The Double Marriage, a novel

Chapter I

(4 'Tis like a rolling river, That murm'ring flows, and flows for ever." Gat. " Mt dear Miss Ebersly," said Miss Kitty Chatterton, as one morning, attired for a riding excursion, in her skirt and polka jacket and whip in hand, she burst into the room where ber friend was sitting, or rather reclin ing, upon a sofa, engaged in reading • " Who VOL. I. B do you think arrived at Woodside yesterday evening ? — come, I wib give you three guesses." " A gentleman or a lady ?" replied Miss EUersly, languidly laying down her book. " Oh a gentleman to be sure," returned Miss Kitty ; " ladies are seldom worth gues sing about." " It is Mr. Carrington, I suppose," said Miss EUersly. " No, not Mr. Carrington," rejoined Miss Kitty, " although he too is arrived at Sea point, as he came yesterday morning by b e coach, and has taken lodgings for the vacation just under the cliff."

" It is old Mr. Langley, or Mr. Stanhope, I dare say •" replied Miss EUersly. " How stupid," exclaimed Miss Kitty, " I thought you could guess better. It is Mr. Morley. Do you not remember you were setting your cap at bun last summer ?" " How ridiculous ! What things you do take into your head, Kitty !" said Miss El lersly, looking much vexed. " Do not be angry, my dear," replied the laughing Kitty ; "I would set my cap at him myself if it were any use, for he is really agreeable if you can make him talk, although he ahvays looks as if he bad a mind to run away from one. He is not so young certainly, and I do not think he is so handsome as Mr. Carrington — do you ? but he is not at ad plain, and then he bas a good fortune." " I really never examined Mr. Morley's features as accurately as you seem to have done, Kitty," replied Miss Ebersly, pee vishly ; " but what does it signify, whether he comes here or not ? — he is a confirmed old bachelor."

" Not at all, my dear, you are quite mis taken," said Miss Kitty ; " I am certain he wdl be married to Grace Neville. I am almost sure they are engaged." b " Indeed !" exclaimed Miss Ebersly, rousing herself from her indolent position ; " Come, tell me, Kitty, why do you think they are engaged, and what do you know about it ?" " Oh, a great deal more than you ima gine," replied Miss Kitty ; " the last time Mr. Morley was at Woodside, be left a large portmanteau there. This was as much as to say, ' I am coming back soon again,' was it not ? And why should he come so soon again, if he and Grace were not going to be married ? — It is much before the time of his usual summer visit likewise. — Depend upon it, you wid hear of the matter soon." " Perhaps so," replied Miss EUersly, thoughtfuby ; " but hoAv did you knoAv about bis leaving the portmanteau, Kitty ?"

" I had it from the very best authority," replied Miss Kitty, with some importance • " Harris, Mr. Neville's butler, mentioned it to Betsy our cook, and said he should like Mr. Morley to be married to Miss Grace, for he was a fine, open-handed gen tleman ; and now I am certain tbe large wedding cake in Mr. Pastry's window must be intended for them. I am just going to tell tbe Lennoxes all about it. I dare say they wid be tbe bride's maids. I did ab I could the other day to get out of Jane Pastry who the cake was intended for, but it was ab to no purpose ; she would not say, she is so close. I have no doubt Mr. Carrington will break bis heart ; I am sure he bkes Grace Nevibe, and I rather think she had a fancy for bim at one time. But what are you doing within, this beautiful morning? Do come and take a walk witb me.

I was on tbe point of riding over to the Lennoxes, but wib put it off, if you wdl join me in a walk." " Excuse me," repbed Miss EUersly, shortly ; "I am not going out this morning, I want to finish this book — they have sent for it two or three times from the library." " Well, if you cannot come, I must go and take my ride ; I dare say we shall meet somewhere or other — perhaps on the walk this evening, so good bye ;" and so saying, Miss Kitty Cbatterton left the room. " I do think I have vexed Miss Ebersly," said Kitty to herself, as she descended the stab's ; " but I cannot help it • it is quite plain from what Betsey the cook told me, that Miss Nevdle is going to be married. Poor Miss Ebersly ! she is a dear friend of mine, but stib I do like to tease ber some times. How very old she was looking this morning'; I reaby think ber day is quite gone by."

