meeting yesterday, and mistake gratitude for liking. Now gratitude, you
know, won’t serve her purpose, for I want no return; and love would make
an ass and a fool of me, were I to let it get the mastery of me; for
what am I? ’Twould be just as possible to persuade his faithful majesty
to give me the princess of Portugal to wife, as to propose my ridiculous
self, (Major Wilson forsooth, with a sword by his side and a bit of
ribband in his hat) to a man of Devereux’s sort, whose coffers overflow
with the gold of Brazil, and whose daughter is a rock of diamonds,
eclipsed indeed by the lustre of her eyes, and the bright display of ten
thousand thousand charms, which I am not quite philosopher enough to
withstand, nor fool enough to encounter? Why, John, if I could suppose
for a moment that she had any liking for me, s’death! I should run
crazy, nay, I know not where I should run.--
Into her arms to be sure, John replied; I don’t fancy you need run any
where else, if you knew half as much of your own case as I do. But tell
me first how you brought yourself off with Mr. Devereux. Didn’t you
accept of his invitation, and won’t you post yourself in the citadel,
when the gates are opened to you?
Not for the world, said Wilson: ’Tis not in my nature to be so
presumptuous. In short I managed my affairs most wretchedly; honesty got
the better of me, and after blundering out several false excuses, I at
last let out the true one, and, like a downright John-Bull blockhead
fairly told him, that his daughter was too captivating, and I too much
captivated, to venture any nearer to a lovely and enchanting object,
whom, if I were rash enough to approach, it would be only to expose my
folly, and destroy my peace. I believe I said something too vauntingly
about honour and attachment to my profession, which I considered as a
patrimony I never could be brought to alienate: in fine however I
became more humble, and earnestly besought him to allow of my declining
his favours altogether, whilst I had recollection enough left to find my
way to the army I belonged to, and shew myself not totally unworthy of
his good opinion by the force I put upon myself to preserve it. And now,
friend John, what say you to all this, that I have been telling you?
you, that have all the wisdom in a green head, that others have in their
grey ones, answer me, and say--did I, or did I not, do right?
In point of honour, Major, you did right; you were a little romantic
perhaps, but, honourably speaking, you did strictly right. But you have
not told me how your conference ended.
At this moment an orderly man put a letter into his hands, which having
hastily perused, he said--I am not sure that our conference is ended, my
dear fellow; for it should seem as if the gentleman only quitted me to
collect materials for continuing it. I will read you Mr. Devereux’s note
just now received, and you will judge.
“At the express desire of Maria Devereux I am to signify to the
gallant officer, whom she holds herself indebted to for life, that
she cannot admit the plausibility of his scruples, and will
guarantee his honour, if he will be pleased to wave them, and make
her and his friends happy by being of the family party this day at
dinner. The undersigned, who writes what she has dictated, begs
leave to add that he is ready to second these her absolute
commands, or any other to the like effect, that she may lay upon
him in the case aforesaid, and thereunto, for the fuller
satisfaction of the parties concerned, he pledges his name,
GEORGE DEVEREUX, SENIOR.”
No sooner had our friendly hero heard him to the end, than impatient to
congratulate him, he exclaimed--And what would you have more to assure
you, that you have gained the prize, and all your wishes, all your hopes
are crowned? Now all this I could have told you, had I not been a little
too much of a man of honour to betray family secrets, but the wretched
suicide, who lies in yonder guard-house, made no secret of declaring
before he died, that Maria Devereux scrupled not to avow her fixed
attachment to the unknown officer, who had saved her life. Can you want
any further evidence, or would you have her to proclaim her passion for
you in the public square by sound of bell? Do you require the father to
fall upon his knees to you, and petition you to save his daughter’s
life? Something a little short of this, methinks, if I can comprehend
that note, he has already done. Now then, puissant conqueror, sally
forth in all your pomp of triumph, and receive into your arms the
loveliest girl (excepting always her whom I should still except, was the
whole world of beauty ranged before me) that ever I beheld. I did not
think I could have felt such joy on this side those old towers, in which
my heart is lodged. Oh my dear Wilson, let me be the bearer of these
joyous tidings to your beloved, your delighted father, to my old darling
grandsires, to my sainted aunt and to my lovely my betrothed Amelia. My
work is done. I’ll quicken my departure.
The name of the sub-minister was now announced to Major Wilson, and De
Lancaster took his leave.
CHAPTER II.
_Major Wilson visits Mr. Devereux. John De Lancaster briefly recites the
History of Amelia Jones._
A grave and courtier-like gentleman presented himself to Major Wilson,
and with much deliberation informed him, that his most faithful majesty,
having resolved to repair to Elvas for the purpose of reviewing the
combined forces there assembled, had signified his royal pleasure, that
a British officer, not below the rank of major of cavalry, should be
sought out to attend upon him as one of his aid-de-camps on that
occasion; and that he, Major Wilson, having been recommended as an
officer in all respects qualified for that distinguished situation, he
had now the honour to inform Major Wilson, that the king had been
graciously pleased to accept his services, if it suited him to undertake
the duty.
Sir, replied Major Wilson, I understand it to be so much my duty to lay
my poor services, at the feet of his most faithful majesty, that I
cannot for a moment hesitate to profess myself ready to obey his
majesty’s commands, which I beg you will be pleased to report to the
minister in such terms as may best express the respectful sense, which I
entertain of his excellency’s kindness and condescension.
I shall report to his excellency, the sub-minister made answer, exactly
as you instruct me, and as I know your friend Mr. Devereux to be warmly
interested in your behalf, I shall call upon that gentleman in my way,
and inform him that his wishes are now happily accomplished: I have also
a particular message to Mr. Devereux in command from his majesty, in
whose grace and favour that very worthy gentleman stands extremely high.
The man in office bowed himself out of the room, and Wilson sate down
and wrote as follows to Mr. Devereux, in answer to his note.
“Sir,
“If my diffidence caused me to decline your most obliging
invitation, I am sensible no plea will excuse me, when you join
authority so irresistible with your own: You will nevertheless be
pleased to bear in mind, that I have confided to you my terrors,
and acknowledged my unworthiness. I have just now had a visit from
a gentleman in office, which convinces me that you are resolved I
shall be indebted to you for favours, which I have no right to
expect, but which it would have been an unpardonable presumption on
my part to have withstood. I am much afraid you have recommended a
very unfit person for courtly services, when I cannot find words to
express to you how much I am,
Sir,
Your ever obliged and
devoted servant
HENRY WILSON.”
When it was time for the Major to fulfil his engagement, and wait upon
Mr. Devereux, he found the gentlemen assembled in the receiving-room,
but no Maria. It is probable she had passed a little more time than was
usual with her at her toilet; but her occupation there was not to find
ornaments for her person, but rather to recommend herself to her
expected visitor by the simplicity and modest elegance of her dress.
When dinner was announced she contrived to meet the company as they
passed the hall, and avoided the embarrassment of a formal entrance.
As the events, which had so lately occurred, kept the house under
exclusion as to visitors, their party still continued to consist of
their family circle only. The conversation after dinner took that turn,
which naturally tends to put the parties at their ease, and as the
gaiety of the Major’s disposition began to show itself, Maria’s spirits
rose, and reserve was banished. Addressing herself to him, she said--I
understand you are to be at court to-morrow, and my father is to have
the honour of presenting you to his majesty. I don’t conceive you will
like it; ’tis a formal piece of business. You will be more at home in
the field at Elvas, when your favourite regiment passes in review.
