Page images
PDF
EPUB

NEW YORK JOURNAL.

NO. 67. VOL. III.]

THE EARL OF

ABERDEEN.

PRIME MINISTER OF GREAT BRITAIN.

THE portrait of the

Earl of Aberdeen, engraved upon this page, was sketched in the House of Lords, a short time since, while his lordship was speaking. The likeness is admirable.

Lord Aberdeen is honest patriotic-anxious that his premiership should be distinguished by national satisfaction; and it is not possible that, at sixty-eight, his motives for taking power could be other than the purest and noblest. And his influence will be proportionate to the confidence that he is above and apart from the ambitions and schemes of the moment - that he is aiming at national good. But, perforce, he will have to think through others, and to decide on a balance of arguments presented to him by his various colleagues.

Lord Aberdeen, at this
moment, is precisely
what might have been
expected of a peer who
early entered on the
magnificent education

which Parliament pro-
vides-who was forced
into ambition and offices
and trust, and who,
driven to hard work, was
compelled to eschew de-
lights and indolence, and
so urged and kept in the
regular habits which
preserve mental and phy-
sical health.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1854.

[ABERDEEN, PREMIER OF GREAT BRITAIN.-SKETCHED IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS.]

[PRICE 4 CENTS

He, never had cleverness-and he never had a seat in the House of Commons, which might have provoked the senatorial knack which 80 often passes for cleverness, and is in truth a very good substitute. But he was, from the first, as his positions proved, a soundly judging, accurate, tactful, reliable man; and the dispassionate, cool head, always learning, always observing, is, after forty years of work and watching, full of wisdomwhich is, remembrance of the results of observation.

Of all men known to the public, he is especi ally fitted for the task assigned by Queen Victoria of being the centre of a combination of parties.

Lord Aberdeen, at sixty-eight, speaks with a force that Lord Derby, (the late Premier,) with the fatal facility of vigorous fluency, could never attain; and those who heard the speeches of these two men recently in the House of Lords, would only contrast favorably the heavy, low-voiced, slow, conversational, or rather soliloquy-like style and manner of austere, greyheaded, large-chested Lord Aberdeen, with the "marry-come-up" "petulence" and pettiness which characterise the mind and nature of Lord Derby.

More might be said of Lord Aberdeen, but want of space forbids our giving a lengthy sketch.

[graphic]

THE SMUGGLER'S GHOST.

Том

A YARN.

BY A BLUE JACKET.

OM BROWN, or Whitey-Brown Tom, as he was familiarly called, was a lime-burner-that is to say, he used a few years ago to be seen toiling at a furnace placed in a deep hollow near a certain nameless fishing village on the Kentish coast. The part that he performed, as one of the busy bees belonging to the great British hive of industry, was converting portions of our white cliffs into lime; and the great chalk basin in which he achieved this metamorphosis was not more admirably situated for shipping the material when made, than for "running a few tubs of "moonshine" as occasion or opportunity afforded.

[ocr errors]

bility of such conduct in a lime-burner; "that wos
honest on him, any how."

"Just about wos; 'tick'larly when it takes a day's
arnings to wash the dust o' the lime out of a fellar's
throat."

"My precious eyes!" exclaimed the two men aghast.

"Ah!" sighed the old man, apparently much shocked at the recollection of the terrible scene; "it just about wos a heart-breakin' sight."

"Poor fellar!" said the two lime-burners, syın

"I s'pose he never touched water?” 'Why, sartingly not," replied Bill in astonish- pathetically; "he really had pitched hisself into the ment; "bin a fool if he had."

"How so?"

burnin' lime-kiln then?"

"Sartingly; leastways, we found a heap o' bones scattered all over the kiln; some on 'em had even grop'd their way right down to the bottom o' the fire, so it's pretty sure that Whitey-Brown Tom died as he liv'd, terrible hard."

"How so!" echoed Bill. "Hadn't he a limeburner's 'sperience-hadn't he too often seen how water acted on lime to swaller any hisself? No, no," said old Bill, shaking his head, "WhiteyBrown Tom didn't fancy goin' off into one o' your "But how d'ye know they wos his bones?" spontagious combustions." "'Cos we found a bit of his jacket and singed "Hilloa!" said the two lime-burners, "what's shoe, which in coorse dropped to tinder as soon as they was touch'd; howsomever, his buttons told the "What, don't you know what a spontagious tale, for ye see his wife cou'd swear to 'em, for she combustion' is?" sew'd 'em on."

that!"

