‘My father was a farmer, in comfortable circumstances, which he gained by his own industry and exemplary conduct. I will not attempt to describe him, for I should fail to do justice to his merits, eloquent, doubtless, as my affection for him would make me. Let it suffice that he was a man of superior education, having formerly moved in a different state of life, from which he had been driven by a long series of misfortunes, and his numerous virtues even by far exceeded his accomplishments. My mother was a complete counterpart of her husband, and never were two beings better formed to meet together. I was their only daughter, myself and a brother being the only offspring they ever had. Every indulgence that child could wish, or parent could think of, was bestowed on me;—my every thought seemed to be studied by them, and there was not a single happiness which they had it in their power to grant, which they seemed to think too great for me.’
‘Our home was the happiest in the neighborhood, and it was the envy and admiration of all who knew it. Again, when I think upon it, and how different my situation is now, I cannot help giving vent to my feelings; indeed, it is to indulge them that I have sat down to record the events of my life, although, in all probability, no other eyes but mine may ever behold it. Home, sweet home; there cannot be a theme upon which the mind of sensibility pauses with more peculiar delight than this. It is the cradle of our infancy and our age.’
‘The seaman, amidst storm and tempest, in fair weather and foul, thinks of his native village; the soldier that fights for kings; the merchant that dives for gain, are, alternately, stung with the thoughts of home; while the wanderer, who has followed pleasure, but found it a shade—that has bartered the humble content for splendid misery, thinks of home with a self-accusing regret, that renders even a return to its enjoyments full of bitterness and remorse. Sensibly do I feel the force of these observations, and, therefore, have I digressed from my simple narrative for the purpose of indulging in them.’
‘I will pass over the early part of my life, which was passed in almost uninterrupted happiness, and come at once to that unfortunate circumstance which was the cause of my indiscretion, and occasioned me all that anguish I so severely felt afterwards.
‘An accident brought Captain Darian and his friend, the Earl Mansville, to our house, from which the latter was unable to be removed for several weeks. Alas! it was a fatal day for me; the earl was young, handsome, insinuating, and the very first moment I beheld him, my heart felt a sensation it never before had experienced, and too soon I was compelled to acknowledge to myself that I had become deeply enamoured of him. Fatal attachment! had I not been unpardonably thoughtless, I should at once have seen the folly, the danger, the hopelessness of indulging, or encouraging a passion for one so far above me, and who would, probably, not feel for me a mutual sentiment, and have stifled it in its infancy. But it was not to be: I was to be taught reason by dear-bought experience. At length, the earl being restored to convalescence, quitted our house, but I felt convinced it was with reluctance, and I noticed the looks he fixed on me, with a sentiment of mingled delight and astonishment. The glances he bestowed on me, were those of admiration—of love! How my heart bounded at this idea, I need not tell; but, alas! it should have been its greatest cause of anguish, and my pleasure was greatly increased when I learned that Mansville having expressed his delight at the neighborhood, had taken up his abode in it for a short time; but Captain Darian had made his departure some days previous to another part of the country. I frequently saw the earl, and he seemed anxious to say something to me, but had not an opportunity, as I was mostly in the presence of my parents; but I needed no interpretation of his thoughts; my own sentiments fully elucidated them, and the warmth of the glances he bestowed upon me. If it required anything to strengthen the affection with which Mansville had inspired me, it was the amiable character he soon acquired in the neighborhood, his chief pleasure appearing to be the performing of acts of benevolence and philanthropy, and the blessings of the poor were amply lavished upon him. Rash, thoughtless, girl that I was. I should have made my parents acquainted with the real state of my feelings, and sought their advice upon the subject, but, for the first time in my life, I was anxious to conceal my thoughts from them, and continued to encourage and strengthen those passions which reason ought to have convinced me could never have been requited by the object who had inspired me with them.
It was about a month after the Earl Mansville had quitted our house, that I arose rather earlier one morning than was my usual custom, induced by the fineness of the weather. I descended from my chamber, and entered the garden, which was beautifully and tastefully arranged, and in which, as well as my father and brother, I took much pleasure. My attention, however, was particularly devoted to a rose tree, which I had frequently heard the earl express his admiration of it while he was remaining at our house. Could I but get him by any means to receive one how happy should I have been. This day I had resolved to make my father and mother a little present of some of these roses, which I knew they would receive with more delight than the most costly gift, coming as they did from me.
‘How sweetly my roses have opened,’ I soliloquized; ‘they seem to know that they are destined to be gifts of affection, and to smile with the delight I shall feel in bestowing them on those I love so dearly. So this for my father, and this for my mother.’
I plucked two of the most beautiful, and had scarcely done so, when my father entered from the house, and greeted me with his usual affection.
‘Ah, father,’ I exclaimed, ‘I have such a nice gift for you and my dear mother.’
‘Indeed, my child,’ returned my father, smiling fondly on me.