In the meantime, said John De Lancaster, Edward and I must be measuring
back our solitary way by sea and land, deprived of that agreeable
society, which we enjoyed on our passage hither. Events, which we could
not foresee, and which produce sensations and reflections of a very
opposite nature, have contributed to dismiss me from the duty of a
longer stay, and a very little time will now release from any further
trouble these generous friends, whose benevolence has given us shelter;
and as I despair of ever expressing to Mr. Devereux the full sense I
entertain of the kindness and consolation I have received under the
protection of this charitable roof, I must rely upon the friend I leave
behind me to take every occasion for bearing witness to my gratitude,
till we may all have the happiness of meeting once more in our native
land; a happiness, which I hope is in reserve for every one of us. I
have secured my passage in the pacquet, now on her return to England. My
first duty will be to deposit the mournful charge, that providence has
been pleased to lay upon me, in the burial-place of my family. There are
two benevolent old men, anxiously expecting me, both far advanced in
years, between whom and me there is now a broken link in the chain,
that leaves, alas! to them but a precarious and short hold on life. Your
gallant father, my dear Henry, is, you know, and ever has been, as my
father also; and for my aunt Cecilia, what I feel towards her, is only
short of absolute idolatry.
Here as our hero seemed about to pause, Edward, who had watched him with
a pleased attention, said--John, you have gratified us much with this
account of your own feelings for a family of love, whom when you speak
of thus, by honouring them, you at the same time reflect most honour on
yourself. But is there not another in your thoughts--aye, in your heart,
my friend, of whom you have not spoken? Come, let us--let me at
least--hear me of the lovely, the beloved Amelia.
Ah, why name her? De Lancaster replied. Why tell the Major soldiers are
courageous? What news to him? He knows it, and he feels it? Why tell
Miss Devereux, women may be charming, and men be charmed? She knows it,
and we feel it. If love be named in any lady’s hearing, it should be
love particular, not general--How am I sure, if I should speak of love
in any way that I can speak, the topick would be pleasing to Miss
Devereux, who has such powers to inspire it, but may not want to be told
any thing of those, who feel it?
I understand you, sir, Maria replied: You are very civil, and a little
sly: But be assured, of all the topicks you could single out most
grateful to my ears, and perhaps most correspondent with my feelings,
would be a fair account without reserve of your love (which I am sure
is honourable love) for the lady of your choice, of whose perfections I
can’t doubt; and as for beauty I’ll take George’s word for that; he
speaks in rapture of the fair Amelia.
You must not quite believe him, said our hero: At least it is not for
her beauty I should be inclined to speak in raptures of Amelia. Her form
and face are pleasing I presume; to me at least they are: but there is
something spiritual about her; something I can’t define; an emanation
from the mind within, that takes and keeps possession of my heart. I
seriously declare I never yet was in her company, when I had leisure to
bestow my attention upon her beauty, simply so considered. She was but
as a child when I first saw her; Nature had not supplied her with
attractions, that could induce me to mistake the impression, I then
received, for any other than a love as pure as her own thoughts, a zeal
to serve her, a wish that I might live to make her happy, and shield
her, like a blossom, from the blast. I found her in the humblest
situation, that dependance on my friends for education and support could
place her. She was an orphan without means to furnish food for another
day. There was a soft petition in her eyes for pity and protection,
which if I had not felt in every vein that visited my heart, I had been
a monster. Her father, a brave soldier, like my friend here in my eye,
whose honour and whose sword were all his portion, married the generous
girl, who risked her life to nurse and save him in a dreadful fever,
when all his fellow soldiers round were dying, and every breath of air,
that she respired, was charged and saturated with infection.
Oh what a godlike act, Maria cried! she merited his love. Could he do
less?
He could not, and he did not, John replied. She was the daughter of a
brother officer, the major of his regiment, then serving in the West
Indies. She lived to be the mother of Amelia; she was too good for this
bad world we live in, and Heaven recalled her; after she was lost, death
had but little trouble to destroy a wretched man, whom sorrow had struck
down, and both Amelia’s parents now repose in the same grave: by happy
chance she found her way to England: there, by the bounty of my
grandfather Morgan and my deceased mother she was placed under the care
of an excellent lady, who educated and brought her up. When my poor
mother died, she left her what she had in her disposal, a slender
portion, but enjoined me on her death bed to consider it as my especial
duty to protect her, and make her happiness, her honour and her
interests in all respects my own: from that moment such they have been,
and ever will be--This is the history of my Amelia. It is my happy
fortune to have gained an interest in her pure and virtuous heart, and,
if we live to meet, let a few months pass by without fresh cause of
sorrow, she will be my wife.
Happy, happy man! exclaimed Maria, the envied privilege of whose sex it
is to put aside the mean concern of money, and say to the dear object of
your heart--I love you; share my fortune: I am your’s!
As she said this, not daring to abide the interpretation that her words
might bear, she rose and with apparent agitation left the room.
CHAPTER III.
_A definitive Explanation takes place between Maria Devereux and Major
Wilson._
When Maria had retired, the company were silent for a time. Devereux at
length addressed De Lancaster, and said--How much I hold your character
in honour for what you have related to us, I cannot tell you; but I am
convinced the proper use of the advantages, that affluence gives us (and
therein I agree with my Maria) is, to procure that lasting happiness,
which a well-chosen partnership for life is of all chances, that this
world can give us, the likeliest to ensure to us. Some aspire to raise
their families to rank and title; and it would be a laudable ambition,
if nobler principles, superior wisdom and sublimer virtues were
interwoven with our pedigrees, and descended to our posterity with the
patents of our peerages, and entail of our estates: but these are not
the expectations, neither are they the motives, that induce ambitious
parents to betray their children into those fatal and delusive
marriages, which only elevate them to become conspicuous objects of
disgrace and scorn. I have been long persuaded, that the controul of
parents over the affections and attachments of their children should, by
the laws of nature and of reason, be only exercised for the prevention
of ill-advised, unworthy, indiscreet connections, which cannot fail to
lead to ruin and repentance. A dissipated profligate, a vain fool, a
gamester, a disbeliever, libertines without principle and conceited
puppies without employ have been known to catch the eyes of an
unthinking girl, but ’tis the parent’s duty to repulse them; so is it
not his duty, but the abuse of it, when he refuses to bestow her fortune
upon the worthy man, whom she has honourably singled out, and wisely
chosen, not by the eye, but heart, to be the sharer of her happiness.
The children, Heaven hath blessed me with, are fitted by understanding,
and fully able by the ample means, which of right they possess, to carve
out for themselves their future lot in life, without regard to what the
objects of their choice may be unprovided with, and which they abound
in--worldly property. Each of them have enough, whereon to live in ease
and affluence so long as they can live in harmony and peace--And now I
have tired you with a long harangue, but I would wish to have it
understood by all here present as my rule of practice; so with your
leave, good friends, we will break up this court of conscience, and
remove our cause into another, where we can have the counsel and
assistance of the lady, who there is left in solitary expectation of our
company over her tea and coffee.
The proposal was instantly complied with, and the gentlemen adjourned to
another room, where Maria was present, and did the honours of her
tea-table. When this business was dispatched, she produced the
chess-board, and offered a challenge, which Major Wilson gallantly
accepted. Parties, that devote themselves to that dull monopolizing
game, seem for a time to be so absolutely excluded from society, and so
wedded to their own manœuvres, that it is perfectly fair and lawful to
consider them as absentees, and accordingly the gentlemen, who were at
liberty to follow their own amusements, walked out to enjoy the breeze,
that every evening visits the banks of the Tagus from the northward, and
qualifies the else insufferable heat.
It was some time before the contending parties perceived that they had
no spectators, and not even a solitary second to appeal to in a case of
controversy, if such had arisen, or should arise, in the course of their
engagement.
You are too strong for me, said Maria, and as I cannot make any
impression on your defences, I give up the contest. You are absolutely a
professor, and I am a mere novice, more fit to be your disciple than
your antagonist: besides, you mask your game, whilst I lay myself open
to you, and (which is more provoking still) when you have me in your
power, and might check-mate me by a single move, you always
mischievously contrive to leave some loop-hole for me to escape, on
purpose to postpone a victory, which you are indifferent about securing
and seem to consider as below your notice.
