O! Primavera, gioventu del' anno,
Bella madre di fiori,
D'herbe novelle, e di novelli amori,
Tu torni ben ma teco
Non tornano i sereni
E fortunati di de le mie gioje.
Tu torni ben, tu torni
Ma teco altro non torna
Che del perduto mio caro tesoro,
La rimembranza misera e dolente.[9]
IL PASTOR FIDO.
[Footnote 9:
Delightful spring! youth of the year,
Thou blooming mother of the opening flowers,
The fresh'ning verdure, and the new-born loves--
Thou now returnest! But no second spring
Will e'er return of those serene delights,
That bless'd my fleeting hours of happiness--
Thou now return'st! But with thee nought returns
To my sad thoughts but renovated sorrow,
And bitter mem'ry of departed joys.
]
The Parsonage garden was now blooming in all the beauty of summer, and
the hedges had exchanged the fragrance of the violet for that of the
flaunting woodbine. Instead of a brisk walk of a bracing March evening,
its happy inmates enjoyed a sauntering ramble by the light of the newly
risen stars, over rich meadows, or through wooded glades and cheerful
valleys.
Mrs. Temple and Adelaide were one evening returning from such a walk:
every thing was at rest in the surrounding scene; the very flowers of
day had closed their corollas, and ceased to give forth their perfumes;
but the air was fragrant with the night-blowing orchis, and the new-mown
grass; and sometimes it brought to their ear the melody of the
nightingale, the hooting of the owl, or the hum of the night crow.
Such a scene is more favourable to meditation than discourse; and, when
speech is found, it more resembles thinking aloud than conversation. The
two friends had continued long in silence, when Mrs. Temple said, "I am
never so pious as in such a scene as this; my heart overflows with
gratitude to the Author of the spontaneous happiness, that, unsought,
seems to pour in on the mind." "Certainly the devotion of the heart is
most pure in such a temple," replied Adelaide; "I wonder the worship of
the air was not in ancient times more general. It appears to my mind the
best emblem of the deity, that man by reason alone can form;--it is
every where present, every where invisible; in it 'we live and move, and
have our being.' We confess its awful might in the storm, and feel its
beneficent power every moment of our lives." These and similar
reflections cheated the friends of their time till they reached the
Parsonage, where a light in the drawing-room informed them Mr. Temple
had returned from his ride. As they entered the room, he gave Adelaide
the long expected letter from Mrs. Sullivan; she hesitated for an
instant to open it, with that undefined dread we always feel on
receiving any communication from a person, whose good will we are
doubtful of possessing. However, on reading her letter, she was not a
little relieved to find it written in a style of unusual civility; but
was surprised beyond measure to find it request, or rather _desire_, her
to meet Mrs. Sullivan at Shrewsbury, from whence she intended proceeding
to Ireland, declining all discussion as to matters of business, till
their return to Webberly House. In her first surprise, she did not
perceive the short period of Mrs. Sullivan's intended absence from her
accustomed residence; but a confused picture of being taken to another
kingdom, and separated from the only people from whom she had any chance
of receiving kindness or protection, mixed with painful recollections
of her last journey, rose to her mind. Her first thought was not to go;
but she as quickly remembered, that Mrs. Sullivan's authority, as her
guardian, was indisputable; also that she ought no longer to trespass on
the hospitality of her kind hosts. The agitation of her countenance did
not escape Mrs. Temple's observation, but she forbore to notice it; and
Adelaide, commanding herself sufficiently to bid good night, retired to
her room.
When she read Mrs. Sullivan's letter more attentively a second time, she
smiled at the phantom she had raised to terrify herself; for she found
her guardian proposed returning home rather before she should be of age,
and that of course the dilemma, she had fancied would arise from her
being in Ireland without any positive claim on Mrs. Sullivan's
protection, would not occur.
Being convinced she could not avoid going to Ireland, her next
endeavour was to persuade herself the journey would not be unpleasant;
for it was always her custom to look for the best side of every thing
and every body: she therefore soon discovered, that becoming acquainted
with a country and a people she knew as little of as the Iroquois
tribes, would afford her more amusement, than spending another summer at
Webberly House. The civility of Mrs. Sullivan's letter was so striking,
that Adelaide began to think she had been too harsh in her judgment of
her character, and determined that her expedition should commence with a
voyage of discovery, to ascertain the unknown perfections of the mother
and daughters. A strong intellect may command the feelings, but the body
is not so obedient as the mind. Adelaide found, though she could compose
her thoughts to rest, she could not quiet her nerves to sleep, and
therefore got up with the sun; and taking a book to fix her ideas,
remained out of doors till Mrs. Temple's early breakfast hour.
