Home influence. A tale of mothers and daughters ... Thirty-sixth edition. With illustrations by Sir John Gilbert and M. Ellen Edwards

Preface

. The following story will, the author trusts, sufficiently' illustrate its title to require but few words in the way of preface. She is only anxious to impress two facts on the minds of her readers. The one — that having been brought before the public principally as the author of Jewish works, and as an explainer of the Hebrew Faith, some Christian mothers might fear that the present Work has the same tendency, and hesitate to place it in the hands of their children. She, therefore, begs to assure them, that as a simple domestic story, the characters in which are all Christians, believing in and practising that religion, all doctrinal points have been most carefully avoided, the author seeking only to illustrate the spirit of true piety, and the virtues always designated as the Christian virtues thence proceeding.

Her sole aim, with regard to Religion, has been to incite a train of serious and loving thoughts towards God and man, especially towards those with whom He has linked us in the precious ties of parent and child, brother and sister, master and pupil. VI P BE FACE. The second point she is desirous to bring forward, is her belief, that in childhoood and youth the spoken sentiment is one of the safest guides to individual character ; and that if, therefore, she have written more conversation than may appear absolutely neces sary for the elucidation of " Home Influence," or the interest of the narrative, it is from no wish to be diffuse, but merely to illustrate her own belief. Sentiment is the vehicle of thought, and thought the origin of action. Children and youth have very seldom the power to evince character by action, and scarcely if ever understand the mystery of thought ; and therefore their unrestrained conversation may often very greatly aid parents and teachers in acquiring a correct idea of their natural disposition, and in giving hints for the mode of education each may demand.

Leaving the beaten track of works written for the young, the author's aim has been to assist in the education of the heart, believing that of infinitely greater importance than the mere instruction of the mind, for the bright awakening of the latter depends far more on the happy influences of the former than is generally supposed. The moral of the following story the author acknow ledges is addressed to mothers only, for on them so much of the responsibility of Home Influence devolves. On them, more than on any other, depends the well-doing PREFA CE. VII and happiness, or the error and grief, not of childhood alone, but of the far more dangerous period of youth. A preface is not the place to enter on their mission. The author's only wish is, to aid by the thoughts, which in some young mothers, anxious and eager to perform their office, her story may excite.

To daughters, also, she hopes it may not be found entirely useless, for on them rests so much of the happiness of home, in the simple thought of, and attention to, those little things which so bless and invigorate domestic life. Opportunities to evince the more striking virtues women may never have, but for the cultivation and performance of the lesser, they are called upon each day. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. — A Launch — A Promise — A New Relation . . . . ] II. — Glimpses into a Child's Heart — A Death lied ... 9 III. — Retrospection — The Lowly Sought — The Haughty Foiled 21 IV. — Retrospective — Effects of Coquetry — Obedience and Disobedience ......... 29 V. — A Heart and a Home in England — A Heart and a Home in India 43 VI. — Domestic Discord, and its End . . . . .52 VII. — Youthful Colloquy — Introducing Character . . .62 VIII. — Three English Homes and their Inmates . . . .73 IX. — Home Scene — Visitors — Childish Meditations . . .82 X.— Varieties 91 XI. — A Young Gentleman in a Passion — A Walk — A Scene of ' Distress 104 XII. — Cecil Grahame's Philosophy — An Error and its Conse quences — A mystery and a Confidence . . .113 XIII. — Mr. Morton's Story — A Confession — A Young Pleader- Generosity not always Justice ..... 124 XIV. — An Unpleasant Proposal — The Mystery solved — A Father's Grief from a Mother's Weakness— A Father's Joy from a Mother's Influence ....... 133 XV. — Temptation and Disobedience — Fear — Falsehood and Punishment . . . . . . . . 147 XVI. — Pain and Penitence— Truth Impressed, and Reconciliation —The Family Tree loS XVIL— The Children's Ball CONTENTS.