Miss Ebersly laid down her novel and went into the garden to walk off her chagrin — she was too much out of sorts to read any more. Miss Chatterton was right, she had thought of Mr. Morley last summer, and it was the consciousness of it which had prevented her naming himwhen Miss Kitty bad bid her guess who was Mr. Nevibe's newly arrived guest. The quiet governess of Miss Ebersly' s little niece Lizzy, was sitting at a work table in a distant corner of the room, during this conversation, waiting untd her pupil came in from ber morning walk. What were ber cogitations while the dia logue was going on between the two friends ? Suppose we peep into her mind, and see what she is thinking of. She is a plain elderly woman, tbe daughter of a clergyman, and was obliged, like many others who have had better expectations in their younger days, upon tbe death of ber father, to become a governess.

In this way she bas for the last fifteen years been creeping on through life, lowly and unmarked, but vrith a contented and peaceful mind. " What constant companions, and dear friends those two ladies are ! Vapid, un interesting, and gossiping ; these are the electric telegraphs, which disseminate all the news of the day, whether real or ima ginary, through this toAvn of Seapoint. They are not naturaby either dl-natured or malicious, but they talk at random, are fond of what is vulgarly called quizzing, particularly Miss Kitty Chatterton, who is younger, livelier, more thoughtless, and perhaps less censorious than Miss Ebersly. Both have minds equally uncultivated, and scarcely ever look into any book but a novel. Men have in general some profession, some study, or some occupation — work for the hands or the head.

But women, if not engaged in domestic concerns, (and before marriage women have seldom much in that way to perform,) after they have done with their governesses and schools, have but little to interest or amuse them, except the grand concern of being settled in life. This, in many cases, frequently ends, if attained, in being wofudy unsettled; if not attamed, in being disappointed, and having their tempers embittered. The best way is never to think about it at all. What are they to do with ab their time then ? The study of languages, music, drawing, botany ; tbe circle of the sciences is all within their reach. If they do not like any of these, let them work ottomans, knit, net, crochet, any thing for the sake of employment ; but do not abow them to spend one half of their time in running, gossiping from one bouse to another, and the other half in perusing indiscriminately, and too frequently to the exclusion of ab other works, the novels after novels which issue from our public press.

Many of these, it is true, are clever, talented, original, and form a varied, attractive, and innoxious dessert if partaken of sparingly, after the intebectual soul has feasted upon more nourishing and substantial food. But though agreeable enough for a bonne bouche, just as you eat a bit of preserved ginger, b a piece of plum cake, or a buttered muffin ; they will as certainly enfeeble the mind, and unfit it for more profitable studies, as feed ing entirely upon the above-mentioned dain ties wdl give the gastric fever to the little glutton who devours them." Thus thought the quiet little governess — " What a cross, dl-natured old woman !" some will say.

Chapter II

" Man may for wealth or glory roam, But woman must be blest at home ; To this should all her studies tend, This her great object and her end.'' Nugent. The town of Seapoint, situated in one of the southern counties of England, stretches out irregularly and picturesquely along the accbvities of an iron-bound coast for the length of at least a mde, extending itself here and there to the verge of the sea, which lashes against, and throws its white foam over, the rocks that have for ages opposed its pro gress. On the inland side it is partly surrounded by pleasant lanes, deep valleys, and undu lating hills; and partly by an extensive common, over which the sea breezes blow so refreshingly, as to render it one of the most salubrious towns in England. It is altogether an agreeable place to re side in ; there are reasonable markets, good schools, and cheerful society.