At breakfast she read to her friends the subjoined letter from Mrs.
Sullivan. Notwithstanding all her distress of mind, it was with the
utmost difficulty she could command her countenance while she did so.
She omitted some passages, and slightly altered the wording of others;
but though her eyes during this time were perseveringly cast down, their
comical expression was not thus concealed; for the light that streamed
from beneath their half-closed lids was reflected on her cheek, and
brightened her whole countenance, displaying as unequivocally what
passed in her mind, as if she had directed to her auditors the most
meaning glances of arch drollery. She was too generous to wish to expose
Mrs. Sullivan's extreme ignorance to her friends, as it was exemplified
in this ill spelled, ill written scrawl. But she had yet another
secondary motive, which prompted her to screen it from their eyes; and
this trifling circumstance may perhaps explain her character more
effectually, than one of greater importance, in which nine rational
people out of ten would act alike.
She had but little vanity, yet from nature and education was proud in
the extreme. This ambiguous quality, partaking of vice and virtue, which
is "both perhaps or neither," was interwoven in the very texture of her
mind, was blended with many of her virtues and most of her errors, and
prompted her always to shield as much as possible from ridicule any
person she was even slightly connected with. Mrs. Temple was nearly as
much amused by the grave dignity of her countenance, when she looked up
after reading her letter, which seemed to say, "You ought not to laugh,"
as she had been by its droll expression a few moments before.
MRS. SULLIVAN TO MISS WILDENHEIM.
London, June 1st.----
My dear Miss Wildenheim,
I've received your letter, and am glad to hear your well: so is
Meelly and Cilly. I be sometimes troubled with the vind; but
howsomedever I gets my health middling. This comes to say we be all
a-going to Ireland with all speed; and I must _retreat_ and
_insist_ that you come two; and we can taulk all about what you
wrot me in March when we returns from them there outlandish parts.
But I'm in great hops Jack will mary his cozen Hannah Leatherly
after all, which I just menshion, as young girls be very apt to
think ever a man that looks after 'em be in love with 'em. But says
I to my eye, Addle Wildenheim has two much spirit of her own to
covet her neighbour's goods. So, my dear, if you'll meat us at
Shrovesbirry, I'll be excedin glad to be your shoprun; and we mean
to reeturn to Webberly House afore the time comes of your mynoritie
been over; so till then I wont here taulk of your chousing no other
garden.
We be a goin to see Mr. Sullivan and his sister, for he thinks he's
a going to put on his wooden great coat, so he's anxshious to see
my little Carline, for it's quite natral he shoud desire to see his
nearest akin; and so we shoud a gone six weeks ago, only for
certain good raisins that made us wish to stay over Lady
Ashbrooke's bawll, which was three nights ago. But no good come off
it, after all. Some folks are so fine and so sassy, they'd turn up
their noses at their own bread and butter. But every dog has his
day, and Carline may be as grate a airass as no other guess parson.
So now I conclude with complements to Mr. and Mrs. Temple. I'll
send John Arding to retort you from Webberly House to Shrovesbirry,
and so you may expect him in less than a weak. You must come in
the post-shay; and you'd better bring your made Lamotte with you,
but you must send her back from Shrovesbirry (mind I'm at no costs
for her jurney); for I can't take but one made to attend both you
and I. Seeing she can taulk no English, she'd be of small sarvice
to I. I've got a stout girl to do our turn. You must pay half the
wagers and travailing expences, and I'll charge you naught for her
wittals; for d'ye mind me, Mr. Sullivan will see to that, which
will be all the better for you: a penny saved is a penny got, as my
poor father tot me betimes. I'll send Mrs. Harris home to Webberly,
(so she'll keep kumpany with Lamotte); for she'll be wanted to do
the sweetmeats and pikchols this summer; and I wish, my dear, you'd
wright word to John Gardiner, to sell all the fruit at Deane which
isn't vaunted for persarvin; and I expect a good account when I go
home. So hopping to met you at Shrovesbirry without fail,
I remane your affectionate friend,
HANNAH SULLIVAN.
