VIOLET OSBORNE.
VOL. II.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
BY
THE LADY EMILY PONSONBY,
AUTHOR OF
“THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,”
“MARY LYNDSAY,”
&c., &c.
“... All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”
GEORGE HERBERT.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1865.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE,
BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
CHAPTER I.
“He praised his lucky stars that in his place
He never found neglect nor felt disgrace;
To do his duty was his soul’s delight,
This his inferiors would to theirs excite,
This his superiors notice and requite.
To either class he gave the praises due,
And still more grateful as more favoured grew.”
CRABBE.
The next morning dawned in brightness. It was again a frost, not a hard
but a brilliant frost. The sky was blue and clear, the sun shone on the
frosty trees and sparkled on the rimy grass, and again Violet peered
out of the windows to see what could be seen.
Across the grass plot the Cottage (for it was but a cottage, though a
large one) looked out on the high road, on each side of which stood
clumps of trees; but between the clumps a good view of the distant
country was to be seen--the hill and dale, broken banks and fertile
fields, that Violet remembered. And far away, fading into the sky, were
soft rounded blue hills, making a background to the scene.
Violet’s soul, which, on the evening before, had felt so “cabined,
cribbed, confined,” swelled and expanded as she gazed.
“Oh! papa, this is lovely, is it not?” she said in ecstasy. “Didn’t I
say truly?--didn’t I remember well?--shall we not be happy here?”
“Yes, darling,” he said cordially, looking into her dark blue eyes, and
feeling that, while they shone, as at that moment they did, he must be
happy.
She occupied an hour or two of the morning in _dis_arranging the
furniture, in setting out such of her own and her mother’s pretty
things as had escaped from the spoil, and in giving a look of home and
comfort to the house. It was quite fresh and clean, and, while the
country without looked so tempting, Violet could close her eyes to the
fact that the rooms were small and low, and the windows few and far
between.
Before this occupation was well concluded, her father called her to
walk with him, and, hopeful and happy, she obeyed.
They strolled forth, and certainly Violet’s vivid fancy had hardly
beautified the beauties of the neighbourhood--beauties tranquil,
homelike, and thoroughly English, yet with just that degree of
_markedness_ in the features which gives picturesque and even poetic
colouring to a spot. There were the nests of cottages, which looked so
bright and peaceful that a thought of sin or sorrow connected with them
was out of place. There was the old church, a very beautiful specimen
of early Gothic; and close beside, the old brick almshouses, the
ancient inhabitants of which, in a dress the perfection of neatness,
sat at their doors.
A feature which she did not remember was a new schoolhouse, very
tastefully though simply built; and this feature, speaking as it did
of care and thought exercised over the place, and the intrusion of
modern notions and maxims, was not unwelcome to her.
She nodded to the old men and women, turning her bright beautiful face
towards them as she passed, and received in return bows and curtsies so
respectful, that she walked on happier and happier, picturing all the
kind smiles she might give and thoughtful deeds she might do.
Though brought up in London, Violet was a great walker; and Mr.
Osborne, who never went on a horse or in a carriage when his own
legs could bear him, was a perfect companion for her vigorous youth.
They wandered on, in and out, groping through lanes, and groping out
of them again; and without leaving the sphere of the village found
beauties sufficient to satisfy the most fastidious mind.
“Now for a quick walk along the high road and home again!” said Mr.
Osborne, and passing their own cottage they climbed a steep hill on the
opposite side.
This hill enlarged the field of their observation. It took them by
surprise. Though in fact a part of the same vale, it was presented
under features so new and so interesting that they stood still to gaze.
One large white house was distinctly seen, not a mile off, and from the
columns of smoke that arose from a bank of trees in another spot, it
was to be surmised that there were more.
“Here, boy, whose house is that?” inquired Mr. Osborne of a big boy in
a smock frock, who passed whistling down the road.
“Ask me no questions and I’se tell ye no lies,” he said surlily in his
broad dialect, and walked on.
Mr. Osborne was nettled; the boy looked pertly back, and Violet smiled
and shook her head at him.