A few gentlemen of moderate fortune, living on their own estates in the immediate neighbourhood, with the clergyman, medical man, and solicitors, who make up the most respectable portion of the inhabitants of a country town, mingled sociably together. Among these, Mr. Neville, the banker, was accounted, and with reason, the weal thiest ; and his eldest daughter, Grace, although perhaps some might have vied with her in beauty, was certainly the one who possessed the greatest amiabdity of character, of all the young people who helped to form the bttle world of Seapoint. I do not mean to say that there were not many amiable young people there. On the contrary, there were some who were gentle, others charitable ; others sensible, several very well meaning; many, per haps, with more natural endowments and cleverness than Grace had ; but Grace was the best educated, both as to religious instruction and solid acquirements.

Her grandfather, an old clergyman, who had taken up his residence for the last ten years of his life with his married daughter, had carefully attended to her education ; and although she was only fourteen years of age when he died, be had laid the foundation of religion, truthfulness, and good sense — all of which acquirements were invaluable in her afterwalk through life. Not that there was any thing very shining in the character of Grace : it was like that soft green on which the eye loves to repose. There was nothing in it to dazzle, nothing in it to overpower ; but every thing tbat is valuable in woman seemed blended there in its due proportion, as far as the frailty of human nature permits. But, after ab, it is not at the age in which Grace now is, that a character can be well described.

It is only time, place, circumstance, which develop the mind ; and at present, to aU appearance, Grace is pretty, gentle, obliging, and rather timid. The Society at Seapoint was, as I said before, good, in the common acceptation of the word. Nevertheless there was the same proportion as is to be found in every country town, of tittle-tattle going on. Little mis chief-makings — unfounded reports — ridicu lous suppositions — facts unostentatiously exaggerated by being diffused through the alembic of many minds, like the well-known story of the three black crows, which, when pursued to its fountain-head, proved to be — " Something that was as black, sir, as a crow." It is very true, however, that there are always people in those places who never hear a word of what is talked about on those subjects.

They are those who, either from being immersed in business of their own, or from having well-cultivated minds, give them selves but little trouble concerning the trivial reports of the day. Such people contrive to keep themselves aloof from the bickerings, coolnesses, and differences which others fab into, and which are the reasons that many eschew a vdlage or smab town as they would the plague. The famdy of Mr. Neville was of this class. He was occupied in bis banking business ; Mrs. Nevdle, a plain-mannered, sensible woman, was taken up in regulating her house, and instructing her two younger daughters, Emma and Lucy, assisted by Grace ; whde Grace herself had so many pursuits, some of a serious, others of a bghter nature, that she was perfectly free from this prevading foible. Even her neighbour, Miss Kitty Chatter ton, seldom ventured to entertain her with any of her various suppositions.

Grace was a great deal too quiet and matter-of-fact for her; she thought her scarcely pretty, and not at ab agreeable, and often wondered what the men saw to like in her. " Grace was a good girl, certainly," she said, " and would make a nice wife for an old widower like Dr. Davis, with his six chddren : she wondered if he thought of her stdl. She was sure he did at one time." The last time she met Grace she had tried to teaze her about old Dr. Davis ; but Grace only laughed at her, and the more she talked, the more Grace seemed amused. This did not please Miss Kitty at all, so she went on another tack, and began to allude to a Mr. Frederick Carrington. At this Grace blushed and looked displeased ; and somebody coming up at the time, prevented Miss Kitty's further impertinence. " Ha ! ha ! Miss Grace," thought she, " I see how the land bes ; but Frederick Carrington is poor, and your papa wdl never give his consent.

