“Did jealous hate inspire thee?”
Meanwhile the unamiable Henry, every time he returned from his school for the vacations, was filled with fresh envy and hatred on beholding Edmund more and more established in the rank of a child of the family, and more and more beloved by every one; while he, Henry, felt as if at enmity with the whole world, merely because his own unworthy nature could not divest itself of an instinctive consciousness, that he did not deserve to be loved. He, however, explained the business very differently: he persuaded himself that the beggar-brat (as he called Edmund in his own thoughts, for Mrs. Montgomery would not suffer him to do so to be heard) had got into his place, and deprived him of every body’s regard.
As soon as Mrs. Montgomery had been aware of her nephew’s lodging, she had had him removed to one more eligible; but his low habits were too strongly confirmed to be much amended by this salutary change. He still spent his leisure hours at the butcher’s house, and carried thither the fruits of all his depredations, namely, the spoils of robbed orchards, and scaled poultry-yards. There the wife and daughter would first cook for him, and then, joining in the carousal, help to demolish. His rompings too, with Miss Betsy Park, for so was the butcher’s daughter named, grew daily more frequent.
The sagacious mother did not choose to interfere, observing, that though Betsy had become very saucy to Mr. Henry, and sometimes even gave him a smart slap in the face, he, instead of threatening to beat, and not unfrequently to kick her, as he used to do, was now often heard to menace her with a good kissing if she did not behave herself. The damsel, however, by no means alarmed, would most generally repeat her offence, and, snapping her fingers, tell him she defied him; upon which he would pursue her round the house, back yard, or garden, to put his threat into execution. On such occasions, however, he could not so entirely get rid of his old habits, as to let Miss Betsy off, without following up his new species of vengeance, by some of those cruel pinches which, in childhood, had so often diversified the snowy surface of the young lady’s skin, with the various tints of black, blue, and green.
Yet Miss Betsy was, by this time, become a very fine girl: she was fair, had a glowing colour, a quantity of light auburn hair, laughing blue eyes, a saucy nose, full pouting lips, good white teeth, and was tall and well made, though, if any thing, a little too fat; but, in consequence of her youth, this, at present, rather gave luxuriance to her beauty, than coarseness to her appearance.
It may be asked, why any thing in the shape of a mother sanctioned such scenes as we have alluded to. But too many S— B— mothers, in Mrs. Park’s way, speculated on marrying their daughters to scholar lads, as the boys and young men are indiscriminately termed; and the questionable means employed by Mrs. Park were not only, in her opinion, the best to obtain her end, but those sanctioned by the customs of the village, time immemorial.
By such mothers, while their daughters were permitted—we had almost said counselled—to cast off all delicacy, a sort of worldly prudence was taught, by which the necessity of not forfeiting their chance of marrying a gentleman was duly impressed on young creatures, whose habitual manners, from childhood, had early deprived them of the natural guard of modesty. Thus, a girl who was forsaken (before marriage we mean) by a scholar-lad, incurred direful suspicions in the village; while one who had so successfully balanced her blandishments, as to decoy one into marriage, was ever after held up as a pattern of virtue! This was the more easily managed, when we consider the respective ages of the parties.
When once these lads left the school, their brides saw no more of them. The ladies, however, as soon as the schoolmaster’s authority was at an end, proclaimed their marriage in the village, called themselves by the gentleman’s name, had some allowance, particularly if there was a child in the case, and considered themselves a step higher in the ranks of society.
Henry was not yet seventeen, but he would be older before he finally quitted the school; and most of the S— B— weddings took place between mere boys and girls a few years their seniors.
A custom too prevailed in this village, and its vicinity, very favourable to suitors—we mean among the elevated rank of which we are now speaking. All received sweethearts, as they are called, were permitted to sit the whole of the night by the embers of the kitchen fire, without witness or candle, beside the damsel to whom they wished to plead their cause. This indulgence was granted, whether scholar lad or labourer, on the plea of the swain, in either case, having no leisure for love-making by day. It was a custom, however, which David Park never permitted in his house, though he had himself been so favoured when courting Betsy’s mother.