CHAP. X.
LETTER XXVII.
Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
December the 29th.
I Shall leave to Alice's descriptive powers Mrs. Wilson's triumph on Christmas-day. With all her mild and sympathizing qualities she would nevertheless have been an object of terror, had a poor Hindoo heard her tale of the slaughtered poultry, and her secret of making them fat and fair. Such is opinion, Lucy! But leaving this disquisition to wiser heads than my own, and honestly confessing myself implicated in the crime of conniving at the shedding of innocent blood, I will proceed to inform you that I am deserted for a plum-cake, which will not be eaten till Twelfth-day at Durham, and which Mrs. Heartley and her train annually assist to cut up. I am, however, proof against all discontents. The Bay of Biscay continues open notwithstanding a Dutchman with skaits might go from hence to you in a strait line, in an hour or two. The weather has been celestial here during the frost. It gives to me aerial lightness, and I defy the intense coldness of the atmosphere. Wisely, however, reflecting that I had not the sylph's wing, I attired myself in my habit yesterday morning, and with my snow-shoes and India-shawl, I scudded away to the village, in order to see dame Dobs's fire-side. A bright sun, and the wind at my heels, sent me forward with a blithsome heart. I found her hearth blazing, and the good old woman so cottoned up with Mary's comforts, that even the rheumatism is kept in check. She was quite amazed how I could "brave such deadly cold weather; and yet I looked like a full-blown rose, and so cheerful! But that did not amaze her, for in warming other people's hearts my own would always be gay." On leaving her cottage the whim took me to visit some friends of my own; and cheered by a few benedictions, and as many welcomes, I resolved to return home, by taking the circuit of the mill. Now, knowing that the finest description of a frost-piece that the most poetical imagination ever composed, would not please Mary, at least so well as one of my long stories, I will spare myself the disgrace of being censured as the dullest of mortals in this art; and the shame of feeling, that this is probably one reason for my yawning over descriptive subjects, except with a crayon at my fingers' ends. But we have all our several gifts; holding forth is, unquestionably, mine, and I will begin my story by an exordium for Mary's edification. My text is drawn from my recollection of one of Quarles's emblems. You may, if your less retentive memory need it, still borrow the book from Deborah; and with the pictures recall the days when the restless Rachel stood for hours quietly listening to her expounding histories of them. One of these ingenious devices, if I be not mistaken, exhibits a youth borne on the wing of Hope, Fancy, and Desire, to an elevation remote from his safe abode. Careless of the approaching storm he still advances in his heedless career, till nature, exhausted, prompts him to pause. He does so, and with terror and amasement beholds the blackened sky, and hears the threatening thunder roll over his defenceless head. Now for the application. Thus did your heedless friend press on, although the friendly sun, from time to time warned her, by his retiring brightness, that he had something else to do besides gladdening her path. At length I took the alarm, and on looking towards his late refulgent road, saw him covered with a black curtain, which, from time to time, he put aside, to see whether the heedless wanderer had wisdom and was seeking a refuge. I had the wisdom to speed as fast as I could to the miller's house, which was the nearest; but, like my emblem, I had not learned to know, that sailing with a fair wind, and an adverse one, made some difference in the course of the ship. I had now a north-easter in my teeth; and as if in return for my temerity, he rattled with his rude blast a shower of hailstones about my ears, which, though they did not subdue my courage, greatly discomfited me. The gracious luminary once more peeped through his veil and smiled on me. I had gained the last field between me and my retreat when I took advantage of the hedge in order to adjust my shawl more about my face, which smarted with the keen blasts, and to recover my panting breath for renewed buffettings. At this providential moment I heard a child, concealed from my view by some hurdles, crying most lamentably, and repeatedly saying, "Get up, Johnny! pray get up! let us go home! I will go without you!" I removed the hurdle, and perceived the mourner in the hollow path. He was a stout boy of about nine years old, and was endeavouring to raise from the ground one of about seven, who appeared insensible. The danger was apparent; I flew to the children. "Where is your home?" asked I. "At the mill," answered the shivering boy. "Pray wake brother Johnny, he does not mind me; and my granny will scold me if leave him, because I took him out without leave." Unmindful of this petition, with the sturdy boy's help, I wrapped the torpid child in my shawl, which, as you know, is of the largest size, and I hastened to the house, with the offending and terrified culprit. He complained that he was weary and must rest; whilst I, with an air of authority, dragged him on till I became nearly exhausted myself, though remote from his danger; for I did not even feel it was cold, so great was my terror respecting the poor child I had left behind me, and the dread of seeing the one with me refuse to advance; for he hung back from time to time, saying that I hurt him, that he would sit down a while, and bade me go on without him.
