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THE WORKS OF MRS. AMELIA OPIE;
Complete in Three Volumes.
VOLUME III.
Philadelphia:
Crissy & Markley, No. 4 Minor St.
1848.
Printed by T. K. & P. G. Collins.
CONTENTS OF THIRD VOLUME.
PAGE
TEMPER 5
A WOMAN'S LOVE 175
A WIFE'S DUTY; being a continuation of a Woman's Love 209
THE TWO SONS 269
THE OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR 300
LOVE, MYSTERY, AND SUPERSTITION 321
AFTER THE BALL; OR, THE TWO SIR WILLIAMS 363
FALSE OR TRUE; OR, THE JOURNEY TO LONDON 375
THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ODD-TEMPERED MAN 394
ILLUSTRATIONS OF LYING, IN ALL ITS BRANCHES:
CHAP. I.--Introduction 414
CHAP. II.--On the Active and Passive Lies of Vanity--The
Stage Coach--Unexpected Discoveries 415
CHAP. III.--On the Lies of Flattery--The Turban 427
CHAP. IV.--Lies of Fear--The Bank-Note 431
CHAP. V.--Lies falsely called Lies of Benevolence--A
Tale of Potted Sprats--An Authoress and her
Auditors 434
CHAP. VI.--Lies of Convenience--Projects Defeated 437
CHAP. VII.--Lies of Interest--The Screen 441
CHAP. VIII.--Lies of First-Rate Malignity--The Orphan 445
CHAP. IX.--Lies of Second-Rate Malignity--The Old
Gentleman and the Young One 451
CHAP. X.--Lies of Benevolence--Mistaken Kindness--Father
and Son 455
CHAP. XI.--Lies of Wantonness and Practical Lies 465
CHAP. XII.--Our own Experience of the Painful Results
of Lying 467
CHAP. XIII.--Lying the most common of all Vices 470
CHAP. XIV.--Extracts from Lord Bacon, and others 471
CHAP. XV.--Observations on the Extracts from Hawkesworth
and others 478
CHAP. XVI.--Religion the only Basis of Truth 480
CHAP. XVII.--The same subject continued 491
Conclusion 493
A WOMAN'S LOVE, AND A WIFE'S DUTY.
You command, and I obey: still, so conscious am I of the deceitfulness
of the human heart, and especially of my own, that I am doubtful whether
I am not following the dictates of self-love, when I seem to be actuated
by friendship only; as you have repeatedly assured me, that the story of
my life will not alone _amuse_ and _interest_ you, but also hold up to
an injudicious and suffering friend of yours, a salutary example of the
patient fulfilment of a _wife's duty_.
There is something very gratifying to one's self-love, in being held up
as an example: but _remember_, I beg, that while to oblige you I draw
the veil from past occurrences, and live over again the most trying
scenes of my life, I think myself more a warning than an example; and
that, if I exhibit in any degree, that difficult and sometimes painful
task--the fulfilment of a wife's duty--I at the same time exhibit the
rash and dangerous fervour of a _Woman's Love_.
I must begin my narrative, by a short account of my progenitors.
INTRODUCTION.
My grandfather and the grandfather of Seymour Pendarves were brothers,
and the younger sons of a gentleman of ancient family and large
possessions in the county of Cornwall; some of whose paternal ancestors
were amongst the first settlers in America. Disappointments, of which I
never heard the detail, and dislike of their paternal home, determined
these young men to leave their native country, and embark for the new
world, where the family had still some land remaining, and on the
improvement of which they determined to spend a sum of money which had
been left them by a relation. They carried out with them, besides money,
_enterprise_, _industry_, _integrity_, and _talents_. After they had
been settled in Long Island three years, they found themselves rich
enough to marry; and the beautiful daughters of an opulent American
farmer became their wives.
My grandfather had only one child--a son; but his brother had a large
family, of whom, however, one only survived--a son also. These two
cousins were brought up together, and were as much attached to each
other as if they had been brothers.
Never, as I have been told, was there a scene of greater domestic
happiness, than my grandfather's house exhibited, till death deprived
him of his beloved wife. He did not long survive her; and my uncle soon
afterwards lost her equally-beloved sister, whose health had been
destroyed, first by the fatigue of attendance on her sick children, and
then by grief for their loss.
George Pendarves, the sad survivor of so many dear ones, now lost his
spirits--lost that energy which had so much distinguished him before;
and he soon sunk under the cessation of those habits of exertion and
temperance, which he had once practised, and, after two or three years
of protracted suffering, died. Thus the two youthful cousins found
themselves both orphans before they had reached the age of twenty.
They had not inherited their parents' dislike of Europe. On the
contrary, when their fathers imparted to them the learning and the
elegant arts which they had acquired at the university, and in the
society of England, they were impressed with respect and admiration for
the sources whence such precious stores were derived, and resolved to
enter themselves at an English college.
Accordingly, having put a confidential agent into their farms, they set
sail for the land of their ancestors, and arrived at PENDARVES CASTLE,
the seat of their eldest paternal uncle, who had come into possession of
the estates on the death of his father.
