University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

More than two years glided away without the
occurrence of any incident in the life of our heroine
that would be deemed worthy of record, by
any persons less interested in her history than
Mary Hull, or the writer of her simple annals.
The reader shall therefore be allowed to pass over
this interval, with merely a remark, that Jane had
improved in mortal and immortal graces; that the
developement of her character seemed to interest
and delight Mr. Lloyd almost as much as the progress
of his own child, and that her uniform patience
had acquired for her some influence over
the bad passions of her aunt, whose rough points
seemed to be a little worn by the continual dropping
of Jane's virtues.

In this interval, Martha Wilson had made a stolen
match with a tavern-keeper from a neighbouring
village, and had removed from her mother's
house, to display her character on a new stage,
and in a worse light.

Elvira, at eighteen, was much the same as at
sixteen, except, that the gayety of her spirits was
somewhat checked by the apprehension (that
seemed to have grown of late) that Edward Erskine's
affections, which had been vacillating for
some time between her and her cousin, would
finally preponderate in Jane's favour. It may
appear singular, that the same person should admire
both the cousins; but it must be remembered,
that Edward Erskine was not (as our readers
are) admitted behind the scenes; and it must be
confessed, that he had not so nice a moral sense,
as we hope they possess. He neither estimated
the purity of Jane's character, as it deserved to be
estimated, nor felt for the faults of Elvira the dislike
they merited. Edward Erskine belonged to
one of the best families in the county of—.
His parents had lost several children in their infancy,
and this boy alone remained to them—to
become the sole object of their cares and fondness.
He was naturally what is called `good-hearted,'
which we believe means kind and generous. Flattery,
and unlimited indulgence made him vain,
selfish, and indolent. These qualities were, however,
somewhat modified, by a frank and easy
temper, and sheltered by an uncommonly handsome
exterior. Some of his college companions
thought him a genius, for, though he was seldom
caught in the act of studying, he passed through
college without disgrace; this (for he certainly
was neither a genius nor a necromancer,) might
be attributed in part to an aptness at learning, and

an excellent memory; but chiefly to an extraordinary
facility at appropriating to himself the results
of the labours of others. He lounged through
the prescribed course of law studies, and entered
upon his professional career with considerable
éclat. He had a rich and powerful voice; and it
might be said of him, as of the chosen king of
Israel—that `from the shoulders upwards, he was
taller and fairer than any of his brethren.'
These are qualifications never slighted by the vulgar;
and which are said, but we hope not with
truth, to be sure passports to ladies' favour. He
had too, for we would do him ample justice, uncommon
talents, but not such as we think would
justify the remark often made of him, “that the
young squire was the smartest man in the county.”
In short, he belonged to that large class of persons
who are generous, but not just; affectionate, but
not constant; and often kind, though it would
puzzle a casuist to assign to their motives their just
proportions of vanity and benevolence. He had
recently, by the death of his parents, come into
possession of a handsome estate; and he was accounted
the first match in the county of—.

Mrs. Wilson could not be insensible to the advantages
that she believed might be grasped by
Elvira, and she determined to relax the strict rule
of her house, and to join her assiduities to her
daughter's arts, in order to secure the prize. She
was almost as much embarrassed in her manœuvres
as the famous transporter of the fox, the geese,
and the corn. If she opened her doors to young

Erskine, to display her daughter, Jane must be
seen too; and though she was sufficiently ingenious
in contriving ways and means of employing
Jane, and securing a clear field for Elvira, Erskine,
with the impatience and perversity of a
spoiled child, set a double value on the pleasure
that was denied him.

The affairs of Mrs. Wilson's household were in
this train, when the following conversation occurred
between the cousins:—

“If there is a party made to-morrow, to escort
the bride, do you expect to join it, Jane?” said
Elvira to her cousin, with an expression of anxiety
that was quite as intelligible as her question.

“I should like to,” replied Jane.

“Ah, that of course,” answered Elvira; “but
I did not ask what you would like, but what you
expect.”

“You know, Elvira, I am not sure of obtaining
your mother's permission.”

“For once in your life, Jane, do be content to
speak less like an oracle, and tell me in plain
English, whether you expect to go, if you can obtain
mother's permission.”

“In plain English then, Elvira, yes,” replied
Jane, smiling.

“You seem very sure of an invitation,” answered
Elvira, pettishly. Jane's deep blush revealed
the truth to her suspicious cousin, which she did
not wish to confess or evade; and Elvira continued,
“I was sure I overheard Edward say something
to you, about the ride last night, when you

parted on the steps.” She paused, and then added,
her eyes flashing fire, “Jane, Edward Erskine
preferred me once, and in spite of your arts,
he shall prefer me again. Remember, miss, the
fate of lady Euphrasia.”

