University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Scrap Book.

It will not be supposed that, when the dark
hour of his country's trials approached, a young
man of the feelings and principles of Edward Meredith,
would remain long content with favouring
her only with his good wishes. The first occasion
on which he made any active movement in her
behalf, was when the ship Polly arrived in the
Delaware, with a cargo of the well-known obnoxiously
taxed tea. He happened to be on a visit
to Philadelphia when this event was announced,
and a town meeting, at which upwards of eight
thousand people were assembled, was held in
the State-house yard, to deliberate on the measures
that should be adopted to prevent the tea
from being landed.
At this meeting a deputation
was appointed to wait on the commander
of the ship, and demand his departure from the
country with his unwelcome cargo on pain of
witnessing a repetition of the tea transaction at
Boston.

In order to enforce this demand, a number of
the young men of the city volunteered to accompany
the deputation to the vessel. Meredith
joined them. Under the name of “Liberty
Boys,” they proceeded to the vessel, and
by their resolute bearing, soon convinced her
commander, that his wisest course was to comply
with the public wish, and carry his ungracious
cargo back to the Thames.

While on board of this ship, Meredith fell
into conversation with a young man of good
address and pleasing appearance, who had come
in her, as a passenger from England. To his
great surprise and satisfaction, he soon discovered
this person to be his relative, Harris,
the inheritor of his grandfather's property,
whom Francis had described, as a youth of so
much extravagance and dissipation.

Although from previous information, Meredith
had no reason to be prepossessed in favour
of this young man, yet the natural generosity of
his disposition, and a feeling of real satisfaction
at meeting, for the first time, with a relative of
his mother, now afar from his own home, induced
him to give him a sincere and hearty welcome,
and to invite him to the hospitality of his mother's
board. The invitation was accepted; and,
Meredith, instead of returning to the city with
the “Liberty Boys,” proceeded with his cousin
to his own residence.

Charles Harris was received by Mrs. Meredith
with much kindness. He, indeed, exhibited
a frankness of manner and a candour of
speech, with which she could not fail to be
pleased.

“I am aware,” said he, as soon as the conversation
permitted him to touch upon family
matters, “that the large fortune which I derived
from my uncle, your father, you had every
natural reason to expect should have devolved
upon you. But as I could have had no agency
in the framing of your father's will, being but
a child at the time of his death, you must hold
me guiltless of having made any unfair interference
with your claims. I also firmly believe,
that my father was equally guiltless with myself;
and for accepting the property legally bequeathed
to him, you can hardly consider him
censurable.”

“I never blamed either you or your father
in that affair,” observed Mrs. Meredith. “I
knew too well on whom the burden of accusation
should be laid, to cast it on the innocent.
But, thank Heaven, the plotters against me
only partially succeeded. They deprived me
of my father's property, but even his will
proves that they could not deprive me of his
affections; and in the attainment of the great
end they had in view, which was to induce
me, by the allurements of wealth, to marry a

man I detested, they were disappointed. By
their representations, they had caused my father
to set his heart upon my becoming the
wife of Sir Robert Radnor, to effect which his
will was evidently framed. But even here my
father showed a parental tenderness which has
afforded me much consolation; for anticipating
the possibility of my persisting in despite of
every inducement to refuse Sir Robert, he, in
that event, secured me a competence. It is
true, I have never received this legacy, nor even
applied for it. But it has yielded me a satisfaction
superior to wealth in the conviction I
have drawn from it, that, in his last moments,
my father's affections, notwithstanding all the
efforts of my enemies, were not alienated from
me.”

“It is true,” replied Harris, “that your father
bequeathed you ten thousand pounds, and
that mine should have paid it to you. But, as
you observe, you never made application for it,
and it remains a debt unpaid. It should be my
duty now to discharge it, and it would be my
pleasure, were it in my power. But I must
confess that my extravagances have ruined me;
and at the age of twenty-four, I, who inherited
a splendid fortune, have been obliged to fly
from my native country, to avoid the pursuit
of my creditors and the terrors of a jail.”

“Let not my claim upon you,” said Mrs.

Meredith, “give you any uneasiness. Providence
has blessed me with abundance; and in
your misfortunes, I should, indeed, be barbarous,
if I were to press upon you for that of
which I have no need. Nay; if your ill fortune
approaches to any thing like poverty,
speak freely: I shall, in that case, hold it my
duty to lend you aid.”

“Your kindness deserves my best thanks,”
returned Harris, “and will soften the regret,
with which, in my wanderings in a foreign
land, I shall reflect on the short-lived splendour
I enjoyed in my native country. But I
have no immediate occasion for pecuniary aid.
I have saved from the wreck of my fortune, a
sufficiency for all the comforts of life, and in
its extravagances I have resolved no longer to
indulge.”

