CHAPTER IV.
About this time, Mr. James Harrison, an eminent dyer, uncle to Wright’s friend of that name at York, came to settle near Clover-hill; and as Marvel was always inclined to be hospitable, he assisted his new neighbour with many of those little conveniences, which money cannot always command at the moment they are wanted. The dyer was grateful; and, in return for Marvel’s civilities, let him into many of the mysteries of the dyeing business, which he was anxious to understand. Scarcely a day passed without his calling on Mr. James Harrison. Now, Mr. Harrison had a daughter, Lucy, who was young and pretty, and Marvel thought her more and more agreeable every time he saw her; but, as he told Wright, he was determined not to fall in love with her, until he was quite sure that she was good for something. A few weeks after he had been acquainted with her, he had an opportunity of seeing her tried. Mrs. Isaac Harrison, the dyer of York’s lady, came to spend some time; Miss Millicent, or, as she was commonly called, Milly Harrison, accompanied her mother: she, having a more fashionable air than Lucy, and having learned to dance from a London dancing-master, thought herself so much her superior that she ought to direct her in all things. Miss Milly, the Sunday after her arrival, appeared at church in a bonnet that charmed half the congregation; and a crowd of farmers’ wives and daughters, the moment church was over, begged the favour of Miss Milly to tell them where and how such a bonnet could be got, and how much it would cost. It was extravagantly dear; and those mothers who had any prudence were frightened at the price: but the daughters were of opinion that it was the cheapest, as well as prettiest thing that ever was seen or heard of; and Miss Milly was commissioned to write immediately to York to bespeak fifteen bonnets exactly like her own. This transaction was settled before they had left the churchyard; and Miss Milly was leaning upon a tombstone to write down the names of those who were most eager to have their bonnets before the next Sunday, when Wright and Marvel came up to the place where the crowd was gathered, and they saw what was going forward.
Miss Barber, Miss Cotton, Miss Lamb, Miss Dishley, Miss Trotter, Miss Hull, Miss Parker, Miss Bury, Miss Oxley, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c., all, in their turn, peeped anxiously over Miss Milly’s shoulder, to make themselves sure that their names were in the happy list. Lucy Harrison, alone, stood with a composed countenance in the midst of the agitated group. “Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now? Shall I bespeak a bonnet for you, hey?—Do you know,” cried Miss Milly, turning to the admirers of her bonnet, “do you know that I offered to bespeak one yesterday for Lucy; and she was so stingy she would not let me, because it was too dear?” “Too dear! Could ye conceive it?” repeated the young ladies, joining in a scornful titter. All eyes were now fixed upon Lucy, who blushed deeply, but answered, with gentle steadiness, that she really could not afford to lay out so much money upon a bonnet, and that she would rather not have her name put down in the list.
“She’s a good prudent girl,” whispered Wright to Marvel.
“And very pretty, I am sure; I never saw her look so pretty as at this instant,” replied Marvel in a low voice,
“Please yourself, child,” said Miss Milly, throwing back her head with much disdain; “but I’m sure you’ll please nobody else with such a dowdy thing as that you have on. Lord! I should like to see her walk the streets of York on a Sunday that figure. Lord! how Mrs. Stokes would laugh!”
Here she paused, and several of her fair audience were struck with the terrible idea of being laughed at by a person whom they had never seen, and whom they were never likely to see; and transporting themselves in imagination into the streets of York, felt all the horror of being stared at, in an unfashionable bonnet, by Mrs. Stokes. “Gracious me! Miss Milly, do pray be sure to have mine sent from York afore next Sunday,” cried one of the country belles: “and, gracious me! don’t forget mine, Miss Mill,” was reiterated by every voice but Lucy’s, as the crowd followed Miss Harrison out of the churchyard. Great was the contempt felt for her by the company; but she was proof against their ridicule, and calmly ended, as she began, with saying, “I cannot afford it.”
“She is a very prudent girl,” repeated Wright, in a low voice, to Marvel.
“But I hope this is not stinginess,” whispered Marvel. “I would not marry such a stingy animal as Goodenough has taken to wife for all the world. Do you know she has half starved the servant boy that lived with them? There he is, yonder, getting over the stile: did you ever see such a miserable-looking creature?—He can tell you fifty stories of dame Goodenough’s stinginess. I would not marry a stingy woman for the whole world. I hope Lucy Harrison is not stingy.”
“Pray, Mrs. Wright,” said Marvel’s friend, turning to his wife, who had been standing beside him, and who had not yet said one word, “what may your opinion be?”
“My opinion is, that she is as generous a girl as any upon earth,” said Mrs. Wright, “and I have good reason to say so.”
