The foolish indulgence of Mr. Hanson had in no respect been more injurious
to his only daughter, than in the unrestrained permission to eat whatever
she liked, and as much of it as she could swallow.
On arriving at Mr. Harewood's, she found herself at a loss for many of the
sweet and rich dishes she had been accustomed to eat of at her father's
luxurious table; for although theirs was very well served, it consisted
generally of plain and wholesome viands. Under these circumstances, Matilda
made what she considered very poor dinners, and she endeavoured to supply
her loss by procuring sweet things and trash, through the medium of Zebby,
who, in this particular, was more liable to mislead her than any other
person, because she knew to what she had been used, having frequently
waited upon her, when the little gormandizer had eaten the whole of any
delicacy which happened to be provided for the company.
Mrs. Harewood took great pains to correct this evil, especially on Ellen's
account; for as Matilda was not covetous, she was ever ready to share with
her only companion the raisins and almonds, figs, gingerbread, biscuits,
or comfits, which she was continually munching; and this Mrs. Harewood had
a particular objection to, not only because it is bad for the health, and
lays the foundation for innumerable evils in the constitution, but because
it renders young people hateful in their appearance, since nothing can be
more unladylike or disagreeable, than the circumstance of being called to
speak when the mouth is full, or displaying the greediness of their
appetite, by cramming between meals, stealing out of a room to fill the
mouth in the passage, or silently moving the jaws about, and being obliged
to blush with shame when caught in such disgraceful tricks.
In order to guard against this habit, Mrs. Harewood positively forbade her
servants from bringing any thing of the kind into the house; but poor
Zebby, from habit, still obeyed her young Missy, and, besides, she had no
idea that the enjoyments of fortune were good for any thing else than to
pamper the appetite; so that it was a long time before she could be brought
to desist from so pernicious a practice. As, however, the mind of Matilda
strengthened, and she began to employ herself diligently in those new
branches of education now imparted to her, she insensibly became weaned
from this bad practice; and at length, inspired with a sincere desire to
imitate her young friends, she broke herself entirely from this disgusting
habit, and willingly adopted, in every thing, the simple wholesome fare
partaken by her young friends.
It was undoubtedly owing to this temperance that she preserved her health,
and even enjoyed it more than ever, notwithstanding the change of climate;
but, alas! the good sense, resolution, and forbearance she thus acted with,
was not followed by the humble companion of her voyage.
The change Zebby experienced in Mr. Harewood's comfortable kitchen, from
the simple food to which, as a slave, she had been accustomed in the West
Indies, was still greater, though in an exactly contrary line, than that of
her young lady. Zebby soon learned to eat of the good roast and boiled she
sat down to, and exchanged the simple beverage of water for porter and
beer, in consequence of which she became much disordered in her health;
and when Mrs. Harewood prescribed a little necessary physic, as her mild
persuasions were enforced by no threat, and the prescription appeared to
the unenlightened negro a kind of punishment she had no inclination to
endure, there was no getting her to swallow the bitter but salutary
potion.
Zebby had been a long time feverish and subject to headaches, when the
circumstance mentioned in the last chapter took place, which so exhilarated
her spirits, that she declared she would be the first person who should use
the new mangle which "her pretty Missy givee poor Sally."
It is well known that the negroes are naturally averse to bodily labour,
and that, although their faithfulness and affection render them capable
of enduring extreme hardship and many privations, yet they are rarely
voluntarily industrious; and it was therefore a proof of Zebby's real
kindness, that she thus exerted herself.
Unhappily, a mode of labour entirely new to her, and, in her present sickly
state, requiring more strength than she possessed, although, had she used
it freely some time before, it would have done her good, was now too much
for her, and she came home complaining, in doleful accents, that "poor
Zebby have achies all over--is sometimes so hot as Barbadoes, sometimes so
cold as London."
Mrs. Harewood was well aware that the good-tempered negro was seized with
fever, and she sent immediately for her apothecary, who confirmed her
fears, and prescribed for her; but as there was no getting her to swallow
medicine, he was obliged to bleed her, and put a blister on her head,
which, however, did not prevent her from becoming delirious for several
days.
Poor Zebby was, at this time, troubled with the most distressing desire to
return to Barbadoes, and all her ravings were to this purpose; and they
were naturally very affecting to Matilda, who never heard them without
being a little desirous of uniting her own wishes to behold her native
country, especially when she heard it coupled with the name of that only,
and now fondly-beloved parent, from whom she was so far separated, and her
tears flowed freely when she visited the bedside of the poor African. But
her sorrow increased exceedingly when she learned the danger in which poor
Zebby stood, and found that her death was daily expected by all around;
bitter indeed were the tears she then shed, and she would have given the
world to have recalled those hasty expressions, angry blows, and capricious
actions, which had so often afflicted her humble attendant, whose fidelity,
love, humility, and services, she now could fully estimate, and whose loss
she would deeply deplore.