"No."

"All right," chimed in the two auditors; "go

on."

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

If the reader will accompany us to this spot, we will soon convince him that few situations could be better adapted than this circular basin for carrying "Why, it's a sort of bustin' oneself into little bits, on Whitey-Brown Tom's double occupation. See, just like slaked lime does. Ah!" the old fellow conjust at the bottom of the hollow there stands a lime- tinued, after he had taken a severe suck at his beerkiln, sending up in spiral wreaths pale yellow sul-can, "if a fellar drinks water, he desarves to suffer phureous vapors, which give to the place the dry, for his folly; there's nothin' like mindin' what sort hot, choking atmosphere of a slumbering volcano. o' moisture a man slakes his clay with." Every object round about bears evidence that lime iş produced in considerable quantities; for every bush is white, the long coarse grass is loaded with an unsightly powder-the very crows that haunt the unhallowed spot, look as if they were in half mourning, with the ashes of the kiln; and as for the three men sitting huddled round its brim, they look more like gnomes or ghosts, than human beings made of wholesome flesh and blood. However, they are smoking, drinking, and chattering merrily, and bursting every now and then into that boisterous laughter peculiar to rude health, hard work, and strong beer acting upon the thirsty souls of lime

[blocks in formation]

Well," resumed the old man, " if Whitey-Brown could drink spirits like lime can water, he quite rival'd it another way."

"Smoked, I s'pose?"

"You've just hit it. His smokin' was just something awful. You couldn't tell his smother from the kiln's when the fit was on him, and his bile on the simmer. But as I said afore, he was liked by everybody; and at the Three Horse-shoes' he was a regular cemented brick; and even the landlord would sometimes refuse to draw him more beer; and instead o' takin' his money, he'd drop a kind word into his ear. 'Take care,' he'd say 'take care, old chap, or you'll cant yourself into the kiln one of these odd nights.'

"Oh, ah!' old Whitey-Brown would say, 'never
mind me; I don't like the dusty stuff well enough to
fall into the kiln; a butt o' strong ale, now, and a
fellar might stand a chance o' wettin' his whiskers;

but lime-no, no; burnin' lime-no, never !'"
"But how kum he to turn ghost-eh, Bill?"
"Well,” replied the old man, "I b'lieve its 'cordin'
to law for a feller to die, or to be kill'd somehow,
afore he can bekum a proper ghost."

[blocks in formation]

"Well," said old Bill, "ye see we lime-burners "Well, to make all things square and right, never stood well with the community; we wos Whitey-Brown Tom, a'ter he'd bin a workin' all one always counted as a sort o' cross 'twixt a smuggler night at the kiln, wasn't to be found on the followin' and a poacher, and Whitey-Brown would do any-mornin'. The boys hunted for him, the whole thing for a drop o' lickor; for ourn's a dry bis'ness, parish kum a pokin' about in the chalk-pits and an' I'm blow'd if he couldn't sling a tub, or noose a copses, the bellman cry'd him—but 'twas all to no hare, like one o'clock half struck." purpose: he wasn't to be found."

"In coorse," said old Bill's two listeners.

Well," continued Bill, "he cou'd drink, I can tell ye; but he stood well with the landlord of the 'Three Horse-shoes,' for he always paid his reck'

"Wasn't he found again, eh?" "That depends upon what you call findin'," replied old Bill. "Howsomever, to make a short yarn of it, a'ter we'd rak'd and pok'd everywhere, we 'spects that Whitey-Brown might a bin all mops "Always paid his reck'nin', did he?" said one of and brooms over night, so we looks into the kiln, as the men, musing, as though he doubted the possi-well as round about it."

nin'."

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

"And did nothin' more leak out about him-eh ?" Why, yes, in coorse," replied the old man. "When the coroner sot on his body, I s'pose," said one of the men.

"Why, you fool," growled old Bill; "there never was no body to be sot on."

"Oh, ah! I forgot that," said the lime-burner; "whatever did they do?"

