The Colonel's Daughters; or, Life is but a dream. A tale, etc

Chapter I

On as I journey through the vale of years, By hopes enlivened or depress'd by fears, Allow me, Memory, in thy treasured store, To view the days that will return no more. Southey. On the north-western coast of England lies a small watering-place of the name of Lyth. As the country which bounds it on three sides is very flat and uninteresting the less that is said about it the better, therefore we shall be spared the trouble of describing scenery any further than to remark that there are neither rocks, woods, nor waterfalls, to please the poet's or the painter's eve, or tempt the tourist to linger in the neighborhood. Nay, I do not think the pedestrian could find even a pretty lane within a mile of Lyth to saunter down, as the fields are mostly divided from one another by very unromantic embankments, which are no ornament and are indeed very unsightly to those accustomed to hedges full of roses, hawthorn, and honeysuckle.

And yet with these local disadvantages Lyth is one of the prettiest villages in the north of England, and its inhabitants are so perfectly well satisfied with their home that they believe no thing could improve it, and that there is no place equal to it in the world. Most of the gentlepeople live on what is called the " Beach," which is an elevated piece of ground immediately facing the sea. The houses are almost without exception de tached from each other, and are surrounded by gardens. They are built in some light, fanciful style of architecture of brick, which is covered with white stucco. The walls are generally, as high as B the second story, concealed either by a verandah or a trellis, up which are trained roses, jessamine, et cœtera. The gardens are most tastefully laid out, and form the chief attraction.

If the Beach portion of the inhabitants have a weakness it lies in their gardens, and, though these may be buried during the winter season, they are certain to make their appearance again with the earliest spring flowers'. With all the pride of parents do the owners of these blossoms show you their precious plants, and you have to be as cautious in your remarks about them as though you were being called upon by a mother to give in her presence your opinion of her first born. Woe be to you if you disparage a favorite flower, and woe, woe be to you if you accidentally put your foot upon some promising bud ; the evil, in the latter case, is irreparable, and you need not expect to be forgiven. Perhaps the reason whv the inhabitants of the villas on the Beach entertain such a strong affection for their gardens is because there are so few children, those natural enemies to neatness and order, amongst them.

They are not a marrying race. Now and then a spinster, verging into old-maidenhood, will at last make up her mind to remove her fuschias, verbenas, and geraniums, into an eligible bachelor's garden ; but such events are rare, and are marked with a becoming public demonstration, as a wedding en the Beach is a signal for a general holiday. Although I have spoken of Lyth as a village, yet there is only one portion of it really thus designated ; this is a street three quarters of a mile in length, which consists of rows of cottages, all built by the lord of the manor, Mr. Trap. In the erection of these cottages for the laboring classes great taste has been dis played ; they are in the Elizabethan or Tudor style, and each dwelling has its picturesque porch, covered in summer with flowers, and its neat, trim garden of vegetables.

The gardens are divided from each other by white wooden railings, round which are trained the scarlet runner, sweet pea, and nasturtium. We should not forget to mention that twenty of the cottages are almshouses, the inmates of which are supported by Mr. Trap and the rector. The church, schools, and rectory stand at a distance of about a quarter of a mile from the Beach and village ; and not far from them is Newstead Hall, the seat of John Trap, Esq. Such was Lyth thirty years ago, such is Lyth at the present day, and such probably will be Lyth a hundred years hence, unless some unforeseen event occurs, or unless the completion of a branch railway proves, as is feared it will, its ruin ; and this short descrip tion will suffice, for although the opening scene of this story is at the rectory of Lyth, yet most of the events related in the history of " The Colonel's Daughters " occurred many many miles away from this quiet, peaceful, and orderly spot.

