 | CHAPTER XXVII. Redwood |  |
27. CHAPTER XXVII.
Melting the darkness, so his rising senses
Began to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
His clearer reason.
Tempest.
King John.
The night and its afflictions, which we
have just faithfully recorded, passed
away, and joy came with the morning.
Mr. Redwood's condition was already
much amended. He experienced, to its
full extent, the restorative power of happiness.
His disease had been more
moral than physical, and it yielded to
moral influences.
Without superstition one might have
gift,' so beneficent was the effect of her
vigilant care. She was constantly at
her father's bedside, ministering to his
mind and body, and performing all those
tender and soothing offices which the
sick so often feel to be more efficacious
than the most skilfully compounded
drugs.
She never left her father's room but for
the purpose of renovating her strength
and spirits by a few turns on the piazza
with Westall. If her lover ever thought
that her filial duty abstracted her too
much from the reciprocation of their
mutual feelings, (a natural jealousy, for
a man is never satisfied without expressing
what a woman is content with feeling,)
he was quite consoled when, during
these brief interviews, he listened to the
detail of her feelings in relation to himself—of
her hopes and misgivings; in
short, to that whole history of the heart
which is such delightful music to the
every other.
Ellen communicated to Mrs. Westall
and Miss Campbell the discovery of her
parentage. Both, as might have been
expected, received the intelligence with
inexpressible delight: all human happiness
must be qualified, and that of the
two ladies was considerably abated by
Ellen's injunction to temporary secresy,
and by her passing without the slightest
notice over the particulars that led to the
discovery. After Ellen had concluded
her communication, and had received
the embraces and congratulations of her
friends, Grace Campbell's smiles triumphed
over the tears with which they
had been conflicting, and she turned to
Mrs. Westall and said, “Well, my dear
madam, I suppose you and I must put
down all of mother Eve within us, for no
evil spirit will enter this paradise that
Ellen has conjured about her, to devise
ways and means to relieve our curiosity.”
“And, my dear friends,” said Ellen,
“I am sure you will be content to endure
that curiosity which could only be
relieved by an evil spirit.”
“Oh, I don't know—at any rate, I
had rather not be tempted,” replied Miss
Campbell. “But, my dear Ellen, as
we are not permitted to see the ring or
lamp—the magic means, whatever they
may be, by which you have attained
the happy finale of your fairy tale—do
gratify me in one particular—suffer me
to produce a grand sensation once in my
life—allow me to proclaim you Ellen
Redwood before the world and in the presence
of your disdainful sister?”
“I cannot.”
“And why not?”
“Because, my sister is no longer disdainful,
but kind and affectionate; and
besides, my dear Grace, you know that
I have a rustic aversion to notoriety;
and more than all that, our arrangements
are already made. Should my
as he has done for the last four-and-twenty
hours, he will be able to leave
here on Thursday next, one week from
this day—the day appointed for the departure
of your party. Caroline and
Fitzgerald are to be married, quite privately,
in my father's room, on Wednesday
morning, and are to proceed immediately
to Canada; and I am to resign
the place your aunt kindly offered
me in her carriage, and, with your leave,
Mrs. Westall, am to occupy that which
Caroline vacates in our father's.”
“A most delightful arrangement,” exclaimed
Mrs. Westall.
“A delightful arrangement to you
ladies doubtless,” said Miss Campbell;
“but I confess I do not feel particularly
flattered that Ellen should sever herself
from our party with so much nonchalance,
and form her exquisite plans without
the slightest reference to us.”
“You have not heard all our plans,
slight embarrassment; “we have been
compelled by the necessity of the case
to form them hastily: my father has expressed
a wish that Caroline and I
should be married at the same time; to
this I could not consent; my duty to
Mrs. Harrison — my affection for her,
forbids it. My father is making an effort
to go to Lansdown, that he may see
my beloved friend, and express his gratitude
for her maternal kindness to his
child.”
Ellen hesitated, and Miss Campbell
said, “this is all very pretty and very
proper, but still there is no consolation
for my self-love.”
