3 ' i/. 
 
 a I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THL 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 C852e
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES; 
 
 BY 
 
 MES. A. CEAWFOED 
 
 AUTHOR OF *'THE LADY OF THE BEDCHAMBER," 
 
 " THE STORY OF A NXUST," ** THE DOUBLE 
 
 MARRL\.GE," ETC. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1857.
 
 or 
 
 3 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 
 Sa3 
 
 V. I 
 
 EARLY STETJGGLES 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 " Hung o'er the farthest verge of heaven, the sun 
 Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day." 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 It was on a dark, foggy day in the 
 month, of November 18 — that the wife 
 of a poor lieutenant in the army took 
 her way through one of the long, nar- 
 row, dirty streets in the ancient town 
 of . 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 ^ ■
 
 2 EARLY STRUaGLES. 
 
 She had a baby on one arm, for her 
 husband was too ill to take care of it 
 during her absence, and the other hand 
 held a small parcel neatly tied up, con- 
 taining a gentleman's vest which she had 
 just finished embroidering for the large 
 warehouse of Messieurs Simpkins & Co. 
 This shop, though presenting on the out- 
 side a poor appearance in a dingy street, 
 spread in its interior into large and hand- 
 some ware-rooms, filled with every variety 
 of expensive drapery. It was one of those 
 old-fashioned establishments without any 
 display, which the superior attractions of 
 plate-glass windows, and a superb front, 
 in a more fashionable part of the town 
 vainly try to displace. 
 
 Ellen Hume, (such was the lady's 
 name) had returned the work, received 
 with thankfulness from her employer, who 
 was pleased with the execution of the de- 
 sign, the small sum paid to needlewomen
 
 EARLY STRUaGLES. O 
 
 for their most elaborate embroidery — 
 had listened with attention to his minute 
 directions for another piece somewhat si- 
 milar, but differing in pattern, and had 
 turned, on her way home, into another 
 street, satisfied with her success, and 
 thinking what little delicacy she might 
 purchase to tempt her sick husband's ap- 
 petite, when a heavy storm of rain set in. 
 A slight mist was falling when she left 
 Mr. Simpkin's warehouse, but in her ea- 
 gerness to get home she had taken no note 
 of it, but had continued to hurry on 
 through the still more narrow and inter- 
 minable looking street she had just entered 
 which run on the way towards the out- 
 skirts of the town, where was her present 
 dwelling. 
 
 The increasing rain, however, from 
 w^hich she was but badly protected by a 
 slight clo^k, made her stop and turn aside 
 under the projecting cave of a small 
 
 b2
 
 4 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 dwelling-house, wliile she attempted to 
 draw her mantle more closely over her 
 sleeping child. 
 
 Two or three heavy drops of rain, des- 
 pite all her care, falling on the baby's face 
 woke it up and it began to cry. 
 
 Much distressed, Ellen looked around 
 for a friendly shop of the meanest descrip- 
 tion, to take refuge in, but not one met 
 her eye. 
 
 In this street there wero none but hum- 
 ble, private houses, such as might suit a 
 decent class of mechanics. She ascended 
 a few steps that led to the door of one of 
 those houses, and stood beneath the frame- 
 work, hushing her baby, and casting nov 
 and then a despairing look at the rain. 
 
 Thinking it best to hasten home, not- 
 withstanding the increasing blackness of 
 the sky, than to stand thus, she was in 
 the act of descending the steps, when the 
 door behind her opened, and a benevolent
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. D 
 
 looking old lady, in a close mob cap, and 
 dark gown, arrested her progress, and 
 gently drawing lier into the passage, and 
 from thence into the small parlour, re- 
 quested she would accept of shelter until 
 the rain was over. 
 
 As the baby still continued screaming 
 and Ellen could not, with all her caresses, 
 soothe its cries, she gladly accepted the 
 offer of the good stranger, who, drawing 
 an arm chair close to the fire for her, took 
 off her wet cloak and hung it tp dry. 
 
 Ellen sat down in the chair. The ba- 
 by's tears ceased. It was a pretty little 
 thing now it was quiet, and soon, attracted 
 by the old lady's kind face, it began to 
 smile brightly on her, and to put out its 
 little hands. 
 
 Ellen's eye glanced from the old lady 
 in her white coif and black stuff dress, to 
 the large bible with silver clasps, which 
 lay open upon the table, and she felt a sort
 
 6 EAULY STRUGGLES. 
 
 of secret trust in the kindness and res- 
 pectability of her new acquaintance. 
 
 From thence her eye wandered to the 
 corner cupboard, with its glass door, dis- 
 playing sundry pieces of old china in .the 
 shape of bowls, mugs, tea-cups, and vases 
 of various sizes and shapes, evidently a 
 favourite hoard, and arranged in the 
 nicest order. 
 
 Then there were the few book shelves, 
 painted green, suspended against the wall^ 
 and the little work-table standing beneath 
 them, with the open basket on it contain- 
 ing small knitted squares of white cotton, 
 and corners for a counterpane, and the 
 knitting needles hanging from a piece of 
 deep white fringe, apparently just laid 
 down on the edge of the basket. 
 
 Everything bespoke comfort, neatness, 
 and occupation. 
 
 The mistress of this little apartment 
 looked at Ellen, and thought ^'what a
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 pretty delicate creature she is ! — out on 
 such a day with a helpless baby." 
 
 Then she glanced at the small parcel 
 which Ellen had laid on the table, and she 
 saw on the back of it, '' Two silk waist- 
 coats to be embroidered for Simpkins 
 & Co." 
 
 The tale was told. She understood it. 
 It was a tale of penury. 
 
 *^ Let me take off your clogs, my dear, 
 and put your feet to the fire—you are all 
 splashed from the puddles," and before 
 Ellen could prevent her, as she was cum- 
 bered with the child, the clogs were off, 
 and she was entreated to place her feet 
 upon the fender. 
 
 ^^ It is a very bad day for you to be out 
 of doors, and to bring the baby with you, 
 my dear," continued the old lady, com- 
 passionately. 
 
 " I had some needlework to take to 
 Messrs. Simpkins' warehouse," replied
 
 8 EARLY STUUGGLES, 
 
 Ellen, unhesitatingly, '' and my husband 
 is too ill to mind baby, so I brought her 
 with me." 
 
 " A sick husband too," mentally ejacu- 
 lated the old lady. 
 
 ^'What is the matter with your hus- 
 band ? '' inquired she. '' I hope he is not 
 seriously ill. You look very young and 
 delicate yourself — a sick husband and a 
 baby to take care of — it is too much for 
 you." 
 
 ^^ I am stronger than I look," replied 
 Ellen, '^and I thank God that I am able 
 to get on as well as I do — but my poor 
 husband is very ill — he grows weaker 
 and weaker," — and Ellen dashed a tear 
 from her eyes as she spoke. 
 
 '' What do the doctors say his com- 
 plaint is ? " said the good dame. 
 
 ^'I do not think they know,'' replied 
 Ellen with a heavy sigh, ^^ he had a bad 
 fever at Jamaica, and then, when he was
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. ^ 
 
 scarcely recovered from it, took a violent 
 chill. He got leave home, and after 
 having his leave renewed more than once, 
 was still too ill to join his regiment, and 
 was obliged to go on half-pay," 
 
 ^' Ah, he is an officer I see," said the 
 old lady. 
 
 " Yes, a lieutenant,'' replied Ellen. 
 " Has he good medical advice ? what is 
 prescribed for him ? " 
 
 '' The surgeon of the regiment who at- 
 tended him in Jamaica," returned Ellen, 
 " was a kind, clever man, and since we 
 came home he has had the advice of tAVO 
 or three others. They all agreed in say- 
 ing nothing could do him good but change 
 of air, so we came here about three months 
 ago, it being considered a healthy situa- 
 tion, and more reasonable than many 
 towns of its size." 
 
 "Did they give him any strengthening 
 medicine, or order him any particular 
 diet ? " B 3
 
 10 EARLY STRUGGLES, 
 
 "No, they desired him to lay aside 
 medicine, and take every thing that is 
 nourishing. But he has no appetite. I 
 do not think he gains any strength. It is 
 very like a decline. All his family were 
 consumptive." 
 
 Here a sob almost choaked Ellen. 
 
 "Ah/' said her compassionate listener, 
 " I had a great deal to do with invalids — 
 My husband, poor dear man, was ill a long 
 time before he died. You must try and 
 coax his appetite with little niceties, and 
 above all things make him take a little 
 wine— he is not forbidden wine, is he?'' 
 
 "No, not forbidden,'' replied Ellen, 
 " but he does not like wine,'' and she 
 colored. 
 
 "Ah, I guessed too true, poverty ! po- 
 verty," thought the old lady. 
 
 "But it is clearing," said Ellen, anx- 
 iously, looking out of the window, " and 
 my husband will expect me.''
 
 E;^BLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 11 
 
 ^^Wait ten minutes longer — see, the 
 rain drops still full heavily— the sky is 
 lighter, however, and the rain may cease 
 by that time. You are hardly dry yet, 
 sit down again, let me give you a glass of 
 wane — it will do you good." 
 
 Ellen strenuously declined, but a locker 
 beside the chimney place was open in an 
 instant, and a glass of wine and a biscuit 
 put before her. 
 
 There was nothing particularly polished 
 or refined about the old lady. Although 
 kind looking she was homely ; but there 
 was that native politeness which springing 
 from the heart, is irresistible, and Ellen 
 could not be so discourteous as to refuse 
 her hospitality. 
 
 "Baby must have a biscuit, too," the 
 old lady said, gazing complacently on mo- 
 ther and child. 
 
 She put one into the infant's little 
 hands, who, clutching it firmly, smiled up 
 in her face.
 
 12 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^ Pretty one, pretty one !" slie said, ca- 
 ressingly, as she patted its soft cheek, and 
 kissed its forehead — then anxiously look- 
 ing at the clouds, she added, ^' I hope you 
 have not far to go, my dear, I think it 
 will be fine presently, but it is uncertain 
 weather.'' 
 
 '^ To Prospect Eow, a little way outside 
 the town," Ellen replied, ''No. 32, Pros- 
 pect Eow.'' 
 
 ''A long walk for you, and baby to 
 carry !'' the old lady said. 
 
 The rain was now nearly over. 
 
 " Wilfrid will be quite unhappy about 
 me,'' Ellen observed, rising from her chair. 
 
 '' Ah, I must not detain you any longer 
 then," returned her kind hostess, "and 
 see, there is a wintry gleam cf sunshine." 
 
 Then taking the cloak from the other 
 side of the fire, where she had hung ft to 
 dry on the back of a chair, she assisted 
 Ellen in putting it on.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 13 
 
 ^^ I hope you are not without some 
 friends here, my dear,'' she said rather 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " I have only one friend here besides 
 my husband," Ellen meekly said, and she 
 raised her eyes towards heaven.
 
 14 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Her breath, like to the whispering wind, 
 Was calm as thought, sweet as her mind." 
 
 Lovelace. 
 
 Ellen entered a shabby lookingj narrow, 
 tall house — being the last one of a row 
 close to the road side on the outskirts of 
 the town — and ascending three pair of 
 stairs, found her husband lying on the 
 sofa in their very small and only sitting 
 room. 
 
 A still smaller bed room, opening 
 with folding doors from this room, and
 
 EAPvLY STRUGGLES. 15 
 
 looking into a confined yard, made up 
 the entire of their lodging. 
 
 The yonng man — very much ema- 
 ciated, with a pale, resigned counte- 
 nance — had been reading, apparently 
 some book of devotion ; but he put it 
 aside on hearing the door open, and 
 a slight hectic crossed his cheek on 
 seeing his wife. 
 
 ^^ My beloved Ellen ! I fear you have 
 got wet,'' he exclaimed, ^^and our little 
 darling too ! Ah ! what do I not owe 
 you for all your exertions ; — up this 
 morning at five o'clock, sweet one ! to 
 finish your needle-work, and I see you 
 have brought some more by that parcel 
 in your hand." 
 
 ^^Yes,'' said Ellen, cheerfully, ^^ I 
 have got some more waistcoats to em- 
 broider. They were very much pleased 
 at the shop with the execution of the 
 one I took back, and I think will
 
 16 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 give me as much work as I can pos- 
 sibly manage. But hjw do you feel? — 
 a little stronger to-day, I hope ? I 
 am sure you are — you look better." 
 
 "Do I, dear ? Seeing you, always 
 makes me better. But where have you 
 been during the heavy rain ? You must 
 have gone back to the warehouse, I 
 suppose, as I reckoned it must have 
 caught you before you were half way 
 on your return home, and you look 
 quite dry." 
 
 " How nicely you calculated the time, 
 Wilfrid ! " returned Ellen, laying baby 
 upon a cushion on the floor, which, 
 put down not far from its father's side, 
 was its usual place of rest when awake. 
 ^'Yes, I was on my way home when 
 the storm overtook me, and dear baby 
 did not like the heavy rain drops at all. 
 I could not shelter my precious little 
 darling from them entirely. But you
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. L / 
 
 shall hear when I take off my cloak 
 and bonnet and baby's things. 
 
 It was soon done, and Ellen, kneel- 
 ing on a footstool beside him, began to 
 relate her adventure. 
 
 He was much interested. In their 
 monotonous life every thing was an 
 incident, and her narrative was only 
 interrupted by the hollow cough, which, 
 becoming more frequent every day, gave 
 him increased pain. Every time he 
 coughed it pierced Ellen's heart. But 
 she hid the uneasiness it gave her, and 
 continued to speak cheerfully. 
 
 Soon she went down to the kitchen 
 to look after the cooking of some little 
 delicacy she had brought in, and which 
 the indifferent servant of the lodging 
 could not manage, without her assist- 
 ance. 
 
 But although the sick man smiled 
 sweetlv on his wife when she came
 
 18 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 in with it herself, and tried to eat in 
 order to please her, Ellen felt much 
 disappointment that such a yery little 
 sufficed. 
 
 ^' There, darling — take it away — it 
 is cooked to perfection, and you see 
 I have eaten a great deal of it." 
 
 Ellen could not suppress a sigh. — 
 She looked wistfully at him as her fin- 
 gers loitered on the edge of the tray 
 before putting it aside. 
 
 He understood her; and kissing the 
 hand that seemed as if it did not like 
 to remove his plate, said — 
 
 '''Not any more to-day, dearest, — 
 to-morrow, perhaps " 
 
 He would have said more out the 
 hollow cough stopped him. 
 
 Ellen put aside the tray. She would 
 not let him see her tears, and bring- 
 ing baby over to amuse him, sat down 
 again near him with the child in her 
 lap.
 
 EAULT STEUGGIES. 19 
 
 ^' What have you been reading, dear ?" 
 said she, taking up the book that lay 
 half open beside him, ^'Ah! I see it 
 is Doctor Adam Clark's Sermons, — I 
 thought you would like them," 
 
 *^Yes, Ellen, — they are beautiful dis- 
 courses. They at once satisfy the 
 judgment, elevate the mind, and touch 
 the heart. But reading wearies my eyes, 
 — they ai'e so weak ! '' 
 
 '^You must not read any more just 
 now,'' said Ellen, ^' I will finish this 
 sermon for you where your marker is, 
 you know there is nothing I like better 
 than reading aloud for you. But first 
 I will put baby into her cot, — see ! 
 her eyes are closing. 
 
 The crib, shaded with white muslin 
 curtains and partly lined with pink — the 
 prettiest piece of furniture in the room — 
 was standing in the corner furthermost 
 removed from the light.
 
 20 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Into this baby was put and it soon 
 sank into a profound slumber, which 
 was not even interrupted by the father's 
 cough, or by the loud noise of vehicles 
 continually passing on the road. 
 
 Thus wore away the day. Ellen's 
 early tea, of which her husband did 
 not even try to partake, was quickly 
 despatched after she had finished reading. 
 
 It became dark — a single candle faintly 
 illumined the room — the poor lieuten- 
 ant dosed upon the sofa ; Ellen had 
 already traced out the pattern on one 
 of the waistcoats, and baby, looking 
 bright and animated after her sleep, sat 
 in a high arm chair at the table, watching 
 mamma's fingers, and putting out her 
 little hands for the strips of paper which 
 fell from beneath Ellen's industrious scis- 
 sors, when a ring was heard at the hall 
 door. 
 
 Presently the untidy servant girl en- 
 tered with a small basket in her hand
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 21 
 
 Ellen looked surprised — she had not 
 ordered any thing. 
 
 ^'It must be a mistake — the basket 
 is intended for somebody else," she 
 said. 
 
 ^^:N'o, ma'am, the basket is for you 
 —it is directed 'Mrs. Hume, No. 82, 
 Prospect Eow;' I can't read it my- 
 self, but Missis did," replied the girl. 
 
 Yes, there was the direction, Ellen 
 
 saw. 
 
 She untied the basket. It was packed 
 close with hay. There was a note just 
 inside on the top. 
 
 '^Is the boy waiting for an answer?" 
 *'No ma'am, he went away directly.'' 
 ^' Very well — you may go. I see it is 
 for me. Shut the door close after you.'' 
 
 Ellen opened the note, ran her eye 
 hastily over it, — looked flurried, yet 
 pleased — read it again more deliberately 
 — put it down and began eagerly to un- 
 pack the basket.
 
 22 EiRLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^'What is this, my dear?" said the 
 sick man, disturbed by the servant's 
 entrance, and now completely roused. 
 
 " Only think, dear, how kind — how 
 very kind," Ellen said. ^^ This is from 
 the old lady, who gave me shelter to- 
 day. Three bottles of the best old 
 port — she would not take the liberty 
 of sending it, but I cannot get any 
 like it here, she says — bought at an 
 auction of the wines in Lord JST — 's cellar 
 — I must make you drink two glasses 
 every day. But I will read her note 
 for you.'' 
 
 And Ellen read. 
 
 It was simply and kindly written- 
 Hume liked the tone of it : in fact 
 it was a little event altogether. 
 
 The cupboard contained wine-glasses 
 and a cork-screw not much used since 
 their arrival, it must be confessed — and 
 Ellen opened a bottle at once, and 
 coaxed her husband to try it.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 23 
 
 Hume took a glass of the wine. It 
 was first-rate — must have been in Lord 
 N — 's cellars a long time — fine, old, 
 crusted port ; still it had not lost its 
 colour. And he held it up between 
 him and the light as he sipped it. 
 
 ^'Dear Ellen, wont you taste it? 
 Take a little yourself, love.'' 
 
 No, Ellen would not — just a sip out 
 of his glass. 
 
 " But here is another parcel I de- 
 clare,'' said she as she turned to the 
 table, ^'a roll of biscuits — and a slip 
 of paper ^-what is written on it ? " and 
 she read aloud ^ I have just thought 
 of some biscuits that are made so light 
 and crisp ! fit for invalids — pray accept 
 a few.' 
 
 Ellen reached Hume a biscuit. 
 
 '^The very best biscuit I ever eat," 
 he said ^^ Ellen you must go and thank 
 the old lady to-morrow.''
 
 24 ♦ EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 '^ Certainly," Ellen replied with a smile. 
 
 ^^ Like one of those bright smiles she 
 used to wear before my ill health and 
 poverty damped the elastic spirit of my 
 Ellen,'' the husband thought as he fondly 
 looked at her. 
 
 That night as Ellen kissed her baby 
 and put it in its crib, notwithstanding 
 that Wilfrid's cough still smote heavily 
 on her heart, she did not feel quite 
 so forlorn and cast down as usual.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *' O child I O new-born denizen 
 
 Of life's great city ! on thy head 
 
 The glory of the morn is shed, 
 
 Like a celestial benison ! 
 
 Here at the portal thou dost stand, 
 
 And with thy little hand 
 
 Thou open est the mysterious gate 
 
 Into the future's undiscovered land." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 The morrow came. It was fine for a 
 November day, and Ellen was thinking 
 that in about half an hour she would 
 be able to put on her cloak and bonnet 
 and go and thank the old lady, when a 
 soft double knock was heard at the street 
 door. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Presently the slipshod attendant an- 
 nounced Mrs. Benson, and the kind old 
 lady entered the room. 
 
 Poor Hume, who, notwithstanding the 
 wine, did not feel the least stronger, and 
 had eaten no breakfast, was still in bed. 
 Ellen had a cup of coffee and two mouth- 
 fuls of toast on a small waiter in her 
 hand just going to try and make him 
 take it before she went out, when Mrs. 
 Benson made her appearance. Baby, 
 looking very happy supported by mam- 
 ma's other arm, was clinging with a little 
 hand round her neck. 
 
 ^^It is so good of you to come and see 
 me,'' Ellen said. ^'As soon as my hus- 
 band had his coffee, T was going to thank 
 you for your kind present. You may 
 perceive baby has got her bonnet and 
 mantle on — she too was going to pay 
 you a visit.'' 
 
 ^'Dear little soul, give her to me,"
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 27 
 
 returned the old lady. ^'You are just 
 about to take your husband his coffee — 
 do not let me prevent you. I will wait 
 until you come back, and amuse myself 
 with baby if you will let me have her. 
 How is your husband to-day? I hope 
 you made him take the wine. It is 
 quite a cordial — I keep it for the sick.'' 
 
 " How good of you ! My husband 
 thought it first-rate. I think he was a 
 little stronger after it. But, as usual, 
 he coughed all night, and to-day he is 
 so weak and languid ! '* 
 
 ^^ Ah ! and you did not get much 
 sleep either, I see by your eyes/' said 
 Mrs. Benson kindly. 
 
 "ISTot much,'' replied Ellen, ^^but I 
 do not mind that. But you will excuse 
 me for a few moments —will you not ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; do not let me detain 
 you,'' and the old lady took the child 
 in her arms, who went to her willingly, 
 
 c2
 
 28 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 put its pretty lips up to be kissed, and 
 played with her grey hairs. 
 
 Ellen disappeared through the folding 
 doors. 
 
 Mrs. Benson ran her eye over the 
 room. Every thing bespoke a narrow 
 income. 
 
 The lodging itself was poverty-stricken 
 and must have been had very cheap. 
 The colours were worn out of the chintz 
 curtains — washed until they had scarcely 
 any pattern — the scanty furniture looked 
 rickety, and the old couch lumbersome. 
 Ellen's tidiness and constant sweeping 
 with the hearth -brush could not make 
 the rug before the fire-place appear clean ; 
 the window sashes were without paint, 
 and smoke had stained the ceiling. 
 
 Then there was the hat in the corner 
 with scarcely a bit of nap on it, and a 
 coat lay on the chair near it, which 
 Ellen had been trying to repair with- 
 out the aid of a tailor.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 29 
 
 Mrs. Benson sighed as she took not© 
 of all this, and then held up the child 
 to look at a water-colour drawing of 
 a large tabby cat which hung against 
 the wall. 
 
 The little one laughed and clapped 
 its hands and seemed to try to speak. 
 Ellen came into the room. 
 
 ^'This is a dear child," said Mrs. 
 Benson ; ^ ' what sweet blue eyes she 
 has ! — very like eyes I once knew. 
 She has not got youi' dark ones, Mrs. 
 Hume — I suppose Mr. Hume has blue 
 eyes," 
 
 ^^Xo, baby has not got papa's eyes 
 either. They are like my mother's eyes 
 — at least they exactly resemble the 
 miniature I have of her, for she died 
 when I was very young — too young to 
 remember her." 
 
 "And your father — is he alive?" 
 inquired Mrs. Benson.
 
 so EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 "No; he was a navy officer, and was 
 drowned at sea." 
 
 There was a painful expression in 
 Ellen's countenance as she spoke. — 
 Those questions put her in mind of 
 her loneliness — nothing but her husband 
 and baby left. 
 
 Mrs. Benson perceived it and turned 
 the conversation. " Dear little thing/' 
 said she caressingly to the child, " how 
 intelligent she looks ! How old is she ? " 
 
 "Eleven months old; she is very 
 strong and can just stand alone — I think 
 she will run about in a short time." 
 
 "And talk too," said Mrs. Benson, 
 " she looks as if she understood every 
 word that was said — pretty creature I 
 what is her name?'' 
 
 " Baby will soon be able to tell 
 her own name," returned the mother, 
 brightening up. " Yes, darling, you 
 will — you will soon be able to lisp
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 31 
 
 Emily Thornton Hume. That is baby's 
 name, is it not, my sweet little Emily ?" 
 
 ^^ Emily Thornton Hume! '' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Benson, in great surprise, " is 
 this baby's name? and can it be — yes, 
 it must be. Pardon me, Mrs. Hume, — 
 was your mother's name Emily Thorn- 
 ton?" 
 
 ^^Yes,'' said Ellen, looking surprised 
 in her turn at the agitation Mrs. Ecu- 
 son's face displayed, '' she was the only 
 daughter of Mr. Thornton of Woodhouse 
 in the County of" — 
 
 ^'Oh! my dear lady,'' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Benson, with a burst of tears, ^' is it 
 indeed possible that you are the daugh- 
 ter of my sweet young mistress that 
 once was — my sweet Miss Emily Thorn- 
 ton ? — Ah ! and is she indeed dead. 
 Many and many were the fruitless in- 
 quiries I made after her. Since leaving 
 New York on my husband's death, I
 
 32 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 set up my abode in this city, but no 
 trace of the family could I find — Wood- 
 house had long passed into other hands. 
 And now I see before my old eyes the 
 daughter and granddaughter of my ear- 
 liest, my first, my best friend — the 
 friend to whose kindness I owe every- 
 thing — education and my present comfort- 
 able position. Ah ! if I spent my life 
 in your service, I could not repay the 
 goodness that drew me, — a starving, 
 motherless, untaught little girl, — from 
 the depths of poverty.'' 
 
 "You knew my mother, then?'' said 
 Ellen. "You are not a stranger to my 
 family ? " 
 
 " A stranger ! my dear madam ; oh, 
 no, not a stranger. I lived seventeen 
 years in your grandfather's house and 
 only left it to be married to Mr. Benson. 
 Happy, happy chance ! — but no, not 
 chance, —the kindest of providences —
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 00 
 
 that brought you and your babe, yes- 
 terday, to take shelter beneath my hum- 
 ble roof." And as" Mrs. Benson spoke 
 she fixed her eyes streaming with tears 
 upon Ellen, while the latter, with a 
 sensation of joy in her heart long un- 
 known, inwardly thanked God for rais- 
 ing her up this new friend. 
 
 ^'But as you are not going abroad 
 now and, Mr. Hume is not yet risen," 
 continued Mrs. Benson — 
 
 *'I think he must be asleep," said 
 Ellen, interrupting her, "he does not 
 even stir." 
 
 "I will give you a short sketch of 
 my history, if it will gratify you." 
 
 ''Do, pray," said Ellen, eagerly, "but 
 first I will just peep at my husband." 
 
 And so saying she stole gently into 
 his room through the folding doors. 
 
 "He sleeps quite sound — I thought 
 he slept, as I did not hear him cough- 
 
 c 3
 
 84 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 iag. Sit down here, dear Mrs. Benson ; 
 I will sit near you, and we will lay- 
 baby on her cushion — the little darling 
 would only interrupt us.'' 
 
 Baby lay quietly on her cushion, — 
 no sound was heard from the invalid's 
 room, and Mrs. Benson thus begun.
 
 EAELT STRUGGLES. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor." 
 
 Gray. 
 
 *' My early life was passed in a raiser- 
 able cabin and I drank the bitter cup 
 of poverty from my birth. 
 
 ^' My father, who was a day-labourer, 
 spent nearly all his wages, at the ale 
 house, and my mother, never very 
 strong, had to work hard indeed to earn 
 that bread for herself and three sickly 
 children which he so cruelly denied her. 
 It was only among the farmers she went
 
 36 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 out — sometimes as cliarwoaTan, some- 
 times a day at the washing tub, or in 
 the fields — so we fared very seantiW. 
 
 ^' She had been brought up decently 
 herself, her parents having rented a small 
 farm — but being left an orphan very 
 early had been apprenticed to a farmer, 
 where she had learnt all sorts of out- 
 door as well as in-door work, and would 
 no doubt have done well, had she not 
 imprudently, while still very young, mar- 
 ried a farm sers^ant of unsteady, idle 
 habits. 
 
 '' She soon found, to her cost, what an 
 unfortunate match she had made. Hard 
 work she had had, but she was well fed 
 and well lodged — now she discovered 
 that she must work still harder, or that 
 her portion in life, as well as that of the 
 unfortunate children she brought into 
 the world, must be starvation or next 
 
 to It.
 
 **Her constitatioa was not a stronig 
 one, and in a few yeais symptoms of pol- 
 monaij consomption made thcar appear- 
 ance, yet I noTer recollect her idle except 
 wken confined to her hed hy abaohite 
 disease. When there was no other work 
 to he procured she fetched wafer and wtait 
 of ernind%-in shorty turned her hand to 
 anything. 
 
 " Thus my poor mother stm^led cm, 
 subject to the hrotal treatment of a 
 dronken hoshand, and having oSien hut 
 one meal in the day to give to her un- 
 happy, pinched, little ofl^pnng. 
 
 '^ I haTe read somewheze that the poor 
 haTe no yonth. I dare say among i^ 
 rery poor it may he the ease, for I do not 
 think I was ever young. From the mo- 
 ment I could speak I was the depositiHj 
 of my mother^s tears and stru^^es. My 
 two Httle sisters^ both younger than I was, 
 died when they were about three or four
 
 38 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 years old, and I alone was left to comfort 
 her when she was in sorrow, and nurse 
 her through much sickness. 
 
 '' Although but a child, when my mo- 
 ther was out I had to cook my father's 
 dinner, listen to his bad tempers when he 
 came home, and sit in the corner sewing, 
 without uttering a word while he staid. 
 I had no companion, nor did I wish for 
 any but my mother. 
 
 ^' Owing to my father's indifferent cha- 
 racter, and drunken habits, he never got 
 regular work in one place long, so that 
 we were constantly located where we did 
 not know a soul. This fretted my poor 
 mother exceedingly, as it rendered the 
 difficulty of her getting employment the 
 greater. 
 
 <<Yery pale and emaciated she was, 
 when the sickness came upon her of which 
 she died. 
 
 " We had then been residing about six 
 months in the village near Woodhouse.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 39 
 
 ^' Although I was only eight years old, 
 I watched her day and night, never going 
 out but when I ventured to one or two of 
 the neighbouring farm houses to beg a little 
 assistance for her. One day I had been quite 
 unsuccessful, and was returning home 
 very melancholy, when I saw at the end 
 of some park paling a charming little girl, 
 younger than myself, feeding a pet fawn. 
 — I shall never forget her in her straw 
 hat and white frock, with her lovely blue 
 eyes and angelic smile. That was your 
 mother, dear madajn — my sainted mistress 
 — baby is the image of her — but I tire 
 you perhaps.'' 
 
 ^' Oh no, no indeed,'' said Ellen, ^^pray 
 go on." 
 
 "My way lay close to her, as I always 
 took a short cut through a field to the 
 farm houses where I was used to go. 
 
 " 'What is the matter with you, little 
 girl?' said she, in her soft, sweet, infantine
 
 40 EARLY STRUGGLES* 
 
 Toice, (for my tears were falling in show- 
 ers as I walked along) ' you look very sad, 
 have you fallen and hurt yourself? come 
 here and tell me. 
 
 ^' ^ Thduk you, miss,' said I, dropping a 
 curtsey, ^ I ail nothing, but my poor mo- 
 ther is very ill, and I have not any thing 
 to give her to eat.' 
 
 '^ ^ Poor little girl ! nothing in the house 
 to eat — no bread ? 
 
 '^ ^ Nothing,' I said, ^ perhaps when fa- 
 ther returns in the evening he may give 
 me a little money to buy some — perhaps 
 not.' 
 
 ^' ^ I have given all the bread I had to 
 the fawn,' she replied, looking at me, 
 wistfully, ' but here's my luncheon,' tak- 
 ing a piece of cake out of a small basket 
 that stood on the grass n^ar her. ^ Look ! 
 it is very nice, mamma gave me leave to 
 ,eat it here, while I fed the fawn — you 
 shall have it,' and she held it tov/ard ma
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. ii 
 
 in her tiny, soft hand. ' May be cake is 
 not good for sick people,' she resumed, 
 seeing I hesitated to take all her cake, 
 ^you shall eat the cake yourself, little 
 girl, and I will run to the cook for some- 
 thing for your mother.' 
 
 ^' ' 0, thank you miss,' I said, Hhe cako 
 is very nice, it will be a treat to mother, 
 but I cannot take it all.' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, you must,' the dear crea- 
 ture said, ' I will get you something else 
 too.' 
 
 ^^ ' It is a great way to the grand place 
 you live in, Miss, and I dare not delay — 
 my poor mother bade me return quickly.? 
 
 '^ ^ The short path runs over two fields,' 
 said the child, taking my hand, ' I would 
 not be long — but you are afraid to stay — 
 come to-morrow here at this time and I 
 will have something for you.' 
 