"Do! Why, they sot on his pipe and buttons." "His pipe and buttons!" replied the two men in astonishment.

"Yes, and a pretty bis'ness they made on it surely the lubbers brought in a verdic' of 'fell in the sea.' Ah! ah!"

"Ah! ah!" laughed the lime-burners in chorus: "how odd. Fell in the kiln wou'd a been nearer the mark. Why, the sea's two mile off."

"And more," said Bill, finishing the sentence. his remains, seeing as how he hadn't left none 'cept "Howsomever, it was no use makin' a nitty about his pipe, so I claim'd that, and stuck it up on a lump kiln, as a sort o' monyment." o' chalk yonder, just above where he fell into the

"You berry'd his bone-dust, I s'pose?" said one of the men, shuddering.

"No, no, he hadn't left any."

cally; "there never cou'd a bin no ghost made out "Well," rejoined the other lime-burner, emphatio' nobody, no how, that's flat."

"Cou'dn't there?" replied Bill, putting on a definitive look; "cou'dn't there? ghosts is made out o' nobody knows what. HowLet me tell ye, ever, you'll see. Well," he continued, “in coorse, poor Whitey-Brown Tom was soon forgotten by us all, even his awful end had ceased to be a warning to us lime-burners, for we'd a couple o' hands as used to work at the kiln, juss about that time, as carried more sail nor ballast, as wos just as likely to cant themselves into the burning chalk as poor old Whitey-Brown hisself. "Well," continued Bill,

"things had cum to this pass, when one night as I and Stafford Joe was a sittin' round the brim o' the kiln, just as we are now, cuffin' a yarn, when all on a sudden Joe hollars out-- Hilloa! who's there?'

"Oh, it's nothing,' says I; 'it's only the sowwester a-moaning his way through the clump o' firs at the top of the hollow.' But lor a mussy on us, you might as well a whistled a jig to a milestone as tried to persuade Joe of that, for there he stood a shiverin' and a shakin', frightened out of his wits, when presently he hollars out, There, there he is again and sure enough this time I looked up and seed a face a grinnin' at us across the kiln, that made our marrers freeze in our bones."

"Why, what was it?" demanded the two limeburners getting a little feverish. "Whitey-Brown Tom."

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Howsomever," continued Bill, "there he stood grinnin at us; his tall, hairy figger, lookin' none the handsomer for being seen by the light o' the moon, and the sulphureous glare o' the kiln,-for, as he was on t' other side o' the fire, the hot vapory air through which he show'd hisself made poor old Whitey-Brown's ghost jig, whirl, and bob about, and cut as many capers as wou'd a sars'd our legs o' mutton for a month o' Sundays; 'sides which it made him green, blue, and yellow by turns." "Well," said the lime-burners, "and what bekum o' the ghost?"

66

[ocr errors]

“Oh, there he kept on t' other side o' the kiln, tryin' to 'splain by dumb-show how he cum to his ontimely end; and first he points up to the chuck pit where we keeps our beer-can, and then he'd make believe he was a drinkin'; and then he'd point into the kiln, as much as to say, that's how it was done "Meanin' how he was roasted?" "I s'pose so," replied Bill. Presently he fades away into the gloom o' the hollow; and then Joe and I looks into the whites o' one another's eyes, and away we walks to the chalk-pit, where we keeps our beer-can, as naturally as one sucking pig follars another; and what d'ye think had happened?" "Can't say," said the two lime-burners. "The can was empty! Well," continued old Bill, "there was no mistakin' whose ghost it was a'ter that. Poor Whitey-Brown! no wonder his ghost way a-dry, a'ter being burnt to dust and ashes. But that was nothin' to the games he play'd that night, for he pok'd his head into his own winder, and ketches his wife a ogling and coaxing her new mate as was to be, and sends her into stirricks;' and then he popp'd into the skittle-alley, and put 'em all in a swither, sides which he frightened the coast-guard man into fits."

[blocks in formation]

"Was n't it?" said old Bill, smiling. "But the funniest joke of all was the ghost rubbin' out his own score at the Three Horse-shoes.'" "Could n't bear to be in debt, I 'spose," said a lime-burner.