Mrs. Harewood endeavoured to comfort her under this affliction, by leading
her to view the consolations which religion offers to the afflicted in
general, and she explained the nature of that beneficent dispensation
whereby the learned and the ignorant, the poor and the rich, the slave and
his master, are alike brought to receive salvation as the free gift of God,
through the mediation of our merciful Redeemer; and comforted her with the
hope, that although poor Zebby's mind was but little enlightened, and her
faith comparatively uninformed, yet as, to the best of her knowledge, she
had been devout and humble, resting her claims for future happiness on that
corner-stone, "the goodness of God in Christ Jesus," so there was no reason
to fear that she would not leave this world for a far better, for "a house
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
Matilda's mind was deeply impressed with this holy and happy consolation,
but yet she could not help lamenting her own loss, in one whom she no
longer considered her slave, and little better than a beast of burden, but
as her countrywoman, her friend, the partaker of that precious faith by
which alone the most wise, wealthy, and great, can hope to inherit the
kingdom of heaven; and she could not help praying for her restoration to
health, with all the fervour of which her heart was capable; and many a
promise mingled with her prayer, that, if it pleased God to restore her,
she would never treat her ill again: and these promises she likewise
repeated to Mrs. Harewood and her governess.
Neither of these ladies lost the opportunity thus offered, of impressing
on her mind the duties which every woman, whatever may be her rank or
situation in life, does indeed owe to those whom Providence hath placed
under her. They explained, in particular, the necessity of forbearance in
point of manners, and of consideration in her daily employments--"If," said
the good mistress, "I ring the bell twice or thrice, where once would
answer every purpose, provided I gave myself the trouble of considering
what I really wanted, I not only waste my servant's time, which would
supply my wants, and therefore injure myself in one sense, but I waste the
strength which is her only means of subsistence, and I awaken that vexation
of temper, which, although perhaps suppressed before me, will yet rankle in
her bosom, and probably induce her to commit some injury on my property,
which is an actual sin in her: thus _my_ folly leads to _her_ guilt, and
the very least mischief that can accrue is her unhappiness; for who can be
happy whose temper is perpetually ruffled by the cruel thoughtlessness of
those who have the absolute disposal of their time, their talents, and, in
a great measure, their dispositions?"
"Depend upon it," added Miss Campbell, "that as we are assured in the
Scriptures, that 'for every idle word we shall be brought to account,' so,
in a particular manner, must we be judged for all those idle words and
actions which have inflicted on any of our fellow-creatures pains we have
no right to bestow, or tempted them to sins they had no inclination to
follow; the petty tyrannies of our whims, changes, and fancies--of our
scoldings, complainings, peremptory orders, and causeless contradictions,
will all one day swell that awful list of sins, of which it may be truly
said, 'we cannot answer one in a thousand.'"
When Miss Campbell ceased speaking, Ellen, who, although not affected so
violently as Matilda, had yet felt much for Zebby's situation, and was
seriously desirous of profiting by all she heard, said in a low voice--"I
will do every thing for myself--I will never trouble Susan, or Betty, or
any body."
Mrs. Harewood knew the bent of her daughter's mind, and that although, from
the sweetness of her temper and the mildness of her manners, she was not
likely to fall into Matilda's errors, there were others of an opposite
class, from which it was necessary to guard her; she therefore
added--"Although consideration and kindness are certainly the first duties
to be insisted upon in our conduct, yet there are others of not less
importance. It is the place of every mistress to exact obedience to
reasonable commands and the execution of all proper services. If she does
not do this, she deserts her own station in society, defeats the intentions
she was called to fulfil, and which made her the guide and guardian, not
the companion and fellow-server, of her servants. In abandoning them to
their own discretion, she lays upon them a burden which, either from
ignorance or habit, they are probably unequal to endure, since it is
certain that many truly respectable persons in this class have been only
so while they were under the controlling eye or leading mind of their
superiors. Besides, all uncommon levity of manners, like all unbecoming
freedom in conversation, more frequently arises from weakness or idleness
in the parties, and ought to be guarded against in our conduct, as never
failing to be degradatory to ourselves, and very far from beneficial to
those they affect to serve: it is possible to be very friendly, yet very
firm; to be gentle, yet resolute, and at once a fellow-Christian and a good
master to those whom Providence hath rendered our dependants."