“You have not heard Ellen out, Miss
Campbell,” interposed Mrs. Westall;
“the most agreeable part of all these
arrangements is yet to come; a part,
which in right of Charles Westall's mother,
I have already been consulted on.
My dear Ellen, I will take pity on your
and just tell Miss Campbell, in direct
terms, that your wedding is to be celebrated
at Lansdown, on the first day of
September.”
“Since Mrs. Westall has helped me
on so far, my dear Grace,” said Ellen,
“I will come to that point to which all
this preamble has tended, and in as direct
terms as Mrs. Westall's, beg the
favour of you to persuade your aunt to
accommodate her progress to our snail's
pace, in order that I may have your support
as my bride's-maid.”
“Thank you, thank you, Ellen. Now
I can perceive that your arrangements
are all delightful. Persuade my aunt!
—bless her, I can persuade her to anything;
and if I could not, I would poison
the horses—bribe the coachman to turn
the carriage off some of your northern
precipices—any thing for the pleasure of
seeing you married to Charles Westall.”
After an instant's pause Miss Campbell
life ends with a wedding, but in real life
that seems to be the starting point.
Now, as I am a little worldly in my
views, I should like to know, Ellen,
whether you and Westall are going to
set up housekeeping in the Harrison
mansion, and live upon love and verses,
as Miss Debby would say?”
“Ellen assured Miss Campbell that
she had no such romantic views, that on
the contrary all due respect had been
paid to their temporal affairs. She informed
her that on account of Mr. Redwood's
health, they were to pass the
winter in Virginia—that in the Spring
they were to return to New-England—
that Mr. Westall was then to form a
partnership which had long been projected
with an eminent lawyer, and enter
upon the business of his profession.
“My prudence is quite satisfied,” said
Miss Campbell, when Ellen had concluded:
“and now, my dear friend,
Ellen Redwood?”
“My father insists on my bearing
that name from the moment we leave
Lebanon”
“That is as it should be,” said Miss
Campbell—and the ladies separated.
“Fitzgerald, who had felt himself at
the mercy of events which he could not
control, passed a week of impatience and
anxiety: but a week, though `it may be
tedious, cannot be long,' and the day
arrived that was to assure his right to
Caroline Redwood. There were some
indications that it might not have been
impossible to persuade the young lady
to retract her engagement, but it seems
that her friends did not deem it expedient
to interfere, for they never spoke
to her upon the subject.
“Ten o'clock was the time appointed
for the marriage ceremony, and at that
hour Fitzgerald led Caroline into her
father's apartment.
Ellen, Westall, and his mother were
there, awaiting them. Mr. Redwood
was sitting on his easy-chair, his health
and spirits obviously and surprisingly
renovated. He had summoned all his
fortitude for the occasion; but he shuddered
when he saw his daughter come
into his presence for the last time, and
thought of the probable destiny to which
he was about to resign her. She had
never looked so lovely as at this moment
—the events of the preceding week had
softened her heart, and touched her
beautiful face with a moral expression.
Mr. Redwood received Fitzgerald
with politeness, rather chilled by extreme
reserve. He drew Caroline to
him, and put his arm round her—“My
dear child,” he said, “before the clergyman
is admitted, I have somewhat
to say to you. We have already exchanged
forgiveness—mutual it should
not have been, but that you made it so,
for my parental faults met with their
duty—that is all past, and we will forget
it if we can.
“Caroline, I have made Ellen acquainted
with your generous wish that
a large portion of your fortune should
be conveyed to her; but Ellen is a nice
casuist, and she has convinced me that
I have no right to make any disposition
of a property which descends to you
from her mother.”
“Oh, Ellen!” whispered Caroline to
her sister, “will you not allow me to
make some atonement to you?”
“My dear Caroline,” replied Ellen,
“if I needed an atonement, your kindness
and confidence are an ample one—
that I have accepted — I can accept no
other.”
“My small patrimonial inheritance,”
resumed Mr. Redwood, “has been increased
by the legacy of an uncle, and
though my fortune is still moderate, it
is quite adequate to my own wants, and
Fitzgerald, my dear Caroline, must
pardon me, if I avail myself of my right
to remain your steward during my life.
