The Young Lord and Other Tales Part 2

It was all over, and William, the next heir, was indeed the lord of that wide domain, and of his cousin's acc.u.mulated riches; but _his_ first act was a fervent prayer for divine a.s.sistance. Knowing, as he did, that at no time is it more needed than, as our Litany beautifully expresses it, "in all time of our wealth."

That he did make amends for his cousin's avarice by a wise as well as generous use of his wealth, my young readers will readily believe; and William, Lord Sereton, was as much beloved as his cousin had been disliked. And Mrs. Sidney, grieving as she did, notwithstanding his faults, for the loss of her only child, found no small consolation in the affection of that family, whom his death had raised from many cares to rank and affluence.

THE TRIAL OF ADVERSITY.

"Blessed are the meek."--ST. MATTHEW v. 5.

"He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." ST. LUKE xviii. 14.

"You are quite a contradiction, that you are!" was the exclamation of Harriet Mannering to her sister. And she continued, "You are not too proud to wear a cotton dress and coa.r.s.e straw bonnet, and even to be seen in them by the very persons who knew us when we had a carriage; and yet you will not accept these presents from Mrs. Somerton."

"I do not accept these fine clothes, Harriet," replied her sister Mary, "because, however kind the gift, Mrs. Somerton only provides me with them, that I might visit at her house in a suitable manner; and I do not think it would be my duty to leave poor papa, even for one day, in his present helpless state. You are the elder, Harriet, and must act for yourself, but I have decided."

Mr. Mannering had been a wealthy merchant; but from one of those sudden reverses of which we so often hear, he had lost his whole fortune. To add to his affliction, his eyesight had been for some time failing him, in consequence, it was thought, of intense application to business; and about the period of his unfortunate speculation, he became totally blind.

He had been for many years a widower, but his daughters, when these calamities reached him, were respectively about seventeen and eighteen years of age.

From a large and commodious house, with many servants, and every luxury, they were obliged to retire into humble lodgings, living even thus only upon an allowance made by a distant relative.

The circ.u.mstance of Mr. Mannering's blindness threw much of the responsibility of management and direction upon Harriet and Mary, though theirs was an early age at which to be so placed. For though, it is true, they could ask his advice on every pa.s.sing circ.u.mstance, they very often refrained from doing so, because, in their changed condition, most of these very occurrences would, if related to Mr. Mannering, have had the effect of reminding him, very painfully, of his present poverty.

In the days of their prosperity, it would have been difficult to decide which of the two girls was the more amiable.

Both of them were affectionate and obedient; both of them were kind to the poor; and yet, a very keen observer might have discerned, that in Harriet's visits, or gifts of charity, she was actuated by a vain-glorious feeling of _pride_ and self-satisfaction at the benefits she was conferring, which, in the sight of the All-wise Judge, must have cancelled the merit of her good action; while, on the contrary, Mary's heart turned in _humble_ thankfulness to G.o.d for allowing her to be the instrument of His mercy, not unaccompanied by a prayer, to a.s.sist her endeavours to perform her duty in that station of life to which it might please Him to call her. We shall see, presently, how much more strongly in adversity each characteristic of mind showed itself.

To Harriet's proud nature the loss of fortune had been a sore affliction.

It had cost her bitter tears to resign her s.p.a.cious elegant home, the many servants, and the pleasant carriages; she desired no more to be seen by those whom she could not now rival in appearance; and yet, when she and her family mixed with strangers, her offended pride rose in indignation at the lower station they were obliged to take.

But, though there was sorrow in Mary's heart, there was no rebellion there. Her father's blindness was so great an affliction, that it seemed to swallow up every other; yet even to this she bowed with trusting piety, remembering, in the words of Job, that "the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away."

Long before the days of their adversity, Mary wrote the following verses--I do not think they have much poetical merit, but they have sincerity in them, and there is one line which shows, I think, that Mary, young as she was, already watched her heart, lest that fatal pride should invade it; that sin by which, we are told, Satan fell from his high place, and which, on earth, is sure to lead to selfishness and impiety.