With regard to the inhabitants, it is only necessary to speak at length of the family at the rectory, as the few others mentioned at all are only done so incidentally. These were, for I must write of them as they existed at the time this narrative opens, ten years ago, Mr. Parkinson, whose house was kept by his maiden sister — he was the surgeon — and Mr. Clayton, the lawyer, and his maiden sister, and Mr. and Mrs. Trap, of Newstead, with their only child, Adelaide, rightly named the flower of Lvth. Perhaps a word or two about the Newstead family may not be uninteresting. Mr. Trap, early left an orphan, was the son of a neighboring farmer. He, when very young, went out to India, and amassed a large fortune in a few years; he then returned to his native country, married the penniless daughter of a naval officer, and, by his benevolence and praiseworthy conduct in everv respect, soon won the love and esteem of everybody.

If he was not sufficiently refined for the most fastidious, his gentle and ladylike wife made up for all deficiencies on his part. Not, be it understood, that the greater portion of the Beach families were indifferent to the fact that Mr. Trap was of humble origin. Far from it, and here I am reminded that they had, independent of their floral foible, a decidedly weak point ; this was pride of birth, and it required a person who could not boast of a pedigree in the Herald's College to possess many rare and estimable qualities if this deficiency was to be overlooked, and he or she was to be admitted into their perfectly genteel clique. The Rev. Charles Fitzallen, the rector of Lyth, was the younger son of a baronet. His father died shortly before his ordination, leaving two sons, Alfred, the present baronet, and Charles.

The habits and tastes of the brothers differed very materially ; Sir Alfred was of a rambling, restless disposition, ever seeking some new pleasure, he led a life of excitement and gaiety, whilst his studious brother loved quiet and retirement. Charles looked forward to a life of domestic peace, shared with one whom he could love and esteem . Sir Alfred sought to be distinguished for his stylish establishment, his handsome stud and elegant equipages. Mr. Fitzallen was preferred to the rectory of Lyth the same year that Mr. Trap returned from India and built Newstead Hall. In the following spring both the rector and Mr. Trap called upon their friends to welcome their brides, who, being thrown together under such interesting circumstances, soon contracted a friendship for each other which ripened into a feeling of almost sisterly affection. b Within two years after their marriage these two beautiful young women stood at the baptismal font at the same time with their first born children, and Herbert Fitzallen and Adelaide Trap were christened together.

Then they were infants and unconscious of the presence of each other; after a few weeks they stared and crowed at each other, after a few months they played together, and after a few years .... but we will not anticipate. Adelaide was the only child at Newstead, but Mrs. Fitzallen was soon tbe happy mother of four. A girl, christened Amy, succeeded Herbert ; she was fair, with blue eyes and flaxen hair, like Herbert in disposition but not in appearance, as he possessed his mother's jet black hair and expressive dark eyes. Alfred, the little rogue, came next, with laughing blue eyes, curly light hair, and a dimple in one cheek ; his face always wore such a merry expression that he was called the sunflower of the house. The youngest child was Constance, a spirited, dark-eyed, clever girl, whom all at the rectory seemed proud of, and whom all perhaps, from the fact of her being the youngest, seemed disposed to indulge to the utmost.

Adelaide was, as we have said, the only child at Newstead; she was excessively fair, and her disposition was as sweet and gentle as her mother's. Her principal com panion as an infant, a school-girl, and now as a woman, was Herbert Fitzallen ; but it was not till he had to bid her adieu for the first time, when he entered Cambridge, that the young couple knew how deeply they loved each other. It was during his first vacation that he ventured to speak to her of his ardent affection, and thankful indeed was he to find that the heart of Adelaide was all his own. For two or three days afterwards his dream of happiness was without a cloud, but acci dentally one day overhearing a conversation between his father and his uncle Alfred— the latter was on a visit at his brother's for a week — he was filled with a feeling of alarm which he could not throw off.

