem — ^my friendship — phsaw ! why 
 am I ashamed to own it, even to myself? — I 
 candidly acknowledged that he possessed my 
 entire affection. Never were gratitude and joy 
 more strongly depicted than in Major Beau- 
 mont. Our interview, which lasted two hours, 
 
 VOL, I. H
 
 146 VILLAGE REMINISCtlNCES. 
 
 feeemed but as many minutes, so swiftly time 
 speeds with the happy. I could not occupy 
 five minutes in recounting what passed, yet 
 every syllable seemed, at this moment, of im- 
 portance, and had not the dressing bell warned 
 •us to conclude, I know not how long we might 
 have continued thus to converse. 
 
 "Ere we met at dinner, my beloved parents saw 
 and blest their happy daughter. ' I have,* said my 
 father, ' foreseen this conclusion for some time ; 
 Major Beaumont's disinterested attachment to 
 you was fully evinced on the day he so gal- 
 lantly saved your life, at the peril of his own; 
 from that hour I resolved that he should be 
 my son-in-law. He has, I am firmly con- 
 vinced, every great quality that a human being 
 can possess; his birth, though not noble, is 
 unobjectionable, since he is lineally descended 
 from one of the most ancient families in the 
 kingdom ; his fortune is small, but we, my 
 Mary, are able to supply that deficiency; his 
 character stands so high for every moral and 
 rehgious virtue, that in giving him my only 
 child, I feel assured I am placing her hap-.
 
 THE HEIRESS. 147 
 
 piness in the power of one who will guard 
 her from every possible ill; your opinion of 
 him I have long known. I feared that you 
 had imbibed an attachment to Major Beau- 
 mont, even before your rejection of Lord 
 Wilton. I say that I feared it, because at 
 that period I own my most anxious wish was 
 to see you his lordship's wife. The difference 
 between his conduct and that of Major Beau- 
 mont, at the dreadful moment when you were 
 so providentially saved from destruction, through 
 the courageous interference of the latter, con- 
 vinced me that you were yourself the best 
 judge of what was for your own happiness 
 in wedded life, and I trust and believe we 
 shall neither of us be deceived.' 
 
 " More, much more, my dear parents said, all 
 of which is indelibly impressed on their grateful 
 daughter's memory. Weeks have fled rapidly 
 since the period alluded to ; so deUghtfully have 
 they passed, that it seems only so many days ; 
 yet I have nothing to recount. We have 
 had much severe weather, and for some 
 time have been unable to leave the house^ 
 h2
 
 148 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 yet time has never hung heavy on our hands. 
 Our hours have been enhvened, as we have 
 used our pencils or needles, by the beautiful 
 reading of Major Beaumont. In February 
 we are to go to town, when every thing will 
 be finally arranged for our union, which is to 
 take place in June. Since my parents are 
 wrapt up in the society of their daughter, 
 Major Beaumont has kindly proposed that 
 we should not leave them. To this at first 
 my father would not assent, being fearful that 
 they might prove a restraint upon us; but he 
 has since arranged that the house in town 
 shall be our own, whilst he and my mother 
 will when there be our visiters; and we are 
 to have an entire suite of apartments fitted 
 up for our accommodation at Elmwood, where 
 we are to reside in summer. 
 
 " London, April. — We have been busily en- 
 gaged ever since we came to town, although 
 not so agreeably as in the countiy, since our 
 time is too much occupied in visiting, and 
 being visited. Major Beaumont says that he 
 can now scarcely ever gain half an hour's
 
 THE HEIRESS. 149 
 
 conversation Avith me. I lament this equally 
 with himself, and look forward with great 
 pleasure to our return to dear Elmwood, when 
 we shall bid adieu to balls, and operas, and 
 gaiety. We have been sitting for our pictures; 
 that is, my father, mother, Major Beaumont, 
 and myself; they are all thought to be good 
 hkenesses, but mine appears to me to be 
 somewhat flattering, whilst Major Beaumont's 
 does not do him justice; he thinks the same 
 of mine, whilst my dear partial mother thinks 
 them both like the originals, though not hand- 
 some enouo;h for either. We have been oc- 
 cupied lately in ordering furniture for our own 
 apartments at Elmwood, carriages, jewels, et 
 cetera. Every thing is to be of as elegant a 
 description as if I was going to be united to 
 a man of ten times Major Beaumont's wealth. 
 My father says his child shall have every en- 
 joyment that he can bestow, without waiting 
 until his death confers them upon her; as he 
 has always thought those parents judged ill, 
 who rolling in wealth, and surrounded by 
 luxury, suffered their children to live in com-
 
 150 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 parative poverty, and enduring great pri- 
 vations, until their own death placed them 
 in affluence, probably at a period of life 
 when no longer able to enjoy it. Of course 
 this opinion could only relate to those whose 
 income, like his, exceeded their own wants 
 or expenditure. Such being his ideas, every 
 thing relating to my fortune was arranged by 
 him on the most liberal scale. In a month 
 from this time we shall return to Elmwood, 
 soon after which our union will take place. 
 I shall then for the first time quit my parents 
 for a short period. We propose going into 
 Switzerland, where, in a few weeks, my father, 
 mother, and Miss JollifFe, will meet us. What 
 a happy joyous party we shall be ! 
 
 ^ w ^ w w ^ ^ 
 
 w w w ^ vP vf ^ 
 
 '^ Five years have rolled over my head since 
 the foregoing pages were written ; years how 
 little foreseen at that period ! Could we read 
 in the book of fate the page of our own destiny, 
 how few could live and yet retain their senses 
 Five years ago I was young, beautiful (I may
 
 THE HEIRESS. 151 
 
 say so now), rich — not merely in the common 
 acceptation of the term — but rich beyond com- 
 pare in an affianced husband, who was une- 
 qualled in every noble and engaging quality — in 
 the best of parents, and in the gratification of 
 every wish. I was happy ! oh, so happy as 
 few have been ! What am I now ? Am I not 
 still young — still rich — still admired ? Then, 
 wherefore am I not happy? In the eyes of 
 the world, it is true, I am still the wealthy 
 heiress, but in my own, I am reduced to the 
 most abject penury, since I have lost all that I 
 most prized on earth ! Where is that noble 
 being whose attachment conferred the highest 
 honour upon the chosen of his heart ? Where 
 are my indulgent, my inestimable parents? 
 All, all gone, and I am left to weep alone.; 
 
 "I have frequently sat down with an intention 
 of committing to paper the dreadful events which 
 have occurred, but have hitherto been unequal 
 to the task. How different were the feelings 
 with which I wrote the preceding pages, from 
 those which have since occupied this bosom. 
 Then all around was joy and happiness; how
 
 152 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 soon was every trace of either removed from 
 my view ? I am now, I trust, no longer a re- 
 piner at the decrees of an all-wise Providence, 
 which ordaineth every thing as it seemeth best, 
 whilst poor weak mortals like myself too fre- 
 quently, in the first hours of anguish, dare to 
 arraign His justice and mercy! In vain I 
 strive to recall to my mind all the particulars of 
 that dreadful event, which, like the eruption 
 of some volcanic crater, swept all before it — 
 happiness, memory, intellect, health — all, all 
 * at one fell swoop ' destroyed. I must en- 
 deavour to collect my scattered thoughts ere 
 I proceed, when I hope I may gain strength 
 of mind to write more collectedly and co- 
 herently. 
 
 " Another day has elapsed, and T resume 
 that pen which for so long a period has been 
 laid aside, and which I was yesterday under 
 the necessity of resigning. I have schooled 
 my feelings into a calmer state, and trust I 
 can at length commit to paper the particulars 
 of that dreadful event which destroyed my 
 earthly hopes.
 
 THE HEIRESS* 153 
 
 " The short time which was expected to 
 intervene between that on which the latter part 
 of my journal was written, and my nuptials, 
 was passed in perfect happiness. We had been 
 returned from town to Elmwood about a fort- 
 night ; our house was filled by friends, who 
 were asked to attend in honour of its dauahter's 
 marriage, which was to take place on the fol- 
 lowing day. My father's uncle, the old Bishop 
 
 of , who was to perform the ceremony, 
 
 and his own brother, the Earl of Darnton, with 
 his wife and family, were with us. Major 
 Beaumont was staying with his relative. Lord 
 Orme. Lord Wilton was at his own castle, 
 he having when in town, requested to be al- 
 lowed to make one of the wedding party, to 
 which my father gladly acceded, since it showed 
 that he was sincere in having expressed to 
 him the regret he felt for his own folly, in 
 having ever thought of marriage, occupied as 
 his time and mind were by public business ; 
 to which he added, that so far from being 
 displeased by Miss 'Elmwood's refusal, he was 
 grateful for it, since he was at length fully 
 h3
 
 154 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 aware that it was impossible to unite the two 
 characters of statesman and a desirable do- 
 mestic husband; and much as he must always 
 admire and esteem her whom he had addressed, 
 he was assured she w^ould be happier with 
 Major Beaumont than he could have made 
 her, and consequently he was more than re- 
 conciled to the event likely to take place. My 
 father had been much pleased by Lord Wilton's 
 expressing himself thus, and by the anxiety 
 which he showed to cultivate the friendship 
 of Major Beaumont; and though it might be 
 thought mortifying to my vanity, to find my 
 refusal so little regretted, that mortification was 
 amply repaid by the pleasure of seeing him 
 associate with my father as formerly, and being 
 myself treated as the daughter of his friend 
 only. Until Lord Wilton's attentions had as- 
 sumed an appearance of tenderness and de- 
 votion, unsuited to our relative situations, I 
 had liked his conversation, and esteemed his 
 character ; now that he behaved so generously, 
 if I may so term it, he was again in some 
 degree reinstated in my good opinion, and he
 
 THE HEIRESS, 155 
 
 spent most of his time at Elmwood ; yet, 
 although I could assign no reason for it, I 
 was at times inclined to suspect the sincerity 
 of his professions. 
 
 " All was bustle and preparation for our 
 marriage, which, in conformity with the wish 
 of Lord Darnton, was to be followed by re- 
 joicings of various descriptions, to which Major 
 Beaumont and I acceded, only in consequence 
 of our departure being permitted to take place 
 immediately after the ceremony. I had been, 
 with my mother and Miss JollifFe, occupied in. 
 arranging various beautiful pieces of bijouterie, 
 which had been presented by my friends, in a 
 boudoir which my parents had just fitted up in 
 the most elegant style for my use. Here were 
 hung the portraits of my father and mother, 
 whilst those of Major Beaumont and myself 
 decorated the drawing-room. Whilst thus oc- 
 cupied I felt some surprise that Major Beau- 
 mont did not arrive, he having promised to be 
 with us early. I retired to dress, wondering at 
 his absence, yet doubting not that I should find 
 him in the drawing-room when I entered. -I
 
 156 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 wished on this day, the last of my single state, 
 to look unusually well in the eyes of one who 
 Ti^as so soon to become my husband ; I put on a 
 dress and wreath of pink roses, which he had 
 admired, and as I surveyed my figure in the 
 dressing-glass, a glow of gratified vanity mounted 
 to my cheek. I thought I had rarely looked so 
 well, and leaving my room in the hope of meet- 
 ing him for whom alone I wished to do so, I 
 proceeded to the drawing-room. All were as- 
 sembled, except Major Beaumont ; — * Where 
 can Beaumont be?' said my mother, Svhat 
 can have detained him?' — 'We will not 
 wait for him,' replied my father, *he will be 
 with us ere the first course disappears;' and 
 then proceeding to hand Lady Darnton to the 
 eating room, the rest of the party followed. 
 Not only the first but the second course was 
 sent out, and no tidings of Major Beaumont 
 arrived : I could not conceal my uneasiness, 
 although his delinquency was only laughed at 
 by the rest of the party. 
 
 '' At length dinner was concluded, and I 
 rose to quit the room, that I might in pri-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 157 
 
 vacy 'give way to the fears by which I was 
 oppressed. Miss JollifFe followed me, and 
 from her I found that on sitting down to 
 dinner, my father had sent a messenger to Lord 
 Orme's, who had returned, saying that Major 
 Beaumont had left him at two o'clock to walk 
 to Elmwood ; in consequence of which my fa- 
 ther had then dispatched another messenger by 
 the footpath, to see what had detained him. ' I 
 dare say,' continued Miss JollifTe, 'we shall 
 find that it is some deed of charity, as in the 
 case of the poor woman whom he found nearly 
 dead upon the road.' I shook my head mourn- 
 fully — the footpath between Lord Orme's and 
 Elmwood was much nearer, but it was a very 
 secluded and somewhat difficult road, lying 
 through a romantic and almost trackless glen, 
 where it was rare to meet with any one. With 
 each moment my alarm increased, until my agita- 
 became almost beyond control. Miss JollifTe, 
 who had through life sympathised in all my 
 trivial distresses, now wept with me, though 
 she assured me there was no cause for uneasi- 
 ness. Whilst endeavouring to give me spirits, 
 we heard the trampling of many feet — they ap-
 
 158 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 proaclied nearer — no voice was heard ! In an 
 agony of alami I rushed forward, and encoun- 
 tered — oh ! do I live to say it ? — the body of 
 my betrothed husband, covered with blood ! 
 I gazed upon the pale and disfigured corpse in 
 wild affright — I threw myself upon it, and 
 found it cold as ice, and stiff, and covered with 
 clotted gore; I felt that he was dead — I 
 shrieked not — I spoke not — I knew nothing 
 more that passed then, nor for months ! 
 
 " I recollect waking as from a long and 
 frightful dream, and seeing my beloved mother 
 seated by my bed ; I softly whispered ' Mo- 
 ther, dearest mother !' and in an instant felt 
 her warm embrace, whilst her tears fell upon 
 my cheeks. ^ Thank God, my child knows 
 me once more !' she said, whilst in murmuring 
 accents I replied, ' Knows you ! — could I ever 
 forget you V 
 
 "At this moment Dr. Moffatt entered, and 
 feeling my pulse, begged that I might be kept 
 perfectly quiet. I felt no inclination to talk, 
 but lay for some hours in a kind of half slum-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 159 
 
 ber. At lengtli I endeavoured to recal the past 
 to my mind, but all seemed confusion ; nothing 
 could I remember distinctly, until in one mo- 
 ment the horrid sight I had beheld, and which 
 had deprived me of my senses, returned in all 
 its vivid colouring to my memory ; — I thought I 
 again beheld it, and shrieking aloud, ' Beau- 
 mont, my beloved Beaumont, who hath done 
 this foul deed V I once more lost all recollec- 
 tion. My delirium returned with violence, and 
 my parents' newly-awakened hopes were dashed 
 to the ground. 
 
 P '' In a few days I again had a lucid interval, and 
 thus I continued for two or three weeks, occasion- 
 ally delirious, but at other times knowing those 
 around me ; each fit of delirium becoming shorter 
 and less violent than the preceding one, until I 
 sank into a state of calm and melancholy abstrac- 
 tion, apparently insensible to all that passed 
 around me. By degrees, however, I evinced a 
 sense of affectionate gratitude towards my friends 
 and appeared as if wishful to recall something 
 to my remembrance, without having the power 
 to do so. I remember that when I endeavoured
 
 160 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 to collect and arrange my thoughts^ they seemed 
 to be in a state of complete chaos, for an instant 
 some horrible phantasmagoria of I knew not 
 what appeared to my mind's eye, but ere I 
 could ascertain its nature it was obliterated, and 
 another supplied its place ; at length, however, 
 jny ideas began to gain a more distinct form, 
 though not sufficiently so to admit of my ex- 
 pressing their nature. I was aware that my 
 senses had fled their seat, and I was fearful that 
 I had not then sufficiently regained them to be 
 able to make my feelings understood, I there- 
 fore remained apparently deep in thought, and 
 entirely silent. On one occasion my mother 
 ventured to speak to me of Major Beaumont; 
 I started at his name — he appeared to my me- 
 mory in an instant as I first beheld him, and as 
 quickly was that figure replaced by his bleeding 
 corpse ; I shuddered, and placed my hands over 
 my face — I looked up, and every trace of him 
 had escaped my memory. I once more sunk 
 into a state of listless inattention to all that 
 was said around — ^yet I now recall those mo- 
 jnents and ideas to my mind in their most vivid
 
 THE HEIRESS. 161 
 
 colours. How to account for this I know not, 
 but so it is. 
 
 At length, in the hope of rousing me from 
 the alarming state into which I had fallen, a 
 fearful experiment was decided upon. I was 
 led one day into my boudoir — that room in 
 which were placed so many elegancies received 
 by me from various friends, on account of my 
 intended marriage. The portraits of my father 
 and mother were removed, and those of Major 
 Beaumont and myself substituted. I took no 
 notice of any thing around ; I was seated on a 
 couch, opposite the pictures, but fixing my eyes 
 upon the carpet, I appeared lost in my own 
 melancholy reveries. At length Miss JollifFe 
 addressed my mother; my own name, united 
 with that of a likeness caught my ear; and 
 looking at the speaker, I involuntarily turned 
 my eyes in the direction of hers, when I saw 
 what I believed to be the real living Beaumont, 
 my affianced husband, before me ! With a 
 loud shriek I sprung forward, but ere I reached 
 the poitrait I should have fallen to the ground, 
 had not Dr. Moffatt caught me in his arms.
 
 162 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 I was seized with strong convulsive affections, 
 and my life was again despaired of; but though 
 my bodily strength seemed fast declining, my 
 reason, through the blessing of divine Provi- 
 dence, gradually regained its power, and when 
 a favourable turn took place in the nature of 
 my complaint, my mind still continued slowly 
 to improve, so that by the time I was out of 
 danger, it had nearly recovered its tone. I now 
 begged to be informed of all that had transpired 
 relative to the murder of my beloved Beaumont, 
 for that I had beheld his murdered body I had 
 a perfect recollection. To my utter surprise 
 I found that eight months had elapsed since 
 that day so fatal to my every hope of happi- 
 ness. By degrees only was I informed of all 
 that had occurred. 
 
 ^^ When my father found that Major Beaumont 
 was actually dead, and that I was insensible, 
 }iis and my mother's distresses were beyond ex- 
 pression. In vain was I bled and blistered ; I 
 remained in utter unconsciousness of all around 
 me, whilst alternately seized with fits of violent 
 deUrium or gloomy silence. An inquest had
 
 THE HEIRESS. 163 
 
 been held upon the remains of my murdered 
 Beaumont-^for murdered I firmly believed him 
 to be, although appearances were such that, 
 added to the evidence of his valet, the verdict 
 given was, that he had committed suicide in a 
 temporary fit of insanity. The evidence of the 
 valet stated that his master was frequently sub- 
 ject to fits of melancholy, of which he alone 
 was aware ; since ere he went into company he 
 generally removed every trace of it by a large 
 dose of laudanum; that latterly he had more 
 than once entered the room, and seen him 
 wringing his hands in bitter agony, and calling 
 out to heaven to forgive him, wishing he had 
 never known his beloved Maiy, or known her 
 earlier. 
 
 " Added to this extraordinary evidence, was 
 one still strono:er — that of a note found on 
 his person, and addressed to me, accusing him- 
 self in the most energetic, though somewhat in- 
 coherent terms, with criminality, in having dared 
 to propose himself to me as a lover ; he having 
 been privately married to a lovely young girl 
 when in Ireland several years before; but that
 
 J 64 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 as she knew him not by his own name, she 
 could not make any claim ; yet feeling as he 
 did, that m the eye of heaven she was his wife, 
 his misery was almost too great to be borne, for 
 whilst honour bade him renounce me, love over- 
 powered every virtuous resolution, and chained 
 him in adamantine fetters to his criminal en- 
 gagement with me. The hours spent out of my 
 society, he said, were those of a miserable wretch, 
 ever fearful that some discovery, though from 
 what source he could not divine, would yet dash 
 the cup of happiness from his lips. ' Thus,' he 
 continued, 'I have struggled on from hour to 
 hour, from day to day, unsuspected by any one ; 
 and to-morrow, the prize which is dearer to me 
 than all the world contains may be mine — may 
 be — shall I dare to defile the purity of one so 
 nearly allied to an angel as Mary Elmwood ? — 
 No — the goal which I have looked to as the 
 summit of earthly bliss is at hand, but con- 
 science arrests my further progress. I dare not 
 proceed one step more. Mary, I cannot live and 
 resign you — therefore I die. When you receive 
 this I shall be no more — pity and forgive me !'
 
