CHAPTER XII.

"I see with boding heart the near approach

Of an ill-starred, unblessed catastrophe."

WALLENSTEIN.

The consternation of Lord and Lady Marchdale was unutterable, when, on

awakening in the morning they learned that Lord Hautonville had taken

flight, leaving only a verbal message to say, that sudden business had

carried him to London, from whence he hoped speedily to return; and

not a little was the vexation of this abrupt departure aggravated in

the minds of his parents, by a persuasion that he had gone in quest of

Zorilda.

What rage, anxiety, and confusion of counsels, succeeded, it is

impossible to describe. At length, after a stormy discussion,

embittered by much of mutual crimination, it was determined that the

whole family should pack up for the metropolis; but as more elaborate

preparations were necessary for the elders than was required by their

son, some days elapsed before Henbury was deserted by its inhabitants,

who little thought as they drove through the outer gate, that they were

destined to meet no more within its once cheerful precincts.

On reaching Marchdale-house, they learned that Lord Hautonville had

been there, but was gone: and all the information which his parents

could obtain respecting the object or motive of his short stay and

hurried departure, was from the housekeeper, an utter stranger to the

new comers, and one who appeared by no means overjoyed at the change.

This woman reported that the young lord seemed to be in the greatest

possible agitation, and that his sole care was to find the Marquess

of Turnstock, for whom he made inquiry with vehement solicitude;

but finding that his lordship had set out for the continent, Lord

Hautonville left town immediately, Mrs. Hobson could not tell with

what intent. It was some relief to the anxious parents to learn that

Lord Turnstock was the object of their son's pursuit; and though it

mortified them that he should absent himself without giving the

slightest intimation of his designs, and particularly at a period when

his presence was more than ever necessary at home, they endeavoured to

tranquillize their apprehensions, by the flattering unction which they

laid to their hearts, that he had only followed his friend into the

country upon some scheme of amusement.

Letters were dispatched to recall the truant, and the Earl and his

Countess were involved directly in all the bustle of legal affairs

and visits of etiquette. When the time had expired which ought in due

course to have brought an answer from Lord Hautonville, the arrival of

the post became a subject of restless inquiry, but no letter arrived;

and as it often happens that the most obvious measures do not occur to

our minds _first_ in the order of time, several days elapsed before

Lord Marchdale, applying in the right place, heard from the Marquess's

banker that he was gone to Brussels.

During this interval Lord Hautonville, who had taken his friend Col.

Clapham along with him, passed over to Ostend. On reaching Brussels

he was maddened almost to fury by finding that his enemy had gone

upon an excursion, and would not return for a few days. Feeding on his

meditated revenge, and suffering imagination to supply all the facts

which were necessary to goad him to the rashest acts of desperation,

every moment appeared a century, till Lord Turnstock unsuspectingly

drove to the door of the Hotel de Belle Vue, where he was saluted, as

soon as he alighted from his carriage, by a challenge from his quondam

ally, delivered by the hands of Col. Clapham.

Lord Hautonville had had his suspicions so convincingly corroborated

by the answers which he received to certain inquiries concerning the

Marquess, that he did not condescend to enter into the slightest

explanation relative to the nature of the supposed insult for which

he sought revenge; and the latter, in utter ignorance of the cause of

offence, could not suppress an involuntary smile, as he returned the

challenge to Colonel Clapham, and desired him to tell his friend that

it was not his custom to fight with madmen.

An answer so irritating, heightened by the sarcastic air with which

it was accompanied, was not calculated to appease; and as it lost

nothing in its transit (the second feeling himself now nearly as much

enraged as the principal), the message was conveyed in such exaggerated

colours, as to deprive Lord Hautonville, for the moment of all

self-control. He seized his pistols, rushed into the streets, arrived

at the Hotel de Belle Vue, darted into the room where the Marquess was

going to dine, and taking a deliberate aim, shot him through the body,

without uttering a word. The Marquess fell, the report of a pistol

brought numbers of people together; and before Colonel Clapham overtook

his friend, he was a prisoner. Surgical aid was immediately obtained,

the wounded man removed to bed, his wounds examined, dressed, and

pronounced dangerous.

Returning reason made Lord Hautonville speedily sensible of the awful

situation in which he had placed himself; rendered more horrible by the

assurance that he had no foundation for his conjectures, and therefore

not even the excuse of injurious treatment for the dreadful act which

he had perpetrated.

Colonel Clapham's first care was to write to England, and apprise

the unhappy parents of their son's condition; advising the utmost

secrecy respecting the circumstances of this tragical event, and their

immediate presence in Brussels, accompanied by whatever confidential

legal adviser they considered most likely to give a favourable turn to

the aspect of affairs.

The agonies of despair into which Lord and Lady Marchdale were thrown

by the dreadful intelligence, almost deprived them of life, and some

days elapsed before the unfortunate pair recovered sufficient bodily

strength to undertake their mournful expedition. This interval was long

enough to put them in possession of the fact that Lord Hautonville's

debts amounted to a much larger sum than he had any prospect of being

enabled to repay; and several of them revealed the truth that he was a

determined gambler, and lived amongst a set remarkable in every way for

habits of such dissipation as lead to inevitable destruction.

But who shall attempt to pourtray the feelings of the miserable

culprit, when informed by Colonel Clapham that his jealousy was

groundless as it had been vindictive; and that the marquess knew

nothing whatsoever respecting the elopement of Zorilda. Grief,

contrition, self-reproach, despair, took alternate possession of his

soul, and he would have laid down millions to insure that life of which

but a few hours before he was resolved, at the probable sacrifice of

his own, on the cruel extermination.

The solitude of a prison is a powerful preacher to the human soul!

Conscience now called up a grisly train of terrifying spectres; and a

review of the past rose in hideous contrast with the fate which might

have awaited him. Mr. Playfair's counsels, illustrated in the lovely

singleness and purity of Zorilda's character, came upon his memory and

made him tremble. What a difference between the beloved, the cherished

heir of a noble house, and the forlorn captive, whose ignominious end

was perhaps destined to pay the forfeit of a murderous deed. The cold

dews of death stood now upon that brow on which pride and pleasure were

wont to keep perpetual jubilee; and a livid paleness overspread that

cheek so lately animated by the flush of enterprize.

Of what avail were resolutions now? The accounts from hour to hour,

of the hapless victim's condition, though sufficiently fluctuating

to keep the balance trembling between hope and fear, afforded little

comfort. If a momentary ray cheered the prospect, it was extinguished

in the next instant. Amendment was not progressive, and those transient

gleams, which were quenched successively in thicker gloom, only added

poignance to despair. In the visions of horror which haunted the mind

of Algernon, thoughts of those afflicted parents who were on their way

to the scene of sorrow and humiliation continually mingled; and, as if

the cup of grief could not be full unless it overflowed, he was now

enlightened, and could explain Zorilda's disappearance. He was now able

to perceive in her secret departure, the same noble self-denying spirit

which had always distinguished every action of her life; and to curse

the ungoverned passion which had hurried him into irretrievable ruin. A

sudden frenzy would seize his frame, when scenes of early mutual love,

and childish innocence, glanced across memory in the prison's darksome

solitude, to torture his imagination--but more was still to be endured.

The marquess preserved his senses throughout the lingering agonies

which he was doomed to suffer--the most earnest supplication for

pardon on the one side, and assurance of forgiveness on the other,

were interchanged too late for any purpose connected with this world's

futurities. The horrors of suspense, operating on irritable nerves, and

temper unsubdued, were too powerful for successful conflict against

them; and Algernon Hartland, so lately the pride and boast of a noble

house, consumed by fever and tortured by remorse, breathed his last, in

the same hour which brought Lord and Lady Marchdale to the hotel which

contained the victim of their son's infuriate jealousy, apparently

languishing also on the confines of the tomb.

The veil of Timanthes must be drawn over feelings too terrible for

description. The die was cast. "Take me to the prison. I will see my

darling, and expire within his cell," said the wretched mother, who

would not listen to any attempt at dissuading her from the dreadful

purpose of visiting the remains of her son. Colonel Clapham conducted

her, and with preternatural firmness she hastened forward; but the

sight which burst upon her senses, when she reached the dreary chamber

in which he lay, was the last on which her tearless eyes ever rested.

The mother's heart had received its death dart, and her whole soul

appeared to undergo a sudden change. Not a cry escaped her. Kneeling

calmly down by the bed-side, and pressing to her bosom the clay-cold

hand of Algernon her beloved--once "beautiful and brave"--her

countenance assumed an unwonted expression of heavenly peace. Her

husband stood with folded arms, behind her, and groaned heavily. She

looked round, and taking his hand also, laid it upon that of her

departed child; then raising her eyes, she exclaimed with fervor, "Lord

forgive me--Thy will be done!" After uttering which word, one short

convulsive sigh set the spirit free.

Stunned and transfixed, the miserable survivor bent over the bed of

death, like one who had been petrified in that attitude, and scarcely

preserved consciousness of the scene which surrounded him. At this

awful moment, Mr. Playfair entered the chamber. That excellent man

had accidentally met with a friend who prevailed on him to alter his

original design of proceeding directly to Switzerland, and visit first

the far-famed plain of Waterloo. No sooner had he arrived at Brussels,

than the fearful tale which was in every mouth, met his ear. He quickly

recognised the _dramatis personæ_ in this horrible tragedy, and

hastened to inform himself of all its particulars. The case admitted

of no earthly comfort, and he wept with heartfelt bitterness over the

misfortunes of those unhappy parents whom he followed to the prison.

"Vain titles of worldly greatness! how little is it in your power to

confer happiness!" ejaculated this true friend, as he hastened after

the sufferers. What a spectacle presented itself when he reached the

gloomy pile, and gained the dismal scene of death just in time to hear

the pious aspiration which bore a mother's spirit to the eternal world!

He knelt, and prayed aloud for heaven's mercy on him who stood, like

the scathed oak of the forest, a sad monument of solitary existence,

when the pelting of the pitiless storm has levelled all things else in

desolation and destruction at its feet.

Lord Marchdale was removed insensible from the prison, and a shock of

paralysis for a time shed the poppies of oblivion over his senses, and

spared him for more tranquil days to come. Colonel Clapham, who was

deeply affected, and began to reproach himself as the principal actor

in the late catastrophe, now delivered into Mr. Playfair's hands two

letters with which his poor friend had entrusted him the day before his

death, when he felt his last hour drawing near. One was addressed to

his parents, the other to Zorilda; and he desired that they might be

safely conveyed when he should be no more.

"You will be the fittest medium for the performance of this charge.

How can I appear again in the presence of those from whom I might have

averted the calamity which bows them broken-hearted to the earth? Oh,

Mr. Playfair, had I not fanned the flame, which I might at least have

endeavoured to extinguish; had I not used all my influence to provoke

and aggravate the feelings of my poor friend, instead of trying to

assuage them, how different might not have been the result? But I am

punished as I deserve. His untimely end is my work, and I shall never

cease during my life, to be haunted by his dying image, when he called

upon the grim tyrant to terminate his misery, and relieve him from the

anguish of anticipating an ignominious end."

Mr. Playfair did not fail to improve the feeling which had been

awakened in Colonel Clapham's mind, not by laying flattering unction to

his criminal conduct, but by encouraging such repentance for the past

as should effectually guard, during the remainder of his life against

its recurrence. While he continued to take advantage of the opportunity

to impress wholesome truths upon a softened heart, a message was

brought from Lord Turnstock's apartment to say that the physicians who

had just been holding consultation, were of opinion that a favourable

crisis had taken place in the night; and it was the earnest desire

of the marquess to have the joyful tidings communicated, without a

moment's delay, to the prisoner. What indescribable rapture would the

intelligence have imparted a little week before! Then might it have

poured the balsam of returning health into the fevered veins--the balm

of stillness into the agitated breast--and whispered peace to the

withered spirit; but it came not till the dull cold ear was deaf to the

voice of the charmer--till the heart had ceased to beat, and the weary

pulses to flutter.