At this time, my mother and Lady Helen Seymour, the daughter of Lord
Seymour, were both on a visit there. The young Americans had now been
some months expected, and their relations had long been amusing
themselves with conjecturing what these SAVAGES (as they fancied them)
would be like; while they anticipated much pleasure from beholding their
surprise at manners, scenes, and accommodations, so different from their
own. Nor was my mother, though she was their relation, and herself a
Pendarves, less forward than her friend Lady Helen to hold up these
strangers in a ridiculous view to her imagination, and to express an
unbenevolent eagerness for the arrival of the _Yankees_.
At length, they came; and it was on the evening of a ball, given by Mr.
Pendarves, to celebrate the birth-day of his wife. The dance was begun
before they arrived; and their uncle was called out of the room to
receive them. He went with a heart warmed with fraternal affection,
and yearning towards the representatives of his regretted brothers:
but the emotion became overpowering when he beheld them; for those
well-remembered brothers seemed to stand before him in improved
loftiness of stature, dignity of person, and beauty of feature. From
their mothers, they had inherited that loveliness and symmetry, which so
peculiarly distinguish American women; and in stature they towered even
above their father's family.
The young men, at the same time, were considerably affected at sight of
Mr. Pendarves, as he reminded them strongly of their parents. While
these endearing recollections were uppermost in their minds, Mr.
Pendarves at first wholly forgot how different his nephews were from the
pictures his laughter-loving family had delighted to draw of them. But
when he did recollect it, he enjoyed the idea of the surprise which
their appearance would occasion.
Their dress, as well as their manners, bespoke them perfect gentlemen;
but their hair was not yet spoiled by compliance with the fashion of
England at that period; for it curled, uncontaminated by powder, in
glossy clustering ringlets on their open brows.
Such were the young men who now followed Mr. Pendarves to the apartment
in which his lady received her guests.
"Dear me! how surprising!" cried that lady, who was very pretty, very
volatile, and very apt to think aloud. "Are these the Yankees? Why, I
protest they look more like Christians than savages, and are like other
people, except that they are much handsomer than other people."
This last part of her speech made some amends for the first part; but
had she been of a contrary opinion, Mrs. Pendarves would have uttered
it; and the glow of indignation on their cheek was succeeded by that of
gratified vanity, for their hostess added to her compliment, by asking
Mr. Pendarves if he was not quite proud of his nephews.
He replied in the affirmative, declaring himself impatient to show them
to the assembled family. It was therefore with cheeks dyed with becoming
blushes, and eyes sparkling with delight at the flattering welcome which
they had received, that they followed their uncle to the ball-room, but
at his desire they stopped within the folding-doors, whence they
surveyed the gay groups before them. Mr. Pendarves made his way amongst
the dancers, and accosting his guest, Lady Helen Seymour, and Julia
Pendarves, his niece, told them they must leave the dance a little
while, for he must present to them the _Yankees_, who were just arrived.
"I will come as soon as I have been down the dance," they both
exclaimed. "But how unfortunate they should come to-night! for what can
we do with them in a fine party like this? because," said Julia, "though
they may do to laugh at in our own family circle, one should not like to
see one's relations supply subjects for laughter to other people."
The dance was now beginning, and Mr. Pendarves, smiling sarcastically as
he listened to his niece, allowed her to dance to the bottom of it,
secretly resolving that she should now _ask_ him for that introduction
which she had thus delayed; and in the meanwhile he amused himself with
watching for the first moment when Lady Helen and Julia should discover
the two strangers, which he knew they could not fail to do, as the dance
down which they were now going, fronted the folding-doors.
Mr. Pendarves did not watch long in vain; Lady Helen and her companion
saw them at the same instant, and were so struck with their appearance,
that they were out in the figure, and wondered to their partners, who
those strangers could be.
"I cannot think," replied one of the gentlemen; "but they look like
brothers, and are the finest and handsomest men I ever saw."
"Julia," whispered Lady Helen, "Is it possible these can be your Yankee
cousins? If so, I am so ashamed."
"And so am I; and do look at my uncle, he is laughing at us."
"Oh, it must be they, I am so shocked!"
When they reached the bottom of the dance, they vainly looked towards
Mr. Pendarves; he cruelly kept aloof. The strangers turned, however,
eagerly round at hearing some one behind them address another by the
name of Miss Pendarves.
Their glowing cheeks, their animated looks, were not lost on their
equally conscious observers, and Mr. Pendarves now good-naturedly came
forward to put a stop to this embarrassing dumb show, by presenting the
cousins to each other, and then introducing them to Lady Helen.
You remember my mother, and you have seen a picture of Lady Helen; you
will not wonder, therefore, that the sudden admiration which Lady Helen
felt that evening for George Pendarves, and my mother for Charles, was
as warmly returned. It even seemed that their attachment foreran that of
their lovers, for the cousins went to college without disclosing their
love. On their return, however, finding the dangerous objects whom they
meant to avoid still at Pendarves, they ventured to make their
proposals; and unsanctioned by parental authority, Lady Helen and my
mother accepted the vows of their lovers, and pledged theirs in return.
I shall pass over the consequent misery which they underwent, and simply
state that the two friends were at last so hurried away by their
romantic affection, that they allowed the cousins to carry them to
Gretna Green; and that after the ceremony they embarked from the nearest
Scotch port for America.