From this terrible dilemma I was relieved by meeting with a servant of the house, who was looking for the vagrants. He called to another, and I was soon relieved from my burden, who had conquered me, and had composedly laid down on the ground. I followed the person who bore the child in his arms to the house, and the other man went forwards to the succour of the poor abandoned boy.
A neat and genteel-looking woman met us in the yard, whom, from her terror and grief, I supposed to be their mother. I tried to allay her fears, but finding that was not possible, contented myself with supplying her duty. She carried the boy to the kitchen fire, and, weeping bitterly, began to chafe his hands. My authoritative voice was at length heard, and in spite of his outcries he was put to bed in the blankets. Happily the village farrier was present, and supported me in my opinion. He said he had read some published cases of the Humane Society, and that he would answer for the other child if they would trust to him. The child appeared, and my shawl having been useful, he was judged to be in no danger by the doctor, who began his operations by rubbing him with snow. The children being considered as safe, I was next thought of. With many excuses the young woman led me through a large brick-floored parlour to a neat staircase, which conducted us to a very pretty snug room, in which was quietly seated an old lady knitting; and who had, as it appeared, escaped the general horror of the family in the kitchen, by being somewhat deaf and lame. She looked surprised by my intrusion, but instantly enquired whether the children were returned. The daughter, with more self-command than I expected, replied in the affirmative, adding that I had been so good as to lead them home. Her face betrayed, however, in part, the disaster, and I assured the grandmother that the danger was past and both children doing well. Her thanks for my services were followed by her "being certain I wanted some refreshment." She was not mistaken, for I was faint with hunger. Her little dinner was just ready, and she thought something warm and comfortable better for me than wine. I was entirely of the same opinion. Susan was dispatched to hasten matters below stairs; whilst with officious zeal I was placed in her own white dimity easy chair, and the hearth was replenished with fuel. The neatness of the apartment, the order which presided at the dining-table, the delicacy of my napkin, and the china in which was served a boiled fowl with vegetables and bacon, and a bread-pudding, excited in my mind a curiosity to know something more of my courteous hosts, concluding that these relics of former opulence did not belong to the miller's lady. I had no sooner obeyed the calls of my famished stomach, than I thought of my friends at the hall, and dispatched a note to Mrs. Allen, informing her simply, that, finding the air too sharp for me, I had stopped at the mill till the coach came for me. I added a verbal commission to the note, and desired that the person who was to carry it, might be cautioned to say nothing of the cause of my delay. The old lady heard more of this message than I intended. She turned pale, and with much emotion said, she was sure the truth had been kept from her: she would see her children, and if they could not come to her she would be carried to them. A more particular detail of the disaster followed; and her daughter assured her both her boys were in a fine perspiration, and the apothecary had no doubt but they would be fit to truant again on the morrow. The grandmother still looked incredulous. "My dear Madam," observed I, "you see their mother composed, and satisfied that the children are doing well: why should you now doubt of their safety?"—"Poor creature," replied she, "she has with myself to thank God's providence and you, for their preservation. She would have lost her senses had they perished, though she is not their mother; but these poor babes have no parents, nor any friends to love them but ourselves." She wept. "However," added she, "their aunt is father and mother to them." Susan mentioned as a sort of apology for her carelessness, that the eldest boy had persuaded Johnny to leave the mill-chamber where they were playing, to go and slide with some boys of the parish. It appeared that he enjoyed for some time his pastime with these children; but Johnny cried, and complained of the cold, and his chilblains, and said he would go home. Frank, his brother, soothed him from time to time, bidding him sit down on his coat, which the vigorous boy gave him. The hailstones sent the boys to their cottages which were at hand, and the truants began their walk, till Johnny would rest, saying he was sleepy, and would "stay a bit where he was."—"You know the sequel," added the grateful Susan addressing her mother, "and what we owe to this young lady."—"Would it be credited," observed the good woman, with visible thankfulness to Heaven, "that a creature so delicate and seemingly feeble, should have been the chosen instrument of a work of such mercy! But he who destined her for the work, will recompense her! Thousands more equal to the trial of strength would have turned aside!"