ON ENTERING CHURCH.

Again within thy walls I stand, Again I bend the knee; In mercy, G.o.d, so bend my heart, And turn my soul to Thee.

Teach me by thy Almighty power, To choose the "better part,"

And send, above all gifts, thy grace, To sanctify my heart.

ON LEAVING CHURCH.

For any measure of thy love This day vouchsafed to me, Accept the tribute of my heart-- My grat.i.tude to Thee.

_Yet pride may lurk in humble guise_; May I no vain thought own, If something whispers one short prayer Has reached Thy heavenly throne.

The offer of dresses far more suitable to their former than their present station, was a temptation Harriet did not resist. So that while the elder sister accepted also the invitation to spend a month at Mrs.

Somerton's beautiful house, Mary wrote a grateful letter to that lady, thanking her for her proffered kindness, but saying that she felt her duty was to remain at home, and tend her blind father, more especially as Harriet would be absent.

Although Mary could not avoid touching on their recent misfortunes, her letter was not a complaining one: on the contrary, it was distinguished by that Christian humility of spirit which is very nearly akin to cheerfulness--that humility which, while it bends the heart meekly to the chastising hand of G.o.d, teaches it also to look around, even in affliction, for means of executing His will. As the time drew near for Harriet to depart on the promised visit, it was remarkable that she did not improve either in amiability of temper, or a.s.siduousness of attention to her father.

The truth was, she was too much occupied with her own arrangements, to have much thought for the comfort of others; thus selfishness was the first-fruit of her pride and vanity. Mr. Mannering always found the easy chair and footstool in the same place, and his walking-stick within reach of his hand: and he perceived, now that summer was come, and flowers could be had for the gathering, that a vase of sweet-scented blossoms was always near him; but the blind man did not know that it was Mary's thoughtfulness alone which now provided for his comfort. And yet he had a strange idea; he began to fancy that Harriet's voice was growing shrill and querulous! How singular it was, for no one else had observed it; but it is one of the merciful dispensations of the Almighty, by which we are guarded, that when man is deprived of one faculty, the others are almost always sharpened, to make up, in some measure, for the deficiency. Thus, though poor Mr. Mannering could not see the frown or distressed expression which often crossed Harriet's face, he _could_ distinguish the different modulation of her voice, which was but another expression of her feelings.

But why was Harriet distressed, ask some of my young readers, now that she was about enjoying again the fine clothes and all the luxuries which she had so much regretted?

Listen to a conversation which took place between the sisters, two or three days before Harriet's departure, and then, perhaps, you will be able to guess some of the reasons. Mary had just returned from guiding her dear papa in a pleasant shady walk, and now, throwing off her bonnet, and putting on her ap.r.o.n, she prepared to lay the cloth for dinner; for as they had only one servant, and that was a mere country girl, to do the drudgery of household work, Mary a.s.sisted by performing a thousand little offices, which Harriet was too haughty to undertake.

"Cannot you come and help me?" said Harriet, who had been sitting at home all the morning making one of her new dresses. "I shall never get this sleeve finished if you do not. I am sure Peggy, (that was the servant,) I am sure, for once, Peggy can get the dinner ready without your a.s.sistance."

"No, Harriet, not exactly as papa likes it," replied Mary; "and you know we are always so sorry when anything happens to remind him of his misfortunes."

"But how should you know how to mash potatoes, or make pies, or hash meat so much better than Peggy?" asked Harriet.

"Did I never tell you that, before we left the great house, I asked old cook to teach me how to do a great many things. I cannot tell how it was, but she cried all the while she was telling me about cookery--partly, I think, at the thought of her dear master having to eat plain or ill- dressed dinners, partly, I really believe, at her sorrow for leaving us.

However, I coaxed her into teaching me how to make a great many things dear papa likes; besides, I have bought a cookery-book."

