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 L161— O-1096
 
 MADELINE 
 
 a ©ale. 
 
 BY MRS. OPIE. 
 
 To be resign' d when ills betide, 
 Patient when favours are denied, 
 
 And pleased with favours given ; 
 This, this alone is wisdom's part, 
 This is that incense of the heart 
 
 Whose fragrance smells to Heaven. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ion&oti: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 1822.
 
 Pr.. tedl'V R. and A- Tamo:-, 
 Shoe- Lane, London.
 
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 TO HER 
 
 TO WHOM CIRCUMSTANCES 
 
 WILL RENDER IT INTERESTING, 
 
 THIS TALE 
 
 IS DEDICATED 
 BY HER AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 
 
 AND OBLIGED SERVANT, 
 
 AMELIA OPIE.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/madelinetale01opie
 
 How the following Work came into 
 my hands, and why I have been induced 
 to publish it at this present period of 
 time, in opposition to the avowed inten- 
 tion of the Editor, it is unnecessary far 
 me to explain. 
 
 Such as it is, I give it to the world ; 
 assuring my leaders that I lay before 
 them a story which is, in many respects, 
 literally true, and that the characters in 
 it are not entirely the creatures of the 
 imagination. 
 
 Amelia Opie.
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 I FELT a strong, an irresistible desire 
 that this manuscript should be given to 
 the world, on reading the following pas- 
 sage in it : 
 
 " I have been reading over my journal. 
 Amazing! It is now as long as a book, and 
 yet it contains nothing but the history of 
 a iveak woman s heart ; but is not that 
 heart a world to its possessor ? Does not 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MADELINE. 
 
 some writer say, c that little world the 
 human heart?' And, after all, is there, 
 can there be a history more interesting 
 than a history of the affections ? 
 
 " Could the coldest-hearted being have 
 an opportunity of reading the secret 
 details of the faults, the cares, the sor- 
 rows, the hopes, the sentiments, the ac- 
 tions, and the adventures, of the most 
 indifferent person of his acquaintance, 
 would he not read it in preference to the 
 history of either Greek, or Roman, or 
 even British worthies ? " 
 
 To this question my own heart so rea- 
 dily answered " Yes," that I requested, 
 and at length obtained, permission to 
 employ my leisure hours in arranging for 
 publication, at some distant period, not 
 only the Journal itself, but every docu- 
 ment connected with it. 
 
 This interesting task is now, at length,.
 
 MADELINE. 3 
 
 accomplished : but I have still to preface 
 the work with a few particulars which the 
 heroine has not given in detail herself. 
 
 Some circumstances, not worth men- 
 tioning here, had induced Mr. and Mrs. 
 Irwin, of Burford Park, in Sussex, to 
 take into their family, and educate as a 
 gentlewoman, the daughter of a Scotch 
 cottager, or little farmer, residing near 
 K — , whom they met with on a journey 
 to Scotland. Their only son and daugh- 
 ter had recently married and gone abroad : 
 the one had followed the fortunes of her 
 husband to the Mauritius ; the other had 
 been sent to St. Petersburg in a diploma- 
 tic capacity ; and the affectionate hearts 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Irwin wanted a new ob- 
 ject to interest them, when accident of- 
 fered this beautiful child, Madeline 
 Munro, to their notice ; and the parents, 
 already burthened with a numerous fa- 
 mily, were induced to part with her, on 
 b2
 
 4 MADELINE. 
 
 promise that she should not be allowed 
 to forget them, and should occasionally 
 be permitted to visit them. 
 
 I had always been the friend of Mrs. 
 Irwin, and for ten years was governess 
 to her daughter ; but when my services 
 ceased to be wanted, I continued to re- 
 side in the family ; and, when her chil- 
 dren left the country, I promised that I 
 would not leave my friend in, what she 
 called, her desolate condition, till my own 
 expected marriage should take place. I 
 was therefore at Burford Park when they 
 arrived, bringing with them their new and 
 interesting charge, who immediately be- 
 came my pupil, and was very soon as 
 dear to me as if she had been my child. 
 
 As Mr. Irwin's estates were all entailed 
 on his son, and as Miss Irwin had mar- 
 ried a man of very small fortune, and 
 therefore required all her mother's pro- 
 perty, I knew that, though they had as
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 it were adopted Madeline Munro, they 
 could not give her the fortune of a gentle- 
 woman. I therefore sometimes doubted 
 the propriety of giving her the education 
 of one. But her thirst for knowledge, 
 her talents, and her docility, made it im- 
 possible for me to withhold the improve- 
 ment which she sought ; and I convinced 
 myself that I was not very wrong, by the 
 consciousness that I was enabling her to 
 gain her own livelihood ; By the time 
 that I married and went to India with my 
 husband, Madeline, though only sixteen, 
 knew all that I or Mrs. Irwin could teach 
 her, and had also profited to the utmost 
 by the lessons which she had received 
 from the best masters which town or 
 country could furnish. 
 
 Soon after I left England, the husband 
 of Mrs. Irwin's daughter unexpectedly 
 became rich ; Mrs. Irwin was consequently 
 enabled to provide handsomely for her
 
 G MADELINE. 
 
 adopted child ; but on her sudden and 
 lamented death, not long after that of 
 Mr. Irwin, a will could no where be 
 found ; therefore, had not Mr. Irwin left 
 Madeline a small remembrance, she 
 would have returned to her father's cot- 
 tage as poor as when she left it. 
 
 But I have said enough to make my 
 reader a little acquainted with my he- 
 roine ; and now I shall let her speak for 
 herself, in extracts from letters which I 
 received from her before she began her 
 journal. E. S. 
 
 Burford Park, April 1813. 
 
 * *fi* TT TT W TT *7? 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Everland are so kind 
 to me that I shall be sorry to part with 
 them. Mr. Everland reminds me of his 
 poor uncle ; I am glad Mr. Irwin left him 
 so much of his small personal property,
 
 MADELINE. / 
 
 for he has a large family, and both he 
 and Airs. Everland seem benevolent, and 
 able to interest themselves in the welfare 
 of those who do not belong to tfienc ; 
 which is not often the case with persons 
 who are biest with the nearest and dear- 
 est ties. But I wish their pity for me did 
 not make them blame Mrs. Irwin for not 
 making a will ; I know that she meant to 
 do so, and to provide nobly for me, and 
 I cannot bear to hear her censured : as it 
 is, I owe her countless obligations. How 
 overwhelmed, how desolate did I feel 
 when I first lost her, till I remembered 
 that my real parents still lived, and that 
 their arms were open to receive me ! I 
 have just had a painful conversation with 
 Mr. and Airs. Everland. 
 
 " I will be your wit/iess, Miss Munro,*' 
 said the former, " should one be neces- 
 sar>j, to prove your legal right to these 
 music-books, and those instruments which
 
 8 MADELINE. 
 
 I shall send after you as soon as possible; 
 and also to certain books and pieces of 
 furniture, for / saiu them given to you : 
 but I think my cousin Lydia will not dis- 
 pute your right" I could not thank him : 
 I was shocked to find he could for a mo- 
 ment suspect the daughter of Mrs. Irwin 
 of so mean an action ! " And com- 
 mand me, my dear," said Mrs. Evedand, 
 " should you wish to go out as a gover- 
 ness." " I never can wish it," replied I 
 eagerly ; " I have a little fortune now.' 
 " Little, indeed ! Mrs. Irwin every year 
 spent more on your dress than your whole 
 present income." " But remember, I 
 shall now in future dress as becomes my 
 present situation, and I am sure I shall 
 prefer my own home to any other." " I 
 am not so sure of that." " Dear madam, 
 you forget that ' I (shall) dwell among my 
 own people.''" " And had you never left 
 them, my dear girl, you would always
 
 MADELINE. 9 
 
 have been contented to dwell among 
 them, but — " "No buts, I beseech you, 
 on that subject," said I impatiently; " for 
 I cannot bear it:" and the conversation 
 was dropt. — But, my dear friend, I find it 
 impossible to forget it. That prophetic 
 " but" still haunts my imagination. Yet 
 wherefore ? why should I not like to live 
 at home under my present circumstances ? 
 To be sure, when my father visited me 
 here when I was ten years old, I was mor- 
 tified to see that he was not as smart- 
 looking as Mr. Irwin's own man ; but 
 when I visited him at the dear cottage by 
 the burn -side, when I was fourteen, I was 
 delighted with every thing, and every body 
 with whom I associated : but then it 
 might be because I was made of great 
 consequence, and was a little wonder. 
 However, why should I anticipate evil ? 
 and if I resolve to be happy at home, 
 surely I shall be so : but enough of self. 
 b5
 
 10 MADELINE. 
 
 Yet one word more : I set off for Scot- 
 land next week. I travel with a Mr. On- 
 slow, an elderly gentleman, a friend of 
 Mr. Everland's — 
 
 *7v *%? *K* *lr Hr t£ *f£ 
 
 From my own home , Feb. 1813. 
 
 Here I am, my dear friend, after a 
 cold but comfortable journey ! 
 
 I cannot describe my feelings when I 
 first saw my native hills again ; and the 
 past, the present, and the future, came 
 thronging on my imagination at once. 
 
 " My native hills ! " exclaimed I in a 
 faltering voice to my invalid companion. 
 " 1 am sorry for it," he obligingly replied. 
 I would have thanked him, but I could 
 not speak, for I could now distinguish 
 the eager group who were watching for 
 my arrival. Mr. Onslow also looked out, 
 but drew back his head with an air of al- 
 most contemptuous surprise as the coach
 
 MADELINE. 1 1 
 
 stopped, exclaiming, "And is it there you 
 live ? " But this little wound to my con- 
 sequence was scarcely inflicted ere it was 
 forgotten, for in an instant the door was 
 opened, and I found myself in the em- 
 braces of my parents. 
 
 I am afraid I appeared cold in my 
 thanks and adieus to Mr. Onslow ; but I 
 could not say much at such a moment. 
 Still I think his parting look was a very 
 kind one. 
 
 " And so you are come home now, 
 never to leave us again ? " was said by 
 my brothers and sisters in turn. My pa- 
 rents looked that, and a great deal more, 
 but they did not speak with their lips 
 — it was unnecessary. I felt all they 
 would have said to the bottom of my 
 heart, and was almost consoled for the 
 loss of my benefactors. That evening 
 was one of unmixed gratification ; and 
 when my father, while we knelt around
 
 12 MADELINE. 
 
 him as we assembled for family worship, 
 gave thanks for my return, I only won- 
 dered how I could have borne to stay 
 away so long. My dear mother apolo- 
 gized to me for my being forced to share 
 my bed with my eldest sister. Apologies 
 to vie! to her child! I own this gave me 
 pain. 
 
 Before day-break I was roused from 
 sleep by the sound of active housewifery 
 very near me, and I could not recollect 
 at first where I was. When I did, I must 
 own to yon, that I felt a sort of forlorn, 
 joyless feeling, as the dim twilight of ap- 
 proaching day showed me the unpapered, 
 unpainted walls of my apartment ; and I 
 was not cheered to see, as further light 
 came in, that they were decorated by co- 
 loured prints of the homeliest description 
 exhibiting some of the early Reformers 
 in the torments of martyrdom. Certainly 
 objects of a more pleasing nature used to
 
 MADELINE. 13 
 
 meet my eyes when I awoke at Burford 
 Park ; and I own that I was weak enough 
 to weep bitterly for a few moments, and 
 to murmur a little at my fate : but when 
 I gazed upon " Thy will, O Lord ! be 
 done ! " in the labelled mouth of each 
 expiring martyr, I echoed the supporting 
 words, and by the time I joined the fa- 
 mily I trust there were no traces of sor- 
 row either in my mind or my features. 
 As soon as breakfast was over, I took my 
 father on one side, and gave him a bank- 
 note foronehundred pounds, telling him I 
 had another hundred pounds, with which 
 Mr. Everland had insisted on buying stock 
 for me; and that I had forty pounds a- 
 year besides. My father kissed me affec- 
 tionately, and looking significantly at my 
 mother, said, to my great satisfaction, "I 
 will take it." I then told them I meant 
 to pay for my board ; but this proposal 
 gave them great pain, and my father asked
 
 14 MADELINE. 
 
 me if I was grown too proud to bear to 
 owe even my food to my poor father and 
 mother. He added, that I had an equal 
 'ight with his other children to their com- 
 non and daily fare, and should therefore 
 not pay for it; but that if my more deli- 
 cate appetite required better living, it was 
 right that I should pay for that. " Now, 
 Madeline," said he, " look at the expense 
 we were at to do you honour ;" and I saw 
 with grateful affection that the parlour 
 had a sashed window, and that the floor 
 was partly carpeted. My mother was 
 then kindly eager to inform me that my 
 bed-room should be kept free from all in- 
 truders during the morning hours, that I 
 might read and write at my leisure. I 
 am not to be allowed, I find, to assist in 
 the household duties ; but I have insisted 
 on doing all the nicer sort of needlework 
 for the family, helping to knit stockings, 
 and keeping the accounts : and I doubt
 
 MADELINE. 15 
 
 not but I shall be happy. A letter from 
 you ! what a treasure ! No, dearest 
 Airs. St. Leger, I had not forgotten 
 the hint that you gave me concerning 
 keeping a Journal; I have even begun the 
 first page. Do not fear that I shall give 
 you too much Scotch. I have not writ- 
 ten one Scotch word yet in my letter, you 
 see, for I remembered your aversion to 
 the language. Let me now answer this 
 precious letter regularly.
 
 MADELINE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 WHEN those whom we love and revere 
 are far removed from us, there is a me- 
 lancholy satisfaction in fulfilling their 
 wishes, and endeavouring to act according 
 to their judgement : therefore, my dear 
 and ever-regretted Mrs. St. Leger, I will 
 comply with your request, that I should 
 keep a journal of my feelings, my actions, 
 and the unimportant events of my obscure 
 but quiet life. 
 
 Some day or other it will no doubt 
 reach your hands ; and then I trust you 
 will be gratified to see how fondly your
 
 18 MADELINE. 
 
 poor Madeline cherishes your memory, 
 respects your advice, and remembers your 
 
 wishes. 
 
 Monday, May 1813. 
 I have been here a whole month to- 
 day : it is therefore nine weeks since I 
 followed Mrs. Irwin to the grave. Yet 
 still that scene of trial is present to me, 
 and far more so than when I first came 
 hither. Sometimes I fear that my regret 
 for what I have been deprived of will be 
 eternal. But how much of that regret 
 is to be attributed to the death of my 
 friends? I am afraid to answer the ques- 
 tion, for I fear it is occasioned as much 
 by change of scene and situation. I now 
 feel that I sliall indeed miss the refined 
 and intellectual society which I enjoyed at 
 Burford Park. Alas ! — But I forbear : it 
 would be an ill return for the disinterested 
 kindness of my parents inpartingwith me,
 
 MADELINE. 19 
 
 if the education which I owe to their inr 
 diligence should set me above the enjoy- 
 ment of their society, and make me de- 
 spise the comforts of my own home. 
 And who among my most refined asso- 
 ciates under Mrs. Irwin's roof could show 
 more delicate forbearance than is evinced 
 both by my father and mother, in not 
 even noticing my languor and occa- 
 sional dejected silence ? Nay, what is 
 still greater, they have never wounded 
 my feelings by blaming Mrs. Irwin for 
 not making a will. How ungrateful, then, 
 is it in me to repine after " the days that 
 are gone!" O Madeline! I fear thou 
 hast a proud, ambitious heart ! Mrs. Ir- 
 win used to rejoice in having made me 
 lose my Scotch accent ; but now I wish I 
 spoke the broadest dialect of my country, 
 for I see that my dear parents are hurt to 
 find me so very English. Besides, I have 
 some difficulty in understanding my rela-
 
 20 MADELINE. 
 
 tioris and associates, and sometimes my 
 father looks at me as if he thought my 
 ignorance affected. But I hope that every 
 day will recall more and more the impres- 
 sions of childhood, and that I shall be- 
 come as national in every respect as I 
 used to be. My journal, however, shall 
 be wholly English, out of compassion to 
 your dislike of the Scotch language. I 
 saw that my mother looked pleased yes- 
 terday when I said brae for hill, and bum 
 for river. My dear mother ! she is indeed 
 one of Nature's gentlewomen, or, rather, 
 Nature gave her gentleness, and Christi- 
 anity grafted on it that forbearance and 
 consideration for the feelings of others 
 which constitute the real gentlewoman. 
 
 * I am glad I have begun my journal, 
 and written so far already. The occupa- 
 tion of writing does me good ; and though 
 I may have but few events to record, it 
 will be of use to me to write down my
 
 MADELINE. 21 
 
 sentiments and opinions, as it may be a 
 means of leading me to combat errone- 
 ous opinions, and of strengthening virtu- 
 ous sentiments. (By the by, these are 
 your own words.) 
 
 My mother calls me to take a walk with 
 her along the burn-side. I am willing to 
 go, but the wind is very cold. Oh ! a 
 Scotch May is not like an English one, 
 The spring flowers are only just "glint- 
 ing forth," (a pretty verb that,) and in 
 England at this season the ground is gay 
 and glittering with them. Well, well, 
 that is to be borne ; but when shall I 
 learn — Again ! shame, shame, Made- 
 line! Thou hast more blessings still than 
 thou dcbtrvest. Now, to lock up my 
 journal. 
 
 Tuesday, May 1813. 
 I wonder whether every girl who has a 
 lover is as much an egotist as my sister
 
 22 MADELINE. 
 
 Margaret. Is egotism a necessary con- 
 sequence of an attachment ? Scarcely 
 would she allow me to sleep last night, 
 so full was she of the details of her love 
 affairs ; for she is betrothed, I find. And 
 then her surprise at my not having a 
 lover, and no love affair to relate ! It is 
 really ridiculous: but I own she has made 
 me almost ashamed of not having a lover. 
 Alas ! it was in a sort of prophetic spirit, 
 as I now think, that Mrs. Irwin was so 
 anxious to procure me a husband. To 
 be sure, I must confess that it would have 
 been a desirable thing for me, under my 
 circumstances, to have formed a reputable 
 and happy marriage. Still I can never 
 regret not having accepted the offers which 
 were made me. But it must be a delight- 
 ful thing to love, and be beloved. How 
 happy it makes Margaret ! and I listen to 
 her expressions of happiness when she 
 hears from her lover, and now that she
 
 MADELINE. 23 
 
 expects to see him, till I envy her her 
 feelings. Probably I should not envy her 
 the man whom she loves : I am to see 
 him soon. An unexpected piece of ill 
 news has reached me to-day. The Baynes, 
 those friends of the Invins, who live near 
 
 K , and whom they used to visit, 
 
 are going to leave their house in a short 
 time, to return no more to Scotland ; 
 and I had reckoned on going occasion- 
 ally to stay with them. A letter front 
 them, inviting me to pay them a visit 
 Certainly I will go directly, as they de- 
 sire it; but how very anxious my fa- 
 ther and mother are that I should go ! 
 Surely they are not tired of me already, 
 worn out by my joyless manner, and the 
 little amusement which I afford them ! 
 Yet, no ; I wrong them. They seem sa- 
 tisfied with the help I already give my 
 mother, and I am sure they are too kind 
 not to make allowances for my occasional
 
 24 MADELINE. 
 
 absence of mind, and dejection. Still they 
 are strangely anxious that I should go 
 and stay away some time. A letter also 
 from Mrs. Everland to-day ; wanting to 
 know how I like living at home ; but add- 
 ing — " These are early times yet, and 
 you cannot at present know your own 
 wishe? ; but remember, if you ever wish 
 to turn your talents to account, and im- 
 part your accomplishments to others, let 
 me know, and I am sure I shall be able 
 to find you an opportunity." In other 
 words, she will find me the situation of 
 a governess ! I thank her ; but at present 
 I had certainly rather live on my little 
 income, sharing it, as I hope to do, even 
 unconsciously to them, with " my own 
 relations," than expose myself to the ca- 
 prices of any one. No : I should hate 
 to be a governess ; few persons know how 
 to behave properly to a young woman so 
 circumstanced. Besides, I can " impart
 
 MADELINE. 25 
 
 my accomplishments " to my sisters. 
 They may as well learn in their leisure 
 hours to sing by note and in parts : and 
 family music is very delightful (especially 
 when devotional). It adds I think to the 
 fervour of one's devotion when those we 
 love best unite their voices with us in the 
 song of praise; and science is most valua- 
 ble when it becomes an aid to piety. An- 
 other of your sentiments ! you see how I 
 treasure them all. 
 
 Wednesday, May 1813. 
 How exactly one of my days resembles 
 another ! But to-day is to be marked by 
 an event; for Mr. Bayne's carriage is 
 to come for me: and can a feeling of 
 mortification and alarm reach me under 
 my paternal roof ? Spite of myself, I 
 must own that I am distressed and mor- 
 tified to see how eager my parents, aye 
 c
 
 26 MADELINE. 
 
 and my sisters too, are for my departure. 
 When I said that I hoped to return in a 
 week, they all exclaimed " Oh! that will 
 be too soon.'''' Well, then, I had better 
 make up my mind to leave them altoge- 
 ther, and write to Mrs. Everland to pro- 
 cure me a situation. While I believed 
 that my family loved to have me with 
 them, I was able to support all the dis- 
 agreeablenesses and privations which I 
 could not but feel in my present resi- 
 dence : but to find that I do not add to 
 their happiness, while I am certainly not 
 quite happy myself — Hark ! I hear the 
 carriage. There it is, driving past the 
 window. My sisters run out to look at 
 it with such delighted curiosity : and 
 even I feel that it is in my present state 
 no unwelcome sight. It recalls time past. 
 But this is a trumpery feeling — Oh! fy, 
 '.Madeline \-
 
 MADELINE. 27 
 
 Burnwood, Thursday, ^lay 1813. 
 I am glad I brought my journal with 
 me. It may seem very conceited, but I 
 am better pleased with my own company 
 than that of others; and .while I write 
 down my own thoughts, and record my 
 own feelings, I make to myself as it were 
 a companion, and one that is really con- 
 genial to me. And must I own that the 
 friends of Airs. Irwin are not agreeable 
 and suitable companions to the object of 
 her bounty ? It is even so. Take a speci- 
 men of the style of Mr. and Mrs. Bayne: 
 — " Pray tell us, Miss Munro, how was 
 it ? How were you first thrown in the 
 way of Mrs. Irwin ? Their front horses 
 knocked you down, I think, as they were 
 driving past your father's cottage, and so 
 you were taken up senseless : and Mrs. 
 Irwin cried, ' Beautiful unfortunate ! 
 quite a romantic incident ! ' and then 
 c2
 
 28 MADELINE. 
 
 you recovered : and Mrs. Irwin said, 
 4 Providence threw this child in our way 
 purposely, and we must adopt it. Mr. 
 Irwin, look how lovely she is ! and the 
 image of Mary Queen of Scots ! ' Is not 
 this all true ? " I was provoked at her 
 manner, and some of her expressions, but 
 I was forced to own the truth of what she 
 said. " Oh ! I know that : I have heard 
 her describe the scene with her usual self- 
 complacency ; and then your poor father 
 and mother were so glad to get a child 
 taken off their hands, for there were I do 
 not know how many little boys and girls 
 without shoes and stockings running 
 about, and another coming, and they all 
 looked so poor and forlorn." "This de- 
 scription," said I with unusual spirit, 
 " you had not, could not have from Mrs. 
 Irwin : my parents' situation was never 
 ' poor and forlorn;' their children wore 
 no stockings I grant, but that you know
 
 MADELINE. 29 
 
 is the custom of the country, and so far 
 from being glad to part with me, they 
 consented to it with great reluctance." 
 
 I am glad these Baynes are going to 
 leave Scotland, fori feel that their desire of 
 seeing me is to be attributed to curiosity 
 merely, and not to the benevolent and 
 affectionate wish of showing respect to 
 the memory of their friend by noticing 
 her protegee. Added to which was Mrs. 
 Bayne's desire of gratifying her jealousy 
 of Mrs. Irwin's intellectual superiority, 
 by finding out, by dint of questioning 
 me, some instances of her eccentri- 
 city, which she could relate with sar- 
 castic comments, and then add a vio- 
 lent philippic on neglect of " common 
 justice," to use her own phrase, in dying 
 without making a will in my favour. 
 Lavater says that a woman of talent 
 without vanity, and a woman of no ta- 
 lents without envy, would be fit for the
 
 30 MADELINE. 
 
 society of angels (or something as distin- 
 guished). Neither of these favoured wo- 
 men I dare say exists : and my benefac- 
 tress was vain, perhaps, like the rest of her 
 sex ; nor can I doubt but that her medi- 
 ocre friends, and Mrs. Bayne among the 
 rest, were not only generally envious of 
 female talent, but of hers in particular, as 
 she was their intimate associate, and con- 
 sequently a formidable competitor for no- 
 tice. It must be a fearful thing, I doubt 
 not, to be a woman of intellectual superi- 
 ority. It is never forgiven, I have heard you 
 say, either by man or woman; "and to 
 dwell on the weaknesses of such a person, 
 though those weaknesses be common to 
 human nature, to dwell on them, too, as if 
 peculiar to distinguished ability, is the 
 mean and habitual pleasure of persons 
 of both sexes." How thankful I am 
 that I am not a woman of talents ! I 
 have always felt it necessary to conceal
 
 MADELINE. 31 
 
 even my little talent for writing verses, 
 lest I should call forth toward myself the 
 ill-will which I saw excited by poor Mrs. 
 Irwin's talents, and her unaffected, artless 
 display of them. But how could Mrs. 
 Irwin ever associate with these Baynes ? 
 The wife, a detracting, flippant gossip ; 
 the husband, an old beau, always indeli- 
 cately loud in his praises of beauty, and 
 sometimes lamenting that he was not 
 born in Turkey, where every man is al- 
 lowed a seraglio. I should really be 
 ashamed of writing in such terms of 
 those under whose roof I am, and deem 
 myself making a most ungrateful return 
 for their hospitality, but for two or three 
 reasons. In the first place, I feel that their 
 invitation was an otfence, not a kindness, 
 on account of the motives that dictated 
 it. In the second place, their manner 
 toward me is barely consistent with hos- 
 pitality. The wife, by her proudly con- 
 descending civility, and the husband, hy
 
 32 MADELINE. 
 
 his grossly familiar expressions of admi- 
 ration, make me feel that I am their in- 
 ferior, and that they presume on my hum- 
 ble birth ; and then, with an evident tone 
 of command, though in words of entreaty, 
 Mrs. Bayne asked me to sing last night 
 to entertain her company. I complied, 
 because I think that in so doing. I repay 
 the obligation of being fed at her table, 
 which I am now incurring. In the third 
 place, I feel no remorse for writing thus, 
 because in so venting my angry feelings 
 1 get rid of them. In the fourth, I know 
 no eye but yours will ever see this jour- 
 nal, written confidentially to you; there- 
 fore I injure no one. One great, one 
 heart-felt pleasure will accompany me to 
 my pillow to-night — the consciousness 
 that I did justice to the merit of Mrs. Ir- 
 win, and vindicated her memory. I saw 
 that my moral courage awed them, and 
 that they were mean enough to expect 
 that I, who suffered from her neglect,
 
 MADELINE. 33 
 
 should be base and ungrateful enough to 
 join them in censure of my benefactress. 
 But I was just to myself : and for a while 
 these proud, rich people felt awed and 
 humbled before the cottager's daughter. 
 My visit was to be a week long, but I 
 hope they will have enough of me before 
 the time comes, and make some excuse 
 for sending me away. Really, in spite of 
 the excuses which I make to myself for 
 having given my pen such a license, I 
 dare not read over what I have written, 
 lest I go to bed condemning my want of 
 candour. 
 
 Friday, May 1813. 
 No time to write during the day, and 
 kept up singing till near day-break, there- 
 fore I must to bed. — Saturday, ditto. 
 
 Sunday, May 1813. 
 This day has been spent, to my agreea- 
 ble surprise, in strict religious observances, 
 c 5
 
 34 MADELINE. 
 
 such as are sufficient to satisfy even the 
 Scotch servants in the family : and yet how 
 little christian spirit there seems in the 
 heads of it ! But I forbear : and in order 
 to avoid the temptation of being severe, I 
 will lay by my pen and read my Bible. 
 
 Monday. 
 We are going to see some pretty coun- 
 try several miles off: that is, we are going 
 a tour, as it is called; and as some pleasant 
 guests are lately arrived, I hope I shall 
 enjoy the excursion: but it will be a fort- 
 night before I return home, — a circum- 
 stance I should much regret were it not 
 for the painful conviction I feel, that my 
 parents wished me to stay away as long 
 as I could. I cannot express the desolate 
 feeling which this conviction gives me. 
 Though the grave covers the kind beings 
 who adopted me, though the hearts are 
 cold which voluntarily bestowed on me
 
 MADELINE. 35 
 
 their affections, and you are far away, I 
 felt not forlorn nor alone in the wide crea- 
 tion around me; for I knew that those on 
 whom nature had given me claims exist- 
 ed still, and to them I could return. But 
 now — How often have I pitied those 
 poor Hindoos, who, if they leave their 
 country, forfeit their caste, and wander un- 
 acknowledged and degraded ever after ! 
 / quitted my country and my family, and 
 I am forced to return to them : and, spite 
 of the caresses of my kindred when I left 
 them, fear that they consider me as having 
 forfeited my caste, and that their hearts, 
 though not their tongues, disown me. But 
 what morbid querulous sensibility is this? 
 Can any one be happy who possesses it ? 
 Never. Mrs. Irwin often said she feared 
 that my life would not be a happy one. 
 
 I must now lock up my journal care- 
 fully till we return : I shall not find con- 
 venience for writing at the inns.
 
 36 MADELINE. 
 
 I may write a little more, as we do not 
 go till to-morrow. No wonder that I ex- 
 perienced such attention and courteous af- 
 fability from the sweet girl whom I found 
 in the sitting-room when I returned to it. 
 She is a duke's daughter ; and I have 
 usually found that the kindness and cour- 
 tesy are in proportion to the rank. 
 
 Lady Anne Mordaunt is going with us, 
 I find, and her maiden aunt, who is for- 
 mal, but kind and benevolent-looking. 
 This addition to our party is an acquisi- 
 tion indeed. 
 
 Monday, June 18. 
 We are returned after a really pleasant 
 tour : perhaps I was pleased because I 
 was made of consequence; and my little 
 accomplishments lifted me into some im- 
 portance in the eyes of my companions. 
 Mrs. Irwin used to say, " How often have 
 I seen those who viewed or heard with
 
 MADELINE. 37 
 
 cold neglect and indifference the exhibi- 
 tion of the talents of their acquaintance, 
 if those talents were not pointed out to 
 their notice by the approbation of others, 
 suddenly become warm and lavish in 
 praise of them, when the great or the di- 
 stinguished have happened to commend 
 them ! " My experience confirms the truth 
 of hers. My sketches were scarcely re- 
 garded, and my songs comparatively little 
 applauded, till the house was filled with 
 visitors, who judged them worthy of high 
 praise: but Lady Anne's and Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt's rapturous applauses have put 
 the finishing stroke to my importance, 
 and elevated me, I see, in the opinion of 
 my host and hostess. The former declares 
 I am Minerva and all the muses, as well 
 as Venus and all the graces: and the lat- 
 ter declares her satisfaction at seeing 
 that the expense which her dear regretted 
 friend bestowed on my education has not
 
 38 MADELINE. 
 
 been thrown away. Well, I can now re- 
 pay her, I trust, fully, for the pleasure 
 which she is continually congratulating 
 herself on having been able to procure ?ne, 
 for I shall give her the drawings which 
 she has heard the most admired ; and I 
 will spend, in finishing them, part of the 
 time which I should otherwise have pass- 
 ed in writing. 
 
 Tuesday, June 1813. 
 Alas! Lady Anne and her amiable aunt 
 are gone ; the other visitors go to-mor- 
 row : however, I shall not stay long after 
 them. On Thursday I shall return home; 
 and surely I have now been absent long 
 enough for my father and mother to be 
 glad to see me. 
 
 Thursday night, June 1813. 
 I have humbled myself before my Crea- 
 tor, and implored his aid to enable me to
 
 MADELINE. 39 
 
 conquer my propensity to make miseries 
 for myself by the indulgence of a jealous 
 apprehensive spirit. And I have also 
 breathed forth, at the foot of his throne, 
 the thankfulness of my full and satisfied 
 heart. My kind, generous parents! how 
 cruelly did I wrong you! and you too, my 
 affectionate sisters ! And it was from the 
 wish to surprise me agreeably that you 
 wished me to stay away : and what I fan- 
 cied a proof of alienated affection was one 
 of considerate love. The half ruinous, 
 useless building adjoining the house, 
 which was an eye-sore to my refinement 
 on my return, has been converted during 
 my absence into abed-room and a sitting- 
 room for me; and my father only accept- 
 ed the money I gave, in order to spend it 
 on my accommodation ! ! ! But I return- 
 ed too soon for the apartments to be made 
 fit for use immediately. I shall never
 
 40 MADELINE. 
 
 forget, and I am sure I can never describe 
 my feelings, when, as soon as their ex- 
 pressions of evident delight at seeing me 
 were over, my father and mother led me 
 through the passage that now joins these 
 rooms to the house, and told me for what 
 they were designed : " For you know, Ma- 
 deline," said my father, "we must be very 
 sure you must like to have rooms to your- 
 self." Here he paused, but I could ?iot 
 speak, "All we hope is," said my mother, 
 " that you will not look down upon us, 
 my dear child, for we are as fond of you 
 as we are proud ; and to be sure, when 
 you do come and sit with us we shall be 
 so glad, and take it so kindly ! " At these 
 words could I help throwing myself on her 
 neck, and exclaiming, "I will have no 
 separate room; you shall sit with me ; 
 I shall think you do not love me else, 
 and you will have made me wretched,
 
 MADELINE. 41 
 
 not happy?" They both seemed affected 
 and gratified at what I said ; and my 
 mother promised that she would sit with 
 me whenever I liked. " That will be al- 
 ways" was my natural and eager answer. 
 Is it possible to account for the caprices 
 and changes of the human heart ? Be- 
 fore I had any hope of this projected ac- 
 commodation, I regretted that I had it 
 not: but now that it may and will be 
 mine, I feel as if it were arrogant and 
 unkind to desire or accept it. But this 
 can only be a temporary feeling ; for, if 
 I have not a sitting-room to myself, all 
 my studies must be given up, and every 
 thing I now know be neglected and for- 
 gotten. A bed to myself is equally de- 
 sirable ; for that dear, happy girl keeps 
 me awake two hours at least, talking of 
 her love and her lover, and settling her 
 humble but happy rnaiage. But, hark ! 
 she is coming: : I must leave off.
 
 42 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 Friday, June 1813. 
 How sweet it is to shed the tears of af- 
 fection ! I have been weeping over a letter 
 from my beloved brother Ronald. Who 
 should have thought that ayouthnot quite 
 twenty-three should have distinguished 
 himself so early ! He would be a soldier; 
 and already he has gained promotion ; 
 first a corporal, now a serjeant. I wept 
 bitterly when I heard he had enlisted in 
 the gallant 42nd ; but I now wept with 
 affectionate joy over his successes. Who 
 knows what he may one day be? — perhaps 
 a hero : yet still I do not love war, and 
 I had rather he were a clergyman. The 
 superintendence of the improvements is 
 now given up to me; and it gives a new 
 interest to my existence. My instruments 
 are come, and I was at once pleased, yet 
 mortified; to see the delight and the won- 
 der, born of ignorance, which they ex-
 
 MADELINE. 43 
 
 cited in my mother and sisters. My fa- 
 ther seemed to feel proud of his superior 
 knowledge acquired atBurfordpark, while 
 he said "I have seen these things before, 
 and heard them too; and Madeline makes 
 such sweet music on them ! " Margaret 
 observed, rather consequentially, that she 
 had heard her William often talk of such 
 things, that he visited where the young 
 lady played the harp ; while Bessie, nest- 
 ling close to me, whispered that she hoped 
 I would teach her to play on them. Mr. 
 Everland has done as I desired him, I see, 
 and changed away the grand piano forte 
 for a smaller one : it would have been 
 too big even for my own room that is to 
 be. Well, this will be an evening of great 
 enjoyment ; for I shall give my family a 
 new pleasure : they have fine ears, and a 
 decided feeling of music ; and my best 
 efforts will not be lost on them.
 
 44 MADELINE. 
 
 Saturday, June 1813. 
 
 It is so delightful to give pleasure, es- 
 pecially to those one loves, that I felt last 
 night completely happy ; and could not 
 help repeating, " Oil peut-on etre mieii-x 
 quau sein de safamille * ? " How proud 
 and how beautiful Margaret looked when 
 she sung to my harp-lute ! She said, "O 
 sister, I wish — " she paused coquettishly 
 embarrassed, but I filled up the sentence, 
 " William had been here ! " " Well, he 
 will be here one day, Meggie, and then we 
 will perform to him" She gave me such 
 a kiss ! 
 
 A letter from Mr. Everland ! the con- 
 tents of which annoy me. Mrs. Fonne- 
 reau is arrived from the Mauritius. She 
 chose to have the grand piano forte, I 
 find, and she has sent me the small one 
 
 * "Where can one be better than in the bosom 
 of one's family ! "
 
 MADELINE. 45 
 
 in exchange, having paid, in money on 
 ray account, the difference in the price. 
 So far so good : but to blame her mother 
 for not having provided for me, and to 
 offer to supply her deficiencies ! No, that 
 I will never suffer. It would be owning 
 that I thought Mrs. Irwin wrong, and 
 that she had not done justly by me, which 
 I will never be so ungrateful as to allow ; 
 and I am also too proud to receive pecu- 
 niary favours from those I neither know 
 nor love : and so I shall tell Mr. Ever- 
 land. 
 