 "I thanked her, and hastened away 
 home — mother had wearied herself look-
 
 42 EA.RLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ing for me, but she kissed me and eat 
 a little piece of the cake. 
 
 '^ For a week I came each day at the 
 appointed hour, and the little angel had 
 always some delicacy fit for a sick person 
 in her basket. My poor mother, however, 
 scarcely touched anything, and, notwith- 
 standing the care I took of her, and the 
 few and far-between visits of the parish 
 doctor, she died, leaving me miserable 
 and forlorn. 
 
 " I was soon an orphan in the fullest 
 sense of the word, for my father very 
 shortly after fell into the mill-pond in a 
 drunken fit and was drowned. 
 
 '^ There would have been no resource 
 now for me but the poor-house if a neigh- 
 bour had not taken me in, young as I 
 was, to mind a baby. 
 
 ^' I was fain to do my best to satisfy 
 my employer, but the baby was very 
 cross, I could hardly ever please it, and
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 43 
 
 the mother was sure to beat me whenever 
 it roared. 
 
 "• I had quite lost sight of the charm- 
 ing little girl who had befriended me. 
 The last time I saw her — a day or two 
 before my poor mother died, she told me 
 that her parents were going somewhere 
 on a visit for a month, and that she was 
 to accompany them. Indeed I should 
 have been ashamed to see her now, for I 
 was both dirty and ragged. Somehow or 
 other in spite of all my dear mother's ill- 
 ness I used to manage to be clean, but 
 now it was impossible. 
 
 '' I had not been by the park paling for 
 a long time, when one day I was sent 
 with a basket of potatoes to some distance, 
 and my way lay in that direction. I 
 longed, yet feared, to see my little bene- 
 factress, and looked eagerly, yet shy and 
 frightened towards the spot where I had 
 met her before. I felt almost glad she
 
 44 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 was not there when I glanced at my tat- 
 tered apron and passed on quickly. But 
 presently I heard her sweet voice cry, 
 
 '^ ' Kezia, Kezia ! — Ah, where have you 
 been this long time? I have looked for 
 you every day. How is your mother?^ 
 
 This question overset me, and I began 
 to weep bitterly. 
 
 " ^My poor mother is dead and buried' 
 I said, ' and my father is dead, and I am 
 alone.' 
 
 '^The little girl looked so pale and, 
 frightened, she could hardly speak. Then 
 she took my hand, and the tears ran down 
 her pretty face. 
 
 " ' Do not cry, you are not alone, Kezia, 
 God watches over you.' 
 
 ^'And that was my mother!" Ellen 
 exclaimed. ^'True christian in childhood 
 as in womanhood — always the same. 
 
 ^' True madam," Mrs. Benson replied, 
 ^'alwavs the same — but to resume.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 46 
 
 ^^ 'You look very thin and pale,' said 
 she, * and your clothes are very old ; where 
 do you live ? 
 
 ^' Ju&t at this moment one of the ser- 
 vants came running up. 
 
 " Miss Eo'iily, your mamma says it is 
 time for you to come in to your lessons. 
 I told mistress I was coming this way to 
 look in the hedges after the pea-fowls' 
 eggs, and I was desired to put you in 
 mind.' 
 
 "'Presently Hannah,' returned the 
 child. ^Look, this is the poor little girl 
 whose mother was so ill — she is dead and 
 her father too.' 
 
 " ^ God help her,' said Hannah, looking 
 compassionately at me. 
 
 '^'Hannah,' said the dear child, confi- 
 dentially, 'would she do to mind the 
 poultry ?' 
 
 ' That she would. Miss,' said Hannah, 
 * if your mamma would like to try her. 
 We want one sadly.'
 
 46 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^'^Oh, how I should like it,' the little 
 girl said, 'and her blue eyes lit up so 
 heavenly, I think I see her now.' 
 
 *' Hannah asked me a few questions 
 which I answered to her satisfaction ; and 
 then, saying, since it would please Miss 
 Emily, she would try what she could do 
 about it, they went away. 
 
 " I saw my little protectress eagerly 
 chattering to Hannah and looking up 
 in her face as they crossed the path, 
 but I did not dare linger to look after 
 them — with a beating heart I took up 
 my basket and hastened away. 
 
 *' The next day Hannah came to the 
 cabin where was my temporary home. 
 She said that Missus had given her 
 leave to try me for a month, and that 
 Miss Emily had sent half-a-sovereign — 
 a christmas-box from her papa — to buy 
 me a stuff gown, an apron, and a pair 
 of shoes. Thus I entered into the fa- 
 mily at Woodhouse.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 47 
 
 *^I was a wild, scared looking child 
 at that time, and Hannah, who was 
 very good natured, took a great deal 
 of pains with me, and did all she could 
 to cheer me up and give me courage. 
 To live in so grand a house seemed 
 indeed very formidable to me. 
 
 ^^ Spiritless, depressed and small for 
 my age, which was something about 
 nine, I had none of the brightness of 
 childhood about me. My features were 
 pinched with penury, and Hannah often 
 told me afterwards, the frightened, fur- 
 tive glance of my eye gave me the 
 appearance of a startled hare. In the 
 kitchen I shrank from every human 
 being. ISTot even the kind words of 
 Hannah could re-assure me, while, sub- 
 missive and silent I did the bidding of 
 every body. 
 
 ^' In the open air however, surrounded 
 by the poultry, searching for their eggs
 
 48 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 and leading the young ducks in and 
 out of the water, I gained, in a few 
 weeks, a portion of the healthful look 
 and vivacity of motion which belongs 
 to children. 
 
 ^^ I saw Miss Emily frequently. She 
 was a year younger than myself, and 
 likewise small for her age. She often 
 came into the meadow where lay the 
 ducks' pond to play about, and gather 
 wild flowers. She had always a kind 
 word and look for me — often a little pre- 
 sent — now it was a left-oif straw bonnet, 
 then a coloured morning frock. Hannah 
 told me I might take them, as her mamma 
 had no objection to it, and she put them to 
 rights for me. I did not see much of the 
 rest of the family. Mrs. Thornton, I 
 thought, a very stately looking lady. The 
 servants said she was a kind mistress. I 
 found it afterwards to be so, though she 
 was always a rigid disciplinarian. But,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 49 
 
 as her health was bad, and she did not 
 often walk through the grounds, I did not 
 often come in her way in the beginning. 
 
 ^^Miss Emily, except in her play hours, 
 was always with her mother, who in- 
 structed her entirely. There was but one 
 other child, a son about fourteen years 
 old. His name was Arthur, and he was 
 at school. He came home for the holi- 
 days six weeks after I had taken service 
 at Woodhouse, and was a very unruly 
 boy. 
 
 ^' When he found me installed as poul- 
 try girl, (the kitchen maid had looked 
 after the poultry hitherto, and had had 
 many disagreements with the cook, as they 
 used frequently to stray) he said I would 
 make a capital errand girl too, and became 
 from his imperious temper, and rude man- 
 ners, quite a bug-bear to me. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 EARLY STRUaOLES. 
 
 CHAPTEE y. 
 
 " How rude soe'er the exterior form we find, 
 Howe'er opinion tinge the varied mind, 
 Alike to all the kind, impartial Heaven, 
 The sparks of truth and happiness has given." 
 
 Gray. 
 
 "One morning in particular, wanting to 
 dispatch an invitation to a schoolfellow 
 who resided at the distance of a couple of 
 miles, he proceeded note in hand, in search 
 of me. It was not, however, until he had 
 been twice round the meadow in which 
 lay the duck's pond, that he discovered 
 me, quite screened from sight under a 
 hawthorn bush.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 51 
 
 ^^Here I was quietly seated knitting a 
 stocking for Hannah, who took care al- 
 ways to furnish me with some piece of 
 needle- work, enjoining me at the same 
 time to keep a watchful eye on the hawks 
 which hovered continually over the young 
 ducks and chickens. Miss Emily at a lit- 
 tle distance in the same field, was making 
 a nosegay of wild flowers, which she in- 
 tended to carry to her mother. 
 
 ^^ ^Halloo there, Kezia, you confounded 
 little torment,' exclaimed he, at the top of 
 his voice, as soon as he perceived me, ' I 
 have been round the field twice, and in 
 the poultry yard looking for you, why the 
 deuce did you not come when I called 
 you ? You must have heard me, that you 
 must. Look here, I say, come hither, I 
 want to send you of a message.' 
 
 "I rose in much trepidation at this 
 rude speech, and letting fall my ball of 
 worsted in my haste stooped to pick it up. 
 
 d2 

 
 52 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 *^ ^ You stupid little girl,' said tlie un- 
 gracious boy, ^ never mind your ball of 
 worsted but attend to me.' 
 
 '^I stood upright before him, leaving 
 the ball untouched at my feet, and re- 
 mained in silent expectation of what was 
 to come next. 
 
 ^'^Here you goose, gallop off with this 
 note to Clanronald, and bring me an an- 
 swer. Look, if you run all the way, and 
 I dare say your little legs can run fast 
 enough, you can be back in less than an 
 hour. Mind you ask for an answer.' 
 
 ^'I took the note and looked wistfully 
 at it. I had not caught the name of the 
 place, and even if I had I should not have 
 recognized it, as it was a new one just 
 given by the present possessor, the old 
 one being Millbank. 
 
 ^' ^Well, scamper off,' said he, ^and do 
 not be long, there, I will give you one 
 hour to go and return,' and he took out 
 his watch.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 53 
 
 **'To where, Sir?' I inquired submis- 
 sively. 
 
 ^' ^Have you not got the note ? stupid 
 creature ! can you not read the direction ?' 
 said the imperious boy. 
 
 " 'I cannot read, Sir, I returned, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 His sister had come up by this time. 
 
 ^' 'Not read! you little dunce,' said the 
 boy, angrily. 
 
 "'Do not cry, Kezia,' whispered my 
 sweet Miss Emily, kindly, ' I will explain 
 it to you. It is not her fault that she can- 
 not read, Arthur,' turning to her brother, 
 ' I suppose she has never been taught.' 
 
 " ' No, I was never taught,' I said, sob- 
 bing, ' my mother taught me my prayers, 
 but not to read.' 
 
 '"Well, I did not mean to make her 
 cry,' said my tormentor, 'but you must 
 allow, Emily, that she is a stupid little 
 thing, standing there like a post, look here
 
 54 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 you little whimperer, you are to take this 
 note to Mr. Barton's house, he lives at 
 Clanronald.' 
 
 "Oh, I know it now. Sir,' replied I, 
 reassured by having Miss Emily at my 
 side. ' It is the new Squire's place — we 
 used to call it Millbank.' 
 
 " ^ Eight, right,' said he, ' away, away,' 
 and he stamped with his foot and raised 
 his stick threateningly. 
 
 " But Miss Emily held me fast, and bade 
 me pick up the ball of worsted which lay 
 at my feet. 
 
 "^Poor little thing,' she exclaimed, 
 compassionately, ' you ought not to speak 
 so harshly to her Arthur, and indeed I 
 don't think it is quite right to send her so 
 far off without Hannah's leave. Who is 
 to watch the ducklings? If the hawk 
 carries away any of them she will be 
 blamed.' 
 
 ■' ^ You, to be sure,' said the boisterous
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 65 
 
 youth with a laugh, ^ you can take up her 
 knitting and amuse yourself with it, and 
 scare away the hawks just as well as she 
 can. Away, Kezia, I say, away, be gone.' 
 
 '^ I did not dare linger, but darted off 
 in the required direction. 
 
 ^'Although I was very shy, and I be- 
 lieve, stupid, the servants were all kind 
 to me, I suppose on account of the favour 
 my young mistress shewed me, and at 
 night, just as I was going to bed, the la- 
 dy's maid called me aside to relate a con- 
 versation she had heard that evening. 
 
 '^ ' Mamma,' said Emily, as she sat on a 
 low stool at her mother's feet, after hav- 
 ing read the evening psalms and lessons 
 for her, ' I wish you would allow me to 
 teach Keziah Elms how to read.' 
 
 ^^^Poor child,' returned the mother, 
 ' does she not know how to read ?' 
 
 ^^ ' No, dear mamma,' replied Emily, ^ I 
 found on questioning her that her mother
 
 56 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 could not spare her to go to school, and 
 that she had not time to teach her herself.' 
 
 ^' ' My little Emily,' returned her mo- 
 ther, affectionately, patting her on the 
 cheek, ' I fear you are not competent to 
 instruct her ; you do not read badly your- 
 self it is true, but you would have to 
 teach her her letters first, and then spell- 
 ing — I do not think you would know how 
 to go about it. Besides I should not 
 choose you to have Keziah Elms as a 
 playfellow.' 
 
 '^ ' No, dear mamma, not to play with, 
 certainly, you told me not, and I have 
 never done so ; but just to teach her ever}'- 
 evening. I remember very well in what 
 manner you taught me my letters, and to 
 spell.' 
 
 '' ' Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Thornton, 
 ^ if that be the case, and as you are so 
 anxious about it, every day that you are 
 a good child, and say your own lessons
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^ell— for you know you are sometimes 
 inclined to be idle— we will have Keziah 
 up here for an hour in the evening, and 
 you shall teach her. 
 
 ^' My poor mother had often lamented 
 my ignorance, and my joy was great at 
 what I heard ; yet there was something 
 awful in it. 
 
 " On the following morning as soon as 
 my sweet Miss Emily could get out she 
 ran directly to tell me. 
 
 '' I believe I did not exhibit the plea- 
 sure she expected. T was frightened, the 
 more I thought of it, at the idea of ap- 
 pearing every evening in the presence of 
 the Squire's lady, whom I considered a 
 very august personage. 
 
 "The little girl intuitively guessed my 
 fears, and assured me that her dear 
 mamma was so good I need not be the 
 least afraid of her. 
 
 " ' Will Master Arthur be there? I in- 
 quired nervously. ^ ^
 
 58 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 '^ ' Oh ! no,' she replied ' Arthur only 
 pays one visit to mamma every day. He 
 will be at dinner just at that hour with 
 papa and the gentlemen who generally 
 accompany him home.' 
 
 '^The Squire, a County Magistrate, 
 was always employed either in business 
 or field sports. He was scarcely ever at 
 home except at breakfast and a late din- 
 ner, and had but little time to spare for 
 an invalid wife, never very well suited to 
 his boisterous habits. 
 
 *^ I was satisfied. IN'ot to see Master 
 Arthur or the Squire, whose manners to 
 his inferiors were as imperious as those 
 of his son, and to be near Miss Emily, 
 would be positive happiness. 
 
 ^'Thus I was introduced into Mrs. 
 Thornton's boudoir, and I soon found 
 that this lady, confined almost entirely 
 by delicate health to the sofa, and with 
 but little to vary her monotonous life,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 59 
 
 experienced no small pleasure in listening 
 to how and in what manner my little 
 mistress instructed me. 
 
 ^' Every thing in the way of book 
 learning was so new to me that I was not 
 at all a promising pupil ; but the temper 
 of my young mistress was very gentle, 
 and her patience great, and my anxiety 
 to please her soon stood me in the stead 
 of any natural cleverness ; with a little 
 prompting from her mother she managed 
 to bring me on so well, that at the end of 
 a year I could read and spell tolerably — 
 had got my catechism by heart, and was 
 beginning to have some knowledge of 
 Scripture. 
 
 ^^ Hannah, in the mean time, had 
 taught me to wash, to knit, and to spin ; 
 and at helping the kitchen-maid in all 
 sorts of kitchen work, I had become very 
 expert. 
 
 '^ Thus my education continued to pro-
 
 60 EARLY STRUaGLES. 
 
 gress for a few years. I no longer felt 
 myself the unhappy, friendless little or- 
 phan. The consciousness of usefulness 
 gave me a feeling of independence. My 
 heart was full of inexpressible gratitude 
 towards my benefactors — -above all, ma- 
 dam, towards your dear mother, whom I 
 always looked upon in particular as my 
 good angel and preserver. 
 
 ^^ At eighteen I was qualified to fill the 
 place of general servant to a small family, 
 as Hannah had taken care I should not 
 be ignorant of the culinary department, 
 and Mrs. Thornton, in order to complete 
 my knowledge as a servant, had made me 
 perform the duties of a housemaid for the 
 last year. 
 
 ''My intellect, withered and shrivelled 
 up by an infancy and childhood of ex- 
 treme poverty, had gradually unfolded 
 itself under a more genial atmosphere, 
 and I had by degrees exhibited, if not an
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 61 
 
 aptitude for book-learning — although in 
 that my progress was respectable — a won- 
 derful quickness (so they said) in making 
 myself mistress of every kind of house- 
 hold work I was put to, with a retentive 
 memory as to the instructions given me 
 on that head, and such a love of order 
 and neatness, that, notwithstanding the 
 squalid misery in which I was early 
 brought up, Mrs. Thornton often gave me 
 an approving smile, and said she was sure 
 I had the 'bump of order.' But these 
 are trifling details, dear madam, they 
 must weary you.'' 
 
 " ' Oh, no, not at all,' said Ellen, 'how 
 can they ? It is so delightful to me to 
 hear you talk of my dear mother and 
 grandmother !" 
 
 Mrs. Benson sighed. She was silent 
 for a few minutes. Thoughts of former 
 days came thick upon her. She remem- 
 bered the display of wealth — more than
 
 62 EARLY STRrGGLES. 
 
 ought to have been, for the Squire was 
 always extravagant — at Woodhouse, and 
 this contrast, this present poverty, 
 wounded her deej^ly. 
 
 Mrs. Benson had from nature more va- 
 luable gifts than even those the education 
 she was so thankful for had bestowed 
 upon her, she possessed a grateful and af- 
 fectionate heart ; a mind touched with the 
 tenderest sympathy for all in distress, and 
 to ^e the daughter of her young mistress 
 thus ; but she stifled the painful compari- 
 son, and continued. 
 
 •' I have but little now to tell you, dear 
 madam, and it principally relates to my- 
 self, as the misfortunes which fell upon 
 the house of my mistress occurred long 
 after I left her. My life glided on peace- 
 fully. I learned to revere and admire 
 Mrs. Thornton. I adored Miss Emily. 
 
 *^ By turns I filled every situation held 
 bv females in the household until at
 
 EABIY STRU^OLES. 63 
 
 length I remained stationary as house- 
 keeper and lady^s maid. To wait npon 
 Miss Emily had always been my great 
 ambition. X :^ I was permitted to do so. 
 Easy task ! I f lund in her the kindest of 
 Mends, th^ : : i vilgent of mistresses, 
 and thos I 1 nntiL I was six and 
 
 twenty. 
 
 •'At this Pt i p -carpenter whom 
 
 I _ - : _ ^_ „ — rist-rate workman^ 
 and a steady character, made me an offer 
 of marriaLrr. Ke ^as on the point of go- 
 ing to settle at 2S' ^ rk, where he had 
 some conn^ ^* Ti-- ^ :, liiriTing way^ and 
 the sepai — hioh this would brins: 
 
 abont fix)m a femily with whom I hii 
 been so happy, was the only draw-l >. 
 my satisfection — ^the only reason that 
 made me hesitate. 
 
 ''However, npon talking the matter 
 oyer with my kind bene&etresses, the 
 match was so adTantageons for me jn
 
 64 E\RLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 every respect, that my objections were 
 over-ruled. 
 
 *' I was married. The wedding break- 
 fast was at Woodhouse, and many tears 
 were shed at a parting which was likely 
 to be permanent in this world, as there 
 seemed but little chance of our meeting 
 again. A servant brought up in a family 
 as I had been, often becomes more at- 
 tached to some of its members than those 
 drawn towards them by ties of blood. 
 
 " A correspondence by letter was kept 
 up for a few years. But many misfortunes 
 fell upon the family at Woodhouse. Its 
 inmates were scattered. Letters came sel- 
 dom ; at length they ceased, and years 
 passed without my hearing any tidings of 
 friends for whom I felt the warmest in- 
 terest. 
 
 '' Meantime Mr. Benson was a rising 
 man, and became a ship-builder. I mixed 
 in a respectable class of society, easy in
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 65 
 
 circumstances and happy in mind, nothing 
 occurred to me worth noting until the 
 long illness of my beloved husband. It 
 was oeasioned by a neglected cold, slight 
 at first we thought it, but it was the will 
 of God that it should be fatal." 
 
 Here the widow paused. A shade of 
 grief passed over her placid face, while 
 Ellen WQpt outright as she thought of her 
 own husband. 
 
 Mrs. Benson continued, 
 
 "I bitterly deplored the loss of Mr. 
 Benson, and now felt very lonely. I had 
 formed no particular friendships at New 
 York, although passing through life with 
 kindly feelings for many. My husband's 
 connections there had dropt off one by 
 one — some had died— others gone to set- 
 tle farther inland. I was possessed of a 
 small independence, sufficient for a person 
 of my moderate views in any country 
 where I might like to live, and I deter- 
 mined to return to my native land.
 
 66 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 '^ To this resolution I was no doubt led 
 by that natural sentiment inborn in us, 
 which draws us towards the land of our 
 birth, for I had no relations to seek — no 
 friends to welcome me thither. Long 
 habit made me prefer a town, and acci- 
 dent fixed me here after I had been un- 
 successful in all my inquiries concerning 
 the family I had once lived with. How 
 fortunate ! how providential ! that it was 
 in this town I fixed myself, for here I 
 have met with you." 
 
 Ellen could scarcely murmur her thanks 
 for the recital. She took up her baby and 
 clasped it to her heart — she felt she was 
 no longer so forlorn, yet she could not ex- 
 press herself in words. Her tears would 
 have burst forth afresh. The picture 
 which Mrs. Benson drew of her mother 
 in childhood and girlhood, both afi'ected 
 and pleased her — and she might freely 
 speak to her of this mother — she might
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 67 
 
 ask a thousand questions about her. Witli 
 her grandmother she was never used to 
 speak upon those points — they moved the 
 old lady too strongly. Mrs. Thornton 
 herself never alluded to days gone by, her 
 mind, burthened with the loss of husband, 
 children, and position, wished to dwell 
 only in the present, or the future, and 
 Ellen knew little of her parents, who had 
 passed fi'om earth so quickly, or of any 
 little incidents which had occurred in her 
 family.
 
 68 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 
 But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice.'' 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Notwithstanding all Ellen's good nurs- 
 ing, and Mrs. Benson's kind attentions in 
 bringing every sort of little delicacy 
 within her reach that might tempt the 
 capricious appetite of the invalid, who 
 could not touch to-day what he had liked 
 yesterday, Wilfrid Hume was evidently 
 getting worse and worse. 
 
 Mrs. Benson saw this much plainer
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 60 
 
 than Ellen did. She fondly flattered her- 
 self that as the spring advanced, her hus- 
 band's health would improve, and imputed 
 his evident decay of strength to the wind, 
 the weather, any thing but the right 
 cause — the sure progress of disease. 
 
 TTilfred tried to smile, and to appear 
 as if he believed her prognostics — he did 
 not dare tell his sweet Ellen what he was 
 certain of himself. 
 
 He knew that he should never see the 
 leaves fall which were now budding fi'esh 
 upon the way-side trees opposite theii- 
 window, and peering out in every nook 
 where a shrub could by any ingenuity be 
 made to grow. These scanty tokens of 
 the verdure, spring was profusely poiuing 
 forth in the fields and lanes of the neigh- 
 boui'hood, though cheering now to look at, 
 in summer only made this vain attempt at 
 country shew most dismal Irom the clouds 
 cf dust that lay upon ever^; dried-up leaf
 
 70 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 and spray. But just at this time, as he 
 sat at the window it was an occupation to 
 watch them, and to go over in his mind 
 the walks that he used to take among the 
 hedge-rows. 
 
 He did not like to chill his Ellen's 
 sweet smiles and hopes, and listened with 
 placidity to her plans for the future, as he 
 sat thus^ — she with her needle, at his side. 
 
 Her acquaintance with Mrs. Benson had 
 given a new impulse to her mind. Before 
 this, the utter forlornness of their situa- 
 tion weighed at times upon her spirits, 
 but now a constant cheerfulness lighted 
 up her face. 
 
 There was no danger that her husband 
 should want any comforts, if sickness 
 should palsy her own hand, and her em- 
 broidery went on the quicker for the idea. 
 
 Baby too began to run about and to 
 prattle incessantly, thus becoming an in- 
 creased source of interest to her papa, of-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 71 
 
 ten assisting to revive his spirits in his 
 most languid moments — and Ellen looked 
 with redoubled pleasure at her darling 
 little help. 
 
 Yet with all this, Wilfrid felt that he 
 was soon to leave the world. 
 
 It was hard, very hard, to contemplate 
 a separation from Ellen and his child. 
 "Were it not for this, although still young, 
 he would have been satisfied to go. Even 
 as it was he tried to make up his mind, 
 and by fixing his thoughts firmly upon a 
 future state, to think of death but as a 
 journey, at the end of which, after a short 
 period, his Ellen and his baby would join 
 him. 
 
 He had made good use of the time 
 Providence had given him since he was 
 first taken ill. Many members of his fa- 
 mily had been removed young, but as, 
 until he had the fever at Jamaica he had 
 always been considered to have a good
 
 72 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 constitution, an early death had not pre- 
 sented itself to his mind. 
 
 'No sooner however had the fatal symp- 
 toms taken root, and he was obliged to go 
 on half-pay, than he began to consider his 
 situation, and to put his house in order. 
 
 Ellen, gentle and devout, was rejoiced 
 to find what serious thoughts employed 
 her husband, although she was sanguine 
 as to his recovery. 
 
 Family calamities and deaths had so- 
 bered down the exuberant spirits of her 
 youth, while religion, with an eye always 
 turned towards heaven, had given her a 
 moral courage to meet every difficulty in 
 life with unshaken fortitude. It was this 
 dependence upon Providence — this con- 
 stant recollection put into practice, that, 
 even under the most painful and dishearten- 
 ing circumstances, existence in this world is 
 but a short-lived dream — which made her 
 overcome her natural timidity, and deter-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 73 
 
 mined her to seek for employment in the 
 warehouse of Mr. Simpkins. 
 
 In this she succeeded beyond her most 
 sanguine hopes. Hume encouraged her 
 in it. Had he been able he would have 
 sought for employment for himself. He 
 knew that even the very effort to do some- 
 thing is of use to the mind — and while 
 Ellen's endeavours eked out their very 
 scanty means, her health and spiiits were 
 not injui'ed by the exertion. 
 
 And now to leave this dear creature ! 
 But it was the will of God. 
 
 ^'I need not tell her yet,'' thought he, 
 ^' I may linger a little longer — I must tell 
 her at last — and soon she must have some 
 preparation, but not yet.'' 
 
 Although his hands began to look so 
 transparent that you could fancy you saw 
 the light through them, Ellen, as she sat 
 beside him at her needle, was sure he was 
 better from the placid expression of his 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 74 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 coTintenance. She did not see it was re- 
 signation when hope is past. Mrs, Benson 
 did, and always returned home with her 
 heart more heavy from the sight. 
 
 He now conld scarcely bear to be sepa- 
 rated from Ellen for a moment. Although 
 he insisted upon her going into the open 
 air every day, and taking baby to walk 
 with her, his face would flush with joy 
 when she came into the room again. Mrs. 
 Benson was often alone with him at those 
 times, for, finding her visits acceptable, 
 she let no day pass without calling in. 
 
 The good woman's friendship for the 
 family was a true balm to poor Hume's 
 heart. Her assurances that ste would 
 look upon Ellen and the baby in the light 
 of adopted children, and leave them every 
 farthing she possessed, removed the great- 
 est cause he had to dread the approach of 
 death. 
 
 And now, as if to lengthen out the time
 
 EABLY STRUGGLES. . O 
 
 they had to spend together in this world 
 by recurring to the past, he often recalled 
 
 former scenes tc Ellen. 
 
 '•Do you remember the first day I saw 
 you, Ellen, when yon led yonr blind 
 grandmother to the seat beneath the beech 
 tree on the village green ? 
 
 *• Ah ! yes." said Ellen "j::. 1_; 1 ■ ;^r 
 entered the vill:.^^ ^T::h y v.: 1,: h- 
 ment." 
 
 '•How beautiful I thonght you. Ellen,'' 
 said he J gazing at her fondly, " } : u looked 
 so bashfol, so anxions to fly as we i^ ed 
 by, yet obliged to remain." 
 
 '•Flatterer," returned Ell o:. ''ut I 
 did want to get away — giau 1 mrr.a 
 would go into the air^ and sit bene.Th :he 
 beech tree, though I urged her to stay 
 nntil the soldiers passed by, but no, she 
 would go, she ^ Kked to hear the band,' 
 she said." 
 
 '^Dear, kind old lady.'' ejaculated 
 
 e2
 
 76 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Hume, '^ I often think of the day when 
 she put your hand into mine and said she 
 would die happy, as her Ellen had got a 
 protector — Ah ! Ellen, a poor protector I 
 have been to you," and he thought in his 
 mind, poor as he was, how soon she must 
 lose him. ^^ Nothing but poverty, love — 
 it was selfish of me to bring you into it," 
 
 ^'Our prospects were brighter then, 
 dear "Wilfred," said Ellen, *' you hoped to 
 get your company soon, and then you na- 
 turally thought that your uncle, the only 
 relative you had alive, would not forget 
 you in his will. Things have turned out 
 differently from what you expected — you 
 must not talk thus — I would not be other- 
 wise than I am — your fond wife.'' 
 
 '^ A very aDgel, Ellen.'' 
 
 ^^ !N"onsense," and she smiled so sweetly. 
 ^^And, what though we may be poor, 
 think how happy we shall be when you 
 get strong. Eiches do not make happiness
 
 E^RLY STRUGGLES. 77 
 
 • — all we want now to make iis truly blest 
 in this world is your health, and, please 
 God, when the summer comes you will be 
 quite yourself again, and able to go into 
 the lanes with us. There are very pretty 
 lanes not far from this they tell me.'' 
 
 This was a good opportunity for Wilfrid 
 to speak his thoughts, but he could not, 
 and he caressed his child, who stood be- 
 side the sofa where he lay, admiring the 
 doll which Mrs. Benson had given her 
 that morning, in order to hide the painful 
 feelings that contracted his brow and dim- 
 med his eye.
 
 78 EAELT STRUGOLES. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 " Here the needle plies its busy task." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 The days flew on quickly — perhaps 
 slowly for the invalid, but too, too quickly 
 for Ellen. 
 
 Occupied as she was with her child, her 
 needle, and increased attendance on her 
 husband, the hours were not long enough 
 for all she had to do, although her day 
 encroached a great deal upon the night. 
 
 As poor Hume became worse, night- 
 watchings were often added, and it was
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 79 
 
 wonderful how the delicate frame endured 
 so much ; but the spirit within was strong 
 and still she hoped. 
 
 A medical man was called in by Mrs. 
 Benson's advice, although contrary to 
 Hume's wishes. He shook his head, would 
 not absolutely say the patient was past 
 recovery, but he looked it, Mrs. Benson 
 saw. And as the invalid's strength de- 
 clined, and he spent most of the day in 
 bed, the good woman insisted on being 
 constantly with Ellen, and helping her to 
 take care of baby. 
 
 It was towards the middle of summer, 
 that summer which Ellen had so fondly 
 looked to as a source of renovation to her 
 husband, that Mrs. Benson, anxious to 
 divert the mind of Ellen, as well as wish- 
 ing to hear particulars relative to a family 
 so revered, took advantage of an observa- 
 tion Ellen made to bring about a conver- 
 sation deeply interesting to her.
 
 80 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 They were both sitting at the window 
 at the time. The sun had just set. Though 
 so early, poor Hume had retired to bed. 
 
 Over a high wall that ran opposite the 
 house, against which were ranged the 
 dusty row of trees, a glimpse might be 
 caught of a distant hill, with some houses 
 scattered on the side of it. 
 
 There was nothing particularly striking 
 or cheering in the view, but a red glow 
 lingered in the heavens above, which 
 threw a gleam on it, and fancy pictured 
 that in the country beyond there might 
 be a meandering stream, and hedges co- 
 vered with wild flowers. 
 
 Something of this idea it must have 
 been, for other association could no where 
 be found, that made Ellen exclaim, 
 
 '^ How beautiful now are the lanes and 
 hedge-rows about Llanluyd, where Wil- 
 frid and I used so often to walk in the first 
 months of our married life ! Ah ! I can
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 81 
 
 fancy I see the wild roses clustering 
 amidst the brambles, and hear the rush of 
 the deep stream.'' 
 
 ^^ And what place is Llanluyd, dear?'' 
 inquired Mrs. Benson. 
 
 " It is the name of the village where I 
 lived with grandmamma," Ellen said with 
 a sigh, for Hume in the pride of health 
 and life came before her eyes, so different 
 from what he was now I Though at the 
 same instant in spite of all, hope fondly 
 whispered those days may come again. 
 