To mark the difference of character, it is worth noticing that Harriet, before leaving the great house, had "coaxed" the lady's maid to give her a few hints about the cutting-out of dresses--and since her preparations for her visit began, she had bought a book of the new fashions.

As it was likely the sisters would henceforth have to make their own dresses, it was a wise precaution to gain as much information as they could on the subject; but in their inquiries, the one sister thought only of her afflicted father's comfort.

"I will help you after dinner," resumed Mary, "that is to say, if papa does not want me to read to him." And as, during dinner, Harriet contrived to make her wishes very evident, Mr. Mannering dispensed with the reading, and, accepting the arm of a neighbour, a new and homely acquaintance, took a second stroll in the green lanes.

"What am I to do about a bonnet?" said Harriet, as they sat at work, and after a pause, as if she had been summoning courage to commence a rather disagreeable subject.

"About a bonnet?" said Mary, repeating the question.

"Yes, I _must_ have a new one; the old straw is so burnt by the sun, that it is far too shabby to wear at Mrs. Somerton's; and it looks even worse by the side of this bright new silk dress, than with a common one."

"I know that," replied Mary, with a sigh, "but you cannot afford a new one. If you remember, we both agreed to have new ribbons to the old bonnets, and thus make them serve."

"Yes, and so you may do, Mary, very well; even if you were to go on wearing your bonnet as it is, old ribbon and all, I do not see that it would much signify; but it will be different with me at Mrs. Somerton's, you know."

"Yet, though no one sees me here," replied the younger sister, musing, as if to consider if it were possible to save the price of her own ribbon, as something towards procuring the new bonnet which Harriet said she "must" have, "though n.o.body sees me, it is right at least to be _neat_ and _clean_, and really my bonnet strings are very dirty."

"Could you not wash them?" said Harriet, really blushing at the meanness and selfishness of her own suggestion.

"I did not think of that before. Yes, I can wash the ribbon, and I shall not much care about it looking faded and shabby, if it be clean. So, at all events, there will be that money towards purchasing what new things you still require."

"I am sure it is very good of you, Mary," replied her sister, the anxious expression of her countenance somewhat relaxing; but, alas! this was only the removal of one of many similar troubles. The bright dress and the new bonnet required many other articles to correspond, for the purchasing of each of which some new sacrifice was exacted from the gentle Mary. And Harriet suffered all this for the selfish gratification of a mere vanity, which, disdaining their humble abode, and so repining at G.o.d's will, which had changed her position from wealth to poverty, sought, at any hazard, to flutter in fine clothes, and to maintain a false appearance!

Instead of perceiving the beautiful and unselfish character which Mary was developing, in the careful and cheerful discharge of her humble duties, Harriet had latterly begun to feel contempt for her,--a feeling which grew so strongly, that, before she departed on her visit, she had quite arrived at the conclusion that Mary was a very inferior person to herself, and fit for no more exalted station than that which seemed to await her.

On the whole, this opinion was a source of satisfaction to Harriet Mannering, since it relieved her own mind from any anxiety about leaving her father--she felt so very sure Mary would attend on him carefully.

Thus, the very virtues of the one sister were made the excuse for the selfish vanity and haughtiness of the other; until, priding herself on some beauty, and a few showy accomplishments, I believe the elder sister at last thought she was conferring almost a favour by becoming Mrs.

Somerton's guest.

Mrs. Somerton was a kind-hearted lady; and her real motive for inviting one of Mr. Mannering's daughters to pa.s.s some time with her, was to ascertain if her disposition and acquirements were such as to fit her for a situation in the family, as an a.s.sistant, or under-governess to her children. I think her plan was a very good one, for it afforded her more opportunity of judging of Miss Mannering's real character, than if she had been quite conscious of Mrs. Somerton's intention; and, considering the important trust that lady was confiding to Harriet, I think she was justified in taking any measures short of deception, to ascertain the real qualities of her heart and mind.

Certainly no deception was practised. Harriet was invited as a guest, and treated with all the consideration of one, but Mrs. Somerton, narrowly watched her conduct and her words.