P.S.--I'm sure you'd be very sory to take Lamotte to Ireland,
you've tot her such bad kustoms, becase she's lived with you since
you was a year old. She'd be 'mazed attendin I. You no I be's a
bustling body, and a trifle hasty; but I'm nothing the worse for
having a good spirit of my own.
Adelaide's delicacy prevented her from allowing her friends to suppose
she had any dislike to accompanying Mrs. Sullivan to Ireland, well
knowing that if they were aware of it, they would apply to her guardian
for permission to protract her stay at the Parsonage; and she succeeded
in impressing them with an idea, that the project was far from
unpleasant to her. This matter being discussed, they gave her a pressing
invitation to spend the following winter with them, during which time
Mr. Temple promised, if she gave him authority so to do, to use his best
endeavours either to procure her reception by her family, or an eligible
abode, wherever she might wish to fix her residence; also authorizing
her, should she find herself in any dilemma previous to her return, to
apply to him for whatever assistance she might require. The worthy
rector soon interrupted Adelaide's warm acknowledgements for his present
and past kindness, by saying, "I hope this delightful scheme, to which
Mrs. Temple and I look forward with so much pleasure, will not be
prevented by your being run away with by some fine fellow at the other
side of the channel. Joking apart," said he seriously, "there is an
English gentleman, who is as much in love as his nature will suffer him
to be, to whom I hope no consideration will ever tempt you to unite
yourself." Adelaide blushed and blushed, till the tears stood in her
eyes. Mr. Temple looked at her with astonishment; "Is it possible!"
thought he: "You may think me impertinent, Miss Wildenheim, but I know
you never contemn the advice of experience and friendship. It would be
heart-rending to see you so thrown away;--such a total dissimilarity of
character can never produce happiness. You are beings of a different
sphere. The moment in which you marry Mr. Webberly, you sign the misery
of your whole life." The expression of her countenance was now quite
changed, and the few calm words she spoke, convinced her reverend
adviser she _then_ felt convinced she could never marry Mr. Webberly.
But he had, in the course of his life, seen so many strange matches
made, that the word "amazement" in matrimony had to him lost its
meaning; particularly as he had so often known it commence without
"dearly beloved" on the part of either of the persons concerned; and
still having some little distrust of the future, he would sincerely have
rejoiced to hear, that Mr. Webberly had done Miss Leatherly the honour
of making her his wife. When Adelaide retired after breakfast, Mr.
Temple questioned his wife as to the possibility of her having become
attached to Augustus Mordaunt, whom she had frequently met at the
Rectory. "What vain creatures you men are!" said she: "A girl can't
spend a sleepless night, and be a little agitated by an unexpected
change in her plans, but you must suppose her colour comes and goes in
the intermittent fits of a love fever." "You may quiz, Charlotte, but I
assure you, when Miss Wildenheim used to meet Augustus here, her eyes
told more than her tongue." "Then believe me, they told intolerable
stories! No young woman of good sense, or good conduct, will ever love a
man, who does not show her the most unequivocal preference. After all,
what is called love has its residence more in the brain than the heart.
Believe me, Adelaide is no such fool; she has strength of mind to
conquer even a reciprocal attachment, if necessary. She has a great deal
of feeling, with an equal portion of reason and reflection; but I think
her _imagination_ is rather in the minority, at least it takes its rise
from her feelings, not her feelings from it." "Well, Charlotte, you may
think an attachment a very silly thing now; but, you know, you were in
love once yourself." "Never with you, I assure you: you know, my dear,
that was impossible, for you were old enough to have passed for my
father when we married. I had always too much respect for your
reverence. Yet I don't think I have made the worse wife, because I never
mistook you for a Strephon, but saw from the first you were a good,
plain, steady country parson." "And but for this good, plain, steady
country parson, Charlotte," said he, "you would never have been the
estimable woman you now are. But to return to Miss Wildenheim: what is
it that distresses her? You are clear there is nobody in England she is
sorry to leave behind." "Pardon me; I think she is very sorry to leave
us." "That I take for granted; but on the whole she seems pleased with
her expedition. Perhaps she is unprepared to meet so unexpected a demand
on her purse; and Mrs. Sullivan's elegant epistle does not say a word on
the subject of money:--she should have had more consideration! I will
make an estimate of what the journey to Shrewsbury will cost her--will
you give it to her, and say I shall be happy to advance what money she
may require." "That I will," replied Mrs. Temple; "Poor thing! I'm sure
she would die before she would ask Mrs. Sullivan--at least _I_ should,
without doubt." When Mr. Temple made out his memorandum, and his wife
giving it to Adelaide repeated his offer, she was so touched by this
new instance of her friend's kindness, that she could not for a short
time reply to Mrs. Temple; but pressing her hand with the earnestness of
gratitude, remained silent for an instant, and then, both by word and
look, expressed her grateful sense of all the benefits they had bestowed
on her. "In the present instance, however," said she, "I need not
trespass on Mr. Temple's goodness; I assure you I am quite rich,
sufficiently so to make this unexpected journey no inconvenience."