 THE HEIRESS. 165 
 
 " Such, at length, I was informed was the 
 purport of the letter addressed to me. It was 
 by degrees only that I heard all the circum- 
 stances I have related ; but when I had done 
 so, I demanded to see the letter — it was given 
 to me by my father. With tearful eyes and 
 trembling hands, I beheld the well-known cha- 
 racters of my affianced husband. Although 
 convinced in my own mind that some extraor- 
 dinary plan had been laid, and, alas ! but too 
 successfully, for causing my beloved Beaumont 
 to be supposed guilty of suicide ; yet when I 
 held the letter, addressed to myself, in my 
 hands, I could not but admit that the writing 
 seemed to be his, but still it only seemed so. 
 ' Did you,' said I to my parents, ' believe the 
 tale this letter tells V ' Could we do otherwise, 
 my dearest Mary; no motive could be assigned 
 for any one else committing so dreadful a crime ; 
 the unfortunate young man appeared to have no 
 enemy but himself; and as his watch and purse 
 were found upon him, plunder was not the in- 
 ducement. A pistol, his own pistol, evidently 
 recently discharged, was lying close to him —
 
 166 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 4 
 
 the evidence, my Mary, was quite complete 
 even without that of his present as well as former 
 valet, who gave additional information as to the 
 state of his mind/ Until that moment I had 
 sat comparatively calm and tranquil, but then 
 starting wildly from my seat, I exclaimed, ' Oh, 
 Beaumont — loved — murdered Beaumont ! — why 
 was she who alone would have braved the world 
 in defence of your character, deprived of her 
 senses at such a time V 
 
 " My parents and Miss JoUiffe seeing the 
 state of excitement I was in, were once more 
 alarmed for my intellects ; but telling them I 
 was in full possession of my faculties, I added, 
 ' This letter,' holding it in my hand, ' is a for- 
 gery, so cunningly performed, that no eye but 
 mine could have discerned it ; but that it is a 
 forgery, I would pledge my life. That being 
 admitted, the rest is plain ; though who could 
 have committed so fearful a crime, and for what 
 purpose, is yet to be discovered.' I perceived 
 that my friends thought I was deceiving myself, 
 though conceiving that such a belief might 
 lessen the weight of misery which overwhelmed
 
 THE HEIRESS. 167 
 
 me, they did not attempt to remove it. Although 
 on first looking at the letter addressed to me, I 
 had for a moment suspected it to be written by 
 Major Beaumont, from the strong resemblance 
 it bore to his writing, yet on comparing it with 
 various letters of his, I discovered such trivial 
 differences as more fully confirmed me in the 
 belief of its being a forgery. I endeavoured to 
 bring others to the same conviction; but my 
 father, I saw, attributed these differences to the 
 state of mind in which the last letter was written, 
 rather than to any other cause ; and Miss Jol- 
 lifFe, though inclined to the same opinion as 
 myself, doubted, because she could see no cause 
 for the commission of murder, since his death 
 could benefit no one, and his life had been such, 
 she believed, as to leave him without an enemy. 
 To this I fully assented, but it shook not the 
 conviction of my own mind ; and I inwardly de- 
 termined from that period to devote my time 
 and thoughts to the discovery of the murderer, 
 and the restoration of Major Beaumont's cha- 
 racter. My health and spirits were both fled, 
 I believed, for ever; and my understanding.
 
 168 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 though rapidly recovering its tone, was yet not 
 restored to that strength which would enable 
 me to cope with the prejudice of the world, with 
 no other evidence in favour of my opinion than 
 my own conviction that the letter was forged. 
 On inquiry, I found that my lamented Beau- 
 mont's valet had quitted England immediately 
 after his master's funeral, though to what part 
 of the continent he had gone no one knew. 
 Under these circumstances, I deteimined to in- 
 stitute no further immediate inquiries into the 
 particulars attending his mysterious death ; but 
 at the same time inwardly to note every word 
 or look that should appear calculated to throw 
 any light upon the subject. But although I 
 spoke not upon it, so entirely did this melan- 
 choly topic occupy my thoughts, that I became 
 more abstracted than before. 
 
 "Months rolled on, and still I showed no 
 symptom of returning interest in any thing 
 around me ; consequently, my parents strongly 
 urged me to consent to, what they had fre- 
 quently proposed, a tour of some length, in the 
 hope that change of scene might prove advan-?
 
 THE HEIRESS. 169 
 
 tageous to my health and spirits. I had 
 hitherto shown so strong a repugnance to the 
 idea of quitting Elmwood (since I had believed 
 that there I should eventually find a clue to the 
 murderer of my betrothed Beaumont), that my 
 mother was most agreeably surprised by my 
 quiet acquiescence in her repeated wish to that 
 effect; but time and place seemed now to be- 
 come indifferent to me, for I met with no cir- 
 cumstance to lead to such a discovery as I 
 looked for ; but although I assented to the desire 
 of my parents, it Itvas with a conviction that I 
 had ^ that within* which would preclude the 
 possibility of improved health or spirits. 
 
 "After quitting Elmwood, we visited various 
 parts of England and Wales, remaining nearly 
 twelve months from home. On our return, I 
 resumed my old habit of wandering alone in the 
 precincts of that spot in which the body of my 
 beloved Beaumont had been found ; where in 
 vain I ruminated on every possible circumstance 
 which could have led to so lamentable a catas- 
 trophe. A kind of indistinct suspicion had at 
 times arisen in my mind of one individual j but as I 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 170 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 could assign no sufficient cause for such an idea, 
 I confined it within the limits of my own bosom. 
 Were I to have hinted it to any one, I should 
 have feared that my intellects might still have 
 been thought to wander — indeed, there were 
 moments when I apprehended such to be the 
 case myself, and endeavoured to chase the sus- 
 picion from my mind, as if it were suggested by 
 some fiend. Wrapped up in my own melan- 
 choly musings, and in forming plans for suc- 
 ceeding in the great object of my anxiety, I 
 perceived not the change which had taken place 
 in my mother's health. My sorrow had been 
 too selfish to note that of those around me, until 
 roused to observation by a remark of Miss 
 Jolliffe's on my mother's altered appearance. I 
 looked at her with awakened interest, and be- 
 held with alarm that form which, when in health 
 .was finely rounded, now attenuated by anxiety 
 and sorrow. Her hollow cheeks appeared flushed 
 with fever; never a strong constitution, my be- 
 loved mother had been unable to bear up against 
 the afflictions with which she was beset ; the 
 'dreadful event which had so long bereaved me 
 I
 
 THE HEIRESS. 171 
 
 of my senses, and the state of melancholy in 
 which I remained after their restoration, had 
 quite overpowered her; and unable longer to 
 contend with her sorrows, her health and spirits 
 appeared equally to sink under them. Two 
 years had passed since that fearful day, which 
 had seen the destruction of my happiness, when 
 I first observed the change in my mother's ap- 
 pearance. From that moment I resolved to be- 
 come a new creature ; throwing myself into her 
 arms, I besought her forgiveness for the selfish- 
 ness I had evinced in cherishing my own grief 
 to the destruction of her health and happiness. 
 I promised to exert myself to endeavour to 
 make her and my father happy, and to show 
 a sense of gratitude to the Almighty for the 
 blessings with which I was still suiTounded. 
 My mother, with tears of joy, blessed me; and 
 assured me, that could she see me once more 
 restored to tranquillity she should be quite 
 well. 
 
 " I adhered to the resolution I had formed, 
 and though, when in my own chamber, I still 
 indulged in melancholy reveries, I became with 
 i2
 
 172 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 my family once more a tolerably cheerful com- 
 panion. At the request of my father, I agreed to 
 enter into the society of our own friends, when 
 they visited Elmwood, though I begged to be ex- 
 cused going out. Satisfied with this concession 
 on my part, Elmwood once more became the 
 hospitable resort of our various connexions and 
 friends. It was indeed a painful effort for me 
 to enter again into society, but I was rewarded 
 for it by perceiving how much I gratified my 
 dearest parents, who, seeing their daughter 
 comparatively happy and cheerful, guessed 
 not the hours she still spent in weeping. 
 
 " Lord Wilton was among the first to visit 
 Elmwood, when its doors were again opened to 
 our friends. My father appeared more attached 
 to him than ever, and my mother frequently 
 observed that he was one of the few men whose 
 agreeable qualities increased rather than dimi- 
 nished with their years. Indeed I could not 
 be surprised that they were daily more and 
 more pleased with him, since in addition to his 
 varied talents and elegant manners, was an 
 attention to their wishes and deference to theii
 
 THE HEIRESS. 173 
 
 opinions, peculiarly calculated to win upon any- 
 one. To me, Lord Wilton was properly atten- 
 tive, although never obtrusively so ; I had no 
 opportunity of being particularly cold or dis- 
 tant towards him, because he shewed me no 
 attention beyond what I might ' claim as 
 daughter of the master of the mansion; but 
 notwithstanding I admitted his agreeable quali- 
 ties, I felt an inward repugnance towards his 
 society, for which it would have been difficult 
 for me to account. 
 
 "Thus some months of comparative comfort 
 were passed by my father and mother, nay, 
 even by myself, until we were all again thrown 
 into a state of the greatest grief, by my dear 
 mother having taken a severe cold, which set- 
 tled upon her chest, and, in a few days, deprived 
 her of life, and me of the best and tenderest of 
 parents. 
 
 " I must drop a veil over the sufferings of 
 my father and self : they were deep and violent, 
 but, through the mercy of Providence, and the 
 unceasing kindness and sympathy of Miss Jol-
 
 174 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 liffe, I was enabled to bear up under this severe 
 stroke, and in some degree to console my re- 
 maining parent. Once more we left Elmwood, 
 and in change of scene derived as much benefit 
 as we could expect. After an absence of six 
 months we returned to our home, where we 
 deeply felt the loss we had sustained. 
 
 ''We were visited by various friends and 
 connexions, but Lord Wilton alone seemed 
 endued with power to amuse or interest my 
 father. Seeing of how much service his society 
 was, and that his presence never failed to throw 
 a gleam of pleasure over the countenance of my 
 parent, I always rejoiced in his visits, although 
 I still felt an inward dislike to him, which 
 neither his fascinating manners, nor amusing 
 conversation could overcome ,* but as on my 
 father's account I did not hesitate expressing 
 myself pleased with his visits, no one was aware 
 how far they were from agreeable to myself. 
 
 " I was shocked to see the alteration, which, 
 during a short period, had taken place in my 
 father ; he was become a prematurely old man,
 
 THE HEIRESS. 175 
 
 and I could not look at him without an appre- 
 hension that I should ere long be without a 
 parent. 
 
 " One day I was seated beside him, while he 
 was occupied in writing ; when he had con- 
 cluded, he arose, and kissing my cheek, ad- 
 dressed me as follows. 'My dearest Mary, 
 more than three years have elapsed since you 
 were deprived of your destined husband, you 
 have mourned his loss long and deeply; we 
 have since sustained ^ severe trial in the death 
 of your inestimable mother, and I, my beloved 
 child, feel that I am following her rapidly to 
 the grave. Weep not for me, my love ! on ' 
 your account alone do I regret the state of my 
 health ; and could I but have the gratification 
 of leaving you under the care and protection of 
 a worthy husband, I feel that I could die, not 
 only contented, but grateful for my release. To 
 leave you alone and unprotected, will, I own, 
 cause death to be appalling to me. For my 
 sake then, dearest Maiy, if not for your own, 
 let me entreat you to make one of the many 
 men who love you happy, ere I die.' Sobbing
 
 176 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 as I threw my arms around his neck, I repUed, 
 ' Happy, dearest father ! Can marrying one 
 so utterly heartless, spiritless, and miserable 
 as myself, contribute to the happiness of any 
 one? Oh! no, no — it cannot be ! Suffer me 
 to devote every thought, every moment of my 
 life, towards your comfort, and perhaps, by my 
 unceasing efforts, your health may be restored ; 
 or if unhappily that should not be the case, I 
 will pray to the sovereign disposer of all human 
 events, to remove me with you.' 
 
 " ' Mary,' replied my father, mournfully, ^ I 
 shall never recover my health ; I wished not to 
 give you unnecessary pain, but the awful fiat is 
 passed; I have an inward complaint which I 
 know to be incurable, and which must very 
 soon be fatal. Nothing would tend to ease 
 my dying hours so much, as to leave you 
 under the protection of an honourable man. 
 There are many wdio love you, but none I 
 believe so constantly, so ardently, as Lord 
 Wilton/ 
 
 " ' Lord Wilton ! ' exclaimed 1, rousing from 
 my grief in utter astonishment ; * did he not say
 
 THE HEIRESS. 177 
 
 I had conferred a favour upon him in refusing 
 his proffered hand, since a diplomatist ought 
 not to think of marriage/ 
 
 " ' He did, my child ; but he has long since 
 confessed to me that such were not his real 
 feelings, though his love for you was so sin- 
 cere, and so utterly removed from selfishness, 
 that when he found you were attached to 
 another, he assumed that satisfaction at the 
 result, to prevent any obstacle on my part, 
 as he knew how much I had wished his union 
 with you.' 
 
 " ' My dear father, it grieves me deeply to 
 refuse any wish of yours, but indeed I cannot 
 marry ; I never more can love any one.' 
 
 " ' So you now believe, my child, but I trust 
 it will prove otherwise ; all I at present request 
 of you, Mary, is not utterly to refuse acceding 
 to my entreaty — think upon what has passed, 
 recollect that you have the power of extracting 
 every thorn from the death-bed of a parent, 
 who loves you beyond expression.' Then ten- 
 derly kissing and pressing me in his arms, my 
 father quitted me. I indulged myself in a 
 i3
 
 178 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 violent flood of tears, in which state I was 
 found by Miss JolUffe, who eagerly inquired 
 the cause of my deep affliction. I relieved my 
 oppressed heart, by making her a participator 
 in my sorrows; when I found that she before 
 knew all of which I had been informed by 
 my father, and entirely agreed with him as to 
 the ehgibility of a union with Lord Wilton. 
 
 '^ ' Even should I survive my dear father,' 
 said I, ' surely whilst my brother lives I cannot 
 want a home or a protector.' — ' You forget, my 
 dear Mary,' replied Miss JoUiffe, ' that your 
 brother's wife is by no means calculated to 
 prove an agreeable companion for you now, 
 since her unbounded gaiety would be too great 
 a contrast to your present state of spirits ; this 
 alone would prevent his house proving a desirable 
 home ; and young, lovely, and rich, as you will 
 be, you will become a point of attraction to all 
 the single men in the kingdom; therefore, J 
 must acknowledge, I should rejoice to hear that 
 you would endeavour to conform to Mr. Elm- 
 wood's wish.' 
 
 " Finding that Miss Jolliffe was inclined to
 
 THE HEIRESS. 179 
 
 espouse my father's cause so strongly, I dropped 
 the painful subject, and retired to revolve ia 
 my own room all that had passed. From this 
 period, my father and Miss Jolliffe availed 
 themselves of eveiy opportunity of prosecuting 
 the plan they had in view, by presenting Lord 
 Wilton in his most favourable points before me. 
 But where alone I was vulnerable, was the 
 declining health and spirits of my beloved 
 parent; I saw that he would indeed be torn 
 from me ere long ; he had told me that I could 
 make the bed of death easy to him, and I had 
 refused to do so ! I prayed for assistance, for 
 support from above, and I arose from my knees 
 resolved to sacrifice my own feelings and 
 wishes, if by so doing I could make my father 
 happy. Fearful lest my resolution should fail, 
 I flew to him, and throwing myself into his 
 arms, I said that I had determined to endeavour 
 to obey his wish of seeing me married to Lord 
 Wilton; but that I must be allowed three 
 months to bring my mind into a proper train 
 for receiving his addresses ; at the expiration of 
 which time, should I not have succeeded, I
 
 180 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 must be allowed to decline them ; but should I, 
 on the contrary, be enabled to school myself 
 into the idea of becoming a wife, preparations 
 might immediately be made for our nuptials. 
 " With tears of joy my dear father thanked me 
 for the sacrifice I was making of my own feel- 
 ings to his wishes, and pressing me in his arms, 
 invoked blessings on my head. Lord Wilton, 
 who was told of the hope I had held out, re- 
 quested to be allowed to thank me for it. I 
 received him alone — he advanced towards me 
 with rapture in his countenance — I allowed 
 him to touch my hand with his lips, although 
 an involuntaiy shudder passed through my 
 frame as he did so ; I then drew it calmly from 
 him, and interrupting his thanks, said, ' Hold, 
 my lord, no gratitude is due to me from you; 
 I have promised, in conformity with the wishes 
 of my father, to endeavour to bring my feelings 
 into such subjection, as may enable me to re- 
 ceive you as my future husband.' — T again 
 shuddered as I uttered these words — ' If I suc- 
 ceed, I promise your Lordship to do my duty to 
 the best of my ability, but my aflfections are
 
 TBfiJ HEIRESS. 181 
 
 buried in the grave of — I could not utter the 
 name, it seemed to be profanation to do so in 
 the presence of another admirer; hesitating a 
 moment, I proceeded, ' I never can love again, 
 esteem is all I dare give you reason to expect, 
 even should I be able to decide in favour of 
 your suit ; if, on the contrary, I find at the 
 termination of the stipulated three months, that 
 my stubborn heart cannot be brought into the 
 necessary subjection, your lordship must con- 
 sider me totally at liberty ; on these terms I 
 consent to our meeting as often as may be 
 agreeable to you to come to Elmwood, but 
 from this day, until three months are expired, 
 no word or look expressive of more than 
 common friendship and civility, must pass be- 
 tween us.' 
 
 " As I spoke, an air of mortification and 
 disappointment was visible in his lordship, 
 but quickly rallying, he thanked me in the 
 most energetic language, for my condescension 
 and kindness ; assuring me he lived but for me, 
 and should be the happiest of human beings, if 
 eventually I should honour him with my hand ; 
 satisfied with my esteem he should claim no
 
 182 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 warmer feeling on my part. These prelimi- 
 naries being arranged, I rose to quit the apart- 
 ment, when he again offered to take my hand ; * 
 but drawing back, I begged to be excused from 
 receiving any testimonials of affection, beyond 
 those of any other visitor at the house. His 
 lordship, biting his nether lip, then coldly 
 bowed, and opening the door I left him. What 
 an interview between two lovers ! Oh, no, no ! 
 we were not, we could not be lovers ! With an 
 almost bursting heart I flew to my room, when, 
 shutting myself in, I gave way to my over- 
 charged feelings in a flood of tears. 
 
 The sacrifice I purposed making of my own 
 feelings would be perfectly unavailing, I knew, 
 unless I was enabled to hide the conflict I en- 
 dured from my dearest father. I therefore 
 assumed as cheerful a demeanour as it was pos- 
 sible for me to do, and spent less time alone 
 than had been my wont, for in these hours only 
 I could indulge in mental retrospection, on the 
 many virtues of my murdered lover ; now those 
 very virtues seemed to reproach me for the line 
 of conduct which filial affection had induced 
 me to adopt. Instead of sitting for hours me-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 183 
 
 dilating on one subject, I became so restless 
 as rarely to remain five minutes stationary. 
 Worlds would I have given, had I possessed 
 them, to make my father*s last moments easy ; 
 but I shrunk from an engagement with Lord 
 Wilton, with a feeling of disgust almost 
 amounting to horror. To relieve me from his 
 presence, and likewise to amuse my mind, I 
 proposed that the time which must intervene 
 ere my decision was positively made, should be 
 passed in travelling ; to this proposition my 
 father readily assented, though ere that period 
 had elapsed, he expressed a wish to return 
 home. His rapidly-changing appearance alarm- 
 ed Miss Jolliffe and myself. There was indeed 
 cause for apprehension, as the disease, from 
 which he had been suffering during many 
 months, soon terminated fatally. A very few- 
 days after our arrival at Elmwood, my beloved 
 parent expired in my arms; he died happy, in 
 the belief, than an union would take place 
 between Lord Wilton and myself, and invoking 
 blessings on my head. At that period I was 
 truly thankful that I had assented to his wishes.
 
 184 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 In seeing him resign his breath in perfect confi- 
 dence of his daughter's future comfort, I was 
 fully rewarded for the sacrifice I purposed 
 making ; for at that moment I inwardly resolved 
 that no indulgence of my own wayward heart, 
 should cause me to act contrary to his ardent 
 wish. 
 
 "Although so long led to expect a fatal ter- 
 mination to my father's illness, when the blow 
 which deprived me of my last parent arrived, I 
 nearly sunk under the stroke. I was for some 
 weeks confined to my bed ; Lord Wilton had 
 been sent for at my father's desire, but although 
 he set out instantly, he arrived too late to have 
 an interview with his friend, I requested to 
 be excused seeing him at that time, and as I 
 was afterwards so extremely ill, it was impossi- 
 ble for me to do so. Until assured my health 
 was in an improving state, his Lordship re- 
 mained in the neighbourhood; but upon my 
 being declared out of danger, he begged Miss 
 Jolliffe to entreat me to see him for a few 
 minutes, ere he returned to town, where his 
 diplomatic situation made it requisite he should
 
 THE HEIRESS. 185 
 
 be. I assured Miss JollifFe I was quite unable 
 to see him, and requested that he would be ge- 
 nerous enough not to ask me to do so, until 
 three months from my fathers death, at the 
 expiration of which time I should be prepared 
 to receive him as my future husband, should 
 he still wish for the hand of one who had no 
 heart to give. Miss Jolliffe told me that he 
 appeared deeply disappointed, when she in- 
 formed him that I declined seeing him, but on 
 the delivery of the remainder of the message, he 
 had expressed the most unqualified gratitude 
 and delight, since it was the first time I had 
 allowed myself to be considered under an en- 
 gagement to him ; all I had before held out to 
 him being merely a distant hope that such 
 might eventually be the case. He requested 
 permission to correspond with me, which I 
 thought that I could not refuse under present 
 circumstances. 
 