 ^^ Do you remember Woodhouse at all, 
 dear?" inquired Mrs. Benson. ^' I sup- 
 pose, as you lost your father and mother 
 so early you lived there with your grand- 
 mother." 
 
 ^^^0," Ellen replied, ^^ grandmamma 
 never lived at "Woodhouse since I was a 
 child, always at Llanluyd. She had such 
 a pretty cottage there — very small but so 
 pretty.'' 
 
 E 3
 
 82 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^ Then your grandfather, Squire Thorn- 
 ton, must have died when you were very 
 young?" 
 
 ^' Yes, before I was born," Ellen said. 
 *^He broke his neck, I have heard, when 
 out hunting, having been thrown from his 
 horse in attempting to leap over a five-bar 
 gate at the close of the day when the ani- 
 mal was jaded." 
 
 '^ His affairs must have been in a bad 
 state, I am afraid," Mrs. Benson observed, 
 '' to oblige your grandmother to leave 
 Woodhouse." 
 
 ''Yes, it was found every thing was 
 mortgaged — he had lived too fast — grand- 
 mother had nothing left but a very small 
 annuity for her life, given out of the 
 wreck of the property by the creditors, so 
 she went to live at Llanluyd for economy. 
 She was always delicate and ailing, my 
 dear, dear grandmamma." And Ellen's 
 eyes filled with tears. '' But still she lived
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 83 
 
 013 and did not die until after I. went to 
 Jamaica. She had been blind though for 
 several years." 
 
 ^^My dear old mistress," ejaculated 
 Mrs. Benson. ^' She used to read and knit 
 by turns all day, as she lay upon the sofa, 
 when I knew her." 
 
 ^'Grandmamma could employ herself 
 in knitting when she was quite blind,'' 
 returned Ellen, " her eyes were not strong, 
 but she could make use of them when 
 first I went to live with her, and for some 
 years after, and she educated me entirely 
 herself." 
 
 ''And very competent to do so she 
 
 was," said Mrs. Benson. " I do not think 
 
 your sweet mother ever had a governess." 
 
 "Never, I have heard grandmamma 
 
 say," Ellen replied. 
 
 "But what a sad change for Mrs. 
 Thornton — from a handsome park with 
 carriages and several servants, into a lit- 
 tle cottage !" observed Mrs. Benson.
 
 84 EIRLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 "Yes, it must have been a great 
 change," returned Ellen "but grand- 
 mamma was very cheerful and happy, we 
 had only one care," and her lips quivered 
 a little. 
 
 " Ah ! your poor grandmother's blind- 
 ness.'' 
 
 " Not exactly that, she was so resigned 
 —she did not think of it." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " And you had no brother, no sister, 
 dear,'' Mrs. Benson resumed. 
 
 Ellen gave a slight start at the inter- 
 rogatory. 
 
 "Yes, I had one brother, Ealph — He 
 was some years older than I was, but,'' — 
 
 " And he died too ?" Mrs. Benson said. 
 " What ravages death has made in a sin- 
 gle family!'' 
 
 "No, he did not die," said Ellen, 
 quickly, " at least we never heard he did ; 
 but we never had news of him, that is,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 85 
 
 after he left us — only a chance account 
 once. Ah ! I wonder is he in the world 
 still — but I fear not — I do not know how 
 it was, grandmamma and he never agreed 
 — I think she expected too much from 
 him. He was rather wild too, but so fond 
 of me, and I of him,'' she added after a 
 short pause, wiping away a tear. 
 
 Mrs. Benson saw she had touched a 
 delicate chord, and looked distressed. 
 
 In fact, this was the great grief in 
 Ellen's young life. This brother, so be- 
 loved, had gone into the great wilderness 
 of the world to make his way as he could, 
 with the character of being headstrong 
 and unsteady, and had never been heard 
 of since. 
 
 Whether he had turned his steps to the 
 frozen north, or to the burning plains of 
 India, nobody could tell. Somebody had 
 seen him, or thought they saw him, on 
 board a vessel at Portsmouth. That was
 
 86 EA.ELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 all they ever knew. Ellen had uninten- 
 tionally offended him almost at the 
 moment they parted, by taking her 
 grandmother's side, when referred to con- 
 cerning some point he disputed, and this 
 recollection, although it might not have 
 been the reason of his silence, had always 
 rankled in her mind whenever it recurred 
 to her. 
 
 She had so loved Ealph. 
 
 Mrs. Benson would not speak any more 
 of the brother. Most likely he was a wild 
 youth like his uncle Arthur she thought. 
 This last she knew was dead. He had 
 passed a very 'scape-grace sort of life 
 while she was in the family, but his ca- 
 reer was brief, as he died soon after she 
 went to New York.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 87 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 " All are not taken ! there are left behind, 
 Living beloveds — tender looks to bring, 
 And make the day-light still a blessed thing, 
 And tender voices to make soft the wind." 
 
 Midnight Harmonies. 
 
 Poor Hume sank before the fall of the 
 leaf. He went off very suddenly at the 
 last, without pain. 
 
 He was up and laid upon the sofa, and 
 Ellen and his child were near him — It 
 was only a few days before that her eyes 
 were fully open to his situation. 
 
 A hard and bitter trial it was for Ellen
 
 88 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 when she awoke from the long swoon that 
 followed his last moments — oh ! how bit- 
 ter ! But she did not question the wisdom 
 that ordained it. Even in her greatest 
 agony she called to mind that God is love, 
 and cannot be unkind to his children — 
 that He is wisdom, and cannot do any- 
 thing that is not wise — that in mercy are 
 we often taken — and that earth often 
 opens her bosom to receive us, and hide 
 us from protracted pain. 
 
 Calmly her husband breathed his last, 
 and for this Ellen was thankful. And as 
 she gazed on the cold clay now lying so 
 placidly, with that look of beauty which 
 immediately succeeds death, and recalled 
 the last words he uttered — ^^ Oh ! happy, 
 so happy ! if it were not for leaving you, 
 Ellen, but you will come to me, and — '' 
 we shall never more be parted, he would 
 have said, but the words died upon his 
 lips — she felt she ought not to wish him 
 back again.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 89 
 
 Ought not I Ah ! how hard. 
 
 And yet what was his death ? 
 
 The disembodying of a soul washed 
 from the pollutions of clay, and plumed 
 for heaven — going to its home, a father's 
 home, to be for ever happy. 
 
 But then, the separation ! ^N'ever more 
 on earth. Never to hear that dear voice, 
 to catch those accents, always music to 
 her ear. 
 
 Sad one, fix thy thoughts on another 
 world — look back, what has thy life hi- 
 therto been but a dream ? when thou com- 
 est to the end what will it still seem to 
 thee ? A dream. Think, that every day, 
 every hour, every moment as it flies, 
 brings thee nearer to the lost one, and 
 
 rejoice in the hope of the future. 
 * * * * # * * 
 
 Mrs. Benson took Ellen and baby to 
 her own home immediately after the fu- 
 neral, and lavished on them all the cares 
 and attentions of a fond mother.
 
 90 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Although Ellen's spirit, fortified by her 
 religious feelings, bore up wonderfully 
 under the sad trial, her bodily strength 
 decayed so rapidly as to fill the mind of 
 Mrs. Benson with terror. It was the vio- 
 lent re-action caused by exertions beyond 
 her strength, made for several months 
 previous to her husband's death, that was 
 the cause of it. 
 
 The medical man, Mr. Parry, whom 
 Mrs. Benson called in — the same who had 
 seen her husband — looked both grave and 
 distressed as his eye glanced from the 
 forlorn widow to the helpless babe, who, 
 not old enough to comprehend her loss, 
 had a vague fear that mamma might leave 
 her as her dear papa had done, and clung 
 to her, holding her gown tight in her 
 closed little hands, and scanning every 
 one with a frightened air. 
 
 Ellen could scarcely move or speak, so 
 prostrated was she by weakness.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 91 
 
 ^^My dear madam," said Mr. Parry, 
 taking Mrs. Benson aside, " this good 
 lady will die if she has not immediate 
 change of air, the atmosphere of the town 
 will never do for her; the quiet of the 
 country and a healthful locality can alone 
 restore the tone of her system." 
 
 '^I will go anywhere with her, Sir/' 
 Mrs. Benson said, much distressed, " any 
 where that you can point out, she is 
 hardly fit to choose herself, now." 
 
 '^ Wales, I think,'' returned he, ^Hhe 
 Welsh hills." 
 
 '^Ah!" said Mrs. Benson, ^^I have 
 heard her speak of the village of Llan- 
 luyd, would that do ?" 
 
 ^'Exactly," returned he, ''has she ever 
 been there herself?'' 
 
 ''It was in that village she was mar- 
 ried," Mrs. Benson replied. 
 
 "It may answer by and by," he re- 
 turned after a moment's thought, "but
 
 92 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 not now, her loss is too recent. I know 
 the spot well and the country around. It 
 is all beautiful, but just at present I do 
 not think it would be advisable." 
 
 ^^ I have been in Wales myself/' said 
 Mrs. Benson, ^^and would therefore be 
 obliged if you would ^:s. on some particu- 
 lar place for us. I agree with you Llan- 
 luyd would not do.'' 
 
 ^^Stay,'' he returned, ^Hhere would be 
 no objection to the neighbourhood. I 
 know of a farm house a few miles distant 
 from the village, where, if they would 
 receive you, you would find yourselves 
 very comfortable. I could write and find 
 out particulars as to the accommodation, 
 and if it would be agreeable. We must 
 have her approbation however. This even- 
 ing I will call in and talk it over.'' 
 
 ^^Oh, thank you, thank you, how very 
 kind ! I am indeed frightened about dear 
 Mrs. Hume. She and the baby are as dear
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 93 
 
 as children of my own to me. I would 
 do anything for them." 
 
 ^'Kind Mrs. Benson," the surgeon said, 
 you knew them formerly then ?" 
 
 ^^The mother and grandmother of Mrs. 
 Hume, Sir. I lived in the family, and I 
 look upon them as relatives. But Mrs. 
 Hume is so depressed. Sir, I fear we shall 
 have much difficulty in getting her to 
 move when it comes to the point. I hinted 
 at it the other day, and she wept — She 
 could not leave her husband's grave, she 
 said." 
 
 '' I must try what I can do,'' returned 
 Mr. Parry. Suppose I drop in to tea. I 
 can leave word at home where I shall be 
 found if wanted." 
 
 '^That will do exactly," said Mrs. Ben- 
 son, '' then you can talk it over with her." 
 
 In the evening the surgeon came, acci- 
 dentally as it were, to ask some question 
 of Mrs. Benson respecting a neighbour, 
 and remained to tea.
 
 94 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 He looked at the child as he sipped his 
 tea, and praised it —called her over to him 
 and patted her cheek. 
 
 '^ This confined air does not suit her,'' 
 observed he, ^^ a rosy red ought to be here 
 instead of that delicate white." 
 
 The little creature reddened up as he 
 caressed her, and laughed in his face — 
 children like, to be noticed. 
 
 ^•How different she looks now," said 
 he, ^'but it is gone again — that bright 
 bloom." 
 
 The mother, lying on the sofa close to 
 the tea table, caught at his words, and 
 gazing anxiously at the child, drew her 
 towards her. 
 
 '' My little darling does look pale ! '' 
 
 In reality the child had become so quiet 
 and hushed since her papa's death, that 
 her little feet appeared to glide noiselessly 
 about, and her voice was always in a 
 whisper. The mother's illness had de- 
 pressed the joyousness of childhood.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 95 
 
 ^^Then you think my child wants 
 change of air, Mr. Parry?" Ellen said, 
 rousing herself. 
 
 '' A run in the country among the mea- 
 dows would do her so much good ! " re- 
 turned he. ^'You would not know her 
 after she had been a week there ; she 
 would become rosy as a milk-maid, and 
 plump like a young partridge.'' 
 
 ^' She is not ill however, thank God ! '' 
 Ellen observed, "although she has lost 
 her beautiful cQlour ; but she certainly is 
 not so lively as she used to be : I fear the 
 darling frets too ! '' 
 
 ''Let her see the sheep and cows and 
 race after the poultry, and then you will 
 not have to complain of her want of live- 
 liness.'' 
 
 '^IIow can I manage that?'' inquired 
 Ellen, all alive to his suggestions. 
 
 And on the instant, she would go into 
 the country and take her precious darling
 
 96 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 with her, she said. But where ? and by 
 herself ? and she looked at Mrs. Benson. 
 
 '^ No, not by yourself, dear,'' Mrs. 
 Benson returned, replying to the look. ''I 
 will accompany you, and we will house- 
 keep together for a time. A nice lodging 
 in a farm-house, what do you say to that, 
 dear?" 
 
 ^^ It will do you a great deal of good 
 likewise,'' said Mr. Parry, ^' but a farm- 
 house in this neighbourhood won't do; 
 you must change the air entirely,'' 
 
 Ellen smiled faintly as she nodded her 
 thanks to Mrs. Benson, and then looked 
 inquiringly at Mr. Parry, who continued. 
 
 ^^ I can recommend a farm-house — that 
 is if they will take lodgers — in a very 
 healthy spot and beautifully situated : it 
 is near Llanluyd." 
 
 '^ Llanluyd 1 '' she exclaimed, '' Impos- 
 sible ! I cannot go there," and the tears 
 rose in her eyes.
 
 EiRLY STRUGGLES. 97 
 
 " The farm-house I mean is not in the 
 village of Llanluyd. It is quite three 
 miles from it ; you need not even pass 
 through the village to reach it.'' 
 
 "Ah ! that might answer us then," she 
 said, after a little pause. " The air is 
 bracing, it would suit Emilj^" 
 
 "Exactly,'' he returned, "just the air 
 to make a child strong." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with the people 
 who inhabit the house ? " Mrs. Ilume 
 asked. 
 
 " I know the family well," he replied. 
 "They are connections of mine. My 
 father, though moving in what might be 
 cnlled a ditl^'crent sphere of life, was 
 prouder of his cousin David Apjolin than 
 of any other relative that he had. He 
 Avas used to say that David belonged to a 
 class the most respectable, the most un- 
 sophisticated, and the most truly happy of 
 any of the different grades of society ; the 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 98 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 honest yeoman who cultiyated the ground 
 with his own hand, and who, if he was 
 wanting for the service of his country, 
 might be found in his plain working dress 
 with his hand, like Cincinnatus, on the 
 plough/' 
 
 "Ah!'' said Mrs. Benson, who saw 
 that Ellen appeared interested, ^^you 
 must write to them at once, sir. I hope 
 they may find room for us ; and as you 
 know them, and have seen them, pray 
 describe the family to us. One likes to 
 hear something beforehand of people one 
 may be thrown amongst." 
 
 " Certainly ; if it will amuse Mrs. Hume 
 and you, T will give you a little sketch of 
 them. It will not weary you, madam ? " 
 he said, addressing Mrs. Hume. 
 
 " Oh, no,'' she replied, with more ani- 
 mation than she had yet shewn, " quite 
 the contrary. Pray tell us, and first about 
 the old farmer." 
 
 Glad to interest her, Mr. Parry begun.
 
 BAMET 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ^ Old DiaTid Ajjoim, I Iflnrak T «»»<» Vwim 
 wfWj. wifek liis giirfedluiir — ::: i iz. 
 
 firs-t I saw bim^ aniiir-"~ - " — 
 
 the poartly, upright. fi}r 
 eje^ calm eoonieiiuitt. 
 pv«^ed 1^ whkli spi^k 
 peaee^ soRDnd judgmeL
 
 100 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 mindedness. His was that religion whicli 
 softens and expands the heart, and which 
 being based on christian humility, sees a 
 fellow- sufferer in the most worthless, and 
 drops the tear of pity over what he can- 
 not mend. 
 
 ^^ Silent and reserved, his character was 
 read in his actions, not his words, and 
 while his judgment taught him to reprove 
 the vagrant beggar, and the poor wretch 
 who looked as if he never had a home, 
 charity whispered a thousand excuses, and 
 impelled the alms that contradicted the 
 harsh word. 
 
 " He felt if he did not say with the poet 
 that the supplicant might be one who 
 
 'lost to ev'ry hope of life, 
 Has long with fortune held unequal strife ; 
 Known to no human love, no human care. 
 The friendless, homeless, object of despair.' 
 
 ^* The dawn of day saw the good far- 
 mer gather his labourers around him, and
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 101 
 
 read prayers for them before they went to 
 their daily work. 
 
 " Prayer and a chapter in the bible 
 closed the eveninir, after they had, round 
 a long oaken table, with the master of the 
 house at the head of it, partaken of a 
 cheerful supper. 
 
 '* Frequently in the chimney corner the 
 houseless stranger and the wandering 
 harper might be found seated, roughly in- 
 vited in perhaps from an inclement night, 
 by old David, while dame Apjohn pressed 
 on them the home-made cake, and the 
 foaming tankard of cwrw brewed by her 
 own hands. 
 
 '^ Then there was the stranger's tale. 
 He had been a soldier in far away wars, 
 it might or might not have been true, his 
 story of prison in foreign lands, of ship- 
 wreck and starvation, of privations that 
 made the hair stand on end, and taught 
 the rough hind to whisper a thanksgiving
 
 102 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 to God who had set his fortunes to till the 
 soil — who could say what his youth had 
 been ? but he was cold and hungry when 
 the farmer found him without, white- 
 haired and bent, and aged, and he cared 
 not to scan the truth too closely as he 
 smoked his pipe and listened with the 
 rest. 
 
 ^'Then, when there was a pause, the 
 equally old, but less care-worn harper, 
 drew forth, with a finger as true, though 
 not so strong as it once had been, 
 those ancient Welsh ditties, which have 
 in them a plaintive solemnity bordering 
 much upon church music. 
 
 ^'Sometimes Mr. Griffith Thomas, the 
 curate of the parish, made one beside the 
 fire ' side, and frequently the village school- 
 master, Mr. John Davis. These two gave 
 a higher tone to the conversation when- 
 ever they met, and generally had it all to 
 themselves. Now they discussed some
 
 EAELY STRUGGLES. 103 
 
 scriptural allusion to the manners and 
 customs of the Jews — another time they 
 tried to analj^ze the Welsh language, des- 
 canting upon its heauty, its copiousness, 
 the rich combination of its verbs, and its 
 extreme softness. 
 
 '•'■ Both agreed in this their admiration 
 of their native tongue, but the curate was 
 the most energetic, 
 
 ^^ He preferred it vastly to the Greek, 
 as being as lofty, and more harmonious, 
 quoting the celebrated lines on thunder, 
 
 " Tan a dwr yn yniwriaw, 
 Yw'r taranau dreigiau draw. 
 
 ^^But the schoolmaster shook his head, 
 and would not give up his beloved Greek, 
 even in favor of his native dialect. 
 
 ^^ Meantime the farmer would enjoy his 
 pipe, the old dame busy herself at her 
 knitting, and Llewy and Davy, hanging 
 about the knees of the harper, would 
 whisper supplications for a carol from
 
 104 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Cynwyl Cymru, or the Welshman's candle 
 — a book of verse then pojDular all over 
 Wales — or some legend of the corpse 
 candle preceding a funeral procession, a 
 superstition which the good curate had 
 vainly tried to combat among the more 
 uneducated peasantry in his parish. 
 
 ^' Thus passed the hour after supper, 
 until nine o'clock arrived. Then, if the 
 curate was there, he gave them prayers 
 and a short lecture on the various duties 
 of the poor ; while at other times the far- 
 mer, taking care that his domestics were 
 all collected, read a short emphatic sup- 
 plication, concluding with a chapter from 
 the large family bible which had been 
 handed down from father to son for 
 generations, and then dismissed them to 
 a sweet repose, until the lark should rouse 
 them on the morrow. 
 
 " Green and flourishing as was the old 
 age of farmer Apjohn, he had not how-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 105 
 
 ever passed through life without expe- 
 riencing its cares and crosses ; his only- 
 child, a son, despite the entreaties of 
 father and mother, had taken to a sea- 
 faring life, despising the even tenor of the 
 condition of a husbandman, which had 
 been the occupation of his father, grand- 
 father and great grandfather; who, hold- 
 ing a lease at a moderate rent for more 
 than a century of this productive and 
 beautifully situated farm, had been suc- 
 cessively christened, married and buried 
 in the church of the neighbouring village. 
 
 "There, in one corner upon the sur- 
 rounding tombstones you might read the 
 nam.es of many Apjohns. 
 
 "They were a long-lived race too, and 
 as you marked how sweetly the flowers 
 bloomed about their graves, how the old 
 yew tree spread its branches over them, 
 how trimly the box-edgings were kept, 
 how duly the rosemary was strewed over 
 
 f3
 
 106 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 them upon Sunday, your thoughts would 
 linger and dwell upon the peaceful rest 
 each one seemed to have beside the other 
 in that cheerful church-yard. 
 
 ^' One name alone was wanting of the 
 first-born of each Apjohn. Owen perished 
 at sea. 
 
 ^^ Old David Apjohn had always hoped 
 that Owen would have been reclaimed 
 from his love of wandering, and have 
 settled down to the farm occupation ; and 
 many a time his good dame was used to 
 say to her young daughter-in-law who 
 remained at the farm, as they arranged 
 together the dress kitchen (parlour it 
 would be now-a-days) fresh sanded the 
 floor, opened the corner cupboards filled 
 with sundry cups and saucers, mugs and 
 bowls of beautiful old china, and reveren- 
 tially dusted the cover of the family bible 
 with its silver clasps, and often-admired 
 engravings — work which had never been
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 107 
 
 done by any hand but that of the mis- 
 tress or her daughter since the Apjohns 
 had become the inhabitants of the farm 
 house. 
 
 ^^ ' Ah ! Molly, if Owen was here, how 
 happy we should be. How can he leave 
 you, his beloved wife and his twin boys, 
 to say nothing of his old father and mo- 
 ther, and continue to rove about the seas 
 instead of looking after the farm, as all 
 his forefathers did. I had hoped that mar- 
 riage would steady him, and teach him to 
 love home, but he seems just as fond of a 
 seafaring life as ever. It was an unfortu- 
 nate indulgence our allowing him to spend 
 those few weeks when he was quite a lit- 
 tle urchin, with our relative at St. Cynllo- s 
 — although he was so young, he took such 
 a violent inclination to go to sea, that his 
 mind has been set upon it ever since. 
 Last time he was at home he promised me 
 that he would try and turn his hand to
 
 108 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 the farming after this trip — God grant he 
 may, but I can scarcely dare hope it, for 
 I see all his thoughts are of the sea still. 
 I cannot comprehend his love for it. The 
 life of a mate is but a hard one — tossing 
 upon the sea amidst storms and darkness, 
 and keeping watch at night while we sit 
 so comfortably over our fire side, or sleep 
 securely in our beds.' 
 
 ^^ Then Molly — a pretty, gentle young 
 woman, the daughter of a neighbouring 
 farmer, though yearning to have her hus- 
 band at home, w^ould, like a good wife, 
 endeavour to excuse his choice of a sea- 
 faring life, and hiding her own secret dis- 
 appointment, for he had often promised 
 her to give it up, would not allow him to 
 be blamed by any one but herself. 
 
 " Owen would remain at home this time 
 she was sure — but trip succeeded trip, and 
 still Owen staid not. 
 
 ^^ The last time her mother-in-law thus
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 109 
 
 vented her regrets, Molly could not help 
 wiping her eyes in the corner of her apron. 
 
 ^^ She had that morning heard of several 
 shipwi'ecks, as the week had been very 
 stormy, and her heart misgave her that 
 some evil might have happened to Owen. 
 
 " Her prognostics were but too true — 
 the Merchant Vessel which he was on board 
 of was wrecked the preceding night off 
 Cardigan Bay, and he was among those 
 who were lost. 
 
 " Farmer Apjohn and his wife took the 
 loss of their only son sadly to heart, but 
 poor Molly never lifted up her head after 
 she heard of it, and was soon laid in the 
 corner of the churchyard where the Ap- 
 johns rested. 
 
 "^How young,' exclaims the careless 
 passer by, as he reads the name of the 
 young widow, and her age — just nineteen 
 — upon the head-stone." 
 
 Such was the sketch of the farmer and
 
 110 EIRLY STRUGaLES. 
 
 his household which Mr. Parry gave his 
 listeners. 
 
 A Welshman by birth, and attached to 
 every locality where any of his boyish 
 days had been spent, he lingered with a 
 pardonable prolixity as he sipped cup after 
 cup of Mrs, Benson's well-compounded 
 tea, over the simple details of this farm- 
 establishment, whither he was anxious to 
 remove Mrs. Hume. 
 
 He judged, and rightly, that an associ- 
 ation with people and scenes entirely new 
 to her, might rouse those energies, which, 
 notwithstanding all her pious resignation, 
 since her calamity, were bowed down to 
 the dust. 
 
 '^How patriarchal a life those good 
 people must lead,'' said Mrs. Benson; 
 while Ellen wiped away the tears which 
 the relation of the death of the young 
 
 wife brousrht to her e 
 
 '& 
 
 eyes. 
 
 ^'And is the farmer childless now?'' 
 inquired Ellen with a faltering voice.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. Ill 
 
 *^ There are two grandsons, Owen's 
 twin boys — fine children they are, about 
 nine or ten years of age. Last year I had 
 a severe attack of illness, and my partner 
 had double work to do, but he did not 
 mind it, and insisted on my taking a fort- 
 night's holidays after it, to get up my 
 strength. I ran down to Llanluyd to 
 spend the time with my old friend Mr. 
 Griffith Thomas, the curate. I became 
 quite strong before the first week was 
 over; the second one I fancied myself 
 again in my young days, and borrowed 
 John Davis's flies and fishing rod to try 
 my hand. The mornings were too bright 
 to fish, but in the evening the trout rose 
 in myriads. I visited old Apjohn, as you 
 may suppose, and spent one entire day 
 with them. He and his good dame were 
 very proud of little Davy and Llewy — I 
 cannot tell you what a fancy I took to 
 these bovs. I used to see them returning
 
 112 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 from the village school hand in hand with 
 their books and satchels, so like that it was 
 impossible to know one from the other, at 
 the same hour in the evening that I was 
 accustomed to take my fishing rod and 
 flies for a half hour to the end of the 
 bridge." 
 
 ^^Poor children," said Ellen, ^' how for- 
 tunate to have a grandfather and grand- 
 mother to take care of them." And she 
 bent down and kissed little Emily. 
 
 She had her own forebodings.
 
 EA.RLT STRUGGLES. 113 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 ♦' There ev'ry bush with nature's music rings, 
 There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings." 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Mr. Parry wrote on the following day to 
 Farmer Apjohn, and received a letter m 
 the afl&rmative from his good dame. 
 
 They had not had lodgers since Molly's 
 death, (Owen's widow) but as he wished 
 it, they would receive his friends, and 
 make them as comfortable as was in their 
 power. She hoped they liked country 
 business, as there was a great deal doing 
 just now, getting in the harvest. For her- 
 self, she had been brewing beer, making
 
 114 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 preserves, and a variety of other things, 
 all of which she recapitulated. 
 
 Mr. Parry smiled over the good woman's 
 letter, and thought of the time when — a 
 schoolboy ^ — he desired no greater recrea- 
 tion in the holidays than to be allowed to 
 spend a day there, and he rummaged out 
 of his desk after he laid down the epistle, 
 an antiquated pocket book, in which was 
 a rough sketch of the bridge at the en- 
 trance of the valley, and the picturesque 
 cottage of old David Apjohn in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 '^'No time for sketching now,'' ejacu- 
 lated he. ^' Nothing but work — work — 
 always on foot, from morning until night." 
 
 Mrs. Hume could not leave the place 
 where her husband died without visiting 
 his grave, and, although Mrs. Benson 
 dreaded the shock for her, it proved more 
 of a consolation than otherwise. The hour 
 that she spent in prayer there, calmed her 
 spirits.
 
 EARLY STRrGGLES. 115 
 
 Now that her anxieties were aroused 
 for her child, Ellen exerted herself to the 
 utmost, and in the hopes of benefiting her, 
 was as eager to go into the country as Mr. 
 Parry and Mrs. Benson were to get her 
 there. Not that there was really anything 
 the matter with Emily that air and exer- 
 cise would not remove, but Mr. Parry 
 made use of the pale looks and depressed 
 spirits of the child, to rouse the energies 
 of the mother. 
 
 It was a beautiful day in autumn when 
 the travellers approached the valley where 
 lay the dwelling of farmer Apjohn. Not- 
 withstanding that Ellen had resided so 
 many years in the neighbourhood with 
 her grandmother, she had never been ex- 
 actly in this spot, which was very retired. 
 
 It was a dip as it were between the low 
 hills, which, on a first view, though dis- 
 playing rich fields of tillage and pasture 
 running up their sides, looked rather de-
 
 116 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 nuded of trees, except the few that skirted 
 the fences, but nevertheless sunk here and 
 there into the most exquisite little valleys 
 with streams tumbling through them, 
 crossed by romantic bridges, and dotted 
 here and there with the cottages of a 
 hardy race of yeomen, who, cultivating 
 the ground themselves, enjoyed a life of 
 peace and plenty in this secluded district. 
 
 This portion of South Wales is perhaps 
 the most primitive part of Great Britain. 
 
 Fashion, disdaining to visit so retired a 
 spot, has permitted the Welsh maiden to 
 retain her jacket and petticoat of linsey- 
 woolsey, and her simple black hat. 
 
 There 
 
 " ihe rural lass, 
 Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 
 Her artless manners and her neat attire, 
 So dignified, that she was hardly less. 
 Than the fair Shepherdess of old romance," 
 
 might still be seen.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 117 
 
 Ellen recognized the face of the country. 
 She had never before travelled the hilly 
 road which led into the valley, but still 
 it was so near her old home, Llanluyd, 
 that it made her heart palpitate. 
 
 Behind that hill in the distance, she 
 thought, Llanluyd must lie, and, yes, now 
 she remembered, although she had never 
 been in the valley where was situated the 
 homestead of farmer Apjohn, she had 
 sometimes walked to the top of that steep 
 cliff where stands the old castle, and 
 looked down upon it. Yes, up the valley, 
 over the hill, and by the castle, was the 
 path through the fields to Llanluyd. 
 
 Ellen gazed upon the scene with plea- 
 sure — a melancholy pleasure it is true, 
 which brought tears into her eyes, but it 
 induced her to point out to Mrs. Benson 
 those different objects as they neared their 
 place of destination. 
 
 Mrs. Apjohn received them with that
 
 118 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 native politeness which, springing from 
 the heart is worth all the polish of society. 
 
 Ellen, accustomed to the quaint attire 
 of the Welsh peasants, saw nothing par- 
 ticular to remark in it, but Mrs. Benson 
 examined it with curiosity. There was 
 something simple and original in dame 
 Apjohn's air, her dress, her manners, and 
 speech, as well as in that of her husband, 
 which immediately attracted the new- 
 comers — satisfied too as they were from 
 Mr. Parry's account, of the genuine worth 
 of these good people. 
 
 Welsh being the tongue of the peasan- 
 try around them, most of whom could 
 scarcely understand a word of English, 
 the language of the Apjohns, as they wel- 
 comed Mrs. Hume and her companion, 
 was devoid of that provincial dialect 
 which marks the different counties in En- 
 gland, yet full of a phraseology and Saxon 
 idiom which conjured up in the hearers'
 
 E ABLY STRUGGLES. 119 
 
 visions of times gone by, when the dis- 
 tinctions in society were not so nicely 
 marked as at the present day — when mas- 
 ter and dependent, from the highest to 
 the lowest sat at the same board, and 
 seemed bound together by a patriarchal 
 tie. 
 
 The farmer, grave and dignified, rea- 
 lized the picture Mr. Parry had drawn 
 of him, and looked like the father of the 
 labourers, who at this hour came crowding 
 in from their farm work. 
 
 The twin grandchildren likewise with 
 their satchels, just returned from school, 
 made their appearance, and Mrs. Apjohii 
 with a pardonable pride, called them over 
 to introduce them to the strangers.
 
 120 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " By what astrology of fear or hope 
 
 Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 
 
 Like the new moon thy life appears ; 
 
 A little strip of silver light. 
 
 And widening outward into night 
 
 The shadowy disk of future years ! " 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Ellen was pleased with every thing. 
 Her apartments were airy and cheerful. 
 Her little girl, struck with delight at the 
 novelty of what she saw, prattled inces- 
 santly. A run in the hay-field, a peep 
 at the poultry-yard, a ride on the top of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 121 
 
 the waggon (where the good farmer placed 
 her himself), soon restored the bright 
 bloom to her cheeks and the gay laugh of 
 childhood to her lips. Mrs. Benson hoped 
 the mother would have benefited by the 
 change as much as the child, but to her 
 great disappointment, Ellen, after the first 
 few weeks became more and more languid. 
 
