“My father,” said Sir Murdoch, “was one of those men who could not
abandon their unfortunate monarch in the year 1715, and he was one also
of that faithful band who saw their own ruin in the fall of the Stuart
line.
“He fled to France, after every hope was lost, and there he entered
into a regiment chiefly composed of men like himself, and whose loyalty
and courage have well recompensed the country which then sheltered and
fed them. With the rank of captain, and an unsullied name, he soon
after married a young lady, whose fortune was similar to his own. Her
father was major in the same corps; but unable to bear the reverse of
fortune, or borne down by the fatigues he had encountered in the royal
cause, he died, and left his daughter to a Maclairn”--Sir Murdoch rose,
and paced the room--“I was the only fruit of this marriage,” resumed
he; “my mother I do not remember, for I was only three years old when
my father lost this prop of his earthly comforts; but he taught me to
revere her name.
“During the contest for dominion, to which I have already alluded, my
uncle, Sir Alexander Maclairn, had with more prudence than _honour_,
according to the opinion of the adherents to the unhappy Charles,
remained for a time inactive, and at length declared himself openly
the friend of the established government; but neither his zeal nor his
services were further recompensed than by leaving him to the peaceable
enjoyment of the wreck of the once prosperous fortune of his ancestors;
namely, a castle falling to decay, and the remnant of the estate
burdened with a heavy mortgage.
“Time had given stability to the British monarch; and my uncle,
desirous of seeing a brother whom he loved and secretly reverenced,
employed such means as were necessary to restore my father to his
native rocks with security. This intelligence was communicated to him,
when I had just reached my nineteenth year, and Sir Alexander, with
every argument that affection could suggest, finished his intreaties by
reminding my father of his age and infirmities; and the duty they were
mutually bound to perform before death closed their eyes. ‘All that
remains of our name,’ added he, ‘is in our children. My Matilda shall
never lose the title of Maclairn; from her cradle she has been taught
to love her cousin, and to your Murdoch do I look for a renovation of
that race which it is your duty to perpetuate. Remember that these
children are the last hope of an ancient and honourable house, which
even in the obscurity of a sunken fortune will retain its place in
the annals of true glory; for its sons were brave and its daughters
virtuous.’ He blessed Providence for its interposition, which had
opened his eyes to the folly and madness which the prince’s adherents
had fallen into, in their attempts to reinstate the proscribed Stuarts;
‘and I now bless heaven,’ added he, ‘that by my moderation I have
preserved an asylum for you and a home for our children.’
“My father, disgusted with a foreign service, and languishing to
behold his native country, eagerly embraced my uncle’s offers. He had
long before this event determined that my path in life should not be
that of a soldier, and he had with extreme caution repressed in me
his own military spirit. I was educated by a Scotchman who had once
been a minister of that Master whose religion is _peace_; my leisure
hours were filled up by studies of retired ease and tranquillity; and
painting and music were familiar to me.
“We were received by my uncle with unaffected joy; and welcomed by a
few faithful adherents to our family with those genuine demonstrations
of good will and attachment so congenial to the noble and uncorrupted
Highlanders. On beholding my cousin Matilda, I blushed as deeply from
the consciousness of what had passed in my mind in relation to her,
as from surprise on beholding this ‘rustic’ cousin embellished with
all the graces of youth, beauty, and artless manners; and when with
ingenuous simplicity she offered me her glowing cheek, her eyes beaming
with joy and kindness, I felt that I was unworthy of her goodness. A
few months were given to the domestic comforts of my uncle and father,
and apparently for the purpose of rivetting my chains. My assiduities
met with no check; and ‘_our children_’ was the common epithet my
uncle employed in speaking of us. A more explicit avowal of his wishes
followed; and in this conversation Sir Alexander candidly acknowledged
that he was under pecuniary difficulties, and unable to establish me in
life without some exertions on my part. My father, without knowing the
pressure of his brother’s difficulties in their full extent, not only
saw the expediency, but the utility of my being employed, and he sent
me to Aberdeen to study the civil law. During a year, which was thus
passed without profit to me but as it led me to a further knowledge
of the mathematics, my uncle had gained on my father to listen to
his darling project as well as my own; and being offered for me an
ensigncy in a regiment destined for Minorca, he gained his point, and
I escaped from a pursuit I detested, that of the law. An additional
debt was cheerfully incurred on the Maclairn’s impoverished acres. My
separation from Matilda was softened to me by her father’s last words:
‘Have ever before you this recompense,’ said he, placing at the same
time Matilda’s hand in mine; ‘she will be always a _Maclairn_. Do you
so conduct yourself as to return to us worthy of the name.’ You will
imagine, that my martial spirit was sunk when I received her embrace,
and my poor father’s blessing: I will not be tedious. During my three
years’ station at Minorca, I rose to the rank of lieutenant, and
lost my father. From that period the cloud of adversity became more
portentous. I was frustrated in my expectations of returning home, and
receiving the reward I had so arduously strove to merit. But my uncle’s
ambition had been roused by the partiality of my friends, and he
contrived to promote me at the expence of my happiness. I exchanged my
post and regiment for one at Gibraltar, in which I ranked as captain.