If I do this, he said, I’m sure you cannot seriously suppose my reasons
to be those, which you assign. Could you not find some motive for my
hesitation more natural, and less impossible, than indifference? May not
the consciousness of what I am, instruct me almost to distrust my
senses, though the divinity, whom I adore, should condescend to me her
humble worshipper with looks so gracious, kindness so alluring, as seem
to say--Approach me, and be blest?--but how to approach, when I compute
the distance, that throws me off, and awes me from the attempt, is
indeed a question, that staggers and confounds me.
At this she smiled, and with a look, that spoke encouragement, which
could not be mistaken, I suppose, she said, the scale, on which you
measure distances between us, is a certain thing called money, which
though you yourself disinterestedly hold in no respect, you think
perhaps that I have not the spirit to treat with the same contempt as
you do. Therein you do me no wrong. Were those eventual and mean
advantages, which I possess, transferred from me to you, I solemnly
declare they would not be a feather in your scale, as I should weigh it;
why then should you suffer them to give a false preponderance to mine?
When Owen laid his fortune at my feet, I had no knowledge of his
character; he had the address to keep it out of sight, his manners were
polite, his temper placid, in point of person nature had rather favoured
him than not. My father left me free to make my choice, and I had made
it; therefore I refused him. Now do you understand me, do you know me?
need I be more explicit? No; the privilege of truth can go no further;
sincerity itself must stop me here.
Now, now you throw me on my knees for ever, the enraptured lover cried:
now I look up to you as to a being, exalted above all that I conceived
of human excellence: your nobleness of soul is now a charm beyond what
nature has bestowed upon you, and my admiration of your beauty is almost
lost whilst I adore your goodness. When happy fortune threw me in the
way to save you, and receive you in my arms upon that memorable day, I
had marked you out and fixed my eyes upon you in the charge; I knew you
as the daughter of the wealthiest man in Portugal, and honour tied my
tongue, though even then I struggled with a passion which tempted me to
tell you--That your rich father amidst all his treasures had but one
recompence that I would take; which being far above what I could merit,
or dare aspire to, I was proudly silent, and studied rather to avoid
than seek your presence, conscious that every time I looked upon you I
should find fresh occasion to admire you, and, as love sunk the deeper
in my heart, the deeper I should sink into despair.
Now then, she said, I am understood at last, and it is not the first
proof I have received how slowly merit finds that secret out, which
impudence and vanity pretend at the first glance to see through, and
interpret in their own favour. You are a soldier, and modesty of mind is
ever found with manliness and valour: you must be still a soldier: I’ll
not ask you to sacrifice your honour and your occupation: ’tis for your
country’s service you were born; that is your character; in that you
shine, to that you must adhere, and never for an instant fly your post,
but when you fly to save a fellow creature, as you did me. If you
suspect me weak enough to sigh for any honours greater than to share
your fortune, any pleasures beyond those, which your approving smile
will ever give me, any self-consequence above the honest pride, that I
shall feel to hear your praises, you mistake me wholly. Don’t think that
I will borrow from my father’s stores to dazzle you with diamonds; no;
not one, had he a mine, would I consent to wear, unless by your command,
and that I think will never be your wish to lay upon me, whilst there
are nobler graces and adornments within my reach far more becoming of a
soldier’s wife.
What answer Major Wilson made to this, how the dialogue was carried on
during the time the lovers were alone, as likewise how much shorter, or
how much longer, that time seemed to them to be than it really was,
must be left as matter of conjecture, which the imagination of the
reader will readily supply without referring to the chess board to fill
it up, as there is authority to say that game was not by either party
proposed to be renewed. Happiness sanctioned by paternal authority, and
virtuous love unchecked by the demurs of honour, filled the brave heart
of Wilson with delight, and he heard an early day announced by Devereux
for the sure tying of that sacred knot, which nothing but the hand of
death should sever, though in too many cases it has proved a slip knot
in the fingers of the law.
CHAPTER IV.
_John De Lancaster embarks for England, accompanied by his Friend the
Reverend Mr. Wilson. Conversation on the Passage._
There was no longer any cause to stop De Lancaster’s return to England.
All duties were discharged; all ceremonies had been observed towards the
unburied body of his father, which man’s inventive fancy has devised to
decorate the case, that holds our clay, and make the ostentatious living
pay large contributions for those empty honours which they bestow on
human dust and ashes. Mutes, who would keep no silence, and, mourners,
who expressed no sorrow, in rooms, hung round with “customary suits of
solemn black,” had regularly sate up all night long, with their full
complement of wax-tapers, to watch a thing that could not run away, and
which no one wished to steal. All these ceremonies, which, had poor
Philip been alive, would have given him such intolerable annoyance, had
now with religious punctuality been performed, and his corpse was
committed to a ship, which, unlike to that wherein he came, was not
bound to the coast of slavery, but to the land of liberty.
All things were now on board; the morning dawned; the dog-vane witnessed
an auspicious breeze; the crew sung out at the cap-stan and the pacquet
was under weigh. Devereux’s eight-oared galley was in waiting, and
nothing now remained but to put off and part. Although the friends, who
stayed on shore, as well as those, who put to sea, took the very course,
to which their wishes pointed, and which their own immediate happiness
prescribed, yet they could not separate without sorrow, and the last
farewell drew tears from the brightest eyes in Portugal, and sighs from
some of the best hearts in nature. Philip the whilst, in his narrow
house of lead, slept undisturbed, and was as perfectly untouched by
sensibility as if he had been alive.
The gallant vessel in the mean time, as if conscious of the charge she
had on board, cut her passage through the waves, not deigning to rise to
them, but throwing them aside, and dashing them from her bows, as her
spreading canvass pressed her down in the water, and hurried her along
before the steady breeze.
Our hero and his friend, having cast a parting look upon the towers of
Lisbon, retired into the cabin, whilst the master kept the deck,
regaling himself in the prospect of so fair an outset, for the weather
was delicious, and the sky prognosticated a continuance of the breeze.
If any thing, said Wilson, could reconcile me to the imprisonment of a
ship, it would be a day like this, with a breeze impregnated with odours
of orange flowers to regale my senses, and the elements in good humour
all around me. I am happy to discover that there are some consolatory
moments in a seaman’s life. And now, my dear John, I am satisfied you
have not let these singular events pass by without reflecting, with due
gratitude to the Disposer of our fate, how graciously he has been
pleased to terminate our enterprize; which, though not absolutely
untinctured with disappointment and misfortune, might yet have led to
miseries, that would have admitted of no consolation. Don’t let me
wound your filial feelings, when I remind you, that the blow, which made
you fatherless, might have fallen where it would have extinguished more
lives than one, and blotted out the very name of De Lancaster for ever.
If I went so far as to say, that probably there are few beings in
existence, whose loss society has less cause to mourn than that of him,
whose remains we are now bearing to the grave, I should not at least
offend against truth, tho’ I might need your pardon for addressing the
remark to you. How visible is the hand of divine justice in the
apprehension of that guilty wretch, and in the prevention of those
further crimes, which he meditated to commit! What can be more
strikingly charactered, more impressively apportioned to our ideas of
retribution, than that tragical catastrophe, which passed before your
eyes, and put a period to his sinful life? How mercifully is it ordered,
that those worldly blessings, which he so grossly abused, will now
devolve upon one, who seems able and disposed to estimate them rightly,
and employ them worthily! when we turn our thoughts to what has come to
pass respecting my most fortunate and happy brother, what a dispensation
do we contemplate! How unexpected, how beyond all hope! If in one
respect we bring home with us fresh cause for mourning, do we not also
bring full matter for rejoicing, if happily we return to our dear
friends in safety, and find them, as Heaven grant we may! in prosperous
health and undisturbed tranquillity of mind?
That, my dear Edward, that indeed, replied De Lancaster, will be a
happiness never to be exceeded, a vouchsafement never to be forgotten.
