Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: THE ADOPTED CHILD.
_It was now Anna's turn to support her father. page 139_]
THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER,
A TALE FOR
YOUNG PERSONS.
BY MISS SANDHAM,
_Author of "The Twin Sisters," "William Selwyn," and many
other Approved Works._
"You took me up a tender flower."
_SECOND EDITION._
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS AND SON,
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
1822.
LONDON
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.
PREFACE.
The following tale is intended to shew what people ought to be, rather
than what they are; as there are few, possessing Mrs. Meridith's
fortune, who have an inclination to dispose of it in the manner she is
represented to have done. Indeed, the characters here introduced are too
near perfection to be met with in real life, yet the Author hopes that
her young readers will receive instruction, as well as amusement, in
perusing it.
Some of the incidents may have been before introduced in works of the
same kind; though she is not aware of plagiarism, or borrowing from
other authors, and as she has endeavoured to pourtray those smaller
delineations of character which often escape a general observer, she
hopes many of the ideas will be found to be new; and that the present
work will not lesson the favour which her former publications has so
abundantly met with; and which she holds in grateful estimation.
THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
"You took me up a tender flower."
Mrs. Meridith was the heiress of two considerable estates, one of which
was in Sussex, on which she was born, and where, at the commencement
of this history, she came to reside: her earliest and happiest days of
childhood had been spent in the village adjoining, where she was nursed
by a respectable farmer's wife, having had the misfortune to lose her
mother, who died in bringing her into the world. Various sorrows,
and the loss of an affectionate husband very early in life, made Mrs.
Meridith prefer the quiet scenes of the country to the glitter of
dissipation, or the more uniform amusements of a provincial town; and
on entering Rosewood, the name of her estate, she hoped to lose the
remembrance of her distresses, which had hitherto heavily oppressed her,
in endeavouring to alleviate those of her tenants and the neighbouring
poor. Her father, Mr. Woodville, was a great fox-hunter, and on the
death of his wife, which he did not feel so keenly as might be expected
from the amiable character she possessed, earnestly entreated Mrs.
Campbell, who was the wife of his favourite tenant, to take charge of
the helpless infant. He could have wished she had been a boy, as she
was his only child; "yet," said he, "she must be taken care of, though
a female, and I will not injure the fortune to which she will be
entitled; and by and by, when she is old enough, I shall be glad to see
her at the head of my table;" but while she was a baby, he thought if
he entrusted her to a careful nurse, such as he was sure Mrs. Campbell
would be, it was all that could be required of him. Nor was he desirous
of having her in his own house, but perfectly satisfied that she should
be removed to the farm, where he could see her as often as he wished.
He frequently called on his return from the chace, and repeated his
thanks to Mrs. Campbell for her kind attention to his child, earnestly
requesting her not to want any thing which his house afforded; but Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell were above want, and possessed every comfort which
their moderate wishes required, so that, except the allotted stipend
which Mr. Woodville engaged to pay, she sought no other recompence, and
seldom went to Rosewood, but when its owner was confined by accident or
illness, and wished his daughter to be brought to him.
She continued with the farmer and his wife till nearly six years old,
regarding them as parents, and loving them equally with her father,
who, as she advanced in childhood, grew more attached to her, and,
pleased with her winning ways, he never came to the farm without some
new toy, or sweetmeat, or sugar-plums, the servants at home being
ordered to have something nice always in readiness for him to take to
their young mistress. These repeated presents insured him a welcome
from his daughter, nor did he suspect that he was buying that love
which she freely bestowed on her mammy Campbell, for so she styled her
affectionate nurse. The little girl who was her foster sister always
shared in these favours, and another part was put by for the boys till
their return from school, and whom she looked upon as her brothers.
It was the eldest of these boys who now occupied the farm on which Mrs.