X 01IAFTER 17A(IH. XVIII. —Effect.7, of Ploasure— The Young Midshipman 111- tempor, its Origin and Consequences . . - 105 XIX.— Suspicion— A Parting, A Double Grief [nnooence Proved — Wrong done and Evil OOnfimed l>y Doubt . 212 XX. — Advance and Retrospect 2-0 XXI. — A. Letter, and its Consequences ..... 244 XXII. — A Summons and u Loss ...... 257 XXIII.— Tho Broken Desk 271 XXIV.— The Culprit and the Judge 28S XXV. — The Sentence, and its Execution 302 XXVI.— The Light Glimmers 819 XXVII.— Tho Struggle 330 XXVIII. — Illness and .emorso .'! 1 1 XXIX. — Mistaken Impression Kradic-atod 352 XXX.— Tho Loss of tho Syren 303 XXXI.— Forebodings . 371 XXXII. — Forgiveness . 882 X.XX11I. — The Rich and tho Poor .:'.)". XXXIV. — A Home Scene and a Parting .... 103 XXXV.— The Birthday Gift 410 £X?-

Chapter I

A LAUNCn. — A PROMISE. — A NEW RELATION. IN a very beautiful part of Wales, between the northero, boundaries of Glamorgan and the south-eastern of Carmar thenshire, there stood, some twenty or thirty years ago, eu small straggling village. Its locality was so completely con cealed that the appearance of a gentleman's carriage, or in fact of any vehicle superior to a light spring-cart, was of such extremely rare occurrence as to be dated, in the annals of Llangwillan, as a remarkable event, providing the simple villagers with amusing wonderment for weeks. The village was scattered over the side of a steep and rugged hill ; and on the east, emerging from a thick hedge of yews and larches, peeped forth the picturesque old church, whose tin-coated spire glittering in the faintest sunshine removed all appearance of gloom from the thick trees, and seemed to whisper, whatever darkness lingered round,. light was always shining there.

The churchyard, which the yews and larches screened, was a complete natural garden, from the lowly cottage flowers, planted by loving hands over many a grassy grave, and so hallowed that not a child would pluck them, however tempted by their luxuriance and beauty. A pretty cottage, whose white walls were covered with jas mine, roses, and honeysuckle, marked the humble residence of the village minister, who, though in worldly rank only a poor curate, from his spiritual gifts deserved a much higher grade. A gurgling stream ran leaping and sparkling over th© craggy hill till it formed a deep wide bed for itself along the road leading to the nearest town, embanked on one side by a. tall leafy hedge, and on the other by rich grass and meadow flowers. By the side of this stream groups of village children were continually found, sometimes reaching for some par ticular flower or insect, or floating pieces of wood with a twig stuck upright within them as tiny fleets ; but this amusement had given place the last ten days to the greater excitement of watching the progress of a miniature frigate, the workmanship of a young lad who had only very lately become an inmate of the village.

All had been at length completed, sails, ropes, and masts, with a degree of neatness and beauty, ■showing not only ingenuity but observation ; and one lovely summer evening the ceremony of launching took place. For a few minutes she tottered and reeled amidst the tiny breakers, then suddenly regained her equilibrium and dashed gallantly along. A loud shout burst from the group, from all save the •owner, a beautiful boy of some twelve years, who contented himself with raising his slight figure to its full height, and looking proudly and triumphantly round him. One glance would suffice to satisfy that his rank in life was far superior to that of his companions, and that he condescended from circumstances, not from choice, to mingle with them. So absorbed was the general attention that the very unusual sound of carriage-wheels was unremarked until close beside them, and then so astoundiug was the sight of a private carriage, and the coachman's very simple question if that road led to the village, that all hung back confused.

The owner of the little vessel, however, answered proudly and briefly in the affirmative. " And can you direct me, my good boy," inquired a lacly, looking from the window, and smiling kindly at the abashed group, " to the residence of Mrs. Fortescue ; it is out of the village, is it not ? " " Mrs. Fortescue ? " repeated the boy, eagerly and gladly, and his cap was off his head in a moment, and the bright sunshine streamed on a face of such remarkable beauty, and withal, so familiar, that though the lady bent eagerly forward to address him, emotion so choked her voice that the lad was enabled to reply to her inquiry, and direct the coachman to the only inn of the village, and they had driven off before words returned. The boy looked eagerly after them, then desiring one of his companions to meet the lady at the inn, and guide her to the cottage, caught up his little vessel, and darted off across some fields which led by a shorter cut to the same place.

