Читать книгу The Affectionate Brothers - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 4

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Mrs. Harewood, ever regular and economic in her own department, and religiously just in her worldly concerns, had soon drawn her affairs into a narrow compass; her carriage, horses, and furniture, were disposed of—her debts paid to the uttermost farthing—and a few hundred pounds all that remained to her in the wide world.

She had no relations; but in the first shock of her misfortunes, many of her numerous friends, struck by the sudden fate of a companion they had loved and esteemed, assembled round her, and by their friendly counsel had assisted her in the sad scenes which immediately succeeded her misfortune; but as she was of too generous a nature to tax the kind beyond their convenience, and too independent to solicit the mercies of the overbearing, by degrees all were dropped off, and she was left to make the best of her melancholy situation. She desired, with all a mother's longings, to see and enjoy the society of her beloved boys; but she was too sincerely their friend to abridge the advantages they enjoyed; and in her letters she constantly assured them of her returning health, and endeavoured to inspire them with cheerfulness, though far from attaining herself that blessing she was anxious to communicate.

But when the time approached, feeling for the change they would experience, she sought to break it to their minds, by informing them that she was now in a very humble lodging in the city, and that the luxuries and comforts they had once known at their dear and pleasant home must be relinquished: but yet the poor boys had formed no idea of the place to which they were really conducted; and the sorrow with which they beheld their mother, once so waited upon by numerous servants and a tender husband, now nursing her own babe in a narrow dark room, ill furnished, is indescribable. Oh! how did they each wish and pray for the means of relieving her—how earnestly did they resolve that they would apply every thing they could hereafter earn, for her and the dear infant who was thus bequeathed to their care!

Naturally sanguine, and of that age when hope is easily kindled in the heart, Charles soon admitted consolation; from the observation of his mother, that he was prodigiously grown—"Oh," said he internally, "I shall soon be a man, and then I can support them all."

Poor Tom could not take comfort in this way; for though he too was grown, yet he was still so slim and delicate, that the master of the lodgings observed that he looked three years younger than his brother.

In a short time the very sting of poverty seemed to enter the heart of the unhappy mother; the school-bills for her sons had not, in the distress of the time, been discharged; on their return to school, of course, a whole year was due, and in paying it she parted with more than two-thirds of all her property; and the sense of this, together with the daily wants of two fine growing boys, distressed her so much, that she was shortly thrown upon a bed of sickness, at that season of the year when every species of assistance is most difficult to procure, and disease most obstinate in its stay.

The children had now but one pursuit, one duty, one care, and most anxiously did they fulfil it: poor Charles, so fond of gaiety and bustle, who lately rode about the smartest lad in his neighbourhood, now performed the part of a carrier himself to his little sister, who, but for his exertions, must have been utterly lost; whilst Thomas, with the tenderest attention, and most unwearied vigilance, sat by his mother's bed, watched her every look, and by her directions prepared her food or medicine.

Blessed with such affectionate nurses, the heart of the afflicted woman revived, and her prayers ascended to the throne of mercy; she besought strength from the Most High to sustain her sorrows, and it was given unto her.

But sickness is ever expensive, and the little stock of money remaining now grew deplorably small; yet from it two sons were to be apprenticed, and a mother and child subsisted, until the age of the latter should in some measure relieve its parent from the more immediate cares of a nurse, and enable her to provide for it by personal exertion.

As soon as Mrs. Harewood was convalescent, she determined, for her children's sake, to conquer that repugnance she had hitherto felt to calling on those who had been the acquaintance of her happier hours, and to request their advice and assistance in placing her sons in some situation; and with this intention she set out with Charles one morning, leaving the infant with Thomas, who, for its sake, could resign the books which were now his sole consolation, and appeared in a great measure to atone for every other privation. The first person they called upon was a Mr. Basset, a rich bachelor, who had for several years been accustomed to spend every Sunday at her house, and to profess the sincerest regard for his dear friend Harewood. On opening her mission, which was simply to request his advice, he observed, that really it was strange, very strange, that Mr. Harewood had not provided better for his family than he appeared to have done; for his part, he knew nothing about the way in which children were disposed of; thank God he had no encumbrances of that kind, and of course had never been led to consider the subject.

"But have you not the power of recommending my poor boys, Mr. Basset? Charles, you see, is a great boy now, and would, I am certain, be willing to exert himself for his master to the uttermost, in order to make up for the deficiency of an apprentice-fee."

"As to that, ma'am it is a delicate point to recommend children brought up as yours have been—you'll excuse me, ma'am—a youth being a good rider, a good dancer, &c. is poor praise."

"But surely, sir, you know that my children have been taught every thing essential; that their father was a man of strict attention to business, of irreproachable integrity, and——"

"Mother, mother!" exclaimed poor Charles, "let us go away! I will work or beg for you and Emily, but I cannot—cannot stay and hear you talked to in this way; and dear father too!—oh, let us go!"

The agony of tears which deluged the face of Charles, awoke those of his unhappy mother, in despite of all her resolution; but yet making a violent effort for the sake of attaining, by any means, an object so truly desirable, she once more bent looks of inquiry towards the man who had so often spoken far different language, at the hospitable board where she had been wont to meet him, and said—"Then you cannot assist me in any way?"

"Why, ma'am, if my friend Charles there is, as he says, willing to work, I know a very honest bricklayer, who would take him for a trifle; and as poor little Tom was always a puny child, I could recommend him to my tailor—I know nothing else he is fit for; so if you wish——"

Every trace of tears instantly fled the countenance of Mrs. Harewood; she turned a clear and steady eye upon the speaker, and dropping him a silent courtesy, walked out of his drawing-room, with an air of greater dignity than she had ever worn in her own, followed by Charles, whose indignation glanced from his eyes in looks of sovereign contempt, as he exclaimed—"Was this person my father's friend?"