The income of your fortune shall be regularly
transmitted to you, wherever
your husband's destiny may take you.
God grant that the restoration of peace
to his country may enable him to perform
his promise to resign his commission,
and come and reside among us.”
After a brief pause, Mr. Redwood
continued, “I am now going, my dear
child, to bestow on you an inestimable
treasure,” he put into her hands the
Bible he had received from Ellen, “this
your sister gave to me with prophetic
benevolence—she knows that her purpose
has been accomplished—the dark
shadows of unbelief have passed from
my mind for ever— the terrors that
threatened to annihilate my reason are
vanquished—the life-giving truths, and
immortal hopes of that book have translated
friends,” he added with increased energy,
“you know not what it is to endure the
evils of life with the horrible belief that
the grave is the place of final extinction
—of eternal death; neither can you
know,” and a divine joy seemed to illuminate
his countenance, “neither can
you know the rest of my wearied spirit
—the gratitude I feel to the blessed Redeemer—
the resurrection and the life.”
He was silent for a moment and then
said, “receive my blessing, my child,
and remember that it is my last injunction,
that you make this book your
guide.”
Caroline, deeply affected, knelt before
her father—Ellen sunk on her knees beside
her, and clasping her arm around
her sister, she raised her tearful eyes to
Mr. Redwood, “severed — strangers,”
she said, “as we have been on earth,
we may yet be a family in heaven.”
“God grant it, my children!” responded
few moments he bent his head in silence
over his daughters: he then raised them,
gave Caroline's hand to Fitzgerald and
Ellen's to Westall.
The clergyman was summoned —the
nuptial ceremony performed —Caroline
received the farewell embraces of her
friends, and left them for ever.
We fancied we had finished our humble
labours, when by a lucky chance a
letter, written by Deborah Lenox, and
addressed to Mrs. Charles Westall, —,
Massachusetts, fell into our hands. As
it was written nearly two years subsequent
to the date of these memoirs, and
contained some interesting notices of
the personages that figure in them, we
immediately transmitted it to our printer.
It was sent back with a respectful request
from the compositors of the press,
the spelling might be rectified. In reward
of their patient toil in our behalf,
it has been deemed a duty to gratify
their fastidiousness, and Deborah's epistle
has been reluctantly re-written—letters
have been transposed, subtracted,
and added, and we believe its orthography
is now quite perfect. In no
other way would we consent to alter it,
for we respect the peculiarities of our
honest friend, and are willing to have
the sybil with her contortions.
year of our Lord 18—.
“I guess you will be surprised to see
my pot-hooks and trammels, and puzzled
enough you will be to read them;
but I could not let so good an opportunity
pass without letting you know that
the Lord has spared our lives to this date,
and that all your friends at Eton are
a poor state of health.
“The reason you do not receive a
letter from sister Lenox by this opportunity,
is, that she does not know of it,
on account of her having journeyed to
New-York to meet George and his bride,
who we hear, though she has the disadvantage
of being born and bred at
the south, is as likely and prudent and
and notable a woman as if she had the
good fortune to be brought up in New-England,
which leads a reflecting person
to consider that it is best to lay aside
their prepossessions, and to believe that
there are good people every where. I
did not expect George would have got
over his disappointment so soon; but
he has acted a rational part, for it stands
to reason that a man can find more than
one woman in the world to make him
happy; that is to say, if he can't get
cake, he had better take up with gingerbread.
“But before I go any farther, I ought
to finish giving you the reasons why
you must put up with a letter from such
a poor scribe as I am, instead of receiving
one from any of the rest of the family,
who all write, Lucy and all, coarse hand
and fine, very nicely. The girls are
busy, excepting Lucy, preparing tea
for our grand visitors. James's wife,
kind-hearted little soul that she is, has
gone to fix off Peggy; and Lucy is at
knitting society, which has lately been
established in aid of the pious youth at
the Cornwall school, and foreign and
domestic missions. So you see, my
dear Ellen, I e'en have to put my hand
to the plough.
