 | THE MANUSCRIPT. Bracebridge Hall, or, The humorists |  |
THE MANUSCRIPT.
Yesterday was a day of quiet and repose
after the bustle of May-day. During the morning
I joined the ladies in a small sitting room,
the windows of which came down to the floor,
and opened upon a terrace of the garden, which
was set out with delicate shrubs and flowers.
The soft sunshine that fell into the room through
the branches of trees that overhung the windows;
the sweet smell of the flowers; and the
singing of the birds, seemed to produce a pleasing
yet calming effect on the whole party, for
some time elapsed without any one speaking.
Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were
sitting by an elegant work table, near one of the
windows, occupied with some pretty lady-like
work. The captain was on a stool at his mistress'
feet, looking over some music, and poor
pet among the ladies, but who has risen vastly in
favour with Lady Lillycraft, in consequence of
some tender confessions, sat in one corner, with
swoln eyes; working pensively at some of the
fair Julia's wedding ornaments. The silence
was interrupted by her ladyship, who suddenly
proposed a task to the captain. “I am in your
debt,” said she, “for that tale you read to us the
other day; I will now furnish one in return, if
you'll read it; and it is just suited to this sweet
May morning, for it is all about love!”
The proposition seemed to delight every one
present. The captain smiled assent. Her ladyship
rang for her page in green, and despatched
him to her room for the manuscript.
“As the captain,” said she, “gave us an account
of the author of his story, it is but right
I should give one of mine. It was written by
the parson of the parish where I reside; a
thin, elderly man, of a delicate constitution, but
positively one of the most charming men that
ever lived. He lost his wife a few years since,
has two sons, whom he educates himself, both
of whom already write delightful poetry. This
parsonage is a lovely place, close by the church;
all overrun with ivy and honeysuckles; with
the sweetest flower garden about it; for you
know our country clergymen are almost always
fond of flowers, and make their parsonages perfect
pictures.
“His living is a very good one; and he is
very much beloved, and does a great deal of
good in the neighbourhood, and among the poor.
And then such sermons as he preaches! Oh, if
you could only hear one taken from a text in
Solomon's Songs, all about love and matrimony—one
of the sweetest things you ever heard.
He preaches it at least once a year, in spring
time, for he knows I am fond of it.
“He always dines with me on Sundays, and
often brings me some of the sweetest pieces of
poetry, all about the pleasures of melancholy,
and such subjects; that make me cry so, you
can't think.”
“I wish he would publish; I think he has
some things as sweet as any thing in Moore or
Lord Byron.
“He fell into very ill health some time ago,
and was advised to go to the continent, and I
gave him no peace until he went, and promised
to take care of his two boys until he returned.
“He was gone for above a year, and was quite
restored. When he came back, he sent me the
tale I'm going to show you—oh, here it is,” said
she, as the page put in her hands a beautiful
box of satin wood. She unlocked it, and from
among several parcels of notes on embossed paper
cards of charades, and copies of verses,
she drew out a crimson velvet case, that smelt
very much of perfumes.
From this she took a manuscript daintily written
on gilt-edged vellum paper, and stitched
with a light blue ribband. This she handed to
the captain, who read the following tale, which
I have procured for the satisfaction of the reader.
| THE MANUSCRIPT. Bracebridge Hall, or, The humorists | |