DOMESTIC CONCERNS.
MR. Temple was the youngest son of a nobleman whose fortune was by no
means adequate to the antiquity, grandeur, and I may add, pride of the
family. He saw his elder brother made completely wretched by marrying a
disagreeable woman, whose fortune helped to prop the sinking dignity
of the house; and he beheld his sisters legally prostituted to old,
decrepid men, whose titles gave them consequence in the eyes of the
world, and whose affluence rendered them splendidly miserable. “I will
not sacrifice internal happiness for outward shew,” said he: “I will
seek Content; and, if I find her in a cottage, will embrace her with as
much cordiality as I should if seated on a throne.”
Mr. Temple possessed a small estate of about five hundred pounds a year;
and with that he resolved to preserve independence, to marry where the
feelings of his heart should direct him, and to confine his expenses
within the limits of his income. He had a heart open to every generous
feeling of humanity, and a hand ready to dispense to those who wanted
part of the blessings he enjoyed himself.
As he was universally known to be the friend of the unfortunate, his
advice and bounty was frequently solicited; nor was it seldom that he
sought out indigent merit, and raised it from obscurity, confining his
own expenses within a very narrow compass.
“You are a benevolent fellow,” said a young officer to him one day; “and
I have a great mind to give you a fine subject to exercise the goodness
of your heart upon.”
“You cannot oblige me more,” said Temple, “than to point out any way by
which I can be serviceable to my fellow creatures.”
“Come along then,” said the young man, “we will go and visit a man who
is not in so good a lodging as he deserves; and, were it not that he
has an angel with him, who comforts and supports him, he must long since
have sunk under his misfortunes.” The young man's heart was too full
to proceed; and Temple, unwilling to irritate his feelings by making
further enquiries, followed him in silence, til they arrived at the
Fleet prison.
The officer enquired for Captain Eldridge: a person led them up several
pair of dirty stairs, and pointing to a door which led to a miserable,
small apartment, said that was the Captain's room, and retired.
The officer, whose name was Blakeney, tapped at the door, and was bid to
enter by a voice melodiously soft. He opened the door, and discovered to
Temple a scene which rivetted him to the spot with astonishment.
The apartment, though small, and bearing strong marks of poverty, was
neat in the extreme. In an arm-chair, his head reclined upon his hand,
his eyes fixed on a book which lay open before him, sat an aged man in
a Lieutenant's uniform, which, though threadbare, would sooner call a
blush of shame into the face of those who could neglect real merit, than
cause the hectic of confusion to glow on the cheeks of him who wore it.
Beside him sat a lovely creature busied in painting a fan mount. She was
fair as the lily, but sorrow had nipped the rose in her cheek before it
was half blown. Her eyes were blue; and her hair, which was light brown,
was slightly confined under a plain muslin cap, tied round with a black
ribbon; a white linen gown and plain lawn handkerchief composed
the remainder of her dress; and in this simple attire, she was more
irresistibly charming to such a heart as Temple's, than she would have
been, if adorned with all the splendor of a courtly belle.
When they entered, the old man arose from his seat, and shaking Blakeney
by the hand with great cordiality, offered Temple his chair; and there
being but three in the room, seated himself on the side of his little
bed with evident composure.
“This is a strange place,” said he to Temple, “to receive visitors of
distinction in; but we must fit our feelings to our station. While I am
not ashamed to own the cause which brought me here, why should I blush
at my situation? Our misfortunes are not our faults; and were it not for
that poor girl--”
Here the philosopher was lost in the father. He rose hastily from his
seat, and walking toward the window, wiped off a tear which he was
afraid would tarnish the cheek of a sailor.
Temple cast his eye on Miss Eldridge: a pellucid drop had stolen from
her eyes, and fallen upon a rose she was painting. It blotted and
discoloured the flower. “'Tis emblematic,” said he mentally: “the rose
of youth and health soon fades when watered by the tear of affliction.”
“My friend Blakeney,” said he, addressing the old man, “told me I could
be of service to you: be so kind then, dear Sir, as to point out some
way in which I can relieve the anxiety of your heart and increase the
pleasures of my own.”
“My good young man,” said Eldridge, “you know not what you offer. While
deprived of my liberty I cannot be free from anxiety on my own account;
but that is a trifling concern; my anxious thoughts extend to one more
dear a thousand times than life: I am a poor weak old man, and must
expect in a few years to sink into silence and oblivion; but when I am
gone, who will protect that fair bud of innocence from the blasts of
adversity, or from the cruel hand of insult and dishonour.”
“Oh, my father!” cried Miss Eldridge, tenderly taking his hand, “be not
anxious on that account; for daily are my prayers offered to heaven that
our lives may terminate at the same instant, and one grave receive us
both; for why should I live when deprived of my only friend.”
Temple was moved even to tears. “You will both live many years,” said
he, “and I hope see much happiness. Cheerly, my friend, cheerly; these
passing clouds of adversity will serve only to make the sunshine of
prosperity more pleasing. But we are losing time: you might ere this
have told me who were your creditors, what were their demands, and other
particulars necessary to your liberation.”
“My story is short,” said Mr. Eldridge, “but there are some particulars
which will wring my heart barely to remember; yet to one whose offers
of friendship appear so open and disinterested, I will relate every
circumstance that led to my present, painful situation. But my child,”
continued he, addressing his daughter, “let me prevail on you to take
this opportunity, while my friends are with me, to enjoy the benefit of
air and exercise.”
“Go, my love; leave me now; to-morrow at your usual hour I will expect
you.”
Miss Eldridge impressed on his cheek the kiss of filial affection, and
obeyed.