From that hour I have experienced the comforts of a home, endeared to me by all that can give zest to rational pleasure with an undepraved heart. Montrose was understood as a man to be trusted; although, to say the truth, my friends appear to be governed by motives, not unlike Bassanio, when he decides on the casket.—
“Thou meagre lead,
Which rather threat’nest than dost promise aught;
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence,
And here I chuse.”
In giving up to my discretion her correspondence with Miss Hardcastle, during her residence at Farefield, Mrs. Hardcastle added those occurrences which had taken place after the day which terminated “her captivity.” “You will easily believe,” said she smiling, “that Counsellor Steadman was as ready to resign the heiress, as I was to be rid of the plagues of heirship; but Alice was a wife before I left the hall; and, my dear Lady Maclairn was obliged to confess, that life has its blessings; and, that the human heart can never want an inlet to joy, until it has banished affection for others. She was right in saying this; and she knows, and feels it to be truth. Mary has neither changed her colours nor her mind with her fortune, and her uncle prefers Henry Heartley to a rich baronet. We shall see these true lovers united,” added she, “when at Farefield; and then Sir Murdoch and his lady, will quit the hall for Wenland Place; where, I confidently hope, they will find a home of uninterrupted repose.
“The Duke of S——,” continued Mrs. Hardcastle, “finding that my Horace had enough of the good things of this world; and, well knowing, he had a recompense in store for himself in Heaven, contrived to be useful to Mr. Sedley, and by his interest, procured for him a valuable crown living; and with his money secured to him the parish, of which his uncle is the pastor, and he still the curate.” “Such, Mr. Montrose,” added she, with seriousness, “is the present state and condition of those persons, in whose happiness you are so interested, and in whose sorrows, you have taken so lively a concern. If, as you say, the whole tissue of events before you have confirmed you in your belief of a retributive justice, it is well: as it is displayed in this scene of action, it may be useful to others; although I am of opinion, that not a day passes, that does not add to our conviction, that the sinner is taken in his own snare, and the virtuous kept from falling by a power beyond our finite reason. But as your intention and labour will have little aid from fiction, let your fidelity, as an historian, compensate for the absence of the marvellous. Do not omit to say, that Philip Flint and Malcolm Maclairn are brothers, whose hearts are not divided by the ocean which separates them. They live in hopes of being re-united; but Mr. Flint has inherited from his grandfather so strong a predilection in favour of the island of Jamaica, that it would not surprise me, if he remained there until he could man a ship with his own boys, and freight it with Sinclairs and Lindseys. I am not quite so solicitous on this subject, as Malcolm,” added she, “we are happy now at Wenland place: besides, let us be content. I do not wish my deputy, your sister, to be deserted. She is kind and gentle to my numerous dependents; and Lindsey is the sweetener to the sugar he sends us. Heaven be praised,” continued she, “Cowley’s slaves are yet cherished as men, though unfortunate men! But I hate the subject.”
To these instructions I have paid due obedience; but I have passed some weeks at Farefield Hall since writing the above.
And I think it will be no matter of surprise, much less of censure, that I should indulge myself with a supernumerary page or two, for the sole purpose of paying my tribute of respect to a character so much distinguished by Miss Cowley, in her letters to her friend. Mr. Serge was not forgotten by her, when she became Mrs. Hardcastle. “You will see my favourite when you go to Farefield,” said she, “and you will judge of my hasty sketches of the most simple-hearted man who lives. Supported by the rectitude of his own mind, and a piety which rests solely on the goodness of God, he has sustained very severe trials, with a patience and resignation that ought to put philosophy to the blush. The loss of his favourite daughter, the prop of his comforts, was followed by the death of Mrs. Fairly, who, in consequence of a severe cold taken at a place of public amusement, to which she was reluctantly hurried, after an indisposition of a dangerous kind, fell into a rapid decline, and was consigned to the grave before she was one and twenty. Her, giddy, thoughtless mother was at this melancholy period on a tour of pleasure with Mrs. Dangle, recently become a widow; and Captain Fairly, with another military beau were their escorts.