The mother and her son were laid in the same grave, and Mr. Playfair

and Colonel Clapham attended the sad procession as chief mourners.

It was a sight which struck upon all who witnessed it, and was not

soon forgotten. Lord Marchdale continued in a doubtful state, and

some time elapsed ere it was considered safe to move him. During

this interval the favourable change in Lord Turnstock's condition

was sufficiently confirmed to admit of his being visited by Colonel

Clapham, who gradually prepared his mind for the dreadful events

which had occurred. Informed, at length, of the whole truth, he

expressed an eager desire to see Mr. Playfair, who obeyed the summons

with readiness, anxious on his part to turn present circumstances to

account, and work a salutary impression on him, who of all people

living had exercised the most destructive influence on the character of

the departed.

The meeting was solemn and affecting. Though death seemed no longer in

immediate prospect, the marquess was assured by his medical attendants

that nothing short of the most patient temperance and long continued

caution, could afford the slightest hope of restoration, and he

therefore saw before him so much of uncertainty in the prospect as to

furnish scope for deep reflection.

It occurred to Mr. Playfair, that no language which he could possibly

employ, would be so efficacious in giving a right turn to meditation,

as the last words of one who had lived long enough to retract every

principle on which his actions had been governed, and he therefore

determined on seizing an opportunity which could never return, of

making Algernon speak from the tomb. Well assured that those to whom

the letters which he possessed were addressed, would approve such use

of their contents, he drew the packet which was unsealed from his

bosom, and read as follows:

"TO THE EARL AND COUNTESS OF MARCHDALE.

"Alas! my parents; my soul sickens as I trace these empty titles, which

seem but 'unreal mockery' when applied to you. 'How are the mighty

fallen!' Oh! my father, my poor mother--here is the fulfilment of your

prophetic vision. Here, in this damp and chilly cell, is the end of all

your ambition. I feel as if you were now on your way to this place, but

you will come too late. The vapour is dissolved, the bubble bursts;

the halter and the block would present the only alternative for your

unhappy son were life prolonged; but Heaven has heard the captive's

prayer, and death approaches with friendly speed to save you from

shame, and restrain the hand of Algernon from self-destruction.

"Horrible idea! yet it might have been so. The same ungovernable

passions which raised the murderous blow against another's existence,

might have urged to suicide under increasing temptation. Weep not for

him who is taken from evil to come. My parents! had you been less

aspiring, had you known that true happiness, but--forbear, my pen!--I

leave no brethren to benefit by my dying counsels. My own impetuous

temper, my own devouring selfishness, have been my bane. Try to forget

that I have ever been. Recall that angel whom you have banished; she

will speak peace to your troubled souls. Farewell, my dear father; and

oh, my mother, may Heaven support you in this season of trial! prays

your expiring

"ALGERNON."

"TO ZORILDA.

"First and last beloved, I dedicate to you this solemn pause between

time and eternity. Life is ebbing fast. Oh! Zorilda, I die, and die for

you. However unworthy of your regard, however wandering and irregular

my course, you have still been the polar star towards which my

unsettled spirit ever returned, and no scheme for future happiness ever

occupied my thoughts, of which you were not the soul and centre. While

living in sin, I dreamed of a virtuous hereafter, when guided by you, I

should reform and taste of quiet bliss.

"Arrogant delusion! I leaned presumptuously on that love which I was

daily forfeiting, and dared to believe that Zorilda, whose soul was

all purity, would still bestow her affection on one who had ceased to

merit it. Alas! I know that you love me no longer. Why should I repine

in this sad hour? No, while life continued, I could ill endure to

relinquish the hold which I once possessed on that dear heart, and my

selfish endeavour to bind you by a vow to refuse all besides, that of

which I was myself undeserving, was justly punished by your refusal.

"Zorilda, beloved Zorilda! I feel my heart new opened, I see with

other eyes, and despise the thing I have been; resolution can now

avail me nothing in this world; but He who sees my tears of contrite

humiliation, will hear the suppliant's prayer, even in the eleventh

hour. Farewell! If the memory of our fond attachment in happy youthful

days, may shed kind influence on a last request, console I entreat you

those unfortunate beings who are soon to be left childless. Bid them

not grieve for me. I have requited their affection with ingratitude,

and leave them nothing in my bereavement but a hollow sounding name,

like those gorgeous plumes which wave their feathered honours on the

hearse to mock the dead. Oh! 'had I served my God with half the zeal'

that ministered to my guilty pleasures! but the past is buried with the

years beyond the flood. I have your prayers, I know I have, unworthy as

I am, and Zorilda's prayers will reach the throne of mercy.

"My sand is nearly run. The king of terrors beckons to me. A little

while, a few brief moments, and I shall awake in the invisible world,

from whose bourne none hath ever returned to unfold its mysteries.

Strength fails. Cold dews creep over my frame. Think of me sometimes.

First and last beloved, farewell for ever."

When Mr. Playfair ceased to read, he found Lord Turnstock drowned in

tears. His own flowed plenteously; and, taking the sick man's hand, "My

Lord," said he, "let us not be ashamed, and call this weakness. There

are tears which refresh the soul like dews of heaven. May yours be of

this blessed nature! May you expiate past error, by seeking your future

portion in a new course; and may our dear departed Hartland be the

Mentor of your youth; the guide of your pilgrimage; the beacon of your

way!"

"Will you henceforward be my friend?" answered the Marquess, with deep

emotion. "I have learned a lesson, but impressions wear away, and vows

made in pain are speedily forgotten. Let me be your pupil; direct me;

warn me; counsel me."

The bond was sealed. Lord Marchdale was pronounced capable of

undertaking a journey; and Mr. Playfair, who had surrendered all his

own plans to devote himself to the purposes of benevolence, accompanied

the poor solitary Earl to England; but his chief concern was for

Zorilda. "How shall I break these fatal tidings, without endangering

her life?" was a question continually present to the mind of her friend.

The travellers arrived at Henbury, and Mr. Playfair felt as a man of

humane and tender feeling would naturally do, in placing his charge

in that whilom abode of quiet cheerfulness, where its unfortunate

master had long enjoyed the happiness of domestic peace in private

life, under the care of an old servant, who had passed her youthful

days in his family. Lord Marchdale was spared such anguish, as more

acute sensibility could not have survived by the nature of his malady.

Naturally phlegmatic, disease now rendered him more than ordinarily

torpid; and he used to forget at times not only the extent of his

deprivation, but the manner. At such moments it was affecting to hear

him address his wife and son as if they were present, or speak of them

as if he expected their return from a ride or a walk. Influenced,

too, by the necromancy of association, he never passed by a shrub or

flower, which had been planted by Zorilda's hand, without muttering the

name of Zoé.

When Mr. Playfair had made all necessary arrangement for the bodily

comfort of the invalid, he set out for Scotland, meditating sorrowfully

as he proceeded, on the afflicting dispensations which it was his

painful task to communicate at Drumcairn. Arrived at the same village

where Zorilda had paused to consider of the reception which she was

likely to receive, he wrote to Mr. Gordon, requesting a private

interview at the inn. The dreadful particulars were soon unfolded;

and Mr. Playfair discovered that his tale of woe was not altogether

unexpected. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon had so repeatedly seen paragraphs in

the public prints, touching on late events at Brussells with more or

less obscurity, that their attention was at length awakened to some

fancied coincidences with the Henbury family, and anxiety was daily on

the increase, from Lady Marchdale's unusual silence. Her sister had

written over and over entreating a letter, but not a line was received

in reply.

The extreme delicacy of Zorilda's health made all excitement hazardous;

and though she secretly pined with solicitude to be informed of all

that passed in her absence, she could not bear to make inquiry, and

trusted to a voluntary mention of the next intelligence which might

arrive, trying to force her mind into tranquillity, but in vain. Her

cheek sometimes glowed with momentary bloom, and her eyes sparkled with

a transient ray of light and brilliancy; but it was fever which lighted

up these evanescent fires, consuming as they were vivid.

Her kind friends, who watched her tender frame with parental vigilance,

and perceived the silent progress of the destroying angel, resolved

on avoiding to impart their own apprehensions, or communicate the

suspicions which began to alarm them, to Zorilda, who, in addition to

her too evidently declining health, "has now to sustain," said Mr.

Gordon, "a trying scene, which as yet she has neither had strength nor

fortitude to encounter."

"Within the last two days," continued he, "she has received a

disclosure of the deepest interest from the rich and powerful Earl of

Pierrepoint, who turns out to be no other than Zorilda's father. I

have brought his letter in my pocket, knowing how affectionately you

participate in the concerns of our dear child."

Mr. Gordon then read as follows:

"Zorilda, these lines come from a parent's hand. Will you receive them

with feeling answering to that which now sues for your forgiveness,

and dictates a request that you will name the earliest moment for an

interview with one for whom you have had little reason to entertain any

sentiment save that of aversion. Since we last met, when an involuntary

exclamation on my part proclaimed the relation subsisting between you

and me, I have lost an amiable and high-born partner, who, after the

marriage of my two daughters, now advantageously settled, was the only

remaining bar to my acknowledgment of you. Had I claimed you before,

I must have revealed a part of my early history, which might have

injured others without benefiting you.

"Let me now taste the blessing of offering such expiation as is yet

in my power, to the manes of that angel who was your mother. You will

not withhold your aid in restoring the memory of her whose portrait

you bear, whose living image you are, to the rights and privileges of

a wife and mother, which can only be accomplished by your returning to

the protection of your father's house, and assuming his name. In the

eye of Heaven, as well as according to an accredited form of Christian

ritual, my marriage, of which you are the sole pledge, was duly

solemnized, and wanted only such circumstances to give it legality,

as I basely took advantage of, to desert the wife of my bosom, and

the child of my hopes. Urged to the unnatural deed by the unrelenting

voice of worldly ambition, I lent myself to the views of family

aggrandisement, and have been wretched all my life. United to another

before the death of her whom I shall never cease to mourn, I could not

adopt you as my legitimate offspring, without invalidating my second

engagement; and to have brought you forward as _less_ than my lawful

progeny, would have but added fresh insult to the wrongs which you had

already experienced at my hands.

"Zorilda, beloved child, a father supplicates forgiveness at your feet.

Will you refuse pardon to such a petitioner? I have sought you at De

Lacy castle, and sought you as my daughter. If my penetration do not

greatly err, there is one of that family to whom you are an object of

no common interest. Should my suspicions prove correct, to what joy

may I not yet look forward? I have already obtained my sovereign's

permission to add a title to your name; and twenty thousand pounds are

ready for my dear girl, when I may be called upon to bestow the hand

of Lady Zorilda Fitzhugh on Lionel Cecil, the man in all England most

worthy of her heart.

"Return me one line by the messenger, and say when you will see your

"FATHER."

"This letter," said Mr. Gordon, "was immediately followed by one of

the most enraptured congratulations from Miss Cecil, who it appears

has been hitherto obliged to neglect her friend in compliance with Sir

Godfrey's commands. What a metamorphosis will not worldly consideration

effect! The despised, the slighted Zorilda receives homage now from the

proudest pair in Great Britain. Sir Godfrey and Lady Cecil condescend

to add their testimony to the merits of her who was so lately shaken

from their presence as unworthy of the least regard: and I agree

with Lord Pierrepoint in foreseeing that ere long an alliance will

be solicited. Oh; that I might live to witness a union which could

not fail of being blessed! But what a tale have you to impart! Alas,

Zorilda!--and my poor Eugenia too. However dissimilar the character

of Lady Marchdale and my wife, a sister and a nephew are not to be

relinquished without a cruel pang, in this case pointed with tenfold

acuteness from the awful manner of their death. Come, we have a

dreadful duty to perform, and must commence the task."

