The enjoyments or misfortunes of men, are to be computed from their
different degrees of feeling. What can they mean who speak of the
happiness of the insensible? Can there be a greater absurdity, than to
envy the enjoyments of such as want the power to enjoy!
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+The HISTORY of Mrs. MORDAUNT.+
[Written by Herself.]
(Continued from our last.)
I resolved to conceal Harland’s visit, but my father heard of it from
his servant. He accused me of having concerted it, I declared my
innocence. He vowed if I saw Harland my husband should be acquainted
with it. How cruel such harshness. Mr. Mordaunt soon left the castle, he
brought me to London; he loved dissipation, and I entered into it,
I thought it would banish painful reflections. At the expiration of a
year Heaven blest me with a lovely infant. My health was now so
delicate, the physicians ordered me to Bristol. Mordaunt accompanied me
thither, not indeed out of tenderness, but ostentation; he wished the
world to think him perfect, and yet counterfeited a love for me, which
in reality existed not, as his heart was too depraved to be long
susceptible of a virtuous passion. My father accompanied us. We had a
house one mile from Bristol. Each morning I went to the rooms, the
remainder of the day was spent in weeping, and praying over my child, in
lulling her to sleep, and hushing her feeble cries.
I had just entered the room one morning, and was conversing with a young
lady, when turning round, I was startled by the figure of Harland.
Struck by his appearance, various emotions rushed upon me, I could
scarcely stand, trembling I leaned upon my companion--the alteration of
his looks too visibly manifested the disorder of his mind; despair
tinged every feature, and the lustre of his eyes was totally
extinguished. I hurried from the room---I forgot my resolution---we
cannot always command our feelings---the power above makes allowances
for human frailty. I would have discontinued going to the rooms, only I
feared exciting the prying eyes of suspicion. I again went, beheld him,
and returned more unhappy. In the afternoon, walking alone in the
garden, I saw a bit of paper thrown over the hedge, I snatched it up,
and perceiving Harland’s writing, I started, I hesitated whether to open
it---imagination pictured his sufferings---I broke the seal, and perused
the following lines:
“Julia, the miserable Harland is on the point of eternally quitting his
native kingdom, he flies to remote regions, far distant from an object
who has banished peace--will she yet be cruel, or will her nature, once
gently kind, comply with the last request of one, whose last sigh will
be for her. Oh Julia! to leave this kingdom without bidding you adieu,
is more than I can support---I sicken at the idea. Refuse me not,
I conjure you, one parting interview, to sooth the solitary hours of my
life, I have wandered on bewildered with misfortune, marked for
affliction from the earliest dawn---nought but the long dark night can
efface them. If you comply, as ah! surely you must, leave a note where
you received this, and at any hour or place you shall appoint, I will
meet you. Adieu, most loved and most lamented object of my soul.”
I could not refuse his last request---I was not proof against such
entreaties, I might be censured, but I could not conquer the tender
feelings which compelled me to comply. After supper, I stole to a little
shady bower, situated in a shrubbery, and seldom frequented by any but
myself. Here Harland waited for me---our meeting it is impossible to
describe---he began with gentle upbraidings. Unable to bear the idea of
his thinking me faithless, I declared the compulsive power which forced
me to the precipice of despair. His feelings at this discovery overcame
him---he raved at the cruelty of that parent, who, actuated by motives
of avarice and ambition, had sacrificed the happiness of his child for
ever---he implored my forgiveness for ever thinking me inconstant---he
almost wept at my sufferings---he besought the being above to inspire me
with fortitude and resignation to sustain them. The time approached for
our separation---it was absolutely necessary on my account. Harland
attempted to bid me adieu, but his words were inarticulate, he took my
hand and prest it to his palpitating heart, I had endeavoured to summon
resolution, his distress conquered me, a last interview, an eternal
farewell from the dearest object of my love---the dreadful idea
overpowered me, and I sunk fainting on his bosom, he claspt me to it,
the emotions of our souls could not be restrained, my pallid cheek was
wet with tears of misery, I forgot the world, I only remembered the
cruelty of my fate. At that instant Mr. Mordaunt and my father rushed
into the bower, their frantic rage, I shuddered at the recollection of.