As if mollified by that kindly smile, he paused and said,
“I be’s in a hurry, mum, but there comes the parson, and _he’ll_ speak,
I’ll be bound.”
With his thumb he pointed to a portly gentleman who was slowly
approaching on the other side, and with the same outstretched thumb
pointing to his cap, by way of a bow, he set off again, not so
hurriedly, however, but that he paused more than once to see what took
place.
Violet looked curiously towards the approaching rector. In the course
of their walk she had expressed to her father her great desire to know
a really good clergyman. “Such a one as one reads of,” she said; and as
she looked at the beautiful church and pretty parsonage, she felt as if
here it would be to be found.
He was a portly man of about fifty, and Violet, who had set her heart
on a spare and thin one, was disappointed; but she had hardly had
time to feel her disappointment before the beaming benevolence of his
countenance took her heart by storm. In vivid fancy she was already
looking up to him as her wise friend and kind adviser.
He came up to them very courteously, paused, took off his hat, and said,
“Strangers, I believe?”
“Strangers now, but not to be so long,” said Mr. Osborne, as
courteously. “I am Mr. Osborne, who arrived last night, and this is my
daughter.”
The rector took off his hat again, bowed to Violet, and then said--
“It may be agreeable to you to know the person you are addressing. My
name is Pope. I am the rector of this parish. I have lived for many
years, and trust to live many more in this spot, which I have no doubt
you will agree with me in denominating a paradise on earth.”
“Yes, it is lovely!” said Violet, warmly.
“My lot is an enviable one, no doubt,” he continued. “I have good
reason to say I am content.”
The beaming expression of content again charmed Violet.
“What a good and happy man!” she thought, and sighed.
“I just now inquired of one of your parishioners the name of the
owner of that house,” said Mr. Osborne, pointing, eager to satisfy
his curiosity, to the large white building in the vale; “he somewhat
pertly declined to answer, but referred us to you. Can you give me the
information I want.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Pope. “Country manners, Mr. Osborne, are not those
of the metropolis, but I am thankful to say the manners of our people
on the whole are good. We are most fortunately placed here, something
of modern refinement mingling with the simplicity of more primitive
times.”
“I did not mean to complain of them,” Mr. Osborne said, smiling; “I
only wished to refer my question to you, if you will kindly answer it.
Whose house is that?”
“As the morning is chilly, perhaps you will allow me to walk on with
you, though I agree with you in thinking our view over these hills and
dales an attraction more than compensating for a slight degree of cold.”
He raised his hands over his brows, looked with a smile of broad
satisfaction on the attractive scene, and then put his portly frame in
motion.
“Bless the man,” said Mr. Osborne, not very respectfully to himself,
“will he never give me an answer?”
“You will not answer papa’s question,” Violet said, smiling. “Is there
any mystery about that house?”
“Oh! by no means, Miss Osborne. I was about to answer you, and you
could address your inquiries regarding the neighbourhood to no better
person than myself. I am, I am thankful to say, on good terms with all.
Such I believe to be the duty of a good pastor, and I have endeavoured
to act up to my duty in this point as in others.”
Violet looked at her father. He made an answering sign of despair, but
the communication which could not be obtained as a reply came, at last,
in the form of a narration. Walking slowly on, Mr. Pope observed:
“The proprietor of a large part of our village is Lord Ashford. He is
also the owner of that house, and the country on the eastern side; the
ground on which you tread at this moment, and a smaller property lying
to the west, belongs to Sir William Hamilton. You can observe the smoke
of his chimneys among the trees yonder.”
“Yes, and a good deal of it,” said Mr. Osborne, smiling. “Are they
cooking a dinner for a dozen children?”
“Only one, Mr. Osborne. A young daughter of eleven or twelve years
old; but there is a large establishment, and a wasteful one; no Lady
Hamilton to order and control a household. Sir William Hamilton is a
peculiar character. I may certainly say so. A handsome man, a talented
man, a lover of art, a fine ear for music; but still a peculiar
character. He is, in short, rarely seen. We are on the best of terms.
My sense of duty would never allow it to be otherwise; but he lives to
himself alone.”