 Sunday, June 1813. 
 To the kirk twice to-day, and prayers, a 
 sermon, and devotional singing at home. 
 How pleasant is family worship ! How 
 delighted my father seemed while I sung 
 the Psalms of David to the harp ! " My 
 dearest child," said he, " thou mayest 
 have sung songs and fine things to fine 
 folks, and lords and ladies, for what I
 
 46 MADELINE. 
 
 know, but never to any one who could 
 feel and like thy singing better than thy 
 poor father ! I hope it is not profane, 
 but I could not help thinking of the 
 royal psalmist himself when he played to 
 Saul." "Fy, fy," cried my mother, "to 
 compare thyself as it were to Saul, who 
 was not a bit too good, and thou art so 
 very good, my ain Donald ! " All this 
 was most gratifying to my heart ; my 
 affections were satisfied, and why should 
 I regret that my mind is not equally so? 
 
 Monday \ June 1813. 
 Another letter from Mr. Everland 
 without waiting for my answer. "He 
 blushes for the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Irwin, but he must obey her orders." 
 He says, " Mrs. Fonnereau hopes you 
 will allow her to double the sum of two 
 hundred pounds which her father left 
 you; 'And you know, Mrs. Everland,' said
 
 MADELINE. 47 
 
 she, 'as my father thought that sum suffi- 
 cient, 1 ought not to give more.' 'But, 
 madam, your father expected your mo- 
 ther would do Miss Munro justice, and 
 leave her amply provided for.' * I know 
 nothing about that,' she replied hastily. 
 1 1 cannot do better than follow. my fa- 
 ther's example. My mother's example was 
 to do nothing for her.' I was silent, for 
 I dared not utter what I thought. Lydia 
 has thousands a-year now. I impatiently 
 await your answer." My answer is re- 
 ceived by this time. 
 
 An agreeable ' surprise — Margaret's 
 lover and my brother Richard, who are 
 apprentices to the same linen-draper at 
 
 B , are arrived together. Margaret 
 
 looks so happy, I almost envy her. The 
 young man is good-looking, and evident- 
 ly devotedly attached to her : but my 
 brother is so handsome and so well man- 
 nered, that is, so little awkward, that the
 
 48 MADELINE. 
 
 lover appears to great disadvantage by his 
 side ; but then Margaret does not see 
 with my eyes. 
 
 Richard treated me with an affectionate 
 familiarity which delighted me. He threw 
 his arms round me, then holding me from 
 him, said, "And can this be the little 
 Maddie whom I used to nurse and drag 
 about when I could hardly walk myself ? 
 I remember how I cried and roared when 
 the naughty gentleman took you away, 
 Maddie. But now you are come to live 
 with us again ; and we shall be so proud 
 and so fond of you ! " We shall see Ro- 
 bert soon — a farmer that is to be. I hope 
 the relation who has taken him will do 
 something for him. 
 
 Monday night. — Margaret still walk- 
 ing under the window with her lover. 
 The air is so cold, / was forced to come 
 in an hour sooner than usual: butMeg- 
 gie feels it not. Happy girl !
 
 MADELINE. 49 
 
 Tuesday. 
 
 What a good tenor voice Richard has! 
 Were he to remain here, and my fa- 
 ther would learn the bass, we could sing 
 glees and canons in style : but they 
 have both something better to do. So 
 Richard is in love ! and with William's 
 sister ! And he too wonders / am not 
 married, or betrothed. Noiv it is nearly 
 impossible I should be either. I shall 
 have no opportunity of loving where and 
 how I could alone love or marry ; and 
 I cannot love or marry in the circle in 
 which I am now thrown. Happy Mar- 
 garet ! happy William ! You have not 
 been taken out of your own sphere, and 
 taught those cruel refinements, and that 
 delicacy of taste which must ever keep 
 me single. 
 
 Wednesday, 
 
 I am neither well nor in spirits to-day, 
 and cannot write. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 MADELINE. 
 
 Thursday* 
 A little better; but I am not able 
 to bear the violent mirth of these happy 
 boys and girls. 
 
 Friday. 
 The two youths are gone. Dear Ri- 
 chard ! I was sorry to part with him. 
 Margaret's swollen eyes and deep de- 
 jection at parting with her lover sur- 
 prise me. Foolish girl ! Why should 
 she thus repine ? She knows, ere long, 
 in all human probability, they will meet 
 again, and ultimately meet never more 
 to part. She knows also that he loves 
 her, and she has in him an object to 
 love, and to be interested in still more 
 from day to day. But methinks I envy 
 more than pity her tears. However, I 
 will make up my mind to be very patient 
 to-night when she talks of her love and 
 her lover, even though she does spoil my 
 night's rest. Besides, I shall soon sleep
 
 Madeline. 51 
 
 alone ; therefore I can afford to be indul- 
 gent to her a little longer. 
 
 Saturday, 
 My patience was not called for : Mar- 
 garet preferred reverie to talking; but 
 I did not even try to sleep till. I ceased 
 to hear her deep sighs mingled with 
 a sob or two, which grew gradually 
 fainter and fainter. What her dreams 
 were, I know not ; but when she rose, 
 her countenance was much brighter 
 than mine. No wonder : her distant 
 perspective is so much blighter than 
 mine. And yet this is Saturday : and as 
 usual our cottage will exhibit a scene re- 
 sembling Burns' fine description of the 
 cotter's Saturday night. How often have 
 I read this poem, and admired it enthu- 
 siastically while I was " far awa ; " espe- 
 cially the following picture : 
 
 " His wee bit ingle * blinking bonilie — 
 
 His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
 
 * little fire. 
 
 d2 
 
 UNiVERSJTY OF
 
 5*2 MADELINE. 
 
 The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
 Does all his weary kiaugh * and care beguile, 
 
 And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. 
 
 ****** *■* 
 
 The cheerfu' supper done, with serious face, 
 
 They round the ingle form a circle wide : 
 
 The sire turns o'er with patriarchal grace 
 
 The big ha' bible, ance his fathers pride, 
 
 His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside — 
 
 * * * * * *•* ■* 
 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
 
 He wales f a portion with judicious care, 
 
 'And let us worship God ' he says with solemn air. 
 
 They chaunt their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim, 
 Perhaps Dundee's wild, warbling measures rise 
 Or plaintive martyrs worthy of that name — 
 Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame, 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy rays : 
 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame, 
 The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise, 
 Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise." 
 
 Yes, when I was in England and a re- 
 * distress of mind. t selects.
 
 MADELINE. 53 
 
 sident at Burford Park, I used to feel my 
 heart glow as I read the description of 
 this scene : whence comes it then that, 
 now I am an actor in it, I feel so coldly, 
 comparatively? Alas! I know the reason 
 but too well. Then I read and admired 
 as a lady spectator : but here I feel the 
 reality of my situation, and that I am 
 only one of the cotter's daughters. Yet 
 my father is almost a laird, compared to 
 the cotter whom Burns meant to describe. 
 Still the resemblance is greater than the 
 difference, and I have need of all the Sun- 
 day's strict discipline to force me to strug- 
 gle with, and conquer, my thankless, re- 
 bellious heart. Good news for me ! my 
 room will certainly be habitable on Mon- 
 day evening: nothing more to make than 
 my window-curtains, and I shall work 
 hard at them next week. 
 
 Sunday. — A letter from Mr. Ever-
 
 54 MADELINE. 
 
 land. Mr. Fonnereau is shocked that 
 his wife should have offered me so little, 
 to make me amends for Mrs. Irwin's 
 neglect ; and he begs my acceptance of 
 five hundred pounds. I thank him, but 
 I will not take his money. Yet I own 
 that I am inclined to accept the offer of 
 his interest. He asks if he can do no- 
 thing for my family : and Mrs. Everland 
 suggests that if would be such a good 
 thing if he could procure or purchase a 
 commission for my brother Ronald. Dear 
 fellow ! yes, I can sacrifice my pride to 
 serve him. For him I am contented to 
 owe an obligation to a stranger, and even 
 to say to myself, " Had Mrs. Irwin pro- 
 vided for me as I am told she ought to 
 have done, /could have purchased a com- 
 mission for Ronald." Yes, I will write, to 
 say that she may mention my wishes to 
 Mr, Fonnereau.
 
 MADELINE. 55 
 
 Monday, June 1813. 
 
 I have written : and the hope of serving 
 my dear Ronald has given me such un- 
 usual spirits ! and my mother says she 
 shall be so glad to see her Ronald, " her 
 beautiful! her brave! (I have been read- 
 ing Douglas to her) made a gentleman 
 of" I did not think she had had so much 
 pride. This discovery has done me nogocd; 
 it seems to me an excuse for my own. 
 
 We have taken a long walk to-day ; 
 that is, my father, Bessie, and I : and we 
 went past an old mansion, whose chim- 
 neys they insist upon it I can see from 
 the windows of my own sitting-room that 
 is to be : but I cannot distinguish them, 
 though they have taken great pains to 
 make me see them, because forsooth they 
 are the chimneys of the laird. He is not 
 there, else my father says he would not 
 have taken us past his house ; for he is a
 
 56 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 young man, and is said to admire pretty 
 girls. The old gardener came out and 
 invited us in, but I would not accept the 
 invitation : and wherefore ? — from pride, 
 I own. I did not like to enter a house 
 on the invitation of the servants, to 
 which I was very sure now that I could 
 not be invited by the master ; because I 
 am only the daughter of a cottager on his 
 estate. Perhaps this was a wrong feeling : 
 but I will try to reduce my pride to my 
 circumstances. The gardener said the 
 laird was not expected for some time. I 
 am glad of it ; for it is a great privilege 
 to be able to wander past and in a scene 
 like this. Never did I see so beautiful a 
 view as that from the hill which slopes 
 down to Tweed. The banks rise rocky 
 and abrupt from the other side of the 
 river; while down the sloping ground in 
 the park art has lavishly assisted nature ; 
 and trees and underwood grow even unto
 
 MADELINE. 0/ 
 
 the river's banks. Before the laird arrives, 
 I shall, I hope, have time to make many 
 sketches on both sides of the Tweed. I 
 was much tempted, I own, to enter the 
 house when I was told it contained some 
 fine family pictures. 
 
 Tuesday ■, June 1813. 
 Now that I have taken possession of 
 my own apartment, all my reluctance 
 and unpleasant feelings concerning it 
 have vanished before my sense of conve- 
 nience, and of comfort. How pleasant 
 was our supper last night with which we 
 handselled the new room! and what a fine 
 room it is for music ! how well the voice 
 and the harp sounded in it ! and how 
 pretty is the view from the window, even 
 though I cannot distinctly see the gray 
 chimneys of the great house from it, 
 about which they say so much ! It is too 
 near the road : but I can only see the 
 d5
 
 58 MADELINE. 
 
 heads of horses and the heads of their 
 drivers or riders as they pass ; and that 
 I do not dislike ; it relieves the mono- 
 tony of my existence. 
 
 I begin to think, however, that as 
 every day convinces me more and more 
 how dear I am to my parents and my 
 brothers and sisters, and that I add both 
 to their consequence and their happiness, 
 I shall be very happy at last, and be able 
 to forget that " such things were, and 
 were most dear to me." 
 
 Wednesday ', June 1813. 
 Well, I hope Meggie is satisfied now ; 
 for I too have a lover, as she thinks : and 
 such a one ! I can scarcely forgive my 
 father for saying that he wishes she may 
 be right in her suspicions, as it would be 
 an excellent match for me. Alas ! I own 
 that the man is wealthy, and I am poor ; 
 and that in birth he is my equal : but
 
 MADELINE. 59 
 
 then in mind and manners — Oh ! my 
 dear father, do you so little appreciate 
 your child ? Then the man's broad, snub 
 face ; his little black, glittering eyes, 
 shining like court-plaister in his head ; 
 and one of them always winking when 
 he fancies he has said a good thing, and 
 knows more than his neighbours. Then 
 his short, fat figure, with small legs ; one 
 of which is for ever crossed over the other, 
 as if to attract attention to its imagined 
 beauty. Then the incessant grin, to show 
 his really good teeth. Add to this, when 
 he is off his guard, a cockney pronuncia- 
 tion, as I have heard such a mode of 
 speaking called, and cockney conceit : for 
 this person was born and bred in the city 
 of London, and I dare say stood behind 
 a counter till his mother died, — a Scotch- 
 woman of the name of Campbell ; and 
 in right of her he became possessed of a 
 house and small domain, just out of the
 
 60 MADELINE. 
 
 town of K : on which event he quits 
 
 business, sets up for a sort of Scotch 
 laird, comes hither raving about his 
 mother's pedigree, and is going about 
 collecting relics and records of the an- 
 cient family of Campbell. 
 
 B'lt for this unfortunate family mania I 
 should not have known him perhaps : for 
 it was in consequence of being told that 
 my father had an old pocket Bible which 
 he bought of a pedlar, in which was the 
 name of Jeanie Campbell, An. Domini 
 1687, that led him to our house. To 
 do him justice, he offered my father a 
 very large si< a for the book ; and there- 
 fore my father naturally enough thinks 
 him quite a gentleman. He took away 
 the Bible, but left, Margaret says, his 
 heart behind : and, as she is more learn- 
 ed in the history of hearts than I am, I 
 fear she may be right.
 
 MADELINE. CI 
 
 Thursday \ June 1813. 
 The man (I beg his pardon, — Mr. 
 Dobbs,) has been here again, and with a 
 petit air de protection * as I thought, and 
 as if he wished to gratify my mother's 
 taste and astonish her ignorance a f the 
 same time, brought her a canister of gun- 
 powder tea, assuring her " hit vas Twi- 
 ning s best, and what probably she ad ne- 
 ver seen afore." My mother thanked him 
 coldly, but begged to decline receiving 
 his present, as he had more than given 
 enough for the Bible: and the tea, though 
 excellent, was not new to 1 r, as a friend 
 had frequently sent her some. The man 
 (Mr. Dobbs I mean) looked mortified, 
 but pressed the gift upon her with such 
 earnestness, that her courteous nature 
 would not allow her to refuse any longer: 
 
 * a little air of protection.
 
 62 MADELINE. 
 
 but she whispered me, " You know, Ma- 
 deline, I can send him some honey in re- 
 turn." In the mean while his little eyes 
 certainly twinkled most lovingly on me. 
 I must, as Mrs. Malaprop says, "own 
 the soft impeachment ;" but my blue ones 
 I confess were rather indignantly turned 
 away. As I had on my cap and ruff, a 
 la Mary Stuart, which Mrs. Irwin used 
 to like to see me wear because she thought 
 me, you know, like the picture of her in 
 the Bodleian Library, Mr. Dobbs ven- 
 tured to comment on my appearance, and 
 declared his firm persuasion, that I and 
 that beautiful hunfortunate vere like as 
 two peas : adding, " Veil, my vife shall 
 vear such a dress as that." " What ! " 
 cried Margaret rather archly (for which I 
 shall certainly reprove her), " what, Mr. 
 Dobbs, whether she is like the queen's 
 picture or not?" "Oh!" replied he, sigh- 
 ing and affectedly laying his short fat
 
 MADEMNE. 
 
 63 
 
 hand on his heart, " I could halmost wow 
 I vould never marry a voman that vas 
 not like Mary's picture. And, by the 
 by," said he, " I have been able to ac- 
 count for my devotion to that hinjured 
 Mary, by finding that one of my hances- 
 tefs married the cousin of that Countess 
 of Argyll, who vas supping vith Mary 
 ven the ruffians murdered Rizio." "My 
 daughter," observed my father smiling, 
 " will like you all the better for adoring 
 the poor Mary Stuart." And the ugly- 
 man looked so provokingly pleased ; while 
 Margaret, getting behind his chair, made 
 faces at me, and threw herself into con- 
 tortions of fun and delight ; she is really 
 old enough to have more self-command. 
 My father would ask the man to come 
 again in the evening ; therefore I took off 
 the cap and ruff as soon as he was gone, 
 and changed my dress entirely ', except 
 that I still wore black : for I had almost
 
 04 
 
 MA DC LINE. 
 
 conceived an aversion to the dress which 
 he had admired, and I could not endure 
 that he should suppose I wished to lookto 
 advantage in his eyes. But I found when 
 I appeared at dinner that my father was 
 hurt at my having done so : however, my 
 mother reconciled him to the change, by 
 telling him that she liked me better with- 
 out a cap, because I then looked more like 
 him. He instantly smiled affectionately 
 on her, and told her, as he stroked her 
 smooth cheek, that she was a silly old 
 woman. This encouraged her to dilate 
 on his beauty, and she lamented that 
 my eye-brows and eye-lashes were grown 
 so dark; because they took off my like- 
 ness to my father ; and she thought his 
 brows and lashes handsomer than mine. 
 Though I wondered at her taste, 1 re- 
 spected that feeling of true exclusive love 
 which exalted even the defects of the be- 
 loved object into beauties. Can /ever
 
 MADELINE, 65 
 
 love well enough to do this ? I believe 
 not: yet it must be an enviable infatua- 
 tion. I am in a humour for writing, and 
 should like to go on putting down my 
 thoughts and sentiments much longer, 
 but that Dobbs is come, and Bessie has 
 been sent to tell me that my father ex- 
 pects he should drink tea in my parlour : 
 so I must be in it to receive him. 
 
 After all, it is very wrong in me to 
 write thus satirically of this poor man ; 
 whose defects in person are no faults of 
 his, whose manners are the result of the 
 circumstances in which he was thrown, 
 and who, if he really does feel a partiality 
 for me, pays me the greatest compliment 
 a man can pay a woman. I will endea- 
 vour to speak and to think kindly of him. 
 
 Friday morning, June 1813. 
 
 Oh ! it is impossible I can think or 
 
 speak of him otherwise than I have done,
 
 66 MADELINE. 
 
 He is so forward, and so conceited : and, 
 what is worse, my father I see encourages 
 him : aye, and what is worse still, he has 
 been the means of making me the cause 
 of the first dispute, as I believe, that ever 
 happened between my father and mother. 
 Perhaps it was wrong in me to refuse to 
 sing ; but then my father need not have 
 said to me what he did : it was unkind, I 
 think; and unfortunately my mother over • 
 heard it: — "Margaret and Bessie, ma- 
 dam, always sing at my bidding; but 
 then they have not lived with fine folks, 
 nor been set up above their poor parents." 
 I did not think he could have been so 
 unkind ; nor did I know I was set up : 
 but one does not know oneself ; and I 
 am conscious I have a proud heart. 
 
 However, the rebuke was not lost on 
 me: and, having wiped away the involun- 
 tary tear, I was now eager to play and sing 
 too; meekly enduring, as zjust chastise-
 
 MADELINE. 67 
 
 ment for my unfilial reluctance, the in- 
 fliction of Dobbs's rapturous praises. 
 But he would scarcely praise Bessie's 
 singing, because he had found out I was 
 educated and taught in the South : and 
 I believe he thinks all are savages in the 
 North, except the Campbells and their 
 connexions. And Bessie, tGo, was more 
 sincere than polite to him : for the poor 
 gentleman chose to beat time with his 
 head and hand, as he had seen the learn- 
 ed do ; but, as he has no ear, he always 
 nodded and beat against the time, till 
 Bessie, unable to bear it, stopped in her 
 song, and rather pertly said, " I wish you 
 would be still, sir, for you put me out : " 
 on which my father gave her a slap on 
 the face, and sent her crying out of the 
 room. 
 
 Really I am alarmed at the power this 
 man has already gained over my usually
 
 68 
 
 MADELINE, 
 
 kind parent: — for his sake lie reproaches 
 one child, and beats the other: however, 
 I was not obedient, and Bessie was rude; 
 so, after all, his chastisement was proper. 
 Not that my mother was of my opinion : 
 — when Mr. Dobbs went away, which was 
 not till he had received an invitation to 
 come hither on Monday, she reproached 
 my father for his injustice and unkindness 
 to me. He, having drunk an extra bum- 
 per of whiskey with his guest, was not 
 disposed to bear a wife's chiding: and, as 
 my poor mother said, he spoke more 
 harsh words to her that night than lie 
 had uttered during their wedded life : and 
 I, alas ! was the unfortunate cause. But 
 my father cannot long be angry and 
 harsh. My mother's tears and mine soon 
 brought him to himself; and all was for- 
 given and forgotten.
 
 MADELINE. 60 
 
 Saturday. 
 
 I have made a very exact sketch of the 
 laird's lawn and the house in the di- 
 stance, seen from our side of the Tweed ; 
 and on Monday I hope to he equally suc- 
 cessful in drawingy}-o/7z his lawn. 
 
 A call from Mr. Dobbs this morning ; 
 and a present of some dried sweetmeats for 
 little Charles, whom he takes on his knee 
 and fondles, and declares to be the image 
 of me. I am afraid he will, by his atten- 
 tion to her youngest born, gain my mo- 
 ther to his side ; for I thought she was 
 not quite so violent just now in her opposi- 
 tion to my father's oft-repeated declaration, 
 that Mr. Dobbs would be a suitable hus- 
 band for me, as he has lived in London, 
 and, no doubt, seen fine folks there. Yes, 
 doubtless he has, in his shop. But it is 
 ludicrous to see how knowing and satis-
 
 70 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 fled ray father looks when Dobbs alludes 
 to the resemblance and sympathy which 
 must exist between us, because we were 
 educated and lived in the South. " You 
 and hi, Miss Munro," he says, "ve know 
 these here things* Ve have lived in the 
 Hinglish vorld. To us these here fine 
 to does in the papers are nothing new. 
 Ve have many hideas in common which 
 your papa and mamma cannot have : " 
 and so he goes on till my deceived father 
 imagines Mr. Dobbs is not only a more 
 suitable companion for me than he is, 
 but that he is the very man that would 
 suit me for a husband. My mother, at 
 present, still says he is not handsome or 
 elegant enough : but my father always 
 adds, "The girl must marry some one, 
 you know." Now this is a necessity 
 which I cannot admit : I will marry suit- 
 ably, and for love, or not at all.
 
 MADELINE. 71 
 
 Sunday, 
 This is always to me the happiest day 
 in the week. In the temple of the Al- 
 mighty the pride of man is at once grati- 
 fied and humbled : for there all persons 
 are on an equality : and the rich and 
 powerful, humbled in that presence, feel 
 that they are no more in the sight of 
 God than the peasant who kneels beside 
 them : while the poor and the dependent 
 are comforted, and raised in their own 
 opinion, by the consciousness, that for 
 them as well as for their lofty neighbours 
 their Creator lives and their Redeemer 
 died. 
 
 Robert is with us. He is a good lad, 
 but not to be compared to Richard. 
 
 Monday ', June 1813. 
 
 Well, Sunday does " shine a Sabbath 
 
 day to me ; " for it is a day of rest to all
 
 7'2 MADELINE* 
 
 my improper regrets, and my aptitude 
 to make improper contrasts. Yesterday 
 evening, particularly, bow dignified even 
 did my father appear while he blessed his 
 kneeling family ! and when he gave out 
 the psalm of David for us to sing, devo- 
 tion had shed over his countenance and 
 manner a chastened loftiness, the result 
 of recent communion with the Most 
 High, which banished all traces of low 
 estate from his appearance, and I. beheld 
 him as the conscious and exulting heir of 
 immortality ! Graham's Sabbath Walks 
 is usually the companion of my walks on 
 the sabbath ; and as I read, I feel con- 
 scious of that stillness which he so beau- 
 tifully describes. No : on a Sunday I 
 certainly forget my humble state, and 
 never regret the scenes which I have quit- 
 ted. Yet, alas ! my unclouded enjoyment 
 of this day is now a little interrupted by 
 the presence of this Dobbs, who carries
 
 MADELINE. 73 
 
 even into the house of God the bustling 
 pretensions of worldly consequence, and 
 the English display of superior wealth. 
 The simple, unadorned pews of our kirk 
 were not sufficient for him : he wanted 
 to be distinguished even in church in a 
 very marked manner from his brother 
 worshipers : and therefore he has had a 
 brass railing put up, and a splendid crim- 
 son curtain divides him from his fellow 
 men, as if he were the great man of the 
 place : — he ! Would it could shut him 
 completely from our sight ; but his pew 
 joins ours, and he cannot sit still even there. 
 How glad I am that my father did not 
 make some of us sit in his pompous seat, 
 into which he so officiously pressed us! 
 Considering how fond he is of him, too, I 
 was afraid he would have invited him tojoin 
 us in our procession to church, and have 
 desired me to take his arm. It is really 
 a pretty sight to see my parents, with 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 MADELINE. 
 
 their children walking two and two before 
 them, going to kirk on a Sunday : they, 
 still so handsome, and their children so 
 lovely! I take my father's other arm, but 
 I spoil the group by my black dress, and 
 seem as if I did not belong to the rest. 
 It gives me, too, an air of superiority to 
 them, which I do not like. Handsome 
 mourning, and mine is the very hand- 
 somest (the gift of my benefactress on 
 the death of her husband), is the greatest 
 equalizer of appearance possible, and con- 
 founds often the distinction of ranks. I 
 now wish to dress only like my situation 
 in life. I am glad I have carried my 
 point, and that there are now no naked 
 feet and legs in the family: as I promised 
 to knit all the stockings that were wanted, 
 I had a right to obtain this indulgence : 
 but that child Bessie, though now a great 
 girl, forgets frequently to wear hers. I 
 hope Dobbs will never see her at these
 
 MADELINE. /O 
 
 times ; for I have no doubt but he would, 
 with his ostentatious kindness, send her 
 half a dozen pair of the best cotton stock- 
 ings, concluding we were too poor to buy 
 her any. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 Another visit from Dobbs ! I thought 
 that we were asked into his pew be- 
 cause it was so fine: lie says it was 
 therefore the more proper for such a fine 
 young lady as 1 am to sit in. How mor- 
 tified he looked when I told him that, 
 but from the dislike of singularity, I 
 would always sit in " the lowest seat of 
 the synagogue," as all men are equal in 
 the sight of God, and consequently par- 
 ticularly so when assembled in his house 
 of prayer ; and that all I thought neces- 
 sary in a place of worship was, conve- 
 nience, and room sufficient ! How the 
 poor man stared and wondered, and how 
 he stammered out, " To be sure, Miss 
 e 2
 
 7Q MADELINE. 
 
 Munro : oh ! very true, Miss Munro ; still 
 I thought a curtain — " " and a brass rail- 
 ing," interrupted I smiling, " are very 
 pretty things, and what a poor man can't 
 buy"" " Certainly not," he answered with 
 eager consequence, "and I can hafford 
 them." "The very reason, sir, why, in 
 such a presence, I do not like to see them. 
 Be as distinct from your poor brethren 
 as you please on other days, but on a 
 Sunday at least let the pride of riches 
 cease." " Pride, Miss Munro ! I never 
 vas thought proud in my life. Dear me, 
 ow you mistake me ! Veil, if it vill 
 please you, I vill take down the railing 
 and curtain directly." " To please me, 
 sir ! I assure you it is quite a matter of 
 indifference to me. I desire to influence 
 none of your actions." This was rather 
 haughty ; but the man's expression was 
 such, I could not help it. I was glad 
 my father was not present.
 
 MADELINE. 77 
 
 Wednesday ', June 1813. 
 
 " And little things are great to little men.'' 
 
 This line my sauciness suggested to 
 me when Margaret and Bessie bounded 
 into my room this morning, crying "The 
 laird is come, that is, he is coming ; and 
 we may see him pass perhaps: for though 
 there are two roads, that past our win- 
 dows is the best and shortest." " Well, 
 dears," said I, " and what then ? Is he a 
 fine sight, that you are so desirous of see- 
 ing him ? " " Oh ! but he is the laird, 
 you know ; and he lives at the great 
 house" My modest friend, Mr. Irwin, 
 would, in this view of the subject, have 
 been a sight to reckon on, whenever he 
 returned to Burford Park after a long ab- 
 sence : for I see no difference between a 
 Scotch laird and an English country 
 squire. This gentleman, however, Mr. 
 Falconer of Glencarron (Glencarron my
 
 78 MADELINE. 
 
 father calls him), is heir to a high title, 
 and his sister, who brought him up it 
 seems, is married to a lord : therefore he 
 is somebody ; and as my sisters and mo- 
 ther seemed to think him so great, I was 
 angry with myself for my cold and mor- 
 tifying answer ; and I tried to make them 
 amends, by begging they would call me 
 when they heard Mr. Falconer's carriage 
 coming. " Who is Air. Falconer ? n 
 said Bessie. Poor child ! she only knew 
 him by the name of the laird; and I 
 thought he seemed fallen in her eyes 
 when she found he had a nameYike little 
 people. 
 
 Two or three false hopes : a carriage 
 is heard : they are sure it must be the 
 laird's. It is curious to observe how catch- 
 ing their curiosity is. They have im- 
 parted some of theirs to me ; and I run 
 to the window as they do. And have I 
 not done the same to see the duke and
 
 MADELINE. 7'.* 
 
 duchess of 11 pass when I lived at 
 
 Burford Park ? ,h/r. Falconer is their 
 (lake. Well, he is come and gone; but 
 I did not see him, I only saw his carriage. 
 Bessie said it was beautiful-. Mr. Ons- 
 low's was much handsomer; but then he 
 was not our lairiL I have not yet disco- 
 vered that Mr. Falconer is any thing 
 more. I do not hear of him as the Loved 
 and revered benefactor of the village, but 
 I have beard no harm of him, and that is 
 something. I wish he had staid away 
 till I had finished my sketches from his 
 grounds. 
 
 Thursday, June 1813, 
 " There now, Madeline, do you not see 
 the chimneys at Clencarron ?" said Mar- 
 garet. "They are smoking now. They 
 are those of the laird's own study and 
 bed-room." " I do not see the chimneys 
 but I do see the smoke ; and bluely and
 
 80 MADELINE. 
 
 prettily it ascends amidst the trees. I 
 beg the laird's pardon. I did not hear of 
 him because I did not inquire. It seems 
 he is an excellent landlord, and very 
 good to the poor, but cold in his man- 
 ners, and some say haughty. I am glad 
 I did not go into his house. 
 
 Friday, June 1813. 
 Friday has passed like Thursday, and 
 Thursday like Wednesday. My days are 
 a succession of twins, and I cannot distin- 
 guish one from the other : for a visit 
 from Dobbs is now no varying feature. 
 He comes every day. 
 
 Saturday. 
 I have seen the laird. I wonder what 
 impression he would have made on me, 
 had I seen him in former scenes: but 
 here, where I associate only with such a 
 different set of men, he seemed to me
 
 MADELINE. 81 
 
 almost like a descended god ! No won- 
 der the dear girls were so anxious to see 
 him. But I dare say I overrate him. I 
 dare say he would not have pleased me 
 so much under other circumstances. 
 
 It was fortunate that I did not finish my 
 new curtain for my bed-roum sooner. — 
 the slit in the old one gave me such an 
 excellent opportunity of looking at him, 
 without impropriety. It was fortunate 
 also that my father cut the hedge so low. 
 for it enabled me to see his horse's head 
 as well as himself: and both together 
 were very picturesque. I wonder who it 
 was that he stopt so long opposite my 
 window to converse with. How hand- 
 some he looked when he took off his hat 
 to turn back the hair that fell over his 
 brow ; while the breeze lifted his dark 
 and glossy curls from his ample forehead! 
 I think his eyes are black. His com- 
 plexion is sallow ; still he does not look 
 
 E 5
 
 82 MADELINE. 
 
 unhealthy. I dare say he does not smile 
 often ; but when he smiled just now I 
 thought I never saw so sweet an expres- 
 sion. I wonder whether he will come 
 back this way. If he does, I shall ven- 
 ture to look at him again : for then his 
 back will be to me ; were it not so, I 
 dare not: for he certainly observed at 
 last that some one was looking at him ; 
 and he darted such a piercing look at the 
 window, that I felt myself blush, as if he 
 had been able to distinguish me ; and I 
 was so glad I was alone. 
 
 There is Dobbs begging to see me. 
 Pshaw ! He is gone. What a relief ! 
 That saucy girl, Margaret, — to ask him 
 whether he had taken down his fine cur- 
 tain in the pew yet, as I disapproved it ! 
 and then his reason for not having done 
 so, — that he heard the laird would pro- 
 bably be at kirk next Sunday, and perhaps 
 he would do him the honour of sitting in
 
 MADELINE. v i 
 
 his pew, as it was the smartest : as if the 
 laird would care what pew he sat in. 
 Now that I have seen him I am sure he 
 would not. 
 
 Well, now to listen for the sound of 
 a horse. Hark ! I hear one at a distance. 
 It was he: but he galloped past, and did 
 not look back. It would have been 
 strange if he had. 
 
 Saturday ', June ISK>. 
 O my dear father! this is trying in- 
 deed : to invite this Dobbs on a Satur- 
 day ; to make him a sharer in our even- 
 ing devotion! Such intimate and sacred 
 communion held with such a person ! 
 Spite of my father's frowns, I must keep 
 him at an awful distance, to counter- 
 balance the mischievous encouragement 
 which he gives him. It would be (j$$~ 
 honourable to the poor man to act other- 
 wise. And how can my father think him #
 
 84 MADELINE. 
 
 agreeable ? His thinking so, lowers him 
 in my estimation. My mother has cer- 
 tainly more taste, more refinement than 
 my father, and understands me better. 
 Indeed she is a very superior being in 
 many respects, and I sometimes wonder 
 that, being of "gentle blude," and the 
 daughter and grand-daughter of a clergy- 
 man, she did not marry higher : but still 
 when I look at my father in his best 
 times, when I see those bright blue eyes 
 so full of intelligence and of affectionate 
 meanings — when I behold that blooming 
 though sun -burnt cheek, that tall and 
 muscular frame — and when I listen to 
 that deep-toned voice uttering, as it often 
 does, important truths in the most forci- 
 ble and sensible language, I cease to 
 wonder that he was the choice of my 
 mother's youth, and I feel proud, very 
 proud, of my father. But I wish he had 
 more discrimination, and would not force
 
 MADELINE. 00 
 
 Dobbs upon us thus. He is really so 
 
 dis ; but I will forbear. Yet, no : I 
 
 had better go on; for if I vent my disgust 
 and aversion on paper, I shall get rid of 
 it before I see him. Really I am not 
 given to feel what I experience toward 
 him, and such feelings are very disagree- 
 able to me. The wife of Midas was, 
 you know, intrusted with the secret of 
 her husband's having ass's ears, and, 
 being afraid of telling it to some one, 
 and at the same time unable to keep it 
 to herself, she lay down on the bank of 
 a river, and went on repeating to the 
 water, "Midas has ass's ears." So I, as 
 I cannot like Dobbs, and must express 
 my aversion, will pour it all out on the 
 paper, that I may tell it in no other way. 
 Still I believe it would be more like a 
 christian to try and overcome it. So, he 
 even dines here to-day ! and he has sent 
 half a dozen bottles of the best Madeira!
 
 86 MADELINE. 
 
 / think this is impertinent, and is assum- 
 ing airs of superiority which I cannot bear. 
 But my father says, " It is so kind." It 
 may be well meant, but it is officious at 
 best. I am resolved I will drink none of 
 it : and yet that would be uncivil, and it 
 woulu hurt my father. I fear it is my 
 duty to take one glass, Margaret and 
 Bessie say, they are sure it was sent on 
 purpose for me. 
 
 Eleven d clock at night. 
 Every one in the house at rest but my- 
 self : and I should be glad to be able to 
 discover what it is that keeps me waking. 
 That Dobbs was born to be the source 
 of mortification and pain to me. Who 
 could have supposed he could ever have 
 fancied that he could join us in singing 
 hymns and psalms ? Never shall I forget 
 his utterance of the word " above," and 
 his high tuneless quaver on it whenever
 
 MADELINE. 87 
 
 it was repeated. No wonder dear little 
 Annie could not help laughing aloud at 
 last. As she and I sat quite up in the 
 comer, I hoped no one would see the 
 child laugh ; but when the laugh ended 
 in a convulsive giggle, I could screen her 
 delinquency no longer. And, as I ex- 
 pected, my father, with a sternness I 
 never saw before, sent her to bed without 
 her supper. I was hurt ; and not being 
 in spirits, no wonder ] retired in tears to 
 my own apartment, meaning not to re- 
 turn again. And so I missed seeing Mr. 
 Falconer and the friend who is staying 
 with him. I think I heard Margaret 
 aright : when they had concluded the 
 hymn which they sung after I left them, 
 in which Dobbs was wise enough not to 
 join, they heard a clapping of hands at 
 the open window, and a voice cried 
 " Bravo ; " on which my father went to 
 the door, and saw the laird and another
 
 SS MADELINE. 
 
 gentleman. Ke begged pardon for the 
 liberty he had taken ; but could not help 
 stopping to hear such singing, and then 
 could not help, applauding it. My father 
 asked him to walk in : he did so ; bowed 
 coldly to Mr. Dobbs, who bent down to 
 the ground to him. He did not sit down, 
 but, wrapping his plaid round him, stood 
 looking on my mother and her children 
 with a very complacent smile ; and Mar- 
 garet says, he evidently was struck with 
 Bessie's beauty. Dear girl ! she seemed 
 to forget her own. He then told my fa- 
 ther he wished to speak to him at his 
 own house, concerning a field which my 
 father wishes, to have, and, bowing round 
 with great kindness, took his departure ; 
 his friend, an ill-looking little man, hav- 
 ing not uttered a word to any one ; but 
 then he played with Charlie's curly locks, 
 and muttered to himself, " Beautiful boy ! * 
 therefore my dear mother wonders the
 
 MADELINE. 80 
 
 girls can say he is ugly. Now, but for 
 Dobbs, I might have been in the room 
 when this happened. " When this hap- 
 pened ? " And what did happen, that I 
 am disappointed at not having witnessed ? 
 O Madeline ! under Mrs. Irwin's roof I 
 might with propriety have been made 
 known to Mr. Falconer; but now the 
 case is very different ; and I am glad, 
 yes, I really am on reflection glad that I 
 was not in the room. Dobbs said, the 
 laird would be at the kirk to-morrow : I 
 wonder whether his information be cor- 
 rect or not. 
 
