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II Ch;

Chapter 1

The persons of the story I am about to tell wore neither of hij^h rank, uor of distinguished fashion ; and, worse still, the narrative cannot by possibility be forced to become one of romantic interest. Ordinary every-day human beings, and ordinary every-day events are my theme. I deem it fair to premise thus much, lest any persons looking for more exciting subjects may be cheated into reading my volumes, and then turn angry and disappointed away.

And how shall I introduce these ordinary personages to the reader with the least chance of wearying him at the very first step of our journey together ? The names of Mr. this, Mrs. that, and Miss t'other, can awaken little interest in the recital ; yet I have no other dramatis persouce to arouse attention or challenge respect. That they shall be such men and women as I have seen and known, is the only fact concerning them that can be urged as an apology for introducing them at all, and this, such as it is, must sustain my courage ; while I venture without further preface to enumerate, in a sort of catalogue raisonne, the individuals whose adventures I am about to recount.

In one of the richest valleys of Somersetshire, where hedgerows green, abounding herbage, and unshorn elm-trees, make every separate field look like a separate paradise, nestles the white-washed village of Abbot's Preston. Its clergyman, the kind-hearted Henry Worthington, shall stand at the head of my list ; but I will not pause to tell how good he was, or how beloved ; all that will speak for itself in the sequel ; but I will describe his dwelling, because, as I have known parsonagehouses vary from mansions which could not be adequately supported under five thousand a year to low-roofed sheds of much less apparent dignity than their patron's cow-house, it may materially assist in giving a correct idea of the family picture.

In truth, the parsonage of Preston must have been a' pretty residence in any hands, and in those of Jlr. Worthington it was beautiful. Though large enough to be a commodious dwelling

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for a numerous family, it was a cottage iu aspect, the roof thatched, and the windows opening in the fashion of casements, though their leaded lozenge-shaped panes had been exchanged for others giving a fairer proportion of light.

The garden was large enough to permit the banishing of peas, beans, lettuce, and cabbage from the eyes polite looking forth from drawing and dining rooms ; and its lawn and shrubberies, its vistas letting in the light, and lofty tower richly pinnacled, of that beautiful stone, the jewel of the district, whose soft grey tints harmonize so well with earth and heaven, — all this, together with its flowers blooming in gay succession, from the first universal burst of lilac to the latest setting glory of the choicest dahlias, and its sequestered root-house, and its enticing chairs beneath the shelter of perfumed acacias, might, altogether, in a comparison of beauty, have borne away the prize from many a domain of ten times its revenue, and fifty times its size. Such was the parsonage of Abbot's Preston ; and, having given this necessary sketch, we must now return to the catalogue of those connected with it. Mrs. Worthington, a help meet in every way for its owner, was a woman of good birth, with a fortune of five thousand pounds, and distinguished, at the time she married him, for a very uncommon degree of personal beauty. A baronet uncle and his lady were equally perplexed and displeased by the pertinacity with which the }'Oung beauty persisted in her determination of becoming a poor country clergyman's wife, when it was clearly evident to all the world, that she might have become the bride of a much richer man, had she chosen it. One reason for this pertinacity, perhaps, was, that the rich man was quite old enough to be her father ; and, in fact, he soon gave the the angry baronet reason to believe, that in the sentiment he had conceived for his beautiful niece, there must have been some mixture of paternal feeling ; for no sooner was it known that Margaret Clark was married to Mr. Worthington, than he presented him to the living of Abbot's Preston, which opportunely became vacant a short time after that event.

This Margaret Clark, now Mrs. Worthington, was the youngest of three sisters, the eldest being ten years her senior, and very nearly as remarkable for the want of personal attractions, as Mrs. Worthington for the possession of them ; but to atone for this, she had the reputation of being one of the cleverest young women of the age. The second sister, Lucy, was neither so handsome as Margaret, nor so clever as the philosophical Christina ; but, nevertheless, she had found the way to captivate the afl^ections of a young military man who gave fair promise of becoming as distinguished as he was amiable ; hut he was among the lamented brave who fell at Waterloo, and

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poor Lucy from tbat hour aeemed to sink into the quiet retreat of old-maidism, and to welcome it as a Koman Catholic damsel might the veil, after a disappointment of the same kind. These two ladies, who had neither father, mother, nor brother to influence their residence, settled themselves in a small, but comfortable dwelling, at the distance of two short miles from the parsonage of Abbot's Preston, and continued to live there, on the income of their little fortunes, with much tranquillity, and some enjoyment.

