&*> &&!& C s///'//r/ * 3- ruiazn f.jyJ CENTRAL CIRCULATION BOOKSTACKS The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was borrowed on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation/ and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. TO RENEW CALL TELEPHONE CENTER, 303-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN DEC 1 4 1991 i 1331 When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. 78733 LI 62 L I E> R.AFLY OF THE U N IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS 823. S IA32 wv the MAID, WIFE, AND WIDOW, A TALE. IN THREE VOLUMES* BY HENRY SIDDONS, AUTHOR OF VIRTUOUS POVERTY. VOL. I. Xe donne antiche hanno mirabil cose Fatto ne l'arme, e ne le sacre Muse; E di lor opre belle, e glonose Gran lume in tutto il mondo si diffuse, Arpalice. e Camilla son famose, Perche in battaglia erano espertc, cd use. Safo, e Corinna, perche furon dotte, Splendono illustri, e mai non veggon notte. Le donne son venute in ecceilenza Di ciascun'arte, ove hanno posto cura ; E qualunque a l'istorie-abbia avvertenza Ne sente ancor la fama non obscura. Se'l mondo n'e gran tempo state senza, Non pero sempre il mal'iririusso dura. E forse ascosi han lor deb:ti onori L'invidia, o il non saper degli serittori. ARIOSTO- LONDON : PRINTED FOR R. PHILLIPS, BRIDGE- STREET, BLACK-FRIARS. 1806. €ox, Sbnj and Baylis, Printers Great Q\*een S;re.<:r. 8cl3 DEDICATION, THE REV. JOHN MIDDLETON, A, M. MY GOOD SIR, YOU will start back on seeing your name prefixed to a Dedication : let me, however, solicit your patience for a few moments, while I give you my reasons for the step which I have taken. In a research of some moment, / have been, lately, very highly assisted by your friend- ship VI DEDICATION. ship and good-nature ; I take this opper- tunity, therefore, of testifying my grati- tude and my esteem. In our early years we were school-fellows : this gives me an additional motive for ivishing you to ac- cept this trifling tribute cf my cordial good-ivill toward you ! Thai you 7nay (wherever Providence thinks fit to shape your course) meet zcith the success your many valuable qualities so amply merit x will always be one of the most fervent wishes I can breathe. I am well aware y that, from your unassuming knoxvledge, and unaffected goodness, you want no- thing but opportunity to render you a conspicuous ornament of the exalted pro- fession to which you belong. I know that ?ny zaishes can be of Utile avails but they are DEDICATION. Yl* are sincere : and I can truly say with Achilles, in your favourite Homer, 'ExfyU 7«f M- 0i *«v©", opus- w&*o vrvtoaiv "O; x'erepov (jlsv xevQei sv) my good Sir, that I may have the honour to subscribe myself Your obliged and sincere friend, Henry Siddons. Brewer-street, Bloomsbury, March, 18C6. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 201Q with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/maidwifewidowtal01sidd PREFACE- JLhe success of my last book, called " Virtuous Poverty," is the only plea I can urge, in mitigation, of sentence against this second attempt at an intru- sion on the patience of the Town. When I say success, I mean to arrogate nothing more to myself, than the good fortune of finding that the number of copies sold at my Bookseller's, very far exceeded my warmest expectations. I. have no doubt but the work had 9i3» a 3 ny X PREFACE. ny faults ; and, that those faults have been severely criticised, both in private and in public. I bear not the least ill- will to those who have thus censured my performance. As there are some disagreeable circumstances attendant on all the concerns of human life, an au- thor must be very vain, or very igno- rant, who can, for a moment, hope ta taste nothing but the sweets, without the infusion of some bitter drops into his cup of pleasure. I can safely aver, that so far from being surprised at criti- cisms on my attempts, I should be very much astonished if I found none. He who imagines himself all perfection must be most egregiously deceived in- deed, It would be a false assumption of PREFACE. XI of philosophy in any man, to pretend to aver, that the voice of praise or cen- sure is alike indifferent to him. There is something in the sound of approba- tion and of fame, which exalts the most stoical apathy, and stimulates the exertions of the most timid" and the most diffident. My last bookmet with as much candor as I either deserved or ex- pected. The faults which were found I have endeavoured to mend in this, and shall not be disappointed, if I find that I have yet much to go through, be- fore I can satisfy the expectations of the judicious. I trust to the same im- partial justice which I had the good fortune to experience in the former in- a 4 stance, M PREFACE. stance, and I trust to it with an impli- cit confidence. Many of my friends have complain- ed of my work, as being of too grave a nature. I dare say that their objec- tions are founded on the most reasona- ble grounds. I am far from being hurt : lam most truly obliged to them tor the candid declarations of their sen- timents, even although those sentiments happen not to be in my own favor ; nor do I, by any means, intend to call their judgment into question, in the de^ fence I am about to set up for myself in this charge. It was always my opi- nion, that a novel ought to have some strong moral for its ground- work : that it PREFACE, Xlll ft should elucidate the happy effects of cultivating the virtues, and, at the same time, expose the certain miseries which are attendant on the violation of the duties of social life. Such have ever been my sentiments on the sub- ject. I find I am far from doing jus- tice to my own ideas, in the execution of my designs; but I have the satisfac- tion to find, that the same idea has been pursued by men, very, far my superiors in the literary lists, and that honors and success have crowned their efforts in the cause of truth and virtue, . I shall take the liberty to mention. an instance of this kind, which relates to a living author. Mr. Pratt, to a 5 whom XIV PREFACE. whom the world has often been obliged for many elegant effusions of the muse,, once wrote a novel which did a most es- sential piece of service to the commu- nity at large. A book had been pub- lished, where dissimulation had been recommended as a virtue, and insince- rity ranked among the arts of life: se- duction was painted in the robes of a grace, and every moral duty was laid prostrate before a false deity called Po- liteness. Declamation might long have thundered in vain against the growth of such an evil : Mr. Pratt strangled the hydra with the nervous grasp of ridicule. The monster fell by his efforts ; and the " Pupil of Pleasure 19 soon effected what more laborious attempts had long toiled, PREFACE, XV toiled, in vain, to accomplish. Though this work was much connected with then existing circumstances> there is so much pointed observation, mingled with such real touches of the pathetic,, that any reader may yet find his hours well employed, in the perusal of Mr» Pratt's very amusing and instructive work. I hope the gentleman alluded to will pardon me, for having taken this liber- ty with his name; but, however he may slight my sentiments on this head, I assure him, that they have at least, the virtue of sincerity to recommend them.- selves to his attention. The minor vices are the game of the novelist ; the great - a 6 er XVi Fit E F A C E. er crimes must be left to the care of the, Persius's and the Juvenals of the day.— lt Yet, not unconscious of this awfnl age, " I mark what new conflicting systems rage ; " Systems, which, laugh to scorn th'avenging rod, " And hurl defiance to the tin-one of God -, fi Shake pestilence abroad with madd'ning sweep, " And grant no pause, but everlasting sleep. ee Blood-guiltiness their crime, with hell they cope ; t( No flesh, no spirit, now must rest in hope,. ' f But, under foliage dark, and cypress gloom, tsc Thesculptur'd mock'ry marks the marble tomb 1 .'