Adelaide was the subject of this conversation, and was condemned by Sir Alfred as a most unfitting person for Herbert's wife. " I do assure you, Alfred," replied the rector, " the feeling be tween Herbert and Miss Trap is purely platonic. Herbert has always regarded her as a sister : reared together, sharing the same schoolroom, for I have instructed Adelaide with my own children, they must feel more interest in each other than mere acquaint ances. However, of one thing rest assured, my son shall never by his marriage bring into our family one who would disc-race it if I can prevent it." "Which he would," answered Sir Alfred, " by marryin°- the granddaughter of a poor farmer, the daughter of a purse-proud country boor." " Silence, Alfred," replied the rector, angrily ; " Mr. Trap, you will remember, is my friend."

" Friend," repeated the baronet, "you are forgetting that you are a Fitzallen to call such a man as that with such a name your friend." Herbert heard no more, but he met his father and uncle at dinner with a countenance in which anxiety and distress were clearly portrayed. Sir Alfred had only paid three short visits to Lyth since Mr. Fitzallen's marriage. The first week he was their guest was, he declared, the longest of his life, for the newly-married couple were so devoted to their parishioners and to each other they left him to his own private resources, and, as he had none, the days seemed interminable. The next time he honored them with his company was shortly after the birth of Amy ; but the children then made the rectory intolerable, so he never made his appear ance again until about a fortnight before the time when this narrative commences.

Upon this, his third visit, he soon made the discovery that Alfred was, according to his opinion, the only one of his brother's children likely to be a credit to the family. Herbert would make a good village parson, but would never be heard of beyond seven miles out of his parish. As to girls, they were necessary evils, so he told the rector that he should, when Alfred was old enough, purchase him a commission in the army, and then allow him an income sufficient to enable him to keep up the dignitv of a Fitzallen among his brother officers. It was about a week after the conversation between the brothers had taken place, which Herbert had overheard, that he was sitting with his mother in the drawing-room. Mrs. Fitzallen was sewing, but it was evident that her tboughts were not fixed upon her work, and her countenance was sad.

Herbert too was thoughtful, and there was a certain pensive expression about his face which showed that he was not happy. Now and then he was evidently on the point of saying something to his mother, but his courage failed him. At length he rose from his chair, and, taking down one of the chimney-piece ornaments began most minutely to examine it. Without venturing to take his eyes off the china figure he held in his hand he said suddenly — " Mamma, do you not consider Adelaide a perfect lady ?" " Certainly, Herbert," replied his mother, " I consider that she would grace a coronet. Very few young ladies are equal to her." Herbert might have asked another question but at this moment Alfred entered the room. Throwing himself upon the sofa, he complained of fatigue, having just returned from a long walk.

Herbert, immediately upon his brother's entrance, took up a book, and a silence of some minutes ensued, which was broken by Alfred saying — " Mamma, when are you going to tell us your dream ?" "Dream!" exclaimed Herbert, looking up from his book, " mamma been dreaming ; I think you must be dreaming ; mamma, I am certain, never dreams, she is always so busy from morning to night, and works so hard that I am sure when she does sleep it must be so profoundly that to dream would be im possible." " Reallv, Herbert," said Alfred, " your argument is very good, but it has been so long that whilst you have been speaking I have been dreaming that, taking a stroll through the sand hills this morning, I heard soft, low voices, and going very gently in the direction from whence they came I saw a young couple seated on a bank; I approached nearer, just in time to hear a youth say, Adelaide, dear Adel . . . ."

" Hush !" cried Herbert, springing to the sofa, and putting his hand upon his brother's mouth. " Murder !" called out Alfred, as soon as he could release him self. " Mamma, Herbert has gone mad with over study at Cam bridge." Mrs. Fitzallen, who seemed for the last few minutes to have been lost in a reverie, and had, consequently, been paying very little attention to the conversation of her sons, now looked up from her work at this startling piece of information, but seeing the comical expression of Alfred's countenance, and the confused one of Herbert's, she concluded that Alfred had been at his old game of plaguing and deemed it better not to interfere. Herbert collected himself instantly, and, wishful to change the subject, said, though with a face glowing with crimson — " Mamma, Alfred says you have a dream to tell ; is it so ? for I am sure a dream of yours must be something wonderful, and I should of all things like to hear it."