Ellen listened to this with attention, and endeavoured to understand and
apply it; but both she and Matilda continued to pay the most affectionate
attentions to poor Zebby, whose disorder in a few days took a more
favourable turn than could have been expected, although the delirium did
not immediately subside, but rather affected her general temper, which,
under its influence, appeared as remarkably unpleasant and tormenting to
herself and all around, as it was formerly kind and obliging.
This period was indeed trying to Matilda, who was by no means sufficiently
confirmed in her virtuous resolutions, or good habits, to endure reproaches
where she merited thanks, even in a case where she was aware of deranged
intellect and real affection, either of which ought to have led her to
endure the wild sallies and troublesome pettishness of the suffering negro.
It must however be allowed, that if she did not do all she ought, she yet
did more than could have been once expected, and very greatly increased
the esteem and approbation of her friends.
Matilda, when she was not influenced by the bodily indolence which was
natural to her as a West-Indian, and which was rather a misfortune than her
fault, was apt to be too active and bustling for the stillness required in
a sick chamber; and whatever she did, was done with a rapidity and
noisiness, more in unison with her own ardent desire of doing good, than
the actual welfare of the person she sought to relieve; whereas Ellen never
for a moment lost sight of that gentle care and considerate pity, which was
natural to a mind attuned to tenderness from its very birth; and many a
time would she say--"Hush, Matilda! don't speak so loud; have a care how
you shut the door," &c.
One day they both happened to go in just as the nurse was going to give the
patient a basin of broth--"Let me give it her," said Matilda; "you know she
always likes me to give her any thing."
"Sometimes she does, when she knows you; but her head wanders to-day
sadly."
"Never mind," replied Matilda, in her hurrying manner, and taking the broth
from the woman in such a way that the basin shook upon the plate; on which
Ellen said--"Have a care, the broth seems very hot; indeed, _too_ hot for
Zebby to take."
Matilda fancied this caution an indirect attack upon her care, and she went
to the bedside immediately, and bolting up to the patient, who was sitting,
raised by pillows, she offered the broth to her, saying--"Come, Zebby, let
me feed you with this nice food--it will do you good."
The warm fume of the basin was offensive to the invalid--"Me no likee
brothies," said she; and as it was not instantly removed, she unhappily
pushed away the plate, and turned the scalding contents of the basin
completely into the bosom of poor Matilda, as she reclined towards her.
Shrieking with pain, and stamping with anger, Matilda instantly cried out
that she was murdered, and the wretch should be flayed alive.
Ellen, shocked, terrified, and truly sorry, called out in an agony--"Mamma,
dear mamma, come here this moment! poor Matilda is scalded to death!"
The nurse, the servants, and Mrs. Harewood herself, were in a few moments
with the sufferer; and the latter, although she despatched the footman for
a surgeon, did not for a moment neglect the assistance and relief in her
own power to bestow; she scraped some white lead[1] into a little thick
cream, and applied it with a feather all over the scalded parts; and in a
very short time the excruciating pain was relieved, and the fire so well
drawn out by it, that when the surgeon arrived he made no change in the
application, but desired it might be persisted in, and said--"He had no
doubt of a cure being speedily obtained, if the patient were calm."
[1] The author has found this prescription very efficacious in
various cases of scalds.
During the former part of this time, Matilda continued to scream
incessantly, with the air of a person whose unmerited and intolerable
sufferings gave a right to violence; and even when she became comparatively
easy, she yet uttered bitter complaints against Zebby, as the cause of the
mischief; never taking into consideration her own share of it, nor
recollecting that she acted both thoughtlessly and stubbornly in neglecting
the advice of Ellen; and that although her principal motive was the
endeavour to benefit Zebby, yet there was a deficiency in actual kindness,
when she offered her broth it was impossible for the poor creature to
taste. Such, however, was the commiseration for her injury felt by all
those around her, that no one would, in the moment of her punishment, say a
word that could be deemed unkind; and soothings, rather than exhortations,
were all that were uttered.
At length the storm was appeased; Matilda, declaring herself much easier,
was laid upon the sofa, and a gentle anodyne being given to her, she closed
her eyes, and if she did not sleep, she appeared in a state of stupor,
which much resembled sleep. It so happened, that the hot liquid had, in
falling, thrown many drops upon her face, which gave her so much pain at
the moment, that she thought she was scalded much worse than she really
was, as did those around her; but Ellen, as she watched her slumbers, now
perceived that this was a very transient injury, and she observed to her
mamma, that she hoped Matilda's good looks would not be spoiled by the
accident, at least that her beauty would be restored before her mother's
arrival from the West Indies.