* Pursuits of Literature, page&Q. " If these, disgust to serious cares attend., " And make serene philosophy your friend, *' Pen some choice fragment in the genuine taste 5 " Each power combin'd of wit and learningwaste, « Smart PREFACE. XVli (f Smart and concise, with deepest meaning " fraught; (C Neat be the types, and the vignettes high u wrought: " With frontispiece, to catch the gazer's eye " Treason the pile, the basis blasphemy." Pursuits of Literature, page 81. Here we behold the muse of satire soaring the flights of an eagle : but, the very humble essays of a novel are kept within bounds still narrower and more circumscribed. A book of the last-men- tioned species pretends to little more than to amusement : if it can be allow- ed utility, it is a praise, for which the writer ought to hold himself obliged and grateful. I think XVlll PREFACE. I think it necessary to state one more circumstance, before I proceed to the commencement of my work. When my last book appeared, many of my friends took it into their heads, that se- veral of my imaginary dramatis persons were real characters, and perplexed me by enquiring whether they were meant for Mr. or Mrs. Such-a-one. To put a stop to this unfair mode of questioning, I thus openly declare, that I do not mean to compliment or satirize any man or woman now living, in this, my pre- sent work, entitled, " The Maid, Wife, " and Widow." The fable, whether good or bad, originated in my own fan- cy > and, if the characters bear a resem- blance to any lady or gentleman who may PREFACi. XJX may chance to read it, I repeat, that the similitude is purely accidental > nor have I the least motive or wish, to ele- vate or decry the character or conduct even of one solitary man or woman. Impertinent as this caution may seem, I have found it a very necessary one ; and the story of the grotesque painter, prefixed to one of our best novels, has, in my instance at least, turned out to be no fable. A man, while writing a book of the nature of a novel, if he does his duty to society, is bound, during the pro- gress of his work, to guard carefully against the admission of any scenes, or sentiments, that may be offensive to the delicacy XX P R E F A C E. delicacy of the female portion of his readers- While anixous to accomplish this end, he is apt to run into another extreme, and make his book a very sen- tentious one. Let it be admitted that this is an error : it will be granted, at the same time, that it is an error on the right side of the question. It would not be at all fair to say to such a writer* do you mean by this to infer, that you are a better man than your neighbours ? Do you hold up yourself to them as a pattern and an example I An author thus circumstanced, could only reply» that it was his book, not himself, that he sends into the world. His own er- rors can only operate in the confined circle PREFACE, XXI -ch'de to which he is prescribed, but that he cannot tell what mischief his printed sentiments might disseminate abroad. Against this evil he is bound to provide. His compact with society ties him, as a man of honor, to these conditions ; and, though I would not plead an exemption from the infliction of critical punishment for being dull, yet I will and must contend, that there are some writers who merit a double portion of severity, writers, who make their books a vehicle for all which should be concealed from the eye of innocence and purity. I shall conclude this long preamble, with saying, that, if attacked in the words SXIi PREFACE, words of Horace, I should derive my defence from the same author. -Nunc aliquis dicat mihi, quid tu -" Nullane habes vitia ? Imo, alia et fortasse " minora. -Laedere gaudes * f Inquit, et hoc studio pravus faciSj unde peti- '? turn in me he placed no sort of confidence. In despair^ he was on the verge of giving up the cause he had es- poused, when he saw Juliana Sendon bounding towards him ; health and be- nevolence blushing on her cheek, and sparkling in her eye* She took him by the arm as she was wont, and begged him to shew her some pretty walk. In his strolls he had marked the country for many miles round, and could select the bold, the soft, the romantic or the ter- rific, as it suited the fancy of his inter- esting companion. A lucky thought- darted across his mind at the moment d 3 she - 34 THE MAID, WIFE, she made her request : he gently led htr to the cottage of old Cuthbert ; Ade- laide came out to meet him, Juliana heard the whole of this little history with tears, tears wh'ch flowed from a double cause, the sorrows of the Cot- tagers was one, but their chief source was an ardent admiration of the good- ness, generosity, and delicacy of Gus- tavus. When she came to converse with Adelaide she was quite thunder- struck : she visited her every day, and begged to be allowed the gratification of calling her by the name of friend : Adelaide blushed consent. Juliana played over all her fascinating arts to captivate her father, and Sir George, who lived but in her smiles, asked what he could do to contribute to her hap- piness ? She seized the propitious mo- ment, threw herself at his feet, and conjured him, as he valued her peace of AND WIDOW. 55 of mind, to exert his influence in the behalf of Cuthbert. Sir George clasp- ed her to his heart ; a stream of rap- ture gushed down his cheek as he com- plied with this request. He had great difficulty in diverting my father from the plans of vengeance he had been contriving for the humilia- tion of the old soldier. To submit, in any way, to an inferior, was an idea most painful to his pride. Such, how- ever, were the advantages which cir- cumstances had placed in the power of the Baronet, that he found himself al- most compelled to comply with his re- quests : Cuthbert was therefore released from every perplexity. Gustavus, the agent of all the good which had thus taken place, only washed to remain in obscurity : he knew he was no favo- rite at home, and feared thai his inter- ference might prove an injury to thoss d 4 he 5-6 THE MAID, WIFE> he wished to serve. He had some rea- son ; for where partiality is shewn In families, errors are sure to cloud and darken the faculties of all parties con- cerned : every thing is seen through a false medium ; the passions are roused but the judgment is perverted : confu- sion, hatred, jealousy, and mischief are the bitter fruits of the ungracious seed ! ! The time was arriving when my brother was to return to his acade- my. Juliana grew restless and uneasy : he had been her friend and her com- panion - y from him she had no secrets. Her father always supplied her with as much money as she desired : she now grew eager to obtain all she could. Arm in arm, they every day strolled to the cottage of Cuthbert : there she en- quired of her sister (the appellation she had now given to Adelaide) the state of all the neighbouring tenantry. Gustavus AND WIDOW. 57 Gustavus sometimes went by himself on the same search, and brought her the little histories of all the unfortunates he had met with in his tour. s5 CHAP- 5.8 THE MAID, WIFE,. CHAPTER IV. Such was the account I received; from Adelaide : Oh! how. bitter then were my self-reproaches ! It is true that I was unconscious of having done any harm.; but how vile, how nega- ive a praise did this appear, in contra- tdistinction to the godlike attributes of doing good ? My bed of sickness had. been to me my best school of humani- ty. From the hour that Adelaide con- cluded her little history,. I formed a fix- ed and solemn resolution to examine my heart and model it anew ;. to make every concession to my brother, and. never to be at rest till I had regain- ed-. AND WIDOW. 