Читать книгу The Good Grandmother and Her Offspring - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 4

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A tender creature full of whims and charms, A beauteous nursling from the parent's arms, Who sought no business, no affairs she knew, Of reason thought not, and had nought to do.

Crabbe.

"I have no objection to you for a son-in-law," said old John Morton to William Harris, "but I am sorry to say your father is a drunken, idle man, and has been a dreadful husband to your poor mother—if you should ever become like him!"

"God forbid," exclaimed the young man, "that I should resemble my father in any respect! No! I most solemnly promise, that I will be a different husband to what he has ever been. You have long known me, and are aware that my mother has trained me to honesty and industry, ever since I was born."

"Very true—well, take her then, boy, when I am gone, and may God bless you both!"

William accepted this gift with all the thankfulness natural to a young man who was tenderly and ardently attached to the object for whom he had solicited, yet with all the chastened joy and solemnity which attached to the circumstances under which he received it. With so much genuine feeling did he express his sense of the important duties of the marriage state, and so affectionately did he press the cold hand held out to him to ratify the contract, that the old man, though deeply affected, could not help congratulating himself that he had thus disposed of the object of his only earthly care, of his tender love and unceasing anxiety, on whom he had expended all his earnings, and of whom he might truly say, that she had never known sorrow.

"Nor ever shall," said William, "if I can prevent it."

When William had bade the father he respected and the daughter he loved, a kind farewell, he repaired to his mother, anxious not only to inform her of the engagement he had thus entered into, but to excuse himself to her for having gone so far without her consent. His apology consisted in stating that he had loved Letty Morton for more than a year, but had determined not to make her an offer until he had provided a house for her reception; but that, alarmed by the information of her father's sickness, and desirous of his consent, he had repaired to his bedside, and there entered into a conversation which led to an irrevocable engagement. When William had made this statement, he went on to repeat to his still silent parent the particular conversation which had passed, and concluded by repeating the old man's assertion, that "his daughter had never known sorrow."

"So much the worse," said the mother.

"Surely, my dear mother, Letty can be no worse because she has hitherto led a happy life. I am sure it shall be my endeavour to render her future days as free from sorrow as the past have been."

"God grant, my dear son, that your endeavours may succeed! but a life of indulgence rarely contributes to render the possessor either good or happy: the woman that has never known sorrow herself, too frequently introduces her husband and family to a very intimate acquaintance with it."

William Harris had been long accustomed to consider his mother so wise and so kind, that her words were to him of as much importance as an oracle, and his spirits sunk, as she thus pronounced an opinion, founded rather on her fears for him, than on any personal knowledge of the young woman in question. His mother perceiving what was passing in his mind, considered that he was engaged, and willing to hope, from the modest air of the young girl, that notwithstanding the father's indulgence, she might eventually be a good wife to her dear William, she in her turn sought to remove his uneasiness, by saying—"Poor John Morton did not marry till late in life—his wife died when this child was very young, so that she has never known a mother's guidance. The poor man doted on her, and, I fear, has worked beyond his strength for her sake; but he would hardly have done this, if she had not been as good as she is pretty; I will therefore hope that she will make as good a wife as you, I trust, will make her a husband."

William raised his head, and began to think his mother wiser and better than ever.

"I do not wish to damp your expectations, my dear son; but you must make allowance for the fears of one who has herself been bitterly disappointed; you must remember also, that sorrow, more or less, is the lot of every human being, and that you and I have been long used to taste this bitter cup together; therefore if your partner could have sympathized with us, it would undoubtedly have been better."

"Alas!" exclaimed William, "my poor Letty will do this but too soon; consider she is on the point of losing her dear father, her only parent; surely this is the greatest of all earthly afflictions, and one under which she will need every possible consolation; her sufferings will soon exceed all that I have ever known."

As William uttered these words, his expressive eyes fixed on his beloved mother filled with tears, which the mother answered with reciprocal emotion; they both felt at this moment the same union of opinion. William, though deeply affected, and actually repenting that he had not consulted his mother in the first movements of his inclination for Letty, yet forgot alike his fears and his feelings, when he next beheld her, for she was very pretty and engaging, and he a young and ardent lover.