“Your loss of fortune may then be advantageous
to you,” said Mrs. Meredith, “by
teaching you how to moderate your desires
and conform to the duties of useful and orderly
life. But I wish not to preach to you. I
trust that your own good sense, after the experience
you have had, will render admonitory
lessons from others unnecessary. Yet let me
observe, as respects myself, that there is one
consequence flowing from your loss of fortune
which is so valuable to me, that I, indeed, consider
it cheaply purchased by the loss of my

legacy. I mean the removal of those mercenary
inducements which lately prompted Sir
Robert Radnor to renew his efforts to force me
into matrimony. When he learns that your
fortune is lost, he will no longer wish for my
hand to entitle him to wrest it from you.”

“Indeed!” observed Harris, unconsciously
betraying some emotion, “I knew not that Sir
Robert had thought of troubling you on that
ground. But if an increase of fortune was his
object, that inducement no longer exists. My
poverty, therefore, may contribute to your
peace, a consideration which will form one of
the chief consolations that shall enable me to
bear it.”

The plausibility of Harris's sentiments, his
seeming penitence for his former dissolute conduct,
and the apparent resignation with which
he bore his loss of property, added to his near
relationship to her father, awakened the sympathies
of Mrs. Meredith for him, and she so
warmly pressed him to make his residence in
her house, that he consented, for the present,
to do so.

The benevolent Elias also manifested much
friendship for Harris, whom he looked upon as a
young man, who being disgusted with the follies,
and wounded by the artifices and malevolence of
the world, had fled into the bosom of their secluded
society, in order to enjoy an opportunity for reflection

and amendment. As for Edward, his feelings
towards his new-found relative were of the
most cordial description. He looked upon him
with respect as well as affection, not only because
he was unfortunate, but because he was
a few years older, and had seen much more of
the world, than himself. He listened with delight
to the accounts which Harris frequently
gave him, of the polish and splendour of English
society and manners in the higher ranks.
The wealth, grandeur, magnificence, and power
of that noble island, the native land of his
mother, as well as the soil from which his paternal
ancestors had sprung, forcibly seized upon
his imagination, and warmed his heart with
a glow of pride, as often as he would listen to
Harris descanting on these themes. But such
pride and its attendant partiality would immediately
vanish, when he reflected—but reflected
with a sigh—that, at that moment, that country,
otherwise so glorious, had become the oppressor
of his own—nay, had actually unsheathed
the sword; and assumed the attitude of a tyrant
desirous to establish unjust pretensions and
arbitrary rule at the expense of an incalculable
amount of human suffering, carnage, and desolation.

But on this subject, the sentiments of Meredith
and Harris were at variance. Harris was
a staunch adherent to the interests of Britain,
while Meredith zealously advocated the American

cause. The cousins did not, however, in
their discussions on the subject, indulge in any
acrimonious feelings, for each had liberality
enough to respect the partiality of the other
for the land of his birth. But Meredith was
frequently subjected to much pain in being
obliged to withdraw from the debate in deference
to his mother and his uncle, who both
favoured the side that Harris had espoused.
Mr. Balantyne also, as has been already stated,
was strongly attached to the same side, and his
intimacy, for reasons which will afterwards
appear, Harris began soon assiduously to cultivate.
The esteem and confidence of one so
little experienced in the arts of the designing
portion of mankind, as the secluded and warmhearted
preceptor of Dilworth, were easily
gained by the insinuating Harris. This young
adventurer, therefore, became, in a short time,
a frequent and welcome visiter at the house of
Balantyne.

Meredith's nearest connexions and most venerated
friends were thus in political sentiment
arrayed against him. Yet he adhered fast to
the faith he had espoused, and had it not been
for the remonstrances of his mother, his zeal
would have driven him at once into the ranks
of the brave men who were now in arms for
the rights and liberties of his country.

But Meredith was not without friends—numerous
friends—whose opinions countenanced

and encouraged his patriotism. The vicinity
in which he resided abounded with active and
ardent whigs, sufficient not merely to outnumber
the tories, but to direct and regulate all
the public measures of the district. At the
present time, when we know the result of the
agitations of that momentous period—when we
enjoy, in security and prosperity, the invaluable
rights then contended for, and, amidst such
great and fearful opposition, so heroically and
gloriously achieved, it is with difficulty that
we can conceive the distresses and the terrors—
the agonizing trials of both mind and body—
which then afflicted the community. Party-spirit
reigned triumphant in all its rancour;
and let loose upon society the demons of discord
to embitter the feelings of men, and frequently
to break asunder those ties of friendship
and affinity which form the most precious
and endearing solace of existence. Fathers and
sons became hostile to each other, and brothers
became the most inveterate foes. Hence domestic
tranquillity, that greatest good of man
on earth, was banished from the abode of
thousands of unhappy families; and there were
few indeed, in which its existence was not in
some degree disturbed, and its continuance rendered
precarious.

Such ever has been, and ever will be the
woful effects of great national excitements,

whether religious or political. On all such
occasions, the minds of men will embrace different
views, and cherish different opinions.
Arguments will take place, and produce zeal
and enthusiasm. Irritation will follow, and
then will come strife—strife even unto blood
and destruction—and amidst the clamours of
impatient zeal or enfuriated revenge, the gentle
voice of friendship or consanguinity will either
not be heard or be disregarded.