59 ed his confidence and secured his affec- tions. I clearly saw that our mutual coldness had originated in the misma- nagement of others. I flattered my- self it was net yet too late for the ac- complishment of these delightful vi- sions : the voice of nature was new to my ear and every accent vibrated on my heart strings* My father with his physician visited me every day. No poor wretch dread- ing the amputation of a limb, ever looked with more anxious enquiry into the face of a. surgeon. My feelings were, however, very different from those of ordinary patients: I feared my recovery as heartily as they usually pray for theirs.. The fatal, sentence would tear me from the cottage of Cuthbert \ from Adelaide,, from all I now held dear ail earth. Her sense, her filial piety, her p 6 unassuming 60 THE MAID, WIFE, unassuming feeling manners, bad made a convert of me. She sometimes read to roe for hours together : then would I rivet my eyes upon her face, to mark the fine, the variegated emotions pen- cilled by that glorious artist, Nature, upon her animated countenance. How did I wish Fate had ordained me her brother, or that Fortune had made her my Equal. My Equal ! Rash, vain,- presumptious-man that I was ! In eve- ry thing she was my Superior ; in all that gave dignity to reason, grace to virtue, or glory to humanity ! ! ! I need scarcely add, that esteem was soon converted into passion. The sad mo- ment at last arrived when the physician declared that in three days time I might be removed with safety to my father's house. I shuddered as he pronounced the fatal sentence. My mother had been amused with a fable of my being on AND WIDOW. 61 on a visit with a young nobleman in the neighbourhood, and thus secured from the anxieties she must otherwise have suffered on my account. As my time for leaving the cottage approached I was pleased to observe a melancholy sadness pervade the fea- tures of its tenants. Adelaide seemed to have lost her usual chearfulness. She would sit for a length of time ab- sorbed in silent thought : I could often hear a sigh escape from the bottom of her heart ; and once observed tears in her eyes as they were mournfully turn* ed upon me. The day before I left- her, I placed a ring on her finger, and sadly murmured, " I must leave you,. " Adelaide : would that my wound " had proved incurable. The sufferings w of this moment exceed all I have " hitherto endured. A few days will f pass ( &2 THE MAID, WIFE, ee pass away, my memory will be obli- " terated from your mind, and I shall " then be to Adelaide as though I ne- u ver had been 1. " Adelaide observed me with an ex- pression which penetrated to my very soul. She mildly reproached me for imagining she could forget me : she added, that she would convince me of the injustice I had done her, then open- ing the port -folio where she kept her drawings, produced a head which I immediately knew to be my awn, " This is traced from memory^ " said she: "judge then if it is not more re- " tentive than you have imagined. ' I was petrified with surprise and pleasure. I seized her hand, whilst I passionately exclaimed, " Am I, am I " then so blest ? Does the happy " Mowbray share with Gustavus in the " heart of Adelaide ? " AND WIDOW. 63 She blushed and trembled ; then with nn air of candour and ingenuity, which art could neither imitate nor describe, frankly told me, she felt more interest- ed for ?ne, than she had done for my brother : she confessed, that it would give her the most sincere satisfaction to hear of him, yet she thought that to know he was happy would be sufficient for her tranquillity; but that her repose would depend on seeing me so. The artless creature then knew not that this was the most ample confession of love. Unconscious of our actions, we pledged our young-and inexperienced hearts to each other. I had plighted my faith to a peasant : I, the son of the proudest man in England ! My father entertained not the, least suspicion of this nature .- he considered himself and family so highly exalted above the rest of the world, that he would 64 THE MAID, WTFE, would have thought the circumstance impossible. Unluckily for his prejudices, my heart had undergone a thorough re" volution : every trace of my former opinion was worn away ; visions of the most soft, tender, and romantic nature, had seized my soul, and taken posses- sion of its every faculty. I frequently visited at the cottage, where I was ever welcomed with smiles, The Sne eyes of Adelaide sparkled as I approached : never was man more honorably, more deeply enamoured. I had not courage to drop one hint of this before my pa- rents : such a confession would have ruined my hopes for ever ! My pros- pects of reconciliation with my brother* too, were all most unhappily frustrated. A new theme of dispute had arisen from his lofty disposition. He was now arrived at an age when it was necessary that some provision should be made for him 9 AND WIDOW. 65 him : a very advantageous proposal pre- sented itself which was to forward him in the army, but money was requisite for the accomplishment of it. He was now so accustomed to live with Colonel Raynall, that the worthy veteran view- ed him in the light of a son. Had he possessed the wanted sum, Gustavus need not have made application to any one ; but this not being the case, he wrote his desires to his parents. My father had great projects in my favor then revolving in his brain 5 to them he had consecrated every guinea he could raise : he was, therefore, un- willing to spare so much to a younger son. Unknown to me, and not con- tent with refusing his petition, he ac- companied his denial with expressions which stung him to the soul. He sent an answer, which purported that he would no longer be considered a bur- then €>6 THE MAID, WIFE, then on any of his relatives, and from that moment gave up every claim on all who were connected with him. Short- ly afterwards we received a letter from Colonel Raynall, informing us that the high-minded young man had suddenly left his house and was gone — he knew not whither. My heart died within me on the reception of these melancholy tidings. He had flown from me, and without knowing how much I both loved and admired him ! He had every reason to think me selfish, mean, and ungenerous ; that he had been denied the necessaries of life, to pamper me in luxuries I Innocent as I was, I was shocked to think of his treatment. I communicated all these regrets to my lovely Adelaide. She shed many a pre- cious tear to the memory of her young benefactor \ but, at the same time, com- forted me with assurances which ten- ded AND WIDOW. 67 ded more to lighten that dead weight with which my heart was oppressed, than all the labored arguments of Phi- losophy could have effected. Cuth- bert wished to Heaven he knew where he was, that he might have immediate- ly conveyed his little all to him. Spite of the jargon of would-be sceptics and philosophers, the heart of man is natu* rally prone to gratitude, and kindness to inferiors is seldom seed cast on a bar- ren soil ! Time at length soothed our regrets ; but a storm was now gather- ing which seemed to menace the de- struction of our tranquillity. My father, one morning, called me into his study, and, in a long discourse, recapitulated all he had done for me from my childhood; told me how much both the world and himself would now -expect from me s and concluded by in- forming 68 THE MAID, WIFE, forming me, that he was in daily ex- pectation of the arrival of Sir George Sendon, requesting me to hold myself in readiness to accept the hand of Juli- ana. I trembled and turned pale. Sternly eyeing me, he thus addressed me : " I , " though I her father say so ; and little " as your family may think of the " daughter of Cuthbert, she has had s 3 * offers 78 THE MAID, WIT£, " offers from .... No more of that. — " She is descended from a race — but I" " would not affront you. — Well, well: " your father, Sir, has just sent for me : " he accuses me of wishing to entrap his " son into a marriage which would dis- *-' grace his family. My daughter clis- •* grace ! the proud ! but he is your fa- *' ther; the father of Gustavus. I have " told him he may set his heart at rest : tc I have a spirit high as his own. I " have pledged my word to him that " you come no more to my cottage : « then, Sir, as you value the honor of " a soldier, or the reputation of a sol- " dier's child, I beg that we may never " see your face again." I turned my eye on Adelaide, and we surveyed each other with looks that mocked description. At that moment ^Frederick entered the cottage : he ga- zed with astonishment, as he surveyed the AND WIDOW. 