“How? What?” said Marvel, eagerly.
“Her father lent my poor father five hundred pounds; and at the meeting of the creditors after his death, Mr. Harrison was very earnest to have the money paid, because it was his daughter’s fortune. When he found that it could not be had immediately, he grew extremely angry; but Lucy pacified him, and told him that she was sure I should pay the money honestly, as soon as I could; and that she would willingly wait to have it paid at a hundred pounds a year, for my convenience. I am more obliged to her for the handsome way in which she trusted to me, than if she had given me half the money. I shall never forget it.”
“I hope you forgive her for not buying the bonnet,” said Wright to Marvel.
“Forgive her! ay; now I love her for it,” said Marvel; “now I know that she is not stingy.”
From this day forward, Marvel’s attachment to Lucy rapidly increased. One evening he was walking in the fields with Lucy and Miss Milly, who played off her finest York airs to attract his admiration, when the following dialogue passed between them: “La! cousin Lucy,” said Miss Millicent, “when shall we get you to York? I long to show you a little of the world, and to introduce you to my friend, Mrs. Stokes, the milliner.”
“My father says that he does not wish that I should be acquainted with Mrs. Stokes,” said Lucy.
“Your father! Nonsense, child. Your father has lived all his life in the country, the Lord knows where; he has not lived in York, as I have; so how can he know any thing upon earth of the world?—what we call the world, I mean.”
“I do not know, cousin Milly, what you call the world; but I think that he knows more of Mrs. Stokes than I do; and I shall trust to his opinion, for I never knew him speak ill of any body without having good reason for it. Besides, it is my duty to obey my father.”
“Duty! La! Gracious me! She talks as if she was a baby in leading-strings,” cried Miss Milly, laughing; but she was mortified at observing that Marvel did not join, as she had expected, in the laugh: so she added, in a scornful tone, “Perhaps I’m in the wrong box; and that Mr. Marvel is one of them that admires pretty babes in leading-strings.”
“I am one of those that admire a good daughter, I confess,” said Marvel; “and,” said he, lowering his voice, “that love her too.”
Miss Milly coloured with anger, and Lucy with an emotion that she had never felt before. As they returned home, they met Mr. Harrison, and the moment Marvel espied him he quitted the ladies.
“I’ve something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. I should be glad to speak a few words to you in private, if you please,” cried he, seizing his arm, and leading him down a by-lane.
Mr. Harrison was all attention; but Marvel began to gather primroses, instead of speaking.
“Well,” said Mr. Harrison, “did you bring me here to see you gather primroses?”
After smelling the flowers twenty times, and placing them in twenty different forms, Marvel at last threw them on the bank, and, with a sudden effort, exclaimed, “You have a daughter, Mr. James Harrison.”
“I know I have; and I thank God for it.”
“So you have reason to do; for a more lovely girl and a better, in my opinion, never existed.”
“One must not praise one’s own, or I should agree with you,” said the proud father.
Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his primroses.
“In short,” said he, “Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a son-in-law?”
“Would Lucy like you for a husband? I must know that first,” said the good father.
“That is what I do not know,” replied Marvel; “but, if I was to ask her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you would like me for a son-in-law.”
“At this rate, we shall never get forwards,” said Harrison. “Go you back to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me.”
We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which had been her lover’s grand resource; nor how often she blushed upon the occasion: she acknowledged that she thought Mr. Marvel very agreeable, but that she was afraid to marry a person who had so little steadiness. That she had heard of a great number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had failed; or which he had given up as hastily as he had begun them. “Besides,” said she, “may be he might change his mind about me as well as about other things; for I’ve heard from my cousin Milly—I’ve heard—that—he was in love, not very long since, with an actress in York. Do you think this is all true?”
“Yes, I know it is all true,” said Mr. Harrison, “for he told me so himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man; but I think as you do, child, that we cannot be sure of his steadiness.”
When Marvel heard from Mr. Harrison the result of this conversation, he was inspired with the strongest desire to convince Lucy that he was capable of perseverance. To the astonishment of all who knew him, or who thought that they knew him, he settled steadily to business; and, for a whole twelvemonth, no one heard him speak of any new scheme. At the end of this time he renewed his proposal to Lucy; saying that he hoped she would now have some dependence upon his constancy to her, since she had seen the power she had over his mind. Lucy was artless and affectionate, as well as prudent: now that her only real objection to the match was lessened, she did not torment him, to try her power; but acknowledged her attachment to him, and they were married.
Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s agent was much astonished that Lucy did not prefer him, because he was a much richer man than Pierce Marvel; and Miss Milly Harrison was also astonished that Mr. Marvel did not prefer her to such a country girl as Lucy, especially when she had a thousand pounds more to her fortune. But, notwithstanding all this astonishment, Marvel and his wife were perfectly happy.