 Sunday, June 1813. 
 How distressing, that ever I should 
 overhear my mother and sister say what 
 was not meant for my ear, and which it 
 would have been better for me never to 
 have heard! Dear, partial, deluded beings! 
 to fancy for one moment that Mr. Fal-
 
 90 MADELINE. 
 
 coner should look on me with an eye of 
 affection, and think of making me his 
 wife ! Absurd idea ! But I am equally 
 absurd in feeling embarrassed at the 
 thought of seeing him because of this 
 folly. However, when I do see him, I 
 trust that I shall forget it. 
 
 I now know why my mother was so 
 anxious that I should wear my prettiest 
 bonnet at kirk to-day. I really did not 
 think Margaret and she were so romantic 
 in their imaginations, and so ambitious 
 in their views for me ; but it is natural, 
 as they see me so much better educated 
 and dressed than they are, and know me 
 to have been accustomed to associate 
 with persons so greatly my superiors in 
 birth and fortune. How absurd ! Mar- 
 garet insists on it that Mr. Falconer 
 stopped because he was attracted by vie 
 and my singing, not theirs ; and that 
 when he came in he looked round, and
 
 MADELINE. 91 
 
 seemed disappointed, as if he did not 
 find the ohject whom he sought. She 
 forgets, but I know that I was sitting in 
 a dark corner of the room, and where no 
 one could see me from the window ; nor 
 could he have been there when I sung 
 with them : if he had, he would have 
 applauded before. I wish these foolish 
 conversations with me and of me had 
 not taken place ; for they will, I fear, 
 give me a painful embarrassment and 
 consciousness when I see Mr. Falconer. 
 It is nearly time to go to kirk. I hope 
 Dobbs will not be walking to meet us on 
 the road. I was surprised to find that he 
 was a regular attendant at the kirk, 
 though of the church of England : but I 
 find that, as his Scotch mother with the 
 fine pedigree was not an episcopalian, 
 he thought it right, and more consistent 
 with his family pretensions, to be a pres- 
 byterian. How glad my parents were to
 
 92 MADELINE. 
 
 find that I was not unwilling to return 
 to the worship of my fathers, though in 
 doctrine I do not entirely agree with them. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 All is now still around me : the very 
 leaves are still, for not a breeze whispers 
 through them to disturb the universal 
 calm of nature : nor is a cloud floating, 
 even in slow and solemn majesty, across 
 the face of the moon. Yet I am restless : 
 the calm of nature reaches not to me ; 
 and as I stand at the open window and 
 gaze upon the moon, the beatings of my 
 heart alone disturb the silence around 
 me ; and I am tempted to address the 
 " Queen of the Silver Bow" in the words 
 of Charlotte Smith, and exclaim, 
 
 " Methinks fair ' Planet of the Night ! ' 
 
 That in thy orb the wretched may have rest." 
 
 Wretched ! and am I wretched ? What 
 should make me so? Have I not kind
 
 MADELINE. 93 
 
 and affectionate relatives ? Have I not a 
 home ? Have I not health and an un- 
 clouded temper ? Have I not acquire- 
 ments and resources in myself, which for- 
 bid time to hang heavily on my hands'? 
 Oh yes ! But then I have also a proud 
 heart and a rebellious spirit, which pre- 
 vent me from being resigned to the fate 
 allotted to me. I have tastes and pre- 
 tensions above my sphere in life, which 
 can never, never be gratified ; and there- 
 fore am I depressed, therefore am I rest- 
 less. But why am I so very uneasy to- 
 night ? Has not this sabbath been like 
 every other ? No : for I have been con- 
 scious of inward struggles between my 
 pride and my sense of rrght, which were 
 never called forth in me before. Perhaps, 
 if I unburthen my mind to you, my be- 
 loved monitress, I shall be easier : and 
 certain I am that describing my feelings 
 in writing always relieves them. 
 
 My first wrong feeling was an exulting
 
 94 MADELINE. 
 
 one at seeing Mr. Falconer refuse to enter 
 the seat of Mr. Dobbs in the kirk (1 will 
 never call him Dobbs again, nor that man, 
 if I can help it). Why should I rejoice at 
 the poor man's mortification ? Well, he 
 would have been amply revenged could 
 he have been privy to mine. 
 
 My second wrong feeling was 5 being so 
 influenced by the consciousness that Mr. 
 Falconer was in the next pew to ours, and 
 standing up evidently to listen to our 
 singing, that I could not sing with my 
 usual power and my usual devotion ; the 
 presence of the creature made the praises 
 of my Creator faulter on my tongue. 
 Yet one thing consoles me in this. It 
 proves that I was not led by the love of 
 display to endeavour to attract his atten- 
 tion. I fear I cannot say as much for my 
 sisters. For I believe I never heard 
 them sing so loud. They really fretted 
 and annoyed me. 
 
 My third wrong feeling was that weak
 
 MADELINE. 95 
 
 embarrassment which made me unable to 
 look up when I knew Air. Falconer was 
 looking at me. I did not feel this when 
 his friend did the same: yet was Mr. 
 Falconer to me more than the other gen- 
 tleman ? But these feelings were all re- 
 spectable, to those which followed when 
 the service was over, and I was obliged 
 to follow my family up the aisle. Mr. 
 Falconer and his friend remained in their 
 pew, much to my discomfiture, as if 
 waiting till we should have passed them : 
 and, restrained by an unusual conscious- 
 ness of awkwardness, I hung back, and 
 did not immediately follow the others : 
 but as little Charles held my hand, I 
 luckily had some one to whom I could 
 direct my attention as I passed Mr. Fal- 
 coner. Still I could not but see that he 
 held the door of his pew half closed for 
 my accommodation, and that he half 
 bowed with a respectful and courteous air
 
 96 MADELINE. 
 
 as I went bv, which obliged me to make 
 a sort of obeisance in return. 
 
 Now comes my delinquency. I was sure 
 that from my mourning garb and general 
 appearance he did not suppose I was one 
 of the family, and that he imagined me a 
 lady of their acquaintance : and so loth, 
 so very loth was I that he should be un- 
 deceived, that I walked slowly along, and 
 wished to avoid taking my father's arm 
 as usual. Margaret came running back 
 to meet me, and, seeing Mr. Falconer 
 and his friend just behind us, she made 
 them an easy unembarrassed curtsey. 
 Why could not I be thus unembarrassed? 
 
 I now saw that my father was waiting 
 for me in the road, and, making a great 
 effort, I walked rapidly forward and took 
 his arm. That arm instantly pressed mine 
 closely to his side, and, as he raised his 
 eyes, I felt that they expressed so much 
 affection, and I believe pride in me, his
 
 MADELINE. 0/ 
 
 unworthy child, that my heart reproach- 
 ed me bitterly for feeling even a momen- 
 tary shame at belonging to him ; and, 
 while tears rushed into my eyes, I no 
 longer regretted that Mr. Falconer now 
 knew me to be only the daughter of Do- 
 nald Munro. That he knew it I was very 
 certain ; for Margaret looked back, and 
 saw him whispering with his old steward, 
 while his eyes were turned towards me : 
 and it was evident that he was asking who 
 I was. She also added, " And when the 
 old man answered him, he looked so 
 blank, so I do not know how, Madeline, 
 but not pleased." I think / knew how 
 he looked, and wherefore ; and 1 felt 
 pleased in one way at least: but perhaps 
 this was only my own vanity and conceit: 
 for why should Mr. Falconer be sorry to 
 find I was only a cotter's daughter? Soon 
 after Margaret had given me this in- 
 formation, Bessie, who had taken the 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 MADELINE. 
 
 arm she left, looked back, and said in 
 a voice of delight, " Mr. Falconer is 
 coming ! He is just behind us ; " and 
 then, as if to express her joy, she kept 
 knocking her elbow against me till I was 
 terrified lest Mr. Falconer should see it, 
 and put a wrong construction on the ac- 
 tion. My annoyance was soon ended, 
 for I heard a deep and mellow- toned 
 voice say, " How are you, Mrs. Munro? 
 Munro, recollect, I am not yet known 
 to this your English daughter." Why 
 could he not call me Miss Munro ? But 
 I am not Miss Munro : Margaret is the 
 eldest daughter, and that he knows pro- 
 bably. My father's English daughter 
 blushed like a girl who had never stirred 
 from her home : while my mother, in 
 her pretty manner, said, as she took on 
 herself the office of introducing us to 
 each other, " My English daughter has 
 still a Scottish heart, Glencarron, and
 
 MADELINE. 99 
 
 loves her native bills and her own kindred, 
 though so long a southron." " I am 
 sure her own kindred must love her," he 
 courteously replied — " and be proud of 
 her too," said Margaret affectionately. 
 M Undoubtedly," was of course his answer. 
 He now begged leave to introduce his 
 friend Major Cameron to me : and, having 
 recovered my weak and ill-motived con- 
 fusion, I talked sufficiently at my ease 
 during the rest of the way, till we were 
 joined by Mr. Dobbs, who, not being 
 able to come beside me, chose to walk 
 behind, and make himself busy about 
 me : my scarf came off my shoulders oc- 
 casionally, and he was always putting it 
 on, giving me a little pat as he did so : 
 then looking over my shoulder and sigh- 
 ing : in short, he evidently aimed at 
 making the gentlemen believe he was 
 very intimate with me, and that he was 
 allowed to do these kind offices for me, 
 f2
 
 100 MADELINE. 
 
 and was on a sort of lover's footing: aye, 
 and once he called me " Lovely Made- 
 line ! " and as I turned proudly round 
 to give him a look of scornful wonder at 
 his presumption, I saw Mr. Falconer's eyes 
 turned on him with stern astonishment, 
 while Major Cameron's comic face, as 
 he observed the poor man's expression of 
 saucy mortification, was almost convul- 
 sed with suppressed laughter. But his fa- 
 miliarity was not to be repelled : again 
 the scarf fell, and again he put it on with 
 a sort of fondling dilatoriness. I could 
 bear it no longer ; but, hastily snatching 
 it off, I gave it to Annie to carry for me. 
 He pushed forward to take it from her, 
 but Mr. Falconer anticipated him ; and, 
 saying " Let me have the pleasure of 
 carrying it," the discomfited Dobbs was 
 forced to give up the point. When we 
 reached our cottage, the gentlemen took 
 their leave, and mounted their horses,
 
 MADELINE. 101 
 
 which we met on the road. But if they 
 had not been going to ride home, I do 
 not think my father would have asked 
 them in, because he seemed to be vexed 
 to see his favourite thrown so completely 
 into the back ground : besides, he has 
 his prejudices against Mr. Falconer, and 
 knows he has handsome daughters : but 
 I am sure he can know nothing true of 
 that kind relative to Glencarron. Never 
 did I see a more modest expression in a 
 man's countenance. I am not so well 
 pleased with the expression of his friend. 
 I cannot but lament Mr. Falconer's 
 visit to the window yesterday evening, as 
 it certainly interrupted the devotions of 
 this evening. Even my father, I ob- 
 served, was every now and then looking 
 towards the window, and I must own 
 that my eyes and ears were too much on 
 the alert. Indeed it was so evident that
 
 102 MADELINE. 
 
 the attention of us all often wandered, 
 that my father broke oft' rather impatient- 
 ly, and desired Bessie to shut the window 
 and draw the curtain. My mother ex" 
 postulated on account of the heat, but he 
 wns positive: and the window was closed. 
 But nothing was gained by that : our 
 ears became only more watchful for the 
 sound of feet. However, no one came : 
 but I was not surprised when my father 
 said, " Madeline, in future we will be in 
 your room on Saturday and Sunday even- 
 ings." On which Bessie said in my ear, 
 "What then, Madeline? The laird, if he 
 chooses, may stand and listen under the 
 hedge, and no one be a whit the wiser.'* 
 I ought to have reproved her, I know; 
 but I had not the heart to do it. 
 
 It is past midnight, and I will try to 
 rest. I was not wrong in my expecta^ 
 tions, and writing has relieved me,
 
 MADELINE. 10*3 
 
 Monday, 
 My dreams have been very painful. 
 Methought whenever Mr. Falconer, as I 
 was walking in his grounds, tried to come 
 near me, Mr. Dobbs or my father push- 
 ed him hack. I have had dreams much 
 less easy to account for than this. 
 
 Mr. Falconer and his friend are just 
 gone by on horseback ; and the former 
 looked steadfastly at my window as he 
 passed : remembering, no doubt, that he 
 was gazed at by somebody there when 
 he stood by the road side the other day. 
 They passed very slowly. I saw them 
 coming, and at first I intended to go to 
 my window and salute them as they 
 passed; but my courage failed me, as I 
 thought it might seem as if I was looking 
 for them ; therefore I ran to my old 
 friend, the slit in the curtain, taking care 
 to hide my black dress with a white bed- 
 gown, that I might not be distinguished.
 
 1 04 MADELINE. 
 
 If I hear them come back, I shall then 
 have no objection to be at the window, 
 and salute them if they see me. 
 
 What an idle morning have I passed ! 
 not able to settle to any thing. I am not 
 yet sufficiently accustomed to the beauti- 
 ful view from my windows to be tired of 
 looking at it. 
 
 They are just gone past, and Mr. Fal- 
 coner saw me, and took off his hat. How 
 handsome he looked ! Exercise had given 
 him a colour; and his hair, which curls 
 naturally, and is rather long, was parted 
 on his forehead so picturesquely by the 
 breeze ! I am told there is a fine picture 
 of him in oils at Glencarron, done when 
 he was a boy, and another in miniature, 
 a whole length : how I should like to see 
 them ! 
 
 Tuesday. 
 
 Mr. Falconer and his friend have not 
 been past to-day ; nor do I see smoke
 
 MA DEL <E. 105 
 
 from the chimneys of his apartments. 
 How easily I can distinguish the chim- 
 neys of Glencarron now! It is marvellous 
 that I did not see them sooner : but 
 then I never looked so long for them 
 before. 
 
 Aye, I thought how it was. Thev 
 are absent on a visit ; so no fires were 
 lighted in the laird's own apartments. A 
 fire is not unpleasant here, even though 
 next Thursday is the first of July. 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 I have been exercising my voice, and 
 playing on the harp several hours to-dav. 
 How well Margaret's voice blends with 
 mine in the duet of " Ye banks and braes 
 of bonny Doon," and also in "Roy's wife!"' 
 
 My father has spoken to me in a 
 
 kinder tone during the last two days. 
 
 As neither Mr. Falconer nor Mr. Dobbs 
 
 has been here, he has not been annoyed 
 
 f5
 
 106 MADELINE. 
 
 by my evident dislike to the presence of 
 the one, nor afraid of my pleasure in the 
 presence of the other. And Richard has 
 been here again ; and as agreeable as 
 ever. There is a great charm about him, 
 I think he is too superior to stand be- 
 hind a counter. There's pride again ! 
 O Madeline, wilt thou never be wise ? 
 However, I still wish he had been design- 
 ed for the ministry. 
 
 Wednesday, 
 What an interesting conversation I 
 have just had with my mother ! How 
 strange it is that I never knew till now 
 that she was of a very old family, and 
 nearly connected with nobility ! It is full 
 as strange, and certainly very foolish in 
 me, to be so very glad of it. She is 
 after all only a cotter's wife, and I a cot- 
 ter's daughter. Heigh-ho ! But as her 
 father and grandfather were ministers,
 
 MADELINE. 107 
 
 it is very natural that she should wish to 
 have a son brought up to the ministry ; 
 and she wished to consult me on the pos- 
 sibility of doing it. Certainly nothing 
 can be easier. Most gladly shall I ex- 
 pend the hundred pounds I have in the 
 funds, if it be necessary, on my brother 
 Charles's education, for that purpose, and 
 we hope that we shall carry the point with 
 my father, who at present inclines to have 
 him follow the plough with him ; but 
 my mother's views for her children are 
 much higher than his, and I fear that 
 my education has made her dissatisfied 
 with the inferior advantages of her other 
 children. I cannot say that I wish I had 
 never been taken from the paternal roof, 
 because I enjoy the acquirements of which 
 that step was the source : still I do not 
 believe that such removals have a ten- 
 dency to promote the happiness of the 
 being so removed, or that of those who
 
 108 MADELINE. 
 
 remain : and such removals should be 
 made, when made.ybr ever. And yet I 
 am sure I am very happy at home; there- 
 fore I* only speak generally : my case is 
 an exception to a general rule. 
 
 Thursday, July 1813. 
 A letter from Ronald. He has re- 
 ceived his commission, and is so delight- 
 ed ! for it is in the 42d, his own regi- 
 ment. Had it not been so, he says he 
 could not have borne to accept it, as he 
 could not have endured the pain of leav- 
 ing the regiment in which he had been 
 so happy, and had received so much kind- 
 ness. " No," he says, " I had much ra- 
 ther- have continued to earn promotion 
 by my own exertions." I like his pride 
 too. He desires to know whether Mr. 
 Fonnereau gave money for the ensigncy ; 
 because, if he did, he shall insist on pay- 
 ing it back by instalments, as he gets
 
 MADELINE. 109 
 
 forward in the army. I feel proud of 
 this dear brother ; and my mother said 
 with much pleasure, when she read his 
 letter, " Well, Madeline, when I have 
 one son an officer, and another a mi- 
 nister, and you, dear girl, are married as 
 you ought to be, I shall be the proudest 
 of mothers." But what did she mean 
 by my " being married as I ought to be ? " 
 Kind but mistaken parent! thy day- 
 dreams for me will never be realized. 
 
 I wonder when Mr. Falconer and his 
 friend come back. Ha ! surely I see 
 smoke in the chimneys. It is so ; then 
 they are returned ; but not until this 
 morning, I dare say ; because I am sure 
 there was no smoke in those chimneys 
 last night. It is not likely they will come 
 into the village to-day. 
 
 Now then to my harp. It is. so warm 
 in my room, though they have fires at 
 Glencarron, that I must play with my
 
 110 MADELINE. 
 
 window open : but no matter, no one 
 will hear me. 
 
 I thought just now I heard some one 
 walk past, then stop as if to listen : I 
 wonder who it was. After dinner my 
 mother and I shall take a walk : what a 
 pity it is we can no longer walk past 
 Glencarron ! We might have gone last 
 night, when the laird was away. 
 
 Thursday night. 
 Who should break in upon our t£te-a- 
 tUe walk but Mr. Falconer himself ? 1 
 must own it added greatly to the pleasure 
 of it. He said he saw us from a little 
 building in his grounds. My mother 
 wondered he should know us at such a 
 distance. "Oh!" said I laughing, "Mr. 
 Falconer knew us, no doubt, by my 
 black gown, and mantle ; for I am di- 
 stinguished from my sisters by the name 
 of ■ the tall lassie in black.' " " It
 
 MADELINE. 11 J 
 
 was you whom I recognised," replied 
 Glencarron smiling, and adding, with a 
 look very flattering to my vanity, " and, 
 no doubt, it was only from your black 
 dress ; as your air and figure are very 
 common, and you have nothing but your 
 dress to distinguish you." 
 
 The walk seemed a very short one. 
 He did not accompany us home. Per- 
 haps he thought the neighbours might 
 talk. My mother was delighted with 
 this meeting. My father looked stern 
 and grave when she told him of it, and 
 said nothing but " I wonder what Glen- 
 canon's proud sister would have said, had 
 she seen him walking with Donald Mun- 
 ro's wife and daughter." 
 
 Friday, 
 
 A day of household business; no time 
 
 for writing or music ; but the girls and 
 
 I got a walk, and we met Mr. Falconer.
 
 112 MADELINE. 
 
 He seemed delighted to see us, and show- 
 ed us a pretty path outside the road that 
 leads to his park, which we never saw 
 before. How often, when he is gone 
 again, shall we walk along it, and say, 
 " He showed it to us ! M He parted with 
 us at the end of this path. That was 
 right, especially as our mother was not 
 with us ; but I think we sat on a bank, 
 which commands the river, a quarter of 
 an hour at least : Bessie says, it was 
 nearly an hour. 
 
 How glad I am that you made me 
 keep a journal ! It is next to having you, 
 my dear confidential friend^ with me ; it 
 is quite a companion indeed. 
 
 Saturday. 
 
 There is some one inquiring for my 
 
 father; I hope it is not Mr. Dobbs, as I 
 
 have on my Mary Stuart cap and ruff, 
 
 and he would fancy that I expected him,
 
 MADELINE. 113 
 
 perhaps. No: it was Mr. Falconer him- 
 self: and, as he wished to leave his mes- 
 sage either with my mother or one of 
 her daughters, and as both my mother 
 and Margaret were out, and Bessie in 
 the dairy, I could not help going to him, 
 or rather I could not help ordering him 
 to be shown into my apartment. It was 
 very wrong in me to feel embarrassed 
 when he entered : why should I ? I did 
 not think I could so soon have lost my 
 usage du monde. I thought, however, 
 he was not quite at ease himself, and 
 that restored me to composure. It would 
 have been affectation in me to refuse to 
 play and sing to him : I therefore did 
 both ; but I never did either so ill, and I 
 was very glad when Margaret came in to 
 hing with me. I think I never saw any 
 one feel music more. He did not heat 
 time, but sat with folded arms, and mo- 
 tionless. I like such auditors, and I had
 
 114 MADELINE. 
 
 great pleasure in singing to him. But 
 all pleasures have their counterpoise, and 
 in the midst of our music in strutted 
 Dobbs ! Mr. Dobbs I should have said. 
 His countenance fell when he saw to 
 whom I was performing ; and, in no very 
 good humour, he seated himself by me, 
 and began to beat time in his own thun- 
 dering way on my chair. I was going 
 to turn round to beg him to desist, when 
 a silk handkerchief, which I wore over 
 my shoulders, fell off, and this officious 
 person picked it up, and, as on the pre- 
 ceding Sunday, patted it on again. This 
 was too much for Margaret's risible fa- 
 culties ; she gave way to a violent fit of 
 laughter, in which I must own I joined, 
 nor could Mr. Falconer help smiling 
 also. It seemed as if it was this man's 
 business so to officiate about my person, 
 and the little fat short hands with which 
 he did it added to the ludicrous effect.
 
 MADELINE. 115 
 
 Fortunately he is too self-satisfied to sup- 
 pose it possible that any one can laugh 
 at him ; therefore, though he looked 
 grave, he was not angry. As I ceased 
 playing, while I laughed, he thrust his 
 head close to my face, and asked me with 
 a languishing air to play his favourite 
 song, " that, you know, which I am so 
 fond of." " I am not conscious of your 
 having a favourite, Mr. Dobbs." " Well, 
 that is a good one," winking his eye 
 knowingly at the laird ; " not conscious 
 I have a favourite! Favourite means fa- 
 vourite lady, you know : Oh ! " Here he 
 heaved a sigh so comically pathetic, that 
 Meggie ran out of the room to laugh, 
 and I coldly replied, " We were talking 
 of songs, not ladies, sir, and I really do 
 not know what song you mean." " Oh, 
 it was the one you sung me the day when 
 first we met. Do you think, then, 1 
 could ever forget it ? " he added, lower*
 
 116 MADELINE. 
 
 ing his voice ; and again was my hand- 
 kerchief replaced ; but I threw it off and 
 to the further end of the room. On which 
 he ran after it, exclaiming, " Kind crea- 
 ture ! you did that on purpose that I 
 might have the pleasure of fetching it : " 
 but Mr. Falconer's long arm snatched it 
 from the floor before his short legs reach- 
 ed it ; and, while he held it on his lap, 
 he bowed, and begged me to go on with 
 the piece in which I had been inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 Mr. Falconer is haughty ; but then it 
 is really a virtue to be so to such a for- 
 ward person as this is: still I pitied poor 
 J3obbs, while the disdainful glance of 
 Glenearron\s dark eye, that eye dark as 
 the thunder-cloud, yet bright as the light- 
 ning, passed over him. I could hardly 
 help saying, " Are you not scorched ? " 
 but if I had, he would not have under- 
 stood me. However, he did understand
 
 MADELINE. 117 
 
 that he had, some how or other, done a 
 rude thing, and he did not mend the 
 matter by going down on his knees and 
 asking me, in his most cockney pronun- 
 ciation, to forgive whatever he had done 
 amiss ; trying, as he did so, to get hold 
 of my hand, and almost touching my 
 knee with his head. Such indecorum 
 in an accepted lover would have offend- 
 ed my sense of propriety ; but in this 
 person it was absolutely intolerable : 
 however, the anger and aversion with 
 which I retreated from him did not 
 vent themselves in words, because my 
 attention was called from him by see- 
 ing Mr. Falconer start from his seat 
 with a flashing eye and a raised com- 
 plexion. But he reseated himself; and I, 
 too much gratified to be as angry as I 
 was before at the fault which had called 
 forth the indignation of Glencarron, cold- 
 ly and proudly desired that Mr. Dobbs
 
 118 MADELINE. 
 
 would go and sit on the other side of the 
 room, and, if possible, sit still, and not 
 offend me by his familiarities or his gesti- 
 culation. Was it, I wonder, stupidity 
 or cunning that made him, nothing 
 daunted, reply in a low and wheedling 
 tone, " Cruel creature ! but you women 
 are halways coy before company." I de- 
 clare that I was breathless with indigna- 
 tion, aye, and speechless too. To insi- 
 nuate that I was only cruel to him be- 
 fore witnesses, and to say it in Mr. Fal- 
 coner's hearing also ! But I was spared 
 the trouble of replying ; for Margaret, 
 " severe in youthful beauty," desired to 
 know what he meant by that remark, 
 and if her sister was ever otherwise than 
 what he called " cruel to him" Then, 
 seizing his arm while he pretended to 
 laugh to hide his confusion, she said she 
 wished to speak to him alone, and led 
 him out of the room ; while Glencarron,
 
 MADELINE. 119 
 
 as if afraid to trust himself to speak of 
 such a man, or thinking it indelicate, 
 begged me to sooth his ruffled feelings 
 by music as rapidly as possible. I did 
 so ; and, as Margaret did not return, I 
 was sure that she was keeping Mr. Dobbs 
 out till I had concluded. He then re- 
 turned, and with him my mother, whose 
 eye brightened with pleasure when she 
 saw my companion. The music was 
 now given over, and the laird was just 
 going to leave his message for my father, 
 when he himself came in, and his eyes 
 brightened at sight of his dear Dobbs, 
 but his brow looked dark when he saw 
 Glencarron. I am sure Mr. Falconer 
 observed the change, for his pale cheek 
 was for a moment suffused ; but he kind- 
 ly said, " I came to speak to you again 
 concerning a new purchase, Munro." 
 " Then why come at an hour when you 
 were sure not to see me, Glencarron ? "
 
 1?0 MADELINE. 
 
 was his almost surly answer. " I came," 
 replied he, evidently suppressing an in- 
 dignant feeling, " when I knew I should 
 see you ; for it is nearly, if not quite, 
 your hour of dinner, and I have not been 
 here long ; nor shall I detain you long." 
 " You are always welcome, I am sure, 
 Glencarron," said my mother, blushing 
 as I did at my father's ungraciousness. 
 " Well, well," cried he, " since you are 
 here, I will wash my face, and make my- 
 self fit to sit down with a gentleman, and 
 then hear what you have to say." My 
 mother saw, as well as myself, that my 
 father's manner had made the laird 
 thoughtful and uncomfortable; she there- 
 fore, to divert his attention, told him of 
 Ronald's promotion : then, with pardon- 
 able vanity, she showed him her son's 
 letter, and begged him to read it aloud. 
 He did so: and his voice faltered at some 
 of the affectionate passages relative to
 
 MADELINE. 121 
 
 her and me, while he often broke off to in- 
 dulge my mother in what is most dear 
 to the maternal heart, — the praises of her 
 child. " O brave, noble fellow ! the 
 courage of a lion and the tenderness of 
 a woman !" he exclaimed. " I will tell him 
 what you say, Glencarron," cried my 
 delighted parent, " and he will be so 
 pleased ! M " My good friend," said he, 
 pressing her hand kindly, as he returned 
 the letter, " the proudest peeress in the 
 land might envy you such a son." 
 
 My mother's heart was now open, and 
 as I stood by her, with my arm linked in 
 hers, and Glencarron gracefully leaning 
 with his arm over my harp, while she im- 
 parted to him our plans for the youngest 
 boy, prefaced with a little account of her 
 pedigree, we had been so fortunate as to 
 forget there was such a person as Dobbs 
 in the world ; and a feeling of indescri- 
 bable complacency, of confidence, and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 MADELINE. 
 
 intimacy, had stolen over us, while 
 Glencarron's countenance expressed even 
 more interest and kindness towards us, 
 than we felt towards him ; it was not 
 the proud superior, but the friendly 
 equal who stood before us. At this 
 happy moment, Dobbs, whose egotism 
 had ill endured his being so completely 
 thrown into the back ground, exclaimed, 
 just as my mother had congratulated 
 herself on the prospect of having one son 
 an officer, and another a minister, " Pray, 
 Mrs. Munro, vhen did you hear from 
 your son the linen-draper ? When vill 
 he be out of his happrenticeship ? And 
 the flaxen-headed plough-boy, ow is 
 he ?" We started instantly from our 
 pleasing absorption at these words, of 
 which / felt the spiteful intention, though 
 my mother did not, as she thanked him 
 for his inquiries in her usually kind man- 
 ner, and answered them fully. But my
 
 MADELINE. 123 
 
 own cheek was covered with indignant 
 blushes, and I saw that the countenance 
 of the laird had lost its look of benignant 
 kindness, while, folding his arms together, 
 he heaved a deep sigh, and cast his eyes 
 on the ground. 
 
 My father entered at this moment; they 
 retired together ; and when Mr. Falconer 
 returned to bid us good day, he was no 
 longer the same man who gazed on us a 
 few minutes before with almost tender in- 
 terest, and as if he felt no difference be- 
 tween our ranks and his. But perhaps 
 this is all the dream of my romantic fancy ! 
 perhaps he really felt neither the previous 
 interest nor the subsequent coldness. 
 
 I will read over what I have written ; I 
 dare say I have coloured too highly. — No : 
 on the contrary, I find that I have weak- 
 ly pourt rayed his expression and his 
 manner during our conversation ; though 
 my mortified and wounded feelings, per- 
 g2
 
 124 MADELINE. 
 
 haps, have exaggerated their change. Of 
 this I am very certain, that the dread of 
 meeting Dohbs (I cannot call him Mr.) 
 will keep him from our cottage. I should 
 like to know what passed between him 
 and my father : perhaps the latter told 
 him he wished the dear Dobbs to be his 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Saturday night. 
 I was right; hedid tell him so, — " Ma- 
 deline," said he this morning at breakfast, 
 " Glencarron does not approve of thy 
 marrying Dobbs." " I should have been 
 surprised if he had, sir." " And pray 
 whv ? " " Beoause such a man as Mr. 
 Falconer must feel Mr. Dobbs's infinite 
 vulgarity and disagreeableness." " And 
 thou art all gentility and agreeableness, 
 he! Maddie?" "I am not like Mr. 
 Dobbs." " No ; so the laird thinks : but 
 Dobbs would be a good husband for thee,
 
 MADELINE. 125 
 
 for all that. However, I forgive Glencar- 
 ron; and I liked — I was satisfied with what 
 
 he said of thee ; it shows me lie can have no 
 intentions towards thee himself." " Me ! 
 m-m-me, father!" "Yes; thee, daugh- 
 ter : but I am easy now." And fortu- 
 nately he rose and left the room without 
 looking at me; for I felt myself turn 
 pale. " Father may say what he pleases, 
 Madeline," cried Meggy ; " but if the 
 laird does not love thee already, I never 
 saw love in my life." " I hope not," said 
 my mother, who was holding my hand 
 in silence, "as his passion must be a 
 hopeless one, I fear ; his pride and his 
 sister's would never give way. Besides, 
 your father disapproves unequal mar- 
 riages ; he says, parents may get a great 
 son-in-law; but then they lose their child 
 entirely; and now Madeline is come back, 
 * he loves her so he cannot bear to part 
 with her.' This however is very cer-
 
 126 MADELINE. 
 
 tain," she added, "I would die rather than 
 see thee the wife of Dohbs." How is it 
 possible that a man of my father's sense 
 can imagine that I could ever be happy 
 withDobbs ? But then he tells my mother 
 he is sure I can make any thing of him. 
 This strange idea of his preys on me, and 
 makes me very low. I wonder what the 
 laird said to him which convinced him 
 /^ had no intentions towards me himself. 
 Intentions ! what intentions could he 
 have had ? I wish my father had not 
 told me this ; yet perhaps it is as well that 
 he did. There is one thing gained by 
 this conversation, however ; my father 
 will now look more kindly on Mr. Fal- 
 coner, when he calls. — A letter from 
 Mr. Falconer to my mother ! — How 
 pleased I am to think that my father 
 consented so readily, and that we are to 
 go to Glencarron on Monday ! How 
 prettily was the invitation worded ! " As
 
 MADELINE. 127 
 
 my friend Major Cameron has a mes- 
 sage to deliver to Miss Madeline Munro 
 from her fellow traveller and admirer Air. 
 Onslow, I flatter myself that you will 
 allow him an opportunity of delivering it 
 to her at Giencarron. With this hope, 
 I have forbidden him to call on her ; and 
 I venture to request that you and your 
 daughters will allow my friend Donald to 
 escort you hither on Monday afternoon, 
 to eat strawberries and cream in my new 
 pavilion ; an improvement which neither 
 you nor he has yet seen, I believe." 
 To my great astonishment, my father 
 made no objection to this proposal, and 
 Margaret wrote a note to say that we 
 accepted it. I wished to have written it, 
 but my father said " No ; let Meggie 
 write it," and she did. I did not like to 
 see "Margaret Munro is desired by," &e. 
 &c. " Margaret" instead of " Miss Mun- 
 ro!" Yet I know it was right, and that
 
 128 MADELINE. 
 
 " Miss" would have been improper ; 
 therefore it was better for her to write 
 than I; because I must have written 
 "Miss M. Munro ;" I could not have 
 written so humbly ; and " Dear Sir" 
 would have been too familiar. Yes ; my 
 father was quite right to bid Meggie 
 write the answer. I wonder whether he 
 considered all these niceties ; but I dare 
 say not. 
 
 How strange ! In anticipation of 
 the pleasure of visiting Glencarron (the 
 place I mean), I wholly forgot to be 
 curious concerning Mr. Onslow's mes- 
 sage. What can he have to say to me ? 
 But I am still more curious to know what 
 the laird told my father, that has made 
 him so willing to take ns to Glencarron. 
 Surely he did not tell him that he was 
 engaged, and on the point of marriage ! 
 His manner is not that of an engaged 
 man ! Margaret indeed thinks
 
 MADELINE. 129 
 
 Pshaw! she is a partial, sanguine girl, 
 and so full of love herself that she fancies 
 others are so. 
 
 Dobbs has been here : he says the laird 
 is going to England very soon ; therefore 
 I suppose our visit will be a leave-taking 
 one. And it is better that he should go. 
 The longer he stays the more I should 
 regret him. — I can write no more; my 
 pen seems to beguile me of my most 
 inward thoughts. 
 
