Hail, Childhood! lovely age, in thy short race
Too oft we know our only happy hours.
With what fond yearnings later we retrace
Each several step in thy sweet path of flowers.
The spirit bounding wild, unknowing why,
And still expectant of new ecstacy--
The little sorrows that to memory seem
As 'twere joys undefin'd in some fair dream.
_Unpublished Poems._
One evening the Lady Winifred was alone in the small and simple
apartment of which she was now the sole inhabitant; the fading light
had obliged her to relinquish her employment, and she gazed through the
narrow grated window as the sun sank behind the bank of purple clouds
which, in low flat countries, so frequently accompany the decline of
day. She thought on old Rachael Evans's descriptions of her home, and
she remained lost in fanciful imaginings, conjuring the masses of
vapour into the forms of mountains which she had never beheld, when
she was roused from her meditations by the entrance of the sister
porteress, who came to announce to her that a messenger from England
had arrived, and to summon her to the parlour grate.
What were her joy and surprise at recognising old Evans herself, who,
with a trusty servant, was sent to convey her in safety to London,
where she would meet her mother, the Duchess of Powis, as she was
called by all her immediate dependants, although the title conferred
upon her husband by James the Second was not allowed to her son at the
court of Queen Anne.
The Lady Winifred listened with even fresh delight to all which Rachael
Evans could impart respecting her family and her country, though she
could not but express her surprise that her mother should so suddenly
command her to her presence.
"Your lady mother may have her reasons," replied the old woman, with a
mysterious and important air; "and it is likely his gracious majesty
himself, (Heaven bless and restore him to his own!) may also have his
reasons for wishing you should not follow your sister's example."
"The king! He cannot surely take any thought of what my fate may be!"
"It is not for me to make so bold as to dive into a king's counsels;
but it would not be fitting for all the heads of noble Catholic
families and true Jacobites to be intermarrying with the daughters of
crop-eared Whigamoors, as many of the young lords have done of late.
If all the beautiful young ladies of loyal families were to take the
veil, as the Lady Lucy has done, it would not be the better for the
true cause. Your fair sister, the Lady Anne, is about to be married to
the Viscount Carrington; and there may be other nobles as great, or
greater, whom King James may also wish to see attached to his cause,
rather than withdrawn from it, by the lady whom they may chance to
marry."
Lady Winifred was half alarmed at Rachael Evans's insinuations. Love
and marriage were topics of conversation interdicted by the elder nuns,
and subjects on which she had never wittingly allowed her thoughts to
dwell. Yet she could not but collect from various expressions which
Evans let drop, that some alliance, by which the Jacobite cause might
be strengthened, was in contemplation for her.
Her thoughts were all duty, submission, and obedience, both towards
her mother and her king; but her pure and ardent soul recoiled from
the idea of being condemned to love and honour one of whom she knew
nothing. She questioned Evans more closely, and extracted from her that
Colonel Hook had been despatched with credentials from the court of St.
Germain's, for the purpose of ascertaining the situation, numbers and
ability of King James's adherents in Scotland; that he had reported the
Earl of Nithsdale to be a nobleman of much weight and consideration in
the southern counties, and the head of a Jacobite family; and that he
was considered by the Chevalier de St. George as a person whom it was
of great importance to attach firmly to his cause, by uniting him to a
lady of undoubted loyalty.
The Lady Winifred received this intelligence with tears and sorrow.
The notion of resistance to the wishes of her superiors never crossed
her mind as within the scope of possible events; but the prospect
which unfolded itself before her seemed to her simple, yet ardent
imagination, awful in the extreme.
"Have you ever seen the Earl of Nithsdale?" she timidly inquired, after
the long silence which succeeded Rachael Evans's developement of the
views entertained with regard to her.
"No, my sweet young lady," replied Evans; "but you need not harbour a
fear that he is other than a good and a noble gentleman. There never
was a Whig nor a traitor among any of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock. Was
it not his ancestor, the noble Sir Eustace, who was as true to King
Robert Bruce, as your own blessed father was to his king? and rather
than that the enemy should have a chance of turning it into a garrison
for themselves, did he not, with his own hands, assist in demolishing
his fair castle of Caerlaverock? The king gave him twenty-two pounds in
money for this piece of service; and though that sounds little enough
in these days, they say it was then thought a great sum of money. It
was his ancestor, Lord Robert, who was killed at the battle of Flodden,
fighting by King James's side. They always were a noble family, and
true to their lawful sovereign. It was the first earl who spent all his
princely fortune in the wars of King Charles the Martyr;--nor would
he surrender his castles of Caerlaverock and Thrieve, till he had
received his majesty's own letters commanding him to do so. It may be a
bold speech for me who am but a servant--though, I am proud to say, a
trusted one--but I think a young lady should esteem herself honoured to
ally herself with one descended from such worthy parentage."
The Lady Winifred sighed: she also set a high value upon an honourable
and noble lineage; that a woman should match herself beneath her
station appeared to her a shameful degradation. The idea of a Jacobite
intermarrying with a Whigamoor was as revolting to her imagination as
to Rachael Evans's; yet she would fain have learned something more of
her future husband's character, his age, and his appearance.
"But, Evans," she replied, "it sometimes happens that persons of noble
birth are mean and sordid in their minds, and such that it would be
difficult to love and honour them, as a wife should love and honour her
husband, and as I have heard you say my mother loved and honoured my
father. Oh! I could tell you a sad tale which one of our nuns has often
told to me, how a friend of hers was married to a great duke, who was
of the oldest and noblest family in France."
"And was he not noble in mind, as such a great person should ever be?"
"I will repeat it all to you, as sister Margaret has so often told
it to me, and you will not wonder at my fears:--She was brought up
in the same convent as Eugénie de St. Mesnil: they were friends from
childhood; and when Eugénie was removed to her father's house, previous
to her betrothment, she begged that her friend might be permitted
to accompany her. One morning they were all dressed in their most
brilliant apparel,--sister Margaret says that poor Eugénie looked
more like an angel than a woman,--the relations were assembled, and
in the adjoining apartment waited the notaries and the family of the
bridegroom. The folding doors opened:--sister Margaret kept close
to Eugénie, who stole a fearful glance towards the gentlemen at the
farther end of the room. She whispered softly to sister Margaret
'she only hoped it was not he who wore the blue and silver!' The
future bride and bridegroom were now summoned to sign their names to
the parchments. Eugénie advanced, and from among the gentlemen she
indeed saw him who wore the blue and silver step forward, and it was
he who signed his name with hers. Sister Margaret says, that to her
dying day she shall never forget the expression of despair in poor
Eugénie's countenance. At that moment she resolved she would profess
herself a nun; and the very day which saw Eugénie become a miserable
wife, sister Margaret returned to her convent. She was soon afterwards
removed hither, that she might take the veil among others of her own
country.--Alas! alas! how often have I wished to see my native land;
and now how much rather would I embrace the fate of sister Margaret,
than that of Eugénie de St. Mesnil, if I could do so without failing in
duty to my mother!"
"My dear young lady, you should not listen to these love tales; they
are almost as bad for young people as reading idle romances and songs."
The Lady Winifred could not suppress a smile. "Nay, dear Evans, I do
not think my tale has been a tale of love," she replied.
"I dare say sister Margaret's French friend was very happy after a
while, when she became accustomed to the strange duke."
"Alas! I believe not"--and the young Winifred shook her head. "Sister
Margaret never would tell me any more of what befel her. She says poor
Eugénie is at rest, and bids me ask no farther of her history. It was a
very sad one, she always adds; so sad, that she rejoiced when she heard
of her friend's death!"