—"I cannot think so," returned I. "Ah, my dear young lady!" answered she mournfully, "I have lived to see that what was every one's business was no one's business. Their poor grandfather might have been saved, had there been one with a heart like yours, amongst fifty, who saw him sink." To divert her from the silence which ensued, I praised her abode, observing that I could not have supposed the house so commodious from the road. "Why, in fact," replied she, "this wing can hardly be said to belong to the miller's house. It is quite separate, except by the back stairs you came up. In summer we enter by the garden, which is our own, we have our little kitchen and parlour below stairs, and four chambers. This wing was built for her own use, by the friend who left us the estate, and is not included in the lease of the farm. I also kept it for my own use. But my good tenants," added she, "not contented with having us for their next door neighbours a part of every summer, persuaded us to pass our Christmas holidays here; and what with the severe cold, and the rheumatism in my hip, they are likely to have me on their own hands some time; for Susan must mind her business, and the boys will be safer at school than here; for Frank is the copy of his dear father, always in harm's way, with the spirit of a lion, and the heart of a dove!" She wiped her eyes again, and knitted with astonishing quickness. "What business does your daughter follow?" asked I. "She was a milliner and mantua-maker; had a shop at Bishops-Auckland; clear-starched and mended lace; nothing came amiss to her hand; for she was industry itself, and the best of daughters."—"You have been fortunate," observed I, smiling, "in keeping to yourself this comfort: she is a very pretty woman."—"She was pretty at twenty," answered she, "but more than fifteen years may be added to that reckoning; and the troubles we have had have greatly changed her. She had once in her cheeks a colour like a rose; but like yours, my dear young lady, it could not stand all attacks. But you are not so pale as you were an hour since; I hope you feel warm. How you contrived to keep yourself from perishing is astonishing. I wonder how you kept your feet, or had courage to face such an air." She stirred the cheerful fire, and begged me to draw my chair closer to it. I smilingly told her that she gave me credit for more courage than I had, for that on sallying out I had turned my back on the enemy, forgetting that he would not turn his on me on my return home. But he shall not intimidate me, added I; "for I will come again and see you, in spite even of hail storms. She looked pleased, and said the sight of me would do her good as long as she lived.'You look healthy,' observed I.—'Pretty well for my years,' replied she,'but within sight of four-score one must expect infirmities. Thank God, I have not outlived my memory, and that reminds me of him, who from the hour I was an infant at my mother's breast, has watched over me, and whose arm of mercy will support me to my grave. Here is another instance of his loving kindness to those who lean on him!'—She renewed her tears. Susan now entered to say that the carriage was in sight, and I instantly took my leave of the good woman, whose spirits did not appear quite composed enough to receive more guests; and as I perceived Mrs. Allen and Sir Murdock in the coach, I tripped down stairs to them. My ruddy face and gay air, somewhat surprised them; for notwithstanding my prohibition and the fidelity of my messenger, the story had reached them; the farrier having related his share of the miracle in the stables at the hall whilst doctoring his patients there. The frost-bitten Miss Cowley was received with greetings and endearments which might have warmed her had she been congealed; and during the first enthusiasm of humanity, no one thought of chiding her for her folly in leaving a warm covert for a freezing walk. But, alas! who is perfect? Mrs. Allen, even our Mrs. Allen is mortal. Before night her philanthropy cooled. My colour offended her: I was, (she insisted it should be so,) feverish: and she gave the most solid reasons in the world for the partinacity of her opinion: 'it was impossible I should be otherwise.' As my stiff joints and aching head were rather too stubborn evidences in her favour; and, being moreover too sleepy for a debate, I passively suffered her to make me up like a bale of flannel; and drinking with docility a treacle posset, to her great contentment I fell asleep; when, lo and behold! the fever had disappeared, and I had lost eight hours of my existence; for not a dream had found access to my fancy in all those dormant hours. The dear and too tender Allen is now only anxious for my complexion. Peeling lips are however within her diploma: and with a face more crimsoned than my own, she has now brought me some lip-salve. Who can help loving her? I am sometimes afraid I shall love her too much. She wishes me not to write any longer. The second dose of treacle posset is preparing, and my flannels are at the fire. I never felt more comfortable in my life; but no matter, she is gratified. Good night. The frost could not find the heart of your R. Cowley; that was in another latitude secure from its influence."
Dec. 30th.
P.S. I would not seal my letter last night, lest I should have boasted too soon of my triumph over the northern blasts; but this morning finding even my complexion not the worse for its malice, I no longer hesitate to say, that Eolus resembles his stern-faced sister Adversity, only oppose each in their own way: he may be fearlessly encountered, and she softened down to a friendly aspect. Activity and firmness are the only guards against both. With this armour within and without, we shall neither shrink from the storm of the elements, nor faint at the visitation of the angel who is sent to purify our hearts with an efficacy not less salutary than that agent of mercy, which directs the whirlwinds in their desolating career to sweep away plagues, pestilence, and death, from the air we breathe. I have just now made my dear Mrs. Allen look grave. I had forgotten my wrappers this morning, in crossing the passage to Lady Maclairn's apartment. She appealed to Lady Maclairn, and again, it was "impossible" my blood could be in a state to resist cold. I had just finished my last moral inference, and I could not at once be made to tremble at the tempered breeze of a covered passage. I argued in favour of my own theory; she maintained that I had more confidence in my strength than was prudent. "Alas!" replied I, "how many wretches, more feeble than myself, bide the pelting of the pitiless storm!"