"Before that time," returned Mrs. Harewood, "I trust Matilda will have
attained such a degree of mental beauty, as would render the total
destruction of her personal beauty a trifling loss, in comparison, to the
eye of a thinking and good mother, such as I apprehend Mrs. Hanson to be."
"But surely, mamma, it is a good thing to be handsome? I mean, if people
happen to be handsome, it is a pity they should lose their beauty."
"It is, my dear, to a certain degree a pity; for a pretty face, like a
pleasant prospect, gives pleasure to the beholder, and leads the mind to
contemplate the great Author of beauty in his works, and rejoice in the
perfection every where visible in nature. The possessors of beauty may,
however, so often spare it with advantage to themselves and their near
connections, that the loss of it, provided there is neither sickness, nor
any very disgusting appearance, left behind, does not appear to me a very
great misfortune."
"But surely, mamma, people may be both very pretty and very good?"
"Undoubtedly, my dear; but such are the temptations handsome people are
subject to, that they are much more frequently to be pitied than envied;
yet envy from the illiberal and malicious seldom fails to pursue them; and
when they are neither vain nor arrogant, generally points them out as
both."
"I have often wished to be handsome, mamma, because I thought people would
love me if I were; but if that is the case, I must have been mistaken,
mamma."
"Indeed you were, my child; personal charms, however attractive to the eye,
do not blind, or even engage the heart, unless they are accompanied by
good qualities, which would have their effect, you know, without
beauty--nay, even in ugly persons, when we become thoroughly acquainted
with them. Can you suppose, Ellen, that if you were as handsome as the
picture over the chimney-piece, that you would be more dear to me on that
account, or that you would, in any respect, contribute more to my
happiness?"
"You would not love me better, dear mamma, but yet you would be more proud
of me, I should think."
"Then I must be a very weak woman to be proud of that which implied no
merit, either in you or me, and which the merest accident might, as we
perceive, destroy in a moment; but this I must add, that if, with
extraordinary beauty, you possessed sufficient good sense to remain as
simple in your manners, and as active in the pursuit of intellectual
endowments, as I hope to see you, _then_ I might be _proud_ of you, as the
usual expression is; for I beg you to remember that, strictly speaking, it
is wrong to be proud of any thing."
"Zebby always said that Mr. Hanson was very proud of Matilda--I suppose it
was of her beauty."
"I suppose so too, and you could not have brought forward a more decisive
proof of the folly and sin of pride, and the inefficacy of beauty to
procure love, than in the conduct and qualities of the persons in question.
Mr. Hanson's pride of his daughter's beauty rendered him blind to her
faults, or averse to correcting them; and from his indulgence, the effect
of that very beauty for which he sacrificed every real excellence, was so
completely impaired, that I am sure, with all your predilection for a
pretty face, you will allow that Matilda, with all those red spots
plastered with white ointment, is a thousand times more agreeable than
Matilda with bright eyes and ruddy cheeks on her first landing."
"Oh yes, yes!" cried Ellen, looking at her with the tenderest affection,
and relapsing into tears, which had frequently visited her eyes since the
time of the terrible accident.
The opiate had now spent itself, and Matilda, giving a slight shudder,
awoke, and looked at Ellen with a kind of recollective gaze, that recalled
the events of the morning, and which was succeeded by a sense of pain.
"What is the matter, Ellen? you are crying--have you been scalded?"
"No," said the affectionate child, "but _you_ have."
A confused recollection of all the particulars of the affair now came to
Matilda's memory; and as by degrees they arose on her mind, she became
ashamed of the extreme impatience she had exhibited, and surprised that
Ellen could love and pity so much a girl whose conduct was so little likely
to ensure affection and respect; and although the pain became every moment
more troublesome, she forbore most magnanimously to complain, until the
changes in her complexion induced Mrs. Harewood to say,--"I think, Matilda,
we had better apply the ointment again to your wound--you are still
suffering from the fire, I see."
"If you please, ma'am."
With a light and skilful hand, Mrs. Harewood again touched the wounds, and
immediate ease followed; but ere she had finished her tender operation,
Matilda caught that kind hand, and, pressing it fondly to her lips, bathed
it with her tears; they were those of gratitude and contrition.
"I fear you are in much pain _still_," said her kind friend, though she
partly comprehended her feelings.
"Oh, no! you have given me ease; but if you had not, I would not have
minded, I feared, indeed I am certain, that I behaved very ill, quite
shamefully, this morning; and you are so--so good to me, that--that----"
Matilda was choked by her sobs, and Mrs. Harewood took the opportunity of
soothing her, not by praising her for virtues she had not exercised, but
by calling upon her to show them in her future conduct; although she did
so far conciliate as to say, that the suddenness of the injury, in some
measure, excused the violence she had manifested.