 Sunday, July 1813. 
 It is very certain, from the alteration 
 in my father's manner when he speaks of 
 Mr. Falconer, that what he said to him 
 has set his heart entirely at rest concern- 
 ing me. I wish he would tell me what it 
 was ; but I conclude it was in confidence : 
 if so, it must be a /oz^-secret. Well, 
 he will be gone very soon now, and I am 
 glad of it. It was, however, very wrong 
 g 5
 
 130 MADELINE. 
 
 in an engaged ?nan to look as I have seen 
 him look ; but most men are very lax 
 in their ideas of the sacredness of such 
 engagements, I have been told, and often 
 indulge in attention to other women, 
 such as their liege lady could not approve. 
 Heigh-ho ! Somehow I dread seeing him 
 again. — So Dobbs is mortified because 
 he is not asked with us to Glencarron ! 
 What presumption ! Does he consider 
 himself as one of the family ? This is my 
 father's fault. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 Yes, Glencarron is haughty; and I 
 fear too haughty. Poor Dobbs ! He was, 
 no doubt, eager to show respect to the 
 ungracious laird, and, by dint of attention, 
 win an invitation to the great house ; 
 else he would not have volunteered so 
 unnecessary a civility from one man to 
 another^ as that of finding the psalm for
 
 MADELINE. 131 
 
 him, and handing it across our pew. 
 But then Mr. Falconer need not have 
 rejected the book with such cold disdain. 
 Pride, earthly pride in the presence of 
 the Most High ! I am glad I had self- 
 command and kindness enough to take 
 the rejected book, when he offered it to 
 me, and with marked smiling courtesy. 
 I felt for the poor man's public mortifica- 
 tion. I am also glad Mr. Falconer saw 
 that I did, and understood why I was 
 so courteous to Dobbs. But he is a 
 dangerous man. With what an insinu- 
 ating look and manner he said to me, in 
 a low voice, after service, " I saw, Miss 
 Munro, the reproachful look you gave 
 me for my ungrateful rejection of your 
 admirer's offer. Tell me, is it then 
 really a personal offence to you to be 
 ungracious to Mr. Dobbs ? But till you 
 do tell me so, I cannot, will not believe 
 it." " You did not offend me" I replied
 
 132 MADELINE. 
 
 with a degree of firmness which I did not 
 expect ; " you offended a higher Power, 
 in my opinion, Mr. Falconer, and my 
 respect for you made me regret that you 
 did so." " What do you mean ?" " I 
 mean that I do not think the feeling of 
 proud superiority over a fellow creature 
 should be indulged in a place of worship ; 
 and your pride and resentment were called 
 forth, too, by an ac* intended as an act 
 of civility." How my voice faltered as I 
 uttered the last word! for I thought I was 
 going too far, and taking a great liberty. 
 But I was soon reassured when he utter- 
 ed, in a tone of great sensibility, (look 
 at him I dared not,) " May that God 
 whose rights you so properly assert, bless 
 and reward you, my lovely monitress ! 
 Never can I forget the lesson you have 
 given me. And oh ! the joy of thinking 
 you deem me worth admonishing !" I 
 now ventured to raise my eyes to his ; but
 
 MADELINE. 133 
 
 I had better not have done it ; their ex- 
 pression has haunted me ever since. It 
 is absurd, but really I felt enlivened by 
 remarking that my father looked uneasy 
 and angry on observing our conversation, 
 which was held rather apart, and as we 
 loitered up the aisle ; and he desired me 
 to come and take his arm in rather a 
 severe tone. I obeyed ; but not before 
 Glencarron had said, " See, Miss Munro, 
 how I shall try to merit your forgiveness, 
 by making the amende honorable* to your 
 protege Dobbs the dolorous." Accord- 
 ingly, with a look and manner not to be 
 resisted, he tendered him his hand, and 
 thanked him for the offer of the book, 
 which he should have accepted had he 
 not preferred hearing the words sung by 
 the lips of piety and beauty, to reading 
 them himself. This was more than suf- 
 
 * honourable amends.
 
 134 MADELINE. 
 
 ficient to put Dobbs in an ecstasy, which 
 betrayed itself at every pore; and had 
 the laird asked him to Glencarron, I 
 believe he would have jumped up and 
 embraced him. But, silly man, he did 
 not know when he was well ; and, with 
 his vulgar daring, as he walked by Mr. 
 Falconer's side, he gave broad hints to 
 be asked to meet us. K That there park 
 of yours looks very fine from the road ; I 
 never was in it ; but it looks very tempt- 
 ing." The laird instantly assumed a re- 
 pelling coldness, which at length obliged 
 Dobbs to silence. " Have I offended 
 again, Miss Munro ?" asked he with an 
 arch look while Dobbs stopped to tie his 
 shoe-string, " and must I ask him to 
 Glencarron to-morrow ? " " Not for the 
 world," cried I eagerly ; "his forwardness 
 should be checked, as his offence is not 
 now an act of civility." "Excellent 
 distinction !" I wish my father had not
 
 MADELINE. 133 
 
 interrupted us, and sarcastically observed 
 " What ! whispering, Maddie ? I did 
 not expect such elegant southrons as you 
 and the laird would have whispered in 
 company. It is reckoned bad manners 
 here." " I stand corrected," replied Mr. 
 Falconer, " but Miss Munro was not to 
 blame : I — " " You walk corrected," 
 said Dobbs, giving him a pat on the 
 shoulder, and showing all his teeth in 
 delight at his fancied wit. The laird, 
 with a " withering look," shrunk from 
 his touch, and Dobbs vainly tried to rally 
 under that oppressive eye. 
 
 The servant now appeared with his 
 horses; and Mr. Falconer, with a comic 
 expression of penitence directed to me, 
 kissed his hand, jumped on his horse, 
 saying, " Remember, five to-morrow," 
 and rode off. " That there fellow is as 
 proud has Lucifer himself," cried Dobbs
 
 136 MADELINE. 
 
 as soon as he was out of hearing. " He 
 is humble to what his lady-sister is," re- 
 plied my father, "and she has spoiled 
 him ; yet he is a fine fellow with all his 
 faults, and a most excellent landlord." 
 " How cross it was not to hask me to 
 meet you to-morrow, in spite of all my 
 ints, when he must see ow matters arc, 
 and that I should be so ivelcome to go 
 with you !" These hints raised my indig- 
 nation as much as his did that of the 
 laird ; and I desired to know what pre- 
 tensions he had to be invited with us, as 
 he was neither old acquaintance nor near 
 relation. " Why because I hope to be 
 ha very near relation one of these days,'' 
 was his half-whispered answer, with a 
 leering look up in my face : " but per- 
 haps the laird wants to act the dog in 
 the manger, and I would hadvise im 
 not ; let him take care how he poaches
 
 MADELINE. 137 
 
 lion my manor." I could not bear this 
 coarse, presumptuous language, — a lan- 
 guage, too, so full of hope. I therefore 
 turned round to my father, who pretend- 
 ed not to hear it, and desired to know if 
 he authorized or approved such remarks, 
 and if he had given Mr. Dobbs reason to 
 consider any one of his family as his 
 property. " Why no, my dear, no, cer- 
 tainly not ; you know my wishes on the 
 subject, and I must own that, for a true 
 lover, honest Dobbs here is a little too 
 forward and secure ; and more diffidence 
 would become him better/' " Diffidence! 
 vhy the old hadage says, * Faint heart 
 never won fair lady ;' and Miss Made- 
 line would not like me if I vas shame- 
 faced in the presence of this here bird, 
 who is not a real lord with all is bluster- 
 ing ; and I have drank a bottle of wine 
 manv's the time and oft with real lords
 
 138 MADELINE. 
 
 and dukes too, at public dinners, and 
 that sort of thing : yes, and I have made 
 speeches before them, too, and I have 
 dined with the Lord Mayor, and hoso- 
 ever I marry shall dine with him too. 
 And perhaps the laird never could get is 
 wife a ticket, though she longed for it : 
 because why ? A Scotch laird is nobody 
 in London city, and, let me tell you, I 
 look upon myself to be as good as he ; 
 and a Campbell is as good as a Falco- 
 ner at any time." " But what do you 
 think of a Dobbs, sir? is that name equally 
 grand?" said I, rather pertly I own. 
 " Vi, no, Miss Madeline, perhaps not ; 
 but it do not signify harguing the mat- 
 ter. He is a proud haristocrat: but I 
 will be revenged, and I will have a straw- 
 berry-feast of my own, and not ask him ; 
 no, not if he vould give is ears to be 
 asked. And so good morning, good
 
 MADELINE. 139 
 
 morning." I could not but remark the 
 man's cunning. He made no reply to 
 my notice of bis hopes and pretensions, 
 but artfully put himself into a passion 
 with Mr. Falconer ; for he was shrewd 
 enough to see that, had he spoken more 
 plainly to me at that moment on the 
 subject of his love, I should have unequi- 
 vocally forbidden him to hope, and per- 
 haps made it necessary for my father to 
 request him not to visit at the house. I 
 am sorry to own my father was mortified 
 to see his favourite appear to such dis- 
 advantage; and, not liking to confess he 
 was angry with him, he vented his re- 
 sentment on me, by reproaching me for 
 having, by my severity and sarcasms, 
 
 tempted a fellow creature to the sin of 
 anger on the Sabbath day. " I should 
 
 have despised Madeline if she had not 
 
 spoken as she did," said my mother
 
 140 MADELINE. 
 
 eagerly. " And so should I," cried Mar- 
 garet. " Heyday!" exclaimed my father 
 sternly, " are yoiv come hither, fine lady, 
 from the south to make your mother 
 and sister rehel against me ? " As he 
 spoke, he shook off my poor mother's 
 arm, and almost shut the door in our 
 face as we entered the cottage. " Our 
 Maddie is not a fine lady, father," said 
 Annie, " she is a good girl — " " And 
 loves me dearly," said Charlie, "and is 
 going to teach me my book, and Latin 
 too." "He! how! what!" said my father, 
 "and what, pray, has a ploughboy to do 
 with Latin ? Why really, Miss Made- 
 line, you will turn the heads of all the fa- 
 mily in time, and in the end your own 
 will be turned too, no doubt." I could 
 not bear this, but burst into tears, and 
 ran into my own room. Oh ! the agony 
 of that moment ! To be so accused, so
 
 MADELINE. 141 
 
 thought of, by a parent! But my tear? 
 did not long flow alone. My sister Mar- 
 garet soon followed me, and, while I 
 wept on her affectionate bosom, I was 
 eonsoled for the harshness of my father. 
 Yet, whatever I felt, I am sure he felt 
 as much ; and my mother soon came 
 with a message from him, importing that 
 he was very sorry for what he had said, 
 and begged to see me instantly. I obey- 
 ed the summons, and, as he folded me 
 in silence in a close embrace, I felt my 
 cheek moist with a tear which my eyes 
 had not shed. 
 
 To our surprise, Mr. Falconer and 
 Major Cameron were both at kirk in the 
 afternoon : but no wonder ; the new 
 minister is a very fine preacher; besides, 
 I suspect Mr. Falconer wished to make 
 public reparation to poor Dobbs for his 
 public slight of him ; for he leaned over
 
 142 MADELINE. 
 
 and made signs to him to find the psalms 
 for him, and then took the hook with 
 such a courteous bow and smile! Dobbs 
 was looking very sullen and surly before, 
 but who could remain so after receiving 
 such a smile as that ? and his grin of 
 satisfied pride in return reminded me of 
 the tricks of Mr. Merry man, the clown 
 at Astley's, in imitation of the fine feats 
 of the first performer. My eye unfortu- 
 nately met that of Major Cameron at the 
 moment, and it required all my self- 
 command to prevent my sharing in his 
 ill-suppressed laughter. When service 
 was ended, the Major asked me if I had 
 no curiosity to know what Mr. Onslow's 
 message was. " But do not say ' Yes,' ' 
 said he, " because Glencarron will chal- 
 lenge me if I disclose it till I see you at 
 his house, lest, your curiosity being gra- 
 tified, you should lose all inclination to
 
 MADELINE. 143 
 
 come." " How could he fear I should 
 be so tasteless ? " cried I eagerly, " I 
 quite reckon on my visit to-morrow." 
 "Not so much as we do, I am sure: 
 but see, Glencarron is jealous of our 
 conference." This word "jealous" co- 
 vered me with confusion ; but I involun- 
 tarily turned from him, and gave him an 
 opportunity of saying, " I see you are 
 mercifully inclined to spare his feelings, 
 Miss Munro : happy Falconer ! " I ac- 
 quit him of being jealous, but he cer- 
 tainly did observe us with a very scruti- 
 nizing eye, and so did my father. They 
 did not attend us any way on the road, 
 but rode home from the church door. 
 I was glad of it. The laird's attention 
 to us might be misconstrued. Dobbs 
 left us also : for his vanity had led him 
 to bring out his new gig that evening, 
 that he might show off before admiring
 
 144 MADELINE. 
 
 spectators, and he was very anxious that 
 one of us should take a ride with him. 
 What then must have been his conster- 
 nation when my father rebuked him, 
 almost with the sternness of the Puritans 
 of old, for breaking the Sabbath by 
 taking an unnecessary drive on a Sun- 
 day, and consequently keeping his ser- 
 vant from a place of worship ? My fa- 
 ther frowning on him was an unlooked- 
 for sight indeed, and never did I see 
 him look so confounded. He tried to 
 speak, but could not : at length, how- 
 ever, he faltered out, "Veil, for my 
 part," and drove off: while my father, 
 shocked at the profanation of his intend- 
 ed son-in-law, did not speak a word till 
 he got home ; and then it was not with 
 his usual family love. — I am afraid I was 
 so wicked as to enjoy the disgrace of 
 poor Dobbs.
 
 MADELINE. J 45 
 
 Monday, July 1813. 
 I have put the fall date to this day ; 
 the day of my first visit to Glencarron : 
 I wonder whether it will be the last. 
 I have watched the clouds from dawn 
 to noon, and now there is not even a 
 passing cloud in the heavens. How 
 distinctly I can now distinguish the 
 chimneys of Glencarron ! and how stu- 
 pid I was not to see them sooner ! I 
 suspect the laird is an early riser. There 
 was smoke in his chimney very early this 
 morning. I think I should enjoy my 
 visit more if that sly penetrating-looking 
 major were not there. I dread his ob- 
 servations and remarks. Yet wherefore ? 
 I cannot answer that question satisfac- 
 torily to my own feelings. What a dis- 
 appointment ! clouds are rapidly form- 
 ing, and rain will soon fall. What vio- 
 lent and successive showers ! 
 
 H
 
 146 MADELINE. 
 
 Ha ! a note from Glencarron to say 
 that he shall send the carriage for us ; 
 for that, wet or fair, we must come, as 
 he and the major leave Glencarron to- 
 morrow. Then, as I suspected, the visit 
 is to be^ farewell one. How that con- 
 sciousness will cloud over the enjoyment 
 of the evening to me ! — It is quite fine 
 again, so we shall walk. I am so rest- 
 less at the thought of this visit that I 
 can do nothing : therefore I had better 
 vent my impatience thus. How foolish 
 this is ! but it is so long since I paid a 
 visit of this kind, and associated with 
 men of education, that I hope my folly 
 is pardonable : a tear has fallen on my 
 paper at the remembrance of times past; 
 but I fear that more will fall to-morrow 
 from the consciousness of times present. 
 Well, no matter : no one will know my 
 weakness but myself and you. It still 
 wants an hour of the time at which we
 
 MADELINE. 147 
 
 were to set off. I never knew time pass 
 more slowly. What want of dignity it 
 is in me to be so elated at visiting at 
 Glencarron ! But am I so merely be- 
 cause my pride is gratified ? I fear not. 
 My sisters, I see, and even my r other, 
 are vexed that the weather is not bad 
 enough for them to go in the laird's car- 
 riage, as they would like the eclat of it : 
 but my father's stronger judgement re- 
 joices that we cannot have a distinction 
 which might make folks talk and won- 
 der ; adding, " for we never were for- 
 mally asked as visitors to the great house 
 before, nor should now but for thy sake, 
 Maddie: Glencarron is not a man to 
 wish to live with such as we are." Oh ! 
 that " such as ive are ! " and how pain- 
 fully my heart responded to the truth of 
 what he said ! Hark ! my father says it 
 is time we were on the road. 
 h2
 
 ' -^ MADELINE. 
 
 Monday nig hi. 
 No, I cannot write yet ; I cannot suf- 
 ficiently break from my absorbing reve- 
 rie, nor force my varied and complicated 
 feelings to let my thoughts arrange them- 
 selves in due order, that I may describe 
 the visit. To-morrow I shall be more 
 composed. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 Tuesday, the day after our visit to 
 Glencarron.— A new epoch in my life. 
 Well, now to begin a narrative of what 
 passed there. But perhaps I had better 
 not : perhaps, like one who has had a 
 handful of gold given him, and finds on 
 counting it that he is less rich than he 
 expected, I may feel, when I detail all 
 that passed, that my cause for exultation 
 is less than I expected, and I had better
 
 MADELINE. 141) 
 
 let the afternoon at Glencarron remain a 
 brilliant chaos in my mind. Mr. Fal- 
 eoner had desired my father to lead as 
 to a small gate which opened from the 
 road into the park, and he had given 
 him the key of it. This shortened the 
 way considerably ; and scarcely had we 
 entered the domain, when we saw the 
 laird and his friend approaching, both 
 wearing the lowland bonnet. " There, 
 Maddie," said my father smiling archly, 
 " I suppose thy pride is quite satisfied, 
 and thou wilt have no objection to enter 
 the house now : dost thou remember 
 thy proud ' No, I cannot think of enter- 
 ing the house ; we do not visit the laird, 
 and I do not like, father, to go in on his 
 servants* invitation?' O Maddie! but 
 thou art a bonnie lassie, and thy pride 
 becomes thee ; aye, and I trust it will, 
 with God's blessing, preserve thee from 
 harm." The last part of this speech was
 
 150 MADELINE. 
 
 not enlivening^ and I had scarcely brush- 
 ed a tear from my eye, when the gen- 
 tlemen drew near. Cordial indeed was 
 the shake of the hand which Glencarron 
 gave my father, and he as cordially re- 
 turned it. That between my mother 
 and him was equally so : but he only 
 bowed to my sisters and me, then gave 
 his arm to my mother, telling Margaret 
 to tali his other arm, according to the 
 laws of elders' 't ; and the major offered 
 his arm to m\ nd Bessie. When we 
 reached the pavilion, we found no colla- 
 tion there, as Mr. Falconer had disco- 
 vered that it still smelt of paint ; but he 
 wished our opinion of the building, which 
 is of Grecian architecture, and overlooks 
 a most lovely scene. This building was 
 not finished when we were there before, 
 and it adds greatly to the decoration of 
 the grounds. As we stood within it, I 
 saw my father look complacently on Mr.
 
 MADELINE. 151 
 
 Falconer, and with particular meaning ; 
 and on his asking what he was smiling 
 at, my father replied, " At your bonnet, 
 Glencarron ; it becomes you well, but I 
 never saw it on your head before: I have 
 a shrewd guess that some fair lady has 
 told you it is becoming, and that is the 
 reason you wear it, not because it is na- 
 tional." " You are right," he replied : 
 " a fair and dear lady says it h( :omes 
 me ; therefore, as I wish d to appear to 
 advantage to-day, I put on. My sister, 
 Lady Benlomen, always makes me wear 
 it when she is with me. Still, as you 
 are fair, I think it becomes you most, 
 Munro : but what says Miss Madeline ? 
 does she think it becomes me ? " " Very 
 much indeed," was my faint reply. "And 
 what says Miss Madeline ? Does she 
 think it becomes me?" asked that comi- 
 cal Major Cameron : and before I could 
 answer, he went on to say, " Not that I
 
 152 MADELINE. 
 
 pique myself on my beauty in it; for the 
 truth was, as you may observe, the poor 
 thing has lost its own loveliness, and the 
 old gardener was going to stick it on a 
 pole to frighten the birds ; but as he 
 thought, and I too, that with this on my 
 head a pole was unnecessary, as I was 
 ugly enough to answer the purpose, I 
 put it on, and, as you see, no birds dare 
 approach the premises." " Your own 
 highland bonnet would become you more> 
 Major Cameron, — the cap of your ain 
 clan." "Very true, very true; but in 
 the whole dress I look lovely! Oh! that 
 I could but borrow one for this evening ! 
 But then the birds would be at the fruit: 
 besides, Glencarron would be eclipsed, 
 and that on this occasion I am sure he 
 would not like." As he said this, Mr. 
 Falconer turned round ; and with a 
 glance half smiling, half reproachful, 
 44 Eclipse Glencarron! did you say ?" said
 
 MADELINE. 15 ^ 
 
 my father laughing, and measuring him 
 with his eye, " Aye, just as one of those 
 shruhs would eclipse an oak. You look 
 like a pleasant and funny gentleman, 
 and I dare say you are a brave officer, 
 and worthy your name : but our laird is 
 a man of ten thousand ; and even I, you 
 see, look small beside him." " I protest 
 you have made me sing small," replied 
 the major, k ' about my own beauty I 
 mean, which never more will I compare 
 to the laird's." " I did not talk of his 
 beauty," eagerly replied my father; "who 
 ever said the laird was beautiful?" "No 
 one, on my honour," returned the ma- 
 jor, laughing, " no one but some girl 
 whom love had rendered blind." Here I ' 
 fancied he looked at me ; and I was re- 
 lieved when Mr. Falconer directed his 
 attention to a tree which he thought hid 
 too much of the prospect. 
 
 Mr. Falconer now ied us into the 
 h 5
 
 154 MADELINE. 
 
 housfe ; and then, through a suite of 
 rooms, to the conservatory, in which 
 we found a table spread with every cold 
 delicacy that the season and the hot- 
 houses afforded, and the table decorated 
 with the finest flowers. I could not 
 but think, with my father, that this 
 treat was given as a compliment to me. 
 Still, my mother and Margaret were 
 led to the head of the table by the 
 laird ; and though I felt disappointed at 
 first, yet I soon recollected that the 
 greatest compliment which he could pay 
 me was to give my relations consequence. 
 But I was not in spirits ; the style of 
 every thing around me, and other cicum- 
 stances and feelings, which I cannot de- 
 scribe or disclose, overwhelmed me ; and 
 as I gazed on the flowers and the building, 
 the remembrance of a similar one at 
 Burford Park came over me, and tears 
 trickled down my cheek. " You are ill,
 
 MADELINE. 155 
 
 Miss Munro," cried the laird, rising to 
 give me water. " No ; let her alone, 
 poor thing!" said my father kindly, " and 
 she will do well enough ; I see what ails 
 her. This fine place reminds her of one 
 like it at her home in the south, and 
 of all she has lost. I saw the likeness as 
 soon as I came in, but did not like 
 to sadden her by mentioning it. Am I 
 not right, Madeline, my dear child?" 
 I nodded assent : but, oh ! my tears 
 did not flow for that alone ; yet I 
 could not have explained exactly why 
 they fell. 
 
 Major Cameron, who seems the sworn 
 enemy of gloom, now asked me, in order 
 to divert my attention, if I was really a 
 woman, or all angel already; for he won- 
 dered how, if I was the former, I could 
 so long have repressed my curiosity con- 
 cerning Mr. Onslow's message. " Be- 
 cause I felt no curiosity, therefore had
 
 156 MADELINE. 
 
 none to repress." " Is it possible, espe- 
 cially when it was sent by such an interest- 
 ing messenger ?" "That, no doubt, is the 
 reason ; the messenger is so interesting 
 that he banishes all remembrance of the 
 message," I replied, laughing. "There, 
 Cameron, do you hear that ? " cried 
 Glencarron. " Yes, and feel it as I 
 ought to do : but do not, pray do not, 
 Miss Munro, be so tender before com- 
 pany, or you will make the laird jealous 
 again : let me lead you to the other end 
 of the room, and then be as flattering as 
 you please. I am in earnest," he added, 
 seeing that I shrunk from his offered 
 hand; " our conference must be private*" 
 "How is that ?" cried my father. "Why, 
 sir, I have to breathe the soft greetings 
 of my friend Onslow in your daughter's 
 car ; but Miss Munro is evidently averse 
 to hear them, cruel as she is, for she 
 knows poor Onslow lost his heart to her
 
 MADELINE. 15/ 
 
 on the road to Scotland." " Impossible, 
 sir: Mr. Onslow is married." "Well, 
 and so am I married ; but do you suppose 
 that when a man marries he loses an eye 
 for beauty, an ear for melody, and a 
 heart for the sense of kindness ? Let me 
 tell you, madam, that had / travelled to 
 Scotland, with a ministering angel for 
 my companion ; had she gently swathed 
 my gouty hands ; had she read or sung 
 me into soothing slumbers as we went 
 along ,• had she generously broken from 
 the pleasing indulgence of her own gentle 
 sorrow, in order to divert my bitter phy- 
 sical pains; I must and would have adored 
 her, though every string in my wife's frame 
 had vibrated with vexation : and Mr. 
 Onslow does adore Miss Madeline Mun- 
 ro." " And do you think, Major Came- 
 ron, I will allow my daughter to hear a 
 declaration of love from a married man ?"
 
 158 MADELINE. 
 
 " Such a declaration as a man of honour 
 can bring? was his reply; and as he 
 looked in earnest I gave him my hand, 
 and he led me to the door of the conser- 
 vatory. " There, Miss Munro, I have 
 now proved my faithfulness to my friend 
 Onslow, though in so doing I have vexed 
 Glencarron ; for he detests the message, 
 and fancies it derogatory to you ." " Then , 
 sir," cried I proudly, " I will not hear it : 
 Mr. Falconer must be — " " Right, no 
 doubt, i.. your eye6, partial but beau- 
 teous judge ! But remember you have no 
 right to condemn me and Onslow un- 
 heard ; -id trie height of his offending is 
 the wish of removing you from what he, 
 with his lofty notions, thinks a home 
 ill suited to you." "Ill suited, sir!" 
 " Yes, as far as accommodation and the 
 means of intellectual society are to be con- 
 sidered ; and he bids me say, that a very
 
 MADELINE. 159 
 
 amiable widow, a friend of his, wants a 
 companion ; and another friend, an a- 
 miable married woman, wants a gover- 
 ness for her daughters ; and either of 
 these situations he can procure you, if 
 you wish to leave Scotland." " Never, 
 sir, never : I thank Mr. Onslow for his 
 friendly offer; but, though I sometimes 
 regret the society and refinements of the 
 south, I fondly love my parents and my 
 kindred, and prefer their independence 
 to aught that Mr. Onslow's vtiends can 
 give me." " Well, Miss Munro. you 
 know best ; and I will cor ey your answer 
 to Mr. Onslow. How giad Qencarron 
 would be to hear this ! tor he was very 
 much alarmed at the idea of losing the 
 greatest ornament of his domains ; and 
 see how anxiously he is watching us. — 
 Patience, good man ; to-day is mine, to- 
 morrow yours. I shall see you no more 
 after to-day, Miss Munro." "And Mr.
 
 160 MADELINE. 
 
 Falconer goes with you ?" " Yes; but 
 he returns again in a week; but I cannot: 
 I am a military man, you know, and have 
 a commanding officer. Glencarron," he 
 added, with a most meaning smile, "has 
 a commanding officer also; but her in- 
 fluence orders him to stay here." " A 
 commanding officer, and^er?" "Yes, 
 it is even so: he was to have accompanied 
 me back to England; but I cannot prevail 
 on him to do so now ; and the influence 
 he is under is of such an encroaching na- 
 ture, that I do not know when we shall 
 see him in the sudth." " Has he, has 
 the laird," (I faltered, fearing yet hoping 
 as I varied in my construction of his enig- 
 matical speech,) " Has he—" " What r 
 he has, I begin to suspect, possession of 
 a prize which any one might envy him ; 
 but there he comes : now put your ques- 
 tion, whatever it was, to himself: ask 
 him, for I fancv that was it, who his
 
 MADELINE. 161 
 
 commanding officer is." " No, I dare 
 not." " He would not dare to tell you." 
 " Not dare ?" " No, not yet; the time 
 may come" " Is he going to be mar- 
 ried ?" with a desperate effort I uttered 
 this "married!" " He married ! Miss 
 Munro, is it possible you can be so 
 blind ? Have you read Glencarron's heart 
 so ill ? Look, and tell me the language 
 of his eyes at this moment." I dared 
 not look ; but when the laird took my 
 hand and led me back to the table chi- 
 cling me for allowing^ his friend to keep 
 me away so long , I returned to my seat, 
 fluttered, flushed, and almost bewildered; 
 but the oppression on my spirits was 
 ^one, and my eyes, like those of Camp- 
 bell's Gertrude, " seemed to love all that 
 they looked upon." 
 
 I never saw a table more elegantly 
 spread : there were French wines of every 
 description ; but my father would not
 
 162 MADELINE. 
 
 taste one of them : preferring the liquors 
 of his own country and station, ale and 
 whiskey. In vain was he urged to break 
 his resolution ; he observed that the way 
 to make a man discontented with his si- 
 tuation was to give him tastes beyond his 
 power to gratify : and," said he, " as I, 
 though the guest of Glencarron to-day, 
 must still be the cottager of the Burnside 
 to-morrow, it is proper that I should not 
 partake of such fare to-day as may make 
 me dissatisfied with my fare to-morrow. 
 
 • He who never drinks/ says the proverb, 
 
 * is never dry,* and the way to be contented 
 with your lot is never to go counter to it. 
 Am I not right, Madeline ?" he added 
 with an affectionate but meaning look at 
 me ; and it was with difficulty I articula- 
 ted " Generally speaking." Still I was in 
 so happy a state that nothing could long 
 depress me, and I sung whatever was re- 
 quested with unusual ease and power;
 
 MADELINE. 163 
 
 nor were my sisters less ready to bear 
 their part occasionally in contributing to 
 the amusement of the laird and his guest : 
 the latter had never heard us, except at 
 kirk, and he congratulated himself on 
 having enjoyed the sole opportunity he 
 could have of hearing me, as he expected 
 to be sent on foreign service as soon as 
 he returned to England ; and he regretted 
 more than ever since he had heard me 
 sing, that he was unable to take his wife 
 with him abroad ; as hearing me had re- 
 vived his dormant passion for her. " In- 
 deed," cried my mother kindly, " that is 
 the best effect Madeline's singing ever 
 produced, and shehas reason to be proud." 
 " I have sometimes feared," observed my 
 father, " that the money and time be- 
 stowed on the lassie's singing was sinful 
 waste; but this rather comforts me on the 
 subject ; only I am rather surprised you 
 were not more shy to own yourself a bad
 
 164 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 husband." " A bad husband, sir! I own- 
 that my wife feels all the weight of my 
 arm now and then." " Well, that is not 
 much-, itwould not hurt her by its weight."" 
 "Else, sir, I treat her well, and she neither 
 wants meat nor clothing." The laird now 
 smiled, while we looked surprised at his 
 ideas of what a good husband was, and 
 told his friend that he had great difficulty 
 in making us believe that he was married, 
 " And why so ? Have I not all the gravity 
 and dignity of a married man ?" "You!" 
 cried Bessie, " dear, no !" " What ! do 
 you not think I look more like a husband 
 than the laird ?" " Oh ! no : he is so 
 grave and so, so grcmd ; but you are so 
 comical, so merry, and so funny-looking, 
 that I should never have thought you were 
 married ; but do pray take your poor wife 
 with you, sir, fori am sure she must be 
 very sorry to part with you." "There is 
 a compliment ! I am so proud ! Yes >
 
 MADELINE. 165 
 
 sweet girl ! when I leave her, she will not 
 speak till I return." " Poor thing !" cried 
 Margaret. " A rare instance of female 
 tenderness and forbearance ! " cried my 
 father, doubtfully. " It is true, however ; 
 but she is so large that I cannot make her 
 a travelling companion." "In the family 
 way belike?" "Alas, no! would she 
 were ; for if she gave me children like 
 herself I could sell them for a great deal 
 of money." " Sell your children ?" 
 i( Yes ; why not ? I could not love them 
 as well as their mother." "You are a very 
 odd ialkbtg person," cried my mother, 
 angrily ; " but you cannot mean what you 
 say." " No, that he can't," said Bessie, 
 whom his funny looks had fascinated. 
 " Come, Cameron, you have carried on 
 the joke long enough ; I shall explain 
 who your wife is, as I have no motive 
 now to conceal that you are one of the 
 best violoncello players in Britain, and
 
 166 MADELINE. 
 
 that your bass is your wife ; a cant term 
 for that instrument." " I am so glad," 
 said my mother, " for I began to think 
 you but a bad body to talk of beating your 
 wife and selling your children." " I was 
 afraid you would, and therefore I hastened 
 to clear my friend's character. I did not 
 mention his musical skill sooner, because 
 I feared Miss Munro's modesty would 
 take the alarm, and she would not do her- 
 self justice ; and I saw by her start and 
 blushing cheek just now, that I was right." 
 I owned it, and was glad that the singing 
 was over; for he now requested us to walk 
 over the grounds while tea was preparing 
 in the house for us. How minutely do 
 I dwell on every thing that occurred on 
 this happy day ! I wonder whether I shall 
 know another such. My mother now 
 took my father's arm by choice, and the 
 laird was at liberty to give his to Margaret 
 and me ; while the merry Bessie was well
 
 MADELINE. 16/ 
 
 paired with the funny major ; too funny 
 for my father's ideas of propriety ; for, 
 having loitered behind us, they suddenly 
 appeared, as we stood to admire a prospect, 
 in full romping, and the major trying to 
 catch Bessie; but just as his arm encircled 
 her, my father, with an arm of iron, seized 
 the offender, and whirled him round like 
 a tetotum, declaring that the first lord in 
 the land should not dare to lay an irreve- 
 rent handon his daughter. " Irreverent ! 
 my dear sir, I was only going to teach 
 her to waltz ! " " To waltz ! " cried my 
 father, " I have heard of that popish abo- 
 mination ; and have you brought it down 
 here to corrupt the daughters of Caledo- 
 nia ? For shame on you, Major Cameron, 
 you are a degenerate son of your family !" 
 " My dear sir, you mistake ; a popish 
 abomination ! It is a foreign one, I own : 
 but then it is of German origin ; and I
 
 168 MADELINE. 
 
 do assure you, sir, it is said to have been 
 danced at Luther's wedding, when he 
 married the nun ; and I have danced it 
 myself with a young lady collaterally de- 
 scended from Calvin himself." " Then 
 shame on her for a degenerate branch 
 from so pure a root ! " 
 
 The laird now, afraid of my father's 
 growing more angry, . and observing my 
 distress, proposed dancing a reel, to em- 
 ploy the young peoples animal spirits 
 sufficiently, as he said, looking archly at 
 the major ; and, as it was the national 
 dance, my father consented that we 
 should perform it. A pipe and tabour 
 were sent for from the house, and we 
 danced till we were tired on the smooth 
 shaven grass. — With what delighted eyes 
 did my mother pursue the motions of her 
 daughters ! My father, too, smoothed his 
 brow, which the idea of Calvin's degene-
 
 MADELINE. 169 
 
 rate relation bad ruffled, and felt a parent's 
 pride and pleasure in his own children. 
 
 How like himself Glencarron dances! 
 The major kicked about, did numberless 
 steps ; the whole of his well-made little 
 person was in motion, and certainly he 
 put forth all the powers he had. But 
 Mr. Falconer evidently partook of the 
 amusement merely to set us going, and 
 withdrew as soon as he could, having 
 only walked the figure, and danced when 
 we set to him, just enough to show that 
 he could do a great deal more, but was 
 willing to wave all such pretensions. 
 
 I was very glad when we entered the 
 house, for I longed to see the pictures ; 
 nor were my high-raised expectations 
 disappointed. But that picture of Glen- 
 carron when a boy ! I could have looked 
 at it for ever . Still I would rather have 
 the whole-length miniature done the 
 other day. When he asked me if I 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 MADELINE. 
 
 painted in oils, and I replied Only in mi- 
 niature, I wished he had offered me this 
 to copy : but I should never have dared 
 to ask for it, and, as it was a picture of 
 himself, I am sure he would have been 
 too modest to offer it, had not the major 
 good-naturedly said, " Let Miss Munro 
 have that picture : she cannot have a 
 better study, Glencarron ." " If I wished 
 to borrow it, he should be proud to 
 have a picture so honoured, and he want- 
 ed a copy to be made of it for a friend." 
 A friend ! I wonder who that friend is. 
 The picture is to be sent to me to-day, 
 and I feel both pleasure and alarm at 
 the idea of undertaking it. I shall be a 
 long time about it, and I fear that music, 
 work, aye, even my journal, will be neg- 
 lected for it. I see very clearly I must 
 stint myself to so many hours a-day. 
 
 How kind it was of the laird to give 
 us that key of the grounds, and leave to
 
 MADELINE. 171 
 
 walk in them whenever we liked ! but 
 still kinder to give me a key of his li- 
 brary, with permission to borrow any 
 books I please. " Let me, while I am 
 absent from you," he said in a low voice, 
 " have the consolation of knowing that 
 I contribute to your amusement, and 
 that over my books and grounds you will 
 assert unlimited power." The major 
 (what ears he must have ! they stick 
 out in a very ugly manner} overheard 
 this speech, and coming up exclaimed, 
 
 " The fields, their master, alt, my fair, are thine." 
 
 Mr. Falconer gave him a reproach- 
 ful glance, and I being covered with 
 blushes turned suddenly away to hide 
 them. I am glad the major is going 
 away; yes, and glad that he is going 
 abroad. Yet no : when he told me as 
 he took leave that he was gazing on me 
 probably for the last time, as a random 
 i2
 
 172 MADELINE. 
 
 ball would very likely lay him low, 
 "That would be a great pity," cried Bessie 
 very gravely ; then she added in a low 
 voice, " I hope you were not vexed I did 
 not waltz with you, for it was my father's 
 fault ; I should have liked it of all things." 
 "What are you whispering to the major?" 
 said my watchful father. " Nothing, fa- 
 ther, only that I should have liked to 
 waltz with him." " Liked to waltz ! Why 
 how shouldst thou know any thing of that 
 Babylonish andpopish sin, child?" " Dear 
 me! why Mr. Dobbs taught me long 
 ago ! " There was something ludicrous 
 yet awful in my father's indignant surprise, 
 amounting to horror, at hearing that his 
 pet and the son of his choice had taught 
 a child of his to waltz. " Who knew of 
 this ?" asked he in a voice of thunder. 
 " I did, sir," replied I; " but as Bessie 
 promised me she would never waltz again, 
 and I reproached Mr. Dobbs for teaching
 
 MADELINE. 1/3 
 
 her what you would disapprove, I did not 
 think it necessary to tell you." " Well, 
 well, perhaps it was better as it was," 
 brandishing his oaken stick in his hand, 
 and shaking it in a threatening manner. 
 The major, I saw, gazed on it with an 
 expression of comic respect, and mutter- 
 ed " Lucky Dobbs ! and lucky major ! 
 my back aches at sight of it." One ob- 
 servation was painfully forced on me du- 
 ring the course of this visit, namely, how 
 much more easily women can be made to 
 yield to circumstances, and change with 
 them, than men. I had taken such pains 
 in fashioning the dress of my mother and 
 sisters, that they looked as much like ladies 
 as I did, and were in eyXexn&\s presentable 
 any where ; but no change of dress could 
 have assimilated my father to any other 
 rank of life than his own : the sun-burnt 
 eheek, the coarse muscular hand, and the 
 firm sturdy tread, would still have betrayed
 
 174 MADELINE. 
 
 his calling, bad he been clothed in velvet ; 
 but if he had not, and never could have, 
 the look and manner of a gentleman, I 
 saw in him, while he stood conversing 
 with Glencarron and his friend, a dignity 
 of his own, and a loftiness of carriage, 
 the result of conscious mental power and 
 unbending integrity, which made him 
 appear their equal ; and the quick intelli- 
 gence of his bright light eye, as it glanced 
 from one to the other, seemed not only 
 to express his own powers of mind, but 
 to elicit theirs. Still I wished he bore 
 less decided marks of his class ; yet I 
 should be puzzled to tell why I wished 
 this : perhaps it was because I thought 
 that his coarseness of speech and manner 
 jarred heavily sometimes on the feelings 
 of the laird, and then I could not but 
 recollect it was only for my sake probably 
 that he tolerated my father. Painful idea! 
 But perhaps this was only my conceit.
 