At first Lady Helen was too happy in the new ties which she had formed,
to feel much sorrow or much compunction when she remembered those which
she had broken. But when she became a parent herself, and learnt the
feelings of a mother, she thought with agonizing regret on the pains
which she had inflicted on her own, and in the bitterness of awakened
remorse, she supplicated to be forgiven. The answer to this letter was
sealed with black, and was in the hand of her father! It was as follows:
"Your mother is dead, and it was your disobedience which killed
her. Expect, therefore, no forgiveness from me.
"SEYMOUR."
A fever of the brain was the consequence of this terrible stroke, and
her life was despaired of. In the agonies therefore of anxious
affection, George Pendarves wrote to Lord Seymour, retorting on him his
own blow, for he told him that his letter had _killed Lady Helen_.
The wretched husband inflicted as much pain as he intended; for Lady
Helen, however faulty, was Lord Seymour's _favourite_ child--his only
daughter; and the next letters from America were expected with trembling
anxiety. The information, therefore, that Lady Helen was better, was
_received_ with gratitude, though it did not procure an offer of
forgiveness.
My mother, though not quite such a culprit as Lady Helen, because she
was one of many daughters, left an aged grandmother and an affectionate
uncle with whom she lived; but the former pronounced her forgiveness
before she breathed her last, and suffered the will to remain in force
in which he had left her a handsome legacy. Nor was her uncle himself
slow to pronounce her pardon. She therefore had no drawbacks on her
felicity but the sight of Lady Helen's constant dejection, which was so
great that my father thought it right to make an effort to procure her
the comfort of Lord Seymour's pardon.
The troubles in America were now on the eve of breaking out, for it was
the year 1772; and the joy of my birth was considerably damped to my
affectionate parents by the increasing agitation of the country. But
George Pendarves was too miserable and too indignant to write himself;
he therefore gladly deputed my father to write for him. While they were
impatiently awaiting the reply, they both busied themselves in politics,
in order to escape from domestic uneasiness; and though undetermined
which side to take, they were considerably inclined to espouse the cause
of the mother country, when Lord Seymour's answer arrived, in which he
offered Lady Helen and her husband his entire forgiveness, on condition
that the latter took part against the rebels, as he called them, and
accepted a commission in the English army, which would soon be joined by
his son, Colonel Seymour.
It is impossible to say which at this trying moment was the governing
motive of George Pendarves,--whether it was chiefly political
conviction, or whether he was influenced insensibly by the wish of
conciliating his father-in-law, in order to restore peace to the mind of
the woman whom he adored; but certain it is that this letter hastened
his decision, and that my father, who loved him as a brother, coincided
with him in that decision, and resolved to share his destiny.
Accordingly, both the cousins _accepted_ commissions in the British
army; and when Colonel Seymour met his brother-in-law at head-quarters,
he presented to him a letter from his father, containing a fervent
blessing for Lady Helen and himself.
The husband and the brother soon after obtained permission to visit the
one his wife, and the other his sister; and something resembling peace
of mind, on one subject at least, returned to the patient Lady Helen,
while with a mother's pride she put into the arms of her brother her
only child, Seymour Pendarves, to whom, unpermitted, she had given the
name of her family, and who was then seven years old. But now a _new_
source of anxiety was opened upon her. Her husband was become a soldier,
and she had to fear for his life; nor was she in a state to follow him
to battle, as she would otherwise have done, because she had lately been
confined with a dead child. My mother was in this respect more
fortunate; for she was able to accompany her husband to the seat of war,
and she persisted to do so, though both my father and his cousin
earnestly wished her to stay with Lady Helen and myself, I being at that
period only two years old.
But my mother had set up her husband as the only idol whom she was
called upon to worship, and before that idol she bowed down in
singleness of adoration; nor could the inconvenience to which her
resolution exposed him at all shake her constancy. She was equally
insensible also to the anxiety which her leaving Lady Helen at such a
time occasioned, both to the husband and the brother of that amiable
being.
The reply of, "It is my duty to accompany my husband as long as I can,"
silenced all objections from others, and all the whisperings of her own
affectionate heart; and she tore herself away, though not without
considerable pain, from the embrace of her friend, and committed me to
her maternal care.
Dreadful was the moment of separation between Lady Helen and her
husband: but the former bore it better than the latter; for, as her mind
was impressed with the idea that she had deserved her afflictions, she
believed that by patient submission to the divine will, she could alone
show her sense of the error which she had committed. Yet, independently
of the violence thus done to the enjoyment of affections, it was
impossible for a feeling heart and a reflective mind to contemplate that
awful moment without agony--that moment, when brother was about to arm
against brother--when men speaking the same language, and hitherto
considering themselves as subjects of the same king, were marching in
dread array against each other, and breathing the vows of vengeance
against those endeared to them perhaps by habits of social intercourse
and the interchange of good offices. Such was the scene now exhibited at
Lexington, in the April of 1775; for there the _first_ blood was spilt
in the American contest.