Matilda gave a deep sigh and shook her head, in a manner which manifested
how far this went in palliation, and was aware that much of error remained
unatoned. She inquired how Zebby was, and if she was sensible.
"She has been so ever since your accident, which appeared to recall her
wandering senses by fixing them to one point; and as her fever is really
abated, I trust she will soon be better."
Matilda hastily sprang from the sofa, and though in doing so she
necessarily greatly increased the pain under which she laboured, yet she
suppressed all complaint, and hurried forward to Zebby's room, followed by
Mrs. Harewood and Ellen; the former of whom was extremely desirous at once
to permit her to ease her heart, and yet to prevent her from injuring
herself, by adding to the inflammation of her wound.
It was a truly affecting spectacle to behold Matilda soothing and
comforting the poor black woman, who had not for a moment ceased to
reproach herself, since the screams of the young lady had brought her to
her senses, and her invectives to the knowledge of her own share in the
transaction. It was in vain that the nurse and the servants of Mrs.
Harewood had endeavoured to reconcile her, by the repeated assurance, that
let the young lady say what she pleased, yet no harm could reach her: that
in old England, every servant had law and justice as much on their side as
their master could have.
This was no consolation to the faithful negro, who appeared rather to
desire even unmerited punishment than seek for excuse; she incessantly
upbraided herself for having killed pretty Missy, and breaking the heart of
her good mistress; and when she beheld the plastered face of Matilda, these
self-reproaches increased to the most distressing degree, and threatened a
complete relapse to the disorder she had yet hardly escaped from.
"You could not help it, Zebby; it was all an accident, and ought to be
chiefly attributed to my own foolishness," said Matilda.
"Oh, no! it was me bad and foolish. Missy, me naughty, _same_ you used to
be--pushee here and pushee there, in bad pets--it was all me--breaky heart
of poor Missis--she comee over great seas; thinkee see you all good and
pretty as Englis lady; and den you be shocking figure, all cover with
spotee--oh deary! oh deary! perhaps come fever, then you go to the death,
you will be bury in dark hole, and mamma never, _never_ see you again."
The desponding tones of this speech went far beyond its words, and Matilda
combining with it the caution she had heard the medical gentleman make
respecting fever, and the first exclamation of Ellen, that--"Matilda was
scalded to death," induced her to suppose that there was really danger in
her case; and after repeatedly assuring Zebby of her entire forgiveness and
regard, she returned to the apartment she had quitted, with a slow step,
and an air of awe and solemnity, such as her friends had never witnessed
before.
After Matilda had lain down on the sofa some minutes, she desired Ellen to
get her materials for writing, but soon found that the pain in her breast
rendered it impossible for her to execute her design.
"I will write for you," said Ellen.
"That won't do--I wanted, with my own hand, to assure dear mamma that poor
Zebby was not to blame, nor any body else."
"My dear," said Mrs. Harewood, "we can do that by and by, when your mamma
comes over."
"But if, ma'am--if I should _die_?"
Mrs. Harewood could scarcely forbear an inward smile, but she answered her
with seriousness, and did not lose the opportunity of imprinting upon her
mind many salutary truths connected with her present situation, not
forgetting to impress strongly the necessity which every Christian has of
being ever ready to obey that awful summons, which may be expected at any
hour, and from which there is no appeal; but she concluded by an assurance
that in a few days the present disorder would be completely removed, in
case she guarded her own temper from impetuosity, and observed the regimen
prescribed to her.
When Matilda's fears on this most important point were subsided, she
adverted to her face, but it was only to inquire whether it was likely to
be well before her mother came, she being naturally and properly desirous
of saving her dear parent from any pain which could arise from her
appearance; and when her fears on this head were likewise relieved, she
became more composed in her spirits, and more anxious than ever to prove,
by future good conduct, her sense of contrition for the past, and
resolution for the future; and although she was most thankful for the
sympathy of her friends, she never sought it by useless complainings, or
aggravated her sufferings in order to win their pity or elicit their
praise; and by her perseverance and patience, a cure was obtained much
sooner than could have been expected from the nature of the accident.
Zebby regularly amended, as she perceived the great object of her anxiety
amend also; and the sense she entertained of her late danger, the gratitude
she felt for the kindness she had been treated with, and, above all, the
self-denial to which she perceived her young lady accustomed herself, in
order to recover, induced her henceforward to become temperate in her use
of food, and tractable as to the means necessary for preserving her health,
and to perceive her duty with regard to the commands given by her young
lady, to whom she was now more truly attached than ever: for the attachment
of improved minds goes far beyond that of ignorance.