Meridith had spent her infant days; his father and mother were both
dead, and he had taken a long lease of it just before that lady came
into possession of the estate. Mr. Woodville had been dead some years,
but Mrs. Meridith had not visited Rosewood since that event, nor after
her marriage till now, being deprived of her husband, with whom she
had lived on her other estate in Lincolnshire, she turned her thoughts
to Rosewood, where she hoped to forget her grief, and if any of the
companions of her childhood were living, she could by adding to their
comforts, increase her own. Here she found not the farmer Campbell she
had formerly called her father, but his son, whom she once loved as a
brother; her good old nurse had died a few years before, and her foster
sister also, but the latter had left a child, which the present Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell brought up as their own. There were but two houses
of any size in the village of Downash, except the parsonage, which was
occasionally occupied by the vicar, a single man, who lost the pleasure
he might have found in assisting those whom he professed to take the
care of, in drinking and visiting the neighbouring towns, as often as
his situation would allow: the others were occupied by farmer Campbell
and farmer Ward, who divided the arable land of Mrs. Meridith's estate
between them, and the cottages of their labourers formed what was called
the street. No sooner was Mrs. Meridith settled at Rosewood, than she
felt the ties of affection renewed which had bound her to it in infancy,
and she felt the truth of the following observation--
"Meanwhile returning to our native hearth,
"How keen the pleasure that our grief repays,
"When drinking every gale from kindred earth,
"As redolent of youth's refreshing days,
"Fancy the wonders of her art displays,
"And o'er each object we in absence mourn'd,
"Shedding the richness of her fairy rays;
"Bids e'en the little hedge-row that we scorn'd,
"Rise in a mellow light, by some new tint adorn'd."
_Local Attachment._
and she determined to seek for happiness once more within its precincts.
"Often as I have been disappointed in the search," said she, "and
severely as I have felt its loss, let me at least endeavour to use those
blessings yet left me for the good of others: and is wealth alone the
only blessing left me?" continued she, as she walked pensively up and
down the avenue which led to her house. "Alas! I have now no relations
whom I can share it with, no one whom I can call an intimate friend!
My fortune would make many profess to be such, but I have proved the
fallacy of such friendship, and know on what ground they are formed. I
will seek the Campbells: if they are like their parents, they will not
be parasites, for they were content with little, and thought the bread
they ate the sweeter for being procured by their own industry." With
these sentiments she called at the farm, within a few weeks after her
arrival at Rosewood, and found Mr. and Mrs. Campbell sensible of her
condescension, though not servilely so. They were both well informed,
and paid her the respect which was due to her as the owner of their
farm; nor were they ashamed to acknowledge her their superior, not only
from her possessing more money, but from the difference the distinctions
of society had made between them. She found the farmer sitting with two
children on his knee, and his wife with an infant on hers, in the very
place where the late Mrs. Campbell used to sit, and to whom she had
often ran with the sweet things her father brought her while a child
under her care. The shelves, the chairs, and oaken tables were the same
as when she lived there, except that several books were added to the
simple library her foster parents possessed. On entering the room quite
unexpectedly, she was not at first recollected as the lady they had seen
at church the Sunday before; her face was particularly expressive, but
it was marked with melancholy; and her voice faltered as she apologized
for her abruptness; nor could she refrain from tears on observing the
extreme likeness of the farmer to his good old mother, whose features
she perfectly recollected. "It is Mrs. Meridith!" said he, on seeing her
advance farther into their large stone kitchen; and setting the children
on their feet, who were lost in astonishment at the appearance of a
stranger, he jumped up and hastened to offer her a chair. Mrs. Campbell
also rose, and remarking the agitation of her countenance, imagined that
something had alarmed her, and she had fled to their house for shelter.
"Will you take any thing, Ma'am?" said she, "I am sure you are very
much frightened."
"No, no," replied Mrs. Meridith, "but the recollection of old times
and old friends were at the moment almost too much for me; these
walls and that face are no strangers to me:--do you not recollect me,
Mr. Campbell?" continued she, holding out her hand to him. With a
countenance expressive of pleasure, yet with the utmost respect, he took
her offered hand.
"Certainly, Ma'am, I do," he replied, "and esteem myself obliged that
you should still remember me."