In that hour of deadly strife, my mother's trial was not equal to Lady
Helen's; for she could linger around the fatal field, she could ask
questions of stragglers from the army, and her daily suspense would end
with every day; while other anxious wives around her, by sharing,
soothed her uneasiness. But Lady Helen was in a sick chamber, surrounded
by servants and by objects of interest which only served to heighten her
distress; for, as she gazed upon her son and her charge, she knew not
but that she was gazing at that moment upon fatherless orphans. There is
certainly no comparison in strength between the uneasiness which can
vent itself in _exertion_, and that which is obliged by circumstances to
remain in _inaction_.
But not at the battle of Lexington was the heart of Lady Helen doomed to
bleed. Her husband escaped unwounded, and once more he returned to her
and to his children. The interview was indeed short, but it was a source
of comfort to Lady Helen, which ended but with her life. His looks--his
words of love during that meeting, were treasured up with even a miser's
care; for, after their parting embrace--after that happy interview, they
_never met more_.
George Pendarves fell in the next decisive battle, which was fought near
his residence. By desire of his afflicted brother, the body was conveyed
to his own house, which was near to that of the unconscious widow. The
bearers mistook their orders, and conveyed it home. Lady Helen, who was
at that moment teaching me my letters, after having set Seymour his
lesson, broke off to listen to an unusual noise of feet in the hall;
then gently opening the door, she leaned over the baluster to discover
the cause. Young as I was, never can I forget the shriek she uttered,
which told she had _discovered it_! while, wildly rushing down stairs,
she threw herself upon the bloody corse. We, echoing her cry, followed
her in helpless terror; but fear and horror were my only feelings. Poor
Seymour, on the contrary, was old enough to take in the extent of the
misery, and I yet hear his fond and fruitless exclamations of "Papa!
dear papa!" and his vain, but still repeated supplication, that he would
open his eyes and speak to him.
Lady Helen now neither screamed, nor spoke, nor wept; but she sat in the
_silent desolation_ of her soul on the couch by the body of Pendarves,
with eyes as fixed and even as rayless as his. There was a something in
this still grief which seemed to awe the by-standers into stillness
also. No hand was lifted to remove _her_ from the _body_, nor the _body_
from _her_. The only sounds of life were the _sobs of Seymour_, for my
cries had been checked by alarm and the groans of the compassionate
witnesses, or the grief of the servants. But this state of feeling could
not last long, and I remember that Seymour destroyed it; for, looking
terrified by his mother's changed countenance, he threw his arms
passionately around her, conjuring her not to look so terribly, but to
take him on her lap, and speak to him. The attendants now came up to
take her away; but she resisted all their efforts with the violence of
frenzy, till she sank exhausted into their arms, and could resist no
longer. The month that ensued was a blank in the existence of Lady
Helen: that pressure on the brain from which she had suffered so much
before returned, and delirium, ending in insensibility, ensued. When
consciousness was restored, her feelings of humble piety and deep
contrition returned with it, and kissing the rod which had chastised
her, she resolved for our sakes to struggle with her grief, and enter
again upon a life of usefulness.
My father meanwhile fought, and my mother followed his fortunes. Once he
was brought wounded to his tent, and she was allowed to nurse him till
he recovered. After that, she had to cross the country, and endure
incredible hardships; but her husband lived, and hardships seemed
nothing to her.
During this time--a period of two years--I have heard Seymour Pendarves
say, that he dreaded his mother's receiving a letter from the army,
because it made her so wretched. He used to call my father and mother
uncle and aunt; and when, in seeing her affliction, he asked her whether
uncle Pendarves was shot, or aunt Pendarves ill, she was accustomed to
reply, "No--they are indeed sufferers, but have much to be thankful for;
for _he lives_, they are _together_, and SHE IS HAPPY!"
In the October of 1777, the British army, commanded by General Burgoyne,
under whom my father now served, and held a major's commission, were
obliged to lay down their arms at Saratoga--yet not before my father had
been severely wounded, and taken prisoner. This was a new trial to my
mother's constancy; but her courage and her perseverance seemed to
increase with the necessity for them; and had she wanted any other
incitement to fortitude than her conjugal affection and her sense of
duty, she would have found it in the splendid example of Lady Harriet
Ackland, whose difficulties and dangers, in the performance of a wife's
extremest duty, will ever form a brilliant page in the annals of English
history.
Some of the dangers and many of the difficulties of Lady Harriet, had
been endured by my mother, but had ended in her being allowed to share
the prison of my father; when, on the surrender of General Burgoyne's
army, the officers were allowed to return on their parole to England.
My father, therefore, was glad to hasten to that spot from choice, to
which he might be ultimately driven by necessity; and my mother, who
never liked America, was rejoiced to return to the dear land of her
birth. Lady Helen, meanwhile, had undergone another sorrow; but one
which, during its progress, had given a new interest to life. Her
brother, Colonel Seymour, had been desperately wounded at the beginning
of the year 1777, and had been conveyed in a litter to the house of his
widowed sister.
Had the wounds of Lady Helen's heart ever been entirely closed, this
circumstance would have opened them afresh. "So," she was heard to say,
"would I have nursed and watched over my husband, and tried to restore
him to life; but to go _at once_--no _warning_--no _preparation_! But
God's will be done!" And then she used to resume her quiet seat by the
bedside of her brother; whom, however, neither skill nor tenderness
could restore. He died in her arms, blessing her with his last breath.