It was a very humble dwelling, so surrounded by hills that their shadow always seemed to overhang it ; yet, within, the happy temper of a poor widow and her daughter kept up a perpetual sunshine. Three weeks previous to the evening we have mentioned, a lady and two children had ai rived at Llangwillan, unable to proceed farther from the severe indis position of the former. They were unattended, and the driver only knew that their destination was Swansea ; he be lieved they had been shipwrecked off Pembroke, and that the poor lady was very ill when she commenced her journey but the curious inquiries of the villagers could elicit nothing more. Mr. Myrvin, with characteristic benevolence, devoted liimself to ensuring, as far as he could, the comfort of the invalid ; had her removed from the inn to Widow Morgan's cottage, confident that there she would at least be nursed with tenderness and care, and so near him as to permit his constant watchfulness.

But a very few days too sadly con vinced him, not only that her disease was mortal, but that his presence and gentle accents irritated instead of soothed. Ill temper and self-will seemed to increase with the weakness,. which every day rendered her longing to continue her journey more aud more futile. It was some days before she could even be persuaded to write to the relative she was about to seek, so determined was she that she would get well; and when the letter was forwarded, and long before an answer could have been received (for twenty years ago there were no railroads to carry on epistolary communication as now,), fretfulness and despondency increased physical suffering, by the determined conviction that she was abandoned, and her children would be left uncared for. In vain Mr. Myrvin as sured her of the impossibility yet to receive a reply, that the direction might not even have been distinct enough, for her memory had failed her in dictating it ; — she knew she was deserted, she might have deserved it, but her Edward was in nocent, and it was very hard on him.

As self-will subsided in physical exhaustion, misery increased. A restless tor turing remembrance seemed to have taken possession of her, which all the efforts of the earnest clergyman were utterly ineffectual to remove. She would not listen to the peace he proffered, and so painfully did his gentle eloquence appear to irritate instead of calm, that he desisted, earnestly praying that her sister might answer the letter in person, and by removing anxiety prepare the mind for better thoughts. One object alone had power to bring something like a smile to that altered, but still most beautiful countenance, conquer even irritation, and still create intervals of pleasure — it was her son, the same beautiful boy we have already noticed, and whose likeness to herself was so extraordinary that it would have been almost too feminine a beauty, had it not been for the sparkling animated expression of every feature, and the manly self-possession which characterised his every movement.

That he should be his mother's idol was not very surprising, for the indiscreet and lavish in dulgence which had beeu his from his birth, had not yet had power to shake his doting fondness for his mother, or inter fere with her happiness by the visible display of the faults which her weakness had engendered. Caressingly affectionate, open-hearted, generous, and ever making her his first object, perhaps even a more penetrating mother would have seen nothing to dread, but all to love. His uncontrolled passion at the slightest cross, his haughty pride and indomi table will towards ail save her, but increased her affection. And when he was with her, which he was very often, con sidering that a sick close room would have been utterly re pugnant to him had it not contained his mother, Mrs. For tescue was actually happy.

But it was a happiness only increasing her intensity of suffering when her son was absent. Hide it from herself as she might, the truth would press upon her that she was dying, and her darling must be left to the care of relations indeed, but utter strangers to him, and un likely to treat him as she had done. She knew that he had what strict disciplinarians, as she chose to regard her sister and her husband, would term and treat as serious faults, while she felt them actually virtues ; and agony for him in the dread of what he might be called upon to endure, would deluge her pillow with passionate tears, and shake her slight frame as with convulsion. The day we have mentioned, Edward had been absent longer than usual, and towards evening Mrs. Fortescue awoke from a troubled sleep to brood over these thoughts, till they had produced their usual effect in tears and sobs, the more painful to witness from the increasing physical in capacity to struggle with them.