I dare say, now, be would like tbat rich cousin of yours — at least, you cab him a cousin, although I be lieve he is balf-a-dozen degrees removed — Mr. Morley. I know every one says he is a confirmed old bachelor : however, we shab see ; and, at any rate, I can have a fine quiz about him next time we meet." The opportunity soon arrived. Grace was returning from a country walk one fine after noon, leading one of her little sisters by the hand, when she met Miss Kitty Chatterton riding. Kitty stopped ber frisky little pony, and immediately began : — " Oh, Grace ! so there you are, and quite by yourself, I declare," screamed out Miss Kitty. " What have you done with your beau, Mr. Morley ? — I heard he arrived last night. Oh, you may well blush, and pre tend to look surprised about it — everybody in the county knows you are engaged to him."

" I engaged to Mr. Morley !" exclaimed poor Grace, with much vexation. " Ready, Kitty, you ought not to set such reports afloat : I assure you we have neither of us ever dreamed of such a thing. You know Mr. Morley is a cousin of my mother's, and it is very natural he should spend some time with us occasionally." " Ha ! ha !" rejoined Miss Chatterton, with a loud laugh ; " you may say what you bke, demure Miss Grace, but it is all quite true. You and be are certainly en gaged. I told Frederick Carrington about it yesterday, and said I'd be sure to send him green ribands when you are married." " Oh, Kitty, how could you teb Mr. Carrington, or any one else, such a story?" exclaimed Grace, trying to conceal her agitation. " Instead of setting such a report afloat, pray, Kitty, if you hear it spoken of, contradict it.

You may believe me — I as sure you, you may believe me — there is not a word of truth in it." " Good bye, Grace ! good bye !" said Miss Kitty, touching her pony, and nodding and laughing. " I contradict it, when I'm sure it is true ! — no, indeed, I shall do no such thing. Mind, you send me a bit of the bride-cake to dream on, and pray send Frederick Carrington a large piece. Good bye ! good bye !" And so saying, the thoughtless young lady gabopped off full speed. Miss Kitty had not proceeded far, bow ever, before she stopped to speak to a group of young people who were approaching. " How do you do, Bessie ? — how do you do, Annie? Where are you going, Mr. Carrington, looking so grave ? — I am glad to see you out, Miss Ebersly ; I hope you have quite got rid of the heavy cold you caught at our last ball.

Do you know who I met just now ? — I dare say you met her too — though I don't think you could, for now I remember she was going the other way — Grace Nevibe all alone — no, not quite alone, ber little sister was with her, but she was not accompanied by her intended ; I dare say she was expecting him. He is a gentle manly looking man, though not very young. Is he not ? I always thought Grace was a sly one. Oh ! you must not run away, Mr. Carrington, you must wait and bear what I said to Miss Nevibe about you." " About me, Miss Chatterton !" exclaimed tbe handsome but reserved - looking Mr. Carrington, whde a deep glow could be seen upon his dark cheek. " Yes, about you, Mr. Carrington," returned the giggling Kitty. " I told sly Miss Grace I would send you a bunch of green ribands when she was married to Mr. Morley."

" Miss Kitty Chatterton honours me highly by giving me so much of her thoughts," repbed the young man coldly and rather haughtily. Miss Kitty only laughed the more — touched her pony with the whip, then shook it at Mr. Carrington — nodded to the rest of the party, and gallopped on. Mr. Carrington walked on sdently and musingly by tbe side of his two companions. " It is very likely it may be a match," remarked one of the young ladies. " Oh yes !" replied another, "Kitty Chat terton tebs me whenever he is here, they are always together; and you know she must see ab that is going on, for they are near neighbours, she and Miss Nevibe." " Kitty Chatterton is very giddy," said a third, "but I do not think she would say it so positively, if she had not some founda tion for it." " She tells me she knows they were at tached before be went abroad," observed the first speaker.

" Very likely," replied one of the others ; " Mr. Morley is a relative, and has been in the habit of visiting at the house since she was a chdd. I do not see why it should not be a match." " Young ladies are always thinking and talking about matches," remarked Mr. Car rington, rather sarcastically. " I cannot ima gine what they find to talk about after they are married." " All the girls say you wib certainly be an old bachelor," lisped out a little girl six years of age, looking up in his face and smding. " I think I shah," replied be very gravely, "but no, — come Lizzy," and he stooped down to kiss the pretty chdd who turned away coquettishly from him, " come, you sbab save me from being an old bachelor. — If you promise to wait for me and be my little wife, I wdl come home from India in twenty years."