Colonel Seymour was only a younger brother; but having married an
heiress, who died soon after, leaving no child, and bequeathing him in
fee her large fortune, he was a rich man. This fortune, as soon as he
was able to hold his pen, he bequeathed equally between his sister, Lady
Helen, and her son, desiring also that his remains might be sent to
England to be interred in the family vault of his wife.
I was five years old, when my father and mother returned to us, to
prepare for their departure to England, and to prevail on Lady Helen to
accompany them; and I have a perfect recollection of my feelings at that
moment--or rather, I should say, of my first seeing them; for Seymour
and I were both in bed when they arrived. I have heard since, that my
father's resemblance to his brother awoke in Lady Helen remembrance even
to agony, and that he was not much less affected. I also heard that my
mother soon hastened to gaze upon her sleeping child, and to enjoy the
luxury of being a parent, after having been so long engrossed by the
duty of a wife; for, though she had been confined once during her
perils, her confinement had not added to her family.
The next morning, I remember to have felt a joy--I could not tell
why--at hearing that my father and mother were come, and that I was both
pleased and pained when Seymour ran into the nursery, screaming out,
"Oh, Ellen! my uncle and aunt are come, and I have seen them; but they
are very ill-looking, poor souls! and my uncle is so lame!"
"Ill-looking, and my papa lame!" thought I. It was with difficulty the
nurse could prevail on me to obey the summons; and I behaved so ill
when I got to their bedside, that they were glad to send me away. It was
impossible that I could know either of them, they were really so pale
and haggard through fatigue and suffering; and I shrunk frightened and
averse from their embraces.
True, the name of mother was associated in my mind with all that I best
loved, for by that name I called Lady Helen. But why did I so? Because
she had been to me the tenderest of guardians, and had fulfilled the
duty which my real parent had been forced to resign. On returning to the
nursery, I found Lady Helen, to whom I clung in an agony of tears,
satisfied that _she_ was my _own dear mamma_.
But when my father and mother were seated at the breakfast-table, and
gave me some of the nice things set before them, I became less averse to
their caresses, and before the day was over, I consented to have one
papa and two mammas, while Seymour assured me he thought my papa, though
_ill_, very handsome, and like his own poor papa.
At first, Lady Helen shrunk from the idea of returning to England; but
she at length consented, from consideration of the superior advantages
which her two young charges would receive from an English education, and
as it was evidently in conformity to her brother's intention.
Accordingly, in the beginning of the year 1779, we arrived at Liverpool,
bringing with us the bodies of Colonel Seymour and George Pendarves.
Well was it for Lady Helen that we reached the inn at Liverpool at
night, and that she had some hours of refreshing slumber, to prepare her
for the surprise which awaited her the next day. While she and my
parents were at breakfast the following morning, and Seymour and I were
amusing ourselves with looking out at the window, we saw a very elegant
carriage drive up to the door: our exclamations called Lady Helen to us.
"What are those pretty things painted on the sides, mamma?" asked
Seymour.
"An earl's coronet, and supporters to the arms, my dear!" repeated Lady
Helen in a faint voice, and suddenly retreating, as she saw there were
gentlemen in the carriage, who looked up, on hearing the children's
voices. It was her father's.
Nor had time, suffering, and sickness so altered her beautiful features
as to render them irrecognizable by a father's heart. Catching the arm
of Lord Mountgeorge, his son, who was with him, Lord Seymour exclaimed--
"O Frederic! surely I have beheld your sister!" and with trembling limbs
he alighted, and reached the rooms bespoken for him.
He was on his way from London to the seat of a gentleman near Liverpool,
from whose house he was to proceed to his own place in the North.
He now sent for the landlord, and begged to know if there were not some
American strangers in the house; and on receiving from him a
confirmation of his suspicions, he desired one of the waiters to tell
Major Pendarves that a gentleman begged to see him.
On entering the room, Major Pendarves took in silence the hand which the
agitated earl in silence tendered to him. The past and the present
rushed over the minds of both; while Lord Mountgeorge, whose emotion was
less violent, begged the major to prepare his sister to receive them.
In the meanwhile, Lord Seymour, with his heart full of his lost son,
surveyed with respectful pity the faded cheek and altered form of the
once-blooming Charles Pendarves.
"You did not look thus when we last met," said he; "but you have
suffered in a noble cause, and you have only lost your _health_."
Here the lip of the bereaved parent quivered with agitation, and Lord
Mountgeorge turned mournfully away.
My father then rejoined his party with evident agitation.
"What new sorrow awaits me?" cried Lady Helen; "for I see it is for me
you are affected, not for yourself."
"No, my friend; these tears are tears of emotion, but of pleasure also."
"Pleasure!"
"Yes: Lord Seymour and your brother are in the next room, and eagerly
long to see you."
The feelings which now strove for victory in Lady Helen's breast were
too much for her weakened frame to support; and shuddering and panting,
she caught hold of my mother to save herself from falling, while the
scream of the terrified Seymour, as he beheld her nearly fainting on the
sofa, was heard by the anxious expectants, who hastily entered the room.