"Nobody is rich now-a-days," said Mrs. Temple; "in such an extravagant
family how have you managed, my dear Adele, to get into such a good
condition of purse?" "When I was first at Webberly House, I was too
unhappy to have any fancies to indulge; and as soon as by your
benevolent care I recovered from my primary state of stupefaction, I
became so terrified at my unprotected situation, that I determined to
provide for any emergency that might occur, by limiting my expenditure
as much as possible. Impressed with these fears, I _dared_ not give
myself habits of extravagance. I assure you I have been economical
almost to parsimony." "Your poor pensioners do not say so," rejoined
Mrs. Temple, in a tone of affectionate approbation.--"I do not think it
permissible, my dear Mrs. Temple, to provide for future wants by the
neglect of present duties. I look upon charity in proportion to our
means, as a necessity as indispensable to our condition as daily food
and raiment; a due portion of whatever fund procures the one, ought
surely to provide for the other." "You are a singular girl," said Mrs.
Temple; "I will apply to you Goldsmith's epitaph on Dr. Bernard:--
"If you have any faults, you have left us in doubt,
At least in six weeks I could not find them out."
The few days Adelaide had to spend at the Parsonage flew most rapidly
away. She saw the dreaded morning arrive, in which she was to commence
her journey, with a heavy heart, and perhaps those she was to leave
behind were yet more sorrowful than herself. In the separation of
friends, those who depart are never half so much to be pitied as those
who remain. Change of scene, motion, and fatigue, insensibly divert the
former; but the latter have nothing new to fill up the uncomfortable
void they feel. It is long before the eye ceases to look for the beloved
face it has been used to gaze on, or the ear unconsciously to expect the
well-known voice or step. The children had bid farewell to Adelaide the
night before, not without many pressing entreaties for her speedy
return; but the father and mother got up at a very early hour, to take
leave of her on the morning of her departure. At the sight of Mrs.
Temple she could no longer control her feelings, but threw herself in
an agony of sorrow into her arms, saying, it was her fate always to be
torn from what was dear to her in life, and that she should know nothing
like happiness till she saw her again. Mr. Temple, seeing her make a
great effort to restrain her tears, said, "Do not, my dear young friend,
suppress the expression of your sorrow; here are those who respect your
tears--they are most natural to your age and sex. You have too much the
habit of suppressing your own feelings, to avoid distressing those of
others. We shall all meet happily again in a few months, and then your
connection with that unamiable family will cease. You are too deserving
of happiness not to meet with it;--indeed you will find it in your own
mind, when you recover from the first shock of the heavy affliction it
has pleased Providence to assign you. You may, if it is any consolation,
take with you an old man's blessing; whose utmost wish would be
gratified in having a daughter to resemble you." Mrs. Temple, who had
been nearly as much comforted by his commendation as Adelaide, now said,
"Rouse yourself, my dear girl, and look at all those impertinent
Webberlys, as much as to say, 'I hold ye in sovereign, contempt.' I wish
you were not content, with _feeling_ your own superiority, but would
occasionally assert it. I should like to see them smarting under the
power of ridicule certain arch smiles have told me you possess--indeed,
indeed, my dear, you are righteous over much: do oblige me, and be a
little spiteful."
By the time breakfast was over, Adelaide's spirits were comforted by Mr.
Temple, and rallied by his wife. Though she could not trust herself to
say, "Good bye," she stept into the carriage with tolerable composure;
but when she lost sight of them and their cheerful abode, she
experienced an acuteness of sorrow she some time before had thought she
was as incapable of ever feeling again, as an equal degree of joy.
When the carriage drove away, Mr. Temple made a speedy retreat into his
study; and the traces of tears were still visible on his wife's face,
when they met at dinner.