This disappointment of my hopes deeply affected my spirits, and
Matilda had apparently shared with me in this trial of our patience.
Her letters were more tender than cheerful, and she commonly finished
by reminding me of her determined faith and unutterable affection.
Gracious God! my trust in thy power was not more solid than my faith in
Matilda’s truth!
“In the last letter she wrote me, and which is engraven on my memory,
she finished _thus_:--‘It soothes my depressed spirits, to call thee my
wedded lord, and to sign myself thy wife. Are we not one, my Maclairn,
in the sight of that Being who has witnessed our vows of truth, of
honourable love? Are we not one, though seas and lands part us? Yes,
and though worlds should interpose to divide us, we shall meet and be
united as kindred spirits, as _one_, in the blessed state of perfect
happiness, of permanent felicity. There at least will thy Matilda
meet thee, and there will her Maclairn be comforted for his present
disappointments.’
“Alas! Miss Cowley, the cloud had burst on my devoted head at the very
moment I was unconsciously weeping over this letter, as the precious
proof of my security; though it was also as painful a proof of the
state of Matilda’s spirits. The indolence and pusillanimity of Sir
Alexander Maclairn had always been leading traits in his character;
these, with other circumstances, had placed him in the power of
_a man_, who hated him, merely because his grandfather had served
Sir Alexander’s in a menial station. Industry had made this man’s
successors wealthy; and my uncle had, in his difficulties, applied to
their more fortunate heir than himself, for money so repeatedly, that
he was little more than the ostensible proprietor of his inheritance.
His wary and greedy creditor had changed his tone; and frequent hints
of the necessity of foreclosing the mortgage, unless my uncle could
be more punctual in paying his stipulated interest, were, from time
to time, thrown out with increasing seriousness and harshness. In a
dilemma of this kind, the laird of Maclairn Castle received a visit
from his importunate neighbour, who introduced with much ceremony his
only child, a young man, who had lived chiefly in the South with a
rich tradesman, his uncle. Hospitality, as much as policy, induced my
uncle to welcome the stranger; and the young man repeated his visit.
The sight of my beauteous Matilda effected more; he became enamoured,
and made his father his confidant. Secure of the estate, he now aspired
to the daughter of _a Maclairn_, and without loss of time he proposed
an alliance, which at once, as he observed, would settle all accounts
between himself and Sir Alexander; his son not desiring a shilling
with his daughter; and he added, that he would cancel every mortgage
and bond on the day of their marriage. The weak old man listened to
this infamous proposal; and Matilda received her father’s commands
to be favourable to her generous suitor. I will not detail to you
the persecutions which resulted from her firm refusal. The lover’s
father, irritated by her _obstinacy_, as he termed her _fortitude_,
gave Sir Alexander to understand that he saw through the collusion, and
that his daughter was taught her part by himself, in order to evade a
connexion which his pride could not brook. Menaces followed; and he
quitted the house, swearing that Sir Alexander should be roofless in
a month. Intimidated by a threat which he well knew this man could
effect, he became desperate in the means of avoiding it. The day of
marriage was fixed, and Matilda was summoned from her prison chamber,
to hear her fate from her father. She expostulated; he was deaf: she
reminded him of his engagements with me; he sternly answered that she
should not be a beggar; nor would he live to want bread; and bade her
begone. ‘Bless me before I go,’ said she, meekly kneeling, ‘send to me
repose with a father’s love.’ The wretched parent, a stranger to the
calmness of despair when at its climax, and viewing her tearless eye
and collected features through the medium of his own wishes, raised her
with transports of joy from her suppliant posture, and pouring out his
fervent benedictions on her, he advised her to return to her apartment
and compose her mind for the reception of her future husband and his
father, who would, in the evening, convince her of the value they set
on the alliance. She replied that she preferred a walk in the garden,
and withdrew.”--Sir Murdoch paused; he fixed his eyes on my face; they
seemed covered with a dreadful film; he breathed short, and trembled as
in an ague fit.--“For heaven’s sake,” exclaimed I, terrified, “let me
give you something; you are ill.”--He heard me not.--“Yes,” said he,
with a suppressed and tremulous voice, “she withdrew! and whither?--to
the arms of mercy! Yes, she withdrew from opposition, from cruelty, to
the bosom of her Redeemer! There was none to succour! none to help!