"Just so," said Bill. "Ghosts is always very partikler 'bout money matters. But Whitey-Brown Tom need n't a troubled 'bout his score, for he went off in such a hurry he had n't time to settle it." What a odd freak though!"

[ocr errors]

"Was n't it," said the old man. "At least he'd the credit of it, and so he had for runnin' the tubs and backy; for, in coorse, if a ghost was dishonest enough to unchalk his own score, he'd be up to all sorts of devilry."

"And did he appear again?"

"Sartinly; but the next time he took care to come when I wos quite alone, for Stafford Joe was so skeered by the ghost that he left the kiln. But this time he'd found his tongue."

"But how did it happen, eh?" demanded one of the lime-burners.

“Why, I was sitting watching the kiln and the moon, as she was a bobbin' in and out among the clouds, lookin' as windy as a bagpipe, when all on a sudden Whitey-Brown's ghost appeared, grinnin' at me from the other side o' the fire."

[ocr errors]

Well, and you all alone, eh?"

"That's just what the ghost wanted; for the first question he axed me was, 'If anybody was with me? No,' says I. Then allow me to drink your good health,' says he, and sure enough I sees my own beer-can glued to his mouth, and he sucking away at it, like a bull calf.

66 6

Hallo,' says I, 'avast with the beer-can;' but louder I hollar'd the faster the ghost gulped down the liquor,"

the

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

"Don't onsettle yer bile,' says the ghost. There's plenty more where that cum from;' and so sayin' he walks round the kiln, ketches hold o' my hand, and gives me a gripe that soon convinces me, that if his bones wos burnt to ashes, he'd contrived

"Ah, that's better," said the man; "only don't go to wind'ard o' truth."

[ocr errors]

Don't mean to. Well," continued Bill, "I wos glad enough to see Whitey-Brown Tom's ghost in such capital case, so I goes and fetches his pipe, wot sarv'd for his monyment, out o' the lump o' chalk, and filling it with backy, down we sot, cheek by jowl, to cuff a yarn. And now,' says I, 'where have you bin this six months ?-for that was about the time he'd been roasted."

"And d'ye mean to say he could talk to ye?" "You shall hear," drily observed old Bill. "Where have I bin to?" says the ghost. "Yes,' says I, 'You couldn't a bin in a much hotter place than where we

666

[ocr errors]

"Stop,' says Whitey-Brown's shadder, we won't go into that story,' and so passin' his hand over his brow, quite nat'ral like, he axes me, 'If I recollected the time when he wos miss'd?'

"Found, you mean,' says I, 'in the kiln.' "No matter,' he replied, peevishly, 'missed or found, it's all one now.'

[blocks in formation]

The kiln?' says I, interrupting. "No-no,' said he. I drops myself into the long grass, and was soon fast asleep. Well, I can't say how long I snoosed, but I was awoke rather suddenly by a fellow pulling my nose and clapping a pistol to my head.'

"What, then, you was murdered, eh? and didn't throw yourself into the kiln ?'

"No-no. Why, Bill,' says he, ‘you're just like the rest o' the fools-will have it I've bin burnt to death.'

"Why, yes. Didn't we find yer bones?'

"You'll see,' said the ghost. No. I soon found that I had been diskivered by a gang o' smugglers -the Allerton gang-as used the deep hole in the copse for stowing away their tubs.'

"Well,' says I, and what o' that? would n't a split on 'em?'

You

"No-no, sartinly not; but somehow the captain o' the band was a stranger to me, and suspected I'd been a watchin' on 'em. "All very fine, master lime-burner," says he; "all very fine 'bout takin' a snooze out o' the heat o' the sun, but we must make things safe. Here," says he, "take and drink of that."

"D'ye like it?" says the captain.
"I should think I do.'
"Have another?' says he.
"Don't mind,' says I.

"Well, well,' says he, a little mollified, 'wo to keep plenty o' power in his muscles, and no don't mean you any mischief, and you seem a de

mistake."