Jane replied, good naturedly, “I do remember
her; but if her proud and artful character suits
me, the poverty and helplessness of my condition
bears a striking resemblance to the forlorn Amanda's.
I trust, however, that my fate will resemble
neither of your heroines, for you cannot expect me,
on account of the honour of being your rival, to be
dashed from a precipice, to point the moral of
your story; and I am very certain of not marrying
a lord.”

“Yes, for there is no lord in this vulgar country
to marry; but, with all your pretence of modesty,
you aspire to the highest station within your
reach.”

Jane made no reply, and Elvira poured out her
spleen in invectives, which neither abated her own
ill humour, nor disturbed her cousin's equanimity.
She was determined to compass her purposes, and
in order to do so, she imparted her conjectures to
her mother, who had become as faithful, as she
was a powerful auxiliary.

In the evening they were all assembled in the
parlour. Edward Erskine entered, and his entrance
produced a visible sensation in every
member of the little circle. Mrs. Wilson dropped
half a needle full of stitches on her knitting
work, and gave it to Jane to take them

up. Jane seemed to find the task very difficult;
for a little girl, who sat by the working stand, observed,
“Miss Jane, I could take up the stitches
better than you do; you miss them half.”

“Give me my spectacles—I'll do it myself,”
said Mrs. Wilson. “Some people are very easily
discomposed.”

It was a warm evening in the latter part of September;
the window was open; Jane retreated
to it, and busied herself in pulling the leaves off a
rose-bush. Erskine brought matters to a crisis by
saying, “I called, Mrs. Wilson, to ask of you the
favour of Miss Elton's company to-morrow on the
bridal escort.”

“I am sorry,” replied Mrs. Wilson, “that any
young woman's manners, who is brought up in my
house, should authorize a gentleman to believe she
will, of course, ride with him if asked.”

“I beg your pardon, madam,” replied Edward
(for he, at least, had no fear of the redoubtable
Mrs. Wilson,) “I have been so happy as to obtain
Miss Elton's consent, subject to yours.”

“Is it possible!” answered Mrs. Wilson, sneeringly—“
quite an unlooked-for deference from
Miss Elton; not unnecessary however, for she
probably recollected, that to-morrow is lecture-day;
and, indifferent as she is to the privilege of
going to meeting, she knows that no pleasures ever
prevent my going.”

“No, madam,” replied Erskine, “the pleasures
of others weigh very light against your
duties.”

Before Mrs. Wilson had made up her mind whether
or not to resent the sarcasm, Erskine rose, and
joining Jane at the window, whispered to her,
“Rouse your spirit, for heaven's sake; do not submit
to such tyranny.”

Jane had recovered her self-possession, and she
replied, smiling, “It is my duty to subdue, not
rouse my spirit.”

“Duty!” exclaimed Erskine; “leave all that
ridiculous cant for your aunt: I abhor it. I have
your promise, and your promise to me is surely
as binding as your duty to your aunt.”

“That promise was conditional,” replied Jane,
“and it is no longer in my power to perform it.”

“Nor in your inclination, Miss Elton?”

Jane was not well pleased that Erskine should
persevere, at the risk of involving her with her
aunt; and to avoid his importunity, and her aunt's
displeasure, she left the room. “The girl wants
spirit,” said Erskine, mentally; “she is tame, very
tame. It is quite absurd for a girl of seventeen
to talk about duties.”

He was about to take leave, when Mrs. Wilson,
who knew none of the skilful tactics of accomplished
manœuverers, though her clumsy assaults
were often as irresistible, said, “Don't be in such
haste, Mr. Erskine. Elvira may go with you.”

Edward's first impulse was to decline the offer;
but he paused. Elvira was sitting by her mother,
and she turned upon him a look of appeal and admiration;
his vanity, which had been piqued by
Jane, was soothed by this tribute, and he said,

“If Miss Wilson is inclined to the party, I will call
for her to-morrow.”

Miss Wilson confessed her inclination with a
glow of pleasure, that consoled him for his disappointment.

Elvira made the most of the advantage she had
gained. Mrs. Wilson had of late, though the effort
cost her many a groan, indulged Elvira's passion
for dress, in the hope that the glittering of the
bait would attract the prey. In this calculation
she was not mistaken; for, though Erskine affected
a contempt for the distinctions of dress, he had
been too much flattered for his personal charms,
to permit him to be insensible to them; and when
he handed Elvira into his gig, he noticed, with
pleasure, that she was the best dressed and most
stylish looking girl in the party. His vanity was
still further gratified, when he overheard his servant
say to one of his fellows, “By George, they
are a most noble looking pair!” Such is the cormorant
appetite of vanity, never satisfied with the
quantity, and never nice as to the quality of the
food it devours.