In a very few days, poor John Morton breathed his last, in the arms of that affectionate youth whom he considered his son. The overwhelming grief which William had apprehended, did not, however, afflict his daughter—a circumstance which the lover interpreted in his own favour; had he been more deeply read in the human heart, he would have known that indulgence, although it sometimes arises from affection, never leads to it; rarely has that parent known the duteous attentions, or the warm affections of a child, who never claimed obedience, or manifested the right of exacting it.

In fact, by the death of the old man, Letty might be called rather frightened than hurt, since, although she cried for an hour after his death, yet her principal trouble seemed to arise from pity for herself, and at being left in the house with a dead corpse. This trouble a goodnatured neighbour quickly removed, by inviting her home, and undertaking to see every thing necessary for the funeral settled.

Shortly after, a cousin of her mother desired her to come and spend the winter at his house; and thither accordingly she removed, escorted by her faithful William, who deemed it his duty to inform the farmer how matters stood betwixt him and Letty. The cousin was glad to hear it, shook him heartily by the hand, and begged he would come to see his sweetheart every Sunday, adding, "she'll be noa worse, my lad, for seeing a little o' my woife's management: and country air, tho it be sharp, will do her good, and brisken her up a bit."

Letty could not object to this, because she had no other home; and William, though in an humble station of life, had a mind imbued with such a sense of propriety, that he could not press her to marry him just at this time, and he was also sensible that there were indeed many ways in which his beloved Letty might improve herself; and he was desirous that he might be able so to present her to his mother, as that she might not only win her approbation, but ensure her happiness, by inducing her to rejoice in his prudent choice.

When Letty made a second removal, she felt more poignantly than she had hitherto done, the loss of that tender father who had sheltered her under the same roof ever since she was born, and provided her with abundant means of comfort, and something not very unlike anger mixed with her sorrow, at the consciousness of her deserted state: it did not occur to her, that her father's life might have been prolonged, if he had not for her sake exerted himself beyond his strength, and suffered frequently from want of those little comforts necessary to an invalid, whilst she had been occupied in some frivolous pursuit, or idle amusement.

The neighbour who had been so kind to her, seeing her in tears, endeavoured to console her, by pointing out the advantages she would enjoy, in being rendered a little notable and stirring, before she came to be a wife, especially before she was introduced to William's mother, who was "a very particular sort of a person, being, as it were, rather over and above good."

"Is she a methodist?" inquired Letty.

"Why no, not a positive methodist; but one of those people who go to church or chapel, whether it rains or shines; and then she never says nothing to nobody, but goes on work, work, till she's as thin as a lath, all the while her ragamuffin of a husband sits drinking in an ale-house, or idling at a bowling-green or cricket-ground; that's what I call nonsense. If I had a bad husband like her, I'd teach him another story; howsomdever, she's not a kind of mother-in-law I should quite like, though I never heard any harm of her."

This idle, and in fact, cruel observation, coming from a woman who had been certainly kind to her, made an unpleasant impression on Letty's mind; but she observed only, that "she should not have cared much if Mrs. Harris had been a real methodist, and made her one too; for she thought, when people were fair, the little half-plaited borders of methodists' caps were very becoming, and certainly their singing at chapel was much prettier than the great roaring organ at church."

Her friend had not much more reflection or knowledge than herself; yet she certainly thought the observation proved Letty to be very nearly a fool; so she said no more on the subject.

When Letty got into the country, she found the bustle around her, which the honest couple she visited supposed would be beneficial and grateful, exactly the reverse; and never having accustomed herself to learn any thing she did not like, or do any thing that required exertion, every day increased her disgust. The sweet air of a mild October, the various hues of a changing foliage and the wide expanse of hill and vale, lawn and pasture, a herd of fine cattle, or a flock of sheep, could ill compensate for a window that looked into the street on a procession of gay volunteers, or a military parade. The country was to her a hateful prison, presenting not one object on which she had been wont to gaze with complacency, or contemplate with interest.