"Avast there, Bill," said one of the old man's auditors. "Why, how could that be-was n't Whitey-Brown burned to dust and ashes in the kiln? Mind what your a sayin'."

cent sort of a fellow; but you have seen more than we intended you should, at least we 'spects you have, and the cargo's more than ordinary. So you see'-he went on cocking his pistol at the same time, 'we've taken quite a fancy to you, and, accord"Well, p'raps I'd better, and so I shall le: the ingly, we give you the choice of finding yourself ghost tell his own story, how he managed to scuffle stowed away in some snug hole about here, with a along, after leaving his jacket, boots, pipe, and, 'bove | plug of lead as ballast to your brains, or"What?' says I.

"What, he at the Point, I s'pose?" said one of all, his bones, in the kiln."

"Oh, only to go for a cruise with us, live as we do, and drink the same sort o' stuff as you've just swallerd till all's blue.'

"All right,' says I, 'I'm your man.'

"Thought you wouldn't want much coaxing,'

says the captain.

"Des say not,' says I. 'Must just send home to my wife, to tell her where I'm gone to.' "Can't be done,' says the captain. "Poor devil, how she will fret,' says I. "Yes,' says the captain, stowing his pistol away, 'I should say so;' and then he gives me a knowing look, as much as to say, 'you're a pretty fellow to fret about.' Well, presently he has a short talk with his men; and then he comes to me, and says, 'Mind for a lark, old boy?'

"Don't mind,' says I.

"Just skin off that dusty old toggery of yourn, and slip into a bran new suit we've got up in the cave yonder.'

"All right,' says I. Well, you see, I'd no sooner peeled, than the smugglers, who are up to all kinds o' dodges, pitches my old clothes into the kiln, to

make believe that I'd tumbled in,

"But how about your bones; they could n't flung them in, any how?'

a

"Why, no,' replied Whitey-Brown Tom, that wouldn't a been easy, and me here to tell all about it. No; but you remembers, there used to be a dung-heap yonder, full o' all sorts o' bones; and old whats-i'-name, the ragman, used to pick 'em out to sell; so the cunning smugglers, knowing I should be missed, chucked a lot of 'em along with my toggery into the fire, saying, "Never mind, old fellow; here's a job for the coroner, and your wife at the

same time."

"And sure enough,' says I, 'the deception was first-rate. Why, the whole county, coroner and all, b'lieves you as dead as a b'iled lobster.'

"I know they do,' said Whitey-Brown Tom. ''Twas intended they should. Why, lor bless ye, Ive only to show my phiz in a glimmering night, and I clears the way like a double-headed shot. But mum's the word, old boy' and so we has a good swig at some o' the right sort o' stuff he'd got about him-cuffs another yarn or two; and then giving me a gripe, he was off to join his gang at the back o' the point."

"Capital!" shouted the two lime-burners, whose belief in ghosts had given way to undisguised admiration of the scheme the smugglers had so successfully practised.

[ocr errors]

"And so you see," continued old Bill, ever a'ter that, those who know'd how to put block and strap together, cou'd understand how it happen'd that Whitey-Brown's ghost always wos seen on

[blocks in formation]

"It is now about thirty years since, that Sir Walter Middleton brought home his young and lovely bride, to reside entirely on this his paternal estate, which had passed uninterruptedly from one

FOR many years past I have been in the habit of generation to another in his family. The whole
indulging myself with two or three months' country round, as well as the villages, was as-
holiday, rambling from place to place in parts of sembled to welcome the best of landlords, and the
England, and luxuriating in the lovely scenery kindest and most generous of masters to his
which is to be found in so many spots of that highly home and loving tenantry. There were great doings,
favored island; a delightful change and recreation sir, each one vieing with the other to show their
from the close study and dingy atmosphere of a law-joy and respect. Well, sir, all went on as happy as
yer's chambers.
could be, and again in eight months' time there
were fresh rejoicings, for an heir was born, and a
fine noble baby he was, sir. Eighteen months after-
wards, another fine boy was born, and then my lady
had no more children. I had often heard say her
ladyship wished much for a daughter, but she never
had one of her own, although there was one after-
wards she loved as dearly as if she had been her own
child born.

I have met with several amusing characters, some strange accidents, and many curious and pleasing anecdotes; but with none have I been more impressed than with the following narrative, which I will present to the reader, as near as possible in the To avoid painful recolwords it was given to me. lections to relatives (should there be such), I shall not disclose the locality, and the names are purposely fictitious.