 Gentle, patient, resigned, and not suf- 
 fering any pain, she nevertheless faded 
 away day by day. IN^either was it from 
 want of exertion, or from not taking pro- 
 per precautions about her health, that her 
 malady increased. 
 
 Whatever her attachment to her hus- 
 band — had there been no other bond — 
 might have led her to wish, the mother's 
 love bound her to earth, and she would 
 have preferred remaining to watch over 
 her darling. 
 
 The startling truth soon burst upon 
 Mrs. Benson. She saw with a sad heart 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 EARLY STKUGGLES. 
 
 what slie had all along determined not to 
 think could be : Ellen had caught the 
 fatal disease from her husband. Xo other 
 spring was to bloom in this world for her. 
 
 We pass quickly over the succeeding 
 circumstances. Her increasing illness — 
 Mrs. Benson's regrets and watchings — the 
 sympathy and attention of the family where 
 she was placed — the journey Mr. Parry, 
 kind man ! took on purpose to see her — the 
 pain with which he saw her premature 
 decay — all these and the closing scene we 
 pass over. 
 
 She had always intended to visit Llan- 
 luydj but had never put her intentions 
 into practice, partly from ill health, partly 
 from recollections too vivid to be over- 
 come. 
 
 !N'ow she rests softly, calmly in the 
 grave beside her grandmother, having 
 made it her last request to be buried near 
 her.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 123 
 
 Emily, child as she was, pined and sor- 
 rowed long for her mother. Many a half 
 hour the little creature stood at Mrs. 
 Benson's side, or wept upon her bosom, 
 listening to her words of comfort, her 
 holy teachings ; of, how happy her dear 
 papa and mamma were, and how, if 
 Emily was always good and gentle, and 
 studied to please God, she would meet 
 them again, and be happy with them for 
 ever in heaven. First and best lesson to 
 be engraven on the heart of a child ! 
 
 Mrs. Benson felt very lonely after the 
 death of Ellen, and turned entirely to 
 little Emily to fill up the void in her time 
 and thoughts. 
 
 She had always determined to go back 
 to her own dwelling in the spring, at 
 which time she had, in the beginning, 
 hoped that Ellen's health would be fully 
 re-established. The result of their visit 
 to the country was far different, and her 
 
 g2
 
 124 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 plans were changed. Emily grew so fast 
 and looked so healtliy and happy in the 
 farm-house, that she would not take her 
 from it. Besides, the society of the farmer 
 and his wife suited her. The good people 
 were glad to keep her with them, and 
 Mrs. Apjohn took charge of Emily while 
 she returned for a while to give up her 
 house, dispose of her furniture, and pack 
 up and bring away what things she did 
 not wish to part with. 
 
 Thus Mrs. Benson remained with the 
 Apjohns four years, enjoying a peaceful 
 life, taking an interest in country occupa- 
 tions, and watching over Emily, who had 
 no provision left her but the small pension 
 to which she was entitled as the child of 
 an officer. 
 
 Ellen's dying bed had been cheered by 
 the promise of Mrs. Benson to take care 
 of Emily, educate her in the best manner 
 she could, and leave her whatever she had 
 on her decease.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 125 
 
 *^It will not be a great deal,'' Mrs. 
 Benson said, ^' as part of my small income 
 is derived from a life interest I have in 
 some houses in New York, but still the 
 little dear child will not be quite penny- 
 less when I die." 
 
 Ellen had raised her eyes and hands to 
 heaven in silent thankfulness, and ex- 
 pressed in her looks to Mrs. Benson what 
 her failing lips could not utter. And thus 
 was the kindness which Ellen's mother 
 had shewn in former days to Mrs. Benson 
 repaid ten-fold, and the words of the 
 preacher verified. ^' Cast thy bread upon 
 the waters, for thou shalt find it after 
 many days." 
 
 Emily was a happy child. She made 
 friends with every living thing about the 
 farm — nursed the lambkins, found out the 
 pea-hens' eggs, fondled the great watch 
 dog, who, fierce to every one save the 
 farmer, and no favorite with the servants,
 
 126 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 allowed the little girl to put her arms 
 round his huge shaggy neck, pat his face, 
 and rub him with her pinafore. 
 
 She picked up Welsh songs from the 
 dairy-maids, and carolled them like a 
 blackbird, as she sat in the fields watch- 
 ing the young calves chace each other in 
 sport, and pulling the blue bells and mea- 
 dow-sweets to make a nosegay for grand- 
 mamma, as Mrs. Benson taught her to 
 call her. 
 
 Mrs. Benson liked her to live in the air 
 while a child, in hopes of warding off any 
 tendency to the fatal disease she might 
 inherit from her parents. But nothing of 
 this kind displayed itself in the brilliant 
 bloom, high spirits, and uninterrupted 
 health of Emily. If the snow-white tint 
 of the skin was embrowned, it was more 
 than made up by the lustre of the laugh- 
 ing eye, and the rounded proportions of 
 the infant form, and the thick mass of soft
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 127 
 
 glossy hair, reaching in curls to the waist, 
 which Mrs. Benson would never let a 
 scissors near, or any hand but her own 
 arrange. 
 
 Thus at six years old Emily was a mo- 
 del of health and beauty. 
 
 And now Mrs. Benson, who had 
 hitherto instructed the child herself, teach- 
 ing her the catechism, bible questions, 
 and how to read, felt that her own know- 
 ledge would not permit her to go any 
 further^ and that Emily must have some 
 other teacher. 
 
 The good woman had been pondering 
 this painfully in her mind for the last six 
 months. Her own acquirements were very 
 limited. It would never do for the grand- 
 daughter of her beloved young mistress, 
 as she always in her thoughts designated 
 Ellen's mother, to have no better teaching 
 than what she could bestow upon her. Of 
 the elements of a good education, history.
 
 128 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 geography, chronology, &c., she knew no- 
 thing, except what she had accidentally 
 gleaned in the intercourse of life. She 
 had never been a reader, except of the 
 bible and a few religious books. All her 
 attainments, notwithstanding the pains 
 her young mistress had taken to teach 
 her more, extended no farther than read- 
 ing, writing a tolerable hand, and cypher- 
 ing sufficient for the common purposes of 
 housekeeping. She was ignorant even of 
 ornamental needlework, her acquisitions 
 there being bounded by a knowledge of 
 plain work and knitting in all its details. 
 Conscious of all these deficencies, she 
 felt it was now time to think how she 
 could educate Emily. A governess was 
 out of the question, as she was too poor 
 to pay one, and having heard there was a 
 school very well spoken of at Llanluyd, 
 after due consideration she came to the 
 resolution of leaving the farm-house —
 
 EAELY STRUGGLES. 129 
 
 taking a very small cottage which was 
 now vacant in the village, and sending 
 Emily as a day scholar to Miss Winny 
 Toms' s school. 
 
 g3
 
 130 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTEH XII. 
 
 " Hail, rural life ! 
 Address himself who will to the pursuit 
 Of honors, or eraolumeut, or fame ; 
 1 shall not add myself to such a chase, 
 Thwart his attempt, or envy his success. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 It was with much regret that Mrs. Ben- 
 son and the Apjohns separated. Tears 
 glistened in the good people's eyes as they 
 bade farewell. Whenever they went into 
 the village they would be sure to call to 
 see her, they said; at all events they 
 would meet at church. The farmer as- 
 sured her, that she should have some of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 131 
 
 his finest potatoes, and the best apples in 
 his orchard for her winter store, and the 
 good dame, in earnest of the future, 
 loaded her with presents of poultry, cream 
 and eggs. Mrs. Benson would fain have 
 resisted such profusion, but she could not 
 refuse what Avas given in the warmth of 
 the heart. 
 
 She regretted going, for, with the ex- 
 ception of the grief poor Mrs. Hume's 
 death had cost her, her time had stolen 
 away gently and imperceptibly since she 
 had entered the dwelling. 
 
 Latterly she had made one of the fa- 
 mily — eaten at the same board, sat at the 
 same fire, listened to the conversations 
 carried on there as neighbours dropped in 
 of an evening, or, drawing her chair into 
 the corner, near ^Ii"s. Apjohn, while they 
 both x^lied the spinning wheel, or knitting 
 needles, discussed with her, knotty points 
 of domestic economy, how to concoct tlie
 
 132 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 best pickle for hamSj how most delicately 
 to spice the elder wine, or how to give its 
 sparkling brilliancy to the gooseberry 
 champagne. 
 
 The twin boys too, interested her, 
 thrown as they entirely were upon the 
 care of the grandfather and grandmother. 
 
 The steady, and perhaps severe disci- 
 pline of the former, tempered the indul- 
 gence of the grandmother. The boys were 
 growing up fine healthy striplings, adepts 
 in every kind of agricultural labour, with 
 sufficient schooling from the schoolmaster 
 of the neighbouring village to raise in 
 their minds that anxiety for knowledge, 
 which made them seize upon every spare 
 moment, and devote it to mental improve- 
 ment. 
 
 Even in the hour after supper, which 
 appeared to be given up in a measure to 
 relaxation, as they stood beside the old 
 harper and heard over and over again the
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 133 
 
 favorite ballad ; the plaintive melody ; or 
 if lie were not there, listened to the dis- 
 quisitions of the curate and the school- 
 master, their minds were at work with 
 perhaps a greater degree of absorption 
 and energy than when they conned the 
 daily task in their Epitomes and books of 
 instruction. 
 
 If, as I think it will always be found, 
 the greatest degree of happiness exists 
 where bodily and mental exercise leave 
 no vacuity in life, where religion, in a 
 mild and persuasive garb^ is made a con- 
 stant guide and companion, and where the 
 benevolent faculties, both with respect to 
 ^ the human and brute creation, are brought 
 daily into play — then it will be allowed 
 that the household of farmer Apjohn had 
 as fair a share of happiness as falls to the 
 lot of mortality. 
 
 When death, or sickness, or other acci- 
 dents attending on life, crept into their
 
 134 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 family they were met with the resignation 
 of the christian, who sees the hand of a 
 Father in every dispensation, and with 
 the patience and fortitude of the pilgrim, 
 who heeds not the roughness of the road 
 which leads him to the wished-for goal. 
 
 The village of Llanluyd was a retired 
 spot. It was situated in a wide valley, 
 which, spread out at the foot of lofty hills, 
 presented a delightful aspect, and offered 
 a healthy temperature, being fanned by 
 the fresh breezes which blew over the 
 hills. The country around, varied and 
 beautiful, was inhabited principally by an 
 agricultural population — yeomen not as- 
 piring beyond the rank of farmers — there 
 being, with the exception of one, no gen- 
 tleman's residence for several miles in the 
 vicinity, and of that one, the owners had 
 not been near it for years. 
 
 Thus the village of Llanluyd formed a 
 little society in itself, a good deal shut
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 136 
 
 out from the rest of the world, and simple 
 customs and old fashions lingered long in 
 it, after they had been banished by in- 
 creased wealth and perhaps over-refine- 
 ment from other parts of the kingdom. 
 Neither were the lands around in the 
 hands of the original possessors of them, 
 which perhaps tended to the isolation of 
 the place. The nobleman in whose family 
 they had been for the last century, though 
 master of a fine demesne, having a mo- 
 dern mansion on it, built by his grand- 
 father, contiguous to the village, was 
 absent from a residence too retired for his 
 tastes, and lived sometimes in London, 
 sometimes on the continent. The ancient 
 manor house known for ages by the name 
 of ^' The Hall," still belonging to a de- 
 cayed branch of the Yaughans — the old 
 proprietors — stood at the entrance of the 
 village, presenting its pointed gables, tall 
 chimneys, and heavy architecture to the 
 eye of the chance stranger.
 
 136 EAULY STRUGGLES. 
 
 'Although kept in tolerable repair, and 
 looking from the thickness of its walls as 
 if it could resist a siege, it had a fallen 
 air amidst its strength, that suited well 
 with the fortunes of the ancient family to 
 whom it belonged. As far as the eye could 
 reach, the country round about had, one 
 hundred years ago belonged to the Yaugh- 
 ans. But much less time suffices to bring 
 the most ancient families down to the 
 dust, and only two people now remained 
 at the Hall, who bore the name — a bro- 
 ther and sister. 
 
 Miss Penelope Yaughan, a maiden lady 
 no longer young, was a constant resident 
 there. When her father and mother died 
 she was in the bloom of youth, and not 
 without attractions; but the care of an 
 infant brother, the charge of his education, 
 and the affection she felt for him, had so 
 filled her thoughts and heart, as to leave 
 no room for other cares, and this holy and
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 137 
 
 beautiful love had been well repaid by the 
 brother. From his earliest childhood she 
 had been every thing to him — she had 
 filled the place of father, mother, sister, 
 friend. 
 
 It was her skilful management, her pe- 
 nurious self-denial I may say, which had 
 enabled her to give him a good education, 
 and fit him for any profession which he 
 might have an opportunity of entering. 
 
 A few individuals whose narrow in- 
 comes, or perhaps a love of retirement, 
 had conducted hither, made up the remain- 
 der of the society at Llanlayd. These 
 were for the most part congregated toge- 
 ther in some cottages ranged along a space 
 of ground called the green, which spread 
 out its soft enamelled turf at one end of 
 the village. 
 
 Pretty habitations they were, railed in, 
 in front ; with small gardens behind, run- 
 ning down to a stream, which, winding
 
 138 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 its course softly beneath overhanging 
 trees, formed their boundary. 
 
 It was the smallest of those cottages, 
 just as you entered upon the green, that 
 Mrs. Benson took, and having, with the 
 assistance of Mrs. Apjohn, furnished it 
 simply, and at little expence, she removed 
 thither with her adopted darling. 
 
 The treasure of old china, and curious 
 odds and ends, which had never been 
 opened while at the farm house, was now 
 unpacked, and gladdened the eyes of Mrs. 
 Benson with reminiscences of former days, 
 so that, when it was all arranged, her neat 
 garden put in order, with flower beds at 
 the entrance, a hedge of laurel running 
 down the centre, dividing the cauliflowers 
 and cabbages from the roses and carna- 
 tions, and the old-fashioned arbour just on 
 the stream's brink trimmed up, she felt 
 that degree of comfort, notwithstanding 
 her regrets at parting from the Apjohns,
 
 E^RLY STRUGGLES. 139 
 
 which one always feels in a house of their 
 own* And in the evening, with Emily on 
 a low stool at her feet, the cat purring on 
 the hearth rug, which she had knitted 
 herself while at the farm, and her basket 
 containing the new squares for a counter- 
 pane, lately commenced, near her, the 
 good woman had nothing further to wish 
 for. 
 
 Emily had wept much at leaving the 
 farm house and her various pets. N'othing 
 consoled her but the promise of Mrs. Ap- 
 john to come and see her, and the present 
 of a kitten which was to be her own pe- 
 culiar property, and which she had been 
 in the habit of nursing since it was born. 
 A few days however reconciled her to play 
 in the garden, and weed the flower beds, 
 and at the end of a week Mrs. Benson 
 introduced her to her new instructress. 
 
 The school kept by Miss Winny Toms 
 was in a small room up a flight of narrow
 
 140 EABLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 stairs in the house of her mother, Mrs. 
 Toms, who had a sort of omnium gatherum 
 shop, on the right hand of the street just 
 as you entered Llanluyd. 
 
 Here all the country people called to 
 make their purchases on their way home, 
 after disposing of their eggs, poultry, 
 butter, and other wares which they 
 hawked from door to door — the penny- 
 worth of tea, a little of the soothing 
 syrup for a sick child (which appeared, 
 among other medicines, in the long- 
 necked bottle in the window) a roll of 
 tobacco, a small cannister of snuff, ribbon 
 for a new cap, or a piece of check for an 
 apron — all of which, and many more sun- 
 dries, too numerous to mention, were to 
 be found in the dark, little shop of Mrs. 
 Toms of Llanluyd. 
 
 Notwithstanding the very humble ap- 
 pearance of her shop however, the widow 
 Toms carried on a good business in her
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 141 
 
 way, and could supply her customers with 
 every sort of common wearable, besides 
 eatables, drinkables, and medicines. 
 
 Of her two daughters, the eldest was a 
 dress-maker in a neighbouring village, 
 and was doing well, while Miss Winny, 
 who had been out as nursery-governess, 
 in a rich tradesman's family residing at 
 Swansea, with whom Mrs. Toms dealt for 
 her stock — had been established for some 
 years as the mistress of the only young 
 ladies' school at Llanluyd. She professed 
 to give them a good English education, 
 and accomplish them in all sorts of needle 
 work. A master attended to teach writ- 
 ing and arithmetic, and a dancing master, 
 who travelled the country, gave instruc- 
 tion in dancing one week in every three 
 months, performing in a double capacity, 
 as he was fiddler likewise. 
 
 Emily was six years old when she be- 
 came a pupil of Miss Winny Toms.
 
 142 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 The school was held in a dull room over 
 the shop, and the scholars were arranged 
 round it on forms. 
 
 As Emily was the only little lady in 
 the school, Miss Winny kept her apart 
 from the other children, and she was al- 
 ways placed on a bench near the school- 
 mistress. The poor little thing looked 
 frightened for several days, when she 
 found herself among so many strange 
 faces, and scarcely dared to raise her eyes 
 from her book. 
 
 Miss Winny Toms' s school consisted of 
 the children of the tradespeople, none of 
 the better class of residents having any 
 young ones requiring instruction. 
 
 There was the Baker's little girl, and 
 the children of the Butcher, two or three 
 tall daughters of some of the richer pea- 
 santry, sent thither to learn English, and 
 some belonging to various petty sho^^keep- 
 ers, for although Mrs. Toms' s was the best
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 143 
 
 shop in the viUage, it was not the only 
 one. 
 
 In short, Miss Winny Toms's school 
 was considered a very good one for Llan_ 
 hiyd, and she had all the most respectable 
 of the village children at it, the others 
 going to the second-rate one kept by the 
 wife of Mr. Green, a shoemaker, who 
 filled both the offices of clerk and sexton 
 at church. 
 
 Miss Winny — a thin, stiff figure, with 
 her elbows pinned in to her sides, was a 
 well-intentioned conscientious person, and 
 not at all a bad hand at teaching A, B, C, 
 spelling, and reading. She was likewise 
 clever at sampler work — could initiate 
 into the mysteries of single and double 
 cross-stitch, and was famous for giving 
 instruction in mingling the shades of wool 
 on an urn-rug, so as to form a rod cat, 
 with preposterously long whiskers to it. 
 
 Altogether she had a fair reputation as a
 
 144 EARLY STRUGaLES. 
 
 clever schoolmistress, and Mrs. Benson 
 thought nothing could suit Emily better 
 than to send her to Miss "Winny Toms as 
 a day scholar.
 
 EAEIT STEUaGLES. 1 45 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 *'* A countenance in which did meet, 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Emily had now been a year at school, and 
 good Mrs. Benson was quite charmed with 
 her proficiency. 
 
 She did not read amiss, only rather too 
 fast — her specimens of needlework were 
 perfect, and the geography, grammar, and 
 history which Miss "Winny Toms made 
 her learn — books of which Mrs. Benson 
 had always been in complete ignorance, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 149 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 having never penetrated further than 
 dusting the covers as they lay on the table 
 in Mrs. Thornton's boudoir— filled the 
 kind-hearted woman with delight. Her 
 darling without doubt would be well edu- 
 cated. 
 
 She did not know how ignorant poor 
 Miss Toms was herself of those sciences 
 she pretended to teach, or what mistakes 
 ^he constantly made in pronouncing the 
 hard names — hard to her — which were to 
 be found in them. 
 
 But with all this Mrs. Benson was, 
 luckily for her peace of mind, unac- 
 quainted, and, even if she had heard the 
 lessons gone over, in very few instances 
 could she have discovered Miss Winny 
 Toms's strange misnomers. 
 
 Poor little Emily ! — It was very dull 
 at first, sitting all day on the bench, and 
 if she turned her eyes towards the win- 
 dow, seeing nothing but the narrow street.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 147 
 
 Her lessons did not trouble her mucli — 
 she learned them fast enough, and had 
 generally a high place in the class; often 
 above girls twice her height and age. 
 Thanks to Mrs. Benson, nobody could re- 
 peat her catechism, or answer questions 
 from the bible more accurately ; and on 
 Saturday, which Miss Winny called repe- 
 tition day, she recapitulated what she had 
 learned in the week with a better memory 
 than any one else. 
 
 Thus her lessons gave her no trouble ; 
 but she did not at all like the bunch of 
 holly w^hich Miss Toms, with due regard 
 to external appearance, often stuck in the 
 belt of her little pupil in order to make 
 her hold up her head. 
 
 It pained her likewise to be brought 
 forward as a pattern child to the other 
 scholars, with, ^ look at Miss Hume, how 
 she attends to her lessons,' or, ^ see what 
 pains Miss Hume takes with her writing,' 
 
 h2
 
 148 EAELT STRUGGLES. 
 
 and she was always glad to get back to 
 grandmamma Benson, as she called her, 
 to play with the cat, and pull up the 
 weeds in the garden. 
 
 The truth was, Miss Winny Toms was 
 proud of the child, and thought she did 
 honor to her school — Could she manage to 
 have an examination just before the holi- 
 days, it would do her so much credit. Miss 
 Hume, she was sure, would answer so 
 well ! she had grounded her in history, 
 geography, and mythology, and in refer- 
 ence to the last, had made her learn some 
 beautiful lines out of Mrs. Tigh Pishe. 
 If Mr. Hubert Yaughan, who was so 
 great a scholar — everyone said so — would 
 only take the trouble to examine the chil- 
 dren some Saturday, it would be of such 
 service to her — double her pupils it might 
 \yQ — perhaps be the means of getting her 
 some from a distance. She had mentioned 
 it to his sister, Miss Penelope more than
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 149 
 
 once, and she, goodnaturedly, had said 
 she would tell him next time he came to 
 the Hall. 
 
 Thus mused Miss Winny Toms as she 
 took tea with her mother in the small 
 parlour behind the shop, while Mrs. Toms 
 with slate and pencil added up her gains 
 of the day, now raising the cup to her 
 lips, then adding another figure to her 
 calculation. 
 
 There was a knock at the street door. 
 The servant glid opened it, and presently 
 appeared with a note. 
 
 ''Some groceries wanted I suppose,'' 
 said Mrs. Toms, holding out her hand. 
 
 " Its for Miss Winny, ma'am,'' said the 
 maid. 
 
 ''A new pupil ]Derhaps ! — Let's see 
 Winny," exclaimed Mrs. Toms, putting 
 on her spectacles. 
 
 '' N'o, not a pupil, mother," replied 
 Winny, ''but it may be the means of
 
 150 EAELT STEUGGLES. 
 
 bringing me many pupils. It is from Miss 
 Penelope Yaughan. Her brother came 
 home yesterday, and has promised to ex- 
 amine at my school on Saturday.'' 
 
 ^' That's an honor indeed," said Mrs. 
 Toms, complacently, drawing herself up, 
 and smoothing down her apron, ^Hhe 
 Yaughans are high blood, although they 
 are not rich now, good "Welsh blood, but 
 those are always the civilest and the best, 
 Winny, and when Miss Penelope comes 
 into my shop, its always ' How do you do, 
 Mrs. Toms,' or ' How does the school pros- 
 per ?' or, ^ when did you hear from your 
 daughter the dress-maker ? I hope she has 
 a flourishing business.' It is not like as 
 some folk bolt in with ' I want a quarter 
 of a pound of tea,' or ^a pennyworth of 
 mustard,' not a civil word, although they 
 have been dealing with me ever so long — 
 and now to think of Mr. Hubert Yaughan, 
 that John Davis himself says is so clever,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 151 
 
 examining your little school girls ! AYoll 
 Winny this is an honor/' and good Mrs. 
 Toms in her exultation pushed away the 
 slate and pencil until after the tea-things 
 were removed. 
 
 Saturday came — the girls were w^ell- 
 tutored, made their best curtseys, and 
 ranged themselves in a row, as Hubert 
 Yaughan entered the room. 
 
 He was a tall, pale young man of about 
 twenty years of age with regular features, 
 and good eyes if they could be seen : but 
 he was short-sighted and wore spectacles. 
 He had that careless air in dress and gait, 
 which an early and close attention to 
 books often gives, with a slight bend for- 
 ward in his figure, and something abrupt 
 in his manner. 
 
 Still, there was an aristocratic look 
 about him, and a curious observer would 
 have remarked, ^' If Yaughan was drilled, 
 and mixed a little in society, what a very
 
 152 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 liandsome man he would be ! " But 
 Yaughan never thought of being drilled, 
 and he hated society — that is, the gay 
 worid and strangers. 
 
 He was very good-natured, and quite 
 ready to gratify Miss Toms by examining 
 her pupils. He glanced at some of the 
 tall, rosy-faced girls who kept colouring 
 up to their eyes, expecting that he was to 
 begin with them, and were not a little 
 surprised when a fair, blue-eyed child of 
 about seven years old, who, sitting on a 
 low bench beside Miss Toms had been 
 concealed by her reading desk, was called 
 up for examination. 
 
 There was something so charming in 
 the child that his attention was rivetted 
 on her immediately. 
 
 The full, innocent eyes turned on him 
 with a look of wonder, for Miss Toms had 
 prepared them all to see a young man of 
 great erudition and cleverness; the grace-
 
 EiRLY STRUGGLES. 153 
 
 fill form rounded in all the beautiful pro- 
 portions of childhood, the hair hanging in 
 natural ringlets to the waist, and the tiny- 
 hands with rosy-tipped fingers, slightly 
 crossed as she stood before him, filled him 
 with admiration. 
 
 ^' This is my young pupil, Miss Emily 
 Hume,'' said Miss Winny Toms, as Emily's 
 large blue eyes fell beneath his gaze, only 
 to make her look prettier, by displaying 
 the long fringed eyelashes several shades 
 darker than her hair, and causing the 
 clear red to crimson her neck and temples. 
 
 "Don't be frightened, my dear," said 
 Yaughan, taking hold of the little one's 
 hand, and drawing her over to him as he 
 seated himself on a chair. 
 
 "AYhat am I to examine her in?" con- 
 tinued he, looking at her mistress. " Spell- 
 ing and reading I suppose." 
 
 " Oh ! no sir, we will keep the reading 
 and spelling until the last ; Miss Emily 
 
 H 3
 
 154 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 will answer — that is, I wish her to be 
 examined in history and poetry.'' 
 
 *^ Oh, indeed ! history — English history 
 I conclude, and "Watts's hymns." 
 
 *'Yes, sir, English history,'' and Miss 
 Winny drew up her head, ^^but not 
 Watts's hymns, I keep them for Sunday. 
 The youthful mind is so plastic, sir, at her 
 age ; and Miss Emily's memory is so re- 
 tentive, that I have made her learn pas- 
 sages from our best poets." 
 
 " Indeed ! " returned he, ^' but I sup- 
 pose I had better begin with the history.'' 
 
 ''As you please, sir," replied Miss 
 Winny, a little mortified at an expression 
 — she would not have known how to de- 
 fine it if called upon — in his manner. 
 
 '' What history have you read, Emily ? " 
 inquired he in a gentler tone, and bend- 
 ing down to the child as he spoke. 
 
 Emily raised the large blue eyes. His 
 voice and look pleased her. She felt re- 
 assured, and said pretty distinctly,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 156 
 
 '^ Mrs. Trimmer's epitom," 
 
 '' Eh, my dear — what do you say ? " 
 
 '^ The epitom, sir,'' 
 
 '' The what — my dear ? " 
 
 "The epitom," and the little fingers 
 began to move nervously, and the cheek 
 flushed a deeper dye with agitation. 
 
 Yaughan looked inquiringly at Miss 
 Winny Toms, who was rummaging on the 
 desk for a book. 
 
 " Here it is, Sir — the Epitom of English 
 History.'' 
 
 " Oh ! the Epitome," said he, " I see." 
 
 ''You may ask her any questions in it, 
 Sir, dates and all, you will find what a 
 good memory she has, and after that she 
 will repeat for you the e-pi-so-de of Hec- 
 tor and Andromac — you remember it 
 dear?" 
 
 " Yes,'' said the child in a whisper. 
 
 " E-pi-so-de of Hector and Andromac ! 
 Oh Jupiter !" thought the scholar.
 
 156 EARLY STRtTGGLES. 
 
 But he bore it all wonderfully — even 
 Mrs. Tig's Pishe, wMcli came afterwards. 
 "No smile curled the well-set mouth, only 
 the least little motion in the muscles of 
 the brow — but Miss Winny saw it not. 
 
 The little girl, notwithstanding her ti- 
 midity, answered very well, and with the 
 exception of some terrible blunders in the 
 proper names, pronounced however, just 
 as she had been taught, shewed that she 
 was really an apt pupil. 
 
 Then came on the examination in 
 classes. Emily was at the head in cat- 
 echism and scripture questions. 
 
 Some of the girls excelled her in writing, 
 and indeed did great credit to Mr. Green, 
 the writing master ; others in needle-work, 
 of which ho v\^ever, though Yaughan looked 
 gravely at it, he assured Miss Winny he 
 was no judge. 
 
 Altogether Miss Winny Toms was 
 highly gratified, and the examination 
 proved very satisfactory to her.
 
 EARLY STRU5GLES. 157 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 « — Voice more beautiful than poet's hooks, 
 Or murmuring sound of water as it flows." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 ^' Oh Pen, Pen, my dear Penelope," said 
 Yaughan, throwing himself on the sofa in 
 fits of laughter, when he entered the 
 oaken wainscotted room at the Hall known 
 by the name of the drawing-room, where 
 sat his sister Penelope. "Such a scene 
 as I have had at poor Miss Winny Toms' ! 
 Kot bad reading either — rather a gallop 
 to be sure— and very passable spelling;
 
 158 EARLY STEUGGLES. 
 
 excellent writing — does Green a great 
 deal of credit, and all the birds and beasts 
 in l^oah's ark worked in worsted— but of 
 this I am no judge : but such pronuncia- 
 tion 1 Such blunders from poor Miss 
 Winny ! Oh I must laugh." And the 
 grave youth — for he was grave — laughed 
 until Miss Penelope laid down her work 
 and exclaimed ^^ What is the matter, dear 
 Hubert ? Do tell me ; I never saw you 
 laugh so before in my life.'' 
 
 '^ E'o, never — never,'' said he, ^' I never 
 shall laugh so much again. Poor, dear 
 Miss Winny Toms ! But a truce to this 
 folly — My dear Penelope, I have some- 
 thing to say to you — there is the sweetest 
 little child at this school I ever saw — a 
 little angel. She will be quite spoiled — 
 such an education ! Oh ye poets and poet- 
 esses ! Mrs. Tig's Pishe ! No, she must 
 not be left there. A great granddaughter 
 too of old Mrs. Thornton, they tell me,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 159 
 
 who died here some eight or ten years 
 ago. I do not remember her, but perhaps 
 you do." 
 
 *' Yes, an old blind lady/' returned Pe- 
 nelope '^ to be sure I do — I recollect her 
 perfectly, and how her pretty grandchild 
 Ellen, married lieutenant Hume of the — 
 regiment. And is this their daughter ? — 
 and what is become of them ?" 
 
 ^^Both dead, Penelope — Mrs. Benson, 
 who lives in that very small cottage at 
 the entrance of the Green was formerly a 
 servant in the Thornton family. She mar- 
 ried respectably and went to New York. 
 Being left a widow, in tolerable circum- 
 stances, she accidentally fell in with the 
 grandchild of her old mistress, and when 
 this dear little girl was left an orphan, 
 adopted her as her own child. Indeed so 
 devoted was she to the family in whose 
 service she had been for a number of 
 years, that, to nurse and take care of poor
 
 160 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Mrs. Hume, then in a decline, was the 
 only thing that brought her to this part 
 of the country. A most excellent woman 
 she must be, Penelope, must she not ?" 
 
 ^' Truly a most noble minded one — but 
 where did you learn all this, Hubert?'' 
 
 ^' In good Mrs. Toms's shop, where I 
 loitered for a few minutes.'' 
 
 ^' I knew a Mrs. Benson lived in the 
 cottage you speak of,'' Penelope added, 
 after a short pause, ^^ and I heard that she 
 was a most respectable person. My infor- 
 mant told me likewise that she had a dear 
 little grandchild with her. To think of 
 this little orphan being a great grand- 
 daughter of Mr. Thornton of Woodhouse ! 
 I remember hearing my poor father say 
 
 that when he was in the county of 
 
 on a visit with a friend, he often hunted 
 in company with squire Thornton. His 
 blind widow, I know, lived here in very 
 narrow circumstances, and almost entirely
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 161 
 
 to herself.. Eut the Thorntons were cer- 
 tainly once very wealthy people.'' 
 
 ' ' Yery likely my dear sister — changes 
 npon changes take place in this world.'' 
 