79 the statues of dumb despair which stood before him. His father related all that had happened. " Father ! father ! you " are too hasty/' said he : " I know " they love each other, and why should " you perplex them so r* " Why /do not his family despise " us?" c * Well, father, and who is to blame " for that ? poor Mowbray does not " despise us. Only look at him : his " heart is ready to break. Would you '.* kill him for what his father does ? " Now, that seems to me, just as if I " was to beat our lamb, because tbe " sheep had broke through the hedge." I saw that Frederick was my friend. I grasped him by the hand. Cuthbert stood musing and suspended. He look- ed me and his daughter wistfully in the face : he saw that the sorrows there de*. picted were not feeble ones : he was E 4 agitated, 80 THE MAID, WIF£, agitated, he leaned his grey head down- ward and hid his face in his hands. J hoped that the ice at his heart was be- ginning to thaw. At that instant I caught the eye of Adelaide : we both approached and dropped on our knees before him. He felt the force of the appeal nature made to his heart : he advanced, extended his arms over our heads in the attitude of blessing us, when. . . . u Dishonorable Traitor !" thundered forth a voice, which ri vetted us all to the spots where we were pla- ced. I raised my eyes, and saw those of my father glaring full in the face ot Cuthbert, with an expression which at once conveyed the idea of anger, sar- casm, and resentment. The cottage was in a moment filled with servants* Guthbert listened, calm and undaunt- ed, to the injurious epithets which were poured upon him. When the torrent had AND WIDOW* 81 had subsided, he raised his head with inexpressible dignity, and spoke as fol- lows : u Your conduct, Sir, has released " me from a promise, which I now own " has been painful to me. You are a " man like myself: I shall therefore cc make no more concessions - } bind " myself by no more promises. The " young people who now stand before " us are equal in the eyes of their Cre- " ator, they shall henceforward be so " in mine. Heaven has allowed to all " the right of selection, and toheaven and added, that by remov- ing herself for ever from my sight, she hoped my heart and mind would in time regain their wonted tranquillity, and my family be restored to the re- pose she had so unfortunately disturbed Ye who have feelings, ye can conceive my agonies ! ! ! All my tears, all my prayers, were ineffectual. Ade- laide, convinced she had an heroic du- ty to go through, was determined to perform, AND WIDOW. 91 perform it like heiself. I addressed her mournful, sobbing father : " Oh, Cuthbert ! Cuthbert ! plead " for me, save me : snatch me from " the horrors that surround me!" . He folded me to his heart, and with mingled tears and groans replied : ■ " Alas ! alas ! you touch me to the ic quick. You know how much I once et loved you : how fondly I once che- H rished the idea of . . . But I was " vain : I was foolish, Misery must " be the consequence of your perseve- " ranee : misery to my child and ruin ■« to myself." These last words acted like an elec- trical stroke upon Adelaide. She col- lected all her fortitude and spoke as follows : " Saints and Angels witness, my " dear Mowbray, how much this part- 's ing shocks me ; but an imperious " duty 92 THE MAID, WIF£ 5 1 " duty now calls upon me for exertion. u At this moment a carriage is waiting (( to bear me from you for ever. Re- " solutely I enter it : resolutely I retire. " Yet whatever be my fate" .... Unwilling tears choaked her utterance. She was recovered by the entrance of a servant, who in a low tone announ- ced that the vehicle was ready. Trem- bling every limb, she regarded me. " Adieu! adieu! my hour is come! ! * she cried •: Cuthbert, violently moved, could scarcely support her as she fell back in his arms. I could not stir. My feet were root- ed, as by some unseen power, to the spot were I stood. " Oh night I oh death ! " was all I could exclaim. Shadows danced be- fore my eyes : I caught the servant by the arm : I could scarcely distinguish any thing. I strained my eyes to catch the AND WIDOW. iS the last glimpse of Adelaide, as she floated out of the apartment. The servant reached me a glass of water ; I swallowed it, and it revived me. My sight began to clear ; but the only object which could delight or charm it, was vanished, gone, fled, for ever ! ! ! Misery ; universal triumphant mise- ry ! could thy malice be carried far- ther ? Impossible ! CHAP- 94 THE MAID, WIFE, CHAPTER VII. A mournful silence, a suspension of every faculty of my soul, followed the melancholy event I have just been rela- ting. I spoke not; I heeded not any thing which passed around me. A fe- ver followed. My father, my mother, and several of the domestics came to my bed-side ; but they glided in and out like unheeded shadows. My heart was chilJ, cold as marble : not so my frame, that was all one furnace. My illness abated, but left a languor upon me for many weeks. I was redu- ced to more than woman's weakness : the jarring of a doer made me start, the AND WIDOW. 95 the slightest accent of tenderness melt- ed me to tears. I sat for hours together staring on the fire, and would there fan- cy shapes that fed the deep, the full despair and desolation that possessed me. My parents at times seemed to mourn the dejection they had occasion- ed. The physician declared that no- thing but temporary dissipation could remove the alarming symptoms my health was attacked with. A journey to London was proposed. All places were alike to me, and I readily com- plied. I left the habitation of my ances- tors without a sigh : the proud pile had charms for my parents, to me it had none. We passed the cottage of Cuth- bert s it was almost a rain. The windows were broken, the honey- suckles lay neglected- on the ground ; all was sad as the sigh I heaved from the bottom of my heart. I saw Lon- don &6 THE MAID, WIFE, don without emotion. We put up at a large hotel were Sir George and his daughter were waiting for us. It was now some time since I had seen Juliana : her figure was improved, and she might with justice have been termed a beautiful young woman. But what was beauty now to me ? We were coldly civil to each other, but we were no more. Sir George Sendon observed this formality in our manners, and glanced some very significant looks towards my father : the young lady her- self appeared pleased with my indiffe- rence. Colonel Raynall was now in town. He waited on my parents and was coldly received. I contrived, however, to take him apart, and inquire whether he had gleaned any tidings relative to my brother. With tears in his eyes, he assured me he had made every in- quiry AND WIDOW* S7 quiry concerning him, but to no pur- pose. The winter rolled on in all the frivolous amusements of the metropolis. My father insisted on my attending Sir George and his daughter to several pub- lic places; but I carried thither nothing but a melancholy countenance and an aching heart. From what was going forward, I could not avoid thinking that my father was duping his friend with hopes, it was never my intention to consummate. What could I do? Miss Sendon was so cold and so reser- ved in her deportment towards me, that I dared not open my mind to her. No_ thing could exceed the perplexities of my situation : I was perpetually com- pelled to appear in public with Juliana^ and public report was thus corroborated. This farce was carried on through two whole years. A heavy gloom saddened her coun- Vol. I. f tenance ; 98 THE MAID, WIFE, nance ; and the frequent sighs which escaped her, when unobserved by her father, gave evident tokens that all was not well in her bosom. The third win- ter we spent in London -, the news-pa- pers announced our marriage. I could no longer endure the idea of acting with duplicity ; I therefore resolved to write those sentiments to Miss Sendon, which diffidence forbad my uttering to her face. I sat down, thetefore, with an aching heart and trembling hand, and, after many blottings and tearings, pro- duced. the following epistle : " To Miss Juliana Sendon. " M/\DAM, " The subject on which I am te now compelled to write is of a na- < c ture so very delicate, I am really at " a loss in what terms to address you. u You may have heard, amiable Miss " Sendon, AND WIDOW. 