Towards the close of a beautiful summer's day, I

was watching, from the brow of a hill, a most glorious sunset, which, illuminating a deep and richly wooded valley below, discovered to my view a large mansion, surrounded with magnificent trees and shrubs, and all the appurtenances of a gentleman's seat of no mean character. Looking for some person of whom I might make inquiry respecting the owner of such an enviable residence, I perceived an old man sitting pensively below me, his long grey hair waying with the summer breeze, his hands clasped, and his eyes intently fixed on the house I had just descried. I coughed, and made as much noise as I could in approaching him, that I might not come too suddenly upon him, for the green turf was soft as the finest carpet. He turned his head, arose, and to my "good evening" replied in so mournful and gentle a voice, that I could at once perceive his meditations were of a sad nature.

After two or three observations on the fineness of the season, and the beauty and magnificence of the view before us, I asked, "To whom does that splendid place belong?" “Ah, sir,” he replied, "I was thinking of the owners of that forsaken house, when you spoke to me, once so happy, now, sir, if living, how miserable; but no one knows, sir, the place is all shut up, and has been uninhabited for years, save by an old family servant and his wife, and if they know where the poor master and mistress are, they have never told.

"Oh, sir, when I remember the happiness that was in that joyful house, and indeed, sir, in all the village round when blessed with their presence, and think of what has happened since, my poor heart is

"The two dear lads grew as fine upright bandsome boys, sir, as you ever saw; they were kind and affable to all, and were the admiration of not only their doting parents, but of all the gentry round; indeed, sir, they were noble boys. I was returning

home one day rather earlier than usual, when I met messengers galloping to and from the hall, women and children running about crying, and every one in distress, and then they told me, sir, that Master Walter (who was about seven years old), had been thrown from one of his father's spirited horses, which he had, in the absence of the groom, imprudently mounted. He was insensible, and it was

feared very much injured; for many days his life was despaired of, and we all grieved for the poor sorrowing parents' sufferings, as well as for the noble-hearted boy, for he was more beloved than his brother whose disposition was not so amiable.

“Well, sir, after many months of severe pain the young master was restored, but he was a cripple for life, and looked so thin and delicate from his close confinement, that it was long before he regained the flesh and strength he had lost. Great was the grief that Sir Walter and his good lady suffered when they saw their darling child's altered appearance. Everything that could be done was done; they took him to London for better advice, they took him abroad for change of air, and to try the effect of some wonderful baths, and he was improved very much on his return home, but he was lame, sir, and his growth was very slow. But he had everything besides, a noble handsome face, a kind benevolent heart, a sweet even temper, and words and good advice to all; he was always loving and obedient to his parents, kind above all, sir, a humble pious

them sort o' nights best suited for running a boat o' ready to break. (Here the old man was obliged to Christian. No wonder, then, that he was doted on stop to wipe away his tears.) But grief, sir, does by his beloved parents, who saw in him their prayers not kill; no doubt God sends it to wear us from this world of pain and sorrow for our good, but it is sometimes very hard for a poor sinner like me to

tubs or backey at the back o' the point; but in course," sighed old Bili," the trick got stale at last, for it got wind that the appearance of Whitey-Brown and running a cargo meant the same thing; and the last time a coast guard sent a brace o' bullets nearer his ghostship than was pleasant; and since then I s'pose he's shifted his quarters, for I've heard nothin'

on him since."

If the Doge of Venice were to lose his sight, what useful article would it be converted into?-A Venetian blind.

think so."

I was much struck with the venerable looking man's impressive manner, and the tears which continued to roll down his poor withered cheeks. I begged him, if not too painful a task, to tell me the melancholy story, for I saw that something dreadful had occurred. He consented, and seating himself by my side, began his mournful tale.

answered, and their fondest hopes realised. Master Edmund was thought by some to be handsomer than Master Walter (but to my mind he wanted his

brother's bright, loving look); he was a fine tall youth, proud of his figure and appearance, and from having had no interruption to his studies, like his poor brother had, he was, they said, a greater scholar. Had it not been for Master Walter's sad accident, when they were grown up, sir, two finer young men could hardly ever have been seen.