" Oh, Mr. Carrington, you are not going out to India, are you?" exclaimed ab the fair ones with one voice. " Yes I am," said he, stdl stooping down and caressing the little gfrl ; " come, Lizzy, come, you must tell me ; sbab I return in twenty years from India, and make you my wife?" " No, no !" exclaimed the pretty Lizzy, laughing, " you wdl be a very old man then — you wib have grey hair." " "What a prudent little girl ! — true, I shab be an old man indeed," and he laughed. " But good bye, ladies — I see you are going in to dbmer — let me open the gate for you, — I shab have a long walk over the hills before I return home to mine — farewell — au revoir," and he kissed his hand gracefully. The young ladies separated after they entered the gate, some one way, some an other, to their respective homes.

All agreed in thinking, upon the testimony of Miss Kitty, that Grace Nevibe was about to be married to Mr. Morley, or, at least, tbat she was engaged to him ; and all wondered if it was really true that Mr. Carrington was going out to India. It was Mr. Carrington's dinner-hour like wise, but he had no mind for dinner — his solitary mutton chop could wait for his return ; so with long strides, and in a thought ful mood, he turned his steps in the direction of the open common, from which a view might be had of the distant ocean.

Chapter III

Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow. The green height gain'd, in museful rapture lie, Sleep to the murmur of the woods below, Or look on nature with a lover's eye. Langhorne. This was holiday time, and Frederick Car rington, unshackled by his usual routine of school duties, coidd strike out at wib into those long rambles and fishing excursions which, as a boy, he had so much delighted in ; for though no one was more highly re spected, or had won more golden opinions, than had Frederick Carrington, his position in bfe was no higher than that of an usher at a school. c His musings to-day were rather of a gloomy description ; yet at this time they ought to have been otherwise, for brighter prospects than he could have anticipated a few months before were opening upon him. His prospects were brighter, and in the morning his hopes were brighter too ; but Frederick Avas not a vain or a very sanguine man, and a feAv idle Avords spoken by the giddy girls he had accidentally met with on his way, had served to throw a dark cloud over those newly developed hopes.

Frederick Carrington was tbe only chdd of a respectable clergyman, formerly a resident in the neighbourhood, and who had been united in close ties of friendship with the father of Grace Nevdle. Young Carrington was intended from an early age for the church, and received from his good father an education suited to fit him for so sacred a profession. His mother had died early, and this training up of his only chdd had been to Mr. Carrington the great solace of his existence after her death. Frederick had, however, the misfortune to lose this last and much revered parent when he was about eighteen years of age, and this heavy deprivation put an entire stop to his project of entering the church. The smab pittance his father left behind was insufficient to support him in college, and, by the advice of his friends, Frederick sought, and obtained, the situation of usher in a neighbouring school of high repute, it being patronized by ab the best famdies in the country.

He had toded on thus for six years, in the same school, and, at the time in which we write, was the head usher, on whom the weight and responsibdity of every thing de volved. This sedentary life, and the con stant cares attendant on his position, — for c the clergyman who was the head of the establishment was now a very old man, and unable to undertake any of the duties of the school, — did not agree with Frederick's health. Doctors looked grave. His short cough was attributed to symptoms of pul monary disease inherited from his mother, and a change of air was recommended — change of air for a poor usher ! Just at this period an old schoobellow of his deceased father, and whose name he had not heard of for years, unsolicited and unex pectedly wrote to Frederick to say that he had never forgotten the friendship which, in youth, had subsisted between tbe late Mr. Carrington and himself, but that until now he had had no opportunity of showing his recobection of it to his son.