Lady Helen, who had not lost her senses, instantly sunk on one knee
before her agitated parent, and pushing her son toward him, desired him
to plead for his unhappy mother.
"Helen!" cried Lord Seymour, in a voice broken by sobs, "you need no
advocate but my own heart!" and Lady Helen was once more clasped to his
bosom.
"And is this fine creature my grandson?" said he, gazing with delight on
Seymour, while he kissed his open forehead; then seating himself by his
daughter on the sofa, while Lord Mountgeorge sat by her on the other
side, he drew the wondering boy to his knee.
My father now presented my mother and myself to Lord Seymour.
"I am disappointed," said he, civilly: "I hoped, Mrs. Pendarves, that
this lovely girl was my grandchild also."
This was enough to conciliate my young heart; and I wondered to myself,
I remember, why my Lady mamma should have seemed so sorry at seeing such
a good-natured old gentleman; nor could I conceive why Lord Seymour, as
he kept looking on Lady Helen, should shed so many tears.
"My poor Helen!" cried he, "your face tells a tale of sad suffering--and
Augustus, too--both gone! But they fought bravely."
"Ay--but they _died_!" cried Lady Helen, clasping her hands
convulsively.
"And they shall both have a magnificent monument erected to their
memory, my child," cried Lord Seymour.
Lady Helen looked gratefully up in her father's face, as he said this.
Lord Seymour now wrote to his friend, to say that he and his son were
prevented paying him the promised visit; and the next day we all set
forward for the seat of Lord Seymour.
I forbear to describe poor Lady Helen's feelings when we reached Seymour
Park, and what she endured, when she visited, at her own family vault,
the remains of her beloved mother, after she had seen her husband and
brother interred in that of the _latter_. But she had the consolation of
knowing that Lord Seymour's resentment had made him unjust, as a mortal
malady had long been preying on her existence.
Having only visited Seymour Park in order to witness the funeral
solemnities, my father and mother soon took their leave, and, to my
great agony, insisted that I should accompany them on their projected
visit to Pendarves Castle, and also to my grandfather and grandmother;
and I well recollect the violent sorrow which I experienced when I was
torn from Seymour and Lady Helen. I was told, however, that I should
certainly come back to them, and not soon leave them again; and that
pacified me. Indeed, it was my father's intention to settle near Lady
Helen Pendarves, who meant to fit up a cottage in her park for their
residence.
When my father and his cousin first came over to England, they had found
some property due to them in right of their father's will. This property
was vested in the English funds, and there it had remained untouched,
both principal and interest, for eight years. During this period, it had
accumulated so much as to be sufficient for us to live upon, should the
event of the war be such as to cause the confiscation of our American
estates; and my mother had also to receive the legacy bequeathed by her
grandmother. Their present enjoyment, therefore, was not clouded over
(to my parents) by the fear of pecuniary distress; and after their first
arrival at Pendarves Castle, (that scene so fraught with grief in its
results to friends most dear to them,) they looked forward with joyful
anticipations to the future.
They were speedily joined there by my mother's uncle and her parents.
Thither, too, Lady Helen had at last resolution to venture also; and I
was again united to my brother Seymour, as I always called him.
On leaving her carriage, Lady Helen desired to be shown to my mother's
apartment, in order to recover herself before she saw the rest of the
family; for she dreaded to encounter the thoughtless Mrs. Pendarves, who
would say things that wounded the feelings in the most susceptible part.
On the third day, while she was administering a nervous medicine to her
widowed guest, she could not help exclaiming,
"Poor dear! what will all the physic in the world do for you, cousin
Helen? as the man says in the play--
'What can minister to a mind diseased?'
And--
'Give physic to the dogs.'"
Here my mother, with a pathetic look, motioned her to be silent--but in
vain.
"Nay, my dear Julia!" said she, "I must speak: my dear cousin Helen will
not know else how I have cried and lain awake all night with thinking of
her miseries."
"She does not doubt your kind sympathy, dear aunt--she does not,
indeed!"
"But she cannot be sure of it, Mrs. Charles, unless I tell her of it,
and tell her
'I cannot. But remember, such folks were,
And were most dear to all.'
Oh! he had
----'An eye like Mars!'
and that is quite appropriate, you know, as he died in battle. I mean
your poor husband, poor George Pendarves! not your brother--I never saw
him."
My mother looked aghast. Since the death of George Pendarves, no one had
ever ventured to name him to Lady Helen;
"But fools rush in where angels dare not tread."
And Lady Helen hid her face in agonizing surprise on my mother's
shoulder.
"Ah! one may see by your eyes that you have shed many tears. Why, they
tell me you never knew what had happened till you saw the poor dear love
lying dead and bleeding. There was a shock! Oh! how I pity you, dearest
soul! I have often thought it was a mercy that you did not fall over the
balusters, and break your neck!"
"It broke my heart!" screamed out Lady Helen, in the voice of frenzy,
unable to support any longer the horrible picture thus coarsely brought
before her; and in another moment the house resounded with her
hysterical cries; while Mrs. Pendarves added, she could not but think
Lady Helen was very bad still, as she could not bear to be pitied;
though pity was said to be very soothing--and though she,
----"Like pity on one side,
Her grief-subduing voice applied."