Mrs. Gordon, who had long anticipated some unknown ill, was gradually

informed of the terrible truth. Horror and astonishment at first forbid

the relief of tears, and sent a frightful tremor through her frame; but

tenderer feelings at length found vent, and a burst of natural sorrow

came to her aid, and eased the suffocating oppression of her heart. Too

habitually thoughtful of others' woe to indulge her own exclusively,

this excellent woman after a short silence exclaimed, "Oh! may I join

in the pious prayer of my dear departed sister, and say from the deep

of my heart, 'Thy will be done!' This blow will fall heavily on my poor

Zoé. It is to her that we should principally direct our attention, and

as her father is to be here to-morrow, my counsel is to delay breaking

this intelligence to her till after that so much dreaded interview.

In the mean time I will talk to her of my own fears and ominous

forebodings."

This advice was approved, and Mrs. Gordon subdued her own feelings

sufficiently to visit Zorilda's bed-chamber, in which she had

requested permission to remain all day, with calmness, and even an

appearance of tender cheerfulness, while she endeavoured to strengthen

a mind which had so much in prospect to endure.

"You must give a filial welcome to your father, my love, and bless

the Almighty, who has sent such a host of kindness and protection in

an hour of greatest need. He was beloved by the mother whose loss you

deplore, and if the temptations of wealth and power were too strong for

his wavering virtue to conquer, remember that he is now making all the

reparation which such a case as yours will admit, and your duty is not

only to receive the penitent with full pardon, but open your heart to

the gracious influence of parental affection."

"It is not the creature's part to murmur, I know, dearest friend,"

answered Zorilda; "but so mysteriously woven is the web of my fate,

that I am not allowed to _see and believe_, but _faith_ is continually

called upon, and much as I desire to stand firmly in the optimist's

creed, which you are always enforcing, I find my rebellious spirit too

frequently resisting conviction. I did indeed perceive how mercifully

was this blessed asylum opened to me; when obliged to leave De Lacy

castle I could not return to the home of my youth; but how can I

rejoice now in any event which is likely to remove me from you and this

peaceful retreat? How am I to bear the burthen of a sick and sorrowful

soul in a world of gay smiles, enter upon a new sphere for which I am

ill suited, encounter strangers whom I can never love, and give up

those employments in which, by being suffered to do some little good,

I learn submission to my own misfortunes? How can I leave this abode

of rest, and cease to hear your dear voice? How shall I mingle in the

scenes of what the world calls pleasure, with a breaking heart and

failing health; or learn the joyless task of dressing my poor face in

artificial gladness, while the asp is feeding on my life-blood? I have

tried to pray, but I can only weep."

"Child of my adoption," answered Zorilda's sweet comforter, "be still

and wait events. Is it nothing that your mother's fame is brought out

before mankind like 'unsmutched snow?' Nothing that the haughty souls

of De Lacy yield to evidence, and recognise the daughter of proud

Pierrepoint in the houseless adventurer, the _wandering_ gipsey? Is

there no balm in Clara's friendship, lately sealed, and now allowed to

flow towards you?--no soothing in the still tenderer accents of----"

"I am ungrateful, hard, unthankful, I know I am, for many goods; yet

could you look into this breast, and see all that passes there, you

would pity more than censure me," replied Zorilda.

"And will that Being, whose penetrating glance reads the inmost soul,

who knows all our frailty, all our weakness, pity less than I should

do? Believe it not. You will not be tried beyond the bounds of mercy,

though you know not how much is still to be endured. My mind misgives

me, and this long silence of my sister's fills me with vague, yet sad

prognostics; I dread the arrival of letters, and feel my mind almost

superstitiously inclined to evil augury."

"How unlike you!" said Zorilda, "If _you_ are scared by omens and

portents, what wonder that _I_ should tremble; dearest friend, tell me

your fears."

"They have no shape," answered Mrs. Gordon, "but come not the less

affrightingly because they are undefined. When I contemplate the

materials of which my family are composed, have I not continual reason

to dread the consequences of ungoverned passion, self indulgence, and

pride, now inflated by the prosperous gales of fortune? What may I not

apprehend as the result of Algernon's violent temper, unaccustomed to

restraint, and now let loose to tyrannize with wider scope, subduing

all things to his purposes? My poor sister, too, so blind in her

attachments, so precipitate in her aversions, so little calculated for

the enlarged sphere of action to which she is called, so ill prepared

to meet with disappointment, so soured by late occurrences; what

comfort should I have in considering the elevation of those for whom I

am so deeply interested, to a station which will only furnish increased

temptation to err, and render every fault and failing more conspicuous,

were it not for my firm trust in Him who rules our destinies, and who

alone is acquainted with the issue of events, after which we vainly

strain our short sighted organs?"

"Forgive me," replied Zorilda, "for the indulgence of my morbid

discontent. 'I will arise and go to my father,' I will try to _follow_,

not presumptuously _lead_, the ordinances of Providence; you shall not

find me deaf to your instructions. Dispose of me. The tide of strength

is ebbing in my veins, and perhaps the mind partakes of the body's

weakness, for I was not always thus, but in all things I will endeavour

to obey your counsels; guide, direct me; tell me all that I shall say

and do in this dread hour of meeting; yet if my father should prove an

austere man, I am afraid that it will little avail me to con over my

lesson."

Zorilda knew nothing of Mr. Playfair's arrival, and it was resolved to

conceal his presence from her till after Lord Pierrepoint's visit.

The appointed hour drew near, and the flush of anxiety had lighted

up that cheek on which the lily had lately begun to usurp the rose's

dominion, and the blending of sorrow with timid solicitude, imparted

the most angelic expression to the countenance of her who now, with

beating heart, heard her father's carriage wheels approach the door.

Lord Pierrepoint's exterior was highly favourable; tall, graceful,

and still in the meridian of life, there was something singularly

prepossessing in his appearance. To fine features, was added that charm

of polished refinement without which no beauty can be attractive,

and accompanied by which, no physiognomy can be destitute of power

to please. A melodious voice, and insinuating gentleness of manner,

finished the impression which Lord Pierrepoint's first _abord_ never

failed to make upon strangers, but who shall attempt to describe

the effect of such a union of qualities in delightful contrast with

all that her fears had suggested, on the tender heart of his lovely

daughter? The scene of such a meeting can only be represented in the

imagination. Feelings so electric, transitions so rapid, silence so

eloquent, may be felt, but not pourtrayed.

Locked in each other's arms, one moment's embrace seemed to annihilate

an age of doubt, and banish from Zorilda's bosom every sentiment except

that of filial love and admiration; while the father hung spell-bound

over his treasure. Drawing her close to his breast, and then receding,

as if

"----to view,

If such a bliss indeed were true,"

he continued to clasp her again and again to his heart in silent

rapture.

When the first strong instinctive emotions of nature had in some degree

subsided, Lord Pierrepoint remarked, with much uneasiness, the delicacy

of his daughter's complexion, which underwent a thousand aspects,

mutable as the dolphin tints or the sun's varying hues upon the snows

of Mont Blanc.

"I must lose no time in snatching my darling," said the fond parent,

"from this northern climate. My Zorilda shall invoke the warmer beams

and softer breezes of an Italian sky. We will prepare immediately for

the voyage."

A deep hectic blush overspread Zorilda's face, as thoughts of leaving

Drumcairn flashed across her mind; but dreading to hurt her father's

feelings, by seeming averse to any scheme proposed by his affection,

she made no reply, except by a faint smile, like that transient glow

which glances hastily through the misty curtain on the grey mountain's

side, and is followed by a thicker veil, gathering as if to repel

the bright intrusion. But associations of another kind arose in Lord

Pierrepoint's mind, and pressing his daughter's hand, he added, "I do

not mean to hurry you, my love. You are, I grieve to see, not equal to

any great exertion. Farewell, dearest, I will return to-morrow, and

we will then consult upon the answer which you wish me to give to Sir

Godfrey Cecil."

So saying, he put a letter, of which the seal was broken, upon the

table, kissed his dear girl's alabaster forehead, and hastened out of

the room.

"All powerful force of nature?" exclaimed Zorilda, as she strained her

eyes towards the door which had closed upon her father, "who could

have believed this miracle? My heart follows him, and echoes every

retiring footstep. Is this the formidable being whose anticipated

presence banished sleep from my eyelids, whose dreaded voice arrested

every pulse, while yet it sounded only in the ear of fancy? What a

transformation in an instant of time! I can scarcely believe in my own

identity, as I reckon the hours till his return. Poor Sir Godfrey! Here

is the world--the cold heartless world, which encumbers with help when

there is no farther need of assistance. What have we here? No doubt a

complimentary address. Perchance an invitation to De Lacy castle--but I

must not forget that De Lacy's walls afforded me kind refuge in an hour

of adversity." Zorilda sighed, as she slowly unfolded the following

letter:

"MY DEAR LORD,

"Amongst the numberless congratulations which your Lordship may expect

to receive on the joyful event of reunion with your charming daughter,

none more sincere can be offered to your acceptance, than I have now

the honour to present from De Lacy castle. We have the good fortune

here to be acquainted with the perfections which it is your Lordship's

happy lot to possess in the Lady Zorilda Fitzhugh; and are therefore

enabled to judge of your feelings in receiving such a child to your

bosom, and restoring her to that exalted station in society which will

henceforward be adorned by her talents and virtue. Lady Cecil and I

have often said of our distinguished guest, that such a noble bearing

bespoke high birth, and we are not mistaken.

"It will not surprise your Lordship to learn that younger eyes have

been fascinated, and hearts impressed by attractions which even the

aged cannot behold unmoved. You know my son's pretensions, and if you

think them worthy of alliance with your Lordship's house, nothing

shall be wanting on my part to facilitate an event so desirable to me

as a union between our families. I have long been aware of my son's

deep admiration of the Lady Zorilda, but so entirely averse is he to

revealing his sentiments at the _present_ juncture, that I risk his

displeasure in making an avowal to which I am urged by the high sense

that I entertain of those qualifications which must render your

daughter an object of universal competition.

"I have the honour to be, my Lord, your Lordship's sincere friend, and

most obedient humble servant,

GODFREY CECIL."

"Pompous treachery!" exclaimed Zorilda, as she folded the letter. "How

grateful to his ear the tinkling bell of Ladyship, appended to this

'----Jonah's Gourd,

An overnight creation of court favour,

With which an undistinguishable case

Makes baron, or makes prince.'

"I hate this greedy haste which, fearful of forestalment, thus violates

all delicacy, and would compromise the feelings of his pure and

nobleminded son, to compass his proud ends--but we are going to Italy.

Perhaps, too, this is for the best. If I must leave dear Drumcairn, at

least it will be some recompense that I shall quit these harpies, who,

like Sir Godfrey, hover round the well spread board, and force their

unneeded praise where fortune smiles."

Mrs. Gordon's entrance interrupted this soliloquy. "I left you, my

dear one, to meet your trial alone, because my presence might have

embarrassed your father."

"Yes he _is_ my father. I feel the sacred bond drawn tight across my

heart, which almost beat itself to death, like a poor bird against its

prison wires, in terror of his approach. You say truly, my monitress,

that we are for ever prone to take trouble at interest. Aye, and

usurious interest too--we raise ghosts and then wonder that they haunt

us. But my dear father talks of Italy, and thinks that her classic

shores bear healing on their gales. Alas! he knows not how deep the

mine--how industrious the sappers. The 'sweet South' can do nought for

me. No breeze, however balmy, 'can minister unto the mind diseased.' I

have a longer journey before me than to Nice or Pisa."

Mrs. Gordon had hitherto controlled her feelings, but, overcome by the

prophetic melancholy which accompanied the last words of Zorilda, she

burst into tears, and, covering her face with her hands, remained for

some time unable to speak.

"Kindest, dearest friend," said Zorilda, "I meant only to familiarize

your mind to what I feel must come to pass ere long--but I am always

doing wrong. The idea of death is so welcome to me that I forget its

sorrowful effect on others, and have grieved my best and dearest Mrs.

Gordon. Oh think no more of my Cassandra propensities; let us speak of

something else. I did not hear my father's carriage drive from your

door. Surely he cannot still be here?"