 MADELINE. 17 O 
 
 At last my father grew impatient to 
 return, and at nightfall, not before, we 
 set off on foot for our humble dwelling ; 
 the laird and his friend accompanying 
 us nearly all the way. It is strange that, 
 though I do not at all admire Major Ca- 
 meron, I was affected at parting with him, 
 as he again adverted to the probability of 
 his falling in battle. Yet why should 
 I call it strange ? There is always a some- 
 thing so chilling, so appalling, in the idea 
 that we are seeing any person, or even 
 any thing, for the last time, that the heart 
 insensibly becomes softened and the ob- 
 ject endeared. Perhaps it is that from 
 childhood even, we learn to associate with 
 these words, " the last," the most endear- 
 ing, most solemn, and most awful ideas. 
 The last day, the last judgement, words 
 in the mouth of our teachers and divines; 
 and the last day of the year, the last 
 farewell, even the last dying speech, as
 
 176 MADELINE. 
 
 we advance in life, come over our mirth- 
 ful moments with a sort of spectral 
 power, and remind us, though unwilling- 
 ly, of our mortality. Yes, I am con- 
 vinced that those little words " the fast" 
 derive their power over our feelings by 
 the testimony they bear to the certain de- 
 cay of every earthly possession ; and the 
 heart, while acknowledging their sway, 
 only pays involuntary and perhaps uncon- 
 scious homage to the power of Him who 
 has created and will inevitably, in his 
 good time, destroy. Had the poor major 
 added, " and I shall see you no more" 
 words of nearly equal power, I am not sure 
 that I should not have wept as I bade him 
 adieu. Yes, " no more" are words as 
 powerful over the feelings, though not so 
 solemnly associated with them. Who ever 
 sung or heard " Lochaber " sung without 
 being melted into a feeling of mournful 
 tenderness at that line u May be to return
 
 MADELINE. 177 
 
 to Lochaber no ?nore?" When " he is no 
 more" is used for "he is dead," Iconsider 
 the substitution as an affected paraphrase 
 of a simple and pathetic meaning ; but 
 when merely signifying that the object to 
 whom we are bidding adieu may return 
 no more, I know no words of more touch- 
 ing and endearing power. Much has been 
 said and written of spells, and charms, 
 and magic ; but I never saw the real 
 and natural magic of words copiously 
 dilated upon, and the instantaneous power 
 of even one word, one epithet, like the 
 wand of the enchanter, to change an un- 
 kind into a kind feeling towards a particu- 
 lar person. Just now, when I mentioned 
 the laird's friend as the poor major, I was 
 instantly under the spell of my own epi- 
 thet, and every disagreeable feeling to- 
 wards him was lost in pity. Though I am 
 not his Jean i I shall never sing Lochaber 
 again without thinking of him. And then 
 i5
 
 J 78 MADELINE. 
 
 my own poor dear Ronald ! will he return 
 no more ? I cannot bear to dwell on that 
 idea. 
 
 I have been reading over what I have 
 just written : it is really a philological dis- 
 sertation, not a journal. I doubt this em- 
 ployment will make me very conceited: I 
 shall fancy that I am able to write a book. 
 
 Well, I shall certainly not see Mr. 
 Falconer to-day ; but I shall see his pic- 
 ture : aye, and see it to-morrow, the next 
 day, and every day for weeks. " Ogni 
 sera, ogni mattina, caiscun or a, e pot 
 domani* ," as poor Nina says. Nina! 
 an awkward allusion that. " Nina, la 
 pazza par amore-\" Alas ! were I to 
 love him, I should be more irrational 
 at least than she was. She loved her 
 
 * " Every evening, every morning, every hour, 
 and then the next day 1 " 
 
 t " The girl mad for love."
 
 MADELINE. 1 79 
 
 inferior in fortune ; but / might as well 
 love " a bright, particular star, and hope 
 to wed it." 
 
 this magical power of words ! I am 
 really weeping at the recollections and 
 ideas which " Nina" has conjured up. 
 
 Monday night: 
 
 1 have his picture; it is on the table by 
 me, and looks so steadily at me. I can 
 look steadily at him in return here, and 
 it is a countenance worth exploring. — 
 Still those looks of his which I dare not 
 meet or reply to are more charming still 
 than this : this expression is fixed and 
 cold; but that — And does he really want 
 consolation " in his absence from me ?" 
 Those were his words ; but then I know 
 men think it no harm to make fine un- 
 meaning speeches to women ; and / too 
 am his inferior, and he thinks perhaps 
 he may presume to say any thing to me.
 
 180 MADELINE. 
 
 Yet no ; I do him great injustice : nothing 
 can be less presuming than his manner. 
 No one could suspect that I was only 
 daughter to the cottager on the. land of 
 which he is lord : but does he indeed 
 forget it ? I fear not, nor ever will : well 
 then it behoves me to avoid him as much 
 as possible ; but I may look at his picture. 
 I have locked it up, and so I will my 
 journal, dear confident of all my weak- 
 ness and my sorrows. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 My mother says I shall hurt my eyes 
 if I persist to paint so long at a time. 
 Besides, she wishes to hear a little music ; 
 I have therefore put up my painting and 
 will only write a few words, and then sing 
 and play as long as she pleases. She says 
 it makes her household labours so light 
 if I will but sing to her. Painting is cer- 
 tainly to me the more delightful employ-
 
 MADELINE. 181 
 
 ment ; but music is more social and be- 
 nevolent. Duty and affection command, 
 and I obey. — Coming, dear mother. 
 
 Wednesday night, 
 O that Dobbs ! he has been here all day ; 
 and my father would make me show him 
 the laird's picture, on which I worked in 
 my own chamber that he might not see 
 it. Then for him to presume to say that 
 the miniature was too handsome, for that 
 'Squire Falconer was but an ordinary-look- 
 ing man ! If frowns could have killed, I 
 fear that the coroner's inquest would have 
 sat on 'Squire Dobbs. But I was more 
 mortified and provoked to hear Bessie say 
 that she thought so too ; and that the 
 major, though not handsome, was better 
 looking and more agreeable. No doubt 
 he flattered her, and be certainly paid her 
 more attention than the laird did ; and 
 attention with some people is every thing.
 
 182 MADELINE. 
 
 Meggie, dear girl, was quite angry at 
 their want of taste. I am sorry to say 
 that Bessie is grown very pert lately : I 
 suspect that Dobbs says fine things to her 
 when we are not by: she gives her opinion 
 in such an oracular way; and she is not 
 sixteen yet. This ought to be checked. 
 
 So Dobbs went a journey on Monday, 
 and he says on business; but I hope'I am 
 not very uncandid in suspecting that he 
 went to avoid the mortification of having 
 it observed that he was not invited with 
 us to Glencarron. 
 
 I have certainly gotten the likeness 
 already : well, I will not look at it any 
 more tonight. 
 
 How odd it was that my father was not 
 more severe in his reproof of Dobbs for 
 having taught Bessie that popish abomi- 
 nation, as he still persists to call it ! I 
 own I was in hopes it might have brought 
 on a cessation of intercourse between us.
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 183 
 
 though 1 would not be the means of it 
 by telling tales. 
 
 Thursday night. 
 A day of comfort ! No Dobbs till even- 
 ing, and then he came to ask to take 
 Bessie " a ride,''' as he calls it, instead of 
 a drive; and as Bessie is so " young yet," 
 my father approved and my mother as- 
 sented. In what spirits the girl returned ! 
 and I thought she looked saucily at me. 
 How different the members of the same 
 family are ! Meggie and Bessie are as 
 unlike as possible. I almost fancv 
 that Bessie very grudgingly admits the 
 superiority which my education gives me ; 
 but Meggie delights to show me oft* as 
 she calls it : but then she loves and is 
 beloved ; her heart and her vanity are sa- 
 tisfied, and she is dead to female compe- 
 tition. Bessie on the contrary is already, 
 I see, a thorough coquette, and is jealous
 
 184 MADELINE. 
 
 of me as a probable obstacle to her con- 
 quests. I verily believe she is trying to 
 rob me of Dobbs : I am sorry for it. I 
 should like him almost as little for a bro- 
 ther as for a husband ; but perhaps she 
 would refuse him ; yet I think not, because 
 her taste is a vile one : she prefers the 
 major to Mr. Falconer! Inconceivable 
 blindness! I wish she had heard what her 
 agreeable major said to me concerning 
 him. " Pray, Miss Munro, where is 
 your facetious pug dog to day ? why did 
 you not bring him with you ?" " I have 
 not a pug dog, sir." No, not the real 
 thing ; but I thought you had a substitute 
 for one in that short, fat, black-eyed, 
 snub-nosed, wide-mouthed, and white- 
 teethed animal in a light-coloured coat, 
 that follows you about so lovingly, and 
 barks out the psalms so tunefully at the 
 kirk." " Fye, major, fye ! I suppose 
 vou mean our friend Dobbs." " Yes, I
 
 MADELINE, 
 
 185 
 
 do, your familiar familiar. Does he 
 fetch and carry well, Miss Munro ? But 
 really you should muzzle him when you 
 bring him into a crowd ; for when he 
 opens that mouth full of teeth, which 
 were he to die would be such a treasure 
 to the resurrection men, soldier as I am 
 I feel terrified lest he should swallow me ; 
 and the effect of him might be fatal to 
 young married women and people given 
 to fits. I declare, when he replied to 
 Glencarron's smile by his answering grin, 
 I expected he would grin himself into a 
 locked jaw, and was prepared to run to 
 his assistance. But you, cruel girl, I saw 
 were more inclined to laugh than help 
 him." " Do not remind me of the irre- 
 verence into which you had almost be- 
 trayed me ; and pray be not so unmerci- 
 fully severe on the ugliness which the 
 poor man cannot help." " Nay, that I 
 deny : I am quite as plain as he is ; but
 
 186 
 
 MADELINE 
 
 I do not, I trust, distort the ugly features 
 which nature gave me, bv affectation and 
 the wish to show my white teeth ; and I 
 understand he has an odd pug dog way 
 of pawing and patting too." " Pray do 
 not name it ; how wrong it was in Mr. 
 Falconer to tell of it!" " He could not 
 help it : he would have died of the indig- 
 nation he felt if he had not vented it to 
 his faithful Achates ; but I told him it 
 was your fault." « My fault ! " " Yes ; 
 I told him it was evident you were edu- 
 cating him to serve in the room of a ca- 
 nine favourite, and that to paw and to pat 
 with his forepaws was partofhis training." 
 "You did? and what did he say?'' 
 ?* Oh ! he believed me no doubt, and 
 blamed you" " Blamed me, Major 
 Cameron ! No, no, he could not be so un- 
 just." " No ; no doubt he is all perfect 'ion ; 
 and therefore I must own that his anger 
 and my representation of the matter to
 
 MADELINE. >7 
 
 him are equally true." I have a great 
 mind to relate this conversation before 
 Bessie, lest she should be reallv inclined 
 to like this ridiculous man. Yet, after 
 all, what do Major Cameron's observations 
 prove ? That he is satirically inclined : 
 and Bessie might retort with equal pro- 
 priety, "It is better to be the object of 
 a satirical description, than the author 
 of it, or the repeater." I will hold my 
 tongue. 
 
 Friday. 
 It is probable that Glencarron will re- 
 turn to-morrow. I wonder whether he 
 will be impatient to see what progress I 
 have made in the picture ! I am glad 
 my mother is at leisure to walk with us 
 to Glencarron to-day. I should have 
 deeply regretted not being able to avail 
 myself of the laird's kindness sooner, had 
 I not been so absorbed in the picture.
 
 188 MADELINE. 
 
 Friday night. 
 What a delightful few hours have I 
 passed ! At liberty to look over, at my 
 leisure, that charming library, to lounge 
 at pleasure through those charming 
 rooms, and study those charming pic- 
 tures ! While I was looking at a picture 
 of Mary Stuart the other evening, Major 
 Cameron said, " I wish I had seen you 
 in your Mary cap and ruff, Miss Munro, 
 even though both of them would have 
 obscured some of the beauty which I 
 now behold ; for Glencarron saw you in 
 them at your own house, and came back 
 raving about your appearance : but he 
 said, the compliment would be to Mary 
 were he to liken her to you, and that you 
 had given charms to a dress he never 
 liked before." I am ashamed to think 
 how pleased I was conscious of looking, 
 and with what a faltering voice I uttered
 
 MADELINE. 189 
 
 " Nay, nay, the laird never said this, I 
 am sure." How pleasantly fresh recol- 
 lections of that happy visit steal over my 
 mind every day ! Does he recall what 
 passed with such minuteness and delight 
 as I do ? He must, if 1 believe what his 
 friend says ; and his looks — his words are 
 occasionally very pointed. But, busy 
 Fancy, flattering Hope, whither is it you 
 would lead me ? 
 
 Saturday evening. 
 
 I have done very little to-day, but go 
 backwards and forwards to the window. 
 I see he is not come yet. Ha ! I have 
 just discovered a beginning smoke in his 
 library chimney. Then he is arrived! 
 It is too late, I think, for him to walk 
 down into the village ; but I shall cer- 
 tainly see him at the kirk to-morrow. 
 
 My brother Robert is gone to England 
 to study farming there, with a brother of
 
 190 MADELINE. 
 
 the relation with whom he is. I can 
 spare him better than I could Richard. 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 He was not there ! Surely he is not 
 come home ill : perhaps he will be there 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 Disappointed again ! Perhaps he did 
 not come home last night. But no : 
 Bessie saw his servant go past on his 
 own Arabian. How unkind, nay neg- 
 ligent I may say, it was in Bessie not 
 to ask the man how his master did ! 
 Meggie would have been more attentive. 
 I wish I had seen him : but then I am 
 not sure that I should have had the cou- 
 rage to inquire. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 Never before did a Sabbath day appear 
 so long to me. I shall not inquire of 
 my heart why it has so appeared.
 
 MADELINE. 191 
 
 Monday. 
 There is smoke from the library chim- 
 ney only ; therefore he cannot be un- 
 well : if he were, he would have a fire 
 in his bed-room. But why should I be 
 so anxious about the health of one who, 
 perhaps, never thinks of me ? If he had 
 been as desirous to see me as I am to 
 see him after so long an absence, he 
 would certainly have come to the kirk. 
 Alas ! and is it come to this ? Do I call 
 an absence of Jive days a long one r 
 What shall I then consider an absence 
 of some months ? But he insinuated the 
 other evening that he should never be so 
 long away from Glencarron again. I 
 wonder why. Certainly / could have 
 nothing to do in his change of plan. 
 How foolish it is in me not to be able 
 to settle even to my painting ! but I look 
 now at the miniature, and then at the
 
 192 MADELINE. 
 
 window. It is not likely that, as he did 
 not think it worth while to come yester- 
 day, he should come today. I am sorry 
 now I borrowed one of his books ; per- 
 haps he did not think I should have taken 
 him at his word. 
 
 I see a horse at a great distance. I 
 really do think it is he. Shall I go to the 
 window and bow to him, or not ? No, I 
 will not ; it will look as if I wished him 
 to call : and I do not feel sufficiently in 
 good humour with him to wish it, or to 
 seem to wish it. He shall not see me, 
 but I will see him as usual through the 
 slit curtain. 
 
 How I have exposed myself ! Oh ! 
 if he should despise me for it! Yet 
 his eyes expressed any thing but con- 
 tempt. Yet how could I behave other- 
 wise ? Had my mother been look- 
 ing at him and seen his danger, she
 
 MADELINE. 193 
 
 would have forgotten all disguise, and 
 shown herself, and screamed, and been 
 as agonized as I was. That hateful Ara- 
 bian ! I shall never like to see him ride 
 it again. I wonder what set the horse 
 off ! How he reared ! I expected every 
 moment to see him fall back and crush 
 his rider. I fear I made a very ridiculous 
 figure as I threw up the window, scream- 
 ing, and wringing my hands, with the 
 white gown thrown round me, disclosing 
 the secret of my being looking at him clan- 
 destinely. Oh !what an agony of shame I 
 experienced when I saw he tvas safe, and 
 when his eyes met mine! And then to be 
 forced to go and speak to him! No won- 
 der I could not look up, especially when 
 he said that, though he meant to call as 
 he returned, he should not have come in 
 then, had not my kind and flattering 
 anxiety made me look so ill, thathe could 
 not be easy without inquiring concerning 
 
 VOL.1. K
 
 194 MADELINE. 
 
 me before be went further. Oh ! how 
 sweet, bow kind, bow even tender was 
 his tone when be spoke these words ! 
 But why did be not come to the kirk 
 yesterday ? Perhaps he will tell me when 
 he calls as he comes back. 
 
 Monday night. 
 
 How glad I am that he likes the pic- 
 ture! and how very, very rapidly time 
 flies in bis society! Had I met him when 
 I was accustomed to associate with men 
 like him, he would not, perhaps, have 
 made such an impression on me. But 
 is there another man like him ? I am 
 sure / never yet saw his equal. 
 
 I hope no one but Meggie overheard 
 what he said at the door as we stood to 
 see him mount, and he made me pat his 
 odious horse. " Do pat it kindly, Miss 
 Munro, that I may be sure you have for- 
 given him the generous fright he caused
 
 MADELINE. 195 
 
 you. I should never forgive him had he 
 not procured me the greatest gratification 
 that I have ever known — conviction o« 
 your being interested in my preservation/' 
 And I found my hand in his when I 
 ceased to stroke the horse's neck. I 
 hope no one but Meggie saw that. 
 
 How long yesterday seemed ! how 
 short to-day ! 
 
 Tuesday. 
 He has invited himself to drink tea 
 with us. He wants my father to ride 
 with him to look over a farm of his a few 
 miles off. I will work on the picture, that 
 he may see it to greater advantage when 
 he comes : but after to-day I will not go 
 on so expeditiously : I shall get it done 
 too soon. However, I will copy the head 
 secretly for myself before I return it. 
 There can be no harm in that. 
 k2
 
 196 MADELINE. 
 
 Tuesday night. 
 How pleasantly would the tea-hour 
 have passed ! how like a family party we 
 should have been ! my father kind, and 
 appearing to great advantage, and Mr. 
 Falconer sitting with us like a near and 
 dear friend, had not that Dobbs intruded 
 himself upon us ! Whenever Glencarron 
 seems to have entirely forgotten the dif- 
 ference of our ranks, this, mteful man 
 takes a pleasure in reminding him of it. 
 Why will he always talk of my " brother 
 the linen-draper," and my " brother who 
 follows the plough ? " telling us he con- 
 cludes we shall get the laird to buy his 
 shirts of Dicky when he is in business 
 for himself. Then his daring to joke 
 about Mr. Falconer's motives for visiting 
 us. I see he has revived all those suspi- 
 cions in my father's breast which had
 
 MADELINE 
 
 iV 
 
 been quieted. Besides, his impertinence 
 forced Glencarron to resume all his 
 haughtiness ; and never, surely, did any 
 man possess the power of looking haughty 
 in an equal degree with himself. How, 
 in one moment, did this man change 
 our milk of human kindness into gall, 
 and alter, I fear, the feelings of some of 
 us towards each other ! However, he had 
 the courage to ask a question which I 
 dared not yet longed to ask ; and that 
 was, why the laird was not at the kirk on 
 Sunday. Glencarron looked as if he had 
 a mind not to answer him ; but I believe 
 the expression of my countenance, one, I 
 fear, of rather eager curiosity, determined 
 him to reply; and, in a more courteous 
 manner than I expected, he said, " I am 
 not of the kirk of Scotland, sir ; therefore, 
 though I admire the preacher at the kirk 
 here very much, I think it right to go to 
 my own place of worship sometimes, and
 
 198 MADELINE. 
 
 last Sunday, unexpectedly, the clergyman 
 came to spend the day with, me," How 
 pleased and how satisfied I felt on hear- 
 ing this explanation ! and how ashamed 
 I felt of my trumpery petulance and que- 
 rulous accusations ! I must say that Bes- 
 sie's manner and expression displeased 
 me excessively. She laughed at ail 
 Dobbs's odious jokes, and seemed to 
 enjoy my confusion and Mr. Falconer's 
 also. This was disrespectful, rude, and 
 unsisterly. I really believe Dobbs is 
 transferring his love to her ; though he 
 still endeavours, by treating me with 
 great familiarity in Mr. Falconer's pre- 
 sence, whispering in my ear, patting my 
 arm when he speaks to me, and drawing 
 his chair close to' mine, to impress him 
 with an idea of our intimacy, and that I 
 am reserved to him before company only. 
 It is only before Mr. Falconer that he is 
 thus presuming, and so Margaret told him
 
 MADELINE. 199 
 
 the other day ; assuring him that she knew 
 the laird saw and despised the subterfuge. 
 I wish I were as sure of this: but I think 
 he once regarded us with a look of sus- 
 picion, and almost of disdain. Yet sure- 
 ly I wrong him. He cannot suppose that 
 I would ever be Mrs. Dobbs. 
 
 I was glad to hear my father say, when 
 he came back from his ride, that he was 
 going with the laird again to-morrow. 
 The more Glencarron sees of my father, 
 the more he will like him : perhaps I 
 should say the more he will get accus- 
 tomed to him. 
 
 Wednesday . 
 How little incidents sometimes serve, 
 most unexpectedly, to unveil the inmost 
 heart ! Bessie pertly enough said to me 
 this morning, " Well, Miss Madeline, 
 now you see so much of the laird, are you 
 convinced that he is marked with the
 
 200 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 small-pox ? " " Yes, I am," replied I, 
 " but it is very little, and a grace, rather 
 than a deformity, in a man. It gives a 
 more manly appearance, I think." " O 
 poor sister! " cried the saucy girl : " but I 
 have often heard that love is blind, and 
 fancies the defects of the beloved object 
 to be beauties." I was too much con- 
 founded to answer her, and defend myself 
 from the imputation of being in love : 
 for I recollected, with confusion of face, 
 my comments on my mother's blind ad- 
 miration of my father's eye-brows in a 
 former page of my journal, and my query 
 concerning myself on the occasion . Alas ! 
 the veil was rent asunder, and I saw 
 I felt that — My dear friend, I am ashamed 
 to go on. 
 
 So my father is going to Glencarron, 
 instead of his coming to call him : but 
 perhaps he will stop at the door as they 
 return.
 
 MADELINE. 201 
 
 Wednesday night. 
 How depressed Glencarron looked when 
 he called ! and there was such sadness in 
 his tone ! I wonder what has happened to 
 him. I am glad it was too dark for him 
 to see the picture to-night, as he must 
 call again to-morrow, to see it in a good 
 light. I hope he will then look less un- 
 happy. His sadness is catching to me. 
 
 Thursday morning. 
 Yes ; I am sure the tears were in his 
 eyes when I sung that sweet Venetian 
 hallad " Sempre piu famo */" What was 
 there in the words to affect him so much ? 
 Oh ! if I dared hope, he made an appli- 
 cation of them. But I dare not, must 
 not hope ; for if to hope, despair should 
 succeed, I know not how I should be able 
 
 * " I love thee more and more." 
 K 5
 
 202 MADELINE. 
 
 to support, without sinking under it, the 
 burthen of life — Thankless Madeline, 
 what then is become of thy confiding 
 faith ? Can it ever be in the power of a 
 frail mortal to deprive thee of patient 
 reliance on thy all-wise Creator ? Let 
 me lay by my pen and humble myself 
 before him. 
 
 Friday morning. 
 With what added pleasure I gaze upon 
 the dawn of day, when I know that ere 
 the sun reaches its meridian I shall see 
 him ! as if life were given me for no otner 
 purpose but to think of him, look for 
 him, gaze on him, and listen to him. 
 I wonder whether all my family are as 
 conscious of my absorption in him as 
 Meggie is : certainly my father is not. 
 Yet when he sees me working on the pic- 
 ture and completely lost in thought when 
 he speaks to me, I have seen him shake
 
 MADELINE. 203 
 
 his head and sigh deeply as he turns away. 
 — Surely my father forgets that Bessie is 
 no longer a child, or he would not let her 
 go out so often with Dobbs in his gig. 
 Again this morning : it is certainly that 
 gig which has won her heart, and the joy 
 of having won a lover from me ; for of 
 that happy fact I no longer doubt. How 
 amusing to see her airs this morning when 
 she returned ! " Really, as Mr. Dobbs 
 says, it is so agreeable to have a carriage 
 of one's own ; to be forced to be obliged 
 to no one : and it makes a man and his 
 wife so independent : they can go here, 
 and go there ; and it is so delightful ! 
 Should not you, Miss Madeline, like to 
 get a little air in Mr. Dobbs's gig?" 
 M Certainly not, if Mr. Dobbs were to be 
 the driver." " O no ; nothing will do 
 for so fine a lady but the laird now ; who, 
 as Mr. Dobbs says, is like the knight
 
 204 MADELINE. 
 
 of the woeful countenance, that Don 
 Quixote you read about." " And there is 
 one Sancho Panza too, my dear," replied 
 I, " for whose picture Dobbs might sit." 
 " Mr. Dobbs, Miss Madeline, if you 
 please. I have heard you say it is vulgar 
 to talk of gentlemen without saying 
 Mr. Such-an -one." " So it is, generally 
 speaking; but one says Dobbs so natu- 
 rally." 
 
 My father, who had been listening to 
 Bessie's raised voice, and beheld her raised 
 colour, with a look of sarcastic surprise, 
 now desired to know what ailed the girl, 
 and why she looked and talked so pertly 
 and conceitedly, and seemed so saucy to 
 her elder sister. " Nay, it is only be- 
 cause — because — " she answered almost 
 in a crying tone, " because she is so se- 
 vere and so, so spiteful against poor Mr. 
 Dobbs : not that he cares what she thinks
 
 MADELINE. 205 
 
 of him now, I can positively assure you." 
 " So : so sets the wind in that quarter 
 now?'" " I do not exactly know what 
 you mean, father ; but / mean that Mr. 
 Dobbs does not intend to care for Miss 
 Madeline any longer, with her pride and 
 her long drawn-up neck.** " But he 
 means to care a great deal, I suppose, 
 for Miss Bessie, with her pretty sociable 
 ways, and her short neck." "Nay, fa- 
 ther ; my neck is not short : as for my 
 ways, no one can say they are proud 
 ways." " No ; but they are pert ways, 
 girl, and that is worse : and so thou pre- 
 tendest to rival Maddie, eh ?" " Pretend 
 to do it ! No, indeed: I did not mean it, 
 I am sure; but I could not help it." This 
 was really irresistible, and we all laughed 
 aloud at the excessive conceit with which 
 she spoke. She bore it better than I 
 expected ; but observed, with a toss of the 
 head which was invaluable to a studier
 
 206 MADELINE. 
 
 of character, " You may laugh if you 
 please ; but, as Mr. Dobbs says, ' Let 
 them laugh who win.' I dare say now, 
 father, you are so partial to Meggie and 
 to Miss Madeline, that you will hardly 
 believe that Mr. Dobbs thinks my voice 
 much finer than theirs, and that I sing 
 out so much louder." " Yes, that you 
 do ; as my poor ears can witness." " And 
 he thinks me quite as handsome as Meg- 
 gie, and much handsomer than Madeline. 
 You cannot believe that, I dare say." " O 
 yes ! that I can ; for the blockhead has 
 so little taste that he was saving the other 
 day that he thought his short-legged 
 Welsh pony a much handsomer animal 
 than the laird's tall fine Arabian." " I 
 have not done growing yet, and I may be 
 a tall fine Arabian some time or other." 
 " Then pray grow downwards, my dear, 
 not upwards, if you marry Dobbs, else 
 he will be forced to stand on a stool to
 
 •r MADELINE. 207 
 
 give you a kiss, Bessie." " I flfo little 
 men," she replied ; then, not willing that 
 we should see her vexation, she ran out of 
 the room. " That fellow's flatteries have 
 really turned the poor girl's head," said 
 my father gravely. " I fear so indeed," 
 cried my mother thoughtfully, " and I 
 must own that I never wish to see Mr. 
 Dobbs one of the family." "The woman's 
 a fool," replied my father hastily. " He 
 may not be wise enough or elegant enough 
 for Madeline, though she may live to 
 repent she was so cruel to him ; but if he 
 likes Bessie, and she him, he shall have 
 my consent whenever he asks it." So 
 then there is no chance of ever getting 
 rid of Dobbs ! I always hoped that when- 
 ever he should offer to me he would be so 
 affronted at being refused that lie would 
 break off the acquaintance ; but now he 
 will really be one of us for life. Alas ! 
 then Mr. Falconer will inevitably give
 
 208 MADELINE. 
 
 over calling on us, or inviting us to 
 Glencarron : for I am sure he will not 
 expose himself to be forced to meet or to 
 invite Dobbs. 
 
 Thursday night. 
 What do you think I have undertaken 
 to do, my dear friend ? a task which, how- 
 ever gratifying, I shall never have courage 
 to perform. No, no, no ; I can never 
 paint from himself. Perhaps he does 
 not care whether I do or no. It is only 
 an excuse, Margaret says, to come often 
 to the hous* 'for she thinks that I shall 
 spoil the picture if I attempt to put the 
 lowland bonnet on the head, and a plaid 
 over the shoulder. He says, if it be 
 not too much trouble, he should prefer 
 having two copies of the picture, and one 
 of them with the cap and plaid: and he 
 assured me he would sit in his cap and 
 plaid for hours, if I would but paint
 
 MADELINE. 209 
 
 him so. / have no objection ; but what 
 would my father think ? what would 
 the neighbours say ? Besides, I really 
 do not believe that I could paint at all 
 with his eyes looking at me. What shall 
 I do ? 
 
 Friday m orn ing . 
 It was very sly in my mother to take 
 advantage of my short absence to show 
 him my sketches of Glencarron. I wish 
 he had not asked me to make him a series 
 of drawings ; for the mortifying fear has 
 thence taken possession of . mind that 
 he means to pay me for my exertions. If 
 I thought so, I should be wretched beyond 
 description. From any one else I could 
 bear, were it necessary, to receive such 
 humiliating remuneration ; but from 
 him ! No, I could endure to be the object 
 of his neglect and indifference ; but of 
 his bounty, never, I have cried till my
 
 210 MADELINE. 
 
 eyes are quite red and swelled, — and here 
 he is. What will he think ? But he cannot 
 guess the truth, and in that conviction 
 there is comfort. 
 
 Friday night. 
 He would not let me paint with my 
 eyes in such a state ; but he is to come 
 again to-morrow. He will not send the 
 cap or the plaid, declaring that he wants 
 them to wear about his grounds, and can 
 only spare them while he is with me. 
 The drawings too of Glencarron I must 
 promise him, he said, never to sketch 
 except when he is at home, for he must 
 superintend them. This desire made me 
 suspect still more strongly that he meant 
 to pay for them ; and I gave way to a 
 violent burst of tears, which astonished 
 and alarmed my mother as well as him ; 
 since such want of self-command is not 
 usual with me. " You are not well, my
 
 MADELINE, 
 
 211 
 
 dear Miss Munro," cried he in a most 
 affectionate tone ; while my mother hung 
 over me, supported my imagined aching 
 head on her bosom, and kindly inquired 
 what had so evidently distressed me. I 
 could not tell it ; therefore I remained 
 silent. " Is the cause of your distress, 
 Miss Munro, any thing that I can re- 
 move ? If so, command me. Yes, yes, 
 even at whatever pain and sacrifice to 
 myself, I will." M You are very kind, 
 Glencarron," said my mother, gazing 
 on his emotion with evident surprise, 
 while I beheld it with grateful satisfaction : 
 for to what did he seem to attribute my 
 sorrow ? Was it to an attachment to the 
 indulgence of which there were obstacles? 
 At length I found courage to say, while 
 I drew faces and flowers on the paper that 
 lay before me, in the very acme of em- 
 barrassment, "I was hurt, I was wounded, 
 because I feared this morning and just
 
 212 MADELINE. 
 
 now that— that— " "That what?" "That 
 you meant to give, that is that I was to 
 consider the — the order for the two copies 
 and the drawings as an order, and that 
 they were to be paid for." " I breathe 
 again," cried Glencarron, seizing my 
 hand, and heaving a deep breath, as if 
 relieved. " And this was really all that 
 called forth your tears! O Miss Munro, 
 may I ever be as able as now to dry 
 up their source ! But do scold her, Mrs. 
 Munro," said he playfully : " did you 
 think she had been such a little goose ?" 
 "Indeed no," cried my mother, "in gude 
 truth I am surprised at the child's taking 
 such fancies into her head." " Fancies 
 indeed ! But the alarm I felt has only been 
 a proper chastisement for the unreason- 
 ableness of my demands. Being covetous 
 of her performances, I forgot how impro- 
 per and encroaching it was to make such 
 a demand on her time, and she has pu-
 
 MADELINE. 213 
 
 nisfaed me properly, by thinking that, as I 
 had no right to expeet her to work for 
 me for love, I was presuming and inde- 
 licate enough to mean she should do it 
 for money ; as if I could think any money 
 a proper, a sufficient remuneration ! You 
 have really made me ashamed of my co- 
 vetousness." " Say no more," cried I, 
 " for I blush for my folly and injustice : 
 but I have been spoiled, Mr. Falconer ; 
 I have been elevated beyond my situation; 
 and though perhaps I ought not to be 
 above turning my little talents to profit, 
 yet — yet from you I could not bear that" 
 I could not go on, for his expression and 
 his eager grasp of my hand made me 
 suspect that he read the secret of my 
 heart, and entered into all its pride and 
 its weakness. " Distress yourself no 
 longer," said he ; " but remember, Miss 
 Munro, to avoid a recurrence of suspi- 
 cions which injure me, and wound you,
 
 214 MADELINE. 
 
 that I can never consider you or treat 
 you in any other manner than as my equal 
 always ; and in all that is really valuable 
 and enviable in life greatly my superior. 
 I presume to pay the exertion of your 
 talents ! as if my trumpery wealth were 
 a fit reward ! ! Believe me that, beautiful 
 as your drawings are, I chiefly value them 
 because they are yours :" then seizing 
 the paper on which I had scrawled heads 
 and eyes and men in wild confusion, he 
 exclaimed " And this too shall be mine, 
 and dear to me, nay dearer than the 
 others, since it will recall this interesting 
 moment to me." I tried to take it away ; 
 but, pressing it to his lips, he put it into 
 his pocket-book; at this moment he 
 looked round and discovered that my 
 mother had feft us, and we both felt we 
 were alone together ! for I saw his man- 
 ner change, and so did mine ; and con- 
 scious and mutual embarrassment made
 
 MADELINE. 215 
 
 us silent, and while we were considering 
 how to break the silence my father and 
 Margaret entered the room. Soon after, 
 having made an appointment to come 
 again the next day, Mr. Falconer de- 
 parted. 
 
 My father perceived the redness of my 
 eyes, and insisted on knowing the cause ; 
 but I cannot describe his amazement and 
 disdain of my folly when he heard the 
 reason. " Well, and where is the harm 
 if the laird did mean to pay you ? Much 
 more sensible and proper in him, than to 
 give you all that trouble for nothing. If he 
 had consulted ?ne, I should have said 
 * Pay her by all means, and thank you 
 too V You his equal indeed ! If his lady- 
 sister had heard him say so, she would 
 have made him hold a very different 
 language." " Not his equal in reality, 
 Donald, he only said he considered her 
 as such." " Then he told a lie, Meggie,
 
 216 MADELINE. 
 
 or be is grown childish ; and heartily do 
 I pray that we may none of us have to 
 rue the hour when the laird returned this 
 year .to Glencarron." " My dear love, 
 you cannot doubt our child's prudence !" 
 " No, nor honour ; but I fear for her 
 peace. Is that no consideration for a 
 father, think ye ? " He then hastily left 
 the room, and I hid my tears, my confu- 
 sion, and my alarms, on my mother's 
 shoulder, " Be of good hearty darling/' 
 said she, " I am now sure the laird loves 
 thee, and one day, depend on it, Madeline, 
 I shall have the pride and pleasure of 
 seeing thee the Lady of Glencarron" 
 She then went on to assure me the 
 Grahams were as good a family as the 
 Falconers, and that they had often inter- 
 married-, while I, delighted and soothed 
 by listening to her day-dreams, did not 
 even attempt to interrupt her. Yet oh ! 
 what dangerous fuel was she adding to
 
 MADELINE. 21/ 
 
 the flame which lam, I fear, only too rash- 
 ly nourishing ! and I have kept repeating 
 her words, ■ I am sure Glencarron loves 
 you/ over and over again, whenever I 
 have been alone. I was mortified at my 
 father's not feeling why I should be hurt 
 at the idea of being paid by Mr. Falconer. 
 My mother entered into my feelings di- 
 rectly ; but men, especially uncultivated 
 men, know nothing of the niceties of the 
 heart. Yet Mr. Falconer knows them 
 all, I dare say. 
 