It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson’s death. Wright was at this time the richest of the three nephews; for the money that he had laid out in draining Holland fen began to bring him in twenty per cent. As to Marvel, he had exchanged some of his finest acres for the warren of silver sprigs, the common full of thistles, and the marsh full of reeds: he had lost many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and many more by his ill-fenced plantations: so that counting all the losses from the failure of his schemes and the waste of his time, he was a thousand pounds poorer than when he first came into possession of Clover-hill.
Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate calculations, one shilling richer or poorer than when he first began the world. “Slow and sure,” said his friends: “fair and softly goes far in a day. What he has he’ll hold fast; that’s more than Marvel ever did, and may be more than Wright will do in the end. He dabbles a little in experiments, as he calls them: this he has learned from his friend Marvel; and this will come to no good.”
About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in England; and many farmers set an unusual quantity of potatoes, in hopes that they would bear a high price the ensuing season. Goodenough, who feared and hated every thing that was called a speculation, declared that, for his part, he would not set a drill more than he used to do. What had always done for him and his should do for him still. With this resolution, he began to set his potatoes: Marvel said to him, whilst he was at work, “Cousin Goodenough, I would advise you not to set the shoots that are at the bottom of these potatoes; for, if you do, they won’t be good for any thing. This is a secret I learned last harvest home, from one of my Irish haymakers. I made the experiment last year, and found the poor fellow was quite right. I have given him a guinea for his information; and it will be worth a great deal more to me and my neighbours.”
“May be so,” said Goodenough; “but I shall set my own potatoes my own way, I thank you, cousin Marvel; for I take it the old way’s best, and I’ll never follow any other.”
Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince Goodenough: therefore he left him to his old ways. The consequence was, that Goodenongh and his family ate the worst potatoes in the whole country this year; and Marvel cleared above two hundred pounds by twenty acres of potatoes, set according to his friend the Irishman’s directions.
This was the first speculation of Marvel’s which succeeded; because it was the first which had been begun with prudence, and pursued with steadiness. His information, in the first instance, was good: it came from a person who had actually tried the experiment, and who had seen it made by others; and when he was convinced of the fact, he applied his knowledge at the proper time, boldly extended his experiment, and succeeded. This success raised him in the opinion even of his enemies. His friend, Wright, heartily rejoiced at it; but Goodenough sneered, and said to Wright, “What Marvel has gained this year he’ll lose by some scheme the next. I dare to say, now, he has some new scheme or another brewing in his brains at this very moment. Ay—look, here he comes, with two bits of rags in his hand.—Now for it!”
Marvel came up to them with great eagerness in his looks; and showing two freshly-dyed patterns of cloth, said, “Which of these two blues is the brightest?”
“That in your left hand,” said Wright; “it is a beautiful blue.”
“Marvel rubbed his hands with an air of triumph; but restraining his joy, he addressed himself to Wright in a composed voice.
“My dear Wright, I have many obligations to you; and, if I have any good fortune, you shall be the first to share it with me. As for you, cousin Goodenough, I don’t bear malice against you for laughing at me and my herons’ feathers, and my silver sprigs, and my sheep’s jackets, and my thistles: shake hands, man; you shall have a share in our scheme, if you please.”
“I don’t please to have no share at all in none of your schemes, cousin Marvel: I thank you kindly,” said Goodenough.
“Had not you better hear what it is, before you decide against it?” said Wright.
Marvel explained himself further: “Some time ago,” said he, “I was with my father-in-law, who was dyeing some cloth with woad. I observed that one corner of the cloth was of much brighter blue than any of the rest; and upon examining what could be the cause of this, I found that the corner of the cloth had fallen upon the ground, as it was taken out of the dyeing vat, and had trailed through a mixture of colours, which I had accidentally spilled on the floor. I carefully recollected of what this mixture was composed: I found that woad was the principal ingredient; the other——is a secret. I have repeated my experiments several times, and I find that they have always succeeded: I was determined not to speak of my discovery till I was sure of the facts. Now I’m sure of them, my father-in-law tells me that he and his brother at York could ensure to me an advantageous sale for as much blue cloth as I can prepare; and he advised me to take out a patent for the dye.”
Goodenough had not patience to listen any longer, but exclaimed:
“Join in a patent! that’s more than I would do, I’m sure, cousin Marvel; so don’t think to take me in: I’ll end as I began, without having any thing to do with any of your new-fangled schemes—Good morning to you.”