99 * c Sendon, of the disputes which have " arisen in our family. I cannot ima- " gine you ignorant of the origin of ct these disputes : permit me, therefore, " to say, your Coldness and silence on wondering. He died, receiving every comfort from the young trader, and his last words were, " Isaac ! Isaac ! you c< are a good young man ; but what " would you have been, if you had " turned out a scholar !" He was of a placid temper, and was never known to be irritated by the un- reasonable complaints of his father, or any other person ; to cast up his ac- counts, or to solve a problem, were at once his business and his amusement. Stern as Mentor, he smiled at the at- tempts of Cupid : and yet he married. — Why ? — Did he feign a passion he did not feel ? — no ! one of his patrons in business had a daughter he wished to marry off his hands -, the young lady wanted to leave her father, that she might avoid ten quarrels a day with her mother : she had no dislike to young Durnsford, he had no aversion to. her. He AMD WIDOW* 177 He could square the whole transaction by the rule of right ; the line A. R, was found equal to that of D. E., and thus the affair was finished Let me try to sum up the characteristics of this worthy man : economy without mean- ness, coolness of head without hardness of heart, justness of thought without labor of the brain, were formerly the chief ingredients in his composition ; time and circumstances had ameliorated the more chilly and unamiable particles, at the same time that they had invigo- rated all that was generous or praise- worthy. As I have said he married without passion, it may be supposed that he made but an indifferent hus- band : on the contrary, that calculat- ing, cool disposition, which enabled him to draw just conclusions on every other subject, was the means of his de* during proper arguments from that of i 5 matrimony, 178 THF MAID, W1F2T, matrimony. He solved the problem of married life as well as he was able: some of the angles are sharp, he would say ; but take the good with the bad and they will prove equilateral* His wife turned out a very bad-tempered woman ; but he bore it with a, patience that evinced, that while some of his neighbours thought him a dull, he was in reality, a wiser man than the major part of them. His affairs now called him to one of the largest sugar islands in the West- Indies. His wife attended him on this voyage, which she rendered as unplea- sant as possible to him by her perpetual complainings and ill humours. . A year after their residence there, she was delivered or a son. Durnsford was in hopes that this pledge of affec- tion would have softened the asperi- ty of her temper $ but his hopes were vain. AND WIDOW. 179 vain. He bore his troubles like a man ; and, as Fortune crowned all his other schemes with success, he could not think that one unlucky difficulty could mar the whole beauty of the problem of life. His son grew up to man's estate, and gave him farther theme for uneasi-* ness ; he lived perpetually among the slaves, and imbibed notions from a gen- tleman who came to settle on the island of the most dangerous and alarming tendency. This new-comer was tinged with the modern philosophy, and had fallen out with the present system or things : he had, likewise, taken, a great affection to that kind of anima3> which our illumine are pleased to denominate a social savage. Young Durnsford had caught this contagion till it was quite incurable : he panted for the life of a wild Indian : he longed to hunt down his food by day and to sleep in a cavern i 6 by 130 THE MAID, WIFE, b night ; to repose on feathers and be clothed in skins. The sociableness of , meals and the graces of conversation, he affected to despise. He heated his imagination until he began to long to put his system into execution. His fa- ther had a female slave, called Zayda, to whom he had most firmly attached himself. In vain had all his friends at- tempted to set the folly of his conduct before his eyes. His boyish brain was turned with his own chimerical projects^ and he literally ran off with his swarthy companion, leaving the following note for his parents : " From this hour I renounce the " foolish, the frivolous art of writing $ * from this hour I become the son of u Nature, the tenant of the world. " With Zayda I fly. I abandon the " idle society of those, who miscall iS themselves civilized. I go to live 6( as. AND WIDOW, 181 *' as man was formed to live ; with " Nature for my judge, and inclination " for my law. Adieu ! May you be " happy your own way : suffer me to be " so in mine. All attempts to seek for " me will be in vain. ,, Mrs. Durnsford lingered several years after this accident ; but an Indian arriving, who brought word that the young man and his companion had been found starved to death on a moun- tain, she grew evidently worse, and at length died of sorrow. Durnsford, left alone in the world, gave way to a deep melancholy. He could no longer find resources in his darling Euclid : age was coming fast upon him, and he now began to see existence on its most gloomy side. He staid abroad after these melancholy events until he had amassed a considerable fortune. He then came to England, and built an elegant house. 182 THE MAID, WIFE, house. The reputation of his vast riches drew a number of persons around him, and his mind began to be divert- ed with society- During this period he made many observations on the human character; and comparing them accord- ing to his early precision, formed in his latter days his opinions of mankind, viz. That the mass of men is neither so good, nor so bad, as is generally re- presented by partial persons on both sides of the question : that to live with the world required some caution with a little prudence, properly blended -, as too much of the one made a man hate fid, and too large a quantity of the other ex- posed him to be a dupe. With all his exactitude, however, he yet lived to be deceived. A man of habits similar to his own,, came to reside in his neighbourhood ; a cool reflecting personage, and like himself AND WIDOW. 183 himself a great proficient in the ma- thematics. As he found a life abstrac- ted from business, after having been accustomed to it from his early infancy was attended with tedium and disgust, he was rejoiced to find a companion with a soul in unison- with his own ; one with whom he might pass most of his hours in a kind of mental calm, with whom he might solve problems^ smoke a tranquil pipe, and converse on trade in all its branches. This man seemed so cool and so unimpassioned in most of his undertakings, that Mr. Durnsford placed the highest confidence in his judgment and his knowledge of the world. His friend had formed a scheme which was (as he made it clear- ly appear) certain of realising a large property in a very short time, but was prevented from putting his projects into execut ion by the want of a capital to begin 184 THE MAID, WIFE, begin with : though, he said, he couic! give any one who would assist him with the requisite sum, a surety of making twelve per cent for their money, by allotting them a share in the concern. The worthy Isaac saw that the want of money to prosecute this scheme made him very low spirited. Norbury, his friend, had a large family who look- ed up to him for support. Isaac Durnsford was one of those men, who da not perform foolish actions at every request of unreasonable friends;, but, spite of all his care and circum- spection, no man was capable of doing more generous ones. He had been called a close-fisted fellow, because he had refused some hundreds to a couple of idle cousins to pay their gaming debts : but, twice in his life, when two relatives had an opportunity of settling hemselves in a lucrative line of com- merce^ AND WIDOW. 