From this time we have not seen him; but we hear from his mother, that he is married and settled, and continues in the line of conduct that was to be expected from such beginnings of virtue and goodness.
To Mr. Greenwood's and Mr. Wilson's exertions in my favour, I stand indebted for the bread which has supported me here; the former convinced the rector, that I was an honest man; and the latter employed such zeal in my cause, that a paper was signed by most of my flock, containing such a report of me, as proved that I was qualified for a bishopric at least. Happy in the wife of my bosom, cherished by the worthy beings who sheltered us as the honour and blessings of their roof, I should have forgotten Tarefield-hall, with its inmates, but my poor Mary heard continually of her father's declining health, and prompted by her tenderness, she was as continually making attempts to see him. A letter she sent to Mrs. Flint, reached her, and in a few days we were surprised by the sight of Mary's clothes and linen, which were left without a message. In arranging them, with the sweet hope which this consideration inspired, a note dropped from a gown sleeve; it was from Mrs. Flint, and contained a bank bill of twenty-five pounds. "I send you as a token of my love, my dear and injured girl," wrote Mrs. Flint, "the inclosed trifle; this is all I am able to do. My interference in respect to sending you your clothes, has been highly resented. Believe, that in me you have a friend, but alas! that friend is too much oppressed to serve you, or your unhappy father, whose heart still turns to his child. Have patience; write no more to Harriot Flint, she is watched, and hazards her peace even in this simple act of humanity.
"In proportion as your father approached his grave," continued my brother, "my wife became wretched, and my spirits were in continual agitation lest in the concessions which she prompted me to make, I should be censured, as being governed by self-interest. At length we heard of his death, and in due form were summoned by an attorney, a Durham man, to the hall, in order to be present at the opening of Mr. Flint's will. You know its purport. When the lawyer had finished reading, I rose, and taking my nearly sinking Mary's cold hand, I fixed my eyes on the heiress's face. 'This is at least Howard's,' said I, 'and in his affection at least your sister is rich. Neither malice nor envy dare invade these rights. The Being whom we adore is able to provide for us, and the bread he bestows, will be that of peace and a good conscience.' Miss Flint made no reply. Mrs. Flint, who had during this time covered her face from observation, now rose with emotion, and stopping me as I was advancing to the door with my precious burden, she said, 'As Mr. Flint's wife I was dumb; but as his widow I will speak. If Mrs. Howard wishes to follow her father's remains, have the goodness, Sir, to let me hear from you.' She hastily left the room before me. The next day my wife received from her a parcel of mourning stuffs; but my heart revolted at favours given to beggary. I sent them back with a card, 'Mrs. Howard is provided with mourning.' A fever of some danger prevented my Mary's thinking of the funeral. It was magnificent, and your mother's remains were disinterred and brought hither to rest with her husband's. Poor Mary has been one of Greenwood's hearers ever since; and even my nerves were for a time shaken by their monument, which is in the chancel."
CHAP. VI.
Memoirs of the Flint Family continued.
"My health had not been spared in these vexations, and its interruptions made a coward of me. I experimentally felt the truth of our favourite Terence's observation, 'I am a man, and have the feelings of a man.' Whilst counting my throbbing pulse, my widowed Mary and helpless child smote on my heart, and weakened still more the springs of life. My little fund of about five hundred pounds had insensibly diminished; you were remote and might never return; and I yielded to despondency. But my God has graciously heard my sighs; you are with me and I am comforted; for you will never forsake my wife and child."—I must pause, Miss Cowley.
I saw with sanguine hopes the renewal of my brother's health and cheerfulness. I received orders to join my regiment, and our embarkation for America soon followed. Once more, oceans divided me from my dear friends! Waving as useless the detail of my military life, I will hasten to a conclusion. My brother's letters were for a time such as I wished; but the arrow had been aimed too well. He died when I was remote; leaving his daughter in her fifth year. My return to England followed in a few months after this event.
In our passage home we captured a rich vessel bound for St. Malo's. In the engagement I lost my leg; but gained six or seven hundred pounds prize money.