"Alas!" said she with a sigh, "the loss of so many later friends has
made me wish to see those of an earlier date; not that I did not often
think of those I left at the farm, and only wish there were now more
of them for me to meet. Your dear mother I know is dead; but my sister
Anna, where is she? Ah! that little girl puts me in mind of her--and of
a still dearer tie," added she, with a sigh half suppressed, while her
eyes were suffused with tears.
"It is her child, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell; "I lost my sister when
she was born, and she is ours now."
"Poor little thing," said Mrs. Meridith, drawing the child towards her,
"your mother dead also! May you find in the present Mrs. Campbell as
kind a nurse as I did in the former, and you will not know your loss.
But your brother," continued she, "is he living?"
"Yes, Madam, and has taken a farm about fourteen miles from hence, and
is married."
"My poor Anna!" repeated Mrs. Meridith, "how sorry I am that you are not
here! she was the only one I ever called sister, Mr. Campbell: who did
she marry?"
"A young man from the neighbouring town, Madam; but he was far from
a kind husband to her: she lived with him but little more than a
twelvemonth, and I fear it hastened her death, for she was so beloved by
her own family, that she felt his unkindness doubly keen. This little
one is now three years old; on her death-bed she begged us to take it,
and its unnatural father has never inquired for it since; nor have we
heard of him, except that he was gone as a soldier or a sailor, and
perhaps ere this is dead in battle."
The little girl looked hard at him as he related this tale, seeming not
to understand of whom he spoke, but as if wishing to be certain it was
not herself, she took him by the hand with an inquiring look, saying,
"_You_ are _my_ father, a'nt you?"
"Yes, my dear, and always will be a father to you," he replied, with an
affectionate kiss. "But give me leave, Madam," added he, "to introduce
my wife to you," who still stood contemplating the features of the lady,
and hushing the baby in her arms, who seemed disposed to cry at a scene
so new to her.
"Did I not know her, when a child?" asked Mrs. Meredith.
"I believe not, madam; her name was Dallwyn, and her father the owner of
the farm my brother occupies."
"I can only say, that I shall be happy to know more of her," returned
their kind visitor, "and to see her often. Thirty years have not
obliterated the kindness of your family from my memory, and I cannot
forget that to your mother's care I owe my preservation in childhood.
Neither have I forgot your own efforts to please me, when I used to call
you my brother William; you were always kind."
"And you were so to me, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, with a smile;
"that shelf (pointing to the place where she used to deposit the sweet
things she reserved for her _brothers_ on their return from school)
often reminds me of you."
Mrs. Meridith smiled also. "Ah! those were happy days," said she; "would
I could forget many that has intervened!"
"Madam, I am sorry any of your days should have been less happy,"
replied the farmer, "but let us hope that there are yet happier ones in
store."
Mrs. Meridith felt that the soothing voice of friendship, though from so
humble an individual, was a cordial to her heart, and she thanked him
for expressing it. "I wish," said she, "to forget all distinctions of
rank between us, for I have found very little to recompense me for the
trouble these have given; and for the future I hope you and your wife
will look on me as your friend, and treat me as such."
"Your friendship, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, "I should be ungrateful
not to prize, and I hope I shall do nothing to forfeit it; but though
you are so kind as to forget the distinction there is between us, I
trust we never shall. Consider _us_, Madam, as the most faithful of
your servants, and from our knowledge of each other in our younger days,
believe me the most attached of your tenants."
Mrs. Meridith, after walking over the garden and visiting the barn, in
which, when a child, she used to play with Anna and her brothers, fixed
a day for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to dine with her; and retired with a
sighing heart, yet not unmixed with pleasure at having found a friend.
"Perhaps," said she to herself, "in these humble acquaintance I may find
more real pleasure, and greater gratitude than in more refined society:
had his mother been alive, I should have been happy to have made her
comfortable; but at least I will do good to her sons. I know perhaps
better than I did how to bestow what is useful, and money I have in
plenty. May I be enabled to make a right use of it."
She returned home more at ease than she had felt for some time, and
resolved to exert herself for the people of the village. "But it
shall be by employing them," thought she, and she immediately planned
several alterations in her gardens and pleasure grounds, and ordered her
servants to employ all the old men and boys who were at that time out of
work about them.