“And Lord Ashford, has he a large family?” inquired Mr. Osborne.
“Not so. A sickly lady, never seen by the world in general, and a son
of seventeen or eighteen years old, who is scarcely ever at home.
The fact is, Mr. Vane is supposed to resent the neglect with which
his mother is treated, and to condemn altogether his father’s line
of conduct. I say such is supposed to be the case, but Mr. Vane is
a reserved and silent youth, and I may say of him as I did of Sir
William Hamilton, he lives to himself.”
“You do not seem very fortunate in your neighbours,” Violet remarked,
with disappointment in her tone.
“We are so peculiarly blest, I am so singularly fortunate in every
other point, that I do not allow myself to make such an observation.
No doubt human nature is not absolutely perfect; and I believe even
in the brightest lot some cloud may be seen; even Haman in his glory,
as we know, had his Mordecai. Far be it from me, however, to suggest
that such is my case. In answer to your observation, Miss Osborne,
I merely reply that if there is a cloud in my sky, it proceeds from
the absence of companionable qualities in my neighbours; in those,
at least, of rank and name. Lord Ashford is a peculiar character, so
is Lady Ashford; decidedly so. Lady Ashford is a saint; perhaps it
proceeds from circumstances, but she is without doubt a saint. Being
so, she is decidedly unfit to be Lord Ashford’s wife. Lord Ashford
is an amiable man, cheerful in temper, and generous to wastefulness;
but considered in a moral and religious light, he may be denominated
a peculiar character. Without meaning to be censorious, I speak the
common language of the world when I say so. If there be, however,
objections to the human character of this region, there is none to the
divine character of the landscape; from east to west,” and he waved his
hand, “no spot or blemish. Surely Miss Osborne you must agree with me
that mine is an enviable lot?”
“I am sure I do,” Violet said, smiling.
“Situated in this sweet, secluded spot, at once adorned by the hands of
God and man, my occupation in life a sacred one, my aim to do good, my
taste to give happiness, surrounded by a peasantry attached to me by
the ties of gratitude and respect, my lot is indeed an enviable one,
and, as few men can say, _I am content_.”
As they walked through the village, Mr. Pope paused incessantly to call
their attention to the beauties and advantages of the place; to the new
schoolhouse, built by Lady Ashford and Mr. Vane at _his_ suggestion;
to the restorations in the old church, made by Sir William Hamilton at
_his_ request; to the gardens neatly kept because _he_ encouraged a
taste for flowers, &c., &c.
Though her first admiration for his benevolent smile was somewhat
damped, the courteous manners and kindly expressions of the rector
emboldened Violet to make some requests to him. She was longing to be
of use in her new world, and before they parted she told him so.
“If there is anything I could do,” she said, with warmth, “you have
only to employ me, and I shall be thankful.”
“Thank you, Miss Osborne,” he replied with his broad beaming smile;
“but we are so highly blest in this spot, that I should find it hard
to say in what manner our condition could be improved. When you have
lived a few weeks amongst us, you will agree with me in saying that you
have found a paradise on earth.”
“I did not mean any great thing,” Violet said, eagerly; “I meant only
such things as must always be useful. If you ever wanted any help in
the school, or if you have any poor old men and women, or sick people,
I should be so glad to visit them, and read to them.”
“You are very good, Miss Osborne, but I am thankful to say that in this
happy spot our wants are all supplied. I have been fortunate enough to
find a first-rate schoolmistress, and lest any should be neglected, I,
in conjunction with a neighbouring clergyman, have made arrangements
with a respectable person, who visits the sick in the manner you
mention. You are very good, but I believe you will find that here you
may rest on your oars.”
Violet said no more. Mr. Pope accompanied her and Mr. Osborne to the
door, expressed his intention of shortly calling on Mrs. Osborne, and
putting himself and Mrs. Pope at her service; and then with a smile of
unfeigned benevolence withdrew.
Mr. Osborne laughed as they entered the house, and merrily repeated to
Mrs. Osborne the chief part of the conversation. Violet laughed too,
but her heart was sad.