Elvira had penetration enough to detect the
weakest points in the fortress she had to assail;
and so skilfully and successfully did she ply her
arts, on this triumphant day, that Erskine scarcely
thought of Jane, and we fear not once with regret.

Poor Jane remained at home, mortified that
Edward went without her, and vexed with herself
that she was mortified. To avoid seeing the party

on their return, she went out to walk, and was
deliberating whither to direct her steps, when she
met her friend Mr. Lloyd. “Ah, Jane,” said he,
“I just came on an errand from my saucy little
girl: she has succeeded for the first time to-day in
hitching words together, so as to make quite an intelligible
sentence; and she is so much elated, that
she had bid me tell thee she cannot go to sleep till
“dear Jane” has heard her read.”

Jane replied, she “should be glad to hear her;”
but with none of the animation with which she
usually entered into the pleasures of her little
friend. Mr. Lloyd was disappointed; but he
thought she had been suffering some domestic
vexation, and they walked on silently.

After a few moments he said, “Quaker as I am,
I do not like a silent meeting;—though I should
be used to it, for, except that I must answer the
questions of my Rebecca, and am expected by thy
friend Mary to reply to her praises of thee, I have
not much more occasion for the gift of speech,
than the brothers of La Trappe.”

“You forget,” replied Jane, who felt her silence
gently reproached, “that besides all the use you
have for that precious faculty, in persuading the
stupid and the obstinate to adopt your benevolent
plans of reform, you sometimes condescend to employ
it in behalf of a very humble young friend.”

“But that young friend must lay aside her humility
so far, as to flatter me with the appearance
of listening.”

Jane was a little disconcerted, and Mr. Lloyd
did not seem quite free from embarassment; but
as he had roused her from her abstractedness, he
began to expatiate on the approach of evening,
the charms of that hour when the din of toil has
ceased, and no sound is heard but the sweet sounds
of twilight breathing the music of nature's evening
hymn; he turned his eye to the heavens, which,
in their `far blue arch,' disclosed star after star,
and then the constellations in their brightness.
He spoke of the power that formed, and the wisdom
that directed, them. Jane was affected by
his devotion; it was a promethean touch that infused
a soul into all nature. She listened with
delight, and before they reached the house, her
tranquillity was quite restored; and the child and
father were both entirely satisfied with the pleasure
she manifested in the improvement of her
little favourite. But her trials were not over:
after the lesson was past—“Dear Jane,” said
Rebecca, “why did not thee go with the party
to-day? I saw them all go past here, and Mr.
Erskine and Elvira were laughing, and I looked
out sharp for thee; would not any body take thee,
Jane?”

Jane did what of all other things she would
least have wished to have done—she burst into
tears.

The sweet child, whose directness had taken her
by surprise, crept up into her lap, and putting her
arms around her neck, said affectionately, “I am
sorry for thee, dear Jane; don't cry, father would

have asked thee, if he had gone.” Poor Jane hid
her blushes and her tears on the bosom of her
kind, but unskilful comforter. She felt the necessity
of saying something; but confessions she could
not make, and pretences she never made.

Mr. Lloyd saw and pitied her confusion: he
rose, and tenderly placing his hand on her head,
he said, “My dear young friend, thou hast wisely
and safely guided thy little bark thus far down the
stream of life; be still vigilant and prudent, and
thou wilt glide unharmed through the dangers that
alarm thee.” He then relieved Jane from his
presence, saying, “I am going to my library, and
will send Mary to escort thee home.”

Jane could not have borne a plainer statement
of her case; and though it was very clear that Mr.
Lloyd had detected the lurking weakness of her
heart, she was soothed by his figurative mode of
insinuating his knowledge and his counsel. Persons
of genuine sensibility possess a certain tact,
that enables them to touch delicate subjects without
giving pain. This touch differs as much from
a rude and unfeeling grasp as does the management
of a fine instrument in the hands of a skilful
surgeon, from the mangling and hacking of a vulgar
operator.