"He is still here, my Zorilda, and listening to a tale of woe which

concerns us all; but my child, Heaven has sent you support in this

dear and newly found relation. May you rest on him as on a pillar of

strength, and be enabled to stand firm under divine assistance! I too

have been a Cassandra, but you must hear the dismal story from other

lips. I cannot tell it to you."

"You have given me a clue," said Zorilda, who turned as pale as ashes,

"which too fatally directs my imagination, though not perhaps through

every winding of the labyrinth. Speak, oh speak! you need not fear

to trust me; I can bear to hear. Yes, I can bear to hear even that

Algernon--my once loved----"

The words which Zorilda would have uttered died upon her lips, and she

fell senseless at Mrs. Gordon's feet.

When she recovered recollection, she found herself laid on a sofa,

while Mr. Playfair kneeled at her side, invoking heavenly mercy in her

behalf. He had put every one out of the room, and took upon himself the

task of preparing her for a full disclosure; but Zorilda's quick eye

and mind anticipated the conclusion, and she was in possession of the

whole ere it was designed that she should be informed of more than half

the direful narrative.

Mr. Playfair did not give Algernon's letter till after imagination

was so wrought upon, that even that dreadful document by realizing

the horrors of the scene which it exhibited, prevented reason from

deserting her throne to wander irretrievably into the wild regions of

maniac desolation.

"It is done!" said Zorilda; "it is finished. Lord, thou wouldst have

my whole heart, and it is thine! 'Whom have I in heaven but thee,

and whom do I desire on earth beside thee.' I can say this now--Hah!

killed by _his_ hand! a murderer! But he is pardoned. Oh say not that

forgiveness is impossible!

'Between the death-deed and the ground

He mercy sought and mercy found.'

Tell me not that he did not repent the act."

A violent shuddering came over her whole frame, from which suddenly

starting up, she gazed round the room, and asked for Mrs. Gordon, who

waited but the slightest movement in the apartment to open the door,

and heedless of her own affliction, fly to the aid of sorrow yet

greater than that which she suffered.

But there was now no longer any apparent weakness to combat--no excess

of feeling to assuage--all was still.

"My friend," said Zorilda, in a firm voice, as she held her hand to

Mrs. Gordon, "help me to shake off this lethargy. God has given me

duties to perform. I must no longer be a useless torpid thing. Where is

my father?"

Lord Pierrepoint had lingered to wait the event, and now stole

softly into his daughter's apartment. Surprised and delighted by

her unexpected fortitude, he determined to indulge every wish which

she might express, in the hope by doing so to restore her soon to a

sufficient measure of health and tranquillity for the undertaking

which he meditated. "A warm climate will strengthen, and a gradual

introduction to society, the charms of which are unknown to her, will

do the rest," said he in a whisper.

Mrs. Gordon shook her head, but did not contradict these visions of

hope.

"My father will not refuse his child's request," said Zorilda, who

raised her beautiful eyes as he drew near the couch on which she

leaned; "he will conduct me to the home of my youth. I have another

father there, who needs my consolation. Shall I not offer him all that

I have to bestow?"

"My Zorilda shall do every thing that may contribute to her peace,"

answered Lord Pierrepoint. "I will give immediate orders for the

journey."

A gleam of short-lived irradiation shot across the pale cheek of

Zorilda, who pressed her parent's hand in mute acknowledgment of his

goodness, but Mrs. Gordon interposed.

"My Zorilda," said she, "has other claims upon her heart, and she will

not neglect to fulfil them. _Something_ is due to her poor friends at

Drumcairn, and she will not desert them in this moment of heaviness.

I too must share with her the task of watching and comforting my poor

brother. Why not bring him here? The change of scene will assist our

cares for him, and my Zoé will recover faster in the repose of this

chamber than in the excitement of a journey, for the fatigues of which

she is not strong enough at present."

Zorilda sighed in silence, when she perceived by the expression of her

father's countenance how much he preferred this arrangement to her

plan. Mr. Playfair warmly seconded the measure proposed by Mrs. Gordon,

and offered to attend Lord Pierrepoint on the following day. They

commenced their route at an early hour, promising to return as quickly

as circumstances would admit; bringing their invalid charge along with

them to Scotland.

Zorilda's fervid bloom and tearless eye would have led an ignorant

observer to believe that some secret source of joy poured the soft

springs of consolation over her withered spirit, and that hope still

fluttered in the distance. Hope and faith were indeed whispering peace,

but they were not of this world; they were celestial visitants, and

Mrs. Gordon was not deceived. Zorilda had forced her friend to bed,

and entreated to be left in solitude herself. On entering her room in

the morning, Mrs. Gordon, who had not slept, found her beloved adopted

child already up, her head reclining on her hand, papers and writing

implements scattered around.

"My mother," said she, "I have been busy making my will. You must take

care of my poor pensioners. You will be my almoner. You know that I

have a little fortune in bank. I am setting my house in order, and long

to be gone."

Mrs. Gordon could not reply. Zorilda rose and threw her arms

affectionately round the neck of her who was truly a mother to her in

tenderness. "I will not afflict you any more," said she, "by touching

on these subjects which distress you. Yet were you to know how sweet

are the thoughts of death, you would not grieve. It was you too who

first imparted to my soul that strength in which I am now permitted

to pass through the dark valley; you taught me to lean on the staff

which is now sustaining my footsteps: and will you repent you of the

good you have performed, and mourn over the happy work which you have

accomplished?

"I cannot tell how it is, but I feel assured that the conflict will

speedily be ended. How simple, how beautiful is the religion which

teaches how to die! and how little does it resemble the eloquent

declamations, the fine spun arguments, the perplexing subtleties,

with which we puzzle comprehension and estrange the affections, while

'redolent of life' we waste our intellectual prime in the labyrinths of

metaphysical lore, and _talk_ ourselves far away from God. My mother,

I am about to depart, and shall soon be removed beyond the confines

of sense. Pray for me, not that I should tarry here, but be received

amidst the countless millions of the blessed."

Mrs. Gordon was called away upon urgent business, and Zorilda, having

thrown on a cloak, glided secretly down the back stairs, and passing

up a path lined with cypress, gained the church-yard, which had long

been her favourite haunt. It was a romantic spot, in which she loved

to listen to the sullen roar of the gathering storm, or the melancholy

sighing of the sea breezes as they whistled through the long wiry grass

which waved upon the walls of a ruined abbey overhung with ivy, that

still outlived the wreck of time, and stood a monument of former days.

An ancient yew tree, which tossed its old fantastic roots high in air,

with flattened crown, over which the northern blast from Kinnaird's

head swept nippingly, overshadowed a gloomy corner of this wild and

desolate cemetery. Thither Zorilda bent her steps. Pausing as she

approached the spot, the curlieu's plaintive wail struck upon her ear.

"Hah! that is my funeral knell! it is a gracious and a cheering sound;

a requiem of welcome omen."

"I love to linger in the narrow field

"Of rest--to wander round from tomb to tomb,

"And think of some who silent sleep below."

She turned round an angle of the old building, as she mused, and

reaching her accustomed rocky seat, beneath the yew tree's matted

roof, "This," said she, "shall be my resting place! Ocean! thou image

of eternity! thy breath is balmy, and wafts freedom to my bosom. Here

will I trace the simple memorial which shall mark my grave. Ambition!

but for thee, how different had been my fate; but the pilot who guided

my bark, can never err. I have required long discipline to teach me;

but at last I see the heavenly scheme which comprehends a wider range

than this poor nether sphere can supply. Why is it so difficult to

justify the ways of God to man, but that we seek results on faith,

which are furnished only in a higher scene. My father, I acknowledge

my stubbornness and stupidity. Thou hast dealt with me thus, that we

might meet in the mansions of glory, where all tears shall be wiped

away. What are the brief enjoyments of this fleeting world, when

compared with the celestial communion of those who are purified in the

furnace of affliction! Yes, we shall meet father, mother, Algernon! Oh!

my burning brow; my beating heart. How I long for the green pastures

and refreshing waters, which are promised to the weary pilgrim! Had I

been what the world calls happy, I should have loved it too well, and

built my tabernacle on its unstable sands. My God resolved to bring me

home to more abiding felicity than I could have known below; there, I

grow faint: this feeble outline is all that I can sketch, but Lionel

shall finish it. That dear friend shall perform Zorilda's last earthly

purpose, and place this memento where she lies. Oh that I were already

laid beneath the verdant turf! but my tarrying will not be long--my

strength is exhausted."

She made an effort to rise, but her bending limbs refused their office.

Her eyes grew dim, and unable to recover herself, she fell back into

the arms of him, whose name she had just pronounced.

"Adored Zorilda! thy Lionel is here, and Clara is at this moment

seeking her best beloved friend at Drumcairn. Oh speak! Raise those

precious eye-lids, and look on one who is devoted to thee! Speak, oh

say but one word, and relieve this agony of dread!"

She heard not; saw not; felt not. She had fallen asleep to wake no

more, and at her feet the pencil lay, with which she had just traced an

urn, veiled in clouds, through which the name of Zorilda was faintly

discernible, and on its pedestal were engraved the words,

"Who was she?"

"What is she?"

THE YOUNG REFORMERS.

"Boys immature in knowledge

Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,

And so rebel to judgment."

SHAKSPEARE.

PREFACE.

On calling lately at the house of a friend who was indisposed, I found

him in his study wrapped in a dressing gown, and turning over, with

pensive air, the leaves of a dust-brown manuscript, which lay open

before him on the table.

"What have you got here? have you turned author, or are you revising

and correcting for another?" said I, arresting the arm of my friend, as

he was in the act of removing his papers.

"I have been," he replied, "looking over a cobwebbed memoir of my own

life, which has been one of no ordinary vicissitude. It is a melancholy

pleasure to retrace the path of existence through a faithful narrative

of its events; and compare ourselves with ourselves in different stages

of our progress. I have not glanced at this moth-eaten record for

upwards of twenty years, and feel, after closing it, as if I had been

conversing with the dead; but let me place it on its shelf again, and

we will talk on more agreeable subjects."

"Not till I have possession," said I, darting forwards and seizing

the manuscript. An intimacy of long standing pleaded excuse for this

abrupt measure. I took home my booty, read the memoir; and felt so

deeply interested in a story which I knew to be true, that I entreated

permission to give it to my printer. "I thought, at one time, of

publishing it," replied my friend, "but afterwards relinquished the

idea. The experience of one man never guides another. All people like

to purchase their own; but provided you change every name of place or

person which might inflict a wound in any breast, you may do as you

please with my tale of other times."

I promised, and have performed, so let no Reader, who happens to have

a taste either for genealogy or geography, seek acquaintance with any

character or locality introduced in the following pages.

THE EDITOR.

CHAPTER I.

"A bramble at the eye is larger than an oak at a distance," and thus

every man is of importance in his own view; and imagines that he could

communicate something of profit or pleasure by recounting the results

of his individual experience. But the most remarkable adventures, as

well as the sagest remarks, are forgotten, if they are merely the

subjects of fire-side reminiscence; and people are deterred from making

public the events of their own lives through the terror of imputed

egotism, however well they may feel inclined to impart a benefit to

their species. In this dilemma, between vanity and forgetfulness, much

useful warning is withheld from the world, since all agree that one

fact is more valuable than volumes of theory.

This train of meditation was awakened by unpacking a case, in which

a pile of journals, which I had kept from early youth, met my eye.

Many a bitter recollection rose upon my mind, as I arranged them

according to order; but _coute qui coute_, I resolved that I would

collect my scattered memoranda, and attempt a sketch of my own history.

The retrospect was painful; but if a single fellow-being might be

instructed by a narrative of my errors, I felt that I should be

rewarded; and even should no second person peruse these pages, a review

of the past will be good for my own heart.