"Well, sir, years passed on, all things were so

"A few minutes passed, when Mr. Walter drove up to the door, and giving the reins to the groom, he cried out in a cheerful voice, Now, Edith,' and then seeing me-(I opened the door for her), he said, 'Good morning, Benson;' then casting his bright black eyes upwards, as he came up the steps to meet her, he exclaimed, 'Why, dear Edith, what is the matter?' I did not hear her reply, but when they drove off together, I had sad thoughts that their cup of joy would not be free from sorrow; but oh, sir, I had no thought of how much sorrow.

"In the meantime Miss Edith became thinner and paler; she accused herself of being the cause of all the misery her dear parents (as she called them) suffered. Well, sir, at last a letter did come from Spain, from Mr. Edmund, begging his parents' forgiveness, but saying he could not return home.

well ordered at the Hall, that there were always us as far as we go, and we can join you afterwards?' discover where Mr. Edmund was gone to (he had happiness and comfort there; the young gentlemen'What!' he exclaimed, his fine face glowing with sent the horse and servant back), but without suchad finished their education, and those that were passion, 'what! ride with you, and see him sitting cess. Mr. Walter went to London, and would have competent to judge said they were very clever; by your side. Never.' And dashing through the gone further in search of his wayward brother, but when, quite suddenly, Lady Middleton was sum- opposite folding doors, he left her standing pale and his parents would not let him. moned to the death-bed of a dear friend, who be- | frightened at his violence. All at once the truth queathed her orphan daughter, the lovely Edith seemed to burst upon her, and with a downcast Mortimer, to her kind guardianship and care. They flushed look, she returned to the room. returned after a short time to the Hall, equally pleased with each other, and Miss Edith was treated as a daughter both by Sir W. and Lady Middleton, and the young men considered her as their sister. "Well, sir, the poor people soon began to say she was an angel sent from heaven to be a blessing to the village. In health, in sickness, and in death, she was the comforter of all; young and old rejoiced to see her face; Lady Middleton had always been meek, kind, and charitable, and in the habit of visiting at the cottages, but Miss Edith now took her place, and every one was well cared for. The young squire had never mounted a horse since his accident, having given his parents a promise he would not, but he had a pony chair with two beautiful grey ponies, that he used to drive Lady Middleton in, to visit the cottages, so while she was reading by the bedside of one he would be reading to and comforting another, for he was truly a young Christian. Well, sir, my lady's place was soon taken by Miss Edith, and you know how people will talk; it was reported that she and Mr. Walter were engaged to be married, and a lovely young couple they were, sir. Why, even our good old rector, Mr. Barton, was heard to say that they were born for each other, and that he hoped, before he finished his course here, he should be permitted to join their hands; and he was a very careful gentleman too, sir, so every one thought he had good reason for saying as much as that.

"Mr. Edmund, like his father, rode very spirited horses, and was much admired by the ladies on horseback, where his commanding height and figure were seen to great advantage. They said, he always wanted Miss Edith to ride with him, that she might see it; and at last it was whispered at the Hall, by the servants, that Mr. Edmund was in love too, with Miss Edith.

"Many tales were spread, but I never listened to them, and would not believe them, until one day, I had been transacting a little matter of business for Sir Walter, and was waiting in the hall for a letter, when Miss Edith came out of the morning room, with her bonnet and shawl on, ready to go with Mr. Walter in his pony chair. She was followed by Mr. Edmund, who said (I thought, very angrily); 'Why must you go? You had much better put on your habit, and take a ride with me over the hills.' She replied in her usual sweet manner, I cannot, Edmund, I have asked Walter to drive me to see poor old Mrs. Jones, who is very ill.' 'Never mind that,' he said, 'Walter can go by himself, and leave a message; you surely must prefer a ride on such a glorious day as this.' 'No, Edmund,' she returned, 'I promised Mrs. Jones to go and read to her, and cannot, for my own pleasure disappoint her; her time is short here, and I should never forgive myself for neglecting any opportunity of offering her the little comfort I am able to give her. But,' added she, in her coaxing way, why not ride with

I

"It was too true, sir, Mr. Edmund was madly in love with his brother's intended wife; for Mr. Walter had, with his parents' joyful consent, been accepted by Miss Edith. To them Mr. Edmund's attentions appeared only natural, they did not dream of the sad reality.