A little girl, between ten and eleven years old, was seated on a low wooden stool, half concealed by the coarse curtain of the bed, employed in sewing some bright gilt buttons on a blue jacket. It seemed hard work for those small dehcate hands ; but she did not look up from her task till roused by the too familiar sound of her mother's suffering, and then as she raised her head, and flung back the heavy and somewhat disordered ringlets, the impulse seemed to be to spring up and try to soothe, but a mournful expression quickly suc ceeded, and she sat several minutes without moving. At length, as Mrs. Fortescue's sobs seemed almost to suffocate her, the child gently bent over her, saying, very timidly, " Dear Mamma, shall I call Widow Morgan, or shall I get anything for you ? " and, without waiting for a reply, save the angry negative to the first question, she held a glass of water to her mother's lips and bathed her forehed.

After a few minutes Mrs. Fortescue revived sufficiently to inquire where Edward was. "He has gone down to the stream to launch his little frigate, Mamma, and asked me to fasten these buttons on his jacket to make it look like a sailor's meanwhile ; I do not think he will be very long now." Mrs Fortescue made no rejoinder, except to utter aloud those thoughts which had caused her previous paroxysm, and her little girl, after a very evident struggle with her own painful timidity, ventured to say : " But why should you fear so much for Edward, dear Mamma ? ( Everybody loves him and admires him, so I am sure my aunt and uncle will." " Your aunt may for my sake, but she will not love or bear with his childish faults as I have done ; and your uncle is such a harsh stern man, that there is litle hope for his forbearance with my poor Edward.

And he is so frank and bold, he will not know how even to conceal his boyish errors, and he will be punished, and his fine spirit broken, and who will be there to shield and soothe him ? " " I may be able sometimes, Mamma, and indeed, indeed, I will whenever I can," replied her child, with affecting earnestness. " I love him so very, very much, and I know he is so much better than I am, that it will be very easy to help him whenever I can." " Will you promise me, Ellen, will you really promise me to shield him and save him from harshness whenever it is in your power ? " exclaimed Mrs. Fortescue, so eagerly, that she HOME INFL UENCE. half raised herself, and pressed Ellen to her with an appearance of affection so unusual, and a kiss so warm, that that moment never passed from the child's mind, and the promise she gave was registered in her own heart with a solemnity and firmness of purpose little imagined by her mother, who. when she demanded it, conceived neither its actual purport nor extent ; she only felt relieved that Edward would have some one by him to love him and enable him to conceal his errors, if he should commit any.

Had she studied and known the character of Ellen as she did that of her son, that promise would perhaps never have been asked ; nor would she so incautiously and mistakenly have laid so great a stress upon concealment, as the only sure means of guarding from blame. From her childhood Mi"S. Fortescue had been a creature of passion and impulse, and maternity had unhappily not altered one tittle of her character. Iu what manner, or at what cost, Ellen might be enabled to keep that promise, never entered her mind. It had never been her wont, even in days of health, to examine or reflect, and present weakness permitted only the morbid indulgence of one exaggerated thought. For several minutes she lay quite silent, and Ellen resumed her seat aud work, her temples throbbing, she knew not why, and vain longing to throw her arms round her mother's neck, aud entreat her only for one more kiss, one other word of love, and the consciousness that she dared not. caused the hot tears to rush into her eyes, aud almost blind her, but she would not let them fall, for she had learned long ago, that while Edward's tears only excited soothing and caresses, hers ahvays called forth irritation and reproof. ••Joy, joy Mother, darling!" exclaimed an eager voice some minutes afterwards, aud Edward bounded iuto the room, and throwing himself by his mother's side kissed her pale cheek again and again.