 "That very day, Lord Wilton set out for 
 town, and I instantaneously felt as if a load 
 was removed from my oppressed heart. I 
 was soon able to wander once more through
 
 186 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 those rooms which were become so sohtary and 
 mournful, and where formerly cheerful and 
 affectionate countenances gleamed on me where- 
 ever I passed. If I accidentally encountered 
 any of the old servants, the stealthy step and 
 mournful look reminded me, if I could otherwise 
 have forgotten it, that I alone remained of that 
 once cheerful, happy family. Lord Wilton's 
 letters were written with an apparent delicacy 
 of feeling towards me, which was peculiarly 
 pleasing — his style was nervous, yet elegant — 
 an affectionate respect and deference were visi- 
 ble in every line, which would have ensured 
 him the gratitude, if not affection, of any woman 
 but myself. Whilst I admitted all this, I still 
 felt that inward repugnance towards him, which 
 I vainly attempted to account for, or to combat. 
 '* Too soon the time elapsed which I had fixed 
 should expire ere our meeting. I received a 
 letter from him assuring me of the delight with 
 which he anticipated seeing me the following 
 day. Far from participating in that pleasure, 
 I retired to weep in my own apartment — to read 
 for the last time the letters of my lamented
 
 THE HEIRESS. 187 
 
 Beaumont — to revolve in my mind all the 
 events of that dreadful day which had so 
 awfully separated us — and then endeavour, as 
 far as might be possible, to erase them from 
 my memory. 
 
 " After a day thus spent, it was natural that 
 my night should be more disturbed than usual. 
 Having made many ineffectual efforts to sleep, 
 I arose, paced my chamber, again read that 
 letter found on the person of Beaumont ; as I 
 read, my eye for the first time fancied a resem* 
 blance between some of the characters and the 
 band of Lord Wilton — for an instant an over- 
 powering sickness came o'er me — I exerted 
 every nerve to rouse from this state, and with 
 success ; but, on again examining the writing, 
 the resemblance, if there were any, appeared 
 even to my morbid feelings, too trifling to 
 admit of notice. I retired once more to bed, 
 and towards morning fell into a confused slum- 
 ber, in which I beheld myself in a splendid 
 apartment, attired in bridal array. My father 
 and mother, with many friends, were standing 
 around me — my parents were in all that matu- 
 rity of health and beauty which had adorned
 
 188 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 them a few years before. The Bishop of 
 
 stood at a table, with an open book before him. 
 'Where/ said my father, 'is the bridegroom?* 
 
 " At this instant^ Lord Wilton, w^hom I had not 
 before seen, advanced, and taking my hand, 
 whilst I recoiled from his touch, he led me 
 towards the altar, when a hollow voice whis- 
 pered in my ear, ' Wed not that man, he is a 
 murderer!' I turned in dismay, but saw no 
 one. I attempted to disengage my hand (which 
 Lord^ Wilton forcibly detained), but all my 
 efforts were unavailing. The ceremony pro- 
 ceeded, and we were declared man and wife. 
 Lord Wilton led me towards my parents, when 
 a ghastly figure inteivened, and pointing towards 
 his lordship, in the voice of Beaumont, ex- 
 claimed, ' Is this thy love, Mary ? Dost thou 
 wed my murderer V In vain did I attempt to 
 speak or move, my feet were rooted to the 
 floor, my tongue clove to my mouth with hor- 
 ror. 
 
 " At length I "awoke — my forehead was be- 
 dewed with cold drops of agony — the circula- 
 tion was nearly stopped in my veins — I knew 
 it was but a dream, but for kingdoms I would
 
 THE HEIRESS. I89 
 
 not thus have dreamt again. I arose, pale, 
 agitated, miserable. My dream was easily ac- 
 comited for, by the previous state of my mind ; 
 yet the impression it made upon me was so 
 deep that I could scarcely shake off the con- 
 viction that it was meant to warn me from 
 marrying Lord Wilton. Thus do our own ex- 
 cited feelings frequently lead us to form ideas 
 of supernatural agency, when the events, which 
 appear in our dreams to have occurred, may 
 almost always be traced to a train of thoughts 
 which has preceded them. 
 
 " I determined, at length, to unbosom my- 
 self to Miss JoUiffe. When I did so, she 
 listened to me with grief, almost amounting 
 to horror; not that for an instant she sus- 
 pected Lord Wilton of criminality, but that 
 I should have accepted his addresses whilst 
 such suspicions had a place in my breast. 
 In vain I asserted that I did not really suspect 
 him of committing so horrible a crime, but that 
 at times these and other wayward fancies still 
 came o'er me, and were, I doubted not, the 
 effect of a mind weakened by former suffering.
 
 190 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Miss JollifFe mournfully shook her head, and 
 said, * Whatever the cause may be, dearest 
 Mary, while subject to these nervous fancies, 
 you must not think of marrying Lord Wilton. 
 Deeply do I now regret that I ever urged your 
 acceptance of his proposals, which I was in- 
 duced to do from the high opinion I have al- 
 ways entertained of his lordship's character, 
 and the consequent conviction that an union 
 with him would eventually tend as much to 
 your own happiness, as towards soothing the 
 last hours of your excellent father ; but since I 
 now find that you have a decided repugnance 
 to Lord Wilton, instead of what I beheved to 
 be merely that indifference which was the natu- 
 ral consequence of your sad bereavement ; I 
 feel it my duty to urge you instantly to put a 
 stop to the hope he has formed of your ever 
 becoming his. Do not delay writing to him, I 
 entreat you, and assure him of the impossibility 
 of bringing your feelings into that calm and 
 tranquil state which is requisite to enable you 
 to perfoim your duty as his wife.' 
 
 " To this I replied, * I purpose seeing Lord
 
 THE HEIRESS. 191 
 
 Wilton, and personally explaining the state of 
 my mind/ I spoke with determination, but I 
 did not explain to Miss Jolliffe the wild and 
 romantic plan which had suggested itself to 
 my (I am now inclined to think) still some- 
 what distempered imagination. I immedi- 
 ately gave orders that Lord Wilton should, 
 on his arrival at Elmwood, be shewn into my 
 boudoir. This was a room which I never my- 
 self entered, unless from a wish to indulge in 
 melancholy recollections, and into which no 
 stranger had been admitted since the death of 
 Major Beaumont. Miss Jolliffe uttered an ex- 
 clamation of surprise, but observing, no doubt, 
 the unusually excited state of my feelings, 
 offered no opposition to my wishes. 
 
 " When his lordship was announced, he ap- 
 peared to be suffering a momentary emotion of 
 sorrow for the loss of that friend who had never 
 ceased to regard him with affection, but this 
 was rapidly displaced by the pleasure he seemed 
 to experience at again beholding me : he ex- 
 pressed the most lively gratification at seeing 
 »me look so well. I do not doubt my cheeks
 
 192 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 were flushed, and my eyes sparkling from the 
 state of excitement in which I then was, 
 
 " Without replying I involuntarily glanced 
 my eyes upon that portrait which had been 
 taken ere I had known illness or sorrow ; his 
 lordship's took the same direction, and in so 
 doing, encountered the resemblance of Major 
 Beaumont ; he instantly became pale as death 
 — his lips trembled, and his v.hole frame seemed 
 to shake with agitation. ' Are you ill, my 
 lord?' I asked with some difficulty ; when, by 
 a violent effort he appeared to overcome his 
 emotion, and saying that he was somewhat op- 
 . pressed by the heat, withdrew to the window. 
 In a few moments he resumed his seat, sedu- 
 lously turning from the pictures. ' That por- 
 trait at which you were looking,' said I, trem- 
 bling with agitation, ' is very like Major Beau- 
 mont; does not your lordship think so V With 
 extreme difficulty I uttered the words ; it was 
 the first time since the dreadful deed was done 
 that I had mentioned that name in Lord Wil- 
 ton's presence. ' Extremely !' he replied, but 
 without again glancing his eye towards it. * I
 
 THE HEIRESS. 193 
 
 have a small portrait, still more strongly re- 
 sembling him/ said I, opening a portefeuilk, 
 and placing before him with trembling hands, 
 a sketch of my beloved Beaumont, as I had 
 been told he was found lying in the glen, of 
 which I had taken a correct view, and I had 
 that morning added the slight outline of the 
 figure of a man retreating through the under- 
 wood with seemingly stealthy steps. ' This,' 
 said I, almost choking with emotion, ' is the 
 unfortunate murdered Beaumont.' Lord Wil- 
 ton's eyes seemed glued to the paper — his fea- 
 tures appeared almost convulsed with horror, 
 whilst his varying colour and clenched hands 
 shewed still more the intensity of his internal 
 agony. ' Murdered ! — Miss Elmwood ? ' at 
 length he murmured, in low and hollow tones. 
 'Yes, murdered! — baselj/, foully murdered i^ 
 As I spoke these words he started forward, 
 staggered two or three paces, and whilst a deep 
 groan burst from his bosom, rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 " Overpowered by the excitement of my own 
 overwrought feelings, and by the conviction that 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 the murderer was at length made manifest, I 
 fell into violent hysterics, from which my deeply 
 sympathising friend could not recover me until 
 some hours had elapsed. Then, though weak 
 and enervated, I became comparatively com- 
 posed and tranquil, and looked upon the ex- 
 traordinary exertions I had made, and the agi- 
 tating scene that had passed, as a painful 
 dream ; but Miss JollifFe soon assured me of 
 its reality, by saying, < That Lord Wilton is in 
 some way implicated in the death of our la- 
 mented friend, after what has taken place, I 
 can no longer doubt; — how grateful, my dearest 
 Mary, ought we to be to a kind Providence, 
 for having discovered the criminal, and for in- 
 spiring you with such a repugnance tov/ards a 
 man so generally admired and esteemed, as to 
 prevent the fulfilment of your engagement : this 
 is surely an interposition of heaven itself, to 
 expose guilt and protect innocence.' 
 
 ^' Although, in our opinions, it was most 
 plainly manifest that Lord Wilton had either 
 committed the direful crime of murder, or excited 
 some other person to do so ; we had no evidence
 
 THE HEIRESS. 195 
 
 to bring forward that could possibly convict 
 him. To accuse a man of bis high rank and 
 unblemished character, on suspicion only, was 
 out of the question. We knew not what steps 
 to pursue. At one moment I proposed sending 
 express for my brother, but I hesitated doing 
 so, because I knew him to be so plain a matter- 
 of-fact person, without a particle of romance, 
 imagination, or even suspicion in his disposition, 
 that he would most probably attribute the 
 whole chain of evidence which we had to sub-- 
 mit to him, to the whims and fantasies of my 
 morbid state of nerves ; or if he gave any cre- 
 dence to our account of Lord Wilton's extra- 
 ordinary conduct he would say it arose from 
 mortified pride and affection, at seeing himself 
 suspected of such fearful guilt by a woman 
 whom he had so long ardently loved. Thus I 
 believed my brother (who is unwilling to admit 
 the criminality, even of those acts which are 
 committed before his eyes, and anxious rather 
 to accuse himself of misconception than others 
 of error) would reason. Miss Jolliffe felt un- 
 equal to advise in such an emergency ; for she 
 K 2
 
 196 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 admitted that though the impression on her own 
 mind of Lord Wilton's guilt was such as no 
 subsequent event could remove, she should not 
 be able to produce such evidence as would cause 
 the same conviction in any one who had not 
 seen him as she had done. Thus, unable to 
 determine upon any mode of proceeding, the 
 evening wore away. 
 
 " The following morning, at an early hour, 
 the dreadful tidings arrived that Lord Wilton 
 had destroyed himself! His lordship's stew^ard, 
 knowing the intimacy that subsisted between 
 the famihes, came to inform Miss Jolliffe of the 
 circumstance, and to deliver a letter addressed 
 to me. It appeared that immediately upon 
 quitting me the preceding day, he had rushed 
 to the stable, mcmnted his horse, and gallopped 
 home, where he instantly shut himself up in his 
 library, ordering no one to come near him until he 
 rung the bell : his man asked him if he would 
 dine at home, to which he replied in a voice of 
 thunder, ' No — begone !' Late in the evening his 
 old housekeeper ventured to the door to inquire 
 if he would not take any refreshment, when he
 
 THE HEIRESS. 197 
 
 told her to send some tea, but not again to dis- 
 turb him, as he had business which would oc- 
 cupy him all night. As this was not unusual 
 with him, the servants went to rest without any- 
 feeling of alanii ; but his valet, who slept in that 
 wing of the castle in which the library was situ- 
 ated, hearing a pistol-shot about five in the 
 morning, started up in afFiight, and proceeded 
 to his master's room, whom he found already 
 dead, with a recently-discharged pistol by his 
 side, and on the table a packet directed to me. 
 
 " I was much shocked at this dreadful termi- 
 nation to the existence of a man, whom during 
 the greatest part of my life I had been accus- 
 tomed to look up to with admiration and re- 
 spect ; and although, had he lived, my duty to 
 the memory of my ever-lamented Beaumont 
 would have led me to endeavour to convict him 
 of murder, yet that I should be, though unin- 
 tentionally, the cause of his rushing into the 
 presence of his Maker, with all his unrepented 
 crimes on his head, and, above all, that most 
 heinous one of suicide, overwhelmed me with
 
 198 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 horror and dismay. The letter addressed to me 
 by Lord Wilton was as follows : 
 
 '' ' When Miss Elmwood receives this, he who 
 writes it will be no more. I could commit crime, 
 but I cannot bear to be suspected of it, and will 
 not live to be stigmatized as a murderer ! You 
 are the beacon which has lighted me to destruc- 
 tion ! For your sake I became a criminal, and 
 yours is the hand which drives me to suicide ! 
 This is just — for I dashed the cup of happiness 
 nntasted from your lips. But, think you, I 
 have quaffed its contents myself? Oh, no ! — 
 when statesmen have listened enraptured to 
 what I uttered — when the roof of the senate- 
 house has shaken with the applause I received 
 — when the journals have burst forth almost 
 unanimously in eulogy of the gifted orator, who 
 was one day to become the saviour of his coun- 
 try — then did this admired and envied being 
 retire into his closet, and feel that he was in- 
 deed a wretch — a guilty, an accursed creature ! 
 Not a day — not an hour has passed since the
 
 THE HEIRESS. 190 
 
 commission of that fatal crime, in which I have 
 not trembled lest the first strange foot within 
 my walls should come to drag me to justice. 
 But I must not dilate on my feelings ; my time 
 is short, and therefore precious. To you I wish 
 to account for my conduct, ere I put a period to 
 that existence whic*li, had I never known you, 
 might have ended brilliantly, if not happily. 
 You are no doubt aware, that my acquaintance 
 with your father commenced at college ; he was 
 somewhat my senior, and bore so high a cha- 
 racter that his friendship was an honour to 
 those few who were fortunate enough to obtain 
 it. I took letters of introduction to him, and 
 finding it likely to be advantageous to me, I 
 endeavoured to gain his regard. 
 
 " ' From my earliest infancy I had trod the 
 paths of deceit. My father, himself a diplo- 
 matist, wished me to become one likewise, and 
 took great pains to teach me what he most ex- 
 celled in — to conceal my feelings : he could 
 look calm and tranquil whilst his heart writhed 
 with agony, or his temper was suffering from a 
 whirlwind of anger ; he taught me, in fact, not
 
 200 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 to subdue, but to conceal my passions. My 
 mother, too — elegant, insinuating, and gay — • 
 did her best towards making me an adept in 
 the art of deceit, by instructing me how to de- 
 ceive my father; and I thought I could not 
 more decidedly evince how much I had pro- 
 fited by their lessons, than l^y deceiving them 
 both. At Eton T pursued the wild career I had 
 commenced at home, but so cautiously did I 
 act, that few even suspected me. Many of my 
 most flagrant offences being committed under 
 borrowed names, I escaped detection, whilst 
 others received the punishment. I had natu- 
 rally a retentive memory, with considerable 
 clearness and quickness of perception. 1 not 
 only learnt with unusual facility, but retained 
 what I learnt ; consequently, when any of the 
 boys accused me of participating in some wild 
 exploit, they rarely gained credence, as the 
 tutors said my exercises were a convincing proof 
 that my time had not been mispent. Thus those 
 talents with which I was endowed were, even at 
 that early period of my life, productive of evil, 
 by enabling me to have too much unoccupied
 
 THE HEIRESS. 201 
 
 tiaie. When I went to college, I continued to 
 indulge in every species of dissipation and in- 
 trigue ; whilst so artfully did I conduct myself, 
 that I was universally considered a most exem- 
 plary character. 
 
 " ' My allowance was necessarily very small 
 for my rank, but I contrived by play with two 
 or three nch pai^venus, who, for their own sakes, 
 kept the transaction a secret, to increase my 
 funds. Notwithstanding this method of ob- 
 taining supplies, I was frequently in great want 
 of cash, as it was advisable that I should re- 
 strict my gains to such sums as were not likely 
 to be of importance to those of whom I won. 
 It so chanced that I had an object in view on 
 which to expend what, with my limited means, 
 was a considerable sum of money. I knew that 
 Elmwood was nearly of age, on which occasion 
 he would come into possession of a large pro- 
 perty ; and I determined to endeavour to prevail 
 upon him to play with me, if possible, and to 
 gain from him the sum I wanted — two hundred 
 pounds; taking care never again to attempt 
 leading him into a similar temptation, lest he 
 k3
 
 202 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 should be led to suspect the general propriety 
 of my conduct. 1 was in the habit of declining 
 every kind of play in company, and declaiming 
 against it, so that they of whom I had won 
 conceived that I had been induced to join them 
 in conformity with their wishes, rather than my 
 own ; whilst all others believed I never touched 
 a die, or even a card. In consequence of the 
 plan I had formed, I one day asked a few fiiends 
 to dine with me, one of whom was your father. 
 We drank more than usual — at least, ^Aey drank, 
 for under the plea of a headache, I took but little 
 wine. 
 
 My friends all retired, except Elmwood, 
 and he seeing me apparently out of spirits tried to 
 cheer me. I told him I had been endeavouring 
 to amuse myself, as a relaxation to my mind after 
 severe study, by teaching myself picquet. At 
 this Elmwood laughingly replied, that although 
 he should be considered amongst players to 
 know little of the game, he thought he was 
 equal to becoming my opponent, and challenged 
 me to play. I acceded to his desire ; we com- 
 menced playing for a trifle, doubling our stakes
 
 THE HEIRESS. ^Q^ 
 
 as we proceeded; heated with taking an un- 
 usual quantity of wine, surprised and somewhat 
 irritated that one who knew nothing of the game 
 should beat him, he was thrown off his guard, 
 whilst I, cool and collected, was constantly on 
 mine — when we parted I had won lOOOZ. ! The 
 following morning I called, and found him suf- 
 fering from a violent feverish headache ; I prof- 
 fered the note he had given me — ^he refused it — 
 I pressed it upon him, but found him resolute 
 not to receive it — he replied, that he richly de- 
 sei-ved to lose it, but the lesson, though a severe 
 one, would be of use through life. 'Then/ 
 said I, tearing the note to atoms as I spoke, ' I 
 am satisfied — I played last night when I saw 
 you become heated and off your guard, to show 
 you how great an advantage even an unprac- 
 tised performer like myself would have over 
 you, if cool and collected ; not for worlds would 
 I have played for half that sum, except as a 
 jest, and in the hope that nothing would ever 
 tempt you again to play for money.' 
 
 Elmwood, thanking me warmly, acknow- 
 ledged himself to have been guilty of great 
 folly, but assured me my lesson should be
 
 204 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 a -vvaming to him. Your father's noble can- 
 dour induced him to relate the circumstance 
 every where, attaching much more credit to 
 me, and blame to himself, than even ap- 
 peared due. To his father he wrote such 
 an account of the affair as brought me a 
 letter from the old earl, replete with praise, and 
 begging my acceptance of a very valuable 
 breakfast service of plate, whilst Elmwood him- 
 self never ceased showering benefits on my 
 head. Thus, my credit was more highly esta- 
 blished than ever, both at Cambridge and else- 
 where; and I reaped richer fruit from my 
 stratagem than I had dared to expect. You 
 will no doubt be at a loss to account for my re- 
 turning the draft to Mr. Elmwood, after having 
 expressed so great an anxiety to win. The fact 
 was this : I sat down, as I have stated, with an 
 intention of gaining two hundred pounds ; but 
 avarice, getting the better of prudence, led me 
 to take advantage of Elmwood's unguarded 
 situation, and I continued to urge him on until 
 exhilarated by my success, I found myself the 
 winner of a very large sum. Ere I arose from 
 my pillow the following morning, I saw the
 
 THE HEIRESS. 205 
 
 transaction as it would appear to the world. If 
 I retained my ill-gotten gains, I must bid adieu 
 to that character which I had so artfully ac- 
 quired ; if, on the contrary, I returned them, my 
 character would stand higher than ever, and I 
 should most probably obtain over the mind of 
 Elmwood an influence which might afterwards 
 prove highly advantageous. Such were the 
 motives by which my conduct was actuated, 
 and the event proved what I expected. From 
 that period, your father felt and expressed the 
 most unbounded friendship for me; his purse 
 was ever at my command; but I carefully 
 avoided making use of it, excepting in such 
 cases as would admit of my assigning a plausible 
 reason for the demand, and thus my irregulari- 
 ties remained unsuspected. Mr. Elmwood left 
 college, and though we corresponded constantly, 
 we did not again meet until I attended his mar- 
 riage with your lovely mother. I envied him 
 his prospect of fehcity; yet I felt that I was 
 both by nature and education unfitted for the 
 calm and tranquil pleasures of Hfe. My track 
 was marked out — the goal I fixed my eye upon
 
 206 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ■was political celebrity ; though millions should 
 bleed — though my country should be ruined — 
 so that I became its helmsman — I cared not. 
 No mistress would I court but ambition ! Thus, 
 having chosen my path to eminence, I steadily 
 and successfully pursued its course. 
 