Mr. Lloyd had heard the village gossip of Edward
Erskine's divided attentions to the cousins.
Nothing that concerned Jane was uninteresting to
him; and he had watched with eager anxiety the
character and conduct of Erskine. He had never
liked the young man; but he thought that he had

probably done him injustice, and he had too fair a
mind to harbour a prejudice. `Perhaps,' he said
to himself, `I have judged him hardly; I am apt to
carry my strait-coat habits into every thing; the
young man's extravagant way of talking, his sacrifices
to popularity, and his indolence and love of
pleasure, may all have been exaggerated in my
eyes by their opposition to the strict, sober ways in
which I have been bred; at any rate, I will look
upon the bright side. Jane Elton, pure, excellent
as she is, cannot love such a man as Edward
Erskine appears to me to be; and she is too noble,
I am sure, to regard the advantages which excite
the cupidity of her vulgar aunt.'

The result of Mr. Lloyd's investigations was not
favourable to Erskine. Still his faults were so specious,
that they were often mistaken for virtues; and
virtues he had, though none unsullied. There was
nothing in his character or history, as far as Mr.
Lloyd could ascertain it, that would give him a
right to interfere with his advice to Jane; but still
he felt as if she was on the brink of a precipice,
and he had no right to warn her of her danger.
Perhaps this was a false delicacy, considering the
amount of the risk; but there are few persons
of principle and refinement who do not shrink
from meddling with affairs of the heart. Mr.
Lloyd hoped—believed that Jane would not marry
Edward Erskine; but he did not allow enough for
the inexperience of youth, for the liability of a
young lady of seventeen to fall in love; for the faith
that hopes all things, and believes all things—it
wishes to believe.

The fall, the winter, and the spring wore away,
and, as yet, no certain indication appeared of the
issue of this, to our villagers, momentous affair.
Edward certainly preferred Jane, and yet he was
more at his ease with Elvira. He could not but
perceive the decided superiority of Jane; but Elvira
made him always think more and better of
himself; and this most agreeable effect of her
flatteries and servility reflected a charm on her.
Jane was never less satisfied with herself than
during this harassing period of her life. A new
set of feelings were springing up in her heart,
over which she felt that she had little control. At
times, her confidence in Edward was strong; and
then, suddenly, a hasty expression, or an unprepared
action, revealed a trait that deformed the
fair proportions of the hero of her imagination.
Elvira's continual projects, and busy rivalry, provoked,
at last, a spirit of competition; which was
certainly natural, though very wrong; but, alas!
our heroine had infirmities. Who is without
them?

In the beginning of the month of June, David
Wilson came from college, involved in debt and in
disgrace. His youthful follies had ripened into
vices, and his mother had no patience, no forbearance
for the faults, which she might have traced to
her own mismanagement, but for which she found
a source that relieved her from responsibility.
The following was the close of an altercation,
noisy and bitter, between this mother and son:—
“I am ruined, utterly ruined, if you refuse me the

money. Elvira told me you received a large
sum yesterday; and 'tis but one hundred dollars
that I ask for.”

“And I wonder you can have the heart to ask,”
replied Mrs. Wilson, sobbing with passion, not
grief; “you have no feeling; you never had any
for my afflictions. It is but two months, yesterday,
since Martha died, and I have no reason to
hope for her. She died without repentance.”

“Ha!” replied David, “Elvira told me, that
she confessed, to her husband, her abuse of his
children, her love of the bottle, (which, by the
by, every body knew before,) and a parcel of
stuff that, for our sakes, I think she might have
kept to herself.”

“Yes, yes, she did die in a terrible uproar of
mind about some things of that kind; but she had
no feeling of her lost state by nature.”

“Oh, the devil!” grumbled the hopeful son and
brother; “if I had nothing to worry my conscience
but my state by nature, I might get one good night's
sleep, instead of lying from night till morning like
a toad under a harrow.”

This comment was either unheard or unheeded
by the mother, and she went on: “David, your
extravagance is more than I can bear. I have
been wonderfully supported under my other trials.
If my children, though they are my flesh and blood,
are not elected, the Lord is justified in their destruction,
and I am still. I have done my duty,
and I know not `why tarry His chariot wheels.' ”

“It is an easy thing, ma'am,” said David, interrupting
his mother, “to be reconciled to everlasting
destruction; but if your mind is not equally
resigned to the temporal ruin of a child, you must
lend me the money.”

“Lend it! You have already spent more than
your portion in riotous living, and I cannot, in conscience,
give you any thing.”

Mrs. Wilson thus put a sudden conclusion to the
conversation, and retreated from the field, like a
skilful general, having exhausted all her ammunition.

As she closed the door, David muttered, “curses
on her conscience; it will never let her do what
she is not inclined to, and always finds a reason to
back her inclinations. The money I must have:
if fair means will not obtain it, foul must.”