The writer went on to say, that being on a visit with an old acquaintance at Chelten ham, he had accidentally heard from the son of his friend, just returned home for the vacation from the school where Mr. Carrington was usher, of Mr. Carrington's having been educated for the church, and of the heavy disappointment he had ex perienced on his father's death, at not being able to make it his profession. That upon this, he had applied to the Bishop of Cal cutta, now in London, with whom he was on terms of great intimacy, stating the case to him, and mentioning how highly indebted he should feel to his lordship, if he could, in any way, forward the views of one, whose father had been bis earbest and dearest friend. The Bishop's reply was most favourable. He said that he considered a young man of Mr. Carrington's abdities and character would be an acquisition to the church ; and that as he was about to have an ordination in a few weeks, if Mr. Carrington would come up to London, he would ordain him as a literate — not having taken his degree at a university — and should a chaplaincy in India suit his views, he would be happy to give him an appointment there, whither he himself was about to return in the space of two months.

This letter was most grateful to Frederick in every respect. Grateful to his feebngs as a son, from tbe proof it contained of the writer's early friendship for his honoured parent. Grateful as it related to himself, from the laudatory mention he perceived his young pupd must have made of him. The name was not mentioned, but it could be none other than young Talbot, a boy of good abihties, but nervous and shy in the extreme, with whom he had taken great pains, giving up to him as much of his leisure hours as he could well spare, ab the other masters having pronounced him in corrigibly dub. Frederick bttle thought when he took the dispirited boy in band, that bis kindness would be thus returned in a fourfold mea sure, and that he would be a stepping-stone to bis entrance into the church, to which his incbnations and early preddections stid made him turn many a longing look.

The boy had been a delicate chdd from his birth, and having been left in India — where his father had an appointment in the Company's service, — for a longer period than children are, in general, abowed to remain there, had acquired a constitu tional indolence, which, with a painful de gree of shyness, rendered it impossible for him, without the aid of some supporting spirit, to make his way in a public school. The task learned with nervous anxiety, died upon bis lips when called upon to repeat it, whde his sensitive nature shrank from the disgrace which a fadure drew upon him. Frederick had marked the unhappy boy turning from bis untasted meals, and seeking, witb sobtary steps, the remote corner of the play-ground, where a row of yew trees shed a melancholy gloom upon the walk beneath, there to indulge, his playmates said, a dogged and sullen disposition.

Frederick had sought out tbe boy at those times, and endeavoured to insinuate himself into his confidence, and to study what might be the real temper of his mind. He soon found that young Talbot had kindly and honourable feebngs, and no mean abihties, if he could be inspired with self-dependence, and taught to exert himself unremittingly. The boy, whom kindness could mould into any form, whde severity only drove him to despair and paralyzed his faculties, no sooner perceived that he had found a friend in Mr. Carrington, the head usher, than a new impulse was given to his exertions. This was two years ago, and long before that period had elapsed, he had over come the difficulties with which a too sen sitive temperament had surrounded him, and did not yield to any boy in the school in displaying a full share of industry and ability ; and ab this he owed entirely to the discriminating kindness and good judgment of Mr. Carrington.

But to return. This offer of a chaplaincy ia India was too advantageous — coming too at a time when a change of occupation and climate were insisted on by his medical ad viser — not to be joyfully accepted by our poor usher, and with it came other views too ; hopes sternly crushed in the bud, opened hke the wild flowers trampled under foot, whose elastic stems rise refreshed by c the night dews. Grace Nevdle — yes, Grace Nevibe rose before bim in her timid, quiet, feminine beauty. Others might be saber, sprightber, more accomplished, — but who was so good ? Grace and he had been playmates early ; he had often helped her to learn a hard task, and had instructed ber in the bibbcal questions, for which she got her first prize — a pocket Bible, at the yearly examinations held at the school of , and for a knowledge of which her grandfather had given her so much credit, when he took upon himself the trouble of instructing her, Grace being only six years old then.