As from these windows I look out and see the foaming track, which our
swift-sailing vessel leaves behind her, my heart exults to think, that
we have cut off so much from the space of sea, that we must traverse
before we reach the shores of that asylum, where I left all that my soul
has treasured up to bless and crown with happiness my days to come. Ah,
my best friend, if Heaven shall so vouchsafe that I may live to call
Amelia mine, and, when possest of all my heart holds dear, if those
principles, which you have taught me, shall be found still operative,
still inviolate and pure, how vast will be my obligations to you, who
took me when I was in a state of dereliction, taught me to perceive that
I was endowed with reason, and enabled me to discern how to apply it to
its proper uses. If I could have suffered the events, which you have
instanced, to have passed by me without reflections, of which you remind
me, I must have been insensible indeed: On the contrary, be assured they
struck me with the double force of opposite examples, shewing me both
the evil and the good; the punishment of villainy in the instance of Ap
Owen, and the reward of virtue in the person of your brother.
The master of the pacquet now came into the cabin, and introduced a
gentleman by the name of Anderton, in whose frame and complexion the
effects of tropical disease were strongly marked. He might be somewhat
past the middle stage of life, and there were traces in his sickly
countenance of that mild character, that to hearts like those of our
hero and his friend made an interesting appeal; and he soon perceived
that his good fortune had thrown him into the company of fellow
passengers, who felt for his situation, and were naturally disposed to
shew him all attentions in their power, and tender him a share in all
those comforts, which Devereux’s care had amply stored them with, and
which his condition seemed so much to need.
The wind was fair, the sea was easy, and the motion of the vessel being
regularly and rapidly progressive, was not of that sort, which produces
sickness and disquietude. Anderton by their invitation reposed himself
on the couch, where they took their seats on each side of him. His eyes
now brightened as he turned them on his beneficent companions, the
blood flushed faintly in his cheeks, and addressing them, he said--
Knowing in whose company I have the happiness to be, and highly grateful
as I am for the kind reception you have given me, though as yet a
perfect stranger, it is fit that I should briefly tell you who and what
I am; briefly it needs must be, for one dull scene of industry, one
uniform pursuit, comprize the whole history of my unimportant solitary
life. If it were the sole purpose of man in this world to make his
fortune, I have accomplished that purpose; for in colonial property I am
superfluously rich. I was an orphan in my infancy, and have no
recollection of my parents; after a scanty education upon charity, I was
taken into a merchant’s service, where I performed the menial offices
of his counting-house; there however I gained a knowledge of accounts
and forms of business. I devoted myself, as I have told you, without
avocation of any kind, to the task before me, and was consigned over to
the manager of a considerable estate in Jamaica as an under agent, who
was not likely to decline any labour, or betray any trust. I did neither
one nor the other; they did not spare me, and I did not spare myself.
Incessant industry, no taste for pleasure, no incitements to excess, an
absolute sequestration from all society, and no diversion of ideas from
those, which I employed upon the cane, the mill and the negro, raised me
by degrees hardly gained to a capacity of adventuring for myself, and my
laborious efforts have succeeded, as I told you, to the fullest extent;
I am the sole fabricator of an ample property, for the attainment of
which I have, as you see, sacrificed my health, and deprived myself of
the ability to enjoy my earnings. One consolation however supports me on
reflection, which is that of being conscious, that I am chiefly indebted
for my prosperity to the humanity, with which I ever treated those, who
were my slaves: I have been the founder of their happiness, and they the
instruments, that have raised my fortune. I made their cabins
comfortable, their wives and children happy; I contemplated their
increase with satisfaction, and can boast of having never purchased or
imported a single African, since I have been owner of a single acre.
They grew up with me as their common father, they lived and worked for
me, I lived to think and act for them. To the whole world of white men I
am a stranger; except with one alone I never formed acquaintance: he,
and he only, was my friend; from him I learnt the precepts and the
policy of humanity to my enslaved fellow creatures: I loved him as my
own life; he married and became a widower; I received him in his sorrow,
and lodged him in my house; he was a soldier, and a gentleman; my purse
would have been his for every use he could have put it to, but his
high-born spirit would not stoop to obligations of that sort; he
sickened, languished a few days, and expired in my arms. My spirit died
with him; every comfort, every joy my nature was capable of feeling,
were buried with him in the grave. He left a little orphan girl, in whom
the remnant of my heart was wrapped; her grandfather took her from me;
she was sent to England, and, if she yet survives, and is in the
virtues of her mind, what she promised to be in the beauties of her
person, she is an angel. Would I might see her once before I die!
Tell me her name, said De Lancaster, and instantly, as Anderton
pronounced Amelia Jones, our astonished hero threw himself back on the
couch, smote his hands together and with uplifted eyes exclaimed--Just
Heaven, how wonderful are thy decrees!
The explanation, that ensued, would be superfluous to relate; it filled
up the time till the hour of dinner put an end to it. Devereux’s
provisions furnished out an excellent repast, and the sea-air supplied
an appetite. Anderton fed heartily, and the languor of his countenance
yielded to the joint effects of cordial diet, and that elevation of
spirits, which the conversation of De Lancaster and Wilson had inspired
him with. After a glass or two of delicious wine had gone temperately
round, the cabin was cleared; all, who had charge of the ship, repaired
to their duty on the deck, and the three passengers were left at liberty
to resume their conversation.
CHAPTER V.
_John De Lancaster and Wilson arrive at Kray Castle._
From the preceding Chapter it appears that John De Lancaster had made
known to Anderton the situation of Amelia Jones, and that gentleman no
sooner found himself in private with his new friends, than, turning to
our hero, he said--The hopes, you have held out to me of beholding the
relick of my dear-loved friend, inspire me with new life, and I will not
despair but that the clear air of Wales may keep my waining lamp alive a
little longer.
At least I’ll give the experiment a chance, for though I don’t fear
death, simply considered as a dismission from this world, yet I would
most devoutly wish to fit myself for it as my passport to the world to
come. For that, alas! I have made no preparation. Of my religion I am
supremely ignorant; I have had no church, no pastor to instruct me. I
scarce know why and by what right I call myself a Christian: I must
believe I ought to understand the book of duties, that is open to me;
but where is the instructor? Nothing can be too much for me to give,
could I but find that charitable man, who patiently and piously would
teach me rightly to know and reverence my God, or ere I am summoned to
appear before him. The tomb itself can be no darker than my ignorant
mind; he whose instruction will throw light on that, will merit all the
uses of my fortune, on which there is not in this world one, who by
affinity or friendship has the slightest claim, now that Amelia Jones is
so disposed of.
Stop there, said the Reverend Mr. Wilson, if you please. Had you not
named what seems so like a lure to bribe me to your service, I had
offered my best endeavours, as in duty bound (being myself a minister of
the Gospel), to give you that assistance, which you profess yourself so
earnest to obtain.
Oh that you would! said Anderton.
Be patient, rejoined Wilson, I can make no promise till I am satisfied,
that you withdraw all thoughts of every thing, which seems allied to
worldly recompence, and credit me for pure benevolence and zeal to serve
my God by services to you. Here therefore we must conclude this
conversation for the present, and wait till further knowledge of each
other may possibly dispose us to renew it with effect.
In the further progress of their voyage Anderton’s gentle and benignant
nature so recommended him to Wilson, and he drew such comfort from the
discourses, which that excellent instructor favoured him with, that, as
his understanding opened, his spirits and his health improved, and he
became as it were a new creature.
As they neared the land, the breeze freshened, and in the first of the
morning they came to anchor in the port of Falmouth. Upon their landing,
the attendants on the corpse lost no time in providing for its
conveyance to Exeter, where fresh relays were to be had; and, when these
arrangements were made, our hero and his friend, with young Williams
only, set out for Kray Castle by the shortest road, and Anderton bent
his course to London. The journey of these gentlemen was in all respects
like the journeys, which other gentlemen take, except in novels, for the
drivers and horses, whether good or bad, performed their stages, and
their carriage was driven into the court of Kray Castle, nay, even up to
the castle-door, without accident or adventure of any kind. The surprise
of the old porter was such, that he took especial care, that every body
within hearing should partake of it, and rang out an alarm so violent,
that some cracked bells and some crazy towers would have resented it in
a manner not very convenient for the puller of the rope, which provoked
them to such clamorous exertion.