“I hope, Wright,” said Marvel, proudly, “that you do not suspect me of any design to take you in; and that you will have some confidence in this scheme, when you find that my experiments have been accurately tried.”
Wright assured Marvel that he had the utmost confidence in his integrity; and that he would carefully go over with him any experiments he chose to show him. “I do not want to worm your secret from you,” said he; “but we must make ourselves sure of success before we go to take out a patent, which will be an expensive business.”
“You are exactly the sort of man I should wish to have for my partner,” cried Marvel, “for you have all the coolness and prudence that I want.”
“And you have all the quickness and ingenuity that I want,” replied Wright; “so, between us, we should indeed, as you say, make good partners.”
A partnership was soon established between Wright and Marvel. The woad apparatus, which belonged to Wright’s father-in-law, was given up to the creditors to pay the debts; but none of these creditors understood the management of it, or were willing to engage in it, lest they should ruin themselves. Marvel prevailed upon Wright to keep it in his own hands: and the creditors, who had been well satisfied by his wife’s conduct towards them, and who had great confidence in his character for prudence, relinquished their claims upon the property, and trusted to Wright’s promise, that they should be gradually paid by instalments.
“See what it is to have chosen a good wife,” said Wright. “Good character is often better than good fortune.”
The wife returned the husband’s compliment; but we must pass over such unfashionable conversation, and proceed with our story.
The reader may recollect our mentioning a little boy, who carried a message from Wright to Miss Banks the day that he called upon her, on his return from York. She had been very good to this boy, and he was of a grateful temper. After he left her father’s service, he was hired by a gentleman, who lived near Spalding, and for some time she had heard nothing of him: but, about a year after she was married, his master paid a visit in Lincolnshire, and the lad early one morning came to see his “old young mistress.” He came so very early that none of the family were stirring, except Marvel, who had risen by daybreak to finish some repairs that he was making in the woad apparatus. He recognized the boy the moment he saw him, and welcomed him with his usual good-nature.
“Ah, sir!” said the lad, “I be’s glad to see things going on here again. I be’s main glad to hear how young mistress is happy! But I must be back afore my own present master be’s up; so will you be pleased to give my sarvice and duty, and here’s a little sort of a tea-chest for her, that I made with the help of a fellow-sarvant of mine. If so be she’ll think well of taking it, I should be very proud: it has a lock and key and all.”
Marvel was astonished at the workmanship of this tea-chest; and when he expressed his admiration, the boy said, “Oh, sir! all the difficultest parts were done by my fellow-sarvant, who is more handy like than I am, ten to one, though he is a Frenchman. He was one of them French prisoners, and is a curious man. He would have liked of all things to have come here along with me this morning, to get a sight of what’s going on here; because that they have woad mills and the like in his own country, he says; but then he would not come spying without leave, being a civil honest man.”
Marvel told the boy that his fellow-servant should be heartily welcome to satisfy his curiosity; and the next morning the Frenchman came. He was a native of Languedoc, where woad is cultivated: he had been engaged in the manufacture of it, and Marvel soon found, by his conversation, that he was a well-informed, intelligent man. He told Marvel that there were many natives of Languedoc, at this time, prisoners in England, who understood the business as well as he did, and would be glad to be employed, or to sell their knowledge at a reasonable price. Marvel was not too proud to learn, even from a Frenchman. With Wright’s consent, he employed several of these workmen; and he carried, by their means, the manufacture of woad to a high pitch of perfection. How success changes the opinion of men! The Lincolnshire farmers, who had formerly sneered at Marvel as a genius and a projector, began to look up to him as to a very wise and knowing man, when they saw this manufactory continue to thrive; and those who had blamed Wright, for entering into partnership with him, now changed their minds. Neither of them could have done separately what they both effected by their union.
At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely where he was when he began; neither richer nor poorer; neither wiser nor happier; all that he had added to his stock was a cross wife and two cross children. He, to the very last moment, persisted in the belief that he should be the richest of the three, and that Wright and Marvel would finish by being bankrupts. He was in unutterable astonishment, when, upon the appointed day, they produced their account-books to Mr. Constantine, the executor, and it was found that they were many thousand pounds better in the world than himself.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Constantine, “to which of you am I to give your uncle’s legacy? I must know which of the partners has the greatest share in the manufactory.”
“Wright has the greatest share,” cried Marvel; “for without his prudence I should have been ruined.”
“Marvel has the greatest share,” cried Wright: “for without his ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, nor indeed should I have undertaken it.”
“Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between you,” said Mr. Constantine, “and I give you joy of your happy partnership. What can be more advantageous than a partnership between prudence and justice on the one side, and generosity and abilities on the other?”
June, 1800.