 "Yes, changes indeed," replied Miss 
 Penelope. "^ Tails be heads now, and 
 heads be tails,' '' said the butcher's wife to 
 me the other day in a great rage at Lord 
 Kidwilly's steward putting a higher price 
 on the field he let her husband for his cat- 
 tle than she approved of — but this does 
 not apply to worthy Mrs. Benson.'' 
 
 "No, she deserves to be a thousand 
 times better off in the world than she is," 
 returned Yaughan, "her conduct is above 
 praise — but I wish she had kept this dear 
 little Emily at home and taught her 
 herself." 
 
 " Perhaps she could not teach her," 
 Penelope said, " for with all her goodness 
 she must be uneducated.'' 
 
 " Perhaps not— I forgot that. My heart
 
 162 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 aches for the child. I should like to in- 
 struct her entirely myself.'' 
 
 ^' Would you really, Hubert? If we 
 were rich enough we could send her to a 
 good school. I dare say Mrs. Benson 
 would permit us to share in her good work 
 — ^but we are too poor to think of such a 
 thing. I wonder Mrs. Benson does not 
 procure better instruction for her than 
 Miss Winny Toms's school can afford." 
 
 '' She could not do it, Pen, even if she 
 was aware of the imperfections in Miss 
 Winny' s mode of teaching. All her in- 
 come — comfortable enough for herself — 
 depends upon a few houses she has in [N'ew 
 York, so Mrs. Toms told me — she seemed 
 to know all her history — the good woman 
 has no concealments." 
 
 ''I should like to have her here for a 
 few hours every day and teach her my- 
 self," said Miss Penelope, after a long 
 pause. ^^ It would be an amusement— I 
 
 %
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 163 
 
 "was very fond of teaching you when you 
 were a child, and a docile little girl I am 
 sure I could manage very well." 
 
 ^^ Would you really like it?'' exclaimed 
 Hubert, joyfully. 
 
 ^^ I think I should,'' said Penelope, in 
 her calm manner. 
 
 '^Dear sister, it would be a good work, 
 and then there are so many reasons that 
 make me wish you to have a nice compa- 
 nion with you sometimes — something to 
 interest you.'' 
 
 ^'What are those reasons, Hubert?" 
 said the sister with a smile. 
 
 '^ I have been thinking how to break a 
 plan to you — a proposal I had the day be- 
 fore I came down here, and to which I 
 must give a reply shortly.'' 
 
 "What is it?" said Penelope, changing 
 colour. 
 
 " Mr. is going to send his son 
 
 abroad with a travelling tutor, and wants
 
 164 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 me to undertake the office. I know dear 
 Pen, you will think me a great deal too 
 young for it, but it is an opportunity I may 
 never have again of improving myself in 
 languages, and as I have to work my way 
 up in life, and pretty hard work it will be 
 — I think you must see the advantage of 
 it.'' 
 
 '^ Yes, you must work up," said Pene- 
 lope with a sigh. 
 
 ^'But then I shall be absent three 
 years, that being the period assigned by 
 
 Mr. for his son's travels, and you 
 
 in the mean time — how lonely you will 
 be. My present purpose is, on my return, 
 to take pupils, which I think, with my li- 
 terary labours, will insure me a moderate 
 competency. You sigh, dear Penelope, 
 but the church, the bar, and all the other 
 learned professions are shut out, either 
 from the expense attending them, or from 
 want of interest."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 165 
 
 " True — very true," Penelope said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 ^'I have already got regularly enlisted 
 as a writer in a magazine, which pays 
 well. My tour abroad will enable me to 
 collect materials for future papers, so that 
 altogether my prospect seems a fair one. 
 You do not fear for my steadiness." 
 
 "No, dear Hubert, no. The future you 
 have sketched out for yourself is I believe, 
 the most feasible, but yet " — Peneloep 
 paused. 
 
 "Dear sister, you used to think I 
 should one day sit on the Wool-sack, or 
 be Archbishop of Canterbury, but, with 
 your straightforward, clear views, and 
 good sense, you must see that providence 
 intends no such dignity for me. You 
 know I have a passion for literary pur- 
 suits, and here in this dear old house I am 
 sui'e I shall find inspiration. What do you 
 say to my getting <£500 one day or other 
 for a book?''
 
 166 EAULT STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^ I am sure you will deserve it Hubert, 
 if industry, application, and study, can 
 insure it, but remember what multitudes 
 of writers there are, and what natural ta- 
 lent a person must have to write well — to 
 succeed among so many competitors." 
 
 ^' True," replied Hubert, ^^ but I always 
 think what a man determines to do, he 
 can do, and that there is a mine, a golden 
 one often, in many minds, if the owner 
 will have but the resolution to dig and 
 search for it. I am determined to spare 
 no pains in trying what I can dig out of 
 mine. I shall begin my book-making by 
 writing a tour. It shall be a sort of diary 
 in letters to you, dear Fen ; this will lessen 
 the pain of absence to you, and when I 
 return, I will work it up." 
 
 "Work it up,'' said Penelope now 
 laughing, "you have already caught the 
 phraseology of an author."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 167 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 " Beautiful river ! full many a day, 
 In that green happy valley we've sauntered away, 
 Watching the flight of the light cloudy shadows, 
 Listing the low of the kine in the meadows, 
 The chirp of the grasshopper, hum of the bee, 
 And sweet loving song of the bird on the tree." 
 
 Pexelope Yauglian spent a wakeful night, 
 pondering upon lier dear brother and his 
 future prospects. 
 
 Some five and twenty years older than 
 he was, she saw not life in that coleur-de- 
 rose which he did. 
 
 She was c(mstitutionally of a calm tern-
 
 168 EIRLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 perament, perhaps with rather a tendency 
 to depression — there was nothing bright 
 about her look, though her manner was 
 always kind, and she was one whom you 
 might fancy could never have been young, 
 for her tastes, habits, occupations, seemed 
 to have been born with her. 
 
 This might have proceeded from the 
 great weight of care which was early 
 pressed upon her mind, when left an or- 
 phan with a baby brother entirely thrown 
 upon her. The disadvantages of a very 
 small income to cope with, and no one but 
 herself to form his mind and direct his 
 education, she turned all her thoughts 
 upon him as her one object in life. 
 
 It was to teach him in his early child- 
 hood and youth that she studied herself — 
 to be able to send him to a good school 
 that she practised the most parsimonious 
 frugality in her expenditure — his happi- 
 ness was always dearer to her than her
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 1G9 
 
 own — her life was, as it were, bound up 
 in his. If she secretly grieved that their 
 narrow means prevented any learned pro- 
 fession from being open to him, she 
 however did not build castles for his ad- 
 vancement. She had brought him up 
 from childhood with the teaching that he 
 must owe everything to himself, and when 
 she placed the mitre and the woolsack be- 
 fore his eyes, it was to shew him what 
 study had effected for others. 
 
 The idea of a literary life — to write for 
 bread — she had never encouraged; but she 
 did think, that, as he had already suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining some remuneration 
 from a minor periodical, when he returned 
 from his projected tour, he might, pro- 
 vided he had pupils likewise, write to 
 some advantage. 
 
 The notion of the tour had startled her 
 at first, but now, as she looked upon it in 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 various points of view, she saw the advan- 
 tage of it 
 
 Already a finished scholar, this would 
 expand his mind, rectify any prejudices 
 that so secluded a life as he had led might 
 have encumbered him with, gratify the 
 thirst for knowledge which he had shewn 
 from his childhood, and give him the op- 
 portunity of perfecting himself in the 
 modern languages, for which he had al- 
 ways had a passion. 
 
 Thus she reflected, afiection quickening 
 her clear understanding, and if she gave 
 a sigh sometimes at the thought, how 
 different his position was to that of his 
 progenitors, who owned tlie soil around 
 them, reason stifled the sigh as it whis- 
 pered, there is nothing stable upon earth, 
 and the penury of succeeding generations 
 is but the natural consequence of the pro- 
 fusion of those before them. 
 
 To outward appearance there was a
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 171 
 
 great similarity in the manners and tem- 
 per of the brother and sister, but, inter- 
 nally there were some striking points of 
 difference. 
 
 Her whole life was that of reality. Her 
 calm sense allowed imagination no power 
 over her mind. Everything must be de- 
 monstrable to her understanding. 
 
 Hubert on the contrary, with the same 
 gravity of demeanour, had imagination 
 always at work. Life for him was full of 
 poetry, for her it was every day prose. 
 
 When young herself, Penelope never 
 entered into the amusements of young 
 people, and perhaps it was her want of 
 sympathy in his amusements that made 
 Hubert's pursuits from a boy, graver than 
 those of others. 
 
 He caught the color of his life from his 
 sister in all thingc externally, but quick 
 feelings and enthusiastic impulses not sus- 
 pected, formed the foundation of his cha- 
 
 i2
 
 172 EAULY STRUGGLES. 
 
 racter. It was this sensibility, touched by 
 her beauty, that made him so animated 
 on the score of little Emily. It was Pe- 
 nelope's kind heart and love of being 
 useful that made her resiDond to it, and 
 recollect on the morrow what he had said 
 on the subject. 
 
 She smiled at his encomiums on the 
 loveliness of the child — considered the 
 probability of her being obliged to be a 
 governess hereafter — called to mind the 
 figures of blind Mrs. Thornton and her 
 granddaughter, and came to the conclusion 
 thatvEllen's child must not be left to this 
 vulgar training. As to Emily's being 
 pretty, that was of no consequence in her 
 opinion — were she a little fright it would 
 be just the same to her. 
 
 Hubert referred two or three times on 
 the following day to the position of Emily 
 Hume, and the education she was likely 
 to receive.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 173 
 
 Miss Penelope did not say much, but 
 she thought the matter over. She did not 
 even know Mrs. Benson by sight — how 
 bring about an acquaintance ? 
 
 Very soon however she met with Mrs. 
 Benson and Emily when least expected. 
 
 ''Where are you going to fish this af- 
 ternoon, Hubert?'' she said to him one 
 morning. '' I see you are putting your 
 fishing tackle in order.'' 
 
 "• To the stream, dear sister, that runs 
 through the valley not far from the Ap- 
 johns' farm — you know where they live. 
 You bought apples from them last year. 
 Do you remember?'' 
 
 ''Yes, I bought them at the door. The 
 man who sold them said they were from 
 farmer Apjohn's orchard. They were the 
 best for keeping I ever had. So well hand 
 picked. I think I should like to walk out 
 there and bespeak some for winter store. 
 The man who sold them said if I wanted
 
 174 EABLY STUTJGGLES. 
 
 any quantity I must bespeak them. I can 
 walk this afternoon with you — while you 
 fish I will go to the farm-house and speak 
 to Mrs. Apjohn.'' 
 
 " Dear Penelope, I shall be delighted 
 to have your company.'' 
 
 They had an early dinner, and went 
 in the afternoon towards the intended 
 spot. 
 
 It was a warm, soft day — a slight 
 breeze and but little sun — just such a 
 day as fishermen like. 
 
 Miss Vaughan took some tatting in 
 her work-bag and a book. She said, 
 when she had done her errand at Mrs. 
 Apjohn's, she would join him and sit 
 in the shade near him. 
 
 They parted after they entered the 
 valley, and she took the green lane that 
 led to Farmer Apjohn's. When she 
 knocked at the door of the house the 
 female servant who opened it, said her
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 175 
 
 mistress was in the garden shewing her 
 bees to a visitor who was come with her 
 grandchild to spend the day, which was a 
 holiday at the farm. 
 
 If the lady would step in she would 
 run and call mistress. 
 
 Miss Yaughan said no to this, she would 
 like to walk into the garden and see the 
 bees too. 
 
 The servant maid shewed her the way. 
 
 Miss Vaughan had seen the farmer's 
 wife once or twice in the village of Llan- 
 luyd, and knew her by sight, but the 
 plainly- dressed, kind looking elderly wo- 
 man with her was a stranger. 
 
 The grandchild however caught her eye 
 — certainly the prettiest child she had 
 ever seen. The ringlets down to the waist 
 and the large blue eyes, made her imme- 
 diately think of Hubert's description of 
 Emily Hume. 
 
 After the first salutation was over, and
 
 176 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 she had mentioned the occasion of her 
 Yisit, Miss Vaughan noticed the child, 
 who, engaged in watching the bees, 
 had no eyes or ears for anything else. 
 
 "Your granddaughter is a beautiful 
 little girl " she said to Mrs. Apjohn's 
 companion. 
 
 '^She is a dear good child, but she 
 is not my granddaughter '' returned 
 Mrs. Benson, " although I am as fond 
 of her as if she were so over and over 
 again. '^ 
 
 " Yes, she is a sweet child '' joined 
 in Mrs. Apjohn, " and Mrs. Benson 
 watches over her like a mother. "We 
 were just talking about her when you 
 entered the garden, madam, — Mrs. Ben- 
 son is rather put out about the dear 
 one at present.'' 
 
 "How is that ?'' said Miss Yaughan. 
 
 Mrs. Benson glanced at the child. She 
 was at a short distance taken up with
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 177 
 
 the bees, and not attending the least 
 to them. 
 
 ''It is about Miss Winny Toms' s 
 school — I am afraid it is not quite the 
 school for Emily, madam; " returned Mrs. 
 Benson. " Instead of teaching the child 
 sensible things — there are a great many 
 studies for ladies, studies that must be 
 commenced in youth ; but to teach my 
 child fabulous stories, such things would 
 never do her any good, madam.'' 
 
 '' Oh ! fabulous histories — the story of 
 Dicky, Pecksy and Flapsy — that will 
 not do her any harm, believe me," 
 Miss Penelope said. 
 
 ''No, madam — that is not if said 
 the two good dames in a breath. 
 
 The story of the little birds, Dicky, 
 Pecksy and Flapsy is a pretty tale, 
 and I taught my little grandsons to 
 read out of it," said Mrs. Apjohn, "But 
 the heathen gods, madam — '' 
 
 I 3
 
 178 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^' And the goddesses " ma'am, ^^ inter- 
 upted Mrs. Benson/' putting such gentile 
 notions into my sweet child's head, as 
 Pluto is the king of hell, and that 
 Neptune rules the sea — I have spoken 
 to Miss Winny about it, but she treats 
 my objections as vulgar ideas. 
 
 ^^ Keep her at home and teach her 
 yourself, Mrs. Benson, said Mrs. Apjohn. 
 ^^ I instructed the twins until they were 
 old enough to go to John Davis.'' 
 
 '' Bless you ! '' exclaimed Mrs. Benson, 
 ^^ So I would if I had the ability, but 
 I have little or no book-learning my- 
 self, and it will be a sad thing if Emily 
 cannot be taught better than Miss Winny 
 and I can teach her — at all events I 
 told Miss Winny to-day, that I did 
 not think I should send my pet to 
 her after the holidays, unless she pro- 
 mised to change her course of educa- 
 tion."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 179 
 
 " And "wliat said she ? '' inquired Mrs. 
 Apjohn. 
 
 ^^ Miss Winny only tossed her head, 
 and said, if my child went to her school 
 she must learu whatever she choose to 
 teach her; and Mrs. Toms told me after- 
 wards that I had hurt her daughter 
 much by doubting her judgment, and that 
 she was astonished I should, as I did, after 
 the progress Emily had shewn when ex- 
 amined by Mr. Vaughan ;" and as Mrs. 
 Benson uttered these words, both she and 
 Mrs. Apjohn looked inquiringly at Miss 
 Penelope. 
 
 The latter smiled in answer to the look, 
 and too truthful and candid to conceal 
 entirely what her brother thought, replied 
 that Mr. Yaughan had been struck with 
 Emily's quickness, and much touched by 
 her being thrown, an unprotected orphan, 
 upon the care of Mrs. Benson, whose 
 kindness he said, in thus adopting her was 
 beyond all praise.
 
 180 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 The good woman said she deserved no 
 praise. Emily was as dear to her as if 
 she were her own child. 
 
 ^^ But he likewise lamented,'' continued 
 Miss Penelope ^^ that this charming little 
 girl had not a more competent instructor. 
 I do not mean to depreciate Miss Winny 
 Toms's school, but he would rather have 
 heard her repeat Watts' s Hymns than — " 
 
 ^^Ah! there it is," said Mrs. Benson^ 
 with a sigh, ^' if I leave her there all sorts 
 of nonsense will be crammed into my 
 darling's head. I have been sadly mis- 
 taken in the school.'' 
 
 ^' I would not allow her to remain, Mrs. 
 Benson,'' observed Mrs. Apjohn, '^ I would 
 keep her at home, and try if I could not 
 get some young person — some one might 
 be found I'm sure, to come for three or 
 four hours in the day and teach the dear 
 child." 
 
 ^^One might manage this in a town
 
 EiRLY STRUGGLES. ISl 
 
 easily," returned Mrs. Benson, ^'and in- 
 deed I have thought of it within the hist two 
 or three days, but I can hear of no one — 
 what would you advise, madam?'' and 
 Mrs. Benson looked earnestly at Miss 
 Penelope Yaughan. 
 
 Mrs. Apjohn too looked inquiringly. 
 
 Miss Penelope had a high character in 
 the neighbourhood for sense, kindness, 
 and good judgment, and Mrs. Benson, al- 
 though Miss Penelope was not acquainted 
 with her, knew her by sight and reputa- 
 tion as well as did Mrs. AjDJohn. Besides 
 valuing her for her amiable qualities, both 
 dames felt in common with others that 
 natural veneration for an old family, how- 
 ever fallen from their former prosperity, 
 which, notwithstanding the levelling no- 
 tions of the present day, still lingers in 
 most bosoms. 
 
 Just at this instant Emily came up with 
 a bouquet, which, while they were speak-
 
 182 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ing, Mrs. Apjohn had sent her to pick for 
 Miss Yaughan, and presenting it with all 
 the charming grace of childhood, raised 
 the large, beseeching, blue eyes to Miss 
 Penelope as she asked her to accept it. 
 
 She took it with a smile, and kissed the 
 little girl, who coloured with pleasure, 
 and then flew away to watch the bees. 
 
 ^^ I am very fond of teaching children 
 myself, said Miss Penelope, in answer to 
 Mrs. Benson's question, which the child's 
 approach had prevented her replying to 
 on the instant, '^ and if you will allow 
 Emily to come to me every day for a 
 few hours I should really find great plea- 
 sure in instructing her. If any thing 
 should occur to prevent my persevering 
 in it, or if some better plan of instruction 
 present itself to you, Emily need not con- 
 tinue, but at present, if you do not disap- 
 prove of it, I shall take it as a favor if you 
 will let her come to the Hall every day."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 183 
 
 Mrs. Benson was quite overcome with 
 joy at the idea. The thought that Emily- 
 would be entirely banished from the rank 
 of life to which by birth sho belonged, 
 had often hung heavy upon her heart, but 
 this offer of Miss Yaughan seemed at once 
 to open a new prospect to her. 
 
 Mrs. Apjohn too looked perfectly de- 
 lighted at it. 
 
 Miss Penelope having arranged about 
 the apples, and bade the good people fare- 
 well, after kissing little Emily again, and 
 telling her that she must pay a visit at 
 the Hall to-morrow, and bring her books 
 with her, departed to join her brother, 
 who had pursued his fishing in the mean 
 time with good success. 
 
 Hubert was much pleased with his sis- 
 ter's communication, which she imparted 
 to him as she sat on the bank near him, 
 employed at her tatting. 
 
 It took him so much by surprise that
 
 184 EARLY STRUaaLES. 
 
 he laid down his rod, and placed himself 
 at her feet. 
 
 There he remained for some time, now- 
 musing to himself, now remarking to 
 Penelope on the changes of fortune which 
 had thrown this lovely child entirely upon 
 the protection of one strange to her blood 
 and name.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 1 85 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 " I would that I the dusky veil could sever, 
 Which shades the future from my longing- sight, 
 That I might watch thy onward way through life," 
 
 KiCOLL. 
 
 Another circumstance which Mrs. Benson 
 had not mentioned, rendered her the more 
 anxious to remove Emily from Miss Win- 
 ny's school, and made her doubly grateful 
 for Miss Penelope Yaughan's kind offer. 
 
 Some of the children, particularly two 
 or three of the bigger ones, had, impelled 
 very likely by jealousy, on perceiving the
 
 186 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 preference Miss Winny gave to Emily, 
 taunted the poor little thing with being 
 dependent on Mrs. Benson, and having no 
 parents or relatives to take care of her. 
 
 ^' You have no father or mother, or sis- 
 ter, or even an uncle or aunt, and no 
 grandmamma at all," said the baker's 
 daughter one day to her. 
 
 ^^ Grandmamma Benson is my grand- 
 mamma," said the child, looking fright- 
 ened, and bursting into tears. 
 
 '''No, she is not," said Polly Cottle, ^^I 
 heard mother say that Mrs. Toms told her 
 although our schoolmistress makes so 
 much of you, she would not, for you are 
 no better than a little beggar, and that 
 Mrs. Benson was your great grandmo- 
 ther's house maid." 
 
 Poor little child ! she looked very pale, 
 when, after school hours, on her return 
 home, she threw her arms round Mrs. 
 Benson's neck, and telling her what Polly
 
 EAELY STRUGGLES. 187 
 
 Cottle said, asked her was she not her 
 own dear grandmamma. 
 
 Mrs. Benson was much distressed at 
 Emily's tears and question. 
 
 "I have adopted you as my grand- 
 child," returned she, kissing her, '^and 
 you are as dear to me as one, therefore 
 you are always to consider me as your 
 own dear grandmamma.'' 
 
 The little girl was satisfied, and covered 
 the wrinkled cheeks with kisses, but Mrs. 
 Benson was pained, and feared a recur- 
 rence of scenes and questions that would 
 become more painful to the child as she 
 grew older. These were accidents, she 
 saw, which Miss "Winny could have no 
 control over. 
 
 Perhaps she was wrong herself in wish- 
 ing to keep Emily so much apart from the 
 other children, and Miss Winny, in ex- 
 tolling the child so much to them. Emily's 
 diligence and amiable qualities certainly
 
 188 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 deserved praise, but it had awakened a 
 spirit in the school which would make her 
 unhappy. As to her own desire to have 
 the little girl kept apart from the other 
 children, she felt she could not get over 
 it, and in this Miss Winny had seconded 
 her very well. If rain, or any other cause 
 prevented Emily from being sent for at 
 the exact moment the school was over she 
 would give her a volume of Hannah More's 
 tracts to amuse her, and prevent her 
 thinking of play with the other pupils. 
 This, as Emily was wonderfully fond of 
 stories, always kept her quietly seated on 
 her bench. The narrative of -^ Tawny 
 Eachel" and ^'The Shepherd of Salisbury 
 Plain," had more charms for her than the 
 games of blindman's buff and friar's land, 
 in which the children were allowed to 
 indulge, if they remained after school 
 hours. And this sometimes happened, as 
 perhaps the donkey cart which had
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 189 
 
 brouglit one or two little lasses from the 
 country into school, had not yet sold off 
 all the vegetables it contained — or there 
 were still some pounds of butter in Sissy 
 Crowther's basket, who did not like to go 
 back without disposing of it all^ and there- 
 fore delayed calling for the child that had 
 been sent to walk in with her. 
 
 Still Mrs. Benson knew, that a few mo- 
 ments' conversation at any time with an 
 ill-natured girl upon her situation in life, 
 would be sufficient to make a child, sensi- 
 tive as Emily was, unhappy for the rest 
 of the day. 
 
 '^ "No father, no mother, no uncle, no aunt, 
 no grandmother — history too true of the 
 grandchild of my sweet young mistress," 
 ejaculated Mrs. Benson with a deep sigh, 
 as she raised her hands and eyes to hea- 
 ven. '^ God must be father, mother, bro- 
 ther, sister, uncle, and aunt, dear one, to 
 thee when I am gone.''
 
 190 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Mrs. Benson however could not make 
 up her mind to withdraw Emily from Miss 
 Winny's school. How else was she to be 
 educated ? But when the subject of the 
 heathenish studies as she called them came 
 before her, she no longer hesitated, and 
 went to consult Mrs. Apjohn on the 
 subject. 
 
 Thus the offer of Miss Penelope to have 
 Emily with her for some hours every day, 
 solved more than one difficulty, and re- 
 lieved the good woman from the perplexity 
 in which she found herself. 
 
 Mrs. Benson had made no secret of her 
 origin, or of the tie that bound her to 
 Mrs. Hume and her baby, when they first 
 arrived at Farmer Apjohn's house ; never- 
 theless the circumstance would not have 
 been so generally known in the village, if 
 an old travelling pedlar woman who had 
 been in the habit for years of supplying 
 the houses, prncipally the servants, far
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 191 
 
 and near, with innumerable trifles, cheap 
 shawls, &c., had not accidentally learned 
 part of Mrs. Benson's early history, and 
 reported it in her office of newsmonger, 
 as well as pedlar. 
 
 On the morrow Mrs. Benson sent Emily 
 to the Hall according to Miss Penelope's 
 wish. 
 
 She brought her satchel of books with 
 her, which Yaughan and his sister both 
 looked oyer. The unfortunate one on hea- 
 then mythology, which had principally 
 led to Miss Winny losing Emily as a pu- 
 pil, was put aside entirely for the present, 
 as were some others not suited to so 
 young a child. 
 
 Hubert said he would help his sister to 
 teach her as long as he remained at Llan- 
 luyd, and they were both satisfied they 
 would find her a docile and intelligent 
 scholar. 
 
 Accustomed to be always fondled and
 
 192 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 caressed, the manners of the little girl 
 were innocent and attractive. 
 
 ^^ May I say my lessons always to you 
 ma'am ?" said she, pleased with Penelope's 
 commendation on this, the first day that 
 she had visited at the Hall. 
 
 ^' Yes Emily, every day, if you are a 
 good child and attend to them." 
 
 ^^I shall so like it,'' returned she, her 
 colour heightening with pleasure. 
 
 "Will you indeed, Emily.'' 
 
 "Oh yes, so much," then she added ra- 
 ther timidly, " you call me Emily, what 
 am I to call you ?" 
 
 "Aunt Penelope,'' said Miss Vaughan, 
 smiling at the child's question. "I will 
 be your aunt Penelope as long as you are 
 good.'' 
 
 " I will be always good," said Emily, 
 joyfully. 
 
 "And I am to be your uncle Hubert," 
 said Yaughan in answer to the questioning 
 look the little one now threw at him.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 193 
 
 ^^ Uncle — nonsense, Hubert — you must 
 not teach her to call you uncle," exclaimed 
 Miss Penelope, ^^no, not uncle — call him 
 cousin Hubert, Emily — he is to be your 
 cousin." 
 
 Emily looked a little puzzled, and 
 opened the large blue eyes full at him. 
 
 '' Cousin Hubert,'' she said in a low 
 voice, ^' will you teach me to write ? this 
 is my copy book." 
 
 ^^Yes, shew it to me — what pot-hooks 
 and hangers you do make, my dear ! Yes 
 certainly, I will teach you to write while 
 I am here." 
 
 ''And you wo'nt give me a pandy?" 
 murmured Emily, looking at him beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 " A pandy, what is a pandy ?" said 
 Hubert, laughing. 
 
 '* A slap on the hand with a flat rule," 
 returned the little girl confidingly. 
 
 '' Did you ever get one?'' inquired he. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^IsTo, but Polly Cottle did from Mr. 
 Green several times.'' 
 
 ^^ Polly Cottle,'' he exclaimed in an un- 
 der voice to his sister, '^ what associates 
 for such a pretty creature. Poor little pet, 
 we must have her with us as much as we 
 can." 
 
 '' She will not come much in the way of 
 those children if she does not return to 
 Miss Winny's school," observed Miss 
 Penelope, " you may depend upon it that 
 Mrs. Benson does not allow her to make 
 companions of them." 
 
 '' With whom do you play when you 
 are at home, I mean at Mrs. Benson's, 
 Emily,'' inquired Yaughan. 
 
 ^' Only with grandmamma and the cat," 
 said Emily, ^' I sit at grandmamma's feet 
 in the evening, and read for her." 
 
 ^^ Do you not ever play with Polly Cot- 
 tle?" 
 
 ^' Oh no, never,'' returned the child, ^'I
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 195 
 
 only see her at scliool. I used to have the 
 sheep and lambs for playfellows at farmer 
 Apjohn's when we lived there, but that is 
 a long time ago, a year grandmamma says, 
 and I only see them sometimes now. I 
 had a lamb that knew me quite well, and 
 used to come when I called it.'^ 
 
 ^^ And does the lamb know you still, 
 when you go to visit Mrs. Apjohn ?'' in- 
 quired Hubert with a smile. 
 
 ^^ Ah, it was sold months ago," and she 
 fetched such a sigh. 
 
 ^^ Would you like a canary bird for a 
 pet?" 
 
 '' A canary bird that would sing ? Oh, 
 yes," she said joyfully. 
 
 ^^Well, you shall have one, but you 
 must not let the cat eat it," 
 
 Miss Penelope took Emily away to shew 
 her the house, where she told her she 
 might ramble about, and look at the pic- 
 tures, between her lessons, on a wet day, 
 
 £2
 
 196 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 and then to the garden, which, though 
 old-fashioned, with holly hedges running 
 at each side of the grass walks, had a 
 pleasant air, and was full of singing birds. 
 Many fantastic forms, such as St. George 
 and the Dragon, and Adam and Eve, had 
 been, in days gone by, cut out of the ever- 
 green trees, and made the pride of the 
 gardeners from generation to generation J 
 but those were now nearly obliterated, 
 and allowed to grow wild, as a day's work 
 occasionally was all that Miss Penelope's 
 thrifty management permitted. 
 
 But the little girl was delighted with it. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! so much larger than grand- 
 mamma Benson's garden, and so many 
 birds ! " 
 
 Miss Penelope had no sooner left the 
 room with her young companion than 
 Yaughan threw himself into an arm-chair, 
 and taking up a periodical just arrived, 
 begun to turn over the leaves of it.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 197 
 
 '* Wliat a pretty thought ! " he ex- 
 claimed, as he read 
 
 " When Mary yet an infant smiled, 
 Her winning ways my heart beguiled, 
 And midst her sporting, kissing hours 
 Around it tied a wreath of flowers. 
 Then in what year I cannot date, 
 So unpereeived she played the fate, 
 This flow'ry wreath — a witch 'tis plain — 
 She turned into a golden chain." 
 
 *^ Let me see who they are wiitten by," 
 and Yaughan tiuiied to look for the name. 
 '^Ah! they are some of poor old J — 's 
 lines. I thought I remembered them." 
 
 Miss Winny Toms was much mortified 
 at the loss of her pupil. Nevertheless it 
 was a consolation to her that she was not 
 sent to any other school, and she always 
 flattered herself that it was the pains she 
 had taken with the little girl, and the 
 skill she had shewn in drawing forth her 
 talents, that induced Miss Yaughan to 
 have her so much at the Hall, and find
 
 198 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 such pleasure in instructing her. And 
 this idea of her own she managed to circu- 
 late so well in the village, that instead of 
 Emily's removal being detrimental to her 
 school, it rather served to enhance the 
 opinion entertained at Llanluyd of her 
 abilities. 
 
 Yaughan and his sister both heard it — 
 but they only smiled. They did not wish 
 to lessen poor Miss Winny's importance. 
 
 As to Mrs, Benson's objections to her 
 choice of books, Miss Winny put it down to 
 the excessive ignorance of the good woman, 
 and, certain of overruling it, was satisfied, 
 that, vacation over, the child would be 
 returned to her again had not the Yaug- 
 hans taken a fancy to her.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 109 
 
 CHAPTEE XYII. 
 
 " The old house by the lindens 
 
 Stood silent in the shade, 
 And on the gravelled pathway 
 
 The light and shadow played." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 " Where are the bright young eyes, that here have 
 beamed ? " 
 
 NiCOLL. 
 
 The distance was so short from Mrs. 
 Benson's cottage to the Hall, that Emily 
 took her way thither by herself on the 
 following morning. 
 
 The gate which shut in the gravelled 
 court before the house was ajar, and
 
 200 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 entering it unperceived she ascended the 
 steps that led to the hall door. It was 
 likewise open, and the little girl found 
 herself in the hall the next minute. Here 
 she paused irresolute if she should go on, 
 or remain standing until she saw some- 
 body. She determined on the latter. 
 There she stood, but nobody appeared. 
 Young as she was, her eyes took in every 
 object around. All was different from 
 grandmamma's cottage, or the Apjohns' 
 farm house. Yesterday, flurried with her 
 first visit, she had no observation. To- 
 day she remarked everything — the height 
 of the hall — the discolored figures in 
 stucco on the ceiling — the heavy, carved, 
 oaken chairs that looked as if they were 
 rooted to each spot they stood on, and the 
 large pictures in black frames which hung 
 against the walls. These last were ex- 
 amined after each other one by one. 
 There was a lady with a rose in her
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 201 
 
 hand and a necklace twisted round her 
 neck, and a silk dress covered with bows 
 and knots of ribbon. Then there was 
 another sitting in an arm-chair — an un- 
 happy looking lady (Emily thought) — 
 with such an ugly little child by her ! 
 Some had such long earrings of white 
 glistening beads, and so many rows of the 
 same looped in the hair and fastened round 
 the arms ! — they must certainly be the 
 pearls she had read of in the fairy tales. 
 And there was a gentleman with a mass 
 of curls falling on his shoulders, and a 
 sword at his side, and such deep ruffles at 
 his wrists, and a lace cravat ! And then 
 there was another — a dark, stern figure — 
 with shining plates on his shoulders, 
 as if he was bound in steel. — He must 
 be a crusader going to the wars — those 
 wars that were mentioned in her last 
 lesson. 
 