“You and I never did a better chore
than getting Emily back among us:
it would gladden your heart to see her
old grandmother, who is truly a new
creature, and owns, like Job, that she
is more blessed at the end than at the
beginning. Emily makes a first-rate
to her having learnt many prudent and
prospering ways among them shakers;
and I do think if they could be
prevailed on to turn their settlement
into a school to bring up young folks
for the married state, they would be
a blessing to the world, instead of a
spectacle to show how much wisdom
and how much folly may be mixed up
together.
“Little Peggy came here this morning,
with a basket of new-fashioned early
beans, a present from Deacon Martin to
me; the deacon and I have had a strife
which should have the first beans, and
he has won the race; and by the way,
I do not believe you have heard about
the deacon's marriage, which has made
quite a stirring time here at Eton. You
must know that a few weeks after the
deacon lost his wife, he felt so lonesome
without a companion that he came to
sister Lenox to recommend a suitable
for Peggy's aunt Betty, who is, as it
were, alone in the world, and though a
poor body, she comes of creditable stock
in the old countries; and what is more
to the purpose, her walk and conversation
among us has been as good as a
preachedsermon—that is to say, a moral
discourse. Well, the deacon was quite
taken with the notion, for Betty is a
comely woman to look to yet, though
well nigh on to fifty, and he went diectly
to lay the matter before some of the
church-members, and they made atrong
objections to the match, on account of
Betty's so often breaking the third commandment,
which comes, I suppose, of
her being brought up in Old England,
where they are by no means so particular
about teaching the youth their catechise
as with us. The deacon, however, had
set his face as a flint, and there were
consultations about it, till at last two of
the brethren agreed to go and talk to
promise that she would put a tight rein
on her tongue.
“Betty promised every thing they
asked; but you know when a body
always goes in the same track it makes
a deep rut, and it is next to an impossibility
to turn out of it: and so, while
Betty was talking with them, every other
sentence was `God help us, gentlemen,'
and `God bless your souls, I'll do my
best,' and so on; and they came away
more dead set against the match than
ever. But Martin went on in spite of
them, and married her; and except in
the matter of the third commandment,
there is not a more exemplary deacon's
wife in the state than Betty makes.
“But I shall never come to the end
of my letter, if I go on at this rate.
I find that the older I grow, the more I
love to talk; and some how or other
I always did love, above all things, to
hold discourse with you, Ellen. To go
emptied out Peggy's basket and went
to open the door for her, and what
should I see but a fine coach with a noble
span of horses turning up to our gate,
and who of all the people in the world
should be in it but Mr. Fenton Campbell
and his wife, Grace Campbell that was!
“I did not know her at first glance,
for she is dressed in deep mourning for
her uncle Richard Campbell, who has
died lately; sorry enough, I dare say, to
leave all his other accounts to go to his
last one. However, the moment she
smiled one of her own beautiful smiles,
as bright as the sun at mid-day. I knew
her, and she sprung out of the carriage
and was on the door-step at a bound,
and shaking both my hands, just with
that warm-hearted way of hers, she
came in and sat down, and directly we
fell to talking of you, and our tongues
went as spry as that old woman's, who,
as a humoursome gentleman said, had
run at both ends!
“Peggy's ear is always nailed the
minute she hears your name, and she
kept drawing closer and closer to us,
and at last the poor thing began to cry;
and when Mrs. Campbell made some
inquiries about her, and when she heard
her story, and learned that you wished
Peggy to go and live with you as soon
as her aunt would spare her, and that
her aunt had given her consent,and tha
Peggy was only waiting for an opportunity,
and was all on tiptoe for it, she
just spoke a word to her husband, and
then told Peggy that if she would be
ready in the morning, she would take
her to you. I thought the child would
have gone clean out of her wits with joy:
her eyes, the blind one as well as the
other, looked as if they would have
danced out of her head; she clapped her
hands, and whirled around, and fell on
her knees, and kissed Mrs. Campbell's
creature for this world; and I am thankful
she is going to you, Ellen, who know
all about feelings, and can temper hers.