Inspired by these reflections, I begin by saying, who I am and whence

I came. My name is Albert Fitzmaurice, and my birth-place the western

extremity of a certain county in Ireland. My father was a clergyman

of the Established Church, who, though born likewise in Ireland,

was of English parentage, and received an Oxford education, which

was a greater distinction in his day than it is at present, when

the intercourse between the Sister Kingdoms has softened down, or

obliterated so many national differences amongst their inhabitants.

Charles Fitzmaurice, for that was my father's name, was an accomplished

gentleman, according to that high standard which never varies in all

the changes of time and taste. Amiable, classical, and refined, he

sought a congenial partner to mitigate the horrors of the banishment to

which he was doomed at eight and twenty by his ecclesiastical patron;

and as the females of that period were distinguished from each other by

varieties not entirely comprehended under the endorsement of "black,

brown, and fair;" my father was fortunate enough to find a companion

whose fine understanding and heavenly sweetness of disposition

maintained a perpetual sunshine of the soul wherever she moved.

In the present artificial state of society, when rank and fortune are

generally considered necessary to refinement, I shall encounter the

curled lip and elevated eye-brow of disdain if I venture to assert that

my parents were amongst the happiest specimens of polished elegance,

though they could neither boast of wealth nor title. There is a dignity

of mind, which, borrowing nothing from the Proteus fashion of the day,

rises gracefully in its own strength, and is suited to all times,

because, proceeding from solid principles, it is not indebted to the

changeful caprices of the passing hour. Surely that politeness which

has its foundation in the heart, and which may be defined good nature

sent to school, is the only genuine sort, permanent in its influence,

and of universal application.

Such was the kind with which I was acquainted in the home of my early

existence. As the shores appear to glide by the skimming bark in

the sweet calm of a summer sky, while in reality they are fixed and

immoveable, so did the suavity of parental affection temper discipline

to such a degree, that commands put on the gentle aspect of request,

which none but demons could have resisted; and retirement, which

precluded any attempt at awkward imitation, imparted all that ease and

self-possession, which are the essence of good society.

Situated in a wild and thinly peopled district, though in one of the

most populous of all countries, this excellent pair began their wedded

career on the humble pittance of five hundred _per annum_, which sum,

however, it must be remembered, embraced a much wider proportion of

comfort than the same income could at present procure. During many

tranquil years my parents pursued "the noiseless tenor of their way,"

rich in each other's love, and happy because their mutual attachment

was built on sympathy in virtue, which wears brighter instead of being

destroyed by use. They lived, it is true, in what modern language

styles the deepest obscurity; but _really_ in the meridian light of

truth and contentment. A numerous tribe of olive branches sprang around

their table; and notwithstanding the straightened finances which

supplied their wants, each addition to the family group was hailed with

affection, which seemed to increase in fervor with every new direction

of its course.

The chief delight of my father and mother consisted in bestowing upon

their offspring every advantage which their own acquirements, and

whatever instruction they could attain at such a distance from the

capital, enabled them to impart. An excellent library lent its aid to

their efforts, but the quiet routine of a country life, in which each

day certified of another, however pleasingly diversified for the actors

in a domestic group, is too monotonous to interest such as may be

strangers to those endearing relations which produce, in breasts that

feel their influence, an unceasing supply of excitement; and therefore

my readers (if readers I should have) will readily dispense with all

the particulars of my childhood, and thank me for retarding their

introduction to the parsonage of Glendruid, in the wilds of the west,

till about the year ninety-seven, when I was a full grown youth of

eighteen, tall, active, and manly. Truth compels me, in thus declaring

how many summers I had numbered at the commencement of my story, to

destroy _in limine_ any romantic visions with which the fairer part of

creation may be inspired, if any amongst them should deign to turn my

title page in fond belief of meeting with a youthful hero, under the

not _unnovel_ like appellation which I bear. It is true that I _have

been_ young, giddy, and adventurous; and if I am no longer the Albert

of former days, it is because time will do his silent work without

regard to the prayer of beauty, and hurry his victim forward unmindful

of every entreaty preferred by either sex, to stay his merciless

career. But to my tale.

All who have lived as long as I have done, will recollect that the

epoch of which I write was one of violent commotion in the minds of

Irishmen. The revolutionary spirit of France had crossed the seas, and

while actively fermenting the population of my country, was as rapidly

decomposing the substance of religion and morals. What was called

a thirst of inquiry, a search after truth, liberality of opinion,

unprejudiced reason, and many such misnomers, was in fact, a burning

desire to demolish the entire structure of civilized institution, and

send mankind again into the woods as hunters and shepherds, to emerge

anew from the elements of natural society. Man differs not more from

the very antipodes of his own character in another person, than he does

from himself in distant periods of his life, and I almost doubt my

identity in retracing the days of my youth, when I was one of those who

----"Bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when truth would set them free,

License they mean when they cry liberty."

Glendruid Glebe was situated in one of the wildest spots of earth; and

the only old wood, though of dwarfish size, which the whole district

for many miles could boast, embellished the precipitous sides of a

ravine close to my father's dwelling, into which the Atlantic billows

rushed as impetuously as if they sought asylum in our sheltered creek

from some sea monster. The rocks which lined this mountain _gash_, were

chafed into fretwork, resembling honey-comb by the constant friction of

returning tides, and assumed a thousand fantastic forms along the shore

as far as the eye could reach. Surrounded by these rugged masses, it

was my delight, in childhood, to watch the seals as they lay basking in

the sunshine upon our rocks, or listen with charmed attention to the

"sob of the wave," as it struggled through those stony syphons which

had been perforated by the ocean waters. Seated under the blast-riven

trunk of a stunted oak, I used to weave the web of future fate while

yet a boy, and all my day-dreams were of happiness and virtue.

In the same nook, at a later period, did I plan the revolution of the

state, and trampling, by anticipation, all institutions, human and

divine, beneath my feet, revel in the wishes for success of anarchy and

scepticism. Alas! what a vapour is man throughout his seven ages, when

not governed by the spirit of God within his breast! How easy is the

transition from good to evil, and how ingenious that sophistry which

blends the most discordant elements into one favourite system!

Having briefly sketched the character of my parents, and set them down

amid the Irish Alps, I must proceed to speak of two other families by

whom our western wilderness was peopled, and who were unhappily the

only near neighbours of Glendruid, except a pair of ecclesiastics,

hereafter to be described.

John Talbot Esq. was a gentleman of fortune, that is to say, according

to an interpretation which would often be found to explain that title

in Ireland, he possessed a large tract of territory in fee, and

appeared the undisputed Lord of a widely spread though barren domain,

while his revenues were so circumscribed, that had it not been for the

high-ways and bye-ways of ocean, and a great subterranean vault in

which tobacco, tea, and brandy, found convenient hiding place, all but

the common necessaries of life would often have been wanting. He was

a man of education, just enough to be as mischievous as possible in

such a country as Ireland, where the materials of combustion are always

at hand, and only require a breath to blow them. Mr. Talbot was not a

scholar, and therefore perhaps it was that he held learning and science

in the profoundest contempt. He read, however, all the publications of

the day, and was well versed in the French school; while newspapers,

pamphlets, and reviews, light, loose, and in constant succession,

supplied him with stores for the furtherance of his daily purpose in

fanning discontent amongst the people.

His family had been originally Roman Catholic, but some intermarriage

introduced property and Protestantism at the same time into one of its

branches, of which he was the principal descendant, and he had never

gone to mass, though, unfortunately, he was not nearer to church on

that account. He was an infidel, and the bookcases at Ferney, a name

which, through admiration of Voltaire, Mr. Talbot had superinduced on

the ancient denomination of Kimahone, were filled with the voluminous

works of this favourite author, to which were added those of his

Gallic brethren, and the more recent trash of Godwin, Paine, Volney,

Wolstoncroft, and such like, of indigenous growth. From these sources

he drew his heavy artillery when required, but as I have stated, the

lighter productions of each day's publication furnished abundant

ammunition for a successful warfare against religion and loyalty in a

weekly meeting at St. Patrick's cross, where a few miserable huts,

built on the confluence of four mountain tracks, were dignified by the

style and title of town, and yclept Ballymaclashen.

One slated roof raised its head in solitary pre-eminence in the centre

of these mud-walled tenements, and was commonly called from this

distinguishing circumstance, the "_slat-house_." In front of this

edifice was a pole, the perpendicular position of which was preserved

by an immense _cairn_ of rude stones piled round its base, as though

it marked the grave of some renowned Milesian; and from this pole was

suspended by a pair of rusty hooks, a board, on which was daubed an

equestrian figure attired in patches of red and green, with a full

bottomed wig, and cocked hat. In my childhood this warrior was said to

represent "King George the Third _a hoss back_;" but in after time,

though no change of costume had been carried into effect on the sign

post, the same red man and white horse were ingeniously metamorphosed

by the landlord into Buonaparte mounted on his charger. Underneath

was inscribed, "Lisaned to cell Bere, Ail, & Portur, as likewize

pruf sperrets by Tim Carthy," while "entertenmant for Man and Hoss,"

flourished in a scroll at the bottom to allure the wayfarer who might

stand in need of refreshment in crossing the moor of Ballymaclashen.

Amongst the meaner habitations of this wretched hamlet, two or three

were distinguished from the rest by a thin lacquering of whitewash,

which mottled the clayey surface of the walls into a ground which

served to render legible the ill-spelt and apocryphal announcement,

traced with a burnt stick, that "dry lodgen" might be found within;

while a turf tied in a string, and fastened by a withy to the potato

stalks, which formed the thatch of these miserable dwellings, informed

travellers of humbler description that all the inspiration of that

witching herb which affords stimulus in such variety of charm, was not

confined to the elegant accommodations of Tim, but might be enjoyed

with uncostly "means and appliances." Smile not, ye sleek and pampered

sons of commerce, who gloat upon the wealth of nations, if I proceed

to shew that even the spirit of competition was not a stranger to the

desert scene which I am describing. On one of these freckled fronts,

was scrawled the following sentence, which I shall give in its original

orthography, "Lady ha'punce tuck within and no questions axed."

For the explanation of this singular inscription, be it known, that a

quantity of counterfeit copper had got into circulation, to the great

alarm of the country dealers, who became so suspicious of Hibernia's

effigy, that, seized with a panic, they refused for some time any thing

less than a silver tender, and preferred running on a doubtful score

with their customers, to risking their little property in exchange

for a base coin of more easy attainment; but the dread of non-payment

and avidity of gain, will submit to sacrifice, and the extraordinary

advertisement to which I have alluded, was the device hit upon by Larry

Connell, more crafty, and a bolder speculator than his fellows, for the

purpose of inviting, in the true spirit of monopoly, all the consumers

of his neighbourhood, and securing an exclusive interest which he

hoped might outlive the temporary inconvenience of this fraudulent

medium of exchange. "Nothing venture, nothing have," was Larry's motto,

and the event proved his sagacity, for all the "lady ha'punce" came to

his cabin to be bartered for snuff or illicit whiskey, during a season,

to his cost; but in process of time, when the base metal disappeared,

gratitude and habit confirmed a preference for our liberal trader,

who, like many of his betters, managed by a little splash and cunning,

to acquire a character for generosity, while thinking of no interest

except his own. Such is the race of man; varying in modes; in substance

ever the same.

Well! Ballymaclashen would seem but an unprofitable theatre for the

exertion of oratory; but Cæsar thought it better to be first in a

village than second at Rome, and Mr. Talbot, who was of the same

opinion, did not disdain to wear the bays which were placed on his

brow, to crown him Anacharsis Cloots of the "Slat House." There he

held his political orgies, and there unrivalled, uttered many a

bold harangue to the admiring multitude of red-haired, raw-boned,

open-mouthed, and bare-legged peasants, who flocked from all the

adjacent districts to hear arguments which there was no adversary to

oppose; swallow statements which no one started up to contradict;

and applaud declamations, one half at least of which they did not

understand.