Another individual whom the preferment of Mr. Worthington to the living of Abbot's Preston brought to that quiet retreat, was his uncle. Colonel Seaton ; he had, indeed, become a member of his nephew's family from within a few months after his marriage, and had never left them since. Uncle David, as the venerable man was called, not only throughout the family, but very nearly throughout the parish also, had passed the limit of threescore and ten when my story begins ; but though old and poor, for he had no worldly wealth beyond his lieutenant-colonel's half-pay, he was a personage of considerable importance in the family, for there was not a single heart that did not love him.

Next in rehearsal must follow the two fair daughters, and the hopeful son of my village pastor. But, methinks this catalogue is already long enough, and therefore I shall let the rest of my people introduce themselves in the order in which my narrative may bring them forward.

On a fine evening in July, 1832, the whole of the parsonage family, with Alfred Reynolds, a Winchester friend of Charlea Worthington 's, to boot, were luxuriating in the shade of a walnut-tree upon the lawn. A table with wine and fruit was in the midst of them ; and though they had done with it, they still, kept possession of the spot, too comfortable or too lazy to remove.

The group formed a pretty picture. Margaret, the eldest of the two girls, a sweet-looking fair creature of twenty, was playing chess at one corner of the table with her young brother Charles, a lad of seventeen with an eye like a hawk, hair black as the raven's wing, merry, mischievous, and with a restless activity of spirit that made him the amusement and the terror of the whole house. Mr. Worthington was reading a newspaper, and, to say the truth, more than half asleep ; his wif& appeared assiduously knitting, but chatted to them all in turn,, while beside the knee of uncle David, on a low stool, sat one of the very prettiest creatures that nature ever formed. Isabellai Worthington had just passed her eighteenth birthday, and within the last year had shot up into most lovely womanhood. Without beinff like either brother or sister, she had something

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of eacii. The large dark eyes of Charles, and his raven hair, were rendered a thousand times more striking by a complexion as delicately beautiful, though with more of the lily, and less of the rose than that of her sister. And in character as in person she, in a remarkable degree, united the qualities which distinguished the other two ; for amidst a buoyant, playful gaiety that almost equalled that of her brother, the tender softness of Margaret's temper often showed itself.

Of a family attached throughout to each other with very strong affection, this lovely happy creature was the universal and acknowledged darling, and confessed by all to be their chief pride, treasure, and delight.

Very near the group formed by uncle David and Isabella, was another, composed of the young stranger lad Alfred Reynolds, and Neptune, the Newfoundland house-dog, which might have sat as the model of that celebrated " member of the Humane Society" lately the glory of Trafalgar-square, They were engaged in a desperate game of romps, so desperate indeed, that Isabella thought it necessary to guard uncle David's head by raising one of her little hands between him and the vehement playfellows.

" Which of us two is your hand intended to terrify and keep in order, Miss Isabella?" said the youth laughing. "Do you know," he continued, "I don't think we should be either of us much afraid of it, even if it were to make an attack instead of standing on the defensive."

" Well, then, as you are great, be merciful," replied Isabella, " and draw off your forces beyond the reach of doing us mischief. I do assure you v.'hen Neptune makes a descent after one of those prodigious bounds, the receiving him would by no means be agreeable to uncle David."

" He shall not hurt either of you," said the boy with a smile, and such a smile as no one could see without feeling quite sure that no harm could befall them from him. " Sit down, sir ! Down, Neptune ! " and seating himself on the turf close to Isabella and her uncle, Alfred coaxed the huge dog to crouch down beside him, with his shaggy head nestled under his arm.