“I don't well see where Mrs. Campbell
will stow the child away, for her
carriage is filled with all sorts of notions,
and a large kind of pocket-books which
they call port-folios, and which Mrs.
Campbell says are filled with her husband's
drawings, for they have been to
the falls, and to Quebec, and so on, and
you know painting is his fancy; and I
judge it takes a great deal of room to
draw such large lakes and rivers on.
However, she has determined of her own
accord to take Peggy, and I always find
your real noble-minded people can contrive
a way to do every kind action that
turns up in their path.
“Mrs. Campbell had not heard a
word of the death of Captain Fitzgerald
and his wife, till I told her about it: and
I declare Ellen, it was a teaching
I could not but think of the time when
I saw them at Lebanon, so young, so
blooming, and so handsome, stepping
over the earth with a step so light and
so lofty, that it seemed not to be in all
their thoughts that they must ever lie
down under the cold clods.
“Poor young creature! I am sure,
when she was flaunting away here at
Eton, I never thought I should have
wet my old eyes for her; but for all, I
did cry like a child when sister Lenox
received your father's letter, telling all
about her death, and that her last
words
were to beg them to send her little girl
to you, and ask you to make her like
yourself.
“The dealings of providence are
sometimes mysterious; but he that runs
may read this dispensation. However,
Ellen, as it would not be pleasing to
you to have any thing cast up against
your sister, especially since she is dead
head; only to observe, that if this child
lives to grow up under your training,
the world will see that a woman's being
beautiful and rich need not hinder her
from being wise and good too: and it
seemeth to me, that though God respecteth
not the outward show, the
more beautiful the temple is, the more
fitting it is for a dwelling-place of his
spirit; and I think it would be a pleasing
and edifying sight to see the perfection
of earth, and the beauty of heaven
built up and fitly framed together.
“Often, when I am alone and considering,
my thoughts turn upon you
Ellen, and upon all that happened before
your sister went off to them West
Indies, which have proved her death;
and thinking of you brings to mind some
passages of Scripture, which have been
remarkably acted upon in your life; and
first, in the sixteenth chapter of Proverbs
and the seventh verse, Solomon
Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be
at peace with him'—and in the New
Testament scriptures it is written, `be
not wearied with well doing'—overcome
evil with good,' and so on Now, in
my view, these texts appear as a kind
of history to what passed between you
and Caroline; and it is a comforting
thing to see such a plain agreement between
the book of experience and the
book of God's word—that is to say,
to see a Christian's life a scripture proof.
“Caroline's behaviour at the upshot,
was a satisfaction to me in many ways,
and especially as it helped to build me
up in the doctrine I have always maintained,
namely, that there is no soil so
hard bound and so barren but what,
if you work upon it long enough, you
make it bring forth some good thing at
last; not that it will equal that soil
which is warm and rich at the start, and
is from the beginning diligently opened
upon it, and the dews of heaven to
nourish it—a soil like—I must write it
out—like your heart, Ellen.
“You need not to have said so much
in your letter about your gratitude for
my offer of the hundred pounds, feather
beds, and so forth, for I knew you did
not despise it, and that it was true, as
you say, that you only refused it on
account of your house being entirely
filled with Mrs. Harrison's furniture, and
your sister's handsome presents.
“Your worldly condition, Ellen,
seemed to me to be conformable to
Agur's prayer—`give me neither poverty
nor riches'—a prayer that every
one professes to approve, but I am sorry
to say, I have observed but few whose
conduct bears out the profession.
“Before I finish my long preachment,
I wish to send my compliments to Mrs.
Harrison, who I hear looks ten years
younger since she went to live with you;
hope, now he is so happy, won't take
Mrs. Fitzgerald's death very deeply to
heart, since we must all have criss-cross
lines in this life.
“In conclusion, my dear Ellen, I
have only to say, that as your light has
shone brightly in adversity I pray it may
shine on in prosperity, making glad
many hearts long and long after death
hath closed the eyes of
SHACKELL AND ARROWSMITH, JOHNSON'S-COURT,
FLEET-STREET.
| CHAPTER XXVII. Redwood | |