The family had not quitted the breakfast-room, for Mr. De Lancaster had
engaged their attention to a dissertation upon dreams, in consequence of
a prediction, which David Ap Rees had ventured to enounce from his
tripod, namely, that Mr. John De Lancaster was on his road, and would
speedily arrive in safety; David having gone to bed with a full dose of
soporifick metheglin, and been visited in his sleep with the vision of
young John and his father alighting at the castle-gate safe and sound
from the backs of two griffins, that had flown with them through the
air. This he had imparted to his patron after his morning serenade, and
that excellent person had entertained a very good opinion of the
prophecy, though he had some hesitation to admit the vehicle of the
griffins: Upon this circumstance he commenced a learned dissertation
upon dreams, holding at nought Mr. Locke’s notion of their being made up
of the waking man’s thoughts, and substituting an opinion of his own,
which took up so much time in explanation, and grew to be so entirely
unintelligible by his mode of explaining it, that when the turret bell
sounded out that terrible alarm, old Morgan started and cried out
amain--What the devil is coming to us now? That horrid bell has waked me
out of a comfortable nap, in which I was dreaming of--
Your grandson John, said De Lancaster, and behold he is here!
It is in scenes like this, which now took place upon the sudden
entrance of our hero, that speeches cannot be found for people, who all
speak at the same time, and of course out-talk description. The tender
sex have tearful eyes and trembling nerves for these occasions; the
three seniors had their several modes of giving vent to their joy, and
each mode different from the other.--The dream is verified, cried De
Lancaster, my grandson is arrived in safety--But he did not come upon a
dragon, said the Colonel--No matter, exclaimed old Morgan; here he is,
and that’s enough.
Edward Wilson now came into the room, and the cordial congratulations of
every one present were renewed upon the sight of him. In the general
exultation it so happened that nobody had yet recollected to make one
enquiry about poor Philip. At length Cecilia said--What is become of my
brother? Have you left him still in Lisbon?
He is not in Lisbon, replied John. We should not have left you without
an account of every thing as it came to pass, if a single pacquet had
sailed from Lisbon, whilst we remained in it; we came in the only one,
that was on that side the water, and they stopped it till the dispatches
from the army were made up. Much has occurred in the short time we have
been absent from you, and we have happy news for Colonel Wilson of our
gallant Major; but as we have travelled hard and are journey-baited; if
you will let us satisfy our hunger first, we will then endeavour to
satisfy your curiosity.
CHAPTER VI.
_Familiar Anecdotes of the Family at Kray Castle: Comments on the
Events, which occurred at Lisbon._
It will be a very saving compromise for our readers to refer John De
Lancaster’s narrative to their recollection rather than to tire their
patience with a recapitulation of what they have heard before. Let it
therefore be understood that the eventful narrative has been minutely
given; that Mr. De Lancaster with philosophical resignation has
acquiesced in the dispensation of poor Philip’s death; that he has
acknowledged the hand of Providence in the seizure of his murderer, and
in the consummation of his dreadful doom; and that the happy return of
our beloved hero, now sole heir of the De Lancasters and Morgans, with
the brilliant prospect of Major Wilson’s fortunate connection, leave
impressions on the hearers only tinged, not obscured, by sorrow and
regret.
When we reflect, said Robert De Lancaster, upon occurrences in all
respects, save one, so prosperously, so providentially disposed, it
would be an unpardonable offence in us, who have been listening to the
narrative, were we to suffer one ingrateful murmur to escape us, because
the general blessing, though beyond our hopes, and far above our merits,
defeats our wishes in one single point. Cecilia will recollect how ill
we jointly augured of the idle expedition, that has now proved fatal to
the unhappy object, who obstinately would set out upon it, and returns a
corpse. Fate has now struck him down, who would not wait to witness, as
in duty bound, and to console, as by humanity it was required of him, a
wife, who languished on the bed of death. Can we complain of this? Is
there not justice in the dispensation? If then it behoves me, his
father, to submit in silence, who amongst you will give way to
lamentation? We will consign his body to the grave with suitable
respect, and his memory to oblivion with as much philosophy as we can
muster, for in the journal of his days, if every action was set down,
there will be found not one, on which we can engraft a single word of
praise to grace him with an epitaph. Therefore, my good and worthy
brother Morgan, you, who by law, and I, who by nature, fathered this
poor man, will pray for life, that we may see the hour, which but for
this event, had joined the hands of those affianced lovers, now in our
sight, destined, as I trust, to keep our names alive and lay our grey
heads in a peaceful grave.
I’ll tell you what, brother of mine, said old Morgan; if I live to see
that happy day, I don’t believe I shall be content to lay my grey head
in any grave at all, let it be as peaceful as it may. I hope those fatal
spinsters won’t cut my thread, just when I want to wind up my bottom,
and be merry: why, I’ve a cellar full of wine, that I hope will be drank
out before I die; I have a locker full of money to scatter amongst the
poor, and a subterranean of strong beer to set the antient Britons
a-dancing on their heads. I know I am an old gouty good-for-nothing
blockhead; but what then? ’Tis other people’s wit, not our own, that
makes us merry; and let death stand at the door, I’ll have my laugh
out, so long as he does not come in, and spoil the company: Here’s my
old friend Wilson, who has literally one leg in the grave, why he makes
battle still, like a stout fellow, and fights upon his stumps, as
Whittington did in Chevy Chase. Was there ever in the annals of good
fortune such a happy father as he is? ’Tis not in the order of things
probable, that a fellow, like his son Henry, with all the disadvantages
of modest merit, refined high principle and rigid unrelenting honour,
should find himself invited, nay, compelled, to be one of the happiest
and most prosperous gentlemen, that beauty, wealth and virtue ever
joined to bless. How, in the name of all that’s wonderful, did it come
to pass, that Devereux, a trader in diamonds, should have the good sense
to discover, and the good heart to reward, the merits of Major Wilson?
What shall I say of him? Why, I will say, that he is worthy to enjoy the
friendship of De Lancaster, and his daughter to share the affection and
esteem of Cecilia and Amelia; and if any body can suggest how I may do
him and her greater honours, I shall be glad to hear it. As for myself,
if some kind spirit, that is friendly to good fellowship, will
graciously keep from me pain and sickness for a while, I shall be
profoundly thankful; but I must not be importunate; if he gives me to
the full as much as I deserve, and gives no more, my allowance will be
nothing: still if I may be suffered to hang, as I do, like a ragged
remnant, on the skirts of society, I shall be well content, for I would
fain shake honest Devereux by the hand before I die; aye, and poor
Anderton before he dies, because he loved the dear white man, whom I
loved and lamented, and because he dandled on his knee my pretty Amelia,
who is sweeter than all his sugar-canes, though she does not care a rush
for such a rascally old negro as I am.
Oh sir, sir, cried Amelia, don’t say that, even in jest--And rising from
her seat, devoutly put her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips
upon his forehead.
Child, child, he cried; don’t overthrow me. I am a weak old fool with a
watery head, and you, who are the fair nymph of the fountain, can make
it stream at pleasure.
Brother Morgan, said De Lancaster, whilst you think fit to rally
yourself with pleasantry, you shall be as pleasant as you like, and we
won’t quarrel with you; but if you pique us upon the serious point of
affection and respect, we may chance to defend ourselves in the same
manner, that Amelia has done; I think therefore you will do well to be
contented with the salute you have got; for the rough beard of Menelaus
won’t do after the sweet lips of Helen.