 " ' Mr. Elmwood and I still occasionally met 
 in town, at those periods when the fashionable 
 world usually congregated ; but deeply absorbed 
 as I was by political intrigues, I had little time 
 to devote to private friendship, and being de- 
 spatched to a foreign court, as an ambassador, 
 where I remained several years, our intercourse 
 entirely ceased. 
 
 " ' On my return to England, I was placed in 
 a post of eminence and responsibility in the go- 
 vernment, which entirely occupied my time and 
 thoughts. Soon after this period, a change in 
 the ministry took place, and for the first time 
 since the death of my parents, I proceeded to 
 Wilton Castle. The almost ruinous state in 
 which I found this mansion of my forefathers, 
 mortified me exceedingly, since^ I had not the 
 power of remedying it ; for the splendid style in
 
 THE HEIRESS. 207 
 
 which I had Uved whilst on the embassy abroad, 
 and afterwards in London, left me quite as poor 
 as when I originally commenced my political 
 career. 
 
 " ' Finding myself within a few miles of Elm- 
 wood Park, the friendship between its owner 
 and myself, which had been interrupted rather 
 than broken, was renewed. You were at that 
 time still a child, but beautiful as a Houri, and 
 bewitching as beautiful ! How often have I 
 watched the changeful expression of that lovely 
 countenance, whilst supposed to be wrapt in 
 contemplations of the utmost importance to the 
 welfare of the state ! 
 
 " ' Your father's estimation of me was such, 
 that I doubted not having his approval, should 
 I afterwards pay my addresses to you, which 
 even then I thought of doing, though I resolved 
 to keep my intentions within my own bosom, 
 until a proper period should arrive in which to 
 announce my wishes. A few months only elapsed 
 ere I was (with the rest of my party) reinstated 
 in the situation I before held. Ambition once 
 more became my mistress, and left no time for
 
 208 TILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 softer thoughts. My dream of love was over ! 
 Four years expired before I again beheld you, 
 although your father and myself continued each 
 spring to meet in town. At this juncture, I re- 
 visited Wilton Castle, which I found more 
 dilapidated than ever: and as I viewed its dis- 
 mantled towers and mouldering walls, and felt 
 that this ancient seat of one of England's oldest 
 famihes would soon be utterly in ruins, I in- 
 wardly exclaimed, * Matrimony can alone save 
 it from destruction.' At that instant, the recol- 
 lection of the daughter of my friend, as I had 
 last seen her, in all the grace and loveliness of 
 childhood, arose fresh in my mind. I delayed 
 not to visit Elmwood, where I beheld you grown 
 into such surpassing beauty as far outshone my 
 utmost expectation. From that moment I be- 
 came the slave of a passion, fervent as ever 
 glowed in Asiatic bosom. No longer was am- 
 bition the moving principle of my being — love 
 reigned in my heart triumphant over every other 
 feehng ; but for the first time becoming diffident 
 of my power to please, I guarded my secret 
 from all eyes. I strove by every means in my
 
 THE HEIRESS. 209 
 
 power to appear agreeable to you, without caus- 
 ing you to suspect my aim ; and an adept in 
 deceit, I easily succeeded in my attempt. Your 
 introduction at court was followed by the admi- 
 ration you deserved-- crowds of adorers waited 
 upon your footsteps, but to all the beautiful 
 heiress seemed alike indifferent ; and often did 
 my heart throb with ecstacy to find my society 
 preferred to that of younger and gayer men. 
 Lover after lover was dismissed, and I (as your 
 father's friend, I was aware) still met with a 
 kind reception. At length, you appeared to 
 treat me with coldness and constraint. I asked 
 the cause, and the hesitation of your manner 
 led me for the first time to hope — yet I dared 
 not to name my love, and only besought you to 
 treat me as heretofore. But why do I dwell on 
 all this? It is to show you what I am — to 
 open my heart fully, wholly, to one human being 
 ere I die. My life has been a tissue of deceit — 
 my death shall draw the veil aside, I know but 
 one feeling that ever throbbed in my bosom 
 which was amiable in its origin — my love for 
 you ; and that — the sweetest — best of passions,
 
 210 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 has proved my destruction. But my mind wan- 
 ders — I must resume the thread of my narra- 
 tive, or the night will be at an end ere it be con- 
 cluded ; and then — why and then ? — if I make 
 not good speed, I shall be dragged as a male- 
 factor to a dungeon ! — No, no ; that shall never 
 be. * * * * * 
 
 " ' You became acquainted with Major Beau- 
 mont ; then, for the first time, I feared a rival ; 
 be possessed all those estimable qualities which 
 I only assumed, in addition to which he was 
 young and handsome. I hated — mortally hated 
 him — as your intimacy increased, my dislike 
 kept pace with it ; and soon my breast became 
 the stormy retreat of two conflicting passions- 
 love towards you, and hatred towards Major 
 Beaumont. At this period I made proposals 
 to your father for your hand ; from him I met 
 with every encouragement I could desire, though 
 he recommended me to delay speaking to you 
 on the subject for a short time. At length, 
 however, the ice was broken, and you told your 
 father you did not wish to marry. 
 
 " * Not wish to marry ! — that perfect form —
 
 THE HEIRESS. 211 
 
 that beautiful and ever-varying face — those 
 eyes swimming in hquid fire — that gentle affec- 
 tionate disposition — doomed to single life ! — 
 Perish the thought ! I inwardly exclaimed ; she 
 will marry, but it wall not be myself. Your 
 father, seeing how deeply I felt your refusal, 
 used his most strenuous efforts to prevail upon 
 me to consider it only as the coquetry or caprice 
 of the moment, since he knew how highly you 
 esteemed me, and that you had no other attach- 
 ment. — 'Esteem!' I hastily exclaimed, 'will 
 esteem satisfy a love like mine V But expressing 
 myself grateful for his permission to hope for a 
 favourable result, I determined to leave no 
 means untried to gain your heart. 
 
 " ' At this period that frightful scene took 
 place, which even now I cannot recall to my mind 
 without a shudder. Your horses took fright 
 and dashed with you towards the precipice. 
 I made no effort to save you — I could not do it ; 
 for let me confess it to you alone of all the 
 world, I am a very coward ! In infancy I feared 
 to do what other children gloried in, but I soon 
 knew that I must hide my cowardice from the
 
 212, VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 world ; I did so, and lived in it unsuspected. 
 I had not the power of doing what Beaumont 
 did to save you ; I should have dropt from my 
 horse ere I reached the spot. I sat motionless — 
 breathless — in expectation of seeing her whom 
 I loved almost to madness, dashed to pieces; 
 when Beaumont, with the courage of a man, 
 rushed forward to save your life or perish with 
 you ; I, who alone ought to have saved you^ 
 moved not a step ! I felt the die was cast — 
 that you were from that moment lost to me. 
 Oh I how I cursed the man who in saving you 
 from destruction, had won laurels which I could 
 not — dared not attempt to win ! Your father 
 soon informed me that he had given up all hope 
 of prevailing upon you to accept my hand. 
 How did my heart swell with passion, whilst 
 with calm and serene looks I expressed myself 
 satisfied with your decision, since my public 
 station allowed me little time for indulging the 
 softer feelings of our nature. Your father ap- 
 peared surprised by my ready assent to a dis- 
 missal. He had been offended, I perceived, by 
 the supineness of my conduct when your life
 
 THE HEIRESS. 213 
 
 was in danger, and we parted in coldness though 
 not in anger. But under that cold and guarded 
 exterior a fire raged in my breast, to which only 
 a volcanic eruption could be compared. On 
 my arrival at Wilton I retired to my room, and 
 acted to the very life a madman. I gnashed 
 nay teeth, tore my hair out by the roots, ex- 
 claiming, ' Dolt — coward that I am ! why 
 did I not rush to the precipice, snatch her my- 
 self from destruction, or with her sink into the 
 fearful abyss ! Now am I despised, scorned, 
 loathed.' 
 
 '' ' Could you know what I have suffered for 
 yoiar sake, however you might despise, you still 
 would pity me. — Pity ! — do I live to wish for 
 pity ? — No : I scorn it. — I was born to be ad- 
 mired — loved — envied — hated — any thing but 
 pitied ! 
 
 " ' Where am I rambling ? I must strive to 
 be more methodical. My cowardice was invo- 
 luntary : I had no command over it ; — I would 
 have given the world to have been compelled to 
 attempt your rescue, at that moment when 
 Beaumont saved you, and won your father's
 
 214 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 gratitude (for your affection I believe he pos- 
 sessed long before). I was at length so worn 
 out by the violence of conflicting passions after 
 parting from Mr. Elmwood, that without un- 
 dressing, I sunk upon a couch, and took a few 
 hours of unquiet slumber ; after which I threw 
 myself into my carriage and returned to town, 
 where, occupied by affairs of state, no one sus- 
 pected that my calm and placid demeanour was 
 but the cover to a subterraneous fire raging 
 then with fury, and destined to burst with re- 
 doubled violence (from that very concealment) 
 upon the head of one individual. I soon learnt 
 that you and Major Beaumont were betrothed 
 to each other ; I heard it with a smile — a bitter 
 smile. I saw you in town — congratulated your 
 father on your happy choice, and told him I 
 had seen the folly of a man of my age, and in 
 my situation, addressing so young a person as 
 yourself, or even thinking of marriage at all. I 
 shook Beaumont by the hand, called him a 
 lucky fellow, and added, if mortal could deserve 
 such happiness, I believed him to be the man. 
 I turned from him, and cursed him deeply !
 
 THE HEIRESS. 215 
 
 " ' At this period, Beaumont parted with his 
 valet, in consequence of having reason to sus- 
 pect him of dishonesty. I had observed the 
 man, and fancied him fitted for my purpose ; 
 I therefore hired him, without inquiring his cha- 
 racter. I asked him frequent questions respect- 
 ing Beaumont and yourself. He was shrewd, 
 and soon suspected the report of my being a 
 discarded lover to be true ; likewise, that I still 
 loved you, and hated my fortunate rival. At 
 length, I found it necessary to repose a kind of 
 confidence in him — enough to let him know 
 that I should be glad to prevent your union, 
 without exactly acknowledging it. ' Leave it 
 to me, my lord,' he repHed, ' and, I will take 
 care that Major Beaumont shall trouble you no 
 more.' ' How, Jervis, what mean you?' 'Ask 
 no questions, my lord, but leave the affair to 
 my guidance; only say, do you wish the major 
 to be removed out of Miss Elmwood's way /or 
 ever?' As he spoke, he fixed his keen eyes 
 upon me with a look which I could not misun- 
 derstand; I hesitated and stammered, 'Yes — 
 no — stop, Jervis (for he was leaving the room),
 
 2l6 VILLAGE REMINISCNECES. 
 
 attempt not to injure him — some other way must 
 be found.' Jervis bowed affirmatively, and re- 
 tired; but he had Ughted a train which until 
 then I knew not was laid. I wished to separate 
 you from your lover — the means of doing so I 
 had not thought of, but Jervis's words, and still 
 more his looks, told me that he was ready to 
 do my bidding, were it murder ! I shuddered 
 at the idea, and endeavoured, though in vain, 
 to dismiss it from my thoughts. A short period 
 only elapsed ere I received a letter from your 
 father, requesting me to attend your marriage, 
 in consequence of my having expressed a wish 
 to that effect. I instantly proceeded to Wilton, 
 where I found the whole neighbourhood occu- 
 pied in preparations for the wedding, which 
 was to be celebrated with all the splendour 
 usually attendant upon the nuptials of an heiress 
 of noble family. I spent great part of several 
 days at Elmwood, and each day returned home 
 with every nerve writhing under the torment of 
 having seen you and my hated rival conversing 
 together with all the eiijouement natural to your 
 situation. After one of these visits, I imme-
 
 THE HEIRESS. 217 
 
 diately sent for Jervis. ' In two days/ said I, 
 'Major Beaumont will be married to Miss 
 Elmwood/ — ' So I hear, my lord.' — ' Did you 
 not say you would prevent it V — ' If it was your 
 lordship's wish that I should do so, but you 
 ordered me not to injure him.' — .'True, very 
 true — but why injure him? can he not, by some 
 means, be removed for a short time?' Jervis 
 only shook his head. ' If you are as ingenious 
 as I believe you to be, you can devise some 
 means of separating him from Miss Elmwood, 
 until I have an opportunity of assuming his 
 place in Miss Elmwood's favour, as he has done 
 mine.' — ' That would be but just, my lord ; but 
 if your lordship is determined that I shall not 
 injure Major Beaumont, it is impossible for me 
 to assist you — the time is much too short for 
 forming and executing a plot of such magni- 
 tude, for the day after to-morrow I understand 
 the marriage will take place.' I started at the 
 repetition of what I well knew to be a fact. 
 ' Have you, then, nothing to propose, by which 
 to save me from this misery?' — ' If your lord- 
 ship will trust this ajffair to me, without any re- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 strictions, and promise me a thousand pomids 
 if I succeed, I -will, with the assistance of a 
 fi'iend in service, take care that Major Beau- 
 mont shall no longer stand between you and 
 the possession of youth, beauty, and wealth.' 
 
 *^1 could not mistake his meaning — for a mo- 
 ment I recoiled — but I had accustomed my- 
 self to think of murder until the horror was 
 lessened to my view; and therefore, in low 
 tones, I replied, * Remove the viper out of my 
 path, and the reward be yours.' Jervis bowing 
 low, and saying, 'Enough, my lord,' withdrew. 
 I had said the word, and wished not to unsay 
 it ; but unable to rest a moment still, I paced 
 my room all night. The necessity of not being 
 suspected, alone made me dress and breakfast 
 as usual, and afterwards mount my horse. I did 
 not again see Jervis until Beaumont was no 
 more ! The first intimation of the dreadful deed 
 was received from my steward. After dismissing 
 him, I sent for my valet, who came in with all 
 the coolness of a practised villain. ' Is Beau- 
 mont dead?' I tremblingly inquired. — 'So I 
 have been told, my lord.' — 'Told?' I repeated.
 
 THE HEIRESS. 219 
 
 'Yes, my lord; he is supposed to have com- 
 mitted suicide — indeed, I have httle doubt of 
 it, for I have suspected him of insanity ever 
 since he accused me of theft" — an ironical smile 
 passed over his countenance as he spoke. ' I 
 wish I could believe this, Jervis ; but I know 
 thee to be a villain, and fear thou art a mur- 
 derer.' He started, and looked round with 
 momentary afiright. ' Say not such words, my 
 lord, if you value your honour or life; for be 
 assured I suffer not alone : leave this affair, as 
 you have hitherto done, to my guidance, and 
 you will escape unsuspected — whisper but a 
 word of suspicion as to the cause of Major 
 Beaumont's death, even to the winds, and your 
 life is in peril. What I have done is by your 
 connivance — you will be principally benefited 
 by it ; therefore, for your own sake, beware what 
 you say.' — ' Scoundrel ! dare you threaten me — 
 did I tell you to murder him?' — ' Hush, hush, 
 my lord, if you value your safety, walls have 
 ears.' — ' My safety, fellow ? — dost think it will 
 be compromised in thine ?' — ' Listen to me, 
 my lord,' he replied, in a low but firm tone : 'if 
 l2
 
 220 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 you breathe the remotest suspicion of my being 
 concerned in this affair, I will at once acknow- 
 ledge it — state that it was by your instigation I 
 committed the crime, for which I am to receive 
 one thousand pounds ; and, high as your rank 
 and character stand, my tale will not be doubted, 
 when it is recollected how long you were a suitor 
 to Miss Elmwood, how large her fortune, and 
 hov/ much your noble castle,' with an ironical 
 smile, ' stands in need of repair. When to this 
 is added, that you took me into your service, 
 although not very honourably dismissed by 
 Major Beaumont, and that his death could avail 
 me nothing, since his watch and purse are on 
 him, whilst it will probably place you in pos- 
 session of every wish of j'our heart ; w^hen all 
 this is remembered, do you think I shall be 
 <loubted ? No, my lord ; from this moment our 
 fates are joined ; we sink or swim together — I 
 fall not alone/ 
 
 " As the rascal ceased, I covered my face 
 with my hands, and groaned aloud. At length 
 I said, ' Jervis, you are a bloody, desperate 
 villain ; but you truly say — we must now sink
 
 THE HEIRESS. 221 
 
 or swim together; proceed, therefore, as you 
 will, and apprehend no interference from me; 
 but make me not a farther party to your ac- 
 cursed schemes--the thousand pounds so dearly 
 earned sliall be yours, so soon as all inquiry re- 
 specting this sad affair shall cease, and you 
 have left the kingdom : now, leave me/ Jervis 
 then bowed respectfully, and quitted the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " * I could not hide from my own conscience 
 that I was virtually a murderer — nay, so de- 
 cidedly such, that my life might become 
 amenable to the violated laws of my country ; 
 yet with this load of guilt attached to me, I 
 must appear to the world not only as spotless^ 
 but bearing a front which could brave the 
 strictest scrutiny. I was one of the first to 
 condole with your father on the dreadful event 
 which had disturbed the happiness of his fa- 
 mily. No one appeared to investigate the 
 cause of Beaumont's death, with so strict a 
 scrutiny as myself; I even seemed one cf the 
 sincerest mourners. I remained in the country 
 not only until the inquest was held upon the
 
 222 TILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 body, but, such an adept in deceit was I^ tliat 
 at the request of your father, I attended the 
 funeral as one of the chief mourners. I 
 then returned to town, where I gladly dis- 
 missed Jervis for America, with his promised 
 reward. 
 
 " ' My heart was lacerated by hearing that 
 the woman whom I adored, and for whose sake 
 I had committed murder, w^as herself reduced to 
 a state of utter insensibility — become a maniac ! 
 She whose smiles I had hoped in time to enjoy, 
 was by my means brought to this direful state ! 
 All that I suffered before was nothing to this 
 dreadful moment. Years rolled on — I saw you 
 restored to reason — the brilliance of your beauty 
 was somewhat obscured, but in place of that 
 captivating archness of manner, which had 
 seemed one of your chief attractions, a soft 
 and tender melancholy, still more bewitching, 
 appeared in every look and word. That love 
 which for a time had been smothered in my 
 bosom, not extinguished, burst forth with re- 
 newed violence. I determined that you should 
 be mine, or I would perish in the attempt.
 
 THE HEIRESS. 223^ 
 
 There were moments in which I was led to 
 hope that my constancy would make a favour- 
 able impression on your mind ; then a word, a 
 look of ice, has chilled me to the soul. Your 
 father's death took place at a period when I 
 flattered myself I was making some progress, 
 not in your love (for that I knew was buried in 
 the grave of Beaumont), but in your esteem 
 and friendship. Even after that event I would 
 not quite despair : your regard for your father's 
 memory, I trusted, might lead you to comply 
 with his most anxious wish, and eventually 
 become mine. A message from yourself con- 
 firmed this hope, and when at length you 
 consented to see me, my heart beat with 
 rapture at the thought. 
 
 *' But how were my joyous feelings checked, 
 when my eyes fbll upon the figure of Major 
 Beaumont, as I last beheld him, radiant in 
 manly beauty ! For an instant, to my con- 
 science-stricken view, he appeared standing 
 alive before me; but, accustomed to self- 
 command, I soon rallied my presence of mind; 
 you then placed a picture in my hand —
 
 224 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 that horrible picture — and with words and 
 looks fixed upon a figure, which conscience 
 caused me instantly to perceive was meant 
 to represent myself, said, or seemed to say, 
 ' that was the murderer/ All presence of 
 mind, all self-command, that moment left me, 
 I felt that by some inexplicable means, you 
 were informed of my criminal conduct, and I 
 fled. Who was your informer, I know not — I 
 care not ; life is to me no longer worth saving. 
 The conviction that I was even suspected by 
 you to be a murderer, would paralyze every 
 faculty ; that the woman whom I adored, 
 viewed me with abhorrence, would be ten 
 thousand times worse than death. Should I 
 live, it would be in momentary expectation 
 that officers of justice would drag me to prison, 
 and of being ultimately executed as a male- 
 factor ! Forbid it pride ! 
 