 Thus she stood glancing now and then 
 
 k3
 
 202 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 towards the three closed doors, not know- 
 ing what to do. 
 
 At last she advanced to the one on the 
 left and, gently opening it, peeped in. 
 There was nobody there. It was — no it 
 was not, the room she had been in first 
 yesterday. This was the dining room: 
 Aunt Penelope had told her so. She did 
 not like it — it looked very dark. 
 
 She shut the door and moved to the one 
 on the other side. — She opened it. This 
 is the room — the drawing room — but there 
 is nobody in it ; it looks very quiet too, 
 the windows are small and the sun does 
 not shine into it. 
 
 She shut this door likewise. Then 
 there was the third door. This led to the 
 staircase — perhaps she might see some- 
 body there. She opened it softly. There 
 was the dark, oaken staircase before her, 
 but not a sound was to be heard except 
 the great clock going click, click.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 203 
 
 " Half way up the stairs it stands, 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
 Crosses himself and sighs, alas ! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass — 
 
 * Forever— never ! 
 
 Never — forever ! ' " 
 
 That passage to the left, aunt Penelope 
 told her, led to the kitchen : perhaps she 
 could find the servants and ask where she 
 was to find aunt Penelope. 
 
 She stepped lightly on tiptoe along tjie 
 passage, then down a staircase, and found 
 a square flagged hall at the bottom. She 
 half opened several doors, but could no 
 where see an inhabitant. Here must be 
 the kitchen, from the fire-place and furni- 
 tute, but there was nobody in it. Half 
 frightened at not being able to find any 
 one, the child ascended a flight of stairs 
 near her. 
 
 She thought it was the one she came
 
 204 EARLY STRUGaLES. 
 
 down, but saw her mistake after ascend- 
 ing it some way. However she went on. 
 She stopped a minute, now at one land- 
 ing, now at another, to gaze out of the 
 windows. They looked towards the river 
 — the same river which ran at the bottom 
 of grandmamma's garden ; and that looked 
 like the same wall running along the 
 bank, but now she could see over it and 
 she beheld all the sheep that were at the 
 other side — pretty sheep ! — she was so 
 fond of sheep ! And those great trees ! 
 she dared say they were full of squirrels. 
 
 Thus she lingered. At last she went on. 
 She did not venture to open any more 
 doors, but she got to the top of the house, 
 and then she found that she could descend 
 by a different staircase at the other side — 
 the great oak staircase on which was the 
 clock. 
 
 Quickening her pace she reached the 
 bottom — she was again in the hall.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 205 
 
 Her bonnet made her feel warm, so she 
 took it off, laid it on a chair and sat down, 
 quite still, on another. 
 
 At last she thought she heard some 
 slight stir in the drawing room. The 
 child, who was beginning to feel uncom- 
 fortable at the silence, got up immediately 
 and opened the door. 
 
 The room was empty as before, but she 
 now saw that there was another door at 
 the end of it. She approached it, gave it 
 a little push ; it opened at her touch, and 
 peeping into a long, narrow room without 
 carpet, she beheld, to her great delight, 
 Yaughan sitting at a table engaged in 
 writing. 
 
 Her step was so light that he did not 
 hear her until she stood beside him and 
 said '^ Cousin Hubert ! '' 
 
 *^My dear little girl!'' he exclaimed, 
 kissing her. ^'I did not hear you come 
 into the room."
 
 206 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^ I have been all over the house, and 
 could not find any one,'' said she. '' I 
 am so glad to find you ! " 
 
 ^'Why you look half frightened,'' ob- 
 served Yaughan. 
 
 ^^Oh no — yes, a little," returned the 
 child. ^^ It is such a silent house ! '' 
 
 ^'A silent house!" said he. '^Ah! 
 that is exactly the word — it is a silent 
 house. Did you bring your books ? " 
 
 ^^ Yes, they are in the hall," Emily re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Let me see — what did Penelope say ? 
 That she was going into the village to 
 visit a sick woman, and that you are to 
 write here until she comes back. Bring 
 me your book, and I will set you a copy." 
 
 Emily obeyed. The copy was set. He 
 placed a chair for her at the table — gave 
 her the ink — mended her pens, and, see- 
 ing that she held her hand in the right 
 position^ returned to his desk and taking
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 207 
 
 up his spectacles, which he had laid down 
 when she entered, resumed his work. 
 
 He did not raise his head again for half 
 an hour. When he did, he perceived that 
 Emily had finished the copy, and was 
 sitting very quietly, looking about her 
 and entirely taken up with her own ob- 
 servations. 
 
 The study — such was the name this 
 room was known by — rather narrow for 
 its length, had low bookcases all along 
 one side of it. In former days these had 
 been well filled, but now their contents 
 were rather scanty, although there were 
 still some few valuable works — Hubert 
 ever since he was a cliild, had the hope that 
 one day he might be able to make up the 
 deficiency. Over the book shelves hung 
 a row of engravings, mostly heads of emi- 
 nent men interspersed with mythological 
 subjects, and here and there an old en- 
 graving taken from some of the landscape 
 paintings of the Italian school.
 
 208 EARLY STEIJGGLES, 
 
 The room had a window at each end. 
 These would have hardly given sufficient 
 light, as it was some thirty feet long, if 
 the one at the farthest extremity had not 
 been altered into a glass door, from which 
 you descended into a small terraced plot 
 of ground overhung with large laburnum 
 trees. A flight of steps ran down the 
 centre of the green slope and led into the 
 garden, which, enclosed by high walls, 
 stretched down to the river. 
 
 ^^ Well, Emily — have you finished your 
 copy ? " 
 
 The child started as Vaughan's voice 
 broke the stillness. 
 
 "Yes," she said, and she reached it to 
 him. 
 
 " Pretty well — but I think you may do 
 better. That line looks very straight, but 
 the letters in this are all awry, and badly 
 cut. Write it over again, my dear.'' 
 
 The little girl put out her hand for it.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 209 
 
 ^^ You wout mind writing it over again, 
 — will you, Emily?'' lie said in a persua- 
 sive tone. 
 
 ^' no," replied slie ; ^' I like to write 
 in this nice room." 
 
 ^' This nice room ! " said Yaughan smil- 
 ing, and casting a glance at the tliree or 
 four old chairs and shabby writing table, 
 that formed its furniture. ^' You do not 
 call this a nice room ? '' 
 
 ^' yes — the prettiest room in the 
 house," returned Emily. ^^ The sun shines 
 in at the glass door, and I see the labur- 
 num trees stirring in the wind. I like to 
 look at those grim faces too, opposite to 
 me — they are the heads of the Saracens 
 that the Crusaders killed — are they not?" 
 
 ''The heads of the Saracens that the 
 Crusaders killed ! '' exclaimed Yaughan, 
 laughing. "What put such a thought in 
 your wise little head, my dear ? " 
 
 " Most of them are so ugly ? I thought
 
 210 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 they were Saracens," replied Emily, look- 
 ing very much confused. 
 
 '' They are the heads of celebrated men 
 — some of them the Greek and Latin 
 poets — others the Eoman Emperors. But 
 what do you know of Saracens ? '' 
 
 ^^ I read of them in the History of 
 England. It is fall of pretty stories, all 
 true.'' 
 
 ^^ Indeed ! What do you mean by sto- 
 ries, my dear? Tell me the names of 
 them." 
 
 ^^ There is King Alfred baking cakes 
 for the neat herd's wife, and the beautiful 
 Elfrida, and all about King Eichard going 
 to fight the Saracens.'' 
 
 ^^ The germ of a poetess or a young ro- 
 mance writer,'' murmured Yaughan to 
 himself. 
 
 ^' I should like to read the histories of 
 Greece and Eome too,'' said the child. 
 
 ^^ Little prattler ! So you shall by and
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 211 
 
 by ; but now set to work and write your 
 copy." 
 
 A long pause. 
 
 " Yery good,'' said Yaughan, as Emily, 
 who had left her seat unperceived, and 
 stood beside him with the copy in her 
 hand, tired of waiting, now touched him 
 lightly on the arm, and placed it before 
 him. ^^Yery good, indeed. I see you 
 take pains. You will be able to help me 
 when I am in a hurry with my writing, 
 by and by. 
 
 '^ Shall I! ''said she joyfully. 
 
 Miss Penelope opened the door. 
 
 '^ Emily, if you have finished your 
 copy, you can bring your books to me.'' 
 
 "You may go,'' said Yaughan, with a 
 nod, in answer to the little girl's look, 
 and Emily disappeared. 
 
 " What a pretty child ! — a study for a 
 painter — so graceful ! " said he, as he 
 looked after her.
 
 212 EARLY STRTJGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 " Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
 Birds and blossoms many numbered." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 YAuaHAN spared no pains, during the 
 short time he remained at home, in in- 
 structing Emily. 
 
 He took a wonderful pleasure in study- 
 ing the character and capacity of the little 
 creature — leading her ideas now into one 
 train, now into another, anatomizing, as 
 it were the budding thoughts; — diving 
 into the first progress of the reasoning
 
 EARLY STRrGGLES. 213 
 
 powers — examining how one conclusion 
 brought on another ; and gratifying, 
 whenever he could, that thii'st of the mind 
 for knowledge, that laudable curiosity 
 which a wise Providence has implanted 
 in children as the stepping-stone towards 
 improving the faculties. 
 
 Sometimes he dazzled her with wonders 
 — Xature's wonders — and then, smiling 
 at her astonishment, he endeavoiu-ed to 
 explain them to her. iXow he shewed 
 her the gauzy wing of a tiny fly in his 
 microscope — another time made her look 
 through the telescope at the stars above 
 her. 
 
 He was equally diligent in teaching her 
 the more simple elements of knowledge, 
 and, as she had a good ear and tried to 
 please him, she soon acquired a pui'e pro- 
 nunciation, and distinctness in reading, 
 which she wanted before. 
 
 "It is all good practice," he thought.
 
 214 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^' against I return from my tour and have 
 pupils to instruct; but I never again 
 shall have such a charming one as this. 
 How she will enliven Penelope's solitude 
 when I am gone ! '' 
 
 Every evening Emily had something 
 new and wonderful to tell her good grand- 
 mamma, as she sat on the stool at her feet 
 — now prattling away — now caressing her 
 favorite cat, which generally lay purring 
 in her lap. 
 
 Although strange, most of her relations 
 were not beyond Mrs. Benson's compre- 
 hension, and as every wonder was com- 
 mented on by Vaughan, when he dis- 
 played them to his pupil, as so many 
 manifestations of the power and wisdom 
 of God in creation, the good woman was 
 satisfied that all was as it should be. 
 
 But Yaughan is gone at last, and 
 Emily is left to Miss Penelope's sole in- 
 struction.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 215 
 
 It had been arranged in the beginning 
 that she was to spend all her mornings at 
 the Hall, and then return to grand- 
 mamma Benson. Miss Penelope however 
 became so attached to the child, and found 
 her such an engaging companion, particu- 
 larly after Yaughan's departure, that these 
 mornings encroached very much upon the 
 day, and soon it was not until towards 
 evening that Mrs. Benson was rejoiced by 
 the sight of her adopted child. 
 
 She was however too happy at what she 
 considered Emily's good fortune in finding 
 such friends, to wish to have her more 
 with herself. 
 
 Although advanced far in life, Mrs. 
 Benson was still able to enjoy her flower 
 knot, and employ herself in the garden — 
 when tired of that, in fine weather, seated 
 in the arbour at the bottom of the walk, 
 near the river's brink, she amused horself 
 with knitting.
 
 216 EARLY STRXIGGLES. 
 
 There her contemplations were always 
 of a pleasing description. 
 
 Often in thought would she run over 
 her life from the beginning to the end — 
 think of the time when she was an igno- 
 rant destitute orphan — reflect upon the 
 goodness of God in raising her up friends 
 in her distress — then of the many happy 
 years she had spent with a kind husband, 
 (her eyes always overflowed at this re- 
 membrance) live over again the days that 
 she had passed with her dear sainted Mrs. 
 Hume, as she always called her, at the 
 Apjohns' farm house, and raise her hands 
 to heaven in thankfulness that she had a 
 home, and a heart filled with parental love 
 in which to shelter the little Emily. It 
 was of God's goodness, God's grace — the 
 praise be to Him that she had the home 
 and the heart to give it. 
 
 The humble, trusting mind doe,<; not re- 
 quire an acute intellect — the power of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 217 
 
 genius, to make it happy. It is the docile 
 spirit, ahyays thankful, always referring 
 everything to God, that feels the largest 
 portion of contentedness on this Earth ; 
 and Mrs. Benson, unlearned and simple as 
 she was, had a greater share of it than 
 many a Queen upon her throne. 
 
 Sometimes, but not very often, Mrs. 
 Apjohn would come in on Sunday to see 
 her, and frequently on a holiday or fine 
 Sunday, after prayers, the market cart was 
 sent in for her to spend the afternoon at 
 the farm. 
 
 Emily generally accompanied her, and 
 enjoyed, with the keen zest of childhood, 
 the variety of country sights to be seen, 
 all of which she would describe on the 
 following day with much vivacity to Miss 
 Penelope. 
 
 The three years that Hubert Yaughan 
 stayed abroad seemed very long to his sis- 
 ter, though a correspondence containing 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 an account of his travels, most minute 
 and interesting in its details, helped to 
 bring him in idea near her. 
 
 Meantime the education of Emily was 
 a constant source of interest and employ- 
 ment. 
 
 The little girl improved daily in solid 
 and useful knowledge. 
 
 With Penelope it was not likely that 
 her fancy would be allowed much play, or 
 any love of imaginative literature encou- 
 raged, and this, which though it might 
 repress, could not obliterate any powers 
 that lay concealed, contributed early to 
 form a mind eager after learning, and not 
 deterred by apparent difficulties. 
 
 Her entire companionship with grown 
 people began to give a greater seriousness 
 to her air. The step that, when first she 
 came to the Hall flew between her lessons 
 from one end of the house to the other — 
 now up the great oak staircase that led to
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 210 
 
 the principal apartments above, then, 
 springing with the rapidity of lightning, 
 in childish merriment and glee, down the 
 flight that descended at the opposite side, 
 was become more subdued. 
 
 In the garden, when tired of play, she 
 often walked up and down the walks, 
 weaving fantastic visions and innocent 
 day-dreams ; making conversations with 
 the birds and flowers; other children 
 would have done the same with their 
 dolls, but Miss Penelope did not approve 
 of dolls for a girl after she had passed the 
 years of infancy. 
 
 Emily therefore, debarred from childish 
 sports and children's books, with no asso- 
 ciates of her own age, took refuge in a 
 course of reading beyond her years, and 
 found in the Eamblers, Spectators, and 
 Guardians, which she abstracted from the 
 study with Miss Penelope's permission, 
 
 l2
 
 220 EAELY STEUGGLES. 
 
 full amusement for a wet day, or to make 
 companions of in the garden. 
 
 Miss Yaughan read very little herself, 
 except serious books. 
 
 "Addison will not hurt Emily," she 
 thought. "I have perused his ^Evidences/ 
 and Johnson is always a moral writer.'' 
 
 Notwithstanding Miss Penelope's desire 
 however to keep fiction from Emily, in 
 those volumes which she allowed her to 
 read, among grave dissertations, sundry 
 papers and passages which she could not 
 understand, were scattered short narra- 
 tives, poetical descriptions, and even cri- 
 ticisms that filled her with delight. 
 
 What more interesting to the opening 
 mind than Addison's papers on Milton, 
 and on the ballad of Chevy Chase, and 
 the Oriental Allegories. Emily never 
 forgot during her whole life the vision of 
 Mirza, and Theodore the hermit. 
 
 In debarring her from children's books,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 221 
 
 and fairy tales, Miss Penelope had unin- 
 tentionally introduced her into the higher 
 walks of fiction. 
 
 Culled from these, every evening, she 
 had some new tale to impart to grand- 
 mamma Benson, and could repeat several 
 of the narratives word for word, with 
 all their simple pathos, and elegance of 
 expression in which Addison's works 
 abound. 
 
 She had wept over the story of Theodo- 
 sius and Constantia — dreamed of Helim 
 the Persian, the great physician, and the 
 Black Palace with its hundred folding 
 doors of ebony — knew the history of all the 
 Ironsides —and had read over and over 
 again the account of the labours of the 
 Ant, before she was ten years old. 
 
 Emily listened with avidity to the 
 passages Penelope used to read aloud for 
 her from Yaughan's letters. 
 
 Her name was always mentioned in them.
 
 222 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 There was his love to her, or an inquiry as 
 to what progress she made — what book 
 was she reading ? — did she attend to the 
 instructions he had given her in writing, 
 and hold her hand in a proper position ? 
 Sometimes there was a little note enclosed 
 for her, and then she had to answer it. 
 What anxiety to write it well ! But it 
 was the very worst thing she did — her 
 little fingers ran too quick. 
 
 " I must give you a great many les- 
 sons,'' he wrote her, '^ when I come 
 home." 
 
 But the tour is over — Yaughan is soon 
 to be at the Hall. 
 
 How Emily's heart bounded the even- 
 ing she ran in breathless to tell grand- 
 mamma — he was coming — he would soon 
 be here — to-morrow! Then there was so 
 much talk about the writing ! She wished 
 so much she could write well ! " Cousin 
 Hubert said I was to help him by and by,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 223 
 
 dear graudmamma, in his wi'iting. — How 
 I should like to help him ! '' 
 
 " Yes, dear, and kind Miss Yaughan 
 too?'' Mrs. Benson said, smiling. 
 
 '^ Oh yes, grandmamma — but I did help 
 aunt Penelope yesterday : I picked all the 
 currants for her." 
 
 " Good child." 
 
 Notwithstanding the delight of Miss 
 Penelope at the near prospect of seeing 
 her dear brother, her heart had throbbed 
 painfully at the thought of how narrow 
 she must make every thing in her house- 
 keeping — as he was now coming to remain 
 at home — until he could get pupils. The 
 thought was not for herself, but for him. 
 
 Neither did she like to confess that a 
 small sum which had been left at her own 
 disposal had been spent entirely in his 
 education, and that the incomings they 
 had now were much less than when they 
 began life.
 
 224 EARLY STItUGGLES. 
 
 But in his last letter he had set her 
 mind at rest on the subject for the present, 
 by saying, that during his tour he had 
 saved a sum sufficient to put them quite 
 at ease for a few months, — before the ex- 
 piration of which time he hoped to have 
 two or three pupils to prepare for college.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 225 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 " She wept with pity and delight." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Yaughan had brought his sister a hand- 
 some edition of Hannah More's works as a 
 present. Mrs. More was her favorite 
 author. She had several of her works 
 separately, but had never possessed an 
 entire set until now. 
 
 The ^^ Search after Happiness," a little 
 dramatic poem originally published by 
 itself, had been given to her when a girl, 
 
 L 3
 
 226 EAELY STRXJGaLES. 
 
 but she had lost it — lent it she thought, 
 and it had not been returned. Again she 
 read it with pleasure, and not thinking it 
 beyond Emily's comprehension, whose 
 love of poetry she had rather suppressed 
 than encouraged, proposed to give it to 
 her to read. 
 
 Yaughan nodded assent as Miss Penelope 
 mentioned her intention to him — he was 
 already at his desk writing away. 
 
 " But then,'' said Penelope, as she took 
 up the volume containing it, 'Hhere are 
 plays bound up with it — three plays.'' 
 
 '' Oh ! never mind the plays,'' replied 
 Yaughan, still writing. '^ Emily will 
 never think of reading the plays, and 
 if she does, she will not understand 
 them.'' 
 
 ^'You do not think she will?" said 
 Miss Penelope. 
 
 ^'Such a child!" returned he, ^'cer- 
 tainly not."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 227 
 
 This was immediately after breakfast. 
 Yaughan^ who had something in hand he 
 wished to complete, was in his study ear- 
 lier than usual that day, and Penelope, 
 who had come in for the book in question, 
 stood resting one hand on the back of his 
 chair. 
 
 Presently the door from the hall was 
 heard to open and a light step — the step 
 of a child — entered the drawing-room. 
 
 '^That is Emily," said Penelope. ^'She 
 has escaped the rain — the clouds are 
 darkening — I must go to her. Then you 
 think I may lend her this book ? Even if 
 it should rain, I must go into the village 
 to see a poor patient, after I have taught 
 her her lessons.'' 
 
 ^^ Certainly — certainly,'' returned Yaug- 
 han, his pen still running rapidly over the 
 paper. 
 
 Miss Penelope left the study, and seat- 
 ing herself in the drawing-room, began
 
 228 EAELT STRUGGLES. 
 
 diligently to teach Emily, and hear her 
 read. 
 
 *^ May I have ^ The Search after Happi- 
 ness ' that you spoke of yesterday, aunt 
 Penelope ? You told me it was a great 
 favorite of yours long ago. May I take 
 the volume of Mrs. Hannah More's works 
 it is in ? said the little girl, after she had 
 finished her lessons. ^^It rains, and I 
 cannot go into the garden." 
 
 "Yes, my dear — here it is," replied 
 Miss Penelope. 
 
 Emily took the book, and flew to the 
 spot she had long selected for herself. 
 
 Half way up the great oak staircase, 
 just above the clock was a deep set, 
 window with a seat in it. 
 
 The view from it was beautiful. Tt 
 looked over the garden into the grounds 
 of Bonham Park. Green slopes and 
 masses of wood were to be seen — there 
 were sheep — she hoped they would never
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 229 
 
 take the sheep out of that field, and 
 through the trees she had glimpses of 
 those high grounds where the deer 
 were kept, and those sweet blue hills 
 in the distance ! 
 
 It was into this recess she always 
 took her books and playthings — little 
 figures she cut of paper, and purses 
 she strung with beads. 
 
 Here too, she could see the flowers in 
 the garden ; hear the birds sing in the 
 laburnum trees which waved over the 
 green slope that led to it; watch the 
 hands of the great clock ; if it rained, 
 admire the drops pattering against the 
 window ; if the sun shone, mark how the 
 beams fell on the dial in the green court 
 beneath. And here now she brought the 
 volume of Hannah More's works, and be- 
 gun the first page of the '^ Search after 
 Happiness." Was it all about happiness, 
 she thought. It was such a thick book !
 
 230 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 She looked in tlie list of contents. 
 
 Percy ! what a pretty name ! — what 
 was Percy about, she wondered — and 
 she turned to its pages — she read a few 
 lines — it was so pretty ! — soon she was 
 lost, wrapt in the interest of it — she 
 devoured rather than read it. 
 
 The clock struck. At this hour she 
 was always in the garden when it was 
 fine, and the rain had ceased but she 
 did not heed it. 
 
 The sunbeams shone brightly down 
 upon the window panes, fell upon her 
 book — she did not see them. Still she 
 read. 
 
 Another hour passed away — the clock 
 struck again — unminded still though it 
 was, the time fixed on for her to go 
 and write in the study. 
 
 Miss Penelope, meantime had walked 
 into the village, and thinking her little 
 charge would go play in the garden
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 231 
 
 as soon as the rain had cleared off, 
 and then, docile and attentive as she 
 always was — hasten to Yaughan in his 
 study and write. 
 
 No such thing — Emily moved not 
 from her seat in the window. 
 
 Vaughan had marked the hour, and 
 wondered what was become of Emily. 
 He knew his sister would be vexed if 
 the little girl had not her copy written 
 against she returned. He left the study 
 — passed through the drawing room 
 into the hall in search of her — opened 
 the door that led to the principal 
 staircase in order to make sure of the 
 hour, and as he looked at the clock, 
 there, in the embrasure of the window 
 just beyond it, he espied Emily — eyes, 
 ears, all her senses wrapt up in a book. 
 
 He ascended the staircase — she did 
 not move. He stood beside her — the 
 little head was not raised.
 
 232 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 " Emily ! " he said as he touched her 
 hand. 
 
 She started up with a bewildered 
 air. She shook back her dark brown curls 
 — her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! it is so beautiful," said she '^cou- 
 sin Hubert, did you ever read it ?'' and 
 she held up the book to him. He knew 
 the binding. 
 
 *'What, my dear, Hannah More's 
 ' Search after Happiness?' " 
 
 ^'No, not that," said she, ^4ook ! so 
 beautiful !" 
 
 He looked at the open page — it was 
 ^ Percy.' 
 
 ^'What will Penelope say," thought 
 he. 
 
 '' Then you have not read the ^ Search 
 after Happiness' yet?" 
 
 ^' Not yet — I shall read it to-morrow — 
 I read the prettiest first." 
 
 Yaughan smiled at her naivete.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 233 
 
 ^^ Have you quite finished ^ Percy ?' I 
 want you to come and write.'' 
 
 " I have quite done/' said she, ^^ I read 
 the last line when you startled me, but it 
 is not time to write yet, is it ?" and she 
 looked at the clock. 
 
 " What ! — no, it cannot be — yes it is,'' 
 and she clapped her hands together with 
 a gesture of astonishment. ^' Dear cousin, 
 I must go directly, aunt Penelope will 
 think I am so idle." 
 
 " Well, come at once, you must make 
 up for lost time, and I must get back to 
 my work too." 
 
 Em-ily followed his hasty strides to the 
 study, and took her seat. 
 
 He observed that she could hardly hold 
 her pen, she was so excited. 
 
 " There,'' said he, " sit quiet for a 
 few minutes before you begin — but no 
 — r\in down into the court and gather 
 me a bunch of laburnums, and observe
 
 234 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 exactly what o'clock it is by the sun 
 dial." 
 
 Emily, after being absent a few mi- 
 nutes, brought in the flowers. 
 
 Hubert gazed inquiringly at her as she 
 a]3proached. 
 
 " You see I am writing a new copy 
 for you," said he — ^^ another message — go 
 and ask Honor if she fed the Canary-bird 
 this morning. I shall have your copy 
 ready for you by the time you come back.'' 
 
 Emily obeyed — when she returned the 
 copy was placed in readiness for her to 
 begin. She sat down again and com- 
 menced writing. Her hand was now 
 steady, and she wrote well. 
 
 Miss Penelope was vexed when her bro- 
 ther laughingly told her what an impres- 
 sion the tragedy of ' Percy ' had made 
 on Emily, and put aside the ' Search after 
 Happiness,' lest she should peruse the 
 other tragedies the volume contained.
 
 EAELY STErGGLES. 235 
 
 She hoped she would soon forget it, and 
 made her read a s^reat deal of serious 
 reading aloud, in order to efface it. But 
 the remembrance could not be so readily 
 obliterated from the little girl's mind, and 
 ' Percy and Douglas ' found a place for a 
 long time in her thoughts and dreams. 
 
 In after years Zaire haunted her in a 
 similar manner. There are few among us 
 who cannot recal some book, which, like 
 her, we have devoured in our young days 
 — some one that has opened a new world 
 into which we had never before pene- 
 trated. Be it goblin tale, or pages fi'om 
 the di-eam-land of poetry, Mysteries of 
 TJdolpho, play of Shakespeare, or our early 
 loved Robinson Crusoe — read perhaps of 
 a winter's evenins:, over the winter's fii'e, 
 amidst gay laughs and voices of childhood ; 
 read perhaps on a summer's day in the 
 sli^de, reclining beneath the old oak whose 
 branches crossed the stream by which
 
 236 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 once we so loved to linger, read it may be, 
 sitting on the side of a haycock with the 
 noise of the merry haymakers, and the 
 lowing of cattle in the distance. 
 
 An exquisite and never forgotten treat 
 it was then.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 237 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 •' Wliat then is taste, but these internal powers, 
 Active, and strong, and feelingly alive 
 To each fine impulse ?" 
 
 Akensiue. 
 " Different minds 
 Incline to different objects." 
 
 Do. 
 
 Vaughan had arrived at home high in 
 spirits, full of hopes, and certain of get- 
 ting pupils. 
 
 He was likewise sanguine of success as 
 an author. He had continued his contri- 
 butions steadily while abroad, to a perio- 
 dical which had taken his papers fur the
 
 238 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 last year preceding his departure from 
 England, and though the remuneration 
 was small, yet it seemed an earnest of the 
 future. But now to his great disappoint- 
 ment he found that an article he had sent, 
 without a doubt of its being accepted, was 
 returned. 
 
 He wrote to inquire the cause — the ma- 
 gazine had fallen into another hand — a 
 new staff had been formed, and Yaughan 
 was excluded. 
 
 He wrote again and urged his claim as 
 being a contributor of some date, but it 
 was of no use. 
 
 Eather mortified he determined to write 
 out his journal and offer it to a publisher 
 who was in the habit of bringing out nu- 
 merous works of this description. 
 
 The answer he received to his proposi- 
 tion was not very encouraging ; however 
 he proceeded to arrange his materials, and 
 having completed a few chapters, he sub- 
 mitted them for consideration.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 239 
 
 They were rejected — it was hackneyed 
 ground. 
 
 ^^ Hackneyed ground," he exclaimed, 
 '' and I see day after day (ours making 
 their appearance, some in one direction, 
 some in another, similar to what I have 
 taken : none embracing all the spots I 
 have visited, or containing such varied 
 information as I have managed to accu- 
 mulate. It must be the name that sells — 
 eh Men, nous verrons^^'' and he put the jour- 
 nal aside for the present. 
 
 Meantime the months rolled on, and 
 other disappointments awaited him. 
 
 A sudden death took off one pupil the 
 very week before that which was fixed on 
 for his arrival at the Hall. 
 
 Another whom he had made quite sure 
 of, changed his mind and went into the 
 army, aad thus at the end of six months 
 Yaaghan found himself with diminished 
 pockets, farther than ever from getting
 
 240 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 pupils, and doing very little in the lite- 
 rary line. 
 
 He was almost beginning to despair, 
 when a fellow student wrote to him to say 
 that he had become the editor of a new 
 periodical, and would be glad if he would 
 furnish him with an article monthly. 
 
 Yaughan set to work very hard. The 
 articles were well received, and he looked 
 forward to becoming a contributor to some 
 other magazines. 
 
 But there is nothing more difficult than 
 the first step — to get in a paper; and he 
 failed in all his endeavours. 
 
 One magazine was full, another kept 
 his paper for two months and then re- 
 turned it, and a third neither replied to 
 his letter or returned his article. Poor 
 Yaughan' s hopes of making literature a 
 stepping stone to independence declined 
 very fast. 
 
 Thus two years passed away.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 241 
 
 Meantime he had been assisting very 
 assiduously in the education of Emily. 
 He gratified her passion for history and 
 heroic details by making her read with 
 him, the histories of Greece and Eome in 
 a more enlarged form than the abridg- 
 ments he had left her to peruse during his 
 absence from England. 
 
 Miss Penelope had rather checked than 
 encouraged her love of reading for a few 
 months previous to his return, and had 
 given her tasks of needlework to perform 
 instead of permitting her to spend all her 
 spare time at books. 
 
 He did not quite agree with Penelope 
 on this point, and she now yielded to his 
 representations. She had been led to this 
 restriction by a proceeding of Emily's 
 which had really frightened her. 
 
 We have said before that the little girl 
 had no plajTuates. Time however never 
 seemed to hang heavy on her hands, and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 her active mind always found amusement 
 for itself. 
 
 If in the house, and she happened not 
 to have a book near her, she would pace 
 the old mansion from top to bottom, ex- 
 amining the pictures, the ancient carving, 
 sometimes looking out of the back win- 
 dows, at the beautiful grounds of Bonham 
 Park. 
 
 One day as she stood thus gazing at 
 the sheep on the green slope, with 
 glimpses of the deer in the distance, a 
 charming vision of Shepherds and Shep- 
 herdesses, of whom she had been reading 
 in some papers scattered through the 
 ^ Guardian,' rose before her. 
 
 She thought with the poet, 
 
 " This place may seem for shepherds' leisure made, 
 
 So lovingly these elms unite their shade. 
 
 Th' ambitious woodbine, how it climbs to breathe 
 
 Its balmy sweets around on all beneath : 
 
 The ground with grass of cheerful green bespread, 
 
 Through which the springing flow'r uprears its head."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 243 
 
 Her imaginings filled with poetical 
 ideas, shaped themselves into verse, and 
 when she returned to her lessons she 
 wrote them down on the slate which Miss 
 Penelope had given her to work her sums 
 on. 
 