There was something in this arrangement that seemed to shed a brighter beam of happiness than usual over the countenance of the young Heynolds ; for his blue eye, as it settled on the face of Isabella, was radiant with youth and joy. Unfortunately for Alfred, lie was a whole month younger than Isabella ; a misfortune which he inwardly mourned as much as his happy Bpirit seemed at that time capable of mourning anything. But though he felt sensibly the disparity of their ages, and, to say the truth, she was rather taller than himself, not all his reason-

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ing upon tlie subject could prevent liis falling in love vrith her ; and in love he was, over head and ears, but with no more intention of hinting the circumstance to the young lady herself, than of requestinof the Emperor of Eussia to let him be czar in his stead. Yet he nevertheless sometimes fancied how she would look, how she would laugh, how she would frown, how she would scorn him. Poor Alfred ! He really was unfortunate ; for with one of the very handsomest faces in the world, with glancing eyes of bonny blue that seemed made to laugh away a female heart ; and clustering curls that when the sun shone on them appeared to catch and hold captive his rays in a mesh of gold; with teeth of ivory, and nose of comely mould, half-way between Greek and Roman ; — with all this, and a thousand good gifts beside, he was so short, that though eigliteen, he looked at least three years younger. Poor fellow ! How he envied the greyhound growth of his friend Charles, who though so much his junior, could very nearly look over his head ! However, notwithstanding this misery, the holidays, which were already half over, had not passed thus far without affording him some hours of very particular happiness. Some of them were spent in fishing with his friend Charles, some in scampering on borrowed ponies, with the same gay companion, over hill and over dale ; some in reading in the very deepest shade he could find, Shakspeare, Spenser, Scott, and Byron, whose works, happily for him, were found amidst the furniture of the parsonage ; some in playing with Neptune ; and other some in sitting and gazing as he did now on the dangerous wonders of Isabella's face. It was chiefly at night, particularly when the moon shone, that his love came upon him in the shape of sorrow, and then he was wont to relieve himself by pouring forth on paper, without restraint, his rhymed sufferings, — and a great relief it was.

Nothing of all this, however, was suspected by anybody, and Isabella therefore scrupled not to talk to him, and listen to him, and walk with him, and accept his nosegays exactly as she would have done had he been five years younger. So now when he asked her to pat Neptune, she patted him ; and when he said to her in a half-whisper, "You do not love the dog, Miss Isabella, one half so well as the dog loves you," she laughed, and looked down at his speaking blue eyes as they looked up at her, without understanding a single syllable they said.

It was just at this moment, when Isabella was thinking to herself (but in a style of indifference that the young lover would not at all have approved), " What a very handsome boy Alfred Reynolds is!" that the ear of Charles caught the sound of a horse's feet in the lane that skirted the bottom of the lawn.

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He left his gfame of chess, and took a hop, step, and jump to see who it might be ; for the lane led only to their house, and the sound therefore seemed to announce a visitor : but he returned in a minute and reseated himself, saying, "It is only a servant."

"Whose servant, Charles ?" said Mr. Worthington, looking up.

" I don't know, father," replied the boy. " He is dressed like a groom, and I did not see his colours ; but he rode a black horse like one of Mr. Wentworth's."

" It is not very likely to be Mr. Wentworth's groom coming here," said Mrs. Worthington ; " your father dined with him a fortnight ago, and will, I suppose, according to custom, dine with him again about five months and a fortnight hence ; but though his invitations are somewha.t ceremonious, I don't suppose he will make them quite de si longue main as that. By the way," continued Mrs. Worthington, " I have a great notion that after all he means to lay himself and his ten thousand a year at the feet of Lady Louisa Pope."

" I cannot imagine what makes you fancy that, mamma," said Isabella rather eagerly ; " I did not see anything at the races, either on the course or in the ball-room, at all like particular attention to Lady Louisa."

" Did you not, dearest ? Then I suspect you were thinking of something else. What say you, Margaret? "

" No, indeed, mamma," replied her eldest daughter, who had suffered herself to be checkmated while listening to the discussion, " I certainly saw nothing of the kind ; and if I were to tell you frankly what I do think about Mr. Wentworth, I suspect you would laugh at me, and declare perhaps that I saw what was not yet in sight."

"And pray what might that be ? " asked the mother, appearing very earnestly intent upon taking up a stitch in her knitting.

" I saw, or thought I saw," replied Margaret, looking furtively at Isabella, " not only on the course and at the race ball, but at the archery meeting too, that Mr. Wentworth admired Isabella much more than he did anybody else."

" Who are they talking of, my dear ?" said uncle David laying his hand on the shoulder of Isabella.