 " When you receive this, I shall have 
 offered up my life as a voluntary expiation of 
 my crime towards you. No executioner shall 
 perform the deed. Coward though I am, 
 I dare cut the thread of my own existence ;
 
 THE HEIRESS. 225 
 
 but it is because I have not the greater 
 courage to bear the world's derision and 
 contempt ! Thanks to my earliest tutor, a 
 valet of my father's, who (a Frenchman, and 
 disciple of Voltaire) had no religious scruple ; 
 I scoff at all that priests have taught. When 
 you read this, Miss Elmwood, I shall be as if I 
 had never been — a piece of clay ; this body, 
 now so strong and well-built, will be a lifeless 
 piece of earth ; this mind, which has had power 
 to guide a nation's weal, will be nothing. But 
 should it not be so, what then shall I be ? Ah ! 
 ' that way madness lies.' I must not now even 
 for a moment think that possible, which if it 
 were, would send me to eternal perdition I 
 Though you have caused me to become a mur- 
 derer, I will not curse you — I cannot bless you. 
 
 "'Wilton.' 
 
 " Horror-struck I read this letter ; for a time 
 tears were denied me ; at length they burst 
 from my overcharged heart, and gave some 
 reUef to that oppression which seemed too 
 much to endure. Thankful I felt that my 
 l3
 
 226 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 dearest father had been spared the pain of 
 knowing how criminal, how every way worth- 
 less, was the beings whom for so many years of 
 his Hfe, he had honoured with his esteem, ad- 
 miration, and warmest friendship. What had 
 those parents to answer for, who instead of 
 endeavouring to subdue the strong passions 
 with which nature had endowed their child, 
 had only taught him to conceal them. Had 
 Lord Wilton been in his youth instructed in 
 the faith and duty of a Christian, he might 
 have lived an honour to his country and to 
 himself, and have died in the hope of a blessed 
 eternity. What a dreadful contrast his fate 
 has been — an acknowledged murderer — sui- 
 cide — atheist! 
 
 " An inquest was held on the body of Lord 
 Wilton, and I was required to send the letter 
 which had been found addressed to me, for the 
 perusal of the coroner. Thus was his guilt 
 made public, and the memory of my lamented 
 Beaumont cleared from every stain. Search 
 was made after Jervis, for a long time without 
 success, at length he was found by the police
 
 THE HEIRESS. 227 
 
 officers, associated with a set of gamblers, 
 in the metropohs, under the assumed name of 
 Jamieson. He was, with his accomplice, tried 
 for the murder, and after making a full cwifes- 
 sion of their guilt, they were convicted andj 
 executed. ' • ; '.- / • ' j 
 
 '^The painful circumstances attending Lord 
 Wilton's death added to the depression of 
 spirits I was before labouring under ; but as time 
 wore away, 1 thought with such satisfaction of 
 my lamented Beaumont's character being at 
 length restored to its original purity, as to 
 efface much of my grief. 
 
 ^ ^ # ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 " Many years have elapsed since the latter 
 part of the above narrative was written ; you, 
 my dear Mary, were not then born; may the 
 perusal of it cause you to reflect upon the 
 vicissitudes to which humanity is subject, and 
 not feel too confident of a continuance of that 
 happiness which you now enjoy, but be prer 
 pared to bow with meek submission to the will
 
 228 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 of Him who chastens but for our good. There 
 was a time when life opened to my view, bril- 
 liant as imagination could conceive, but scarcely 
 had my morning dawned, ere the brightness of 
 the horizon was obscured by a black and heavy 
 cloud, which burst over my devoted head ; 
 misery and distraction followed in its course, 
 and all around became darkness and gloom ; 
 I dared not hope that it would ever pass away. 
 1 looked forward only to days of sorrow, and 
 nights of agony ; but a merciful Providence has 
 graciously pleased to cause a happier destiny 
 to await me. The dense cloud which continued 
 to overhang my early years dispersed by de- 
 grees; His true that, ere its total dispersion, the 
 meridian of my life was passed, but though 
 my noonday sun has been obscured, it now sets, 
 if not brilliantly, at least tranquilly and se- 
 renely, and with a blessed hope of again rising 
 in glory ! 
 
 " I have long been able to find my own hap- 
 piness in promoting that of others, and I look 
 forward, with humble faith and hope, to meeting 
 him in the realms of everlasting bUss, from
 
 THE HEIRESS. 229 
 
 whom in this world I was so direfully divided. 
 We must not venture to ask unerring Wis- 
 dom, why one so truly excellent was suffered 
 to become the prey of a villain ! No ; hum- 
 bly I have endeavoured to submit to the 
 divine dispensation, convinced that equally 
 wise and inscrutable are the ways of Provi- 
 dence."
 
 THE CONVICT'S WIFE
 
 THE CONVICT'S WIFE, 
 
 As I was proceeding towards the rectory one 
 morning, my attention was arrested by a group 
 of children playing close to the small gate 
 by which we enter the churchyard. As 
 Southend can boast its full proportion of the 
 rising generation, such a sight may be supposed 
 by no means unusual. But the inhabitants 
 of this village are generally so neat and cleanly 
 in their persons, that I at once perceived these 
 forlorn-looking children to be strangers. I 
 stopped to ask whence they came, when they 
 all looked up from the work on which they 
 were busily employed, the erection of a mud 
 bridge across an open drain, and gazed without
 
 234 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 attempting to reply. I repeated my question 
 with no better success, whilst tke eldest child, 
 a fine handsome boy, about six years of age, 
 fixed his large black eyes upon me, with an 
 expression which I scarcely knew whether to 
 designate waggishness or cunning. The second 
 child, likewise a boy, appeared more delicate, 
 and somewhat lame ; the youngest^ a girl, not- 
 withstanding the dirt with which she was co- 
 vered, and a skin which, to judge from its 
 appearance, had never known the application 
 of soap and water, was singularly beautiful. 
 
 " Where do you live ? " said I, putting my 
 question in a new form. 
 
 The elder boy, with a roguish leer, went on 
 with the formation of his mud arch, supporting 
 it ingeniously enough with a pillar of stone, 
 whilst the little girl, in the imperfect accents 
 of childhood, said, as she pointed to the poor- 
 house, " We live dere, ma'am." 
 
 I instantly felt assured that these must be 
 the children of a convict, who together with 
 their mother, had been passed to Southend the 
 preceding day. My interest was strongly awak-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 235 
 
 ened for these unfortunate children. '' Here/' 
 said I, internally, "are souls to be saved from 
 destruction ; that boy, perhaps, has already 
 made some progress in the road which has 
 led his father to so sad a fate; it shall be 
 my business not only to endeavour to coun-: 
 teract those evil propensities he may have 
 already imbibed, but to train all these children 
 in a right path." Then, commending the little 
 girl for answering my question, I proceeded di- 
 rectly to the workhouse, where I inquired for 
 Mr. Jobson, who has the charge of the poor, 
 and who is likewise parish clerk; he imme- 
 diately came out to me, when I applied to him 
 for information respecting the children whom 
 I had seen. 
 
 " Don't you remember Kitty Dawson, to whom 
 you were so kind, madam? " said he. 
 
 '^ Certainly," I answered, with some sur- 
 prise; " I am not likely to forget poor Kitty> 
 though she did disappoint my hopes so sadly." 
 
 " These are her children, madam ; she is 
 the convict's wife who has been passed to
 
 236 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 our parish, which you may have heard of; 
 they arrived yesterday evening/' 
 
 " Is it indeed so ? I am soiry — I am shocked. 
 I feared there was no prospect of her husband's 
 reform; yet I scarcely anticipated seeing her 
 reduced to such a state of des^radation." As I 
 littered these words with undisguised emotion, 
 Mr, Jobson was called away by the sound of 
 the vestry bell, when saying he would wait 
 upon me after the meeting, and give me all 
 the information he had been able to gain on 
 the subject, he quitted me, having first, in 
 answer to my inquiry if the unfortunate woman 
 was within, informed me she had gone out early 
 and had not returned. I then slovv'ly proceeded 
 towards the rectory, but on going through the 
 churchyard, I perceived a female seated on 
 old Farmer Dawson's grave; her dress was 
 ragged and dishevelled, an old black silk 
 bonnet was pulled over her face, so as to hide 
 it entirely; her hands, thin almost to trans- 
 parency, were clasped firmly together. As I 
 was on the point of passing, I stopped involun-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 237 
 
 taiily, and asked the poor woman if she was ill. 
 She slowly raised her head — our eyes met — 
 and I recognised, as I feared might be the case, 
 in the wan, attenuated, and care-worn face 
 before me, some traces of the once beautiful 
 Kitty Dawson ! " Is it possible ? " exclaimed I. 
 
 "Is what possible?" she repeated, in a hol- 
 low, though somewhat fierce tone. 
 
 " That I behold Kitty Dawson.'' 
 
 '' I was once so named," she replied, as with a 
 wild laugh, which thrilled through my veins, 
 she rose from her melancholy seat; "but I am 
 now Kate Jones, the convict's wife, come with 
 my children to my parish for support." 
 
 The recklessness and v/ildness of her air and 
 manner, as she thus spoke, made my blood turn 
 cold. "I grieved deeply for your conduct, 
 Kitty, when you left me ; " I replied gently, 
 " but never did I expect to feel the pain of 
 seeing you reduced to such a state as this — you 
 of whom my dear father and myself once 
 thought so highly." 
 
 " Did he, and did you, think highly of me 
 once ? Oh ! then I could not always have
 
 238 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 been the weak lost being I now appear ! Thank 
 you, thank you, for that kind saying." And 
 here the poor creature burst into an uncon- 
 trolled flood of tears. 
 
 " Kitty," I replied, " much as I am grieved 
 to see you thus,'' and as I spoke, tears fell 
 from my own eyes, " it rejoices me to perceive 
 that you still feel pleasure in having been re- 
 spected by him, whose good opinion was con- 
 sidered an honour by all who obtained it. 
 You appear to have a fine young family; if I 
 can assist you in bringing up your children 
 in the love of virtue, and yourself in regaining 
 your own esteem and that of others, I shall 
 indeed be truly happy." 
 
 "Thank you, madam, a thousand times; I know 
 I am a poor, lost, abandoned creature, but I stiil 
 have some human feelings. Last night when I 
 came back to the village in which I had lived 
 innocently and happily, for so many years, I 
 thought of those days — of my former friends — 
 and I felt that the moment in which I had 
 returned to the place of my birth, with my 
 poor miserable children, a pauper and a con-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 239 
 
 vict's wife, was more dreadful than if I had 
 myself been sentenced to the gallows. As 
 we slowly dragged our weary limbs along the 
 village street, the children peered at me and 
 my forlorn ones; whilst their mothers turned 
 away with scorn and loathing, I deserve it all, 
 but I felt I could not bear this scorn and ob- 
 loquy; and after a night of agony, I rambled 
 over the fields where I used to walk with you, 
 but my brain became maddened with the 
 thought of what I was, and what I am. I 
 turned towards what is now my home, in fear 
 of I knew not what; I was followed, hooted 
 at, as the wife of a felon. I then flew to this 
 place, to see how the dead would receive me, 
 if they would rise from their graves to gibe 
 and scoff at me. I would have knelt at my 
 mother's grave, but durst not, though wearied 
 with my walk, I sunk down here ; wild and 
 fearful thoughts were in my mind, when you 
 came like an angel from heaven to speak pity 
 and consolation to me.'' Here the unfortunate 
 woman, overcome by the acuteness of her 
 feelings, again sunk upon her parent's grave.
 
 240 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 I strove to console her, and at length succeeded 
 in rousing her from her state of grief, by re- 
 presenting the probability of her children meet- 
 ing with some injury, if left in the public road. 
 After making her promise to come to me in 
 the afternoon, I turned towards home, for my 
 heart was too full to admit of my paying my 
 proposed visit that morning. To see one who 
 had so long been a favoured inmate of my 
 father's house a pauper, and the wife of a 
 malefactor, was indeed painful ! 
 
 Kitty was the only child of a small but 
 respectable farmer in Southend, who, with his 
 wife dying when she was quite a child, had 
 on his death-bed entreated my father's pro- 
 tection for the orphan girl. When John Daw- 
 son's little farming stock was sold, and his 
 few debts paid, two hundred pounds were found 
 remaining, which my father determined should 
 accumulate for Kitty, as he took her to his 
 house, and paid the trifling expenses that were 
 requisite on her account himself. She was 
 instructed by me in reading, writing, and 
 needlework, by the servants in the equally
 
 THE convict's wife. 241 
 
 desirable knowledge of household employ- 
 ments. We found the young orphan tractable 
 in temper, and quick in intellect; whilst her 
 personal beauty was such as to draw upon her 
 the admiration of all who beheld her. She 
 soon became the pet of the whole family; but 
 having more than once seen the ill effects of 
 bringing up children in a superior manner to 
 the sphere in which they had been born, I 
 resolved, although it might be some restraint 
 upon my own wishes, not to place her too 
 much above her real station in society ; there- 
 fore only in the hours of instruction, when as- 
 sisting me in the flower-garden, or accompanying 
 me in my walks, for the purpose of conveying 
 a little basket, in which I could place the fruits 
 of my botanical researches, was Kitty my com- 
 panion. At other periods she was under the 
 care and tuition of an old and confidential 
 domestic, who endeavoured to make her useful 
 in performing various light services. At the 
 age of fifteen, Kitty was not only a very lovely 
 girl, but really a valuable assistant in the 
 house. She read so well, that frequently when 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 my dear father's eyes became dim, T was glad 
 to have it in my power to procure her assistance 
 in reading aloud to him. This necessarily 
 caused her to be more with us than I had 
 originally intended, and her manners conse- 
 quently became softer and more polished ; her 
 knowledge increased with her years, and she 
 might at a very early peiiod have been termed 
 a well-informed young person. I thought that, 
 with her personal and other advantages, there 
 was every probability of her marrying well ; by 
 this I did not mean highly — v/here she might 
 perhaps be treated by her husband's connexions 
 w-ith contempt — but to some respectable trades- 
 man, or well-educated farmer, whose own know- 
 ledge and manners might be sufficiently good 
 to enable him to appreciate hers ; and whose 
 circumstances might be such as to make it un- 
 necessary for her to attend to any but the lightest 
 labours in her house. 
 
 Our gayest rural festival is that of May-day, 
 at which she was chosen queen two successive 
 years. Seldom has a prettier object been seen 
 than Kitty, with her crown of flowers, carried
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 243 
 
 on a throne similarly decorated, herself the love- 
 liest flower there. After she had attained her 
 sixteenth year, though I still allowed her to at- 
 tend the May-day dance on the green, I would 
 no longer suffer her to be Queen of the May, as 
 I thought it possible such homage to her beauty 
 might be injurious to her. On one of these oc- 
 casions, when about seventeen years of age, she 
 danced with a very handsome young man of the 
 name of Jones, who was the eldest son of a rich 
 farmer in the adjoining parish. He had been 
 educated at a good school, and afterwards 
 placed, at a considerable expense, with an emi- 
 nent farmer in the north of England, to learn 
 the mode of farming in use there ; but, like too 
 many who have been similarly circumstanced, 
 he spent that time which ought to have been 
 devoted to agricultural pursuits, in hunting, 
 racing, and drinking. On his return home, his 
 fond, though weak mother, delighted to see her 
 son so fine a gentleman, continued to supply 
 him with money unknown to his father; who, 
 imagining that he spent only his allowance, had 
 no suspicion that when he affected to attend 
 M 2
 
 244 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 different and distant fairs, to improve bis know- 
 ledge respecting cattle, he was in reality going 
 to various races, where he mixed in the worst 
 society. Mr. Jones knew that his son's allow- 
 ance would not admit of his entering into any 
 unwarrantable expense, and therefore felt satis- 
 fied that he did not do so; not suspecting the 
 foolish fondness of his wife had enabled their 
 son to indulge in such follies and vices as he must 
 otherwise have been debarred from. Such was 
 the man who had danced with Kitty Dawson, 
 and who became from that day the arbiter of 
 her destiny — but neither she nor me were then 
 aware of his character. I found that, in the 
 course of a short time, she had met and walked 
 with young Jones several times. I pointed out 
 to her the danger and impropriety of this course 
 — she readily assented to my wish, that she 
 should not again walk with him, though she 
 added, that she did not> perceive any thing 
 wrong in it. 
 
 " I am grieved and astonished to hear you 
 say so," I replied, '' since I had hoped that I 
 had taught you to think differently/'
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 245 
 
 " Forgive me, dear mistress," said slie, " what 
 I have said, and what I am about to say : I 
 know well, that if I were a lady, it would be 
 very improper in me to walk alone with any 
 gentleman ; but in my situation of life, people 
 think differently — and," she continued, looking 
 down, " young people, who are pleased with 
 each other, constantly do so." 
 
 I answered, " Although there is some truth 
 in w hat you say, you have been educated in a 
 superior manner to the persons of whom you 
 speak, consequently more is expected from you ; 
 besides which," I added, " you should consider 
 whether Mr. Jones may think himself exactly 
 upon an equality with you." 
 
 " His father is a farmer, ma'am, as mine 
 was," replied Kitty; "and though Mr. Jones 
 now farms his own estate, and that is a very 
 large one, Richard himself told me, that he had 
 heard that my grandfather was born to larger 
 property than his, but whilst one family rose in 
 the world, the other went down ; so that there 
 is no reason why he should think himself much 
 greater than myself."
 
 246 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 " All that may be true, and yet you may be 
 unsuitable companions ; however, I request that 
 you will have no secret interviews — no more 
 walks together; if he really loves you, he will 
 apply to my father for his approbation — if he 
 does not do that, you may be assured his love 
 is not what it ouoht to be." 
 
 o 
 
 Kitty, with tearful eyes, promised obedience 
 to my wishes, and was, I believe, true to her 
 promise, never quitting the house unless to at- 
 tend me or our old housekeeper. But during 
 this time, I have reason to think that young 
 Jones wrote to her frequently, endeavouring by 
 every means in his power to prevail upon her to 
 meet him. In the interim, I made every possible 
 inquiry into the character of the young man, 
 who appeared to have gained such deep hold 
 upon the affections of the ingenuous girl ; vvdien 
 I heard with regret those circumstances respect- 
 ing him which I have before stated— in short, 
 that he was a very dissipated and unprincipled 
 man, and had already destroyed the peace and 
 reputation of more than one young woman who 
 had confided in his protestations of affection ; like-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 247 
 
 wise, that his father, who was very avaricious, 
 was endeavouring to promote a match between 
 him and the daughter of an opulent grazier. 
 
 This character of young Jones made my 
 father and myself very anxious on Kitty's 
 account ; we spoke to her without delay, told 
 her all that we had heard, and besought her to 
 give up all acquaintance with a young man, 
 v.hom even to know was disgraceful. She wept 
 as we addressed her — said she thought some 
 enemy of Richard's must surely have deceived 
 us — but promised, whatever pain it might cost 
 her, to give up ail intercourse with him. She 
 accordingly wrote to Mr. Richard Jones, repeat- 
 ing some of the particulars of which we had 
 been informed, and her consequent promise; 
 she then prayed him, if what we had heard were 
 true, to repent and reform — if it were not so, 
 she besought his pardon for acting as if it were, 
 in conformity with the wishes of those whom 
 duty and inclination equally bound her to obey. 
 She showed me her letter ; there was nothing of 
 which I could disapprove — it was therefore de- 
 spatched. Within a week from that time, Kitty
 
 248 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Dawson fled with the unprincipled man who had 
 gained entire possession of her youthful heart. 
 
 1 was deeply grieved at the conduct of one 
 whom] I loved most tenderly, and into whose 
 mind I had endeavoured to instil every moral and 
 religious principle. Within a fortnight after her 
 departure, she wrote to entreat the forgiveness 
 of my father and self, and to assure us, that her 
 crime in breaking her promise, and making so 
 ungrateful a return for all our kindness to her 
 during so many years, was not premeditated ; 
 but that she had one evening received a note 
 from Richard, beseeching her to meet him at 
 the shrubbery-gate, after the family had retired 
 to rest, to hear from his own lips his justifica- 
 tion, and to receive his last farewell ; as, since 
 she had so peremptorily refused his addresses, 
 he could no longer bear to remain in England. 
 
 Thus entreated, and in the hope of hearing from 
 him such a refutation of the charges against him 
 as might enable her to revoke his sentence, she 
 had so far erred as to meet him at the place and 
 hour appointed. Although the family were gone 
 to rest, the hour was not late — the moon shone
 
 THE convict's wife. 249 
 
 briglitly, and the niglUingales were singing so 
 sweetly, that she had suffered herself to be pre- 
 vailed on to walk a little way along the road, as 
 beinoj less liable to observation than the shrub- 
 bery. She scarcely knew how the time had 
 passed, but was surprised, on seeing a postchaise 
 stand at a turn of the road, to find that she was 
 above a mile from home; when, to her consterna- 
 tion and displeasure, Richard placed her forcibly 
 in the carriage, and then the postilion drove 
 off. That for some time she had besought him. 
 to return with her to Southend ; but, at last, he 
 had prevailed upon her to go on with him, as 
 his father, he said, would never overlook his 
 having taken her off against her wish ; but he 
 did not doubt, that through the influence of his 
 mother, he would forgive their marriage, although 
 on account of the smallness of her fortune he 
 had refused his consent hitherto, which had 
 prevented any application to my father on the 
 subject. In consequence of this reasoning, she 
 continued, she had ceased to urge their return, 
 and they were married on the following day : 
 to this she added, that she should be quite 
 m3
 
 250 VILLAGE REMINISCEKCES. 
 
 happy if she could only receive an assurance that 
 my father and I forgaveher, and would not think 
 her guilty of deep ingratitude. She then request- 
 ed, that my father would remit her little fortune, 
 for which an order was enclosed, signed by her 
 
 husband and self, to Messrs. , Red Lion Inn. 
 