Paddy, however, is a quick intelligent animal, and as Mr. Talbot was

largely gifted with natural eloquence, and studied to use language of a

popular _savour_, seasoning the graver topics in his speeches with that

dry humour which to Irish minds is an irresistible _sauce piquante_,

his auditors were enabled to catch, and carry away, a good deal of the

matter which he propounded, and returned to their homes discoursing

all the way, with inflated spirits, of liberty and equality; the

downfall of tithes; the destruction of kingly government; the partition

and recovery of forfeited estates, with all the other themes of

disaffection then afloat, in their own phraseology, and with much zeal

in these subjects of discussion.

Mr. Talbot had a wife and family, who were all bitten by the mania of

the day, and all practised according to sex and age, the doctrines

which they had imbibed. The children were taught from their cradle

to abhor an orange dye, as the livery of Satan, and I well remember

that the first exhibition of prowess manifested by these youngsters,

consisted in an attack with broad swords made of wood, on all the

lilies of that hue, which could be found in the neighbouring gardens.

A horse-leech which had been caught in a pool by a plough-boy, and

brought as a curiosity to the young gentlemen, underwent a merciless

_auto da fe_ for the crime of being spotted with a proscribed colour;

and an old woman narrowly escaped being ducked in an adjacent pond,

for the offence of bringing a basket of fish to the door, in which the

plaice appeared with forbidden tints. All this, and much more, was

encouraged as wit, and while the children were in their infancy, the

unfortunate servants, who were condemned to endure the effects of their

undisciplined self-will and lawless fancies, were the only victims of

that misrule in which they were brought up; but as time advanced,

and energies expanded, the nursery became an arena too confined for

the exercise of _freemen_, and a mob of untutored democrats were now

let loose upon the common, to talk of equal rights, and wield unequal

power, and, like a second deluge of Goths and Vandals, issue forth the

terror and the curse of all around, to barbarise the human race anew.

As the young Talbots grew to man's estate, the only practical evidence

which they gave of sincerity in their professions, was discoverable

in their love of low company, not preferred with the view, it must

be added, of exerting any benevolence towards their inferiors, but

for the pleasure of drilling, dictating to, and domineering over, all

the slavish crew whom poverty and ignorance, hope or fear, induced to

submit to the tyranny of their control.

Dogs, horses, fishing-rods, were soon disregarded for the more

animating amusement of training soldiers for the field. At first a

harmless host, armed with bulrushes, assembled on the green; but

these innoxious weapons were ere long exchanged for more destructive

instruments, and the day-light parade gave place in time, to nocturnal

meetings, to which the mystery of darkness and silence lent an

irresistible attraction. Albinia Talbot, an Amazonian girl of sixteen,

tall, masculine, and uncommonly handsome, furnished all her aid to

these martial exercises, and attended her brothers in all their nightly

excursions. Dressed in a green habit, and mounted on her pony, she

would appear at the rendezvous, and by her presence add the charm of

gallantry to that of prowess.

Albinia's adoption of the rebel politics and uniform, was the hinge

upon which my obedience turned, and I resolved to be deterred no longer

by any authority from following the bent of inclination. I had been

strictly prohibited by my father from joining in any of the exploits

of our young neighbours, of which he received information through some

secret channel; and though strongly tempted by the love of adventure

to transgress the order, I did not yield till my imagination was fired

by the example of a beautiful female, who, imitating the Semiramises

and Hersilias of antiquity, laid aside the timidity of her sex, and

spurning the distaff, rushed forth, inspired by patriotic ardour in her

country's cause.

"What!" said I, "shall it be said that the young and lovely Albinia

disdains inglorious ease, and braves the midnight blast, the fatigues

of the field, and the risk of detection, while I am lying supinely

taking my repose? Shall I be indifferent to the wrongs of that island

which gave me birth, while this noble minded girl, regardless of self,

devotes every energy to the freedom and happiness of a suffering

people?"

The bonds of filial submission had long been gradually relaxing. I now

determined on slipping the noose, and delivering myself at once from

the restraint by which I had hitherto been withheld. I had been often

solicited to accept a commission in "_the regiment_," which name the

young Talbots gave to the rabble rout which they were dragooning into

military array; but I had refused, much as I envied them, and wished

to join in the enterprize. Albinia however, as I have said, turned the

balance, and to the next mountain muster I promised to go. While I

live I shall never forget the rapture which, notwithstanding all the

anxiety incident to concealment, and the dread of discovery, I felt at

finding myself not only a spectator, but an actor in a scene so novel

and inspiring, as broke upon my sight, on the first time of keeping my

appointment.

I had several miles to ride to the place of meeting, at which, when

arrived, I found some hundreds of fine young fellows assembled, who

were regularly marshalled, and put through several evolutions (which

they executed with astonishing precision) by a man who the Talbots

informed me was a deserter, and in their service. The place selected

for these clandestine meetings, was admirably calculated for the

purpose, and presented a _coup d'oeil_ singularly picturesque as well

as imposing. A mixed and confused remembrance of every thing romantic

which I had ever read, occurred to my imagination as I approached the

scene. Gil Blas, the Pretender, and a thousand other recollections

rushed upon my memory, and poured such a tide of the most delightful

visions on my mind, that when united to a dream of Brutus, and the

Scipios, with the more recent names of those who were now endangering

life and property for their country's good, nothing was wanting to

complete the enthusiasm with which I made a vow on the altar of

liberty, that night, to devote my services to the goddess of popular

adoration.

The spot on which I met my friends was deeply embosomed within a

circular barrier of mountains, the outlines of which gracefully

intersected each other, and seemed to close entirely round a small lake

of water, pure and clear, but dark as Erebus. In the middle of this

lake rose a little green island, beautifully tufted with elder, yew,

and a few withered stumps of oak, which seemed to tell of better days.

This sequestered patch of earth appeared to have been a favourite haunt

of various orders of worshippers, for a gigantic Cromlech reared its

Druid head at no great distance from the remains of a ruined abbey,

furnishing a powerful contrast between the durability of its form and

materials, unaltered in the lapse of ages, and the mouldering fragments

which spoke the vanity of man's best efforts to perpetuate his fleeting

fame.

From the main land to the island, a rude causeway of enormous stones,

narrow, but of massy structure, was the _via sacra_ by which thousands

of poor pilgrims, led by the most benighted superstition, annually

visited this vestige of monastic times. I had often heard of the

striking effect produced by the reflection of St. John's fires from

the lake, on the eve of that saintly vigil when the votaries of papal

dominion used to assemble here and perform their religious rites; but

what is always within our reach we generally neglect to seek, and so it

was in the present instance.

As I drew near, the pale and tranquil moonbeams fell upon the

commanding form of Albinia, who, standing on the Cromlech's height,

and arrayed in her vestment of green, addressed the troop who were

listening with devoted zeal, as though she had been another Joan of

Arc, to every word uttered by her lips. She had adorned her hat with

a branch of the mountain ash, to the beautiful scarlet fruit of which

Scotland has given the name of rowan berries; and such was the romance

with which I gazed on her figure, that she seemed no other in that

moment to my eyes, than the genius of Erin awakening from a tedious

slumber to invoke the justice of Heaven on her beloved country. I wept

as I mused on the scene of enchantment before me, while a projecting

crag still kept me out of view, but the tears which I then shed, were

the last that bedewed my cheeks for many a day. I was about to enter

the labyrinth of that false philosophy which hardens the heart, and

every remnant of tender feeling was attacked with such ridicule by my

new advisers, who set their faces against _sentiment_ of whatever kind,

that, under their tuition, I quickly learned to despise all natural

impulses of the human breast.

After pausing for a few minutes to contemplate the assembly, I left my

screen, and appeared in full front of the band. I was received with

such welcome and applause as flattered my vanity to intoxication. No

hero, ancient or modern, could have felt himself more elevated by the

well-earned clang of triumph than I did at hearing my praises sounded

by a mob of deluded peasants. Albinia appointed me immediately to a

company in the corps; she seemed to act as _generalissima_ on the

occasion, and to exercise unlimited control over this rebel multitude,

who looked upon her as inspired.

I was informed by my fair commandant, that she expected much from my

skill, bravery, and judgment; and I resolved to repay the confidence

thus reposed, by the most entire submission to my lovely chief, and the

most perfect devotion to the cause which she supported. I longed for

some distinguishing badge of favour, and would gladly have received a

scarf, or glove, or even the rowan wreath, which would have turned to

amaranth in my keeping, but I am obliged to confess that Albinia was

not a gentle Dulcinea; abrupt almost to coarseness, she shook me rather

roughly by the hand, and presenting me a pistol and powder-horn, said,

"There! I commit these to you, and as you see that as yet we are but

slenderly provided with either arms or ammunition, I request you to

make good use of what is now entrusted to your care."

Our _regiment_ was composed, as I have mentioned, of some hundred fine

brawny youths. They were all dressed in linen shirts which they wore

over their ragged clothes. This garb had the double advantage of giving

an air of uniformity, and also of being easily slipped off in case of a

surprise, against the occurrence of which we endeavoured to guard, by

always keeping a watch in the passes which led to our rendezvous. Our

band were armed with clubs of white-thorn, elder, or whatever else they

could procure. A few of them had old military belts and feathers, which

served to mark the corporals and sergeants; the officers being supplied

from the houses of Ferney and Painesville.

So infatuated was I by these martial exercises, that in spite of the

repugnance which I knew my parents felt to an intimacy on my part

with the Lovetts and Talbots, I gave myself up to them; and, though

by stealth, contrived to be a punctual attendant on the musters. A

brisk correspondence, in which my brothers had been, as I discovered,

employed long before I was called upon to join, existed between us and

all the _mauvais sujets_ in the country. Military tactics formed but a

part of the schemes on foot. As an auxiliary branch of united Irishmen,

we had our committees, secretaries, treasurers, and central offices,

to which we communicated whatever information we had been enabled to

collect, and which we considered likely to advance our schemes.

CHAPTER II.

Such was the state of affairs at the period of which I write, as

touching our _public_ functions; but the condition of private life

remains to be unfolded; and as the inhabitants of Glendruid were not

the leaders, but the led, I will begin with causes before I proceed

to effects, and describe the situation of affairs at _Painesville_,

formerly known by the appellation of Lovett-lodge, and exhibiting

a complete pandemonium at the time in which my tale may be said to

commence. Looking back on Mr. Lovett's family with the sobered views of

forty-five, I must own that nothing could be more preposterously absurd

than the inversion of all natural order in his house.

Mr. and Mrs. Lovett were pupils of that school which directly sprang

from the French revolution, though they had not drank so deeply of

the poisoned chalice as to be openly professed advocates of irreligion

or immorality. They were republicans; and held all the incompatible

doctrines which contradict each other, and the unfortunate consequences

of which are precisely as apparent under a single roof as in a nation.

Of such nature were the dogmas of liberty and equality, so utterly

at variance with the constitution of created things, that were they

introduced by the divine fiat over the face of the whole globe in

perfect balance at the moment of its formation, one generation

could not pass away without witnessing the destruction of a state

inconsistent with the unequal proportions of strength and intellect

awarded by our Maker to his creatures, and therefore never designed to

be continued amongst them.

The uproar of a democracy met the eye and ear on crossing the threshold

of the door at Painesville, where eight children were permitted, from

the earliest age, to exercise their several talents for disputation

without the slightest restraint. Assertion passed for argument,

roughness was styled sincerity, and contempt of all authority was

called the light of reason. When first I became acquainted with manners

so dissimilar from those to which I had been used at Glendruid, I

was struck with an unfavourable impression, and felt like one who

is suddenly introduced from a purer atmosphere into one that is

contaminated; but the moral and physical senses become alike accustomed

to vitiated air, and we learn to breathe freely where suffocation

seemed to threaten. I soon imbibed enough of the popular _Malaria_ to

be quite at home; and though conscious that paradoxes were imposed upon

my understanding, against which the unbiassed mind revolted, I speedily

adopted the nomenclature, and learned to call things by names which

were foreign to their nature; right and wrong often changed places,

and I became an adept in the language of "natural justice--tyranny of

the laws--folly of legislation--wickedness of power--sovereignty of

reason," and the disgusting farrago of a period now gone by, but which,

though its grosser errors are disclaimed by the more judicious, has

left much of its leaven behind.

