But _will_ you not leave us, captain;--_will_ you not run from us, when
all is out?
Rather, Sir, suspect me of cowardice.--I should receive greater
satisfaction from administering the smallest consolation to people in
distress, than from whole nations govern'd by my nod.
Well, captain, I _will_ go;--I _will_ do any thing you desire me, since
you are so good to say you will not leave us.
But, notwithstanding his fair promise, I never expected to get him
within the doors.--He was shifting from side to side:--sometimes he
would stand still,--sometimes attempt to retreat.--When we were just at
the house, a servant appear'd:--of whom he enquir'd, if Mr. and Mrs.
Powis were return'd; and was inform'd the latter was within;--the former
gone out in pursuit of us. We likewise found the Ladies were with Sir
James in the library. I sent in my name: it was in vain for me to expect
any introduction from my companion.
Mrs. Powis flew to meet me at the door:--Mr. Morgan lifted up his eyes,
and shook his head.--I never was so put to it:--I knew not what to say;
or how to look.--Welcome, Mr. Risby, said the amiable, unfortunate,
unsuspecting mother;--doubly welcome at this happy juncture.--Let me
lead you to parents, introducing me to Sir James and Lady Powis, from
whom I have receiv'd all my felicity.
You need not be told my reception:--it is sufficient that you know Sir
James and her Ladyship.--My eyes instantly turn'd on the venerable
chaplin: I thought I never discover'd so much of the angel in a human
form.
Mrs. Powis ask'd me a thousand questions;--except answering _them_, I
sat stupidly silent.--It was not so with Mr. Morgan: he walk'd, or
rather ran up and down;--his eyes fix'd on the floor,--his lips in
motion.--The Ladies spoke to him: he did not answer; and I could
perceive them look on each other with surprize.
Mr. Powis enter'd:--the room seem'd to lift up:--I quite rambled when I
rose to receive his salute.--Mr. Morgan was giving me the slip.--I
look'd at him significantly,--then at Mr. Watson,--as much as to say,
Take him out; acquaint him with the sorrowful tidings.--He understood
the hint, and immediately they withdrew together.
Come, dear Risby, pluck up, said Mr. Powis:--do not you, my friend, be
the only low-spirited person amongst us.--I fear Mr. Risby is not well,
return'd Lady Powis.--We must not expect to see every one in high
spirits, because _we_ are:--_our_ blessings must be consider'd as _very_
singular.--You have not mention'd Fanny to your friends.
Indeed, Madam, I have, replied he.--Risby knows, I every minute expect
my belov'd daughter.--But tell me, Dick;--tell me, my friend;--all
present are myself;--fear not to be candid;--what accident has thrown a
cloud of sadness over your once chearful countenance?--Can I assist
you?--My advice, my interest, my purse are all your own.--Nay, dear
Risby, you must not turn from me.--I did turn, I could hold it no
longer.--
Pray Sir, said Mrs. Powis, do speak;--do command us; and she
condescended to lay her hand on mine--Lady Powis, Sir James too, both
intreated I would suffer them to make me happy.--Dear worthy creatures,
how my heart bled! how it still bleeds for them!--
I was attempting some awkward acknowledgment, when Mr. Watson enter'd,
led by Mr. Morgan.--I saw he had executed the task, which made me
shudder.--Never did the likeness of a being celestial shine more than in
the former! He mov'd gently forward,--plac'd himself next Lady
Powis;--pale,--trembling,--sinking.--Mr. Morgan retir'd to the window.--
Now,--now,--the dreadful discovery was at a crisis.--Mr. Watson
sigh'd.--Lady Powis eyed him with attention; then starting up, cried,
Bless me! I hear wheels: suppose, Mr. Watson, it should be Fanny!--and
after looking into the lawn resum'd her chair.
Pardon me, Lady Powis said. Mr. Watson in a low-voice; why _this_
impatience?--Ah Madam! I could rather wish you to check than encourage
_it_.
Hold, hold, my worthy friend, return'd Sir James; do you forget four
hours since how you stood listening at a gate by the road-side, saying,
you could hear, tho' not see?
We must vary our hopes and inclinations, reply'd Mr. Watson.--Divine
Providence--there stopp'd;--not another word.--He stopp'd;--he
groan'd;--and was silent.--Great God! cried Mr. Powis, is my child
ill?--Is my child dead? frantickly echoed Mrs. Powis--Heaven forbid!
exclaim'd Sir James and his Lady, arising.--Tell us, Mr. Watson;--tell
us, Mr. Ruby.