 The pain that this event gave me I can 
 scarcely express ; yet it was a gratification to 
 me to learn that Kitty had not intentionally 
 deceived me; and since they were married, 
 I hoped the young man might refonn, and 
 their union prove less unhappy than I still 
 feared might be the case. I should have felt 
 Kitty's imprudent conduct still more keenly, had 
 not my apprehensions been awakened for my 
 father, who was at that time very unwell, for he 
 was then a great age, though his mind was still 
 strong and active. At his desire, I called upon 
 Mr. Jones, in the hope of prevailing upon him 
 to make some little settlement on Kitty, ere her 
 fortune was given up to his son. I was told 
 that he was ill in bed, but that Mrs. Jones could 
 see me. On explaining the business upon which 
 I came to her, she said, " Oh, pray send the
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 251 
 
 money directly — poor Richard may be in want 
 of it ; his father has been ill ever since he left 
 us, but I know he will soon forgive him, and I 
 will persuade him to settle something on his 
 pretty young wife — only pray don't let them 
 want money in London ; unluckily, I have no- 
 thing just now that I can send." 
 
 Notwithstanding what Mrs. Jones said, my 
 father did not think it right to pay the money 
 without the approbation of his attorney, who 
 told him by no means to do so, as the marriage 
 could not be considered legal. To this effect I 
 wrote, assuring Kitty, at the same time, that 
 although we deeply lamented her conduct, she 
 had not only our pardon, but our sincere wishes 
 that her choice might prove a happy one, and 
 that her husband would convince us how well 
 he deserved her by his kindness and affection. 
 Three weeks afterwards, my father received a 
 letter from the attorney in Red Lion Lm, en- 
 closing a certificate of Mr. and Mrs. Jones's 
 marriage, with an order for the payment of her 
 little fortune, they having been married again, 
 by bans in London.
 
 252 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 From this time we heard no more from Kitty ; 
 but the death of old Mr. Jones a few weeks 
 afterwards, and the consequent pubUcation of 
 his will, led to the knowledge of a crime, of 
 which no one had until then any suspicion ; as 
 in that will he stated, that in consequence of 
 his eldest son having robbed him of two hun- 
 dred pounds, for the purpose of absconding with 
 Kitty Dawson, he left the whole of his property 
 to his youngest son, ordering him to pay his 
 mother one hundred and four pounds yearly, in 
 weekly instalments, that she might not have it 
 in her power to assist her son Richard with 
 money, to whom he would not give a shilUng to 
 save him from the gallows; where, unless he 
 reformed, his evil courses must lead him. Thus 
 was Richard Jones's disgraceful conduct made 
 public, and his name, coupled with that of poor 
 Kitty, became the byword of the country. 
 
 Mr. Jobson had been unexpectedly called 
 away immediately after the vestry meeting ; 
 therefore, 1 had no opportunity of hearing what 
 crime had led to Richard Jones's transporta- 
 tion, prior to the visit of his wretched wife. She
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 253 
 
 came at my request, as the day was closing. 
 Her old monitress and friend, Mrs. Walker, ad- 
 mitted her ; but though I had told her whom I 
 expected, and represented the state of misery in 
 which I had beheld her, she could not bring 
 herself to acknowledge or speak to one who 
 had behaved so ungratefully to her dear master 
 and young mistress (for to this day she fre- 
 quently adds that epithet to my name) ; there- 
 fore, when Kitty, in humble tones, stood at the 
 back-door asking for me, she was shown into 
 the room without the slightest symptom of re- 
 cognition. Whether this reception from one 
 whom she had for many years been accustomed 
 to call mother, had upset the little stock of reso- 
 lution she had summoned to enable her to come 
 at all, I know not ; but as I caught a glimpse of 
 her pale and almost ghastly features, I started in 
 affright, and making her sit upon the couch whilst 
 I ordered a glass of wine, which I almost poured 
 down her throat, she burst into an hysterical flood 
 of tears, which I suffered to flow some time with- 
 out interruption. I was glad to see that her 
 dress was more respectable than in the morning
 
 254 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 — it was certainly that of a very poor person, 
 but it was neatly pinned, and a clean handker- 
 chief, cap, and apron, had removed that look of 
 utter desolation which she then wore. When 
 she had recovered in some degree from the agi- 
 tation she had felt on first entering, she com- 
 menced a narrative, which, although broken 
 and disjointed by her own frequent and violent 
 emotion, was in substance nearly as follows : 
 
 '' Upon the refusal of Mr. Melcombe to pay 
 my little fortune to my husband, on the plea of 
 our marriage not being legal, he gave way to 
 such a paroxysm of rage as frightened me ex- 
 ceedingly. I had not before believed it pos- 
 sible that he could look so fearful. Until then, 
 although I had seen him occasionally irritable 
 or petulant, I had never seen him in violent pas- 
 sion, and I most sincerely prayed that I might 
 never again behold him in such. Richard im- 
 mediately gave orders for our bans to be pub- 
 lished at the parish church during three suc- 
 xjesssive Sundays, when we were remarried, the 
 certificate of our marriage sent to Southend, and 
 the money paid as we had requested. I wished
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 255 
 
 to write to you, dear madam, to tliank you and 
 my good master for your kindness to — for your 
 forgiveness of — one who had made so poor a 
 return for all you had done for her; but Richard 
 would not consent to my writing again. He 
 said I must forget all at Southend, as unless 
 his father recalled him he should never return 
 there, nor suffer me to have any intercourse vi'ith 
 those who were there. 
 
 " Although at that time he was generally 
 kind towards me, I had become fearful of 
 offering the slightest opposition to his will, 
 for if he had reason even to apprehend I 
 might not willingly conform to what he 
 wished, I saw in the scowl of his forehead and 
 flashing of his eye, something which reminded 
 me of that terrible paroxysm of passion, which 
 I could not erase from my recollection. My 
 love for my husband would have made me con- 
 sent readily to any thing he wished that was 
 not criminal ; now a vague apprehension was 
 mixed with that affection which had before 
 reigned alone in my heart. 
 
 " Richard soon saw that, though I still loved 
 him, I regarded him with fearj and he, far
 
 256 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 from regretting or wishing to remove this ap- 
 prehension, under the idea of its interfering 
 with our liappiness, appeared to glory in the 
 contradiction of feeUng he caused in my 
 inexperienced heart. We had lodgings in 
 a retired little street in the environs of 
 London ; here I was generally alone during 
 many hours of each day, and having no house- 
 hold employments, I endeavoured to improve 
 my mind, whilst I diverted it from thinking 
 upon such subjects as I feared to dwell upon, 
 by reading various works; and if, after having 
 thus spent the greatest part of the day, my hus- 
 band returned home in good humour, I forgot that 
 I had been left without society or friends, though 
 I durst not ask how or w^here he spent his time, 
 " Thus did weeks and months pass, during 
 which I never went beyond the immediate 
 precincts of my lodging ; which, though very 
 humble, was clean and comfortable. Richard 
 scarcely ever walked out with me, and I feared 
 to go out alone, as I had once been spoken to 
 by a person in the dress of a gentleman, in a 
 manner which alarmed me veiy much ; and as I 
 durst not tell my husband that his neglect ex-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 257 
 
 posed me to insult, I was obliged to confine 
 myself to the house, unless when he offered to 
 walk out with me for half an hour. But these 
 attentions became more rare each month, until 
 in solitude and unattended, but by the servant 
 of the house, my eldest boy was born. 
 
 "When Irecovered my strength, I was much 
 happier than before this event took place. I was 
 no longer without a companion : I was no longer 
 without an object on whom to lavish my affec- 
 tion. I frequently did not see my husband for 
 days together ; and when he did return to me, 
 he would often repulse every endearment, and 
 not even look at the infant, which in features, 
 even at that time, strongly resembled himself j 
 then I would retire to weep bitter tears of ill- 
 requited affection. At other times, he would ap- 
 pear in great spirits — kiss our baby — be kind in 
 his manner towards myself — ask if he could 
 procure any thing to amuse me during his ab- 
 sence, saying it was in search of employ- 
 ment that he left me ; but, alas ! these starts of 
 good humour bore no comparison to the fre- 
 quency of those of moroseness, sullenness, or
 
 258 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 passion ! At length, instead of looking forward 
 •with anxious expectation to his return home, I 
 almost feared to see him enter the room I occu- 
 pied. One day, about six months after the birth 
 of my boy, my husband returned home, appa- 
 rently in high spirits, and said to me, ' I have 
 just received information of the death of my 
 father ; he has, in consequence of my going off 
 in the way I did, when he wished me to marry 
 the rich grazier's daughter, left his estate to my 
 brother ; but as he has bequeathed me twenty 
 thousand pounds, I am quite as well satisfied, 
 since we can reside in London, which suits my 
 taste better than agricultural pursuits.* 
 
 'y I was too much shocked by the intelligence 
 that Mr. Jones was dead, to express the plea- 
 sure Richard expected on hearing of his acqui- 
 sition of fortune. ' Dead ! ' I repeated, ' is 
 your father really dead ? — and without having 
 sent you his forgiveness, or acknowledged my- 
 self as his daughter?' — 'Yes; but he was an 
 old man, you know, and could not be expected 
 to last long — think of our getting twenty thou- 
 sand pounds, my girl !'
 
 THE C0NVICT*'S WIFE. 259 
 
 " Shocked at his want of filial affection, and 
 utter heartlessness, I burst into tears ; when the 
 cloud gathering on his forehead, he exclaimed, 
 ' Why, how is this ? — when I told you, the last 
 time I saw you, that I could give you no money, 
 and that if I did not get employment soon, you 
 and your brat must starve, you looked melan- 
 choly enough, but did not shed a tear; and 
 now, when I tell you I am rich, and can shower 
 gold into your lap, you only answer me by crying !' 
 As he spoke, he threw a handful of coin, amongst 
 which were several gold pieces, into my lap. Ere 
 I could repl}^ he continued, ' To-morrow, Kate, 
 we quit this lodging, and go to one more fitting 
 our present fortune ; till then, good bye.' And 
 thus leaving me, I sunk into a train of painful 
 thoughts until aroused from my revery by a 
 faint noise in my baby's cradle. Upon going to 
 him, he fixed his eyes upon my face, whilst a 
 smile played around his beautiful mouth. I 
 took him in my arms, and as I held him con- 
 vulsively to my breast, I thanked heaven that 
 my child, at any rate, was rescued from starva- 
 tion. I had already been obliged to sell nearly
 
 260 
 
 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 all the clothes with which I had been bounti- 
 fully supplied during the first months of our 
 union, and for several days past had subsisted 
 only upon bread and tea, which I found veiy 
 inadequate food for a nurse ; in consequence of 
 which, my baby began to show symptoms of 
 feebleness and indisposition. On his account, I 
 therefore rejoiced in being able to procure more 
 fitting nourishment for myself, from the money 
 with which I had been provided. 
 
 "Although I had been so distressed for 
 money, my husband always appeared hand- 
 somely dressed ; I believe he did not think of 
 the straits to which I was driven to procure 
 food. The little drawing-room and bed-room, 
 which I had occupied until after the birth of 
 my child, I had long resigned to other lodgers, 
 using the same room (a small parlour in front), 
 for every purpose. For this we were indebted 
 to the landlady one month's rent; she had the 
 day preceding told me that unless she was paid, 
 without further delay, I must quit her house ; 
 therefore it was not without pleasure that I in- 
 formed her I purposed quitting it the next day.
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 261 
 
 She replied, that if I was able to pay her the 
 rent she required, she would rather I should 
 remain there than have another lodger; thougli 
 people in the neighbourhood did think it a little 
 odd that a young woman like me should be left 
 thus alone by my husband and friends ; and 
 some said the reputation of her house was in- 
 jured by it. This cruel insinuation gave me 
 pain, although my mind was so much occupied 
 by other causes of uneasiness, that I did not 
 dwell upon it as I otherwise should have done. 
 
 "The day following that on which I had 
 heard of the death of my father-in-law, my 
 husband came in a coach for me and the baby ; 
 he brought with him a box containing handsome 
 mourning for myself, and new baby-clothes for 
 our child. He waited with impatience until our 
 dresses were changed, when we bade farewell to 
 our humble home ; but not without receiving 
 many apologies from our landlady, for her 
 having had the folly to think of speaking to me 
 about so small a sum as the rent due, and curt- 
 seying almost to the ground as the coach rolled 
 from her door.
 
 262 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 " We had driven a considerable distance, 
 when Richard pulled the check-string, and we 
 stopped in front of a haberdasher's shop. Here he 
 desired to be set down, and we went into the 
 shop, whilst he made several purchases ; then 
 ordering another coach to be called, we entered 
 it — we did the same thing again at a distance 
 of about a mile. I did not venture to ask the 
 cause of this frequent change of coaches, for 
 the gloomy scowl was on my husband's brow, 
 which I knew by experience was not the time 
 for me to obtain any reply, but anger and re- 
 proach. 
 
 '' Silently we proceeded in the third vehicle 
 we had entered, until suddenly Richard said, * I 
 must beg that you will not tell any one that 
 your name is Jones, or that you have ever been 
 in town until to-day ; from this time we are to 
 be known only as Mr. and Mrs. Turner.' He 
 knew that with me his will was law ; and with- 
 out daring to ask his motive for such a request, 
 I promised obedience to his wishes. The coach 
 again stopped, and we entered our new abode. 
 I was astonished at the size of the house, two
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 263 
 
 floors of which were destined for our use. A 
 seiTant out of hvery opened the door, when my 
 husband said, ' Your mistress has been so unfor- 
 tunate as to be obhged to leave her maid ill on 
 the road — can you procure any one to take 
 charge of the child until we can hear of a de- 
 sirable attendant ? ' — ' One of the servants of 
 the house, sir/ replied the man, ' can, I dare say, 
 take care of the baby, and do any thing my mis- 
 tress may require at present."' — ' Send her here^ 
 then,' said Richard, imperiously. 
 
 " A neat-looking young woman immediately 
 made her appearance, and proposed taking the 
 child out of my arms. This I was on the point 
 of declining, when my husband said sternly, 
 ' Pray let the young woman take charge of the 
 child, Mrs. Turner; you are unaccustomed to 
 carry so heavy a burden, and may probably let 
 it fall, or hurt yourself by the exertion.' My 
 baby had hitherto been nursed by no arms but 
 mine, yet I durst no longer retain it ; and Vv^ith 
 trembling hands I placed it in those of the young- 
 woman, rising to accompany her. ^ Till you have
 
 264 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 seen your apartments, I shall await you here.' 
 Bowing my assent to his wish for my return, I 
 left the room. I saw my sleeping darling placed 
 in a comfortable bed, and as the young woman 
 appeared obliging, and promised not to quit him, 
 I returned to my husband. 
 
 "As soon as I entered the drawing-room, in 
 which he was seated, he said, ' I expect a few 
 friends to dine with me to-day, some of whom 
 are old friends of mine, others I have known 
 but a short time ; but to prevent any awkward 
 mistakes, I think it right to inform you, that I 
 have borne the name of Turner for some time- • 
 that I have had lodgings not far hence — and 
 that my friends have understood the reason you 
 did not earlier come to town was, your attend- 
 ance being necessary to my father, who was 
 very ill. Having said thus much, all I desire is 
 that you will not speak or act in a way to con- 
 tradict what I have stated.' In utter astonish- 
 ment, I exclaimed, ' But the means I thought 
 were obtained from your father's death, for our 
 present superior style of Uving ; how then could
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 265 
 
 you have lodgings near this V — ' Ask no ques- 
 tions/ he replied, ' I have already told you all 
 that I think it necessary for you to know/ 
 
 'He then left me, and I saw him no more 
 until immediately before dinner, when he intro- 
 duced four of his friends to me. I did not like 
 their style of conversation — it was very unlike 
 what I had been accustomed to hear from you 
 and your excellent father ; it sounded gay, but 
 was frequently mingled with oaths and execra- 
 tions ; and although they talked much of people 
 of rank, and large parties to which they were in 
 the habit of going, they gave me the idea of per- 
 sons pretending to be genteel, rather than being 
 so. Richard's manners assimilated too much 
 with their own, though his very fine person gave 
 him great superiority of appearance ; and when 
 he chose to assume a gentleness of demeanour, 
 which, alas ! I had long discovered to be only 
 assumed, few persons could appear to more ad- 
 vantage. After I left the dining-room I saw 
 no more of my husband or his friends, until at 
 a late hour the next morning the former re- 
 turned home, having been out all night. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 " I had been too much accustomed to be left 
 alone, for this to excite surprise or emotion. I 
 was, however, no longer destined to lead the 
 recluse life which I had done hitherto. My 
 husband took me occasionally to the opera or 
 play, and walked with me in the parks at Ken- 
 sington gardens. My dresses were all made at 
 the most fashionable miUiners. I had a maid 
 to wait upon the baby and myself, in addition to 
 those of the house, which were entirely devoted 
 to my service. I had one man exclusively to 
 attend me, to follow my footsteps if I wished to 
 shop, or to go any errands on which I had oc- 
 casion to send him ; whilst the servant out of 
 livery attended to his master. Could I have 
 forgotten all that had passed during eighteen 
 preceding months, and could I have placed any 
 reliance on the principles of my husband, I 
 might now have been tolerably happy ; and not- 
 withstanding all these obstacles, I am ashamed 
 to own that there were moments when, in the 
 thoughtlessness of youth, I felt delighted with 
 the beauty and novelty of all I beheld. Nay, 
 what had at first appeared somewhat coarse in
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 267 
 
 the manners of our visiters, I began to con- 
 sider as those of fashionable society, to which I 
 had been unaccustomed. 
 
 " When we had been a short time in our new 
 residence, Richard informed me it appeared to 
 him desirable that we should remove to a house 
 of our own, as lodgings would be inconvenient 
 when our family increased, which we soon ex- 
 pected to be the case : he had therefore engaged 
 
 a house in street for my accommodation^ 
 
 to which we should remove in the course of the 
 following week. I expressed my readiness to 
 do whatever he wished ; then ventured to express 
 a hope that we should be enabled to live at less 
 expense than where we were, as I could not help 
 fearing that our expenses exceeded his income. 
 * Oh, don't trouble yourself on that score — if I 
 provide the money, it is of little consequence to 
 you from what or whence it proceeds.' The 
 following week we took possession of a large 
 
 and elegant house in street, of which I 
 
 was told to consider myself mistress. Here I 
 found an increased establishment ready to re- 
 ceive us; rooms beautifully and newly furnished, 
 N 2
 
 268 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 with mirrors reaching to the ground, and vaiious 
 pieces of furniture, of which I neither knew the 
 use nor name : but doubting not that timew^ould 
 explain these things to me, I admired in silence, 
 that I might not expose my ignorance to my 
 servants, or to my husband's visiters, for I had 
 ■^ot then any of my own. At this I was not 
 Burprised ; for without some introduction I could 
 easily conceive that no female could be noticed 
 in London, and Richard's friends all appeared 
 to be unmarried men. 
 
 " My confinement took place soon after our 
 removal, wdien my second boy w as born. Poor 
 child ! little dost thou know the elegance of the 
 room in which thou first opened thy eyes — the 
 number of attendants who greeted thy entrance 
 ■into life — the richness of the baby-linen in which 
 •thy tiny limbs were wrapped ; happy is it thou 
 canst not recollect all this ; to thee the w hite- 
 washed wall, the iron bedstead, the coarse 
 clothing, and coarser fare of the poorhouse, is as 
 desirable as any other, for thy luxuries were taken 
 from thee happily ere thou knewest what luxury 
 was ! I beg pardon, madam, my thoughts
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 269 
 
 wander ; but when I reflect upon the strange 
 vicissitudes I have known during a few short 
 years, it sometimes seems like a painful dream, 
 from which I vainly strive to arouse myself. 
 "As soon as I had recovered my strength after 
 my confinement, Richard said it was requisite 
 I should now see company, and act like the 
 wife of a man of fortune. I replied I was ready 
 to do whatever he desired, if he would only be 
 so kind as to instruct me what that was. He 
 then called me a good girl, adding I should 
 have any thing I wished for, if I would attend 
 to his directions. His behaviour to me was at 
 all times so extraordinary, and so variable, that 
 even at that period I was led to fear — nay, 
 almost to wish, that there was in him some de- 
 rangement of intellect, for this alone could 
 excuse his frequent violent behaviour and lan- 
 guage : in one of these fits of passion he struck 
 his second child so violently as to cause that 
 lameness which I fear he will never get the bet- 
 ter of. Some days he would be in such a 
 humour, that I durst not speak in his presence; 
 at others (but, alas ! those moments were so
 
 270 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 rare that I ceased to look for them), he was 
 kind and affectionate ; in company he generally 
 treated me with politeness, and frequently with 
 tenderness, although perhaps but a few moments 
 prior he had, when alone with me, loaded me 
 with execrations. Under such circumstances, I 
 naturally avoided seeing him alone as much as 
 possible. 
 