When discovered, her vermilion cheek was pale! her eyes were closed!
her beautiful tresses were mixed with the dank and filthy weeds of the
stagnated pool! But her pure and unsullied soul had escaped pollution!”
“My dear Sir Murdoch,” said I, “you distress me; for pity’s sake, say
no more. Let me call Lady Maclairn, indeed you grieve me, I cannot bear
it.” “Then how should I?” answered he; “yet I have survived her!”--He
wiped away the tears which relieved him, and with more composure added,
“be not alarmed, I am myself, and patient. My uncle,” continued he,
“lived only three weeks after this event. The destined bridegroom left
the Highlands, and soon after died in his passage to the West Indies.
His father was, I believe, consoled by adding Maclairn Castle and its
impoverished demesnes to his possessions. I had, on quitting Scotland,
taken with me as a domestic, my Matilda’s foster brother. His sister,
something older than himself, had been her favourite attendant; and
the poor girl in the hour of this distress committed to Wallace the
care of preparing me for this intelligence; advising him to chuse one
of my friends for an office which she foresaw he would be unequal
to. It appeared that the angel had preconcerted her design, before
she attended her father’s summons; she had affixed to my picture a
scrap of paper, and placed them in Jenny’s prayer book. This precious
evidence of her love and truth was inclosed in Jenny’s letter to her
brother; and contained these words: ‘I die, a Maclairn; and Maclairn’s
affianced, faithful Matilda.’ The poor fellow, unable to stand the
shock himself, rushed from the house with this fatal letter in his
hand; and under such perturbation of mind that he had neither taken
his hat, nor perceived that this slip of paper had escaped him. He
sought my most intimate friend; and with agonies of grief implored
his aid. In this interval of time, I, finding the summons of my bell
unanswered, repaired to the room which Wallace occupied, and finding
on his table the implements of writing, which I wanted, I sat down to
write a card. Judging that he was not far remote, from seeing his hat;
I moved it for my convenience. The note appeared! I will spare you,
my child. Let it suffice, my friend and Wallace found me senseless. A
raging fever succeeded. To this were opposed the cares of my friends,
and a constitution never abused; but I was reduced to the state of an
idiot; and as such, unconsciously embarked for England with my faithful
Wallace, as unfit for the service, and from the hopes entertained of
the change of climate and sea-air. He conducted me to his father’s
cottage; it was rich in nothing but fidelity and humanity; but in
these, great Giver of all good! how liberal had been thy donation! Here
the wretched Maclairn was received; and recovered his strength of
body, and the faculty of knowing his misery. I sold my commission, paid
my debts; and without a thought beyond my Matilda’s grave, I laboured
with my hosts for the bread we shared. Wallace, with patient love and
unexampled attachment, had watched over my _despair_, my _feebleness_,
my now _settled melancholy_. At length, he hazarded to speak of the
recent rupture with our American colonies, and with a soldier’s spirit
he infused into my heart the wish of dying like one. I had still
two or three hundred pounds left, and determined in my design, and
apparently governed by his arguments to shake off the indolence which
was destroying my life and my honour, I took the road he pointed out.
On reaching London, Wallace soon established his claims to favour; and
he embarked for America as serjeant with the first troops destined to
subdue the malcontents of that country. My friends, advised me to wait
for the result of their efforts in my favour, not thinking that I could
with propriety serve in a subordinate rank to the one I had filled
and quitted without disgrace. I consented; and took up my temporary
residence in a lodging at Kensington-gravel-pits.”