 Well, happy thought ! I go to bed 
 knowing that I shall see him and hear 
 him again to-morrow. 
 
 Saturday morning. 
 
 I have made my mother promise not 
 
 to leave us alone : I should be too much 
 
 fluttered to paint if she did : besides, it 
 
 would look like design ; and if Mr. Fal- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 2JS MADELINE. 
 
 coner could really ever have any thing to 
 say which he wished to say to me in 
 private, he could easily desire a tete-a- 
 tete. No, no, she is too sanguine ; and 
 his love, if he has any, is not yet strong 
 enough to conquer his pride : nor pro- 
 bably will it ever be. 
 
 Saturday night. 
 
 I made but a slow progress in my pic- 
 ture. It is really so difficult for me to 
 look at him. The other copy is finished : 
 he originally intended to send it to a friend, 
 he said; but that now he could not part 
 with it ; but should give away the origi- 
 nal picture. 
 
 Margaret says she is sure a tall man 
 listened to our singing this evening ; for 
 she saw his head and shoulders above the 
 hedge, and she is certain it was Mr. Fal- 
 coner. I will be on the watch for him 
 myself to-morrow night.
 
 MADELINE. 219 
 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 How my father watches my looks now ! 
 and he really frets whenever I look pale. 
 
 Richard is coming again, and William 
 also. How wrong it is of me not to be 
 glad of it ! But William is not quite a 
 suitable companion for Mr. Falconer : 
 and when Dobbs comes while Richard 
 is here, he will be always talking to him 
 of the shop. I see very clearly Mr. Fal- 
 coner will be frightened away from our 
 house this week. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 
 Really, much as I love his society, I am 
 glad to find he is going away on pressing 
 business to-morrow evening, and will 
 not return till the two youths are gone. 
 
 I listened for the tread of his feet to- 
 night under the hedge, and / saw a tall 
 man in a cap. It was he no doubt. I
 
 2*20 MADELINE. 
 
 felt my voice falter ; but I sung louder 
 and more powerfully than usual, that he 
 might hear me better; but when we sung 
 together, Bessie outsung me. I cannot 
 think where that girl gets her vulgar way 
 of doing every thing : Dobbs spoils her. 
 I am glad Glencarron does not know 
 I walk in my own little garden under my 
 window till bed-time, after the prayers 
 and the supper are over ; lest he should 
 be tempted to stay and speak to me ; for 
 that would be very wrong. Yet why 
 should I be so conceited as to think he 
 would wish to do so ? 
 
 Monday morning. 
 He sat to me and I painted him for 
 three hours ! It did not seem one. — It 
 will be an age before I see him again. 
 Now is my time for copying the head for 
 myself. I found out, or rather he did 
 not wish to conceal, his listening under
 
 MADELINE. 2*21 
 
 the hedge. My mother told him she 
 would let her husband know it, and she 
 was sure, as he was so fond of our psalm- 
 singing, he would ask him to come in. 
 He looked at me with great meaning, and 
 said he had no particular preference for 
 that sort of singing ; that was not the 
 attraction to him, and he would rather 
 she would say nothing about it, but leave 
 him to the indulgence of his evening 
 lounge under the hedge. When we were 
 alone I also begged her not to mention 
 it to my father. It was unnecessary for 
 me to caution Meggie : she thought it 
 a lover's secret, and such are sacred with 
 her* 
 
 Tuesday mor 
 
 mug 
 
 He is gone, and I see no longer the 
 blue smoke winding among the trees and 
 telling of him. I am full of reverie to- 
 day, andean do nothing but paint.
 
 999 
 
 MADELINE, 
 
 A visit from our minister, Mr. Mac- 
 lean. He is really very pleasing. 1 wish 
 he might admire Bessie, and save her 
 from Dobbs. 
 
 Tuesday night. 
 I hope, earnestly hope, they are mis- 
 taken, and that Mr. Maclean does not 
 visit here on my account. Poor man ! 
 sorry indeed should I be to occasion him 
 the pangs of a hopeless passion. No 
 doubt they are very terrible. 
 • How provoking! Richard and William 
 do not come till Thursday. He will see 
 them. They stay till after Sunday. 
 
 JVedn esday morn ing . 
 I can doubt no longer: Mr. Maclean 
 has spoken to my father, who cordially ap- 
 proves his proposals. I have begged him 
 to tell Mr. Maclean that I am very proud 
 of his good opinion, but cannot return his
 
 MADELINE. 223 
 
 affection. Spite of this, he chooses to 
 persevere, and my father has actually 
 given him leave to call whenever he likes, 
 and try his chance with me. If Glen- 
 carron should be jealous ! And what then ? 
 Both my mother and Meggiewish he may 
 be so, and are glad Mr. Maclean is not 
 forbidden the house. I cannot be so 
 selfish, — cannot wish this excellent young 
 man to run. the risk of suffering in order 
 to benefit me. They certainly lose no 
 opportunity of interesting me in his fa- 
 vour. Just now they showed me the fol- 
 lowing lines, written by him on the death 
 of his sister, who lived with him, saying 
 " Surely, Madeline, the man who could 
 love a sister so tenderly must make an 
 affectionate husband." I do not doubt 
 it i but what is that to the purpose ? 
 
 Where'er I stray, thou dear departed one, 
 I see thy form, thy voice I seem to hear ; 
 And though thou art to brighter regions gone, 
 Still faithful memory fondly paints thee near.
 
 224 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 Whene'er along thy favourite walk I go, 
 Still, still I feel the pressure of thy arm ; 
 And oh ! so strong the sweet illusions grow, 
 1 hate, I loath whatever breaks the charm. 
 
 In vain I'm urged to join the social scene j 
 This lonely shade alone has charms for me : 
 I love to be where I with thee have been, 
 And home, though desolate, is full of thee ! * 
 
 Wednesday night. 
 
 Nothing worth recording. The day 
 
 was unvaried. I painted till I could see 
 
 no longer. The day after to-morrow he 
 
 returns. 
 
 Thursday. 
 Richard and William are only just ar- 
 rived. Dear fellow ! As Richard clasped 
 me to his heart, mine reproached me for 
 
 * This song is set by Mr. Westley Doyle, and 
 is about to be published. A. O.
 
 MADELINE. 225 
 
 not beating with pleasure at sight of him. 
 He thinks me much altered, I find; that 
 is, that I look very pale and thin. I see 
 that he has had a hint given him, for he 
 sometimes begins a sentence, and looks 
 very archly at me, then breaks off, and 
 says, " But mum." Another time he 
 affects to look very grave, and says, " So 
 I find the laird, Miss Madeline, as Bessie 
 calls you, visits here frequently." " Oh 
 yes, to be sure ; he loves music." " Is 
 that all he loves ? Well, I ask no ques- 
 tions, sly one ; but one of these days 
 perhaps — " then he kisses me and runs 
 dancing away. 
 
 Th urs day n igh t . 
 How happy Margaret is ! and so satis- 
 fied with her lover ! I was afraid that 
 having seen so much of Mr. Falconer 
 lately might have put her out of conceit 
 with William. 
 
 l 5
 
 226 MADELINE. 
 
 Well, to-morrow is really Friday, and 
 that is the day on which he is positively 
 to return. 
 
 Friday night. 
 Just returned from a little drive with 
 Richard. Bessie is really a spiteful girl, 
 to exclaim as she did, " Who should ever 
 have expected to see Miss Madeline, the 
 elegant Miss Madeline, in a cart!" and 
 to have the mortification of knowing that 
 what she said affected me, and that I 
 shrunk from being seen by Glencarrron 
 in such a vehicle ! Oh ! how afraid I 
 was lest we should meet him on the road ! 
 and yet how I long to see him ! But take 
 courage, Madeline. Thy pride is still 
 thy strongest passion. I am ashamed 
 of acknowledging this contemptible 
 weakness ; but my journal is my confes- 
 sor, and I must tell it and you everv 
 thing.
 
 MADELINE. 227 
 
 Saturday morning. 
 Up with the lark. No; I cannot read. I 
 cannot attend. No hook now has power to 
 engage my attention long. I will paint. 
 No ; I cannot paint either : for I am al- 
 ways looking out of the window. — And 
 wherefore ? To see the dear blue smoke 
 from his chimneys ! And there it is 
 again ! Oh ! I am so happy ! I am glad 
 the mornings are still so chilly, that he 
 requires a fire ; else I should not have 
 been sure he was home of many hours. 
 Now I can settle a little to my pencil. 
 
 What a comfort! Dobbs is gone away 
 for a few days ! Bessie gives herself 
 the air of sighing and missing him ! 
 What a taste she must have ! Here is 
 Mr. Maclean ; an early visitor. Oh ! he 
 came to bring a pocket-knife as a present 
 to Charlie. — The child was so pleased, 
 that I could not help receiving with a
 
 228 MADELINE. 
 
 smile of complacency the person who had 
 given him so much pleasure ; but I am 
 glad he went away again before Mr. Fal- 
 coner came. 
 
 Saturday night. 
 He was listening under the hedge again. 
 I hope nobody sees him. I wish no one 
 could know of this flattering visit but 
 myself. How handsome he looked when 
 he first came in to-day ! so animated ! 
 so glad to see us ! Us ? Yes, us. — He 
 admires my mother, and Margaret too ; 
 and with what true kindness he took Ri- 
 chard by the hand ! Not as if he conde- 
 scended. And how proud I felt of Ri- 
 chard! No awkwardness, no confusion: 
 he was respectful, but not mean. Yes, 
 Richard has my father's consciousness of 
 the dignity of manhood, with more re- 
 finemenj; : but I wish Mr. Falconer could 
 see Ronald: and Ronald is an officer
 
 MADELINE. 229 
 
 now. consequently a gentleman. When 
 William came in I felt alarmed lest be 
 should be embarrassed, and look very 
 clownish ; but Meggie had no such fears, 
 and eagerly presented him, blushing as 
 much as he did. She was not, however, 
 as bold as she fancied herself ; for all she 
 could say was, with a consciousness and 
 a downcast eye that added to her loveli- 
 ness, "This is— William /" "Happy 
 man !" said Mr. Falconer, smiling bene- 
 volently, and giving him his hand — 
 81 happy man ! to be introduced as 
 " William ! only William ! as if there 
 were no other William in the world. 
 Nor more there is, I dare say, to your sis- 
 ter, Miss Munro. Is it not so ?" "His 
 other name is Meredith/' said Margaret, 
 more confused still. " Oh! he wants no 
 other name than William ! How I should 
 like to have a beautiful girl introduce me 
 thus ! * This is Frederic !' and to be sure
 
 230 MADELINE. 
 
 beyond the power of doubt, that she loved 
 me for myself alone !" How I trembled 
 and blushed as he said this ! But he did 
 not look at me. " 1 should think it no 
 difficult matter for any one to love you, 
 sir," said Richard modestly. — " Thank 
 you, thank you : but that is a subject on 
 which I am difficult to convince." Bessie 
 and Charlie now came in, and Charlie 
 was in a moment standing in the laird's 
 parlour as he calls it, and lolling against 
 him with the affectionate familiarity of 
 confiding childhood. — " / know some- 
 thing" said the little urchin : " and I can 
 tell you a secret, Mr. Laird, if you will 
 give me a half-penny." " Two, if it 
 be a secret worth knowing; what is it? " 
 " Why, see here, what a pretty knife I 
 have got! aye, and who do you think gave 
 it me?" "Brother Richard." "Oh 
 no ; a very clever man they say he is, and 
 our fine preacher, and a great scholar,
 
 MADELINE. 231 
 
 and a very pretty young man — and he is 
 (pretending to whisper) sister Madeline's 
 lover l" Glencarron instantly, and almost 
 with aversion, relinquished his hold of the 
 child, who, seeing his change of counte- 
 nance, innocently asked if he had hurt 
 him, and said he was " so sorry if he 
 had" This recalled him to himself, and 
 he restored him to his former situation, 
 saying he did not hurt him at all. "I 
 doubt that is a fib, laird ; for you looked 
 so oddly : did he not, Madeline ? O 
 laird ! only see how Madeline blushes ! 
 But she is very naughty, and does not like 
 Mr. Maclean, and I am so sorry ! " " For 
 shame!" cried Meggie : " Charlie, you 
 know you were told not to tell." " I liked 
 and respected Mr. Maclean before," re- 
 plied Glencarron, " and now I shall re- 
 spect him still more ; his taste does him 
 honour." " Nay, laird," cried Bessie 
 pertly ', " I assure you we think it would
 
 232 MADELINE. 
 
 be an honour to us to have him in our 
 family, and we think it an excellent and 
 proper match for Miss Madeline — " 
 " Speak for yourself, Bessie, I think very 
 differently," cried Margaret. " Yes, 
 you think a prince would not be too good 
 for her." " I do think so," said Mar- 
 garet firmly, and looking at me with the 
 kindest affection. "Admirable!" cried 
 Mr. Falconer : " how I honour that just 
 and sisterly feeling!" and he pressed her 
 hand with eyes so bright with his appro- 
 bation. "La!" exclaimed Bessie with 
 a tone saucy and contemptuous beyond 
 words to describe I wonder she could 
 survive the glance of offended pride, and 
 indignant contempt, which he gave her 
 in return : but it only made her more 
 bold; and she continued, laughing saucily 
 as she did so, " I assure you, Mr. Falconer, 
 Margaret and my mother turn Miss Ma- 
 deline's head with their flatteries ; but let
 
 MADELINE. 233 
 
 her, as Mr. Dobbs says, take care that 
 with looking so high she does not out- 
 stay her market" " Does the elegant 
 Dobbs say so ? He cannot accuse her of 
 looking too low, for I believe she did 
 not condescend to look at him." " Con- . 
 descend indeed ! a man that keeps two 
 maids and a boy, and his own carriage : 
 but, as Mr. Dobbs says, she may go fur- 
 ther and fare worse, and she is not so very 
 young, she is turned nineteen ! " " In- 
 deed! Quite ancient ! Poor thing! Too 
 old for Dobbs now, I suspect." " O, yes ; 
 much — " " Bessie," said my mother, 
 ashamed of her vulgar forwardness, " you 
 have not done the task I set you, it must 
 be finished to-day : go and do it now ;" 
 and with a saucy toss of her head she 
 bounced out of the room. " I cannot 
 think where that girl gets her forward, 
 pert manners," said Richard. " I won- 
 der," observed Mr. Falconer, " that she
 
 234 MADELINE. 
 
 has not profited by the examples she has 
 had before her. Would she more resem- 
 bled her amiable and gentle mother!" he 
 added, kindly taking my mother's hand, 
 and looking with smiling approbation in 
 her still handsome face. Tears of plea- 
 sure rushed into Richard's eyes at this 
 compliment to his mother, and he looked 
 as if he wished to give the laird one of 
 his energetic hugs : but respect forbade. 
 My mother was not so well pleased ; for 
 the satisfaction she felt at hearing her 
 own praises from Glencarron, was over- 
 balanced by the pain of hearing his cen- 
 sure of her child, and with a truly mater- 
 nal feeling, she said — " Nay, nay, Glen- 
 carron, pray recollect that Bessie is only 
 sixteen, and girls luill be girls. She will 
 be more like her sisters in time;" and Glen- 
 carron bowed, and owned that the case 
 was by no means desperate. I am glad 
 the laird had not time to stop long
 
 MADELINE. 23.5 
 
 enough for me to work at the picture, be- 
 cause I shall be sure to have a long sit- 
 ting on Monday, and as he said at part- 
 ing, " And to-morrow we shall meet at 
 church, Miss Munro." I am ashamed 
 of being so long about the picture ; yet I 
 dread to finish it ; for now I see him al- 
 most every day when he is at Glencarron, 
 and I see nothing b eyond the period when 
 I shall cease so to behold him. How 
 shocked he was when my mother said she 
 feared Bessie would marry Dobbs ! " To 
 have such a person become one of your 
 family ! Horrible ! " Meggie said he was 
 quite agitated when I joined the rest in 
 praising Mr. Maclean, especially when 
 she was mischievous enough to say in a 
 low voice to him, " I am glad to hear her 
 say this; who knows what his perseverance 
 may one day do ?" 
 
 As I know you to be an indulgent 
 critic, I shall venture to insert a few verses
 
 236 MADELINE. 
 
 here. They give an exaggerated picture 
 of my feelings, no doubt, especially as I 
 have put ' Beloved' in the place of * Glen- 
 carron.' 
 
 Lo ! morning breaks : methinks till new 
 I 've seen it dawn with careless eyes. 
 
 Nor long'd to mark its radiant glow 
 With gradual beauty fill the skies. 
 
 But now from restless sleep 1 start, 
 Eager its earliest light to see, 
 
 Because, ere noon its fires shall dart, 
 I know that I shall look on thee. 
 
 Oh ! how I count each weary hour 
 Till that expected time is near ! 
 
 And watch if feet approach my bower, 
 In hopes thy well-known step to hear J. 
 
 Away all other interests driven, 
 
 My life's sole care thou seem'st to be 5 
 As if that life were only given 
 
 That I might think or look on thee.
 
 MADELINE. 237 
 
 But when the mournful hour shall come 
 That bids thee from our vales depart, 
 
 And I, within my altered home, 
 
 Shall commune with my drooping heart, 
 
 Beloved ! then a thick dark veil 
 
 Will seem to drop o'er life and me 5 
 Till I thy blest return shall hail, 
 
 And LOOK WITH BASHFUL JOY ON THEE. * 
 
 Sunday. 
 It is very certain that Mr. Falconer's 
 manner was repellent and cold to poor 
 Mr. Maclean to-day, and he watched us 
 both very narrowly when he accosted me. 
 Is it possible he can know his own supe- 
 riority so little as to be jealous of him ? 
 But he is afraid and suspicious of not 
 being loved " for himself alone." Per- 
 haps, but for that suspicion, he — but I 
 
 * This song, composed by Mr. Westley Doyle, is 
 about to be published.
 
 238 MADELINE. 
 
 must not so delude myself. He is pleased 
 and interested by ?/s all while he is here; 
 but when he returns to London and his 
 sister, he will forget us. Besides, he is 
 alone at Glencarron : but why is he so ? 
 How many persons of rank and conse- 
 quence around would be proud of being 
 his guests ! Then why are they not with 
 him ? They are not invited. He says he 
 prefers being alone ; and ivherefore ? I 
 dare not interpret this love of solitude as 
 I wish. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 He was at the kirk again in the after- 
 noon, and I am sure poor Mr. Maclean 
 was hurt at the change in his manner 
 towards him. I am sure he was himself 
 conscious of it, and tried, but in vain, 
 to behave as usual. How proud and 
 angry he looked when my father, being
 
 MADELINE. 239 
 
 called away by one of our neighbours, 
 desired Air. Maclean to take his place, 
 and see me home ! I surely could not 
 help taking his arm, as my father bade 
 me ; but Air. Falconer seemed to blame 
 me, and he took an unusually cold leave 
 of us. 
 
 How painful! I cannot know whether 
 he was listening as usual, for my father 
 desired the window to be shut, as the air 
 was very chilly. I should be very sorry 
 to know he came and was disappointed ; 
 but still more so to be sure that he did 
 not come at all. Heigh-ho ! I will go to 
 bed ; but I am sure I shall have a bad 
 night. 
 
 Monday morning. 
 
 Well, in another hour I shall see him. 
 I hope he will not look as he did yester- 
 day ; for I am sure I could not bear it. 
 
 The sight of Margaret's grief at parting
 
 240 MADELINE. 
 
 with her lover has infected me. Poor 
 girl ! when they parted before, I thought 
 her grief excessive and absurd ; but I 
 think very differently now, and that it is 
 quite rational and natural. She will find 
 me a much greater comfort to her than 
 I was before. — Then I laughed at her : 
 now I weep with her. 
 
 Monday night. 
 Glencarron was like the month of March 
 to-day: he " came in like a lion, and went 
 out like a lamb," as the English saying 
 is. " I hope I have not kept you wait- 
 ing, madam," (he was not punctual) was 
 his first address ; and no smile played, as 
 usual, on his lip, which was sulkily pro- 
 truded. " Not long, sir," I replied, try- 
 ing to be as proud and as cold as he was. 
 though I could with difficulty restrain the 
 starting tear ; and at this moment, this 
 unfortunate moment ! poor Mr. Maclean
 
 MADELINE. 241 
 
 came in, to bring me a book which I 
 wished to see. He bowed respectfully to 
 the laird, who gave him the slightest bow 
 possible ; and, finding what he came for, 
 coldly said, "I thought, Miss Munro, you 
 had a key of the library at Glencarron : 
 but I do not find that you have deigned 
 to borrow any of my books." " You are 
 mistaken, sir ; I have two of yours now 
 in my possession, but unread." " And 
 yet you want others ? " " This is a book, 
 sir," Mr. Maclean replied, " which is not 
 likely to be in your library." Glencarron 
 made no answer, but with a hurried voice 
 and a flushed cheek said, " If you are en- 
 gaged, and cannot attend to me to-day, 
 Miss Munro, I had better bid you a good 
 morning." " By no means, sir: Mr. 
 Maclean will I am sure excuse me, and 
 I am quite ready to begin." Mr. Mac- 
 lean now rose in some perturbation, 
 begged pardon for intruding, and took 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 24'2 MADELINE. 
 
 his leave in great haste. I was really 
 provoked; and had I not imputed his 
 behaviour to jealousy, I think I should 
 have resented it : yet I fear it was mean 
 in me not to do it as it was. As soon as 
 Mr. Maclean was gone, his expression 
 lost some of its sternness, and I even 
 thought he looked after him with a re- 
 pentant eye. " So the window was shut 
 last night, Miss Munro," was his first 
 observation : " quite shut. Was that 
 kind?"' " Not unkind, because it was 
 done by my father's positive order, in 
 spite of our entreaties that he would but 
 allow it to be open ever so little. He 
 would not suffer it ; for he was, he said, 
 very chilly." " He did not surely sus- 
 pect I was there?" " Not that 1 know 
 of: but indeed we were very sorry, and 
 Margaret was almost tempted to tell him 
 why we wished it open." " But she did 
 not, I hope?" "Oh! no; I would not let
 
 MADELINE. 243 
 
 her." An instantaneous change took place 
 in his countenance, and his eyes assumed 
 an expression of mournful tenderness 
 uhich I could scarcely bear. 
 
 " I am glad the window was not closed 
 by your order," said he : " and I was 
 unjust enough to suppose — I was mad 
 enough to suppose — but no matter what: 
 Miss Munro, how long have you known 
 Mr. Maclean ? " " Not long : I mean, 
 he has not visited us long." " But may 
 I be so presumptuous as to inquire how 
 long he has loved you ? — Pshaw ! that is 
 a foolish question ; for doubtless he has 
 loved you ever since he first saw you — 
 I wished to ask how long it is since he 
 ventured to declare his passion ? " I told 
 him. u And you positively refused him ?" 
 " I did." " But why so positively ? You 
 own he is amiable and sensible." " Yes; 
 and very good-looking, sir." " Humph ! 
 only comme $a, I think : but, to be sure, 
 m2
 
 244 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 the ladies are the best judges. But why, 
 if you thought him so charming, did you 
 refuse him ? " " Because / do not think 
 him charming" " No ! But you may 
 do, if he perseveres." " Never : on the 
 contrary, his perseverance may make him 
 unpleasing to me." " Are you quite sure 
 of this ? " said he, grasping my hand with 
 a look of exultation; " quite sure?" 
 " Oh ! yes," observed Margaret, who 
 came in during this conversation, on my 
 mother's being called out of the room : 
 " Oh ! yes ; I fear poor Mr. Maclean has 
 no chance whatever." " Poor man ! how 
 I pity him ! " said Glencarron. " You 
 wish him to succeed, then, do you, sir ? " 
 said Margaret. " That is another thing," 
 he replied gaily; and from that moment 
 he recovered his good humour, and was 
 as animated and delightful as I ever saw 
 him. 
 
 But I foresee that we cannot, must not
 
 MADELINE, 245 
 
 long go on as we are. I am sure my 
 father disapproves his frequent visits ; 
 and he has commanded me to finish the 
 picture as fast as possible, saying that if 
 I am so long about it the laird will think 
 I am in love with him. I thought I 
 should have fainted when he said this ; 
 especially because I felt that he was right, 
 and that I ought to finish it as soon as 
 possible : and then he will have no excuse 
 for coming so often. Excuse! and have 
 I so little proper pride as to wish him to 
 come on an exczise merely, after all that 
 has passed, and the hopes his manner has 
 given me ? 
 
 Tuesday. 
 I nearly finished the picture in his ab- 
 sence. How mortified he seemed to-day 
 when he saw that half an hour's sitting 
 would complete it! —It is completed; and 
 I begged him to take both that and the 
 original miniature home with him. He
 
 246 MADELINE. 
 
 took them ; but I saw he was discon- 
 tented and dejected. He does not know 
 I have a copy of my own. I wonder 
 whether he suspects it. But no ; if he did, 
 he would not have looked so, so morti- 
 fied. 
 
 Tuesday night. 
 
 I have not spirits to write. We parted 
 to-day without making any appointment 
 to meet again. 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 He has just passed the v/indcv/ es 
 horseback. We exchanged salutations: 
 but oh ! how pale and sorrowful he 
 looked ! My father is just come in, and 
 says he met him, and that he said he had 
 had distressing letters from England. 
 
 Wednesday night. 
 This day has been a sort of blank. — 
 True, he passed twice ; but that was all,
 
 MADELINE. '24/ 
 
 Thursday night. 
 I have not seen him once to-day. 
 
 Friday. 
 
 He has been here ; but was restless, 
 pale, and I think miserable ; but kind, 
 oh ! so kind ! yet so abstracted, so ab- 
 sent sometimes ! I have felt very wretched 
 ever since he went. Sometimes I fancied 
 that his look expressed/^V?/; and that he 
 sees my attachment, knows it must be 
 hopeless, and is miserable while contem- 
 plating a being whom he may have ren- 
 dered unhappy. Yet surely mere pity 
 alone could not give such melting tender- 
 ness to those dark expressive eyes. 
 
 Friday night. 
 
 My trembling hand can hardly hold 
 my pen, yet write I must, to vent the feel- 
 ings of my agitated heart. It was for- 
 tunate that I was not deterred by the 
 coldness of the evening from walking in
 
 248 MADELINE. 
 
 my little flower-garden as usual. If I 
 had not done so, the joyful yet uneasy 
 anticipation of this moment would not 
 have been mine. I wonder that I had so 
 much self-command as not to scream, 
 before I knew who it was, when he leaped 
 the hedge and stood before me : but I 
 suspect that my heart told me it was he 
 before the moon disclosed him to my 
 view. But let me say with pride and 
 satisfaction, my sense of propriety did not 
 sleep for one moment, and that I desired 
 him to withdraw, and not expect that I 
 would stay to converse with him at such 
 an improper hour. " I own it is an im- 
 proper hour ; but you must hear what I 
 have to say now, since I never see you 
 alone: fear nothing, dearest Miss Munro, 
 my esteem, my respect are — " Here 
 most unexpectedly (for I thought he was 
 in bed) my father's voice angrily calling 
 me, and desiring me not to expose my-
 
 MADELINE. 249 
 
 self to cold, broke off our conference; 
 but not till I had promised, if we could 
 not meet at our house in the course of 
 the day, to grant him a meeting where 
 we then were, as the happiness of his life 
 depended on it, and he had something of 
 the most important nature to him to dis- 
 close. 
 
 He had scarcely disappeared when my 
 father was by my side, and was going to 
 reprove me severely for still lingering in 
 the air after he had gotten up on pur- 
 pose to desire me to come in ; when see- 
 ing by the moonlight that I was in tears, 
 he snatched me to his heart, and said 
 in broken accents, " Madeline, my dear, 
 dear child ! I see how it is with you ; 
 and Glencarron shall enter my doors no 
 more. I will tell him the reports of the 
 neighbourhood, and unless he replies, * I 
 wish to marry your daughter,' hither he 
 shall not come again." I could not, 
 m 5
 
 250 MADELINE. 
 
 would not reply; but I comforted my- 
 self with the idea that he would not call 
 to-morrow morning, preferring to meet 
 me in the evening in the garden, and that 
 that conference may make my father's in- 
 terference unnecessary. Yes ; to-morrow 
 evening mymiseryor happiness will be de- 
 cided. Howshall Isupport myself through 
 the day to-morrow ? 
 
 Saturday morning. 
 He has not been past. I could not 
 eat my breakfast, nor can I do any thing 
 but walk up and down the room or the 
 garden. I tried to force down my dinner, 
 but it choked me. My father and mother 
 and poor Meggie are quite alarmed. But 
 pass a few hours more, and perhaps I shall 
 be quite well, and we the happiest family 
 in the world. Yet why did he request so 
 urgently this clandestin emeeting ? That 
 looks ill. And why did I grant it ? — 
 True, he never yet has seen me alone but
 
 MADELINE. 25 1 
 
 for a few minutes. Still, had he desired 
 a private conference, I should not have 
 denied it. 
 
 What can this mean ? Dobbs returned 
 with my father ! Is he so soon come 
 back ? Well, I must go and speak to him, 
 though less able than usual to bear his 
 conversation. Into what an agitation has 
 lie thrown me ! But no : it cannot be. 
 How could I for a moment believe him? 
 Mr. Falconer gone away ! Met by him 
 thirty miles off, on the road to England. 
 Impossible ! He must have mistaken an- 
 other for him. Yet how could any one 
 who had once seen him, do that ? And 
 he describes him, too, as starting back 
 when he saw him, and shrinking into 
 the corner of the carriage. That was so 
 likely to happen, that I know not what to 
 think. However, if he be gone, I shall 
 certainly receive some explanation from 
 him. Still, I shall be very wretched till 
 nine o'clock comes. I hope I got out
 
 252 MADELINE. 
 
 of the room without any one's observing 
 my indisposition. Had he seen me 
 change colour, my father would have 
 called my mother and sent her to me. — 
 If he should really be gone ! If my con- 
 sent to meet him should have lowered me 
 in his estimation ! Yet how do I know 
 it was of love that he came to talk? Yet 
 surely he would not have watched for an 
 opportunity of conversing alone with me 
 at such an hour, and have jumped a 
 hedge to talk to me only of his " respect 
 and esteem." 
 
 The clock strikes eight : — my father 
 calls us together. I shall not sup ; but 
 retire after the prayers to my own room. 
 
 my dear friend, how my heart beats ! 
 But it wants ten minutes of the appointed 
 hour. However, I can write no. more. 
 
 1 feel as if life and death depended on 
 the issue of this meeting. — I. hear a rust- 
 ling in the hedge.
 
 MADELINE. 253 
 
 ' THE JOURNAL DISCONTINUED. 
 
 Madeline, on hearing the noise in the 
 hedge, repaired instantly to the garden ; 
 but no one was there, and her heart died 
 within her; nor ivas she at all reassured 
 when she heard a low voice from the 
 road calling her by her name. — She im- 
 mediately parted the boughs that hid the 
 opening, and recognised the steward of 
 Mr. Falconer — a grey-headed old man, 
 whom she had known from her child- 
 hood. " Is it you, Macinnon ?" " Yes." 
 " What brings you hither ?" " The laird 
 sent me." " Is he ill ?" " No ; not in 
 body: but he is gone''' "Gone?" 
 " Yes, to England." " And — and no 
 message ? no — " •" Yes, dear young 
 lady; be composed; he has sent this. 
 He desired me to watch for you here,
 
 254 MADELINE. 
 
 (oh, how sad and pale he looked !) and to 
 deliver this into your own hand : I have 
 done so ; and now good night : — God 
 bless you!" Madeline held the packet 
 with a trembling hand, almost uncon- 
 sciously bade the old man good night, 
 and tottered into her own apartment ; for 
 what might not that packet contain ! 
 But she dared not open it till she was 
 sure all the family were gone to bed ; 
 for, as she had been so unwell all day, 
 she was certain they would forgo their 
 usual custom of never intruding on her 
 when she had retired,. and come to see how 
 she was. Nor was she mistaken; her mo- 
 ther and Margaret both came in, and the 
 latter entreated to be allowed to stay with 
 her all night; but she would not suffer it; 
 and she was left alone. Then with fore- 
 boding trepidation she opened the fateful 
 packet. It contained nothing but an old 
 Scotch song, which Madeline wished to
 
 MADELINE. 255 
 
 have, and an unsealed note, in which. 
 traced in an almost illegible hand, were 
 these words — 
 
 " God for ever bless thee ! 
 
 "Evan Frederic Falconer." 
 
 A mist came over the eyes of Made- 
 line when this destruction to all her high- 
 raised expectations met her view, and 
 she endeavoured to reach the bed, as she 
 felt her senses going ; but she could not, 
 and fell upon the floor. The noise was 
 instantly heard by the watchful ear of 
 Margaret, whom affectionate apprehen- 
 sions had determined not to go to rest 
 till she was sure Madeline was in bed 
 and asleep. She therefore ran into the 
 room, and found her where she lay in- 
 sensible on the ground; the fatal writing 
 by her side. Margaret, though terrified 
 and distressed, did not lose her presence 
 of mind. She laid the beloved sufferer
 
 256 MADELINE. 
 
 on the bed ; then, wisely conjecturing 
 that the contents of the packet which her 
 sister had evidently just opened, and in 
 secret, had had this pernicious effect on 
 her, she concealed the note, the song, 
 and their inclosure, and then called her 
 mother. Madeline had herself locked up 
 her journal as usual, and put the key in 
 her pocket, before she went to her ap- 
 pointment ; and Margaret had the com- 
 fort of knowing, that whatever was the 
 poor Madeline' o secret, it was entirely 
 safe. 
 
 It was very long ere she recovered to 
 life and consciousness, and beheld her 
 mother and sisters weeping over her, 
 (for even Bessie forgot her jealousy in 
 her alarm,) while her father, stern in his 
 sorrow, was gazing on her with looks of 
 apprehensive agony. The sight of his 
 countenance, in which anger seemed 
 mingled with distress, recalled her in-
 
 MADELINE. 257 
 
 stantly to anxiety concerning the fatal 
 note, and she trembled lest it should 
 betray Mr. Falconer to his resentment. 
 She knew she could not bear to hear him 
 blamed, and held up to detestation as the 
 cause of her suffering ; and eagerly rais- 
 ing herself, she looked fearfully around. 
 " Fear nothing," said Margaret in her 
 ear, u all is safe." Margaret then de- 
 clared her intention of watching all night, 
 and the sisters were left alone. 
 
 The sympathizing girl ltnmediately told 
 Madeline where what she missed was de- 
 posited ; she desired the note tobe brought 
 to her. "Did you read it?" said she. 
 " Xo" " Then read it now." Mar- 
 garet did read it, and wondered at the 
 effect which it had had on her sister. 
 " Is this all ?" " Yes ; and therefore 
 am I thus." She then confided all that 
 had passed to Margaret in strict secrecy, 
 and told her that she read in this sudden
 
 258 MADELINE. 
 
 departure, and unsatisfactory adieu, the 
 downfall of all her hopes. " I see no 
 such thing, but quite the contrary, foolish 
 child," cried Margaret ; and Madeline, 
 catching eagerly at the least word of hope, 
 gave way to an hysterical flood of tears. 
 " But why, why do you think so, Meg- 
 gie?" sobbed out the agitated girl. 
 " Because he evidently was summoned 
 quite suddenly to England ; because he 
 had neither the time nor the heart to 
 write to you at such a moment ; and 
 Macinnon told you he was pale and sor- 
 rowful : and because he writes — ' God 
 bless thee V — What then ?" " So supe- 
 riors always write to inferiors in our 
 country." " Fye, Madeline ; this is in- 
 deed self-tormenting. He never seemed 
 to consider you as his inferior, and i thee" 
 used instead of ' you> and at such a mo- 
 ment, is the language of love." " Are 
 you sure of it, Meggie ?"— " Quite sure,
 
 MADELINE. 259 
 
 And no doubt he will write fully when he 
 gets to England." 
 
 It is so very difficult to make the heart 
 of sanguine nineteen despair, that the 
 gentle soothings and encouraging repre- 
 sentations of Margaret were not lost on 
 her grateful sister. " I really believe I 
 shall be able to sleep soon," said Made- 
 line; " therefore you may venture to leave 
 me." "Leave thee!" cried Margaret, 
 thrciving her *n2 round her, " Leave 
 thee to the sorrows of the heart ! Do I 
 not know what it is to be separated from 
 the being one loves best ? and I am sure 
 now thou dost love Glencarron, Made- 
 line. No, no, I will stay, and comfort 
 thee and weep with thee, my sister!" and 
 Margaret's tears flowed as fast as her 
 words. Madeline ivas comforted ; and 
 when the anxious mother came down in 
 the night to inquire concerning her sick 
 child, she found the sisters quietly sleep- 
 ing in each other's arms.
 
 260 MADELINE. 
 
 JOURNAL RENEWED. 
 
 Monday, October, 1813. 
 I have not written a line in my jour- 
 nal for two months ! He has been gone 
 two months— two long months ! Mar- 
 garet said she was sure that he would 
 write. She did not mean to flatter and 
 deceive me, for she is good and kind ; 
 but he has not written, and here is Octo- 
 ber come with its fading, falling leaves, 
 so like to me and my blighted prospects ! 
 I am glad, however, to find that even 
 my father does not blame him for going 
 away as he did, without taking leave of 
 us, after living with us so long on such 
 friendly terms ; for he does not know all 
 that passed — no, nor my mother either. 
 I would not needlessly expose him to 
 censure, and I now know what passed 
 between my father and him, which made 
 the former so readv to allow of his visits.
 