" I don't very well know, uncle David," replied Isabella with a bright blush, " they are talking nothing but nonsense."

"I'll tell you who they are talking about, uncle David," cried Charles, nearly springing over the head of Margaret, and placing himself in front of the old man ; " they are talking about the richest, and the grandest, and the handsomest man in Somersetshire, and that you know is Mr. Wentworth."

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Alfred Eeynolds looked for an iustant in the face of Isabella ; then sprant; on his feet, and -whistling Neptune to follow him, dived into a shrubbery walk that led into the fields.

" And what are they saying about Mr. Wentworth, my dear?" inquired Colonel Seaton.

" Shall I tell, Isabella ?" said the laughing boy sitting down on the turf in the place that Alfred had vacated : " shall I tell uncle David what Margaret has been saying ?"

" Do, mamma, tell Charles not to talk so very much nonsense," said Isabella rising. "At any rate I need not stay to listen to him ;" and away she ran, escaping into the shelter of the drawing-room through its open window.

The conversation, however, continued, and rather in a more serious tone, for uncle David, gently pushing aside the head of the saucy Charles, who was longing to be questioned, gravely said to his mother —

" Do they mean that Mr. Wentworth of Oak Park is in love with Isabella ? "

" They are silly children, uncle David, and probably mean nothing," replied Mrs. Worthington. " Shall I give you another glass of wine, sir ? "

"No, no more wine, niece," replied the old man, adding a moment after, " I don't want Mr. Wentworth to be in love with Isabella."

" No ? — and why not, uncle David ? " said Mr. Worthington, laughing ; " I declare I should like it very much."

" And so should I," exclaimed Charles eagerly. " Wouldn't I gallop his beautiful horses about ! Oh, I should so like it ! "

" I should not be the least bit surprised if he offered to her," said Margaret with an air that seemed to say she knew something about it.

" Indeed, and what do you say, Madge ?" said Mr. Worthington to his wife.

" Why, my dear," replied the mother, appearing very little moved by Margaret's announcement, " the fact is, that Isabella has been very much noticed and admired wherever I have taken her this year, but I really have no particular reason for thinking that Mr. Wentworth admires her more than other people."

" I don't want Mr. Wentworth to admire her," murmured Colonel Seaton ; " he does not look joyous enough for Isabella."

" Oh, but he is so handsome and elegant," cried Margaret.

" I must confess I see nothing to object to in his appearance," ■observed Mrs. Worthington ; " I cannot think, sir, wiiat you see amiss in his countenance. He is undoubtedly very handsome."

'•■ And he has ten thousand a year, uncle David," added the father gaily, " so when he proposes we must think at least twice before we refuse liim on account of his gravity. But as yet I believe Tre need not make up our minds upon the subject; it does not seem to ine quite certain that Squire Wentworth, liis houses and lands, Trill be laid at the feet of our Isabella. Whoso servant is that, Margaret?"

This question was occasioned by a near glimpse of the horseman, who had been before reconnoitred at a distance. Charles jumped upon a chair, and was then able to obtain a full view of the object of inquiry.

" It's Mr. Wentwortli's groom, as I live !" exclaimed the boy clapping his hands. "Margaret is right, mother, and here comes an offer of the park, and the pinery, the hunters, dogs, gamekeepers, and all !"

"Do hold your tongue, Charles," said Mrs. Worthington colouring ; " I am sure you may be heard in the lane. What can Mr. Wentworth's groom be coming here for, I wonder ? "

" Something about the turnpike meeting, I dare say," said Mr. Worthington, resuming his newspaper.

" Oh, very likely," replied his wife, though as she spoke she fixed her eyes in the direction from which whatever message had to reach them must come, with singular interest, considering how very little ladies in general care about turnpike meetings. Her suspense was not of long duration, for with as little delay as possible a servant walked through the dining-room window to the lawn, and presented a letter to Mr. Worthington.

" Any answer, sir ?" said the man, perceiving that his mastei? had perused the few lines contained in the despatch.

" Yes, I must write," was the reply ; and Mr. Worthington rose, and entered tlie house.