In the mean time, said the Colonel, if it will be any gratification to
see Maria Devereux, I’ll introduce her to you. It is an elegant
compliment, that her father has made in sending me her picture; and
though Henry tells me in his letter that it is not half so handsome as
the original, that may be an opinion very natural for him to give, but
we are not absolutely bound to take the lover’s word against the
painter’s art. Saying this, he gave the picture to Morgan; the ladies
eagerly rose, and even De Lancaster was impatient to satisfy his
curiosity with a sight of it: The ladies were in raptures with the
beauty, De Lancaster with the character of the countenance; Morgan
declared at once, that he had seen enough to understand why she
preferred one of the finest fellows in the British service to all the
yellow-faced nobles in the court of Portugal--There is discernment, said
he, in those eyes, brother De Lancaster--Yes, yes; replied the other--
“Oculi loquuntur male pertinaces.”
CHAPTER VII.
_Conversation in an Evening Walk._
The evening was delicious, there was a stillness in the air, that seemed
like the repose of nature, when our hero and his Amelia walked forth to
enjoy those happy moments, which rural scenes and rural solitude afford
to Love. They were no sooner out of ear-shot from the castle walls, when
John began--Now, my sweet girl, when no witness is about us, but the
unseen Spirit, that protects and guards you, I can open all my heart to
you without reserve, for it honours you, it loves you, it adores you. I
have been absent from you; I have visited another country, I have seen
other women, and contemplated their charms and their allurements without
emotion or the diversion of a thought from you. I am entirely and
unalterably yours. I think you love me; nay, I am sure you do; nothing
therefore but the hand of death can separate us, and when I dissuaded
Anderton from leaving you his fortune, it was because I regarded you
already as my wife. But time, my lovely girl, must pass before I can
have legal right to call you by that name. You see within how short a
period I have been deprived of both my parents, and although my
grandfather De Lancaster treats or feigns to treat the late melancholy
event as a philosopher, I cannot help feeling it as a son; for I was
present to behold my father die and witnessed his last words. If I could
charge my conscience with having hesitated or delayed to obey his
summons, and hasten to his relief, I should be wretched in the extreme:
but, thank Heaven, I had fortitude to tear myself from your arms, and
cannot reproach myself with any breach of duty. Nothing can exceed the
kindness I received from Mr. Devereux and his family: but neither his
hospitality, nor the approaching nuptials of his daughter with my
friend Major Wilson, could prevail with me to prolong my stay a single
hour beyond the very first pacquet, that afforded me an opportunity of
returning to the place where I had left my heart. You will perceive I
gave you credit for a mind superior to the vanity of show and ornament;
for I have not brought a single gem to glitter on that lovely person,
whose elegance and simplicity are its best adornments. My dear Amelia,
we must seek for other honours, than decoration can give us; we must
find out better uses for the affluence we are entrusted with, than gems
and equipage and splendid galas: If you and I decide upon a country
life, we will not let our tranquillity degenerate into indolence, nor
ever suffer these superfluities, which we have no present call for, to
accumulate for those, may chance to come after us to inherit, and
perhaps to misapply, them: No, we will consider prosperity as a loan,
and administer our abundance as the almoners of Providence, and stewards
for the uses of our fellow-creatures, whose privations and distresses
shall have claims upon that, which is not given as a monopoly to be
devoured by one, but as a resource against the wants of many. By this
conduct I may atone for not devoting my life, as well as my fortune, to
the service of my country; and you may walk forth amongst your poor
dependent pensioners, brighter and more splendid in the lustre of your
charities than if I hung you round with all the jewels of the Lady of
Loretto. Let us live hospitably, becomingly, liberally, after the
example of my grandfather; but don’t let us make an undistinguishing
waste either by our domestic style of living, or by wanton largesses to
any, who may not deserve, as well as need, relief. We will support the
industrious, who struggle against hard fortune, and the helpless, who
would else sink under it; but we will not confound the lazy drone with
the laborious bee. And now, beloved of my soul, as I have occupied you
with a long homily, and wearied you with a long walk, here is a baiting
place to repose in; sit down with me upon this shady bench, and let me
read my answer in those heavenly eyes.
Oh, my dear sir, replied the fond and happy Amelia, your just and
generous sentiments instruct and charm me. Convinced, that by the
practice of these virtues you will ensure all that my heart can wish,
all that my prayers can ask of Heaven, you give me that supreme
delight, which only can be felt, but not described. What can I say to
you? What other answer can you look for from your devoted, your
betrothed Amelia, but that I am entirely yours? Is it enough to tell
you, that I love you, that my whole happiness depends upon you? No; I am
not quite convinced, but that the impression, which at our first
interview you left so deeply fixed in this poor hopeless heart, would
have compelled me to have loved you still, though you had treated me
with marked neglect; nay, though you had neglected your own self, and
fallen off from that high character in which I now behold you and
admire. I felt as if I could have forgiven you every thing: and when you
left me for so long a time without a word to soften my despair, I feared
indeed that you was lost for ever, but I did not suspect you to be
cruel. I knew you was offended with Mrs. Jennings, but I was sorry to
find your resentment could be so lasting, and that you would take no
pains to acquit me, who was innocent, and set my mind at rest. Morning
and night I mused upon the words I heard you utter, when, looking on the
portrait of my father, you pledged protection to the orphan who then
lived, as she still does, upon the bounty of your family--Is this the
man (I said within myself) who threw his arms about me, and pressed me
with such rapture to his heart? Was there no meaning in that fond
embrace? Did it sink only into my sad heart? Alas, I hoped that his had
felt it too!--Thus I tormented my poor wretched self, till now, behold!
I am sitting by your side--Nay; hear me out!--I have not told one
half--
The expostulation was not out of place, for by some means or other,
(what I know not) our heroine was defrauded of her right to tell the
other half; and whether it was ever told, or not, I hope is no great
object to the reader; for, upon the word and honour of a novelist, I
have no authority, that can decide the question.
In due time the corpse of Philip De Lancaster arrived and was interred
in the vault with his ancestors. Every member of that antient house
attended the funeral, and several of the intimates and friends of the
family shewed their respect by being present at the solemnity.
As the parishioners and labouring poor had no particular reason for
tears and lamentations, they reasonably enough forbore to interrupt the
ceremony, and only gratified their curiosity by gazing on the plumes and
scutcheons and the costly pall and coffin: this did extremely well, and
the cheering horn of fat Welch ale, that was dealt out to quench a
thirst, that was natural to them at all times, and did not spring upon
this occasion from sorrow, did still better. A great company were
regaled in the state apartment’s of the castle, and a mighty mob in the
lower regions.
Whilst these things were going on, Lawyer Davis, Doctor Llewellyn and
the family-bard old Williams held a special consistory in a private
cell, for the purpose of minuting down the _memoranda_, proper to be
inserted in the family archives under the article of “Philip De
Lancaster Esquire, lineally descended in the male line without a flaw
from Japhet, son of Noah.”
The bard was to dictate; the Lawyer was to write, and the Doctor was to
smoke his pipe, and make comments. As it was a business not to be
dismissed in a slight perfunctory manner, there was a huge can of
metheglin on the table to assist thought, for the _data_, that blind
David had to go upon, were rather of the scantiest; and when a
biographer has little or nothing before him, he must depend upon his
wits for matter.
David opened the consultation by observing, that, before they sate down
to their work, it was correctly in rule to make a libation to the
immortal memory of the excellent person, whose virtues they were about
to record; and he assured himself, that posterity would peruse the life
and actions of Mr. Philip De Lancaster with peculiar interest and
avidity.
After they had drank they began to deliberate, and the Doctor suggested,
that the first thing needful was to prove the life, before they narrated
the actions, of Mr. De Lancaster.
That is already settled, said the Lawyer, by entering, as I have done,
the date of his birth.
Pardon me, replied the Doctor, that entry is not quite authority, unless
you can show that he was _born to die_; for in many cases, which I have
met, the death of the object in question has been known to forerun the
birth.