 "Aunt Penelope," said she, after a 
 while, running up to her and shewing her 
 the slate, ^' I have composed some poetry.'' 
 
 "Some what, my dear?" said Penelope 
 looking at her with consternation. 
 
 " Some poetry, aunt, it is on the view 
 over the river into the Park. It would be 
 such a nice spot for Shepherds and Shep- 
 herdesses, so I have put them into it." 
 
 Kow Miss Penelope had a horror of ajiy 
 thing approaching to versifying, particu- 
 larly in a little girl^ and looking very 
 grave, after reading what was written on 
 the slate, she said, 
 
 " Emily, I am sorry to see you waste 
 your time in such a useless manner. Cle- 
 
 M 2
 
 244 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ver men, and sometimes women, "write 
 poetry, but it is an idle occupation — I 
 should be sorry you took to it, and at any 
 rate children can only write nonsense 
 verses. I would a great deal rather you 
 tried to sketch the view with your pencil 
 than endeavour to describe it in bad 
 poetry.'' 
 
 Emily was abashed. She saw that aunt 
 Penelope was vexed, and for a long time 
 she did not attempt to make another verse. 
 
 Eager after some new pursuit however, 
 she fancied she should like to learn French. 
 
 Now Miss Penelope knew nothing of 
 French, and she was only half pleased 
 when she saw Emily one day with an odd 
 volume of Fenelon, containing the ^Dia- 
 logues of the Dead,' and his ^ Fairy 
 Tales,' endeavouring to make out one of 
 the latter with the help of a dictionary 
 and grammar. 
 
 She did not however interrupt her, but 
 mentioned it to Yaughan.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 245 
 
 Hubert heard lier with a gesture of sat- 
 isfaction. He went in search of Emily, 
 and found her in the old spot — the recess 
 of the window half way up the staircase, 
 near the clock, with a dictionary nearly 
 as large as herself before her, and holding 
 in her hand a thick, square little volume, 
 with that substantial, dark binding which 
 we so seldom see now-a-days, looking as if 
 it never could wear out, on which she was 
 intent. 
 
 "Emily,'' said he. 
 
 Emily started. 
 
 "What are you reading ?" 
 
 " Fenelon's Tales,'' she replied. 
 
 "Which one?'' 
 
 "The Old Queen and Peronnelle." 
 
 " Is that the first tale you have read ? '' 
 
 " No, I read the story of the Ape first." 
 
 " Translate it for me.'' 
 
 Emily obeyed; it was short and she 
 translated it very accurately.
 
 246 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ^^"Well done, my dear, I shall have 
 much pleasure in teaching you French." 
 
 ^^How good/' said she, joyfully. 
 
 ^^ We will begin to-morrow. I like the 
 book you have chosen. Eemember to 
 bring it into my study when you are done 
 with Penelope, and I will give you your 
 first lesson. But where did you get it ?" 
 
 ^^ On the top shelf in the study, under 
 the pamphlets," she replied. "• It was co- 
 vered with dust." 
 
 " Let me see. I did not know we had a 
 volume of Fenelon's works." 
 
 He took it and looked curiously at the 
 title page: '^Eleanor Yaughan 1723," 
 was written in an upright female hand. 
 
 '^Ah! it belonged to my great grand- 
 mother." And as he said this he could 
 not help thinking what a different place 
 the Hall is now to what it was then. 
 
 Emily skipped and danced along the 
 garden. Her spirit was all joy. She was
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 247 
 
 really going to learn French — not only to 
 read it but to speak it, — and from 
 Yaughan ! 
 
 The recital of this, with the story of 
 the Ape and part of the tale of Peronnelle 
 served to amuse Mrs. Benson all that 
 evening. 
 
 Every proof of the kindness and atten- 
 tion of the Yaughans was a new source of 
 comfort to the good woman, for as years 
 rolled on, and made her feel the infirmities 
 almost always inseparable from age, she 
 saw how doubtful it was that she should 
 survive long enough to behold Emily ar- 
 rive at woman's estate. And where could 
 she look for friends and protectors for 
 Emily but to them ? 
 
 Since the return of Yaughan, Emily 
 had become, at times, as animated and 
 lively as ever. 
 
 Life with grandmamma Benson and 
 aunt Penelope was happiness certainly —
 
 248 • EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 calm, sober, serene. But life, wlien Hu- 
 bert Yaugban was at borne, was joyous 
 and exbilarating* And yet be was sober 
 as ever bimself, except wben be relaxed 
 to play witb ber. Tben be became tbe 
 scboolboy. 
 
 After tbe number of bours be allotted 
 to writing were over, it was a recreation 
 to bim to take a long walk witb ber 
 (Penelope was not fond of long walks) 
 sometimes even to run a race witb ber 
 in tbe garden. 
 
 He looked upon ber as a dear little sis- 
 ter, second only in bis beart to Penelope. 
 Penelope — bis more tban motber, tbe dear 
 and admired companion of bis life from 
 cbildboodj was bis first object, as be bad 
 always been bers, but still be bad love to 
 spare for bis adopted little sister. 
 
 Penelope did not want Emily to get re- 
 gular lessons in Frencb yet, sbe wisbed to 
 postpone tbem. Sbe did not see tbe use
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 249 
 
 of Frencli for such a very young girl. She 
 had already begun to teach her music, and 
 she thought that would suffice for the 
 present. 
 
 '^ Music will take up a great deal of 
 Emily's time," she said. " In two or three 
 years French may be added as a study — 
 at present I would let her amuse herself 
 with it if she liked without giving her 
 lessons." 
 
 ^^My dear Penelope, I must begin now 
 if she is ever to learn it. Where shall I 
 be in two or three years ? not here most 
 likely." 
 
 Penelope was silent. It was the first 
 intimation she had that he had some pl.m 
 in his head which he had not yet imparted 
 to her, and she felt rather uneasy. The 
 fact was that the disappointments about 
 pupils, and the very indifferent success 
 which Yaughan met with in the literary 
 line, notwithstanding that he possessed 
 
 M 3
 
 250 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 both industry and talent, induced him to 
 listen to a proposal which had been made 
 him two or three times. This was to be- 
 come the correspondent in Paris of a Lon- 
 don paper. The salary was handsome, 
 and as nothing more remunerative seemed 
 likely to offer, he was beginning to consi- 
 der it seriously, but had not yet broached 
 it to Penelope, as, in the event of his ac- 
 cepting it, his presence would not be 
 required in Paris for three months, the 
 present correspondent not being about to 
 relinquish the office until then.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ** The simple life, ihe frugal fare, 
 The kind parental counsels given, 
 
 The tender love, the pious care, 
 That early winged their hopes to heaven." 
 
 Mrs, Grant, 
 
 The twin brothers Apjohn grew up to 
 man's estate, with well- disciplined minds, 
 and healthful frames; specimens of the 
 hardy yeoman, the sinew and wealth of a 
 state ; and the old people passed away full 
 of years, calmly as if they did but sleep, 
 to add another stone to the Apjohns in the 
 corner of the church-yard. Their decease
 
 252 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 created a great void in the farm-house. 
 First the old man went. Then Llewellyn 
 took his seat in the chimney corner, and 
 his place at the head of the table, and 
 strove to imitate the discipline he was 
 used to keep np. He read the prayers 
 morning and evening, and the accustomed 
 chapter in the bible — regulated the farm, 
 and endeavoured to cheer the old dame. 
 
 She however survived her husband but 
 a few months, and then the farm, by old 
 Apjohn's will, was to be equally divided 
 between the two brothers. 
 
 This, with such complete affection as 
 reigned between them was easily arranged, 
 and every thing looked thrivingly for the 
 young farmers, who devoted themselves 
 assiduously to all the duties and labours 
 of their position. 
 
 Hitherto with a moderate rent to pay, 
 good land and fair prices, all had gone on 
 well, although, in some respects, the tide
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 253 
 
 of aflPairs in the country had begun to 
 change. The free trade which had been 
 looked to as a great boon to the people, 
 had not produced the desired effects. 
 
 To the agricultm*al portion of the com- 
 munity its consequences were depressing, 
 while it was very doubtful if it would 
 benefit the manufacturers. 
 
 Many of the farmers were obliged to 
 make great alterations in their establish- 
 ments. 
 
 The prudent ones tried to do with fewer 
 laboui^ers, and to work harder themselves. 
 The brothers re-doubled their efforts, their 
 profits were much less, prices were low, 
 and they saw that many experienced far- 
 mers around them were evidently fright- 
 ened for the consequences. 
 
 ^^ Things will find their level by and 
 by," Llewelyn said, and worked still 
 harder. 
 
 '^ There is no fear for us, David," he
 
 254 EARLY STRUaGLES. 
 
 would say to his brother, '^ we have but 
 to persevere. If the prices are low for 
 corn, the prices of manufactured goods 
 must decrease likewise — if we get less for 
 wheat, we shall pay less for clothes — the 
 agricultural and manufacturing interests 
 cannot be separated, they depend upon 
 each other. Let us persevere, and pray 
 to God to bless our endeavours. Dame 
 Jenkins, our dairyman's wife, is a capital 
 manager, and strictly honest. I say we 
 must work on and not grumble." 
 
 Eut David did grumble. 
 
 Although strongly attached to each 
 other, and very like in personal appear- 
 ance, there was a great difference of 
 disposition in the twin brothers. 
 
 Llewelyn took much after his grand- 
 father ; there was the same quiet reserve 
 in his manner ; the same deep sense of 
 religion, and dependance upon providence 
 in his heart.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 255 
 
 It was not either that David was an 
 irreligious character, far from it, but he 
 was more thoughtless, more careless, more 
 easily led than his brother, and besides, 
 partook, without being aware of it himself, 
 something of the roving disposition of his 
 father. While farmer Apjohn lived, this 
 temper of mind had but very little, if at 
 all, developed itself; but now that the kind 
 old man, for whom he had such a venera- 
 tion, was gone, and that he was completely 
 his own master, those dormant inclinations 
 gradually unfolded themselves, and he 
 began to make frequent excursions to the 
 village of St. Cynllo, which lay at the 
 distance of a few miles, and sometimes 
 late of an evening looked in upon a party 
 of malcontents who nightly assembled 
 there, at the village smoking club. 
 
 This village picturesque, as it burst 
 upon the eye, its white cottages dotting 
 the high ground that rose upon the south-
 
 256 EARLY STRUaaLES. 
 
 ern bank of the Tivy, not far from the 
 mouth of that river, had lost a great deal 
 of the primitive manners to be found in 
 the more inland villages, probably from 
 its proximity to the shipping, and to the 
 sea-port town of Cardigan. 
 
 The inhabitants were not of very good 
 repute, and it was thronged with sailors 
 from the merchant vessels that traded 
 to the port of Cardigan. It was with 
 much regret therefore that Llewelyn saw 
 his brother so often direct his steps thither. 
 
 Their own peaceful hamlet with its 
 pretty churchy and trim church-yard, was 
 only half a mile from their farm, but to 
 this, although there lived the curate and 
 schoolmaster, whom they had known in 
 their boyish days, and whose houses were 
 always open to them, David now never 
 went. 
 
 The discontented farmer, the idle arti- 
 san, and the reckless sailor, to be found
 
 EAELY STRrGGLES. 257 
 
 at St. Cynllo promised him more variety, 
 and he listened to their speeches and fore- 
 bodings -svith an increasing interest. 
 
 Politics were loudly discussed at this 
 village club, and torrents of abuse poiu-ed 
 upon the different grades of society above 
 them; and as there were not wanting 
 among those assembled, men of good na- 
 tural parts — orators in their way, clever 
 at misrepresenting circumstances and put- 
 ting a wrong construction upon actions 
 and words, David found, whilst listening 
 to their arguments, a sort of excitement 
 quite new to him, and which made his 
 quiet home at the farm appear tasteless 
 and insipid. 
 
 Thus he went oftener and oftener, while 
 nights spent in this manner rendered him 
 unfit for morning toil, and his portion of 
 the farm work began to be sadly neglected. 
 
 Llewelyn hoped that his brother would 
 become weary of a set of men, as soon as
 
 258 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 the novelty of their opinions ceased to 
 strike him, from whom in conduct and 
 morality he as yet diJQPered widely ; but a 
 new subject of discussion began to be 
 started amongst them, which still detained 
 the steps Llewelyn vainly tried to draw 
 towards home — a new wonder, a new spe- 
 culation, which David greedily drank in. 
 
 This absorbing subject was the quantity 
 of gold just then discovered in California. 
 The publications were beginning to speak 
 of it with increasing interest, and some 
 sailors from a vessel newly arrived in the 
 bay of Cardigan, brought marvellous ac- 
 counts of fortunes suddenly made. 
 
 Llewelyn listened to the tales his bro- 
 ther repeated with calm attention. 
 
 He was not dazzled by the golden 
 visions David endeavoured to bring be- 
 fore him. He weighed the advantages and 
 disadvantages with an even eye. He 
 pointed out the risks that must be run,
 
 EABTT STRro^us. 259 
 
 the sacrifices that most be made, the hard- 
 ships that must be endured, for this chance 
 of gold — ^when fomid, the difficnlty^ of 
 keeping it in a lawless conntiy — if not 
 fonnd, the fiig^tf ul want that mnst ensoe. 
 
 IS'either was he depressed by the rain 
 which the low state of prices on the one 
 side, and the consequent difficoltj of get- 
 ting mon^ to bn J even a cheap loaf on 
 the other, made sach numbers of the peo- 
 ple anticipate. 
 
 He still repeated, things will find their 
 level by and by. Let ns only be indos- 
 trions and thankfol for our many unde- 
 serred ble^angs; and let us remember 
 that a kind proYidence is atwa3ps -w^v^^^^y 
 OTer us. 
 
 Then, with respect to their own posi- 
 tion, he remarked thal^ thou^ P^- ^ 
 not so weU off as they had been, in ix>ii- 
 sequence of the change in the times, sdU 
 they had sufficient for CTery thing neces-
 
 260 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 3ary to comfort — the industrious farmer 
 would be sure never to want ; but if he 
 abandoned the labour of the soil to go to 
 assemblies of malcontents, sit up late at 
 night, and rise late in the morning, the 
 natural consequence of straitened means 
 and inability to pay rent, must of neces- 
 sity follow. 
 
 David listened, but he was not con- 
 vinced. 
 
 His plan was to induce his brother to 
 join him in disposing of their interest in 
 the farm, and for both to go to California. 
 
 Llewelyn looked upon the discovery of 
 this gold as he looked upon every event 
 in the world — a work of an over-ruling 
 Providence for some good purpose. 
 
 It was perhaps a means provided to 
 draw a needy, superabundant population 
 to a country where extensive tracts of 
 land were uninhabited, and where, if gold 
 failed, they might labour in other ways.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 261. 
 
 '^ It may be, my clear David,'' he said, 
 ^^ a desirable adventure for some, and take 
 away many idlers ; but for you, an agri- 
 culturist, placed in an equable climate, 
 with all your home ties — the church of 
 your fathers — your early associates around 
 you, with the prospect of an humble but 
 certain independence, and the hope of 
 living as your forefathers did, of forming 
 endearing connections to make your pre- 
 sent quiet hearth still more blest — to leave 
 all this for an uncertainty seems to me a 
 species of madness. ISTo, my gold shall 
 come from the rich soil of my native land, 
 and there I will earn it by the sweat of 
 my brow." 
 
 Thus reasoned Llewelyn ; but although 
 tenderly attached to his brother, David 
 was not to be moved by his arguments or 
 entreaties. 
 
 He could not see matters in the same 
 light that Llewelyn did ; neither was his
 
 262 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 mind fitted, as it used to be, to take plea- 
 sure in the avocations they were accus- 
 tomed to pursue together. 
 
 His visits to the village club at St. 
 Cynllo, if they had not undermined as yet 
 his principles of morality and corrupted 
 his heart, had certainly deadened his per- 
 ception of the beautiful and good ; — and 
 if he still attended as duly as ever at his 
 own village church, he gave not there the 
 attention of former times. He was no 
 longer the Bible student who found some 
 new beauty, some new source for anticipa- 
 tion, some new glory as it were developed 
 to him each succeeding Sunday ; — for as 
 new discoveries are continually opening 
 in every science on the ardent disciple, so 
 in that study, essential above all others to 
 a being made for eternity, are new sources 
 of joyful anticipation and exquisite happi- 
 ness bursting upon him, who seeks to 
 learn.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 2G3 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 " His genius and his moral frame 
 Were thus impaired, and he became 
 
 The slave of low desires : 
 A man whd without self-control 
 Would seek what the degraded soul 
 
 Unworthily admires." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 But it was not only with respect to reli- 
 gion that this deterioration of character 
 was creeping over David. 
 
 His taste for intellectual pursuits, and 
 his power of extracting enjoyment from 
 the simple objects of nature, and admiring
 
 264 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 the Creator in his works, was fast decreas- 
 ing. 
 
 The valley, in which the farm house 
 stood, the stream that ran beside it, the 
 fields in which he had laboured since a 
 boy, had lost their charms, and become 
 tedious and insipid in his eyes: he cared 
 no longer for 
 
 " The rural walk 
 O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink." 
 
 The hour after supper, once given to 
 social converse or innocent mirth, was 
 now spent, when at home, in a sort of 
 dreamy musings over political grievances, 
 future evils, and the gold diggings- — a cure 
 for all. In short David was on the high 
 road of becoming a discontented idler, for 
 in his opinion every thing in the world 
 went wrong. Even the worthy, benevo- 
 lent landlord under whom the farm was 
 held, came in for his share of censure, 
 although he had, in consequence of the
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 265 
 
 times, cheerfully made abatements in the 
 rent of all his farms. 
 
 A little time longer, and David Apjohn 
 was no more to be seen guiding the plough, 
 or directing the labourers around him in 
 theii' occupations — no more walking with 
 his brother to the village church on Sun- 
 days, or even going, despite that brother's 
 wishes, to the club at St. Cynllo. 
 
 He was gone — gone to the diggings — 
 having, with the nnwilling consent of 
 Llewelyn, disposed of his interest in the 
 portion of the farm allotted to him, to a 
 neigbouring farmer of the name of Jones, 
 for a small sum of money. 
 
 Llewelyn saw with deep regret the 
 departure of his playmate, his companion, 
 his beloved brother and friend. Neither 
 had they separated quite in amity on the 
 part of David. 
 
 Farmer Jones, who was a monied man, 
 and liked the farm, would have willingly 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 purchased the interest of the two brothers 
 in it ; but this, while David exerted all 
 his eloquence to persuade Llewelyn to do, 
 the latter firmly declined. 
 
 He lamented their parting — he had 
 prayed, he said, that it might be other- 
 wise. He owned that he might find some 
 difficulty in paying his rent for the pre- 
 sent, but he was satisfied it would not be 
 always so, and come what may, he was 
 determined to keep his fireside and the 
 homestead in which his revered father 
 had lived. 
 
 The farm had originally been let in two 
 divisions, so that with the consent of the 
 landlord, the lease of that part which ran 
 up the hill at the extremity of the valley 
 was made over to farmer Jones. This 
 perhaps was the most productive, although 
 not the most beautiful portion of it — but 
 to make up for it, the farm house was 
 situated on the division remaining in 
 Llewelyn's hands.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 2G7 
 
 David was gone, and Llewellyn found 
 a sad blank in his dwelling. 
 
 At first he could hardly realize his 
 departure. At times he would even turn 
 round to address him — then start, sigh 
 and think lie had not done half enough to 
 detain his brother. He recollected a thou- 
 sand arguments he might have used, a 
 thousand things he might have said — he 
 was sure he did not show David half the 
 brotherly love he felt for him — he had 
 chided him too much — he had not sought 
 sufficiently to win him from his associates 
 by gentle speech. 
 
 Perhaps after all he, might repent and 
 return, and for many days Llewelyn 
 lingered of nights later than usual in the 
 kitchen in hopes he might hear his bro- 
 ther's well-known knock. 
 
 But David did not rc^turn : he had 
 sailed for California. 
 
 Llewelyn continued to feel keenly the 
 
 n2
 
 268 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 departure of his twin brother; truly it 
 was a trial to him, and a bitter one. 
 
 It was not long too before he realized 
 the old proverb that " misfortunes seldom 
 come single/' for the distemper got among 
 his cattle — the blight attacked his corn 
 and potatoes. 
 
 Still he did not despond. ^' Times would 
 mend," he said; ^-fair weather must 
 come at last ;'' and ^^ the eye of God was 
 over all his children." 
 
 Amidst all this the departure of David 
 sat heaviest upon his h^art. 
 
 One very hard year he weathered out, 
 and by the utmost frugality managed to 
 pay his rent. The next was a better one 
 — -still an improvement in the next. 
 
 Llewelyn now began to think he might 
 look for an helpmate ; he had had it in 
 his mind ever since his brother left him, 
 and was only deterred from his purpose 
 by the state of his affairs.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 269 
 
 Now however farm prospects were 
 brightening, and it appeared to him to be 
 a matter of prudence as well as choice. 
 
 The dairyman's Avife, who had house- 
 kept for him so well, was dead ; he had 
 not been able to get a competent person 
 to supply her place, and every thing in 
 the farm .house was losing the neat ap- 
 pearance it used to have. 
 
 There was one young girl in the neigh- 
 bourhood whom he had always had a 
 secret liking for. This was Fanny Jones, 
 niece to the rich farmer of that name. 
 
 It was not because she was rich that 
 Llewelyn liked Fanny Jones — no — Fanny 
 was a pennyless girl, a poor orphan, en- 
 tirely dependent upon her uncle's bounty. 
 
 Nor was it for her beauty, for though 
 gentle and pretty looking, there were far 
 prettier girls to be seen in the neighbour- 
 ing village, and in the country around ; 
 and it could not be for her accomplish-
 
 270 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ments, for plain reading and writing with 
 an expertness at all kinds of needlework, 
 exemplified in a sam2:)ler containing the 
 Lord's Prayer, and the figures of Adam 
 and Eve in the garden of Paradise, were 
 the extent of her polite acquirements. 
 
 But it was for her sweet temper, her 
 industrious hahits, her active benevolence. 
 
 Whenever a poor sick woman was in 
 the vicinity of her uncle's dwelling, there 
 was Fanny Jones to be seen in her neat 
 jacket and petticoat, with her little white 
 mob cap tied under her chin, reading out 
 of a Welsh bible to the poor sufi'erer. 
 
 Then, no stockings were better knit, no 
 beer better brewed, no kitchen kept in 
 more beautiful order than was Fanny 
 Jones's ; and the wonder was, how that 
 slight, little Fanny Jones with her delicate 
 hands, tiny ankles, and figure looking so 
 neat and tidy, could find time for every 
 thing ; and that she did do it all herself
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 271 
 
 everybody kne^Y, for farmer Jones, al- 
 though so rich, was so fond of scraping 
 every penny together for a daughter and 
 grandchildren, settled at Carmarthen, that 
 he would allow no help, and looked to 
 Fanny to do all the house work. 
 
 Fanny was astonished when her uncle 
 told her one morning, with a very plea- 
 sant air, that farmer Apjohn had just 
 asked him to give her to him as a wife. 
 
 She had known Llewelyn Apjohn since 
 they were children, and had often played 
 at blind man's buff, and friar's land with 
 him on the village green, after school 
 hours, but that was a long time since, and 
 of late years they had but seldom met — 
 he was taken up with his farming, she 
 with her uncle's housekeeping. 
 
 It was harvest time when Llewelyn 
 Apjohn and Fanny Jones were married in 
 the quiet village church, by the curate, 
 who had christened them both — friends
 
 272 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 and neighbours admiring the pretty bride, 
 and the good looking yeoman. 
 
 How beautifully on the evening of that 
 day did the harvest moon shine on the 
 last wains of corn that were carried home, 
 while the measured chaunt of the reapers 
 resounded along the valley, accompanied 
 by the notes of the harper from the top of 
 a neighbouring stile. How merrily was 
 the harvest-home supper kept at the far- 
 mer's house ! How many toasts were 
 drank to the health of the young bride 
 and bridegroom. 
 
 Neither was Fanny Jones the portion- 
 less bride that Llewelyn expected. 
 
 The good farmer her uncle, a man of 
 few words, although having the name of 
 being a close man, had always intended 
 to portion Fanny as if she were his child, 
 and on the morning of the wedding 
 Llewelyn found himself in possession 
 of the lease of that part of the farm
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 273 
 
 which his brother David had sold to 
 Farmer Jones. 
 
 It was uot however without a tear of 
 regret that he looked at this lease. 
 
 He had not had a line from David since 
 he sailed for California, and he had many 
 misgivings as to what his fate might be. 
 Eegret for this dearly beloved brother was 
 the only alloy to his happiness on his mar- 
 riage day. !N'ow however he had one to 
 whom he could talk about him ; he need 
 not hide his feelings from her, one who 
 would sympathize in his regrets, and listen 
 to his hopes and fears, a gentle spii'it al- 
 ways near him. 
 
 Llewelyn was now in the position that 
 his revered grandfather had held for so 
 many years, and it was his pride to imi- 
 tate him as closely as possible in eveiy 
 thing. 
 
 Several neglects and abuses had of ne- 
 cessit)? crept into his household, particu- 
 
 N 3
 
 274 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 larly since the death of dame Jenkins. He 
 did not understand in-door matters as well 
 as that trustworthy dame. The care, 
 authority, and influence of woman was 
 certainly wanting in the farm house. 
 
 But now every article put on a difi'erent 
 appearance. The glass doors of the corner 
 cupboard were cleaned, and displayed to 
 advantage the newly arranged pyramids 
 of china. The pretty ware, bright sauce- 
 pans, polished warming pan, and cu- 
 riously carved clock, all shewed their 
 best face. 
 
 Never was the beer so well brewed, or 
 the poultry so well fattened since the dear 
 old grandmother's time as they were now, 
 since they were under the hand and su- 
 perintendence of the new mistress. 
 
 Llewelyn secretly thanked God that he 
 had resisted his brother's entreaties to go 
 to California, and in the same breath put 
 up a prayer for that brother if he wero
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 275 
 
 still among the living, but this he thought 
 was very doubtful. 
 
 It was clearly ascertained that very few 
 of those who went out to California had 
 made their fortunes there. 
 
 Numbers had lost their lives from want, 
 sickness, and hardship. The law of op- 
 pression and violence had been the only 
 law recognized, and theft, murder, and 
 rapine, prevailed throughout the land. 
 
 Such were the accounts Llewelyn had 
 heard. Three years were elapsed and 
 there was no letter, no trace in any way 
 of David. 
 
 " Fanny, he is certainly dead," said he 
 with a deep sigh, as she sat beside him at 
 the supper table. 
 
 That day he had listened to, and re- 
 lieved a ship^vrecked man who had been 
 in those parts. He had come home poorer 
 than he went out, and had neither heard 
 nor seen any thing of David Apjohn.
 
 276 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the evening prayer 
 Llewelyn uttered a touching petition for 
 all friends far away, who might be in 
 trouble or sorrow, which shewed that a 
 ray of hope still lingered in his bosom.
 
 EAELT STEUGGLES. Z / 7 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Standing with reluctant feet 
 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanbood and childhood fleet! 
 
 Gazing with a timid glance 
 On the brooAlei's swift advance 
 On the river's broad expanse ! 
 
 Deep and still, that gliding stream 
 Beautiful to thee must seem, 
 As the river of a dream." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Penelope made no objection to Yaughan's 
 plan when he disclosed it to her, although 
 she secretly wept over the necessity of his 
 embracing it.
 
 278 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 The thought struck her of accompany- 
 ing him and living abroad. But then what 
 would become of the old Hall ? It was 
 unlikely it would let, it wanted so much 
 repairing. And even if they could sell it 
 neither of them would like to dispose of 
 it, or the scanty remains of property which 
 still belonged to them. The situation, he 
 was about to accept, might not suit him, 
 or there might be too much drudgery in 
 it, or in short a thousand things might 
 arise to bring him back to Wales, and 
 there would be no home to go to, no spot 
 they could call their own. 
 
 Thus Penelope stifled the thought 
 almost as soon as it sprang up. "No, she 
 must remain, and have a home for Yaug- 
 han, should he not find the situation an- 
 swer his expectations, or should he obtain 
 something in England. And in the perpe- 
 tual chances and changes of life, who 
 could tell what might occur.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 279 
 
 Emily wept too at this separation. She 
 did not attempt to conceal her regret when 
 she bade Hubert farewell. 
 
 Would he write to her? "Would he 
 think of her sometimes when he was away? 
 His dear little sister, he said, and he kissed 
 away her tears ; yes, he would write to 
 her, and think of her, and she must write 
 to him, long letters, and he would direct 
 her studies, and tell her what she was to 
 read while he was away. 
 
 Yaughan had been absent for tliree 
 years, and likely as he thought to conti- 
 nue much longer, when an unexpected 
 offer brought him back to England, and 
 fixed him at once at the old Hall. 
 
 This was none other than the editorship 
 of the periodical which his friend had been 
 conducting, and to which he himself had 
 been a contributor from the commence- 
 ment. 
 
 An accession of fortune induced the
 
 280 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 present editor to give it up, and through 
 his interest with, and representations to, 
 the proprietors, it was offered to Yaughan. 
 
 This being much more to his taste than 
 the office he filled at Paris, he joyfully 
 accepted it, and prepared to return to 
 England. 
 
 Penelope and her young companion 
 heard of his determination with rapture. 
 
 To the latter it was a new source of 
 pleasure opened to her just when she 
 needed it. A dear and close tie had been 
 partly severed during the last six months. 
 
 Miss Yaughan had not been Yerj well. 
 Perhaps the separation from her brother, 
 which seemed to have no end, weighed 
 upon her spirits, or perhaps her health 
 was not so good as it had been ; be this as 
 it may, whatever caused her indisposition^ 
 the society of Emily, for whom she felt 
 an increasing regard, became more neces- 
 sary to her than ever, and she pressed
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 281 
 
 that she should reside entirely with her 
 at the Hall. 
 
 Emily was opposed to this. She could 
 not think of allowing her dear grand- 
 mamma to live always alone in the cottage. 
 How lonesome her evenings would be. 
 
 Mrs. Benson however, thinking only of 
 her darling's advantage, over-ruled her 
 objections. She would give up the cottage 
 and take apartments in Llewelyn Apjohn's 
 house. Both he and Fanny frequently 
 came to see her, and had often expressed 
 what happiness it would give them if she 
 would settle to reside with them as she 
 had done before. Slie had known Fanny 
 since her childhood, and was satisfied 
 every thing would be made as comfortable 
 for her as it was in the lifetime of the old 
 people. It was only a walk after all, from 
 Llanluyd, and Emily could come and see 
 her. 
 
 This separation, short as the distance
 
 282 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 was, nevertheless gave Emily great pain. 
 Attached as she had become to Miss 
 Yaughan, her affection for her bore no 
 comparison with what she felt for one 
 whom she had always looked upon in the 
 light of a parent, one whose simple teach- 
 ing, humble spirit, and unsophisticated 
 religious principles had early led her in 
 the right way ; one who had sympathized 
 in her childish joys and griefs, watched 
 over her opening charms with a mother's 
 love, and who had willingly denied her- 
 self the pleasure of her society for most 
 part of each day, since the Vaughans 
 had taken such interest in the young 
 orphan. 
 
 There was no longer any one at hand 
 to fly to in the evening, throw herself into 
 her arms and tell her all that had passed 
 during the day — no one to comfort her if 
 Miss Vaughan had chidden her for negli- 
 gence, and urge her to greater exertion —
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 283 
 
 no one to listen to her stories of what she 
 had read and learned. 
 
 The appearance of Yaughan at the Hall 
 gave a new impulse to Emily's thoughts 
 and pursuits. 
 
 He was the same in her eyes — a shade 
 graver perhaps — as before ; but she was 
 different in his. 'No longer a child, he 
 could not now pet her and caress her as 
 he used. 
 
 She did not however strike him as being 
 as pretty as she was when he left Eng- 
 land. She had grown a great deal. She 
 was too slight. Her bashfulness likewise, 
 for she was become more bashful, gave 
 her an air of awkwardness unlike the free 
 grace of childhood. No, she was not so 
 pretty, certainly not near so pretty as 
 formerly. 
 
 This was the first impression as to out- 
 ward appearance, but in the progress of 
 mind, development of character, energy
 
 284 EARLy STRUGGLES. 
 
 and industry, he found she had been 
 making rapid strides. 
 
 She was no longer a child in intellect, 
 and he took more pleasure than ever in 
 instructing her, Penelope on this head 
 made no ojDposition, but gave her up en- 
 tirely into his hands, and he contrived, 
 notwithstanding the vast deal of writing, 
 reading and correcting cramp manuscripts 
 he had to compass, to dedicate a portion 
 of his time to her every day. 
 
