COLONEL MORDEN
[IN CONTINUATION.]
When the unhappy mourners were all retired, I directed the lid of the
coffin to be unscrewed, and caused some fresh aromatics and flowers to
be put into it.
The corpse was very little altered, notwithstanding the journey. The
sweet smile remained.
The maids who brought the flowers were ambitious of strewing them about
it: they poured forth fresh lamentations over her; each wishing she had
been so happy as to have been allowed to attend her in London. One of
them particularly, who is, it seems, my cousin Arabella's personal
servant, was more clamorous in her grief than any of the rest; and the
moment she turned her back, all the others allowed she had reason for it.
I inquired afterwards about her, and found, that this creature was set
over my dear cousin, when she was confined to her chamber by indiscreet
severity.
Good Heaven! that they should treat, and suffer thus to be treated, a
young lady, who was qualified to give laws to all her family!
When my cousins were told that the lid was unscrewed, they pressed in
again, all but the mournful father and mother, as if by consent. Mrs.
Hervey kissed her pale lips. Flower of the world! was all she could say;
and gave place to Miss Arabella; who kissing the forehead of her whom she
had so cruelly treated, could only say, to my cousin James, (looking upon
the corpse, and upon him,) O Brother!--While he, taking the fair,
lifeless hand, kissed it, and retreated with precipitation.
Her two uncles were speechless. They seemed to wait each other's
example, whether to look upon the corpse, or not. I ordered the lid to
be replaced; and then they pressed forward, as the others again did, to
take a last farewell of the casket which so lately contained so rich a
jewel.
Then it was that the grief of each found fluent expression; and the fair
corpse was addressed to, with all the tenderness that the sincerest love
and warmest admiration could inspire; each according to their different
degrees of relationship, as if none of them had before looked upon her.
She was their very niece, both uncles said! The injured saint, her uncle
Harlowe! The same smiling sister, Arabella!--The dear creature, all of
them!--The same benignity of countenance! The same sweet composure! The
same natural dignity!--She was questionless happy! That sweet smile
betokened her being so! themselves most unhappy!--And then, once more,
the brother took the lifeless hand, and vowed revenge upon it, on the
cursed author of all this distress.
The unhappy parents proposed to take one last view and farewell of their
once darling daughter. The father was got to the parlour-door, after the
inconsolable mother: but neither of them were able to enter it. The
mother said she must once more see the child of her heart, or she should
never enjoy herself. But they both agreed to refer their melancholy
curiosity till the next day; and hand in hand retired inconsolable,
speechless both, their faces overspread with woe, and turned from each
other, as unable each to behold the distress of the other.
When all were withdrawn, I retired, and sent for my cousin James, and
acquainted him with his sister's request in relation to the discourse to
be pronounced at her interment; telling him how necessary it was that the
minister, whoever he were, should have the earliest notice given him that
the case would admit. He lamented the death of the reverend Dr. Lewen,
who, as he said, was a great admirer of his sister, as she was of him,
and would have been the fittest of all men for that office. He spoke
with great asperity of Mr. Brand, upon whose light inquiry after his
sister's character in town he was willing to lay some of the blame due to
himself. Mr. Melvill, Dr. Lewen's assistant, must, he said, be the man;
and he praised him for his abilities; his elocution, and unexceptionable
manners; and promised to engage him early in the morning.
He called out his sister, and he was of his opinion. So I let this upon
them.
They both, with no little warmth, hinted their disapprobation of you,
Sir, for their sister's executor, on the score of your intimate
friendship with the author of her ruin.
You must not resent any thing I shall communicate to you of what they say
on this occasion: depending that you will not, I shall write with the
greater freedom.
I told them how much my dear cousin was obliged to your friendship and
humanity: the injunctions she had laid you under, and your own
inclination to observe them. I said, That you were a man of honour: that
you were desirous of consulting me, because you would not willingly give
offence to any of them: and that I was very fond of cultivating your
favour and correspondence.
They said there was no need of an executor out of their family; and they
hoped that you would relinquish so unnecessary a trust, as they called
it. My cousin James declared that he would write to you, as soon as the
funeral was over, to desire that you would do so, upon proper assurances
that all the will prescribed should be performed.
I said you were a man of resolution: that I thought he would hardly
succeed; for that you made a point of honour of it.
I then showed them their sister's posthumous letter to you; in which she
confesses her obligations to you, and regard for you, and for your future
welfare.* You may believe, Sir, they were extremely affected with the
perusal of it.
* See Letter XII. of this volume.
They were surprised that I had given up to you the produce of her
grandfather's estate since his death. I told them plainly that they must
thank themselves if any thing disagreeable to them occurred from their
sister's devise; deserted, and thrown into the hands of strangers, as she
had been.
They said they would report all I had said to their father and mother;
adding, that great as their trouble was, they found they had still more
to come. But if Mr. Belford were to be the executor of her will,
contrary to their hopes, they besought me to take the trouble of
transacting every thing with you; that a friend of the man to whom they
owed all their calamity might not appear to them.
They were extremely moved at the text their sister had chosen for the
subject of their funeral discourse.* I had extracted from the will that
article, supposing it probable that I might not so soon have an
opportunity to show them the will itself, as would otherwise have been
necessary, on account of the interment, which cannot be delayed.
* See the Will, in pg. 112 of this volume.