" Such joy ! My ship sailed so beautifully, I quite longed for you to see it. aud you will one day, when you get well and strong again ; and I know you will soon now, for I am sure aunt Emmeliue will very soon come, and then, and then you will be so happy, and we shall all be happy again ! " Mrs. Fortescue pressed him closer and closer to her, returning his kisses with such passionate fondness, that tears mingled with them aud fell upon his cheek. " Don't cry, Mamma dear ! indeed, indeed, my aunt will soon come. Do you know I think I have seen her, and spoken to her, too." " Seen her, Edward ? You mean you have dreamed about her, and so fancy you have seen her ; " but the eager anxious look she fixed upon him evinced more hope than her words. " No, no, Mamma ; as we were watching my ship a carriage passed us, aud a lady spoke to me, and asked me the way to the cottage where you lived, and I am sure it is aunt Emmeline. from her smile."

"It cannot be," murmured his mother, sadly; "unless — " and her countenance brightened. " Did she speak to you, Edward, as if she knew you, and recognised you from your likeness to me ? " " No, Mamma, there was no time, the carriage drove off again so quickly ; but, hush ! I am sure I hear her voice down stairs," and he sprung up from the bed and listened eagerly. Yes, yes, I am right, and she is coming up ; no, it is only Widow Morgan, but I am sure it is my aunt, by your face," he added, impatieutly, as Mrs. Morgan tried by signs to beg him to be more cautious, and not to agitate his mother. " Why don't you let her come up ? " and springing down the whole flight of stairs in two bounds, he rushed into the little parlour, caught hold of the lady's dress and exclaimed, " You are my aunt, my own dear aunt ; do come up to mamma, she has been wanting you so long, so very long ; and you will make her well, dear aunt, will you not ?

" " Oh, that I may indeed be allowed to do so, dear boy ! " was the painfully agitated reply, and she hastened up the stairs. But to Edward's grief and astonishment, so little was he conscious of his mother's exhausted state, the sight of his aunt, prepared in some measure as she was, seemed to bring increase of suffering instead of joy. There was a con vulsive effort for speech, a passionate return of her sister's embrace, and she fainted. Edwaid in terror flung himself beside her, entreating her not to look so pale, but to wake and speak to him, Ellen, with a quickness and decision, which even at that moment caused her aunt to look at her with astonishment, applied the usual restoratives, evincing no unusual alarm, and a careless observer might have said no feeling ; but it was only a momentary thought which Mrs. Hamilton could give to Ellen, every feeling was en grossed in the deep emotion with which she gazed on the faded form and altered face of that still beloved though erring one ; who, when she had last beheld her thirteen years previous, was bright, buoyant, lovely as the boy beside them.

Her voice, yet more than the proffered remedies, seemed to recall life, and after a brief interval the choking thought found words. " My father ! my father ! Oh, Emmeline, I know that he is dead ! My disobedience, my ingratitude for all his too indulgent love, killed him — I know it did. But did he curse me, Emmeline ? did all his love turn to wrath, as it ought to have done ? did — " " Dearest Eleanor," replied Mrs. Hamilton, with earnest tenderness, "dismiss such painful thoughts at one; our poor father did feel your conduct deeply, but he forgave it, would have received your husband, caressed, loved you as before, had you but returned to him ; and so loved you to the last moment, that your name was the last word upon his lips. But this is no subject for such youthful auditors," she continued, interrupting herself, as she met Edward's bright eyes fixed wonderingly upon her face, and noticed the ex cessive paleness of Ellen's cheek.

" You look weary, my love," she said, kindly, drawing her niece to her, and affectionately kissing her. " Edward has made his own acquaintance with me, why did you not do so too ? But go now into the garden for a little while. I am sure you want fresh air, and I will take your place as nurse meanwhile. Will you trust me ? " And the kind smile which accompanied her words gave Ellen courage to return her kiss, but she left the room without speaking. Edward required more persuasion ; and the moment he was permitted he returned, seated himself on a stool at his aunt's feet, laid his head on her lap, and remained for nearly an hour quite silent, watching with her the calm slumbers which had followed the agitating conversation between them. Mrs. Hamilton was irresistibly attracted towards him, and rather wondered that Ellen should stay away so long.

She did not kimw Edward had spent almost the whole of that day in the joyous sports natural to his age. and that it had been many weary days and nights since Ellen had quitted her mother's room.