185 merce, he became bound in their be- half for fifteen thousand. I give these traits of his disposition, that I may, at the same time, curtail my narrative, and present a full-length picture of" the man. CHAR 186 TiSE MAID, WIFE, CHAPTER IV. Sketch of the Life and Character of Mr. Isaac Durnsfordy continued. After much deep contemplation oil the subject, Durnsford thought it a great pity that his friend Norbury should fail in prospects which appeared so feasible, when a little money might put him in a way of retrieving a life, which, with- out any apparent imprudence, had been crossed and thwarted with such an un- common portion of ill luck: he deter- mined therefore to advance him the specified sum, at the same time making up his mind to secure a branch of the busi- AND WIDOW. 187 business in his own hands. Norbury was all gratitude when he learned the generous resolutions he had formed in his favor. The writings were drawn up, the money lent, and the property purchased in their joint names for a se- ries of years. Isaac thought he had reason to congratulate himself on ha- ving performed this liberal action : all of a sudden, however, Mr. Norbury and his family vanished, with notes, bills, and property to an immense a- mount. The fortunes of Durnsford sunk be- neath this heavy stroke. He was ad- vancing fast towards old age, and hi s grey locks daily informed him of the mournful truth. His coolness, how- ever, did not forsake him : he sold his fine house, applied (to those whose for- tunes his former industry had raised) for employment, and, such was the high esti- 188 THE MAID, WIFE, estimation in which his upright cha- racter was held, that he obtained his wishes without the least shadow of a difficulty. The behavour of his ungrate- ful relatives soured the milk of human kindness in his bosom : they treated him with such shameless neglect, after ha- ving been meanly subservient to him in his prosperous days, that, for the first time in his life, he took an oath. The vow he made imported, that if he ever retrieved his affairs, nothing should in- duce him to hold any intercourse with these hypocrites during his life, or tempt him to make the sligh est provision for them at his death. This was the only subject that ever excited his gall. The name of a relative always made him ir- ritable, and he was constantly offended with any one who mentioned them in his hearing. Such was his amazing ca- pacity for business, that he was once more AND WIDOW. 1S9 raore made partner in a sugar-house ; a few successful years cleared him from all incumbrances, and the name of Durnsford again began to be enrolled in the list of the richest men in the city of London. The summer-flies of his prosperity now again wished to be buz- zing about him ; but it would not avaii. He calmly passed them, and either ap- peared to have forgotten them when he met them, or gave them an answer which they could not mistake. Severe fits of the gout began to attack him, and make him think of his end with very serious contemplation. Justly irritated at the unworthy treat- ment he had received from his family, he had resolved to leave all his money lor the building of an hospital. Here various difficulties arose. Could he have met with any young persons, whose dispositions and characters w r ere such as he 190 THE MAID, WIFE* he could have approved of 5 with na* tures adapted to the true use of wealth, the pouring it forth like the dews of Heaven on poverty and distress, Isaac Durnsford would have hugged the ob- jects to his heart, and made them the adopted children of his old age. Such a character he at length met in Ade- laide, the daughter of Cuthbert. An old house -keeper, who lived with him and who was now his only confidential friend, first pointed her out to his notice. She praised the young lady as a perfect woman. Durnsford satirically mur- mured, " a perfect woman f" and stretched out his right leg, wrapped up in flannel, from an easy-chair, where he had been describing an equilateral triangle with one of his crutches on the ground — , WIFE, of without shame and confusion. What an effect, then, must it have had on the mind of an old soldier? In his cottage he had spurned the idea of marry mg his daughter into the Landford family by steaith. : his girl, too, had conquered a passion, pure as angels can conceive or breathe. The old man was outrageous : Frederick acted with more policy. Seeing his father agitated and confused, with great persuasion and entreaty, he at length got a sight of the letter. He pretended to be very calm : he called the aid of religion tohis father's passions, and bad him remember, that he was a Christian, as well as a soldier. Cuth- bert was lulled by this device. Nothing was more distant from the thoughts of the young man than tame- ly putting up with the insult his sister had met with. In his language and manner he had somewhat of t he pea santj AND WIDOW. 199 sant, but in his sentiments he had more of the hero. Early next mom he knock- ed at Mr. Blazon's gate, and was in- formed that he was not at home : this did not satisfy him ; he brushed by the servant, and forced his way up stairs. He at last found Mr. Blazon at break- fast, with a numher of papers before him. He desired his unexpected visi- tor to sit down : Frederick did so. " I am come, Sir." " I beg pardon, Mr. Frederick : but " . . . . pray have you breakfasted ¥' " No, Mr. Blazon : but my business cc is of a nature which requires brevi- " ty." M I know it, my dear Sir, and am " really quite ashamed of having kept " you so long in suspense : but you " know, I had other people to con. " suit, and . . . ." K 4 " You 200 THE MAID, WIFE, " You misunderstand me. You en- u tirely mistake me, Sir." " Give me leave, my dear Sir, you " must let me explain myself; I will " then with very great pleasure, hear, " any thing you may have to say" As Frederick had made up his mind to be as cool as possible during the whole of this affair, he thought he could not, with the least propriety, refuse to let him make an end of what he had to state. Mr. Blazon, however, was a man of too artful a character to suffer his sur- prise to get the better of his prudence, and had been too well accustomed to perplexities of this nature to allow them to throw him for a moment off his guard. He made a long flourishing speech, which did not contain one word to the purpose of Frederick's vi- sit, though he obliquely hinted at it every AND WIDOW. 201 every now and then. As he concluded he presented him with a commission, say- ing, at the same time, he had given the young gentleman some reason to sus- pect him of coldness, but flattered him- self this would be an excuse for any er- ror he had inadvertently fallen into. There was something so very artful in this obscure reparation, which contain- ed an apology without either an excuse or a confession, that the young man, unused to the ways of the world, stood perplexed and confounded with the pa- per in his hand. After a moment's thought, however, he threw it indig- nantly down on the table. " What do you mean, young man?" " I mean honestly. I came to give " you a challenge for your vile insult on " my sister : if you mean what you Cf have been saying for an apology, you a have prevented me." k5 « Why ! 202 THE MAID, WIFE* " Why ! I am not much used to make * excuses, young gentleman : however, " to shew you my regard, I will con- " fess, that if I have injured any part had been three persons, happy as the imperfect state AND WIDOW. 