Poor Mr. Serge, assisted by his friends the Tomkins’s, supported this scene, and without designing to write to his unfeeling son, or to his foolish misled wife, sheltered his sorrows at his daughter Mrs. Willet’s, leaving to the public papers to announce to the travellers the event, which they might have foreseen before they left home. “But the claims of the disconsolate widow, Mrs. Dangle, could not be overlooked.” Mr. Maclairn and his wife joined the dejected Mr. Serge at his daughter Willet’s; and by diverting his thoughts to the final establishment of this child, they had the satisfaction of seeing him improve in health and spirits. He had not, however, lost his resentment in regard to his wife’s desertion; but with firmness declared, that he meant to give up his house at Putney, and to live remote from London. With these resolutions he returned to town; and it appears that he was steady. The lady returned also from her excursion, somewhat humbled by the reception he gave her; and probably, shocked by the death of her child, she made concessions which failed in their effect; for she would not submit to give up her dear Mrs. Dangle, nor refuse Captain Fairly’s visits—points obstinately enforced by her husband. He again returned to Mrs. Willet’s, and found consolation. His grandson amused him; and “honest William,” as he calls Mr. Willet, hourly rose in his estimation. Some months passed: he resolutely refused to return home, without an assurance that he should find his wife willing to give up her son, Fairly, and Mrs. Dangle’s society. But this poor, weak, and misguided woman, had too promptly acquired the lessons they had taught her; and she was hastening on to destruction, when an accident deprived her of life. A Major Ogle, who had his hopes and projects, flattered by the age and vexations “of the rich old taylor,” drove one morning Mrs. Serge an airing in his tandem from Dangle Park, leaving his friend the noble Captain Fairly to amuse Mrs. Dangle. Though a proficient in gallantry and gaming, the major could not manage two high fed and spirited horses. Some linen drying on a hedge by a cottage, frightened the leader; he became ungovernable, the carriage was overset, and Mrs. Serge received a blow on the temple from the horse’s foot, which killed her on the spot; her admirer was quit with a broken arm. Mr. Serge received the intelligence of this shocking accident with silent sorrow: he took to his bed, and Malcolm was soon his nurse. “I have outlived my feelings!” said the poor man to him; “I dare not tell you what are my thoughts at this hour; but I sometimes think, it would be sinful to sorrow, for the loss of a woman, who, had she lived, would have lived only to have disgraced herself. She is taken from the evil company of those who have perverted her simplicity, and made her the laugh of their dissolute hours. But the day will come, when they will remember having corrupted innocence, and misled ignorance: her cause, and mine will be heard at a tribunal, they will tremble to approach.” He now determined on his plans for his future life, and with his usual munificence left his house and furniture at Putney for Mrs. Tomkins’s use; and he has from that time resided at Mr. Wilson’s, in Captain Flint’s deserted apartments; where, in the comforts of a family attached to him, and in the society of Mrs. Heartley, who still lives at the Abbey, he is cheerful and contented. “When you know him,” continued Mrs. Hardcastle, “it will not surprise you to find him, treated by his friends with an affectionate fondness, resembling that which is given to a cherished child; but although he may be called the pest of every house he frequents, such is the genuine goodness of his nature, that indulgence cannot make him forward or capricious. He does not even claim the respect due to his age and station; and whilst the poor around him regard him as their tutelary divinity, they love him as a neighbour, and he converses with them like one. His loquacity will amuse you, for he may be said to think aloud; and his gratitude to those who, in his own words, “are kind to him,” is displayed by the minutest attention to their ease. Though he greatly prefers an open carriage to a coach, he keeps one because his ladies want it in bad weather; and Mrs. Wilson is not permitted to take cold when she goes to church, for he insists on using it as a family convenience.”