Captain Harley, after a life of activity in the service of his country, retired to a sweet retreat in South Wales, to enjoy the closing evening of a busy day; his family consisted of a wife, the faithful companion of all his sorrows, and one daughter, who being the only survivor of a numerous offspring, was doubly endeared to them. She was the staff of their age, the doating of their hopes, and they bore her continually on their hearts, to that heaven which they knew would alone protect her from those calamitous strokes they had so often experienced in the course of their lives.
The retreat they had chosen, was by its seclusion, calculated for the narrowness of their income, and by its beauty for the promotion of their pleasure.
He rented but as much land as would supply his household wants, this he delighted in cultivating himself, assisted by an old trusty servant who had been a soldier in his regiment. Conrade was the veteran son of calamity, and his misfortunes strengthened the claim his services had given him upon the affections of his master. During a late contest, a brave and only son had fallen by his side in the field of battle; scarcely could he survive the blow, but consolation effected what fortitude had no power to do. Captain Harley was not only a good soldier but a good christian, and by pointing out the path to heaven, gave poor Conrade full assurance, by faithfully discharging the humble duties of his station, he should obtain a passport to rejoin his brave and beloved son.
Louisa at the period of their retirement was fifteen; her mind and form were opening to perfection, and both promised to contain the fairest loveliness of ingenious innocence, and graceful symmetry.
The lilly and the rose gave their most beautiful tints to her complection; her fine black eyes beamed with the sensibility of her soul, never did she hear the tale of sorrow without emotion.
Harley had little to give, of that little he gave abundantly—not the largeness of the gift but real inclination of the donor, he knew was regarded by the power above. Like the benevolent pastor of Auburn village, to him repaired the needy and the wanderer, and found a ready welcome—often too, the weather beaten soldier in journeying to his native home, to lay his bones among those of his forefathers, turned in hither, and cheared by hospitable fare,
“Shoulder’d his crutch, & shew’d how fields were won.”
Harley knew what it was to have the unsheltered head exposed to the chill blast and sharp bitings of the wintry frost.
Such was this little family of love, who retired amidst Welch mountains, enjoyed that content and happiness which the votaries of fashion, misled by dissipation, can never experience.
Louisa was my constant companion—like a ministering seraph she hushed the turbulence of anguish, and whispered peace to my perturbed soul.