Chapter II. Glimfses Ixto

A CHILD'S HEART. — A DKATŒBED. On leaving the cottage. Ellen hastily traversed the little garden, and entered a narrow lane, leading to Mr. Myrvin's dwelling. Her little heart was swelling high withiu her, and the confinement she had eudured. the constant control she exercised for fear she should add to her mother's irritation, combined with the extreme delicacy of natural constitu tion, had so weakened her. as to reuder the slightest exertion painful. She had been so often reproved as fretful and ill tempered, whenever in tears, that she always checked and concealed them. She had been so frequently told that she did not know what affection was. that she was so inanimate and cold, that though she did not understand the actual meaning of the words, she believed she was different to any one else, and was unhappy without knowing why.

Compared with her brother, she certainly was neither a pretty nor an engaging child. Weakly from her birth, her residence in India had iucreased constitutional delicacy, and while to a watchful eye the expression of her countenacci denoted con stant suffering, the heedless and superficial observer would condemn it as peevishness, and so unnatural to a young child. that nothing but confirmed ill-temper could have produced it. The soft beautifully-formed black eye was too large for her other features, aud the sallowness of her complexion, the heavy tresses of very dark hair, caused her to be remarked as a very plain child, which iu reality she was not. Accus tomed to hear beauty extolled above evei y.h'.ng else, beholding it in her mother aud her brother, aud imagining it was Edward's great beauty that always made him so beloved and petted, .an evil-disposed child would have feit nothing but envy and dislike towards him.

But Ellen felt neither. She loved him devotedly ; but that any one could love her. now that the only one who ever had — her idolized father — was dead, she thought impossible. Why her heart and temples beat so quickly as she left her mother's room — why the promise she had so lately made should so cling to her mind, that even her aunt's arrival could uot remove it — why she felt so giddy and weak as to render walking painful, the poor child could not have told, but, unable at length to go farther, she sat down on a grassy bank, and believing herself quite alone, cried bitterly. Several minutes passed and she did not look up, till a well-known voice inquired : — - "Dear Ellen, what is the matter ? What has happened to grieve you so to-day ? wou't you tell me ? " " Indeed, indeed, I do not know, dear Arthur ; I only feel— feel — as if I had not so much strength as I had a few days ago — and, and I could not help crying."

"You are not well, Ellen," replied her companion, a fine lad of sixteen, and Mr. Myrvin's only son. " You are looking paler than I ever saw you before ; let me call my father. You know he is always pleased when he sees you, and he hoped you would have been to us before to-day ; come with me to him now." "No, Arthur, indeed I cannot; he will thiuk I have for gotten all he said to me the last time I saw him, and, indeed, I have not — but I — I do not know what is the matter with me to-day." And, in spite of all her efforts to restrain them, the tears would burst forth afresh ; and Arthur finding all his efforts at consolation ineffectual, contented himself with putting his arm round her, and kissing them away. A few minutes after wards his father appeared. " In tears, my dear Ellen ! " he said, kindly ; " your mother is not worse, I hope ?

" " I do not know, sir," replied the child, as well as her tears would permit; " she has been very ill just now, for her faint was longer than usual." " Did anythiug particular occasion it ? " " I think it was seeing my aunt. Mamma was very much agitated before and afterwards." " Mrs. Hamilton has arrived then ! I am rejoiced to hear it," replied Mr. Myrvin, gladly. Then sitting down by Ellen, he took one of her hands in his, aud said, kindly, " Something has grieved my little girl this eveniug ; I will not ask what it is, because you may not like to tell me ; but you must not imagine evils, Ellen. I know you have done, and are doing, the duty of a good affectionate child, nursino your suffering mother, bearing with intervals of impatience which her invalid state occasions, and giving up all your own wishes to sit quietly by her : I have not seen you, my child. but I know those who have, and this has pleased me, and, what is of much more consequence, it proves you have not forgotten all I told you of your Father in Heaven, that even a little child can try to love and serve Him."