213 state of terrestrial beings could have admitted of. By the soul of honor ! though my heart was deeply wounded by the loss of Adelaide, I never indulged one wandering wish which could have ren- dered me undeserving of the confidence of her generous husband ! Every spot of ground on which I trod, every ob- ject which presented itself to my sight, was sanctified, was hallowed. Grati- tude had placed her seal upon my heart : yet did calumny attack my character. Had I been the rascal I was described, the mean, creeping, dirty, insidious villain, who stabbed mj benefactor in the tenderest part, I should have thought, that, like a serpent, or any other odious, slimy reptile, I deserved to be crushed under the foot of the first honest, indignant passenger that came in 2H THE MAID, WIFE, in my way. Alas ! then, my present (comparatively) happy situation, was about to be forfeited. To keep my unconnected wander- ings as clear as possible, I shall here insert the letter of my Adelaide : more particularly, as it contains the princi- pal part of her story since our last me- lancholy parting. When she resolved to give her hand to Mr. Durnsford, she thought that honor, gratitude, and duty, made it necessary for her, at the same time, to renounce every idea she had cherished in my favor. She knew not then how to address herself to me \ but as she imagined chance might bring .us together at some future period, and that the rencontre would consequently be painful to both parties, in order to provide against so yery awkward a con- juncture she wrote the following letter, which AND WIDOW. 215 which she constantly kept preserved in her port-folio, to be delivered whenever an occasion should present itself. c * To Mowbray Landford, Ju?i. Esq, " It is done : your father may " now be at rest. No longer can Ade- Cf laide, the daughter of Cuthbert, give cc cause for uneasiness to any branch of a Landford house. Yes, Mowbray, " I will own, nay I have owned to the ff worthy being who is now the sole Cf disposer of my destiny, that I have " long carried your image in my heart. cc To tear that image thence has been cc an effort, a most painful ouq : but it was Juliana. " She begged me to favor her with a " few moments* conversation, as she iC had something very particular to say ** to me. My father and brother were " just gone out, and I therefore solid t- • c ed her to step into our little parlour. " She AND WIDOW. 223 u She thanked me, and, when we were " seated, frankly began the following " discourse : " c I rather think, my dear Adelaide, " e that you have lately had some con w c versation with my father V ** ' I have, madam.' * • And on a subject of no small inv " < portance to us both. Nay ! we " '■ have no time fox ceremonies. I hay?: " c long known that my Adelaide was " * my rival s but assure you, I have 11 ■ never loved herles§on that account.' " ' You honor me extremely.' " • No, my sweet girl, I look on you ** ' as my superior in many, as my " ' equal in all things. I wish to treat * c you with the candour of a friend, * c with the frankness of a sister : have " c I your permission to proceed in this " • manner ?' u I bowed assent. Juliana took me l 4 {< by 224 THE MAID, WIFE, cc by the hand in the most assuring, the (e most encouraging manner, and pro- " ceeded thus : " ( It may appear somewhat like a ef c want of delicacy in me to come to " * the point at once : yet, as what I f * c have to state may probably have 4C c much concern with the future hap • " c piness or misery of both our lives, " c some degree of form may be over- %c c looked. If I guess aright, the con- " ' versations you have lately had with * ' Sir George have been chiefly rela- " ' tive to a connection between myself " c and a young man, whom. . . .whom ' c c . . . .Upon my word, I feel most pe- " c culiarly awkard in mentioning the u e circumstance : but, if. . . . if. ... I ... • " c I have not been very much misin- " c formed, Mr. Mowbray Landford is " c not quite indifferent to my amiable young friend i 9 - Miss AtfD WIDOW. 225 " Miss Sendon's candour gave her tc an undoubted right to equal frank- li ness on ray part. I endeavoured, cc then, to lay my whole soul before " her— yes ! I told her all I had felt, all " I had undergone, in making up my cc mind to the trial which was to ensue. " I assured her, at the same time, that cc now my resolution was once taken, " it was beyond the force of any hu- " man power to shake it; that I would " answer for my conduct, though I i6, could not be responsible for my sighs " or my regrets. " ' Generous girl !.' (she ex claim - p ed) ' What is wealth, what is power, % ' that it should look down on merit " \ that would grace the most exalted, " ' and shed a lustre on the lowest " ' ranks of life ? I am the daughter u c of a rich, a powerful man ; yet o^yn ♦* * with a sigh, that when I come to l5 t( c compare 226 THE MAID, WIFE, * pulse of an ardent, generous temper. " She stopped for my reply, which I " delivered to the following effect : • " < My dear Miss Sendon ; though " ' I make no merit of my conduct « Wc AND WIDOW. 229 that 'ere I had 240 THE MAID, WIFE, f I had remained long in her family, my impetuosity began to subside, un- til I at length was enabled to view the wife of Isaac Durnsford in the light . of some near and dear relative. My passion became so chastened, that I regarded her as a darling sister, for whose happiness I was tenderly alive, for whose feelings I was interested, for whose well being I would have willing- ly resigned my life, but whose hono^ at the same time, was more dear to me than even life itself. The more I saw of her husband, too, the greater argu- ment I found for admiration and esteem. He was equal in temper, cool in man- ner, but impassioned at the heart. He acquainted me with ihe story of his life, with the progres: of his sentiments. He owned mat Jit had once felt some rancour at the ingratitude of those who formeny belonged to him, but that he had AND WIDOW. 211 had soon grown ashamed of it. He wished his relatives no ill; but, with regard to the fortune he had been so long acquiring, he judged that every Jaw of equity and right put the dispo- sal of that entirely in his own power, without the most distant possibility of a murmur or a cavil. His wealth had been entirely of his own acquiring ; he had obtained it unaided by the efforts of any one. Kind and good, even to the most distant branches of his family, he had resolved, in days of yore, to leave all his possessions among them. In the hour of adversity they had proved themselves unworthy his benevolence, by avoiding him in his difficulties, and shunning him in his need. He then thought it necessary to look some other way for the balm of consolation, for the comforts of friendship. Affec- tion is a current coin : every other spe- Vol. I. m cie ■2A-2 THE MAID, WIFE, -cie is an infamous alloy, a downright forgery. Had Durnsford's son lived, all his doubts would have been decided. He ever looked on the child as the na- tural, the undisputed heir of the pa- rent. I give the character of Durnsford thus at full, as I am' apprehensive least any one should judge unfavorably of his conduct towards his relatives, who spread all the infamous falsehoods slan- der could suggest, to the prejudice of his peace and happiness. Their first aim was to turn himself and his wife into ri- dicule ; but ridicule, when undeserved, had no effect upon the mind of Durns- ford. He had all his life been accus- tomed to plain mathematical reasoning s to examine every opinion by the honest standard of unsophisticated truth. The worst his enemies could say, was, that an oldvian had married a young wife : a circum- AKD WIDOW. 