 While he wrote she pursued her studies 
 beside him, and when those were over, 
 was often of service in deciphering manu- 
 scripts, and reading them aloud. 
 
 During the absence of Yaughan, Emily 
 had perused a great deal of miscellaneous 
 literature. He had given her a list of 
 those among the books in his study best 
 worth her attention when he was going 
 abroad, and, in his letters, had continued 
 to direct her choice and taste.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 285 
 
 Her poetic fancy had been so repressed 
 by Miss Penelope, that for a long time, 
 whenever she was tempted to make a verse 
 she felt as if she was doing something 
 wrong, and although she reasoned herself 
 into a belief of its innocence, she always 
 felt her cheeks glow at the thought of a 
 discovery. Thus, altliough she wrote 
 verses sometimes, it was not very often.
 
 286 EAELT STETJGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ** Some beauties yet no precepts can declare; 
 For there 's a happiness as well as care: 
 Music resembles Poetry ; in each 
 Are nameless graces which no methods teach, 
 And which a master-hand alone can reach." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Now that Yaiighan was at the Hall, and 
 that Emily saw him, day after day, busy 
 in correcting and improving both prose 
 and poetry, she felt as if he would not 
 reprove her for making verses. Never- 
 theless nothing occurred for some time to 
 awaken the poetic fancy, until she heard
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 287 
 
 him one day regret the destniction of 
 some fine trees which had been cut down 
 in Bonham Park. 
 
 Scarcely ever visited by the proprietors, 
 the domain was managed by a steward, 
 and the old custom, which had prevailed 
 beyond the memory of any one in the 
 village, of permitting the inhabitants of it 
 to wander at will through the park, still 
 kept its ground. 
 
 It had, in ancient days, been beauti- 
 fully laid out by the Yaughan family, and 
 though now neglected and over-run, was 
 full of walks and paths winding through 
 thick plantations of venerable trees — 
 through low copse-wood, deep dell, and 
 over sunny hill-side. 
 
 Then there were many spots marked 
 out by tradition, and ancient usage. 
 
 There was the well, far famed for the 
 crystal pui'ity of its waters, from which 
 and from no other, many of the good
 
 288 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 dames of the village sent their hand- 
 maidens to draw water. St. Winifred, or 
 some other Saint, had, no doubt blessed 
 it in the olden time. In another spot the 
 earliest violets grew, and the children 
 used to flock and gather them before a 
 bud was to be seen in other places. Then 
 there was the nut grove, famed for its 
 large hazel nuts, and thick oak covert in 
 one part of the grounds through which the 
 river ran, and whose boughs intertwining 
 their branches overhead, formed a thick 
 arched shade, beneath which the young 
 girls used to bathe in the early dawn of 
 summer. 
 
 Some magnificent oaks had been cut 
 down whose destruction it had really 
 pained Yaughan to see. Emily, indignant 
 at the spoliation, and touched by his re- 
 grets, composed the same evening a page 
 or two of verses, rather pretty and fanciful 
 lamenting their fall.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 289 
 
 The day after as she sat in the study 
 with her drawing materials before her, 
 Yaughan, who as usual was fixed to his 
 desk, perceived, as he paced the room up 
 and down between whiles, that instead of 
 drawing, Emily had taken a sheet of 
 paper and was writing. 
 
 He bent over her and saw what she 
 was at. 
 
 *^ May I read what you have just writ- 
 ten out, Emily?" 
 
 ^'Yes, certainly," she said, colouring 
 up, and she pushed it towards him. 
 
 He read the lines over attentively — 
 they were not bad for so young a girl. 
 But although passionately fond of good 
 poetry, he had a dislike to mediocrity, and 
 dreaded lest Emily should become a 
 poetical scribbler, and perhaps fancy 
 herself a genius. 
 
 ''My dear Emily, why do you not put 
 your thoughts in prose?" 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 ** I cannot write prose, cousin Hubert, 
 my prose is all so bad." 
 
 ^' Ah ! then you have been trying to 
 do so ?" 
 
 '* Sometimes, rot very often, but I 
 never succeeded. Even my letters to you, 
 cousin, I always had to write them twice 
 over, and then I was generally ashamed 
 to send them." 
 
 ^^^VTiyso? I read them with great 
 pleasure." 
 
 '' You are very good to say so, but — " 
 
 *^ But what ? — you could have written 
 them faster in rhyme I dare say." 
 
 ^' Yes, much faster.'' 
 
 *^ You have an ear for versification, but 
 that will not make you a poet, and though 
 your rhymes would make good smooth 
 verse, this would not be good poetry. 
 T^ow these verses are pretty, but they are 
 not original. I do not mean that you have 
 copied them my dear," he added gently,
 
 KAKLT SIKE«G1^& 291 
 
 Eanl^ fwiar wp ip Iftc cyis aii 
 
 ii^ Ikat Hie i^iiii of IIkib is 
 
 — iTe heat mdfimig 
 
 ~ ^' W'a|ga-Seotltki%„oiiifr'f'&r 
 
 71K yffiEr 
 
 ^^ — laeeaij 

 
 292 EAELY STRUGGLES. 
 
 versification is remarkably sweet. But 
 without originality poetry lias no soul. 
 My sweet little Emily," looking caress- 
 ingly at her, "must write prose, not 
 poetry — tolerable prose — and when you 
 are well practised, with your mind, taste, 
 and ear, you will write good prose, which 
 is much more yaluable than tolerable 
 poetry." 
 
 " I have tried sometimes," said Emily 
 with a sigh, "to note down passing inci- 
 dents as they occurred, but my prose is 
 stiff and formal, it is not like Addison's." 
 
 " Addison is your model, is he ? Well, 
 he is a very good one, my dear; and 
 the very circumstance of your not 
 being satisfied with your prose is the very 
 reason why you will succeed — you like 
 your verse better. 
 
 "Yes" said Emily ingenuously. 
 
 " Take my advice — give up poetry and 
 turn all your attention to prose —and
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 293 
 
 to begin, I will give you a theme and you 
 are to compose on it. Let me see, 
 what shall it be ? Stay, I think if you 
 write down some short story you have 
 heard ; do you remember what Miss 
 Norris related about the way in which 
 her cousin met with the lady he was 
 married to?'' 
 
 ^' Yes, I recollect it very well — it struck 
 me as being strange and romantic." 
 
 " Suppose you write it down. It 
 occurred several years ago, and the parties 
 are both dead. You can put in some de- 
 scription of the country, invent a conver- 
 sation if you like — and when it is finished 
 bring it to me. I will correct it and show 
 you the faults. Do not be disheartened if 
 I make you write it over and over again.'' 
 
 Emily promised, and in a week she 
 brought him three or four sheets of paper 
 fairly written. 
 
 He read them carefully over.
 
 294 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 "Your style is too abrupt/' said he, 
 *' but it is better than prolixity. You can 
 easily improve this. Your choice of ex- 
 pression is good. You want a great deal 
 of instruction in punctuation. Your con- 
 versation is the worst : it is too labored 
 and not natural — stiltified, I may call it. 
 The best way to write a conversation is to 
 fancy what you would say yourself, and 
 what the reply would be. You must be 
 correct as to grammar, but do not attempt 
 fine periods, and attend to the characters. 
 A philosopher will not express himself in 
 the same manner as a lively girl, or an 
 uneducated person make use of the same 
 terms as a scholar. Do not imitate any 
 style, but form one for yourself." 
 
 Emily hung upon his words. She 
 thought he w^as very lenient to her bad 
 prose. There was not a sentence in it 
 but what she fancied might have been 
 better turned.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 295 
 
 Every day Vaughan made her compose 
 a little. He generally gave her a theme 
 — something to write and enlarge upon — 
 or he told her a short tale and made her 
 commit it to paper from memory. 
 
 He discovered that she was in the habit 
 of writing extracts from what she read — 
 anything that struck her — in a large com- 
 mon-place book, made on a plan of Lock's, 
 the model of which she had found in the 
 Cyclopaedia. This he approved of; but 
 on looking over it one day, and finding 
 that there was a great deal of poetry in it, 
 he bade her write more prose. 
 
 Emily soon learned to express herself 
 gracefully in prose, and to like writing it. 
 The poetic fancy, which she had, although 
 not in Vauf^han's mind — and he judged 
 rightly — sufficient to create a poetess, 
 embellished her prose, as a concealed 
 stream makes the grass, through which it 
 winds its way, of a brighter green.
 
 296 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 When she fearlessly threw herself upon 
 her imagination she wrote best. She 
 wanted self-dependance, and, — setting 
 aside every model — to study the purity of 
 the English language, and the expressing 
 herself with ease. 
 
 "Try to fix your thoughts upon your 
 subject, and to view it in every possible 
 light ; then when your mind is full throw 
 your ideas on paper as fast as you can — 
 correct afterwards." This was Yaughan's 
 advice to her. 
 
 Several of her papers appeared in the 
 Periodical which he edited. But he did 
 not publish all. He selected the best and 
 revised them with great care. 
 
 Miss Penelope was not so unhappy now 
 as she had been in the beginning about 
 Emily's writing. To write poetry or a 
 novel was the great bugbear; and as 
 Emily had given up poetry and had no 
 thought of a novel, she was satisfied.
 
 EAELT STRUGGLES. 297 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 " A little time 
 
 Would bring him back in manhood's prime, 
 And free for life these hills to climb, 
 With all his wants supplied." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Several changes had taken place in 
 the village of Llanluyd during Hubert 
 Yaughan's absence in Paris. 
 
 Some of the old people had died off, 
 and new ones had come to reside there. 
 Among these latter was Mr. Parry, the 
 surgeon v>^ho had first induced poor Mrs- 
 
 3
 
 298 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Hume and Mrs. Benson to take up their 
 abode at the Apjohn's farm. 
 
 By the death of an uncle Mr. Parry- 
 had come into the possession of a pro- 
 perty, which made him independent of 
 his profession. It came just at the time 
 that the onerous duties of a general prac- 
 titioner were making inroads on a consti- 
 tution not naturally very strong. Exten- 
 sive practice being now no longer of any 
 moment to him, he determined on a life 
 more suited to his health and inclinations 
 than the one he had for years been lead- 
 ing in a crowded city, and fixed his abode 
 at Llanluyd, thus adding a very agreeable 
 member to its little community. 
 
 He was of great use to the village in 
 many respects, and among other improve- 
 ments was the means of establishing a 
 useful knowledge society. 
 
 He began by hiring an appropriate 
 room at his own expense, and formed a
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 299 
 
 small library by the gift of five hundred 
 volumes of well selected books. They 
 were most of them second-hand, having 
 been bought at a large sale, and perhaps 
 some rather too scientific, but all calcu- 
 lated to gratify the increasing thirst for 
 knowledge which begins to pervade every 
 rank of life. 
 
 Lectures were to be delivered on vari- 
 ous subjects at stated periods, and he 
 commenced them himself by a very inter- 
 esting one upon chemistry. A few people 
 volunteered their assistance, among others 
 Hubert Yaughan, and the schoolmaster, 
 Mr. John Davis was pressed into the 
 service. 
 
 Now Mr. John Davis was something of 
 a character. No one knew his origin, or 
 any particulars about him, except he was 
 a Welshman, and had taught all the little 
 boys around for a length of time. Indci'd 
 Miss Winny Toms thought, from the sinii-
 
 300 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 larity of their pursuits, that there ought 
 likewise to be a similarity of sentiments 
 between them, and had lived for many 
 years in the hope of bringing him over to 
 her way of thinking. But her thoughts 
 and wishes were to no purpose. Mr. John 
 Davis was as deaf to her insinuations on 
 this point as he was to the invitations so 
 often proffered by Mrs. Toms to partake 
 of a friendly cup of tea. 
 
 He had even the cruelty to smile dis- 
 dainfully when Miss Winny more than 
 once requested him to examine her pupils 
 in the various branches of polite learning 
 that she endeavoured to instruct them in. 
 He was used to answer gruffly, that girls 
 wanted nothing but to learn how to read, 
 write, and sew, and that it was nonsense 
 for her to try to teach them any thing 
 else. 
 
 John Davis was a tall, impassible look- 
 ing man, awkward in his gait, and silent
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 301 
 
 and reserved in his habits. He lived in 
 the narrowest street, and in one of the 
 oldest houses of the village of Llanluyd. 
 Nobody knew if he ever had a relative as 
 he claimed kindred with no one. He held 
 companionship with few ; these were prin- 
 cipally Mr. ThomaSj the curate of a small 
 church in the valley about three miles 
 from Llanluyd, and whose congregation 
 consisted entirely of the surrounding pea- 
 santry, and the family of the Apjohns, at 
 whose house there had always been, and 
 was still, a plate and knife and fork laid for 
 him in case he should drop in to supper. 
 
 Among the farmers and peasantry he 
 was much looked up to, as all his scholars 
 unless they were too dull to learn, came 
 from his hands accomplished arithmeti- 
 cians, and good land surveyors, with alge- 
 bra and geometry, if they chose to give 
 their minds to science, sufficient to puzzle 
 a professor.
 
 302 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 He was competent to make either 
 English or Welsh the medium of instruc- 
 tion, and was known to have a profound 
 veneration for the latter — his mother- 
 tongue — considering it only second to 
 the dead languages. In these he was 
 well read, and could teach them if re- 
 quired, but Latin and Greek were not 
 thought of among the pupils congregated 
 at his school. 
 
 He lived alone. His house was put in 
 order and his frugal meal prepared by an 
 old woman who came in for an hour or 
 two every day. The garden, which ran 
 up a slope at the back of the house, and 
 into which the school room had been built 
 out, formed his recreation in leisure hours. 
 He worked in it himself, and in fine wea- 
 ther smoked a pipe, and carried his be- 
 loved books to the bench he had placed 
 under an old apple tree at the top of it. 
 Here he looked over the village, had a
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 303 
 
 view of the country, and indulged in 
 study or reflection after his day's employ- 
 ment was over ; and here in the evening, 
 if Mr. Thomas walked in from the neigh- 
 bouring hamlet, he was sure to find him, 
 ferret him out, and make him accompany 
 him to Llewel}^ Apjohn's farm to sit by 
 the fire, or under the porch if it was sum- 
 mer, talk of old Apjohn the grandfather — 
 resume the discussion on the superior 
 beauty of the Welsh language compared 
 with other tongues — repeat the well re- 
 membered, and often quoted passages — 
 John Davis still standing up for the Greek, 
 Mr. Thomas for the Welsh. 
 
 Mr. John Davis always had a suspicion 
 which however he kept to himself, that 
 the curate's knowledge of Greek was not 
 very first-rate, while in Welsh nobody 
 could surpass him, and perhaps in this he 
 was right. 
 
 John Davis was a shy man, and resisted
 
 304 EAULf STRUGGLES. 
 
 Mr. Parry's solicitations, backed by those 
 of his friend the curate, that he should 
 give a lecture in turn, for a long time. 
 
 However, as he had been among the 
 warmest advocates of Mr. Parry's plan, 
 and had admitted those societies to be 
 most useful agents in the spread of know- 
 ledge, he found it impossible to make 
 good a refusal. It ended by his promis- 
 ing to undertake the next lecture, and to 
 name in a few days what the subject 
 would be. 
 
 He was not quite pleased with himself 
 for having promised, but he had promised 
 and he must perform. 
 
 As he sat alone in his '^ parlour 
 twilight" that evening, watching now 
 '^ the sooty films," that play upon the 
 bars, now the 
 
 " ' — Faint illumination, that uplifts 
 The shadows to the ceiling, these by fits 
 Dancing uncouthly to the quiv'ring flame,"
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 305 
 
 he revolved various subjects in his 
 mind. 
 
 At length his thoughts, without any 
 volition, seemed to fix themselves upon 
 one — the gold diggings. Eetrospections 
 of the past, and anticipations of the fu- 
 ture with regard to them, came thronging 
 thick upon him. 
 
 What gave rise to them was possibly a 
 conversation the curate and he had had 
 with Llewellyn Apjohn the preceding 
 evening relative to the probable fate of 
 poor David Apjohn. Added to this, 
 many steady tradesmen had thrown up 
 their work lately and emigrated to Aus- 
 tralia, leaving their families to get on in 
 the best way they could manage to do 
 until they were enabled to send for them 
 to this Eldorado, or return loaded with 
 the wealth which they flattered them- 
 selves they should obtain there. 
 
 "The minds of this class of people are
 
 306 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 filling with golden visions," soliloquized 
 John Davis as he poked the fire into a 
 brighter blaze, ^' and it is to be feared that 
 the crowds of emigrants who leave our 
 shores, instead of turning their thoughts 
 steadily to agricultural pursuits, will be 
 all drawn towards those diggings, where, 
 if some few make fortunes, others — and 
 those the greater number, will be disap- 
 pointed in their expectations. I have a 
 great mind to make this the foundation of 
 my coming lecture. What better can I 
 speak on ? Many will say, no doubt, that 
 I consider the revolutions in society, and 
 the struggle to ascend upwards, with a 
 jaundiced eye, and fancy like several peo- 
 ple no longer young, that the world was 
 better, fairer, and happier, some fifty or a 
 hundred years ago, but it is not so. I ad- 
 mire the spread of knowledge, I look with 
 wonder upon the discoveries in science ; I 
 see the hand of God working in all things,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 307 
 
 and I hope for the time — though I shall 
 uot live to see it, when 
 
 * Tn ihe heart 
 
 No passion touches a discordant string, 
 But all is harmony and love.' 
 
 Yes, the gold diggings, I will lecture on 
 the gold diggings.'' 
 
 A conversation with Mr. Thomas 
 strengthened John Davis in this purpose. 
 
 Every observation that the curate had 
 made in his parish, confirmed his opinion 
 that innocence and simplicity were more 
 likely to be accompaniments of a pastoral 
 state of society than of any other mode of 
 life, and in this, Davis, who after his scho- 
 lastic duties, had always looked to his 
 garden and a country walk for recreation? 
 fully coincided. 
 
 " We are but in the commencing days 
 of the gold mania," said the curate 
 as they sat one evening at Llewellyn
 
 308 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 Apjohn's fire side, '' you and I, (nodding 
 at the schoolmaster) are too old to look 
 to seeing much of the events it may pro- 
 duce, still many of our acquaintances and 
 neighbours have already had some expe- 
 rience in it." 
 
 Then they talked of several who had 
 just emigrated, one in particular, a good 
 hedge carpenter who had had constant 
 occupation for some time upon Apjohn's 
 farm, in making gates, repairing carts, 
 and keeping in order the various farming 
 machines and implements necessary for 
 husbandry. He, enticed by hopes of riches 
 never before dreamed of, had left his wife 
 to make it out as well as she could until 
 she heard from him, by charing and wash- 
 ing for the support of herself and six little 
 children. The poor woman had fallen 
 sick, and the neighbours had divided the 
 children amongst them, in order to keep 
 them from the poor house, hoping that
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 309 
 
 she would get better and be able to 
 resume her labours, while Apjohn's wife 
 provided attendance and nourishment for 
 her, and visited her every day. Her ill- 
 ness seemed to have been brought on 
 partly by distress at her husband's depar- 
 ture. 
 
 This single instance had occurred in the 
 parish of which Mr. Thomas was curate, 
 and Mr. John Davis mentioned several 
 other painful departures in the village of 
 Llanluyd, remarking upon the hardships 
 to be gone through, and the demoraliza- 
 tion to be encountered. 
 
 While they thus conversed, Llewellyn 
 Apjohn sighed deeply, but he did not 
 speak. He had much of his grandfather's 
 taciturnity, and resembled him in tliis, as 
 well as in many other points. 
 
 Great curiosity was experienced in the 
 neighbourhood to hear what one living so 
 long amongst them, and having never
 
 310 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 been near the scene alluded to, could have 
 to say on the subject, and, the evening of the 
 lecture on the gold diggings, the farmers, 
 and even some of the peasantry who under- 
 stood English, flocked in from the neigh- 
 bourhood of Llanluyd and the adjoining 
 hamlets to hear Mr. John Davis. 
 
 The curate never took his eyes off the 
 speaker, being most anxious that the lec- 
 ture should tend to what he wished — the 
 discouragement of emigration in search of 
 gold. 
 
 The latter part of the discourse we se- 
 lect as a specimen of Mr. John Davis's 
 style. 
 
 The curate applauded him for it after- 
 wards, and told him he was sure he had 
 taken some of the ideas from his sermons, 
 although he did not entirely coincide with 
 all he had said. And it is not improbable 
 but that he might have caught the strain 
 in part from his friend, as they were used
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 311 
 
 frequently to have serious conversations 
 together. 
 
 That John Davis was a man of a serious 
 turn of mind may be gathered from part 
 of a conversation which he and the 
 curate had as they walked homeward 
 from Llewellyn Apjohn's house the even- 
 ing before the lecture. 
 
 ^' I tell you my dear friend," said John 
 Davis, stopping short in the moonlight, 
 putting both hands on his stick, and lean- 
 ing with all his strength on it as if to 
 make his argument more forcible, ^' I tell 
 you, the most amiable, natural disposi- 
 tions, good temper, universal benevolence, 
 affection for friends and relatives, every 
 thing that can make man delightful in the 
 family circle, will never save him from ship- 
 wreck iu the great ocean of life, if sound 
 religious principle be not at the bottom.'' 
 " True, true," said the curate, '' I make 
 it the subject of many a sermon."
 
 312 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 '^ The very softness and pliability of the 
 character, which made such a one adored 
 by his early companions, will be his ruin 
 when he comes in contact with harder 
 natures than his own — with unflinching 
 determination, and sordid selfishness — 
 with the practical deceiver, and the cold 
 calculator upon another's foibles. This has 
 been young David's ruin — he was always 
 too easily led. I who educated him must 
 know his character.'' 
 
 "I fear you are right,'' said the curate. 
 - ''I do not say that he may not rise 
 again," continued the schoolmaster — ^'I 
 trust in God he may, but depend upon it 
 he will have hard trials to go through be- 
 fore he finds the right path." 
 
 '^ And what though his trials may be 
 heavy," ejaculated the curate, '^ they are 
 the chastisements of a Father to bring 
 him to reason, and necessary for his eter- 
 nal safety ; but shall we ever hear of him ?
 
 EARLY STBUGGLES. 313 
 
 Do you think there is any chance of his 
 return?'' 
 
 " God only knows/' said Davis. 
 
 But we promised a sketch of part of 
 the lecture — here it is. 
 
 VOL. r.
 
 314 EAELT STRUGGLES. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXYI. 
 
 " When my sad heart surveys the pain 
 Which weary pilgrims here sustain, 
 
 As o'er the waste of life they roam : 
 Oppressed without, betrayed within, 
 Victims of violence and sin, 
 
 Shall I not cry, * Thy kingdom come ! ' " 
 
 Cunningham. 
 
 '^ Tha.t we are approaching to some great 
 change — that some revolution is about to 
 take place upon this our earth, must be 
 apparent to every thinking mind. 
 
 '' Whether it be that we are on the eve 
 of the millenium. — that personal reign of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 315 
 
 Christ upon earth, to which so many de- 
 vout Christians fondly cling, and which, 
 though not so clearly set forth in our 
 Holy Bible as to be a matter of faith, is 
 still so beautiful a hope and speculation, 
 that we may be pardoned for indulging in 
 it ; or whether that period approaches, 
 
 ' The day of wrath ! that dreadful day 
 VV^hen heaven and earth shall pass away,' 
 
 who can tell ? Time alone can unravel the 
 mystery. 
 
 "But that some great alteration is at 
 hand to which we are rapidly hastening — 
 to which, day after day as it dawns and 
 expires, brings us nearer and nearer — 
 a glance at the present constitution of 
 society, and the increasing difficulties 
 attending the struggle for existence — at 
 the rapid progress which mind has been 
 making — at the extraordinary revolutions 
 in kingdoms, and at the astonishing disco-
 
 316 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 veries which have been lately taking place 
 will clearly demonstrate. 
 
 ^^ What appearance this earth will ex- 
 hibit at the beginning of the next century 
 is still hidden in the womb of time. 
 
 '' Yet with all those discoveries, this 
 growth of intellect, those mysteries dawn- 
 ing upon ns of powers not yet fully deve- 
 loped, is the world as happy as it was in 
 the old patriarchal days ? And may it not 
 be — as in the circumgyration of ages, old 
 fashions revive, and things long buried in 
 oblivion — lost and hidden from the view — 
 writers and books, arts and sciences, cities 
 and palaces, sculptures and paintings, are 
 resuscitated as it were, and dug up from 
 their tombs. May it not be that we verge 
 upon changes which delving into the past, 
 may, in like manner, renew again the first 
 ages of the world, when Man, with the 
 lengthened life, pastoral labors, and un- 
 tainted by the thirst for gold, though
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 317 
 
 fallen from that high estate of happy in- 
 nocence, in which he was placed by his 
 Maker, still found so much favor in his 
 sight, that angels were permitted to visit 
 and minister to him ? 
 
 " May it not be that the state of exist- 
 ence, the unnatural tension, the severe 
 mental labor, the perpetual warfare with 
 nature, which society in the aggregate, 
 and individuals in particular, are writhing 
 under in this our day, when poverty is 
 crime, and wealth the 
 
 'Visible god 
 That solder'st close impossibilities,' 
 
 — when every class of people are aiming 
 to reach the class above them, and false 
 appearances and false pretences rob the 
 pillow of sleep, and tlie heart of peace — 
 may it not be that all this so injurious to 
 the happiness of Man, will be swallowed 
 up and absorbed in the mighty tempest 
 that seems to hang over us ?
 
 318 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 " In the natural world the fearful tor- 
 nado, the thunder storm that tears up the 
 gnarled oak, and sweeps cities with the 
 besom of destruction, carries the principle 
 of purification with it, and removes the 
 unhealthy vapours, and noxious miasma 
 that generate disease, and why should it 
 not be so in the moral world ? 
 
 ^^ If we must needs tremble at the 
 thought of the jarring elements Man has 
 to encounter in such strife, and shudder 
 at what may be the fate of a world so dear 
 to us, despite its cares and sorrows, still 
 we may with firm faith ' look for new hea- 
 vens and a new earth in which dwelleth 
 righteousness.' 
 
 '^Even now, on the banks of some of 
 the magnificent l^Torth American rivers, 
 far away from what we call the civilized 
 world, is not the emigrant happier in his 
 life of freedom than when he was pent up 
 in the purlieus of a manufacturing town ?
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 319 
 
 ^' The pale faces of his children are 
 grown ruddy with health. 
 
 " 'No fear of poverty, with fish from the 
 riverSj deer from the hills, and grain, 
 roots, and fruits fr'om the earth. His 
 family feast on 
 
 * The buflfalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers.' 
 
 " His hardy sons are able to assist him 
 in all his labors, they are truly his wealth, 
 ^ an heritage and gift that cometh from 
 the Lord.' 
 
 " Neither is love wanting to brighten 
 their young days — other settlers with 
 their families are in the neighbouring val- 
 leys, and no dread of want prevents them 
 from entering into an early marriage in a 
 country where 
 
 ' Lands may be had for the asking, and forests of limber, 
 With a few blows of the axe, are hewn and framed into 
 houses.'
 
 220 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 full amusement for a wet day, or to make 
 companions of in the garden. 
 
 Miss Yaughan read very little herself, 
 except serious books. 
 
 "Addison will not hurt Emily," she 
 thought. "I have perused his ^Evidences/ 
 and Johnson is always a moral writer.'' 
 
 Notwithstanding Miss Penelope's desire 
 however to keep fiction from Emily, in 
 those volumes which she allowed her to 
 read, among grave dissertations, sundry 
 papers and passages which she could not 
 understand, were scattered short narra- 
 tives, poetical descriptions, and even cri- 
 ticisms that filled her with delight. 
 
 What more interesting to the opening 
 mind than Addison's papers on Milton, 
 and on the ballad of Chevy Chase, and 
 the Oriental Allegories. Emily never 
 forgot during her whole life the vision of 
 Mirza, and Theodore the hermit. 
 
 In debarring her from children's books,
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 221 
 
 and fairy tales, Miss Penelope had unin- 
 tentionally introduced her into the higher 
 walks of fiction. 
 
 Culled from these, every eveninf:^, she 
 had some new tale to impart to grand- 
 mamma Benson, and could repeat several 
 of the narratives word for word, with 
 all their simple pathos, and elegance of 
 expression in which Addison's works 
 abound. 
 
 She had wept over the story of Theodo- 
 sius and Constantia — dreamed of Helim 
 the Persian, the great physician, and the 
 Black Palace with its hundred folding 
 doors of ebony — knew the history of all the 
 Ironsides —and had read over and over 
 again the account of the labours of the 
 Ant, before she was ten years old. 
 
 Emily listened with avidity to the 
 passages Penelope used to read aloud for 
 her from Yaughan's letters. 
 
 Her name was always mentioned in them.
 
 322 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 maketli him to lie down in green pas- 
 tures and leadeth him beside the still 
 waters.' 
 
 '^ How beautiful were those old patri- 
 archal times, entitled by the heathen ^ the 
 golden age ;' not golden in the sense we 
 take it now, but golden from their pre- 
 eminent happiness ! 
 
 ^' None then ever said ^ Earth yield me 
 roots/ in vain. 
 
 ^^[N'o mother then looked despairingly 
 upon her starving babe. 
 
 " No unhappy mechanic failed to find 
 the work that would enable him to sup- 
 port the sinking partner of his sad life. 
 
 ^' There was not then that battling con- 
 test — that struggle of man with man for 
 the bare necessaries of existence — that 
 fever of the mind — that despair of the 
 heart — that wrestling against the fangs of 
 poverty — that sickness of hope deferred — 
 that inability to heave off the huge incu-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 323 
 
 bus of ills, AYliich accident, position, un- 
 foreseen circumstances, and sometimes a 
 too refined education help to heap upon 
 the i^oor wretch. 
 
 " Then, every man found in the bosom 
 of mother earth, sufficient for his wants. 
 If he earned his bread with the sweat of 
 his brow, it was healthful toil in the open 
 air. He worked not in the narrow, un- 
 healthy dens of a crowded city — he toiled 
 not as in a tomb, amidst the noxious 
 vapours of a mine — not upon the stormy 
 sea, or wading in fields of strife and blood, 
 was his pittance earned. 
 
 " There was not then that thirst for 
 gain, teaching man to over-reach, trample 
 on, and destroy his fellow man. 
 
 '' miserable thirst of gold, when didst 
 thou enter into the world ? 
 
 ^^ How have countries been ravaged for 
 thee, — seas crossed, nations exterminated, 
 cities demolished, hearts broken for thee !
 
 24 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 — and now (strangest of strange revo- 
 lutions !) — that greatest good, to gain 
 which has been the employ of millions — 
 for which the cheek has grown pale and 
 the eye dim — which the alchemist has 
 sought in his crucible, and the sage tried 
 to grasp as he wasted the midnight oil, 
 and wrote the pages that were to bring 
 thee to his feet — for which youth hath 
 sold herself to age, and loveliness hath 
 mated with what was most hideous— this 
 which 
 
 ' Will knit and break religions ; bless the accursed ; 
 Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation 
 With senators on the bench :' 
 
 This hath at once unveiled itself, and 
 shewn its dwelling place. That which 
 was peerless will soon be of no price ; for 
 gold — that gold for which the world hath 
 so longed — will be dragged to light in such
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 325 
 
 profusion, that, as it has been precious so 
 will it become base, and Man, the slave 
 of gold, trampling and despising that 
 which he hath so adored and cringed to, 
 shall, it may be, after a struggle to the 
 death, return to his pristine occupations. 
 Then may we not hope, as in the natural, 
 so in the moral world, peace shall spring 
 up fi'om the uprooting of the present state 
 of society — again shall the fields and val- 
 leys laugh and sing — poverty shall make 
 wings to herself and fly away, and the 
 earth, heaving from her bosom the weight 
 of misery with which she hath been 
 loaded, shall find food for her children as 
 in the days of her first birth, and all wail 
 and lamentation shall be hushed, against 
 the second coming of our Lord, whether 
 that coming be to reign in person upon 
 earth, or as final judge to dissolve the 
 heavens and the earth with fervent heat. 
 " Christian ! the times are momentous,
 
 326 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 thou who art prepared to die, art prepared 
 for all — art prepared to meet the Lord 
 Christ as King or Judge. 
 
 ^^ Thou who art not prepared to die, re- 
 member the parable of the ten virgins, 
 and trim thy lamp; how knowest thou 
 that the bridegroom may not even now 
 be at hand ? 
 
 " And thou, fellow-pilgrim, who strug- 
 gled on through life — it may be through 
 sickness, sorrow, or poverty — be not down- 
 hearted, this is not thy home." 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed by T. Knapp, "Advertiser" OflEice, Faringdon, Berks.
 
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