Under these circumstances, no wonder that William's weekly visit was waited for with an impatience, and received with a delight, which in its effects resembled the fondest attachment, and completely succeeded in rendering him not only happy in her love, but convinced (as all lovers are) that her very affection would render her the "virtuousest, discreetest, best," of all human beings. This young man, as well as his own father, and that of Letty, were inhabitants of a large manufacturing town, famous for the excellency of its silver-plated wares—a branch of business in which they had all been engaged. This line is particularly beneficial to the workmen; so that a person of tolerable skill and ordinary industry, will frequently earn from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, which, in a place where house-rent and coals are remarkably cheap, affords not only the power of living decently, but saving a considerable share of their earnings. A circumstance of this nature is, however, seldom found among the higher order of workmen; for as plenty generally produces profusion, it is too well known that the highest wages frequently entail want, rather than insure a competency.

William had served a regular apprenticeship to this business, and was so improving a workman at this time, that few men bade fairer to accumulate such a sum as might one day enable him to form a partnership with his master—a circumstance which never fails to take place, sooner or later, with the really meritorious. Though only entering his twenty-third year, he had realized the sum of forty pounds, with which he was now furnishing a small, but neat house, which he delighted to prepare under the superintendence of his mother, for that sweet girl, who always appeared in his eye as the emblem of modesty and innocence.

William did not know that it is possible to be bashful with a very small portion of modesty, and innocent (negatively) with very little virtue. Poor Letty's character was farther formed by habit than he had an idea of; but the greatest mistake he made in her character, was that in which he viewed her conduct as actuated by the same principle which governed his own affection. Little did he think, when he pressed her hand at parting, and caught the tremulous sigh which accompanied her farewell, that it was not so much for him she sighed, as for that scene whereon she had been used contentedly to waste her early life. Persons of her disposition in manufacturing towns, are apt to pass their time as she had done from day to day, in gazing at a bridal party, or a military show, in listening to a ballad, or in joining some group of idlers, who discussed the news of the day, whilst their children screamed in the cradle, or their husbands called in vain for their dinner.

To Letty it appeared surprising, that William could listen to her cousin the farmer's history of his crops and cattle, or nurse the little sunburnt children, who pressed around him to share his notice and his gingerbread; but as she was too indolent to express that surprise, he remained unhappily a stranger to a difference in their sentiments, which might have admitted explanation and improvement. It soon, however, became plain, even to a lover's eye, that Letty had ceased to be welcome; and in fact, it was with difficulty the farmer's wife could prevent her husband from informing William what he every day repeated, that "his intended bride was either sugar or salt, and would melt either in rain or sunshine; and that to his mind, 'twere a thousand pities any honest lad should trouble himself with a pet lamb, for better for worse."

In consequence of these observations, William hastened the removal of his fair bride to that comfortable home his care and industry had provided; and in presenting her to his mother, felt an assurance that she could not fail to approve the object which she must admire; and as Mrs. Harris was as willing to be pleased as he could wish her to be, she undoubtedly felt some accession of happiness, in the contemplation of her beloved William's felicity.

The father of William had been for many years a confirmed drunkard; and under the influence of this degrading vice, had sunk into every species of brutality. With the power of giving decent support to a family, he had doomed them to all the misery of want, and frequently added the sting of cruelty to the depression of poverty. Many a time had his children been beaten when they cried for bread; and often had the untasted morsel been snatched from the lips of his famished wife, when she was fainting for want of nourishment.

For many years the mother of William had struggled to support her family under these circumstances; but one after another, all her darlings had sunk into the grave, except the eldest, who, having shared her sufferings and witnessed her patience, forbearance, industry, and good management, naturally felt towards her an affection surpassing the common tenderness of the most amiable sons towards their mothers. Naturally docile and sensible, he had grown up beneath her eye, the delight of her heart, the reward of her exertions; and to see him happy and prosperous, constituted all she hoped on earth.

In the contemplation of his mother's past sufferings and constant prudence, it had always struck William, that if his father had placed his weekly wages constantly in her hands, all the evils under which his family suffered, and even the degrading vice in which he was constantly indulging, would have been completely obviated; and he therefore, unhappily, determined on doing this himself, without either considering the difference of his own character, or that of his young wife; or, that he was actually in receipt of considerably more money than it had ever been in his father's power to earn. He remembered only his promise to her father, which he considered binding to the very letter. He felt only how sweet it is to lavish all on the object of love, and by unbounded confidence to claim unbounded tenderness; and again, omitting to consult his mother on an object of so much moment, from week to week he committed all he gained to his young wife, making only one condition, "that his purse should always be open to the necessities of his mother."