 " Our house, in a short time, became the re- 
 sort of the gay and dissipated, many of whom 
 were persons of rank ; some noblemen brought 
 their ladies to visit me, and I soon had nume- 
 rous female friends. Occasionally, I was sur- 
 prised by a freedom of manner and language 
 which I should not have expected to meet with 
 in ladies of rank and fashion ; but if I suffered 
 any such thought to escape my hps, I found 
 myself laughed at by those I addressed, and 
 soon perceived that it was desirable for me, 
 either to suppress such ideas altogether, or at 
 any rate not to give expression to them, if I did 
 not wish to become an object of ridicule to my 
 more fashionable friends. Thus, I soon learnt, 
 if not to emulate them, at least to conceal my
 
 271 
 
 objections to their manners. There was con- 
 stantly a great deal of high play at our house ; 
 this was evident to me, who did not understand 
 such things, and whom no persuasions could 
 induce to touch a card. There was a third or 
 inner drawing-room, into which even I was 
 never suffered to penetrate. Our upper man- 
 servant took entire charge of it — he even dusted 
 the furniture, and attended to the fire himself, 
 although, with that exception, he did nothing 
 in the house but attend to the sideboard. In 
 this interdicted apartment, my husband and 
 some of his friends frequently sat up all night, 
 with various visiters of rank and fortune. 
 
 " Many pleasing young men were introduced 
 to our parties, who late in the evening generally 
 retired to this room ; but seldom did they come 
 a second time. I had afterwards reason to be- 
 lieve, that these were young men lately come 
 into possession of considerable property, who, 
 after having lost to a certain amount, were not 
 invited to a repetition of their visits, lest sus- 
 picion should be brought upon the house. But 
 at that time I had no idea of any thing of the 
 kind.
 
 272 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 " Thus every thing went on, until the birth 
 of my third child : soon after which, I received 
 what I considered a most insulting proposal 
 from a young nobleman, who spent a great deal 
 of time with us ; he was particularly gentle- 
 manly and pleasing in his manners, and in an 
 evening, instead of joining the card-players, he 
 generally occupied himself in attention to me, 
 or some of my visiters, several of whom were 
 excellent musicians. I knew nothing of the 
 science of music myself, but I frequently sung 
 one of those simple ballads, which you and my 
 late dear master used to like me to sing. Lord 
 Shenstone played well on the flute, therefore he 
 made a most agreeable addition to a party in 
 which cards too generally appeared the lead- 
 ing attraction, and was to me always a wel- 
 come visiter. I had received addresses from 
 several of my husband's fashionable friends, 
 at which I had expressed myself so indig- 
 nantly, that I found myself laughed at, not only 
 by them, but by Richard and the various ladies 
 of rank who visited me. They told me such 
 things were of every-day occurrence in fashion- 
 able society, and recommended me not to expose
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 273 
 
 myself by appearing angry at that, which was 
 in reahty a high compUnient ! From that time 
 I therefore received such addresses with a de- 
 gree of playfulness and raillery, which had the 
 effect of repulsing my admirers, without sub- 
 jecting me to ridicule. 
 
 " But Lord Shenstone was a very superior 
 person — I had looked upon him as a friend 
 — I admired — I esteemed him ; his proposal, 
 therefore, shot like a bolt of ice through 
 my heart. I burst into tears — I accused 
 him of every thing that was ungenerous and 
 base, and then in anger quitted him; but he 
 was not thus easily repulsed— day after day 
 he continued to come to my house and to 
 intrude himself into my drawing-room, al- 
 though I had given all my servants orders to 
 deny me to him. At length, determined no 
 longer to submit to such persecution, I said I 
 should immediately inform Mr. Turner of his 
 dishonourable conduct ; upon which, he repHed, 
 ' To convince you how little you can rely upon 
 your husband's protection or honour, I must re- 
 quest you to look at this letter.' Seeing it was
 
 274 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Hichard's writing, I took it in my hand, and 
 read with eyes almost bursting from their 
 sockets, the horrid proposal to make over all 
 claim to me for the sum of two thousand 
 pounds, he having for some time seen his lord- 
 ship's admiration of me. I read no more, but 
 dashing the letter on the ground, flew rather 
 than ran to the room in which I knew Richard 
 was still in bed. 
 
 " In vehement language, I told him the in- 
 sult I had received — the letter I had seen — 
 and called upon him, if he wished to save me 
 from madness, to say it was a forgery. ' In- 
 deed it is no forgery,' he replied, with unusual 
 coolness ; ' the fact is, it is nearly up with us 
 here — we are smoked, and can scarcely get a 
 gudgeon to bite — two thousand pounds would 
 enable us to try another scene of action. I 
 should have made you over to some of these 
 men long ago, but the fame of your beauty has 
 drawn too many fish to my net, for me to think 
 of parting with you as long as I could keep this 
 house open. That can no longer be ; I there- 
 fore recommend you to follow the example of
 
 • THE convict's WIFE. 275 
 
 your female friends, who all ' laugh at human 
 ties/ make a good bargain for yourself and the 
 brats with Lord Shenstone, who really is very 
 fond of you ; and as he is, like yourself, rather 
 puritanical, it will be an ease to his conscience 
 to provide for the children whilst enjoying the 
 society of the mother/ 
 
 " All I had before seen or imagined of Rich- 
 ard's profligacy was nothing to what I now heard 
 — I remained as if fixed to the spot on which I 
 stood. ^ Now go, and make the best bargain 
 you can for yourself and the brats with Lord 
 Shenstone; for if I abscond, you must go upon 
 the parish.' — 'Wretch! villain!' I exclaimed, 
 roused to a state of madness, 'have I, then, 
 been all this while the mistress of a common 
 gambling-house, and the associate of women of 
 infamous character ? — and do you unblushingly 
 offer to sell your wife, that you may revel upon 
 the proceeds of her infamy?' — ' Heyday, ma- 
 dam,' replied he, starting from his bed in fury, 
 ' how dare you speak to me in this way — do 
 you pretend to say you were not aware that this 
 was a gaming-house, seeing as you did nothing 
 but gambling around you? — or could you by
 
 276 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 such a fool as to suppose your female friends 
 really had any right to the titles they bore? 
 At any rate, you are now undeceived;' and gnash- 
 ing his teeth with rage as he caught hold of 
 me, ' therefore, go — do as they do, and never let 
 me see you more ;' then pushing me with vio- 
 lence out of the room, he bolted the door. 
 
 " The blood rushed to my heart, and for a 
 few moments I sunk upon the landing, utterly 
 unconscious of all around me ; but only too 
 soon a state of consciousness returned, and I 
 felt how very a wretch I was. The circulation 
 which had been impeded now returned with re- 
 doubled force ; I felt the blood mounting to my 
 brain — I heard the loud beating of my heart — 
 the throbbing of eveiy pulse — I seemed almost 
 choking with emotion ; and, without giving my- 
 self time for the slightest reflection, I rushed 
 into the room in which I had left Lord Shen- 
 stone, exclaiming, • It is indeed too true, that 
 my husband is a villain !* His lordship, seeing 
 me so violently agitated, strove by every gentle 
 method to sooth me into composure. At length, 
 I was relieved by tears ; never were tears more 
 welcome — I think but for them my heart must
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 277 
 
 have burst. Lord Shenstone attempted not to 
 interrupt them, until he saw me becoming some- 
 what more composed ; he then resumed the pro- 
 posal I had before treated with such scorn — 
 he assured me of his entire affection — that my 
 children should be to him as if they were his 
 own — and, finally, he offered to make a large 
 settlement upon me and them. 
 
 " Oh, madam, you who never have been 
 placed in a state of temptation, cannot judge 
 what mine was ; ill-treated — scorned — exe- 
 crated — and sold — by the man, whom I once 
 so tenderly loved, but whom I now abhorred. 
 Myself and children, destitute of protection 
 or support — a young nobleman, whom I es- 
 teemed and admired, offering me his heart 
 and purse — present protection and a luxurious 
 home, with a permanent provision for myself 
 and children — and that, too, at a time when I 
 was suffering almost to madness at the insults 
 received from my worthless husband. I v/as 
 tempted, but not utterly beyond my strength — 
 at that moment, those seeds of virtue, sown by 
 your hand, showed that although the soil in 
 which they were placed had been transferred
 
 278 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 into a hotbed of luxury and depravity, they had 
 not entirely lost their original character — the 
 recollection of the lessons of your revered father, 
 ' never to do evil that good might arise,' of your 
 pure manners and admirable precepts, arose in 
 my mind, and saved me from sin. I declined 
 Lord Shenstone's too tempting offers j I told 
 him I v^as determined rather to starve vv^ith my 
 children in the streets, than submit to that in- 
 famy to which my husband would consign me. 
 He heard me with respect and pity, and left me 
 with feelings overwhelmed by the misery of my 
 situation. 
 
 "Within a few hours after he had quitted 
 the house, I received a letter from that noble- 
 man, written in terms which did honour to 
 his heart; he therein stated that he had first 
 visited my husband in the hope of saving a 
 friend from ruin, who was unfortunately ad- 
 dicted to play, when having beheld me, he had 
 become so far fascinated as to continue his 
 visits. Accident had, he said, placed him in 
 possession of such facts as must criminate my 
 husband, if brought forward ,• yet he could not 
 answer to his conscience suffering a longer con-
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 279 
 
 tinuance of a system which had already been 
 the ruin of many — nor had he altogether the 
 power of preventing the conduct of my husband 
 and his colleagues being investigated, since he 
 was not the only one aware of those criminal 
 acts to which he had alluded. On my account, 
 he continued, he alone apprehended the result; 
 but after my husband's conduct, he thought I 
 could have no objection to separating from him 
 entirely ; in which case, he recommended that 
 I should let him know that officers of justice 
 would be in search of him on the following 
 day — that I should instantly get a deed of 
 separation drawn up and signed by him, when 
 he, Lord Shenstone, would settle upon me two- 
 thirds of the sum he was to have paid my hus- 
 band for my possession, giving him the remain- 
 ing third to enable him to depart for another 
 hemisphere. If I would assent to this, he would 
 give me his honour never even to attempt to 
 see me, unless at my own request. He con- 
 cluded with assuring me, that if he could thus 
 serve me, he should feel much happier than in
 
 280 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 the gratification of a passion sincere as ever 
 glowed in the bosom of man. 
 
 "With tears of joy I read this letter — not 
 that for a moment I thought of taking advan- 
 tage of its contents— but it convinced me that I 
 had not been mistaken in the opinion I had 
 foimed of his lordship's character, and, like- 
 wise, that I still held a place in his esteem. I 
 answered the letter without delay, vainly at- 
 tempting to express my full sense of gratitude, 
 bat absolutely and for ever declining his assist- 
 ance. I thought that my safety lay in flight, 
 and that I must not again see, nor, if possible, 
 hear of this too amiable nobleman. I did not 
 see Kichard until the evening, when, on his re- 
 turn home at an early hour, he broke out into a 
 most outrageous fit of passion at my still re- 
 maining in the house. I did not attempt to 
 interrupt him until he appeared almost to have 
 worn himself out with his own violence. T then 
 told him that Lord Shenstone had requested me 
 to intimate to him, that officers of justice would 
 be in pursuit of him the next day.
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 281 
 
 " ' I know it,'* he gloomily replied ; ' and had 
 you not been a fool, I might have been master 
 of two thousand pounds, with which I would 
 have sailed to America, and you would never 
 have heard or seen more of me — as it is, my 
 fate must be yours ; therefore, be in readiness 
 to leave this house, with your children, to- 
 night, for sheriff's officers will be in possession 
 of the place before noon.' 
 
 " I then by his desire prepared for my depar- 
 ture, putting up a few changes of linen only for 
 the children and myself; in doing which, I was 
 surprised to find that my ornaments and all my 
 best wearing-apparel were removed. Suppos- 
 ing them stolen, I returned to inform Richard 
 of the circumstance, when he told me he had 
 himself removed them in the morning. At ten 
 o'clock, when the servants were all at supper, I 
 took my sleeping baby in my arms, whilst 
 Richard taking the two elder ones, who, always 
 frightened in their father's presence, remained 
 in speechless astonishment, preceded me down 
 stairs, where I found a coach at the door, con- 
 taining the parcel I had made up. We entered
 
 282 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 it in silence, and in silence departed, for the 
 coachman appeared to have had his orders be- 
 fore we arrived. We had driven about two 
 miles, I should think, when Richard pulled the 
 check-string, and ordered the man to take us 
 to Greenwich. When near halfway there, we 
 encountered several caravans, and Richard, tak- 
 ing advantage of their proximity to disappear 
 amongst them, opened the door and jumped 
 out, placing a paper in my hands, saying, 
 ' There are directions for you ; destroy it when 
 read.' I had no time to speak, and so entirely 
 did I now despise him to whom I was linked, 
 that I scarcely know whether it was not a relief 
 to feel myself and children left in this desolate 
 and unprotected state, rather than accompanied 
 by him. 
 
 " On arriving at the inn to which we had 
 been directed, we were shown into a sitting- 
 room, the man looking with some surprise at a 
 lady, attired in a bonnet and mantle of the most 
 elegant and costly description, carrying her baby 
 in her arms, with two other children utterly unat- 
 tended. My request for a sleeping-apartment,
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 283 
 
 however, met with immediate attention. I was 
 no sooner left alone with my children, than I 
 looked at the slip of paper on which was writ- 
 ten, ' Remove to lodgings, or some small and 
 retired public-house, to-morrow, by circuitous 
 routes and various coaches, that you may not 
 be traced ; address a letter to Mr. Tedler, at the 
 Granby, Tavistock-street, London, with your 
 address, without your name — add nothing 
 more — a friend will receive it for me. After 
 this, remain at the same place, until you see or 
 hear from me. My life depends upon your pru- 
 dence.' I instantly destroyed the paper ; then 
 placing my children in bed, and praying to 
 Heaven to give me strength of mind to bear the 
 calamities with which I was assailed, I sunk at 
 length to rest. My slumbers, though disturbed, 
 refreshed me in some degree, for I was worn 
 out both in body and mind by the agitation 
 and fatigue I had endured. The next day I 
 took a coach, and having discharged my little 
 bill, proceeded to a shop, where I exchanged 
 my elegant and really valuable walking-dress 
 for one of a plain and not at all costly descrip-
 
 284 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 tion ; as new and old dresses were exposed for 
 sale at the same place, the exchange was effected 
 without any money being required, which was to 
 me an object of importance, as I possessed only 
 a few pounds, and knew not how long I might 
 be without any thing else to support us. I re- 
 quested the good woman of the shop to call 
 another coach, into which my box was put (it 
 having been taken out of our former vehicle by 
 the driver, who no doubt supposed they were 
 clothes, which I was going to pawn or sell). I 
 then, with my wondering children, the eldest of 
 whom was not four years old, drove into the 
 outskirts of the place, until on a very small 
 house I saw ' Parlours to let.' Here I stopped, 
 and finding that they would accommodate me 
 with a crib, in which my eldest child could 
 sleep, I engaged the two apartments, which 
 united were scarcely so large as the dressing- 
 room I had lately occupied. 
 
 " I had been for the last two or three years 
 accustomed to so much attendance and so many 
 luxuries, that I had almost forgotten how to 
 attend upon, or even dress myself; and now I
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 285 
 
 found myself obliged to do every thing that was 
 required for my three children likewise; the con- 
 sequence of which was, that each night when I 
 went to bed, I was so weary that I soon dropped 
 into a state of tranquil repose. Thus a fortnight 
 passed, and my little stock of wealth was almost 
 at an end ; I still possessed my watch, but I 
 wished to retain it to the last moment, which I 
 feared had nearly arrived, when a post letter was 
 delivered to me, with these words in Richard's 
 hand, * Be ready with your children to-morrow 
 evening to start for London — a coach will come 
 for you, and will bring you to me.' With a griev- 
 ing heart did I prepare to obey his summons, but 
 he was my husband, and there was no alterna- 
 tive. 
 
 " On the evening appointed, a coach came 
 to my lodgings, the driver bringing two or three 
 lines in Richard's hand, desiring me to place 
 myself and children without fear under his 
 care ; this I accordingly did, and we were imme- 
 diately driven to town, and through many streets, 
 of the appearance of which I knew nothing. 
 At length v/e stopped at a mean-looking house,
 
 286 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 in a narrow street; as the coachman stood 
 holding the door of the coach, whilst a maid- 
 servant, in a dress far from cleanly or neat, 
 opened that of the house, my heart misgave me, 
 and I hesitated whether to get out, fearing lest 
 I might enter some house that was not respect- 
 able, since I could place no reliance on the 
 honour of my husband. Seeing my hesitation, 
 the woman said, ' The gentleman waits for you 
 up stairs, ma'am.' Then the recollection of 
 Richard's probable anger at my delay, induced 
 me to descend, and with my baby in my arm, 
 and my other two little ones clinging to me, 
 I ascended the steep and narrow stairs. With 
 difficulty my eldest boy could climb up them, 
 my second child was quite unable to do so, 
 therefore I was obliged, though unwillingly, to 
 consign him to the dirty hands of the servant. 
 ^' We ascended two stories ere the young 
 woman pointed out the door at which I was to 
 enter ; there to my surprise I found a stranger 
 seated, on which I was going to retire, but the 
 attendant having placed my child upon the 
 floor, and closed the door ere I could do so, the
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 287 
 
 stranger, who, from his dress, appeared to be 
 a man in a respectable station of life, requested 
 me to be seated. Thanking him, I said, ^ You 
 perhaps are aware that I have been led to 
 expect my husband here.' — ' What is your hus- 
 band's name, ma'am ? ' Here the idea that I 
 had probably only been trepanned to this place, 
 to give information that might lead to Richard's 
 detection, struck me, and I replied, ' If you are 
 his friend, you must already know it ; if, on the 
 contrary, a stranger, it is unnecessary that you 
 should be informed of it.' 
 
 '* The person to whom I spoke, now burst 
 into a loud laugh, and exclaiming, ' Bravo, 
 Kate!' — I discovered him to be my husband; 
 but so altered, by his hght hair and whis- 
 kers being dyed black, his complexion bronzed, 
 and his dress, which, when we separated, 
 was rather in an extreme of fashion, now 
 being in the style of a person in an inferior 
 station of life, to whom fashion was entirely 
 unknown, that I should not have recognised him 
 any where ; and as he was a celebrated mimic, 
 any tone of voice, and manner of speaking, 
 w hich he chose to assume, appeared natural to
 
 288 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 him, and gave liim still greater facility of 
 evading discovery. The name we were now to 
 be known by, I was told was Mercer, and as it 
 was of the greatest importance that we should 
 not be discovered, I was ordered not to quit the 
 house, if possible to avoid it, and then only 
 to do so at night. ' In that box,' said Richard, 
 pointing to one in the comer, '' you will find 
 some clothes better suited to you and the 
 children, than what you have been wearing ; 
 I sold your ornaments and apparel, and with 
 the money I received I have purchased the fur- 
 niture of these rooms, and our present clothing. 
 As you have not been used to do any thing, 
 but be a fine lady, for some years, nor indeed 
 have ever been of much use in the way of work, 
 I spoke to the landlady to get some assistance 
 for you, and she has engaged a girl, whom you 
 will see in the next room. I am now going out, I 
 shall be back before daybreak, when you must 
 have something for me to eat.' 
 
 " He then, without waiting for any reply, 
 quitted the room, and with a heavy heart, 
 I went in search of a resting-place for my 
 children, who had not received the slightest
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 289 
 
 received the slightest notice from their father. 
 The room in which I was contained an old- 
 fashioned mahogany table, six common painted 
 chairs, with seats of rushes, which had evi- 
 dently been much used, an old morine window- 
 curtain, a piece of carpet, and hearth-rug, 
 which had once been blue and white, but which 
 now bore little vestige of either, a tin fender, 
 a poker, and fire-shovel ; the grate contained a 
 handful of fire, while a small candle lighted, or 
 rather exhibited the darkness of the room. 
 Opening a door, I found myself in a room, or 
 more properly a large light closet, in which was 
 a kind of bedstead, without posts or hangings, 
 and a large crib sufficient to contain two 
 children; these and a chair, on which was 
 seated a sickly dirty-looking child, about twelve 
 years of age, whom I found was to be my servant, 
 were all the room contained ; the produce of 
 one pair of my numerous earrings would have 
 purchased all our furniture ! The girl offered 
 to assist me in putting my children to bed ; but 
 with a shuddering emotion, at the thoughts of 
 their being touched by her soiled fingers, I de- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 clined her offer. Alas ! I have lived to look 
 upon all I have now described, as luxuries. 
 After seeing my little ones at rest, I asked 
 vrhere this girl was to sleep, when she told me 
 the landlady had given her leave to sleep with 
 her servant, whose cousin she was. I then 
 dismissed her, and myself retired to rest, since I 
 must rise at so early an hour, to admit my 
 husband. He came at the time he had named, 
 when, after eating a hearty meal, he retired 
 to bed, whence he did not rise imtil evening. 
 