" Excepting," broke in Alfred, " to be in the sand hills with the lovely Adel . . . ." " Mamma, do tell Alfred to be quiet," said Herbert, in a dis pleased tone ; " really he is provoking bevond everything ; he is always quizzing me, and turns all I do and say into ridicule ; I should enjoy my vacation much more if he would now and then keep his witty ideas to himself." " Alfred," said Mrs. Fitzallen, seriously, " I have one request to make. I would not check the happy flow of spirits with which you seem to be naturally endowed, but I wish you would, before speaking, take time to consider whether the remarks you are about to make will be painful to any one present or not. I do not know a character more shunned in society than he who can not spare a friend's feelings at the expense of a witty remark.

I am aware that you do not really mean to wound any one, but you may, through want of thought, do as much mischief uninten tionally, by a careless speech, as if you had studied in what manner you could most hurt the sufferer. I have indeed a story to tell you, why you have called it a dream I cannot say. It is the history of two girls, one of whom was a dear friend of mine. I was much interested in some of the events connected with them, and, thinking that a few useful lessons might be learned by Amv and Adelaide from the lives of Rhoda and Adela, my heroines, I wrote many facts down relating to them. Certainly, whilst re calling past events, all seemed to me like a dream, for what is life but a dream? but the title I have given to my sketch is 'The Colonel's Daughters.' It will cost me some pain to read my narrative aloud, therefore, Alfred, if you are present when I am doingso, any appearance of giddiness on your part will annoy me not a little."

Alfred was quite subdued by his mother's grave manner, and for some minutes lav perfectly quiet. Mrs. Fitzallen resumed her work, and Herbert turned again to his book ; but scarcely had he read a page when he was again disturbed by his restless brother starting up from his recumbent posture, and, without any apology for the interruption, exclaiming — " By the by, mamma, where was papa riding off to at such a terrible speed an hour or two ago ? I could not help thinking as I saw Jannet's unfortunate legs vanish round the corner of old Trap's garden wall, on the road to Chilston. . . ..." "Alfred!" interrupted Mrs. Fitzallen in a reproachful tone. " Well, mamma," said Alfred, " I will not call him old Trap if you do not like it, for, as you say, ' Respect is due to every one,' but it seems so natural to say old Trap that I am sure I can scarcely help calling him old when I am even addressing him."

" Which ought to teach you, my dear boy, the folly of making use of expressions, when speaking of persons, which would be offensive to them were they to hear you. I sincerely hope that you have never allowed Adelaide to hear you speak so disrespect fully of her papa." " Oh no, I am always very cautious when she is here ; how ever, I will never say old again ; but you know, mother dear, I was born to be continually in scrapes ; however, what were we talking about ? — Oh, where were papa and Jannet going to ? 01 . . Mr. Trap and I, who were sitting in the observatory, talking about Indian life, almost fainted at the very thought of papa riding so fast on such a hot day." " A note," replied Mrs. Fitzallen, " was brought to your papa, begging of him to hasten without delay to Chilston, as a friend was most anxious to see him.

The writer said that he feared this friend, who is a great invalid, would scarcely live throughout the day, and seemed in an agony lest your papa should not arrive at Chilston in time." " Is it a lady or a gentleman ?" asked Alfred. " I do not know," was the reply ; " the writer of the note said that the travellers arrived at the Swan Inn the night before. It was Mr. Markman who wrote, and had intended he believed to have come straight here, but the horses of the chaise were so jaded that the post-boy positively refused to take them a mile farther until they had rested. As Chilston does not boast of any post-horses, the travellers were obliged to alight, intending to proceed the first thing in the morning, when the alarming illness of one of the party prevented them carrying out their plan.