It would be difficult to find anywhere a better behaved wife than Mrs. Worthington, and the idea of pursuing her husband into his library to see what he might be going to write, would, under all ordinary circumstances, have appeared to her an exceedingly improper interference with his affairs ; but upon this occasion she felt incapable of resisting the curiosity which urged her to follow him ; and when he seated himself at his desk, she was at his side.

"Forgive me, dearest Henry," she said, "I do not often, pester you thus when you are busy, but do have pity on niy impatience, and tell me what 3Ir. Wentworth's letter contains?"

" Nothing to repay you, dear wife, for the trouble of asking," and so saying he put the note into her hands. It contained only these words : —

" ]\Ir. Vv^entwortli presents his compliments to Mr. Worthing, ton, and Viill be much obliged by his appointing any hour

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to-morrow at which he would be at leisure to receive a call from him."

This was very short, and not very satisfactory ; nevertheless, it sulBced to keep Mrs. Worthin<i;ton in a state of considerable restlessness during the time her husband was employed in replyino; to it.

" And what have you said to him? " she eagerly inquired, on perceiving that he had concluded his despatch.

" I have told him, Madge, that I shall be happy to see him at any time between two and five," replied her husband, smihng at the earnestness of her tone.

"Dearest Henry!" exclaimed the lady with some vexation, " why did you not name some hour before luncheon ? "

"Because it was more convenient to me to fix the time after it, my dear. But what is it you have got into your head, Margaret ? How comes it that this visit appears to interest you so greatly ? "

" I should have no objection in the world to tell you," she replied, " only I feel sure that you will think me ridiculous."

" Don't let that stop you, Madge," said her husband, laughing, " for whether you speak or not, I cannot but guess the stuff that is in your thoughts."

" Do you guess ? But do not keep the servant."

She rang the bell, and the letter was despatched.

" And so, Henry, you think you already know as much as I could tell you ? " she resumed.

" It would be presumption to say that," he replied ; " but I know you think that Wentworth is coming here to-morrow to« propose for Isabella."

" Yes, I do. But I could tell you more, if you would listen to me."

"I will listen to you," said her husband; "but be not disappointed if, after you have told me all you know, and all you fancy, I should still persist in doubting the probability that the best match in the county should be obtained by a portionless girl, with nothing to recommend her but her large black eyes^ and her little white hands."

" Isothing to recommend her? 0 Henry !"

" Dear soul ! Do you fancy that everybody will see her with our eyes? How can anybody see her as we do, Margaret? How should Wentworth, for instance, who has danced with her, and talked to her perhaps half a dozen times, for as many half hours — how should he know what she is ? "

" Most assuredly he cannot ; nor is there any necessity that he should perceive that she is not only the loveliest, but the best and brightest jewel of the county."

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"That is a very mamina-like speech, Margaret. But, in truth, Isabella is a very pretty girl ; enough so, perhaps, to excuse about five-eighths of the admiration we bestow upon her. Nevertheless, my dear, I still doubt the probability of Mr. Wentworth's coming to the conclusion that she would be a suitable match for him."

"You have no faith, then, in my powers of observation, and think nothing of my having watched him during the last three or four times they have met; in short, at nearly every party since Isabella has been out? "

"What is it you have seen P "

" I have seen him remain with his eyes fixed upon her for minutes together."

"Oh! that is nothing, Madge. Uncle David does just the same ; and so does that young rogue, Alfred Reynolds. Everybody likes to look at Isabella."

" Nonsense, Henry ! But I will say no more. To-morrow will show if I am right or wrong."

" And as to-morrow, even after luncheon," replied her husband, again venturing to laugh a little, " is not very distant, we shall, I hope, be able to make our patience hold out ; yet there is one ■question I should like to ask you, Margaret, before we dismiss the subject. Do you think Isabella is in love with this young man ? "

" In love ! Isabella in love with him ! How can you ask such a question, Mr. Worthington ? As if it were likely Isabella should be in love with a man who ha9 never yet said a word to her on the subject ! "

You mean that you think she is not in love with him ? "

" To be sure she is not in love with him."

" I am glad of that, Madge, at any rate."

Here Charles entered to say that uncle David thought he had sat out long enough, and Mr. Worthington hurried away to give him his arm, as assiduously as if a large legacy depended upon it ; so the discussion on Mr. Wentworth and Isabella was cut short.