 '' Thus we continued to live for a length of 
 time. By degrees my mind became more accus- 
 tomed to the miseiy of my situation, and my 
 body more inured to the fatigue attending it. 
 The supplies of money I received were so small, 
 that it was with difficulty I could procure 
 food for the family ; and as I found that my 
 little domestic was of scarcely any service, that 
 she was dirty in her person, and frequently 
 made use of very improper language before the 
 children, I resolved to part with her, and do 
 all the work myself. On this occasion, my 
 husband gave me one of the few marks of
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 291 
 
 approbation my conduct ever met with, saying, 
 ' Now that's a good girl, Kitty, I always knew 
 you could work if you would, and now that 
 you are a poor man's wife, you show your sense 
 by acting like one.' With my rooms to clean, 
 my husband to cook for (for myself and children 
 little cooking sufficed, potatoes, bread and 
 cheese, or tea, being our only food), my children 
 to attend upon, and to wash and iron for all, 
 you may be sure I went to bed every night with 
 weary limbs ; but this very labour, I believe, 
 assisted towards keeping me in health, since it 
 prevented the possibility of my thoughts dwell- 
 ing closely upon my misery. 
 
 " I saw but little of Richard, as, although 
 he did not often remain out during the day, 
 he never arose until evening, but took his meals 
 in bed ; sometimes he came home intoxicated, 
 when his imprecations and threats were such, 
 as to cause myself and children to seek refuge 
 from his fury in a closet, until we knew that he 
 had fallen asleep ; at other times he would sit 
 in sullen silence, with his eyes fixed upon the 
 empty grate, where I could rarely indulge in a 
 o2
 
 292 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 fire beyond the hours necessary to dress our 
 food. 
 
 Each week Richard's irritability appeared 
 to increase, his poverty hkewise seemed to 
 do so ; with difficulty I now procured the 
 smallest sum for food ; our clothes were wear- 
 ing out, but I could not renew them ; our 
 small stock of miserable furniture was at length 
 parted with; one mattress, one chair, and a 
 box, were all that remained, when I was 
 brought to bed of a fine little girl ! I had no 
 attendance, but that of a fellow-lodger, nearly 
 as destitute as myself, who, hearing my groans, 
 came to my assista,nce ; through her kindness 
 my life was saved ; she nursed me, and took 
 care of my children, through a long illness; 
 poor thing! her own life was fast wearing to 
 a close, and I must always think her kindness 
 to me hastened that event. I was, by the 
 goodness of the Almighty, supported through 
 my sufferings in an extraordinary manner. Al^ 
 though during this time I was exposed to the 
 frequent curses of the man who had brought 
 me to so miserable a state, I struggled through
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 293 
 
 this trying period, and, after a few weeks, was 
 again able to attend to my family. •' 
 
 But I seemed an altered creature ; my feelings 
 were blunted ; I heard with apathy my husband 
 accuse me of being the cause of our want and 
 wretchedness, by my refusal of Lord Shen- 
 stone's offer to provide for us all; I heard him 
 say, 'Your boasted beauty is for ever gone; 
 what would Lord Shenstone say, were he now 
 to see your wan, skinny form, care-worn face, 
 and rough red hands; who now would give a 
 shilling to possess you ? ' I looked at my bony 
 fingers, hard and cracked with labour, and I 
 smiled, but mine was not a smile of mirth, it 
 was that of a mind growing callous under such 
 continual outrages ; I even heard my husband 
 bid me walk the streets, in pursuit of sub- 
 sistence for myself and brats, and I replied by 
 a laugh of scorn. 
 
 He was astonished at the change in his 
 hitherto meek and patient, but sorrowing wife, 
 and for a time seemed appalled. He gave 
 me money, which enabled me to procure bread 
 for my children ; but I no longer wept over 
 them tears of mingled joy and sorrow as
 
 294 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 they devoured it — I no longer strove, in the 
 midst of penury, to keep them clean and de- 
 cent. I beheld their delicately fair skins 
 stained with dirt — the hair, which had once 
 formed glossy curls over their white foreheads, 
 matted and dull — their garments hanging in 
 tatters, and then I pointed them out to their 
 father saying, ' Now are we all fit inhabitants 
 for such a home.' He struck at me with 
 violence, it was not the first time by many ; but 
 I was still weak from my confinement, and I 
 fell, together with my infant, who was then 
 in my arms. 
 
 How long I remained in that state I know 
 not, it was broad day when I received the 
 blow, which struck me to the ground, and 
 when I opened my eyes it was quite dark. 
 I heard my children crying around me — my 
 recollection returned; I put out my hands 
 for my infant, it was at my side, but cold 
 as ice ; in wild affright I screamed aloud, 
 then started up, and though I tottered as 1 
 crossed the room, I had strength to strike a 
 light, when, by the aid of a rushhght, I per- 
 ceived that the same blow which felled me to
 
 THE convict's WIFE* 295 
 
 the ground, had deprived my hapless child 
 of hfe ; the place where I had fallen was 
 deluged with blood — it was from my temple, 
 which was cut by the only piece of furniture 
 the room contained — the box, against which 
 I had fallen. My baby appeared to have a 
 slight bruise on one temple, otherwise there 
 was no mark or appearance of injury. All that 
 I had before known of misery was nothing until 
 then. Yet my mind seemed in a more natural 
 state than for some time preceding ; I was again 
 able to weep, and placing the murdered inno- 
 cent upon the box I have mentioned, whilst I 
 bound up my temple, I gave my other children 
 bread to eat, and placed them on some straw to 
 rest; then composing the limbs of the little 
 creature, thus early removed from a world of 
 trouble, I wept over and watched by it. Al- 
 though I knew not by what means to procure a 
 breakfast for my other children to eat, I grieved 
 deeply at the untimely fate of this. 
 
 " My husband did not return, and as I was 
 equally unable to bury my child as to know 
 where to apply to Richard, my landlady under- 
 took to inform the parish officers of its death ;
 
 296 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 hers was a house in which individuals requiring^ 
 parish aid frequently resided, therefore the 
 application caused no surprise. I was the sole 
 mourner at the funeral of my child ; with my 
 bonnet drawn over my face, my sobs were un- 
 heeded, and I returned with trembling limbs to 
 my home. I sold my wedding ring, all that re- 
 mained to me of any value, for a few shillings ; 
 on this I resolved to subsist as long as possible, 
 and when we could no longer do so, to apply to 
 the parish for relief. 
 
 " From the time the dreadful event I have 
 described took place I appeared to have been 
 restored to my former state of feeling ; my grief, 
 though deep, was calm ; I was again enabled to 
 attend to my children; I attempted to mend 
 their ragged dresses, 1 washed their soiled 
 skins, and, what gave me greater consolation 
 than any thing else, I prayed to Heaven for 
 assistance and forgiveness. I yet retained a 
 prayer-book and a bible, in which, until my 
 last confinement, I had daily heard my boys 
 read ; I now again taught them, and in the 
 midst of my sorrows, a feeling of comparative 
 happiness reigned in my heart. I have since
 
 THE CONVICT^S WIFE. 297 
 
 thought that the profuse bleeding of my temple 
 had reheved my brain from an oppression, 
 which had caused that morbid and frightful 
 state of feeling, which had led me to urge my 
 husband's violent temper beyond its bearing. 
 
 " My last sixpence was expended, and I was 
 debating in my own mind the necessity of send- 
 ing to the overseers the following day, when 
 Richard entered the room ; he looked anxious 
 and flurried, gave me half a crown, and telling 
 me to procure food immediately, seated himself on 
 the box — it was the same which had cut open my 
 temple — the same on which my infant had been 
 laid out. I shuddered as I beheld him there ; 
 then overwhelmed with emotion, rushing from 
 the room, I fled into the street— I there recol- 
 lected that my children wanted food, and re- 
 turned in a few minutes from an eating-house, 
 with meat for their father, and bread for our- 
 selves — it was the first time they had tasted 
 food during the day ! The poor children were 
 greedily devouring their bread, when the door, 
 which was locked, was burst open, and officers 
 of justice entering, seized Richard, and hurried 
 o 3
 
 298 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 him to Newgate, where he remained but a few 
 days before he was tried for a highway rob- 
 bery, and sentenced to transportation for life ! 
 But few of those who saw in the daily papers 
 that Richard Jones, abas Mercer, was found 
 guilty of felony, suspected that, had all his 
 names been made known, they would have re- 
 cognised in him the late owner of one of the 
 most celebrated private gaming-houses in the 
 metropolis. Myself and children were removed 
 to the workhouse, where we remained until 
 Richard's sentence was passed. I was allowed 
 to visit him in prison once only. Although 
 love had long been utterly extinguished in my 
 breast, yet I could not behold one, of whose 
 preference I had once been so proud, reduced 
 to the lowest state of degradation — himself a 
 felon, and surrounded by felons — without feel- 
 ing a pang so acute as must have broken any 
 heart less accustomed to misery than mine. I 
 wept bitter tears of grief — of forgiveness. I re- 
 ceived in reply only sarcasms and curses — I 
 beheld him apparently neither penitent nor 
 ashamed -, he again accused me of being the
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 299 
 
 cause of his present state, in not having suf- 
 fered him to sell me in the days of my beauty. 
 He refused every token of forgiveness or of 
 kindness, and I quitted him with a heart seared 
 by what I had seen and heard. My tears were 
 checked— my blood ran coldly through my veins. 
 I returned to the workhouse, almost deprived of 
 sense and feeling. The following day, myself 
 and my children were sent from London. I 
 returned to this village, in which my family had 
 lived respected — in which I had been supported 
 and protected by you, during so many happy 
 years of my life. I returned a pauper — nay, de- 
 graded far beyond that — the wife of a male- 
 factor. I was no sooner seen than the finder of 
 scorn was pointed at me — my brain, which was 
 before inflamed, seemed on fire. I know not 
 what crime I might not have committed, had 
 not you beheld — pitied— consoled me. 
 
 " Oh, how sweet in the -eye of Heaven must 
 be the tear which virtue sheds over the unhappy 
 and penitent ! I erred greatly in continuing to 
 love a man whose principles I had reason to 
 doubt ; in the folly of my heart, I thought his
 
 300 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 love for me would work a reformation in him, 
 were what you had heard of him true, which I 
 fondly hoped it was not. The woman who 
 weakly imagines her charms or her arguments 
 can convert a profligate, will generally find, 
 when too late, that she has encouraged a dan- 
 gerous and erroneous hope — at least, I have 
 found it so." 
 
 I did not hear all the minute circumstances I 
 have related at one time, but all the most ma- 
 terial incidents attending her melancholy story, 
 she related on her first visit to me — the others 
 I heard when in conversation at various periods. 
 When Kitty had concluded her sorrowful narra- 
 tive, I endeavoured to give her every comfort in 
 my power, by encouraging her to look for con- 
 solation where alone it was to be found, and by 
 praising her conduct in not having given way 
 under circumstances of very extraordinary tempt- 
 ation, and leading her to look forward to future 
 years of tranquillity and comfort. 
 
 " No, dear madam,*' she replied, in a tone of 
 deep melancholy, " tranquillity and comfort are 
 fled from me for ever — labour would be a relief
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 301 
 
 to me, but who will employ so degraded a 
 being? The eye of suspicion will be ever 
 watching my movements. Even as I go to the 
 house of God, the finger of scorn will still point 
 to the convict's wife ; no one will enter into 
 companionship with the offspring of a highway- 
 man — ^no one will employ children descended 
 from such a father. No, no — there is nothing 
 for me to look forward to, but misery and woe." 
 
 " Do not talk thus despondingly," said I ; 
 " put your trust in Him who never forsakes the 
 wretched, if not guilty. I will protect yourself 
 and children ; I will recollect, that though their 
 father was worthless, their mother was amiable 
 — that she was more sinned against than sin- 
 ning : and I think you are well aware that those 
 whom I respect and countenance, are not likely 
 to meet with insult or unkindness in Southend.'' 
 
 " Heaven bless and reward you, dearest 
 madam, for all your goodness to me and mine l*" 
 and as she spoke, the poor distressed creature 
 sunk on her knees ; her eyes were raised, and 
 her Ups moved as if in prayer for some mo- 
 ments : then rising, she said, " You have con-
 
 302 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 quered, madam. I had determined to fly from 
 this place with my children, and rather to 
 beg my bread from door to door, and undergo 
 every punishment the vagrant laws could in- 
 flict, than submit to the misery of remaining in 
 my native place ; but the mortifications I am 
 here exposed to, will be amply repaid by your 
 kind protection and countenance : and I hope, 
 since I shall gladly undertake any labour to 
 which my strength may be equal, that with 
 your assistance, I may procure work, and be 
 enabled to support my children without parish 
 relief; then the scorn and derision of the world 
 shall be as nothing to this, T fear still, too proud 
 spirit." 
 
 That night it was necessary Mrs. Jones should 
 remain at the poorhouse, but the following day 
 I assured her 1 would endeavour to procure 
 some other accommodation for herself and 
 family. Ere she quitted me, I made a point of 
 explaining some of the leading events in her 
 history to my old housekeeper, who no longer 
 looked coldly on the poor forlorn Kitty, but 
 greeted her with a kindness which affected her
 
 303 
 
 feelings quite as much as any thing which had 
 occurred between her and myself. As my re- 
 spectable old domestic accompanied her to the 
 poorhouse, taking with her some provisions for 
 the children, the neighbours viewed them with 
 surprise. The following morning I drove in my 
 little pony-carriage to Kilsby Grange, the resi- 
 dence of Mr. James Jones, who was living there 
 in the enjoyment of every comfort that wealth 
 could bestow. I found him at home, and soon 
 perceived that he was aware his brother had 
 been sentenced to transportation, but of the 
 state of his wife and children he knew nothing. 
 When I informed him that they were in the 
 poorhouse at Southend, the colour mounted 
 into his tanned cheeks, but it as quickly sub- 
 sided, and he replied, "After Richard's mis- 
 conduct, his family cannot be further disgraced 
 — the poorhouse is the fittest home for his wife 
 and children." 
 
 Seeing in him the rough, unpolished farmer 
 (for whilst Richard had received the advantage 
 of a liberal education, James had remained at 
 Kilsby to assist his father in the superintend-
 
 304 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 ence of his farm), and knowing that he had the 
 character of being somewhat parsimonious, I 
 had but Uttle hope of gaining any assistance to- 
 wards the maintenance of his sister-in-law and her 
 children : however, I resolved that no effort in my 
 power should be left untried to soften his heart. 
 I therefore related her sad story — her sufferings 
 — her passive obedience to all his brother's 
 wishes, until he urged her to infamy — ^her posi- 
 tive resistance then, although she rejected wealth 
 and luxury, and what was a still greater tempt- 
 ation, a separation from her tyrant, whilst she 
 clung to want and misery. As I proceeded, I 
 saw his rugged features evince traces of feeling, 
 and ere I concluded, he stroked the back of his 
 hand across his eyes, and exclaimed, *' Say no 
 more, madam — they shall not starve. I always 
 liked poor Kitty, and but for my brother, 
 should have told her so ; but he persuaded me 
 that she would not do for a farmer's wife — and 
 then I found that he liked her, and so I sM 
 nothing to any body : but, after all, it would 
 have been well for her if she had not been so 
 taken with Richard's handsome face and flashy
 
 THE CONVICT*S WIFE. 305 
 
 talk. I will settle fifty pounds a year upon her, 
 and if her children turn out well, I may do 
 something for them, perhaps, by and by." 
 
 I thanked Mr. Jones most sincerely for his 
 generous treatment of his sister-in-law, which, 
 when I found that he had paid several large 
 sums for his brother, I considered as really such. 
 More than satisfied with the success of my self- 
 created embassy, I returned to Southend, to 
 impart to Mrs. Jones the glad tidings of her 
 brother-in-law's assistance. As Mr. Jones sent 
 his sister half a year's annuity in advance, a 
 neat cottage, which was untenanted, was soon 
 prepared for the reception of the family, I found 
 that I had some useless furniture, which would 
 be of great service. 
 
 My friends at Danby Park, who recollected 
 the pretty Kitty Dawson, and were interested 
 in her sad history, readily lent their aid towards 
 establishing her comfortably, by sending her a 
 cart-load of furniture for her bed-rooms ; thus, 
 in a few days from her arrival, I had the plea- 
 sure of seeing herself and children neatly 
 dressed, and settled in their respectable little 
 home.
 
 306 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES, 
 
 Mrs. Jones devoted herself so entirely to 
 the education and superintendence of her chil- 
 dren, that she was rarely seen beyond* her 
 own small garden, except on a Sunday ; and 
 then, with a large bonnet, which shaded her 
 face from every eye, she merely traversed the 
 distance between the church and her own 
 cottage. Strong as was the prejudice against 
 her, when she first returned to her native place, 
 her exemplary conduct, added to the notice and 
 support of the rector's family and myself, soon 
 caused her to be entirely re-established in the 
 good opinion of her neighbours, who, in a 
 few months after her return to Southend, began 
 to vie with each other in paying her little marks 
 of respect and attention. 
 
 I then proposed that she should commence a 
 school, for the reception of such young persons 
 as were, from their situation, above attending 
 the national school, and whom their parents did 
 not wish to send to any of the numerous semi- 
 naries, lest in learning what was there under- 
 taken to be taught, they might likewise learn 
 notions much beyond their station. Mrs. Jones 
 readily acceded to my proposition, and she was
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 307 
 
 soon provided with a dozen pupils, whom she 
 undertook to instruct in every thing that was 
 necessary for a farmer's daughter to know, 
 beyond the management of the house and 
 dairy. In forwarding this I had a double mo- 
 tive ; I perceived that Mrs. Jones's active mind 
 required more employment, than that of in- 
 structing her own children only, to divert her 
 thoughts from melancholy retrospections, and I 
 had long wished for a school of the description 
 I knew her to be fully capable of undertaking, 
 since one or two of the farmers had sent their 
 children from home, who had returned to them 
 the most insufferable of beings, vulgar fine 
 ladies ; this I knew would not be the case with 
 Mrs. Jones's pupils ; she was so well-informed 
 herself, that if they remained long with her, 
 she would improve their minds and manners ; 
 but she would carefully avoid making them think 
 too highly of their own attainments, or too 
 lowly of those of their parents. My plan has, 
 in every respect, answered my expectations. 
 Several of the young farmers say that they are 
 indebted to Mrs. Jones, for finding in their
 
 308 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 wives, women who, after they have attended to 
 their household duties, will sit down and make 
 their own and children's clothes neatly, keep 
 their husband's accounts, and when they come 
 in, wearied with labour, will read to them the 
 weekly paper, or on a Sunday, the bible, 
 whilst some have carried their acquirements 
 far beyond all this, and yet have remained mo- 
 dest and unaffected young women. 
 
 Two years after the return of Mrs. Jones 
 to Southend, her brother-in-law married an 
 amiable and respectable young person, who, 
 having heard the story of her unfortunate 
 marriage, has ever treated her with considera- 
 tion and kindness ; and when the young 
 Richard attained the age of twelve, she pro- 
 posed to her husband that his future home 
 should be at Kilsby ; not that he should lead a 
 life of idleness, but that he might work in the 
 farm, and learn to gain a livelihood for himself. 
 He has now resided there three years, and I am 
 assured by his uncle and aunt, that he proves 
 all they can wish. 
 
 Should the reader of the foregoing narrative
 
 THE convict's WIFE. 309 
 
 ever pass through Southend, and his eye be 
 attracted by a whitewashed cottage, with a 
 window on each side the door, the walls nearly 
 covered with china roses, the porch partially 
 obscured by honeysuckle and clematis, the 
 neat little garden, filled with gay flowers, which 
 perfume the air around, whilst a beautiful girl 
 of twelve or thirteen years of age, is busily 
 employed in weeding, or in training some of the 
 unruly flowers, and a sweet intelligent-looking, 
 though lame boy, is seated at her side, endea- 
 vouring to aid her eflbrts ; should he see all 
 this, I recommend him then to open the little 
 wicket, and proceed to the house, where, if he 
 enter, he will observe on one side the passage 
 a room, with forms, writing-desks, books, and 
 slates, nicely arranged; on the opposite side, 
 he will perceive a neatly-furnished parlour, in 
 which, not merely a comely, but still lovely 
 woman, is most probably seated, occupied in 
 reading her bible; her dress of quaker-like 
 simplicity, being of the plainest mateiial, either 
 black or gray, with a clear muslin handker- 
 chief, cap, and apron, whose whiteness might
 
 310 VILLAGE REMINISCENCES. 
 
 rival the driven snow, and her dark silken 
 tresses braided across that fair forehead, on 
 which sorrow has left deeper traces than time ; 
 no longer wretched, no longer repining, but 
 grateful to Providence for blessings which she 
 thinks far beyond her deserts, she nightly prays 
 for the reformation of that being once so be- 
 loved, and for whose final doom she is alone 
 fearful. Such will the reader now find 
 
 The Convict's Wife. 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.
 
 
 
 
 i ^n