I do not expect your papa back till late this evening." " Then," said Herbert, who had, though his eyes were bent on his book, been listening to the conversation, " as we shall have a few hours to spare before papa's return, perhaps you will read to us this story about Adela and Rhoda after tea, we shall all be ready to listen." " Very well," said Mrs. Fitzallen, " and as it is rather long we will, lest the arrival of your papa with these strangers should interrupt us, have tea an hour earlier; and you, Alfred, if you find your patience completely exhausted before I have finished reading can quietly leave the room." " I do not think I shall be tired," said Alfred, " for I am de termined that henceforth my title shall be ' Alfred the Grave !' But what do I see yonder ? your friend, Herbert, the most learned Middleton, and our most sentimental sister Amy, issuing from the shrubbery.

Ah ! Amy blushes and smiles, and the Cantab looks enchanted. I must go and congratulate them upon their happy appearance ;" and, springing from the sofa, the merrv youth bounded through the French window, and in one minute was across the lawn and making his bow to the couple preparatory to his congratulatory speech. "Happy Alfred!" thought Herbert, as he watched his brother cross the lawn with a hop, skip, and a jump; "I envy him his light heart ;" and the elder and more thoughtful of the young Fitzallens turned to his book with something of a sigh. " Come, Herbert," said his mother, " I will put away my work, and, if you do not object, we will take a walk ; you seem low spirited, and I do not know what is the matter with me, I feel oppressed and nervous." " I thought, mother, that your usually bright, black eye did not shine with the same lustre to-day ; but ' Away with Melancholy,' a good blow on the shore will soon cheer us."

" It will, my dear boy, do us good I doubt not ; but, Herbert, the breeze will not blow away the recollection of the past, and I have been thinking much. This is the anniversary of my mother's birthday, and my thoughts have fled back to scenes long gone by ; however, I will go and dress for our ramble." When Herbert and Mrs. Fitzallen returned from their walk, the former appeared to have no longer any occasion for envying his gay brother. The sea breeze might certainly have blown off a load of care from his mind, so completely had the thoughtful and anxious expression of his face been exchanged for a happv and cheerful one. We will not stay to inquire into the cause of this metamorphose as our readers are doubtless anxious to hear Mrs. Fitzallen's story, but we may reasonably suppose that the conversation that had passed between the mother and son during their ramble had been of such a nature as greatly tended to im prove the spirits of the latter.

At dinner Mrs. Fitzallen said — " I fear, Mr. Middleton, that you and Herbert may find it wearisome to listen to the history of two girls. My original in tention was merely to write some facts relating to Rhoda and Adela, who are not fictitious characters, which might be not only interesting to Amy and Adelaide but might prove useful lessons to them. I beg, therefore, that you will not hesitate about leaving me and the young ladies to spend the evening by ourselves. if you prefer it." " Do not say another word, Mrs. Fitzallen," replied Mr. Mid dleton, who was a college friend of Herbert's, and had been spending a week at the rectory ; " I shall be quite disappointed if you exclude me from your company, for I am really anxious to be one of your listeners." "And do not fear, mother," said Herbert, "that I shall find your ' History of the Colonel's Daughters ' tedious, for I wish very much to hear it."

" I am very glad, mamma," said Alfred, " that you at length consider Herbert something more than a child. Whenever you b say ' dear boy' to him, and my tall clerical-looking brother is before me, I cannot help laughing." " It is rather absurd, certainly," returned Mrs. Fitzallen, " but I think mothers are apt to forget, when they should remember, that they are growing old, and are no longer tbe parents of boys and girls." " You growing old, my beautiful mother," said Alfred, " no ! no! I am sure vou do not look a day older than when papa married you," and as he spoke he kissed the smooth brow of his almost idolized parent. " Away ! vou saucy boy," said Mrs. Fitzallen, playfully ; " I fear if you have formed your opinion merely from your own observa tion, I have no reason to compliment myself too highly upon the certainty of my still possessing all the charms of youth."

