"Yes, sweet boy, Clara will be thy mother.
Thou hast thus her first of mother's feelings;
Even should there rise, to claim her fondness,
Other beings like to thee: innocents,
Helpless innocents."
Months had rolled away. It was a beautiful evening in the middle
of July; and Lodore House, which had been deserted by most of its
inhabitants about the latter end of last October, when the trees were
almost leafless, and the voice of the fall loud with the swell of
wintry torrents, now looked with a cheerful aspect from amid embowering
verdure. The lofty head of Skiddaw arose with great majesty above the
woods immediately behind the house, and the calm lake spread abroad in
front, and bounded by the wide amphitheatre of the Keswick mountains,
filled the mind with pleasing ideas of peace and retirement. The
building, in its own outline, was picturesque; running along in light
corridors, connecting its principal parts. Numerous glass doors, or
French windows, leading out on the lawn, were all standing open. A
table, covered with fruit and other refreshments, might be just peeped
at through one of these; musical instruments, freed from their cases,
appeared through others, and through more might be discerned, sofas,
book-stands, work-tables, Turkey carpets, reposé chairs, Italian vases,
bronze lamps, cut-glass lustres, hothouse plants, French beds, swing
mirrors, &c.: while the intervention of silk and muslin draperies,
permitting each object to be but imperfectly seen, left imagination
free to deck the whole with the charms of fairy-land. Indeed, from
what did appear, it was evident that the sitting-rooms were numerous,
and richly furnished; that one corridor was a green house, another
a conservatory; and that the wings contained library, music-room,
billiard-room, and several sleeping and dressing-rooms, all on the
ground floor, all opening on the smooth turf, and displaying, or
rather betraying, enough of their arrangements to show that, not only
convenience, but luxury had been studied in their fitting up.
On the outside, ever-blowing roses, with jessamine, honeysuckle and
clematis, bloomed in abundance, climbing around the casements, and
creeping along the palings: while a gay assemblage of the choicest and
sweetest flowers occupied plots, scattered irregularly on the velvet
green.
The evening song of myriads of birds was pouring from the deep woods
with every wild variety of note, rendered the more remarkable by the
monotonous sound of the now subdued murmur of the fall, which still
went on, on, like the studied sameness of a judicious accompaniment,
selected to give effect to the varied excursions of the singer's voice.
Though the sun was still above the horizon, many bonfires were already
lit at various distances along the road. The immediate approach was
crouded with people, looking full of expectation. Detached groups were
advancing in different directions; and, here and there, individuals had
climbed trees, or elevated portions of rock, and seemed looking out
for something. Every now and then, Mrs. Smyth, dressed in a holiday
suit, came forth from some one or other of the many open doors, held
up her hand to shade the glare of light from her eyes, looked towards
the lake for a few moments, and returned in again. Then, would some
beautiful exotic be seen to change its position on some flower-stand;
next a drapery would be let down from the golden pin which had held it,
and hung again, we suppose, with more grace, at least in the opinion
of good Mrs. Smyth, whose form glided on through long corridors, from
time to time appearing, disappearing, and re-appearing; and generally
followed by that of a child that seemed, at every step, to leap and
gambol for very glee.
At length, a carriage was seen driving, at a rapid pace, along the
borders of Derwent-water. Every thing bright about it sparkled in the
rays of the setting sun. A universal shout arose, and all became
hurry and motion. The carriage approached: it was a barouche thrown
open, and, seated in it, were Mrs. Montgomery and Lord and Lady L.
They bowed, smiled, and waved their hands on every side. But soon the
attention of the latter lady was entirely engrossed by the appearance
of a lovely little boy, whom Mrs. Smyth, as she descended the lawn,
led by the hand; and in whom, but for one touching expression,
imperceptible perhaps to any other eye than Frances', no one could have
recognized poor Edmund. The rich dark locks, the profusion of which
had formerly added the look of wild neglect to that of misery, now
flew back as he ran against the wind, displaying and giving contrast
to a forehead white and open. The late hollow cheeks were now rounded,
dimpled, and glowing, at once with exercise and delight. His mouth,
always beautiful in its form, and so very sweet in its movements, had
now all the advantages of rosy lips and happy smiles. While his eyes,
which from their being large, and adorned by peculiarly long lashes,
had once seemed to occupy the chief part of his face, now but served to
give soul to the more earthly beauties, which the good cheer of Mrs.
Smyth had supplied.
Edmund had got a few paces before his conductress. He stretched
forward both hands, and leaped up with a bound towards the door, as
he reached the side of the carriage. Lady L. pulled the check-string.