"Well, sir, the young squire, as well as Sir Walter and Lady Middleton, wished the marriage to take place, but Miss Edith put it off from time to time; for although it was not then known, Mr. Edmund had, after vainly trying to supplant his brother, sworn to her that she should never be his brother's wife, and she feared lest he should do something dreadful, and cause misery to those she loved so well. She hoped, by giving him time to see his folly, he would try and overcome it.

"Every one saw that she was not herself; she became thin and pale, and very nervous, and would neither be driven by Mr. Walter, nor ride with Mr. Edmund. At last she became so ill, that advice was thought necessary, notwithstanding she persisted in saying that nothing was the matter with her. The doctor advised the marriage to take place immediately, and Mr. Walter to take her to a warmer climate, as he feared she inherited her mother's disease, who had died of consumption: but it was anxiety, sir, that was destroying her health.

[ocr errors]

"All was in busy preparation, but neither Mr. Walter or Miss Edith seemed themselves. Mr. Edmund's temper grew worse and worse, and one day, when his good brother was trying to soothe him after some trifling offence, he desired him to keep his advice to himself, Mr. Walter replied, Why, dear Edmund, do you continue to pain me with your strange behavior? you well know that, almost all my life, I have given up my own wishes to yours; what would you have?' 'Give me Edith, then,' he said, in a voice hoarse with passion. What do you say, Edmund ? do I hear you aright? my Edith, my own dear Edith-you know not what you say, Walter.' 'Hear me,' he cried, 'I will not survive the day she becomes your wife.' Then rushing to his room, the headstrong young man packed up a few clothes, and calling for his servant, rode off no one knew whither.

[ocr errors]

"It then became necessary to explain to Sir Walter and his lady their son's previous conduct, which had for months been preying on Miss Edith's gentle frame and spirits. Every effort was made to

"Miss Edith began to look more cheerful, the marriage day was fixed, and Mr. Walter now drove her again to visit the sick. A little girl, one of the school children, was very ill; Miss Edith as usual went to see her, nursed her in her lap, and when she was coming away, the child clung to her, and kissed her at parting, when Miss Edith observed to her mother, she thought the child's breath very hot, and as she had so much fever, she advised her at once to send for the village doctor. He came, and pronounced the child to have scarlet fever, and hearing that Miss Edith had just left, he hastened to the hall, to beg that she would use every precaution, feeling in his own mind great fear that it was too late, and that it would be more than she could bear in her delicate state, should the disease assume a dangerous form. Well, sir, the poor little child's was a dreadful case; she soon died, and a few days after Miss Edith sickened. Oh! what sad news it was to us all, and what a dismal house it was at the hall. Poor Sir Walter and Lady Middleton were overwhelmed with grief, for she was the joy of their life. Mr. Walter wept and prayed for his beloved one; he would listen to no entreaty, but kept watch day and night by Miss Edith's bedside. So long as she was sensible, she made him go out in the fresh air, every day and tried to comfort all. She felt she should not recover, but she looked forward to a happier meeting above. Oh, sır, I cannot tell you all she said to those around her; her life was peace itself, and her death was peace. She sent her love and forgiveness to Mr. Edmund, and she bade them all seek comfort and consolation where alone it can be found.

"The sorrow of that house was grievous, but God was there, sir, supporting with his everlasting arms the sorrowing ones. Old Mr. Barton said, he had no need to go to teach, he might to learn.

"The day poor Miss Edith was buried, which will never be forgotten by many here, sir, the poor young squire would stay until the coffin was hid from his sight, and as he turned mournfully away, he was heard to say, 'I am coming, Edith.' He walked slowly home, and upon entering the library where Mr. Barton was consoling Sir Walter and Lady Middleton he threw himself into his parents' arms, and then going to Mr. Barton, he said, 'Pray for me, that my sins may be forgiven, and comfort my dear father and mother, for I am going too; I am very ill, I have striven to keep up till to-day, but now I must go to bed, to rise no more in this world.' It was then perceived that the eruption had appeared, he had taken the fever, and in less than ten days, the vault was again opened, and the young heir was laid by his beloved's side. Oh, sir! that I could have died for him, and spared his poor afflicted parents that awful blow. Well, sir, we poor ignorant mortals thought there had been trials and

« PreviousContinue »