 MADELINE. 261 
 
 And for his sake I must relate the con- 
 versation to you, although it is so very 
 flattering to me, heeause I know that you 
 will not suspect that I do so from motives 
 of vanity only. 
 
 Believe me, I always dislike to repeat 
 compliments to my much overrated beau- 
 ty : yet were I not to be an accurate re- 
 later in this respect, as well as in others, 
 I should be influenced by a false shame — 
 a weakness which you have often warned 
 me against. — It seems then my father 
 said, " Glencarron, you are a young, gay 
 man, have an eye for beauty, according 
 to report, and my daughter Madeline is 
 beautiful ; therefore you must not come 
 hither." " Donald Munro," replied he 
 gravely, and as sternly as my father spoke, 
 " whatever gaieties I may wrongfully 
 have been accused of, I am a man of prin- 
 ciple and honour; and even were I not so, 
 there is so much dignity, and modesty,
 
 26'J MADELINE. 
 
 and purity in every look, and word, and 
 gesture of your beautiful daughter, that 
 I should as soon look with a licentious 
 eye on an angel as on her." 
 
 What praise for a fond father to hear 
 uttered of his child ! It opened my fa- 
 ther's heart, restored his confidence, and 
 Glencarron's visits were allowed : but 
 now my father bitterly repents. However, 
 he looks on Lady Benlomen as the cruel 
 cause of all ; and he only, I am told, 
 mentions her brother in accents of pity. 
 I say that / am told, for my father never 
 mentions his name to me. How kind and 
 delicate ! yet I have formerly accused him 
 of coarseness. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 I have been reading over my journal. 
 Amazing! It is really now as long as a 
 book, yet it contains nothing but the his- 
 tory of a weak woman's heart. But is
 
 MADELINE. 263 
 
 not that heart a world to its possessor ? 
 Does not some writer say, " That little 
 world the human heart ?" and after all, is 
 there, can there be any history more in- 
 teresting than a history of the affections? 
 Could the coldest hearted person be offer- 
 ed the secret details of the life, the affec- 
 tions, the faults, the sorrows, the cares, 
 the hopes, the sentiments of even an in- 
 different person of his acquaintance, would 
 he not read it in preference to a history 
 of either Roman or Grecian worthies ? 
 
 Monday, \st day of November. 
 And so I have actually been a journey 
 and seen Edinburgh. How kind it was 
 in Mrs. Malcolm Maclean to take me 
 with her and her husband ! kind indeed, 
 as I cannot, cannot love the brother. 
 But I am glad we are returned; though 
 1 am pleased to think I have seen that 
 most beautiful of cities ; that city to which
 
 2G4 MADELINE. 
 
 so many delightful and mournful reflec- 
 tions cling. But my mind was not in a 
 proper state to enjoy it as I should once 
 have done. One object absorbs every 
 other : the sun shines, but I see it not ; 
 the leaves choke up my path, but I hear 
 not the sound they make ; the moon — 
 Oh, yes! — I see that, and I gaze upon it, 
 for it recalls him to my view, as I beheld 
 him in its pale beams for the last, last 
 time. O Margaret, what a flattering 
 tale you told ! — I am very ill. The jour- 
 ney was a cold one, and strange shud- 
 derings have come over me. Not one 
 line ? — not one ? Can he have so soon 
 forgotten? Could he forget me as soon 
 as he reached London ? " Le Men a? me 
 ne revient pas*." How he used to enjoy 
 that song ! Pshaw ! Nina again : God 
 grant that, for my poor parents' and sis- 
 
 * " The best beloved does not return/'
 
 MADELINE. 265 
 
 ters' sake, I may not too strongly resemble 
 her! — I will insert here some lines which 
 I have written at different times; but 
 written with great effort, and only when 
 my hopes were a little revived ; so that I 
 described rather what I had felt than 
 what I was feeling at the moment. 
 
 ADDRESS TO OCTOBER. 
 
 October, hail ! Hail, season of decay ! 
 
 Thy crown of fading leaves I value now 
 Beyond the opening buds of beauteous May ; 
 
 And more I love to hear thy chill wind blow 
 
 Than the soft zephyr which in summer's glow 
 Waves over banks rich in unblighted bloom : 
 
 For a destructive power like thine lays low 
 My budding hopes, and with relentless doom 
 Bids me expect no peace but in the silent tomb. 
 
 How Nature fades around thee ! Where I tread 
 I walk on crackling heaps of fading leaves, 
 
 Which, like the hectic cheek of feverish red 
 Made lovelier by decay, whose blush deceives, 
 
 Bloom as they die ; and ne'er from florist's skill 
 The vaunted tulip gayer hues receives 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 2'Vi MADELINE, 
 
 those with which thy whispering eddies fill 
 Th autumnal path, leaf-strew'd at thy destructive 
 Will. 
 
 Yet thou thy work can'st not alone complete : 
 
 November follows with her withering power ; 
 .'a rmber next, arm'd with her hail, her sleet, 
 Her snows descending fast, till each new shower 
 Same new destruction brings : e'en the thick 
 bower 
 yet rebellious to her reign was found, 
 And dar'd, in verdure unimpair'd, to tower, 
 At, Length is in her snowy grave clothes bound 5 
 
 us, in gradualsway, great Winter rules around, 
 
 iopeless Love there is no gradual sway ; 
 
 No preparation makes his power less dire ; 
 At once he reigns supreme ; his captives pay 
 
 Immediate tribute to his awful ire : 
 
 His victims can no second stroke require 
 To break the heart's best fibres : to their eyes 
 
 E'en in a moment Nature's charms expire, 
 Youth's vigour droops, e'en love of kindred flies, 
 T w ; in Death's welcome bed the wear)' sufferer lies.
 
 MADELINE. 26? 
 
 Tuesday. 
 They say he is going to be married — 
 to a lady who is his sisters choice. I 
 am glad it was not his own: yet how 
 selfish is that! Can I pretend to love 
 him, and wish him not to love his wife, 
 that is, wish him not to be happy ? O 
 fye ! . Margaret says she does not believe 
 the report — nor does Macinnon ; but 
 then Margaret believed he would write 
 to me. Alas ! I must not believe Mar- 
 garet : Macinnon is more worthy of 
 credit. 
 
 Wednesday. 
 I am very idle ; but how can I be other- 
 wise ? These varying reports destroy 
 me. They now say he is gone abroad — 
 gone as a volunteer to join the armies. 
 Sometimes I fancy that he went to Eng- 
 land to ask his sister's approbation of his 
 n 2
 
 263 MADELINE. 
 
 addressing me ; and that as she did not, 
 would not, could not approve, he volun- 
 teered in order to fly from himself. But 
 how conceited it is in me to fancy this ! 
 No, no : I am more inclined to believe 
 that he is still in London, and perhaps 
 wooing his sister's friend. 
 
 It is true! He is gone! He has vo- 
 lunteered! Macinnon has heard from 
 his servant. They are on the eve of a 
 battle ; and he will be in it. Oh ! if lie 
 should fall. My head is very bad — cold 
 shudderings — I 
 
 JOURNAL DISCONTINUED. 
 My beloved friend could no longer 
 bear up against the anxieties of her heart; 
 and a violent cold caught on the road 
 terminated in a fever ; one of those slow, 
 dangerous, wearing fevers, that seem to 
 prey equally on the mind and on the body, 
 and force even the tenderest relations
 
 MADELINE. 269 
 
 who are watching around to forego, some- 
 times, the wish for restoration to life, lest 
 it should not be attended with restoration 
 to reason also. But the life of Madeline 
 was spared ; and in time her conscious- 
 ness and her memory were restored. It 
 was, however, many weeks before the poor 
 invalid could bear to leave her own apart- 
 ment, and she saw no one but her own 
 family, except Mr. Maclean, who, in his 
 capacity of minister, was often admitted 
 into her presence, and delicately seemed 
 to forget his pretensions as a lover, that 
 he might be allowed to offer her the com- 
 forts and support which his sacred office 
 authorized him to bestow. That reliance 
 on her God, that Christian resignation to 
 the divine will, which anguish of mind 
 had for a while obscured in this interest- 
 ing girl, Maclean's pious eloquence re- 
 awakened to its full force; and he had the 
 delightful satisfaction of seeing that he
 
 270 MADELINE. 
 
 had helped to bind up that bleeding heart 
 which another man had broken : a man, 
 too, who had towered above him, as he 
 thought, in his pride of station, but to 
 whom he now felt himself in reality a su- 
 perior ; since to him it was given to heal 
 what he had wounded ; to him it was given 
 to save what he had nearly destroyed. 
 
 But he judged Glencarron unjustly : it 
 was not pride, but jealousy, that had led 
 him to wound the feelings of Lewis Mac- 
 lean ; and could he have read the heart of 
 Frederic Falconer, Lewis Maclean would 
 have sincerely pitied him. 
 
 JOURNAL RESUMED, 
 
 Monday, May 1814. 
 It is many, many months, dearest Mrs. 
 St. Leger, since I have written one line 
 in these pages ; for when I had strength 
 enough to hold my pen, I had not suffi- 
 cient mental courage to bear to look into
 
 MADELINE. zf - 
 
 the state of my feelings, and therefore I 
 could not journalize; for what else have 
 I but my feelings to describe ? And here 
 is spring come again, with its buds di 
 promise, and its tender infant green. — - 
 Alas ! I liked October better, for it bett 
 suited me. My spring is blighted, 
 
 11 O Primavera! gioventii dell' anno, 
 Bella madre di riori ! 
 Tu torni ben, ma teco 
 Non tornano i sereni 
 E fortunati di delie mie gioje*" 
 
 You know the rest. 
 
 Little did I ever think I should live to 
 feel such deep sympathy with the bard 
 who wrote these words. Then again, 
 there is that beautiful song in Nina — 
 " // caro ben quando verra \ ?"' 
 
 * " O Spring ! youth of the year, fair mot. 
 flowers ! thou retnrnest, but with thee return not 
 
 the serene and fortunate days of my joy."' 
 | " When shall I see my best beloved I"
 
 272 MADELINE. 
 
 Alas ! Nina and I have had much in 
 common since I first quoted her. — I won- 
 der how long I was delirious or insensible. 
 They refuse to tell me : but they are very 
 willing to tell me all Lewis Maclean did 
 for me: how he prayed and wept over 
 me ; how he passed whole hours in prayer 
 by my bed-side ; how he soothed and en- 
 couraged them; how he seemed their 
 guardian angel, and how his intercessions 
 seemed to have stayed the hand of the 
 angel of Death. Heaven bless him ! 
 Heaven reward him ! I never can. — Yes, 
 yes ; they tell me all this with great rea- 
 diness ; but it will not do : yet sometimes 
 I ask my heart whether I ought not to 
 struggle with its rebellious beatings, and 
 try to be all my parents wish, and all he 
 wishes. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 
 What have I heard ? He is wounded, 
 desperately wounded ! So much so, that
 
 MADELINE. 273 
 
 they have been obliged to send him over 
 to England for constant and exclusive at- 
 tendance : and Lord Benlomen is dying, 
 so his sister cannot nurse him, and I must 
 not. Aye, Glencarron! now perhaps you 
 will wish you had followed the dictates of 
 your own heart ; then you would have had 
 a being to sit beside your restless pillow, 
 to support your aching head, and to know 
 no rest but that of affectionate, contented 
 watchfulness, through successive nights 
 passed in alternate agony and prayer. 
 But now with hired nurses ! If he should 
 die! Ungenerous Margaret ! what a self- 
 ish feeling ! I thought you had loved more 
 truly. " Art thou not glad," said she 
 just now, " rather than sorry, to hear he 
 is wounded ? Wouldst thou not rather 
 that he should die than marry ? and per- 
 haps if he had not gone to the wars and 
 been wounded, he would have been mar- 
 ried : surely it would be a less trial to 
 n 5
 
 2/4 MADELINE. 
 
 know the man one loved was dead than 
 married to another : what would become 
 of me if I were to hear that William was 
 married ? I am sure I had rather hear 
 that he was dead I" She uttered all this 
 with inconceivable volubility, and at first 
 1 thought she was right ; but before she 
 had ended, I felt assured in the very depth 
 of my soul that I could better bear to hear 
 of his marriage than his death ; and thence 
 I conclude that my love is less selfish than 
 Margaret's. Yet Margaret is not often 
 selfish. How delicately does she try, when 
 William is here, to hide their happiness 
 from me ! how cautiously do they both 
 strive to suppress all signs of it before 
 me ! Kind but mistaken beings ! Can 
 they conceal what glows on their cheek, 
 sparkles in their eye, and speaks in every 
 tone of their voice? — How different is 
 Bessie to Margaret ! She, the betrothed 
 of Dobbs, makes quite a parade of her
 
 MADELINE. 2/5 
 
 love, and he of his. She seems, I some- 
 times think, to triumph over me and my 
 desolate condition ; and Dobbs looks at 
 me, whenever I see him (which is as 
 seldom as possible), as if he said, while 
 he hangs so odiously fond over Bessie, 
 il See what you have lost, poor forsaken 
 girl !" for I find he calls me the love-lorn 
 and the forsaken. How differently does 
 Lewis Maclean conduct himself! Dear, 
 excellent young man ! What respect 1 
 what delicate forbearance ! He is a lover 
 indeed. Would I were worthy such pa- 
 tient faithful love ; such manly self-com- 
 mand ; yet such even womanish tender- 
 ness, when circumstances call it forth ! 
 
 I have expressed my feelings when 
 Maclean is with me in the following song: 
 but you only shall see it ; I will not show 
 it even to Margaret :
 
 276 MADELINE, 
 
 TO L**** fyf'*****"*. 
 
 Oh ! turn away those mournful eyes 
 That ask the love I can't bestow - y 
 
 In pity check those deep-drawn sighs, 
 For I congenial anguish know. 
 
 As if reflected in a glass, 
 
 My agony by thine is shown, 
 And when thou look'st, or sigh'st, alas ! 
 
 Thy hapless fate reveals my own. 
 
 My faded cheek I see in thine ; 
 
 In thine my blighted youth I view, 
 A heart, devoted, fond as mine, 
 
 And, ah ! I fear as faithful too. 
 
 Monday, June 1814. 
 I have been ill again ; that is, too lan- 
 guid to do any thing but lie on a sofa 
 and be read to. More verses. I can write 
 verses now : I could not when at my 
 worst.
 
 MADELINE. 177 
 
 ADDRESS TO SUMMER. 
 
 Soft season ! art thou come again, 
 
 With all thy stores of bloom and brightness j 
 Thy green and daisy-spotted plain, 
 
 Blue sky, and clouds of silver whiteness ? 
 
 I loved thee once, and fondly hail'd 
 Of thy return the slenderest token ; 
 
 But then my spirits had not fail'd, 
 Nor was my heart by sorrow broken. 
 
 Now, while on life's long, weary way, 
 I'm sad and joyless glances casting ; 
 
 I, with thy bright and cheerful day, 
 Am my dark, gloomy fate contrasting. 
 
 Fair Summer! when thy genial breeze 
 Is next o'er budding flowrets sighing, 
 
 Nfay 1, beneath yon willow trees, 
 Be in my narrow dwelling lying. 
 
 A sister then, with votive hand 
 
 The sod with thy fresh blossoms strewing, 
 
 Shall by my grave in sorrow stand, 
 Although my sorrow's refuge viewing.
 
 2/8 MADELINE. 
 
 And when at eve she sees those flowers 
 
 Droop, fade, and die, o'er her she cherish'cf, 
 
 She'll think on dear departed hours, 
 
 And cry " Like these she bloom'd and perish'd!" 
 
 Tuesday. 
 He has been at the point of death : 
 but the ball has been at last extracted, and 
 he has been doing well these three weeks. 
 This news has revived me again. At last I 
 have had resolution to look once more at 
 the chimneys of Glencarron ; and now I 
 look at them every day : even though it 
 is currently reported that the preparations 
 for the marriage are begun ; and that it 
 will take place when Lord Benlomen has 
 been dead six months. Well, be it so. 
 Let him marry. Had I not consented 
 to meet hi. . clandestinely, I should have 
 looked back with no self-reproach on the 
 period of my acquaintance with him, and 
 should feel assured that, let him marry 
 whom he might, he would remember me
 
 MADELINE. 2/9 
 
 with respect and esteem, if not with af- 
 fection. But I think I should not be sorry 
 if he were to hear and believe the report 
 that I am engaged to Lewis Maclean. 
 
 I must insert here some lines written 
 by poor Maclean ; but I wish Margaret 
 had not shown them to me. 
 
 TO MADELINE. 
 
 1 cannot place upon that beauteous brow [sess'd, 
 A crown , sweet maid ! though had I crowns po&- 
 1 at thy feet had laid them ; nor bestow 
 One gem to decorate that spotless breast. 
 
 But well I know the dew-drop in thy sight 
 Glows with a dearer beauty : and thine eves 
 Linger more fondly on its lucid light 
 Than on the costly ruby's sparkling dyes. 
 
 Yet there's a crown, which, were : t mine to give, 
 Thou wouldst not scorn, but not oi Earthly mould : 
 'Tis to be gain'd alone where spirits live ! 
 Spirits from earth set tree, who now their God behold. 
 
 O ! it were sweet with thee to pa.«° Ufe's vale adown . 
 And each the other aid to gain that matchless crown ! 
 
 L. M.
 
 280 MADELINE. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 
 What a bright, blue, fine day ! I am 
 certainiy better, for I can derive pleasure 
 again from watching the arrowy light 
 that shoots into the rivulet, or athwart 
 the silver lining of the birch leaf : and I 
 can follow with pleasure the feathery and 
 mottled clouds, as they float over the 
 deep azure of the heavens ; varying their 
 shape for ever, and as changeable as is the 
 texture of human happiness: and I can 
 now miss even a flower from its stalk, and 
 a bird from its wonted bough. A broken 
 heart cannot enter into details: it knows 
 nought of the minutia of any thing : it 
 deals only in broa^ masses, and they are 
 masses of shade and of gloom. 
 
 Oh ! I am sure I am better. But the 
 sun is oppressively bright. I must close 
 the curtain. 
 
 Where am I ? Have I been in a 
 dream ? O no ! I have seen, and do still 
 see, smoke once more in the chimneys of
 
 MADELINE. 281 
 
 Glencarron ! ! ! Then he is either here or 
 coming! but I will tell no one.. I can- 
 not, cannot utter it. Let them find it 
 out. I am afraid I shall faint. — I must 
 leave off. 
 
 Tuesday night. 
 Little did I ever expect to take up my 
 pen again with such feelings as I can now 
 describe. Our frugal meal to-day was 
 scarcely ended when Annie saw a tali 
 man pass the window, and she screamed 
 out " I am sure there is the laird I" In 
 another moment he was in the room ; 
 and though / knew he was arrived, or 
 rather believed he was, J fell back in my 
 chair, but was not insensible. My mother 
 and Margaret instantly ran to me, and the 
 former, not able to endure the idea that 
 he should think he caused my fainting, 
 pettishly said " There, there, stand back : 
 you should have sent word you were 
 coming : my poor girl is too ill to. bear
 
 282 MADELINE. 
 
 sudden surprises, or to see strangers : her 
 father's coming in suddenly the other day 
 made her worse than she is now." Mar- 
 garet meanwhile only spoke by her tears : 
 but Mr. Falconer, — how shall I describe 
 what he looked and said ? He bent over me 
 in silence at first, with his hands clasped 
 together, and in evident distress : at last 
 he exclaimed, u They told me she was ill 
 and changed; but I did not expect to find 
 her looking thus ; and so very, very thin 
 and weak:" and he turned to the window. 
 " Are you mad, Glencarron," cried my 
 father sternly, " to tell the poor thing of 
 her bad looks ? You will frighten her 
 out of her wits ; and make her think she 
 is going to die. — There, see! she is sob- 
 bing with fright ! M And sobbing I was; 
 but not with fright certainly. Glencarron 
 bad rushed towards me again, and had 
 taken my hand, and therefore my tears 
 flowed ; but oh ! how sweetly I 
 
 tf Forgive, forgive my rash impetuo-
 
 MADELINE. 283 
 
 sity !" he cried ; " but my impatience to 
 see you — and then to find you thus !" — 
 " There he goes again ! how would you 
 like to be told you were looking like a 
 scarecrow, for so you are ? Why I pro- 
 test I should have scarcely known you : 
 and of the two you look more like to die 
 than poor Maddie." " Would that I 
 were, or would that I were dead ! I have 
 long been weary of life, and now I 
 should be contented to die!" These 
 words were uttered in so dejected, so de- 
 sponding a tone, that no one could hear 
 them without deep emotion ; and as I 
 now raised my eyes and met his, their 
 tender, mournful glance thrilled to my 
 very soul. " How is this ?" said my fa-i 
 father : " this is odd language for a 
 bridegroom." "A bridegroom! No; 
 thank heaven ! I am not that wretched 
 thing ; though they tried to make me 
 one : but I broke niv fetters, I am here,
 
 284 MADELINE. 
 
 and am free, — Bridegroom indeed ! " 
 My tears now redoubled, and he saw that 
 they did. " Poor girl ! " said my father, 
 "Poor girl! there she is crying again 
 with the fright you have given her." 
 Glencarron now approached me, and 
 said in a low voice, " Are these indeed 
 tears of alarm only?" I know not how 
 I looked in reply ; but in a few minutes 
 he became composed, the gloom and 
 misery of his countenance vanished, he 
 seated himself by my mother, gave the 
 history of his campaign, and patiently 
 answered all questions concerning his 
 wound : not that I had courage to ask 
 one ; but I listened with great interest, 
 and I believe he forgave my silence. But 
 how he watched every change in my coun- 
 tenance ! 
 
 My mother now offered him some re- 
 freshment ; but he refused. " Had you 
 not come so soon, Glencarron," said my
 
 MADELINE. 285 
 
 father, " we would have given you some 
 wedding-cake ; for we are going to have 
 a wedding in our family." " Indeed ! 
 yes, I heard — " and he arose in great 
 agitation. " What did you hear ?" 
 u That which, now I have seen her, I 
 cannot believe, that Maclean is — " " To 
 have Madeline?" " Yes. To be sure 
 he— " Glencarron's agitation was now so 
 great that he could not stand, and Mar- 
 garet, alarmed at his paleness, hastily 
 carried him some water, saying as she did 
 so, " You are not well enough, sir, to 
 walk so far ; do get well, or we cannot 
 hope to see you at Bessie's wedding > 
 " Bessie's wedding did you say ? Is it 
 she that is going to be married ? " " O 
 yes, nobody else, except myself one day," 
 replied Margaret, blushing and smiling. 
 Glencarron was himself again in another 
 moment ; and I, I felt so happy ! nor 
 was it long before I was able to bear my
 
 286 MADELINE. 
 
 part in conversation ; for he was there, 
 free as he himself said, and I was sure, 
 never indeed so sure before, that, however 
 he had acted, he loved me, loved me dearly. 
 That was enough ; all was forgotten, and 
 I lived but in and for the present moment. 
 I soon felt my agony and my paleness 
 disappear, while the burning flush of 
 emotion and pleasure painted my cheek 
 with crimson, and lighted up, as I 
 imagine, my dim and tearful eyes with 
 feverish brilliancy ; for he started from 
 his seat and exclaimed, "There! look 
 there ! only look at her now ! There is 
 a colour ! and how bright her eyes are ! 
 Oh ! look as pale as you did before, pray 
 do!" "I really am afraid," said my 
 father gently, " that you are a little wild, 
 Glencarron. What man ever quarrelled 
 with a woman's fine colour and bright 
 eyes before ?" " Let me speak to you, 
 Munro," said he, dragging him out of
 
 MADELINE. 287 
 
 the room, where I find the following con- 
 versation took place. — " You are blind, 
 Monro, quite blind, not to see the fear- 
 ful cause of that bright bloom, and that 
 eye. It is hectic ; all hectic ; and she 
 must be removed to a warmer climate. 
 Spare no money : she must be cured ; 
 she must be saved at any expense. Com- 
 mand my purse, my carriage ; all, all 
 are at your service ; but be warned and 
 act in time." My father understood him, 
 wrung his hand, overwhelmed with un- 
 utterable emotion, and rushed out of the 
 house. Glencarron returned to us alone. 
 I, meanwhile, was conscious of no strong 
 emotion but that of joy to see that he 
 felt such interest in my life : and Bessie, 
 far from sharing in the alarm of the rest 
 of the group, pertly said, " Here is a fuss 
 indeed about a little flush in Miss Made- 
 line's cheek ! She always has it when she 
 has been agitated, and always had, and
 
 288 MADELINE. 
 
 she is in no more danger of a consumption 
 than I am." " She is very right," said 
 I, " ana if, as I suspect, my father is gone 
 for advice, the opinion of the surgeon 
 will soon set all fears to rest." " God 
 grant that it maybe so!" cried Glencar- 
 ron : and my father now returned with 
 our surgeon, Mr. Euston. "There!" 
 cried he, " tell me on your conscience 
 what ails that girl!" " She is only ner- 
 vous," he replied as he felt my pulse, 
 " and all she wants is nourishing things, 
 complete quiet, and gentle exercise." 
 " Quiet!" cried Glencarron, "then good 
 bye ! God bless you all !" and he left the 
 house as if he was going to walk home ; 
 but Charlie, who followed him, says his 
 carriage was waiting at a little distance, 
 and that his servants were forced to assist 
 him into it. 
 
 Some hours after there came a basket 
 of the finest hot-house fruit, jellies, and
 
 MADELINE. 289 
 
 every thing that could tempt the appetite 
 of an invalid, with a note to my mother 
 requesting that she would allow his car- 
 riage to take us an airing every day ; or 
 that my father would drive me out in his 
 low chaise, drawn by the quietest horse 
 in the world. 
 
 I cannot describe all I have felt of pro- 
 gressive comfort during this agitated day ; 
 but I shall lay my head on my pillow 
 to-night with a heart almost bursting with 
 thankfulness. 
 
 Wednesday . 
 How is my joy overcJouded again! 
 Glencarron has suffered from the exertion 
 and irritation of yesterday, and keeps his 
 bed. Mr. Euston has seen him and is 
 afraid the wound is far from healed yet ; 
 but to-morrow he says the laird means to 
 call on us. I am easier since Mr. Euston 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 MADELINE. 
 
 has assured us his life is in no danger; but 
 he looks very ill, and like a man who has 
 suffered much both in body and mind. 
 
 Well, I shall see him to-morrow, I 
 trust ; and, had my parents approved, I 
 should have liked to have gone out in one 
 of his carriages ; but I dare say they are 
 right, and that it is better not. However, 
 no one will know if I eat his fruit and 
 his other presents. Oh ! could I ever 
 have believed one little week ago that I 
 should now be such an object of avowed 
 interest to Glencarron ? 
 
 Wednesday night. 
 My father is summoned away to the 
 death-bed of a distant relation, and he 
 departs at day-break : his return is un- 
 certain. My mother says he was resolved 
 to put a stop to Glencarron's visits imme- 
 diately ; therefore I am not very sorry
 
 MADELINE. 291 
 
 that he is going; though I own that, after 
 what passed yesterday, Mr. Falconer 
 ought, as an honourable man, to go fur- 
 ther, or break off all intercourse with 
 us. 
 
 Thursday. 
 My father is gone. A note from 
 Glencarron to say that he will drink tea 
 with us this afternoon. My mother 
 shakes her head and looks grave, but I 
 am sure she will let him come. 
 
 Thursday night, 
 Little did I ever expect to pass so 
 many happy hours again : but Lewis 
 Maclean's presence did not add to Glen- 
 carron's happiness. He did not, how- 
 ever, stay long, and his evident dejection 
 softened the laird's heart towards him, for 
 he bowed kindly when he w r ent away. 
 Bessie was not in her best humour, be- 
 cause Dobbs, whom she expected to-day, 
 o2
 
 292 MADELINE. 
 
 was not returned ; and she was not made 
 more amiable by Mr. Falconer's start 
 almost of aversion as well as surprise, 
 when, on asking the name of Bessie's 
 intended, she answered, " Mr. Dobbs, 
 to be sure." He instantly put his hand 
 to his eyes as if to shut out a disagreeable 
 image ; walked up and down the room 
 as if to get from disagreeable thoughts ; 
 then folding his arms, sat for a moment 
 in evidently painful abstraction. Not 
 long after, however, Dobbs came in; and 
 if he was disagreeable while professing 
 unsuccessful love, he was infinitely more 
 so in the expression of a successful one; 
 -and his " dears," and his " loves," and 
 his tender leers , were so very offensive 
 that it was quite a relief when he begged 
 Bessie to "fetch er shawl, hand take a valk 
 with him." When she re-appeared, he 
 put on the shawl, or rather patted it on 
 in his old way ; then giving her innu-
 
 MADELINE. 293 
 
 merable little pats on the shoulder, he 
 stroked it complacently along her back, 
 affectedly exclaiming, " See there, what a 
 shape!" Even Glencarron's gravity was 
 not proof against this ; but he observed 
 in a low voice to me, " You and I, Miss 
 Munro, have seen those tender pats be- 
 fore." " Aye, and I have felt them, but 
 I deny the compliment to my fine shape ; 
 that distinction was reserved for the for- 
 tunate Bessie." " Unfortunate Bessie 
 you may call her ; or rather unthinking 
 Bessie. She has beauty, sense and 
 youth, and could have married any day 
 better than she is now going to marry. 
 Tins man is really not presentable any 
 where, and I wonder my friend Munro's 
 native feeling of what is right can endure 
 him." " Her choice both grieves and 
 surprises me, I own," said my mother, 
 t£ and I do think the child might have 
 done better. Oh ! had it been Mr.
 
 294 MADELINE. 
 
 Maclean indeed!" " Aye, had it been 
 he!" cried Meggie, sighing. "Yes," 
 said I, my eyes filling with tears as I 
 spoke, " had it been Mr. Maclean, Bessie 
 would have been a happy wife." " Mr. 
 Maclean seems a great favourite here," 
 said Glencarron, biting his lips and 
 changing colour ; " he must be a happy 
 man." " No, that he is not; would to 
 heaven he were!" resumed my mother, 
 while the tears trickled down my cheeks, 
 as with eyes fixed on vacancy I followed 
 him in idea to his home after he left us 
 this afternoon, and saw him indulging in 
 solitude the fears and sadness of his con- 
 scious heart; as the secret of my attach- 
 ment is weil known to him. "What do 
 you mean ? What can you mean?" said 
 Glencarron ; " Mr. Maclean unhappy ? 
 Yet you are weeping for him, Miss Mun- 
 ro." " But that is all she will do for 
 him," replied Meggie, " and that is what
 
 MADELINE. 295 
 
 vexes us, for he has deserved so much 
 more." "Deserved! Deserved! How?" 
 " O Glencarron !" cried my mother in 
 a tone of the deepest feeling, " had you 
 seen Lewis Maclean as I saw him, kneel- 
 ing and praying night after night by the 
 bed of my poor child, when she lay quite 
 insensible, or light-headed, on what we 
 thought her bed of death ; had you seen 
 him and heard him!" — Glencarron, who 
 had listened to her with evident agita- 
 tion, now suddenly left the room, but 
 came back composed, and gently said, 
 " So Maclean was a great comfort to 
 you, was he, in your deep affliction ?" 
 " The greatest; and when she was sen- 
 sible, but could not speak, he was the 
 greatest comfort to her: was he not, 
 Madeline?" "He was," I replied, al- 
 most inarticulate with tears. " God 
 bless him!" cried Glencarron, devoutly
 
 296 MADELINE. 
 
 clasping his hands. " This was true af- 
 fection, laird, was it not? for all the 
 while it broke his heart to see her so bad, 
 yet he would stay, he said, though he 
 should die for it." " And yet," said 
 Meggie, " yet Madeline will not many 
 him. Is not that very ungrateful, sir?" 
 Glencarron started, and hid his face for 
 a moment ; then faultered out, " Very 
 ungrateful; and why will she not ?" " Be- 
 cause she cannot love him, she says ; but 
 I tell her she could if she would but try. 
 What do you think, sir?" " Not &%you 
 do," he answered in a broken tone; " / 
 have not found the heart so easv to teach, 
 and to controul :— but do pray let us talk 
 of something else." Nor did he at all 
 recover himself. He became restless, 
 absent, unhappy ; but he was kind, most 
 kind. Still I was not sorry when he 
 went; for I wished to talk him over with
 
 MADELINE. 297 
 
 Margaret; and to think upon all that 
 had passed. I suspect my night will be 
 a much quieter one than his. 
 
 Friday morning. 
 Long before his usual time Mr. 
 Maclean called, and I soon saw that he 
 was uncommonly flurried, and had some- 
 thing of importance to disclose. " See 
 there!" said he, (throwing down a letter,) 
 " I received that from the laird this morn- 
 ing." Margaret took it, and read it aloud ; 
 I could not do it. It was, 1 think, as 
 follows : 
 
 " Dear Sir, — In consequence of my 
 wound, horse exercise is forbidden me ; 
 and forbidden, perhaps, for years. In 
 the mean while my Arabian, which I re- 
 member to have heard you admire, is 
 learning bad tricks in the stable for want 
 of something to do ; but I cannot bear 
 to sell him, as he was the gift of a friend. 
 o 5
 
 298 MADELINE. 
 
 I have however no scruple against giving 
 him to a friend. Therefore, if you will 
 allow me to consider you as such, and 
 will do me the favour of accepting him, 
 you will confer pleasure on one who 
 loves your virtues, respects your talents, 
 and is 
 
 " Yours most truly and faithfully, - 
 " Evan Frederic Falconer." 
 
 " Well done Evan Frederic Falconer! " 
 cried Meggie. " I am glad of this," ob- 
 served my mother. " Dear me, how civil 
 the laird's grown !" said Bessie ; " he is 
 not always so civil, nor to you either, 
 Maclean." I said nothing ; but tears 
 were in my eyes, and I found that 
 Maclean wished me to speak ; I there- 
 fore made an effort, and asked him what 
 he meant to write in return. " To say 
 that I refuse the offer," he replied, colour- 
 ing violently ; " I do 720/ consider the 
 laird as my friend. He has not always
 
 MADELINE. 290 
 
 been civil to me ; and I cannot submit to 
 owe an obligation to a man who some- 
 times scarcely acknowledges me as an 
 acquaintance, and sometimes presumes to 
 let me know that my company can be 
 dispensed with. I will be the slave of no 
 man's caprices, and you know, Miss Ma- 
 deline, that I have suffered from Mr. 
 Falconer's — " "Well done; I like your 
 spirit" said Bessie, clapping him on the 
 back ; " oh ! that was so like my dear 
 Mr. Dobbs ; he would have said just so." 
 I thought Maclean did not look pleased 
 at the comparison ; but he smiled, and 
 went on to say, " I do not know what to 
 make of the laird's kindness, but I sus- 
 pect it is your doing, ladies ; you have 
 been saying something which has induced 
 him to send me a peace-offering. Is . it 
 not so ?" " Were that the case, is it not 
 your duty to accept it ?" said I. " No ; 
 I think not." a But you wrong the
 
 300 MADELINE. 
 
 laird," said my mother; " it is no peace- 
 offering. We certainly did talk of our 
 obligations to you, dear Lewis ; and of 
 Madeline's obligations to you; and oh 
 that you had but heard him utter ' God 
 bless him ! ' " " Indeed," cried Margaret, 
 " they were not mere words of the lips, 
 they came from his soul : they were not 
 a mere ejaculation ; they were pro- 
 nounced with lifted eyes, and amounted 
 to a fervent prayer." " Indeed!" cried 
 Maclean, his own eyes filling ; " did the 
 laird bless me indeed ?" i( Yes, he did ; 
 and I am sure the gift of the horse is 
 meant as the real tribute of his heart to 
 your virtues." " Then I do think I can- 
 not send him this letter; what think 
 you ?" I opened it, and read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 s< Sir, — I am obliged by your offer of 
 so valuable a present, and flattered by 
 the language in which it is made ; bat
 
 MADELINE. 301 
 
 vou must excuse my accepting it. I 
 cannot prevail on myself to owe an obli- 
 gation to any man with whom I am not 
 on terms of intimacy, and from whom I 
 am not in the habit of receiving uninter- 
 rupted marks of kindness and respect. 
 " Believe me, with esteem, sir, 
 " Your obliged servant, 
 
 " Lewis Maclean." 
 
 "What a proud letter!" cried Mar- 
 garet ; " I declare you are full as proud as 
 Glencarron." " I ought to be prouder; 
 a poor man should be very proud, when 
 he comes in contact with his superiors, 
 lest they trample on him. Well, shall 
 I send the letter ?" " Yes; if your heart 
 will let you after that * God bless you,' 
 Lewis," said my mother. " Do not send 
 it. I beg," cried Margaret. " Send it," 
 said Bessie, " Mr. Dobbs would send it, 
 I am sure." " But what says Miss Ma- 
 deline?" "Send it by all means"'
 
 302 MADELINE. 
 
 "Send it!" exclaimed my mother: 
 " surely you cannot mean what you 
 say?" "Indeed I do." "Is it pos- 
 sible?" cried Margaret; "I thought you 
 were too much the laird's friend to wish 
 him to feel such pain as that letter will 
 give him." " It is because I am his 
 friend that I wish him to feel it ; / wish 
 him to learn that the wounds which pride 
 and petulance inflict are not to be healed 
 immediately even by penitent kindness 
 and attention ; I wish him to feel, Mar- 
 garet, that the pride of conscious virtue 
 and talent is, when excited, equal to that 
 of birth and situation ; that the resent- 
 ment which seU-respect teaches, is not 
 to be drawn on and drawn off, like a 
 glove, at the bidding of the offender: 
 and God grant that he may never forget 
 the lesson!" " How deeply interested 
 you must be in the laird's improvement !" 
 said Maclean in a faultering tone : "hap-
 
 MADELINE. 303 
 
 py man ! and you wish me to be the 
 means of this improvement. Cruel girl ! 
 Oh ! that you would but be thus inter- 
 ested in my welfare, and try to improve 
 me!" " I cannot improve you; I declare 
 that I have never yet seen any thing in 
 you that amounts to a fault." " In- 
 deed ! Is it possible ? And yet — O Ma- 
 deline!" 
 