As my mother expected, Lady Helen now conceived a terror of Mrs.
Pendarves, which nothing could conquer; and her health became so
visibly worse, that she quitted the place the following week,
accompanied by my father and mother, and my mother's uncle, to London,
leaving Seymour and myself behind, to be spoiled by our too-indulgent
relatives.
In a short time, my father and mother had settled their pecuniary
concerns, and purchased furniture for their new habitation, of which
they now hastened to take possession; and there we soon joined them.
I have detailed thus minutely the sentiments and sorrows of those with
whom my earliest years were passed, as I believe that by them my
character was in a great measure determined; and that I owe the merit
which you attribute to me, and the crimes of which I am conscious, to
having been the pupil of _Lady Helen_, and the daughter of _Julia_
Pendarves.
The next three years passed quietly away; but my parents observed with
pain that Lady Helen's visits to Seymour Park became more and more
frequent, though Lord Seymour had married a young wife before his
daughter's return, who was jealous to excess of Lady Helen's influence
over her lord, and that she had evidently lost much of her enjoyment of
their society. The truth was, that though Lady Helen did not envy the
happiness of my parents, it was not always that she could bear to
witness it; because it recalled painfully to her mind the period of her
life when _she was equally_ happy; and she had no longer that sympathy
with my mother which is the foundation and the cement of friendly
intercourse; so true is it, that _equality of prosperity_, like
_equality of situation_, is necessary to give _stability_ to friendship.
My mother, though she felt this, was too delicate openly to repine.
My intercourse with her, and the benefit which I derived from her
instructions, remained the same, for I was always allowed to accompany
Lady Helen to Seymour Park.
But, alas! the tide of sympathy towards my poor mother, which had been
checked in Lady Helen's bosom by happiness, now flowed again with
increased fulness, when she was summoned to console her under a sorrow
kindred with her own.
My father had been saved from the dangers of war, to perish at home by a
_violent death_. He was thrown from his horse, struck his head against a
stone, and died upon the spot.
Lady Helen having removed her to her own house, devoted her whole
attention to the offices of a comforter. In proportion as my poor
mother's sense of happiness had been keen, her sense of privation was
overwhelming.
But, so curiously, so mercifully are we fashioned, that we are sometimes
able to derive medicine for our suffering from its very excess.
My mother was, as you well know, a woman of _high aspirings_, and loved
to be pre-eminent in all things. She was proud of her conjugal love; she
was proud of the dangers which she had dared under its influence, and
of the sufferings to which she rose superior, to prove the tender excess
of that love; she was proud, also, of her good fortune, in having her
husband's life so long preserved to her, and she gloried in his devoted
and faithful affection. But now of this idolized husband she was
bereaved in a moment, and without any alleviating circumstances.
Soothing, though painful, are the tears which we shed for those who fall
in battle; and sweet, "like music in the dead of night," heard after
distressing dreams, or while we are kept waking by mournful realities,
falls the sound of a _nation's regret_ on the ear of those who weep over
a _departed hero_.
But my father died _ingloriously_, and YET my mother felt pride derived
from that _very source_, for it made her, in her own estimation,
_pre-eminent_ in trial; for how hard was it, after having shared her
husband's dangers, and the struggles of war, to see him perish at home,
the victim of an ignoble accident!
"Had he died in the field of glory, I might have found," she cried,
"some solace in his renown; and I was prepared to see him fall, when
others fell around him. But to perish _thus_! oh! never was woman's
trial so severe!"
And thus, while descanting on the pre-eminence of her misfortunes, she
got rid of much of their severity.
You remember with what eloquence my mother used to describe what she had
endured in America; you have also, I believe, heard her speak of the
manner of my poor father's death: but you never heard what I have often
listened to, with the pity which I could not utter, Lady Helen's
assertion of her _own_ trying sorrow, when my mother had harrowed up her
feelings by the painful comparison.
"You may remember, that _you_ were happy _many years_: but I" (here
tears choked her voice) "remember, that while you were allowed to prove
your love by soothing the sufferings of the being whom you adored, and
had his smile to reward you, I was forced to prove mine only in the
privacy of solitary and almost maddening recollections. Till recently,
_you_ have never known a _real affliction_, and I--oh! when have I _for
years_ experienced an enjoyment?"
This language used to _silence_, if it did not _convince_ my mother.
But however they might dispute on the superiority of their trials, they
loved each other the better for them, and were now scarcely ever
separated.
Hence, Seymour and I were in a measure educated together, till it was
judged fit that he should go to a public school. This painful trial was
imposed on Lady Helen by her relations, and approved by her own judgment
against the suggestions of her feelings; when I was eleven, and Seymour
near fifteen years old; and when our mothers (as I was not long in
discovering) had projected a union between us, and had promised each
other to do all they could to ensure it.
Thus ends my _Introduction_.
* * * * *
Here begins, my dear friend,
THE HISTORY OF SEYMOUR AND HELEN PENDARVES.
Forgive me, if I introduce my narrative with a very vulgar but a most
excellent proverb--which is, that "Little pitchers have wide ears;" or,
that children hear many things which they ought not to hear, and which
they were certainly not intended to hear. Now, to illustrate the truth
of this proverb, and this explanation of it.