Here is the date of his death, rejoined the Lawyer, copied from the
plate on his coffin; and by this it appears, that he lived to complete
a period of forty-three years, five months and three days.
_Sufficit!_ said Llewellyn; the plate upon his coffin is evidence. Now
let us understand what he employed himself upon during that period.
A silence ensued for a considerable time. David referred himself to the
metheglin; the other two to meditation on the past events of Philip’s
life, as materials for history.
He was very fond of angling, said the Lawyer.--He was so, replied the
Doctor, and you may put that down in the archives, only you need not
inform posterity, that he never got a bite.
Pooh! rejoined Davis, that naturally happened, because he was too
indolent to bait his hook.--He had an acknowledged partiality for the
game of chess.
Yes, and an acknowledged ignorance of it, said the Doctor. I am apt to
think, that it will be perfectly safe to record, that he was six feet
high--
Wanting half an inch, rejoined the Lawyer.
Pshaw! exclaimed the Doctor; if you begin to reckon up all that is
_wanting_, there will be no end to the account.
David now unmuzzled his oracle, and began to utter--Gentlemen, give me
leave to observe to you, that you wander from the points, that chiefly
constituted the exemplary character of the deceased personage, whose
incomparable qualities we are even now preparing to commemorate. He
possessed, as I can witness, a most laudable respect for the almost
miraculous powers of music: I do not say that Mr. Philip De Lancaster
was skilled in the practice of that sublime art; but I do say, that he
was at the pains of ascending the winding stair-case of my turret, and
of entering my chamber on the top of it, for the benevolent purpose of
employing me to expel the meagrims, or blue devils, as they are called,
from the possession they had taken of his lady, and restoring her to
health and spirits by the healing remedy of dulcet tones, elicited by me
from my harp.
A fiddlestick for your harp! exclaimed the man of medicine. I tell you,
that its dulcet tones were the very death of his wife. You may take that
from me, friend David, _in verbo medici_.
I’ll not take that from you, or any one else, friend or foe, retorted
the enraged musician; and now began an altercation between chemicals and
galenicals _versus_ chords and crotchets, which was maintained with
such heat, (both gentlemen being of the principality,) that in the
confusion of tongues all memory of poor Philip’s history was done away,
and to this hour no record, anecdote or account of that unfortunate
gentleman is any where to be found, save only what the historic tool of
the engraver has briefly inscribed upon the lacquered plate, that
ornaments his coffin.
CHAPTER VIII.
_Our History verges to its Conclusion.--Cornet Roberts arrives at
Penruth Abbey._
A very few days had elapsed since the event, recorded in our preceding
chapter had taken place, when intelligence reached the castle, that the
young heir of Penruth Abbey had arrived there from Lisbon. The servant,
who brought this news, was the bearer also of a letter from Cornet
Roberts to our hero, signifying that he was charged with a letter from
Major Wilson to his father, which with permission, he would have the
honour of delivering into his hands. The answer of our hero expressed
every thing, that hospitality and politeness could convey; but certain
reasons, still in force, prevailed with him to avoid, for the present at
least, a visit to the abbey. A very short time however brought young
Roberts to the castle, where he was received with all possible
cordiality. He had left his friend the Major on the point of setting out
for the review at Elvas, and as his marriage with Maria Devereux had
taken place, the bride and her father had been invited, and were
preparing to accompany him in the royal suite: in his letter to the
Colonel he announces his intention of coming over to England upon the
close of the campaign, and the family seat in Herefordshire was by order
of Mr. Devereux furnishing and preparing for his reception. Prosperity
had flowed in upon him; promotion awaited him, and every thing seemed
conspiring for his happiness.
Roberts in the mean time ingratiated himself to every body, old or
young, in the family of De Lancaster, by that modesty of mind and
manners, in which his sudden turn of fortune made no change. He made
frequent short excursions to the Abbey, where he had projected several
considerable works for the occupation and employment of the labouring
poor; but his delicacy never suffered him to ask John De Lancaster to
accompany him. John attended upon him however to the house of old Ap
Rees, when he went to invest him with the annuity settled upon him and
his son. The business was so cautiously introduced, and so delicately
conducted, that it created no very painful agitation on the part of the
old man--I have so deep a sense, said Roberts, of the injuries you have
received from the deceased person, whose property, but not whose
principles, I inherit, that so long as life is granted to me, I will be
the friend of you and all that may belong to you or yours; so be
assured--The venerable minstrel bowed his head; but the sad recollection
of his dear-loved daughter weighed upon his heart, and he was silent.
This and so many instances like this, occurred to strengthen and confirm
our hero’s high opinion of young Roberts, that in hearts like theirs
acquaintance soon was ripened into friendship; in proof of which it may
not be entirely out of place to record a circumstance, that happened at
the county races. Sir Arthur Floyd, the steward for the year preceding,
had nominated John De Lancaster as his successor in that office, and
when the time came round for his appearing in that character, his
grandfather and friends were of opinion, that he could not handsomely
absent himself. He proposed to Roberts to accompany him, and with some
hesitation he accepted it. At the ordinary John in right of office took
the chair; the cornet, as yet unknown to the gentlemen of the county, in
his riding dress, and out of uniform, attracted very little notice, and
declined all offers of introduction. It had been whispered however
between some at table, that a near relation of Sir David Ap Owen was
there, present and amongst them. When the glass had gone round briskly,
and Welch blood began to stir, a sporting kind of half gentleman at the
bottom of the table, who had been of the Ap Owen hunt, stood up and in a
loud voice desired to ask a question of the president: leave was
instantly given him from the chair to propose it.
He was ready enough with his words, and, addressing himself to De
Lancaster, spoke as follows--Mr. President, it is not my good fortune to
possess any great property in this county, but I hold it in as much
honor and respect, as any gentleman here present, being perhaps of as
antient standing, none excepted, not even yourself, Mr. De Lancaster,
whom we are all proud to see at the head of this table as our steward,
and shall be still prouder to see you there in good time as our
representative.
A clapping of hands, and a vehement clatter of glasses, ensued--The
speaker as soon as silence was restored, proceeded--Mr. President, I am
sorry to say that a great and grievous disgrace has been cast upon this
country by the infamous conduct of as dire a wretch, as ever went into
his grave unhanged. I mean the late Sir David Ap Owen; I speak out; I am
no slanderer. And now, Mr. President, I am informed, (whether truly or
not you perhaps can tell) that there is a near relation of that wretch,
who has so disgraced us, actually present in this company.
I am that person, said young Roberts, instantly starting up, and cutting
him short in his oration. I am nephew to the late worthy Sir Owen Ap
Owen, and of course first cousin to the late unworthy heir of his title
and estate. Now, sir, if my presence, gives you on that account any
umbrage, I am ready to leave the company, provided you go with me; for
having the honour to wear the King’s commission, I am not willing to
disgrace it by putting up with an affront from you, or any man alive,
who can prove himself a gentleman.
Several persons now rose at the same time, and called upon the orator
for an apology, when upon John De Lancaster’s appealing to be heard in
right of office, all were silent and sate down--Gentlemen, he said, I am
persuaded, that a very few words in the way of explanation will set this
matter right, without disturbing the peace of the company, or wounding
the feelings of any person present. It would be hard indeed upon my
friend Mr. Roberts, it would be hard upon me, who am proud to call him
by that name, if, because he inherits the estate of an antient and
respectable family in this county, the guilt of that man, through whose
hands it passed in its descent to him, could be supposed to cast the
slightest stain upon his character: that I am sure was not the purpose
of the gentleman, who was pleased to address himself to me. He spoke
upon the impulse of an honest indignation against one, who is far enough
removed from this assembly, not from the premeditated motive of putting
an affront upon a gentleman, whose company confers an honour,
wheresoever he bestows it. If therefore I conjecture rightly of my
worthy countryman at the other end of the table, I will put it to the
proof by calling upon him to pledge me in a toast, which I will give to
the health and prosperity of our new neighbour, Charles Roberts esquire,
the present heir and owner of Penruth Abbey.