At Painesville there was nothing but incessant discussion,

replication, rejoinder, mooting of futile questions, and disrespectful

contradiction. Talents were held to be the one thing needful; and

though the heads of the family did not carry matters to such lengths

as to pronounce that religion and morals were of no value, yet the

whole bearing of conversation tended to loosen all existing ties with

either the one or the other. Every subject was tried by the test

of reason; not meaning the reason of the wise, the informed, the

experienced--but of the young, the pert, and superficial. The rapid

conclusions of ingenuity put to flight the sober maxims of truth and

knowledge. Whatever was rendered venerable by the sanction of time

was _litigated_, and brought to the bar anew, to be tried by a self

impanelled jury. At Painesville it was decreed that, "relationship was

a mere accident, which ought not to infringe on the liberty of the

subject, by conveying any right. Children, it was argued, were not

consulted as to their choice--they did not give consent to be brought

into the world; consequently there was no covenant. Nature declared

for equality, in the inferior creation, as soon as animals acquired

physical power to take care of themselves. Why should man be the only

exception to a law thus general, and with superior endowments be

excluded from the charter enjoyed by every other living creature?"

It is painful, even now, to retrace, at this distance of time, the

dicta of a philosophy which has become nearly obsolete, and the very

remembrance of which ought to be expunged; but I am giving the history

of my own times; and facts which I must narrate require a retrospect of

those modes of thinking which gave them birth. The intelligent reader,

who is aware of the moral confusion which followed, upon the adoption

of those principles introduced by the French revolution, will easily

fill up the rough sketch which I have attempted of the Lovett family,

and be enabled to anticipate, in idea, all the consequences exhibited

in the minuter detail of their lives. Such a reader will easily guess,

that on the part of the parents was presented a wild assumption of

those destructive principles which led to the dismemberment of that

country from which they were unhappily imported; while the offspring,

as might naturally be expected, found too much that was gratifying

both to pride and vanity, in the lessons which they were taught, not

to seize them with avidity; and Painesville accordingly exhibited a

saturnalia where the rulers and the ruled exchanged places.

All was chaos and usurpation; Mr. and Mrs. Lovett boasted of the

equality which reigned in their family, and rejected every idea of

governing their children by means of parental discipline. Fear was

decided to be a slavish sentiment, which was not allowed place amongst

the motives which ought to actuate rational beings. "Man was born

free, and judgment was given as the only guide of action. Affections

were mere instincts unworthy of swaying the conduct; and duty was an

imposition on the privileges of the human race."

The young people were not long in convincing their father and mother

that the relation of equal fraternity, once substituted for that

of parent and child, it is no easy matter to retrace the path, and

when the evils of misrule become intolerable from the numbers and

the strength of those whom it influences, to exchange them for the

blessings of legitimate control. The colt too long at large will not

readily submit to bit and bridle; and that rider who would attempt

to enforce the unwonted restraint, will soon be rendered practically

sensible of his mistake.

At Painesville all the members of the family talked together, which

seemed the only symptom of concert amongst them. They quoted Rousseau,

D'Alembert, Gibbon, Hume, Volney, at every sentence. With these authors

I was not acquainted, as they made no part of the study furniture at

Glendruid; but, as I have said already, though conscience winced in the

outset from doctrines so little in unison with those of home, I was an

apt pupil, and speedily adopted a new system of thinking.

My two brothers, who were senior to me, had entered the University

in the year that preceded that of the Irish rebellion; and though

they never remained more than a few days at each examination in the

metropolis, yet my father's parochial duties frequently interfering

with his power of accompanying them, these short visits in Dublin were

sufficient to bring them acquainted with all that was in progress, such

was the activity that characterized at that juncture the republican

energies in Ireland.

The elder of these youths, whose name was Harold, was particularly

amiable, and became the victim of designing men, who worked

successfully on his generosity to draw him into their snares. He took

up the theory of Godwin, and believed, with more sincerity than his

master, in the infinite perfectibility of the human race. Ascribing all

the evil which he beheld under the sun to the various corruptions of

administration, and the venality of governors, benevolence was in fact

the destroying angel of _his_ mind; and he would gladly have prostrated

princes in the dust, and overthrown their seats of empire, in order to

secure "_the people_" in the enjoyment of every good.

Short-sighted politicians, who, rejecting the light of experience,

fell into the error of expecting universal order, out of particular

derangement, and general virtue, as the result of individual crime!

Harold's was a benign spirit, which wished well to every thing that

breathed; but he was not proof against the seductions of the popular

creed, and became completely entangled in speculations worthy of the

source from which they emanated. His temper, which had been naturally

sweet, and open as the morning breeze, changed to dark, sullen, and

secretive. He had been, deservedly, a darling with the best of mothers,

and her grief at his altered deportment may be more easily conceived

than described. It was not that he designed, "as of malice prepense,"

to behave uncourteously, but his mind was absolutely absorbed. The

amusements which had hitherto delighted, no longer afforded interest.

His favourite dog--his garden--his collection of shells and minerals,

were all neglected. Harold, who used to wander for miles along the

sea-shore in quest of specimens with which to enrich his store, and who

hastened to bring the fruits of his labour to that gentle being, the

kindness of whose smile might have warmed the breast of an anchorite,

and whose ready participation in whatever gave pleasure to others

rendered her in better times the beloved friend as well as mother of

her children--lived now immured in his bed-chamber, the door of which

he kept locked while he was within it, and the key was always put into

his pocket when he left the house.

How he was employed no one could tell, as no trace of book, pen,

ink, or writing was discoverable at those times when old Margaret, a

faithful domestic who lived in my family during several years, had

access to his apartment. One day, however, in sweeping the room, she

discovered a small bit of paper which had been torn from a larger

piece, and escaped the flames to which it had been probably destined.

"Central Committee," "Western District," "French Forces," were the only

words from which any surmise could be collected; and these were enough

to alarm her, to whom they bore evident testimony of league in those

treasonable plots which were threatening to involve the country in

civil discord, and endanger the lives and property of thousands.

Margaret, who was well acquainted with the anxious state of my mother's

mind, took the fragment to her, and the latter, watching an opportunity

to remark the effect which it might produce upon her son, fixed her

eyes steadily upon him as he entered the room where she sat, saying,

"Harold, is not this your hand-writing?"

"I am sure it is hard to tell; perhaps it may be," was my brother's

reply; uttered so coldly, so carefully, as to baffle inquiry, and

convince my mother that any further scrutiny would lead but to a more

artful avoidance of the truth, as well as more cunning contrivance

for future concealment. She therefore refrained from asking another

question, but heaved a sigh as she quitted her seat to gain the

sanctuary of her closet.

There _had_ been a time when that sigh would have agonized the soul

of Harold, could he have believed himself to be the cause of drawing

it forth; but his affections were seared, and he saw his mother

turn from him with a breaking heart, undisturbed by the slightest

emotion. My second brother possessed neither Harold's talents, nor

my romance. He was more phlegmatic and common-place than any of the

family. Yet he, too, was infected by the distemper of the times, and

had his part assigned him, in which he was more useful than if he had

been considered equal to higher purposes. He had ever been fond of

shooting and fishing, and as these sports were continued as usual, he

was not suspected of taking much concern in political matters, and was

therefore employed as a safe ambassador, frequently leaving our once

peaceful abode, loaded with despatches which were to be deposited in

the ivied wall of a ruined castle, at some distance from Glendruid. All

who met him supposed that lines, flies, and sandwiches, constituted

the entire freight of a wicker basket which, strapped upon his back,

was in reality the vehicle of a correspondence, the discovery of which

would have doomed its authors to inevitable destruction. The plans thus

carried on were, it is true, carefully wrapped in the concealment of

cypher, but a key is easily found to the most cunning contrivance of

this kind; and in fact at a later period, our devices were all brought

to light.

I have said that my father's circumstances were very limited, and

I should not revert to a subject which involves the remembrance of

privations as humiliating to pride as distasteful to sense, were it

not to preserve a recollection of our real situation in the minds of

such as may read my story, and furnish some excuse for the wanderings

of youth, debarred as we were from the enjoyment of those advantages

which depend upon wealth. Books we had, and a great many of them, but

they had ceased to charm. The standard works of a former day were not

in vogue; the new philosophy had extinguished the wisdom of antiquity,

and reduced it to a dead letter, and the flippant apothegms of the day,

whether applied to religion, morals, or politics, were accounted the

only knowledge worth possessing.

I had no money to procure the modern publications, but the Talbots

and Lovetts were bountifully supplied, and always ready to lend. I

devoured, therefore, with famished appetite, all that I could beg or

borrow, and conveyed my treasure to that rocky recess which I have

described, where, with industry worthy of a better object, I used

to read whatever was recommended by my evil instructors. My poor

father, who was an excellent scholar, found himself at length deserted

in his study, from which his sons retired one by one, leaving this

affectionate parent to mourn over the shipwreck of a sanguine spirit,

which had delighted to anticipate with prophetic zeal the honours

of his children, and wreathe their brows with academic glory; but a

"killing frost" was preparing to nip the tender germ of hope, and

destroy every shoot from which the chaplet of future fame might be

derived.

Those who have never been parents cannot, I believe, form an adequate

conception of the sorrow reserved for those who, after having passed

one half of life in expectation, are doomed to spend the other in

disappointment, and reap a blighted crop in return for devoted love and

unslumbering solicitude.

We were no doubt unlucky in the society which chequered the domestic

sameness of our home; not that intercourse with archangels would have

deterred us in all probability from joining in the general frenzy,

but our course was perhaps accelerated by the want of a stronger

counteracting influence than any which opposed our progress. The

adjoining parishes were under the superintendence of two clergymen,

both intimates at Glendruid. They frequently visited at our house,

and were good men, but in no way calculated to control the spirit of

insubordination which was in movement, nor stem the torrent of that

voluble disaffection which was always ready to pour forth abuse upon

every thing really valuable and of sound repute.

Mr. Hill, who lived within a mile of Glendruid, and had the parish

adjoining ours, was a gentleman in education, descent, and manners.

He was at once genteel, moral, and zealous in the performance of what

he believed to be his duty; but he was a weak man, a _tête bornée_,

a formalist. Though his age did not exceed forty years when I left

home, he had a face so long-drawn that it looked as if the grand

inquisitors had got hold of it, and put his features _to the question_.

His countenance was solemn, but not from power or depth of mind, and

presented the oddest mixture imaginable of gravity and imbecility. The

physiognomy tallied exactly with the structure of his mind, which was a

union of _sounding_ sense, with the veriest impotence of reason which I

have ever happened to witness.

Even at this distance of time, I can still fancy that I hear his

long-winded harangues, and listen to his well-turned periods,

unenlivened by a single ray of mental illumination, though uttered

with grammatical accuracy, and the truest attention to accent and

emphasis. Whether the conversation related to a mouse or a mammoth,

the same laborious correctness of diction, the same flaccid sternness

of expression, marked his dull observations on either the one or the

other. If church matters were the subject of discussion, he would

treat with equal gravity the divine right of tithes or the bleaching

of a surplice; and seemed quite incapable of seeing any gradation of

sin between an atheist and a dissenter from the rubric of our English

Prayer-book. He would no more have altered the shape of his band,

than he would have changed his creed, and would have been nearly as

much shocked by seeing the pulpit of his church transplanted to the

opposite side of the building, as to have encountered a denial of the

thirty-nine articles.

From such a man little aid to a sinking cause was to be expected, and

I well remember the uneasiness of my father whenever Mr. Hill entered

the lists of theological controversy, from the unfortunate hand which

he made of an argument. There was enough of importance, however, in the

bearing of the man, to prevent his being summarily put down, though

every topic of human inquiry withered into nothing in his nerveless

grasp. In short, he was a pompous nonentity, who, like an empty cart,

made more noise than a full one; and a rumbling succession of sounds

supplied the place of sense, covering the deficiency of his faculties

from the view of stupid people with whom he passed for an oracle. We

of the new school resolved all the inflated emptiness of this good

man into the absurdity of his profession, and, as is usual with the

scoffing fraternity, visited on religion whatever lack of skill we

discovered in her advocates.