The former flew at Harland from whose arms I had sunk, full of the most
direful apprehensions. He attempted to remonstrate, but in vain, the
sword was at his breast, the instructive impulse of self-preservation
prompted his defence, it was too dreadful to behold. I fainted, and in a
happy insensibility was conveyed to my chamber. Returning life made me
too soon acquainted with the fatal consequences of the combat, they were
both wounded---a shocking tale had spread to my dishonour, it was
credited, appearances so much against me, infamy branded till then my
unspotted character, my father’s proud soul swelled at the ignominy of
his daughter, he considered me as an everlasting disgrace to his family,
as having sullied that blood, of whose purity he so often boasted---he
rushed to the apartment, where I sat stupified with the horrid events of
the night, myself the fatal cause---there, there was the arrow which
pierced me to the soul, his whole face was distorted with passion---rage
flashed from his eyes, in a voice scarce intelligible, he exclaimed,
“wretch, cursed be the day on which you were born, you have branded the
illustrious names of your ancestors with infamy; from this hour I
renounce and curse you in the bitterness of my soul, and swear in the
sight of heaven never more to see you.” For a moment I stood transfixed
like a statue---a shriek wild and piercing then broke from me, and I
fell senseless on the floor. When a little recovered, I called for my
cruel father, I implored him to withdraw his curses, but he was
gone---reason could not retain the shocks she had received. A violent
fever succeeded---for a month my life was despaired of: the Almighty,
however, thought fit to prolong existence. The first use I made of
returning sense, was to enquire for my cruel connexions. Sir George and
Mr. Mordaunt had both left the house with solemn asseverations of never
again beholding me. Harland, dear ill-fated Harland, had paid the last
sad debt of nature. My husband had stood his trial, but possessed of
interest and wealth, he was soon acquitted; my child he had taken with
him, and left orders for me to quit the house on my recovery; also a
paper wherein I was informed of the settlement made on me, and the
person on whom I was to draw for it. Miss Rivers, my faithful friend,
neglected me not in the hour of severe calamity; she had me conveyed to
a family in Wales, who had just retired there, and had no objection to
receive me as a boarder. Heartbroken, I forsook a world where my dearest
hopes were blasted, yet I left it with no impious repinings against my
destiny. I confessed myself properly punished, humbled to the dust--I
felt the impropriety of having ever placed myself in a suspicious
situation; but I was thoroughly penitent for having (though I trusted in
a slight degree) deviated from the path of rectitude--Heaven, I fancied,
accepted my contrition, by placing me in a family of love, such as I
shall now describe.
Captain Harley, after a life of activity in the service of his country,
retired to a sweet retreat in South Wales, to enjoy the closing evening
of a busy day; his family consisted of a wife, the faithful companion of
all his sorrows, and one daughter, who being the only survivor of a
numerous offspring, was doubly endeared to them. She was the staff of
their age, the doating of their hopes, and they bore her continually on
their hearts, to that heaven which they knew would alone protect her
from those calamitous strokes they had so often experienced in the
course of their lives.
The retreat they had chosen, was by its seclusion, calculated for the
narrowness of their income, and by its beauty for the promotion of their
pleasure.
He rented but as much land as would supply his household wants, this he
delighted in cultivating himself, assisted by an old trusty servant who
had been a soldier in his regiment. Conrade was the veteran son of
calamity, and his misfortunes strengthened the claim his services had
given him upon the affections of his master. During a late contest,
a brave and only son had fallen by his side in the field of battle;
scarcely could he survive the blow, but consolation effected what
fortitude had no power to do. Captain Harley was not only a good soldier
but a good christian, and by pointing out the path to heaven, gave poor
Conrade full assurance, by faithfully discharging the humble duties of
his station, he should obtain a passport to rejoin his brave and beloved
son.
Louisa at the period of their retirement was fifteen; her mind and form
were opening to perfection, and both promised to contain the fairest
loveliness of ingenious innocence, and graceful symmetry.
The lilly and the rose gave their most beautiful tints to her
complection; her fine black eyes beamed with the sensibility of her
soul, never did she hear the tale of sorrow without emotion.
Harley had little to give, of that little he gave abundantly--not the
largeness of the gift but real inclination of the donor, he knew was
regarded by the power above. Like the benevolent pastor of Auburn
village, to him repaired the needy and the wanderer, and found a ready
welcome--often too, the weather beaten soldier in journeying to his
native home, to lay his bones among those of his forefathers, turned in
hither, and cheared by hospitable fare,
“Shoulder’d his crutch, & shew’d how fields were won.”
Harley knew what it was to have the unsheltered head exposed to the
chill blast and sharp bitings of the wintry frost.
Such was this little family of love, who retired amidst Welch mountains,
enjoyed that content and happiness which the votaries of fashion, misled
by dissipation, can never experience.
Louisa was my constant companion--like a ministering seraph she hushed
the turbulence of anguish, and whispered peace to my perturbed soul.
(_To be continued._)
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