Early one fine morning, Ann tapped gently at the door of my chamber; I
had already risen, and invited her to enter.
'Would I accompany her to breakfast, with a widow lady, who resided in a
village about two miles from Morton Park, an occasional visitant in the
family, a lady with whom, she was certain, I should be charmed.'
I smiled at her ardour, thanked her for her kindness, and readily agreed
to her proposal. We strolled together through an adjacent wood, which,
by a shady and winding path, conducted us towards the residence of this
vaunted favourite of my little companion.
On our way, she entertained me with a slight sketch of the history of
Mrs Harley and her family. She was the widow of a merchant, who was
supposed to possess great property; but, practising occasionally as an
underwriter, a considerable capture by the enemy (during war time) of
some rich ships, reduced his fortune; and, by the consequent anxiety,
completely destroyed a before debilitated constitution. He died in a few
weeks after the confirmation of his loss, and, having neglected to make
a will, a freehold estate of some value, which was all that remained of
his effects, devolved of course to his eldest son; his two younger sons
and three daughters being left wholly unprovided for. Augustus Harley,
the heir, immediately sold the estate, and divided the produce, in equal
shares, between each individual of the family. His brothers had been
educated for commerce, and were enabled, through the generous kindness
of Augustus, to carry on, with advantage and reputation, their
respective occupations; the sisters were, soon after, eligibly married.
Augustus, who had been educated for the law, disgusted with its
chicanery, relinquished the profession, content to restrain his expences
within the limits of a narrow income. This income had since received an
increase, by the bequest of a distant relation, a man of a whimsical
character, who had married, early in life, a beautiful woman, for love;
but his wife having eloped from him with an officer, and, in the course
of the intrigue, practised a variety of deceptions, he had retired
disgusted from society, cherishing a misanthropical spirit: and, on his
decease, bequeathed an annual sum of four hundred pounds to Augustus
Harley (to whom in his childhood he had been particularly attached) on
condition of his remaining unmarried. On his marriage, or death, this
legacy passed into another branch of the family. On this acquisition
Augustus determined on making the tour of Europe; and, after travelling
on the continent for three years, on his return to his native country,
alternately resided, either in the village of----, with his mother, or
in the metropolis, where he divided his time, between liberal studies,
and rational recreation. His visits to the country had, of late,
been shorter and less frequent: he was the idol of his mother, and
universally respected by his acquaintance, for his noble and generous
conduct.--'Ah!' (added the lively narrator) 'could you but see Augustus
Harley, you would, infallibly, lose your heart--so frank, so pleasant,
so ingenuous are his manners, so intrepid, and yet so humane! Montague
is a fine gentleman, but Augustus Harley is more--_he is a man!_'
She began to grow eloquent on this, apparently, exhaustless theme, nor
did she cease her panegyric till we came in view of Mrs Harley's
mansion.
'You will love the mother as well as the son,' continued this agreeable
prattler, 'when you come to know her; she is very good and very
sensible.'
Drawing near the house, she tripped from me, to enquire if its mistress
had yet risen.
A small white tenement, half obscured in shrubbery, on a verdant lawn,
of dimensions equally modest, situated on the side of a hill, and
commanding an extensive and variegated prospect, was too interesting
and picturesque an object, not to engage for some moments my attention.
The image of Augustus, also, which my lively companion had pourtrayed
with more than her usual vivacity, played in my fancy--my heart paid
involuntary homage to virtue, and I entered the mansion of Mrs Harley
with a swelling emotion, made up of complicated feelings--half
respectful, half tender--sentiments, too mingled to be distinctly
traced. I was introduced into a room that overlooked a pleasant garden,
and which the servant called a library. It was hung with green paper,
the carpet the same colour, green venetian blinds to the windows, a
sopha and chairs covered with white dimity; some drawings and engravings
hung on the walls, arranged with exact symmetry; on one side of the room
stood a grand piano-forte, opposite to which, was a handsome book-case,
filled with books, elegantly bound; in the middle of the apartment was
placed a table, covered with a green cloth, on which was a reading desk,
some books and pamphlets, with implements for writing and drawing.
Nothing seemed costly, yet neatness, order, and taste, appeared through
the whole apartment, bespeaking the elegant and cultivated mind of the
owner.
After amusing myself for a short time, in this charming retirement, I
was summoned by Ann to the breakfast room, where Mrs Harley awaited
me. I was interested, at the first glance, in favour of this amiable
woman--she appeared to be near fifty, her person agreeable, her
countenance animated, her address engaging, and her manners polished.
Mutually pleased with each other, the hours passed rapidly; and, till
reminded by a significant look from my little friend, I was unconscious,
that I had made my visit of an unreasonable length.
Mrs Harley spoke much of her son, he was the darling and the pride of
her heart; she lamented the distance that separated them, and wished,
that her health, and his tenderness, would allow of her residence with
him in London. When conversing on this favourite topic, a glow enlivened
her countenance, and her eyes sparkled with a humid brightness. I
was affected by her maternal love--tender remembrances, and painful
comparisons, crouded into my mind--a tear fell, that would not be
twinkled away--she observed it, and seemed to feel its meaning; she held
out her hand to me, I took it and pressed it to my lips. At parting,
she entreated me speedily to renew my visit, to come often without
ceremony--I should cheer her solitude--my sympathy, for she perceived I
had a feeling heart, would help to console her in the absence of her
Augustus.