Such was our clerical neighbour on one side, while on the other resided

the Reverend Mr. Stockdale, a man in every way different from him

already pourtrayed. Tall and muscular of frame, commanding in aspect,

and powerful in understanding, but irritable of temper, Mr. Stockdale

resented with vivacity the rapid inroads which a shallow but impetuous

torrent of new fangled doctrines was daily making upon all the solid

bulwarks of ancient authority. He was a person of strong intellect

and great erudition; but the powers of his mind were precluded

from assisting him in debate, through the impatience of his honest

indignation; galled and provoked at the changes which he beheld working

destruction all around, he was not calm enough to contend with a callow

brood of upstarts, who offered perpetual resistance, in every word

which they uttered, to that creed established in unmolested sway within

his breast, during a ministry of thirty years. During this long lapse

of time not a doubt had troubled his repose, not a single adversary

till now, had ever disputed the grounds of his faith.

When this excellent man made his appearance occasionally at Painesville

or Ferney, he was attacked on all sides with rude disregard of

his sacred calling, and though primed and loaded with ammunition,

a moderate dose of which would have frittered the puny opponents

arrayed against him to atoms, yet unluckily it was not _ready_ for the

conflict. Long disuse had rusted over a fine piece of ordnance; the

_cannon_ missed fire, and not only required to be rubbed up, but to

be set to a lower level, to make it available. Thus it unfortunately

happened that a set of reasoning coxcombs, who owed their apparent

triumph to pertness and audacity, often seemed for a time masters of

the field; and, silenced by the presumption of these tyro combatants,

the worthy pastor was frequently surprised into excitement of temper,

and returned discomfited to his rectory-house, bewailing, as he

regained the mountain fastness, the flood of infidelity which had burst

upon the land, and his own incapacity to arrest its desolating progress.

The rebel crew were not slow to find out here again, that religion

could not be of celestial origin, because Mr. Stockdale, pushed

to extremity by the taunts of arrogance, was not endued with that

unalterable coolness which the indifference of scepticism can assume at

will. He could not always curb, as prudence dictated, the ebullitions

of a holy zeal which lighted spontaneously into flame, when all that

he possessed on earth, or desired in heaven, was assailed with wanton

disrespect and indecency. He wore also a large cauliflower wig, a deep

shovel hat, long waistcoat pockets descending to his knees, and leaned

on a cane, with a head of battered gold. This costume served to sharpen

our ridicule, and increase the vexation which awaited our friendly

neighbour, whenever he quitted the protection of his upland dwelling.

At Glendruid I might ever behold the influence of piety in preserving

the most beautiful equanimity of temper under the provocations which

every hour produced; but I had been too well taught to give credit to

any thing under the paternal roof. Parents in _my_ day were held in

contempt, as mere instruments by which being was conferred on another

generation, and the opinion of a father or mother was so far from

giving a bias to the conduct of their offspring, that their approval

of any person, book, or sentiment, principle, or mode of action, was

considered by us of the philosophic school as _primâ facie_ evidence

against whatever was so applauded.

The restricted society of our house received occasional addition

likewise from the visits of two elderly ladies, who were first cousins

of my father. The Misses Cresswell were frequent members of our family

circle, and served to whet my genius as well as excite my spleen. They

were women of real virtue and high principle, but doggedly tenacious.

They thought together upon every matter of judgment, and would not

give up an iota upon any one subject of debate. I hated, and used to

take delight in stirring them to opposition, by an assault on some of

their favourite tenets. They piqued themselves on their orthodoxy,

and were what is called high church; _so_ high, that I detested

steeples for their sakes. They lived in the "Black North," and were but

slenderly provided for, yet ever employed in doing good; and nothing

distressed my parents so much as to see them ill-treated.

The quaint wardrobe of these two old women, was another source of

merriment. They seemed as if newly shaken out of lavender whenever

they came to Glendruid, and I preferred the savour of garlick to the

perfume of that fragrant herb, which was associated with the idea of my

cousins Cresswell. I have been since reminded of my own unwarrantable

prejudice, by hearing a friend of mine declare, that he could not

endure the works of a celebrated author, because he always found

a volume of them open on the table of his dentist, and the finest

passages were combined in his memory with some piercing pang or

awkward chasm in his jaws.

_My_ imagination had no such train of cause and effect to urge in

defence of my rude conduct towards these my harmless relations, and as

they are dead and gone they will know nothing of my repentance; but

their blind deference to names and forms was to be lamented. Provided

that a man wore lawn sleeves, it little mattered whether he was wise

or foolish, learned or unlearned: he was a _Bishop_, and, according

to their creed, whatever he uttered must necessarily be law and

gospel. "My dear, the Reverend Mr. Smiler had it from his Lordship's

own mouth," was an unanswerable reply to an objector against any fact

related in the presence of these good souls.

One day I ventured to retort to this invincible argument, "And what

care I for the bench of Bishops, if they talk nonsense? Many of them

hide asses ears under their great wigs."

Such a speech was the acme of impropriety, and was repeated with

uplifted hands and eyes: my iniquity was then considered at its

height, and every day furnishing new cause for animadversion, the

visits of our cousins became at first less frequent, and were then

discontinued.

My brother Charles and I rejoiced that we had frightened away the

musty lavender bags, and should hear no more quotations from Saint

Chrysostom. I have not yet mentioned my sisters, the number of whom was

reduced by death from five to two. I had been deeply attached to Maria,

the younger of those who remained; and till the demon of democracy

chased every amiable feeling from my heart, we had lived in the most

entire harmony and confidence. Notwithstanding the unceasing efforts

of my brothers and me, to warp the minds of these dear girls, they

resisted every evil impression. It was sufficient for them to know that

their parents disapproved, to turn them from any temptation, however

alluring; but their virtuous resolution obtained the character of

"inflexible obstinacy, narrow bigotry," or some such equally unkind and

inappropriate appellation.

Had it not been for the soothing tenderness of their daughters, I

know not how my unhappy father and mother could have sustained their

accumulated afflictions. The loss of their children had weighed heavily

on their spirits, but these trials, distressing as they were felt to

be, were sent from Heaven, and did not agonize their disconsolate

hearts like the disunion of those who were spared. They bowed with

resignation to the will of Him who gives and takes away, and believed

that every sorrow from the Almighty came on an errand of love, to warn

or wean the souls of His creatures. It was the machinations of the

foolish and the bad, that subdued their minds, and bent them down to

the earth. The events which they saw occurring daily, confounded their

penetration, but with patient, though broken spirits, they strove

to await the end, baffled as they were in every attempt to avert or

restrain the tide of opinion, which had become too strong for control.

CHAPTER III.

Such was the gloomy state of affairs at home; while abroad all was

wrapped in a cloud of mysterious uncertainty. Day after day we met

each other in melancholy estrangement. No joyous open countenance

smiled upon the social board. No cheerful conversation seasoned the

frugal repast. A deadly silence knew no interruption except from some

endeavour at dry uninteresting common place, which, like a doubtful

light that serves but to "render darkness visible," had the effect of

saddening, rather than enlivening our domestic group. My father was

afraid to trust himself with uttering a syllable which might lead to

discourse upon exasperating topics, while grief appeared to choke my

mother's voice. Her changing form proclaimed the undermining work which

was going on within, and sapping the vital holds of her constitution.

Oh! and her unnatural sons were so insensible to her decline, that

though witnessing its progress, we neither tried to mitigate the

symptoms, nor to console, though it might not be permitted us to

remedy. No length of life can abate the pain with which I cast my eyes

back upon that angelic being; nor can the penance of self-reproach

extract the sting which is fixed in my breast by the memory of

ingratitude towards a matchless parent, now no more.

It was our custom to separate directly after dinner, each desirous to

shorten a period of restraint, and pursue individual occupation or

device. When the weather was fine, we were generally out of doors, and

contrived to avoid the tea-table, family prayers, and "good night;"

a parting wish now reduced to lifeless form by the absence of that

affection which, where it grows, imparts and receives a new spring at

each recurring assurance of its existence. Our evenings were sometimes

employed in secretly furthering the United Irish Correspondence;

at others in galloping over moorland and mountain, according to

appointment with our fellow conspirators, with whom we had clandestine

meetings almost every day.

Every hour was big with rumour; and suspicion of treasonable designs

began to fall on many of the higher classes. Informations poured

continually into the castle of Dublin. The lower ranks were universally

disaffected, while numbers of the gentry were paralyzed by vague and

painful terrors of the coming explosion. The co-operation of the French

was hoped for by one party, as it was dreaded by the other; and all

believed that the first successful landing which was effected on our

coasts, would prove the signal for a simultaneous rising of the people.

Many were secretly departing from their homes to wait the issue in a

place of safety. Others, unable to quit their local property, or desert

their duty, were employed in using precautionary means to meet the

threatened danger. Revolt and massacre were talked of. Servants were

unfaithful to their masters. Tenants conspired against their landlords.

The kind "good morrow" of the passing rustic was converted into a

sullen scowl; and all the friendly courtesy of intercourse between

high and low was exchanged, at this awful juncture, for distrust on

one side, and hatred on the other. Our moral condition resembled that

in the physical world which precedes the horrible visitation of an

earthquake--darkness and the silence of death pervaded the scene of

former life and occupation; and imagination fabricated a thousand

spectres still more terrific than those perils by which the loyal part

of the community were really surrounded.

It was the evening of the 10th of February, 1798, when the weather,

which had been unusually mild for the time of year, became suddenly

tremendous. The sky lowered; and torrents of rain broke loose from the

clouds, as if a water-spout had that moment burst over Glendruid. Such

was the unremitting violence of this deluge that no one could quit the

shelter of a roof, and the whole family found themselves in the unusual

situation of being imprisoned for several hours together beneath its

protection.

The consciousness of having done wrong is as powerful a separatist in

morals, as the principle of caloric in physics; and though confined

within a space of not very wide dimensions, we contrived to keep aloof

from each other. Sensible of the deep wounds which we had inflicted,

my brothers and I had no inclination to encounter the reproach which

we justly deserved, and therefore avoided giving an opportunity for

accusation. Not as yet visited by remorse, we had no desire to make

reparation, and therefore sought to escape the scrutiny which we

resolved should not be satisfied.

The unceasing drench, however, which I have mentioned, prevented us

from leaving the house, and we were at last obliged to assemble, not

having any excuse to allege for resisting a summons to that effect.

Tea being finished, and night closing fast upon the dejected circle,

they drew their chairs involuntarily round a sullen fire, which none of

the party appeared inclined to stir, lest a cheerful blaze might seem

too strongly contrasted with the gloomy features on which it played.

The wind began to rise, howling at first a piteous wail and moaning

through every crevice which gave it vent. After a solemn pause, it

would then burst at intervals into gusts which threatened to sweep the

earth and its inhabitants away.

What a being is man! This tempest, heightened at length to fury, was

the first occurrence which roused within my breast the long unawakened

sense of our deplorable state. There is something in a violent strife

of elements which forces itself upon the most obdurate spirit, and

strikes conviction of human weakness on the mind. As I glanced from

time to time on the pale and agitated countenances around me, I felt

oppressed by a sensation which was not easy to define. It was neither

fear nor affection, but it was a mixture of repentance, with that

desire of communion natural to most mortals under the influence of

extraordinary excitement. The billows roared tremendously, and every

dash of the sea against the dark and frowning cliffs which beetled over

the flood, came rolling on like thunder. The convulsions of the country

rendered the storm awfully impressive; the ear was held in fearful

tension, while uncertain sounds mingled in the blast like shouts of

human voices, approaching and receding, rising and dying away again.