 " Well, if ever I heard such gross flat- 
 tery in my life!" said Bessie; " and I 
 wonder you are not ashamed of yourself 
 so to flatter the men. It would serve 
 you right to tell the laird what you have 
 said ; and then I am sure he would keep 
 his Arabian, if Lewis Mr clean wanted it 
 ever so much. But here comes Mr. 
 Dobbs ; how amused he will be to hear 
 how that prude, Miss Madeline, can flat- 
 ter the men !" She then ran out to meet 
 her beloved, and left us to reconsider,
 
 304 MADELINE. 
 
 uninterrupted, the subject of the letter. 
 I carried my point, and it was sent ; but 
 I made Maclean promise to let me see 
 Glencarron's answer, if he should think, 
 which he might not do., that it required 
 one : I own that I hope he will answer 
 it, and that I shall be most anxious to be 
 assured of the fact ; for what can be so 
 intensely interesting to an attached and 
 rightly feeling woman as any thing that 
 marks the moral delinquency, or moral 
 excellence, of the man she loves? 
 
 Friday night. 
 How I have longed for this moment of 
 surrounding stillness, that I might pour 
 out my full heart on this paper, the con- 
 fidant, as it were, of all my varying emo- 
 tions ! Glencarron did not disappoint my 
 expectations, and Maclean soon brought 
 me the following letter :
 
 MADELINE. 305 
 
 •• Dear Sir, — I am called a proud man, 
 but I see that you are still prouder, and 
 I respect your feelings. I own I have not 
 deserved that you should do me the honour 
 of accepting my present ; nor will I pre- 
 sume to press its acceptance upon you : 
 but I shall try by a series of * uninter- 
 rupted' attentions and kindness to merit 
 your friendship, and give myself a right to 
 ask kindness from you in return. In the 
 mean while, believe me, 
 
 u Dear Sir, 
 " Your obliged and faithful servant, 
 "Evan Frederic Falconer." 
 
 " P.S. I am not well enough to go out 
 this morning, but my first call shall be 
 on you." 
 
 " Shall I not, should I not," said Mac- 
 lean with great hesitation, " should I not
 
 306 MADELINE. 
 
 call on him after this ?" " To be sure/* 
 cried my mother and Margaret at once. 
 But I was of a different opinion. I thought 
 I could not show my affectionate grati- 
 tude to Maclean better than by guarding 
 his dignity from injury to the uttermost 
 degree ; and as he was from many rea- 
 sons averse to go to Glencarron, my opi- 
 nion had its weight with him. Soon af- 
 ter that he left us, and I was at liberty to 
 lament that indisposition prevented our 
 having any chance of seeing Glencarron 
 till to-morrow. But we saw him pass in 
 his chariot after tea, no doubt to call on 
 Mr. Maclean ; we therefore expected he 
 would at least stop at our door as he re- 
 turned, and were disappointed. He drove 
 rapidly past ; but, after kissing his hand 
 to us, he looked out till he could see us 
 no longer, and Margaret said he looked 
 as if, though his body moved on, he left 
 his soul behind him. What strong ex-
 
 MADELINE. 307 
 
 pressions that girl uses ! especially where 
 love is the subject ; but her heart is her 
 instructor, and she cannot have a more 
 skilful one. It is odd, however, that he 
 did not call. He returned so soon, that 
 I conclude he did not find Mr. Maclean 
 at home. I am sorry for that, for two 
 reasons: first, because I think my influ- 
 ence over Glencarron would be strength- 
 ened by his being with, and conversing 
 with, a man who so truly loves me ; and 
 in the second place (indeed I should have 
 said in the first place), association with 
 such a man as Lewis Maclean might be 
 salutary to Mr. Falconer ; I mean in a 
 spiritual point of view ; for surely no 
 woman who ever seriously and truly loved 
 can. be indifferent to the immortal in- 
 terests of the object of her affection. I 
 have often wished that Mr. Falconer had 
 seemed more absorbed in prayer when he 
 was at the kirk. No one could attend
 
 308 MADELINE. 
 
 more to the sermon : but then to that one 
 listens with one's head; one joins in the 
 prayers with one's heart. This is a draw- 
 back to the delight I should otherwise 
 feel in being with him at a place of wor- 
 ship ; for there I own 1 had rather meet 
 him than anywhere. I am his equal there ; 
 and the full glow of my aspiring affection 
 is no longer chilled by the consciousness 
 of my inferior rank in life, nor that of my 
 kneeling family around : there he has no 
 claims above us but what superior vir- 
 tues, if he has them, can bestow. I cannot 
 but observe how much more frequently 
 the difference in our situation occurs to 
 me since I felt convinced that he loved 
 me, and seemed likely to give way to that 
 love. When he seemed to be swayed by 
 pride, I considered nothing but the empti- 
 ness of earthly pride ; but now that 1 fancy 
 he has a wish to run counter to the habits 
 and prejudices of society, and the pride
 
 MADELINE. 300 
 
 of his family, I am disposed to be proud 
 for him ; and I believe, were he to offer 
 me his hand, I should for his sake refuse 
 him, and argue with him on the unsuit- 
 ableness of such a connexion. But the 
 marriage of Dobbs with Bessie must add 
 another and a powerful obstacle to his 
 ever marrying me. To have such a man 
 authorized to call him brother! That 
 ever Bessie should have accepted this 
 man ! No ; were I the wife of Glencar- 
 ron, I could not expect that he would 
 associate with this branch of my family. 
 Well ; I hope he will call on us to-mor- 
 row. / his wife indeed ! As he could be 
 with me some part of every day, and is not, 
 but can pass the door without stopping, 
 surely I have no reason to flatter myself 
 that I shall ever be his wife. 
 
 Saturday morning. 
 It was kind in Mr. Maclean to return
 
 310 MADELINE. 
 
 his call to-day: but, oh! how unkind 
 was I to blame Glencarron for not calling 
 here yesterday ! He had reason to fear, 
 I find, that his wound was likely to bleed 
 again, and he hurried home as fast as he 
 could. Lewis seems much pleased with 
 his visit. I wonder whether they talked 
 of me. 
 
 Saturday evening. 
 Three hours did he pass with us to- 
 day ; and I am still more confirmed in 
 my opinion that he loves me : but surely 
 Meggie's affectionate art could not have 
 escaped his penetration : I did not think 
 she could have been so artful, to try to 
 alarm his jealous fears of Maclean, and 
 at the same time counteract them again 
 so skilfully. " Mr. Maclean was with 
 you at least an hour to-day, sir," said 
 Margaret; ' { I hope you liked him still 
 better on further acquaintance." " I did;
 
 Madeline. 311 
 
 and I am very sure my liking will increase 
 still more, the more I see of him." " So 
 I tell a certain person that hers will." 
 " But liking is not love, Miss Munro/' 
 he replied with eagerness. " No ; but 
 it may become so in time; especially where, 
 as is the case here, the lady thinks the 
 gentleman perfection already." " Perfec- 
 tion ! — and does she really think so ? " 
 " Yes ; nay, more ; she has told him she 
 believes him to be without fault." " Told 
 him so ! — she told him so !" he exclaim- 
 ed in trembling emotion. " Yes ; let 
 her deny it if she can." " I cannot deny 
 it," said I, blushing deeply. " Happy 
 man. no wonder he hopes still, and 
 looked so happy to-day. " " He may be 
 a happy man one day, and will be so I 
 trust," answered Margaret, " if the wishes 
 of all her family can influence Madeline 
 to her good ; but he has no reason to be 
 happy now." " Not when she has told
 
 312 MADELINE. 
 
 him he is perfection in her eyes ? M " No ; 
 for what woman that was even near loving 
 a man could utter such words to him as 
 these ? Surely it looked more like cold ap- 
 probation than any thing warmer. No ; 
 the admiration which a woman has cou- 
 rage to express is never very deep, Glen- 
 carron. Now I think that,* had Made- 
 line told Mr. Maclean of a fault, and tried 
 to correct it in him, he would have had 
 more reason to be happy, and to hope 
 too." " You are right," cried he, his 
 countenance brightening as he spoke — 
 while he darted a meaning and delighted 
 glance at me. " Oh ! let woman alone to 
 read and detect the heart of woman ; es- 
 pecially if that woman be in love, Miss 
 Munro. Poor Maclean ! I envy him no 
 longer, for I see he is not beloved" " Not 
 yet ; but he may be soon, laird ; for per- 
 fection is, after all, a dangerous thing to 
 contemplate every day, especially in a
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 313 
 
 handsome young man of eight-and-twen- 
 ty, who prays and preaches so finely, and 
 loves one as his own soul ; especially also 
 to Madeline, when she recollects how 
 he prayed for her, and watched hy her, 
 when — " " There, there — do not recall 
 that period ; besides, I have heard enough 
 of Mr. Maclean's perfections and his 
 claims : pray when do you expect your 
 father back ?'* " In three days." " Now- 
 then indulge me with some music, and I 
 will go." We both sung, and I played 
 to him, and then with a thoughtful, abs- 
 tracted, yet hurried air, he departed. 
 
 To-night, by my mother's desire, I took 
 on myself the task of reading ; and as the 
 window was quite open, and the air still, 
 I could hear distinctly the foot of a man 
 walking slowly under the hedge and then 
 stop. For a moment I was so fluttered 
 that I felt inclined to stop also, but I 
 conquered myself and went on. While 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 3M MADELINE. 
 
 I paused to find one particular hymn, 
 after I had finished reading, Meggie made 
 an excuse to go to the window, and, by a 
 look she gave me, I was sure she saw him. 
 I think I never sung better, or with more 
 devotion. I felt that I was bearing his 
 prayers to heaven with my own ; and I 
 sung one hymn more than usual, and 
 should have gone on, had I not feared 
 that the night air would do him harm. 
 
 Now to take a turn in my flower- 
 garden, and then to bed. Hark ! Sure- 
 ly I heard some one walking under the 
 hedge still ! Can it be he ? I must dis- 
 cover. 
 
 JOURNAL DISCONTINUED. 
 
 It was Glencarron : but he did not at- 
 tempt to enter the garden ; he only gave 
 a letter into the hand of the trembling 
 Madeline, conjuring her to keep its con-
 
 MADELINE. 315 
 
 tents wholly to herself; to weigh well 
 what it contained ; and to remember that 
 on her answer, and her decision, depend- 
 ed the happiness or misery of his life. 
 Alas ! Madeline felt that the happiness 
 or misery of her own depended on it also ; 
 and when he bade her farewell, with tot- 
 tering steps she sought her own apartment 
 again, and broke open the pages which 
 contained her fate. 
 
 I shall now give part of a letter from 
 Mr. Falconer to Major Cameron; and 
 the following extracts from two letters of 
 Major Cameron's to Mr. Falconer : the 
 one was written soon after he left Scot- 
 land, the other recently received. 
 
 M No, Falconer — no; I never won- 
 dered at your attachment ; on the con- 
 trary, I always felt that the merit of the 
 object justified it; nay, I was conscious 
 that I could not have exposed myself to 
 the danger of seeing and hearing her as 
 p2
 
 H10 MADELINE. 
 
 much as you did without becoming your 
 rival ; and I might have given way to my 
 passion with more propriety than you can 
 do; for I have not, like you, a sister who 
 brought me up, who tenderly nursed my 
 orphan and sickly childhood into vigorous 
 manhood, and whose frail health and 
 now endangered life would probably fall 
 the sacrifice of what she must consider a 
 degrading connexion formed by a brother 
 whom she loves with even maternal ten- 
 derness. Your obligations to Lady Ben- 
 lomen form, in my opinion, the strongest 
 objection ; the others are of little -com- 
 parative force. A man always raises a 
 woman to his own rank in life, and Miss 
 Munro's education has fitted her to adorn 
 the highest station : her manners are even 
 as graceful and dignified as those of Lady 
 Benlomen herself. Nor do I think Miss 
 Munro would be so unreasonable as to 
 expect to burthen you with her family,
 
 MADELINE. 317 
 
 and insist on dragging some of them 
 about with her. Still, whenever you are 
 at Glencarron she would expect to have 
 intimate association with them there; and 
 if she did not, would you not think her 
 less amiable, and lose some of your esteem 
 for her ? 
 
 " It is my advice to you, therefore, to 
 quit Glencarron instantly, before this 
 admirable girl's peace is utterly destroyed 
 by your attentions, and your own heart 
 lost beyond the power of recall. That 
 she loves you already I have little doubt : 
 but, take from her attachment the fttei 
 of hope, and it will, I doubt not, die away 
 and be extinguished in absence. This i* 
 a justice, an immediate justice, which you 
 owe her.** 
 
 In his last letter he wrote as follows: 
 " I was not surprised to find you re- 
 turned to Glencarron as soon as you heard 
 how ill this dear girl had been, how de-
 
 318 MADELINE. 
 
 jeeted she still was, and that love for you 
 was supposed to be the cause of it : be- 
 sides, jealousy of the new lover was an- 
 other inducement no doubt; and the wish 
 to avoid the importunities of Lady Ben- 
 lomen to address another woman. But, 
 my dear Falconer, you must now come to 
 an immediate decision. You must either 
 marry the woman you adore, or fly from 
 her again. I still say^fy — and leave her 
 to marry and be happy with this lover in 
 a sphere of life more suited to her birth ; 
 but I agree with you, that it might not be 
 any great hardship to Miss Munro to sepa- 
 rate her from her family, as she lived apart 
 from them so many years ; and that the 
 case would be very different had she never 
 left the paternal roof; and really to call 
 Dobbs brother would bean insupportable 
 misery. Now you are so convinced she 
 loves you that her health has suffered on 
 your account, it must be hard to resign
 
 MADELINE. 19 
 
 her — resign a woman who loves you, as 
 you firmly believe, for yourself alone. 
 Well, my dear fellow! I cannot advise 
 you ; though I must say, whatever you 
 do, do it quickly y for the sake of ecen/ 
 one." 
 
 The following was Mr. Falconer's - let- 
 ler to Madeline: 
 
 " I hesitate no longer : I have already 
 hesitated too long, dearest and loveliest 
 of human beings ; but, while I was cer- 
 tain that I injured my own peace only by 
 indulging myself in your society, I felt at 
 liberty to remain silent, and even to fly 
 from your presence : but now that I 
 sometimes fancy my attachment is re- 
 turned, I am no longer free to go or stay 
 as I was before, and I even feel it a duty 
 which I owe both to you and myself to 
 unload my burthened heart, and give you 
 every explanation possible of it, and of 
 my conduct. It was my intention to do
 
 320 MADELINE. 
 
 the former in that interview which I re- 
 quested of you ; but the next morning 
 brought me a letter from my sister, which, 
 aided by one from Major Cameron, made 
 me resolve to forego my intention, to rly 
 to England, and separate myself from 
 you for ever. I knew that I had not yet 
 committed my honour by any specific de- 
 claration of love, and I was by no means 
 sure that your heart had spoken in my 
 favour so forcibly as to injure your peace. 
 I was scarcely on the road, however, be- 
 fore I repented ; but when I saw my sister, 
 and found that any agitation would destroy 
 her, I resolved to sacrifice myself to her 
 peace, obey her implied command never 
 to name the subject of my love to her, 
 and determined to consider my hasty 
 * God bless thee* as a final adieu. But 
 to remain in England was impossible ; 
 you know the rest. But oh! you do not 
 know what agony I experienced to hear
 
 MADELINE. 321 
 
 at ray return from abroad, and while I 
 was languishing on a sick couch, that 
 you had been at the point of death ; and 
 to find, from the insinuations in Macin- 
 non's letter, that a hopeless attachment 
 was said to be the cause. I instantly told 
 my sister that I could not, would not, 
 consent to address the lady whom she 
 wished me to marry, and soon after, un- 
 known to her, I set off for Glencarron. 
 Shall I, dare I own, that though inex- 
 pressibly shocked to see how changed you 
 were, I was gratified also, because it con- 
 firmed Macinnon's suspicions that my 
 absence had been instrumental to your 
 illness; and when I saw the emotion which 
 my unexpected presence occasioned you, 
 beheld your downcast, conscious eye, and 
 the varying flush of emotion which paint- 
 ed your pallid cheek, every obstacle to our 
 union was forgotten, and I resolved to 
 disclose my passion, and ask a confession 
 p 5
 
 322 MADELINE. 
 
 of yours ; and nothing but the sad ac- 
 counts I have daily received of my sister's 
 health could, since my return, have so 
 long delayed the offer of my hand. But 
 now I must speak, as I am forced to go 
 to England and to her directly ; and I 
 cannot, cannot go unless I previously call 
 you mine. Then, if it be indeed true that 
 I have any interest in that dear heart, con- 
 descend to approve of the plan which I 
 am going to propose to you, forgive its 
 presumption, and by acting upon it make 
 me the most grateful of men. 
 
 " As my beloved sister lies again, appa- 
 rently, on the bed of death, I cannot, dare 
 not, mast not make you my wife, as 1 
 should rejoice to do, in the face of men 
 and of the world ; but deign to let me 
 take advantage of the facilities allowed 
 by the laws of Scotland, and let me make 
 you mine in the presence of credible wit- 
 nesses, till I can lead you publicly to the
 
 MADELINE. 823 
 
 altar, and make my happiness my pride. 
 Macinnon is in my secret ; he was in my 
 father's secret on a similar occasion. He 
 married, as you may have heard, his tu- 
 tor's daughter, and married her originally 
 as I wish to marry you, and Macinnon 
 was sole witness* He is willing to he 
 witness now. Consult no one, but let 
 your own heart be your adviser. Re- 
 member that you can answer for no one's 
 secrecy but your own, and should our 
 bridal hours be clouded over by the death 
 of my sister, which they might be were 
 the intelligence of our marriage 'to reach. 
 her suddenly, I should never know com- 
 fort more, and your happiness would va- 
 nish with mine. 
 
 "■Remember also that if you deny me 
 what I ask ; if you will not be mine on 
 such terms, I will hasten to England, 
 again leave it to join in foreign service, 
 in hopes that some ball, more friendly 
 than the last, will stretch me on the bed
 
 324 MADELINE. 
 
 of honour, and deliver me from the tor- 
 ments of a hopeless passion. 
 
 "Madeline, I cannot, will not live with- 
 out you. Therefore take care how you 
 refuse me. The account of Lady Benlo- 
 men is better to-day, consequently I can 
 give you two days to decide, if you insist 
 upon it : but in the mean while pray let 
 me receive one line in answer. You can 
 inclose it in one of the books which I 
 lent you, and I will call to-morrow. 
 
 " Once more I say consult nothing but 
 your heart. 
 
 "Evan Frederic Falconer." 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the va- 
 rious emotions which tore the heart of 
 Madeline while she read this letter ; but 
 triumphant at first over every other was 
 the dear certainty that Glencarron loved 
 her, wished to pass his life with her, and 
 make her his for ever. But how was he 
 to do this ? Not in the face of the world .
 
 MADELINE. 3*25 
 
 not with the approbation of his and her 
 relations ; but, uncheered by a parent's 
 blessing, unsupported by a sister's pre- 
 sence, she was to steal clandestinely, and 
 not in the temple of the Most High, into 
 marriage, and take the most important 
 step in life in suspicious secrecy ! 
 . It was some hours before Madeline 
 could retire to her bed ; nor then till she 
 had a little unloaded her burthened heart 
 by writing to Glencarron : and thus she 
 replied to him : — 
 
 " • Consult my heart ! ' Alas ! I am but 
 too ready to do so; but I had rather con- 
 sult my judgement; and that commands 
 me to reject your proposal. Still, I will 
 do nothing rashly ; but will not ultimately 
 decide till the two days have elapsed. 
 
 " Oh that you could set me the example 
 of parting for ever with firmness ! as we 
 cannot be united with propriety. 
 
 '• Madeline Munro."
 
 326 MADELINE. 
 
 This note Madeline inclosed in the 
 book, as directed, and with a beating 
 heart she awaited an opportunity of de- 
 livering it at her next meeting with Glen- 
 carron. That meeting took place at the 
 kirk; and the first glance that the lovers 
 exchanged carried hope and happiness 
 to the bosom of each. 
 
 Glencarron walked home with Airs. 
 Munro and her daughters, and unasked 
 followed them into the house. 
 
 Sure, now, that he was beloved, he was 
 not impatient to read the note ; for he 
 thought that she who had regarded him 
 with such tell-tale eyes of fondness could 
 not refuse to grant the suit he had pre- 
 ferred to her : he therefore lingered near 
 her chair anxiously watching for an op- 
 portunity of seeing her alone ; but finding 
 that none was likely to offer, he put the 
 book in his pocket and departed. 
 .He appeared again at the kirk in the af-
 
 MADELINE. 327 
 
 ternoon ; but looked restless and unhappy, 
 and sometimes reproachfully at Madeline. 
 Mrs. Munro informed him that she ex- 
 pected a visit from William and Richard 
 the next day. " Then I insist on it," he 
 replied, " that you all come to Glencarron 
 on Tuesday to spend the day. I am not 
 quite sure that I shall be at home ; but 
 whether I be or not, be sure to come." 
 The mother, fearful that Munro would 
 not like they should visit the laird without 
 him, or even at all, told him she would 
 consider of it, and send her answer. 
 
 I shall omit that part of the journal 
 which contains what I have narrated. 
 
 JOURNAL RESUMED. 
 
 Since I gave you an account of Air. 
 Falconer's letter avowing his love, my 
 mind has been in such a confused state, 
 and my nerves so fluttered, that I have
 
 328 MADELINE. 
 
 not been able to journalize. What shall 
 I do ? How shall I determine ? In the 
 mean while I dare not go to his house ; 
 I dare not give him an opportunity of 
 pleading his suit ; and there I am sure 
 he would contrive one. Besides, my fa- 
 ther would disapprove of my going. How- 
 ever, the rest of the family may go, and I 
 stay at home. Yet that would be very 
 mortifying to Glencarron. But he said 
 he might not be at home. Were I sure 
 he was to be absent, I would venture. 
 
 Sunday night. 
 So ! a note from Glencarron to tell us 
 he shall not be at home till late to-mor- 
 row; therefore he trusts that I shall oblige 
 him by doing the honours of Glencarron 
 to rny brother and Mr. Meredith ; but he 
 regrets that, as he expects to go to Eng- 
 land on Wednesday, he is obliged to 
 invite company when he shall not be
 
 MADELINE. 3-29 
 
 there till lute, if then, to entertain them. 
 Now then I may go, without risk of a 
 tete-a-tete with him, or fear of displeasing 
 my father: I am glad he is not to he there. 
 Still it must be, nay ought to be, business 
 of a very pressing nature indeed to take 
 him from home when he has invited 
 company, especially his inferiors, and / 
 one of the guests too. Yet I cannot 
 doubt his love. 
 
 Alas ! I am very wretched. My heart 
 dictates one line of proceeding, and my 
 judgement, my sense of duty, another. 
 To marry unknown to my parents ! to 
 allow myself to be smuggled into a family 
 that will despise me ! Vet this latter con- 
 sideration weighs with me very little : a 
 sister is not a mother; therefore her right 
 to be consulted is comparatively little : 
 and Glencarron is not a very young man; 
 therefore he is not likely to repent of such 
 a step after he has taken it ; because his
 
 330 MADELINE. 
 
 affection Is not a caprice de lajeunesse*: 
 nor can I fear that he would ever forbid 
 me to associate with my parents and my 
 own family. I know he admires to see our 
 family harmony; and I really believe that, 
 though he will never probably associate 
 with Dobbs, he will in other respects 
 consider my relations as much as I wish : 
 his inviting Richard and William to Glen- 
 carron is a proof of this. But then the 
 secrecy ! No, no ; I never can be his on 
 such terms. 
 
 Monday morning. 
 What a letter have I just received 
 from my father! I must transcribe it, 
 that I may remember it still more, and 
 engrave its contents on my heart. O 
 Glencarron ! thy fate and mine are sealed 
 by it for ever ! 
 
 * A caprice of youth.
 
 MADELINE. 331 
 
 " I am prevented coming home, my 
 dear girl, as soon as I intended, which I 
 the more regret, because I feel I ought 
 to be there just now; the shepherd should 
 not desert his fold when one of his sheep 
 is in danger. Not that the laird is a wolf, 
 Maddie, I do not say that; but he is a 
 far more dangerous thing, a handsome, 
 agreeable, elegant gentleman, and loves 
 thee dearly, child, as I verily believe ; 
 therefore no wonder thou lovest him 
 dearly too. Still I cannot wish thee to 
 marry him, even though he may desire it. 
 And because why, — O Madeline, I am but 
 a poor scribe ; but I trust that He who 
 gave me a father's heart will inspire that 
 heart when I treat of a subject most near 
 and dear to a parent, his daughter's hap- 
 piness here and perhaps hereafter: for 
 who knows how being a great lady might 
 corrupt thee ? Madeline, though thou 
 didst not live with us, we alwavs loved
 
 332 MADELINE. 
 
 thee ; always looked towards thee with 
 lunging love ; and considered thee as 
 some persons do a deposit of money in 
 the bank, a treasure they have to draw 
 upon some day or other, pleasant to think 
 upon, and know that they possess, though 
 they never see it, and have not the use of 
 it. But then the Irvins died, and thou 
 earnest back to us, Madeline, in all thy 
 beauty, and virtue, and filial piety, and 
 the treasure became ours, and we had the 
 use of it; and oh ! so dear is it become, 
 that I know not how we shall ever part 
 with it again. But then parents know 
 that they must part with a daughter to be 
 a wife; and it would be very selfish not 
 to wish to part with her. Aye, but they 
 may hope she will marry so as they will 
 not entirely lose her. They may very 
 reasonably, I take it, for her sake, and 
 their sake, wish her not to marry so high 
 as to be lifted quite above them, and raised
 
 MADELINE. 333 
 
 quite above herself: because why, — those 
 who love her will lose her, and those she 
 goes amongst will look down upon her. 
 O my dear child ! if thou marriest the 
 laird, his proud sister, who, as I have been 
 told, scarcely thinks the ground good 
 enough for her to tread upon, will scorn 
 and frown thee dead ; and tyrannize over 
 thee even more than she does over her 
 brother ; and thou, of gentle nature, wilt 
 droop under her injustice, yield, and die. 
 Yes, Maddie, and then thou wilt pine and 
 pine after thy poor father and mother, and 
 wish to see them and go to them, but in vain . 
 And "Oh !" thou wilt say in thy proud 
 castle far north, where the laird, when 
 he is really a lord, will in all likelihood 
 reside, " Oh! for my ain dear cottage on 
 the burn side, and my ain dear mother 
 to love and to nurse me ! " But she will 
 be far away, Madeline! and so much the 
 better ; for we shall not see thee expire ;
 
 334 MADELINE. 
 
 but thou wilt wish for us, Maddie ! and 
 yet thy last breath will flit among stran- 
 gers ! And shouldst thou live and forget 
 us, why that would be hard too ; but not 
 so hard if thou be'st happy. But wouldst 
 thou be so ? Could Glencarron's love, 
 supposing it to last, make thee amends 
 for giving up thy parents and thy kindred ? 
 Thou hast a loving heart, Madeline ; and 
 could it confine its love to one ? or, say 
 thou hast children, wouldst thou not 
 think, while thou lovedst and fondled 
 them, how thy own poor father and mo- 
 ther loved and fondled thee, and how 
 they must miss thee; and then would not 
 thy happiness be clouded over, my child ? 
 And suppose the laird was kind, and re- 
 ceived us at his house ; couldst thou like 
 to have leave to see thy parents consider- 
 ed as a perpetual obligation and favour ? 
 And what should the like of us do in thy 
 fine castle ? Could we be happy there ?
 
 MADELINE. 335 
 
 Could I do, and talk, and be there in the 
 independence becoming a man, Made- 
 line ? No, never ,• thou mightst receive 
 me; but I would not come to thee: and 
 then wouldst thou be quite happy ? I 
 trow not. Weigh then the matter well 
 before thou consentest to marry the 
 laird, should he propose to thee ; and I 
 think he will; for he now fancies, doubt- 
 less, he cannot be happy without thee : 
 and the like of him always indulge their 
 fancies without looking forward. Yet 
 Glencarron has shown that he does reflect, 
 for he tore himself away from thee, Mad- 
 die; and though some blamed, I respected 
 him for it. But take this to thy heart 
 however, darling; If thou dost marry the 
 laird, and leave thy parents and kindred, 
 and even forget them, we cannot blame 
 or reproach thee, Maddie ; for we first 
 left thee ; that is, we gave thee to the 
 care of strangers ; we consented to part
 
 336 MADELINE. 
 
 with our child for love of gold ; and we 
 deserve punishment. We showed a wick- 
 ed distrust of providence. What though 
 we had many children, and might have 
 more, ought we not to have remembered 
 that he who feeds the ravens would feed 
 them ? But thou didst come back to us, 
 and thou didst love us still ; which was 
 more than we deserved : however, we 
 have had part of our punishment already. 
 We had allowed one sister to be set up 
 above the rest, and the jealousy Bessie 
 feels of thy education and superiority has 
 begun our punishment : where it will 
 end I know not ; but whatever it be, I 
 feel that we deserve it. 
 
 " Now, dearest, let me draw a contrary 
 picture, and paint thee as the beloved 
 wife of Lewis Maclean. — Oh! it were 
 sweet indeed to see thee morning and 
 afternoon every sabbath coming to kirk 
 with thy husband the minister; and while
 
 MADELINE. 337 
 
 we hear Maclean expounding the word 
 of God, or praying till every soul of us 
 was drawn towards heaven. And then, 
 O my honest pride! to think, while I 
 listened and admired, and saw others do 
 so, "This man is my son-in-law!" He 
 the man who turns many to righteous- 
 ness ; he, greater in my eyes, because the 
 humble agent of the Most High. And 
 then, Madeline, to be able to go to thy 
 house ; always sure of a welcome ; able 
 to throw up my weary legs across thy 
 neat chairs ; to say what I please ; do 
 what I please ; eat and drink what I 
 please ; to have thy bairns, perhaps, 
 climbing up my knees, playing with my 
 silver locks, and eager to please and to 
 cherish me; for they have been told 
 grandfather is somebody, and they must 
 pay him all reverence. But this, I own, 
 is mere selfish indulgence, and ought not 
 to avail me any thing ; but to think how 
 vol. i. a
 
 338 MADELINE. 
 
 pleasant it would be for thee, Madeline, 
 to receive the daily bread of life from the 
 lips of love ! thy love considered an ho- 
 nour and a blessing, not a disgrace ; thy 
 family cherished and respected; and then 
 to close with duteous, uninterrupted fond- 
 ness the eyes of thy parents in death ; 
 after having, with thy excellent husband '■ 
 made them supremely happy in life. 
 Would not all this be true happiness, 
 Madeline ? And this could not fail to 
 be thine if thou wert married in thy own 
 station, and married to Lewis Maclean ! 
 I can say no more, my own dear child, 
 but God bless and advise thee ! " 
 
 Aye, but I do not love Lewis Maclean, 
 and / do love Mr. Falconer. However, 
 if I cannot marry the former, I can at 
 least not marry the latter, and even 
 should I sink under the struggle I will 
 not marry him after this letter. No ; I 
 could not resign my parents and my
 
 MADELINE. 339" 
 
 family without anguish of mind, even 
 though sure that Mr. Falconer's love 
 would never grow cold, and his sister not 
 despise me. True, if he, in despair, 
 should join the army again, and fall in 
 battle, I should grieve, and perhaps die 
 broken-hearted : but what would that sig- 
 nify ? Yes ; I will indeed resign Glen- 
 carron and stay with my parents ; but at 
 present I shrink from the idea of marry- 
 ing Lewis Maclean. My dear father! 
 a poor scribe dost thou call thyself ? At 
 least thou art eloquent enough to reach 
 the heart of thy daughter. But O that 
 I could avoid seeing Glencarron again ! 
 since I must refuse and give him up for 
 ever. 
 
 I see Bessie is offended because she 
 did not hear all my father's letter ; but I 
 could not let her see what he said con- 
 cerning my marrying the laird • she was 
 welcome to hear the rest. I see her jea- 
 a2
 
 340 Madeline. 
 
 lousy makes her fear, not desire, my 
 union with him. She could not bear to 
 see me so elevated, though the family 
 would be raised by it. I have heard 
 Mrs. Irwin say, that this sort of jealousy 
 was a stronger passion even than hatred, 
 especially in^ women ; and that sisters 
 were often jealous of the superiority of a 
 sister, aunts of nieces, cousins of cousins, 
 and even parents of children ; in short, 
 that most persons are desirous of being 
 of consequence in the family to which 
 they belong, and the eminence of one 
 member of a family is often wormwood 
 to the feelings of the rest. But what a 
 digression ! Well, I am glad I can at all 
 get away from the deep sorrows of my 
 soul. O Glencarron ! 
 
 A book from Mr. Falconer containing 
 this note : — 
 
 " I met your sister Bessie just now,
 
 MADELINE. 34 1 
 
 dearest of women, and she told me, not 
 as a mark of favour, but on purpose to 
 torment me, I believe, that you have re- 
 ceived a letter from your father, setting 
 the reasons for your marrying Mr. Mac- 
 lean in the strongest light, and that 
 there is no doubt of your compliance! 
 Can this he ? Do you then love him and 
 not me ? If this be not so, you cannot, 
 will not, dare not go to the altar with 
 him. You cannot perjure yourself in 
 the face of heaven, and give your hand 
 to one man when your heart is another s. 
 But do you love me ? O Madeline, if you 
 do not love me, what will become of me! 
 and if you love me, and will not be mine 
 as I request you to be till I can acknow- 
 ledge you as my wife in the face of every 
 one, I have nothing to do but to rush into 
 battle and die in the field of glory. Yes, 
 Madeline, I confess you will have made 
 a hero, but you will have destroyed the 
 a 3
 
 Q/lk 
 
 42 MADELINE. 
 
 tenderest and most faithful of lovers ; 
 therefore pause ere you determine." 
 
 After this note, which has shaken all 
 my resolution, I dare not venture to 
 Glencarron were I not assured that he 
 would not be there. Would that my fa- 
 ther were returned ! Were he by to sup- 
 port my fainting resolution, all would be 
 well. My mother's heart, I see, would 
 incline to favour the suit of Glencarron. 
 She is fonder of the pomp and circum- 
 stance of life than my father is ; besides, 
 she feels herself nearer the laird. She 
 knows herself to be well descended, and 
 remembers that Grahams have inter- 
 married with Falconers before now. And 
 then she sees that the laird admires her, 
 and his admiration is of so much more 
 weight than that of poor Maclean. She 
 would be full as sorry to lose me as my 
 father would be, but she does not admit 
 for one moment the possibility of my be-
 
 MADELINE. 343 
 
 ing lost to her. She is conscious of her 
 sweet and gentle manners, which make 
 her at home in any society, and therefore 
 fears not disdain ; but my father knows 
 himself, and feels that he should be out 
 of his place in the castle of a nobleman. 
 Ought I to let this feeling of his out- 
 weigh all consideration for Glenearron's 
 love and mine ? Surely not, if this were 
 the only thing to be considered; but alas! 
 there were many other truths in his 
 powerful statement, and duty and pru- 
 dence say, " Marry not with Giencarron." 
 Well then, let me gaze once more on the 
 scenes which call him lord ; let me once 
 more behold that picture of him in his 
 early youth ; let me visit again that con- 
 servatory, where I spent so many happy 
 hours, such as my heart then foreboded 
 I should never experience again ; and 
 then I will pen the fatal letter, and drive 
 him hence — " may be to return to Glen-
 
 344 MADELINE. 
 
 carron no more." But if I think that 
 way, I shall never be able to go. William 
 and Margaret, happy beings ! are walk- 
 ing arm in arm before my window. It 
 is well for me that she has her lover to 
 engross her attention, else her affection- 
 ate eye would discover that I had a se- 
 cret. Oh, grief to think I have a secret 
 which I must keep from that dear girl ! 
 
 Tuesday morning. 
 No smoke in the chimneys. Then he 
 is certainly not returned, for there is a 
 chilling mist abroad, and he cannot bear 
 cold; I shall go with perfect security. 
 We are to dine very early, and spend a 
 long day in the grounds ; those grounds 
 of which I may, if I choose, be the mis- 
 tress. Surely it was very artful in Mr. 
 Falconer to entice me to Glencarron, 
 knowing the loveliness of the scene, and 
 how much I delight in it. It was one
 
 MADELINE. 345 
 
 way certainly to carry his point. Yet no, I 
 wrong myself; were the Glencarron pos- 
 sessions mine, and his the cottage by the 
 burn-side, I should feel attracted to the 
 cottage, and for him should willingly resign 
 the mansion. O my beloved friend and 
 monitress ! what would I not give to have 
 you here at this the most awful period of 
 my life ! You, and you alone, could give 
 me an impartial judgement, and on your 
 opinion alone could I implicitly rely. I 
 know not why, but I feel very distrustful 
 of this visit to Glencarron. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 Printed by R. and A. Taylor, 
 Shoe- Lane, London.


 
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