243 circumstance which has sometimes just- ly attracted the ridicule of the world . but, it is allowed, that every general rule may have its exceptions, and Isaac Durnsford was the exception to this. He was a withering tree, under whose shade no floweret blossomed. Was he to sicken in solitude? was he to drag out the remainder of an upright life in gloomy silence, when he held the means, in his own hands, of securing to himself a most amiable companion ? With an opportunity of making his de- clining day pleasant to himself and use- ful to others, was he to reject the means of happiness ? By his marriage, he se- cured the most tender friend, the most disinterested relative, and the most af- fectionate companion. He could not have enjoyed any of these comforts by any other means than marriage. No other circumstances could have secured m 2 to 24-4 THE MAID, WIFE, to him the great, the unbounded hap- piness he at present possessed. How then was he wrong ? Content is the end, the search of all mankind. Pause then, and examine your own heart, before you ridicule the character of Durnsford. Such was the man with whom I spent some time, and whom I shortly began to reverence as a pa- rent. Of my own father I could hear no nezcs. Convinced he was in prosperity, I had some alleviation on his account. If he grew conscious of his harsh con- duct towards me, I knew he had it in his power to recall me to his affections, whenever he might think it most ex- pedient. He had sold his estate in the North, and I could glean no tidings concerning him in London -, I there- fore concluded, that he, my brother, and Juliana, had gone abroad together. Adelaide AND WIDOW. 245 Adelaide sometimes corresponded with Colonel Raynall, and I requested her to inquire of him, whether or no he had heard any news relative to the parties in question. His anszver never arrived* This confirmed my original idea ; and, though melancholy and dispirited/ at being thus cut off from all intercourse with my family, yet I found some con- solation in reflecting that I might now go where I pleased, without the hazard of meeting with persons who would distress me by their inquiries, and inte- rest themselves in my fortunes more than I was desirous that they should do. I do not recollect that in any former period of my life, I had ever enjoyed the same series of calm, quiet felicity,! experienced in the house of Durnsford. I assisted him in his concerns ; and em* ployment, the only real lenitive for sor- row, prevented me from brooding over m 3 the 1?46 THE MAID, WIFE, the corroding afflictions, to which, thus early in life, I had been exposed. My conscience, too, rewarded me for the victory I had gained over my passions. The confidence of Durnsford was un- bounded : he knew my heart and did justice to my principles* Adelaide, too, treated me with the most unreserved friendship ; and " J, ss a brciher to- a sister, shewed " Bashful sincerity, and eomely love." ' SHAKSPEAB. Yet all our caution, openness, and candor, was of no avail. Malice soon began to make free with our little do- mestic circle. Many whispers and mus- murs began to be muttered around. Though Mr. and Mrs. Durnsford hard- ly kept any company, they soon found that privacy was no safeguard against detraction. There are a set of busy, meddling personages, who are the great- est AND WIDOW. 247 est curses with which society can be in- fested : one such ill-minded man or wo- man, like the plague, can send the fatal pestilence abroad : a pestilence, which strikes, like the impartial dart of death, the peasant and the monarch ; no rank, no character can elude the infection and the first, the brightest ornaments in the world, are tainted before they have the slightest idea of the danger by which they are pursued. This began to be the case with Mrs. Durnsford. The noxious breath of one of these idle women had breathed upon her re* putation and her peace of mind. She began to be talked of all around her neighbourhood. Had the mischief endedhere, the consequences, however disagreeable, could not have been so serious nor so fatal : but there is no con- 1 fining this malady. She had many un- merited enemies. Mr. Durnsford was m 4 very $48 THE MAID, WIFE, very rich, and when a man is either rich, prosperous, or high in his pro- fes ion, he has a very great chance of having a thousand foes, without the least possibility of ever knowing what he has done to deserve them. The whisper went from the City to the most fashionable part of the town. Lady Spawnley, a woman who lost her own character at an early period of life, and had been forty years repairing the injury herself had done the cause of virtue, by the rigorous remarks she made on the inadvertencies of others, happened to be at a Mrs. Claggit's rout. Mrs. Claggit was one of those whose vices are hid in a large lump of fashion- able affectations : she had every thing of frailty, but the initial blush, which proves that the conduct is not sanctioned by the judgment. The party was a large one 5 and, as Sir Peter says," a character " was AND WIDOW. 1\9 tt was dead at every sentence.'' The fashionable circles of their acquaint- ance were all reduced to their own level, and, could you have believed them, there was not such a thins: as a really honest man, or truly modest woman, in the whole county of Middle- sex. They had hunted down all the lordly animals of the forest ; and, as they had not yet half expended their quivers of spleen and venom, they were at last compelled to seek for inferior game. Lady Spawnley put a stop to the dead calm which had ensued, by observing, that the times were so bad, they exceed- ed all that ever had been heard of in former days , that the manners of the Vv'est end of the Town had pervaded the very City ; and that merchants' wives were beginning to ape the vices of their superiors. Mrs. Claggit, who had only waited for 250 THE MAID, WIFE, for her cue, began to play her best cards into the hands of her partner in mischief. " Oh !" cried she, " I sup- 4f pose you allude to the affair of Mr. " Durnsford, the rich City merchant — " shocking !" A Mrs. Dexter, who was present, and happened to be a distant relation of Durnsford 's, immediately began to feel a most anxious curiosity to learn the whole particulars of the affair. Amongst the other relatives of this worthy man, she had e^er nourished a cordial hatred towards the person of Adelaide, whom all parties imagined the grand bar to the distribution of his wealth in theii favor. Mrs. Dexter was a thorough bred chatterer : without any real black- ness of heart or malevolence of inten- tion, she did much more effective mis- chief than the most evil-minded of he? associates; for, as good-nature was her general AND WIDO\< r . 251 general characteristic, she was often believed when others were not ;- so that, without any of the depravity of their motives, she was equally dangerous with the worst of them. She did nothing but talk all the day long. Her oton af- fairs could not supply her with themes for conversation, so that she was fre- quently compelled, by mere vacuity, to touch upon the concerns of others. With such a talking furor, it is ex- tremely difficult to be always just : the words come out before the thought can be weighed, the circumstances digest- ed, or the consequences examined.. The other ladies, knowing the town- crier himself could not be so w r ell cal- culated to make the loss of any article so well known as the above-mentioned lady, imagined that no person could be more fit than herself, to proclaim the loss of Mrs. Durnsfard's reputation. Perceiving 252 THE MAID, WIFE, Perceiving that Mrs. Dexter was ex- tremely .^/g-^/j/, they led her on to beg for a full explanation of the whole 7 which Mrs. Claggit gave to the follow- ing effect : " her con- " duet AND WIDOW. 25$ that he understands the ma- c< thematics. He may have acted very iC rightly. I say nothing. The whole l< City may talk as much about it as " they please ; only I shall take care « that the name of Mrs. Claggit shall " not be tacked to the lie of the day." Mrs. Dexter had two motives for wishing that these insinuations might have a foundation : a dislike to poor Adelaide, and a great love of a story. So away she went, full primed, to dis- charge her blunderbuss of scandal a^ mongst her acquaintance. She talked, she hinted, she tattled; scandal flew abroad like wildfire, from the fashion- able end of the town to the City. It at last AND WIDOW. 255 last reached the ears of Barbara, who rewarded the person that brought the intelligence with a slap on the face. Durnsford called in his housekeeper, and insisted on knowing the cause of the riot he heard. When she had re- lated the whole history, " pish," cried he ; " let the fools alone ; they will talk