But, alas! the spirit thus awakened quickly evaporated, and Mrs. Harewood found herself so exhausted by the cruel disappointment she had received, that she determined to hasten home, and again hide herself and her sorrows in oblivion: but Charles, who, although more agitated at the time, was sooner relieved, entreated her just to call at Mr. Ludlow's, whose sons he was well acquainted with, saying—"Though they came seldom to our house, yet they were people you always liked, mother."

"True, my dear; Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow rarely visited us; for, having a large family to provide for, they did not think it prudent to mix in so gay and expensive a circle as our society then presented; they will not, however, oppress the fallen, unless I am as much mistaken in them as I have been in Mr. Basset; so I will call, although I am aware they can do me no good in my pursuit."

Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were both at home, as they happened to dine early, and they received Mrs. Harewood and her son with so sincere a pleasure in their countenances, that, contrasting their manners with those of the person she had quitted, she could not help throwing herself into the nearest chair, and weeping freely, while Charles endeavoured, as well as his feelings would permit him, to relate the conversation that took place at Mr. Basset's.

Dinner was announced, and the good couple quietly placing the widow and her son at table, sought rather to soothe her feelings than to argue her out of them; but when the cloth was withdrawn, and the children were gone, Mr. Ludlow thus addressed her—"Do not suffer any hard-heartedness which Basset may have displayed to distress you, Mrs. Harewood; he probably meant no harm; but bachelors have no idea of the feelings of a parent, and they wound without thought. 'Tis true, he has abundance in his power, but he considers not the wants of women and children, because they have never been objects of his care; had your dear husband been himself in distress, Basset would have felt it a duty, as well as pleasure, to have relieved him. Unhappily, we are all too much the creatures of habit, even in our sympathies."

"Not when we are taught of God," said Mrs. Ludlow; "religion gives a principle of action which never fails."

"True, my dear; it likewise inspires us with a profound regard for integrity, as well as benevolence, and I am therefore compelled to say, that with three sons of my own to place out, I cannot help my good friend as I wish in this particular; but if she would like, as she once hinted, to begin a day school, I will promise her our three little girls, and do my best to procure her more."

This proposal was instantly accepted with thankfulness; and in a short time the afflicted mother procured a decent room, and entered on the wearisome task of instructing young children in the rudiments of education, preferring even the most slavish employment to placing her children in situations derogatory to the education they had received, and subversive of the views they had so long entertained.

The boys were duly sensible of her kindness, and laboured by every means in their power to assist her; and it was a truly affecting sight to behold them nursing their little sister, cooking their scanty dinner, or in any way contributing to relieve their mother; while at every opportunity they strove to retain and increase the benefits of their education, still fondly hoping to prove it the means of future independence.

But not even the utmost care, and the most unremitting exertion, could preserve a family of this number from experiencing the pressure of poverty under such circumstances; the boy's clothes grew very shabby, and to replenish them would encroach on the little hoard reserved for still more important services. This want was shewn the most by Charles, who felt as if he were ashamed to walk out in his threadbare clothes and napless hat; and one evening as he took a solitary walk towards Hampstead, perceiving a smart carriage coming down the hill, he stood close up to the wall, as if to hide himself even from the passing look of strangers.

The carriage was a barouche, in which sat a father and mother, with two little girls; a youth, about twelve years old, was riding on a pony close by the carriage, attended by a servant; but at the moment of passing Charles, the animal plunged, reared, and refused, in the most decisive manner, to obey his rider.

The lady screamed, the servant endeavoured, but in vain, to secure the boy from falling, though he threatened a terrible revenge on the pony, when, in the most terrible moment of alarm, Charles stepping forward, cried, in almost inarticulate accents—"Pray—pray don't beat him!" and seizing the bridle, patted and stroked the grateful favourite, which instantly stopped, and returned his caresses, by rubbing its head against his shoulder, and giving the most unequivocal proofs of affection and recognition.

"You appear acquainted with the pony, my boy?" said the gentleman, thankful for his son's relief, and much struck with the manner in which it was effected.

Charles turned to him an expressive countenance, suffused with tears, and said—"Yes, Sir, he was my own about a year ago."

"Are you the son of the late Mr. Harewood?"

Charles bowed; his eye glanced over his shabby figure, and his trembling tongue was unequal to pronouncing "Yes."

The gentleman and his lady exchanged looks of tender pity; their eyes glanced on their own offspring, and, filled with tears, they felt for the fatherless and the widow.

The gentleman, after a pause, observed—"You are a tall boy, and undoubtedly have received a good education; but I apprehend you are not at present in any employment?"

"It is my misfortune, Sir, to be a burden on my mother at present; but I would do any thing to——"

"Do not stop; speak your wishes freely."

"I believe, Sir, I was wrong in saying I would do any thing; I meant to say, I would do any thing proper."

"Come to me in the city to-morrow," said the gentleman, giving him his card.

The carriage drove on; the servant led the pony, which left its once-beloved master with difficulty, and all was passed as a dream, save the card which remained in Charles's hand, and in contemplating which he endeavoured to forget his four-footed friend, and all those sorrowful remembrances the bitter disappointments of his youth too frequently suggested; and returning home, he endeavoured to cheer his dear mother with the hope that this incident might lead to something eventually beneficial to them all.