University of Virginia Library

July 5.—

A little incident happened to-day which pleased my mother wonderfully. She had been at morning prayers (as you know is her daily custom;) when returning home in her chair, one of the men happened to slip his foot, and fell down just before Mr. Faulkland's house. He was so much hurt, that he could go no farther; and the footmen immediately opening the chair, told her she had better step into Mr. Faulkland's, till he called another, or got a man to assist in carrying her home. One of Mr. Faulkland's servants happened to be standing at the door; so that, without any previous notice, she was immediately conducted into a parlour, where Mr. Faulkland was sitting at breakfast. She found with him two

pretty little children at his knee, to one of whom he had given some cake; and the elder of the two, a boy of about five years old, he was gravely lecturing, though with great gentleness, for having told a like. My mother asked him, with some surprize, whose children those were? He smiled, and told her they were his coachman's; and then ordered the footman to carry them down, bidding the little boy to be sure to remember what he had said to him.

My mother inquired, if he permitted them to be in the house? He said, he did; and that he had been induced to it from the distress he had seen their poor father in a few days before. He is an honest careful fellow, continued Mr. Faulkland, and has lived in my family from a boy. He was married to a good sort of a body, who took great care of these children, and helped to maintain them decently by her work. The poor woman died in childbed last week; and the person who attended her in her illness (for she had no servant) took that opportunity of robbing the lodging;

and after plundering the poor creature of every thing that was worth carrying away, locked up those two children, which you saw with me, and the new-born infant, with the corpse of their mother.

The poor little wretches continued in that dismal situation all night, having cried themselves to sleep, without being heard, though there were some other people in the house. The morning following I happened to make an early visit in the neighbourhood of this distressed little family, and my coachman, who was a very affectionate husband and father, took that opportunity of calling on his wife, whom he had not been able to see for three days. The cries of his children (now awake and almost starved) obliged him hastily to break open the door of the room, where the poor fellow was shocked with the dismal spectacle of his wife's motionless corpse in bed, the infant almost expiring at her side, and the other two poor little famished creatures calling to their dead mother for bread.

The sight almost deprived the man of his senses. He snatched up his two eldest

children in his arms, and ran raving to the house where I was, tearing his hair like a madman. He told me his mournful story; with which I was so affected, that I ordered one of my footmen to carry the two children home to my house directly, and desired their father to look out for some body to take care of the young one, which he soon did.

The honest poor fellow was delighted, when he came home to find his two children well and merry; for they were sensible of no want but their food. But his grief returned on him with great violence, at the thoughts of his being obliged to put them in to the hands of people, who, he said, he was sure would not be so kind to them as their own poor mother had been; and my man told me he did nothing but kiss them, and cry over them the whole day. To make his mind easy at once, I let him know they should remain here under his own eye, till they were old enough to be put to school; and accordingly directed my housekeeper to see that they

were taken care of; which has made their father very happy.

The little rogues have found their way up to me, and I love sometimes to hear them prattle; but this morning the eldest having told me a lie of his brother, I was checking him for it when you came in.

My mother was so pleased with Mr. Faulkland's conduct in this little history, that she repeated it to me word for word as soon as she came home, and concluded with observing how good a creature Mr. Faulkland must be, who in so tender a manner interested himself in his poor servant's misfortune. Most young gentlemen, said she, would have thought they had done enough in giving the servant money to have provided for his children as well as he could: it is in such trifles as these that we often discover the excellence of the heart.

You will suppose, my dear, that I am not displeased at any circumstance that can raise Mr. Faulkland's character in my pious mother's esteem. I heard the story

with great pleasure; but not making any comments on it, Sir George (who was present at the relation) said, Well, Sidney, you are either very affected, or the greatest stoic in the world; why, any other girl would be in raptures at such a proof of the honest tenderness of that heart which she knows she possesses intirely, and on which the whole of her future happiness depends. I am very sensible of Mr. Faulkland's worth, brother, I replied, and I can feel without being transported. I will be hanged, said Sir George, if I think you love Faulkland, at least not half so well as he deserves; and I dare swear you have not been honest enough to tell him yet whether you do or not. It is time enough for that, I replied; if Mr. Faulkland and I should be married, I hope I shall give him no cause to complain of my want of affection.

If you should be married! said my brother; I know of no possible ifs, unless they are of your own making. I know of none neither, answered my mother; yet I think Sidney is in the right to be doubtful about

all human events. Many things, added she gravely (for she has a great veneration for old sayings) fall out between the cup and the lip.

I think mother, said Sir George, bluntly, you were disappointed in your first love; I have heard you speak of it, but I forget the circumstances. As I had never heard my mother make any mention of this particular, I begged she would oblige me with relating it.

When I was about one and twenty, daughter, said she, a match was concluded by my father between me and a very fine gentleman. I loved him, and (as I suppose all young women do in the like circumstances) believed myself equally beloved by him. The courtship had been of a year's standing; for you must know I was not very easily won. Every thing was settled, and the day appointed for our marriage arrived; when, instead of the bridegroom, whom we every minute expected, there came a letter from him directed to me. The contents were, that having formerly been engaged to a young

lady by the most solemn vows, he had, unfortunately for them both, forgot them all on seeing me, and had broke through every obligation divine and human to obtain me. He intreated mine, and my family's pardon, in the most pathetic manner, for having engaged our esteem so far as to consent to an union, of which he found himself unworthy, and which it was impossible for him to accomplish; for, said he, the wrongs I have done the woman, whose youth I seduced, rise to my imagination with so much horror, that, for the empire of the world, I would not complete my guilt, by devoting that hand to another, to which she only as a right. He enlarged greatly on the sufferings of his heart, in the struggle between his love for me, and his duty to the person who had his first vows; and whom, he declared, his infidelity had almost brought to the grave. He claimed my pity, both on his own and her account: and repeatedly intreated my forgiveness of his fault.

The whole letter, which was very long, was so expressive of a mind overwhelmed with despair, that I was exceedingly shocked at the reading of it. What could I say? The plea he offered for his seemingly strange conduct, was too just to admit of any objections. I own the disappointment afflicted me, but I bore it with a becoming resolution. My family were at first exceedingly exasperated against my doubly unfaithful lover; but, upon inquiring into the facts, they found the truth to be as he had represented it. The conclusion was, that, upon the very day on which he was to have been married to me, and on which he had writ me that gloomy letter, he was seized with a melancholy, which encreasing on him daily, soon after ended in absolute madness, and he was confined for the remainder of his life. The young lady lived but a short time after the melancholy fate of her lover, and died, as it was said, of a broken heart.

It was a great comfort to me to reflect, that my fate disposed otherwise of me

than to this unhappy gentleman; for I am very sure, had these fatal events happened in consequence of my marriage with him, that I should never have survived it.

This extraordinary anecdote of my mother's life, which I had never had a hint of before (for she could not speak of it without great emotion) very much affected me. Sir George said, the story was more tragical than he had apprehended, and told my mother, that was an accident which fell out between the cup and the lip with a vengeance.

My mother continued thoughtful for a good while; and I was sorry that the memory of this melancholy story had been revived; but Sir George talked and laughed us both into spirits again.