Instantly, without a moment’s loss, the orator started on his legs, and
having filled his glass to the brim, with a loud voice, directed to Mr.
Roberts, cried amain, that he hoped he would accept of his apology, and
that he drank his health with all his heart. When the toast had gone
round, the young heir of the Ap Owens rose, and having made his
acknowledgments to the company, professed himself perfectly satisfied
with the testimony, which the gentleman, who addressed the president,
had been pleased to give of his good opinion of him. Thus by the
temperate and manly interference of our hero, the spirit of discord,
which for a time had worn so menacing an aspect, was expelled, and
harmony and goodfellowship reinstated in its stead.
CHAPTER IX.
_The History is concluded._
When John De Lancaster returned to Kray Castle, Edward Wilson
communicated to him a letter, which he had from Anderton, of which the
following is the substance:
“Dear Sir!
“Having at length settled all my temporal affairs, nothing remains for
me in this world but to prepare my mind to meet that awful moment,
which must soon dismiss me from it. I rather think my complaint has
gained upon me, since my residence in London, and the physician, whom I
have consulted, tells me that I must positively lose no time in seeking
out some country-house in a better climate and a purer air. From what
passed between us on our passage, (which, though you may have forgotten,
I never can) I have cherished hopes, that perhaps your benevolence may
induce you to procure for me a situation in your neighbourhood, where I
may enjoy the comfort of your edifying and instructive conversation.
Could I obtain this blessing, it would be all I wish for; I should die
content. If you return a favourable answer, I shall instantly set out,
and I flatter myself that by easy stages I may accomplish the journey:
if on the contrary you reject my suit, I have only to thank you for
your favours past, resign myself to despair, and bid you everlastingly
farewel.”
When John De Lancaster had read thus far, he eagerly enquired of Wilson
what answer he had returned to this pitiable appeal. I have told him,
replied Wilson, that I am about to fix my residence in the parish, of
which I am the minister, and as my parsonage house is by the bounty of
your grandfather rendered perfectly commodious, and has the further
recommendation of being situated in a fine air and very beautiful spot,
I shall very gladly receive him in it, and shew him all the attentions
in my power for such time as it may suit him to make use of it.
The return of the post brought a letter from poor Anderton full of
acknowledgments for the generous offer, which he most gladly embraced,
and was eagerly employed in preparing for his journey.
Nothing now remained but to wait the expiration of the time allotted to
the forms of mourning. That interval was not chequered by a single
incident, that could disturb the happiness of our hero, or of any of
those worthy characters, whose story may have gained an interest in the
reader’s wishes.
Anderton, having slowly crawled through his long length of journey,
arrived at Kray Castle, where Edward Wilson waited for him; and having
lived to see the lovely daughter of his friend in perfect happiness and
high prosperity, retired with Wilson to his calm asylum, where after a
short period profitably employed he closed his days in peace.
Mr. Devereux, having delivered over to his son the management of his
concerns in Portugal, came with the Major and Maria to England, and
having paid a visit to the family at Kray Castle, established himself in
his fine old mansion in Herefordshire, in the centre of a noble
property, augmented by purchases and embellished by improvements.
Colonel Wilson lived to see his beloved Edward, after the decease of
Anderton, married to the amiable and accomplished daughter of Sir Arthur
Floyd. His frequent visits at Sir Arthur’s house, which was within a
very short distance of his own, had naturally given rise to an
attachment, which, when Anderton’s bequest had established him in
affluence, and not till then, he made known, and found his well-placed
passion was returned.
The good old Morgan kept a gay heart, and the gout at a distance.
Whilst he was for ever laying out a character for himself, which every
action of his life contradicted, no persuasion could divert him from
ordering new carriages to be built and fine horses to be bought in town
for the purpose of setting out his grandson with a splendid equipage,
that he had no wish for. He bustled over in prodigious haste to Glen
Morgan, as soon as ever the day was named for the wedding, and gave
directions that open house should be kept for three days after that
event took place, and free allowance without stint to all drunken
idlers, that chose to lend a hand to the draining of his cellars.
When his brother-in-law gravely took him to task, and remonstrated
against these lawless proceedings, as tending to produce nothing but
riot and disorder, he stuck boldly to his text, and would not waver;
contending that it was fit and right the tillers of the soil should
enjoy the produce of the soil, and, if they quarrelled over their cups,
they might fight it out over their cups for what he cared; a few broken
heads would set all to rights; and as for riots and disturbances, if the
county could not keep its own peace, he hoped he was not bound to keep
it for them.
In the mean time he was not wholly inattentive to his own person, but
found a half-crazed chattering Denbigh tailor to fit him out with a
flaming suit, laced down the seams, like the jacket of a drum-major; and
at the same time provided himself with a most tremendous perriwig, and
long cravat of Brussels lace. He was with difficulty prevented from
heaping tawdry ornaments and trinkets upon Amelia, that would totally
have destroyed all those charms, which the elegant simplicity of her own
taste knew so much better how to set off and recommend. But the Jew
Lyons exhibited a glittering show-box, and having trapped him into the
purchase of the French watch, that he bestowed upon Amelia, knew the
value of so good a customer.
Cecilia De Lancaster was the presiding spirit, that kept all things
straight and steady in their course: at her command they moved, by her
discretion they were governed and directed. Under her control joy was
not suffered to run riot, and the vagaries of old Morgan were kept
within bounds: to any other authority but her’s he paid no regard, and
had a way of parrying the railleries of Wilson, and the remonstrances of
De Lancaster.
That venerable and worthy personage preserved a dignified tranquillity.
A smile sate upon his countenance, and his eyes brightened when he
turned them on Amelia and his grandson. He caused a considerable length
of parchment to be added to his roll of pedigree, for the purpose of
leaving space for the future descendants from John De Lancaster and
Amelia Jones. He put old David upon composing an epithalamium, which
when written down as he dictated it, turned out to be very little
shorter than _the Last Lay of the Minstrel_. Neither was his own genius
unemployed, for he composed, and was at the pains of writing with his
own hand a set of maxims, which he intitled _rules for domestic
happiness in the married state_. They consisted chiefly of truisms,
which he was at the pains of proving; and of errors so obvious, that
examination could not make them clearer. He pointed out so many ways, by
which man and wife must render each other miserable, that he seemed to
have forgot, that the purport of his rules was to make them happy. So
little was this learned work adapted to the object held out in the
title, that, if it had been pasted up for general use on the door of a
church, it may be doubted if any, who had read it, would have entered
there to be married.
He delivered it however with much solemnity to his grandson--saying to
him--Here is a proof, my dear John, how seriously my thoughts have been
employed for your instruction: govern yourself by these rules, and you
will be happy.
If I govern myself by your example, John made answer, I shall have no
need of rules.
On the evening preceding the wedding-day, John drew Amelia aside, and
conducting her to the private chamber, which he made his study, produced
a case, which he said contained the family jewels of the De Lancasters
and Morgans, newly set--I have added nothing to them, he said, for I am
fully conscious they can add nothing to you: It is fit however that you
should have them, and wear them, when you see occasion: our friends seem
to wish it, and our fortune fully warrants it. When I shall put this
plain good ring upon your finger to-morrow, and confirm it as the
symbol of our union with an oath before the altar, trifles like these
jewels will have no further value, as the test of my affection: that is
made secure to you, not only by the graces of your person, which
ornaments cannot improve, but also by the virtues of your mind, which
time cannot impair.
FINIS.
Harding and Wright, Printers, St. John’s Square.
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
hands presed=> hands pressed {pg 77}
with that beolved=> with that beloved {pg 106}
for these epeated=> for these repeated {pg 107}
know she is=> know he is {pg 140}
The hopsitality=> The hospitality {pg 142}
Did’nt you accept=> Didn’t you accept {pg 195}