The laugh of course was general against Alfred, who so inno cently professed to remember his mother's appearance several years before he was born. At this moment Mrs. Fitzallen's attention was attracted by the sight of a sailor crossing the lawn, and hurrying round to the back of the house. " Williams," said she, addressing the servant, " go and see what Rimmer wants ; he looks so pale and agitated I fear some thing serious has happened." Williams obeyed his mistress, but as some minutes passed before he returned, Mrs. Fitzallen, followed by the rest of the party, went to the servants' hall. There they found the sailor, surrounded bv all the domestics, telling some news which was evidently of a painful character. Upon seeing Mrs. Fitzallen his listeners fell back ; soon their mistress heard, with sorrow, that a child, the son of a very drunken fisherman, of the name of Hodge, had been drowned in the sea not half an hour before.

Tbe man's short story was this, we give it in our own words : Hodge had been in a state of intoxication for several days, neglecting his wife and his only child, a boy of six years old. His boat lay wrong side upwards on the shore, like his family, almost lost for want of proper care. Little James Hodge, his mother's only earthly comfort, was a fine and intelligent child, though generally obliged, as his mother was compelled to save them from starving to take in washing, to be dependant upon his own resources for amusement. On this particular day he had wandered alone to the shore; his mother no anxiety about him, until George Rimmer, tdmost breathless, opened her door and exclaimed — " Mrs. Hodge, your little man will be drowned, he is in the sea!" The distracted mother flew rather than ran to the shore.

She there found six fisherman pushing a boat as hurriedly as possible into the water. " Where is my lad ?" she screamed out. " Look there," said one of the men, pointing with his finger. The poor mother did look, and what a sight met her agonized gaze. In the midst of a roaring sea was a small sand-bank, almost covered with water ; on it was her husband's boat, keel uppermost ; across the top of it was seated her son. The child was perfectly unconscious of its danger, and seemed in the highest glee. " Save him ! Save him ! Can you save him ?" cried the wretched woman. " We will try," said the men, " but in three minutes the bank will be covered ;" and as they spoke they jumped into their boat, which was now floating, and with six oars pulled with all their might towards the poor child. But the wind and waves were high, and the tide, which was still rising, Was against them.

Bv this time a crowd had collected on the shore, and the eyes of all were fixed upon the delighted child. The men who had gone to the rescue made, notwithstanding their difficulties, rapid progress, and they began to entertain hopes that they might yet reach the bank in time, when a scream from the shore made them look behind them. They were not far from little James. The spray of a heavy wave had touched him. The little fellow was now frightened ; he looked towards the shore, and held out his arms, as if begging for help. The sailors heard him distinctly call out — " Mother ! mother !" The sight seemed to give them fresh strength, as they vigorously plied the oars. Then came a more piercing shriek from the shore. Again they looked round ; but child, boat, and bank — all bad disappeared. The waves dashed on, and sparkled, and roared, and danced, as they bore their victim to her who, with straining eyes and clasped hands, watched their mad career ; and, ere the sailors had landed after their fruit less errand, the corpse of the child was pressed to the almost equally inanimate bosom of the mother.

When Mrs. Fitzallen had heard Rimmer's account of the acci dent, she much regretted that the rector was not at home, as she was sure the bereaved mother must be in want of spiritual con solation. " If you think me capable of performing such a task as that of comforting the mourner," said Herbert, modestly, " I will go in place of my father." " You may go, my son," said Mrs. Fitzallen, " and may God's blessing attend your efforts!" The party who assembled round the tea-table at the rectory that evening looked more or less thoughtful and sad ; particularly Alfred, whose pale face attracted the attention of every one present. '• I am," said he, in answer to their inquiries, " very tired, for I have had a long walk this afternoon." " You really must not walk so much," said his mother, " you try your strength too far."