It certainly could not be the intention of two such sensible women that
I should know I was designed for the wife of Seymour Pendarves; and yet
they talked of their plans so openly before me, that I was perfectly
mistress of their designs; and that precocity of mind which they had
often remarked in me was increased so much by this consciousness, that
while they fancied I was thinking on my doll or my baby-house, I was in
reality meditating on my destined husband, till my heart was prepared to
receive the passion of love at an age when it would have been better for
me to have been ignorant of its existence. And this passion I was
authorized to feel, and for a most engaging object! I leave you to judge
how pleasant I found this permission--how much, young as I was, the idea
of Seymour Pendarves now mixed itself with every thing I thought, and
did, and said. Small was the chance, therefore, that even my highly
honoured mother could ever succeed in changing the bent of those
inclinations which she had herself given in the pliant hours of
childhood and earliest youth.
It was some time before Lady Helen recovered her spirits, after the
departure of her son. I also gave myself the air of being very dejected;
but as with me it was the season of "the tear forgot as soon as shed,"
and of the preponderating influence of animal spirits, I bounded over
the lawn as usual, after the first three days were gone by, and at
length won Lady Helen from her reveries and her gloom; but I had the
satisfaction of hearing the mothers say to each other,
"What sensibility! She really seemed to regret his absence with a
sentimental dejection unusual at those years."
This idea, so flattering to my self-love, I took care to keep alive, by
frequently inquiring how long it was to the Christmas vacation; and when
that long-expected time arrived, and I found it settled that Lady Helen
should meet her son at Lord Seymour's in London, and spend the holidays
with him there, I gave way to the most violent lamentations, declaring
that she should not go without me. Nor in this instance did I at all
exaggerate my feelings of disappointment; for Seymour's absence made a
sad void in my amusements, and I had looked forward to his return with
the sincerest satisfaction. But my entreaties and my expostulations were
equally vain.
Seymour, however, wrote to me twice at least from London. These letters
I treasured up with the fondest care, and read them once every day;
though I could not but think there was not quite love enough in them,
and that I was too big to be called little Helen, and to be told by my
correspondent that he blew me a kiss. I remember, also, that when I
showed my mother my answers, which were those of a little old woman, and
not of an artless girl, she used to say,
"I wonder where the child got those ideas."
When the holidays were over, Lady Helen returned, and brought me a
beautiful writing-box, as a present from her son, with a guitar, as a
present from herself. We immediately began our practice upon this
instrument; and I made a rapid progress, from the hope of being able to
charm Seymour when we next met.
But again Lady Helen went to meet her son in London; and it was not till
two years after his first departure, that he revisited the North. Never
shall I forget the flutter which I felt at the idea of his return; but I
am very sure that I was more taken up, in spite of my sentimentality,
with thinking what effect I was likely to have on him at our meeting,
than with the idea of the pleasure which I should have in seeing him.
Two years had made a great improvement in my person; but I was not tall
for my age, and I was so thin, that I looked much younger than I really
was. My glass, however, and the injudicious praises of flattering
visiters, had told me I was handsome; and I really believe I expected to
take Seymour's heart--of the actual possession of which I had some
doubts--by a _coup de main_; for I had both heard and read of "love at
first sight." Never before had I been so difficult to please in the
shape of my frocks, which I in vain tried to persuade my wiser mother to
alter into _gowns_--as vainly did I try to persuade her to let me have
my hair dressed, and wear ear-rings: she coolly told me simplicity was
the beauty of a _child's dress_; and I, swallowing as I could that
mortifying appellation, was obliged to let my auburn ringlets fall in
natural glossy curls into my neck, unfrizzed and untormented. But unable
to keep my vexation to myself, to the great amusement of my mother, I
said, rather petulantly, as I was leaving the room one day, "Well, I
must do as you please, mamma; but I am sure Mr. Seymour Pendarves, who
is used to London young ladies, will think me a great fright."
"Mr. _who_, my dear?--whose opinion is of so much consequence to you?"
"Seymour Pendarves," replied I blushing, and leaving out the _Mr._
"Oh! Master Pendarves! Really, my dear, I can't think it matters much,
what such a mere boy as that thinks; and it is enough for you that you
are a good child, and obey your mamma."
At length, Seymour arrived, and the delighted Lady Helen brought her
idol to our house; while I gazed with wonder as well as pleasure and
embarrassment, on the change which two years had made in my youthful
companion. He, though only seventeen, had assumed the dress of manhood:
his throat was tied up with a large cravat--his hair was powdered, and
worn in a club behind, according to the then fashion--his hat was set on
one side, and he was dressed in a grass-green coat. Nothing so smart had
ever met my sight before; and what with his fine teeth, his dimpled
cheek, and his sparkling eyes, I thought I had never even _read_ of any
one so beautiful: and this lovely youth was intended to be my husband.
But had he himself any such intentions? That I could not say; and I was
both mortified and displeased at the way in which he first addressed me,
even though I drew up my long neck as high as possible, to look as tall
and womanly as I could. He flew up to me, calling me--
"Dear _little_ Helen! how are you? I am so glad to see you again!"