The carriage stopped, and Edmund, whom by its rapid motion it had
already passed some yards, was brought back by a servant, and lifted
in. Such was his joy, that the poor little creature could not speak!
He trembled excessively, and, for a moment or two, his features
were almost convulsed by his struggles not to cry: he thought it
would seem as if he were not glad, and he knew he was very glad. A
few tears, however, forced their way; but they only hung in the long
lashes, shining like early dew-drops, while happiness sparkled through
them: for now, encouraged and caressed, he sat on Lady L.'s knee, and
hugged one of her hands. Yet, when he looked up in her face and tried
to speak, his little lip trembled again, and his little countenance
assumed an expression of feeling beyond his years, which early sorrow
had taught the infant features. Lady L. kissed his forehead and passed
her hand over it, to wipe away, as it were, the trace of care; while
an ardent desire swelled in her heart to screen this object of her
tender compassion from every painful vicissitude of life, accompanied,
however, by a sigh to think how vain the wish! This sigh was followed
by yet another, as, from association, the very natural idea presented
itself, that it must be also impossible for her effectually to shelter
from the changes and chances of mortal existence, even the babe, that
destined to be born under auspices so different, would, in a few
months, make her really a mother.
Mrs. Montgomery rallied, and Lord L. complimented her on her
discernment; declaring that they never had seen any thing half so
beautiful as her unpromising favourite had turned out.
"Do not think me illiberal," said Lady L.; "but I cannot imagine this
the child of coarse, vulgar parents--a creature that seems all soul!
See, with what an intelligent countenance he listens to every thing
that is said!"
Mrs. Montgomery smiled; and Lord L., anxious to please a wife with whom
he was still in love, was about to express himself quite of her opinion.
The discussion was, however, for the present broken off by the stopping
of the carriage amid shouts of joyous welcome. While the merry groups
around the bonfires drank the healths of our family party, its members
seated themselves at a most inviting looking table, which we have long
half seen from behind a muslin curtain.
The agreeable summer supper they here found prepared for their
entertainment, consisted chiefly of fruit, of which little Edmund,
placed between Lady L. and Mrs. Montgomery, was permitted to partake.
"You see," remarked her partial ladyship, after observing the child for
a time, "with all the gentleness of his nature, there is no slavish
awe of superiors about him. Do you know, I almost fancy I can discern
an innate consciousness of being in his right place when he is with us:
it would seem as though, however long he had been in the hands of those
wretches, the impressions of absolute infancy, and of the caresses
and tender treatment experienced, (if my conjecture is correct,)
during that period, were never entirely effaced; for, that though they
were not within the reach of memory to recall with any thing like
distinctness, association possessed a mysterious power of bringing
every thing similar to them home to the feelings. Can you imagine so
nice a distinction? I can," she added, turning to Lord L.
"There are few," replied his lordship, "who have not, I should think,
experienced the feeling of which you speak. Of this class are all the
sensations of pleasure or of pain, occasioned by sounds or sights
possessing in their own natures no corresponding qualities. How often,
for instance, do we hear people say of an air, by no means solemn.
'That tune always makes me melancholy: it reminds me of something,
though I cannot remember what.'"
This sort of conversation naturally led to the subject of Edmund's
future prospects. It seemed tacitly yielded to the evident wishes of
Lady L., that his profession should be that of a gentleman.
"I think," said Lord L., "it will be the best way to give the boy a
liberal education: and when he is of an age to judge for himself, let
him choose for himself."
Mrs. Montgomery expressed the same opinion.
"Nothing can be kinder, I am sure!" said Lady L., giving a hand to
each, and seeming to take the obligation entirely to herself: then
looking at Edmund, she added, after a moment's pause, "I dare say, he
will choose to be a clergyman, the benevolent duties of that sacred
office will suit so well with his gentle temper. Should you not like
to be a clergyman, my dear--like the gentleman who reads in the church
every Sunday."
"I'd like to be a sailor boy," said Edmund.
"A sailor boy!" repeated Lady L. "Poor child!"
"That's right, my brave fellow!" exclaimed Lord L. "You see, Frances,
he will not be so very gentle after all! Less than a year of good
feeding and kind treatment have already brought out his English spirit.
If he continue of this opinion, I can obtain his admittance into the
naval college at Portsmouth; after which, I shall put him forward in
his profession with all the interest I can command."
Things being thus arranged, so much to Lady L.'s satisfaction, the
family retired for the night.