When you are compos'd,--return'd the former--Then, our child is
dead,--really dead! shriek'd the parents.--No, no, cried Lady Powis,
clasping her son and daughter in her arms,--she is, not dead; I am sure
she is not dead.
Mr. Watson, after many efforts to speak, said in a faultering
voice,--Consider we are christians:--let that bless'd name fortify our
souls.
Mrs. Powis fell on her knees before him,--heart-rending sight!--her cap
torn off,--her hair dishevell'd,--her eyes fix'd;--not a tear,--not a
single tear to relieve the bitter anguish of her soul.
Sir James had left the room;--Lady Powis was sunk almost senseless on
the sopha;--Mr. Powis kneeling by his wife, clasping her to his
bosom;--Mr. Morgan in a corner roaring out his affliction;--Mr. Watson
with the voice of an angel speaking consolation.--I say nothing of my
own feelings.--God, how great!--how inexpressible! when Mrs. Powis,
still on her knees, turn'd to me with uplifted hands,--Oh Mr. Risby!
cried she,--can _you,_--can _you_ speak comfort to the miserable?--Then
again addressing Mr. Watson,--Dear, saint, only say she lives:--I ask no
more; only say she lives.--My best love!--my life!--my Fanny! said Mr.
Powis, lifting her to the sopha;--live,--live,--for my
sake.--Oh!--Risby, are _you_ the messenger?--his head fell on my
shoulder, and he sobb'd aloud.
Lady Powis beckon'd him towards her, and, looking at Mrs. Powis with an
expressive glance of tenderness,--said Compose yourself, my son;--what
will become of _you, if_--He took the meaning of her words, and wrapping
his arms about his wife, seem'd for a moment to forget his own sorrow in
endeavours to.
What an exalted woman is Lady Powis!
My children, said she; taking a hand from each,--I am thankful: whom the
Lord loveth he chasteneth.--Let us follow his great example of
patience,--of resignation.--What is a poor span?--_Ours_ will be
eternity.
I whisper'd Mr. Morgan, a female friend would be necessary to attend the
Ladies;--one whom they lov'd,--whom they confided in, to be constantly
with them in their apartments.--He knew just such a woman, he said; and
went himself to fetch Mrs. Jenkings.--Lady Powis being unable longer to
support herself, propos'd withdrawing.--I offered my arm, which she
accepted, and led her to the dressing-room.--Mrs. Powis follow'd; almost
lifeless, leaning on her husband: there I left them together, and
walk'd out for a quarter of an hour to recover my confus'd senses.
At my return to the library, I found Sir James and Mr. Watson in
conversation.--The former, with a countenance of horror and
distraction,--Oh Sir! said he, as I came near him,--do I see you
again?--are you kind enough not to run from our distress?
Run from it, Sir James! I reply'd;--no, I will stay and be a partaker.
Oh Sir! he continued, you know not _my_ distress:--death only can
relieve _me_--I am without _hope_, without _comfort_.
And is this, Sir James, what you are arriv'd at? said the good
chaplain--Is this what you have been travelling sixty years after?--Wish
for death yet say you have neither hope or comfort.--Your good Lady,
Sir, is full of both;--_she_ rejoices in affliction:--_she_ has long
look'd above this world.
So might I, he reply'd,--had I no more to charge myself with than she
has.--_You_ know, Mr. Watson,--_you_ know how faulty I have been.
Your errors, dear Sir James, said he, are not remember'd.--Look back on
the reception you gave your son and daughter.
He made no reply; but shedding a flood of tears, went to his afflicted
family.
Mr. Watson, it seems, whilst I had been out, acquainted him with the
contents of your letter;--judging it the most seasonable time, as their
grief could not then admit of increase.
Sir James was scarce withdrawn, when Lady Powis sent her woman to
request the sight of it.--As I rose to give it into her hand, I saw Mr.
Morgan pass by the door, conducting an elderly woman, whom I knew
afterward to be Mrs. Jenkings.--She had a handkerchief to her eyes, one
hand lifted up;--and I heard her say, Good God! Sir, what shall I
do?--how can I see the dear Ladies?--Oh Miss Powis!--the amiable Miss
Powis!
Mr. Morgan join'd us immediately, with whom and Mr. Watson I spent the
remainder of this melancholy evening: at twelve we retir'd.
So here I sit, like one just return'd from the funeral of his best
friend;--alone, brooding over every misery I can call together.--The
light of the moon, which shines with uncommon splendor, casts not one
ray on my dark reflections:--nor do the objects which present
themselves from the windows offer one pleasing idea;--rather an
aggravation to my heart-felt anguish.--Miserable family!--miserable
those who are interested in its sad disaster!--